Vogel was younger than I’d expected—late thirties, maybe, with a lean face and sharp eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses. He wore a rumpled suit and carried a battered leather satchel that bulged with papers.
The Baroness rose to greet him. “Werner. Thank you for coming.”
“Baroness.” He took her hands gently, mindful of the bandages. “When Bisch told me what happened to you . . .” He shook his head. “I had to see for myself.”
“As you can see, I am still standing.” The Baroness withdrew her hands. “Barely, but still standing.”
Vogel looked around the room, taking in the maps on the table, the equipment stacked against the walls, and the collection of armed strangers watching him with varying degrees of suspicion.
“You’ve assembled quite a team,” he said.
“Necessity makes strange alliances. I trust you will never mention the men you see gathered here? I would take it quite personally if you did.”
Werner blanched, clearly understanding the unstated threat in her words. “Of course, Baroness.”
The Baroness gestured for him to sit. “You received the documents?”
“I did, and I’ve been through them twice.” Vogel pulled a folder from his satchel. “The payment records are damning, the correspondence even more so. My editor is . . . cautious, but interested.”
“Cautious?” The Baroness cocked a brow.
“He wants verification, independent confirmation that what you’re claiming is actually happening.” Vogel spread his hands. “I believe you, Baroness. I’ve known you for many years. I knowyou would not fabricate something like this, but my editor doesn’t know you, and the people you’re accusing are very powerful. If we publish this information without ironclad proof and we’re wrong . . .”
“You won’t be wrong,” she said.
“My editor needs proof.” Vogel leaned forward. “Tonight. If what you’ve told me is true, the Order will move against our infrastructure. If you can get me photographs and evidence of coordinated action, something I can put in front of my editor and say, ‘This is real. This is happening,’ I believe he will run the story as quickly as our presses can print.”
“That is the plan,” the Baroness said.
“Good.” Vogel checked his watch. “I’ll be at my office all night. The moment you have something, send it to me. If the evidence is solid, I can have a story ready for the morning edition.”
“The morning edition,” I said. “That’s cutting it close. The Council convenes at ten.”
“The paper hits the streets at six. That gives the Council members three hours to read it before the session begins. It also gives us time to leak the story to the world’s press. I believe that is where it will make the largest impact.” Vogel met my eyes. “It is not much time, but it might be enough to change the calculus.”
Or it might not.
Three hours wasn’t much time to absorb the revelation that your government had been infiltrated by Soviet-backed conspirators.
“We’ll get you your proof,” I said.
Vogel nodded. He gathered his papers and rose to leave.
“I am afraid you must remain with me until this is over,” the Baroness said, freezing the man in place. His eyes widened as he staggered back a step.
“Baroness?”
“You have seen too much, Werner. If the Soviets or the Order picked you up—”
Horror spread across his features, morphing into outright terror.
“You are not a hostage, Werner. I say this only to keep you safe.” The Baroness rose and placed a bandaged hand on his arm. “Until our men return, you have no story to report. Would you not like to be here when they return with your editor’s proof?”
“I . . . well . . . yes, I suppose—”
“Excellent. I made coffee. Please help yourself.” She spun and returned to the table, all interest in the reporter lost as she once again stared at the assembled maps.
Sometime in the mid-afternoon, Thomas found me in the bedroom we’d been sharing. I was sitting onthe edge of the bed, staring at the camera in my hands.
