Page 118 of Under Cover

by Amy Lane.

The Beauty of Paper

Fourteen years ago—France

“NOW THERE,Etienne—do you see?”

“Yes, Papa.”

Etienne’s father was a slight man with unkempt hair that fell to his collar, a pointed chin, and wrinkles in the corners of fine brown eyes. Tienne’s mother had died when Tienne was very small, before the tiny family had moved to the coast using stolen passports.

“The light from the sun bounces off the clouds and hits the water so.”

“Yes, Papa.”

“And what do we use that looks like light?”

“White! White in the blue and white in the gray and light in the gold!” Tienne continued to sing to himself, painting the ocean view from the window of the seaside cottage looking off the coast of St. Tropez. While he did so, his father continued to labor painstakingly over an etching machine with a laminator and various colors of ink on beautiful rainbow paper. Tienne longed to paint pictures on that rainbow paper, but his father told him—repeatedly—that the paper cost very much money and the people who hired Papa to work on the paper would beverydispleased if he ruined any of it before it had a chance to be used. Many other little boys might have tested their father on this, but Tienne’s papa was so very gentle and so very kind, and he worked hard every day. Tienne only wanted to please his father. He knew, even as a child of six or seven, that his father worked to feed them and that he wanted so much more for his son than he had for himself.

So Tienne sang softly to himself while his father muttered to the machine and the laminator and the instruments he used to etch letters and pictures into that glorious paper.

The slamming of the cottage door startled them both. Tienne’s brush went sideways, and he made a gasp of dismay, but his father grabbed his arm and tugged him away from the painting before he could complain. “Hide behind the couch,” he muttered. “Don’t say a word.”

“Papa—”

“Not a word!”

Tienne wriggled behind the couch and held his breath, unsure of what was happening, knowing only that his father had never spoken to him in such a tone, not once in all of his seven years.

“Couvier! Couvier! We know you’re in there!”

Tienne’s father’s voice was furious as he stomped across the floor. “You are never to bother me here in my home.Never.”

The next sound Tienne heard was the sound of fist on flesh—and then a returning sound. Had his father been hit? Had he hit back?

“All right! All right! All right! I hear you. Never come to your house. I get it. But Mr. Kadjic wants his stuff, you hear me?”

“The order is due tomorrow,” Antoine Couvier said coldly. “It will be complete tomorrow. I have been good on every order. I will be good on this one. But not if you come to my home, do you understand?”

“Yeah, sure, we understand.” There was the sound of patting down and straightening. “Remember—we don’t need to come to your house to make sure you pony up… or to see your pretty little son.”

Tienne held his breath in the silence that followed.

“You are threatening my son?”

“I’m sayin’, Couvier. Accidents happen. To everybody.”

“If they happen to my son, I will be sure every member of your organization spends every day of their lives in prison. You need me. You need my skills. I am the only forger for a thousand miles who understands the new electronic implants in official documents. You can have your papers today, if you like, but they will trip every alarm in the EU, and Interpol will be down your pants so fast you’ll wish you’d packed lubricant.”

Tienne had to shove his fist in his mouth in fear. His father—hisfather—could talk to people like this, all in defense of Tienne.

“That is if we don’t kill you first,” the man snarled, but Tienne heard heavy footfalls and then the door slam. Tienne stayed hidden, keeping his breathing under control, until his father’s face appeared at the other end of the couch.

“You are okay?” he asked gently.

“Oui.”

“Good, then come quickly. You need to pack three changes of clothes, you understand? And a few possessions you cannot bear to be without. It all must fit in your school pack, and it cannot be too heavy.”