Chapter 5

Scarecrow's footsteps echoed loudly through the quiet sanctuary of the neo-classical cathedral. Staying in the shadows, he shivered from the dampness of the church building. Unfortunately it offered his chilled body little relief from the penetrating cold of the rainy evening. Brushing off the excess water from his trench coat, he noted the sparse congregation kneeling in prayer. All heads were bowed, reverently intent upon the crystalline voice of the priest.

Scanning his surroundings, Lee searched for his contact among the few brave souls willing to risk the disfavor of the communist government, in order to practice the tenets of their faith. Glancing around the periphery of the sanctuary, he felt remorse for any harm his pending meet might inflict upon the church innocents. He was deeply aware that the priest and congregants were only allowed to observe their ancient rituals as long as they remained committed to "getting along" with the communist state.

Prior attempts to communicate with the elusive Gyorgy Vadas had been unsuccessful. Every time the Petraks set up a meet, the Hungarian agent failed to show at the appointed place. Apparently, the skittish informant was awaiting the perfect moment, of his own choosing, to come out of the shadows. Or possibly, the watchful eyes of Gyorgy's associates, from both sides of the espionage game, had forced him to stay out of sight. Unless Vadas was lurking in the background, it didn't seem likely that he would be found among the women and elderly men who chose to worship on such a miserable evening.

Feeling like a slow moving target, Scarecrow walked part way down the wide center aisle, seeking the secure cover of the rotund marble pillars that braced the towering cathedral ceiling. Suddenly, behind him, a thunderous roar reverberated from the rear balcony as the mammoth pipe organ burst forth with Beethoven's "Ode to Joy." Momentarily startled, he whirled around and reached for the gun under his coat, relaxing his hand only when the music registered in his brain.

"Easy does it," he whispered to himself. Remembering to genuflect, the unlikely parishioner slipped into a pew and tried to act the part of a devout worshiper. As he settled his long legs into the tight space, Lee observed the unsightly cracks in the high solid walls and the water stains that scarred the ornate domed ceiling. Despite the decades of communism, he felt surprised to note the majestic architecture was not obscured by wars and neglect.

His uneasiness abated as the quiet sanctuary revived his sagging spirit. He continued to watch for a contact, while old memories tugged at his mind. Vaguely, he remembered sitting between his parents at an Easter worship service.

In the spring of 1955, they'd all been dressed in their Sunday finest, including a new hat and Easter corsage for his mother. Much to his unhappiness, he'd been forced to wear short pants, a dress shirt and a bow tie. It had been tough to sit still. While his parents followed the ritual, little Lee Stetson had silently counted all the Easter Lilies that adorned the altar.

Long forgotten images of Matthew and Jennifer Stetson awakened his senses and tumbled into consciousness: the feel of coarse fabric when he pressed his cheek against his father's tweed coat, the softness of his mother's warm fingers as she held his small hand, the sweet taste of jelly beans he covertly pulled from his pocket and popped into his mouth. All too abruptly, the faces of his parents faded away, leaving him with an overwhelming sense of loss.

In truth, he'd been alone ever since their deaths when he was five years old. There had been no more Easter baskets or Christmas stockings. Nor had there been Easter Lilies or Christmas Poinsettias. Churches had only reminded him of what he had lost. His uncle had tried to drag him to the base chapel a few times, but his resistance had worn the Colonel down, forcing the guardian to leave his stubborn nephew at home.

Shaking off the weight of sadness, a more recent memory flashed through his mind. Just last year his holiday loneliness had gotten the better of him, and he'd followed the King family to a Christmas service at the Washington National Cathedral. Unbeknownst to them, he'd taken a seat about five rows back and vicariously experienced a sense of family as he'd watched Amanda, Dotty and the boys. With their arms draped around each other, they'd lustily sung the Christmas carols, unaware of their secret admirer, standing in the shadows.

"Hmmmm," he breathed out softly. Lee's memories were helping to relieve some of the tenseness in his body, but this was not the time to let his guard down. Once again, his eyes searched the cathedral for any new movement. As his gaze settled for an instant on the magnificent altar, he felt surprised by an unfamiliar warmth radiating through his chest. For one precious moment, a calming peace fell like a blanket around his chilled, weary body.

In the stillness, the hardened professional felt a flash of revelation awaken him to the truth of his long inner struggle. Lee sensed deep within his soul who he wanted to be. He felt burned out from all the lies, code names, and dangerous assignments. He was tired of living his life as a loner and finding his comfort in the arms of shallow, uncaring women. It was time to step across the firm boundaries and end his self-imposed emotional exile from the human race. For once, he wanted to drop the Scarecrow facade and just be Lee Stetson, the man with a deep devotion to his country and the special woman who graced his life.

"Get a grip," he chided himself as he shook off the fleeting wave of homesickness and forced himself back into full agent mode. At this critical juncture, it was inappropriate to revisit his childhood or plan his future. Still not spotting a would-be contact, Scarecrow decided to test a hunch. Waiting for the priest's invitation, he stepped from the pew. With deliberate restraint, he slowly moved forward with a handful of others to receive communion at the altar rail.

With veiled eyes, Lee carefully watched the priest make his way down the row, solemnly distributing the elements to the prayerful participants. As the celebrant paused in front of the American operative, the flowing sleeve of the clerical vestment brushed over the open hand, dropping a note into the ready fingers. Playing his part, Lee joined in the ancient Eucharistic meal and followed the established ritual, until he could blend with the others and gracefully leave the church.

SMK-SMK-SMK

The growing darkness cast its long shadow over the sleepy town of Vac. Lee trudged around Konstantin Square for the second time, trying to discern the location of his designated meet. He'd just spent the better part of an hour combing the narrow streets and the riverside promenade to no avail. How was he supposed to find his contact if the specified restaurant didn't exist? The place wasn't there. It wasn't anywhere.

Turning up the collar of his coat against the biting wind, Lee retraced his steps passed brightly painted houses of mustard yellow, brick red, and pumpkin orange. Each abode was meticulously cared for and adorned with high arched doorways, tall stately windows and wrought-iron railings. Apparently all the occupants had retreated behind the high stucco walls of their homes, escaping to the inner sanctum of courtyards and living quarters. With gates and shutters closed tightly against the outside world, no prying eyes could glimpse the end-of-day routines of grandparents, parents and children, who all shared the same crowded space.

It wasn't lost on him that he was shut-out - always the loner who watched domestic life from afar. Images flashed through his mind of a charming Cape Cod home on Maplewood Drive in Arlington, Virginia. With its white picket fence and cheery, blue kitchen curtains, the home was inviting, yet unattainable. He ached to peek inside again and watch the King family unwind from their day, over a steaming pot roast with mashed potatoes and succotash. He could almost hear the boys' exchange of insults and Dotty's careful interrogation of her daughter over her recent whereabouts. He'd be willing to sell his soul, if he could just rap on Amanda's window and see her shy smile welcome him home.

Despite his dogged attempt to deny it, the steely concentration that made him a master spy was softening under the pressure of his growing emotional attachments. He was in danger of compromising the rigid, singular focus required to do his job. My God, where was the edge he needed as the hardened professional? Where was the old Scarecrow, who lived for the adrenaline rush of the big chase and climatic finish. That man was disappearing - going through some strange metamorphosis. He knew he had to stop his ridiculous self-analysis and crazy yearning. If he didn't get a handle on his assignment soon, he might not live to receive another one.

Out of options, he made his way back to the town square, finally ending up at the imposing "Cathedral Church." He felt minuscule standing in front of the enormous golden edifice, with its two clock towers, center dome, and high cross that all but disappeared in the low hanging clouds. Six statues of sainted apostles stood sentry above an inscribed stone entryway, braced by ten columns of gilded trimmed pillars. The sight was so awesome, he felt strangely moved by its splendor.

The unbidden emotion brought him up short, and he reined in his feelings very quickly. He wasn't on some damn spiritual quest. He wasn't here to meditate on the divine, commune with nature, or contemplate his naval. He had a mission to accomplish, and it sure as hell wasn't ordained by God.

All things considered, Lee Stetson probably didn't count for much in the grand scheme of things. No legion of angels was coming to his rescue, and no heavenly inspiration was going to get him out of this mess.

There'd been no divine intervention to stop his parents from being killed, and there'd been no tender mercies to comfort a devastated little boy. The firm boundaries had been constructed long ago. Don't ask for help. Don't expect it. Now, like then, he was on his own.

Lee climbed the wide steps, seeking shelter from the wind and the dampness of the evening air. Leaning heavily against the massive portico doors, a tired sigh emanated from deep within his chest. He was the epitome of dejection, as he pondered his dilemma and fought against the tenacious grip of loneliness. At the rate his case was progressing, he wasn't going back to the good old USA for a very long time.

The sound of a mournful train whistle reminded him he'd probably missed his transportation back to Budapest tonight. Great, just great, his mind screamed. The whole day was a complete bust.

Ready to admit defeat, he suddenly spotted a young couple ascend into view, as if they had been miraculously raised from the earth beneath them. So, that was the problem. He was looking for a business that literally existed underground.

Hurrying to the entrance, he grabbed the railing and followed the steep, narrow steps to the restaurant below. There was a legitimate reason he'd missed this landmark on his first two trips around the town square. It was totally invisible at street level, and now he'd discovered why. The flourishing business was located in the bowels of the earth - a large cave, teeming with patrons.

Ducking his head to steer clear of the low hanging rocks, he struggled to see through the crowded, dark room. The bar was lined with scantily clad women, sidling up to boisterous, young men. Waiters weaved between small tables as they carried trays of beer and anemic looking pizzas to the seated clientele. Lee watched in amazement as ketchup bottles were provided, so the clueless customers could coat their dinner with a faux tomato sauce substitute. Obviously, Hungarians had not caught up with the American version of fast food pizza.

Scarecrow groaned inwardly when two of the women cast their gazes in his direction. Quickly, he averted his eyes from their seductive smiles. Too late, he realized he hadn't discouraged the barroom babes when he felt them intruding upon his space and draping their voluptuous bodies around his frame. Acknowledging them with a curt nod, Lee carefully pulled his arms from their grasp. Pointedly, he abandoned them, moving through the stifling room toward the far end of the bar.

Now was not the time to be distracted, particularly by unwanted advances. Bracing his side against the counter, he stood alert, carefully scanning the room for a likely contact. The cigarette smoke, loud music and mixed aromas of perfume and body odors soon invaded his senses, bringing on a sudden wave of nausea and the prelude to a migraine headache.

Massaging his forehead and trying to get his bearings, he suddenly felt two men close ranks around him. Instantly, they pushed him through a dark, narrow passage, further into the cavernous café.

Bile rose in Lee's throat as he fought the panic pounding in his chest. The two oversized goons roughly shoved him into a dark room and pulled the door closed before he could whirl around and grab the knob. "What the hell?" he shouted.

Lee leaned against the door trying to adjust his eyes to the total darkness and calm the heaving of his chest. Feeling, rather than seeing, he quickly sensed the presence of another person in the room. Reaching for his gun, Lee was once again surprised when a light clicked on. This time, he found himself looking straight down the barrel of a revolver.

"Ah, Mr. Stetson, we have been expecting you. We asked your government to send you, and to our great pleasure, here you are! If you do not mind, I would like you to drop your gun on the floor."

Judging that a bullet to his head would be his only alternative to dropping the gun, Lee gingerly eased his weapon to the floor. "Excuse me, but we haven't been introduced." Even under duress Scarecrow couldn't resist a smart aleck remark. His upper lip curled into a sneer as he held his hands over his head, allowing the dark, burley man to carefully search for more weapons.

"Yes, of course, let me introduce myself." He motioned for his captive to sit down. "I am Gyorgy Vadas, Hungarian Communist Secret Police. I also have ties to the KGB."

"Well, Vadas, this certainly isn't the hospitable welcome the Petrak family promised. They implied we work for the same cause in our espionage game." Lee leaned away from the man's long reach, cautiously watching the gun still aimed in his direction.

The steely eyes of the sinister spy bore into Lee as he poked a stubby finger in the American's chest. "You might say I am a man straddling several countries. I have been feeding the western agents choice tidbits of information for years, at the same time I have been gaining the trust of the Eastern European intelligence communities."

"So, which side are you on today, Vadas?"

"I am on my own side!" The Hungarian stepped away and began to circle Lee's chair. "You might say I am an opportunist. My allegiance is determined by whatever works for me and lines my pockets. However, my little games are beginning to catch up with me. It is becoming very dangerous for me in my own country." He pulled a handkerchief from his pants and mopped the sweat from his balding forehead.

"Why don't you just leave the country, Vadas?" Running his hand through his hair, Lee decided to disclose the story of his border crossing. "I had no trouble getting into Hungary. The border guards acted like they didn't care. They searched the trunk of my car, found what they wanted and waved me through, barely scrutinizing my documentation. Hell, all I had to do was allow them to take a British tabloid of Princess Di, some German beer, and a pair of Nike sneakers, and here I am." Lee looked at the miserable man in disgust as Vadas wiped his bulbous nose. "Surely you Hungarians are well aware that no one gives a damn along the Austrian-Hungarian border?"

Gyorgy rested his ample rear on the desk, while he waved his gun in the air. "Not anymore, my friend. How do you Americans say it? That was then, and this is now. My colleagues have become suspicious of me. I am wanted for questioning, and I know, beyond a doubt, the border crossings to Austria are closed to me."

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Lee shook his head in frustration. "What is it you expect from me, Vadas? My government sent me 7000 miles to help you, and the Petraks had me crisscrossing Hungary, playing cat and mouse with you. Now, we finally meet and you have a weapon trained at my head. If you don't have vital information for me to take back to Washington, D.C., then what the hell do you want with me?"

"Plans change, do they not, my good man? I will not be passing you Soviet missile designs or the names of Soviet operatives in your country. I am retiring from the spy business, as we speak. However, you can be of service to me in a different way, Mr. Stetson."

"And just how is that, Vadas?" Lee felt his jaw tighten in dreaded anticipation. He could guess what was coming.

"You can certainly figure it out," bellowed the grim Hungarian as he thrust his jaw close to Lee's face. "It will be a feather in my cap to produce an American spy, especially one of your flawless reputation. Agent Lee Stetson is considered quite the prize. Thanks to you, I can regain the trust of the Soviets and live in the lap of luxury when I hand you over to the KGB."

"Why you son of a . . ."

Scarecrow kicked out his legs and sent the surprised Hungarian reeling onto the desk. Pouncing with a vengeance, he grabbed for the weapon, while the stunned Vadas withered in pain. Too late, Lee turned toward the door, just as it flew open.

"Don't try it, Stetson." The burly associates trained their revolvers on the American. "Throw the gun down or we finish you off, right here, right now."

SMK-SMK-SMK

The small Opal sedan sped into the forest. Scarecrow kept one hand on the dashboard and the other braced against the handle of the passenger side door. Forced at gunpoint to accompany the communists, he was experiencing one of the scariest rides of his life.

The crazed driver had only a modicum of control as the vehicle twisted and turned through a maze of curves and washed out pavement. With only the low beam of inadequate headlights to guide their way, the cloak of darkness all but swallowed them.

Lee flinched as the overgrowth of tree limbs and bushes scraped against the metal of the sedan's slight frame. They were dangerously close to the edge of the woods. At any second they could swerve onto the rough landscape that was choked with dense Pines and Oaks.

Despite the forceful swaying of his body, Lee could still feel the cold metal of his captor's gun. It was pressed against his temple, bumping him hard each time the car lurched and bounced. The lunatic, Gyorgy Vadas, straddled the hump in the back seat. He shouted orders to the driver who continued to veer the car back and forth across the narrow road, miraculously propelling them forward.

The trio was fast approaching the Hungarian-Ukrainian border, and to everyone's dismay, but his own, they had picked up a tail. Lee hoped to God it was the Hungarian Resistance, coming to his rescue. Whatever trouble pursued them from the rear was minor compared to the threat of what awaited him in Moscow. It would be better to die in this chase than to live for the KGB interrogation.

The sturdier car pressed its advantage, hugging the turns with precision, but the Opal barely kept all four tires on the rough roadway. "Faster," Vadas ordered. They're gaining on us."

The desperate driver pushed the gas pedal to the floor, causing the car to shake violently with the increased speed. Suddenly a large obstacle loomed menacingly in their path. Slamming on the brakes, the driver sent the tiny vehicle skidding out of control.

Too late, the frantic passengers sought to secure themselves as the automobile spun 180 degrees. Within seconds, terrified yells erupted when the car collided with the massive trunk of a fallen tree. The wild ride ended with the sedan folding on impact, ejecting the unbelted occupants through windows and doors.

Lee felt himself airborne, catapulting over an embankment before slamming hard against the unforgiving earth. The momentum sent him careening downhill, with rocks and trees assailing his lumbering body as he fought valiantly to slow his descent. Just before he reached the ravine at the bottom, his mind blotted out his erroneous mission and the agonizing pain. His last conscious thought focused only on his dearest friend. "A-man-da," he screamed as he surrendered to the darkness.

To be continued