CHAPTER 67
Cassiopeia led Cotton outside into the bright afternoon. They strolled back down a shaded lane, toward the car park and her castle construction site.
“When finished,” she told him, “a thirteenth-century castle will stand exactly as it did seven hundred years ago.”
“Quite an endeavor.”
They entered the construction site through a broad wooden gate and strolled into what appeared to be a barn with sandstone walls that housed a modern reception center. Beyond loomed the smell of dust, horses, and debris where a hundred or so people milled about.
“The entire foundation for the perimeter has been laid and the west curtain wall is coming along,” she said, pointing.
“We’re about to start the corner towers and central buildings.
But it takes time. We have to fashion the bricks, stone, wood, and mortar precisely as was done seven hundred years ago, using the same methods and tools, even wearing the same clothes. ”
“Do they eat the same food?”
She smiled. “We do make some modern accommodations.”
She led him through the construction area and up the slope of a steep hill to a modest promontory, where everything could be clearly seen.
“I come here often. One hundred and twenty men and women are employed down there full-time.”
“Quite a payroll.”
“A small price to pay for history to be seen.”
“Your nickname, Ingénieur. Is that what they call you? Engineer?”
“The staff gave me that name. I am trained in medieval building techniques. I have designed this entire project.”
“You know, on the one hand, you’re quite arrogant. On the other, you can be rather interesting.”
“I realize my comment at lunch, about what happened with Henrik’s son, was inappropriate. Why didn’t you strike back?”
“For what? You didn’t know what the hell you were talking about.”
“I’ll try not to make any more judgments.”
He chuckled. “I doubt that, and I’m not that sensitive. I long ago developed a lizard skin. You have to in order to survive in the intelligence business.”
“But you’re retired.”
“You never really quit. You just stay out of the line of fire more often than not.”
“So you’re helping Stephanie Nelle simply as a friend?”
“Shocking, isn’t it?”
“Not at all. In fact, it’s entirely consistent with your personality.”
Now he was curious. “How do you know about my personality?”
“Once Henrik asked me to be involved, I learned a great deal about you. I have friends in your former profession. They all spoke highly of you.”
“Glad to know folks remember.”
“Do you know much about me?” she asked.
“Just the thumbnail sketch.”
“I have many peculiarities.”
He stared down at the construction site. “The sign out front said it’ll take thirty years to finish.”
“Easily.”
She was right.
She did possess many peculiarities.
That day in France, a few years ago, always remained in her thoughts. Then, she and Cotton had not been close. In fact, they’d been extremely antagonistic toward each other. It had taken time and a lot more close calls for them to even like each other, much less love.
But they’d accomplished that.
For the past hour she’d tried hard to keep her thoughts to herself, but her face had betrayed the troubling emotions that had bubbled below the surface.
She’d never really thought about a future that did not include Cotton.
But what had just happened in the air over the Baltic had brought that awful possibility into sharp focus.
And she did not like it. The prime minister had left the communications center.
Not happy.
“Okay, it’s just you and me,” she said to Stephanie.
The computer monitor, which had served as their eye to the world, now blank.
“I asked you earlier if you had any idea how the Russians knew to be there. You said that was a question for later. It’s later.”
“We baited a trap,” Stephanie said.
“I know. I was part of that bait.”
“No. There was more. When we let it be known where the codex was taken, we also let it be known how it was leaving the country.”
“You put Ivan and the codex on that plane to draw them straight to it?”
“We put him on that plane to draw out a traitor. Koger needed to find out who. Now we know.”
She was shocked. “Cotton agreed to that?”
Stephanie nodded. “I know he didn’t tell you. That was on my order.”
“Nice try. He chose not to tell me.”
“Can you blame him? It was better you didn’t know. You going along with him might have raised unnecessary questions. And by the way, we could have been wrong about a leak and nothing could have happened. No fighter jets would have been sent.”
“But you weren’t wrong.”
She and Cotton had a rough patch a while back, even breaking up for a short time. But when they made up and reconnected, they’d agreed to no more secrets. None. Yet here was one.
A big one.
“Cut him some slack,” Stephanie said. “You would have done the same thing.”
Yes, she definitely would have. But that was irrelevant. “Who’s the spy?”
“That’s what you and I are about to deal with.”