“I’m from the church,” the priest said, noting the blood still dripping from Keeton’s chin and the dark red circle near his shoulder. “Saint Thomas Aquinas, next to the cemetery. I was returning from my walk. He asked me to do this.”
“Can we help him?” Keeton asked when he noticed Philippe’s chest rise and fall.
“Of course. I’m doing that now,” the priest answered and continued over Philippe in Latin. A few seconds later, a young man ran from a nearby corner holding a small wooden box and gave it over to the priest.
The priest pulled a cloth stole from the box and draped it over his neck, and then he extracted a small golden pyx from the box and opened it.
The priest took the white, circular host from the pyx and whispered something into Philippe’s ear, and the dying agent’s lips parted slightly. The priest broke off a tiny piece of the host and gently dropped it into the bloody pool of Philippe’s mouth. Keeton heard sirens getting closer.
The priest looked up. “Are you a believer?”
Keeton shrugged slightly. “A long time ago.” He watched Philippe’s chest rise and fall rapidly a few more times and then one final time.
“You should go,” the priest said and then looked around at the carnage on the street. “Your friend is no longer of this world, and I have several more of these to do.”
Keeton climbed into the van and drove it away from the scene, barely aware of the desperate calls of Morel and Roy over the Elephant radio.
***
Keeton made it back to the Hellers’ safe house. Morel was there and let him know that Roy had made it to the rally point elsewhere in East Berlin with Bleudot and Neumann. Keeton told him about Philippe, and they drank a solemn toast to their fallen colleague.
The next day Keeton left East Berlin as Marzell Adler. No one from the Stasi had been left to inform the border guards to look for his wounds. The Hellers had carefully shaved his face and stitched his chin and shoulder. Keeton told the border guard he had gotten drunk and fallen against the edge of a table at the bar—they laughed together about the incident, and a few minutes later Keeton boarded the U6 train. At West Berlin station, he learned that Morel and Roy had found Junger’s body and disposed of it in the river. “Made it look like the captain escaped after helping spring their prisoners,” Roy had said. It was a long shot but worth a try to cover their tracks and assign blame to an inside job.
Keeton was spent from the six-week sequence of events that had begun with Allen Davies informing him about the death of his cover Theodore Barney. He had been able to rescue two fellow agents and a civilian ECA, but in the process had lost a Cavalry team member and two friendly informants.
“It doesn’t seem like we’re winning,” he had complained to Morrison during a two-minute scrambled phone call to Washington.
“It’s not about the body count,” Morrison had said.
“The hell it’s not,” Keeton had shot back.
“Anyway, on top of it all, I hear your shoulder has developed a nasty infection.”
“That’s right. I’m headed off to an army hospital in Landstuhl. Sounds like another week before they’ll let me get back to London.”
“I assume you’ll need a little time off. What about your girlfriend?”
“Lynette? I called her and told her I’d been in a car accident, that I was bruised but recovering.”
“She must be a very patient girl. Enjoy your vacation. Keep in touch via London station.”
When Keeton finally stepped off the plane in London six days later, Lynette was waiting for him, bright and beautiful as ever.
Chapter 11. The Last Loving
Two months of convalescing and dates with Lynette was a great start to Keeton’s recovery after his release from the military hospital at Landstuhl. While it was true that her job took her away for days at a time, her absences only seemed to make their meetings that much more exciting and fresh. Three times she was assigned flights other than the Washington route. She would return from those trips with stories of the places and usually a romantic souvenir. When Lynette was away, he would spend time at the CIA London station, reading intel briefs and material from Morrison off the Teletype. With John Daniels’s retirement, a new man had been promoted to the Agent Red post and was preparing to go into deep cover in the Soviet Union. The intelligence machinery of the Cavalry kept moving forward. Still, Keeton understood the impact of his absence and was anxious to get himself back on the board.
“Good morning, darling,” Lynette said softly as his eyes blinked open. She was lying next to him with one leg draped across his. The mere easy lilt of her voice helped him shake the anxiety of the dream he had just had—a helter-skelter assortment of images of capture, interrogation, fleeing, fighting, and last rites.
“I could get used to this every morning,” he said to her. “But I suppose eventually Halley is going to need my accounting talents back in the office. My vacation is used up, and I get the sense that so is their generosity and patience.”
“But until then…” She gave him a long kiss. Then she rested her head back onto his chest, both of them simply reveling in the new morning and the gentle moment.
As they lay together, a thought suddenly fired in Keeton’s subconscious for the first time. He was not expecting it, and he certainly had not fostered it, although once it hit him, it seemed such a logical and natural thing to think about. CIA personnel, including many agents of the clandestine services, were mostly married. Of course, many of those posts were fixed with public-facing diplomatic covers that operated quite well with a spouse and even children. It was not at all unusual for a wife to know her husband’s real job. Field operatives were a different demographic, of course, but married life was common enough.
Married life? Not in the Cavalry, at least not for any of the Colors. Morrison’s model. He even doesn’t like it for the support teams—accepted but highly discouraged. Wonder if that’s because of his own…what’s it matter? Are you really thinking about…
“Lyn, about my job,” he said as he ran his fingers through her soft blond hair. “And yours. Well, we both travel, and we’re based in different places—different countries. I know we wanted to just let the moments happen, and each of them have been exceptional. But I was thinking…”
She raised her head and looked into his eyes. “Andrew, are you trying to say that we’re finished?”
He stared back for a few seconds in surprise. Then a broad grin grew across his face. “Just the opposite, actually.”
She suddenly began blinking through tears. “Oh. I’m sorry. I don’t know why that went through my mind. So you’re saying…but what about our jobs?”
“I don’t really know everything I’m saying. I for one think we’re both pretty resourceful. We can work something out to make a future together possible. Let’s just spend the day together in the country and talk about it more tonight at dinner, OK?”
She bit her lip and smiled. “I love you, Andrew.”
They stayed in bed for another half hour before Keeton got up to shower—scandalously, he said, at ten thirty in the morning and on a weekday no less. He stepped back into the bedroom to discover Lynette was no longer there. He began to dress, and she walked in, robed, carrying the blue-and-white booklet he recognized as the BOAC timetables. Lynette was frowning, and her face seemed nearly pale.
“What’s the matter?” he asked as he slipped on his shirt.
“Darling, I…oh, I hate this. I just called in to check my schedule. They’ve had a last-minute call for sick leave, an emergency, a burst appendix or something. I’m the junior girl, and so they’ve assigned me to the flight. It leaves today.”
Keeton stopped buttoning the shirt. “Well, can you tell them no?”
“I’m afraid it doesn’t work that way, dear. I mean, for my promotions and whatnot I have to be on call. The worst part, it’s the damned Tokyo route—that’s five days until I’m back.” A tear had begun to roll down each cheek. “After wha
t we talked about earlier, I just don’t think…”
“Lyn, it’s all right. I’m disappointed. OK, I’m bitterly disappointed.” He walked over and took the timetable from her and put his arms around her waist. “But this is exactly the kind of thing we’ll need to talk about—when you’re back.” He reached up and wiped the tears. “When do you leave?”
She paused for a moment. “The flight is at three fifty this afternoon. Oh, Andrew, not much time.” She buried her head against his shoulder.
“We’ve got the rest of the morning at least,” he answered. “I’ll finish getting ready while you shower, then I’ll make lunch reservations at The Ivy. We’ll take a walk and get you to the airport in plenty of time.” He softly lifted her chin. “I’ll be waiting for you when you get back. I promise.”
She gathered up a few things and went toward the bathroom. Keeton put the BOAC schedule on her nightstand and finished getting dressed. As he stood in the mirror combing his hair, he lightly fingered the scar under his chin and recalled the fight with Junger. A lot of questions about the entire chain of events still remained.
Hell, I might be called back to Berlin at any moment. If I have five days to spare, it might be a good chance to get over there and debrief with the team. I’m fit enough, and it would be low key.
He walked over and sat on the edge of the bed, picking up the booklet from the nightstand. A few pages in he found the flight times for “Deutschland” and scanned across the table of London departures and Berlin arrivals. Two direct flights daily London to West Berlin, one listed at ten twenty—the flight I took to Berlin at the beginning of the Red mission—and the other at fifteen fifty. I can be there and back in a day if necessary. Not true for poor Lyn; those Orient flights tend to have a ton of stops. He flipped back and found the table for the Orient flights. There was one Tokyo arrival that would leave London that day—it had departed forty-five minutes ago.
Keeton rechecked the rest of the table. There were only three BOAC routes available to Tokyo, and none of them started in London at 3:50 p.m. Three fifty p.m.…fifteen fifty. The fifteen fifty to Berlin…He flipped quickly through the rest of the booklet. There were no other three fifty international departures that afternoon or on any day of the week from London. He heard the familiar thunk of Lynette’s shower shutting off. He felt a wave of cold come over his face, and his heart began racing.
Maybe someone at BOAC made a mistake and told her the wrong route. Maybe Lynette made a mistake and heard the wrong information. Or maybe, probably, you made the big mistake, Keeton. Our relationship simply started on that stormy flight to Washington. She’s simply a stewardess. Right?
But it was no use. His thoughts swept through the facts. She initiated the contact at the airport, twice. She was immediately receptive to him, although she was certainly being propositioned by male passengers constantly. She was there at the first attack in the London alley. She knew he had been leaving for the Continent. Was it possible? Of course it is, you love-sick idiot. And if it’s true, then you’ve made one hell of a mistake. It would have been easy for an enemy to track his actions through Lynette, especially since his return to London. He had even made two secure calls into the station from her apartment.
“You fool,” he whispered.
The door to the bathroom opened, and she stepped into the bedroom. He stood up reflexively on weakened knees and felt the nervousness in the pit of his stomach. Get hold of yourself. Control the situation.
“What are you doing…darling?” she asked hesitatingly as she glanced at the unfolded schedule in his hands.
He swallowed hard and locked his eyes with hers. “There is no three fifty flight leaving for Tokyo. It left an hour ago.” He studied Lynette’s reaction and immediately saw the telltale dilation of the eyes that signaled a witness who was unexpectedly caught in a lie. Takes months of conditioning with Donny Boyle and his crew to avoid this natural response. Don’t know who trained you, honey, but he was no Donny Boyle. The wave of disgust he felt for the woman in front of him was mixed in equal parts with self-loathing. He saw the forced relaxation take over her face as she found a suitable answer.
“Well, that would be quite a relief, actually, wouldn’t it? Perhaps they got it all cocked up on the phone. Or I did. Or…”
“They wouldn’t have called you about a flight that was already leaving,” he interrupted. “So which part did they cock up, Lyn? The day, the location, the time? Maybe that poor stew’s appendix didn’t burst after all.”
“Andrew,” she said, taking a step back. “You’re suddenly being very sarcastic and mean, and I don’t like it. What do you want me to say?”
“There is a three fifty flight today from London, only one in fact,” he said. “To West Berlin. The easiest gateway to East Berlin, if you’re undercover and need to use British commercial airlines to get over the wall. Or better yet, to find my team.”
“What, Andrew? What are you talking about?” she pleaded, holding her hands out toward him.
He felt tears of anger welling up in his eyes but ignored them. Instead he rent the BOAC booklet and threw the pieces to the floor. “Tell me the truth. That’s all I want!”
She had backed up to the wall at the corner of the bedroom and the hallway. Tears began streaming down her face. “That’s all you want? That’s all—just the truth? OK, here it is. There’s another man—I’ve been seeing someone else and using my travel as an excuse to meet him. That’s the terrible, damned truth for you!” She sank down against the wall and began sobbing.
Another man? He barely heard what she was saying through her own crying.
“…met him a week before your accident…trying to figure it all out…”
She had been lying, to be sure. The other things…just coincidences? The times we were together, the times she left. You watched her meet the rest of the flight crew at the airport. They talked about the normal route to Washington. Figure it out, quickly. The dates, the ambush in the alley…
“Andrew, the things we said this morning. I do love you. I truly…”
“Why didn’t you scream, Lyn?” he asked quietly.
“What?” she asked through her tears. But he saw it again, the flicker of recognition of the discovered ruse, the dead end where truth demanded its due.
“On our first date, when we were attacked. That man picked you up and dragged you into a dark building. The other man was after me. You could’ve been raped or killed. But you didn’t scream or make the slightest noise at all, through any of it. Why not?”
She shook her head slowly. “I don’t know.”
Lynette sat motionless against the wall, looking up at him at the foot of the bed. But her face had changed—from sorrowful and guilty to stoic, with a hint of arrogance. Her left arm shot behind her dresser. When she vaulted to her feet, there was a revolver in her left hand, pointing at him. He instinctively backed up.
“I’m so very sorry, Andrew,” she said. “I knew you weren’t going to believe that bit about another man. I only used the story about being called to duty because they thought you might’ve heard the phone ring while you were in the shower. This may be rubbing salt in the wound, but there is another man. He’s not from England. His name’s Ivan. He’s a patriot for a cause I believe in, and a great lover.”
Ignore the shock. Focus on a way out. My gun, under the bed. He fell flat to the floor and pulled the automatic from the holster he had secured to the bed slat. He raised it above the horizon of the mattress and immediately knew something was wrong. He froze.
“You feel it, don’t you?” she asked. “The weight’s wrong. I took out the bullets while you were in the shower. I did make a call but not to the airline. I was advised to take extra precautions. I’ve known about the gun for a month. Just as I know there are no other hidden weapons or bullets in the flat.”
She was right. Keeton only had the gun and the single clip as a basic security measure. He sighed heavily. “Well, Lyn, what’s your next move?”
Lynette took three steps sideways to put the bed between them. Her grip on the revolver never wavered, and her hand remained steady. “I’m an excellent shot, so just stay right there on the floor. I’m to secure you first—check.” She carefully backed up to the window and pulled open one side of the curtains. “Then I give the all clear—check.” She walked back up to the bed. “Then I’m to await…”
The next several seconds of time would pass slowly for Keeton, and later they would blend into the dreams of death he frequently had. He would realize momentarily that the first thing had been the penetration of the sniper’s bullet through the bedroom window followed by its entry into Lynette’s back just under her shoulder blades. What he actually saw first was the exit through her torso and the front of the robe. Blood hit the white sheets just before her body fell onto the bed and covered the stain. The dot on her back remained as evidence of what had just happened.
“Lynette!” he called out in confused anger.
Her head moved slightly, and her loosened fingers began to grip the handle of the revolver again. Keeton kicked the gun from her hand, sending her arm up and turning her body over. She slipped off the end of the bed and landed on the floor with the sound of a dropped object. Her robe had opened to expose her naked front punctuated by the gory wound. Keeton doubled over to keep from retching.
Suddenly the flat’s door was forced open, and he heard British voices calling his name. Lionel burst into the bedroom with a drawn pistol. No less a personage than Allen Davies followed him, gun in hand as well. Davies knelt down near him.
“Keeton, what happened here?” Davies yelled.
Fresh tears had filled Keeton’s eyes. “What happened? Your damned sniper got her! Did you have to do it that way?”
“We don’t have a sniper on point,” Lionel said evenly.
Another hole appeared in the window and Davies went down clutching his side.
Keeton reached up and pulled Lionel to the floor with him. The third shot was off target and hit the mattress before the bullet buried itself into the floor. A shower of feathers settled on the sticky red mess of Lynette’s body. Lionel grabbed Davies’s gun. Keeton took his hand and pulled him closer to the bed’s meager cover. The injured spy was grimacing.
Agent Orange Page 21
