“A bit.” He’d thought the mystery man had been familiar, hadn’t he? Slightly? But he’d assumed he’d seen his picture. It hadn’t occurred to him that he looked familiar because a few of those features Drake had memorized were the same as Jaeger’s. The nose. The eyes. That was where the similarity ended, but seeing both faces together now, it was obvious. “They’re brothers.”

Margot’s breath eased out again. “Drake . . . have you ever heard that other man speak?”

He could only shake his head, easily following her train of thought. She might have, during their Go game, but she’d certainly never heard Jaeger. But if they were brothers . . . “It could have been him on the telephone. Not Jaeger at all.”

“If Jaeger is the name by which you know the injured one,” Abuelo chimed in from the desk, “then I can promise you he did not place any telephone calls after the seventh of November. He is deceased. His body was just discovered in a shallow grave outside the city a few days ago. A bullet apparently severed the artery in his leg. We believe he bled out in that building the photograph shows him being led into.”

“A bullet.” Drake closed his eyes, well remembering the pistol in his hands that day as he climbed the ladder on the train car. Firing wildly, blindly, just trying to keep Jaeger down. But if his opposite number had already stood up . . . His fingers tightened around Margot’s. He’d killed him. He hadn’t meant to. Hadn’t, honestly, wanted to. Yes, it was war. Yes, he knew what was expected. But recognizing a man was an enemy didn’t mean he wanted to eliminate him entirely. Because he wasn’t just an enemy. He was a man. A son.

A brother.

But Maxim Jaeger was dead—undeniably. And his brother was here. “You will pay,” he’d said. Not for the sugar, not for the anthrax. For Maxim’s death.

Margot must have been doing the same arithmetic in her mind. She tugged on his hand, angled toward the door. “Red, you said the guard was gone from the door? And Dot wouldn’t answer? Not even for you?”

No. Drake didn’t need to be pulled. He surged forward, doing the pulling.

“Dragón.” Abuelo had stood, and he must have rushed to get to the door by the time Drake put his foot on the first step. “I do not know if it matters, but Jaeger was not the name I was given when I asked one of my German contacts to discover his identity for me. I was told he was Heinrich Regnitz, a decorated officer before he and his brother, Dieter, were both recruited into intelligence.”

Feet itching to launch him up the stairs, Drake still paused long enough to shake his head. “How did you discover all that, Abuelo?”