Beth’s car was in the driveway when Locke swung his LTD in. The children were away.
“We have to talk,” he said to Beth. She was sitting comfortably on the living-room couch studying a brochure featuring the latest designs in kitchen cabinets.
“I’m due at work. Can it wait?”
“No, it can’t.” Chris paused. There was no sense holding back. “I’m leaving the university.”
She looked up at him dumbfounded. “You can’t be serious.”
“Never more so.” Locke sat down next to her. Amazing how you could live with someone so long and know them so little. “The administrative pressure’s become too much. They created an impossible situation for me.”
“And now you’ve gone and made it even more impossible.”
“Hear me out for a while. I’ve had other offers.” He paused, collecting his thoughts, trying to appear convincing. “I’ve known this was coming and I’ve prepared for it. Other universities have already expressed interest.”
“Where? Where are these universities?”
“All over.”
“Not Washington, though. We’d have to move, uproot the whole family. God, Chris, think of the kids. Is it fair to them?”
“Other kids adapt. Why can’t ours? They’re perfectly normal.”
“We should have talked about this.”
“We’re talking.”
“What about me? I have a job too, you know.”
“They’ve got real estate in other states.”
“You’re using this as an excuse to move, aren’t you?” Beth snapped out suddenly.
Locke knew his strategy was blown. He had to let on more. “We might not have to move at all really. There’s new interest in my novels and if things work out, I think I’ll give up teaching for a while, maybe check out George Washington for a part-time position.”
Beth eyed him curiously. “I thought they were still in the closet.”
“I mailed out fresh copies.”
“Who’s the publisher?”
“I don’t want to jinx myself by telling you until things are definite.” Locke took a hefty gulp of air. “But I will say that this publisher has expressed enough interest in me to finance a two-week trip to Europe.”
“Really!” Beth’s face brightened. “When?”
Locke had failed to consider Beth’s assumption she’d be coming along. “They’re, er, just sending me,” he stammered, “this time, that is. It’s just a two-week preliminary trip anyway. Very bookish. Sightseeing oriented. Gotta find new locales for number three.”
“I never realized locales were so important in your books.”
“They are if the books are going to keep improving. This is a golden opportunity, Beth. I don’t want to blow it.”
Beth’s eyebrows flickered and Locke thought he could read her mind. Being married to a published novelist of potential acclaim — she’d like that.
“When do you leave?” she asked.
“Tonight.”
“Tonight?”
“Things developed rather suddenly. I’ve got a seven-thirty flight.”
“But you’ll be gone two weeks,” Beth moaned. “We’ve got an important dinner a week from Friday.”
“Please express my regrets.”
His wife shrugged. “I suppose it’s for the best.”
“I know it is.”
For a long while neither said a word, only tension passing between them. Somehow Locke wanted her to question him more, to demand an explanation more substantial than the obviously thin one he had come up with. The fact that she hadn’t indicated how little she knew him … or cared how far apart they had grown. It had been months since they had been lovers and Locke had come to accept life without sex. It was life without love that was bothering him.
“I could drive you to the airport,” Beth offered limply.
“Someone’s picking me up” came Chris’s reply. “Thanks anyway.”
Locke finished carrying his bags down the stairs just as Brian Charney pulled up in the driveway.
“Need some help with those?” he asked when Locke opened the door.
Chris checked his watch. “Absolutely. It’s almost six thirty. We’re running late.”
“The plane will be held if necessary.”
“You never cease to amaze me.”
When Charney opened the trunk, Locke noticed the absence of his friend’s baggage.
“You won’t be coming along?”
“Not on this flight, Chris. Too risky. I’ll follow you out on a later one. We’ve got to avoid any even remotely direct links once in London. If the opposition’s good, they’ll know the Luber worked for me, which means they’ll be watching. That’s why I couldn’t pick up the trail myself.”
“Then I’ll be on my own for a while in London.”
“Proceed just as we discussed. Check into the Dorchester and call Alvaradejo immediately. Then call the contact number and leave word about the meet. I’ll be in just hours after you.” Charney hesitated. “Believe me, it’s for your own good.”
Dulles Airport was crowded with early-evening traffic. This was a comfort to Charney, who much preferred crowds to open spaces. As soon as the bags were checked through, he wished Locke luck and took his leave, appearing to be merely one friend dropping another off.
Locke had started for the gate, toting a single piece of carry-on luggage, when a man wearing a plaid sports jacket stepped up to a pay phone and dialed an overseas exchange.
“He’s on his way,” the man said simply and hung up.
Part Two:
Paris and London, Thursday Morning
Chapter 5
Ross Dogan’s gaze shifted rapidly as he strolled in the Placedu Tertre trying to appear as much a tourist as possible. The Russian had wanted a public site for his defection, and Dogan had chosen this place because it was certainly public, but reasonably confined as well.
The tables of several sidewalk cafés sat on the ancient cobblestones of the square. Artists sold their work from makeshift stands. Some had arrived at sunrise to assure themselves of a choice spot near a tree or storefront. Others created on the premises, adding a new and unique tourist attraction. But the Place du Tertre was no modern outdoor mall. The charming demeanor of the shopkeepers and sidewalk vendors provided the quiet feeling of a place where people could linger over their food and drink, soaking up the sun and the air. No one hurried.
Dogan found Keyes seated at one of many tables covered with red tablecloths. He took a chair across from him.
“Everything set?” Dogan asked.
Keyes looked at him deferentially. “Yes, sir.”
“Don’t call me sir.”
“Yes, everything’s set.” Keyes touched the miniature walkie-talkie in his lapel pocket. “All units in place. I’ve stationed four men at both the front and rear of the street, so we should be covered from there. And I’ve spread another dozen out in the general vicinity of the meet.”
“Here,” said Dogan, glancing at the tables cluttered around him.
“Here,” acknowledged Keyes. Fifteen years Dogan’s junior, he represented the new breed of Company agents, the first full generation of field men who hadn’t used Southeast Asia as a training ground. Langley had tried to take up the slack with various entanglements in South America and Africa but the media was keener now, so efforts had to be curtailed. Field men were nonetheless cockier than ever. The CIA had become fashionable again.