Disclaimer: "Scarecrow and Mrs. King" is copyrighted to Warner Bros. and Shoot the Moon Productions. No infringement is intended; I simply enjoy reading and writing about these characters. Names, places, situations and dialogue are borrowed from the series. This story is intended for entertainment purposes only. I hope you will enjoy reading it as much as I have enjoyed writing it, but please do not post any portion of it elsewhere without checking with me first.
Summary: Billy resumes his cover as a jazz musician to help a Russian pianist seeking asylum, but what begins as a routine defection ends up being considerably more complicated than anyone bargained for.
Timeline: Late fourth season, occurring sometime after "One Flew East", but before "A Matter of Choice". Amanda has fully recovered from her gunshot wound and is back in the field.
Author's notes: I wanted to contribute a late fourth season story that includes a great deal more of Amanda, and further explores Jamie's reluctance to accept Lee. Thanks to Patty for assistance with details.
Rating: PG, for violence.
********
THE WOODSHED -- PART 1 OF 3
It was Sunday afternoon, and the weather was finally changing. Amanda Stetson had been hoping it would. So far, the spring had been warm and dry, and the mid-Atlantic states needed moisture badly. As she pulled into her driveway, Amanda reached up and rubbed her chest, where she had been critically wounded more than two months before. She parked next to the house and turned off the engine. She squirmed in the driver's seat, in an effort to scratch a corresponding scar on her back, where Norton Scott's bullet had exited her body.
Although she had to deal with it on a regular basis, she didn't particularly enjoy being reminded of her injury. The dry weather, though, made her scars itch like crazy, and she was very aware of them at that particular moment. She was ready for some of her vitamin E ointment, and she was more than ready for some rain. She looked through her windshield at the sky. A big storm was on the way, and the forecast had said the rain might last all week. As a few fat drops began to splatter against the windshield, Amanda quickly got out of the Jeep. Grabbing her keys and purse and a big bag of groceries, she locked the Wagoneer and hurried into the house.
As Amanda came in with her armload of groceries, she spotted Jamie on the sofa, surrounded by several loose pages of blank notebook paper, and seemingly engrossed in a thick novel. "Hi, Sweetheart," she greeted him. "Where is everybody?"
"Hi, Mom. Grandma's upstairs. She said to tell you she's going out later. Phillip's over at Lee's."
Amanda was a little surprised. "At Lee's?"
"Yeah, they're watching a basketball game. Lee's going to bring him home after the game's over. Grandma said it was okay for him to go."
"Of course it was okay for him to go. But, Jamie, why didn't you go, too?" She put the groceries down and raised an eyebrow at him. "Are you still having problems with Lee?"
"No, Mom, I'm not. What I am having problems with is this stupid book report for English. It's due tomorrow, and I really need to work on it."
She looked at him skeptically. Combined years of experience as a mother and an agent told her that her son wasn't being entirely honest with her, but her instincts also told her that now wasn't the time to push him. "Well, I guess it's just going to be you and me for supper, then. I've got some stuff here for burgers. How does that sound?"
"That'll be okay, I guess. Need any help?"
"No, just keep working on your book report. I'll call you when everything's ready."
********
Phillip and Lee arrived a couple of hours later, shaking glistening raindrops from their hair. They were laughing as they came through the door, engaged in a playful banter about the game they'd been watching, and the upcoming playoffs. Amanda couldn't help smiling to herself as her husband walked into the house. She wondered if she'd ever become accustomed to seeing Lee use the front door.
"It'll be the Pistons and the Lakers," Phillip was saying.
"The Celtics and the Lakers," Lee corrected him.
"No way Boston can beat Detroit! The Celtics are a bunch of old guys!" Phillip countered, as he gave Lee a friendly punch in the arm.
"Old guys!?" Lee said, playfully grabbing Phillip around the neck and scrubbing the top of his head with his knuckles. "You sure you want to talk about old guys?"
"Okay, okay, I give!" Phillip laughed. "But it's another month till the playoffs. I guess we'll find out then . . . Hey, you know what?" he began as he ducked out from under Lee's arm and stepped out of easy reach. "They'll be a whole month older by then!"
Lee shot him a look, then laughed after him as he ran up the stairs. He took off his damp jacket and dropped it onto the coffee table. Noticing the expression on Amanda's face, he quickly retrieved the wet coat and took it to the kitchen where he hung it on the back of a chair. "Hi," he said, leaning over to greet his wife with a kiss.
"Hi, yourself," she said, setting aside her magazine and pulling him down next to her on the sofa. "Did you two have a good time?"
"Yeah, it was fun. He's a great kid."
"He's your kid," Amanda reminded him.
"Yeah." Lee laughed softly and shook his head. "Pretty amazing, huh?"
"Yes, it is," she agreed, pulling him close and kissing him again. "So did you get your kid something to eat?"
"We had a pizza delivered. I hope that was okay . . ."
"Oh, sure, that's fine." Amanda picked up her magazine again and began to flip through the pages.
"What happened to Jamie?" Lee wondered.
"He went upstairs after we ate. Something about a book report for English."
"Yeah, that's the story I got, too."
Amanda looked at him. "Sounds like you don't believe him, either."
"Phillip knows some of the other kids in Jamie's English class. He said that their book reports aren't due for another two weeks. You know, if Jamie didn't want to come with us, he could have just said so." Lee sat forward dejectedly, his forearms resting on his knees. "It's me again, isn't it?"
"I honestly don't know, Lee. He isn't talking."
"Amanda, I can't figure it out." He turned to face her. "I've bent over backwards trying to get to know Jamie, trying to get to be friends with him . . . I get along great with Phillip; why can't I get through to Jamie? I thought we were doing okay, and now this happens. I must be doing something wrong; I just don't know what it is."
Amanda leaned forward, putting her hands on her husband's shoulders. "Lee, don't beat yourself up over this. It's not your fault. I know this is hard for you, but I know Jamie, and I'm sure he'll come around. It's just going to take some time."
Lee nodded slowly, hoping that Amanda was right. "Okay," he conceded. "But doesn't it bother you that he's lying to you? To us, I mean?"
"Lee," she began. "He's a child, not a criminal. Yes, it bothers me when either one of the boys tells a lie. But I don't think Jamie's broken any laws, other than that one, so I'm not going to interrogate him just yet. Besides, I'm getting the impression that the only reason he told that story was because he didn't want to hurt your feelings. He's upset about something, and when he's ready to talk about it, he will. Okay?"
Lee looked at Amanda strangely. He'd heard her use that tone of voice with the boys before, and he wondered if he'd just gotten a lecture.
"What?" she asked innocently.
"Nothing," he said, chuckling and shaking his head. Lee leaned back against the sofa, pulling Amanda with him, as they listened to the storm increase in intensity. He smiled as Amanda snuggled contentedly against him, and he held her a little tighter. He thought again about the situation with Jamie. He shook his head, nuzzling the top of Amanda's head with his chin in the process. Family life was an enigma to Lee Stetson, and he wondered if he'd ever get used to it. The Agency was the only home he'd ever really known, and some of his colleagues there were like family to him. Now, though, he had a real home life, sort of, even if he didn't live there yet . . . and a real family, sort of, even if they didn't know about it yet . . .
Lee reluctantly let go of Amanda as she reached again for her magazine. He thought of the irony of their situation. At the Agency, Lee was the senior agent, and Amanda was his junior partner. On the home front, though, the tables were turned. Not just turned. Completely flipped. A hundred and eighty degrees. Maybe even dismantled. He was a complete rookie when it came to family life and parenting, and Amanda was the pro. He had to admit that she was awfully good at it. He realized she was probably right, and that Jamie's current crisis, whatever it was, would eventually come to the surface. When it did, he hoped it would blow over as quickly as this springtime storm surely would.
********
The following morning, Lee and Francine had been summoned to Billy's office immediately following the senior agent staff meeting. "Lee, get Amanda down here," Billy said. "I want her in on this, too."
"She's not here yet," Lee replied. "I had a message from her after the meeting. She had a flat tire. Picked up a nail. She's getting it fixed." He felt a little guilty that he hadn't been there to help her with it, but he was glad she'd made it to a garage before the tire went completely flat. The weather was terrible.
"Hmm. Well, we'll have to get started without her. Scarecrow, as soon as she gets here, fill her in on what you can, and then send her down to see me for some specifics."
"No problem. So what's up?"
"I got a call from State first thing this morning. They want us to help a visiting Russian musician defect. This fellow is touring in the U.S., and he's going to try to slip away while he's here in DC, sometime within the next few days. Somehow, State found out about me working with King Edmund, and they want me to get to know the guy. Then they want us to grab him while the KGB's not looking."
"What difference does it make to the KGB if a musician defects?" Francine wanted to know.
"A lot, if it's this particular musician. His name is Ivan Kotranovich. His brother, Yuri Kotranovich is one of the Soviet Union's top nuclear scientists. They're afraid he may have told Ivan some secrets."
"If they're worried about him, why did they let him come over in the first place?" Francine asked.
"It's supposedly a goodwill mission. Who knows what they're thinking? Anyway, we're going to stick to this guy like glue from the minute he steps off the plane, until the KGB's not looking, and we get a chance to grab him. Now, I'm going to have Amanda go undercover as a representative of the DC Jazz Society. You two will be in the shadows, for now, anyway, and I'll be . . . um . . ." He cleared his throat as he hesitated, a little embarrassed. "I'll be on stage with Ivan."
"On stage?" Lee repeated. "Are you still playing, Billy? I figured you'd given it up again after Edmund left town."
"For your information, Scarecrow, I've been practicing quite a bit lately. I converted a corner of my basement into a little studio, and I've got some tapes that I play along with. Sometimes I sit in with some friends. Jeannie is convinced that it's my midlife crisis, but thankfully, she's tolerating it." Billy sipped his coffee and thumbed through the Kotranovich file. "Okay, let's get down to business. First of all, I need you two to help me think of a stage name."
"What happened to Billy Blue Note?" Lee teased, anticipating his boss's reaction.
"I'll tell you what happened to Billy Blue Note. I hate Billy Blue Note. I absolutely hate it! It's stupid. It's corny. And besides, it wasn't really a stage name. It was a code name. Edmund just thought it was a stage name. I was thinking of something shorter. More like a nickname."
"Shorter than Billy?" Lee asked, without thinking. "No, no, that's not what I meant," he hastily added, as Billy shot him a look. Francine rolled her eyes at Lee, who looked away to hide his smirk. Billy shifted his weight and sat up a little straighter in his chair.
"How about Mel? That works like a nickname." Francine suggested.
"Mel?" Billy repeated.
"Sure, as in Melrose." Francine was trying hard to be helpful, but she knew it was going to be nearly impossible. How could anyone be serious when Lee Stetson was in his teasing mode?
"Come on, Francine," Lee put in. "He doesn't look like a Mel."
Billy glared at both of them. He was beginning to be sorry he had ever brought this up.
Lee thought for a few seconds, then grinned. "How about Rose?"
"Rose!?" Billy bellowed.
"Sure, as in Melrose. You know, a rose by any other name . . ."
"Okay, that's enough!" Billy exploded. "Out! Both of you! Scarecrow, you go find Amanda, and bring her back here ASAP. Francine, get everything you can on Yuri Kotranovich and whatever he's been working on. No doubt it's top secret, but surely we've got something on him. I want the three of you back in my office in an hour, and by then, children, let's try to be in the mood to get some work done! Understood?"
Francine inclined her head and Lee gave a mock salute as they quickly returned to the relative safety of the bullpen. As soon as the door closed behind them, they both began to chuckle. "He sure is sensitive about that Billy Blue Note stuff." Francine observed.
"Not nearly as sensitive as he is about that Rose-by-any-other-name stuff," Lee laughed.
"Well, you'd better get it out of your system, Lee. He's not going to put up with another round of it an hour from now."
"You're right," he grinned. "I'd better go find Amanda. See you later."
********
Exactly fifty-seven minutes later, Lee and Amanda rounded the corner into the bullpen. Lee had seen the Wagoneer pulling into the parking lot just as he was leaving to look for her. Amanda was a little wet from the rain, but no worse for the wear. Her tire was fixed, she had a mug of steaming coffee in her hand, and thankfully, her scars weren't bothering her nearly as much today. She had been right about the weather affecting them.
Lee hadn't been able to tell her much about their new case, as he'd been kicked out of Billy's office before he'd really learned anything, but he had filled her in on the basics, including the cracks about Billy Blue Note and Rose-by-any-other-name. Amanda was anxious to learn about the new assignment and the role she was to play, but she was planning on treading lightly until she was able to determine whether or not Billy was in a better mood. She hoped Lee had enough sense to do the same.
Lee tapped on the partially open door and stepped aside to let Amanda enter in front of him. Francine and Billy were going through a stack of print-outs. "Good morning, sir," Amanda said, as she entered Billy's office. "Hello, Francine."
"Hello, Amanda," Francine replied, with saccharine in her voice. "Going for the drowned rat look this morning?"
"Yes, Francine, I was. It always looks so good on you, I thought I'd try it myself."
"Good morning, Amanda," Billy smiled, stepping prudently between the two women. He deliberately ignored Lee, who was uncomfortably reminded of how far he'd exceeded his bounds an hour before. "I'm glad you're here. I assume your partner has told you something about why we're meeting this morning?"
"Yes, sir, some of it. A Russian musician is going to defect?"
"That's right. Actually, there have been some more developments within the past hour. Now, unfortunately, or not, Dr. Smyth is in London this week, so we're dealing with State ourselves. In fact, the Secretary contacted me directly about 45 minutes ago. He wants to make sure we get this done right, and I do, too, so I've decided to put together a bigger team. And . . ." Billy's face took on a serious expression. "Something else has come up."
Amanda glanced at Lee with a questioning look, but he could only shrug and shake his head. Billy cleared his throat and gathered up the files that he'd been reading earlier that morning. "Let's all go into the conference room," he said. "We'll have some more room in there, and I'll bring you up to date."
Billy led the way to the conference room, as Francine gathered up her stack of materials and followed him. Amanda fell into step beside Francine, who smiled at her condescendingly. Amanda caught the look and smiled back at her, mimicking her expression. Lee chuckled and shook his head at the exchange, all the while maintaining a safe distance from Billy.
As they entered the conference room, Lee and Amanda said hello to Frank Duffy, whom they knew well and worked with frequently. They were a little surprised to see two other men in the room, a team from another sector, Ken Cagney and Thomas Reade. Cagney and Reade were big fellows, much taller than Lee, and they were often assigned duties that took advantage of their size and muscle. Amanda didn't know them very well, but Lee did. He looked at them nervously and offered a weak smile. About three years before, in a moment of frustration, he had referred to the pair as Cagney and Lacey, and much to their chagrin, the moniker had stuck. Lee wasn't sure they had ever forgiven him for it, and he thought they'd probably like to take his head off over it, if they ever got the chance.
"Well, people," Billy began. "We've got a job to do, and we've got the Secretary of State looking over our shoulders this time. Scarecrow, will you get the lights? Francine?" He indicated to her to start the slide projector, and an image filled the screen.
"This is Ivan Kotranovich," Billy said. "Fifty-seven years old, and a full professor of piano at the Moscow Conservatory. He was trained in the classics, specializing in, of course, the Russian masters, but his lifelong passion has been studying and performing American jazz. He's the reason we're here, people. Professor Kotranovich wants to become an American, and our job is to help him."
Amanda studied the photograph. The man in the picture was distinguished, even attractive for his age. He had a full head of hair, mostly gray, but his features were still smooth. His gray eyes shone with intelligence, and Amanda found herself liking him immediately.
"Next," Billy said, as Francine forwarded the projector.
The next photograph seemed to be an image of the same man, in different clothing, and looking perhaps just a bit heavier. "This is Yuri Kotranovich," Billy told the agents. "Ivan's brother."
"Twins?" Frank Duffy asked, voicing what everyone in the room had been thinking.
"Identical," Billy confirmed. "And he's the main reason the Russians are so interested in our friend, Ivan. We've been able to gather considerable biographical information about Yuri, but the data about his career has been pretty well obscured by the KGB. Apparently he is, or was, a nuclear researcher. He was one of their top men during the 60's and 70's, and then at some point, his theories evidently began to seem a little stale. The Soviets have put him out to pasture, so to speak, by providing him with a lecture circuit at some of the major universities. He knows a lot of their secrets, though, and the Russians want to be sure his brother doesn't bring any of those secrets over here. Next, please."
Francine forwarded the projector again, and Amanda was startled, as Lee and the other agents sat forward in their chairs. "Petrov!?" Lee exclaimed. He knew immediately that this was the 'something else' to which Billy had referred earlier. "What's he got to do with this?"
"Who's Petrov?" Amanda wanted to know. She looked at the screen. The man in the picture seemed to be of average height, stocky build, and had fairly plain features, with the exception of his eyes. Peering out under bushy brows, his eyes were the blackest she'd ever seen. They looked like two shiny pieces of cold, dead coal. She shivered involuntarily at the evil she saw reflected there.
"Anton Petrov," Lee told her. "Code name, Ursa."
"The Bear?" Amanda asked.
"That's right." Lee continued his explanation as Francine clicked the remote control. Several different pictures of Petrov flashed across the screen. "The KGB's number one man in most of Eastern Europe. He's slippery. And he's mean. He's everywhere and nowhere at the same time. The CIA has been trying to capture or kill him for the past fifteen years, with no luck. Ursa, on the other hand, has single-handedly assassinated more than twenty Western agents in that same amount of time." He turned in his chair. "Billy, why are we talking about Petrov? Is he here?"
"We think there's a pretty good chance of it, Scarecrow. We got a tip from a reliable source in Romania that he left the eastern-bloc last week. Two days ago, our man in Amsterdam thought he saw Petrov in the red-light district there. He followed him for several hours and watched him get on a plane to New York. We weren't able to pick him up there, but about 30 minutes ago, someone matching Petrov's description got off a plane at Dulles. If our sources are correct, he's right here in DC. Now, we have no reason to think he's interested in Kotranovich, or if he even knows anything about this defection. But if he's here, it's for a reason. Could be a political assassination; could be anything. I'm putting the entire Agency on alert, and I want all of you to be extremely careful. Especially you, Amanda. Ursa won't know you, but your assignment in this Kotranovich case will put you right at the front door of the Soviet embassy."
"Billy, maybe Amanda shouldn't be involved. Maybe a more experienced agent . . ." Lee knew he was going to be in trouble, but he didn't want Amanda anywhere near Anton Petrov.
"Lee . . ." Amanda began angrily, but Billy cut her off.
"That's exactly why Amanda has this assignment. Because she's fairly new at this, Petrov's not going to know her. But he does know you and probably everyone else here at the Agency, everyone except our most recent class of freshman candidates. And let me remind you again, we have no reason to believe that Ursa has any involvement with Kotranovich."
"Then why is he here, Billy? To catch the NBA playoffs?"
"I don't know, Scarecrow. But we've got a job to do, and we're going to do it, Ursa or no Ursa. Understood?"
"No, it's not understood! This is too dangerous . . ."
"Stetson, if you have any reason to believe your partner can't handle herself . . ."
"Excuse me, sir," Amanda interrupted hotly. "If the two of you are going to talk about my capability regarding this assignment, I would like to request two things. Number one, I would like to be included in the conversation, and number two, I would prefer it be held in private. Is that too much to ask?"
Lee clamped his mouth shut. He was furious with Billy for putting Amanda in a potentially deadly situation, but he knew his supervisor was absolutely right. Amanda had completed her training at the head of her class. She had been working under full-agent status for several weeks, and she was better at solving problems than anybody else he knew. More importantly, with the exception of Gregory and a few of his underlings, nobody in the KGB knew what she looked like. As much as he hated to admit it, Amanda was right for the job. And Billy had every right to assign it to her. But Billy hadn't been the one watching her fight for her life in a California hospital two months before . . .
"All right," Billy said, interrupting Lee's thoughts. "You'll all get dossiers this afternoon outlining your assignments. We have tentative plans to take Kotranovich this Friday night. He'll be playing at a local nightclub called The Woodshed. I'll get more details to you throughout the week. Questions?" He looked around, knowing no one would have dared ask a question at that moment. "Fine. You're dismissed. Stetson, King, in my office. Now."
Lee clenched his jaw. It hadn't been a good day, and it wasn't even close to lunchtime yet. He followed Amanda back into Billy's office and flopped into a chair as Billy slammed the door. Lee rubbed his hand across the back of his neck. He knew what was coming, and he wasn't looking forward to it. He was going to get it from Billy and Amanda both.
********
Having survived Billy's most recent tirade, Lee reluctantly climbed the stairs to the Q Bureau. Amanda hadn't said a word in Billy's office, other than "yes, sir," or "no, sir," and "thank you, sir," when they had been dismissed. Lee suspected she was saving it for when they were alone.
He unlocked the door and led the way into the room, removing his jacket and gun belt before sitting down at his desk. Amanda followed him in and locked the door behind her. She turned to face him, making sure she had his attention, but she looked at the floor before she spoke. "Lee, don't do this to me," she said quietly.
He was surprised she wasn't yelling. He knew he deserved it.
"I don't want to fight about this, Lee," she continued. "I'm taking the assignment. I'm well-prepared, and I know how to take care of myself."
"Amanda, you don't know Petrov . . . " he began.
She looked up at him, directly into his eyes. "And Petrov doesn't know me. That's Billy's whole point."
He didn't answer. Instead, he found a speck of something stuck to the corner of his desk, and he began to dig at it with his thumbnail.
"It's California, isn't it?" she pressed. It was more of a statement than a question. Amanda was angry with Lee, and she had been embarrassed by his outburst in the conference room, but she understood his reaction, and she found it hard to blame him for it. Although she was the one who had been shot, she knew Lee still bore scars from that ordeal, as well.
"I guess so," he admitted finally. "Look, Amanda. I know I can't stop you from taking this assignment. And I already made a horse's tail out of myself in front of the whole team . . . "
"You sure did." She started to smile. She couldn't stay mad at him for long.
"Well, you don't have to agree with me about it." He was relieved to see her expression soften, and he tried to remind himself that the best part of arguing was making up. "It's just that I can't help worrying about you." He held out his arms, inviting her to sit in his lap.
"I know," she replied, accepting his invitation. "I worry about you, too."
"Just be careful out there, huh?" He kissed her softly.
"I will," she said, returning his kiss. "I promise."
********
Wednesday afternoon, Amanda was scheduled to meet Ivan Kotranovich's flight at Dulles. She had spent Monday afternoon and all day Tuesday with Billy, listening to recordings and poring over jazz history volumes, in an effort to establish a convincing cover as a jazz devotee. Billy had been pleasantly surprised to learn that Amanda already had a considerable amount of familiarity with some of his favorite artists. Their sessions had seemed to pass quickly, and they had enjoyed each other's company. Billy had some connections with the DC Jazz Society, and he was able to pave a smooth path for Amanda to step in as the Society's liaison with Ivan Kotranovich.
Amanda waited patiently in the terminal at Dulles. Kotranovich was flying in from New York, but storms along the East Coast had delayed his flight by more than two hours. She had brought some jazz magazines that Billy had loaned her, and she made use of her time in the airport reviewing articles about current artists. She looked around at the dozens of travelers waiting in the gate area, and wondered about their destinations. She allowed herself to daydream briefly, reflecting on some of the remarkable trips that she had taken since she had become associated with the Agency. She made brief eye contact with Frank Duffy, who was sitting in the shoe shine booth, before returning her attention to her magazines.
Finally Amanda heard an announcement for the arrival of Kotranovich's flight. She stood up, stretched her legs, and unfolded a piece of poster board on which she had printed the words, DC Jazz Society. She recognized Kotranovich immediately from the photograph she had seen in Monday's briefing. She smiled to herself, thinking he had put on a little weight since that picture had been taken. She pretended not to know the pianist, instead allowing him to come to her. He was followed closely by two burly men, who stood beside him as he greeted her.
"Hello," he began. "I believe someone from your Society is to meet me here? My name is Ivan Kotranovich."
"Hello, Professor Kotranovich, and welcome to Washington. It's such a pleasure to meet you. My name is Amanda Karnes, and I'll be your host this week."
"The pleasure is mine, Mrs. Karnes," he said politely, as he shook her hand.
Amanda was truly delighted to make his acquaintance. His English was wonderful, and his manners were impeccable. "Will your companions be joining us?" she asked, hoping not to appear too wary.
"These gentlemen are representatives of the Soviet embassy in New York. They will return there after I have been brought to the embassy here in Washington. I am to report there as quickly as possible."
"All right, then. Let's get your bags, and I'll take all three of you to the embassy. Perhaps we can meet later for dinner."
"I would be delighted."
Amanda led the way to the baggage claim. Out of the corner of her eye, she was just able to see Frank Duffy paying for his shoe shine and falling into step behind her.
********
Amanda had returned to the Soviet embassy at 7:30 that evening to pick Kotranovich up for dinner. His traveling companions from New York had been replaced with two equally burly men from the local embassy, and the two new bodyguards now sat silently in the back seat of the Wagoneer. Amanda glanced at them in the rear-view mirror, then looked in her side mirror at Tom Reade, who was about a half block behind her in traffic.
They had dinner reservations for four at Emelio's. Amanda had made the reservations for two tables of two, hoping to have some time alone with Kotranovich to discuss his itinerary, and if he brought it up, his imminent defection. During the drive to the restaurant, Amanda and her guest conversed pleasantly about his studies. She was a little surprised at the easy access to recordings of American jazz artists he seemed to have had in Moscow. He was extremely knowledgeable, especially about American pianists, and he seemed impressed with her level of familiarity, as well. She learned that his favorite pianist had been the bebop artist, Thelonious Monk. "Oh, we have a nightclub here in DC, well, actually in Georgetown, by that name," she told him. "Monk's. Perhaps you can visit it while you're here."
Arriving at Emelio's, Amanda and Kotranovich were escorted to their table, and she was pleased that the two embassy watchdogs were seated at a different table about fifteen feet away. Looking around the room, she saw Ken Cagney at the bar, with a bottle of Italian beer in his hand. He nodded imperceptibly at her.
"Please order anything you would like, Professor," Amanda said as they opened their menus. "The Society is picking up the tab."
"How generous," Kotranovich smiled. "Would you care to share a bottle of wine?"
"That would be nice."
They placed their orders, and chatted pleasantly over bread, wine, and salads until their main courses were served. They discussed the stormy weather and possible sightseeing opportunities. Kotranovich wanted to see as much of Washington as possible, but he seemed primarily interested in visiting the Smithsonian. Amanda also used the opportunity to go over their itinerary for the next couple of days, and Kotranovich seemed pleased with his schedule. "The Woodshed!" he exclaimed, laughing, when Amanda mentioned the name of his performance venue. "What an appropriate name for an American jazz club!"
Amanda didn't understand the joke, but she didn't want to blow her cover by showing her ignorance, so she laughed a little along with her companion. She assumed it was something a jazz musician would understand, so she made a mental note to ask Billy about it when she got a chance.
The waiter brought their entrees to the table, and Amanda had just begun to twirl a few strands of pasta onto her fork, when Kotranovich leaned across the table and spoke with uncharacteristic intensity. "Mrs. Karnes, I am going to say something which may surprise you. Please continue to enjoy your meal, and try not to react in such a way that would draw the attention of our friends from the embassy."
She nodded at him, her eyes widening. She took a bite of spaghetti and watched him attentively as she chewed.
Kotranovich glanced nervously over his shoulder before he spoke. "Mrs. Karnes, my visit to your city is not exactly as it appears. Yes, I am here to perform . . . but also, I . . ." He rushed through his next words. "I wish to seek political asylum here in the United States. I realize that you are not in a position to assist me, but perhaps you can arrange for me to meet with a representative from your State Department? "
Amanda looked around the room. Satisfied that the two Russians were engrossed in their meal, and that no one else was paying any attention to them, she answered carefully. "As a matter of fact, Professor, I am in a position to assist you. Our government has already been informed of your desire to defect, and we have every intention of helping you do so." She glanced around again. "Now, you've been scheduled for rehearsals all day tomorrow with the group you'll be playing with Friday night." She lowered her voice to a whisper. "One of the members of that group is a federal agent, who has been assigned by the State Department to arrange your defection. You'll meet him tomorrow morning, and he'll tell you all about it."
"Mrs. Karnes, I am so relieved," he admitted, wiping his brow with his napkin. "Thank you very much. So you are also a . . ."
She cut off his question with a look intended to neither confirm nor deny. "I'm glad to be able to help, Professor Kotranovich, but this isn't over yet. We'll both have to be very careful. I think you're probably aware that the KGB has more than a passing interest in you, because of your brother."
"Yes, of course," he said, suddenly unable to meet her eyes. "Of course. My brother."
She looked at him warily, as her instincts kicked into high gear. "Professor, is there something you're not telling me?"
"No, no. You are very helpful. You have been very kind."
She knew he was lying. "Professor Kotranovich, if you want my government to help you, you're going to have to tell me the truth. Now, is there something I should know about your brother?"
Kotranovich hesitated, but he knew she was right. He was placing his new friend and her colleagues in an extremely volatile situation, and they had a right to know what they were getting into. Again, he glanced around the room before answering. He lowered his voice conspiratorially. "Mrs. Karnes, the KGB is not interested in my brother. They are interested in me. I am Yuri Kotranovich."
"Yuri Kotranovich? The scientist?" Amanda asked in surprise. Again, she lowered her voice. "I'm sorry sir, I don't understand. I was under the impression that you were Ivan Kotranovich, the musician. Are you telling me that you and your brother have switched places?"
"That is correct. I am Yuri. Ivan remains in the Soviet Union."
"But won't your brother be killed if the KGB learns that you're here?"
"Ivan is a hero to me. He is prepared to die in my place. But I do not think he will. He also has training in the sciences, and I have left for him my entire library. I am . . . we are . . . within only a few years of retirement. I am no longer active in research and weapons development. All Ivan will be expected to do is prepare and deliver lectures at the universities for a few more years. No one beyond our family knows it, but I also am an accomplished pianist. We can switch places easily. No one will suspect, and even if they should, well, the KGB has never been known for their gift of discernment. I doubt they will ever discover us."
"But, sir, what about fingerprints?"
"As long as Ivan plays his part well, they will have no reason to check. If they do, you are right, he will be killed. As I say, he is a hero to me."
Amanda glanced over her shoulder to be sure Ken Cagney was still there. He was. He had hardly even shifted position on his bar stool. "Professor Kotranovich, could you excuse me for a moment? I need to make a phone call."
"I would feel better remaining in your company."
"It's all right, sir. Do you see the tall gentleman at the bar? The dark-haired man in the dark sport coat?"
"Yes."
"He's with me. He won't take his eyes off of you. Now, please, I really need to make a call."
********
Amanda quickly made her way to a payphone, deposited a coin, dialed the Agency, and waited for the familiar greeting. Looking over her shoulder, she was careful not to let Kotranovich out of her sight. Cagney was still at the bar, but it was obvious he realized something had happened. He had set his bottle down and seemed ready to spring into action at a moment's notice.
"International Federal Films."
Amanda recognized Francine's voice. "Francine, it's Amanda. Has Mr. Melrose gone home? Something's come up, and I need to talk to him. It's urgent."
"He's still here, Amanda. He's been waiting for you to check in. Hold on, I'll put you through to his office."
Billy came on the line a moment later. "Melrose here."
"Sir, it's Amanda. I think we've got a problem. This thing just got a whole lot bigger, and I need to know what to do."
"What's happened, Amanda?"
"It's the professor. He's Yur . . .
Amanda noticed Ken Cagney coming toward her. She wondered what would have made him leave his post. He seemed to be gesturing just beyond her. She turned to see a stocky figure in an overcoat pick up the telephone receiver in the booth next to hers. The man's back was turned to her, but Amanda instinctively felt he was listening to her conversation.
"Hello? Amanda? Are you there?"
". . . guest. Your guest has arrived, sir."
"All right, Amanda. I understand that you can't talk. Are you in trouble?"
"No, I'm not. Oh, and Ken's here. He says to tell you hello. Well, I'd better let you go . . ."
"I understand. Now, listen, Amanda. I want to hear from either you or Cagney as soon as one of you is able to get back to the phone. Got it?"
"Yes, of course. We'll call you later. Goodbye."
At that moment, lightning flashed brightly enough to be seen through the curtained windows, and the thunderclap that accompanied it was enough to make Amanda jump. The lights flickered, and she saw Kotranovich looking at her worriedly. She nodded at him reassuringly, and hung up the telephone. The lights flickered again, staying off a moment longer this time, and when they came back on for the second time, Amanda noticed that the man in the adjacent booth had replaced his receiver, as well. Just as she started to step away, he turned to face her, and Amanda found herself looking into the cold, black eyes of Anton Petrov. Startled, she hurried toward the ladies' room, brusquely apologizing for nearly bumping into him. She remained near the entrance to the restroom and watched Petrov make his way toward the front door. After she was sure the KGB agent had exited the restaurant, Amanda returned to her table, intentionally brushing against Ken Cagney on the way. "Call Billy," she told him softly. "Ivan is Yuri. And tell him who else is here."
********
TO BE CONTINUED . . .