Joseph Kanon - The Prodigal Spy

“When?” Nick said, aware again of the film in his pocket. How much time did he have?

The tram lurched to a sudden stop, throwing their heads together with a sharp bump. She raised her fingers to his forehead, touching it gently, as if she were soothing away a bruise. She left them there, a surprise of skin. “Nick-” she said. Then the tram started again and he saw an old woman coming toward them with string bags, glowering. She plopped down in front of them, as disapproving and unmovable as a duenna.

He lowered his head to Molly’s neck. “When?” he said again, in her ear.

Molly was shaking her head, her face grazing his. “I said I could handle it.”

“Handle what?”

She looked at him, her fingers now at the side of his head. “You,” she said, in a murmur, intimate. “Isn’t that what you want?”

He could smell her now, everything close, as if the film and her body were part of the same thing, the same unexpected excitement.

“I don’t want you to do anything. It’s not safe.”

“I will, though. I’ll do it.” Her eyes on him. “Like a double agent,” she said softly, the phrase itself suddenly erotic. “Ask me.”

“No.”

“Ask me,” she said in his ear, her hair brushing his skin. So close he could not tell which of them moved, but her mouth was on his, the same touch, and then her hand was at the back of his neck, keeping him close, as if afraid he’d pull away. “I’ll do it. I don’t care,” she said, her breath on his mouth. “You believe me, don’t you?” She lifted her mouth to him again, a yielding. When he broke off and nodded, his head next to hers, he could feel her shake, a tremor of release, and she began kissing his face, moving over him. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m sorry. I never meant-”

“Ssh.” He kissed her again, almost involuntarily, caught by the smell of her, remembering her opening to him. She gave a faint moan, and the old woman turned, glaring, but her eyes were like the hotel microphones, making everything illicit, more exciting. Improbably, he felt himself growing hard, his prick rising to bump against the film.

“It’s all right now, isn’t it?” Molly was saying in a rush. “I don’t want to lose you. I keep losing people.”

“Ssh.”

“I’ve been so worried.”

“No, don’t.”

With a burst of Czech, the old woman made a show of gathering her bags and moving across the aisle. Molly, ignoring her, held him closer, her face next to his, necking.

“I’ll help you,” she said, kissing him again.

“You don’t know what you’re asking,” he whispered, out of breath. He felt her moving against him, the rocking of the tram, in a kind of haze.

“Yes, I do,” she said, nuzzling his ear. “I’ve got you back. I don’t care about the rest.”

He raised his head a little, catching sight of their tail in front, staring frankly at the unexpected blue movie. “We have to talk,” he said, trying to bring himself back.

But Molly wouldn’t listen, her hands on his face. “Not now.” She put a finger to his lips. “Don’t say anything.”

“But-”

“Just keep doing that.” She smiled, leaning her neck into his hand. “Keep doing that.” Putting herself literally in his hands.

He looked down at her, so sure of him, and in that second he knew that what he did next would decide everything. Life could change without even thinking, a hair-trigger response, everything changed by a second, a phone call in Union Station, an accidental bump on the head. Make room.

“Let’s go back,” he whispered, his face on hers, giving in, letting the rest go.

She nodded absently, letting him kiss her, and then she looked up at him, a glint. “We’ll make out.” A backseat phrase. His skin jumped, like drops of water on a skillet, ready for her. The windows of the tram were shiny with condensation, catching the light of the bare bulbs that lined the warm car. Outside, the city slid by, drizzly, unseen.

“Do you have any idea where this goes?” he said, his face still close.

“It’ll turn around,” she said. “They always go back where they started.”

When they got back to the hotel, he only left her for a moment, taking the urn into the bathroom, shoving the film down into the ashes, then closing the door behind him, so that nothing else was with them in the room.

He watched the ceiling turn milky gray and realized it wasn’t going to get any lighter. Another Prague morning. It was time. He’d been up half the night, dozing fitfully, then wide awake, listening to her breathe beside him, making plans. It had become a simple question of mathematics: how long? If Jeff’s message had spread through the embassy, it was just a matter of time before the talk in the corridors leaked out into Prague itself. He wouldn’t have to wait for Silver to act again. But how much time? Did they have people inside? And once the Czech security police knew, they would have to act. Real interrogations, the embassy powerless to help him. If they found the film, he would be guilty of espionage, kept, like his father, a prisoner here forever. All that protected him now was a little time and a discredited policeman. Unless, of course, Zimmerman wasn’t discredited, the bad cop after all, one of them, quietly tightening a noose. Nick moved his body carefully toward the edge of the bed. If he waited, he would lose, his time finally run out. Except now there were two of them. He looked over at Molly, sleeping, hair tangled, her face smooth and unaware. In his hands.

He shaved and showered, knowing the sound of water would wake her. In the mirror his face seemed drawn and apprehensive and he took a breath, pushing his cheeks back to wipe away any trace of fear. It had to work.

She was lying on her elbow, the sheet drawn up modestly over her breasts, smiling drowsily.

“Where do you get the energy?” she said, her voice lazy, unconcerned. “I don’t think I can move.”

“I told Zimmerman I’d see him in the morning. To sign the statement,” he said, dressing, not looking at her.

“Hmm. Wake me when you’re back.”

“It might take awhile.” He looked at the canvas bag. No, no things. Not even the Order of Lenin, still lying on the desk.

“Then I’ll order room service. Have breakfast in bed like a capitalist. Maybe I’ll spend the day in bed. What do you think?”

“No, you’d better get dressed.”

“Where are we going?” she said, sitting up, pulling the sheet around her.

Nick walked over to the bed and sat next to her, lowering his voice. “Do you really want to help me?”

She nodded, no longer playing.

“Then listen. I want you to go see Foster, as soon as you’re dressed.”

She looked away, disappointed. “You don’t waste any time.”

“Listen to me, Molly, please. Tell him to get you out of Prague in one of the embassy cars. They can make a lettuce run. Tell him you’re scared. Whatever you think would work. But get him to do it right away, this morning. He owes you that much.”

“But-”

“Stay at the embassy until you leave. You’ll be safe there. Technically, you’re on American soil. They probably won’t even know you’re there-they’re not following you.”

“What about you?”

“Just you. I’ll come later.”

“He won’t want me to go.”

“Tell him to talk to me himself. You’ve had it.”

“I’ll wait for you.”

“No, this morning. As soon as you can.” He reached up, putting his hand against her head. “Don’t worry, I’ll come. I think I can make this work with Zimmerman. They won’t have any reason to hold me. Maybe even today. Tomorrow at the latest. Wait for me in Waldsassen, at the hotel. I’ll find you.”