City Of Spies. Nina Berry

immigrants, too new to Argentina for the leader of the other gangs.”

      “So even the purest Aryan son of a Nazi wasn’t pure enough for this other gang?” Pagan shook her head. “If the fascists are fighting among themselves, they should do us all a favor and kill one another off.”

      “Unfortunately, they haven’t forgotten that they hate the Jews more than anyone. The barrio where Dieter’s school is, and where Von Albrecht teaches, has a large Jewish population and a history of anti-Semitic violence. So it’s very lucky for us that you’ll be shooting a scene of your movie on the grounds of that school tomorrow.”

      “The big dancing-in-the-courtyard scene?” Pagan had memorized the entire horrible script in spite of its awfulness, as well as the shooting schedule. “How’d you manage that?”

      Devin raised his eyebrows in an exaggeratedly innocent way. “Who says I had anything to do with it? To round out the report, Von Albrecht has a daughter, Emma, two years younger than Dieter, sixteen.”

      “Von Albrecht’s a professor, so maybe I can wander into one of his classes tomorrow—a lecture,” Pagan said through a mouthful of steak. It was tender and succulent. “As soon as I hear him speak, I should be able to tell you if it’s the man I knew.”

      “We thought of that. But he took a sabbatical, a full year, and won’t lecture again until the fall.”

      “Why have the movie shoot near his workplace, then?” Pagan asked. “And don’t keep pretending you had nothing to do with that.”

      “Dieter and Emma will be there,” Devin said. “And it might be useful to have you near them, perhaps to meet them.”

      “Maybe I could join Dieter’s gang,” Pagan said, waving a forkful of steak airily. “I could establish my bona fides by telling them how I foiled the Communist East German army in Berlin.”

      “A gang of fascists might elect you their leader if they learned how you humiliated those Communist leaders,” Devin said in the same light tone. “Let’s hope gang membership won’t be necessary. But you do have a connection to their family via your mother. Emma and Dieter likely don’t know about her at all, but Von Albrecht will remember.”

      Pagan nodded, chewing. Perhaps she could use Von Albrecht’s sense of obligation to her mother to her advantage somehow. But first she needed a way to meet the man. “The more we know about him, the better, right?” she said. “Even though he’s not there, this is where he works and where his kids go to school. I could potentially learn a lot.”

      Devin stood up to pace over to the window, look down onto the tree-lined road and then pace back. “We’ve been following Von Albrecht for the past two months, hoping to find a pattern so we could set you up to run into him. But for the past three weeks he hasn’t left his house at all. Not once. He’s always spent the bulk of his nonworking time at home, but not to poke his head out of his own front door once in three weeks is very odd.”

      “Maybe he’s dead.”

      “Doubtful. Nothing else has changed. His children come and go in the same pattern—to school, errands, to parties with their friends and so on, with no sign of mourning or visits from mortuary personnel. The daughter, Emma, buys the same amount of food every week. So we’re pretty sure he’s still alive. No doctor visits, so he’s probably not ill, at least not seriously.”

      “Personnel,” Pagan said. “Never heard you use that word before. Sounds...military.”

      “I’m officially a lieutenant in Her Majesty’s Navy.” He pronounced it leftenant. “Unofficially, the men who face real combat wouldn’t consider me very military.”

      “So how do I get to see and hear this guy if he’s locked up in his house?” she asked. “I’m way too messy to be convincing as his new maid.”

      “I told you that you wouldn’t need to pretend to be anyone but yourself. I’ve got an idea.” He stopped pacing. She detected a challenge in his stormy gaze. “You’re a movie star of German descent, after all. And a lonely girl in a strange city.”

      Pagan, who didn’t feel the least bit lonely, met his eyes with a small, pleased smile. “So empty inside and in need of rescue. How well you know me.”

       CHAPTER EIGHT

      San Telmo, Buenos Aires

      Evening of January 10, 1962

      CONFITERIA BAILABLE

      A café-like establishment where one can purchase refreshments and dance tango.

      The tires rumbled over cobblestones. Dim light from streetlamps flashed through the dark interior of the car, over the back of Carlos’s head, flashing bronze on Mercedes’s dress as she stared out the car window.

      Pagan was headed out to a bar. She, an alcoholic. The things she did for Devin and for her country...well, they were dangerous in all kinds of ways and she enjoyed them. That probably meant something was wrong with her, but that fault could get in line behind all the others.

      She glanced over at Mercedes, calm and glowing in that knee-length burnished dress, her thick, curly black hair teased at the crown. The winged black eyeliner Pagan had drawn on gave her dark brown eyes a newly mysterious look.

      “Cobblestones on the streets, and the buildings are shorter here,” Pagan said, watching the two-story edifices fly past, their window boxes overflowing with flowers, closed up for the night.

      “The guidebook said San Telmo’s the oldest barrio in Buenos Aires.” Mercedes glanced over at Pagan. “You may be a little overdressed for it.”

      Pagan glanced down at her Dior ivory silk dress, covered in tiny silver beads that glinted as she moved. It was a thing of beauty, tailored perfectly to hug her waist and flow like a waterfall down her hips. And it was a good dress for dancing. She’d brought a dark coat in case she needed suddenly not to glow like a sky full of stars.

      “Overdressed? It’s not even floor-length,” she said half-sarcastically. Her silver heels weren’t exactly casual, either. “I need to be noticed tonight. Devin said the bar was casual. So I figured I wouldn’t be.”

      “You’ll be noticed,” M said. “If you’re sure that’s what you want.”

      Mercedes not only didn’t approve of Devin’s plan; she hated it. At first she’d refused to go with Pagan that night, hoping to keep Pagan home that way. But Pagan was not easily deterred, and M’s need to help her out had trumped her resistance. She’d put on her own casual dress and black heels, and only fought Pagan for five minutes when Pagan offered to do her hair and eyeliner.

      “It’s what I need,” Pagan said. “Don’t look at me like that. It’s a public place. Nothing’s going to happen. Well. Nothing bad’s going to happen. To us.”

      They pulled up in front of a graffiti-covered wall, two doors down from the bright windows of a café. The light spilled onto the sidewalk and the cobblestones, revealing the entwined silhouettes of several dancing couples swaying right outside. Laughter filtered through the warm night air, peppered with beats from an unseen band and the clink of bottles being cleared from a table.

      “We’ve reached Gläubigen, señoritas,” Carlos said, turning in the driver’s seat. “Are you sure you don’t want me to wait?”

      Pagan reached over to hand him a fistful of paper pesos. “For all your help today, Carlos. Thanks. But you should go home. We’ll catch a cab back.”

      Mercedes looked around the quiet street. The bar was the only sign of movement and life. “If we can find a cab.”

      “Walk one block that way,” Carlos said, pointing to the right. “You’ll be sure to find one near Plaza Dorrego.”

      “Gracias,” Mercedes