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For an instant, she did not believe him, but a glance at his face quickly convinced her. In the morning light, clear, cold, without the luminous softness that comes later in the day, he looked older and far more worn by constant danger and pain. She felt a wave of sorrow for him. He was risking his life every day, in a country not his own. He could never forget the part he was playing. If even one of the men from whom he gathered his information suspected him, it would cost him his life, and probably in the most unpleasant way they could devise. They would want every word of information they could get.
Whatever else she did, Elena knew she must not endanger him. No careless or selfish word or thought, no slip of concentration. She must be worthy of his trust. To be less would be childish, even shameful. She changed the subject.
“Have you thought where we should start?”
“The last place I saw Max,” he replied, “is about half a mile further this way.” He did not add any more and they walked in silence, him ahead of her, as the alleys grew narrower and the traffic of carts and bicycles careered down the middle.
It was a long morning. They gained information about Max’s movements only bit by bit: where he had been seen, who had spoken to him, and as much as they could learn, what they had talked about. People were reluctant to speak to them. Everybody had their own secrets. It was the middle of the afternoon before they found sufficient pieces to put together most of Max’s last days.
They sat in a small restaurant, more to share their ideas and rest their feet than for any food. But the food was surprisingly good, and they were hungry. The pasta was cooked to perfection and contained a little fish. They were wise enough not to ask what kind it was.
“This was the last place he was seen,” Aiden said when they had finished their meal, paid the bill, and were back outside in the street.
“Are you sure?” Elena asked, looking at him doubtfully.
“I spoke to the owner and he said Max was here. Max was your lover.” He smiled bleakly, but the thought clearly amused him. “And he’s left you pregnant and I am determined to find him.”
“Why?” she asked with interest. “Are you my father?”
He winced. “Oh, Elena, that was unkind.” But he laughed in spite of it.
She remembered with a sudden ache how he’d always preferred her fighting back to her being passive.
He stared at her steadily. “Did you know that that last man was lying to us?”
“No,” she answered, “but I do know he’s following us now.”
Aiden stiffened. She had caught him by surprise. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. He looks different, but it is the same man.”
“How do you know that, when I didn’t see it?” He did not seem annoyed, not this time. He needed to know.
“His jacket is different, and his hat, so we don’t know what his hair is like,” she replied. “And he has whiskers now. But his shoes are the same, even the same scuff marks. And a cut in the leather, on the left side, roughly where his little toe is. And his ears…”
“What about his ears?”
“Ears are so individual. Did you know that most people don’t think to disguise their ears? He has a mole, a very small one, just on the curve of his right ear. You can’t really cover that up unless you wear your hair very long, which he doesn’t.”
“And he’s following us?” He was utterly serious now.
“Yes, I noticed him about a half mile ago, and again just now. We can’t afford to believe it’s a coincidence.”
He did not argue. “We’ll separate and meet up again outside the bookshop. It’s called Via Rosario. The name’s on the front in red letters.” He told her how to find it. “I’ll go a different way and see if he follows. But, Elena…”
“What?” She felt a chill already. What if they missed each other? He could take the opportunity to get rid of her and she would have no way of finding him again. But then, he could have done that at any time. She was being ridiculous, exactly the sort of amateur he abhorred.
“Be careful,” he said gently. He reached out and touched her cheek. It was a common enough gesture, but it brought back a rush of old memories, old partings, when they had always met again. “This is a dangerous game.” He smiled. “We need to win. And that means finding all the information we can, knowing how much the enemy knows, and getting out of here alive.” And with that he turned away and, within a moment, was lost among a group of people waiting to cross the busy street.
Was the man close behind?
Elena shook away her fears and walked on, following the directions Aiden had given her, but already her mind was racing. She had the list hidden as well as she could, inside her clothes, but there was nowhere that was really safe, not if they took her prisoner and stripped her. In fact, she actually had not accomplished anything at all, except to tell Aiden that Max was probably dead, and it seemed that Aiden had worked that out for himself. To know what part of Max’s information was compromised was important, but was it worth their lives? It definitely was not worth losing Aiden, and the information for which he had risked his life…and now hers, too. She could not consider her task a success until he was safe on British soil, with all that he knew.
A van rumbled down the narrow street, rattling on the cobblestones. It was packed with soldiers. There were a dozen or more of them, all with rifles. Where were they going so quickly? It must be some emergency, or they would never have used so narrow and twisting a way to get there.
Elena hastened her step, not looking back to see whether the man was following her. She hoped he was not, because if he was, it would mean it was she he was trailing. Did anyone other than Aiden know who she was? That thought sent another ripple of coldness through her. Had a mistake she had made given her away? Or had they always known who she was? That would mean a traitor somewhere further back—in England.
