Not so different, really, from all that had happened in Russia over the last year. Something Zivon should understand, given his similar story. “No. I was not. My mother’s family had connections to the intelligentsia, but we had none at all to the nobility.”

Which would make Hall question where Zivon’s loyalties had really lain, even in Russia. He, like these Germans, was more common than elite, by rights.

Hall blinked at him. “Popov was going to retire at the new year. You would have taken over command of the division.”

A fact he’d made it a point never to mention here, where he’d been forced to take a position at the bottom. Zivon drew in a long breath but didn’t answer.

Apparently Hall didn’t need one. “I knew Popov well. We set your division up together, mirroring ours here, you know. We still kept in touch—he mentioned you often. Your brilliance. Your talent with the work. He said he could imagine handing the reins over to no one else.”

Zivon’s throat went tight. “I admired him greatly.” He had no idea, now, where his mentor even was. He’d vanished a few weeks before Zivon had fled too. Was he dead? Or safe somewhere in Allied territory? He prayed that it was the latter.

“Had you actually received that promotion, it wouldn’t have come just with a military title.”

Ah, so this was his point. Zivon nodded. “I realize it would have given me access to social circles to which I did not by rights belong.” He ran his thumb over the ruby of his ring. “I am not like those German officers, sir. I know well to whom I owe thanks and loyalty for my advancement. And more, though I can commiserate with how my people suffer, I cannot condone the way the soviets have chosen to institute change. It is not freedom that is extended to all, only to those with whom one agrees. This is what our American allies have taught the world, is it not? True freedom means freedom to disagree.”

Hall smiled and opened his mouth. But before he could say anything more, his office door burst open.

Zivon spun, frowning when he saw Clarke there, out of breath and wild-eyed. “It’s Ivy—the captain just got word and took off in his car. They couldn’t find me fast enough. She’s ill. This flu.”

Zivon pushed to his feet.

“Go.” Hall had already rounded the desk, his own face lined with worry. “If Blackwell has left, it must be bad. Keep me updated.”

He needed no more permission than that. Zivon charged for the door, he and Clarke both running down the corridor, the stairs, and out into the summer sunshine. Neither paused to debate the path to take or how best to get there.