Code Name: Dove Page 6

  She and Cardone were prepared to approach the Königs at the head table if necessary, but Nova knew a move that forward ran a tremendous risk of offending. Minutes ticked by. König and Kleitman seemed deep into some subject.

  “I wonder what can be so important,” Cardone said, his impatience obvious. “König is supposed to like to dance.”

  Nova watched as König turned to his wife. The pair rose and König escorted her to the dance floor.

  Without speaking, Cardone pulled out Nova’s chair. She settled her hand in his and they slowly wove their way to the edge of the swirling mass of dancers. She and Cardone stepped onto the parquet floor and he swept her into his arms. In spite of her fixation on what she would say to König, Nova was caught by her nearness to Cardone. His hands were large and strong but he held her gently. Through the dress she felt heat from his palm in the small of her back. He was, after all, a great-looking guy. Serious-faced, he sailed them into the rhythm of the music. He wasn’t a bad dancer, and made it easy for her to follow his lead as she homed in on König. Cardone guided them next to the Königs, then let her go, tapped König on the shoulder and addressed him in English.

  “Mr. König, I’d be honored if you would allow me a dance with your wife.”

  König’s wife spoke English, although not as well as her husband. She smiled at Cardone. König frowned. But Isla König let go of her husband, and she and Cardone began to dance.

  Nova’s quarry turned, gave her a wry smile, acknowledging the inevitable, and held out his arms. Her skin alive with electricity, Nova stepped toward him, nodded in a silent greeting and moved into his embrace.

  König swept her skillfully across the floor as they explored how to make two bodies move as one. Nova looked up at him. His eyes surprised her. They were a cool blue, but they radiated amusement and charm that easily made up for the lack of superficial warmth. The frown was now completely gone. She was surprised at the sense of well-being emanating from him.

  Pitching her voice low and making sure she caught his gaze squarely, she delivered her rehearsed opening slowly in English. “You must forgive my partner.” She paused, waiting for him to take the lead.

  “He isn’t your husband?”

  “Oh, no.”

  “And why is it I must forgive your partner?”

  “He’s had a great day professionally and decided your wife is the most lovely woman in the room and no matter how much nerve it took, he was going to ask to dance with her.”

  Nova focused on König’s body, on matching her every movement to his. He must be made to feel, with strong impact, a harmony between them.

  “Your partner is mistaken. It’s true my wife is lovely, but I believe I am presently graced with the room’s most beautiful woman.”

  She chuckled, remembering to keep her voice low. “You’re kind.”

  König’s hand tightened slightly on her waist. Probably an involuntary response, or maybe a good sign that he was intrigued. He said, “Somehow I’m sure you must be told often that you’re beautiful.”

  They glided through several more turns with König watching a point in the air over her shoulder. Then the penetrating blue eyes found hers again. “Your accent is American. Are you living in Berlin?”

  “No. We arrived yesterday.”

  Intentionally, Nova stumbled out of rhythm, sagged against him and clutched him tightly. “Oh, dear.”

  He stopped and, courteously supporting her, searched her face. “Are you all right?”

  “Just embarrassed. Could we move off the dance floor? Just for a moment.”

  “Of course.” He slipped a supporting hand under her arm and she clung tightly as they navigated between the swirling dancers and off the parquet.

  She put one hand to her temple while retaining a good grip with the other on Jean Paul König’s arm. “Just a bit of dizziness.” She looked into his eyes and smiled. “I’ve had a slight ear infection. I thought I was over it.”

  His look was one of sincere concern. He filled the silence with “You say you and the young man are partners. What is your business?”

  “Not a business, really. I’m a freelance photographer. Joe’s the team’s writing half.”

  “And you are here to photograph something?”

  “Yes. A week or two more here in Germany should wrap it up.”

  “Sounds intriguing.” He encouraged her with a nod.

  “It has to do with GATT agricultural subsidies.”

  König’s brow wrinkled in an appropriately baffled response. Like a good angler, she waited to let his curiosity tickle his mind. “And just how does the raging debate on the General Agreement on Trade and Tariffs come to interest a photographer?”

  “I assure you, only through a very indirect route. A year ago a newspaper article left me feeling as though I was about to be robbed. The article was about the GATT agreements and how much land the European Community countries might lose to urbanization at the upcoming Brussels meeting.”

  Interest flashed in the blue eyes. “Not a very photogenic subject I should think.”

  “My obsession is nature. I found myself very upset over what my government wants, what Europeans want and what I think would be the best for Mother Nature.” Nova had carefully prepared this line to make him feel at once that their interests were aligned.

  “And what do you think?” he asked.

  “That’s partly what our project is about. To let me see for myself. We’ll do a photo essay on what the countryside and farmlands look like now and then juxtapose them with examples of what Europeans might end up with if this agreement goes through.”

  “Have you drawn your conclusion yet?”

  “I think European farmers can’t begin to compete with Americans and other countries. But is the solution to abandon them and industrialize? If the EC gives another inch, any trace of a European pastoral way of life is finished.”

  He gave her a single approving nod. “My thoughts exactly.”

  Yes, indeed. Of course they were his thoughts, exactly.

  The waltz was over, the music stopped. Bad timing. She felt a tightening of alarm in her chest. König must not escape just yet. His gaze flicked through the thicket of bodies on the floor. Cardone was positioned so König could see that his wife was happy. The orchestra began a two-step. Cardone swept Ilse König into another dance.

  Nova grasped the opportunity. “My dizziness is gone.”

  “Good.” He raised his free hand, palm up in invitation.

  They stepped back onto the dance floor and slipped into the new rhythm. König leaned away a bit and said, “What is it exactly you’ll do while you’re here?”

  “Joe’s so pleased because he’s arranged for me to meet with your agricultural minister. Mr. Meyer can give me a rundown on endangered scenic spots.”

  König snorted. “I’m not very impressed with your choice for a source.” Rudolph Meyer was a thorn in König’s side, a man the CIA knew König detested.

  She feigned surprise. “I was informed Meyer would be the best source I could get.”

  He returned with evident sarcasm. “I’m sure your informant was well-intentioned.”

  She resisted the urge to mention her goals again, to in any way seem to be rushing him. He had to be the one to lead. She felt him relax as they swayed to the music. His eyes sought hers and the corners of his mouth turned up in a smile so engaging it made her want to blush like a schoolgirl. She kept her head and smiled warmly back.

  She hoped he’d pull her closer, preferably to feel her body against his. He didn’t. But he did the next best thing. He said, “When do you meet with Meyer?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “I, too, am deeply concerned about the GATT talks. I have ideas of my own I could suggest. If that would be useful to you.”

  He’d struck the line. Now to lure him in.

  He frowned. “Unfortunately, I return to Munich tomorrow.”

  “If you could find time for us, Joe and I will glad
ly fly to Munich.”

  “That’s a long trip and I’m not sure how much time I could—”

  “We would gladly come.” She paused, trying not to sound too desperate. “This would be very important to us.”

  “Call my headquarters, then. I’ll ask my secretary to try to find room for you.”

  She didn’t want to seem too eager. “And are you quite sure I won’t be imposing? The campaign must put incredible demands on your time.”

  “No, no. The GATT agreements are a major concern. I’d like to express the views of a conservation group with which I’m affiliated. Are you familiar with Earth Alliance?”

  She nodded and said in a tone crafted to carry profound sincerity, “They think like I do.”

  “Then come to Munich. I believe we’ll be helping each other.”

  König turned his attention once more to the music. She kept her mind on making Jean Paul König feel like he’d never had a better time dancing in his life.

  The music stopped. König’s “thank you” was no more than a slight formal bow and an equally slight smile. Not good. He immediately turned and began to make his way toward his wife and Cardone. He didn’t take her arm.

  His dossier stated that he didn’t womanize so she wasn’t expecting him to be an easy catch. Although this was Europe, not America where extramarital sex was much more scandalous, even the appearance of an affair could still be a risky, potentially fatal mistake for a politician. But if König’s sex drive was, in fact, low or, heaven forbid, virtually nonexistent, the Langley game planners would have to devise some other way to get close to him. An agent with all the training and beauty in the world wouldn’t do it.

  She glanced at König’s face. Beside her walked an impressively handsome man with a charming smile—who was suspected of killing innocents with cold-blooded regularity. If that was true, she’d do whatever it took to get close to the man. And crush him before he had the chance to hurt another man, woman or child.

  A new waltz started just as they joined Ilse König and Joe. Nods and murmured “thank-yous” were exchanged. Cardone swept her into his arms and maneuvered her away from König and his wife. “Well?” he said.

  “You dance very well.”

  “Blair!”

  She grinned. “You can call his appointments secretary tomorrow. He’s looking forward to telling me everything Meyer doesn’t know.”

  “Terrific! That was fast!”

  A sudden urge to hug Cardone surprised her. She throttled it.

  She was just excited that they’d achieved their first objective. She also noted, a touch annoyed, that Cardone’s shocked amazement wasn’t altogether flattering. Had he not expected her to succeed? She had, and within the next week she would start the hard work of convincing König he wanted to take the bait, that he couldn’t, in fact, be without her.

  Chapter 9

  On Friday morning after the banquet, Joe telephoned König’s secretary. The woman scheduled them for Monday afternoon. That same morning he flew with Nova to Bonn for their meeting with Meyer. Their chief of station, Davidson, had reserved two rooms in a modest pension.

  After an anticipated unremarkable Meyer interview, Joe filled the remaining hours of Friday and Saturday with jogging, working out and rereading profiles on activist ecology movements. Several times he found himself wondering what Nova Blair was up to. In fact, she managed to invade his thoughts too much.

  On Saturday evening, he knocked at her door. She was picking up her purse, hungry for some local food. When she opened the door, he gave her that inviting Cardone grin.

  “How about something to eat?” he asked.

  “I was just going to do exactly that.”

  They bought Weisswurst and rolls from a corner vendor and, with two beers to complement the sausages, retreated to the pension. The two days of waiting for their appointment with König had bored her to distraction. Joe’s presence brought life into her room. She ran him once again through the correct moves of a photographer’s assistant. She’d already discovered he was a fast learner and exceedingly careful with details. They finished at ten-thirty. “Look, let’s get out awhile,” she said. “I’d love a cappuccino.”

  “I’m game.”

  The closest the first two bars could come to cappuccino was Irish coffee. “I really want cappuccino,” she said. When the third bar also couldn’t do cappuccino she said, “Would you mind if we try one more?”

  He shook his head and lifted his eyebrows, as if he thought her an obsessive nut, but nevertheless smiled and opened the door for them to exit.

  Finally they got lucky in the restaurant of a small hotel.

  It was fun to draw him out about his life. About flight training. About his parents’ home in Puerto Rico. About his love for Texas. He was witty and forthright—at least, he seemed to be telling straight stories.

  Joe was thoroughly enjoying his partner’s company. But suddenly he realized that she was leading him. He was telling all, she nothing. His admiration for her skill at making a man want to talk hitched up several notches. “You mentioned you knew the diplomatic world. Anything you can talk about, or is all your experience tied up with Company business?”

  “No. Not business. I’m a diplomat’s daughter. We lived in Germany for a while. And in Italy. And in Saudi Arabia. My father met my mother when he was ambassador to the People’s Republic of China.”

  A very unbusiness-like image of Nova Blair in the red gown popped into his head. He was doing his level best to think of her as simply his partner, but the woman was a stunner. She now regularly used makeup in addition to lipstick, with remarkable results. Without it she was pleasantly attractive, but could blend in, especially if she wore casual clothing and that nothing ponytail. But fully made up, there was no way this woman could escape attention. “An American ambassador? Would I know of him?”

  For Nova the conversation was taking a much too personal turn. But still, oddly, she found herself wanting to share with Cardone. “Not likely,” she said. “He was ambassador for Great Britain. I was born in China. My dad was English and Black-Irish. He fell head over heels for my mother in Beijing. She’s half Chinese and half English.” A vivid memory of her father lifting her into his arms and swinging her in a great circle at her sixth birthday party caused her throat to tighten. She swallowed hard.

  “Ah. That explains the green eyes, fair skin and straight black hair.”

  “Right.”

  “I notice that you keep saying, ‘was.’”

  She couldn’t speak. She shook her head, felt her big multicolored earrings—parrots in a hoop—swaying against her neck. Tears threatened. She blinked them back—successfully. “He died when I was twelve.” She waved for the bartender and asked for the check.

  “I apologize if my question brought up sad memories.”

  “It’s nothing.”

  They said nothing further as he paid the check and they were quickly on their way back to the hotel.

  After leaving his partner at her door, Joe headed for his own room, kicking himself that he’d made her unhappy. That sure hadn’t been his intention. And he’d learned virtually nothing personal about her. Nova Blair was way ahead of him on information gathering, easily three to one.

  Sunday they flew to Munich and checked into a pension not far from Marienplatz. Nova divulged that she only slept three hours a night.

  “So what will you do while I’m catching ZZZs?”

  All she did was shrug. Getting personal information out of his new partner was like trying to pry open a clam. And he hadn’t yet learned the secret.

  He didn’t sleep much himself. He now looked forward with galloping impatience to finally engaging König.

  At one-thirty Monday he knocked on her door. What would she be wearing? You’ve been told that you’re going to see a pro in action here.

  She looked every bit a professional, but like a businesswoman, not remotely seductive. A fascinating, lovely woman. A blue wool sheath draped he
r body so the curves of her breasts and hips were just suggested then rose in a turtleneck that said business, not pleasure. Her hair was down, touching her shoulder blades. Blue and green ceramic earrings matched her eyes and the outfit.

  What weird history would lead a woman of Blair’s intelligence and background to work for the Company? Was she an excitement junkie? He said, “You look great.”

  She waved him into the room, apparently eager to be on her way to their meeting with her target. “Thanks. I’m ready. I just need a moment.”

  “If I was König, Nova, getting my attention would be about as difficult as forcing coke on a junkie.”

  She chuckled. Joe did have such a dramatic way of describing things.

  “And I bet you could stock a gymnasium-size boutique with your earring collection.”

  She was reaching into the closet for her black overcoat, her back turned to him, when he said, “König’s a handsome guy. Should be a pleasure to seduce him.”

  She stopped for half a beat, then removed the coat from the hanger and pivoted slowly, draping the coat over her arm. A chill tickled the back of her neck.

  “If you think in those terms, Cardone, you’re speaking for yourself. My job is to get close to him and gain his confidence, not to seduce him. And most surely not for my pleasure. For me, what I do for the Compny is strictly business.”

  His smile vanished. He clearly knew he’d stepped over an important line.

  “I see Jean Paul König as nothing more, or less, than a man who may be responsible for hundreds of deaths.”

  “I—I’ve a good feeling about this meeting. And if I presumed, and clearly I did, I apologize, Nova.”

  Yes, he was sorry. Genuinely. But still, what a huge gap there was between how she saw the world and Joe’s vision of it.

  Chapter 10

  Cardone held the door as Nova climbed into the back seat of the taxi she’d ordered. While the cabbie maneuvered northward through the Munich traffic, she mulled her partner’s comment. Should be a pleasure to seduce him.