Song and Key Page 3

  “I’m not saying I need one, but usually when I’m on a mission—”

  “It’s not a mission,” Seva reminded him. “We’re doing a favor, as ordinary citizens, and isn’t it kind of Ms. Noone and Oliver to outfit us for it?”

  Keller cleared his throat. “Yes, it is. Thanks, Ms. N., Ollie.”

  Ms. Noone ignored him while Oliver shuddered at the nickname. “You’re welcome. Erm, about the lack of firearms….”

  “We understand,” Seva said. “It’s fine.”

  “I put a pair of special walking sticks in the trunks. When you go hiking, don’t forget them,” Oliver warned. “Fieldwork sounds so exciting.”

  “It’s dangerous too,” Keller said, trying not to grin at the overly eager young man. “We won’t forget the weapons, trust me. So are we good to go?”

  Ms. Noone nodded, and Oliver pulled the luggage trolley from under the table and put the handle in Keller’s hand. “Good luck,” they said.

  The agents thanked them again and then guided the cart to the elevators. They rode up a few floors and emerged at ground level in a parking facility. A black town car from GLEN’s fleet was idling a few feet away. The driver helped stow the luggage and then drove to LaGuardia Airport.

  AGENT Key had spent the night before this unplanned vacation-slash-assignment at his Lower East Side Manhattan apartment. He’d debated going out for a drink—and maybe a hookup—but had ultimately decided to do the adult thing and get some sleep. That turned out to have been a good decision, he noted as the car made its way toward the airport. Despite Seva and his boss’s implications, Keller wasn’t wholly irresponsible. There was simply no way he’d have made it to where he was before thirty if he wasn’t focused and good at his job.

  To be fair, though, his boss wasn’t wrong in comparing Keller to the legendary Captain Kirk. The original 1960s version—thanks to growing up with his grandparents—was definitely one of his role models. And why not; Kirk was smart, capable of handling anything, and knew how to have a good time. Sure, he (and Keller) were players, but they respected their playmates and didn’t hurt anyone. It wasn’t as if Keller wanted a relationship at this point in his life, and love and romance were way more complicated than sex and fun. He didn’t have the time, even if he was in one location for more than a few weeks. Being an international super spy saving the world from various evils was a little more important than the mushy stuff! Keller wasn’t thrilled to be working with Agent Song again, but he had to admit the assignment sounded intriguing. Mystery, conspiracy, potential murder, and a trip to Romania were definitely his kind of vacation. Hopefully they’d have a few days free after they figured out what had happened to Mr. Fitzroy’s friend, and he could jaunt over to wherever good ol’ Count Dracula’s castle was and get some hilarious souvenirs.

  THE airport check-in was uneventful, and Agents Song and Key settled into their seats in business class and dutifully drank club sodas while they waited for takeoff. Agent Song hadn’t yet decided whether he was going to be amused by his temporary partner’s idiotic flirtatiousness, or annoyed. It seemed to work best when Seva teased him back, and there was an added level of humor when Keller failed to get his jokes. Nothing like a little verbal sparring to show a pretty boy that looks weren’t everything.

  Seva had worked his whole life to project an air of taking no fucks from anyone—and succeeded. He was equally at ease whether he was wearing thousand-dollar business suits or fighting with his hands in a dirty back alley. His temporary partner’s careless attitude—and tendency to use sexual allure to get what he wanted—made it hard for Seva to take Keller seriously. Supposedly his equal, Seva assumed Keller’s successful mission record was more a matter of dumb luck than skill. Keller gave off the aura of a cocky, overconfident playboy-slash-cowboy—the kind of asshole Seva loved to take down a peg. Or beat to a pulp, if the opportunity arose. Or pound into a mattress, if the man was attractive and willing. After all, what else do you do to an asshole?

  ONCE in the air, Agents Song and Key took out their dossiers and studied them. For the next thirteen hours, they memorized information, ate, and slept in turns. After a stop in Paris and a change of planes, they touched down smoothly at Henri Coandă International Airport in Bucharest at nine thirty in the morning. They made it through customs without any fuss, bought some very strong coffee from a cart, and went to rent a vehicle. They were given a Dacia Duster SUV and were on the road twenty minutes later.

  Having lost the coin toss, Seva was navigating, and he directed Keller to the ring road that would take them to Romania’s Highway A1. Keller made the right-hand turn onto the highway as he complained about the car’s suspension. They drove past businesses, factories, and homes, and then they were on the open road.

  “I’m hungry,” Keller said a short while later. “If I drink any more of that coffee, it’s going to eat a hole in my stomach.”

  “Bitch, bitch, bitch.” Seva touched his phone screen and read for a few seconds. “There’s a good-sized city forty-five minutes north of Otopeni.”

  “I thought we were in Bucharest.”

  “We’re about twelve miles north of Bucharest in Otopeni. Just be glad you didn’t have to drive through it.”

  “Fine. I’m glad. What does this have to do with me starving? I’ve had nothing but airplane food for over sixteen hours.”

  “Hold your whores.” Seva smiled to himself, ignoring Keller’s chuckle as he looked at the screen again. “The next city is Ploiești, but it’s an industrial center. If you don’t mind, I’d rather not eat in a city. Thirty minutes after Ploiești is a smaller town called Câmpina. There are a couple of restaurants on the Prahova River. It’s supposed to be beautiful scenery. How does that sound?”

  “Do they have food?”

  “I’m sure they do.”

  “Then let’s go there. I don’t need the right feng shui to enjoy a meal.”

  “Do you actually enjoy your meals? The way you eat, it seems more like refueling. And by the way, feng shui is a Chinese philosophy. I’m half-Korean, not Chinese, you racist,” Seva teased.

  “Huh?”

  “You think all Asians are alike, don’t you?”

  “You’re Asian?” Keller exclaimed melodramatically.

  “You know, the few times we’ve been teamed up were of such brief duration…. I hope that’s true of this mission as well.”

  “Seva, Seva, Seva,” Keller chided, enjoying their banter. “Why do you keep up this pretense? You know you’re crazy about me.”

  “You’re deranged.”

  “Not according to my last psych evaluation. I have a few trifling problems with authority and a budding god complex, but that’s it.”

  “Everything is a joke to you.”

  “You’ve got a stick up your butt.”

  “Pull the car over.” Seva’s tone was dry, and dead serious.

  Keller glanced over at him. “Why?”

  “Just pull over.”

  “No.”

  “Then I’ll wait until we stop.”

  “For what?”

  “To give you a beating.”

  Keller laughed. “Calm down. You’re just grouchy because you’re hungry, little fella.”

  Seva muttered something under his breath in a language Keller didn’t understand, and turned his attention back to his phone and the scenery. He must have been genuinely irritated, since he didn’t speak again until they reached Ploiești. He said just enough words to guide Keller around another ring road to rejoin Highway 1.

  “Hey,” Keller said as they left Ploiești’s many factories behind. “Come on. The silent treatment is really childish.” When Seva didn’t answer, Keller tried again. “Come on, man. I was just joking around with you. Can’t you just relax?”

  “I don’t find it attractive when a grown man behaves like a bratty child,” Seva said, choosing to ignore his own part.

  “Really? Weird. A lot of people find it extremely attractive.”

  “I�
�m not one of them.”

  “I find that interesting since you give me a run for my money in the brat department. No one sulks like you, my friend.”

  “Slow down,” Seva said.

  “Oh, so you can dish it out, but you can’t take it?”

  “Slow down because the restaurant is coming up on our left. Slow down more, mudak. Okay, this is it right here.”

  Keller pulled over and parked on the side of the road by the other cars. They got out of the car, both a bit irritated and huffy, and trying to remember that it had been a long trip and they were both hungry. And they were professionals.

  Inside the restaurant, Seva’s memorized guidebook phrases got them a table on the terrace overlooking the river.

  “I admit it,” Keller said as they looked over the menu. “The scenery really is spectacular. What do you think I should order?”

  “Considering the hospitality in Romania, I imagine our host will have food waiting when we arrive at our final destination this evening. I’d advise having something light.”

  “Fine. Which of these is light?” Keller held up his menu.

  “I’ll order for both us. Will that suit you?”

  “As long as it isn’t liver.”

  Seva gave their order to the waiter, and the man returned with two small cups of clear liquid. “Salut,” he said as he set the cups down. “Noroc.”

  Keller and Seva drank the shots, and the waiter grinned at their shocked expressions.

  “Bun,” Seva said in a strangled voice. “Mulțumesc.”

  The waiter was still smiling as he took the cups away. A few minutes later, he returned with cold plates of sliced vegetables and boiled eggs. A bottle of mineral water with two glasses was placed on the table.

  “Mulțumesc,” Keller said, mimicking Seva’s accent.

  “Not bad,” Seva said. “At least now you know how to say ‘thank you.’”

  “I thought I was ordering another shot.” Keller grinned to show he was kidding.

  “That stuff is 45 percent alcohol,” Seva cautioned. “Rocket fuel.”

  “I can hold my liquor.”

  “Relax. Everything isn’t a competition.”

  “The hell it isn’t,” Keller muttered before taking a bite of his food.

  The rest of the meal passed largely in silence. Seva paid the bill, and then it was his turn behind the wheel.

  Chapter Three

  Sunday, midday, still on the road in Romania

  A FORTY-MINUTE drive brought them to the ski resort town of Sinaia, the Pearl of the Carpathians. It also brought so much interference that their cell phone reception—which had been getting spotty—disappeared entirely. Thank God the car rental had a paper map in the glove box.

  “Here it is,” Keller said, nodding at the road sign. “This is Sinaia.”

  “Thanks for the news. I might have missed it.”

  “How old do you think those buildings are?” Keller asked, ignoring Seva’s snark and pointing to a row of stone-and-timber structures.

  “Probably sixteenth century.” Seva slowed the car as he looked for a sign for National Road 71.

  “It’s amazing. Like stepping back in time.”

  “At least you’re starting to sound like a historian.”

  Keller still wasn’t listening. He’d spotted something interesting. “Whoa, is that an actual castle?”

  “Yes,” Seva said without taking his eyes from the road. “That’s Peleș Castle, the summer home of the Romanian royal family. Did you actually read any of the information on this area that Mr. Fairmount so generously provided?”

  “Generous my ass. Mr. Fairmount is the opposite of—”

  “There it is.”

  “What?” Keller swiveled his head to see.

  “I see the sign for our road,” Seva said as he put on the blinker. After waiting for an oncoming truck, he turned left onto Highway 71. They left the outskirts of Sinaia and headed into the Bucegi Mountains.

  “Why’d you interrupt me? I thought you saw a hot babe or something.”

  Seva rolled his eyes. “Unlike some, I’m not driven solely by the desire to fornicate.”

  “But you do enjoy it on occasion, right?” Keller asked, grinning.

  “Why are you interested?”

  “I believe I mentioned that we’re both guys. Guys talk about sex. Everyone knows that,” Keller said defensively.

  “Why don’t we just talk about the mission?”

  Keller sighed, shaking his head a little at Seva’s stodginess. “Sure, if you think we need to.”

  “What’s your opinion of the contents of the letter?”

  “Honestly? I think Mr. Fitzroy’s old friend was getting a little senile.”

  “That is certainly a possibility, but I don’t believe Mr. Fitzroy would go to all this trouble if he believed his friend was delusional.”

  “No one wants to believe their friends are delusional.”

  “Good point.” Seva stopped talking as the car entered a series of sharp switchbacks, and concentrated on maneuvering the SUV through the hairpin turns.

  “Is this why you wanted to drive after lunch?” Keller asked. “Because you knew this stretch was coming up?”

  “Yes.”

  “Because you enjoy it or because you didn’t trust me?”

  “Both.”

  “Hey, I just noticed you haven’t messed up a single American phrase since….” Keller thought for a moment. “Since you got behind the wheel.”

  “I’m getting into character, and my character doesn’t do that sort of thing. Why do you care?”

  Keller shrugged. “I kind of miss it. So what’s your opinion on the letter?”

  “Something very odd is going on in Dragascar, and I’m curious about it.” Seva looked out the side window at the fir-covered mountains. “Whatever happens on the mission, I’m glad I saw this view. It’s beautiful.”

  “It really is. I like the little waterfalls,” Keller said without a trace of sarcasm.

  In companionable silence they watched the landscape until they reached the village of Dragascar. Plastered-brick buildings with steeply pitched shingled roofs huddled at the bottom of a rocky gorge that was almost a mile deep. A stream leaped down the valley and ran along the east side of the town. Higher on the slope, the ruins of an abbey could be glimpsed poking through the trees. Seva found their destination easily and parked beside the building.

  Popescu’s Inn was the largest structure in town—two stories of lumpish red brick stacked in a short rectangle with a roof of wooden shingles. Attached to the front was a portico to protect travelers from the weather. Above the portico was a terrace shaded by a vine-covered lattice. Mr. Radu Popescu was waiting and had a warm smile under his thick salt-and-pepper mustache. The afternoon sun glowed in his fluffy white hair as he stood aside to let Song and Key into the lobby.

  “Salut, Domnul Popescu,” Seva said.

  Radu beamed with delight. “You have a good ear for my language, but it is not necessary. My English is very good. In winter I host many British who don’t care to stay in Sinaia.”

  “Well, that sure makes it easier for me,” Keller said.

  “Anything I can do to make your stay pleasant, you must tell me,” Radu said. “Right now I have some wonderful food waiting for you. Please come into the dining room. Leave your bags right where they are.”

  Radu led them into a large room with whitewashed walls and timber beams. He seated them at a table that held a bottle of clear liquid and three small glasses. In the bottom of the bottle was a perfectly preserved plum. Radu removed the cork with a small flourish.

  “Tuica,” he said. “Plum brandy. This one is very special.”

  “How do they get the plum in there?” Keller asked.

  “I imagine they tie the bottles over the blossoms of the plum trees so that the plum grows inside,” Seva said.

  Radu nodded as he poured brandy into the three glasses. “You are correct. And it’s traditional
to drink it before a meal.” He smiled. “For the digestion.”

  “Very tasty,” Keller said after drinking his shot. “A lot smoother than the stuff we had before lunch.”

  “Yes, it’s very good tuica,” Radu said. “Excuse me. I’ll be back with food.”

  “Nice guy,” Keller said. “I may have to buy a bottle of that booze to take home.”

  Seva glared. “This is the third time I’ve worked with you, and I’m still trying to understand how you are ranked above me. I’m a better agent than you are.”

  “Whoa. Where did that come from?”

  “I’m just a little tired of you never taking anything seriously.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You’re always joking and you don’t think about the mission.”

  Keller shrugged. “Hey, don’t hate me because I have a personality. You could have one too, if you tried.”

  “Thank you for making my point for me.”

  Keller looked up as the door behind Seva opened. Instead of portly Radu, a tall woman came through. She carried a large tray loaded with dishes to the table.

  “Hello, I’m Cosmina.” She set the tray down and placed dishes in front of the agents. “Welcome to Dragascar. This is a traditional meal. You have cabbage rolls with pork. Smoked bacon. Baked pumpkin.” She pointed to a bowl. “This is zacuscă. It’s made with eggplant and other good things. Put it on the toasted bread. Of course here are tomato and onion wedges.”

  “It looks very good,” Keller said, looking at the woman rather than the food. He liked Cosmina’s dark flowing hair, high cheekbones, and the sparkle in her black eyes. “Would it be rude to compliment your English?”

  Cosmina smiled and her face was transformed from handsome to radiant. “Not at all. I attended university in Brasov and came home to teach. When I am not a waitress, I am a tutor.”

  “Good for you,” Keller said with a rakish grin. “But that can’t leave a lot of time for fun.”

  “Even if I had time, there isn’t much to do in Dragascar.” Cosmina smiled politely. “What brings you here before the other tourists?”