Project Berlin. James Frey

have half an hour to decide,” I tell him as I open the door. I shut it behind me, leaving him to think about his situation. I don’t know if he’s telling the truth or not. He might be trying to buy time. If he’s lying and the weapon and the plans really have been destroyed, it will be unfortunate for him. Some of what he’s discovered will still be in his head, and we can’t allow him to live with that information. It’s too valuable.

      I return to the kitchen and sit down at the table. Lydia sits down across from me. She doesn’t speak, but her lifted eyebrows ask a question.

      I know the girl is listening from the living room, and even though I have no reason to think that she speaks Greek, I don’t want to say too much. “The soup is wonderful,” I say to Lydia. “You’ll have to give me the recipe. I had it, but it might have been lost.”

      She nods to show she understands my meaning: Sauer might or might not have what we want. And as I told him, he has until Theron and Cilla arrive to make up his mind. Until then, there is nothing else I can do, so I eat Lydia’s soup and think about how, if all goes well, in a few days I’ll be back in Greece with this mission behind me, and perhaps something that will greatly strengthen the Minoan line’s resources. If I am successful, my name will perhaps join Europa’s in the list of the great Players. Second only to winning Endgame itself, this would be a great achievement, and it would show my council that they chose the right Player.

      When there’s a knock at the door, Lydia stands. “Theron and Cilla,” she says.

      As Lydia goes to answer the door, I get up and go into the living room. Although there is a short hallway between the door and the living room, and the girl is out of sight, I train my gun on her anyway as a reminder not to make any noise.

      “Who is it?” I hear Lydia ask.

      “Dagmar, from next door,” says an elderly woman’s voice. “Can you help me? My stove has gone out, and I need a match.”

      “Just a moment,” Lydia says. As she comes back to the living room she tells me, “The gas is always going out in the building. I’ll pass her a match through the door. It will look bad if I refuse.”

      Again I wish that we were not in an apartment building. There is nothing to be done about it, however, and soon the old woman will be gone. I keep my eye and my gun on the girl as Lydia fetches a box of matches and returns to the door. I hear the click of the lock as she opens it.

      “Here you are,” she says.

      A moment later Lydia returns to the living room—but she’s not alone. There’s a man behind her. He has one arm around her neck and is pointing a gun at me. A second man appears, holding an old woman I assume is Dagmar. She’s whimpering softly, saying, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

      “Shut her up,” the man holding Lydia says.

      The man holding Dagmar places a knife at her throat and slices it, as if she’s nothing more than a chicken being readied for the stewpot. The old woman’s eyes widen, and her hands flutter to her neck. The man lets go, and she crumples to the floor. He looks down at her, grinning, her blood on the blade of the knife in his hand. I consider shooting him, but I can feel the other man watching me.

      “Put your gun down,” that one says now. “Or she’s next.” He tightens his grip on Lydia’s neck.

      “Don’t. Kill him,” Lydia says to me in Greek.

      “Quiet,” the man orders.

      I look into Lydia’s eyes and try to telegraph a message to her as I hold my hands up and gently place my gun on a nearby end table.

      “Good girl,” the man says. He looks at Lottie, who throughout all of this has remained in her chair, watching everything. Then he says to the other man, “Go find the engineer.”