Joseph Kanon - The Prodigal Spy

“Just a boy at heart,” Molly said, behind him. He turned, surprised, her voice bringing him back. “You never see little girls throwing rocks, but boys can do it for hours. Now why is that?”

He smiled. “I don’t know. We used to pretend they were grenades. Here, try it.”

She took a stone from his hand and pitched it, then shrugged. “Nothing. It must be one of those throwback things. You know, from the caves. When you were out there hunting and we were home stitching hides.” She paused. “Anything wrong?”

He shook his head. “My father fell asleep. Pretty exciting, isn’t it, life behind the iron curtain?”

“I don’t know. My father used to spend the weekend watching golf on TV. Compared to that, it’s a hoot.”

He threw another stone. “How’s the garden?”

“She’s starting dinner. It takes hours, apparently, whatever it is. I suppose I should help. Boil nettles or something. God knows what little treat she’s cooking up this time.” She stopped. “Now why am I being like this? She’s nice. It’s just-I don’t know, a little strange. Different, anyway. I feel like I’m meeting the in-laws and I haven’t even been asked out yet.”

He smiled at her. “Will you go out with me?”

“Oh.” She glanced up at him. “Soon,” she said, light again. Then she turned to the water, and in the silence that followed he felt her mood shift, like a faint stirring in the heavy air. “Want to tell me what’s going on? The two of you were thick as thieves.”

“He wants me to do something for him. I don’t think I can.”

“Then don’t,” she said quickly, trying to be casual. “What is it? Smuggle something out? It’s usually that. Letters and things. They call it the tourist post.”

“No. He-”

But she swung around suddenly, holding up her hand. “No, don’t tell me. Really. I don’t want to know. It’s better. Just don’t do it.” The urgency in her voice caught him by surprise. “Don’t do anything.”

He nodded, still surprised, waiting for her to go on, but she turned away.

“God, I wish we could go,” she said.

“Go?” His own idea, thrown back at him, a lifeline. Drive through the fence.

“Before anything happens.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know.”

“Nothing’s going to happen.”

“We could, you know,” she said. “Just leave. Tomorrow. We could do that stupid Danube boat if you want. Anything.” She turned. “We could start over.”

The words made him look at her, an unexpected twirl of the binoculars. He saw her freckles, suddenly clear. Not complicated.

She raised her head and held his eyes for a moment. “Couldn’t we?”

He touched her arm, an almost involuntary movement, and nodded.

“Would you like that?” she said, her eyes still on him.

There was a streak of dirt on her forehead, left over from the garden.

He nodded again. “But not on the Danube.”

“No.” She leaned closer. “Where?” she said, her voice low.

They stood for an instant, not moving, and then it was too late. The rain came all at once; no first drops, just the sudden burst of a punctured water balloon shocking them into place. They looked at each other, startled at being wet, then Molly, catching the water on her face, started to laugh. Nick took her hand and pulled her under a large tree. They stamped their feet, shaking themselves.

“Christ,” Nick said. He picked at his shirt, sticking coldly to his back. Molly shook her hair, then leaned against the tree, her breasts showing through her blouse.

She smiled. “Not here, I guess.”

They were both gulping air, as if they’d been running, and he stared at her for a second, watching the rise and fall of her chest, then moved nearer to the tree.

“Isn’t that what they do in the army?” she said. “Cold showers?”

He leaned down, rubbing his hand along her face, slick with rain.

“It’s what they advise,” he said, his mouth almost touching hers.

But the rain had broken the mood. She pulled back. “Well, what’s got into you?” she said, but pleased, still holding him. “We don’t have to start over before dinner.”

“The ground’s dry.” He bent forward again.

She reached up, putting her hand to his face. “We’re a little old for this. Rolling around in the mud.” She moved aside, shaking her blouse.

“Is that what you used to do?” he said, watching her.

“What? In my hippie days?” she said airily. “No. I like it better in a room.”

“What’s so special about a room?”

“You will, too.”

“Promise?”

She grinned. “I guarantee it.” Then she looked up at him, serious. “There’s plenty of time. Now that you’ve asked me out.”

“Okay, I’ll get us a room,” he said.

She rubbed her hair between her hands. “Mm, with hidden microphones.” Her eyes widened, a glint of mischief. “I hadn’t thought of that. What’s that like? Do they listen? You know.”

“If we make noise.”

She stepped over to the edge of the dry area, facing the rain. “Should we make a run for it? They’ll be worried.”

Beyond the first few feet, the woods had become a blur. A few drops were coming through the leaves overhead now, but the leaky tent held, shutting everything else out.

“Not yet. Stay a little.”

She glanced at him. “A little time out?” she said softly. She walked over to him. “Got a cigarette?”

He took out the pack, half dry, and lit one, then handed it to her. “Isn’t this what we’re supposed to do after?”

She looked away. “Everything’s backward, isn’t it? Maybe we’re ahead of ourselves.” She shook her head, a weak smile. “Now, too. We’re ahead of ourselves.”

“Molly-”

“It’s all right. He’s why you’re here. I–I just came along for the ride.”

“That’s all?” he said.

She looked up at him, her eyes caught. “I thought so.” She took a drag on the cigarette. “Anyway, it’s too late now. Let’s just get through it. Two days. But no tourist post, okay? No letters. They look for that. You don’t want to end up in a Czech jail.”

“It’s not that.”

“Oh. I thought-” She stopped short, waiting now.

He looked at her. They had started together, a bar in London. “He wants to go home.”

“What?” As if she hadn’t heard, had missed a joke. “What are you talking about?”

“He wants me to arrange it-to get him out.”

“Are you crazy?”

“Maybe he is. But that’s what he wants.”

“He can’t be serious. You think they’re going to let him out? It’s not the kind of trip you make twice.”

“He thinks he can.”

She took a breath. “Nick, listen to me. Don’t get involved with this. I mean it. You don’t know-it’s different here.”

“I don’t have to do anything here. Just deliver a message.”

She looked up at him. “To whom?” Then she looked away, as if she had overstepped. “Tell him to deliver his own message. Go to the embassy or something.”

“He can’t. You know that.”

“Why not? Maybe they have forms for defectors. I wouldn’t be surprised.” She stopped. “I’m sorry. It’s just too crazy. Why would he want to?”

“He’s sick, Molly. He wants to go home.”

“To jail?”

“He won’t. Not now.”

“Home free,” she said, with a hint of sarcasm. “What makes him think anybody wants him back?”

He looked away. “Maybe nobody does.”

She said nothing for a minute, watching him. “You do. It’s what you’ve always wanted, isn’t it?” She shook her head. “I don’t believe this.”

“He’s my father. I can’t just leave him here. He doesn’t belong here.”