“Yes.” Her gaze returned. “Two weeks ago, he sent me an urgent message through a dead drop known only to the two of us. He had learned something important, something he would only share in person. Before I could arrange a meeting, he was murdered in the monastery archives. His papers were taken. His correspondence—including, I must assume, our communications—vanished.” Her voice hardened. “They left a calling card pinned to his body.”
“The spearhead,” Will said.
“The spearhead.” The Baroness nodded grimly. “Theywantedme to know it was them. They wanted me to know they had found my source and silenced him.”
I thought of the Baroness alone in Bern, realizing her network had been compromised, knowing that the men who had killed her source might come for her next. No wonder she had fled to Paris. No wonder she had looked so haunted when she appeared at our door.
“There’s more, isn’t there?”I asked.
“Yes.” She reached behind her and retrieved a small leather folio. “After Aldric’s death, I began investigating through other channels. I have sources within the Swiss government. These are mostly men and women who owe me favors, who trust me, and who share my concerns about corruption in our institutions. What I found . . .”
She opened the folio, revealing a sheaf of photographs and documents covered in her elegant script.
“Two ministers in the Federal Council appear compromised. Lüthi and Brenner. I have traced payments to accounts they control, payments routed through a shell company called Sternberg AG. The sums are substantial. The sources are obscured. But the pattern is clear. Someone is buying influence at the highest levels of Swiss government.”
“And Sternberg AG?” Will asked.
“It is a ghost. I believe your Americans call it a ‘shell.’ It exists on paper, but every address leads to an empty office, every director to a false name. What I have been able to determine is that Sternberg has connections to former Nazi financial networks, the same channels that were used to move plundered assets during and after the war.” She took a breath. “And more recently, to Soviet intelligence operations in Western Europe.”
I let out a low whistle. “Nazis and Soviets. That’s a hell of a combination.”
“Strange bedfellows, yes, but not unprecedented. Both seek to destabilize the West, and both have use for fanatics who believe they serve a higher purpose.” The Baroness closed the folio. “I do not yet know the full scope of what they are planning, but I have found references in coded correspondence to something called ‘the Restoration’ and ‘Phase Two.’ Whatever it is, it involves my country and the Order of Saint Longinus.”
Will was quiet for a long moment.
I knew that look. He was assembling pieces, building a picture in his mind.
“You didn’t come for our company,” he said finally. “You came for our help.”
“Yes.” The Baroness met his eyes. “I need your help. I cannot investigate this alone. I am being watched, my sources are compromised, and I do not know who in my own government I can trust. But you . . .” She looked between us. “You are outside our system. You have skills I lack and resources I cannot access. And you have proven, time and again, that you will walk into darkness when others flee.”
“What exactly are you asking?” I said.
“Come to Bern. Help me unravel this conspiracy before it is too late. I have a man there. You remember Bisch, yes? He is most skilled at logisticalsupport—safe houses, transportation, whatever equipment one might require—but I need investigators. I need operatives. I need—” She paused, and for just a moment, the steel in her gaze softened. “I need friends.”
The word hung in the air.
I looked at Will. He looked at me.
We had done this before. We had dropped everything to walk into danger because someone we cared about needed us. We had nearly died doing it, more than once, and Washington would be furious if we went off-mission without authorization. The CIA had developed strong opinions about its agents involving themselves in European political conspiracies.
But this was the Baroness.
She had saved our lives.
She had trusted us with secrets that could have destroyed her.
She had been our ally through the darkest years of the war and the treacherous peace that followed.
Some debts couldn’t be measured. Some loyalties couldn’t be set aside.
“When do we leave?” I asked.
The Baroness’s smile was like sunrise breaking through clouds.
“Tomorrow,” she said. “There is a train at seven. I have already arranged passage.” She reached across the table and took my hand, then Will’s, holding usboth with surprising strength. “Thank you, both of you.”
“You’d do the same for us,” Will said quietly.
