at her. “How much have you been told about Delphi?”
“I know it wasn’t Mum or Dad. They would never have gone to the other side.”
“People go over for different reasons.”
“But not them. They certainly didn’t need the money.”
“Communist sympathies?”
“Not the Tavistocks!”
He moved toward her. With every step he took, her pulse seemed to leap faster. He came close enough to make her feel threatened. And tempted. Quietly he said, “There’s always blackmail.”
“Meaning they had secrets to hide?”
“Everyone does.”
“Not everyone turns traitor.”
“It depends on the secret, doesn’t it? And how much one stands to lose because of it.”
In silence they gazed at each other, and she found herself wondering how much he really did know about her parents. How much he wasn’t admitting to. She sensed he knew a lot more than he was letting on, and that suspicion loomed like a barrier between them. Those secrets again. Those unspoken truths. She had grown up in a household where certain conversational doors were In Their Footsteps
103
always kept locked. I refuse to live my life that way.
Ever again.
She turned away. “They had no reason to be vulnerable to blackmail.”
“You were just a child, eight years old. Away at boarding school in England. What did you really know about them? About their marriage, their secrets? What if it was your mother who rented this flat? Met her lover here?”
“I don’t believe it. I won’t.”
“Is it so difficult to accept? That she was human, that she might have had a lover?” He took her by the shoulders, willing her to meet his gaze. “She was a beautiful woman, Beryl. If she’d wanted to, she could have had any number of lovers.”
“You’re making her out to be a tramp!”
“I’m considering all the possibilities.”
“That she sold out Queen and country? To keep some vile little secret from surfacing?” Angrily she wrenched away from him. “Sorry, Richard, but my faith runs a little deeper than that. And if you’d known them, really known them, you’d never consider such a thing.” She pivoted away and walked to the door.
“I did know them,” he said. “I knew them rather well.” She stopped, turned to face him. “What do you mean by ‘rather well’?”
“We…moved in the same circles. Not the same team, exactly. But we worked at similar purposes.”
“You never told me.”
“I didn’t know how much I should tell you. How much you should know.” He began to slowly circle the room, carefully considering each word before he spoke. “It was 104
Tess Gerritsen
my first assignment. I’d just completed my training at Langley—”
“CIA?”
He nodded. “I was recruited straight out of the university. Not exactly my first career choice. But somehow they’d gotten hold of my master’s thesis, an analysis of Libyan arms capabilities. It turned out to be amazingly close to the mark. They knew I was fluent in a few languages. And that I had taken out quite a large sum in student loans. That was the carrot, you see—the loan payoff. The foreign travel. And, I have to admit, the idea intrigued me, the chance to work as an Intelligence analyst…”
“Is that how you met my parents?”
He nodded. “NATO knew it had a security leak, origi-nating in Paris. Somehow weapons data were slipping through to the East Germans. I’d just arrived in Paris, so there was no question that I was clean. They assigned me to work with Claude Daumier at French Intelligence. I was asked to compose a dummy weapons report, something close to, but not quite, the truth. It was encoded and transmitted to a few select embassy officials in Paris. The idea was to pinpoint the possible source of the leak.”
“How were my parents involved?”
“They were attached to the British embassy. Bernard in Communications, Madeline in Protocol. Both were really working for MI6. Bernard was one of a few who had access to classified
“I know it wasn’t Mum or Dad. They would never have gone to the other side.”
“People go over for different reasons.”
“But not them. They certainly didn’t need the money.”
“Communist sympathies?”
“Not the Tavistocks!”
He moved toward her. With every step he took, her pulse seemed to leap faster. He came close enough to make her feel threatened. And tempted. Quietly he said, “There’s always blackmail.”
“Meaning they had secrets to hide?”
“Everyone does.”
“Not everyone turns traitor.”
“It depends on the secret, doesn’t it? And how much one stands to lose because of it.”
In silence they gazed at each other, and she found herself wondering how much he really did know about her parents. How much he wasn’t admitting to. She sensed he knew a lot more than he was letting on, and that suspicion loomed like a barrier between them. Those secrets again. Those unspoken truths. She had grown up in a household where certain conversational doors were In Their Footsteps
103
always kept locked. I refuse to live my life that way.
Ever again.
She turned away. “They had no reason to be vulnerable to blackmail.”
“You were just a child, eight years old. Away at boarding school in England. What did you really know about them? About their marriage, their secrets? What if it was your mother who rented this flat? Met her lover here?”
“I don’t believe it. I won’t.”
“Is it so difficult to accept? That she was human, that she might have had a lover?” He took her by the shoulders, willing her to meet his gaze. “She was a beautiful woman, Beryl. If she’d wanted to, she could have had any number of lovers.”
“You’re making her out to be a tramp!”
“I’m considering all the possibilities.”
“That she sold out Queen and country? To keep some vile little secret from surfacing?” Angrily she wrenched away from him. “Sorry, Richard, but my faith runs a little deeper than that. And if you’d known them, really known them, you’d never consider such a thing.” She pivoted away and walked to the door.
“I did know them,” he said. “I knew them rather well.” She stopped, turned to face him. “What do you mean by ‘rather well’?”
“We…moved in the same circles. Not the same team, exactly. But we worked at similar purposes.”
“You never told me.”
“I didn’t know how much I should tell you. How much you should know.” He began to slowly circle the room, carefully considering each word before he spoke. “It was 104
Tess Gerritsen
my first assignment. I’d just completed my training at Langley—”
“CIA?”
He nodded. “I was recruited straight out of the university. Not exactly my first career choice. But somehow they’d gotten hold of my master’s thesis, an analysis of Libyan arms capabilities. It turned out to be amazingly close to the mark. They knew I was fluent in a few languages. And that I had taken out quite a large sum in student loans. That was the carrot, you see—the loan payoff. The foreign travel. And, I have to admit, the idea intrigued me, the chance to work as an Intelligence analyst…”
“Is that how you met my parents?”
He nodded. “NATO knew it had a security leak, origi-nating in Paris. Somehow weapons data were slipping through to the East Germans. I’d just arrived in Paris, so there was no question that I was clean. They assigned me to work with Claude Daumier at French Intelligence. I was asked to compose a dummy weapons report, something close to, but not quite, the truth. It was encoded and transmitted to a few select embassy officials in Paris. The idea was to pinpoint the possible source of the leak.”
“How were my parents involved?”
“They were attached to the British embassy. Bernard in Communications, Madeline in Protocol. Both were really working for MI6. Bernard was one of a few who had access to classified
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