Neither of us moved.
“Five more minutes,” he said.
“Five more minutes,” I agreed.
It was closer to fifteen before we finally emerged.
Despite the doctor’s orders, I refused to be left behind. My memories had come back in fits and bursts, and I wanted to contribute to whatever came next.
Will helped me up, steadied me when my legs threatened to buckle. I didn’t want to admit it, but the doctor had been right—my body had been through hell, and it wasn’t going to let me forget it.
Still, I could walk—or lean against Will as he dragged me. We’d make it work.
The kitchen was full. The Baroness sat in her usual seat at the table, photographs spread before her. The CIA team clustered across from her. Bisch wasn’t there.
Everyone looked up when we entered.
“Condor.” The woman nodded at me. “What the hell are you doing out of bed?”
“It’s good to see you, too, Jane Doe.”
My sarcastic reference to her unwillingness to give us even a code name drew grins from her entire team.
“Your photographs,” the Baroness said, glancing over her shoulder at me and ignoring our banter. “They were preserved. There were seventy-two exposures from the warehouse. By some work of the gods, you kept the film dry.”
“Thank God,” I said as Will lowered me into the chair on the Baroness’s right. He stepped into the living room and dragged a plush rocker into the kitchen, then transferred me to the far more comfortable seat before taking the hard one by the Baroness.
“We managed to document three sites. Hardstrasse, the communications hub, and the western facility.”
“Where are they?” I asked the Baroness. “I’d like tosee—”
“Bisch is delivering them as we speak. I only pray we are not too late for the morning’s run.”
The rest of us stood in the candlelit kitchen. We were exhausted—and I was battered—but we were all alive. Given how many we’d already lost, that was a significant win in itself.
The sky outside was beginning to lighten, the first hints of dawn creeping over the horizon.
“What now?” Marcus asked.
“Now we wait,” the Baroness said. “The paper prints in three hours. By six, the story should hit every newsstand in Bern. We have also leaked everything to the French, American, and Spanish press. If my guess is correct, the story will spread across the globe like wildfire.”
“And the Council?” Will asked.
“The Council convenes at ten.”
Someone found more blankets. The Baroness made coffee. She trusted no one else with the task.
I sat at the table, wrapped in wool, with Will pressed against my side. He hadn’t let go of me since we’d left the bedroom, showering me with small touches and constant contact, reassuring himself I was real.
Twice, he’d tried to convince me to lie down.
Twice, I’d refused.
There was no way I was going to miss whatever happened next.
The sky turned gray, then pink, then gold.
The candles guttered and died.
