“Both?”
“Yes.'
'No trouble?”
“None.'
A sigh. 'Good. Take some time off. I'll be in touch.' Milo hung up, remembering what that go-code had come from. The Spy Who Came in from the Cold:
The American handed Leamas another cup of coffee and said, 'Why don't you go back and sleep?'
If only I could, he thought.
42
There were three of them. They took shifts. The heavy one on the night-to-early-morning shift wore a mustache as if he hadn't heard the seventies were long past-this one, she christened George. Jake watched the house from around 6:00 a.m. to 2:00 p.m.-he was a gangly fellow with no hair on top and a thick novel always pressed open against the steering wheel. The one out there now was Will-or he was until Monday afternoon, when she walked out to the red sedan with a huge cup of lemonade and learned his real name.
He watched through his impenetrable aviator sunglasses and straightened when he realized her destination. He jerked a pair of earphones from his head, reminding her of Milo and his iPod, and rolled down his window as she approached.
'Afternoon,' she said. 'Thought you might be thirsty.'
She'd flustered him. 'I'm, uh… I'm all right.'
'Don't be a stiffy,' she said, winking. 'And take off those glasses so I can see your eyes. Can't trust someone without eyes.'
He did so, blinking in the bright light. 'Really, I don't think I should-'
'Please.' She forced the cup through the window so that his choices were either to take it or let it spill in his lap.
He peered around, as if afraid of witnesses. 'Thanks.' She straightened. 'You have a name?'
'Rodger.'
'Rodger,' she repeated. 'Of course, you know my name already.'
Embarrassed, he nodded.
'Just bring us the cup when you're done.'
'I'll do that.'
When she got inside, Miguel, stretched on the sofa watching the History Channel, asked why she was looking so pleased with herself.
It was something Milo had once said about enemies. Though he seldom spoke of his history as a field agent, aphorisms sometimes slipped from his lips. They'd been watching an old movie on television where two enemy agents, who'd spent the first half of the film shooting at one another, sat at a cafe and talked quietly about all that had come before. 'I don't get it,' she'd said. 'Why doesn't he shoot him?'
'Because it does no good now,' he'd answered. 'Killing him serves no purpose. When they don't have to be at each other's throats, spies chat if they can. You learn things that might be useful later on.'
Less than an hour later, Rodger knocked on the door. Hanna answered it, blinked as he took off his glasses, and said, 'Is that my cup?'
He admitted it was and handed it over as Tina appeared, calling, 'Might as well come in, Rodger.'
'I don't think that's such a-'
'You're supposed to make sure I don't run off, right?'
He cleared his throat. 'Well, it's not exactly that. We're just watching out for you.'
Hanna said, 'What?'
'That's rich,' Tina said, then smiled.
This was how they began to talk. Tina poured him another lemonade, and they sat at the kitchen table while her parents left them alone. It wasn't an interrogation, really. She just admitted she knew nothing about what was going on, and deserved to know something. It wasn't Rodger's place to share anything, though, and he remained hesitant, even as he accepted his third lemonade.
'I know what she thinks,' Tina told him. 'Your boss, Janet Simmons. She told me my husband is a killer. I mean, does that make any sense to you? Why would he kill one of his oldest friends?' She shook her head. 'It makes no sense to you either, does it?'
He shrugged, as if it were all too complicated for a simple man like him. 'Listen,' he said finally. 'This doesn't have to be some big conflict. Special Agent Simmons is good at her job; she's got years of experience. From the way she tells it, the evidence is strong. And then he fled.' He raised his hands, palms out. 'That's all I know, okay?'
That really was all he knew-she could see it in his naive face. She felt as if she were in Starbucks, angry with the cashier, but needing to yell at some absent manager.
What, really, could she do? Simply wait in the hope that Milo would call again? She'd been unfair during the last call, and had spent the whole week regretting it. Where was he? Was he even alive? Christ, she knew nothing.
Then, Tuesday night, it had happened. The message. It came to her Columbia account, a bulk-e-mail sent to twenty other names to hide the fact that it was only for her. She knew this because the other addresses had each been misspelled, just slightly. The return address was
FW: Texas BBQ Party!
Dear Friends,
To celebrate Drew's 19th birthday you're all invited to enjoy some REAL Texas BBQ in Loretta's back yard at 6 PM on Thursday, July 19. It's gonna be a blast!
– Jane & Stu Kowalski
She and Milo knew the Kowalskis from Stephanie's school, but their son, Drew, was only seven. She clicked reply and said she was sorry, but she couldn't make it, she was in Austin for a few days. She'd bring back some 'Real Texas BBQ sauce' as a present.
Now, it was five o'clock on Thursday. Time to go. Stephanie was with Hanna, playing Chutes and Ladders, while Miguel was again in front of the television, watching financial news. She gathered his keys and shook them. 'Can I take the Lincoln? Want to get some ice cream.'
He took his eyes off the television and frowned. 'Want company?'
She shook her head, gave him a peck on the cheek, then told Stephanie to be good; she'd be back in a sec. Stephanie was winning her game, and had no desire to leave it. On her way out, Tina left her cell phone on the table beside the front door-she'd seen enough television to know satellites could track her that way in a matter of seconds. Then she took two jackets from the wall hook and folded them so they looked like laundry.
The heat blasted her when she stepped outside, and she paused, clutching the jackets. She crossed to the paved driveway and the Lincoln Town Car her father replaced each year with a fresh one. As she fooled with the lock, she noticed the red sedan in front of the Sheffields' bi-level. Rodger pretended not to be looking at her, but she noticed him leaning forward to start up his car.
Damn.
She stayed calm. She put the jackets on the passenger seat, then drove slowly down the lane, up the next right, and out to the highway that led into town, the red sedan always in her rearview.
She pulled into a plaza off the highway and parked in front of a coin-operated Laundromat. The sedan parked
