The Beach at Summerly by Beatriz Williams

Author:Beatriz Williams
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2023-06-27T00:00:00+00:00

Of course I’ve heard of Allen Dulles, newly appointed director of the Central Intelligence Agency. His brother happens to be the current secretary of state, for one thing. You know the gentleman—John Foster Dulles, a man who isn’t taking the Communist threat lying down. When you look at newspaper photographs of John Foster, you’d think he was some kind of Calvinist minister with all the humor of a frying pan, so it’s a relief to find his brother climbing into the back seat of a government-issue sedan with a smile on his face, a pipe in his hand, a blue twinkle in his eye. As the car yanks away from the curb, he looks across me to address the man on my other side.

“Fox,” he says, “you sly dog, you didn’t tell me she was so pretty.”

Sumner Fox removes his hat and brushes at some speck of dirt on the crown. “Miss Winthop’s personal appearance is irrelevant to the operation.”

Mr. Dulles settles back in his seat and confides in my ear, “I apologize. He’s a newlywed.”

I turn to Fox. “You’re a newlywed?”

“I was married last year,” Fox says in his gravelly voice.

“Baby on the way,” adds Dulles. “Busy man, our Fox.”

“Well, congratulations. Seems everybody’s doing it these days.” I glance out the window at the blur of streets. “Can somebody tell me what’s going on? Where you’re taking me? Why the CIA’s involved?”

“Fox?” says Mr. Dulles. “This is your circus.”

Fox examines his hat. “First of all, Miss Winthrop, I’d like to thank you for agreeing to help us once more. I know we asked a lot of you eight years ago. I know the consequences were tragic for you.”

“They were tragic for a lot of people.”

“I can assure you, there’s no physical danger involved today—”

“Nobody’s going to die, you mean?”

His breath hitches. “No.”

The car makes a sharp turn to the left. Mr. Dulles grabs the strap that hangs from the side. Fox grabs the door handle. I grab Fox’s knee. When we straighten again, I steal a glance at Fox’s face for the first time in over seven years—the first time since the conclusion of Olive Rainsford’s trial—and I’m shocked to see how ravaged it looks. The eyelid droops, the nose is bent, a long scar runs over the bridge of his brow. And that’s just the right side of his face.

“Say, what’s happened to you?” I ask softly.

“Just a brief encounter with a KGB interrogator—what was it, a year ago?” says Dulles.

“A year and a half,” says Fox.

I cry out, “You were in Russia?”

Fox turns to Mr. Dulles and stares across the tip of my nose. Dulles clears his throat.

“Fox, why don’t you start from the beginning? I think Miss Winthrop ought to know how much is at stake here.”

“Oh, terrific,” I say.

“Very well. We don’t have much time, so I’ll try to be brief,” says Fox. “As you know, thanks to some legal maneuvering on the part of counsel, and because there was certain evidence we couldn’t submit in a public trial because it would compromise our own intelligence assets, Mrs.

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