“You were gone a long time for croissants,” Thomas said carefully.
I set the paper bag on the table. “I made a phone call.”
The Baroness went very still, her spatula frozen mid-motion. “Manakin.”
Of course, she knew.
The Baroness had spent decades navigating the invisible networks of international intelligence. She would have expected us to contact our handler. She probably would have been disappointed if we hadn’t.
“Yes,” I said as I deposited the pastries on the kitchen counter.
Thomas leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable. “And?”
“He ordered us to stand down.” I pulled out a chair and sat, suddenly tired. “He called this a Swiss domestic matter. With no standing authorization for American operatives on foreign soil, he said he needs clearance from State, possibly the Director.He said an answer might come quickly, but he doubted it.”
None of us moved for the longest moment.
“I see.” The Baroness finally turned back to the stove, her movements mechanical, her earlier grace gone. “You have your duties. I would not ask you to—”
“He also said they’ve picked up chatter,” I interrupted. “Whispers about instability in Switzerland and Soviet interest in the region. He thought it was noise.” I paused. “But he’s not sure anymore.”
Thomas straightened. “So the Agency knows something’s brewing.”
“They know something, just not enough to act on.” I looked at the Baroness’s back, at the rigid line of her shoulders. “Not enough to help.”
She turned off the stove and faced us, her expression carefully controlled.
“Then I thank you for your honesty, and for everything you have already done. I will proceed alone. Bisch and Otto are capable, and I have other resources I can—”
“We’re coming with you,” I said.
She froze and stared at me.
Thomas was watching me, too, a slow smile spreading across his face.
“We’re coming with you, Baroness,” I repeated. “To Bern. Tomorrow. Manakin can file his paperworkand shuffle his bureaucrats, but we’re not going to sit in Paris while you walk into danger alone.”
“But your orders—”
“‘Understood, sir’ isn’t the same as ‘yes, sir,’” Thomas said. He was grinning now, that sharp, reckless grin I loved and feared in equal measure. “Will’s very good at technically accurate responses that don’t actually commit to anything.”
The Baroness looked between us, her composure cracking. “You would risk your careers, your standing with your own government?”
“You’ve risked a great deal more for us,” I said simply.
“That was different. That was—”
“That wasexactlythe same.” I held her gaze. “You didn’t wait for authorization when you smuggled us across the Austrian border. You did what needed to be done because we needed help and you were there to give it.”
“Now we’re here,” Thomas added. “And you need help.”
For a brief moment, I saw the Baroness’s eyes glisten. She blinked rapidly, her throat working, and I realized I was witnessing something rare: Isabella von Hohenberg, spymaster, aristocrat, and force of nature, on the verge of tears.
Then the mask snapped back, and she was the Baroness again.
“You are both fools,” she said, her voice rough. “Magnificent, impossible fools.”
“We prefer ‘loyal friends,’” Thomas said.
