18th August, 2008 - Paris, France.

Ryan Knight sipped his beer as he watched a boat float past on the Seine from his spot on the terrace above the river. It was hot, even at seven in the evening, and the riverside Parisian bar was already packed with the after-work crowd, all trying to relax after a hard day in the French capital. As far as international postings went, he mused, there were far worse options he could have been landed with.

“Starting to get a feel for how we do things now?” Tom Spencer, Paris Station Chief, asked as he lit a cigarette across the table.

Socializing with his direct supervisor was certainly something new for Ryan, but it was not entirely unpleasant. Tom Spencer had taken Ryan under his wing since his arrival at the Paris station and was making it his personal project to fix what the older man saw as ‘the flaws of the modern CIA’. For Ryan, it was a significant change from his earlier career but not an entirely unwelcome one. In the short time that he had been stationed in Paris, the veteran Intelligence officer had quickly become someone that Ryan trusted.

Ryan shrugged, “It’s not what they taught us at the farm, but it certainly gets the job done.”

“Damn straight it does,” Tom nodded. “They’re teaching you kids total crap these days. Sure, it gets the job done when everything goes to plan, but it doesn’t count for shit when everything goes ass over tit.”

“That’s an interesting way to put it.”

Spencer snickered to himself as he took a hit from his cigarette, exhaling a plume of smoke into the warm evening air. “When I first started out,” he began, gesturing with his cigarette, “Hell, for most of my long ass career, you were on your own most of the time. You had to cover your own ass, and you made shit up as you went along. A hell of a lot died, but a good number of us made it out the far side alive. It was sink or swim, and you had to work the problem.”

“Operations these days are a totally different beast,” he shook his head. “Now, you have surveillance, cover teams, alternate routes, and plans to cover any eventuality. Something goes wrong, they fall back on any number of prearranged scenarios and plans. It works when things are in your control, but it’s useless when it goes off the rails.”

Ryan frowned, “None of that helped me in the slightest.”

“When it does go bad, it goes bad in a hurry,” Spencer agreed somberly. “That shit in Saudi was a fucking mess. It’s a direct product of this fucked up new approach they have back at Langley. They don’t bother teaching you guys to fend for yourselves anymore. When things go south, you’re in real trouble.”

“We do get trained to operate independently,” Ryan pointed out. “Admittedly, we aren’t sneaking microfilm into the sports section and dodging communists by the duckpond anymore.”

“It’s not just that, you cheeky shit,” Spencer smirked. “There’s operating alone, then there’s operating by yourself. One of those is designed to work with top cover and a team off on the sideline. It’s entirely different when you’re all by your lonesome, with nothing but your sense of humor to back you up. It requires a different mentality and a willingness to compromise.”

“How so?”

“When you’re on your own, you have to be paranoid,” The older man pointed out. “Not like tin foil hat, there’s Aliens in Area 51 kind of paranoid, but pretty close. Remember, we work in a world where someone literally is out to get you, so it’s kinda expected.”

“You might have a point,” Ryan agreed. “Wait, are there aliens in Area 51?”

Spencer shook his head, “Nah, just weird shit we stole from the Russians and the Chinese.” Spencer sipped his drink and looked thoughtful for a moment, “In all seriousness, sometimes it all goes to shit, no matter how hard you try. Maybe someone turned, and they got your identity, and now they’re coming for you; It’s not a matter of how good you are, but just a matter of how the dice landed that day. When they know you, you have to stop being you. Behaving like they expect will only make you easier to predict. When they can predict you, you’re fucked.”

“So, don’t behave like myself?”

“No, don’t behave like you’re in the damn CIA,” Spencer shook his head. “Do something irrational, unlikely, or just straight up weird. Sometimes, you gotta make what looks like the dumb choice because they won’t expect it.”

“What’s the difference between something that is dumb and something that just looks dumb?”

Spencer ran his tongue around his teeth inside his lips, “That’s the big question, because it changes for every damn situation. Sometimes, it’s not following protocol that would seem smart and just going direct from A to B. Sometimes it’s stopping when you should run.”

The man finished off his drink and replaced his glass on the table, “I had this one job in Berlin maybe twenty, twenty-five years ago. I was pretty green back then, and someone flipped on us. They leaked a whole bunch of names to the KGB’; some sources, some officers. Naturally, they passed that shit to their buddies in the East German Stasi. They knew I was a Company guy, and they knew our playbook as well as we did. If you did what the handbook told you to do, then they would be sitting there waiting with a bullet for you when you got there.”

“So what did you do?”

“What my own mentor told me,” Spencer grinned. “I stopped acting like a spy and started acting like a criminal. Imagine them as the cops and that you’re a bank robber; start trying to get away with shit rather than acting like the damn good guys.”

“So, break the law?”

“No, well, yes,” Spencer chuckled. “It’s a little bit more complicated than that. You need to learn to act like you actually want to get one over on them, that beating them is a game, not an objective. Learn how your enemy operates and fuck them over by doing the opposite. Make them believe you will do one thing, then change direction; smoke and mirrors.”

“So, like, rather than running for safety, run deeper into their territory?”

“Exactly,” Spencer pointed a finger at Ryan. “When they had my details, I could have made a dash for the checkpoints and tried to get back over into West Berlin. The thing was. They would have got me at the wall if I had tried. What did I do? I found a good bar further East and sat it out getting drunk off my ass.”

“Isn’t that risky?”

“Only to my wallet,” Spencer grinned. “Predators expect their prey to run. When it doesn’t, it throws them off. Learn what throws your enemy off, then do it. When they can’t predict you, you survive. If you can survive long enough, you can get a shot at winning.”

 

 

June 1st, 2014 - Zürich, Switzerland.

Every fiber of Sabine’s body had told her to get off the train and change direction. Her plan was clearly rumbled, and her intended destination was compromised. Standard protocol would be to do as she had when she was heading to Milan: Get off, change trains, and make her way into the city from a different direction. It was the smart choice, but it was also exactly what she was meant to do. Instead of doing what was smart, she was watching with a lump in her throat as the train slowed to a stop at Zürich’s central station.

Protocol aside, Sabine knew that she was being followed, and that changed everything. She knew that eventually, those who were looking for her would learn that their men had failed to report in. They would look into it, and discover that they boarded a train to Zürick and then they would find the report of two stiffs found on a train. That would send up alarm bells, and the entire operation would up sticks and make its way north in pursuit. By messing around, changing direction, and taking an indirect route, she only ensured that she would still be there when they arrived.

At the moment, Sabine knew that her main advantage was speed. The less time she spent in the city, the more difficult she would be to track down. If she were gone by the time they arrived, the cold trail would be all the more difficult for them to follow. Right now, she was here for two things: her parachute and a plan.

Located in a safe deposit box in Zürich, Sabine had a secret cache that she had put away for emergencies. The cache contained money, identity documents, and other personal items that she might need if she were ever required to drop everything and flee. The present circumstances most certainly qualified as an emergency.

Not every Field Intelligence Officer kept a personal parachute, but the smart ones certainly did. It was something that had been instilled into her by Tom Spencer when he took her under his wing during her early days in Paris. It was one of many vital lessons that were now helping to keep her alive. Lessons that made her miss the man even more.

Leaving their cases at the station, Sabine and Amélie caught a cab to the Credit Suisse branch on St Peterstrasse in the heart of the city. Nestled amongst designer shops and tourist foot traffic, from the outside it appeared to be a normal branch of the Swiss brand. Inside, however, was one of the company’s Safe Deposit Branches.

Sabine had changed as soon as they were off the train, and she was now wearing a lavender floral maxi skirt and a long-sleeved white cardigan over a camisole. It was more feminine than she would have liked, but it helped to cover up the developing bruises on her limbs. With a fresh application of cosmetics, any traces of her facial injuries were wiped away.

Leading Amélie by the hand, Sabine approached the reception desk inside the air-conditioned foyer of the bank and smiled at the attendant.

“Good day, can I help you?”

Sabine withdrew the key from her handbag and placed it on the counter. “I would like to access my box, please.”

“Certainly, Frau…?”

“Garnier.”

The man nodded curtly and scanned the key with a small handheld device. “Box 4390, if you would follow me, Frau Garnier.”

“Where are we going?” Amélie asked, holding on to Sabine’s hand as the man led them past rows of desks and towards a staircase.

“I have something that I need to pick up. This is a safe place for keeping special things,” Sabine explained.

“Like your favorite toy?”

Sabine made a face, “I uh…sure, something like that.”

The clerk escorted them downstairs and along a plain, unremarkable hallway. They passed through two sets of locked metal gates, which the Clerk opened in sequence, before they finally arrived at a small room at the end. The room contained a single desk with a computer terminal and a large locked steel vault door.

“Frau Garnier, your key, please,” The man asked, extending a hand.

Sabine handed the man her key, and the man scanned it at the computer before inputting a code of his own. As he did so, the door behind them issued an electronic bleep before latches could be heard sliding back into their channels.

“Your key, Frau Garnier,” The man offered simply, offering the key back to Sabine. “Your box will be on the left, aisle five. Once you have it, you will find a viewing area at the front of the vault. Please press the buzzer by the door when you wish to leave. Do let me know if you need any further assistance.”

“I think I’ll be fine, thank you.” Sabine smiled politely, taking the key, and leading Amélie forward and into the now open vault door.

Inside, the vault was laid out like a server room with long, faceless rows of boxes filling the space. Walking to the fifth row as directed, Sabine quickly located box 4390 and inserted her key into the lock. Opening the door revealed a long rectangular box that slid cleanly out of the recess as she withdrew it.

“What’s that?”

“That’s my secret box,” Sabine explained, carrying the box across to one of the tables along the front wall of the vault. “It’s where I keep my special things.”

“Your toys?”

“Grown-up toys and special memories.”

Amélie plopped down onto one of the chairs and watched with interest as Sabine unlocked the box. 

Lifting the lid, Sabine examined the contents within. The box contained four passports flagged for Ireland, Germany, Canada, and Australia. She did not bother opening them; she knew exactly what names and photographs lay inside. At the moment, Ryan Knight’s documents were of little use to her. If she needed them, she could come back when the time was right.

Beneath the documents, there were a number of bundles of cash in Dollars, Euros, and Sterling. In total, they added up to just over a hundred and twenty thousand US Dollars. It was a rainy day fund that Sabine had squirreled away from her parents' life insurance, her meagre government pay, and the bonus she had been given for Operation Orsino.  Admittedly, they had called it an operational bonus, but at the time, it had felt more like a payoff to buy her silence. It was only fitting that she turned what she had always considered to be blood money into something positive. Now, there was a chance that money could help her and Amélie to survive.

Slipping the money into her purse, Sabine withdrew the small leather case beneath it. Unzipping the case, she checked the contents that she expected to find: a small sub-compact Glock 43 pistol and spare ammunition. It was an emergency piece, very much illegal across Europe, but incredibly useful to have should she need it. Rezipping the case, she added it to the items she would keep.

At the very bottom of the deposit box, almost hidden under a collection of papers, Sabine spotted a piece of photograph paper that was lying upside down against the metal surface. Frowning, she picked it up and turned the photograph over. She hadn’t remembered putting any photographs in the box, but the image staring back at her was quite the surprise; it was an image from her childhood. It showed a young Ryan standing on a wooden dock with his mother and father.

It was a photograph from one of their family vacations back when he was fourteen or fifteen years old. They had taken a road trip to Colorado, and it was one of the few truly happy memories she had always kept within her heart. A moment in time when she had shared true joy with her parents, before everything had started to go wrong.

Her parents…

A tear fell from Sabine’s eye as she wondered what her mother and father would think if they could see their wayward child now. What would they think of what she had done with her life? What would they think about what had happened to her? Would they be ashamed to know that she was galavanting around Europe dressed as a woman with a small child in tow?

“Why are you sad?”

Sabine wiped her eyes and looked down at Amélie. “I found a photograph of my Mama and Papa. They died a long time ago, and it reminded me that I missed them a lot.”

“Like my Mama and Papa?”

Sabine sat down beside the girl and put an arm around her shoulders, “Yeah.”

“So they went to sleep too, in heaven?”

Sabine’s heart clenched as she was comforted by a four-year-old, “Yeah, they did.”

Sabine stiffened as she felt a small pair of arms wrap themselves around her midsection. Looking down, she saw Amélie hugging her tightly. “Don’t be sad.”

“It’s just a memory,” Sabine admitted, showing the girl the photograph. “This was my Mama and Papa. This was me when I was fourteen, about ten years older than you.”

Amélie took the photograph from her hands and traced the three figures on the paper with her finger. “But if you were a girl then, why did you become a boy?”

“Huh?”

Amélie pointed at the figure between Sabine’s mother and father, “You were a girl?”

Sabine looked more closely at the figure and frowned, “I don’t...”

“But you look like now,” Amélie insisted.

Sabine looked at the picture more closely and examined her younger self with more scrutiny. Teenaged Ryan was standing between his parents on the dock of the cabin up at Eagle Lake in the Colorado Rocky Mountains. It had been years since she had seen the photograph, and she had forgotten what she looked like at that age. A small part of her mind told her that she had tried to forget it for some reason.

Young Ryan was smiling back at the camera; he looked happy, carefree, and undamaged back then. It was a version of herself she barely remembered anymore. He was wearing a pair of Aqua swim shorts and a black tank top. It had been an outfit he had always worn for swimming because he was reluctant to swim topless. Sabine decided not to unpack that small fact.

Between his parents, with his long blonde hair damp from the lake and hanging loose around his shoulders, it was hard for Sabine to deny what Amélie had seen. The slim, short figure looked more like a young flat-chested girl than a teenage boy. It was the first time she had seen herself in that light, and it was more than a small mental shock.

“I guess I did a little,” She admitted quietly, her thumb stroking the edge of the photograph.

“So you were a girl, then a boy, and then a girl again?”

“I uh, no…” Sabine frowned. “I’m… Look, we have to go. We can talk about this later, ok, Chérie? Allez, come on.”

Sabine glanced down at the passports on the table and fingered them thoughtfully. They were a ticket to freedom as a man, as Sam Thomas, Peter Kent, Joseph Adamson, and Michael Bauer. None of those names were known to the Agency; she could easily disappear and never be seen again. The temptation was strong, but she needed this cover for the time being. Moving around with a child, as Ryan had been difficult, and that meant that it would be equally difficult as any man. For now, Sabine Garnier was useful… more useful than any of those names.

Reluctantly, Sabine returned the passports to the deposit box and closed the lid with a sigh. If she ever got free of this mess, she could come back for them, and they would still be here. A small voice in a dark and sorrowful corner of her mind spoke up. It told her that she was allowing her only real way back to manhood to slip through her fingers yet again. Reluctantly, she ignored the voice; this was something she had to do, for Amélie, for their safety, for answers.

Picking up the photograph, Sabine slipped it into her purse with the other items. In her line of work, sentimentality could get her killed, but there were some things that she was not willing to let go. Now more than ever, she needed to hang on to who she really was.

Locking the box, Sabine returned it to its slot in the wall before latching the small door. Returning the key to her bag, she slipped the strap over her shoulder. “Come on, little one, let’s go get you some dinner, huh?”

“Chicken nuggets?”

Sabine pressed the door buzzer and looked down at the little girl beside her, “Really, chicken nuggets?”

Amélie grinned and nodded excitedly. It was clear that her mind was made up, and there would be no directing her to anything more sensible. Sabine sighed and shook her head, “Fine, come on then, chicken nuggets it is.”

 

 

Sabine listened to the phone ring and wondered if she was doing the right thing. She was standing on the balcony of their hotel room a little after nine that evening, and she worried that she was making another mistake. She knew that calling this soon was foolish, but she had to have answers before she could plan her next steps.

“You know, I’m pretty sure you just like talking to me at this point,” Peter Sutherland chuckled as he answered the call.

“How did you know it was me?” Sabine frowned.

“Who the hell else is calling my personal number on random burners at all hours of the night?” The SEAL scoffed. “What’s got your panties in a bunch now?”

Sabine opened her mouth to comment, but realised that the expression actually fitted far too well at the moment, “Has any news about my movements come in?”

“No,” Sutherland replied, sounding slightly confused. “Why?”

“I got out of Milan today, and I had two guys board the same train as me; military-age males. They were looking for me, and they thought I knew something about the location of Ryan Knight, given that I was with the girl.”

“Oh boy, that’s too funny,” the man laughed. “Did you whip it out and show 'em?”

“Pete!”

“Sorry! The man chuckled. “No, we have nothing as of yet. As for as everyone here, they still think you’re in Milan. They’re working traffic cams at the moment, trying to track your movements, and they haven’t got shit.”

As much as Sabine felt uncomfortable about her return to womanhood, she had to admit that it seemed as though Francesca’s plan was working exactly as intended. With how much counter-surveillance she had conducted, there was little chance they would ever know where she had been.

“You don’t seem particularly worried about what I told you,” Sabine pointed out.

“What am I meant to say, huh?” the soldier asked.  ‘Aww, poor little girl, are you ok, sweetheart?’ You’re here talking to me, which means you handled business like I knew you would. Plus, I’ve seen you fight, remember?”

“They’re not going to be reporting back to anyone,” Sabine admitted. Slightly peeved that the old soldier was right once again. “I wanted to check if they had had a chance to report in or tell anyone what they had found. If they were just following a lead and didn’t have time to say anything yet, I might still be ok.”

“I’ve had eyes on Edwards and his boys for most of the day,” Pete explained. “They’ve not done anything odd, and he’s not gotten any unusual calls. Probably the goons didn’t want to call home till they had something valuable to report. Real question is why would Lebanese muscle be trying to track you down?”

“I think they’re Freedom‘s Fire,” Sabine admitted. “They fit the profile, and they’re clearly not Agency or professionals. I think whatever Edwards is up to, it involves a deeper relationship with Ahmad’s organization than we initially assumed. Either he’s running the show, or he’s in deep with whoever stands to take the top spot now that the big man is out of the picture.”

“Possible, very possible. There’s no sniff of anyone like that down here. They’re all still talking about this like it’s you vs the world. No mention of Ahmad or Nar Alhuriyaat here. You get any intel off them?”

“Phones and IDs, nothing much. The IDs were reasonable fakes, and the phones are burners,” Sabine admitted. “Nothing good but some numbers that I can’t trace.”

“Keep 'em, they might be useful when you get something to work with,” Sutherland offered. “I think you’re still secure down here. Take precautions, though. You and the kid are safe, right?”

Sabine glanced back at Amélie, who was sleeping peacefully on the bed behind her, “Yeah, we are, Pete,” she smiled. “We took a little diversion, but we’re going to get back on the road again tomorrow. I just wanted to make sure that I didn’t need to look over my shoulder.”

“Yeah, I get you, kid,” the soldier replied. “Keep yourself safe. You going to be on this number for a bit?”

“Yeah,” Sabine agreed. “At least till something else happens. If I change it, I’ll text you the new number, ok?”

“Yeah, good. If I hear anything, I’ll let you know. I sounded out the boys, by the way. They think it all smells real funny, too. I can’t say they’re on team Knight yet, but they’re not going to blow your head off on sight, ok?”

“That’s something,” Sabine smirked as she leaned against the balcony railing. “I’ll take what I can get.”

“Just wait till I tell Scott that the love of his life is back. The boy will swear his allegiance on the spot.”

Sabine sighed loudly, “I’m hanging up now, Pete, stay safe.”

“On the flipside, Kid.”

Closing the connection, Sabine pocketed the phone and sighed. She hoped very much that she was doing the right thing. Nothing seemed to be going to plan, and she was making it all up as she went along. Every single decision she made felt like it carried more weight than the last, and all of them took her further away from everything she knew. 

Glancing over to look at the little girl, Sabine smiled to herself. Béatrice was worth it, no matter the price she had to pay in return. She owed it to the girl to insulate her from this waking nightmare and allow her the chance to remain innocent. 

 In such a short time, she had truly come to care for the child in ways she never imagined possible. She knew nothing about parenting and even less about womanhood, and yet, here she was playing the role of surrogate mother. She felt unworthy, but she knew that she had to try her best; Béa deserved the best.

Sabine stepped back inside and walked across to the sideboard before pouring herself a glass of whiskey. Dowing it in one go, she poured herself a second glass before dropping heavily into the armchair in the corner of the room. She was tired, more tired than she could remember in a long time, and she knew that their troubles were far from over. Despite this, she felt strangely positive for the first time in days. She and Amélie were safe, and the girl seemed to be adapting to their frantic movement better than she had imagined.

Thinking of Amélie made her think of Francesca. She felt guilty now that she had waited so long to reconnect, but she was eternally grateful that she had done so. Despite their flight from Milan, she finally felt like she had roots somewhere in the world. That somewhere, she finally belonged and mattered. Whether that was Sabine or Ryan, she was not entirely sure. That the question even needed to be asked was more than troubling enough.

Sabine replayed her conversation with Peter Sutherland over again in her mind. It seemed as though Edwards still had his attention focused on the south and Milan rather than tearing up camp to head for Zürich. That meant that either the two men had yet to be missed or that their location was still unknown.

Time was a currency in their predicament, and for once, it felt as though she finally had some in hand. The decision ahead had two forks; in one, she could flee and settle somewhere quiet with the girl and try to live a normal life. On the other hand, she could turn the tables and fight back. Truthfully, there was only one answer that held any water.

There was no way she could live the rest of her life looking over her shoulder, nor could she allow Béatrice to grow up the same way. The only choice available to her was to fight back. It gave them the best chance of a real life and the best chance of surviving this mess in one piece. Once they did, they could make decisions about the future.

Sabine paused, her glass halfway to her lips. She was making decisions and declarations that assumed that she had no plans of returning to being Ryan Knight once this nightmare was over. Somehow, every decision was predicated upon the assumption that she would still be Sabine and that she would stay with the girl.

Glancing across the room, Sabine watched the small sleeping form on the bed and felt a strange warmth spread through her heart. She cared deeply for the girl that she had whisked away from the jaws of death. She did not understand fully how she related to those emotions, but after being so alone for so very long, it felt a little bit like the love she had once shared with her parents.

Sabine crushed her eyes shut and gulped down the last of her whiskey. She could not love the child; it wasn’t right. She had to say goodbye eventually for her own good, no matter how much the idea was beginning to feel like a knife to her heart. It was the right thing to do to ensure that she had a loving home and a family. That she could have a place to one day heal from the trauma that she had experienced. In time, she would forget Sabine and live a happy and normal life.

Raising a hand to her cheek, Sabine brushed away the tears that were rolling down her cheeks. The idea of leaving the girl felt wrong, and she knew it, but she had to put her own feelings aside and think of Béatrice’s best interests. There was no way that she could have a happy life with her; she needed someone normal, someone without the damage that lurked beneath the surface of Sabine’s fragile mind.

Why did she hate the idea?

Why did it fill her with sorrow to think of ever being apart from the child ever again?

Sabine suddenly felt extremely lonely. Picking up her cellphone, she dialed a number before putting the device to her ear. The device rang three times before it was picked up. “I hope I’m not waking you,” Sabine murmured.

“Not at all,” Francesca replied, a warmth in her voice that made Sabine’s worries feel suddenly so much smaller. “You and the bambina, you are safely in Zürich?”

“A speedbump or two, but we’re ok,” Sabine admitted, deciding not to mention the men on the train. She reasoned that there was little that Francesca could do about it, and she did not need the worry. “I just wanted to hear your voice.”

“I am glad to hear yours also,” Francesca replied, her tone noticeably lightening. “My apartment, it is a little quiet, somehow that feels strange now.”

“I know what you mean. A couple of days, and everything feels so strange.”

Francesca chuckled, “Your world, it has changed a great deal indeed, Mia cara, that is no surprise. You have taken to it again so well, I am proud of you.”

“Nothing much to be proud of,” Sabine frowned.

“I do not blame you for not returning,” Francesca offered. “Knowing what I know now, seeing you again, I am just sorry that I did not know, I would have found a way to reach out. You did not deserve to be alone at a time like that; nobody does.”

“I survived.”

“You should have thrived, not just merely survived,” Francesca scoffed with a hint of anger. “No family, few friends, and failed by the country that you give so much to protect? That is the real travesty here. You did not deserve that. I wish I had been there.”

“Maybe we have that future?”

“This I want,” Francesca asserted. “Whatever happens in your immediate future, know that you will forever have a place here if you want it. I know that a lot must happen, but keep that knowledge, please? I know we did not spend long together, but you became someone very important to me, not just a job. When we reconnect, when you tell me what happened,  I feel as though I failed you.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Sabine murmured weakly, “There was no way you could have known… hell, I hid it all.”

“No more, do you understand?” Francesca insisted. “There will be no more secrets between us, si?”
Sabine smiled, “Yeah, I’d like that.”

“What will you do?”

“I’m not quite sure yet,” Sabine admitted. “I can’t go to Interlaken, I can’t run, I know that much. They won’t stop looking for us.”

“I did not think you would,” Francesca admitted. Sabine could hear the smile across the phone line. As much as it frustrated her that the woman seemed almost clairvoyant at times, it was surprisingly reassuring that someone knew her so well.

“I’ve got to end this, one way or another. I owe it to Béatrice, I owe it to all those people killed.”

“You owe it to yourself, too,” Francesca pointed out. “Do not forget that. You deserve peace.”

“At what cost?”

“One you will gladly pay in time, one that will repay you in years to come,” the woman answered cryptically. “Go to bed, Mia Cara, it is late. We will talk soon.”

“Good night, Francesca,” Sabine murmured. “It was good to hear your voice.”

“And you, ciao, bella.”

Sabine closed the call and stared at her phone with a half smile on her lips. Somehow, after a single phone call, she felt so much more certain about her chances. Knowing that someone out there in the world gave a damn about her gave her more confidence than she could have imagined. She was going to work this problem, and she would do her job; for Béatrice, for Francesca, for Tom, and… for herself.

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