Zivon forced his hands to relax, his face to stay neutral. Still. Empty of any doubt. “Yes. From a soldier in the Prussian army, but who is apparently sympathetic to the soviet cause. He heard German officers whispering about a mutiny in the German ranks.”

Hall sucked in a breath. “Mutiny. I’ve not heard these rumblings.”

Not until that moment did Zivon realize he’d been hoping England already had the same decrypt in their archives. That would make it all so much easier. “I had not either, until then.”

Hall leaned back, tossing his pen to his desk and steepling his fingers. “Implications? Why would this Prussian have alerted someone to this—the soviets, I presume, if you intercepted it?”

Zivon nodded. “Everyone knows that the White Army has been asking for assistance from Allied forces.”

“Ah.” Hall tapped his fingers to his lips. “Yes, of course. So the Bolsheviks would be quite interested in those allies staying busy in Europe.”

“Exactly.” A fleeting smile touched Zivon’s lips. At least he never had to explain anything to his new superior.

Thoughts raced through the admiral’s eyes. “You have a copy of this message?”

“I . . . had.” Zivon couldn’t quite contain the wince. “It was in my bag, lost in the train accident in France.”

And just as quickly as the thoughts had raced in Hall’s eyes, they stilled. The light went dark. The fingers lowered.

Dismissed.

“Well.” His tone still sounded casual. Interested. Friendly. But he might as well have ordered Zivon from his office then and there. “You know my dilemma, then. Without the actual message to give credence to this information, I must classify it as rumor more than fact.”

Of course he knew that. But in Russia, his word would have been enough. Not to take action, perhaps, but to look into it. To search for other evidence.

But as every single thing in this place kept hammering home, he was not in Russia anymore. No one here knew him. No one trusted him. No one . . . He was no one.

“We’ll keep our eyes and ears open.” With another easy smile, Hall sat forward again and folded the paper. Held it out. “And if this mutiny does happen, we’ll be ready to strike.”

“Nyet!” It came out too vehemently. Zivon knew it the moment his lips parted. Knew how it would sound. He sighed. “If the Revolution has taught me anything, Admiral, it is that when the people cry out against their leaders, rebellion cannot be put down by an outside force coming against them in strength. That will give them reason to rally and forget their complaints for another day or week or month. If we want to encourage this mutiny, we must convince them that those complaints—their own superiors—are the enemy, the only one worth bothering with. Turn them on themselves, not on you.”

As his people had done with their own government. Their czar.