Code Name: Dove. Judith Leon

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      She started counting every second while stirring food around her plate. She believed absolutely in the power of positive thinking. It was what had gotten her through the darkest days and hours of her life. But, if König had been called away, that was beyond their control. Positive thinking wasn’t going to bring him back, but it would help them think of a Plan B, rather than focus on their frustration and negative energy.

      Mercifully he reappeared and took his seat.

      She heard Cardone exhale slowly. She felt her heart rate settle as she suffered through several brief speeches. Finally, Kleitman announced that dancing would begin. Waiters folded back a paneled partition and an orchestra began to play a waltz.

      She and Cardone were prepared to approach the Königs at the head table if necessary, but Nova knew a move that forward ran a tremendous risk of offending. Minutes ticked by. König and Kleitman seemed deep into some subject.

      “I wonder what can be so important,” Cardone said, his impatience obvious. “König is supposed to like to dance.”

      Nova watched as König turned to his wife. The pair rose and König escorted her to the dance floor.

      Without speaking, Cardone pulled out Nova’s chair. She settled her hand in his and they slowly wove their way to the edge of the swirling mass of dancers. She and Cardone stepped onto the parquet floor and he swept her into his arms. In spite of her fixation on what she would say to König, Nova was caught by her nearness to Car-done. His hands were large and strong but he held her gently. Through the dress she felt heat from his palm in the small of her back. He was, after all, a great-looking guy. Serious-faced, he sailed them into the rhythm of the music. He wasn’t a bad dancer, and made it easy for her to follow his lead as she homed in on König. Cardone guided them next to the Königs, then let her go, tapped König on the shoulder and addressed him in English.

      “Mr. König, I’d be honored if you would allow me a dance with your wife.”

      König’s wife spoke English, although not as well as her husband. She smiled at Cardone. König frowned. But Isla König let go of her husband, and she and Car-done began to dance.

      Nova’s quarry turned, gave her a wry smile, acknowledging the inevitable, and held out his arms. Her skin alive with electricity, Nova stepped toward him, nodded in a silent greeting and moved into his embrace.

      König swept her skillfully across the floor as they explored how to make two bodies move as one. Nova looked up at him. His eyes surprised her. They were a cool blue, but they radiated amusement and charm that easily made up for the lack of superficial warmth. The frown was now completely gone. She was surprised at the sense of well-being emanating from him.

      Pitching her voice low and making sure she caught his gaze squarely, she delivered her rehearsed opening slowly in English. “You must forgive my partner.” She paused, waiting for him to take the lead.

      “He isn’t your husband?”

      “Oh, no.”

      “And why is it I must forgive your partner?”

      “He’s had a great day professionally and decided your wife is the most lovely woman in the room and no matter how much nerve it took, he was going to ask to dance with her.”

      Nova focused on König’s body, on matching her every movement to his. He must be made to feel, with strong impact, a harmony between them.

      “Your partner is mistaken. It’s true my wife is lovely, but I believe I am presently graced with the room’s most beautiful woman.”

      She chuckled, remembering to keep her voice low. “You’re kind.”

      König’s hand tightened slightly on her waist. Probably an involuntary response, or maybe a good sign that he was intrigued. He said, “Somehow I’m sure you must be told often that you’re beautiful.”

      They glided through several more turns with König watching a point in the air over her shoulder. Then the penetrating blue eyes found hers again. “Your accent is American. Are you living in Berlin?”

      “No. We arrived yesterday.”

      Intentionally, Nova stumbled out of rhythm, sagged against him and clutched him tightly. “Oh, dear.”

      He stopped and, courteously supporting her, searched her face. “Are you all right?”

      “Just embarrassed. Could we move off the dance floor? Just for a moment.”

      “Of course.” He slipped a supporting hand under her arm and she clung tightly as they navigated between the swirling dancers and off the parquet.

      She put one hand to her temple while retaining a good grip with the other on Jean Paul König’s arm. “Just a bit of dizziness.” She looked into his eyes and smiled. “I’ve had a slight ear infection. I thought I was over it.”

      His look was one of sincere concern. He filled the silence with “You say you and the young man are partners. What is your business?”

      “Not a business, really. I’m a freelance photographer. Joe’s the team’s writing half.”

      “And you are here to photograph something?”

      “Yes. A week or two more here in Germany should wrap it up.”

      “Sounds intriguing.” He encouraged her with a nod.

      “It has to do with GATT agricultural subsidies.”

      König’s brow wrinkled in an appropriately baffled response. Like a good angler, she waited to let his curiosity tickle his mind. “And just how does the raging debate on the General Agreement on Trade and Tariffs come to interest a photographer?”

      “I assure you, only through a very indirect route. A year ago a newspaper article left me feeling as though I was about to be robbed. The article was about the GATT agreements and how much land the European Community countries might lose to urbanization at the upcoming Brussels meeting.”

      Interest flashed in the blue eyes. “Not a very photogenic subject I should think.”

      “My obsession is nature. I found myself very upset over what my government wants, what Europeans want and what I think would be the best for Mother Nature.” Nova had carefully prepared this line to make him feel at once that their interests were aligned.

      “And what do you think?” he asked.

      “That’s partly what our project is about. To let me see for myself. We’ll do a photo essay on what the countryside and farmlands look like now and then juxtapose them with examples of what Europeans might end up with if this agreement goes through.”

      “Have you drawn your conclusion yet?”

      “I think European farmers can’t begin to compete with Americans and other countries. But is the solution to abandon them and industrialize? If the EC gives another inch, any trace of a European pastoral way of life is finished.”

      He gave her a single approving nod. “My thoughts exactly.”

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