We gathered around the scarred wooden table. Otto had remained outside to watch the street.
“Weber confirmed what we suspected,” the Baroness said, her hands wrapped around a cup of tea she hadn’t tasted. “The Order’s networks are being reactivated, but the ideology has shifted. It is no longer about religious crusade. Rather, it is about political restoration.”
“Soviet involvement?” Bisch asked.
“Almost certainly. Weber spoke of new money flowing through old channels.”
Bisch nodded slowly, processing the information. “And Weber himself? Will he help us further?”
“No.” The Baroness’s voice was flat. “He is too frightened. He ran from the meeting before we could learn more.”
“Ran?”
“He saw someone who spooked him.” I leaned back in my chair, watching Bisch’s face for any reaction. “There was a man at the counter. Weber recognized him, or thought he did. He panicked and fled through the kitchen.”
Bisch didn’t flinch. “That is . . . unfortunate. Weber was our best connection to Aldric’s wartime network. Without him—”
A knock at the door interrupted him.
We all tensed.
Bisch rose smoothly, one hand moving to the small of his back where I suspected he kept a weapon, and moved toward the entrance. Amoment later, I heard the low murmur of voices. Bisch and Otto spoke in rapid German.
When Bisch returned, his granite face had somehow grown even harder.
“There has been a development,” he said. “Otto just received word from one of our contacts in the police.”
The Baroness set down her untouched tea. “What now?”
“A body was discovered twenty minutes ago in an alley behind a café in the Altstadt,” Bisch said. “The victim’s name was Heinrich Weber.”
“How was he killed?” Will asked, his voice rough.
“His throat was cut. The wound was precise.” Bisch’s gaze moved to the Baroness. “A card was found on his body. It was old and worn, bearing the symbol of a spearhead.”
The Baroness closed her eyes. When she opened them, her expression was controlled, but I could see the weight of another death pressing down on her.
“They are cutting the threads before we can follow them,” she said quietly.
“Not just that,” I said. “They are anticipating. Weber ran less than an hour ago. They were already in position. Theyknew.”
Will’s eyes met mine, and I saw the same thought forming behind them.
“Someone told them,” he said. “Someone knew about this meeting.”
The Baroness’s jaw tightened. “The only people who knew were in this room. And Otto.”
“And whoever Bisch contacted to arrange it,” I said.
Bisch’s expression still didn’t change, but I saw something shift in his posture. It was a subtle stiffening.
“I used secure channels,” he said, his voice flat. “Intermediaries I have trusted for years. If there was a leak, it did not come from my end.”
“I’m not saying it did.” I held up my hands. “I’m just saying we need to consider all possibilities. Weber was terrified before he even sat down. He was convinced someone was watching him. Then someone killed him within an hour of our meeting. That’s not coincidence. That’s compromise.”
The Baroness remained quiet. I could practically see her mind working, running through the possibilities, weighing loyalties against evidence.
“We will discuss this later,” she said finally. “For now, we grieve for Herr Weber, and we consider what his death means for our investigation.”
