“You could go out,” said Patton. “Nobody’s looking for you. You could take a walk, see a little of the city. We’ve got a couple of hours at least.”

“I’d rather stay in,” said Ruthie, sitting next to Patton on her sagging bed. She took Patton’s hand in hers and squeezed it. “I like staying in . . . with you.”

Patton hadn’t felt an embrace, hadn’t felt lips on hers, hadn’t slipped in between sheets with the luxurious feel of bare skin on bare skin in a long, long time. She didn’t even want to think how long, because if she figured it out, it would probably make her cry. Over the past two days, her feelings about seeing Ruthie again had evolved. At first, she had just used an old flame to get what she needed—access to the Bombe. But it felt like something more now. Maybe not love, not quite yet, but certainly fondness and attraction and the memory that, in bed at least, they had been damn good together. Patton had heard of people who used sex to battle PTSD, hoping that the oxytocin that flooded the brain would wash away some of the darkness. She had never taken that approach herself, but then she had never had much opportunity to try. Now she had a couple of hours in a hotel room with someone who knew every inch of her body and whose hand was reaching up ever so tentatively to brush the side of her breast.

With enthusiasm she turned and pulled Ruthie into her arms.

The false Peter Byerly received a hero’s welcome at the National Library of the Czech Republic. To Jean’s relief, no one questioned the identity of his somewhat trashy-looking wife. As she had predicted, the staff knew his name but not his face. A librarian who insisted on being called Andrea (“My last name is inelegant for Americans to pronounce,” she claimed) met them at the main entrance and listened as Nemo explained that he was doing research on occult writings and needed to examine some materials.

“Would you like to see the Baroque Library before we go to the reading room?” said Andrea.

“That would be lovely,” said Jean and as Andrea led them back outside, Nemo glared at her.

“We don’t have time for sightseeing,” he hissed.

“Trust me,” said Jean. “Peter Byerly would want to see this library. It’s one of the most beautiful rooms of books in the world. We turn down an invitation for a private viewing and she’ll know we’re not the real Byerlys. She’s probably already suspicious of this ridiculous getup.”