Page 39 of Skotos
The man blanched, then blinked, then let his eyes dart to the Baroness, then to Will.
Will pressed, “This could hold great international importance. Why bring it here, to the Baroness, rather than maintain the secrecy your superiors demanded?”
Vogel reached up and tugged at his collar as though the fabric was trying to strangle him, then ran a hand over his now-sweaty head.
Then he glanced at the Baroness, a look of pleading filling his features.
“Inspector Vogel, you may leave us now,” the Baroness said, her tone not unkind but a clear command.
Once Vogel vanished and the door was again closed behind him, the Baroness turned to us, lifted her delicate coffee cup, and took a sip—all while peering between us over the rim. “I play a certain role in service to my country, much like the two of you, only . . . a bit more, how should I say . . . strategic? Yes, that is a good word for it. Shall we leave that question there?”
Will gave me a sideways glance, his brow furrowed, then slowly turned back to our hostess and inclined his head, “Of course, Baroness.”
He then turned his empty teacup in his hands. “This doesn’t make any sense. Why would a casing like that be found here? There haven’t been any attacks on Swiss soil.”
“Maybe it was left during a failed attempt,” I said, rising to pace again. “Someone fled before they could take the shot. Maybe it was a surveillance op gone wrong? Or perhaps they shot and missed so badly no one knew a shot was ever fired?”
“Or training,” Will added. “Lugano is a fairly small, secluded airfield, a place they could run weapons drills or recon for a future strike.”
“And it is near the Italian border,” the Baroness said. “Perhaps this was training for that operation.”
“Maybe.” I frowned. “The Italian hit was an explosion, not a rifle shot. Why would they practice long-range weaponry when they were planning to use an explosive ordnance for the job?”
“Backup plan, in case the bomb didn’t go off or take out the target?” Will suggested.
“Another thing . . . this doesn’t feel Soviet,” I said without thinking. “They aren’t this sloppy, and that spear isn’t anything I’ve seen in Russian history.”
The Baroness lowered her cup. “Russian history is fraught with one invader, conflict, or revolution after another. The spear could be a nod to the Mongol or Chinese or even Tibet, for all we know.”
Will snorted. “Tibetan monks assassinating world leaders. There’s a twist no one would see coming.”
The Baroness offered a wry smile, her eyes sparkling, as she lifted her cup to her lips once more.
Nothing made sense.
It wasn’t as though our enemy was declaring themselves or begging to be discovered. If that was their goal, they would send a much clearer message or publicly claim responsibility. That casing was left behind incidentally, by accident, not for us to find. I was sure of that. So what did it mean?
“We need flight records from the past week. Private aircraft, government transports—anything that came through unlisted or left at odd hours. Who flew into or out of that airport, especially those ofprominence or with global status? Elected leaders, royalty, hell, I wouldn’t rule out business leaders at this point. None have been killed, but it feels as though we’re in the early innings of this game.” I sat back in my chair rubbed the side of my face. “And we’ll need to know who is planning to come to Bern in the next few weeks. If Will’s practice theory holds up, they could be planning a future hit on someone who isn’t here yet.”
“Travel itineraries of world leaders are . . . challenging to acquire,” the Baroness said, her fingernail tapping against porcelain. “I will see what can be done.”
“And,” I continued as though she hadn’t just spoken, “if someone came in through Lugano or Geneva and slipped away without customs flagging them, that could be our thread. We need to know everything . . . yesterday.”
I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to remember the days when we simply enjoyed our life in Paris. Without thinking, I reached across and took Will’s hand, needing his comfort, his touch, more than anything else in that moment. He squeezed back, and the angst roiling in my chest settled, if only a little.
The Baroness pressed her fingertips together. Her face had grown tight, less amused, her usual ease replaced with a flicker of disquiet.
“You think Bern might be next?” she asked, voice lower.
“It’s not out of the question,” I said as gently as the implication allowed. “Three leaders. Three different nations. All West-leaning. All gone. We need to consider who else is vulnerable. The next target could be another Swiss leader, another member of your ruling council, or it could be some other leader visiting the world’s diplomatic capital.”
“We need a secure line to the States. There’s no time for diplomatic pouches and long flights,” Will said. “Manakin needs to know what we’ve found. He might have guidance from overnight intel gathered in Rome.”
I nodded. “Baroness, is the line in the tower secure?”
She snorted, her first hint at humor since breakfast was served. “Oh, my boy, it is more secure than those in your White House. You may take me at my word on that.”
God, I loved that woman.
