DISCLAIMER: If you recognize people or organizations from the television
series, they belong to Shoot the Moon Productions and Warner Brothers.
I've borrowed them with love and deep appreciation for the many years of
enjoyment I've received from them and am making absolutely no money from
this enterprise. If you recognize them from history, no infringement is
intended on them; they merely serve to provide the story with an authentic
setting. If you don't recognize them from either of those two sources,
they're products of my very odd imagination and I claim full responsibility
for their imaginary actions.
Chapter 2 * The Agency * March 13, 1989 * 2:15 p.m. EST (GMT-5)
"Lee, sweetheart, you are making me nervous."
"I thought you got nervous when I paced."
Amanda shook her head at her husband as he sat quietly in his desk chair looking at the stacks of papers and piles of files. "I'm used to that. You NOT pacing and you being very quiet make me nervous. What are you thinking, as if I don't know?"
Lee sprang to his feet and leapt gracefully onto his wife's neat, uncluttered desk to plant a kiss on her nose. "I have to go to Poland." He stood up and began to walk his familiar route around the office.
"No. You could be walking into a trap."
"Amanda, this is my network we're talking about, and it's come back to life all of a sudden. I have to go find out what's going on." He ran his hand through his hair repeatedly, his anxiety now apparent.
"I know, I know. But we have nothing to go on except one cryptic message. At least wait until something more happens."
"What if nothing more does?"
Amanda bit back the first answer that came to mind: then you get to stay home where I can get your back and I don't have to sleep alone, and instead replied, "Let's cross that bridge next week, okay? Let it rest."
Lee stopped pacing long enough to look at his partner, best friend, and wife. Her concern showed clearly in her eyes, and he knew from experience that her instincts were often right on target. "Okay – until something else comes through or until next week."
Amanda relaxed a little. "Thank you."
Boston, Massachusetts * 7:30 p.m. EST (GMT-5)
"Hi. How was your trip?" Sandra Reese's roommate Linda asked from her desk without turning as the weary traveler fell through the door to their Bay State Road apartment.
"Exhausting," Sandra replied honestly. "Mentally and physically." The single bag on which she had survived the entire week landed in the small kitchen with a solid thump.
Linda turned with a lopsided grin. "You expected otherwise?"
Sandra smiled though a weak grimace. "Yes, actually, I thought I would come back feeling as though I had been in, oh, say, Bermuda all week."
"It was fabulous," Linda said with a big laugh. "But I dare say that your trip will give you far more to talk about in life than a week on a Caribbean beach."
"You do have a point. Don't go anywhere." Sandra picked up her bag for the last part of the journey, around the corner into the bedroom the girls shared. She came out a moment later with a well-wrapped object in her hands. "Mission accomplished," she said, handing the package to her roommate.
"What mission?" Linda asked, accepting the gift hesitantly.
"Open it."
Linda ripped through the many layers of plain wrapping, revealing in 10 seconds what had taken a shopkeeper in Jerusalem twenty minutes to wrap according to Sandra's exacting specifications. "A Seder plate! How did you know I needed one?"
Sandra smiled. "You mentioned it several months ago when you were doing your semester schedule. Passover starts mid-week this year, and you said you wanted to host a Seder."
"That's very cool. I'll give you a hug later to thank you – oh, you dropped a booklet or something when you came out of the bedroom. It's behind you on the floor."
Sandra turned around and bent over to retrieve the item. When she noticed what it was, she stopped in mid-stretch with enough of a moan to make Linda ask if she'd pulled a muscle. "No, just feeling the effects of 15 hours on airplanes today – or is it tomorrow?" Then she picked up the brochure that the nameless teen had given her in Warsaw, stood up with a groan of real pain, and went into the bedroom.
"Page 12, the boy said," she muttered to herself as she flopped onto her bed by the window, wondering if the glossy pages were burning her hands for real or if it were her mind playing tricks on her. As she noted days before, page 12 looked perfectly normal. Playing a hunch, she got up again and rifled through her carry-on until she found the copy of that same booklet that she had picked up at Auschwitz. Kneeling beside her bed with the firm mattress as her desk, Sandra compared page 12 of the Warsaw copy with page 12 of the Oswiecim copy. It took four words into the Polish language block to notice the first difference and after that everything on the page was different. What set her teeth on edge was the fact that the whole thing was a note to her, written through four languages she happened to speak and read fluently and one that she could read passably and make herself understood in if she had to.
She reread the note three times, each time more worried than the next. How did anyone know that I speak Russian? Did they assume that my Russian was good enough to make my Polish comprehension passable, or did they know that somehow, too? Shaking, she looked at the clock, calculated the time difference, and resolved to stay awake until she could call her father in Berlin at a decent hour of the morning. Somehow, she knew he needed to know about this, even if he couldn't do anything to help her.
Maplewood Drive * Arlington, Virginia * 8:30 p.m. EST (GMT-5)
"Mom, you remember that project I told you I need to do for the honor society?" Philip asked, sliding down onto the couch beside his mother.
"Sure, Sweetheart." Amanda stopped herself from ruffling her son's hair as her arm started to rise of its own accord to do just that. She settled for draping one arm around his shoulders and tossing her magazine on to the coffee table with the other.
"Well, I figured out what I want to do." His mother looked at him expectantly instead of asking him for the information, so after a moment, he plunged on. "I want to go help after school at the shelter for homeless women and kids. They uh... they need some volunteers to help with their pre-school program."
Stifling the laugh that welled up within, Amanda smiled at her older son. "That's a great idea, Philip. What made you want to do that?" As if she didn't know the answer to that question.
She didn't – at least not all of it. "Well," he started self-consciously, "I really did like having Marlena around after I got used to her – she was fun and smart and happy most of the time. So that's some of it. But I also got to thinking about what might have happened to Marlena if her mom had been..." he swallowed hard before he continued, "...killed. I mean, she'd be an orphan and all... Anyway, I thought that maybe some of the kids at the shelter could use a friend after what they've been through the same way Marlena needed us."
Philip had never openly hinted that the recent revelation of his mother's and stepfather's actual line of work bothered him; he had focused on the action and adventure in his quests for information and understanding. That worried Amanda enough that she had asked him about it a few times, but Lee finally convinced her to stop pestering her child, assuring her that when he was ready to talk about it, Philip would let them know. "That's terrific, Philip. I bet a lot of those kids are worried about their parents the way Marlena was, too." It felt to Amanda as though she was always getting information from her teenagers obliquely these days.
"Prob'ly. So is it okay with you?" He smiled impishly, taking her back to the days of windows broken by baseballs and tinsel fights at Christmas time.
"Sure."
"Thanks, Mom!" he exclaimed, surprising her with a hug and a kiss on the cheek as he stood. From the steps a few seconds later, she heard his deepening voice once more. "I'm really proud of what you and Lee do. Just don't get hurt doing it, please."
She turned to answer him but he was gone, his heavy tread marking his journey to his room upstairs. It was just as well; she really had no answer to give him that could assuage his realistic, adult fears.
American Sector Military Headquarters, Berlin * March 14, 1989 * 6:35 a.m. (GMT+1)
Alexander Reese was not by nature an early riser; given a choice, he would have slept until noon and worked until 4 in the morning. Since his planned four-year stint in the Army had become 29 and counting, he lived instead by the Army dictum that the day started when the sun came up and ended at the whim of the person at the top of the chain. The sun was well up this morning, so he slumped at the table in his small apartment within the Headquarters complex, drinking coffee strong enough to turn shoe leather into filet mignon. When the phone rang above his head, he jumped and so did his coffee cup, splashing hot, bitter, dark brown liquid on his gray Army sweat suit. He cursed, slammed the mug down, and reached for the offending instrument.
"Reese," he growled into the receiver, expecting a subordinate to inform him that once again some desperate East German had been shot going over the Wall. With his free hand, the general reached for the napkin holder across the table from him.
"Daddy, it's Sandra."
General Reese pulled his arm back, dropping a stack of napkins onto his lap as he checked his watch. Then he answered his only daughter. "Alex Sandra Reese, it's after midnight in Boston. What are you still doing up?"
"Ummm... something happened in Warsaw."
"Did you get caught in another state police black market raid?"
She laughed on the other end of the line. "No, Daddy. I got a job while I was there."
The bull of a man checked his language before he responded. "What, are you a carrier pigeon now?"
"Yes, as a matter of fact." Before he could react, she went on. "I have a script to deliver. Have you ever heard of International Federal Film?"
His face twisted in revulsion as the father in him noticed and objected to the fact that his daughter handled the unsecured line as though she had a lifetime of experience making field reports. The professional operative and supervisor in him sorted through the many agencies he had dealt with in his lengthy tenure with Military Intelligence. "That's a new one on me, honey," he finally confessed. "But it sounds like a well-respected outfit."
"I'll tell you all about it after I meet with one of their producer/directors, then. A man named Lee Stetson comes highly recommended to handle this particular type of project."
He could hear the exhaustion in his little girl's voice; it touched him that she had stayed up late to call him at a bearable hour, if not exactly a decent one. "You be careful, Sandra. You know how those film people can be."
"Yeah, Daddy, I do."
As he ate his toast and cereal a little while later, Lieutenant General Alexander Reese wondered how his children knew so much about the intelligence world just from living at its periphery all their lives. Then again, if you're a 12-year-old boy or a 9-year-old girl when your mother is killed before your eyes by operatives from the other side who made a mistake, perhaps it comes as some relief to be on intimate terms with the dirty underworld in which your father lives. Kevin had been recruited by the NSA when he started his junior year in college; was another group looking to co-opt Alex Sandra?
The Agency * March 14, 1989 * 9:23 a.m. E.S.T. (GMT-5)
Billy Melrose listened attentively to Scarecrow as the younger agent paced the office, laying out the results of his inquiries into the origins of Friday evening's flash traffic message from Warsaw. Billy had been rather surprised that Tuesday morning to find Lee and Amanda still in the country; the section chief had assumed they would be on their way to Warsaw before he could come back from his Monday off to say no. As he listened to Lee, he realized why they were still in D.C. rather than in Poland.
"Not a single bite, Billy. No recognition, no return signals, no red flags, nothing. Nada, zip, zero, zilch, naught, nichevo. There isn't anyone over there." Lee ran his hand through his hair and flopped down in the chair beside his patiently quiet wife.
"So what's up with the message?" Billy asked, leaning forward in his chair and steepling his hands in thought.
Amanda cleared her throat and glanced at Lee before she answered. "Sir, I think the network has been compromised. I think the Polish security agency sent the message to see what we would do, and they're waiting for us to come exploring in hopes of killing the rest of the network off."
"Come on, Billy, you know that's not likely!"
Actually, Billy thought Amanda's analysis made a lot of sense, especially in the current situation. However, only Lee knew the members of his network personally, and only he could ultimately determine whatever further follow-up was required. "Give it a week. If it's a true message, then someone ought to be contacting you. Amanda, did you come up with any possibilities for 'B.U. student'?"
"Yes, Sir. Baker University, Barry University, Bastyr University, Baylor University, Belmont University, Benedictine University, Biola University, Boston University, Bradley University, Brandeis University, and Brenau University, staying within the United States and assuming that the 'U' stands for 'university'."
Billy whistled slowly. "I think you know what you need to do next…"
Lee growled as Amanda answered. "We need to find out if any of these schools had students in Poland recently, and if we can check quietly, see if the Polish Embassy will give us a list of visa recipients." She sighed; she would be on the phone for most of the day while Lee found ways to be out "doing something."
Billy noticed Amanda's reaction and made clear his preference. "Right. Amanda, you go to the Embassy and work your charm at the visa desk. Lee, you start calling the schools. Let's get this cleared up and get on with the real work around here."
The partners stood and turned as one toward the door, which flew open inches from Lee's nose. Francine Desmond was already speaking as he backed up into his wife.
"Lee, there's a woman on the phone asking for you urgently. She says she's got a script from some Polish writer who insisted you would produce it for him – "
Oblivious to the pain he had caused Amanda when he stepped on her toe, Lee shot an "I told you so" look at his boss and tore past the beautiful blonde out of the room, leaving Francine standing bewildered as she finished her sentence, " – and get him out of the country." She looked at Billy, confusion clouding her blue eyes. "Do I even want to know?"
"No, you don't," Amanda laughed as she rubbed her foot. "But I think you made his day."
1 Lublin, Poland * 3:24 p.m. (GMT+1)
2 "Your man, he is committed?" The voice on the other end of the international telephone connection crackled with expectant energy.
Gregor Borodin sighed. He had been through this far too many times – and Father Milowanowicz was not his man, anyway. The KGB – the very same security force now interrogating to him! – had recruited the priest. Well, a different directorate of the KGB, but it amounted to the same thing in Borodin's mind. "Yes, Comrade Gogol, he's a zealot for the cause. The latest renunciations of Solidarity sponsored academies in churches really set him off against Cardinal Glemp."
"And he knows nothing of our interest in this little action?"
"Of course not," Borodin snorted, insulted at the innuendo.
"See that it stays that way. Ten days, correct?"
"Da, ten days." The connection broke, leaving Borodin standing at the hotel phone desk looking for all the world like his dog had just died. Life might be better, he thought, if that were the case.
3 Bay State Road, Boston, Massachusetts * 9:26 a.m. EST (GMT-5)
Sandra Reese sat on the edge of her twin bed with her legs crossed, drumming her right foot against the dresser and absently smoothing the floral bedspread with her left hand as she waited to be connected with Lee Stetson. The booklet lay open on the bed beside her, and she had outlined her plan in writing before she called so that she could remember exactly what she wanted to say. Her brief conversation with her father had convinced her to play it very safe.
"This is Lee Stetson," a rich, languid voice finally purred in her ear.
I'm going to marry the next man who can cause that effect through the telephone, Sandra thought before she collected herself enough to speak after the shiver of excitement the voice sent coursing though her. "Uh, hi, Mr. Stetson. My name is Sandra Reese. I was asked to deliver something to you from a friend in Warsaw."
"Nice to meet you, Sandra. What do you have?"
"A script written by someone named Stefan. I was told to deliver it in person." She willed her foot to stop moving as the banging became annoying even to her.
"That's easy enough. Can you bring it by our office?"
Sandra laughed. "Mr. Stetson, I'm calling a number in Washington, D.C., and I live in Boston. I think you'd better come get it."
"Are you a student?" Expectation colored the tone.
"Yeah, at Boston University. Look, I just got back from Spring Break and I'm low on travel cash, if you know what I mean." So far, so good – sticking with her plan was easier than she had thought.
"I remember what that's like. Okay, can you describe this script to me?"
She shook her head, even though the man on the other end of the phone could not see her. "Sorry, my instructions were to contact you and to deliver it into your hands safely after I've verified that you are who you claim to be. I've told you all I'm allowed to."
A sigh from the man. "You're taking this very seriously. Is there a number I can reach you at when I've made travel arrangements?"
Sandra gave him her phone number and instructed him not to leave a message, but to keep trying until he reached a person. "If my roommate answers and asks who you are, tell her you're my father's adjutant and you're home on leave. That way you can leave a D.C. number and it won't raise her curiosity."
"Okay, I can do that. You should hear from me before five tonight."
"I'll be waiting." She hung up, proud that she had managed to stick to her plan from beginning to end. She stood up, taking her cheat sheet with her to the bathroom. She shredded the page thoroughly and dropped the bits into the toilet; only when the water in the bowl had swirled and emptied twice was she satisfied that no one would get wind of this part of the operation – whatever the operation was.
Outside Lublin, Poland * 4:45 p.m. (GMT+1)
Gregor Borodin watched as Father Milowanowicz obliterated the center of yet another standard rifle target, this one at 150 meters with a blustery cross wind that by all rights should have caused him to miss every time. This was proof positive that his tremendous showing as a member of the Polish Rifle Team at the 1980 Olympics in Moscow was no fluke, and a substantial boost to the likelihood of success for their joint endeavor. "Unbelievable!" he shouted to the priest when the other man stopped to reload his weapon a moment later.
"It's a useful skill in the winter," Jaruslav shrugged as he slid a new clip into the stock of his semi-automatic rifle. "We never starved." He pointed to the target. "Move it out to 175 and put a face on it."
Borodin relaxed a hair; this was the first time the assassin-in-training had asked to have a body-shaped target put up. The squat blond did as requested; he was surprised to hear the other man's voice berating him as he tacked up the black and white target.
"No, you idiot, I meant put a face on it. The Cardinal's, please."
"I don't have a big enough picture of him to make a target. You'll have to pretend for now." Gregor put three targets on the tree at varying heights, then made his way back to the Yugo parked safely behind a stand of trees so Milowanowicz could fire again.
"Then get a bunch as soon as you can. Go to the Diocesan office in town and ask for his official photograph. Tell them you want to put the pictures up in a school – they'll give you a whole stack." The priest took his time with his aim at the middle target; nine single shots later, a neat circle of five shots in the center of the forehead and one of four in the chest elicited a grim smile of satisfaction from the shooter.
Gregor Borodin shuddered. Perhaps he and his masters had underestimated their Judas, after all.
Gorky Park, Moscow, USSR * 7:30 p.m. (GMT+3)
Georg Alexeivich Tolstoy watched the skaters on the Gorky Park pond with mild disinterest as he sat on an icy bench in the stiff Russian winter wind. The air smelled of impending snow; Tolstoy willed his contact to come quickly so he could go home to his new mistress and the eiderdown quilts they so often threw off in their passion.
"On the other hand, when I think about Natasha, I don't need my coat even here out here, so perhaps I can wait a bit longer…" he murmured to himself as he scanned the paths for the familiar face he awaited.
"Georg Alexeivich, you're slipping," a voice berated into his ear in good, Leningrad-accented Russian. "You forgot to check behind you."
"You're late," Tolstoy replied, ignoring the jibe. "What could be so important that we had to meet tonight instead of at our usual time?"
Laughter, then an answer in twangy, southern American English. "Y'all asked me to check out a few things. I did, and y'all won't like the answers I got."
"Well?" in Tolstoy's thick Russian accented English.
"The Warsaw link has been used in the last week to get information out; apparently, they've enlisted civilian aid because the name y'all gave me as the suspected courier is not known to my contact, nor is she in the databases by that name. Washin'ton has been trying to connect back, unsuccessfully. I'm late 'cause my source called me with late-breaking news that the girl y'all think is the courier made contact with a cover company regarding something she picked up in Warsaw."
Tolstoy sat in contemplative silence for several seconds. "What cover organization?"
"That question is out of bounds, my friend. I will tell you, however, that an agent is going to Boston for a meet."
"Excellent. I will put my people on it in Boston. There will be a bit extra for you in your next deposit for this information."
"Spaseba," the man replied in his polished Russian. He stood and sauntered away, his nylon covered parka rustling as he strode away.
"Capitalist American pigs," Tolstoy muttered. "Money will get you everything." He left Gorky Park with a swagger and a deceptive spring in his step for a man his size, knowing that when he reported to Feodor Petrovich Kaminsky, the older man would be delighted with the progress of the multi-faceted operation.
The Agency * 2: 05 p.m. EST (GMT-5)
"So, my darling wife, how would you like a night away in the romantic city of Boston?" Lee asked from his desk when Amanda entered the Q-Bureau.
"If you promise that I won't have to deal with anyone who speaks only Polish, I think it's a grand idea. No one at the embassy has ever heard of glastnost." She sat down behind her desk and let her head fall into her hands. "When?"
Lee got up and went to his wife, began to massage her temples for her. "Tonight."
"Tonight? I can't. We have a conference with Jamie's teachers and Mother – "
"I moved the conference up and I've already talked to your Mother. Of course, I may have given your mother the impression that this was purely personal rather than business…"
Amanda looked up at him, interrupting his ministrations. "Lee, is my mother going to ask me about having a baby again after this?"
"Has she been bugging you, too? Ever since Marlena arrived, she's been trying to convince me that you and I should have children together." He smiled with a gleam in his eye. "Both the boys have asked me about it, too."
An eyebrow went up slightly. "Really?"
"Mmmm hmmmm." He bent down toward her. "And you know what I said?"
"What?"
He kissed her with great deliberation. While she was still breathless he answered her question. "I said that it was nice to know that if you and I decided at some point to add to the family, they were all for it."
She returned the kiss, and while he was still breathless, she said, "Very diplomatic, Mr. Stetson. Just for that, I think I will go to Boston with you tonight."
"Good. I can't stand sleeping alone."
The Parker House Hotel, Boston, Massachusetts * 8:20 p.m. EST (GMT-5)
"Fess up, Stetson. You're paying for this out of our personal slush fund, aren't you?" Amanda whispered to her husband as they waited for the elevator to take them to their suite in one of Boston's oldest, most elegant hotels.
"Believe it or not, no. This was the only room available in the city. There's some big convention or conference happening at Harvard this week, so all the hotels are filled." Lee wrapped his arm around Amanda's slim waist, enjoying the time away from the usual grind of life, however brief the escape would be. "Billy's exact words were, 'Enjoy the Jacuzzi'."
She laughed as they stepped into the elevator together, the bellboy behind them with the small carry-on bags that he insisted on bringing up. She leaned close to her husband to reply, "We can arrange that."
Bay State Road, Boston, Massachusetts * 9:00 p.m. EST (GMT-5)
"Hi. Did you have a nice flight?" Sandra Reese asked, thrilled and annoyed all at once by that sexy voice. Not fair, she thought. He's way old and married, got to be.
"Yes, thank you, Sandra. Where and when can we meet tomorrow?"
Sandra replied without hesitation. "At Faneuil Hall Marketplace, in front of Durgin Park at 12:15. We can have lunch and talk scripts."
"Since we haven't seen each other in so long, tell me what you'll be wearing and remind me how you look now, because all I can picture is the gawky 13 year old."
Without missing a beat – or so she thought, Sandra replied, " Uncle Lee, I'll be wearing a green and white letter jacket with a purple sweater and jeans. And I'm about 5'2", 105 pounds, with ivory skin, raven black hair and Wedgwood blue eyes – if you can believe my father, who waxes poetic about my newfound resemblance to my mother sometimes."
Lee Stetson laughed. "Okay, Sandra. I will meet you at 12:15 in front of Durgin Park at Faneuil Hall."
"Okay. By the way, I think I've got a fan club. I know I did earlier in the week – I scared one of them off." The ensuing silence on the other end made her nervous, but then Sandra thought that perhaps Mr. Stetson was adapting his plan.
She was right. "Okay, Sandra. Aunt Amanda and I will meet you as planned. Look for the usual bouquet of flowers and… what's your favorite stuffed animal again?"
"I still have a polar bear collection," Sandra replied.
"Okay, a bouquet of flowers and a reasonably large polar bear. I'm sure you'll tell us that 'Florida was just too rainy to tan well,' when we ask."
"'Florida was just too rainy to tan well.' Got it. 12:15 at Durgin Park – see you tomorrow."
Sandra looked at the furry white mounds on end of her bed. Another polar bear for her troubles? Sure, she could always sleep on the floor.
The Parker House Hotel * Boston, Massachusetts * 9:05 p.m. EST (GMT-5)
"She's good," Lee said as Amanda hung up the other phone in the suite and came out to join him in the living room.
"Very good. I wish I could place that name, though. It's ringing bells in my head somehow, but for the life of me I can't figure out why."
"It will come to you, Amanda. Now, why don't you come to me and let's follow Billy's orders for the evening." He smiled at his wife and watched her move toward him in a slow, seductive wriggle.
Amanda couldn't keep it up; she convulsed in laughter halfway to him. "Your turn," she hiccupped between giggles.
"I have a better idea." With that, Lee took two big steps toward her and scooped her up in his arms, carrying her off toward the bedroom – and the Jacuzzi – with practiced ease.
Faneuil Hall Marketplace * Boston, Massachusetts * March 15, 1989 * 12:16 p.m. EST (GMT-5)
Lee and Amanda watched the lunchtime crowd in the marketplace with careful casualness, each scanning the passers-by with practiced eyes. Amanda held the large polar bear and in some part of her mind laughed at the fact that she had a panda bear the same size that had been left on her front porch about 5½ years ago by the man standing next to her, who held a large bouquet of mixed roses. Marlena Marley used that panda bear as a reading chair, the thought continued, and wouldn't it be nice to have another child who could use it – STOP IT, Amanda commanded herself. Pay attention.
What would it be like to have a daughter of ours to pamper like this? Lee thought as he scanned the crowd. He got no farther with the thought; he heard a sweet, cultured voice calling "Uncle Lee! Aunt Amanda!" and turned to see someone who met Sandra Reese's description of herself approaching from the City Hall Plaza end of the marketplace.
She came unerringly, holding out her hands as though to greet favorite relatives rather than perfect strangers and the hugs she gave to each agent in turn would have convinced anyone that indeed, Uncle Lee and Aunt Amanda were truly her favorite people.
"So, Sandra, how was your spring break?" Amanda asked as she handed the polar bear over to her "niece."
"Oh, not bad, other than the fact that Florida was just too rainy to tan well. This is the coolest bear, Aunt Amanda. Another one for the collection. Dad doesn't know what he started."
"No, I'll bet he doesn't," Amanda replied, going with the flow.
"Well, should we eat here, or is there somewhere else you would suggest, Sandra?" Lee asked, impressed anew at the girl's improvisational skills.
"Let's stroll the food court inside and eat in the rotunda. Durgin Park isn't the cheapest restaurant in Boston and I'm sure that the cost of the trip, the bear, and the flowers – which, by the way, are gorgeous – will be enough sticker shock."
Since she was right about that, Lee didn't argue. The trio settled on sandwiches from the Brown Derby Deli and found an empty table on the balcony of the rotunda at the center of the marketplace building. Sandra told them in broad strokes about the events of the last few days, leaving out only her call to her father. "I don't know what's in the book besides the initial message, but I'm reasonably sure that I was followed out of the apartment to the subway. I think I lost them there – that's why I was late – but I can't be certain," she concluded.
Amanda and Lee exchanged looks. If Sandra's message really was from the remnants of Lee's network in Poland, she could be grave peril.
"I'd guess that as soon as we have the book, you'll be out of danger," Lee said to soothe her fears, if not his own.
She didn't buy it. "Don't con me, Uncle Lee. I can make a pretty good guess as to the true nature of your business and I know from first-hand experience that it can be an extremely nasty one at times."
"Reese," Amanda whispered. "I knew I'd heard that name before. How's Berlin?"
Sandra smiled, first at Amanda, then at Lee. "Your wife is a very good agent, Uncle Lee."
Lee looked from one woman to the other, knowing something momentous had just happened but not clear exactly what it was. He went for the easy one first. "She's not my wi – "
"Don't even try it. You two are very happily married and very much in love, too."
"So much for that cover," Amanda shrugged, unable to keep her gentle trademark smile from her face.
"Okay, okay. What's this about Berlin?"
Sandra answered again. "Amanda is referring to the fact that my father is Lieutenant General Alexander Kevin Reese, the head of American Military Intelligence for Eastern Europe."
"Oh." Lee set his sandwich down and sat back against the railing of the balcony. "Oh, this gets complicated. If you are being followed, and if the people following you know who you are…"
"Lee, I think we should take her back to Washington with us. If you are being followed, Sandra, there's no guarantee that handing over the book will end the pursuit."
Sandra nodded but remained silent.
"I don't know, ladies," Lee said after a moment. "It sounds extreme and may tip them off."
"I'd agree with you, Uncle Lee, if I hadn't seen the dude in Jericho. They – whichever part of 'they' we're talking about – aren't playing with the amateur league. Believe me, I know the type from living in Berlin with my dad. It really isn't my decision, since I'm sure that National Security – " the capital letters were obvious in her tone " – is involved. So I'm going to the ladies' room while you two decide where I'll be safest, and when I come back, we'll talk about the book." Grabbing a small cosmetic bag out of the front pouch of her backpack, Sandra patted the polar bear in the empty chair beside her and stood up, stepping around the tables and chairs to wind her way to the restroom.
Amanda smiled at her husband and took his hand across the table when he set down the remnants of his corned beef sandwich. "She's good," she said, trying to draw Lee out.
"Almost too good. Do you suppose this could be a set up?" He lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a gentle kiss into her palm.
"I don't think so," she replied, ready to assuage any doubts he might have. "She seems like a strong kid who's scared but hanging in because she has to. Maybe we should talk to the leaders of this trip to see if they know anything."
Lee sighed. "Maybe. You're right. I'm just being paranoid."
Five minutes passed; Amanda checked her watch and decided to find the ladies room herself.
"Why is it that women have to go in pairs?" Lee joked as Amanda kissed his forehead on her way past.
She came running back a moment later holding a jagged piece of the white leather from Sandra's letter jacket, stained red with fresh blood, and had an answer he didn't like at all. "Because someone put up an awfully good fight right outside the bathroom door and Sandra is nowhere to be found."
Chapter 2 * The Agency * March 13, 1989 * 2:15 p.m. EST (GMT-5)
"Lee, sweetheart, you are making me nervous."
"I thought you got nervous when I paced."
Amanda shook her head at her husband as he sat quietly in his desk chair looking at the stacks of papers and piles of files. "I'm used to that. You NOT pacing and you being very quiet make me nervous. What are you thinking, as if I don't know?"
Lee sprang to his feet and leapt gracefully onto his wife's neat, uncluttered desk to plant a kiss on her nose. "I have to go to Poland." He stood up and began to walk his familiar route around the office.
"No. You could be walking into a trap."
"Amanda, this is my network we're talking about, and it's come back to life all of a sudden. I have to go find out what's going on." He ran his hand through his hair repeatedly, his anxiety now apparent.
"I know, I know. But we have nothing to go on except one cryptic message. At least wait until something more happens."
"What if nothing more does?"
Amanda bit back the first answer that came to mind: then you get to stay home where I can get your back and I don't have to sleep alone, and instead replied, "Let's cross that bridge next week, okay? Let it rest."
Lee stopped pacing long enough to look at his partner, best friend, and wife. Her concern showed clearly in her eyes, and he knew from experience that her instincts were often right on target. "Okay – until something else comes through or until next week."
Amanda relaxed a little. "Thank you."
Boston, Massachusetts * 7:30 p.m. EST (GMT-5)
"Hi. How was your trip?" Sandra Reese's roommate Linda asked from her desk without turning as the weary traveler fell through the door to their Bay State Road apartment.
"Exhausting," Sandra replied honestly. "Mentally and physically." The single bag on which she had survived the entire week landed in the small kitchen with a solid thump.
Linda turned with a lopsided grin. "You expected otherwise?"
Sandra smiled though a weak grimace. "Yes, actually, I thought I would come back feeling as though I had been in, oh, say, Bermuda all week."
"It was fabulous," Linda said with a big laugh. "But I dare say that your trip will give you far more to talk about in life than a week on a Caribbean beach."
"You do have a point. Don't go anywhere." Sandra picked up her bag for the last part of the journey, around the corner into the bedroom the girls shared. She came out a moment later with a well-wrapped object in her hands. "Mission accomplished," she said, handing the package to her roommate.
"What mission?" Linda asked, accepting the gift hesitantly.
"Open it."
Linda ripped through the many layers of plain wrapping, revealing in 10 seconds what had taken a shopkeeper in Jerusalem twenty minutes to wrap according to Sandra's exacting specifications. "A Seder plate! How did you know I needed one?"
Sandra smiled. "You mentioned it several months ago when you were doing your semester schedule. Passover starts mid-week this year, and you said you wanted to host a Seder."
"That's very cool. I'll give you a hug later to thank you – oh, you dropped a booklet or something when you came out of the bedroom. It's behind you on the floor."
Sandra turned around and bent over to retrieve the item. When she noticed what it was, she stopped in mid-stretch with enough of a moan to make Linda ask if she'd pulled a muscle. "No, just feeling the effects of 15 hours on airplanes today – or is it tomorrow?" Then she picked up the brochure that the nameless teen had given her in Warsaw, stood up with a groan of real pain, and went into the bedroom.
"Page 12, the boy said," she muttered to herself as she flopped onto her bed by the window, wondering if the glossy pages were burning her hands for real or if it were her mind playing tricks on her. As she noted days before, page 12 looked perfectly normal. Playing a hunch, she got up again and rifled through her carry-on until she found the copy of that same booklet that she had picked up at Auschwitz. Kneeling beside her bed with the firm mattress as her desk, Sandra compared page 12 of the Warsaw copy with page 12 of the Oswiecim copy. It took four words into the Polish language block to notice the first difference and after that everything on the page was different. What set her teeth on edge was the fact that the whole thing was a note to her, written through four languages she happened to speak and read fluently and one that she could read passably and make herself understood in if she had to.
She reread the note three times, each time more worried than the next. How did anyone know that I speak Russian? Did they assume that my Russian was good enough to make my Polish comprehension passable, or did they know that somehow, too? Shaking, she looked at the clock, calculated the time difference, and resolved to stay awake until she could call her father in Berlin at a decent hour of the morning. Somehow, she knew he needed to know about this, even if he couldn't do anything to help her.
Maplewood Drive * Arlington, Virginia * 8:30 p.m. EST (GMT-5)
"Mom, you remember that project I told you I need to do for the honor society?" Philip asked, sliding down onto the couch beside his mother.
"Sure, Sweetheart." Amanda stopped herself from ruffling her son's hair as her arm started to rise of its own accord to do just that. She settled for draping one arm around his shoulders and tossing her magazine on to the coffee table with the other.
"Well, I figured out what I want to do." His mother looked at him expectantly instead of asking him for the information, so after a moment, he plunged on. "I want to go help after school at the shelter for homeless women and kids. They uh... they need some volunteers to help with their pre-school program."
Stifling the laugh that welled up within, Amanda smiled at her older son. "That's a great idea, Philip. What made you want to do that?" As if she didn't know the answer to that question.
She didn't – at least not all of it. "Well," he started self-consciously, "I really did like having Marlena around after I got used to her – she was fun and smart and happy most of the time. So that's some of it. But I also got to thinking about what might have happened to Marlena if her mom had been..." he swallowed hard before he continued, "...killed. I mean, she'd be an orphan and all... Anyway, I thought that maybe some of the kids at the shelter could use a friend after what they've been through the same way Marlena needed us."
Philip had never openly hinted that the recent revelation of his mother's and stepfather's actual line of work bothered him; he had focused on the action and adventure in his quests for information and understanding. That worried Amanda enough that she had asked him about it a few times, but Lee finally convinced her to stop pestering her child, assuring her that when he was ready to talk about it, Philip would let them know. "That's terrific, Philip. I bet a lot of those kids are worried about their parents the way Marlena was, too." It felt to Amanda as though she was always getting information from her teenagers obliquely these days.
"Prob'ly. So is it okay with you?" He smiled impishly, taking her back to the days of windows broken by baseballs and tinsel fights at Christmas time.
"Sure."
"Thanks, Mom!" he exclaimed, surprising her with a hug and a kiss on the cheek as he stood. From the steps a few seconds later, she heard his deepening voice once more. "I'm really proud of what you and Lee do. Just don't get hurt doing it, please."
She turned to answer him but he was gone, his heavy tread marking his journey to his room upstairs. It was just as well; she really had no answer to give him that could assuage his realistic, adult fears.
American Sector Military Headquarters, Berlin * March 14, 1989 * 6:35 a.m. (GMT+1)
Alexander Reese was not by nature an early riser; given a choice, he would have slept until noon and worked until 4 in the morning. Since his planned four-year stint in the Army had become 29 and counting, he lived instead by the Army dictum that the day started when the sun came up and ended at the whim of the person at the top of the chain. The sun was well up this morning, so he slumped at the table in his small apartment within the Headquarters complex, drinking coffee strong enough to turn shoe leather into filet mignon. When the phone rang above his head, he jumped and so did his coffee cup, splashing hot, bitter, dark brown liquid on his gray Army sweat suit. He cursed, slammed the mug down, and reached for the offending instrument.
"Reese," he growled into the receiver, expecting a subordinate to inform him that once again some desperate East German had been shot going over the Wall. With his free hand, the general reached for the napkin holder across the table from him.
"Daddy, it's Sandra."
General Reese pulled his arm back, dropping a stack of napkins onto his lap as he checked his watch. Then he answered his only daughter. "Alex Sandra Reese, it's after midnight in Boston. What are you still doing up?"
"Ummm... something happened in Warsaw."
"Did you get caught in another state police black market raid?"
She laughed on the other end of the line. "No, Daddy. I got a job while I was there."
The bull of a man checked his language before he responded. "What, are you a carrier pigeon now?"
"Yes, as a matter of fact." Before he could react, she went on. "I have a script to deliver. Have you ever heard of International Federal Film?"
His face twisted in revulsion as the father in him noticed and objected to the fact that his daughter handled the unsecured line as though she had a lifetime of experience making field reports. The professional operative and supervisor in him sorted through the many agencies he had dealt with in his lengthy tenure with Military Intelligence. "That's a new one on me, honey," he finally confessed. "But it sounds like a well-respected outfit."
"I'll tell you all about it after I meet with one of their producer/directors, then. A man named Lee Stetson comes highly recommended to handle this particular type of project."
He could hear the exhaustion in his little girl's voice; it touched him that she had stayed up late to call him at a bearable hour, if not exactly a decent one. "You be careful, Sandra. You know how those film people can be."
"Yeah, Daddy, I do."
As he ate his toast and cereal a little while later, Lieutenant General Alexander Reese wondered how his children knew so much about the intelligence world just from living at its periphery all their lives. Then again, if you're a 12-year-old boy or a 9-year-old girl when your mother is killed before your eyes by operatives from the other side who made a mistake, perhaps it comes as some relief to be on intimate terms with the dirty underworld in which your father lives. Kevin had been recruited by the NSA when he started his junior year in college; was another group looking to co-opt Alex Sandra?
The Agency * March 14, 1989 * 9:23 a.m. E.S.T. (GMT-5)
Billy Melrose listened attentively to Scarecrow as the younger agent paced the office, laying out the results of his inquiries into the origins of Friday evening's flash traffic message from Warsaw. Billy had been rather surprised that Tuesday morning to find Lee and Amanda still in the country; the section chief had assumed they would be on their way to Warsaw before he could come back from his Monday off to say no. As he listened to Lee, he realized why they were still in D.C. rather than in Poland.
"Not a single bite, Billy. No recognition, no return signals, no red flags, nothing. Nada, zip, zero, zilch, naught, nichevo. There isn't anyone over there." Lee ran his hand through his hair and flopped down in the chair beside his patiently quiet wife.
"So what's up with the message?" Billy asked, leaning forward in his chair and steepling his hands in thought.
Amanda cleared her throat and glanced at Lee before she answered. "Sir, I think the network has been compromised. I think the Polish security agency sent the message to see what we would do, and they're waiting for us to come exploring in hopes of killing the rest of the network off."
"Come on, Billy, you know that's not likely!"
Actually, Billy thought Amanda's analysis made a lot of sense, especially in the current situation. However, only Lee knew the members of his network personally, and only he could ultimately determine whatever further follow-up was required. "Give it a week. If it's a true message, then someone ought to be contacting you. Amanda, did you come up with any possibilities for 'B.U. student'?"
"Yes, Sir. Baker University, Barry University, Bastyr University, Baylor University, Belmont University, Benedictine University, Biola University, Boston University, Bradley University, Brandeis University, and Brenau University, staying within the United States and assuming that the 'U' stands for 'university'."
Billy whistled slowly. "I think you know what you need to do next…"
Lee growled as Amanda answered. "We need to find out if any of these schools had students in Poland recently, and if we can check quietly, see if the Polish Embassy will give us a list of visa recipients." She sighed; she would be on the phone for most of the day while Lee found ways to be out "doing something."
Billy noticed Amanda's reaction and made clear his preference. "Right. Amanda, you go to the Embassy and work your charm at the visa desk. Lee, you start calling the schools. Let's get this cleared up and get on with the real work around here."
The partners stood and turned as one toward the door, which flew open inches from Lee's nose. Francine Desmond was already speaking as he backed up into his wife.
"Lee, there's a woman on the phone asking for you urgently. She says she's got a script from some Polish writer who insisted you would produce it for him – "
Oblivious to the pain he had caused Amanda when he stepped on her toe, Lee shot an "I told you so" look at his boss and tore past the beautiful blonde out of the room, leaving Francine standing bewildered as she finished her sentence, " – and get him out of the country." She looked at Billy, confusion clouding her blue eyes. "Do I even want to know?"
"No, you don't," Amanda laughed as she rubbed her foot. "But I think you made his day."
1 Lublin, Poland * 3:24 p.m. (GMT+1)
2 "Your man, he is committed?" The voice on the other end of the international telephone connection crackled with expectant energy.
Gregor Borodin sighed. He had been through this far too many times – and Father Milowanowicz was not his man, anyway. The KGB – the very same security force now interrogating to him! – had recruited the priest. Well, a different directorate of the KGB, but it amounted to the same thing in Borodin's mind. "Yes, Comrade Gogol, he's a zealot for the cause. The latest renunciations of Solidarity sponsored academies in churches really set him off against Cardinal Glemp."
"And he knows nothing of our interest in this little action?"
"Of course not," Borodin snorted, insulted at the innuendo.
"See that it stays that way. Ten days, correct?"
"Da, ten days." The connection broke, leaving Borodin standing at the hotel phone desk looking for all the world like his dog had just died. Life might be better, he thought, if that were the case.
3 Bay State Road, Boston, Massachusetts * 9:26 a.m. EST (GMT-5)
Sandra Reese sat on the edge of her twin bed with her legs crossed, drumming her right foot against the dresser and absently smoothing the floral bedspread with her left hand as she waited to be connected with Lee Stetson. The booklet lay open on the bed beside her, and she had outlined her plan in writing before she called so that she could remember exactly what she wanted to say. Her brief conversation with her father had convinced her to play it very safe.
"This is Lee Stetson," a rich, languid voice finally purred in her ear.
I'm going to marry the next man who can cause that effect through the telephone, Sandra thought before she collected herself enough to speak after the shiver of excitement the voice sent coursing though her. "Uh, hi, Mr. Stetson. My name is Sandra Reese. I was asked to deliver something to you from a friend in Warsaw."
"Nice to meet you, Sandra. What do you have?"
"A script written by someone named Stefan. I was told to deliver it in person." She willed her foot to stop moving as the banging became annoying even to her.
"That's easy enough. Can you bring it by our office?"
Sandra laughed. "Mr. Stetson, I'm calling a number in Washington, D.C., and I live in Boston. I think you'd better come get it."
"Are you a student?" Expectation colored the tone.
"Yeah, at Boston University. Look, I just got back from Spring Break and I'm low on travel cash, if you know what I mean." So far, so good – sticking with her plan was easier than she had thought.
"I remember what that's like. Okay, can you describe this script to me?"
She shook her head, even though the man on the other end of the phone could not see her. "Sorry, my instructions were to contact you and to deliver it into your hands safely after I've verified that you are who you claim to be. I've told you all I'm allowed to."
A sigh from the man. "You're taking this very seriously. Is there a number I can reach you at when I've made travel arrangements?"
Sandra gave him her phone number and instructed him not to leave a message, but to keep trying until he reached a person. "If my roommate answers and asks who you are, tell her you're my father's adjutant and you're home on leave. That way you can leave a D.C. number and it won't raise her curiosity."
"Okay, I can do that. You should hear from me before five tonight."
"I'll be waiting." She hung up, proud that she had managed to stick to her plan from beginning to end. She stood up, taking her cheat sheet with her to the bathroom. She shredded the page thoroughly and dropped the bits into the toilet; only when the water in the bowl had swirled and emptied twice was she satisfied that no one would get wind of this part of the operation – whatever the operation was.
Outside Lublin, Poland * 4:45 p.m. (GMT+1)
Gregor Borodin watched as Father Milowanowicz obliterated the center of yet another standard rifle target, this one at 150 meters with a blustery cross wind that by all rights should have caused him to miss every time. This was proof positive that his tremendous showing as a member of the Polish Rifle Team at the 1980 Olympics in Moscow was no fluke, and a substantial boost to the likelihood of success for their joint endeavor. "Unbelievable!" he shouted to the priest when the other man stopped to reload his weapon a moment later.
"It's a useful skill in the winter," Jaruslav shrugged as he slid a new clip into the stock of his semi-automatic rifle. "We never starved." He pointed to the target. "Move it out to 175 and put a face on it."
Borodin relaxed a hair; this was the first time the assassin-in-training had asked to have a body-shaped target put up. The squat blond did as requested; he was surprised to hear the other man's voice berating him as he tacked up the black and white target.
"No, you idiot, I meant put a face on it. The Cardinal's, please."
"I don't have a big enough picture of him to make a target. You'll have to pretend for now." Gregor put three targets on the tree at varying heights, then made his way back to the Yugo parked safely behind a stand of trees so Milowanowicz could fire again.
"Then get a bunch as soon as you can. Go to the Diocesan office in town and ask for his official photograph. Tell them you want to put the pictures up in a school – they'll give you a whole stack." The priest took his time with his aim at the middle target; nine single shots later, a neat circle of five shots in the center of the forehead and one of four in the chest elicited a grim smile of satisfaction from the shooter.
Gregor Borodin shuddered. Perhaps he and his masters had underestimated their Judas, after all.
Gorky Park, Moscow, USSR * 7:30 p.m. (GMT+3)
Georg Alexeivich Tolstoy watched the skaters on the Gorky Park pond with mild disinterest as he sat on an icy bench in the stiff Russian winter wind. The air smelled of impending snow; Tolstoy willed his contact to come quickly so he could go home to his new mistress and the eiderdown quilts they so often threw off in their passion.
"On the other hand, when I think about Natasha, I don't need my coat even here out here, so perhaps I can wait a bit longer…" he murmured to himself as he scanned the paths for the familiar face he awaited.
"Georg Alexeivich, you're slipping," a voice berated into his ear in good, Leningrad-accented Russian. "You forgot to check behind you."
"You're late," Tolstoy replied, ignoring the jibe. "What could be so important that we had to meet tonight instead of at our usual time?"
Laughter, then an answer in twangy, southern American English. "Y'all asked me to check out a few things. I did, and y'all won't like the answers I got."
"Well?" in Tolstoy's thick Russian accented English.
"The Warsaw link has been used in the last week to get information out; apparently, they've enlisted civilian aid because the name y'all gave me as the suspected courier is not known to my contact, nor is she in the databases by that name. Washin'ton has been trying to connect back, unsuccessfully. I'm late 'cause my source called me with late-breaking news that the girl y'all think is the courier made contact with a cover company regarding something she picked up in Warsaw."
Tolstoy sat in contemplative silence for several seconds. "What cover organization?"
"That question is out of bounds, my friend. I will tell you, however, that an agent is going to Boston for a meet."
"Excellent. I will put my people on it in Boston. There will be a bit extra for you in your next deposit for this information."
"Spaseba," the man replied in his polished Russian. He stood and sauntered away, his nylon covered parka rustling as he strode away.
"Capitalist American pigs," Tolstoy muttered. "Money will get you everything." He left Gorky Park with a swagger and a deceptive spring in his step for a man his size, knowing that when he reported to Feodor Petrovich Kaminsky, the older man would be delighted with the progress of the multi-faceted operation.
The Agency * 2: 05 p.m. EST (GMT-5)
"So, my darling wife, how would you like a night away in the romantic city of Boston?" Lee asked from his desk when Amanda entered the Q-Bureau.
"If you promise that I won't have to deal with anyone who speaks only Polish, I think it's a grand idea. No one at the embassy has ever heard of glastnost." She sat down behind her desk and let her head fall into her hands. "When?"
Lee got up and went to his wife, began to massage her temples for her. "Tonight."
"Tonight? I can't. We have a conference with Jamie's teachers and Mother – "
"I moved the conference up and I've already talked to your Mother. Of course, I may have given your mother the impression that this was purely personal rather than business…"
Amanda looked up at him, interrupting his ministrations. "Lee, is my mother going to ask me about having a baby again after this?"
"Has she been bugging you, too? Ever since Marlena arrived, she's been trying to convince me that you and I should have children together." He smiled with a gleam in his eye. "Both the boys have asked me about it, too."
An eyebrow went up slightly. "Really?"
"Mmmm hmmmm." He bent down toward her. "And you know what I said?"
"What?"
He kissed her with great deliberation. While she was still breathless he answered her question. "I said that it was nice to know that if you and I decided at some point to add to the family, they were all for it."
She returned the kiss, and while he was still breathless, she said, "Very diplomatic, Mr. Stetson. Just for that, I think I will go to Boston with you tonight."
"Good. I can't stand sleeping alone."
The Parker House Hotel, Boston, Massachusetts * 8:20 p.m. EST (GMT-5)
"Fess up, Stetson. You're paying for this out of our personal slush fund, aren't you?" Amanda whispered to her husband as they waited for the elevator to take them to their suite in one of Boston's oldest, most elegant hotels.
"Believe it or not, no. This was the only room available in the city. There's some big convention or conference happening at Harvard this week, so all the hotels are filled." Lee wrapped his arm around Amanda's slim waist, enjoying the time away from the usual grind of life, however brief the escape would be. "Billy's exact words were, 'Enjoy the Jacuzzi'."
She laughed as they stepped into the elevator together, the bellboy behind them with the small carry-on bags that he insisted on bringing up. She leaned close to her husband to reply, "We can arrange that."
Bay State Road, Boston, Massachusetts * 9:00 p.m. EST (GMT-5)
"Hi. Did you have a nice flight?" Sandra Reese asked, thrilled and annoyed all at once by that sexy voice. Not fair, she thought. He's way old and married, got to be.
"Yes, thank you, Sandra. Where and when can we meet tomorrow?"
Sandra replied without hesitation. "At Faneuil Hall Marketplace, in front of Durgin Park at 12:15. We can have lunch and talk scripts."
"Since we haven't seen each other in so long, tell me what you'll be wearing and remind me how you look now, because all I can picture is the gawky 13 year old."
Without missing a beat – or so she thought, Sandra replied, " Uncle Lee, I'll be wearing a green and white letter jacket with a purple sweater and jeans. And I'm about 5'2", 105 pounds, with ivory skin, raven black hair and Wedgwood blue eyes – if you can believe my father, who waxes poetic about my newfound resemblance to my mother sometimes."
Lee Stetson laughed. "Okay, Sandra. I will meet you at 12:15 in front of Durgin Park at Faneuil Hall."
"Okay. By the way, I think I've got a fan club. I know I did earlier in the week – I scared one of them off." The ensuing silence on the other end made her nervous, but then Sandra thought that perhaps Mr. Stetson was adapting his plan.
She was right. "Okay, Sandra. Aunt Amanda and I will meet you as planned. Look for the usual bouquet of flowers and… what's your favorite stuffed animal again?"
"I still have a polar bear collection," Sandra replied.
"Okay, a bouquet of flowers and a reasonably large polar bear. I'm sure you'll tell us that 'Florida was just too rainy to tan well,' when we ask."
"'Florida was just too rainy to tan well.' Got it. 12:15 at Durgin Park – see you tomorrow."
Sandra looked at the furry white mounds on end of her bed. Another polar bear for her troubles? Sure, she could always sleep on the floor.
The Parker House Hotel * Boston, Massachusetts * 9:05 p.m. EST (GMT-5)
"She's good," Lee said as Amanda hung up the other phone in the suite and came out to join him in the living room.
"Very good. I wish I could place that name, though. It's ringing bells in my head somehow, but for the life of me I can't figure out why."
"It will come to you, Amanda. Now, why don't you come to me and let's follow Billy's orders for the evening." He smiled at his wife and watched her move toward him in a slow, seductive wriggle.
Amanda couldn't keep it up; she convulsed in laughter halfway to him. "Your turn," she hiccupped between giggles.
"I have a better idea." With that, Lee took two big steps toward her and scooped her up in his arms, carrying her off toward the bedroom – and the Jacuzzi – with practiced ease.
Faneuil Hall Marketplace * Boston, Massachusetts * March 15, 1989 * 12:16 p.m. EST (GMT-5)
Lee and Amanda watched the lunchtime crowd in the marketplace with careful casualness, each scanning the passers-by with practiced eyes. Amanda held the large polar bear and in some part of her mind laughed at the fact that she had a panda bear the same size that had been left on her front porch about 5½ years ago by the man standing next to her, who held a large bouquet of mixed roses. Marlena Marley used that panda bear as a reading chair, the thought continued, and wouldn't it be nice to have another child who could use it – STOP IT, Amanda commanded herself. Pay attention.
What would it be like to have a daughter of ours to pamper like this? Lee thought as he scanned the crowd. He got no farther with the thought; he heard a sweet, cultured voice calling "Uncle Lee! Aunt Amanda!" and turned to see someone who met Sandra Reese's description of herself approaching from the City Hall Plaza end of the marketplace.
She came unerringly, holding out her hands as though to greet favorite relatives rather than perfect strangers and the hugs she gave to each agent in turn would have convinced anyone that indeed, Uncle Lee and Aunt Amanda were truly her favorite people.
"So, Sandra, how was your spring break?" Amanda asked as she handed the polar bear over to her "niece."
"Oh, not bad, other than the fact that Florida was just too rainy to tan well. This is the coolest bear, Aunt Amanda. Another one for the collection. Dad doesn't know what he started."
"No, I'll bet he doesn't," Amanda replied, going with the flow.
"Well, should we eat here, or is there somewhere else you would suggest, Sandra?" Lee asked, impressed anew at the girl's improvisational skills.
"Let's stroll the food court inside and eat in the rotunda. Durgin Park isn't the cheapest restaurant in Boston and I'm sure that the cost of the trip, the bear, and the flowers – which, by the way, are gorgeous – will be enough sticker shock."
Since she was right about that, Lee didn't argue. The trio settled on sandwiches from the Brown Derby Deli and found an empty table on the balcony of the rotunda at the center of the marketplace building. Sandra told them in broad strokes about the events of the last few days, leaving out only her call to her father. "I don't know what's in the book besides the initial message, but I'm reasonably sure that I was followed out of the apartment to the subway. I think I lost them there – that's why I was late – but I can't be certain," she concluded.
Amanda and Lee exchanged looks. If Sandra's message really was from the remnants of Lee's network in Poland, she could be grave peril.
"I'd guess that as soon as we have the book, you'll be out of danger," Lee said to soothe her fears, if not his own.
She didn't buy it. "Don't con me, Uncle Lee. I can make a pretty good guess as to the true nature of your business and I know from first-hand experience that it can be an extremely nasty one at times."
"Reese," Amanda whispered. "I knew I'd heard that name before. How's Berlin?"
Sandra smiled, first at Amanda, then at Lee. "Your wife is a very good agent, Uncle Lee."
Lee looked from one woman to the other, knowing something momentous had just happened but not clear exactly what it was. He went for the easy one first. "She's not my wi – "
"Don't even try it. You two are very happily married and very much in love, too."
"So much for that cover," Amanda shrugged, unable to keep her gentle trademark smile from her face.
"Okay, okay. What's this about Berlin?"
Sandra answered again. "Amanda is referring to the fact that my father is Lieutenant General Alexander Kevin Reese, the head of American Military Intelligence for Eastern Europe."
"Oh." Lee set his sandwich down and sat back against the railing of the balcony. "Oh, this gets complicated. If you are being followed, and if the people following you know who you are…"
"Lee, I think we should take her back to Washington with us. If you are being followed, Sandra, there's no guarantee that handing over the book will end the pursuit."
Sandra nodded but remained silent.
"I don't know, ladies," Lee said after a moment. "It sounds extreme and may tip them off."
"I'd agree with you, Uncle Lee, if I hadn't seen the dude in Jericho. They – whichever part of 'they' we're talking about – aren't playing with the amateur league. Believe me, I know the type from living in Berlin with my dad. It really isn't my decision, since I'm sure that National Security – " the capital letters were obvious in her tone " – is involved. So I'm going to the ladies' room while you two decide where I'll be safest, and when I come back, we'll talk about the book." Grabbing a small cosmetic bag out of the front pouch of her backpack, Sandra patted the polar bear in the empty chair beside her and stood up, stepping around the tables and chairs to wind her way to the restroom.
Amanda smiled at her husband and took his hand across the table when he set down the remnants of his corned beef sandwich. "She's good," she said, trying to draw Lee out.
"Almost too good. Do you suppose this could be a set up?" He lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a gentle kiss into her palm.
"I don't think so," she replied, ready to assuage any doubts he might have. "She seems like a strong kid who's scared but hanging in because she has to. Maybe we should talk to the leaders of this trip to see if they know anything."
Lee sighed. "Maybe. You're right. I'm just being paranoid."
Five minutes passed; Amanda checked her watch and decided to find the ladies room herself.
"Why is it that women have to go in pairs?" Lee joked as Amanda kissed his forehead on her way past.
She came running back a moment later holding a jagged piece of the white leather from Sandra's letter jacket, stained red with fresh blood, and had an answer he didn't like at all. "Because someone put up an awfully good fight right outside the bathroom door and Sandra is nowhere to be found."