The Prodigal Spy

He looked toward the garden, where A

He let the cigarette fall, staring ahead, not trusting himself to look at his sleeping father. The same crime all over again. He saw his mother weeping on the sofa. But A

Nick got up and moved away from the chairs. The lawn sloped west, into the sun, and for an instant he wondered if he could keep going, all the way through the barbed wire, until he was home. In Prague they kept reminding you they were west of Vie

As he reached the trees he could hear the sky begin to rumble, a sound effect. He followed the path down to the water, pushing past bushes until the house was hidden behind him, out of sight. He stopped. What if the message were never delivered? A small betrayal, for everyone’s sake. He started down again, with something like relief. It was that easy. Stop it finally. His father would never know. But he’d wait, expecting a call, some signal. That’s how it would end, waiting, wondering why nobody came. The way Nick had waited. Could he do that to him? I don’t want to die here, Nick.

The water was a crick, just as he had said, cha

“Just a boy at heart,” Molly said, behind him. He turned, surprised, her voice bringing him back. “You never see little girls throwing rocks, but boys can do it for hours. Now why is that?”

He smiled. “I don’t know. We used to pretend they were grenades. Here, try it.”

She took a stone from his hand and pitched it, then shrugged. “Nothing. It must be one of those throwback things. You know, from the caves. When you were out there hunting and we were home stitching hides.” She paused. “Anything wrong?”

He shook his head. “My father fell asleep. Pretty exciting, isn’t it, life behind the iron curtain?”

“I don’t know. My father used to spend the weekend watching golf on TV. Compared to that, it’s a hoot.”

He threw another stone. “How’s the garden?”

“She’s starting di

He smiled at her. “Will you go out with me?”

“Oh.” She glanced up at him. “Soon,” she said, light again. Then she turned to the water, and in the silence that followed he felt her mood shift, like a faint stirring in the heavy air. “Want to tell me what’s going on? The two of you were thick as thieves.”

“He wants me to do something for him. I don’t think I can.”

“Then don’t,” she said quickly, trying to be casual. “What is it? Smuggle something out? It’s usually that. Letters and things. They call it the tourist post.”

“No. He—”

But she swung around suddenly, holding up her hand. “No, don’t tell me. Really. I don’t want to know. It’s better. Just don’t do it.” The urgency in her voice caught him by surprise. “Don’t do anything.”

He nodded, still surprised, waiting for her to go on, but she turned away.

“God, I wish we could go,” she said.

“Go?” His own idea, thrown back at him, a lifeline. Drive through the fence.

“Before anything happens.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know.”

“Nothing’s going to happen.”

“We could, you know,” she said. “Just leave. Tomorrow. We could do that stupid Danube boat if you want. Anything.” She turned. “We could start over.”

The words made him look at her, an unexpected twirl of the binoculars. He saw her freckles, suddenly clear. Not complicated.

She raised her head and held his eyes for a moment. “Couldn’t we?”

He touched her arm, an almost involuntary movement, and nodded.

“Would you like that?” she said, her eyes still on him.

There was a streak of dirt on her forehead, left over from the garden.

He nodded again. “But not on the Danube.”

“No.” She leaned closer. “Where?” she said, her voice low.

They stood for an instant, not moving, and then it was too late. The rain came all at once; no first drops, just the sudden burst of a punctured water balloon shocking them into place. They looked at each other, startled at being wet, then Molly, catching the water on her face, started to laugh. Nick took her hand and pulled her under a large tree. They stamped their feet, shaking themselves.

“Christ,” Nick said. He picked at his shirt, sticking coldly to his back. Molly shook her hair, then leaned against the tree, her breasts showing through her blouse.

She smiled. “Not here, I guess.”

They were both gulping air, as if they’d been ru

“Isn’t that what they do in the army?” she said. “Cold showers?”

He leaned down, rubbing his hand along her face, slick with rain.

“It’s what they advise,” he said, his mouth almost touching hers.

But the rain had broken the mood. She pulled back. “Well, what’s got into you?” she said, but pleased, still holding him. “We don’t have to start over before di

“The ground’s dry.” He bent forward again.

She reached up, putting her hand to his face. “We’re a little old for this. Rolling around in the mud.” She moved aside, shaking her blouse.

“Is that what you used to do?” he said, watching her.

“What? In my hippie days?” she said airily. “No. I like it better in a room.”

“What’s so special about a room?”

“You will, too.”

“Promise?”

She gri

“Okay, I’ll get us a room,” he said.

She rubbed her hair between her hands. “Mm, with hidden microphones.” Her eyes widened, a glint of mischief. “I hadn’t thought of that. What’s that like? Do they listen? You know.”

“If we make noise.”

She stepped over to the edge of the dry area, facing the rain. “Should we make a run for it? They’ll be worried.”

Beyond the first few feet, the woods had become a blur. A few drops were coming through the leaves overhead now, but the leaky tent held, shutting everything else out.