51
Jack and I looked from the badge to each other to Miss Kelly. “But—Mr. Pullman—the message I took—”
“We arrested him at his home this afternoon on the evidence of your story,” she said.
“But we didn’t name him.”
“You didn’t have to,” she said. “That’s why I sent you up there to work for him.”
I shook my head. “I don’t understand.”
“You think any of the girls in the typing pool would have the wherewithal to follow a lead like that? You think anyone in the newsroom would have either?” Jack flinched.
I didn’t. But then again, I hadn’t seen this coming at all. “And Mr. Worthington? With his Cuban cigars?”
“John’s on the Bureau’s payroll. He doesn’t know why, exactly, but he knows to stay out of our way, and in exchange he gets all the illegal cigars and rum he wants. Those old money types just like to feel important, and this lets him have his fun while still feeling like a patriot.”
“But Pullman—”
“Has been on our radar for a while. We just couldn’t prove it with a solid-enough case to arrest him until today. We believe he has a Cuban handler and was passing information to the Soviets.”
“No,” I said. “The man who left the message definitely had a Russian accent. I think it’s the other way around.”
Miss Kelly shrugged. “No matter. We’ll get him to talk regardless. A treason charge still carries the death penalty.”
Treason. I had worked for a man being charged with treason. And the death penalty.
My stomach felt queasy again.
“I gave him ipecac today,” I blurted out.
Miss Kelly smiled. “I assumed as much. Easy and it worked. I knew I picked the right girl for the job.”
“And Alejandra de Bernal?”
“In custody as of an hour ago. Took down two of our men in the process.”
“Are they—?”
Miss Kelly shook her head. “You were lucky the other night. We’ll make sure you have actual training with weapons before you go into the field again.”
Into the field again. Weapons. What?
“I—I’m sorry, you want me to work for the FBI?”
“Was that unclear?”
I looked at Jack, who was absolutely stunned, then back at Miss Kelly. “I—but I want to write.”
She steepled her fingers, considering this. “You’d be doing a great service to your country as an agent.”
I sat back in my chair. I had enjoyed the thrill of finding Alejandra.
Of pretending to know enough in that bathroom to get her to talk.
Being alone with the vice president had actually been far more frightening than that.
But the stolen moments in the Library of Congress, the excitement of finding her picture in the annals there.
And the feeling of my fingers flying across the keys at the diner as Jack and I found the words to save a world leader’s life.
The rest was a means to an end. I had dreamed of this for so long and now .
. . now I had done it too well, and it was being taken away.
“I want to write,” I repeated more firmly.
“I do too,” Jack said, squeezing my hand.
Miss Kelly stood up and turned to study the landscape of the city behind her. She didn’t respond for a full minute. “That is an idea,” she said finally, still facing away from us. “It’s more work, of course, but it provides a layer of cover for you both.”
“What does?”
She turned back around. “I suppose the time has come for a woman in the newsroom here. Though you may have to start on some women’s issues—at first, at least.”
I heard Betty’s voice in my mind. The doctor said it was all in my head. I knew something wasn’t right. But no one listened. And it almost killed me. And an idea began to form.
“Real women’s issues,” I said. “Not stains and child-rearing tips. I want to write about injustices and the bigger problems that women face.”
She shrugged. “You won’t hear me objecting to that. Though you would also be investigating for us. If you accept, I’ll tell Worthington he’s starting a women’s section as soon as your training is complete.”
I looked at Jack. “I accept,” a voice said. It was too high to be his, and his mouth hadn’t moved. I had said it.
“Then congratulations, Miss Greenberg. Welcome to both the FBI and the newsroom.”
I had done it. I was a reporter. And somehow an FBI agent. It was all rather dizzying. “Don’t you need to run a background check or . . . something?”
“Miss Greenberg, we did that a month ago.”
“You did?”
“Did you think it was a coincidence that the director of the FBI was at the same restaurant as you today? While he is a fan of the roast beef there, no. He wanted to see you with his own eyes.” Then she turned to Jack. “Mr. Feldstein?”
He startled, his eyes wide, at the use of his real name. “I—I don’t know. I need some . . . time . . . to think about all this.”
The corners of Miss Kelly’s mouth turned down.
“I see. Yes. I did feel you were more of a risk. You had less to lose than Miss Greenberg.” She sat back down and drummed her fingernails on the desk for a few seconds.
“As I see it, you have two options at this point in time. You can accept, and work under the same conditions as Miss Greenberg if you still want to write news stories, or you can marry Miss Greenberg and remain a reporter.”
“He can what now?” I asked, jumping up.
“Sit,” she said, pointing at the chair and turning her attention back to Jack once I had. “We can’t have you knowing a field agent’s identity if you aren’t either working for the Bureau or married to her.”
“What does getting married have to do with anything?” I asked.
Jack looked over at me. “Spouses don’t have to testify against each other.”
Miss Kelly nodded. “And they’re granted certain information privileges in the intelligence communities. So if you wanted to share anything for a story that you learned in the course of your duties with the Bureau . . .”
She didn’t finish the sentence, but the implications were clear. If I shared any information with him and he published it, if we weren’t both employed by the FBI and we weren’t married, there would be dire consequences.
“Listen,” I said, standing again and beginning to pace the room. “Do I have feelings for Jack? Yes. But I know how this one ends. We get married, and then I wind up sidelined while he does all the work.” I turned to Jack, pointing a finger. “You’d better take this job, you hear me?”
He studied me for a moment, then turned to Miss Kelly. “Are there any restrictions if I take the job and then we get married?”
“No. I think we can work with that.”
“Excuse me. I’m in the room. And this is my life we’re talking about here. I’m not taking this just to wind up sitting at home popping out babies while you go off and—”
“Come to think of it,” Miss Kelly said, pulling another cigarette from her pack.
“If you’re working at The Digest and the Bureau, you’ll each have to collect two separate paychecks.
” I stopped and looked at her. Was that supposed to convince me?
She lit her cigarette. “At that point, a nanny would be well within reach, if unconventional. Mr. Fields, I believe you have a wealthy great-uncle.”
“No, I don’t.”
She took a deep inhale of her cigarette and blew out a tremendous amount of smoke. “Yes, I believe you do. A childless one at that. On your dear departed father’s side. And I believe he just passed. Leaving you as his sole male heir . . .”
Jack and I looked at each other. “With enough money to pay for a nanny so you can still work as a reporter,” he said softly.
I turned back to Miss Kelly. “Do we have to decide that part today?”
She smiled, fully this time. “No. Though if your mother ever finds out about that hotel room, you probably want to decide quickly.” She leaned in confidingly. “Edna would have an absolute fit.”
“She would,” I agreed. Then I realized she had used my mother’s first name. “Wait. How do you know my mother?”
“I don’t.” She shook her head. “But your grandmother has some strong opinions.”
I blinked at her. “You know my grandmother?”
“Sylvia and I go all the way back to our grade school days in New York.” My mouth dropped open.
“Close your mouth, dear, you’ll catch flies,” she said, using an expression my grandmother used as well.
“She was the one who told me to take a chance on you in the typing pool without secretarial training.”
No. There was absolutely no way that was true. “My grandmother doesn’t have any friends who aren’t Jewish,” I said slowly.
“No,” Miss Kelly agreed. “But she is dear friends with Hannah Kellerman.”
Hannah Kellerman. Ann Kelly. I blinked several times, connecting the dots. Was I the only one who hadn’t changed my name to get ahead?
“Mr. Fields? You’re officially accepting, then?” He nodded. “I need you to say the words, please.”
“I accept,” he said quietly.
“Excellent.” She stood up and reached across the desk, handing us each a card with the address for the Department of Justice printed on it.
“You’ll report here tomorrow to begin training.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I have work to finish before your grandmother and I play canasta tonight.
You can have the room for the afternoon as you discuss your future options. ”
She started to leave, but I called her name before she reached the door. “Miss Kelly?” She turned around. “Can—can you look into Congressman Clement from South Carolina?”
Her brow furrowed. “Why?”
“I—don’t get her in trouble, but—Patricia—from the typing pool—she’s been seeing him, and I have a bad feeling. That other girl who went missing and all, and he took Patricia to Nassau last weekend and I just . . .”
Miss Kelly was shaking her head, irritated. “I told him to back off,” she said to herself, then looked back at us. “He’s CIA. Been trying to poach one of our people for months to have someone on the inside here too.”
“CIA? Then the girl who went missing . . . ?”
“Foreign agent. But he’s why I had to fire Louise and Myrtle. They were feeding him information from our articles before they ran.”
“Then Louise isn’t pregnant?” Fields asked.
“Not that I’m aware of.” She glanced at her watch. “I do need to be going. Ask for Agent Lewis tomorrow.” And with that, she was gone, closing the door behind her.
I sank back into my chair. “What just happened?”
Fields looked at me, equally wide eyed. “That was not how I saw today going.”
I was a reporter. And an FBI agent. Me. Little Judy Greenberg. And I found myself grinning. No one would ever see me coming, that was for sure. Then I looked back at Fields. “And you want to marry me?”
“I—I mean, not today but”—he looked down at his hands, then back up at me—“eventually. Yeah. I do.”
I started to laugh, and his expression turned to hurt, until I got up and went to sit on his lap, wrapping my arms around his neck. “Eventually sounds perfect,” I whispered before kissing him.