Beehive (Of Shadows & Secrets #4)

14. Thomas

14

Thomas

Present Day

T he briefing took hours.

Throughout our time in London, then Paris, Will and I had continued to hone our language skills. The French resistance was rich with those who’d been forced to learn other tongues, and we rarely lacked partners with which to practice. My Russian was decent, and both our German was solid enough to pass as locals, at least to Russian invaders who didn’t truly know the difference.

Around two in the morning, Manakin released a yawn that rivaled a lion’s roar.

“I believe we are done for the night,” he said. “Let’s resume at nine o’clock, hopefully with coffee and a bite of breakfast. Don’t keep your reunion going too late. Tomorrow will come sooner than any of us would like.”

Loon barely glanced in our direction as she stood and followed Manakin up the stairs.

“She’s a frigid one,” Will muttered.

“Shh,” Arty hissed. “She probably heard that.”

Will shrugged. “Someone needs to tell her. She could give an icicle a run for its money.”

I chuckled, enjoying the sight of Will and his dearest friend bantering like days of old. The war had stolen so much from the world, so much from each of us, and now the Soviets posed a rising threat to the world’s fragile peace. Why nations and their leaders couldn’t simply focus on their own people, their own welfare, and let everyone else simply be was beyond me.

I tried to watch Will and Arty tease and cajole, to simply enjoy the beauty of their reunion, but the mission before us chilled whatever warmth tried to bloom in my heart. The coming days—or however long we’d remain within Stalin’s portion of Berlin—would be fraught with dangers we’d only begun to discuss.

Will and I had survived the city one time before, but we’d been under the cover of an internationally recognized group with an entourage of prominent dignitaries. The Nazis, no doubt, wondered if each of us was who we claimed. Spies were almost as prevalent as soldiers back then. As harrowing as those days had been, our fear of the Nazis was straightforward. They wanted to shoot their way into dominance. They didn’t hide behind cloaks or shadows. They rolled their tanks across borders and brazenly pointed guns.

The Soviets? Sure, they’d fought their share of battles, but most of those were under the pretense of helping the rest of the world beat back the tyrannical threats of Hitler and his Axis posse. It was only after the threat of the Nazis was quelled that Stalin’s true aims of a broader Soviet reach came to light.

We might’ve walked into the lion’s den before, but that was no preparation for wrestling with the Soviet bear. I wanted to be confident, to show Will and everyone else that we could take on the world and win, no matter what; but the success of our coming mission was far from certain.

The Soviet state was brutal in its efficiency, at least where spies and perceived enemies were concerned. If they caught us sneaking about, we’d receive bullets for our troubles, and there would be nothing Washington or anyone else could do about it.

God, I needed another drink. Or sleep. Or both.

Will laughed at something Arty had said. I’d been too lost in thought to hear it. The pair of them was practically doubled over, and Will had a tear trickling down one cheek.

It was heartening to see that the war and this new conflict we faced hadn’t robbed us of our most prized possession, our friendship. Seeing Arty smile and hearing Will laugh tore the worry from my grasp, if only for a moment.

Will made another smart-ass remark, something about Arty’s squeaky voice and Elizabeth’s endless patience. A smile found its way to my lips as Arty shoved Will’s shoulder and nearly knocked my half-drunk partner off his chair.

How could anyone not love Arty?

He was the nerdiest, smartest, funniest guy I’d ever met. His smile was infectious, and his laugh was even more so. In many ways, he was the glue that held our little found family together.

He was also the boy who would never age.

In college, he appeared no older than a freshman in high school, and was often teased about his boyish features. Now, at the ripe old age of twenty-seven, tufts of gray poked through the wiry black on his head. Each of us had aged, in our own ways, though his were more visible than the war’s lingering touch on Will and me.

I supposed that was the way of things. Everyone aged. Still, a part of me was saddened to see adulthood overtaking Arty’s perpetual youth. He deserved to stay young forever.

We all did.

“I would love to sit up all night,” Arty said, stretching his arms over his head like some cat about to settle into a warm blanket. “But I’m exhausted, and you two have to invade the Soviet Union tomorrow. We should get some sleep.”

Will hopped up, grabbed Arty beneath his armpits, and hauled him up into a tight hug, lifting the scrawny man off his feet.

“I missed you, Arty bug.” Will’s voice was muffled against Arty’s shoulder, but there was no mistaking the affection between them. Arty scowled at first, then a smile bloomed, then his features eased and he surrendered to Will’s embrace.

“God, I missed you, Will. I wish we could just go home.”

My heart swelled.

When they pulled apart, Arty looked toward me. “There’s a bed in the room through that door. I’m upstairs, above the dining room. If you need anything—”

“There’s not enough time to need anything,” I said, reaching out and pulling Arty into a hug of my own. “But thanks. It’s good to see you again, Arty.”

I was surprised at how tightly he clung to me.

We’d been friends through Will, more in-laws than direct relatives. His unbridled affection flowed into me, filling me with a warmth I hadn’t felt in far too long: the warmth of family.

“Bring him home safe, okay?” Arty whispered in my ear before stepping back, his eyes glistening.

My throat caught. “I’ll do my best, buddy.”

Moments later, Will and I sat on the edge of a creaky bed in a room whose walls were lined with wooden crates. A few bore markings in French. I was fairly certain they contained something other than bottles of wine as described on the outside but wasn’t curious enough to root around inside them. The postwar resistance had clearly not given up their mission of arming and protecting France, despite the fall of the German Reich.

“You sleepy?” Will asked.

“A little,” I said, reaching over and rubbing circles on his back. “Tomorrow’s going to be a long day.”

“It’s already tomorrow.”

I grunted. “Yeah, so it is.”

“What do you think about all this?” he asked, standing and unbuttoning his shirt.

“I don’t know what to think. Clearly, the Ruskies are agitated about something. They’re flooding the zone over it. What I can’t figure out is why our agents haven’t been able to identify what they’re hunting. Our guys are good, and they’re deeply embedded.”

Will tossed his shirt on a chair scooted beneath the desk and began fiddling with the button on his pants. “It’s almost . . . I don’t know. It feels like they don’t know what they’re looking for.”

I sat upright. “Okay, I’m listening. How so?”

He stepped out of one leg, then the other, turning to face me in nothing but his tighty-whities. “It’s like you said; our guys are good. They picked up on ‘the Keeper,’ whatever that means. It just seems like we should know more.” His brow furrowed. “What if we do know more? What if Manakin isn’t telling us everything?”

“Babe, you’re jumping at shadows.” I took his hand and pulled him onto the bed beside me. “I’m sure Manakin told us what he knows—or, at least, what he can.”

“Exactly.” Will poked a finger into my chest. “What he can, not what he knows. I don’t like going behind enemy lines based on what someone is allowed to tell us. I want to know everything we can before we risk our lives. This whole thing makes me itch.”

“That’s why you have me.”

“Huh?”

I grabbed him and pulled him in to me, then started scratching his back in a most exaggerated way. “You itch. I scratch. We’re perfect.”

He snorted and shoved me away. “I’m being serious.”

“So am I.” I propped myself up on one elbow. “Manakin is telling us what he can. If it’s not everything, we have to trust there’s a reason for that. Our job is to use what we have to accomplish the mission, not worry about whatever we don’t know.”

When he stared silently at the ceiling, I added, “Besides, you might be right. Maybe the Soviets don’t even know what they’re looking for. Maybe all they have is ‘the Keeper,’ just like us.”

He grunted again but didn’t turn away from his staring contest with the ceiling.

I reached over and traced the line of his chest with my finger.

The only light in the storeroom-turned-bedroom was a small lamp on the desk. In the dim glow, Will’s chest was more shadow than skin. Something about the way the light hit him was even more alluring than if he’d been streaking through the yard at noon.

His body shivered when my fingertip scraped over his nipple.

“Somebody’s sensitive tonight.” My voice held a grin.

“Hello, I’m trying to work here.”

I pinched his nipple, and he jerked.

“Ow!”

I leaned over and bit it.

“Thomas!”

My hand shot down beneath his undies and gripped him. He was soft and thoroughly wrinkled but pulsed beneath my palm.

“Wakey, wakey,” I singsonged.

I expected him to protest, to insist we remain serious and focused on our mission; but instead, he lifted his arms and propped them behind his head. It was the last thing he did before my lips smothered his, and my hand stroked all the worry out of his stiffening erection.