City Of Spies

“Very well.” He nodded curtly. The English accent was back, and a veil of formality fell between them. “Say hello to Thomas for me. I look forward to seeing you again soon.”

She shrugged. “Maybe.”

“There you are!” a voice called through the moist night air.

Pagan whirled to see Thomas’s golden blond head bright under the low lights of the poolside arcade, moving toward her. “I’ve been wondering where you went,” he said, striding over the grass now. “Are you all right?”

“Remember this old friend?” Pagan gestured toward Devin.

But Devin Black was gone.

Again.

* * *

“Typical Devin,” said Thomas as they sat in the back of their limousine on the way back into town. “How did he look?”

“Amazing.” Pagan shot Thomas a knowing glance. He’d developed a crush on Devin back when Devin was recruiting him to be an agent for the West in Berlin, a crush Devin hadn’t discouraged until the hook was set. “You know how it is when he’s wearing one of those perfect dark suits...”

“His hair gelled back except for that one lock of black hair that falls just so over his eyebrows. Ugh!” Thomas threw himself back into the deep leather seat. “Good thing I’m seeing Diego or I’d be jealous.”

“You’re seeing him tonight?” Pagan had known about Thomas’s preference for men since Berlin, but few others did. He was a handsome young actor trying to make it in Hollywood as a leading man. Pagan thought he was good-looking and talented enough to get to the big leagues, if no one discovered his secret. It was horrible, him having to live like that. But it was a fact of life. Even Thomas’s mother and sister, with whom he shared a small bungalow in West Hollywood, didn’t know.

Thomas nodded. “I’m going to his place after we drop you off. Mother doesn’t expect me until late because of the party.”

“You are...over Devin after what happened in Berlin, aren’t you?” she asked.

Pagan harbored hopes, which she shouldn’t still be harboring. But she tended to do things she shouldn’t.

“Occasional flare-ups of resentment and memories of lust past,” he said. “Don’t worry. I won’t mind if you fly off to paradise with him. You deserve it.”

“Well, it’s better to date a man who’s actually, you know, around. I probably won’t see Devin again unless I take the job,” Pagan said.

Thomas shook his head. “He is the worst tease. But I bet he still likes you.”

Pagan frowned. “He did look very happy to see me. But he made it very clear there won’t be any of that on this trip.”

“The two of you, working together, facing danger in a beautiful city far from home?” Thomas grinned. “There’s absolutely no chance he’ll change his mind.”

Pagan smiled over at him. “I can be persuasive.”

“And you said he knew all about your movie shoot in London, knew you’d been legally declared an adult, had a birthday... None of those things are connected to this new mission of his. He’s probably following us right now.” Thomas turned to look out the back window of their big-finned limousine, half in jest, and froze. “I was joking, but I think the same white Plymouth Valiant was behind us on our way to the party, as well.”

“Very funny,” Pagan said, frowning out the back window. It was hard to tell in the dark, but the 1960 Valiant behind them did look familiar. “There must be a million cars like that in LA.”

“There’s a million of every kind of car in LA,” Thomas said. He’d frequently remarked on the ridiculous number of vehicles populating the city’s roads, but of course anywhere would appear jammed with cars compared to East Berlin. “But how did he know where you’d be tonight?”

“It wasn’t exactly a state secret,” Pagan said without conviction. Devin had posed as a studio publicity executive when they first met, and he’d exercised some kind of power, probably blackmail, over Pagan’s agent, Jerry. He’d also somehow persuaded the judge who convicted her of manslaughter to let her out of reform school more than a year early. “He is a man with a lot of powerful connections.”

“So it’s probably not him following you personally,” Thomas said, turning back to settle into his seat again. “It’s someone working for him.”

“Or it’s just another car heading home on a Friday night.”

She changed the subject to the party—Thomas was still agog at having met Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin—and the white Plymouth Valiant stayed behind them all the way through the Valley and up Laurel Canyon. But when they turned up the tiny side road leading to Pagan’s house in the Hollywood Hills, the Valiant kept going down the hill toward the city. Pagan saw Thomas eye its red back lights with relief before it vanished around a curve.

“Don’t worry, no one would be following you,” she said. “No offense, but you’re not famous enough yet.”

“I’m sorry,” Thomas said. “I shouldn’t be so paranoid. But if anyone ever found out about me...”

“No, I’m sorry,” she said. “Sorry that you have to worry about that.”

The limo had stopped in front of the house. The porch light illuminated the big wooden front door and part of the slightly ramshackle two-story building that climbed up the hill behind it.

“Say hi to Mercedes for me,” Thomas said as the driver opened the door, and Pagan gathered up her stole and her handbag.

“She’s probably up studying,” Pagan said, glancing out at the house. The front porch light was off. That was odd. Maybe Mercedes had gone to bed after all, and turned it off automatically. “You and your family are still coming over for Christmas Eve, right? I’m determined to start some new traditions. Mercedes is going to make tamales. They’re delicious.”

“I’ll call to see what we can bring,” he said, and leaned in to kiss her cheek. “You’re going to take the job with Devin, aren’t you?”

She kissed him back and then wiped the lipstick trace from his tan skin with her thumb. “See the world by spying on it!” she said. “That’s my plan.”

She was fumbling with her keys in the dark, waving at the limo driver to go on and leave, when the porch light flicked on, blinding her. The front door swooshed open.

“Mercedes?” She blinked into the dark doorway.

“Yeah, sorry. It’s been a weird night.” Mercedes took her arm in an unnervingly tight grip and tugged her inside.

“What’s wrong?” Inside, the house was dark, and Mercedes didn’t let go of her gloved wrist. They’d been best friends since they met in reform school, but Pagan could count on one hand the number of times they’d touched. “You okay?”

“Someone’s watching the house. Or they were.” Mercedes released Pagan to give the limo driver a quick wave, and shut and locked the door. “I haven’t seen anything in the last two hours.”

Pagan glanced around the quiet house, instantly focused. Until recently, Mercedes had been an enforcer for one of the toughest gangs in Los Angeles, and her nose for danger was not to be trifled with. She must have turned the house’s interior lights off to see outside better. Pagan said, “Thomas and I think a car might have followed us here from the party.”

Mercedes nodded. “Your people, then.”

“Probably.” Pagan’s past experience with the CIA, MI6 and the East German Stasi wasn’t extensive, but if anyone was following her and watching the house, it was most likely connected to that. “Where were they?”

“I was doing homework at the kitchen table, when I saw someone moving down the hill in the backyard.”

“Did they notice that you saw them?” Pagan got up and padded over the wood floors down the hall and into the kitchen, a large room at the back of the house with big windows and its own door opening onto the backyard. The upward slope was nothing but darkness and moonlight shifting through the trees.

“Not at first. He had binoculars. I was just thinking about calling the police when he left.” Mercedes came to stand next to her. “I’ve been keeping a lookout, but no sign of anyone else.”

“If they come back, they’ll have an exciting night watching us sleep.” Pagan flipped on the lights and opened the back door. Cold night air rushed in, infused with the sweet medicinal tinge of eucalyptus.

She stepped out onto the back patio. The backyard was a short stretch of lawn followed by a series of grassy terraces cut into the hill rising behind the house. Pagan’s mother had insisted on orange, lemon and avocado trees on some of the terraces, and a small pond with a waterfall. The pond had once contained Asian carp, but the raccoons had made short work of them.

“Maybe it was someone come looking for me,” Mercedes said. “The gang was not happy when I decided not to go back after reform school.”

“We’re quite a pair, aren’t we?” Pagan shivered. “Let’s go inside.”

She clicked the lights off, locked the door, and followed her roommate into the living room. Mercedes sat down heavily on the couch. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I should have called the cops right away, but given my past history with them...” She shrugged. “I never should have moved in with you.”

Pagan went over to sit next to her and couldn’t resist tugging slightly on her thick black ponytail. “Stop it. Having you as my roommate is the best idea I’ve ever had,” she said.

“Are you okay?” Mercedes nodded, turning to look Pagan in the eye. “What if my old gang has followed me here and they want revenge? They could break in, steal something.”

“I couldn’t care less if anything got stolen,” Pagan said. “They could burn our house down—they’d probably be doing me a favor—so as long as you got out safe, it wouldn’t matter. Don’t you see?” Her throat tightened, aching, as she stared at her friend. “After everything that’s happened, you think I give a damn about things? About stuff?”

Mercedes’s cheeks were red. Her eyes glittered in the dim light. Pagan had never seen her cry, but she looked darn close.

“No,” she said shortly. “I know you don’t. But you say ‘our house,’ and you welcome me here. And what do I do? I study, and I can barely pay a few bucks toward the bills.”

“You don’t need to work. My parents left me enough money for us to live for ages. But still you work harder than I do sweeping floors at that comics store while getting your high school diploma at the same time,” Pagan said.

Mercedes frowned at her. “I’m not going to sponge off you or anyone.”

Pagan smiled. “Well, you’re contributing the brains to this sorry partnership of ours, sweetheart, because I sure as heck don’t have them. And I know you want to try for college. If that happens, this crazy world might stand a chance.”

“College.” Mercedes swallowed, her dark-lashed eyes flicking wide to stare into the distance. Pagan almost didn’t recognize her for a second. Was that what M looked like when she was scared? “I have to pass my exams first.”

“As if that’s in any doubt.”

Going to high school without distractions had given Mercedes an appetite for learning that left Pagan in awe. It was like her brain had been starved, and now she couldn’t wait to eat up every piece of knowledge the teachers and librarians cooked up for her. The principal hadn’t wanted to let her into the physics class. He’d said girls didn’t belong in science except for cooking class. But Mercedes had promised him she’d get an A, and he’d finally given in.

It made her the weird girl at school, but she didn’t care. Her affinity for formulas coupled with her access to comics thanks to her part-time job at a comic book store had made her one of the most popular kids in her physics class.

“All that time I wasted, fighting people.” Mercedes gave her head a small shake, as if she couldn’t quite believe it. “Violence is so stupid. I’m never going to fight again.”

Pagan peeled off her gloves, easing her feet out of their punishing heels. The bottoms of her stockings were black from walking around the yard at Farralone. She leaned her head back and gazed up at the beautiful swirl of gem-like color that was the Renoir above them. The figure of a woman with a blue parasol was just visible through the press of lilacs and sun-dappled leaves. It was, literally, a masterpiece, and a grateful Dr. Someone had given it to Mama back when Pagan was eight years old.

Pagan had always loved the painting, and had moved it from above her parents’ bed to the living room so she could see it every day. The move had marked the beginning of a new era. The house and the painting belonged to her now, not to her parents, and she’d gotten legally emancipated last month so that she no longer had to answer to a legal guardian.

But if Dr. Someone was who Pagan thought he was, the painting might not have been his to give. It would always be glorious, but maybe it no longer belonged in her living room. Its home was a mystery, a secret probably lost forever in the midst of the looting, murder and deceit of the Second World War. Seeing it now only made her throat tighten. Was there any part of Mama’s life that wasn’t tainted by her lies and secrets?

Never mind the dang painting. The night had been full of its own drama.

Pagan slapped her gloves onto the side table. “You totally should have come with us to the party. You would’ve enjoyed it.”

“And I told you I have to study.”

“I know, I know. I’m still getting used to this whole ‘taking school seriously’ thing. And guess what? Devin Black came to see me at the party tonight,” Pagan said.

“He’s like the Shadow,” Mercedes said, referring to her favorite crime fighter with psychic powers who posed around town as a wealthy playboy. She had never met Devin, but Pagan had told her everything that had happened in Berlin back in August. “You think he came here afterward to loiter in your bushes?”

Pagan snorted. “Can you imagine him in his thousand-dollar suit, crouched behind a cactus with binoculars? It wouldn’t be him personally, but it could’ve been someone from the CIA. They’ve been keeping tabs on me because they want me to do them a favor.”

Mercedes smiled one of her rare smiles. “What if a government spook staking out your house ran into one of my old friends casing the joint?”

“A convention of ne’er-do-wells that would put Frank Sinatra’s party to shame. All in our backyard.”

She started to tell Mercedes everything that happened that night, so they broke out the Oreos and milk. “Tell me everything about the party,” Mercedes said, dunking her cookie. “What was Nancy Sinatra wearing?”

Pagan gave her the details, dwelling on the things she knew Mercedes would like most—the tension between Frank and Dean Martin over Angie Dickinson, Tony Curtis trying hard not to stare at Juliet Prowse’s legs, Jack Lemmon’s gentlemanly manners.

Mercedes watched Pagan’s face as she talked about Devin and sometimes frowned down at her own strong fingers, the nails clean, unpolished, short but not too short, lying relaxed on the polished wood of the table.

“They could dangle your mother’s file in front of you for years to keep you on their string,” she said. “The file might not exist. Devin himself told you not to trust them.”

“I don’t trust them. But I know Mama was up to no good,” Pagan said. “She was helping this Dr. Someone, or Rolf Von Albrecht, or whatever his name was. Mama’s gone, but he might be down in Argentina, doing more bad things. If the CIA doesn’t give me what I want, at least maybe I can help stop him, bring him to justice.”

Mercedes said nothing, her eyelids at half-mast as she stared at Pagan.

“What?” said Pagan.

“You were eight years old when this German man visited your house,” she said. “You were twelve when your mama took her life. A little girl.”

“I know,” said Pagan. “But I’m not little anymore, and if I can make a difference now...”

“If you can right your mama’s wrong, you mean.”

“She was my mother!” Anger at her friend surged through her. How could she try to take away Pagan’s strong connection to her mother, good or bad? “Everything she did had a big effect on me! And if she was a bad person...” She stopped, not knowing where that sentence was going.

Mercedes leaned forward, dark eyes ferociously intent. She tapped her index finger on the table with every word as she said, “What she did is not your responsibility.”

A surge of emotion flooded up from Pagan’s chest. Her eyes filled with tears. “But what if Mama died because of me?”

Mercedes did not relent. She shook her head. “That woman had all kinds of things going on, way over your head. You could be risking your life here—again. Why are you doing that?”

Pagan got up and grabbed a kitchen towel, wiping her eyes. The cloth came away streaked black with mascara and eyeliner. “I don’t know, M. But even if I never find out why Mama killed herself, I want to help them get this guy. My mother aided in a Nazi escape. Isn’t that reason enough? Right now I’m the only one left alive who might be able to identify him.”

“Okay,” Mercedes said. “Let’s call it patriotism and justice for now and see what happens. But I’m going with you.”

Pagan’s mouth dropped open. “But school—that’s really important to you. I wouldn’t want you to miss...”

Mercedes considered this. “Okay, I’ll go for the first week, as long as I can get the reading assignments in advance.”

The corners of Pagan’s mouth turned up into a huge grin and she darted across the room to throw her arms around Mercedes’s neck.

For once, Mercedes didn’t grumble and pull away. She patted Pagan’s arm awkwardly. “Guess that’s okay with you.”

Pagan laughed and stepped back. “It’s great with me! I promise I won’t suck you into it too much. No violence.”

“We should review the self-defense moves I taught you back in reform school. And when we get back here, we should get a dog.”

“A big dog.” Pagan looked out the kitchen window at the backyard and switched off the lights. “And maybe some electric fencing, snares and booby traps.”

Thump!

Pagan jumped two feet in the air as something slammed into the front door of the house. Mercedes frowned. “They wouldn’t be stupid enough to come back.”

They walked side by side down the hallway to the foyer. Mercedes sidled up to the side window and peered through the curtains. “A man’s walking back down the driveway. Nobody I know. And there’s nobody else.”

“Well, then, what...?” Pagan unlocked the door and tugged it open a few inches.

A large brown envelope flopped down from where it had been leaning against the door. In black marker someone had printed Pagan Jones on it.

Pagan stooped to pick it up, pulling up the flap.

About a hundred pages of three-hole paper slid out, bound together with metal fasteners in the top and bottom holes.

The print on the front page said Two to Tango. A Universal Pictures Production.

Pagan laughed. “It’s the script for the Buenos Aires movie.”

“It better be good,” said Mercedes, and locked the door.

CHAPTER THREE

Hollywood, California

December 16, 1961

SEGUIDILLAS

Tiny, quick steps, usually seen in orillero style tango.

The script had been written by monkeys pulling random phrases out of a hat full of Hollywood clichés. After reading a few pages, Pagan had trouble forcing her eyes over the hammy dialogue and overwrought scene direction.

The plot was something she’d seen a thousand times—a girl on the cusp of womanhood from the US goes to exotic Buenos Aires on vacation, where she can’t decide between the two men vying for her affections. One was a tall handsome blond American—kind, but a little boring. The other was a darkly handsome Argentinean gaucho, their version of a cowboy, whose seductive tangos and moonlit serenades on his Spanish guitar were too much for the naive girl to resist.

Ten pages in, Pagan knew her character ended up with the American boy. It was too obvious that the “exotic” man was up to no good, and that his dangerous foreign ways and wandering hands would send the silly American girl scurrying back to the safety and security of the American boy.

Mercedes threw it down after five pages. “You’re going to have to tango and sing and say these terrible lines. You’re going to have to—” she grabbed the script and read from it out loud “‘—fall under the gaucho’s tropical spell.’”

“Is Buenos Aires tropical?” Pagan frowned.

Mercedes snorted. “Don’t you know? All dark-skinned people live in jungles.”

“I wouldn’t count on his skin being all that dark. They’ve cast a Broadway actor named Tony Perry as Juan, the seductive Latin man who—” Pagan grabbed the script from Mercedes “‘—tangos with the dangerous stealth of an enormous black panther.’”

Mercedes let out a scornful laugh. “And plays the guitar while riding a horse.”

“Excuse me, but don’t you mean—” Pagan read from the script again “‘—caresses the neck of his smooth wooden instrument with the consummate skill of a virtuoso’?”

Mercedes shook her head. “His instrument’s wood? Don’t let him get anywhere near you with that.”

Pagan gasped with mock horror. “Dirty jokes before breakfast! I better make us some eggs.”

After breakfast, Mercedes went back to studying for her exams, nose in her astronomy textbook, while Pagan called her agent, Jerry Allenberg. “Tell them I’ll do this Two to Tango movie,” she told him.

“I’m sorry, what?” Jerry said, speaking as if to an idiot or small child. “Have you lost your mind?”

“Maybe, but I’m doing it, Jerry. I’ll need to brush up on my tango before it starts shooting in January.”

“And dance your way right out of a career? No way, Pagan. I’m not letting you do it.”

Pagan took a deep breath. Jerry’s concern over her career went straight past paternal to pathological now that she was on the wagon and doing better. “You don’t get to decide what I do, Jerry,” she said.

“But you’re in the middle of a comeback!” Something in the background thumped, as if he’d dropped his feet off the desk to stand up and yell at her. “I never thought I’d say this after your disasters last year, but Bennie Wexler thinks you’re gold and Tony Richardson loved working with you so much on Daughter of Silence he’s talking awards at Cannes. Not for the movie, but for you. Did you hear me? You could be nominated for Best Actress at Cannes, Pagan! Somehow you’re moving away from movies like Beach Bound Beverly into A-list material with the best writers and directors. It’s a miracle! Don’t do this turd of a script and mess it all up. I’m begging you.”

“Most people don’t yell when they beg,” Pagan said. What he said made her uneasy. “You really think one mediocre movie could cancel out the good ones?”

“This could cost you the award at Cannes,” he said. “And, I didn’t want to say anything, but they’re talking about a possible Oscar campaign, too.”

Once upon a time, getting an Oscar had been Pagan’s biggest dream. But now, when she weighed that against the chance to find out more about her mother, to help her country, to catch a Nazi who probably escaped from justice? The awards seemed like Tinkertoys.

Time for the trump card. “Do you remember our friend Devin Black?”

Silence. Then a thump and a squeak of chair springs as Jerry sat back down. Jerry had caved in to Devin before, when he’d negotiated Pagan’s contract for Neither Here Nor There in Berlin in August. Pagan had never learned exactly what hold Devin had over Jerry, but it seemed to involve blackmail. Jerry probably didn’t know who Devin worked for, but he was no fool. “Devin Black’s involved in this tango turd?”

“He asked me to do it. And I want to do it,” Pagan said. And waited.

Another silence. “Okay. So. You’re doing it,” Jerry finally said. “But if at any point you or Mr. Black wish to extricate yourself from this awful picture, you let me know. It’ll be worth the penalties to your contract.”

“Thanks, Jerry,” Pagan said.

“Yeah, yeah.” He paused. “The studio’s going to owe you big for this one. Anything special you want during the shoot I can demand? Caviar every day, maybe? A personal masseuse?”

Pagan glanced over at Mercedes, who was underlining something in her book. “I want to bring my best friend along with me for a week. They could pay for a nice hotel suite for the two of us, and her airfare as well as mine. If you think you can manage that.”

“Best friend, airfare, hotel suite,” he pronounced, as if writing it down. Sharply, he added, “Is Devin Black okay with her being there?”

Pagan hadn’t thought of that. The CIA might not want her to have someone living in her suite with her, for secrecy’s sake. Well, that was too bad. “If anyone kicks back over her being there, you tell them she comes or I’m out.”

“If we’re lucky, they’ll kick back,” Jerry muttered. “When producers ask me about this horrible movie later, can I tell them you were back on the bottle when you agreed to do it?”

“Jerry!” Pagan scolded.

“Yeah, yeah, that would be even worse for your rep. I know.” He sighed heavily. “You really okay with this, kid?”

Which was as close as Jerry Allenberg would ever come to making sure Devin Black wasn’t blackmailing her into doing this movie.

“I’m great, Jerry. Really. If we’re lucky maybe the movie will be so bad they won’t release it.”

“Your lips to God’s ears,” he said.

“Have the studio’s dancing instructor call me so I can brush up on the tango, okay?”

“Sure, sure.” And he hung up.

“Jerry doesn’t think it’s a good idea,” Pagan said, setting the handset back in the cradle of the phone on the kitchen wall.

Mercedes didn’t look up from her astronomy book. “Too late. You’ve crossed the event horizon.”

“Is that a tango step?” Pagan grinned.

“It’s a boundary that surrounds a black hole.” Mercedes looked up from the book. “Do you know what a black hole is?”

“What Jerry Allenberg has instead of a soul?” Pagan shrugged off Mercedes’s look, “Oh, come on, you know I was either drunk or distracted between the ages of thirteen and sixteen. My high school diploma’s strictly ceremonial, thanks to Universal Pictures and all those lovely tutors fudging my scores.”

“A black hole is this area in space with gravity so strong it sucks everything, even time, into itself. Nothing, even light, can escape.” Mercedes wasn’t reading from her book as she spoke, and her eyes lit up as she went on. “This physicist, Finkelstein, discovered the event horizon, which is like a boundary around the black hole. Once you cross the event horizon, you can’t go back. You’re trapped forever.”

“So you’re saying I’ve been sucked into a one-way pit of darkness?” Pagan nodded. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Mercedes went back to reading. “The constellations are different in the southern hemisphere,” she said. “Maybe I can find a telescope while we’re there so I can see them.”