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Of course, it wouldn’t last. It never did.
But for the moment?
I’d take it.
Even if the chandelier was listening.
13
Thomas
Thecaféwastuckedbetween a tailor’s shop and a greengrocer that hadn’t displayed fresh produce in weeks. Paint peeled from the sign above the door, and half the light bulbs inside flickered like they were too tired to stay lit.
It was perfect—off the tourist track, local enough to be overlooked, but not so obscure as to draw suspicion. The Soviets had ears in every hotel lobby and eyes behind every mirror. But here, at least for an hour, we could speak without counting breaths between the clicks of hidden microphones.
I arrived first.
A woman in a drab uniform with gray hair swirled into a fraying bun pointed me to a corner booth beneath the only working wall sconce. I ordered black coffee and stared at the chipped tabletop until the others arrived.
I sipped and stared across the tiny dining room, out the massive window that overlooked the street. One of our minders stood there, leaning against a light post, pretending to read a newspaper. It was probably the same paper he’d been reading upside down only a day earlier.
Will came next, his scarf too brightly colored for the setting. It was part of his cover, of course—affable, carefree American abroad—but I still winced. He slid into the seat across from me and offered a dry smile.
“You’re early,” he said, loosening his gloves.
“You’re loud,” I replied, but there was no bite in my words. The smile he returned filled my chest. God, he did that with such ease—and in the middle of a mission, no less.
A moment later, Sparrow entered, her coat drawn tight and eyes scanning the room before she even reached the counter. She gave the waitress a polite nod and joined us, sitting beside me, not across.
Egret, as expected, took the longest. He strolled in like a man late for a meal, not a covert mission. He ordered in broken Hungarian with just enough charm to make the waitress forget herself and blush, then joined us, sliding into the booth beside Will.
Finally, we were four again.
“How’s the food?” Sparrow asked, glancing at the untouched bread in front of me.
“Suspicious,” I replied.
“So normal,” Will said with a grin. He then turned toward Sparrow and sniffed, as though her scent had somehow caught his interest. “Oh, my, Juliette. What is that perfume? It smells . . . musky. Like . . . oh, my!”
The faux alarm that spread across Will’s face was even funnier than his implication. The crimson that flushed Sparrow’s face was even more so. For a brilliant moment, even Egret’s face colored.
Sparrow gathered herself, then blinked coquettishly at Will. “Why, thank you, Henry. How sweet of you to notice. It is a new scent I picked up in Paris. It comes in an oversized bottle with the largest, um, applicator you’ve ever seen.”
Will’s expression transformed from triumph to a man wishing he could crawl under the floor, not just the table.
Sparrow beamed, while Egret puffed out his chest.
“Damn huge applicator. Massive. Like, seriously, the size of a forearm topped by a fist,” Egret added, raising his arm above the table to form a phallic gesture and slapping it, punctuating Will’s embarrassment.
It was all I could do to keep from doubling over.
Our waitress arrived with refills and the last of our food, her grim expression softening a touch as she tried to wrap her head around why the foreigners in her diner were all beet red and laughing like children—all save Will, who was shrinking by the moment.
As soon as she stepped away and everyone’s breathing returned to normal, I took a swig of coffee and lowered my voice.
“Let’s get to it,” I said, leaning in. “We’re less than two hours from first contact.”
That sobered everyone.