Authors: Daniel Silva
The Unlikely Spy (37 page)
After a moment Catherine noticed something: everyone in the room seemed to be staring at them. It was terribly unnerving. For six years she had done everything in her power
not
to be noticed. Now she was dancing with a dazzling American naval officer at the most glamorous hotel in London. She felt exposed and vulnerable, yet at the same time she derived a strange satisfaction from doing something completely normal for a change.
not
to be noticed. Now she was dancing with a dazzling American naval officer at the most glamorous hotel in London. She felt exposed and vulnerable, yet at the same time she derived a strange satisfaction from doing something completely normal for a change.
Her own appearance certainly had something to do with the attention they were drawing. She had seen it in Jordan's eyes a few minutes earlier when she walked into the bar. She looked stunning tonight. She wore a dress of black crepe material with a deep plunge in the back and a neckline that showed off the shape of her breasts. She wore her hair down, held back by a smart jeweled clasp, and a double strand of pearls at her throat. She had taken care with her makeup. The wartime cosmetics were of extremely poor quality but she didn't require much--a little lipstick to accentuate the shape of her generous mouth, a little rouge to bring out her prominent cheekbones, a bit of liner around her eyes. She derived no special satisfaction from her appearance. She had always thought of her own beauty in dispassionate terms, the way a woman might evaluate her favorite china or a cherished antique rug. Still, it had been a very long time since she had walked through a room and watched heads turn her way. She was the kind of woman that both sexes noticed. The men could hardly keep their mouths closed, the women frowned with envy.
Jordan said, "Have you noticed that everyone in this room is staring at us?"
"I've noticed that, yes. Do you mind?"
"Of course not." He drew away a few inches so he could look at her face. "It's been a very long time since I've felt this way, Catherine. And to think I had to come all the way to London to find you."
"I'm glad you did."
"Can I make a confession?"
"Of course you can."
"I didn't get much sleep after you left last night."
She smiled and drew him near, so her mouth was next to his ear. "I'll make a confession too. I didn't sleep at all."
"What were you thinking about?"
"You tell me first."
"I was thinking how much I wished you hadn't left."
"I was having very similar thoughts."
"I was thinking about kissing you."
"I think I
was
kissing you."
was
kissing you."
"I don't want you to leave tonight."
"I think you would have to throw me out bodily if you wanted me to leave."
"I don't think you need to worry about that."
"I think I'd like you to kiss me again right now, Peter."
"What about all these people staring at us? What do you think they'll do if I kiss you?"
"I'm not sure. But it's 1944 in London. Anything can happen."
"Compliments of the gentleman at the bar," the waiter said, opening a bottle of champagne as they came back to the table.
"Does the gentleman have a name?" Jordan asked.
"None that he gave, sir."
"What did he look like?"
"Rather like a sunburned rugby player, sir."
"American naval officer?"
"Yes, sir."
"Shepherd Ramsey."
"The gentleman wishes to join you for a glass."
"Tell the gentleman thank you for the champagne, but forget it."
"Of course, sir."
"Who's Shepherd Ramsey?" Catherine asked when the waiter left.
"Shepherd Ramsey is my oldest and dearest friend in the world. I love him like a brother."
"So why don't you let him come over for a drink?"
"Because for once in my adult life I'd like to do something without him. Besides, I don't want to share you."
"Good, because I don't want to share you either." Catherine raised her champagne glass. "To the absence of Shepherd."
Jordan laughed. "To the absence of Shepherd."
They touched glasses.
Catherine added, "And to the blackout, without which I would never have bumped into you."
"To the blackout." Jordan hesitated. "I know this probably sounds like a terrible cliche, but I can't take my eyes off of you."
Catherine smiled and leaned across the table.
"I don't want you to take your eyes off me, Peter. Why do you think I wore this dress?"
"I'm a little nervous."
"I am too, Peter."
"You look so beautiful, lying there in the moonlight."
"You look beautiful too."
"Don't. My wife--"
"I'm sorry. It's just that I've never seen a man who looked quite like you. Try not to think about your wife for just a few minutes."
"It's very hard, but you're making it a little easier."
"You look like a statue, kneeling there like that."
"A very old, crumbling statue."
"A beautiful statue."
"I can't stop touching you--touching them. They're so beautiful. I've been dreaming of touching them like this since the first moment I saw you."
"You can touch them harder. It won't hurt."
"Like this?"
"Oh, God! Yes, Peter, just like that. But I want to touch you too."
"That feels so nice when you do that."
"It does?"
"Ahh, yes, it does."
"It's so hard. It feels wonderful. There's something else I want to do to it."
"What?"
"I can't say it out loud. Just come closer."
"Catherine--"
"Just do it, darling. I promise you won't regret it."
"Oh, my God, that feels so incredible."
"Then I shouldn't stop?"
"You look so beautiful doing that."
"I want to make you feel good."
"I want to make
you
feel good."
you
feel good."
"I can show you how."
"I think I know how."
"Ahh, Peter, your tongue feels so wonderful. Oh, please, touch my breasts while you do that."
"I want to be inside you."
"Hurry, Peter."
"Ohh, you're so soft, so wonderful. Oh, God, Catherine, I'm going to--"
"Wait! Not yet, darling. Do me a favor and lie down on your back. Let me do the rest."
He did as she asked. She took him in her hand and guided him inside her body. She could have just lain there and let him finish but she wanted it this way. She always knew Vogel would do this to her. Why else would he want a female agent except to seduce Allied officers and steal their secrets? She always thought the man would be fat and hairy and old and ugly, not like Peter. If she was going to be Kurt Vogel's whore, she might as well enjoy it.
Oh, God, Catherine, you shouldn't be doing this. You shouldn't be losing control like this.
But she couldn't help it. She
was
enjoying it. And she
was
losing control. Her head rolled back and her hands went to her breasts and she stroked her nipples with her fingers and after a moment she felt his warm release within her and it washed over her in wave after wonderful wave.
Oh, God, Catherine, you shouldn't be doing this. You shouldn't be losing control like this.
But she couldn't help it. She
was
enjoying it. And she
was
losing control. Her head rolled back and her hands went to her breasts and she stroked her nipples with her fingers and after a moment she felt his warm release within her and it washed over her in wave after wonderful wave.
It was late, at least four o'clock, though Catherine couldn't be sure because it was too dark to see the clock on the bedstand. It didn't matter. All that mattered was that Peter Jordan was sleeping soundly next to her. His breathing was deep and regular. They had eaten a large meal, had a lot to drink, and made love twice. Unless he was a very light sleeper, he would probably sleep through a Luftwaffe night raid right now. She slipped out of bed, put on the silk dressing robe he had given her, and padded quietly across the room. The bedroom door was closed halfway. Catherine opened it a few inches, slipped through the doorway, and closed it behind her.
The silence rang in her ears. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest. She forced herself to be calm. She had worked too hard--risked too much--just to get to this point. One silly mistake and it would destroy all she had done. She moved quickly down the narrow staircase. The stair creaked. She froze, waiting to hear if Jordan woke up. Outside a car whooshed through standing water. Somewhere a dog was barking. In the distance a lorry horn blared. She realized these were just the average sounds of the night that people slept through all the time. She walked quickly down the stairs and along the hall. She found his keys on a small table, next to her handbag. She picked them both up and went to work.
Catherine had limited objectives tonight. She wanted to guarantee herself regular access to Jordan's study and his private papers. For that she needed her own copy of the keys to the front door, to the study door, and to his briefcase. Jordan's key ring held several keys. The key to the front door was obvious; it was larger than the rest. She reached in her purse and removed a block of soft brown clay. She singled out the skeleton key and pressed it into the clay, making a neat imprint. The key to the briefcase was also obvious; it was the smallest. She repeated the same process, making another neat imprint. The study would be more difficult; there were a number of keys that looked as though they might be the one. There was only one way to find out which it was. She picked up her handbag and Jordan's briefcase, carried everything down the hall to the study door, and began trying the different keys. The fourth key she tried fit the lock. She removed it and pressed it into her block of clay.
Catherine could stop now, and it would be a very successful evening. She could make duplicate keys and she could come back when Jordan wasn't home and photograph everything in his study. She
would
do that; but she wanted more tonight. She wanted to prove to Vogel that she had done it, that she was a talented agent. By her estimate she had been out of bed less than two minutes. She could afford two more.
would
do that; but she wanted more tonight. She wanted to prove to Vogel that she had done it, that she was a talented agent. By her estimate she had been out of bed less than two minutes. She could afford two more.
She unlocked the study door, went inside, and switched on the light. It was a handsome room, furnished like the drawing room in a masculine way. There was a large desk and a leather chair and a drafting table with a tall wooden stool in front of it. Catherine reached inside her handbag and withdrew two items, her camera and her silenced Mauser pistol. She laid the Mauser on the desk. She raised the camera to her eye and clicked off two photographs of the room. Next she unlocked Jordan's briefcase. It was virtually empty--just a billfold, a case for eyeglasses, and a small leather-bound appointment book. She thought, It's a start at least. Perhaps there were names of important men with whom Jordan had met. If the Abwehr knew whom he was meeting, perhaps they could discover the nature of his work.
How many times had she done this at the training camp? God, but she had lost count: a hundred at least, always with Vogel standing over her with his bloody stop-watch.
Too long! Too loud! Too much light! Not enough! They're coming for you! You're caught! What do you do now?
She laid the appointment book on the desk and switched on the desk lamp. It had a pliable arm and a dome over the bulb to focus the light downward, perfect for photographing documents.
Too long! Too loud! Too much light! Not enough! They're coming for you! You're caught! What do you do now?
She laid the appointment book on the desk and switched on the desk lamp. It had a pliable arm and a dome over the bulb to focus the light downward, perfect for photographing documents.
Three minutes. Work quickly now, Catherine.
She opened the notebook and adjusted the lamp so the light shone directly onto the page. If she did it at the wrong angle, or if the light was too close, the negatives would be ruined. She did it just as Vogel had instructed and started snapping off the photographs. Names, dates, short notes written in his scrawling hand. She photographed a few more pages and then found something very interesting. One page contained crude sketches of a boxlike figure. There were numbers on the page that appeared to represent dimensions. Catherine photographed that page twice to make certain she captured the image.
She opened the notebook and adjusted the lamp so the light shone directly onto the page. If she did it at the wrong angle, or if the light was too close, the negatives would be ruined. She did it just as Vogel had instructed and started snapping off the photographs. Names, dates, short notes written in his scrawling hand. She photographed a few more pages and then found something very interesting. One page contained crude sketches of a boxlike figure. There were numbers on the page that appeared to represent dimensions. Catherine photographed that page twice to make certain she captured the image.
Four minutes.
One more item tonight: the safe. It was bolted to the floor, next to the desk. Vogel had given her a combination that was supposed to unlock it. Catherine knelt and turned the dial. Six digits. When she turned to the last number she felt the tumbler settle into place. She took hold of the latch and applied pressure. The latch snapped into the open position; the combination worked. She pulled open the door and looked inside: two binders filled with papers, several loose-leaf notebooks. It would take hours to photograph everything. She would wait. She aimed the camera at the inside of the safe and took a photograph.
One more item tonight: the safe. It was bolted to the floor, next to the desk. Vogel had given her a combination that was supposed to unlock it. Catherine knelt and turned the dial. Six digits. When she turned to the last number she felt the tumbler settle into place. She took hold of the latch and applied pressure. The latch snapped into the open position; the combination worked. She pulled open the door and looked inside: two binders filled with papers, several loose-leaf notebooks. It would take hours to photograph everything. She would wait. She aimed the camera at the inside of the safe and took a photograph.
Five minutes.
Time to put everything back in its original place. She closed the safe door, returned the latch to the locked position, and spun the dial. She placed the block of clay in her handbag carefully, so as not to damage the imprints. The camera and the Mauser were next. She returned Jordan's appointment book to its place inside his briefcase and locked it. Then she shut off the lights and went out. She closed the door and locked it.
Time to put everything back in its original place. She closed the safe door, returned the latch to the locked position, and spun the dial. She placed the block of clay in her handbag carefully, so as not to damage the imprints. The camera and the Mauser were next. She returned Jordan's appointment book to its place inside his briefcase and locked it. Then she shut off the lights and went out. She closed the door and locked it.
Six minutes. Too long.
She carried everything back into the hall and placed the keys, his briefcase, and her handbag back on the table. Done! She needed an excuse: she was thirsty. It was true--her mouth was parched from nerves. She went into the kitchen, took a glass down from the cabinet, and filled it with cold water from the tap. She drank it down immediately, refilled it, and carried the glass upstairs to the bedroom.
She carried everything back into the hall and placed the keys, his briefcase, and her handbag back on the table. Done! She needed an excuse: she was thirsty. It was true--her mouth was parched from nerves. She went into the kitchen, took a glass down from the cabinet, and filled it with cold water from the tap. She drank it down immediately, refilled it, and carried the glass upstairs to the bedroom.
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