The Orient was empty. So was her glass. They’d stolen Herr Kleinmann Senior’s best whiskey from the library and taken it to the lobby bar. Fernando was perched on a bar stool, spinning. Sterling lay across the counter, head propped up on her hand. Each time he faced her, she booped his nose.
Verena had also delivered a gift from Andreas that hung heavyin her skirt pocket. She withdrew the phone and asked, “How do you send a text message?”
Fernando demonstrated how it could be done in theory, although in practice, messages wouldn’t send inside the Orient. Mr. K blamed thick old walls, the repairmen claimed it was a special EMF-shielding paint, Sterling suspected the Hotel found it tacky.
While Fernando visited the men’s room, she slipped outside. The phone whooshed as bourbon-soaked texts vanished into the ether. A wave of disappointment followed soon after. This wasn’t worth the risk.
After accidentally increasing the phone’s volume, then snapping a photo of the sidewalk, she managed to lock the screen, catching her reflection in the black glass. Seemed a shame to waste such a good hair day.
The phone was cold as a gun in her hand, and she remembered the warning she’d gotten all those years ago and why she’d stayed away from technology since the moment she fled the States to Vienna. The street was silent and freezing. She smashed the phone against the concrete, then tossed it into the trash. She hustled inside and locked up. Like every man in her life had ordered her to do: Stay put. Be quiet. Wait.
The clock ticked past three, the hour hand dragging through the endless wait with the speed of a dull butter knife sawing through shackles.
For the next half hour, she slipped in and out of Room 13 for “another little sip” until she was stumbling and forgot to lock it. When the Hotel’s bell rang, she was delighted to find Harry on the front steps.
“I’m here for a wellness check. Someone claiming to beyousent me atext message,” said Harry.
Sterling bowed, wobbling. “?’Twas indeed I.”
“Did someone have a gun to your head?”
“No. I briefly considered modernizing. Then reconsidered. I wanted to apologize for what happened in your office. I thought you were part of Nightingale.”
“What gave you that idea?” said Harry, closing the door. Her genuine interest in what Sterling said was peculiar, if not unnerving.
“I noticed your cologne on one of their agents, Luisa.”
“Ah, Luisa. She’s a fun time.”
“Another conquest?”
“More or less,” said Harry, strolling into the lobby. Fernando, seated at the bar, rolled his eyes at sight of their guest. Maximilian switched to a sinister tune. Sterling shot the radio a dirty look. Its glowing dial brightened defiantly, and the volume increased. Fernando chuckled.
Sterling played with Harry’s tie. “What were you doing with Beate, the detective?”
“She stopped by to ask about you and her partner. I gave her a drink and sent her away. I’m not part of this, sweetheart, ask what you want,” said Harry.
“Why’d you have the sugar cubes?”
“Got them from a buddy at Café Tirolerhof.”
“And why were you at my storage unit?”
“What storage unit?”
“The one in Floridsdorf.”
“Sweetheart. I have several contacts in Floridsdorf for spices, among other imports I take an interest in.”
“Oh. Right,” said Sterling. She believed Harry, but tension still gnawed at her. Perhaps it could be blamed on the radio, which continued Maximilian’s eerie playlist.
“See, nothing to worry about, kid. You really got yourself worked up, didn’t you?” said Harry, caressing her cheek, melting her worries,and reason, away. Harry’s touch offered a promise of escape, or at least a distraction from the wait.
“I feel silly now. I knew Weiss was behind this, but no one believed me, and at some point, I didn’t believe myself. I’m sorry.”
“How about you show me how sorry you are?” said Harry, snaking her arm around Sterling.
Fernando coughed.
