Chapter 5

I loved her taste. And I loved the way she reacted — bracing as if against an earthquake. I licked more vigorously, hoping to bring her to the best orgasm she has ever had. With every breath, she breathed quicker, with every pass of my tongue between her folds, she moaned, louder each subsequent time. I realized that at any moment, anyone could come in through the bedroom door, but I was in too deep into the moment to care if they did. I licked faster. Her thigh muscles tightened, quivered, until finally her muscles seized up and she cried out in pleasure and collapsed to her knees to join me. She kissed me, licked her mess off my lips and cheeks, her eyes darting across my face, taking me in with a punch-drunk candor.

The music in the next room had stopped, perhaps a while ago. If there were anyone left in the apartment, they were too tired, or too drunk and stoned to carry on. Out the window, a dull blue light outlined the distant city. The first light of day.

Lara went quietly to her bed. I went to lay beside her and watched her face while the afterglow still affected me. She was so beautiful. So perfect. Her glistening, curved body. Her perfect celadon eyes. Perfect lips, with a perfect, crooked smile.

Her eyes closed. She looked serene. I put my hands into hers, recalled our conversation about intimacy, and concluded, after tonight, that I had indeed been missing it so desperately, I just didn’t know it. A few minutes later, she opened her eyes again, and she smiled. I smiled back, but a fluttering memory of our fate as enemies came back to me like a chronic sickness. Abruptly I announced, “I have to go home now.”

“Stay just for the night.”

It was much too late to catch a tram, but only a half hour to walk home, so I walked. The streets were mostly empty, except for the drunk spillovers from the clubs and bars that were still open. Pattering footsteps came behind. Lara jogged up to me and weaved an arm through mine.

“I’ll walk with you,” she said.

“I wish you wouldn’t,” I responded. I slid my arm out from hers.

I gave her a haughty laugh. She cocked her head like a confused dog at my laugh.

A couple walked by, so I waited for them to pass beyond earshot to say anything. Even after they were long gone, I whispered.

“Whatever it was that just happened…”

“It’s our secret, Kirby,” she whispered back. “Trust me.”

“Ok, Lara. It’s our secret. And it’s the last time.”

She touched my cheek then went in for a kiss. I kissed her quickly, then turned my face to avoid a longer one.

“Ok. Good night, Kirby.”

We were at the canal separating the first from the second district. My apartment was on the other side. I crossed the bridge and looked back. Lara stood watching me beneath a sullen lamplight, a muse of loneliness. I had an urge to run back and hug her, but I didn’t.

Frank lit himself another cigarette and sipped his coffee. He seemed either deep in thought or on the cusp of extreme fatigue. Either way, he gave no indication that he found my story necessarily riveting.

“I struggled a lot with what to do after that night.”

“You mean, whether you should report your contact with her or not?”

“Why was it such a struggle?”

“Well… there was still a part of me that thought that maybe I could keep seeing her in secret.”

“But in the end, you reported her.”

“Yes. Because I knew the longer, I stayed with her, the messier it would’ve gotten, and someone eventually would have found out. Besides that, I still wasn’t sure if she wasn’t just trying to recruit me. Most likely, she was.”

“So that’s when you met George.”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Did you know him prior to that?”

“I had seen him around. I just didn’t know what it was he did.”

“That he was a CIA case officer.”

“Yeah. It was unexpected. In retrospect, I guess I should have suspected.”

“Tell me about your first meeting with him.”

“I talked to the security office first. Standard protocol. I filled out a questionnaire, he asked me some questions. Told him the truth. And that was that. Or so I thought. George called me on my home phone right when I got home. He asked me to meet him.”

*** The Case Officer ***

George arranged our meeting in the most peculiar spot — a sunny picnic table in a large meadow at Prater Park. The location made it difficult for casual eavesdropping. It sat alone in a field of tall golden grass far from any shade and from any prying ears or eyes. He was nothing like I imagined. I was thinking dashing, tall, well-tailored suit. Instead, he was rather a short, paunchy man with thinning, oily hair, pallid skin, and his polo shirt stained with sweat at his armpits. Otherwise, he was cheerful and with his rapid-fire Boston accent, conveyed a sense of confidence and competence that put me at ease. As he talked, my eyes suspiciously scanned the tree line, attempting to pick out any fedora and trench-coat wearing Russians. My stomach fluttered with the anxious notion that Lara might discover this meeting. But Geoge seemed perfectly comfortable with the chosen location. He didn’t seem worried.

“Do you know what a dangle is, Kirby?”

I shook my head. George rested on his elbows. His hands were clasped on the wooden tabletop, his thumbs twiddling excitedly.

“A dangle is someone in possession or access to sensitive information who pretends to be interested in jumping ships. A fake double agent. You get me?”

He paused. Studied me, seeming to try to gauge something about me. I shuffled in my seat awkwardly, subliminally aware that there was a reason he was telling me this.

“I’ll get right to the point, Kirb.”

I frowned at the appointed nickname.

“If Lara is KGB, we don’t have her on our radar. So, I am very interested in getting to know her.”

“I have to be honest, if you want her phone number or address or something, I don’t feel comfortable –“

“No, no, no… nothing like that. Believe me, that’s the last thing we want. Here’s what I’m getting at: I want you to keep meeting her.”

“I want you to keep meeting her,” he repeated. His thumb twiddling had stopped.

“I mean, call her up, hang out. Do girl stuff with her or whatever. Get close to her. Build rapport.”

“And what if I don’t want to?”

“You don’t have to. But I would like you to.”

“What if she doesn’t want to?”

He shrugged and gave a cheerful laugh. “She doesn’t have to either. But I betcha she will.”

I looked around, over my shoulders, thinking this must be some sort of a trick. Should I refuse? Was that the response he was waiting for?

Seeing my worried confusion, he explained, “She’s looking for a contact in the US embassy. Given how young she is, it’s likely she’s a rookie. Her Rezident probably got you in mind to cut her teeth on. Low stakes stuff, you know what I mean?”

“Yes, you’re low stakes. But don’t be so glum. You’re a young foreign service officer showing a lot of promise. She’ll be looking to cultivate a long-term relationship, hoping that you’ll serve a long and fruitful career. One day you’ll get to be someone important, and that’s when she’ll get to squeeze you for what you’re really worth. Think of yourself as a long-term investment. You’re golden.”

“What would you have me do?”

“Remember what I just told you about dangles?”

“When the time is right, and when she’s comfortable enough with you, she will ask for information. When she does, I want you to put me in touch with her. Tell her I’m interested in sharing information. Dangle me in front of her face. Let’s see if she bites. You know what I mean?”

“I know what you mean.”

The easy answer was ‘no’. All I had to say was ‘no’. He had given me that out. I’d be free and clear. But then I wouldn’t ever see Lara again. She’d be gone from my life. On the other hand, if I said ‘yes’, then I’ll get to see her again. I’ll get to be with her.

“She told me she was KGB. Why?”

“It’s a gambit. To gain your trust. A tactic used more frequently than you think.”

“Did she not think I would tell someone?”

“She was betting that you wouldn’t.”

“She trusts me too easily.”

“The Russians are desperate these days. What can I say? Do you want to see her again?”

“Did you, in any way, express this to her?”

I thought of our moment in the river. The kiss. The intimate touching. The gaze into each other’s eyes that felt nothing less than authentic. The sex…

“What if it’s a trap?”

“Let us worry about that. She won’t hurt you, if that’s what you’re worried about. You’re a State Department civil servant. Hurting you is a red line for the KGB.”

“What if I don’t like being deceptive?”

“Look. You don’t have to if you don’t want to. Not that big of a deal. But plenty of relationships are built on deception. Just ask my ex-wife, ha!”

“It’s not the same thing.”

“You’re right. It’s not. In this case, you’d be performing a great service to your country.”

“I’m already serving my country. Why do this? Why do you need me to ‘dangle’… or whatever?”

“Simple, really. It’s an opportunity to keep tabs on an illegal. It’s nothing out of the ordinary. They do the same to us.”

“A KGB operative working without diplomatic cover. That’s Lara, if what you tell me is accurate.”

“Aren’t you worried she’ll suspect me of … er… dangling?”

“I’m sure it’ll occur to her.”

“And you’re sure she’s not dangerous?”

He shook his head. “I swear on my mother’s grave.”

He watched me, still waiting for me to say either ‘yay’ or ‘nay’ on the offer to be his fake double agent. Or was it just double agent?

The image of Lara, holding her pistol with steady confidence at the two men in her bedroom flashed in my mind. She must be deadly with a gun. That ought to frighten me regardless of George’s assurance. I told myself to be frightened by it. But I’m not really frightened by it. I recalled the way she looked when she asked me for a kiss. How tender. How happy she seemed to be with me. This was my chance to see her again. Courtesy of the US Government.

“Ok. Tell me what I need to do.”

The next week, I called her on George’s instructions.

A silent pause on the line. Then a tentative, “Hello Kirby. It’s nice to hear from you.”

“Hey, Lara. I’m sorry about how I acted last weekend. I wanted to make it up to you. Can we meet?”

“Sure. You know I would be happy to see you again.”

“How about this weekend?”

“I’m going to Venice this weekend.”

“Oh…ok. Sounds fun.”

“Would you like to come?”

My answer was immediate and automatic. “Yes, I would like to come. I won’t be a bother, will I?”

“No, of course not. I would love for you to come. I was going by myself. Now it will be just us two. I’m going to my family villa.”

“You have a family villa in Venice?”

I called George immediately after, on a pay phone per his instructions.

“She has a villa in Venice,” I said when he picked up.

“Is it normal for a KGB spy to have a villa in Venice?”

“Usually, they settle for a dacha in the outskirts of Moscow. She must be well-connected.”

“She invited me. I said yes.”

“Good. If she asks you for any ‘favors’ let me know. Otherwise, have a blast.”

I met Lara at the Südbahnhof, a major train station in Favoriten, in the evening, as the sun dipped just below the edge of the Vienna skyline. The sunset painted the clouds in hues of vanilla and rose apple red. I spotted her by her quirky outfit. She wore a men’s oversized dress shirt, untucked, flowering loosely over tight jeans, with sleeves rolled up to her elbow. Her hair pulled back into a long ponytail that sprouted out from a baseball cap.

When she saw me, she came over and gave me a strong hug and kissed me emphatically on the cheek.

“You look like you’re ready to go to a ball game,” I remarked.

“Ah, I see.” She laughed and pretended to swing a baseball bat. “I’d love to see a ball game. It seems like such an event. Won’t you take me to one?”

“Sure. I don’t know if they have baseball in Vienna.”

“Not sure how easy that would be given that you are a Russian spy.”

She took the dig in strides. She winked and said, “It won’t be as hard as you imagine.”

She kissed me on the lips and said, “Anyways, I’m glad you could come. We’ll have the villa all to ourselves, no distractions. Come, let’s go to our train cabin.”

The cabin, contained in as much as half a car, had wood moldings gilded in gold. Thick green velvet curtains covered the windows giving the sense that we were in a luxurious garden suitable for Hapsburg royalty. In the center of the cabin, on a small mahogany dining table, a chilled bottle of Moët Champagne sat in a pewter ice bucket. Two crystal champagne flutes sat ready to be filled.

Lara grabbed my suitcase and tossed it into the closet, then went to open the champagne.

“This is incredible.”

“Perks of having a rich father,” she said as a matter of fact.

“You’re like royalty.”

“An heiress to communism, as if to a kingdom.”

Her cynical and cheerfully candid quip of her role in Russian society impressed me, but I quickly remembered her goal was to soften me up, to get me to be on her side, so perhaps part of laying on the charm for my American predilections.