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54

Will

T homas’s drugs kicked into a higher gear, sending him from babbling idiot to sleeping beauty. I watched the rise and fall of his chest, pressed a palm to his forehead to feel for a fever, and brushed back locks of his hair that refused to stay off his forehead. Seeing him lying there, so peaceful, so lost in dreams and whatever codeine-induced visions he was experiencing, made my heart stutter—just a little.

“Ready?” Egret said from behind.

I cupped Thomas’s cheek one last time, then rose and turned to face him. “Let’s find shelter. A night in this cold and we might need a lot more than codeine for him.”

Egret glanced down at his sleeping form, then nodded once.

“Nothing stupid, boys,” Sparrow henpecked from a few yards away.

“Stupid? Us?” I protested, holding up both palms.

Her cocked head and folded arms were all the reply necessary.

Egret actually chuckled and said, “Yes, dear. Nothing stupid.”

Her lips curled, though she fought to stop them.

Within minutes, we strode through a sprawling field with nothing but the moon and stars for company. Had we not known this was Soviet-controlled territory, the walk would’ve been peaceful. The stiff breeze kept my cheeks rosy and numb, but there was something invigorating about the wintry air. I sucked in a deep breath and relished its embrace.

Each step crackled beneath our boots. We left the open expanse of the field and entered another forested area. The woods pressed close around us—bare branches like skeletal fingers clawing at the dark.

I kept my hand on the grip of the pistol hidden in my coat. I’d stolen it from one of the Soviet guards when we’d rescued Eszter . . . just in case.

Egret walked beside me. He was a silhouette of tension. Neither of us spoke for the first half hour. The silence was the kind of pact you made in the field.

Don’t fill the quiet unless you have to. Don’t say what can be seen with your eyes.

There was a low mechanical groan—the kind of sound that didn’t belong in the countryside at this hour. It wasn’t a tractor. It was too steady for that, too late at night. It had to be a vehicle somewhere to the east. I dropped into a crouch beside a split log and motioned to Egret. He was already still, his eyes sweeping the horizon.

Then came the dogs.

They weren’t close—not yet—but they were close enough that their barks cut through the quiet in sharp bursts, the unmistakable tone of trained hounds, not some village strays looking for a scrap.

Egret shifted beside me and whispered, “Patrol.”

I didn’t answer, just kept watching the ridgeline across the field.

And there they were.

Two beams of light—thin, pale yellow cones sweeping lazily across the trees on the far side. Flashlights? Maybe spot lamps from a low truck? The lights danced, paused, then moved again.

“They’re searching,” I murmured.

Egret grunted.

We moved faster after that—still quiet, and careful, but with that pulse of urgency pushing into our spines like a blade.

We crested a ridge and scanned a shallow valley. Below, a sagging barn was tucked into the crook of a copse. The roof looked intact. There were no lights. We saw no smoke drifting from the chimney. In the paddock, there were no signs of livestock. The barn’s stillness could’ve been a result of the early hour, with weary workers sleeping in the darkness. Or, the place was as abandoned as it looked—and that would be perfect.

Please let it be empty , I thought.

Egret lifted his chin. “Check it out?”

I nodded.

We moved toward it, circling the tree line, my eyes on the horizon. I sensed nothing but wind and frostbite, but that didn’t mean no one was watching.

When we reached the edge of the structure, we ducked behind the rear wall. I pressed a hand to the boards. They were dry and felt solid.

No voices came from inside. There was no braying or shifting of animals on beds of hay.

Egret peered through a cracked window and gave a nod.

Inside, the air smelled of dust and damp wood. The place hadn’t held livestock in years. Cobwebs fluttered in the corners, draped across the rafters like brittle curtains. I swept the beam of my flashlight low, keeping it tight, careful not to spill light out the slats.

Egret stepped ahead of me toward a ladder that led to the hayloft above. He reached for one of the rungs, tested it with his boot, then pulled himself up a few steps.

And that’s when I heard it—the sudden sharp exhale.

“Shit.”

Egret was holding his hand, fingers curled around his palm like he was trying to keep something in.

I stepped closer. “What happened?”

“Nail,” he muttered through gritted teeth. “Rusty bastard hiding in the beam. Took a chunk.”

He moved to the side, into the moonlight slicing through a broken board, and uncurled his hand just enough for me to see. Blood dribbled from the base of his thumb, darker in the blue light, already staining the inside of his coat cuff.

I reached into my coat, pulled out a strip of gauze we’d used once and washed. It wasn’t ideal, but it would have to do.

“Let me—”

“I’ve got it,” he snapped, then winced.

“Give me your hand. I’m already taken. You don’t have to worry about me making a move,” I repeated, softer this time.

He groaned through an eye roll but didn’t argue again.

I wrapped the cloth tight around his hand and tied it off with a practiced knot. It would hold for now.

We returned to searching the barn, Egret stepping into and out of stalls, while I scanned the loft from below as best I could. Dark corners held secrets I couldn’t uncover without risking the same spike that had speared Egret. We’d have to discover those when the sun rose.

Then I realized what was missing.

“There aren’t any tools,” I said, turning Egret’s head. “Have you found any? There’s not even a pitchfork for the hay . . . and there isn’t much hay, certainly not enough for animals in a cold climate.”

I felt a little silly talking about farm life. I was a city boy through and through. Still, I had an eye for detail, and that one felt off somehow.

Once we were certain the place was empty, Egret leaned against the far wall and spoke. “Doesn’t look like anyone’s been in here in a while. Good on ya, spotting the missing tools. There’s no storage shed outside, so I would bet this place is abandoned, has been for some time.”

“It’s still cold, but at least there’s no wind. If we’re lucky, we might find blankets up there,” I said, pointed at parts of the loft hidden in darkness my gaze couldn’t penetrate. “We can rest here, keep everyone out of sight tomorrow. Move again by dusk.”

He nodded.

But the quiet didn’t settle right. There was something else pressing at me, tightening like a rope I didn’t remember tying.

“We need to talk,” I said.

Egret raised a brow. “About the hay quality?”

“About Budapest. About the machine.”

That got his attention.

He leaned against a stall door and crossed his arms, his body language sharp and closed.

“You want to go back,” he said.

“I think we have to.”

“No.” His voice was flat. “We don’t.”

I leaned against a rough wooden beam and hugged my arms around myself for warmth. “Our original order was to extract Farkas and destroy the technology. You remember what Manakin said—‘prevent Soviet advantage at any cost.’”

“I remember,” Egret said. “That’s why we should have burned the lab when we had the chance.”

“Farkas was barely holding it together,” I said. “We didn’t have the manpower, or the time, or—”

“Excuses,” he snapped, too quickly. Then, quieter, he added, “I’m not blaming you. I’m saying it’s not done.”

I took a breath. “What if we don’t destroy it? What if we bring the research back instead?”

Egret turned his head. “Jesus, Will.”

“Think about it,” I pressed. “The machine could change everything. Farkas isn’t just a cryptographer. He’s building something that makes Enigma look like a child’s toy. Do you want to hand that edge to the Soviets without our side having the same tool?”

Egret stared at me. “You want to give it to Washington instead, so both sides can become, what? Rising enemies with the power to listen to everyone and everything? They’ll either beat the shit out of each other or join forces and press their combined weight into the back of an already broken world.”

I didn’t answer. Egret was unusually philosophical—and that bothered me. Was he right?

He walked past me, kicked a loose board in the corner, paced once, twice.

“We are not the moral compass here,” he said. “We’re the cleanup crew. Our job was to stop the Soviets from getting it. That doesn’t mean we get to carry it across the Iron Curtain like a party favor.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“No,” he said. “It’s worse . . . because you know what they’ll do with it. You give that machine to your brass, they’ll build ten more. They’ll crack every ally’s code. They’ll watch the British, the French, the UN. And when the next war comes—and it will—they’ll already know the ending. Hell, they’ll write the ending, and who knows if they’ll get it right?”

I rubbed my face, feeling the cold bite at my skin.

“I just don’t want his work to vanish,” I said. “Not after all this.”

“It’s not vanishing right now. Uncle Joe has it. That’s got to be our priority. I say we go back and destroy the damned thing, then get the hell out of this country.” Egret’s voice softened. “His daughter’s alive. She’s his legacy. The rest? It’s just wires and brass and blood.”

We stood in silence for a long time, the wind whistling through the cracks in the wood like it was trying to speak to us.

“We need to decide,” I said. “Before we cross the border . . . before we leave them to cross.”

“I say it’s you and me. Just us. The others cross.” Egret unfolded his arms and pushed off from the door to stand near me, as though what he would say required closeness. “Condor is too weak. Farkas and Eszter are obviously out. Sparrow . . .” He blinked a few times. “I just can’t . . . she can’t—”

I reached up and squeezed his arm, one of the few times I could remember ever touching him. “Sparrow goes with them. Agreed.”

His head lolled like some string holding it up had just been cut, and I felt his breath as he sucked air in. For a moment, I thought the big man actually trembled beneath my touch. Then he looked up, nodded once, and stepped back, letting my hand drop away as if it had never been there.

“They’re going to argue about this, you know?” I whispered, more to myself than him.

He grunted. “That’s an understatement. Sparrow still has fingernails. I bet I’m bleeding before we leave them behind.”

Despite it all, I chuckled.

“Do we even raise this with them?”

His head snapped up, eyes wide. “What?”

“What if we got them settled in here, safe and a little warmer, then . . . well . . . just slipped away? They couldn’t follow. Sparrow would feel too obligated to take care of Condor.”

“Damn, Emu. I didn’t know you had it in you to be so cold.”