The Diplomat's Wife(80)
“Look, Marta, the American and British governments have been working closely together to counter the Soviets in Europe, and generally the alliance works pretty well. But we still keep an eye on each other, and recently we’ve had reason to believe that communist loyalists have infiltrated British intelligence.” He pulls a flask from his pocket and holds it out to me. I shake my head, cringing inwardly as he takes a swig. Why has he started drinking again? But I do not know him well enough to ask that, not anymore. “So when your mission to Prague popped up on our radar screen, we were curious,” he continues, recapping the flask. “Our government wanted to trail you, see what you were doing.”
“And they just happened to pick you for the job?”
He looks away. “When I realized that it was you, I volunteered.”
“Oh.” A lump forms in my throat. “So have you been following me the entire time?”
“Not exactly. Our intelligence was a little slow, so I was a few days behind you. I got to Prague just as you were leaving, followed you onto the train.” So that had been Paul in the station after all. “Which brings me to my question, what are you doing here?”
Now it is my turn to hesitate. After the events of the past few days, I am not sure that anyone, even Paul, can be trusted. “You mean, you haven’t figured it out yet?” I ask, stalling for time.
He shakes his head. “I know that it has something to do with Jan Marcelitis and that it’s important enough to make someone try to stop you. But that’s all I’ve got.”
I can trust him, I decide, looking into his eyes. “You were right about Soviet operatives compromising British intelligence. We’ve been desperately trying to figure out who they are and stop them. We recently came into possession of at least a partial list, but it’s coded and no one has been able to break it.”
“So you’re trying to persuade Marcelitis to give you the cipher.”
I look at him in amazement. “You know about the cipher?”
“Of course. Dichenko’s theft of the cipher is hardly a secret, and finding it has recently become the Holy Grail of modern espionage. But no one has been able to find Marcelitis.”
“That’s why they sent me,” I reply. “There was a close associate of Marcelitis called Marek Andek whom I know from my resistance work in Kraków. His wife, Emma, was my best friend.”
Paul lets out a low whistle. “Isn’t Emma the one you told me about when we were in Paris, who spied on the Nazi commander? I thought you said she was married to someone named Jacob.”
I nod, surprised that he remembered the details of what I told him so long ago. “She was. Jacob died.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Me, too.” I look away, clearing my throat. “Anyhow, it’s a long story, but Emma wound up in Prague with Marek. Our government thought I could convince Marek to put us in contact with Marcelitis, then offer Marcelitis information and money in exchange for the cipher.”
“Makes sense, though I think they are crazy to send you to Prague alone, especially with everything that is happening. They had to have known. But you said Andek ‘was’ a close associate of Marcelitis. What happened?”
“He was arrested last night. He set up a rendezvous with Marcelitis for me before it happened. But the man who showed up at our meeting claiming to be Marcelitis wasn’t really him.”
“Who was he?”
I gesture with my head toward the entrance of the cave. “The man we just killed.”
“The bald man? Really?” I nod. “Marta, that was Boris Sergiev, a well-known Soviet assassin.”
“Assassin?” I repeat with disbelief.
“Yes.” Assassin. A chill shoots through me. Remembering the bald man lunging at me on the railway bridge, raised knife glittering in the moonlight, I am suddenly dizzy. Paul continues, “The police must have gotten Marek to give up the details of your meeting. Sergiev came to meet you expecting to kill Marcelitis and get the cipher.”
“Except Emma sent word to Marcelitis first and told him not to come,” I interject.
“Right, and when the bald man realized Marcelitis wasn’t showing, he must have decided to impersonate Marcelitis to get you to turn over the information. The Soviets weren’t messing around when they sent him. You’re lucky you weren’t killed.”
“I know,” I reply. “But I still have to get the information to Marcelitis.”
Paul cocks his head. “How are you going to do that?”
“Emma gave me a location in Berlin where she thinks he might be found.”
“And you’re planning to go find him?” I nod. “Does anyone in the Foreign Office know?”
“I asked Emma to send word through the embassy in Prague. And I called the Foreign Office from the train station before we left.” I cannot bring myself to say Simon’s name to Paul.
“And they were okay with what you were doing?”
“I didn’t give them a chance to say one way or the other.”
Paul brings his hand to his forehead. “Marta, this is insane! Prague was dangerous enough, but at least you had the embassy to back you up.” Some backup, I think, remembering Renata dead in the car, my desperate flight through the backstreets of Prague. Paul continues, “But trying to travel to Berlin alone to find this man…I mean, Berlin is even more of a powder keg than Prague. There it isn’t just some puppet regime—it’s the Soviets themselves controlling their sector. And they’ve made noises about blockading all of Berlin. It could happen anytime now.”