“They are arrested,” she said. “Lüthi and Brenner.” She let out a breath. “It is truly over.”
“It’s over,” Will agreed.
Bisch released her hand and opened his arms. To my surprise, the Baroness allowed herself to be held, her face nesting against Bisch’s chest.
For a long moment, no one spoke.
Then the Baroness did something I was sure I would never witness.
She began to cry.
It wasn’t dramatic. There were no sobs or wails. Still, a slow trickle of tears slid silently down her cheeks before vanishing into the fabric of Bisch’s shirt.
The room emptied without anyone saying a word.
The Americans drifted toward the door, suddenly interested in checking the perimeter. Will stood, squeezing my hand once before slipping into the kitchen.
I stayed, unable to tear my eyes from the Baroness and Bisch.
“You don’t have to—” she started.
“I know.”
Her head rose from Bisch’s chest, and she looked at me—reallylooked for the first time since I’d been carried, half dead, into the farmhouse. Her eyes were red, her face drawn. The carefully maintained mask had finally cracked.
“I thought this would feel different,” she said, and I wondered if she spoke to me, Bisch—or simply to herself. “I thought when it was over—when they were stopped—I would feel . . .”
“Victorious?” Bisch offered.
“Something.” She shook her head slowly. “But I only feel tired . . . tired and old and—” Her voice broke. “Otto and Weber are dead, among others. Aldric, who trusted me with everything, was murdered for what he knew. How many others died because of this? Because I wasn’t fast enough, wasn’t clever enough—”
“Baroness, you couldn’t have stopped all of it,” I said, struggling to my feet and crossing to stand beside them. I placed a hand on the Baroness’s arm and stroked with my thumb.
“Could I not?” The question was sharp, edged with something that might have been self-loathing. “I spent the last three decades building my network. I had sources in every ministry, every canton, everyinstitution. I still didn’t see this coming. I didn’t see Engel or the Order rebuilding itself under my nose. I missed everything.”
“No one saw it,” Bisch said.
“That is not good enough.” She wiped her face with the back of her hand—an oddly graceless gesture from a woman who never did anything without precision. “It is not good enough that no one saw it. Someone should have.Ishould have.”
I didn’t have an answer for that.
Maybe there wasn’t one.
“Otto followed me,” she said quietly. “When they took me from the hotel. He followed the van into the mountains, alone, knowing he would probably die. Because I had saved him once, years ago, and he never forgot it.” Her voice caught.
She paused to still her quivering lips.
“He was the last of my circle from the old days,” she continued. “The last one who knew what we’d built, what we survived. Now he’s gone, and I am . . .” She stopped and sucked in a breath. “I am a foolish old woman who could not protect the people who trusted her.”
“You protected Switzerland,” I said.
She laughed without humor. “Did I? Or did you? You and Will risked everything while I sat in a cell being tortured for information I was too stubborn to give.” She met my eyes. “The photographs that saved us—youtook them. The evidence fromSternberg AG—youretrieved it. The warehouse last night—”
“It was all a team effort,” I said.
“Don’t patronize me, Thomas.” But her voice had lost its edge. She looked too tired for anger. “I know what I contributed and what I did not. I know who did the real work.”
“The real work?” I leaned forward. “You built the network that gave us every lead. You identified the conspiracy when everyone else was looking the other way. You came to us when there was no one else you could trust. Hell, you survivedtorturewithout giving up a single name.” I held her gaze. “And when we pulled you out of that fortress, half dead and beaten, you started planning the counter-operation before you could even walk.”
