Chapter 8 ~ Yankee Arms Merchant
A Tale of Two Times: Volume 5 ~ The Wild Way
~ 1 ~ Capricia was reveling in the thrill of the new chapter opening now in her atomic bomb sales adventure. She had discovered that Dominick Mazzatelli was familiar with the atomic bomb situation, and that he had well-established relationships with other possible buyers. He had told her that he was dealing with Cherokee to sell the bombs, and that Marge Hemming, with whom Capricia was dealing, was Cherokee’s partner.
She ushered Jerrod into her apartment and swung the door shut. Dropping her purse, she sailed into her bedroom, not bothering to close its door while she undressed. After wrapping herself in a wispy kimono, she poured drinks for the two of them.
Outside, Alberto, after following them to the apartment building, was waiting in his parked car, hoping to see a lead emerge.
Capricia handed a drink to Jerrod and settled next to him. “Jerrod, I know that you have been wanting me for a long time. There are new developments now, and I am in a generous mood.” She drank deeply.
Capricia was, as the highest-ranking Soviet agent in America, Jerrod’s superior. He had never expected that she would use sex, which was one of many instruments in her toolbox, on him. Her unexpected offer put him into a surreal situation, in which he was letting his eyes roam hungrily over her carelessly draped magnificence as he brought the glass to his lips.
One of several telephones in the room began to ring.
“It is my secure line!” Capricia snatched up the receiver. "Argo's laundry; how may I help you? …Say that again, Alex, slowly. …So, the two spoiler bombs now have market value. What? …They have been stolen?”
Jerrod set down his glass.
Capricia spoke a few more words with the ambassador, then replaced the telephone’s receiver with a disciplined slowness; Jerrod felt intensely, her desire to slam it down violently.
"That bitch Shtcherbatov is back in power! Alex claims she has returned to the Soviets the five bombs which I had thought were under Marge Hemming’s control, and which Dominick had thought were in Cherokee’s possession. Jerrod, we have deceived Dominick Mazzatelli about the bombs by telling him the truth as we knew it. Will he believe this new truth? We will need his affiliates in Mexico."
“Spoiler bombs? What were you talking about?”
“Anna had arranged for two atomic bombs to disappear from the official inventory. They were hidden in Central America. Cherenkov planned to use them to discredit Praskovya’s extortion scheme by detonating them, probably in the Middle East or in Europe. Getting support for this move was my official reason for having become involved with arms dealer Marge Hemming. But things have happened.”
Capricia retrieved Dominick's card from her purse and dialed his number. "Dominick, is your line secure? ...Yes, I discovered a new twist a few minutes ago. ...I know where your place is. I will be there—alone.”
Capricia dropped her kimono, returned to her bedroom and dressed quickly, strapping on her shoulder holster and zipping a light jacket over it. “I am sorry Jerrod. Go back to your motel room; Dominick knows where you are staying.” She pulled a folder from her file cabinet and gave it to him. “Here is the Shtcherbatov file for you to study. I expect Dominick to send one of his lieutenants to check on you, and I want you to let him look at the file, and to tell him about Alex's call. Dominick may need to meet the ambassador in order to persuade him to join us. Jerrod, there are things about which you do not know.”
"To whom do you report, Capricia?"
“Anna. Because Shtcherbatov is back in power, the bitch has pardoned Anna simply to demonstrate how secure she is. Anna needs to pretend that she knows nothing about us, so I have no doubt that she will look the other way long enough for us to enlist Dominick. We must locate our two missing bombs, which most likely are hidden by Cherokee at Quinceañera Beach. With Cherenkov’s special force and Dominick's organization, perhaps we can take them by force while Cherokee’s attention is focused on selling the five fake bombs."
"I understand, Capricia, that we may have a window of opportunity, but what about Knox?"
“I am counting on Martin Knox’s priority being to sell cloaking technology. Also, he has two internal problems: The personal agenda of his conceited daughter, Rhoda Knox, and the friendly relationship between his agent Leo Roberson and Cherokee. So Knox will be looking elsewhere, not even thinking of attempting to obtain the two bombs—about which he may not even know.”
"How big do you think is our window of opportunity, Capricia?"
"A month or two. We must work fast, Jerrod, if we are to become rich, and retire in style.”
Capricia left the apartment and was followed by Alberto to Dominick’s.
Jerrod returned to his motel with the Shtcherbatov file. Dominick’s lieutenant arrived there soon afterward, and he left satisfied, his understanding of Russian having served him well enough for him to read the Shtcherbatov file.
Jerrod had been enjoying playing the role of hidden agent; it added spice to his comfortable life. But now the game had become far too dangerous: He was a dead man if he did not play ball—and maybe even if he did. Had Capricia known that Alex would call? Or was it just her damned instinct for timing. It must be true, about the situation with Praskovya; otherwise Capricia would not be playing with Dominick. Oh, how have my stars become aligned with this constellation of deadly ladies? Jerrod poured himself a drink, thinking of them: Capricia, Anna, Marge, Rhoda and …who? "A toast to deadly ladies!" His voice echoed sardonically in his barren motel room. As he was bringing the glass to his lips, Jerrod froze. “Oh, my God! Winthy! She is H.T.'s sister! That explains why Het looks like him." He set down his drink.
He had barely known H.T. socially. Jerrod had been joint editor of a professional journal with H.T.’s father, Professor Atkinson, being West Coast editor in California while Atkinson was East Coast editor in New York. In one of their telephone conversations, Atkinson had complained about his son, Huneric (nicknamed H.T.). “H.T., my own son, says that he cannot talk even with me about his work." Jerrod had passed on that information to Capricia, who had later informed him that Dr. Huneric T. Atkinson might know something of value to them. So, she had said, if the opportunity arose, Jerrod should feel him out as a possible investment. But when Jerrod had at last met H.T., he had found that H.T. wanted to talk only about incomprehensible theories of physics. However, he had told Jerrod that the “T” in “H.T.” is for “Thoreau, Henry David.”
Professor Atkinson had informed Jerrod that H.T. was a bachelor playboy still living at home with him. “I have told him that if any scandal involving him and a woman comes to my ears, he must either move out of my house or marry her.” Jerrod was surprised by the professor’s prudish attitude, but he understood that the man’s social group highly valued the maintenance of proper appearances. Moscow was like that, too, albeit in a different way.
At Alice’s house in Santa Barbara, Jerrod had not believed Winthy’s story about Oscar, even though he knew that Oscar Nerzhin was known to have belonged, years earlier, to the same social circle as did Professor Atkinson. Noting in Het some physical resemblance to H.T., he had found it easier to believe that Winthy had blackmailed H.T. over his offspring by her, than to believe that Oscar Nerzhin had won a valuable piece of jewelry from H.T. and had given it to her. Jerrod had asked Alice if she believed that Het was Oscar Nerzhin's son, and she had replied, "Why not, Dad? It makes a good story.” Taking that as a “No," he had thought no more about it. One of Praskovya’s agents must be paying Winthy to watch Capricia and me! Then, what about Het? What about Alice? Does Capricia know what she is doing? Merde!
Leo, reading the Eyrie project’s weekly security report, learned that agent Cobbler had discovered the identity of the man in the parking lot who had looked like a gangster. He was Dominick Mazzatelli, an East Coast operator who owned a fortress-like winter residence in Westwood. No serious charges had ever been filed against him. Cobbler had reported, “They say he has solid but invisible connections in Washington, and no investigation of his activities ever gets very far.” Recalling his meeting with Dominick in his own apartment building’s lobby, Leo knew that Cobbler had done his work well.
Although Leo had promised to do it, he had yet to send Dominick Mazzatelli the gold which Cherokee had said that he had promised him. Does Mazzatelli have an interest in the bombs, too? Leo had recently delivered to Cherokee the five ersatz atomic bombs believed by Cherokee to be the ones that he had hidden in the stone cabin’s cistern.
Leo studied the photograph of the woman who had been speaking with Mazzatelli. Her license plate number had yielded the name, “Olivia Lancaster”. He left a message on Rhoda’s answering machine: “Let me know if you recognize the woman in the photograph that I’m sending you. She was a visitor to my construction site.”
After receiving the photograph, Rhoda called Leo immediately. “Leo, the subject of that photograph is a woman I saw at the bar in Mickie’s, on the night of the interview with Conrad Shelton. I know her as Olivia Lancaster, whom I met in my Laura Payne Persona at Quinceañera Beach. I’m certain that she’s a Russian agent, and her presence there confirmed my suspicion that atomic bombs were for sale at the beach. I think she is agent Capricia, with whom General Robert Smith is in contact through Conrad Shelton.”
“Okay. I’ll send the photograph to the General. My partner Cherokee has recently given me a tour of Quinceañera Beach. I hadn’t known that you were there before me.”
“I get around, Leo.”
General Robert Smith confirmed the identity of the woman in the photograph. She was agent Capricia, who was probably—despite her relative youth—the highest-ranking Soviet agent in the United States. Leo wondered if Alberto had been tracking Capricia when security agent Cobbler had seen him following her car out of the parking lot at the Eyrie site. For Alberto’s sake, Leo hoped that Albert had not tracked down Mazzatelli. For that matter, would spying on arch Soviet spy Capricia be any safer for him?
~ 2 ~ On a day at Home Ranch when Isabel was in the process of settling into life there, twenty miles away at the Aero-T stop, Esther was asking Harry, “Did you get that bottle of wine we talked about?"
Harry, seeing her grey Porsche pulling up to his Aero-T store, had already pulled the bottle from beneath his counter. “I saved it for you, Helen.” He held it up for a moment for her to glimpse the roll of paper which was its content.
Another customer had been in the store, poking around among the merchandise near the counter, when ‘Helen’ had entered. He had quietly retreated to the back of the store with his six-pack.
Harry slipped the bottle into a paper bag, and Esther opened her purse, retrieving a money clip holding twenty one-hundred-dollar bills. The bills disappeared into a corner under the counter while Esther was closing her purse and picking up the bag containing the message in a bottle. She would find that the message was a list of names: Those who had received first-class mail at Home Ranch and those who had sent first-class mail to Home Ranch. Isabel and Scott were on the list.
"Thank you, Harry. Write to me if you get a new shipment."
Harry saw the man in the rear of the store watching “Helen” drive away. He reached under the counter and tapped his telephone’s receiver three times. The man ambled to the front of the store and set the six-pack on the counter.
"And two packs of Pall Malls.”
“That's it?"
"That's it. …Classy bitch. From Home Ranch?"
“I don’t think so. Good customer, though. Buys my ‘best wine’."
"Your ‘best wine’?"
"Behind the counter here. Wanna see a bottle?"
"Sure."
Harry opened up his wine locker, removed a bottle and carefully placed it on the counter.
"Old Sage Vineyards? Nice label. What year? Where's it from?"
"Home Ranch."
"You know about Home Ranch? Do you know how to get in to talk to them?"
"I know a little. They’re a pretty tight bunch. I don't think even the Governor ‘d get in there without an invitation."
Paying for his beer and cigarettes, the man asked with attempted casualness, “What’s the little you know?"
"What I know is in the wine bottle." Harry counted out his customer’s change.
"Was that woman a reporter of some sort?"
"She might be. Are you?"
"I guess so. I think of myself as an editor, but I also gather information.” Sensing that he had just now crossed paths with a real espionage agent, Conrad Shelton felt a new awareness. Am I a special agent?
“Do you, now? The woman says she writes scandal stories, but maybe really she's a technical type and you write about scandal. I can never tell with you 'reporters’."
Conrad Shelton had no experience in acquiring information in this manner, but here he was in Texas, playing along with Jerrod and Capricia. "How much is your wine?" he asked.
Harry grinned. "You’re really a technical reporter, right?"
"That's true, uh…Harry.” Conrad had spotted the name on the stack of business cards.
Harry nodded and smiled, holding out his hand. ”Harry it is, sir.”
"I'm Conrad—Conrad Shelton." Conrad knew at once that he should have used an alias.
"Conrad Shelton!" Harry dropped Conrad's hand and stooped to rummage beneath the counter. He came up with a Xeroxed copy of Conrad's Aviation Week article, “The Aircraft That Cannot Exist.” He asked, "You wrote this?”
Conrad showed Harry his credentials. Harry whistled. "It's a small world, Conrad. Helen—that other reporter—mailed this copy to me a while back." Then Harry, too, seemed to feel that he had given away too much. "For technical information, the wine is two hundred a bottle. Helen set the rate."
"You said she was a scandal reporter, Harry."
“Yeah, and scandal bottles are a lot more expensive; they’ve got to be specially blended. But I can share two technical bottles’ worth with you today.”
“Four-hundred is a lot of money."
"Don't I know it! But it ain’t right to undercut my best customer.”
Conrad paid.
“Come over to the door, Conrad. It’s about time.” Harry gave him the binoculars. They waited for several minutes.
Then Conrad heard the sound of aircraft engines. “That’s the sound of a B-52. I didn’t know the Aeronauticas field was that large.”
“Just look straight down the road. Follow the B-52 with the binocs.”
Conrad’s experience was exactly as Esther’s had been on her first visit to Aero-T: The giant bomber was flying over the road and then it simply disappeared. After several seconds, it reappeared farther along on the same trajectory, the break in its sound lagging the break in visual contact. Conrad recalled watching the Greased Lightning, too, vanish before his eyes—in Rhoda’s Ontario hangar. "For your eyes only,” she had said.
“One more, Conrad, and that’ll make an entire wing of disappearing B-52’s I’ve seen fly outta there. Enough planes, I reckon, to fry the Soviets in a day. I figure you came at just the right time, ‘cause I think tomorrow the show’ll be over.”
“You were right behind this woman in line to buy information, and you didn’t get her identity?” There was a threat to his life in Capricia’s voice.
Capricia looked at Jerrod, lounging in a corner of the room. Calmly, he said, “Who would have known that she was buying information, until this guy Harry gave it to her?”
“You’re right, Jerrod, but I know that she is working for Praskovya. Who else could it be? The Americans don’t need to spy on themselves. That bitch!”
Conrad managed a convincing smile at Jerrod. “Well, its windows were dusty, but I’m pretty sure I saw the woman driving a Porsche with California plates.” Why ever did I agree to that interview with Knox Aviation?
“But she didn’t see a B-52 disappear?”
“I think she saw one on an earlier occasion. She came in just after I did, so I lingered at the other end of the store while she was buying her bottle of information. After she left, Harry told me she had seen a B-52 on another day, and that flights like that have been going on for weeks. He said the information in the bottle she bought was ‘scandal’ information, not ‘technical’. And he also claimed that a whole wing of B-52s had been equipped with cloaking. But the cloaking I saw lasted for only a few seconds, which is what I’ve heard is all that the Greased Lightning has achieved.”
“So you think they cannot remain cloaked for the hours required for a sneak attack on the Soviet Union?”
“That’s what I suspect, Jerrod. We have no evidence of sustained cloaking, and the process of cloaking must consume a lot of energy. We don’t know with certainty. Brief cloaking might serve well enough for evading missiles that have locked onto an aircraft, if the cloaking breaks the lock and the aircraft swerves to avoid the missile.”
Looking at Jerrod, Capricia said, “Then, Praskovya may be negotiating with Knox to buy the cloaking technology.” She turned her eyes to Conrad and stared.
~ 3 ~ “General Smith, I’m already in this business up to my neck, so I want to volunteer to do something rash.”
“Well, Conrad, I was about to suggest that, as you have done quite well for us, you might consider your ‘tour of duty’ complete.” General Robert Smith, savoring his morning coffee, was looking at Conrad thoughtfully. “I can imagine only that you are considering infiltrating more deeply that operation in which Capricia and Jerrod are involved.”
“You’ve read my mind, General.”
"Conrad, you are not a man of action.”
Conrad Shelton pondered that observation for a moment. “I think,” he explained, “that I’m simply afraid that if I don’t keep on playing along with them, they will liquidate me.”
“As long as you are the one who is their intermediary with me, Conrad, I expect that you will remain safe. However, they are playing a very risky game, for high stakes. Their faction in the Soviet government is strong, and they are likely to set aside their communist ideals for mercenary gain. Have you considered the ramifications of that, Conrad?”
“No, but I have come to believe that Capricia and Jerrod are in it for the money.”
“In part, they are, Conrad, and large sums of fast money are hard to hold onto without political power. So, consider what their faction might do to secure their political base in the Soviet Union.”
“Well, …might Capricia’s faction detonate a bomb somewhere in order to discredit the current Soviet regime?”
“Yes. I think they may target a city in the Middle East, like Tel Aviv or Mecca, so as not to provoke the United States into taking overt action.”
Conrad shook his head, frowning. “Capricia has offered me a handsome cut to join their operation in Mexico, but I think you’re telling me that if their faction comes into power, I’ll be superfluous to them.”
“Exactly. And you will also be superfluous to them if their move fails. Conrad, I can offer you a position which is far safer than the one in the embrace of your dear comrade-in-arms.”
"What would that place be, General?"
"A quiet, secure place, Conrad—in the eye of the hurricane.”
Conrad was greatly enjoying his hands-on experience with the controls of the Aeronauticas Desert Dart—a rare and truly vintage aircraft with which he was becoming familiar. In his article about the Dart for Jane’s All the World’s Aircraft, Conrad had written that it was "Last known to have flown in the late 1930s, although rumors persist that it is still in service privately by Aeronauticas. Certainly, an advanced jet version is in use, but a few photographs taken in 1936 at the Trenton Airport are the only known evidence that the original Desert Dart, powered by what would have been the original turbo prop engines, has ever existed.”
Conrad had studied the original photographs in detail when he had been revising the article. The photographs had come into his hands as part of the effects of a deceased aircraft buff who had worked briefly for Aeronauticas at the Trenton airport in 1936 and had been there when Walter Knox flew the Dart in to pick up Reyna, Ricardo Miguel and Ricardo Miguel ’s uncle. The photographs and notes from his brief employment with Aeronauticas were among a lifetime of notes and photographs which Conrad had received from the aircraft buff’s estate. The man had been an informal "reliable source” (code-named “Zack”) of information for Aviation Week, and he had regularly corresponded with Conrad.
Reviewing Zack’s file in detail, Conrad had recently put together a picture of the Dart’s controls. He was now handling the actual controls.
“This is the original Dart,” Wilson told him. “The engines have been rebuilt and the electronics have been updated, but it’s substantially the same aircraft that Walter Knox was flying on the day on which those photographs were taken.“
Now, with Wilson serving as his co-pilot, Conrad was flying the Dart to the Aeronauticas field in Texas. General Robert Smith had arranged with Martin to provide him with an apartment there, and to give him access to Aeronauticas’s internal airline service, in order for Conrad to carry on with his usual work for Aviation Week, keeping up with developments in the international aircraft industry—while the Clan watched his back.
Conrad found Leo at the airfield when he arrived, and the two men’s long conversation ended with Leo concluding, “We can continue to watch your back while you’re giving us a hand. I’m sure I can clear it with Martin.”
Capricia was still unable to contact Conrad after a week, so she suspected that he had given them the slip. She searched his apartment, finding its rooms tidy and his luggage missing. That was consistent with the information given to her by his office—that he was on extended leave to research several new stories. They could not say what those stories were.
Conrad had left a note in a place where he knew that she would find it: “Capricia, what I told Jerrod is a lie. The Americans are dragging their feet. I’ll look for you in Mexico in a month or two. I have to ply my trade until then. Who can you trust? Conrad.” Conrad believed this message to be sufficiently enigmatic to prevent her from suspecting that he was no longer on her leash.
Despite reports that Praskovya had regained her position of power in the Soviet Union upon returning the five atomic bombs, Marge Hemming had told Capricia that the sale was still on. Indeed, who can you trust?
Capricia burned Conrad’s note, wondering if her hook was still in him. Then she went through the tightly packed file cabinets filling an entire room of his apartment, scanning their contents. She found, among the “A” files in one cabinet, a single empty space; an inch-thick file appeared to be missing.
Capricia had been told by Jerrod that Conrad had called him from a payphone—at the Los Angeles Airport, judging from the background noises—telling him that he was on his way to Greece, to a “hideaway", to think things over. Conrad, in his note, has said that story is a lie. …The missing “A” file must be Aeronauticas! Does Conrad have an in with the Knox party? He may not be as naive as I had thought. Who can trust the Americans? It may be that Conrad’s deal with Knox is like my deal with Hemming—a possible fall-back and a source of revenue.
“Has he been sighted in Athens, Ambassador?"
“No. I did not request personal confirmation. I have been informed, however, that Conrad Shelton is on the passenger list and that his baggage was collected in Athens. That much is easy to learn through our usual channels. I did not think that more than that was needed to corroborate his recent call to Jerrod from Greece."
“Tell us again what he told you, Jerrod.”
“Conrad said that he is doing his regular work in Europe, where he has time to think over our offer."
"Is he a liability, Capricia?”
"Not yet, Alex. Since I know which places Conrad frequents in the Mediterranean, I am sure that I can locate him quickly. He is never on vacation, as aviation news is his passion. …Ambassador, can you find out if NATO is holding exercises in the Mediterranean?”
Capricia and Jerrod were left in the ambassador's office while Alex went to make some inquiries.
“Jerrod, how long have you known Conrad?”
“I have known him for at least a decade. He was of great use to me in my research, Capricia, estimating industry costs for my input-output model.”
“What did he get out of that?”
“My full results. Thinking about the industry from the economic side was new to him.”
Alex returned and informed them, “I have been told that NATO, in its current Mediterranean exercises, is testing new aircraft with vertical take-off capacity.”
“So, Conrad is back at work,” said Jerrod. “When he told me that he needed time to think things over, I had thought that he meant he does not want to work with us any longer. Now it seems more likely that he wanted to get back to work that he likes.”
Alex remarked, “The Americans do not seem inclined to act on our suggestion that they work with us in retrieving the bombs. But they have not rejected it either. We should regain control of Mr. Shelton, in any case.”
“Then please, Alex,” said Capricia, “arrange air transportation for me to London. Aviation Week has an office in London to which Conrad will go for writing up his report and clearing it with NATO. I will sound him out there. I will need a female shadow—someone whom Anna trusts.”
“I can arrange that, Capricia.” The Ambassador glanced at Jerrod. Capricia took her leave.
“So, she may agree with you about Conrad, Ambassador, but she does not want to do the job herself. Generally, she liquidates risks with her own hand, to be certain of their death.”
“Perhaps, Jerrod, Conrad has ‘friends’ of some value to Capricia, whom she fears might suspect her of being responsible for any accident that Conrad might suffer.”
“Well, I will return to my work, Alex, and await events.”
“Will you be in Santa Barbara?”
“Yes. I plan to be there for a week or so.”
“And how is your lovely daughter, Alice, in these days?”
“Lovely as ever, but I suspect that Alice is not my daughter. Giselle’s word is to be trusted no more than Capricia’s. Why do you ask?”
“I asked because I wish to let you know that I have tried to learn about Giselle, as you requested. All of the files leading to her have been closed.”
“By whom?”
“Praskovya.”
“That is news in itself. What, then, have you learned, Alex?”
“Some time ago, an informant of mine became as much interested in Alice as he was in you. He reported hearing a woman whom he believed to be Giselle, saying to Alice as the two women were leaving a beachfront restaurant, ‘Yes, my mistress, I will see to it.’ That is a strikingly unusual way for a woman to address her daughter, Jerrod. Can you decipher the meaning of those words?”
Jerrod had been standing. Abruptly, he sat. “Now I know with certainty that Alice is not my daughter. …It is possible, Alex, that she is the owner of Arch Company! I have recently learned that Giselle is a high-ranking officer in that company’s management, and I had hoped that you would learn more about her position. That was my motive for asking you to find out about her. If Giselle calls Alice ‘My mistress’, then Giselle cannot be her mother, despite having told me that she is.”
“Why do you think that Alice may be the owner of Arch Company?"
"Dr. Kerrigan suggested it to me. Alice has informed me that she has dropped Het Kerrigan, but she has given me no reason for doing it. I have wondered if it has something to do with that cloaking technology—which may or may not be real. I saw Kerrigan on the evening of Conrad’s interview of Knox Aviation concerning the Greased Lightning. That evening, Miss Knox claimed that Kerrigan’s theory is similar to the theory which accounts for Aeronauticas's cloaking technology, so I have kept in touch with Het Kerrigan. I visit him at New City University whenever I visit other colleagues there, including Dr. Steuben. I have learned that Steuben gets much more money from Arch Foundation than does Het Kerrigan. Steuben spends his money on old manuscripts, and Kerrigan uses his to pay a mathematical consultant. Anyway, on my last visit, Het was upset about Alice ending their relationship. It seems that he is unable to entertain her as befits someone of her personal wealth, which, Het said, is Arch Company. I told him then that her wealth was news to me, and that it must be that she simply has a new boyfriend. But, now?”
“Jerrod, can she be the Countess Thersa’s heir?”
“How do you know of Countess Thersa? I, myself, have only just heard about this countess, from Het. I had thought that the countess was only a part of the lie told him by Alice in order to break off their relationship.”
“I know of Countess Thersa because I am an old man, Jerrod. I remember things from Stalin’s era. My informant has told me that your daughter is lovely to look upon, yet hard to approach. Once, I attended the salon of the Countess Thersa, when I was assigned to the Swiss embassy. The Countess Thersa was lovely to look upon, yet hard to approach. When you told me about Alice and her mother, Giselle, who had introduced you to her, I wondered, but said nothing.”
“Wondered what?”
“I wondered if your Giselle Miller is related to the Giselle Müller who was in service to the Countess. Our ambassador to Switzerland in those days informed me that Giselle Müller was the Countess’s financial manager and her confidante.”
~ 4 ~ “Conrad, how did you know that I was in London?”
“My dear Capricia, I knew that you would deduce from the note that I left for you at my place, that I’d be in London. And I knew that, upon finding my second note in the place where I knew that you would stay in London, you would come to meet me here with your shadow behind you.”
Capricia stood up and looked slowly around the Old Mystic Teashop, finding that her shadow had not followed her into it. Conrad rose also and embraced her warmly, saying softly into her ear, “Trust me, and don’t be so stiff. Nicki’s papers were not in order, so the Brits simply plucked her off the street behind your back. She will be fine, and so will we. Look around. Have you ever before seen such fine-looking bodyguards?” Conrad released the Russian agent and took her hands, saying more loudly, “You look splendid, Capricia.”
