Undeceived Read Free Page A

it’s not boring at all, but it’s top secret stuff and several levels above my pay grade. So I understand if you can’t say.”
    “I’d tell you but I’d have to kill you.”
    “Then for Pete’s sake, don’t tell me!”
    He smiled at her. “What about you? Do you have any idea what you’ll be doing at the State Department?”
    She stirred her coffee. “Well, I’ll be here at Langley for about another month, doing more orientation classes. I’m assuming they’ll assign me to one of the foreign embassies, probably as an interpreter.”
    “An interpreter! That’s exciting. What language?”
    “My degree is in Slavic languages, so I know Polish, Russian, Romanian. But I have sort of an unusual specialty—in Hungarian, which is of Uralic, not Slavic, origin—and I know a smattering of German as well.”
    “A woman of many talents.”
    “Guess my nerd is showing.”
    “Say ‘thank you,’ Elizabeth. That was a compliment.”
    “Thanks.” She stirred her coffee again, looking down to cover her awkwardness.
    “After you finish up your training, you can pretty much write your own ticket.”
    “I suppose I can as long as the ticket’s to Eastern Europe. But I gotta pay my dues first, like everyone else.”
    “Ah, but see, you’re not like the others.”
    “I bet you say that to all the girls.”
    “Ha. What I mean is, it’s not every day I run into an officer who speaks fluent Hungarian. Let me hear some.”
    “Absolutely not.” She laughed self-consciously.
    “Come on. It’s a beautiful language.”
    She relented. “It’s a good morning. I’ve got my new identification badge, and I’m having coffee with a handsome guy who has a gentleman’s manners.”
    “See? Beautiful.” He took a sip of his coffee and studied her over the rim of his Styrofoam cup. “And I don’t understand any Hungarian whatsoever.”
    He glanced around, and in a hushed voice said, “Tell me, have you ever considered counterintelligence? A specialization like yours might be valuable there.”
    “I think every officer thinks about CI at one time or another. You know, catch the bad apple who’s ruining the whole bushel.” She considered telling him her CIA service was a family tradition, but then she decided against it. Elizabeth Bennet wanted to be known for her own accomplishments, and she learned early to keep information about her father confined to a select group of friends. “I heard you need field experience before you’re considered for counterintelligence.” She took a bite of doughnut.
    “You need certain skills, no doubt about that.”
    “How did you get there?” She winced. “Wait, that didn’t come out quite like I meant it.”
    “I know what you meant.” His smile was kind. “What you’re saying is, you want to hear the tale.”
    “Exactly,” she answered, relieved he hadn’t taken offense.
    “It’s kind of a long story.”
    “And one you don’t want to share?”
    “No, it’s not that. It’s just…well, let’s just say it was a blessing that came out of a curse.”
    She waited, catching and keeping his gaze.
    He sat back and pointed at her. “That. See there? You’ve got some counterintelligence skills already with your wide-eyed, ‘tell-me-your-story’ expression. And it almost worked, even on a cynical veteran like me.” He winked at her and bit into his doughnut. “The conventional wisdom might dictate that a counterintelligence man—or woman—have experience in the field,” he said after a moment, “but sometimes, I think it’s better for a CI officer to come in fresh, without preconceived notions or other agency contacts to cloud perceptions.”
    Definitely glad she hadn’t spilled the beans about her father. “Interesting point.”
    “Officers who’ve been around a while—they have a history with people in the organization. It makes it harder to be objective, especially in a setting like CI where you might have to investigate a respected colleague, even a