Thirty-Four
Camp Peary, Virginia
While the others hurried around the lodge in silence, preparing for their trek out in Traumstadt, Klaudia stared at the still-flickering
television in the great room until her eyes burned. As if she might somehow be able to force it to give up the rest of its
secrets.
Despite Deckard’s admonishment, she had continued to view this mission as a game. But what was the prize? Increasingly, it
felt like one she didn’t want to win. Maybe it was less a game than a stage play, the four of them puppets jerked along by
Deckard’s strings. Or a test of something—but she still didn’t know what.
Julian and Crispin left the lodge quickly, and without another word. Once they were gone, Klaudia glanced around the great
room, trying to see where Julian might have left his enigmatic message, but then Nadiya appeared at the edge of the mezzanine.
Leaning over the railing, she beckoned Klaudia upstairs.
Klaudia climbed the stairs and followed Nadiya into their room. Giselle was standing beside Klaudia’s bed, a scrap of paper
in her hand. She made a gesture to indicate it had been left on her pillow. She handed the note to Klaudia.
It was in Julian’s handwriting—a neat and formal cursive, perhaps the result of a rigid, traditional private school education.
Klaudia—
Play the Archangel Variation this time, sweetheart.
Nadiya and Giselle both regarded her with confused frowns. Klaudia read the words again, and on the second pass their meaning lifted from the page. A riddle of his own, a clever one. She brushed her thumb idly over the word sweetheart and hoped the flush rising to her face didn’t show.
Downstairs, Klaudia studied the map of Traumstadt, letters and numbers dancing in her mind. If she had Giselle’s talents,
she would have been able to match them up in a heartbeat. As it was, it took her almost a full minute.
The secret was all in the black-and-white grid of the chessboard. Julian’s favorite opening, the Ruy López, had several established
counters. The one she had played, the Berlin Defense, was the most standard, but the Archangel Variation was also acceptable.
In chess notation, where the movement of each piece was recorded as a set of letters and numbers, such established lines had
codes that every player memorized.
It was like a cipher. The notation for the Archangel Variation corresponded with geographic coordinates. Klaudia’s eyes quickly
found the location Julian had chosen. She folded up the map and tucked it under her arm.
She should have thrown out the note he left her, torn it up and tossed it into the fire, just to be safe. But some inexplicable
sentiment moved Klaudia to slip it into her pocket instead. Then she led Nadiya and Giselle out of the lodge, into the cold
that felt less artificial by the moment.
They found Julian precisely where the note had led them: a small clearing on the outskirts of Traumstadt, enclosed by a circle
of pine trees. Crispin was with him; Klaudia could tell by the footprints in the snow that they had both been pacing.
When he saw Klaudia, Julian smiled. “That didn’t take long.”
“I would never play the Archangel Variation, for the record. It’s too ostentatious.”
“Chess is half showmanship, Klaudia. But I suppose you’re not a Romantic.”
Klaudia was glad that now the cold could account for the color in her cheeks. Romantic chess referred to a historic era of
play that prioritized winning with style over winning, period. Julian’s approach. Not hers.
“Stop flirting,” Nadiya said. “We have a German scientist to rescue.”
Klaudia’s stomach fluttered.
“If this is really about Satow . . . ,” Giselle began slowly, “well, it’s not that I don’t trust you—but if we’re supposed
to rescue him, what does the cube have to do with anything?”
“I think it’s a stand-in,” said Klaudia. “Deckard would rather have us extract an object than a human being. It’s one less
hologram to program; it’s neater. And it kept the purpose of the mission a mystery until we were able to figure out the code.”
But even as she spoke the words, Klaudia wasn’t sure she believed them. Would Deckard really have used a stand-in because
it was neater? And was she misleading the others by even suggesting it? So many questions, and not even an inelegant solution. At least,
not yet.
“So we break into Satow’s house,” said Julian. “Get the cube. Get out. Simple enough.”
“Simple,” Nadiya echoed, “but not easy. We’ll have to case the building. Determine our entries and exits. Time the mission
down to the minute. How many people live there? When do they leave and when do they come back—if at all? What are the security
measures? Is it a mechanical lock, or an electric one? Is there a numerical code? A biometric reader? A—”
“All right, all right,” Julian said. “You’re the tactician. You lead the mission.”
“I’m not a leader,” said Nadiya. She looked at Klaudia.
Klaudia wished she felt a sense of pride, achievement—but all that filled her was dread. “I’ll trust your expertise when it
comes to the technical details. But . . .”
A sudden wind picked up, rustling the branches of the pine trees and shaking down the snow. She tried not to take it as a
sign. Maybe they weren’t technically being bugged, and maybe Crispin really was there to help them, but surely Deckard had
a way of listening wherever they went. And with the tunnels running underneath, he could have planted surveillance devices
anywhere, out of sight. She wondered idly where Julian’s seemingly sudden but implicit and total trust in Crispin had come
from. And she wondered why she had suddenly found it so easy to trust Julian.
“The solution to the puzzle may not be in the clues Deckard left around Traumstadt,” Klaudia went on carefully. “We have to
think about why each of us has been chosen. Of all the students at Valeran, of all the officers the CIA already has in its
employ—why us?”
Nadiya, Julian, and Giselle exchanged glances. Julian spoke first, and said, “The reason why you’re here is obvious.”
Was it? To Klaudia’s mind, Deckard had been twee when he said that Henry V was about loyalty. That was the facile, English-teacher-approved answer. The play was about more than camaraderie; it was
about nationalism. That speech was intended to rouse English youth to take up arms against the French, to compel peasants
to fight the wars of kings.
Deckard’s riddle had always been meant for her. He was prodding at her patriotism, testing its margins and limits. It was why he had made her destroy Lenin’s statue. A challenge and a taunt. Having a Russian-born agent was an inherent risk, no matter what Klaudia’s passport now read.
“I don’t think it’s so obvious,” she said. “There are plenty of other Russian speakers Deckard could have conscripted.”
“But there’s no one else like you,” Julian said.
Klaudia’s cheeks warmed again. “Let’s say, for the moment, that’s true: Deckard wanted a Russian speaker and a strategist. Fair enough. Then what about the rest of you? What makes you so essential for this particular mission?”
They were leading questions. Klaudia already had her own suspicions. But this was a test of her hypothesis. If her theories
were reasonable, rational, the others would naturally come to the same conclusions.
“We know it has something to do with Giselle’s memory,” said Nadiya. “Back at Valeran, Professor Blanchard was running tests
on her. He and Dr. Iver both kept saying that she was important. That no one else in the world can do what she can do.”
Giselle dropped her gaze to the ground. “I’m still not sure how much I can help.”
“You already have helped,” Klaudia pointed out. “With reconnaissance and code breaking.”
“And who knows what Deckard still has in store for us?” Julian added. “Your memory could turn out to be exactly what we need.”
Giselle grimaced, but she didn’t argue.
“As for Nadiya,” Klaudia said, “there’s always a benefit to having a weapons expert.”
“Except that Deckard didn’t leave us any weapons,” said Nadiya.
“He didn’t leave me my Amex, either,” Julian said.
“But that doesn’t mean you’re not still a billionaire?” Giselle’s brow furrowed.
“Well, actually, depending on what formula you use to calculate net worth—”
“Julian,” Nadiya said, “shut the fuck up.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Klaudia said. “If the CIA wants money, they can have it. They can print it themselves at the Federal
Reserve, if it comes to that. You have something all the money in the world can’t buy. Your name. Your family. And what your
family stands for.”
“That sounds like soft power,” said Julian. “Morgenthau wouldn’t approve.”
Klaudia gave him a withering look. “Don’t pretend you’ve read Morgenthau.”
“I’ve read . . . some of him.”
“Think about what was included in your file,” Klaudia continued. “A family tree. A history of the positions held by your ancestors
and relatives. You represent the spirit of American supremacy. Call it soft power if you want, but there’s always an element
of spectacle to international relations. Our enemies have to believe we can make good on our threats.”
“No offense,” said Nadiya, “but I don’t think the USSR is going to be deterred by a Rolex collection and a wine cellar full
of Dom Pérignon.”
“I’m more of a Macallan man.” Julian inclined his head. “But you have a point. The most important position ever held by a
Joyce-Young is treasury secretary. Currently my claim to fame is impeachment at eighteen. Hard to see that intimidating the politburo.”
“We’re still missing information,” said Klaudia. “I suspect we’ll need to finish the mission before we find out the full truth.
But we have to keep it in mind. Being in the dark is dangerous.”
“Then let’s finish the mission,” Nadiya said. “I’m getting tired of this artificial pine smell. I feel like I’ve been test
driving new cars at the dealership for three days straight.”
Julian and Giselle laughed. Klaudia bit her lip on a smile.