SIXTY-EIGHT
Court arrived at the safe house just after Zoya and Annika, who had been out unsuccessfully hunting for Spangler. The German former Stasi official wasn’t returning Annika’s texts or calls, his house was empty, and it looked to the women as if he’d left in a hurry.
Spangler, it was clear enough to all, had gotten the hell out of Berlin.
Annika Dittenhofer was shuffled limping into the Suburban with Teddy and Greer, and she immediately informed them she wanted them to take her to Chausseestrasse, the headquarters of German federal intelligence.
At this Teddy laughed a little, and Greer, who now sat in the back with Dittenhofer, politely but firmly explained that she had not, in fact, climbed into a taxi, and she’d be taken where she’d be taken, and neither of the men wanted to listen to any lip about it.
She puffed up her chest in a show of defiance, but a look from Teddy through the rearview at her convinced her to drop her protest.
The Americans had her now.
In the little flat on the third floor of the apartment building, Zoya checked Court’s bandage on his arm and decided to re-dress it with clean wrapping. While she did this he told her about his conversation with Hanley. He wrapped it up with, “So, he knows you are here, and he wants you to come tonight. Personally, I think—”
“Personally,” she interjected, “I think it’s the right idea.”
“Right. Me, too, of course.” Court wasn’t going to argue with her. He knew where that would lead. Instead he looked at his watch. “It’s almost two. Hanley wants us back at Tegel at seven.”
She looked him over, touched her hand to his forehead, and asked him how he felt.
“I’m okay.”
“You don’t seem to have a fever, but your skin feels clammy. Your shoulder and arm have to be hurting from everything that happened at the factory last night.”
“I’m on painkillers.”
She nodded, then said, “Will you be on painkillers tonight?” There was no judgment in her voice.
“Of course not. I will keep them handy for whatever happens afterwards, though. Got a funny feeling I’ll be needing them.”
It was clear she didn’t like the way he looked. “When was the last time you slept?” Zoya asked, and Court thought it over.
“Thirty hours, give or take.”
“Come here,” she said, and led him into the bathroom. Together they lay down on the bedding and clothing piled there. With barely enough room for both of them in the small space, they wrapped their arms around each other.
He moved to kiss her, and she kissed him back, but only for a moment.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Zack will be back soon. You need to rest.”
He couldn’t hide his disappointment.
“You’re ill, you’re wounded, you haven’t slept in a day and a half, and you need opioids and speed in order to function. You sleep, I’ll watch over you, and when Hightower gets here, I’ll see that he doesn’t disturb you.”
Court didn’t like this agenda. “I’m fine, Z.”
“You are the opposite of fine. Hanley runs us all like rented mules, but you’re the rented mule that goes off on his own and does other jobs.” She sighed. “You’re so . . .”
When she couldn’t find the words, Court smiled. “Relentless?”
But Zoya shook her head. “I was going to say ‘crazy.’”
“Right.”
“Go to sleep.”
She wrapped her arms around him tighter, and he fell asleep within minutes.
Court woke with his face planted in Zoya’s thick hair. These were unfamiliar surroundings, to be sure, but it filled him with a sense of calm.
He realized with a sudden clarity that nothing on his body hurt.
All the pain, all the death, the danger, it had all been washed away, even if for just a few hours, and even if it wouldn’t last long after waking.
He’d take it.
He’d spent countless nights in the past year thinking about Zoya, thinking about being with her, waking with his arms tight around her. It was happening, and he told himself everything else would have to wait.
He was going to enjoy this a minute.
He liked the feeling of her stirring in his embrace as she slowly woke, lifted her head, and looked around, almost childlike. He could tell she was in unfamiliar territory, as well. He was behind her, and soon she put her hands on his forearm over her body and squeezed it.
Her voice was raspy. “Hi.”
“Dobroye utro.” Good morning, Court replied in Russian.
She checked her watch, then rested her head on his shoulder and giggled. “It’s six fifteen p.m. I see sleep doesn’t do anything to improve your Russian.”
“And sleep doesn’t do anything to curb your sarcasm.”
They lay silently together a moment; Court tried to think of something to say, but Zoya spoke first.
“How are you feeling?”
“Never better.”
She sniffed out a little laugh. “On a bathroom floor sleeping on your underwear. That doesn’t say much for your life, does it?”
He laughed, too. “Right now, I’ve got no complaints.”
The door to the bedroom opened with a squeak. Both Zoya and Court grabbed their pistols, but before they could peek through the bathroom door, they heard Zack’s voice.
“Get your lazy asses up. An afternoon nap? What do you think this is? A Caribbean cruise?” When Court pushed open the door and squinted into the daylight, Zack looked at him and Zoya interlaced on the bathroom floor. “You two nutters are perfect for each other.” He turned to leave the room. “On your feet. You need to be showered, dressed, and downstairs in thirty. Teddy will take us to Hanley, then we’ll transfer vics and drive Hanley to the event ourselves.”
His voice boomed, full of fake levity. “We’re goin’ to a party, y’all. Don’t mind the fucking terrorists. Won’t this be fun?”