“So how long has this been going on?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
I prop myself on the windowsill and stick my head out. Fox joins me, a little awkwardly, because his shoulders are almost too wide to fit.
I speak softly. “This business of yours. When did you set it up?”
For some time he leans there silent next to me, heads stuck side by side into the open air. Kremlin across the street. Noise of traffic down below. Truth lies somewhere between us. Will he give it to me?
He turns his mouth to my ear and speaks in an intimate murmur, the way a lover would. “When I got out of the hospital, after the war. Hoover called me in. The Bureau was decrypting Russian diplomatic telegrams and he’d come to realize they had a high-level leak. Who or where, he couldn’t tell. Needed someone to work on his own, outside the agency. Someone who’d spent the last few years in a prison camp on the other side of the world. Told me he wanted us to get an agent in Moscow, right in the heart, root out all the names. Gave me whatever resources I needed.”
I absorb all this along with his warm breath on the side of my face, my neck. Turn my own mouth to his ear.
“Well? Did you find the leak?”
“A lot more than that. But not the man at the top. Not the last name we needed. And a little over a year ago, our Moscow agent dropped all communication. We were sick with worry. Then finally we got a signal. The extraction signal.”
“And here we are. That’s why we’re here. To bring your agent home.”
Fox lowers himself on his elbows and gazes down at the sleepy street below. The rising sun makes his hair sparkle. Bathes the red spires of the Kremlin across the street. I lower myself next to him so our forearms lie against each other. Right hand holds the cigarette, smoke drifting into the delicate light. Fox takes my left hand and squeezes it.
Trust me, he says.
Iris
September 1948
London
Iris took a taxi to the American embassy in Grosvenor Square and gave her name to the receptionist in the lobby. “Mrs. Digby to see Mr. West, please,” she said, dignified yet friendly.
The receptionist’s eyes went round. She lifted the receiver of her telephone. A hushed, hurried conversation took place, and when the receptionist looked up again, Iris could’ve sworn she was forcing back a smile.
“You may go straight up, Mrs. Digby. Fourth floor.”
Mr. West stood up hastily when Iris entered his office. He brushed some crumbs from his tie and held out his hand. “Mrs. Digby. It’s been some time. Welcome.”
“Mr. West. Yes, I’ve been spending the summer in the countryside. Dorset.”
“Do sit.”
“Thank you. I expect you know why I’ve come to see you.”
He sighed and took his seat. “Yes, this silly affair of Digby’s. How is he?”
“Sleeping it off. As I’m sure you know, he’s been under tremendous strain lately.”
“Indeed he has. We’re well aware of the toll the service takes, Mrs. Digby, particularly for a man as able and as hardworking as your husband. I confess, I am very fond of Mr. Digby. He’s just the kind of man we need here at the embassy, and under ordinary circumstances, we do look the other way when—incidents of this nature occur. We give the man some leave, a rest cure in the mountains, perhaps.” Mr. West glanced down at the papers before him. “And your husband’s service has been exceptional. Honestly, I can’t think why he wasn’t given some sort of leave after his last assignment. His work during the war was extraordinary, extraordinary. A man wouldn’t be human if he didn’t crack up a bit, after a time like that. We quite understand, Mrs. Digby.”
“But?”
Mr. West steepled his fingers over the papers. “But. The girl’s the trouble, you see. She’s making a real fuss. She’s gone to the papers—we’ve had to pull every string. Every string. The kind of strings we like to keep in reserve, you might say, for incidents of a more diplomatic nature.”
“I see. I don’t suppose you could give me the name of this girl? Her address? I don’t mean her any harm,” Iris added quickly. “Not at all. I sympathize with her entirely. In fact, I thought perhaps a woman’s touch might help, in this case. I can convey my deepest apology, maybe explain the situation, gain her sympathy for what Sasha’s been through—”
He frowned. “This is really quite irregular. Under ordinary circumstances—”
“These are hardly ordinary circumstances, Mr. West.” Iris smiled and made her eyes grow. “I promise you, a woman’s touch is exactly what’s needed here. I can accomplish things in half an hour that all your diplomats couldn’t manage in a week.”