Page 24 of Beehive

Will blew out a breath. “A little harsh, don’t you think?”

“Ask the Pols,” Loon said, her voice retaining the warmth of an ice cube. “They share no freedom, no liberty. Their vote is irrelevant. Theirvoiceis irrelevant. Soviet troops occupy their lands and require their compliance. Polish farmers feed Soviet troops and work in factories to resupply their arms. Does any of that sound different to you?”

“They aren’t killing Jews,” I said, unsure why I felt the need to defend the Soviets.

Loon cocked one brow and turned toward Manakin.

The older man crossed his arms. “I can neither confirm nor deny intelligence of such actions, but rest assured, their hands are not as clean as you may believe.”

I held up my palms. “I’m not a sympathizer. Stalin’s vile. I just haven’t seen—”

“No, you haven’t, but that doesn’t mean it hasn’t happened,” Loon snapped. “Manakin, please get to it before I lose my sparkling personality.”

For a brief instant, I thought she’d told a joke; then she glared across the table, and I knew there was no jest in her words.

Manakin sighed. “The Soviets control a significant portion of Berlin. The French, Brits, and US run the rest. On the surface, the four nations work together to ensure the rebuilding of Germany without Nazi sympathies returning to the fore.”

“Beneath the surface?” I asked.

“The Soviets have turned hostile to all other powers. They control their sector, ruling with Stalin’s iron fist and keeping virtually everyone out of their zone. Most of our agents have been expelled, chased out, or killed.”

“Killed?” Will leaned forward, his eyes wide.

Manakin shrugged. “The agents met withunfortunateaccidents. The Soviets claim they merely found them in . . . how did they put it? ‘An unrecoverable state.’ They were kind enough to return the bodies.”

“Jesus,” I breathed. Will sat back and clamped his mouth shut.

“Our network in their sector is fractured but has not been fully eliminated; otherwise, we would not know what I am about to tell you.” Manakin flipped through a couple of pages, then looked up. “Over the past four weeks, the MGB has flooded Berlin with operatives.”

“By flooded—”

“Over a hundred arrived through every route imaginable within days of each other.”

Will whistled.

“Our assets have vanished, either captured, killed, or frightened into hiding or silence. The MGB is shaking down every shop owner, barkeep, policeman, you name it. They have ransacked countless houses and apartments and virtuallydestroyed offices of major businesses. In short, they are searching for something, something they want so badly they are no longer hiding their actions. The Soviets are many things; subtle has never been one of them. However, we have never seen them behave so overtly . . . desperate.”

“And you have no idea what they’re looking for?” I asked.

Manakin’s smile was sardonic. He shook his head. “All we have heard is a name.The Keeper.We do not know if that is a goalkeeper in a game, a zookeeper, or a code name as unrelated to the term as your bird monikers.”

“So, you want us to go in and find out what has the bees buzzing?” Will asked.

Manakin nodded.

“How the hell are we supposed to do that without any clues? Where would we even begin? And what possible cover would fool the whole MGB at their own party?” I sat back and mirrored Manakin’s crossed arms.

Arty, who hadn’t spoken since we’d mussed his hair, coughed into his balled fist. “Will studied art history. His cover will be as an art conservationist searching for Jewish artifacts to repatriate. You will be his bodyguard. No one visiting the sector travels without one.”

“Why art?” Will sounded incredulous.

Manakin pulled an aerial photo of Berlin from his folder and slid it across the table. Red markings littered the black-and-white images. “The red indicates MGB actions within the past week, those our assets noted, at least. I am sure there were many more we are unaware of.”

I lifted the page and stared. Red dots clustered like wildfires, flaring at various points throughout the devastated urban sprawl.

“They’re so clustered, like they found something and decided to swarm a location,” I said, thinking aloud more than engaging the others.

“What are those places?” Will asked, leaning across Arty to stare at the page in my hand.

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