Page 8

8

Thomas

T he train screeched into the station with a sudden lurch that jolted Egret out of his half doze. Somewhere outside our compartment, metal groaned and hissed, and the familiar rhythm of the wheels over tracks gave way to the silence of expectation.

We’d reached the border.

My stomach tightened, even as I forced my face to remain impassive. In our line of work, fear was just another flavor of preparation. You could feel it, acknowledge it, but never let it show.

Across from me, Will stirred, blinking blearily. Sparrow straightened in her seat, her hands folded in her lap. Egret, of course, had the gall to close his eyes again. More likely, he was pretending to sleep, judging by the way his foot began to tap.

“Wake him up,” I muttered to Will. “Now.”

Will leaned across the small table between us and nudged Egret’s leg with his boot. “Rise and shine, Professor Weiss. The border’s come to greet us.”

Egret groaned but sat up, rubbing his face. “Ah, the warm Hungarian welcome I’ve always dreamed of.”

I shot him a look. Not now.

Outside the compartment, we heard the heavy thud of boots and the bark of clipped Hungarian voices as officials moved from car to car. Orders being given. Papers requested. The distant grumble of dogs.

My pulse quickened.

I leaned toward the door, listening to the cadence of conversation. Slower Hungarian at first, then a flurry of Russian. This wasn’t the local border police. Soviet observers were onboard.

Wonderful.

I turned to the others, keeping my voice low and tight. “You know your jobs. We are a scientific delegation. We have diplomatic clearance. Stick to your cover with no improvisation unless absolutely necessary. And for God’s sake”—my eyes flicked to Egret—“don’t be clever.”

Egret held up his hands. “Perish the thought.”

Will blinked a few times in my direction. “You’re wound tighter than your tie.”

“That’s because I’m the one they’ll shoot first,” I murmured. “Let’s not give them a reason to pull the trigger.”

There was a knock—sharp and imposing.

I stood and slid the compartment door open.

Two Hungarian border guards flanked a single Soviet officer—his uniform crisp, insignia gleaming, eyes cold and assessing. I clocked the pistol holstered at his side, the red star on his hat, the familiarity in his stance. He wasn’t just a bureaucrat; he was GRU, maybe KGB. With all the shifting sands within the Soviet hierarchy, it was hard to say which. He was dangerous, nonetheless.

“Papers,” the Soviet said in Russian. His tone wasn’t aggressive, but there was no warmth.

I gave him a polite smile and handed over our neatly organized folder containing diplomatic credentials, transit visas, and letters from our supposed ministries of science and trade. All were forged, of course, but forged well.

The officer opened it, flipped through the pages with gloved fingers, his eyes flicking up to me every few seconds.

“State your purpose,” he said, still in Russian despite the nationalities listed in our papers.

“We are part of an international scientific commission,” I replied in Russian. “Sent to Budapest to assess telecommunications infrastructure, cryptographic developments, and post-war industrial recovery. Our visit was arranged through the Hungarian Ministry of Industry.”

The man grunted, then looked past me into the compartment.

“Names?”

I nodded. “Dr. Charles Beckett, British Science and Technology Advisor.”

I gestured to Will. “Mr. Henry Calloway, U.S. State Department liaison.”

The officer raised a palm and switched into English as easily as one might change shirts. “Do not speak for them.”

I lowered my head in deference.

Will raised his hand as if waving from across the tiny compartment. Goofball.

“I’m Henry.”

The Soviet’s face gave nothing away.

Then Sparrow. “Juliette Moreau, French telecommunications analyst.”

Finally Egret. “Dr. Hans Weiss, Austrian industrial observer.”

The Soviet officer’s gaze lingered on Egret a beat too long.

“He doesn’t look like a scientist.”

Egret smiled wide. “I get that a lot.”

“He isn’t very good,” Will jabbed, earning a sharp gaze from Egret and a nervous snicker from Sparrow.

I felt my heart stop. Joking was not part of the mission brief—of any mission brief—when dealing with a Soviet intelligence officer. What the fuck was Will doing?

The officer’s mouth didn’t move, but his eyes sharpened. “Your Russian is good, Mr. Beckett. Where did you learn it?”

“Dr. Beckett,” I corrected. “Cambridge, then abroad during reconstruction efforts.”

He turned back to the folder, flipping a few more pages.

One of the Hungarians moved past me into the compartment, asking Will and Sparrow for their passports in broken English. They handed them over without comment.

I watched the Soviet carefully, trying to track where his attention lingered.

He paused on a document with Egret’s photo.

“Dr. Weiss,” he said, “your credentials appear to be in order. You are currently working with the Allied post-war advisory council?”

Egret nodded. “Yes, focused on reindustrialization. Budapest offers a unique case study. Many factories were dismantled or moved, but there’s potential in their remaining infrastructure.”

The Soviet officer raised a brow, unimpressed. “So you say.”

His gaze moved to Sparrow.

“And you, Mademoiselle Moreau. The French are very interested in Hungarian cryptography, it seems.”

Sparrow stiffened, just barely. I caught it because I was watching for it.

“France is interested in the entire Eastern Bloc’s recovery,” she said. “Hungary’s position makes it central to many critical communications corridors.”

She delivered it well. Her voice didn’t waver.

Still, the Soviet’s eyes narrowed, just a touch.

He turned back to me. “How long will you remain in Budapest?”

“Three days,” I replied. “Possibly four, depending on scheduling.”

“And where are you staying?”

“The Gellért Hotel and the Astoria.” I motioned between Will and me, then Egret and Sparrow. “Two and two. For convenience.”

He nodded, then turned back to the Hungarian officer beside him. The two exchanged a few rapid words in Hungarian. The guard grunted and moved out of the compartment, his boots thudding down the corridor.

The Soviet lingered another moment, then handed back the folder.

“Enjoy your stay,” he said, expression unreadable but clearly not wishing us the pleasant journey his words encouraged.

He turned, then paused in the doorway.

“We will be watching.”

Then he was gone.

The door slid shut behind him with a final, metallic snap.

For a long moment, none of us moved, then I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.

“That could have gone worse,” Will murmured, handing me back his passport.

“It could have gone to hell,” I said, sitting heavily. “Sparrow, you all right?”

She nodded. “I don’t like how long he looked at me.”

“He’s a predator. They all are,” Egret said, relaxing back into his seat again like we hadn’t just stared down death. “They look for weak points, not just in the team—in our covers. If they don’t find any, they’ll manufacture one.”

I shot Will a sharp look. “That joke back there was a risk. If he’d pushed harder—”

“He didn’t,” Egret said, coming to Will’s defense while cocking a brow. “And besides, would you rather we act like corpses? That would raise a lot more eyebrows than my brilliant sense of humor."

I didn’t like it, but he wasn’t wrong.

Will leaned over, resting a hand on my knee, grounding me. His fingers were warm and steady.

“They bought it, Thomas. Let it go.”

I nodded.

But I couldn’t let it go, not until the train lurched and the Hungarian border faded into distant night.