Page 45 of Beehive
“Good call. But . . . did you even bring the scarf?”
His face scrunched so hard I thought he might be passing a turd. “Wilhelm,” he said, painting on a pained expression and remembering to stay in character. “How many times do I have to tell you? One mustalwaysmatch. At the very least, one must coordinate.”
Despite everything, I chuckled. “How careless of me. Of course, you did.”
“We’ve been out here long enough. Let’s go get some sleep. Should we put their little babies back where we found them?”
“No need to let the Reds know we know what they know.” I nodded. “Come on, my little fashionista. Let’s get some sleep. I have a feeling this might be the most rest we get for a while.”
The next morning, we woke to the roar of a Russian caravan composed of tanks and heavily armored vehicles. They were a couple blocks away, but their engines were loud enough to wake the dead.
I blinked awake.
My mind raced, trying to calculate how many men and machines roamed the streets so close to where we lay.
“Think they’re coming or going?”
I rolled onto my side and propped my head on an elbow. Will’s hair sprouted in all directions. His eyes looked as bleary as mine felt.
I couldn’t imagine anything better to wake to.
“Neither, probably,” I said. “Probably just a patrol or show of force to the locals, something like that.”
Will grunted something unintelligible. His eyes fluttered shut, so I watched him sleep for a moment. A bellow reminiscent of rifle fire jolted him awake.
“Easy,” I said, brushing hair off his forehead. “No shots. Just an angry engine backfiring.”
He rubbed his eyes and yawned. “We should probably get started anyway. What time are we meeting the good captain?”
“Ten o’clock.”
“Time for something to eat? I could use a whole pot of coffee.”
I reached out and mussed his hair, then cupped his cheek. We had no idea what we sought behind Soviet lines, but I couldn’t stop the swelling in my chest when Will smiled at me. Anywhere, anytime, under any circumstance, the man could make me weak. How had the Fates graced my life with him? What had I done to deserve such love?
Will, still groggy and oblivious to my internal musings, freed his cheek from my palm and staggered into the bathroom. I lay back on the bed and stared into the ceiling.
We showered and headed downstairs.
A prim woman seated behind the reception desk directed us to a nearby café and recommended the scones. Her smile was genuine. She even reached out and touched Will’s hand when he laid it on the counter, a very un-Soviet gesture, I thought.
Unlike most places in Paris, the café had no patio from which to watch passersby, so Will and I sat indoors next to a large window that looked recently replaced. Steaming coffee arrived,followed by a plate of the recommended pastries. Will moaned as he took his first bite. For a brief moment, it felt as though we were back home, not on a mission behind not-so-Allied lines.
Then I spotted a man in a suit across the street. He was leaning against a building and smoking a cigarette. Neither his indifference nor his relaxed posture were unconvincing.
Then I found a second man halfway up the block pretending to read a newspaper.
“We have tails,” I whispered into my coffee as it nearly reached my lips.
Will shrugged and tossed back another bite. “Why do you sound surprised?”
“I’m more surprised at how sloppy they are. A blind man could pick them out. They look like they came straight from Hollywood’s central casting.”
“The ones youcansee aren’t the ones who bother me,” Will said, reminding me of our training.
Of course, there would be others peering through windows or slouched in cars. They were probably drinking coffee and munching pastries, too, wishing something would happen to break up their boredom. With all the assets they had in the sector, they could probably surround us with dozens of agents and never lose our trail.
That thought was sickening. How were we supposed to—
