Free Let Slip the Dogs of War: A Bard's Bed & Breakfast Mystery #1 by Sara M. Barton Page B

he
figured out that the only way to save her was to kill her off, so
Uncle Edward staged a suicide for his wife. He wanted Colonel
Demitrov to think he had discovered they were using Hortense
against him and that he took her out because she turned on him.
That was so they wouldn’t think he staged it because he was just
trying to protect her.”
    “So?” I leaned closer, wanting to know the
outcome. As long as I had known Uncle Edward, he had never told me
about a wife. I had always assumed he was a committed bachelor.
    “So what?” Ben opened the car door and
climbed out.
    “What happened to Hortense?”
    “She was relocated to an undisclosed
location, where she was set up in a new life, with a new
identity.”
    “They were never together again?”
    “Oh, they finally got back together in 1978,
when he was a professor. She died in 1990.”
    How sad to think that Uncle Edward and his
wife split apart by the Cold War, that their love was disrupted for
years by the need to hide her from the Soviets. The thought made me
shiver. As much as Ben and I argued and bickered, I couldn’t
imagine life without him. I would follow him, hell or high water,
because it was where I belonged.
    Did I tell him that? Did I share my deepest
and darkest fears with the man I married? Heavens, no. We’re not
talking about a so-called normal husband, who takes out the trash
regularly, mows the lawn and cleans out the gutters on weekends,
and comes home from work every day, briefcase in hand, to greet me
with a cheerful hi-dee-do. We’re talking about a retired spy, a man
who spent his entire adult life deceiving, duping, and disrupting
the lives of some really bad people. You always have to exercise a
little caution in the handling of spouses who have embraced
espionage, either willingly or unwillingly. They become creatures
of habit, pulling the covers over themselves even when the sun is
shining brightly and the temperatures hover above ninety degrees
Fahrenheit.
     

Chapter Nine --
     
    “That’s so sad,” I told him. “Why did they
have to wait so long to be together again? Why didn’t he just
follow her to wherever she was?”
    Ben reached out and tenderly touched my
cheek, a wistful look in his distant eyes.
    “The Soviets suspected it was all a ruse. You
have to remember the Soviets had more than just a couple of moles
in the CIA and other government agencies. Colonel Demitrov planted
operatives and informants all around Uncle Edward after he left for
academia, and they reported back to their handlers on a regular
basis. There was a great deal to be gained from watching the
Soviets spy on Uncle Edward. The CIA ran several operations as a
result, and the agency couldn’t afford to bring Hortense back as
long as it benefited from her absence.”
    “That stinks,” I growled. “You’re telling me
that Uncle Edward and Hortense couldn’t be together because the CIA
needed to run some ops?”
    “Bea, that’s how it works.” We headed into
the airport. “The gain realized made the sacrifice worthwhile.”
    “If it were you, would you have done the same
thing? Would you have left me in the lurch?”
    “Babe, I would have, but not for the reasons
you think.” Ben was already on the hunt. I could tell he was
surveying the action. “I love you enough to give you up to keep you
safe. That’s what Uncle Edward was doing for Hortense. He was
keeping her alive and well. As long as Demitrov and his crew
thought she was dead, as long as the informants and operatives made
sure she wasn’t around, she got to have a life. She earned a Ph.D.
and became a well-respected authority on early Egyptian and
Byzantine archaeology. By 1972, she had received tenure as a
professor. Her summers were spent in Cairo, Baghdad, and Tehran,
working on digs.”
    We found our way to the baggage claim area,
where I noticed Ben kept fondling his right pocket. That meant he
was carrying a concealed weapon. His eyes scanned the crowd that
had just exited