“And me?” Bisch asked.
“Communications and transport. You know the area. If something goes wrong, you’re our way out.”
The Baroness added, “I will coordinate from here. Radio contact every thirty minutes, but we must keep our transmissions short. The Soviets are masters at interception. If any team misses a check-in, we should assume compromise.”
“And then?” the woman asked.
“Scatter and regroup at a backup location. Bisch will provide coordinates.” The Baroness’s voice was flat. “The mission continues regardless of individual losses, including mine.”
No one argued. We all understood what we’d signed up for.
The planning continued for another hour, reviewing routes, timing, communication codes, and fallback positions. By the time we finished, dull winter light was seeping through the windows.
“Rest today,” the Baroness said, rising stiffly. “All of you. Tomorrow we prepare. The night after, we act.”
The CIA team decided to stay at the farmhouse. It was too risky to keep moving, to keep exposingeveryone in public, and we needed quick coordination. Dr. Müller’s house was getting crowded, but no one complained.
As the group dispersed, the woman caught my arm.
“Hey. Emu.”
I turned. This close, I could see the fatigue creeping into her eyes.
“You’re not what I expected,” she said quietly. “Most operators I’ve worked with are just following orders. You look like you actually give a damn.”
Her words brought back images of the Baroness’s hands when we’d first found her, of Otto dying in that bedroom, and of Thomas bleeding in the snow. My gut twisted as I thought about all we’d lost.
“Someone has to,” I said.
She studied me for a moment. Then, surprisingly, she reached up and squeezed my arm.
“Get some sleep. You look like hell.”
“Thanks.”
“Anytime, sweetheart.” She winked and walked away.
Thomas appeared at my elbow. “She likes you.”
“She’s mocking me. I still don’t know her name, even a false one.”
“Those aren’t mutually exclusive, especially for those in our line of work. You know that better than most. And names are overrated, especially false ones, Emu.” He grinned as he slid hishand into mine and squeezed gently. “Come on. Let’s catch a couple hours of sleep while we can.”
“Just sleep?”
“For now.” His smile was tired but warm. “I believe I made you a promise, but it’ll have to wait until we’re done saving Switzerland.”
28
Thomas
Will’s side of the bed was cold. I lay there for a moment, listening to the sounds of the farmhouse coming alive.
Voices drifted up from below, low and professional.
Dishes clattered.
Someone laughed, then stifled it quickly.
