She looked at him in the half darkness.
He said, “I got the tape.”
She understood then. The tape cassette was between them; it would always be between them. Because she had made a small betrayal of Michael’s trust in her, and it had cost him his life. She took a step back and folded her arms across her chest. Her beautiful face was now cold and stoic. She would not be hurt by him; he could not do it.
“What will you do now?”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Give me the tape.”
“What would you do for me then?”
She did not waver. “I will do anything you want. For as long as you want.”
“Is that true, Rena? Is it that important?”
“It is a cause—”
“Cut the crap, Rena. Your only cause is yourself.”
“I hate you.”
“But you gave yourself to Henry McGee to get free. Did you resist long? Did he have to rape you? And you gave yourself to Michael that morning in the Savoy Hotel because it was important that he not go back to pack his own bags, it was important that he get the tape in his bag and not be able to give it back. Did you think of him listening to the tape on the train to Stockholm, listening to it out of boredom? How many times did you have to make love to him to betray him for your cause?”
She hit him then in the face, and he smiled at her because he had hurt her so much. There. She could feel pain and it pleased him.
“I loved Michael.”
“I’m sure you loved him. Right up to the moment he started running to Rome. Maybe he might have made it, and you wouldn’t feel so guilty, and you could thank him with a courtesy fuck.”
“And you, from the moment you forced your way into my rooms,” she said, “you wanted me. You didn’t give a damn if I loved someone else — you just wanted me. You have no worth, Devereaux, remember that.”
“I never said I did,” he said. The words were soft and curiously introspective.
She saw a sense of loss in his eyes and was touched by it because it was exactly her loss.
“What will you do with the tape?”
He stared at her for a long moment. “The right thing. If I can.”
“What is the right thing?”
Devereaux said, “Yes, that’s the question, isn’t it?”
“Oh, damn the tape and damn me for killing Michael. Damn me for needing you. Will you forgive me?”
“I have nothing to forgive anyone.” His words were at the edge of the universe, and she understood that.
And understood why she embraced him then in the mutual suffering of a kindred lost soul. Clung to him but did not expect comfort from the feeling of his body.
She had known all her life this moment would come, without expecting it. She wanted him to possess her in a way that she had never been possessed before, to fill her while only taking his pleasure.
Yes, he held her. He wanted the satin of her belly beneath his hand. He felt the silk between her legs then, felt her velvet in the darkness, felt her yielding, felt her draw him into her. He could feel and hear her breath on his neck, against his ear. He could touch and not see her, the fingers of the blind man reading her need for him. She said his name and he said hers. They made love to each other. She was the smell of flowers and the darker smell of loam turned in spring after the rain.
The two KGB men wore black coats and berets.
“Do we take them in the hotel or out of the hotel?”
“Well, we take them and it’s up to us. I’d just as soon wait until they came out, because that way, we got a better exit.”
“That’s true, but if we take them inside, use the silencers, it might be hours before anyone finds the bodies. And looks for the damned tape.”
“That’s true,” said the second one. They were standing at the corner of the city hall, watching the entry of the Amigo Hotel. “Well, we ought to make up our minds, because I don’t want to stand around all night in the rain.”
“Well, I say we take them inside. Like you say, we don’t want to stand around all night in the rain. I hate this fucking rain. Let’s do it now.”
“He probably is screwing her anyway. That’s a good time. When they get to screwing, nothing else matters.”
“Remember, this is the guy who took out those two guys in Brussels. Just remember it.”
“This is Brussels, stupid.”
“I mean before. Christ, I lose track of the cities. It seems we’ve been on the road for weeks.”
“It hasn’t been that long, but I know what you mean. You get tired of being on the road. A lot has happened.”
“I’ll say. Well, here. I put in the special charge. Two good shots and they’ll look like steak hachette.”
“Oh, don’t get carried away.”
They went into the quiet lobby. There was a Mexican or Spanish influence to the decor of the hotel, which they thought was very odd. They went to the elevator and rode to the third level.
They knew exactly what they were doing. They knew everything down to the room number. They had picked up the room number that morning, and they had made a key to fit it. Every little trick in the trade is special and has its own expertise, but they were good at what they did.
The first one opened the door with the special key. Not a sound. Just like clockwork.
Into the bedroom.
They were on the mattress, the covers over them. The hitters pulled out their pistols and fired through the silencers.
Thump.
Thump. Thump.
Thump.
They walked into the room to find the tape. They pulled back the covers.
Blood over everything.
The first one stared.
“Christ,” he said.
“Christ,” said the second one.
“It isn’t him.”
“It’s some other guy.”
“It’s two other guys. Two fairies. This one is bald even. What the hell are they doing in this room?”
“How could we get fucked up like this?”
“Let’s get the hell out of here.”
To the door, down the corridor, taking the stairs this time. Into the lobby and past the concierge, and they were both running now.
“What do you want from me?” she said.
“Describe the limping man to someone in London.”
“Why? Who is the man in London?”
“The limping man at the Malmö conference must be working for the CIA. It’s the connection.”
“What about this other man, Henry McGee?”
“Henry McGee may deal, he may not deal, I can’t depend on him. Henry puts out a convincing case that he’s being set up. I don’t understand it. I don’t understand the secrets on the tape. This all seems trivial, but perhaps that’s all it is. Trivial. A lot of stuff gets set in motion for trivial reasons. I don’t understand politics, but I understand there could be some political advantage to having the Russians free a lot of people. Advantages. Little edges in the game. That’s all it is maybe.”
“And you will let Lithuania die.”
She was naked against him, lying in bed, speaking in whispers. Their sheets lay tangled around their bodies.
“It isn’t a matter of that. I have to return the tape to my masters, and they determine the political morality.”
“Are you so unable to have a conviction?”
He looked at her. She was beautiful, she made love with power and passion, she filled him and drove away apparitions. She wanted to have him possess her; even now while they spoke, their bodies were poised.
“The spies don’t set policy,” Devereaux said.
“Is Lithuania such a little thing?”
He did not speak to her.
For a long time they lay against each other and searched through all the words in their memories to find the words that would make it clear to them. What were they supposed to think?