The Notorious Pagan Jones Read online

  Hugging the building, she crept toward the corner, looking down to make sure she wasn’t going to trip on a pipe or a rock, then up to check for more patrols. She rounded the corner, visualizing the layout of the grounds in her head. She was now on the short side of the rectangular building. If she rounded one more corner she’d be at the front, with its lawn and parked cars. She walked carefully, staying close to the vigorous growth of ivy. It helped camouflage her as she got to the second corner and peered around to see what obstacles might stand between her and the car.

  The lawn lay empty as far as the weak porch light could illuminate. She could just see the fender of their car parked about fifty yards away.

  She debated—sprinting across the lawn in heels versus no heels. Landing on the rock had convinced her that going a little slower might be worth not jamming her foot.

  Eyeballing her route, she cast a glance back and around. All clear—but wait. She’d failed to notice a square of light slanted on the narrow path and strip of grass that ran along the front of the building. Someone had pulled aside the curtains in the room closest to where Pagan stood.

  If she ran through the light, she was more likely to be spotted. She’d have to run straight out first, then angle right to avoid it. Was the light coming from Mielke’s office? She looked down the facade of the building, to see that the light was actually pouring out of the window closest to her. If her assessment of the building was right, it came from the room where they were holding Thomas.

  After one more look at the empty lawn, Pagan crept along the front of the building, staying close to the ivy. The bottom of the lit window was three feet off the ground, above her waist. Careful to keep most of her body out of sight, she peered in.

  Another office, larger than Mielke’s, spread out behind the windowpane, lit by two lamps on the large black desk. The floor was carpeted in lush Turkish rugs, the walls studded with antique revolvers and a particularly large stag’s head with impressive antlers and sad, dead eyes.

  Beside the fireplace, in a large wingback chair like the one she’d sat in, was Thomas, nearly unrecognizable under the bruises. His bright gold hair was dark with sweat and blood, his left hand still taped and clutched close to his chest. But he was awake, eyes lost in thought, facing her direction.

  Pagan was about to step out and wave so that he’d see her when she realized she was looking at him through the legs of one of the Stasi guards. The soldier stood, back to the window, hands on his rifle, facing Thomas. The backs of his trouser legs were just inches away on the other side of the glass.

  Breath ragged, Pagan forced herself to inspect the room more carefully. Thomas and his guard were indeed the only ones in the room.

  She looked over her shoulder at the car. Even if she reached it, there was no guarantee she’d make it past the guard posts and get to Berlin. But if she tried to help get Thomas out, the odds against her increased dramatically. Her own guard would shortly lose patience and force open the bathroom door to find her gone. And Ulbricht and Mielke could walk in any second to question Thomas further.

  It was stupid, foolish to try to get him out, to escape with her. Thomas was a spy. He’d known the risks. It was his fault, not hers, that his family was going to be imprisoned, and probably worse, for what he’d done.

  But how the hell was she supposed to go on living her life if she left Thomas behind to be tortured and executed?

  She didn’t have a family of her own anymore. That was her fault. She couldn’t save them by helping the Krugers.

  But she might save the Krugers.

  Pagan moved into full view of the window. Thomas continued to stare into the middle distance, lost in his thoughts.

  Pagan put one finger to her lips and waved, jumping up and down.

  Thomas’s eyes snapped fully open, uninjured hand tightening on the armrest.

  Pagan shook her head, tapping her lips with her index finger.

  Thomas’s eyes moved up to the guard looming above her, then back down to her. His expression resolved into a bored blank. Casually, he turned his head to look at the fire.

  Pagan followed his gaze and saw an upright iron stand of fireplace tools next to the fire screen.

  Thomas turned slowly back to look at her. She nodded and raised her fist to the window.

  Thomas dipped his chin. A nod.

  Pagan rapped on the glass with her knuckles. In the country quiet, the sound echoed in her ears loud as a gunshot.

  The guard inside the room whirled, staring out the window right over Pagan’s head.

  Behind him, Thomas grabbed the poker out of its iron stand. To keep the guard from turning back around, Pagan tapped the window again and backed up a step.

  The guard’s gaze zoomed down to find her smiling up at him.

  Thomas had the poker in both hands. He lifted it like a baseball bat and took two careful steps toward the guard.

  Incredulous, the guard frowned down at Pagan, reaching for the pistol in the holster at his waist.

  Pagan put up her palm in a wait wait! gesture, and mimed unlatching and opening the window.

  The guard’s frown deepened, but he leaned down, hand reaching for the latch.

  Thomas swung the poker. It whacked into the guard’s head with an awful thud. He tottered and dropped in an awkward heap, hopefully out cold.

  Thomas hit him again, to be sure. Pagan jumped up and down, miming applause. Thomas blinked down at her, a smile starting to take over his mouth. He dropped the poker and leaned over the guard’s body to unlatch and slide the window open.

  “Pagan! What…”

  “I’ve got the keys to the car!” Pagan said. “Come on!”

  Thomas didn’t need to be told twice. He pushed the window open as wide as possible and stepped onto the sill, his body sideways, about to jump down.

  “Wait!” Pagan said, seized by a thought. “Take his gun.”

  Thomas halted his progress through the window, staring at her wildly. “What?”

  “His pistol.” She pointed. “We might need it.”

  Disbelief battled with shock on his face, but he grabbed the pistol out of the guard’s unconscious hand and jumped out the window.

  Pagan was already running across the grass toward their car, one hand in her purse fumbling for the keys. God, where were they? Had she lost them? Her fingers closed around the cool metal and her heart found its place in her chest again.

  Thomas caught up with her as they got close. “You put the keys in my purse,” she said, panting. “We might as well use them.”

  “You better drive,” he said, holding up his taped hand.

  She stared at the car, cold sweat beading on her forehead. She hadn’t driven since the accident. It was a big black boat of a car, not a sleek red convertible, but she’d have to hold the wheel in her hands. She’d have to shift.

  “Pagan?” Thomas stopped halfway into the passenger seat, frowning at her.

  Thomas’s fingers were broken. She had to do this. She wasn’t drunk this time. She was helping now, not hurting.

  Helping now, not hurting. She repeated that phrase to herself and hefted the keys.

  “God help us both,” she said, unlocking the driver’s side door and ducking in to pull the lock up on the passenger door.

  “Don’t turn on the lights,” he said, climbing in and shutting his own door quietly.

  “Don’t worry.” She pulled her own door shut with a muffled clunk. “We’ll be lucky if I can get the thing started. Keep your eyes peeled for guards.”

  He rolled down his window, peering out at the velvet dark of the lawn. “Nobody.”

  Pagan put the car into Neutral, fingers shaking only slightly, and cautiously turned the key, foot on the accelerator. The engine coughed, then thrummed to life. She closed her eyes and lean
ed her head back in relief, forcing herself to take deep, even breaths.

  Big black boat-car. Helping, not hurting. She could do this.

  “Are you okay?” Thomas asked.

  She forced her eyes open, stepped on the clutch, and shoved the car into first. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

  Her stomach heaved as she stepped on the gas and the car rolled forward. But she could shift gears and turn on the wheel, so she concentrated on that. She’d known how to drive since she was thirteen, when they gave her lessons for her bank robbing role in The Tiny Outlaw at Disney. It was ingrained in her muscle memory, like riding a bike.

  Or a car. Off a cliff.

  Shut up, brain.

  They rolled forward in relative quiet onto the circular drive. Pagan accelerated slowly to keep the noise down, peering through the windshield to avoid the bushes. “Dang, it is dark out here.”

  “How are we going to get past the guards at the front gate?” Thomas said. “Maybe we should leave the car when we get close and find a place in the hedge to get through on foot.”

  “And walk to Berlin?” Pagan shook her head. “We can’t waste time flagging someone down or hitchhiking.”

  “This is insane, Pagan,” he said, putting his hand on the steering wheel. “You can’t risk yourself like this. They won’t hurt you if you go back and make it sound like maybe I kidnapped you. They’ll send you home. It’s me they want.”

  Pagan brushed his hand off he wheel and shook her head. “I heard Mielke say he won’t have enough men to arrest your mother and Karin for a few more hours. And you can’t drive with that broken hand. If we get there soon, we might be able to save them.”

  Thomas inhaled a sob that made her stall the car. She looked at him in concern as she threw the stick into Neutral again and turned the key. “Are you okay?”

  He had his chin pressed to his chest, good hand over his eyes, shoulders shuddering. He lifted his head to look at her, the outline of his swollen face limned very faintly in the near dark.

  “I thought I’d killed them,” he said. “I thought they were dead.”

  Pagan put one hand on his arm before using it to push the car into gear again. “I know exactly how you feel. But there’s still a chance, and I’ll be damned if we don’t take it.”

  Thomas wiped his eyes. His bruised jaw squared. “Then we drive through the gate.”

  “We smash through the gate,” Pagan said. “Guns—or rather gun—blazing. Ready?”

  Thomas slipped his hand around the pistol and clicked off the safety. “Let’s go.”

  Pagan slowed the car as soon as they spotted the lights of the gatehouse up ahead. “Get down low,” she said to Thomas. “In case they start shooting.”

  “What about you?” he asked, scooching down the leather seat, his long legs folding up beneath him.

  “I’m a lot shorter than you are,” she said, sliding down, too, so that she could barely see over the dashboard. “This is a better idea than trying to talk our way out, right?”

  “They won’t let us through until they get orders to do so,” he said. “If we pull up with our lights on, trying to seem normal, they’ll shoot the second we take off. Surprise is better.”

  “That’s what I figured,” she said. “Ready?”

  He set the point of the stolen pistol on the sill of his open window, sighting down the barrel. “Ready.”

  Pagan downshifted, revving the engine, and let fly. The Mercedes wasn’t as fleet as a Corvette, but it had a large engine and a light load. They accelerated briskly, bumping and jostling over the dirt road. Pagan pumped it into second gear, then third, hitting around forty miles per hour before the guard standing outside the shack turned in their direction, both hands on his rifle.

  “Here we go,” Pagan said over the engine’s growl, stomping on the accelerator.

  The guard yelled something toward the shack, and two more heads popped out, peering from their lit area into the darkness.

  “I think there’s only three,” Thomas said.

  “Only!” Pagan said, and a great nervous laugh erupted out of her.

  The guard outside shouted “Halt!” and fired in the air. The gunshots cracked like fireworks. Pagan winced but aimed right for him. The other two guards were shouldering their rifles, using the shack for cover.

  “Halt! Halt!”

  All three were shouting. The outside guard shouldered his rifle, and the others lowered their heads to aim.

  Thomas squeezed his trigger, once, twice. His hand recoiled each time, but stayed steady. The blasts slammed into Pagan’s ears as the wood frame of the guard shack exploded outward in two places.

  The guards in the shack ducked back inside, yelling at their comrade. The Mercedes rocketed toward him, twenty yards away, fifteen. He fired his rifle, and the report was like a slap in the face. The side mirror attached to Pagan’s door popped off and soared into the trees.

  Five yards away. The outside guard dived for the bushes as the Mercedes bore down, bounced heavily over the makeshift dirt bump they’d shoveled there, and flew past.

  Pagan sat up to haul the wheel hard to the right to make the turn onto the road, downshifting. They skidded, but she kept doggedly pulling. The back end of the car smacked into some bushes with a leafy crunch.

  Thomas pivoted in his seat, hair falling into his eyes as he aimed the pistol toward the shack and fired again. More bangs, and something whizzed overhead, breaking off a branch. Another dinged their bumper.

  Then the tires found their grip. Pagan downshifted again and gunned it. The car shot forward. Distance swallowed the light from the shack and the guards’ shouts.

  “I guess they know we’re out now,” Pagan said. She’d kept the car’s lights off, so she had to bend forward over the steering wheel, following the nearly invisible right edge of the road where it vanished into the slightly blacker line of the forest.

  “They know someone’s out,” Thomas said, pushing his hair back and leaning back in his seat in relief. “That was some incredible driving, Pagan. No offense, but they’ll probably think it was me.”

  She grinned. Her heart was beating fast but steady, her hands had stopped shaking, and a strange euphoria was taking hold. She shifted into third and laughed out loud. “You drive pretty well for a man with a broken hand!”

  He answered with his own laugh, teeth flashing in the dark. “Mein Gott, that was crazy. You are crazy!”

  “Nicky taught me a few tricks,” she said. “We used to go cruising. Got in a few races dragging down the Strip late at night.”

  “Maybe I don’t want to move to California after all,” Thomas said, and Pagan burst out laughing.

  They were alive. They’d made it out.

  “Now, tell me—” Thomas went on. “How do you know Mielke doesn’t have the manpower to get Mother and Karin yet? Did he question you? Did he hurt you?”

  She shook her head, turning the wheel slightly as they curved down the empty road. Up ahead she caught the lonely silhouette of a barn against the charcoal-gray sky. “They took me to Mielke’s office and asked me a bunch of questions, trying to get me to admit I knew what you were up to.” She paused, flashing him a look. “Thomas, you’re a spy. You’re working with Devin Black.”

  He exhaled wearily. “Did you tell them you knew that?”

  “Are you kidding?” She couldn’t help smiling at the memory. “You should’ve seen them trying to make sense of my teenage gibberish. I told them I was only there because you were so handsome I couldn’t resist you. I acted like such a dizzy Chiclet they couldn’t help believing me.”

  “So you didn’t tell them about Devin, or anything else?”

  “Well, I don’t know much of anything else, but no, I didn’t mention him or how he wandered off in East Berlin while we were visiting your family
, or how he’s actually Scottish, or…” She flicked on the lights to avoid crashing off the road. “Here’s the deal. You tell me everything you know about him. I’ll tell you what I know.”

  “What you know?” He cast her a sidelong look. “What have you two been doing in that hotel?”

  “Now, now, Thomas, don’t be jealous!” she said, teasing.

  Thomas didn’t reply. She threw him a concerned look and saw that he was looking down, the tendons on either side of his throat standing out like cords.

  An outrageous realization glimmered inside her head. He had told her before that he had a secret. But could she say out loud what she was thinking? Would he hate her if she did?

  “Are you jealous? Of him. I mean, of me. I mean…”

  He inhaled sharply and shot her a look of such terror that she put her hand on his arm. He shook his head, lips pressed angrily together, as if he wanted to say no, and his own longing to deny it incensed him.

  “Don’t hate me.” The words came out clipped, almost paralyzed.

  So it was true. She contained her surprise, her questions. She’d never seen anyone so scared, so full of self-disgust, but she knew the signs. She experienced it herself, all the time, for different reasons.

  “I could never hate you, Thomas,” she said, and couldn’t resist a question. “Did Devin… Did you and he…?”

  “I met him before I auditioned for Bennie,” Thomas said, looking down at the gun in his hand. “They said someone from the studio needed to see me before Bennie did, and there he was waiting for me outside a café, leaning against a newsstand, reading the paper. He looked up at me and smiled. You know that smile he has, when only one side of his mouth goes up, and his eyes move up and down your body like he can’t wait to put his hands on you.”

  Pagan’s throat was tight. “I know that smile.”

  “It was like lightning hit me, or a tidal wave.” He turned his head to stare out the window. “I swear to you I couldn’t help it. I’ve had friends before that I wanted to spend every day, every hour with. I told myself it was just friendship, and it was, mostly. I didn’t want to think about it too much, until I saw him that day. Then I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Thinking about him.”