Daniel Silva: The Unlikely Spy

"Hmm. Sounds serious, Margaret."

"That depends." She held him in her playful gaze, then feigned a look of irritation. "But get up and get dressed. Or aren't you capable of dressing and listening at the same time."

"I'm a highly trained, highly regarded engineer." Peter forced himself out of bed, groaning at the effort. "I can probably manage it."

"It's about the phone call yesterday afternoon."

"The one you were so evasive about?"

"Yes, that one. It was from Dr. Shipman."

Peter stopped dressing.

"I'm pregnant again. We're going to have another baby." Margaret looked down and toyed with the knot of her blouse. "I didn't plan for this to happen. It just did. My body has finally recovered from having Billy and-well, nature took its course." She looked up at him. "I've suspected it for some time but I was afraid to tell you."

"Why on earth would you be afraid to tell me?"

But Peter knew the answer to his own question. He had told Margaret he didn't want more children until he had realized his life's dream: starting his own engineering firm. At just thirty-three he had earned a reputation as one of the top engineers in the country. After graduating first in his class from the prestigious Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute, he went to work for the Northeast Bridge Company, the largest bridge construction firm on the East Coast. Five years later he was named chief engineer, made partner, and given a staff of one hundred. The American Society of Civil Engineers named him its engineer of the year for 1938 for his innovative work on a bridge spanning the Hudson River in upstate New York. Scientific American published a profile on Peter describing his as "the most promising engineering mind of his generation." But he wanted more-he wanted his own firm. Bratton Lauterbach had promised to bankroll Peter's company when the time was right, possibly next year. But the threat of war had put a damper on all that. If the United States was dragged into a war, all money for major public works projects would dry up overnight. Peter's new firm would go under before it had a chance to get off the ground.

He said, "How far along are you?"

"Almost two months."

Peter's face broke into a smile.

Margaret said, "You're not angry with me?"

"Of course not!"

"What about your firm and everything you said about waiting to have more children?"

He kissed her. "It doesn't matter. None of it matters."

"Ambition is a wonderful thing, but not too much ambition. You have to relax and enjoy yourself sometimes, Peter. Life isn't a dress rehearsal."

Peter stood and finished dressing. "When are you planning on telling your mother?"

"In my own good time. You remember how she was when I was pregnant with Billy. She drove me crazy. I have plenty of time to tell her."

Peter sat down beside her on the bed. "Let's make love before breakfast."

"Peter, we can't. Mother will kill us if we don't get downstairs."

He kissed her neck. "What was that you were saying about life not being a dress rehearsal?"

She closed her eyes, her head rolled back. "That's not fair. You're twisting my words."

"No, I'm not. I'm kissing you."

"Yes-"

"Margaret!" Dorothy Lauterbach's voice echoed up the stairs.

"We're coming, Mother."

"I wish," Peter muttered, and followed her downstairs to breakfast.

Walker Hardegen joined them for lunch by the swimming pool. They sat beneath an umbrella: Bratton and Dorothy, Margaret and Peter, Jane and Hardegen. A damp, fickle breeze blew from the Sound. Hardegen was Bratton Lauterbach's top lieutenant at the bank. He was tall and thick through the chest and shoulders, and most women thought he looked like Tyrone Power. He was a Harvard man, and during his senior year he had scored a touchdown in the Yale game. His football days had left him with a ruined knee and a slight limp that somehow made him even more attractive. He had a lazy New England accent and smiled easily.

A short time after Hardegen came to the bank he asked Margaret out and they dated several times. Hardegen wanted the relationship to continue but Margaret did not. She quietly terminated it but still saw Walker regularly at parties and they remained friends. Six months later she met Peter and fell in love. Hardegen was beside himself. One evening at the Copacabana, a little drunk and very jealous, he cornered Margaret and begged her to see him again. When she refused he grabbed her too roughly by the shoulder and shook her. By the icy look on her face, Margaret made it clear she would destroy his career if he did not end his childish behavior.

The incident remained their secret. Even Peter didn't know. Hardegen rose quickly through the ranks and became Bratton's most trusted senior officer. Margaret sensed there was an unspoken tension between Hardegen and Peter, a natural competitiveness. Both were young, handsome, intelligent, and successful. The situation had worsened earlier that summer, when Peter discovered Hardegen was opposed to lending the money for his engineering firm.

"I'm not one who usually goes in for Wagner, especially in the current climate," Hardegen said, pausing to sip his chilled white wine while everyone chuckled at his remark. "But you really must see Herbert Janssen in Tannhaser at the Metropolitan. It's marvelous."

"I've heard such good things about it," Dorothy said.

She loved to discuss the opera, theater, and new books and films. Hardegen, who managed to see and read everything despite an immense workload at the bank, indulged her. The arts were safe topics, unlike family matters and gossip, which Dorothy deplored.

"We did see Ethel Merman in the new Cole Porter musical," Dorothy said, as the first course, a cold shrimp salad, was served. "The title slips my mind."

"Dubarry Was a Lady," Hardegen put in. "I loved it."

Hardegen continued talking. He had gone to Forest Hills yesterday afternoon and watched Bobby Riggs win his match. He thought Riggs was a sure thing to win the Open this year. Margaret watched her mother, who was watching Hardegen. Dorothy adored Hardegen, practically treating him like a member of the family. She had made it clear that she preferred Hardegen to Peter. Hardegen was from a wealthy, conservative family in Maine, not as rich as the Lauterbachs but close enough for comfort. Peter came from a lower-middle-class Irish family and grew up on the West Side of Manhattan. He might be a brilliant engineer, but he would never be one of us. The dispute threatened to destroy Margaret's relationship with her mother. It was ended by Bratton, who would tolerate no objections to his daughter's choice of a husband. Margaret had married Peter in a storybook wedding at St. James's Episcopal Church in June 1935. Hardegen was among the six hundred invited guests. He danced with Margaret during the reception and behaved like a perfect gentleman. He even stayed to see the couple off on their two-month honeymoon in Europe. It was as if the incident at the Copa never happened.

The servants brought the main course-chilled poached salmon-and the conversation inevitably shifted to the looming war in Europe.

Bratton said, "Is there any way of stopping Hitler now, or is Poland about to become the easternmost province of the Third Reich?"

Hardegen, a lawyer as well as a shrewd investor, had been placed in charge of disentangling the bank from its German and other risky European investments. Inside the bank he was affectionately referred to as Our In-House Nazi because of his name, his perfect German, and his frequent trips to Berlin. He also maintained a network of excellent contacts in Washington and served as the bank's chief intelligence officer.

"I spoke to a friend of mine this morning-he's on Henry Stimson's staff at the War Department," Hardegen said. "When Roosevelt returned to Washington from his cruise on the Tuscaloosa, Stimson met him at Union Station and rode with him to the White House. When Roosevelt asked him about the situation in Europe, Stimson replied that the days of peace could now be counted on the fingers of both hands."