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“I got upgraded.” Ned drove them back to Wittenberge and checked into the Airbnb he’d rented on his app while waiting for his car in Berlin.
An old house, really, outside the city on a grassy plot of land, cows in a nearby pasture. It sat on a lake, the fog rising to hover above as he and Fraser pulled up. The place had a thatched roof, brick exterior, beams on the ceiling, wooden floor.
He dropped his gear and made a fire in the stove in the family room while Fraser heated up some ramen noodles. An overstuffed sofa, a trestle table with benches, and one bedroom, which he gave to Fraser since he wasn’t going to sleep anyway.
He outlined his grand plan to Fraser as they ate dinner.
“I bought a suit coat at the airport. I clean up a little, flash my military creds, and say I’m checking on our delivery. The team brought it in—I might be already in the system at the facility. I drive in and find the caesium. The waste is all in cylinder containers that fit into about three checked bags. I’ll just load them into the truck and drive away.”
“Just like that.” Fraser was slurping his soup. “What about the guard at the place?”
“He won’t know the orders. And if he slows me down when I leave, I’ll make a run for it. By the time they figure it out, I’ll be long gone. I can do this.”
Fraser considered him. His spoon clinked in his bowl. “Okay. And where am I?”
“Overwatch. And the guy on the other end of the phone should someone decide to call NATO.”
“You’re going to end up in some dark CIA prison.” Fraser dropped his bowl in the sink and ran water in it.
“If something goes south, I need you to get the caesium and bring it to Lübeck Airfield. There will be a plane there.”
“And then I’ll get to join you in that CIA hole.”
Ned swallowed. “Yeah. Okay, you can—”
“Stop. Of course I’ll help you.” Fraser met his eyes.
A beat passed between them.
Then Fraser headed to the bedroom and shut the door.
Come to Me all who are weary and heavy laden, and I will give you rest.
The words from Fraser dogged Ned as he washed the dishes, then lay on the sofa, watching the night close in over the lake.
Yeah, well, if God was going to show up and enact a plan, He’d better do it soon.
Because the only rest for Ned was going to be in a cold, dark cell.
* * *
“Stay in that bed.Stay in—Hudson Bly, you stay in that bed!”
Iris was already out of her chair even before he sat up, before he started to pull off the electrodes pasted to his body—a rather impressive body—stop. She wasn’t going there.
She’d seen more of Hudson Bly over the past twenty-four hours than he probably wanted her to see. But that was what happened when a guy collapsed in her arms in the middle of a high-end restaurant. When she had to play girlfriend to get any information from the doctor in the Henry Dunant Hospital Center, a private hospital that the hotel recommended.
Indeed, the place was clean, high-tech, and the doctor of neurology, a Doctor Ioannis, spoke impeccable English.
“You can’t tell me what to do,” Hudson said, taking from his head the electrodes that also monitored his brain activity.
“I think, as your girlfriend and as the person who is making medical decisions for you, I probably can.” She’d come over to the bed and tried to put the electrodes back on. They’d shaved his glorious hair in a few places—he looked a little rough. But that’s what he got for keeping his, um, history of concussions from her.
And probably the entire European League of Football. Hel-lo.
“Mygirlfriend?”
“How else do you think they let me in here, by your bedside, schlepping Jell-Os for you for the past twenty-four hours?”
