In the last chapter we shipped the thumb drive to Langley from Liechtenstein, and then decided to go home to America. But seeing assassins watching for us at the Zurich airport, we changed our minds. Then Mom thought of flying from Vaduz.

We stayed with Mme Benoir two days and three nights. Again with the teary good bye. I really did love her, more than either of my grandmothers. Well, I almost never saw Dad’s mother, even though she only lived about forty miles away. And Mom’s mom died before I was born. We got to Vaduz all right, everything looked fine, a little vacated, but it was a small, regional airport. After parking the car, mom hid the key where Dad could find it. There was no shuttle in Camp Rinky-Dink, so we carried our bags – only to carry them back to the car again. There was a notice taped to the glass door that the airport was closed due to an outbreak of a Covid-19 variant.

Back to Mme Benoir, who was expecting us – she’d seen the news on TV.

My Berretta was getting worn out going in and out of Mom’s suitcase.

While we were leaving Vaduz, I powered up my phone for a moment. No messages from Dad. Mom had me do the same for hers. Same result. Was Dad all right? Or was he dead? We didn’t talk about him all the way back, just about the Covid and how bad it would be for me to get it and would I want to be intubated – my call. Yea or nay?

Nay.

Tears. Huge hug. “Ohmie do you even know how much I love you?” I had to put that together from between sobbing. But that was okay. Really. I tried to make her feel better.

We turned on the twenty-four-hour news channel. As far as I know, it was the first time the thing had been turned on since we got there.

“How do you think it’ll affect Dad?” I asked. Mom didn’t answer right away.

“I wish he’d come here and wait things out a bit. But I expect he’s going to the major city airports and making contact with sources and assets, maybe friends in the various agencies. He has to be careful, though. Just because the Company isn’t after him, doesn’t mean that individuals don’t have compromised loyalties.”

“You mean like at home? The polarization?”

“Yes, there are people, even good people who somehow have lost themselves and decided their oath to the Constitution is… well, something else.”

I knew what she was talking around. Not about, but around. Some of my teachers, Mr. Sanders in particular, couldn’t help but let us know which side we should be on.

“Will Dad go to the train stations, too?”

“That would be a lot harder. Nearly impossible for one man.”

“Where do you think Dortch would be?”

Without hesitation, Mom said Moscow. “Your dad didn’t break his nose, he crushed the septum, rammed it into the sinus cavity. It’ll probably need reconstruction. Dortch should have gone to an Embassy and let them escort him to a hospital in the states. But we know he didn’t. That was a major mistake on his part. It was a big part of why your dad wasn’t netted by the Company. Moscow.”

“Would Dad follow him? Go to Moscow?”

“Not if he had any sense.”

“But would he?”

After a moment, Mom said maybe.

That’s when the TV anchor person raised her voice, in French, she said, “This just in – a bomb blast damaged the Philharmonie de Paris. The extent of damage is unknown at this time, and there are no reports of fatalities. The significance is that it has been such a long time since the last terrorist attack in Paris, and never before has one of the arts buildings been targeted. No one has claimed responsibility for the blast.”

“Mom?” I asked.

She was thinking.

“Dortch found out about Berlin, right? And he knew we were in Paris. Does he think we’re still there?”

“And he’s trying to frighten us into doing something stupid,” Mom finished for me. “Dortch might still be in Moscow, or he might be in Paris. Either way he could direct his troops. And if he has them convinced that he is going to give them the persecutor of their hero, General Slobodan….”

“He knows the airports are closed, right? Do you think the ones in Zurich reported what they saw?”

“A woman who could be me and a girl who could be a boy who looks like you? … Maybe. I would if I wanted a pat on the back.”

I chuckled to myself. Mom would never do something like that for a pat on the back. She was imagining that she was them.

“So they’re looking at trains?”

“Maybe the transcontinental routes,” she answered.

“When do you think Dad will show up?” My change of subject made her smile.

“I miss him, too.”

“Tell you what. Let’s tell Mme Benoir that we won’t be here for dinner and go out while we still can – if we can.” Mom glanced toward the TV as if it would answer the question for her. “We’ll get authentic Swiss fondue with bösti and a plate of Swiss chocolate!”

“Where’s my coat?” I said with as much enthusiasm as my limited capacity would allow.