Treachery In Vienna: The Nikki Sinclair Spy Thriller Series, #1

By Jaye Rothman

If you enjoy lesbian thrillers, you'll love reading the Cold War spy novels featuring MI6 agent Nikki Sinclair.

 

1973, Winter. Vienna, Austria

 

Simon Wallace, the British Foreign Secretary's trusted secretary, is procuring top-secret documents for the KGB. Nikki's task is to neutralise him before he meets his handler. Wallace befriends Nikki. A cat and mouse game begins, leaving her wondering, who's the hunter and who's the prey?

 

 

Immerse yourself in Nikki's world – read today!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jaye Rothman
• Release date: Feb 10, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393789161

Book preview

Treachery in Vienna is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events and actual persons are used fictitiously, and are products of the author’s imagination.

––––––––

My thanks to the Vienna Tourist Board for permitting me to use the photograph on the cover.

Chapter 1

London

January 1974

Your dry-cleaning needs more practice Nikki. You failed to pick up your tail.

You had me under surveillance? Nikki Sinclair’s mouth dried, and she licked her lips. For how long? When she’d been chatting to the sales assistant on the perfume counter at the Army and Navy store?

Ponsonby-Davies, known throughout MI6 as PD, inclined his head towards a man dressed in a donkey jacket standing five yards away. A peaked cap shadowed his face, and he held the lead of a springer spaniel.

He waited outside the rear exit. You were an easy mark.

PD folded The Times in half and placed it inside a black briefcase. He pulled on a black pair of leather gloves and rose to his feet. Let’s walk. We’ll freeze to death if we sit here.

He walked along the edge of the lake, and she fell into step beside him. The heavy frost of last night hadn’t thawed. Icy crystals, thick and white like a carpet, spread across the park. The squawking of several crows huddled on the naked branches of the trees broke the silence surrounding the park.

At 8 a.m., Nikki had arrived at Broadway, the London headquarters of MI6, to find a brown envelope lying on her desk. She’d broken the seal and fished out the folded sheet of paper. ‘St James Park at 9 a.m. by the bandstand’ was all the note said.

She’d glanced around the office. None of her colleagues had yet arrived. Tube strikes were making the journey to work increasingly tedious, and several of her colleagues were likely taking advantage and grabbing an extra hour in bed.

Nikki rolled up the slip of paper. She removed a cigarette from the packet on her desk, lit the end and then set fire to the message. The flame flared for a few seconds, consuming the words, and she dropped the charred remains into a rubbish bin.

She knew PD’s hand.  Why had her boss requested a meeting outside the confines of Broadway? And why now? The last time he summoned her, before Israel and before Miss Hawthorn, it hadn’t ended well. Recalling the shabby hotel room in Zurich and the desperate plea of the man, Nikki quickly shut the memory down.

Before Christmas, Nikki had bumped into him in the corridor and he’d looked straight through her as though she didn’t exist and that suited her. She’d considered the less contact she had with him, the better.

PD had entered her life during her second year at university. Nikki had always believed her sexuality would preclude her from working for the security services but, to her astonishment, PD had offered her a position at MI6. However, a proposition also came with the position. He agreed to protect her from accusations and slurs about her homosexuality, if, in return, she would undertake off-the-book operations for him from time to time; assignments that necessitated a specific set of skills.

That was the day Nikki made a deal with the devil. 

Gravel crunching underfoot, they strolled in the direction of the bandstand.

Heavy snow is expected tonight, PD said.

Nikki nodded and scanned the vicinity. Springer spaniel man ambled several feet behind them.  She hated England in January. The cold matched her mood.

I don’t want you digging around. Do you understand me?

Last September, PD had instructed Nikki to speak to Miss Hawthorn, the Deputy Director’s secretary, and persuade her to resign.

I don’t understand.

Don’t underestimate me, Nikki. His voice had turned colder than the icicles hanging from the boughs of the trees. He halted. His black, beady eyes bored into her. I know you’ve been snooping around asking questions.

Nikki held his eyes for a moment. I visited Miss Hawthorn’s neighbours.

Yes, I know.

I suppose I feel responsible for Miss Hawthorn’s death. Nikki shoved her hands deeper in the pockets of her overcoat. She wanted him to provide answers about the secretary’s death.  She sucked in a breath. After all, it was me that suggested she should resign.

PD grunted. She had no choice. Through her own stupidity, she’d compromised herself.

I might have been the last person to see Miss Hawthorn alive.

He turned his head and scowled. And? The woman decided to kill herself. That’s nothing to do with you. The coroner has ruled it as an accidental death.

I found it strange, that’s all. She was known as a life-long teetotaller. But, next to her bed the police found a bottle of vodka and a container of sleeping tablets. Nikki scrutinised PD carefully. Her next-door neighbours confirmed she didn’t drink. She wrinkled her brow. And the night before she died, Miss Hawthorn told her neighbours, Mr and Mrs Patchett, she’d decided to put down a deposit on a bungalow in Margate.

PD pursed his narrow lips into a thinner line. And? She must have had a change of heart during the night.

Miss Hawthorn served her country faithfully for forty years.

Yes, she did. PD’s face tightened. Now she’s dead.

Nikki looked away. Should she voice her suspicions? Challenge the man? She didn’t have any proof that he’d had Miss Hawthorn murdered, none at all. A shiver ran down Nikki’s spine. If PD had the power to order the death of the Deputy Director General’s secretary, then he could easily have her eliminated. She stared at the path in front of them. Miss Hawthorn deserved justice, but now wasn’t the right time.

She changed the subject. Something must be important for you to arrange a meeting in the freezing cold.

Have you heard from your friend in Israel? PD was referring to her lover. The woman she’d met while training with Mossad for three months.

It’s over between us.

A wise decision, I think. The Israelis can never be fully trusted. They always have their own agenda.

Nikki glanced at him. PD ‘s contacts in Tel Aviv would have informed him that her love affair with Dvora had ended.

Exactly ninety-one days ago, she had eagerly torn open a letter expecting to find details of Dvora’s flight. Instead, the contents had cleaved her heart in two. Dvora would not be joining her for a new life in London because she’d elected to remain in service to her country. At the end, she’d written that perhaps they could revisit their relationship status in a year.

As the words seeped into her brain, a vice of steel had clamped around Nikki’s heart. At one fell swoop, she had lost her best friend and the keeper of her secrets.

Nikki gave a terse nod. She wouldn’t allow PD the satisfaction of seeing her pain and distress. Hours had slipped by during her reminiscences over a bottle of whisky. One moment, she’d had the highest hopes of a future filled with love and affection. The next, her dreams had been demolished. The numbing loneliness she had suffered before Israel took their place. However hard Nikki tried to alleviate the pain, her heartache accompanied her day and night like a sore that had never healed.

I’m thinking of sending you to Berlin in June. Nikki waited for PD’s enticement. If you conclude this operation successfully.

She plastered a bright smile on her face. Thank you, sir. An absence from London for a year would serve her well. Her apartment had come to feel more like a prison than a sanctuary, and she could do with a change.

PD smiled. You must become a Berliner in thought, word and deed before you head East.

Since joining MI6, Nikki had trained for undercover work, to infiltrate a government department or befriend a person who had influence in a hostile regime. I thought you might send me to Warsaw.

PD’s head swivelled towards her. He raised his eyebrows. Poland? It’s very bleak there. The shortages of essentials are really quite dreadful. He paused as if he were considering her request. Warsaw, he mused. I do need a woman to infiltrate the office of Prime Minister Jaroszewicz.

A woman? So PD had planned for a pillow talk operation involving a high-level government official in Jaroszewicz’s inner circle.

Yes. During a recent visit to Amsterdam, one of Jaroszewicz’s advisors indulged his perversions a little too far. Even the Dutch, who are known to take a liberal view of these sorts of things, were shocked.

Nikki swallowed. What the assignment would entail was clearly obvious.

The operation would be long-term. Probably more than two years. But it will provide a significant advantage in the promotion stakes when the assignment is over. I was thinking of sending Maria Fiszerowa. Have you met her?

Nikki shook her head.

She’s an extremely talented linguist. If my memory serves me correctly, she speaks eight Eastern European languages. Maria’s star is on the rise. She handled herself particularly well during the Cracow operation.

She sounds perfect. Nikki glowered at him. His smug expression declared he enjoyed baiting her. PD always believed inter-departmental rivalry encouraged officers to maintain high standards.

He ignored her comment. Of course, you’ll need to embed yourself in Jaroszewicz’s circle, which might take six months. Those damn Poles are always suspicious of any new face. He sighed. Not surprising though, considering their recent history. Both the Red Army and the Nazis inflicted horrific brutality on Poland. I was there just before the war broke out. Dreadful. Truly dreadful. He sniffed. Once you’ve become friendly with Jaroszewicz’s advisor, you’ll have to develop a relationship with him.

Nikki’s refusal was instant. I’m not doing that! I’d prefer to be assigned to Berlin.

I rather thought you might. PD lifted an arm and checked his watch. Berlin it is, then. A small triumphant smile briefly curved his lips.  Let’s get back to the business at hand.

He indicated a bench and sat down slowly. The tip of his nose had turned blue. The drip, hanging from one nostril, threatened to blemish his blue Hermes scarf. He pulled a starched white handkerchief from his overcoat pocket and blew his nose. Then he placed the briefcase on his lap, undid the clasp and extracted