Let Slip the Dogs of War: A Bard's Bed & Breakfast Mystery #1 (15 page)

“I’m sure Ben will support me in this. After
all, he risked his neck to get her and her mother out of a Syrian
prison, so he’s obviously committed to the cause. Besides, Wardah’s
here with us, learning English. The original plan was to reunite
the sisters at the Bard’s, wasn’t it? Why shouldn’t we stick with
the plan?” I could hear a snicker on the other end. I didn’t want
to interrupt, since Mavis seemed to be enjoying the moment. “How
can Ben possibly say no?”

“Indeed,” she drawled. “What about
school?”

“I’ll register Wardah for Four Corners
Elementary School. She’ll enjoy that. And Fatima can be tutored by
Lorna and Uncle Edward. By the time she’s ready for her senior year
of high school, she’ll be a brilliant scholar.”

“Well, she would certainly benefit from
having a former professor and a research librarian teaching her.”
As she spoke, I could hear the wheels spinning for Mavis. The CIA
would approve it because it meant that Ben would keep the girls
safe, I would make sure they had a good home, and she would have
the best teachers possible -- not only were Uncle Edward and Lorna
familiar with her world back in Syria, they could help her fit in
here without disrespecting her culture or her beliefs. “You let me
know if it’s a problem.”

“It will be fine,” I insisted. I was going to
make it fine. I knew it meant Ben had to stick around the Bard’s as
long as we all needed that much security. “Did you ever figure out
who the dead girl was?”

“I’ll let Ben brief you on that.”

“When will I see him again?”

“Soon. Hard to say. I’ll be in touch.”

Uncle Edward and Lorna were delighted when
they heard the news, applauding the decision to bring Fatima to the
Bard’s Bed & Breakfast. I found them in the library, playing
backgammon while Wardah was coloring at the table beside them.

“Fabulous,” Uncle Edward crowed, “what a coup
for the CIA!”

“What?” I was caught off-guard. “What do you
mean?”

“The CIA gets the whole family in a
controlled setting. Normally, the kids would get parceled out to
different foster homes, so as to protect them from discovery. But
in this case, because Fatima can be tutored by us here at home,
there won’t be any public school records. Wardah can take classes
with other children her age. Thank heavens she’s not old enough to
spill the beans about her family. We’ll change her name to Rosalind
when we teach her English.”

“Will it be a problem for you to stay on a
while?” I asked Lorna.

“Heavens, no. I’d be delighted. It’s nice to
be needed.”

I was about to turn away, heading back to the
kitchen to pull my banana nut bread out of the oven, when I caught
a look between the two conspirators. They actually had the audacity
to high-five each other behind my back. I caught the movement in
the wall mirror as I passed by the reflection.

“You planned all this?” The hell with that
banana nut bread. I was going to force these two senior citizens to
spill the beans. “Dragging the girls here was part of a CIA
plan?”

“No, Bea,” Uncle Edward insisted. “That’s not
what....”

““I think you’ve misunderstood, Beatrice.
It’s not what you think,” Lorna insisted. “You see....”

“I got conned again?”

“We had better tell her,” Lorna told Uncle
Edward. He concurred.

“Tell me what?” I hissed. If I’d had a rattle
on my tail, I’d have used it to warn them I was about to strike
out.

“Bea...”

“We’re married,” Lorna blurted out in a rush
of words.

“Excuse me?” Had they eloped? When did all
that happen? How did I miss it?

“Husband and wife, Bea. Have been for quite a
while.” Uncle Edward wrapped an arm around Lorna. As I looked at
the pair of them, it suddenly dawned on me. They both spoke Arabic.
They had worked at the same school for years, Uncle Edward as a
professor, Lorna as a research librarian.

“You’re Hortense,” I decided. Fear flickered
in their eyes before disappearing behind their cheerful smiles.

“Am I?” she laughed. “Whoever is that? Some
Shakespearean character of whom I am unfamiliar?”

“You’re Uncle Edward’s long lost wife, the
ones the Soviets tried to kill. You’re on your third life as a cat,
six more to go.”

There was a long silence as they watched me,
uncertain of what to do next, and even as I studied them in
return.

“Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me.
But now I think I understand this whole mess. Uncle Edward, how
does Yuri figure into this mess with Hortense?”

“I don’t follow you.”

“This is a very ugly feud. Yuri had no
problem screwing over the Americans, the Iranians, the Syrians, and
even the Russians. For him, it’s very personal. I think he’s out to
punish you and Ben. Why? What don’t I know about you two?” There
was something that connected my husband to his adoptive uncle, and
it had to do with the work Uncle Edward did in the OSS and later
for the CIA. I wasn’t sure I needed to know all the details, but it
was important that Uncle Edward and Ben did. Yuri was coming back
to finish the job. I didn’t know when. I didn’t know how. I didn’t
even know why, but I knew that was his intent. And even as I
watched Uncle Edward squeeze Lorna’s shoulder confidently, I could
see the doubt in his eyes that he wanted to hide from her. What if
Yuri knew Hortense was still alive and she was his target? I found
it hard to believe that the Russians cared so much about events
that happened long ago. But if Yuri had a personal connection to
someone in Soviet intelligence, maybe someone who was ruined as a
result of Uncle Edward’s activities, he might never give up his
quest for revenge.

“Let’s walk, Bea,” said Uncle Edward,
slipping into a more cheerful voice. “I want to show you the
changes I’ve made to the rose garden. Lorna, would you mind keeping
an eye on the child?”

“Of course not,” she told him. But I could
see she was worrying.

We left through the French doors, stepping
out onto the patio and walking out of sight. I knew Uncle Edward
had been dead-heading the rose bushes for the better part of the
morning. He pointed out his favorite plants, from the “Mr. Lincoln”
to the “Memorial Day” to the “4th of July”. The perfume was heady
as we walked through the tribute to American. Finally he waved me
to sit on the cement bench positioned to have the best view of the
glorious blooms. Once I was seated, he parked his carcass next to
me.

“You are right. This is a vendetta, and a
very messy one at that. I know that Ben must have told you about
Hortense. You know, then, that they abused her for the two years
they held her after our success in Hungary. And you know that they
returned for her again and again over the years. What you don’t
know is that Ben’s father’s first assignment as a CIA officer
involved tit-for-tat. You’re also right that Yuri is not Yuri. He
is Grigoriy Demitrov, son of Colonel Anton Demitrov, the man who
brutalized my Hortense in unspeakable ways.”

“What did you do to Colonel Demitrov that
made him so bitter?” I wondered, studying Uncle Edward’s face for
even the slightest movement, knowing he might not speak the whole
truth. I considered what I knew of Uncle Edward as a man. Overall,
he was gentle and kind, decent even. But I didn’t doubt he would
kill without hesitation, to protect the country he loved and the
people he loved. And yet, I didn’t think that as a CIA officer he
was a cruel man. He was focused on results, on winning hearts and
minds more than on murder. “You kidnapped Yuri’s mother!”

There it was, a little flinch, a slight
flicker in the eyes. Yuri was looking to punish Uncle Edward, Ben,
and the CIA for stealing his mama.

“We took her into protective custody, Bea. We
had to have a bargaining chip. We planned to do a hostage exchange,
only it turned out that we did our job too well. Marina turned out
to be a fountain of information on her husband, and there was no
way we could allow her to return to him. We needed him to believe
she had died without telling tales about his exploits, so as soon
as we began getting real intelligence gems from her, we blew her up
in front of him, while Ben’s father launched the raid that freed
Hortense.”

Ben’s father was a spy. Of course. That was
the connection I missed. Yuri wanted the son to pay for the
father’s sins.

“I’m afraid that Colonel Demitrov took out
his rage on the boy. We tried to get him out in 1975, but Demitrov
was expecting us. Marina was heartbroken when Stephen returned
empty-handed. We tried again in 1978 and 1982, but each time,
Demitrov knew we were coming for the boy.”

“He had an informant at the CIA,” I concluded
sadly.

“Yes.”

“What happened to Marina?” I dreaded the
answer. I imagined that once she was of no further use, she was
cast into the ocean, dropped from the sky, right out the cargo
door.

“Ben’s father married her. Yuri is Ben’s
half-brother.”

Chapter Sixteen --

“Well, if that doesn’t take the cake, what
does?”

Dinner that night was a rather subdued
affair. I made chicken nuggets with honey mustard sauce, dilled
green beans, sweet potatoes, and corn muffins. Lorna tried to keep
up a chipper front, but I could see the doubts beginning to weigh
her down. Uncle Edward was lost in thought, unable to concentrate
on conversation. Wardah unwittingly broke the spell. It happened
when a tiny piece of chicken nugget slipped off her fork on its way
to her mouth and then fell to the floor. From out of nowhere,
Oberon skidded across the tile and pawed it like a hockey puck,
sending it flying between the legs of the stool at the kitchen
island, hoping for a goal. Titania seized the moment, jumped in as
goalie, slapped it across the makeshift ice while chasing it, and
when she caught up with it, swallowed the tasty morsel. Offended,
Oberon jumped upon her, and the two cats rolled around the kitchen
like a giant ball of fur.

“Al’afw!” Wardah called to the cats. We all
turned to the young girl at the same time, stunned that she had
spoken her first word. And then Uncle Edward began to laugh. Wardah
saw him and grinned. Even Lorna couldn’t contain her mirth.

“What did she say to the cats?” I asked,
watching the show with an amused smile.

“She told them, ‘You’re welcome,’” Lorna told
me.

“The child has a sense of humor, Bea.” Uncle
Edward was ever so pleased by that. “How refreshing.”

“Indeed.”

Lorna offered to put Wardah to bed after she
had her bath. Uncle Edward wanted to speak to me in the library.
“It’s important, Bea.”

I said good night, gave Wardah a kiss on the
cheek, and promised to check on her a little later. Mr. Darcy
settled down at the foot of the bed to listen to the bedtime story.
I headed downstairs, with Puck on my heels. I found Uncle Edward at
the library table, sitting in front of a cigar box.

“Come in, Bea. Have a seat.”

I did as I was asked, slipping into the club
chair across from the elderly man. He seemed quite worried.

“I got a call from Langley, Bea. They’ve lost
track of Yuri.”

“And you think he’ll come back here?”

“Yes.” There it was, plain and simple. That
murderous bastard was coming back to the Bard’s Bed &
Breakfast, bent on revenge. “That’s why I am showing you the
contents of this box. This is your bargaining chip if you find that
Yuri has you in his clutches.”

Clutches. Such a silly phrase. It sounds like
something you’d hear in an old Warner Brothers’ cartoon. Only I
knew that being in Yuri’s clutches was likely to result in a lot of
pain, very real pain.

“These are some of Marina’s letters, tapes,
and videos for her boy, Grigoriy. They are all dated, signed, and
sealed. They will be in my safe. Yuri should be able to open
it.”

“What’s to stop him from torturing me for the
whole bunch?” I asked, staring at the wooden Cuban cigar box.

“He won’t do that, Bea, because this is only
a fraction of what his mother left for him. The rest are stored
elsewhere, with other people. If he harms you, he harms his chances
for getting the rest.”

“Don’t you think he’s angry with her for
deserting him?”

“He doesn’t know that the CIA tried to get
him away from Colonel Demitrov several times, or that we recorded
some of the attempts, because we needed to understand why they were
failing. He can see for himself what his mother said.”

“Won’t he think it’s all propaganda?”

“Maybe. Probably not. It’s time to close this
chapter of the Cold War, Beatrice. The colonel died a long time
ago. Marina’s nearly seventy-five. She wants to see her son one
last time before she dies.”

“How do you know he won’t try to kill her,
for betraying his father?”

Uncle Edward was silent, his eyes on the many
shelves of books in the library. The motley collection of valuable
first editions, mass-produced paperbacks, and research tomes were
carefully being catalogued by the ever-efficient Lorna. I saw
little tags on the wood trim of the shelves, not the spines of the
books. She had even organized a section of children’s books out of
my own personal collection. I thought Wardah would enjoy those.

“Grigoriy was a young boy when Stephen
kidnapped Marina. We had reports that the colonel beat him every
time he cried for his mother. That’s why we tried repeatedly to get
him away from his father. One of our operatives in Moscow was
killed when he tried to snatch the boy on the way home from school
in 1975. The CIA tried in 1978 when the colonel was sent to Bolivia
on assignment for the GRU, but Demitrov managed to snatch the boy
back before the CIA could smuggle him out of the country. He beat
the boy for not resisting his kidnappers, broke his arms to teach
him a lesson.”

“That’s horrible!” What kind of monster would
do that to his own flesh and blood?