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1980s, a woman has to toot her own horn to get noticed. How would people know if she were accomplished or not if she were tucked away where no one saw her capabilities, if she had to stay in some low-level position all her life? The glass ceiling is real, Darby Kent. And I, for one, plan to break through it.”
    “I would never question your determination.” He swept his hand forward in a gallant bow, accompanied by a smile, but Liz had turned away in annoyance and missed it.
    “I think,” Johanna interrupted quietly, “that many women have qualities you speak of, Mr. Kent. Only most people do not notice them yet.”
    “Exactly. What she said.” Charles gave Johanna a brilliant smile.

When I first met you, I thought, perhaps I’d made a mistake, taking this road of double agent. You seemed so together, so free of doubt, so unencumbered. So damned moral. I envied you that. But it doesn’t bear considering now. That crossroads, between spy par excellence and double-dealing traitor happened for me a long time ago. You seem to have it all, but I realize no one is without burdens. No one—not even you.

Chapter 8
    June 1982
    Liz and Johanna stood at the sink rinsing vegetables. Darby had offered to make his famous Hungarian goulash soup for dinner, and Johanna, being the polite creature she was, had expressed enough interest for him to go out for additional ingredients.
    Liz took some tomatoes out of a bowl to wash them. “And there I was, stranded in a bar, the only female in the place who wasn’t covered in leather, saying to the bartender, ‘Excuse me, sir, can I use the phone?’”
    Johanna laughed and pulled open a drawer. “Knives are in here? I can never remember.”
    “You should let Chef Darby do his own chopping.”
    “I do not mind. He does much for me. It is the least I can do.”
    “Johanna, all these things he’s doing for you, he’s not doing them out of the goodness of his heart. It’s his job—nothing more and nothing less. Lucky for you, his job is the most important thing to him. Don’t forget that.”
    “Oh, I think there is more to him.”
    “You tell yourself that enough times, and you’re liable to get in serious trouble.”
    The door slammed, and Darby walked through, a cloth sack in one hand and a troubled expression on his face. He walked over to the counter, emptied his sack, and took out a battered envelope with dirt in the creases.
    “Where have you been all day?” Liz teased him. “It doesn’t take four hours to buy a few vegetables. Is Cara in town?”
    He stared at her, and then walked over to the stereo, and turned on the music.
    Liz stilled, her face instantly sober. The music was his way of conveying that someone might be listening in. It was so idyllic here at Lake Balaton, she’d almost forgotten she was still at cross-purposes with the Hungarian government—an unwanted stranger in a strange land. “What is it?”
    In response, he opened the envelope and handed it to her. She read, and looked up at him, eyes wide. “How did they—?”
    “I don’t know. I met Collins this morning in Székesfehérvár. He told me he’s heard from two sources inside state security that American intelligence officers are planning to help a female informant escape to the West. They are sending orders to checkpoints and border patrols to be on the lookout for a Hungarian woman with an American man exiting the country.”
    “But I am not informant!” Johanna’s face was white with fear.
    “It doesn’t matter, Johanna. If you’re arrested, we can’t protect you; you’re a Hungarian citizen. They will interrogate you, and if they are successful, your father is in danger…”
    “Apa!”
    “…as well as any of us you’ve learned about.”
    “Charles…” She gasped in distress.
    “He’s in Vienna. I telephoned him a coded message this morning telling him not to come back to Hungary. Cara and Louis have diplomatic immunity, and that covers Liz, Bill, and me to a