City of Spies (21 page)

“Not as much as you, and now I, know.” Devin steered her under a line of laundry hanging out to dry. “My friends did find two bugs in your suite when they swept it this afternoon.”

“Bugs?” She envisioned cockroaches, then realized what he meant. Devin's nearness was distracting. “They're listening to our suite?”

“The devices weren't there when the place was swept yesterday afternoon,” Devin said. “They must have been put in place after that. We don't know for certain it was the Stasi, but it's looking likely now.”

Pagan thought back. “I don't think I said much about Von Albrecht, maybe that I was going to Emma's. And they might've heard Mercedes talk to you about the observatory thing you set up for her tonight. Which was wonderful of you, by the way. And...” She broke off. She'd said a lot more things, of a personal nature, last night. Things she wasn't going to tell Devin.

“And, what?” he asked.

“Last night,” she said, editing it down in her head before she said it out loud. “I said I really wanted a drink.”

He didn't need to know that she'd especially wanted a drink because she had feelings for him. It unnerved her, knowing that Alaric Vogel might've heard her say that. Her alcoholism was well known, but her feelings about Devin were the most private thing she could think of.

“Ah.” Devin's arm around her tightened. He hadn't brought up the scene between them from the night before. She hoped he never did. Unless maybe she could hear exactly what she wanted, and that was too much to hope for.

“In a way it's reassuring that it's the Stasi,” he said. “They have a reason to be following you, based on what happened in Berlin. If it was the Israelis or the Russians or anyone else, I'd think the whole investigation into Von Albrecht was blown. But the Stasi's probably tracking you both in Los Angeles and here as a sort of fishing expedition. They assume you're up to no good again.”

“They know me well,” she said.

Ahead, light spilled from a well-kempt cement building. As they approached, a roar of laughter rattled the plastic doorway. Tinny radio music swelled, and Devin took his arm away to open and hold the door for her.

It was a lot warmer in here, with real electric lights and a bar along one wall. The room was about thirty feet square and jammed with men and women dancing around the small round tables and wobbly wooden chairs. A small
orquestra tipica
played vigorously in the corner, while a plump woman in her midforties with absurdly black hair passed out bottles of beer and shots of some dark brown liquor along with bottles of Coke. The place smelled dark and rich, like charred steak and black licorice.

“
Che
, Beatriz!” Devin said, moving over to give the woman a kiss on the cheek. “You look spectacular as always.” His Spanish was rapid and tilted with an accent Pagan was beginning to recognize as Argentine.

The woman's dark eyes lit up at the sight of him, and she kissed him on either cheek before stepping back to get a good look at him. “
Che!
Mira vos
, Devin.”

Devin moved in close to her dangling earrings and said something low. Beatriz's eyes took in Pagan, painted eyebrows slowly rising. When he lifted his head, she nodded, but said, “It's up to her, boy. Not me. She's upstairs.”

Pagan hadn't noticed the narrow stairs made of cinder block at the back of the room. Devin gave Beatriz another kiss on the check, thanked her and gestured for Pagan to take a seat while he headed toward the steps.

Beatriz sent a glare out to a few men gawking at Pagan at a nearby table that made them shrink like turtles back into their shells. She gave a pleased nod as Pagan sat down in a three-legged chair. “Would you like something to drink,
señorita
?” she asked in Spanish.

“Sólo un Coke, por favor, señora,”
Pagan said.
“Gracias.”

The room was pulsing with the energy of the dancers and the band. A light sheen of sweat on everyone's skin gave it all a glow Pagan recognized from her days of drinking and partying.

But the little shot glasses of dark liquor and bottles of beer weren't half as interesting to her as Devin. He was about to ascend the stairs when two long brown legs picked their way gracefully down. One side of his mouth curved up appreciatively and he backed up to let the woman down. She was a tall, beautiful creature probably in her late twenties, with long honey-brown hair and dark eyes set in big spiky lashes. She was wearing a tight skirt and a sleeveless top, and the smooth tan skin on her bare arms and legs gleamed. More than one head turned to take in the view. In comparison, Pagan was sadly pale, underdressed and sweat-soaked.

The woman cocked an eyebrow at Devin and allowed him to take her hand and help her down the stairs. They began to talk, their heads very close.

“Who is that?” Pagan asked Beatriz in Spanish as the woman deposited a warm bottle of Coke on her table. “She's lovely.”

“Julieta is the owner here,” Beatriz said. “So she controls the entry.”

“La entrada?”
That was the word Beatriz had used, and Pagan didn't quite understand what she meant.

“Sí,”
Beatriz said, and moved away before Pagan could say more.

Pagan thirstily drank every drop of her warm Coke as she watched Devin smirking and flirting with Julieta. They obviously knew each other, and the longer they talked, the more certain Pagan became of some kind of history between them.

The way Devin tilted his head, the sidelong glances... Pagan had no idea what he was saying to the girl, but Devin's manner was awfully familiar. He'd flirted with Pagan in exactly the same way. It would've been fascinating if it didn't feel as if every one of Devin's sly, admiring looks at Julieta was a stab in Pagan's gut.

Julieta gave Devin a small nod after he made one particular request and then pointed at two young men lounging with beers nearby and said something sharply to them. Both immediately put their beers aside, stood up and listened attentively as Devin spoke. The moment he was done, Julieta nodded again, and they sprinted through the crowd, past Pagan and out the door.

She turned to watch them go. Had Devin asked for help in dealing with Alaric Vogel? Those men were probably going to check on him, and perhaps detain him for longer. At least, that's what Pagan would've asked for if it were she. But Devin hadn't seen fit to include her in the conversation. The whole evening had been a wonderful tango of sorts for the two of them. Until now.

Julieta cast a sidelong look over at Pagan, tilted her nose into the air and shrugged. Devin's demeanor altered slightly. He withdrew, became cool, remote. He shrugged in return and moved to go.

Oh, good, he was turning away. Julieta put a hand on his shoulder and didn't let go when he pivoted back to face her, his back to Pagan.

Julieta eyed Pagan again as she spoke, then moved in close. Nearly as tall as Devin in her heels, her lips were on level with his. They were full, and red and shiny, and as she tilted her head at him and said something challenging, Devin kissed her.

Pagan heard a gasp, and realized it had come from her. All the blood fled from her body as Julieta's glossy eyelids closed in bliss and her arms snaked around Devin's neck. Devin's arms were wrapped around her waist, their bodies pressed together.

Pagan's head swam. How well she remembered what it was like to be held by him like that, to happily drown in the scent of cotton and tobacco leaves he emanated, to have his kiss steal the breath from her body.

She forced her eyes open and made herself look at them. Dang it, she was not going to throw up in some shantytown bar because a stupid man kissed some woman who “controlled the entry” or whatever it was. Pagan had greeted her ex-boyfriend Nicky's pregnant wife with a big phony smile, and she could damned well fake her way through this, too.

The kiss was over. Julieta was wiping her lipstick playfully off Devin's lips and smiling as she spoke. Devin turned his head toward Pagan, also smiling, and beckoned her with one free hand. The other was still at Julieta's waist.

Pagan touched one hand to her collarbone, raising her eyebrows in a “who, me?” gesture.

But Devin had turned back to Julieta, holding her hand as she led him toward the concrete steps leading up.

Fine. Pagan got to her feet and found Beatriz at her side, picking up the empty bottle of Coke.

“What can I give you for your hospitality?” Pagan asked. The Spanish she'd learned from Mercedes during their long hours together in reform school was really paying off.

“Oh, nothing, my dear,” Beatriz said. “Devin gave us far more than we deserve long ago.”

Pagan slowly took her hand out of her pocket and nodded. There was some kind of history here that went deeper than a flirtation. How little she really knew of Devin.

“Thank you,” she said. “You've been very kind.”

“It was nothing,” Beatriz said with a wide smile. “I'll wave at you next time I see you on the big screen.”

Pagan put two fingers to her brow in a salute, and weaved her way through the tiny tables and tangoing couples over to the concrete steps. Devin's shoes were vanishing at the top.

She manhandled her feelings into a ball and shoved them into the dark little suitcase in the back of her brain so she could trip lightly up the steps, rounding the corner and farther up to find herself on the flat cement roof in the open air.

Faint light and noise drifted up from the cantina below. The view showed a dark, uneven jigsaw puzzle of rooftops laid around her. To one side, clouds scuttled over a sliver of moon rising over the water. To the other, across the rail yard, glittered the brighter radiance of the rest of Buenos Aires. Villa 31 was a bit like one of Mercedes's black holes. No light escaped.

Devin and Julieta waited a few steps away. “This is Pagan Jones,” Devin said. “Pagan, this is our hostess, Julieta.”

Pagan showed her teeth in a Cheshire cat smile and took Julieta's limp hand in a firm grip to shake it with an overabundance of enthusiasm. “How lovely to meet you after such a difficult evening,” she said in Spanish. “Thank you so much for your kindness.”

Julieta let her grip drop away and nodded, as if satisfied. “Miss Jones. You are exactly as I imagined you to be,” she said. “Mr. Black speaks very highly of you.”

Devin was staring out over the rooftops, his expression carefully blank.

“He's a liar, of course,” Pagan said with a touch of impatience. She'd had enough of Devin for the moment, and this was an opportune moment to let it show. Clearly Julieta wanted Devin for herself. Well. She could have him. “But I suppose he's a charming one when he puts some effort into it. As for me, I'll be glad to get back to my own little hotel suite and forget this night ever happened.”

Julieta eyed her, smiling slightly. “That would be best,” she said. “You will never speak of me or of this place to anyone. Please.”

“I swear by my hairdresser's enormous stash of peroxide,” Pagan said.

Julieta laughed, surprised, and Pagan squashed down a stab of fondness for the woman. It was a special gift to make people like you when you hated them. And clearly Julieta was someone they needed to make happy. So Pagan would do what was needed, even if it made her want to throw up.

Julieta had taken Devin by the hand and was leading him across the roof, picking her way over a rail-less wooden bridge to the roof of the building next door. Pagan followed, consigned to the back like the thirdest of third wheels. She wasn't surprised to see Julieta knock four times on a trapdoor. After a moment, it lifted open, and a large man with a rifle emerged. At Julieta's nod, he walked all the way up onto the roof and allowed them all to descend into the other building while he waited above.

They trailed down a very closed-in set of steps, almost too tight to fit Devin's shoulders. Pagan decided it was a secret staircase, and indeed, they went down at least four flights of stairs by Pagan's calculation before they encountered a door.

The exited into a brick tunnel fifteen feet wide and arched high like an old Roman church. A tiny portion of it was lit by one bare bulb, snaked down on a cord from the building above. Beyond lay cavernous musty blackness. The air was cold. Somewhere in the distance, water dripped.

Tunnels.
Dieter had mentioned tunnels. Were these the same underground passages, or was Buenos Aires riddled with them?

Julieta pulled a key off a necklace tucked into the neck of her dress, and unlocked a large metal strongbox at the bottom of the stairs. She pulled out a flashlight and handed it to Devin.

“Leave this on the bottom stair when you reach the other side,” she said. “You will know it is the other side because you'll see stairs, made of brick like these walls, that go up. If you go past the stairs, you may get lost in the tunnels.”

“And after we go up the stairs made of brick?” Devin asked, gently taking the flashlight from her.

“Knock three times on the door at the top and tell them your name is Romeo.” Julieta's teeth gleamed very white in the darkness as she smiled. “A little joke they like to make on me.”

As she spoke, Pagan grabbed the flashlight from Devin and flicked it on. The diffused yellow beam illuminated another fifty feet of tunnel. The masonry was covered in mold and dead tree roots. The floor was also brick, but covered in years of dirt and dust. She was like an archaeologist wandering into a very old tomb.

“What is this place?” she said. “Who built it?”

Julieta shrugged. “Some say it was the monks who built the first churches of the city, and wished to connect them all underground. Some say it was the smugglers or the slavers who wished to move their goods from the harbor secretly so they wouldn't have to pay the tax. Or maybe it was both. All I know for sure is that this tunnel goes under the train station and comes up inside the cellar of my friend's bar. As long as your name is Romeo, he will let you out.”