Joseph Kanon - Stardust

“He’ll need it. You think this is bad.” He nodded to the street. “I wish I thought we were doing him a favor. Here we go.” The crossing booths were now just down the street. “Got your passport?”

“Just once, not to be nervous. I think they’re going to send me back. Every time.”

“Don’t worry about the Mexicans.”

“No, them.” She looked toward the American gates. “My own,” she said, ironic. “And with this head. So much to drink last night.” Putting it behind them, one glass too many, the evening hazy and vague. “How do I look?”

He turned. “You look fine.”

But different, as if he had changed glasses, the exact same features subtly altered, a shift in definition. She seemed unaware of it, her skin just as it always was, her hair falling loosely on her shoulders, the way she had looked yesterday. But something had been said and now he saw it through a different lens, everything the same but different.

The Mexican guard barely glanced at their papers, but the American flipped through her passport. “Buy any smokes? Liquor?”

“No.”

“You been away how long?”

“Just overnight.”

“Purpose of your trip.”

“Tourism,” Ben said, deliberately not looking at Liesl, letting the guard do it. An unmarried couple.

He took Ben’s ID card. “Just a minute,” he said, turning in to the booth.

“What’s wrong?” Liesl said under her breath.

“Nothing.”

The guard was on the phone, then he was back. “Okay, pull up over there.” He pointed to a building on the right.

“What’s the trouble?”

“Just pull up over there,” he said, beginning to walk beside the car, still holding their papers.

Two men in suits hurried out. Ben put the car in gear and headed slowly to the building.

“Oh my god,” Liesl said, her voice panicky.

“It’s probably just a spot check,” Ben said, a willed calm.

“Check for what?”

“Get out of the car,” one of the men said. “Hands on the car,” he said when Ben stepped out. The other began to frisk him.

“What’s going on?” Ben said. “Is there some trouble?”

“That depends.”

“On what?”

“What you have to tell us.”

“You want the cuffs?” the other man said, but the first shook his head.

“Tell you about what?”

The man flipped open a wallet to show an FBI badge.

“Let’s start with espionage.”

They separated them, taking Liesl down the hall, her eyes startled and jumpy, like a deer’s, and leading Ben into what seemed to be a lounge for the border guards, a big coffee urn in the corner. He sat at a table across from yet another agent answering questions, not complaining or hesitating, because he saw that was expected, the air hostile, and hoping the questions would tell him what had happened. All he knew was that the letter he’d given Riordan had set off an alarm in the Bureau, still ringing. After a while the questions began to repeat themselves, as if asking them again would produce different answers. But the agent was no longer bristling, settling in for the long haul. He offered Ben a coffee.

“Is this where you tell me I have the right to call a lawyer?”

“You don’t have any rights.”

“How about a cigarette then? That allowed?”

The agent put an ashtray on the table.

“Now can I ask you a question?”

“No.”

“You seem to forget. I called you. You wouldn’t be here at all if I hadn’t given you the letter. Last time I heard, we were on the same side.”

“So what’s the question?”

“Who are they? The names.”

The agent said nothing.

“Not even a day and you’re here jumping on me. I didn’t know the Bureau could act that fast. So they must mean something to you. They pop up in the files, or did you just know?”

He shook his head. “I can’t- You don’t have clearance.”

“Dennis didn’t-”

“Dennis doesn’t have clearance, either. Not even before. Not now.”

“Just you. Even though I’ve already seen them.”

“So why ask? Who do you think they are?” the agent said, turning it around.

“Communists.”

“Hardly,” the agent said, unexpectedly amused. “Let’s hope not, anyway.”

“Then how is this espionage?”

The agent looked at him over the rim of his coffee cup. “You’re in the Army. Know what an order of battle is?”

“Organization. Commanders in the field.”

“This is a kind of order of battle, okay? It’s important, that’s all I’m going to say. We need to know where it came from.”

“So do I.”

The agent raised his eyebrows.

“I think somebody on it killed my brother. Who, by the way, in case nobody told you, used to work for you.”

“I know that,” he said tersely.

“Which makes it all the worse, is that it? You think he was a spy, your own guy?”

The agent put down the cup, not responding.

“Neither do I. So you want to know two things: where it came from and where it was going. It didn’t end with Danny. What was he going to do with it? Anyway, he’s dead. And it still came. So who was it for? The only person you know it wasn’t for is me or I wouldn’t have given it to you in the first place. You following? Where it comes from I don’t know-that’s for you to figure out. But whoever it was on this end maybe I can help you with.”

The agent stared at him. “Help us how?” he said finally.

“Well, let’s talk about that. But first, can I assume that I’m not under arrest and we can start this over? Or do you want to keep grilling me?”

“For two cents I’d-”

“Except you’re flying blind here. I’ve been listening. You came all this way. Let’s talk.”

“Talk,” the agent said, his voice low, dragged out of him.

“First, Liesl. You’re not going to charge her, either-she knows less than I do-and you’re probably scaring her to death.”

“She was his wife.”

“Was,” Ben said. Is.

“And Mexico?”

“We were giving a friend a lift. Nothing illegal.”

“Dennis says-”

“Dennis isn’t even allowed to know who we’re talking about. And if he’s already told you about Kaltenbach, you know about Mexico, so we’re wasting time.”

“You don’t make friends easy.”

“Well, we started off on the wrong foot-you throwing me against a car and accusing me of things. It put me off. Can we get Liesl now?” he said, then, seeing the agent hesitate, “I’m the only shot you’ve got.”

“How do you figure that?”

“Whoever wants the letter thinks I have it. He tried to kill me for it. I think he’ll try again.”

The agent looked at him for a minute, then pushed back his chair with a scrape and walked over to the door. “I’m Agent Henderson,” he said, turning halfway.

Liesl was brought in a few minutes later, her face still pale, drained.

“You all right?”

She nodded, mute.

“I thought you’d better be here for this. It’s going to concern you.”

“Because of Heinrich?” she said, still puzzled.

“No. Danny. They think he was passing secrets.”

“What?”

“Well, receiving anyway.” He turned to Henderson. “Is that right?”

“Close enough.”

“Secrets?” Liesl said, confused, almost sputtering. “Like a spy? Daniel? No, it’s a mistake. What secrets?”

“Classified information was sent to him. By name. His address. We don’t know for how long. Once would be enough.”

“To the house?”

“The Cherokee,” Ben said. “His other name. The place was used as a mail drop.”

“I don’t believe it. How would he know-secrets.”