Beehive (Of Shadows & Secrets #4)

16. Thomas

16

Thomas

W ill dropped his suitcase and flopped onto the bed, his head falling just short of the pillows. Our hotel room was simple, decorated in floral patterns that reminded me of a grandmother’s grandmother. The place smelled like an old woman, too. Thick curtains, woven with bright, almost gaudy flowers, covered a window that looked onto the street.

Aside from a nightstand, there was no other furniture besides a large trunk at the foot of the bed. I started to make a joke about Uncle Joe furnishing our room, but Will spoke first.

“Oh shit, this mattress is harder than a sidewalk. You’re never going to—”

“ Stopp! ” I snapped. “ Nur Deutsch. ” (Only German.)

Will’s lapse into English was startling.

He knew better.

In all the time we’d spent in France, Switzerland, and Germany, he’d never slipped. Not once. We’d only begun our time in the Soviet sector, and already he’d lowered his guard. Relaxing wasn’t stupid. For those in our profession, it could prove deadly.

“ Sie haben recht .” (You’re right.)

He lowered his head, and my heart sank with his mood.

Continuing in German, I reached down and stroked his hair. “I’m trained to protect you, remember? I could sleep standing up if I had to.”

He looked up and gave me a hint of the smile I loved more than life, then propped onto his elbows. “Should we . . .” He made an exaggerated motion around the room with his eyes, the universal spy gesture for “let’s search for listening devices.”

“Sure,” I said, stepping to the nightstand and unscrewing the bolt that held the shade.

Will began with the bedframe, a solid, aging piece of wood fashioned into a sleigh.

The lamp was clean. I almost had it reassembled when Will grunted. I looked up to find him holding a round metal device the size of a button. A tiny, squiggly wire poked out of its top.

His brows lifted as our gazes met.

“I’m going to take a shower, wash off some of the city.” I spoke a little louder than we might normally talk in such a small room, then padded into the adjoining bathroom and turned on the water in both the sink and the shower. Will continued removing tiny decorative screw covers, checking for additional devices. As the water ran, I created a grid throughout the bathroom and set to work.

A quarter hour later, I shut off the water and held up another bug for Will to see. It had been inserted inside the handle of the sink. Clever little Reds.

Will held up his second discovery.

I closed my eyes and sighed.

By the time an hour passed, we’d found four bugs.

Four.

In our hotel room.

A scraping sound drew my attention toward the door. Someone had slid a sealed envelope through the massive crack near the floor. Will sat back on the bed and shrugged at me, then glanced back toward the floor where the envelope lay.

“This is beginning to happen a lot to us,” I quipped, lifting the envelope, then tearing it open. Inside was a single page with handwritten script, as well as three sheets of blank paper and a pencil the size of my pinky. I read the note, then passed it to Will.

Omaha. Alpha. Remember Vend?me.

Our uncle hears well.

M

“I need a smoke,” I said, handing the note to Will.

He cocked his head, then followed my eyes to the scrawl and nodded.

We left the bugs where the Russians could listen to silence and made our way downstairs. Antonov was nowhere to be seen, so we crept down two more flights, past the reception desk, and out the front door. A pair of soldiers stood on either side of the entrance. A bored expression filled their eyes.

Stepping a dozen yards from the door, I leaned casually against a tree and lit a cigarette. Will followed and sat on a nearby stoop.

I squatted so we were eye level and whispered, “Manakin was right. They’re all over this place.”

Will nodded. “Wish we could find a safe house. I don’t like the idea of spending five minutes under that roof.”

I let my head fall back against the tree’s rough bark. “Yeah, I know, but leaving would raise too much suspicion. We’re their guests, remember?”

“Yeah, guests. Right.”

“Alpha is midnight. Omaha is Meeting Point One. What do you think the Vend?me reference means?”

Will stared into the darkness across the street. “It’s got to be the signal. Red scarf again?”

“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 must always match. 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 you can see 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—

“You’re in your head again,” Will said, lifting his cup to his mouth and taking a sip. “Get out of there. We’ll sort it out.”

“You think you know me,” I teased before glancing at my watch. “We have another hour. What do you think we should do?”

Will reached for another scone and held it up. “I’m content hanging out here a while. These things are ridiculous.”

As he lifted the crumbly treat to his mouth, the bells attached to the shop’s front door tinkled, and MGB Captain Matvey Antonov appeared in the doorway.