Page 68 of Beehive

The guard hesitated, his body taut, before retreating.

“What the hell was that?” I whispered.

Thomas didn’t answer.

He grabbed my arm and pulled me toward the far end of the room where another door waited. We slipped into another corridor, this one pitch black and blessedly empty. We reached the back of the building.

Our rusty egress was just ahead.

Thomas paused, his hand on the handle, his head tilted as he listened.

He pushed the door open, and we stepped outside.

Soldiers shouted in the distance. Arriving vehicles roared.

We rounded the corner to make our getaway, but I drew up short at the sight of a lone woman standing casually against a lamppost.

She raised a hand, the glow of a cigarette lifting with it.

Visla.

It had to be.

The woman crossed the street to stand a dozen yards away. Nearby streetlamps had been extinguished, but the clouds parted enough for me to get a better look. Visla was dressed plainly, a red scarf tied loosely around her neck, her face partially obscured by the shadow of herchapeau. Her expression was strikingly calm, her eyes sharp.

“Nice night for a walk, is it not?” she said dryly.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Thomas demanded, his head turning one way, then the other, searching for guards or soldiers.

“Saving your asses, obviously,” she replied, flicking her cigarette into the distance. “We need to go. My little diversion will only work for so long.”

“That was you?” I stammered.

She smirked. “You are lucky I like you. Now, move. They will figure it out soon enough.”

We raced through the streets, Visla leading the way.

She slipped through alleys and side streets with the ease of someone who’d done this a thousand times before. I kept close, my hand never straying far from the satchel. Thomas brought up the rear.

“How much further?” Thomas asked after we’d crept down more city blocks than I could count.

“Not far,” Visla hissed. “Keep moving. No talking.”

We rounded another corner, and voices in Russian stilled our steps.

Guards.

Their tones were sharp and urgent.

They were close.

Visla cursed under her breath, yanking me back into a narrow alley. The space was cramped, the walls pressing in on eitherside. The stench of garbage and rottingsomethingnearly made me gag.

“Wait,” she mouthed and held up a palm.

Boots on stone echoed down the street.

More shouts.