Otto wound the Mercedes through Bern’s streets, past elegant façades and winter-bare trees, through neighborhoods I didn’t recognize, toward a destination the Baroness hadn’t named. She sat in the front and spoke quietly with Otto in German, while Thomas and I occupied the back.
“We have a tail,” I said quietly after we’d been driving for ten minutes. “Gray Opel, two cars back. It’s been with us since we left the safe house.”
Thomas didn’t turn around. “You’re sure?”
“Made the same three turns we did. Hung back when we slowed down, sped up when we did.” Ikept my voice low, pitched beneath the murmur of the Baroness’s conversation. “Either it’s a coincidence or we’re being followed.”
The Baroness had stopped talking. She was watching me in the rearview mirror, her expression alert.
“The gray car?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Otto?” She looked at her driver.
“I see it.” Otto’s voice had lost its usual warmth. “Hold on.”
What followed was a masterclass in evasive driving . . . and one of the most frighting things I had ever experienced in a car. Otto took us through a maze of narrow streets and sudden turns, cutting through alleys that seemed too small for the Mercedes, doubling back on ourselves, using traffic and timing to create gaps that our pursuers couldn’t close. He drove with the focused intensity of a man who had done this many times before, a man who had learned, during the war, that a wrong turn could mean death.
I lost track of the gray Opel after the third turn.
By the fifth, I was fairly certain we had lost them entirely.
But Otto kept driving, kept weaving, kept checking his mirrors with those sharp blue eyes until he was absolutely certain.
“Clear,” he announced finally, pulling onto a quiet street lined with expensive-looking townhouses. “They are gone.”
“For now,” the Baroness said. “They will find us again. They always do.”
She turned to look at Thomas and me, her expression grave.
“You see now what we are dealing with. They are watching me constantly. Every meeting, every movement, every contact—they know. They have eyes everywhere.” She paused. “Which means someone is telling them where to look.”
“We’ve been thinking about that,” I said carefully. “About who might be feeding them information.”
“And?”
“The list of people who knew about the Weber meeting is short. You, Otto, Bisch, Thomas, and me.”
The Baroness was quiet for a moment. I couldn’t read her expression.
“You suspect Bisch,” she said finally.
“I don’t want to suspect anyone, but he’s the common thread. He arranged everything.” I spread my hands. “I’m not accusing him. I’m just . . . noting the pattern.”
“I have known Heinrich Bisch for many years.” The Baroness’s voice was flat. “He has stood beside me through things you cannot imagine. He has bled for me,killed for me, and nearly died for me more times than I can count. If you are suggesting—”
“I’m not suggesting anything.” I kept my voice calm, reasonable. “I’m saying we need to be careful, all of us, until we know where the leak is coming from.”
“There are also the intermediaries, whoever Bisch uses to contact his people. If the Soviets really are involved, they could have bugs all over Vienna. When is the last time you swept your estate or the safe house?” Thomas offered.
The Baroness stared at me for a long moment. I saw anger in her eyes, but beneath it, something worse—doubt. She was considering the terrible possibility that I might be right, that the man she trusted most might be the one destroying her.
“We will speak of this later,” she said finally. “After we see Engel and have more information.” She turned back to face the front. “Otto, take us to the bank.”
The car pulled away from the curb. I felt Thomas’s hand find mine in the space between us.Be careful, his grip said.We’re walking on thin ice.
I squeezed back.
