“Whether or not to leave France. You can all go to your safe houses, wait for your pickups, and be airlifted out of the country before dawn. A couple of Lysanders are standing by in England, fueled and ready for me to send word to Major Renault. I was instructed to tell you that by tomorrow evening, you can be enjoying a pint at the…Crown and Scepter, I believe your major called it. By midweek, you will be back in your hometowns, reunited with your families in time for the feast day Thanksgiving.” Alistair had expressly told him to emphasize that last item. It was the carrot he was to wiggle before their noses, and indeed a few of their expressions flared briefly at the mention of it.

There was a shifting in seats, a cough, a clearing of a throat. Even now, released from their orders, the team did not speak or look at one another. Finally, the well-muscled, dark-haired young man the Frenchman took to be Limpet lifted his hand. “A question.”

“By all means,” Henri Burrell said.

“Has our intel proved valuable?”

Alistair’s man in Paris hesitated, then answered reluctantly, “Yes.”

“How valuable?”

“Invaluable.”

Another hand went up, that of the petite Labrador. Henri nodded at her. “Does the major have replacements for us?”

Another hesitancy. Then, unwillingly: “No.”

After a moment, Bridgette surveyed the group. “Well, what do you say, troops?”

No immediate response. The Frenchman was also adroit at interpreting body gestures and movements. The fellow with the familiar brow line and eyes that reminded him of somebody he couldn’t place rubbed the bridge of his nose, the petite spokeswoman had pursed her lips, and Lapwing, the sleek-lined lad missing a thumb, drummed the table with four fingertips—all indications of deep reflection. Only the reserved Liverwort remained still as a bust, a message in itself. The Frenchman felt his hopes drop for his friend Alistair. Those kids are tight as a pride of lions, Alistair had said. You and I know, Henri, about the strength and durability of human bonds forged in times of war. I’m afraid that if one stays, they all stay, out of some misguided feeling of loyalty to one another. You’ve got to talk them out of that foolishness, Henri. You’ve got to convince them that united they fall. Divided, they stand.

Poetically put, but perfectly true, and Henri was indeed aware of graveyards on two continents strewn with the dead from two wars who’d belonged to the one-for-all-and-all-for-one club. “Well, my friends?” he prompted.

Bridgette lifted a brow at the others. Their answer was a unified silence. She turned to the Frenchman. “Give us a little time to think about it and discuss, monsieur?”

Henri shook his head. “I must repeat: Discussion is against the rules. Each of you is to decide for yourselves what you wish to do. Besides, what is there to think about and discuss?”