The Diplomat's Wife(56)
“What is it that you would want me to do?” I interrupt, curious.
The D.M. walks quickly back toward me. “We need you to go to Prague. We can create some sort of cover for your trip, say that you are there for meetings at the embassy. We have some very good people on the ground there who can help you find Andek.”
“And then what? If I find him, I mean.”
“Ask him to let you speak with Marcelitis. Don’t explain too much to Andek alone—we don’t have the intel on him to know if he can be trusted. Instead, use your history with him to gain his trust so he introduces you to Marcelitis. I’ll give you something written from the foreign minister formally asking for the cipher.”
“Is that all, sir?” I ask.
“What do you mean, is that all?”
“I mean, what are we offering Marcelitis in exchange for giving us the cipher?” I can feel Simon’s stunned glare. A secretary questioning the D.M. on policy is unthinkable.
The D.M. pauses, as though the idea had not occurred to him. “Assurances, I suppose. That Britain is behind them and that we won’t allow the Soviets to roll over Czechoslovakia.”
I take a deep breath, emboldened by the role he is asking me to play. “That won’t be enough, sir.”
“What do you mean? Why?”
“Once, before the war, the Czech people believed in the West. We all did. But the West looked on while the Germans took the Sudetenland, then Prague. People have been bitten by empty promises before, and from what I understand, Marcelitis is especially distrustful. If he is to be persuaded to give us the cipher, we will need something concrete.”
The D.M. paces back and forth, stroking his goatee. “That’s a fair point. We would have to put together some sort of package, provide something as a measure of good faith. I’ll start working on the needed clearances right away and then—”
“This is madness!” Simon explodes. I turn toward him, stunned by the sharpness of his tone toward the D.M. His cheeks have turned bright red with anger. “You are proposing to send my wife back to Eastern Europe to a country that might fall to the Soviets at any minute? For God’s sake, she almost died there just three years ago!”
“We have no reason to think that anything is going to happen imminently with the Czech government. The coalition ministers are resisting resignation and that alone will keep the communists occupied for weeks. Even if they are successful, it will be months until they can form a new government. Nothing will happen before the elections next June.”
“How long?” I ask. “I mean, if I agree to go, how long would I need to be gone?”
“A few days,” the D.M. replies quickly. “A week at most. Less if you are able to find Andek and get to Marcelitis quickly.”
“Marta, you can’t be seriously considering this,” Simon interjects.
I turn to the D.M. “Sir, may we have a moment in private?”
“Certainly, though I’m afraid I must ask you to be brief. I need to get over to the minister’s office right away, and they’re going to want an answer on how we plan to handle the situation.” He walks out of the room and closes the door behind him.
I turn to Simon, who stares at me from the far side of his desk for several seconds. “The resistance,” he says slowly, his voice a mixture of anger, hurt and disbelief. “You could have told me, Marta.”
“I wanted to,” I reply, thinking guiltily of all of the other things he still does not know. “But it was such a painful part of my past. I was afraid.”
Simon crosses the room and drops down in front of my chair on one knee to face me at eye level. “Marta, this idea of the D.M.’s is madness. Please tell me you aren’t seriously considering it.”
I do not answer but study Simon’s face. This is the most interest he has shown in me since we have been married, I realize. For a moment I wonder if he is simply jealous that I can contribute something here that he cannot. But the concern in his eyes is genuine. Something tugs inside me. For so long, he has seemed to see right through me. Is it possible that he might actually miss me if I was gone?
I stand up and walk to the window, considering the D.M.’s request. Prague. Eastern Europe. Inwardly, I wince. That part of the world was home to me once. But now that I am safe in London, it seems dark and desolate, the place of a thousand painful memories and broken dreams. How can I possibly go back? Across the park, I can see the edge of the Parliament building. I faulted the British for doing nothing the last time, during the war. How can I now do the same? I turn back. “Simon, if I am really the only one who can help…”
“What about our daughter?” he demands, gesturing to the picture that sits on the corner of his desk.
I turn to gaze at the image of Rachel taken in the garden last spring. The idea of leaving her, even for a few days, is almost inconceivable. “I am thinking of her. Simon, Rachel is fortunate enough to be growing up in a safe place. For now. But I know firsthand how quickly things can change. You’ve said yourself that the communist threat is as real and dangerous as the Nazis….”
“Rachel is safe.” Simon walks toward me, placing his arms on my shoulders. His hands seem almost foreign. Simon seldom touches me. Now he is reaching out, attempting to get me to listen to him. I look from his hands to his beseeching expression, then back again. Even now, his touch is not affection, I realize sadly, but a tool of persuasion. “Rachel will always be safe here.”