On the floor near the hearth, the girls unload game pieces from a box: Snakes and Ladders, one of the many types of products I’ve rigged with gadgets I no longer design. Even if asked to stay on with MI9, I have no interest. My lone focus lies in bringing Evelien to the States, far removed from the realities of war. But I’m finding that once again, her required papers are difficult to procure.

I’m about to resume the topic with Hutton when one of the girls, the manager’s daughter, approaches Evelien with ribbon-bound hair and a lilting British tone.

“Would you like to play with us?”

Predictably, Evelien’s eyes invite my response.

“You may if you’d like,” I say. “We have a little time yet.”

She assumes a pleasant expression though follows the girl timidly toward the game. Her trust in me would be endearing if I didn’t feel like an imposter, inadequate and unprepared.

My face must broadcast the thought, given Hutton’s compassionate look toward me, similar if less grave than his reaction to my news of Arie, which I outlined in the sparsest of terms.

“I daresay,” he offers, “you are doing quite a wonderful job of mothering the girl.”

“But I’m not her mother.” I mean that with no distaste, merely to honor Thea. “I haven’t the slightest inkling what I’m doing.”

He chuckles a bit. “Spoken like a genuine parent. Even an army general, for that matter.” He jabs his cigarette in the air for emphasis. “If two wars have taught me a thing, it is that an embarrassingly large portion of military strategy is conjured as one goes along.”

I smile only because it seems a natural response.

Then he sips from his teacup and takes another drag. Emitting his typical restive energy, minus the franticness and paranoia that led to his breaking point, he’s again agreed to help. And I’m immensely thankful. Particularly after he confirmed with deep sincerity what I had hoped: that he knew nothing of the brass’s duplicity involving my assignment to lure Arie out.

This is presuming, mind you, that Lenora correctly assessed Crockatt’s discussion. To learn the truth, I could broach the matter personally, but not without compromising Lenora’s position. Besides, what response would I get other than a denial? And either way, what would any answer change?

“So at the embassy,” I say, circling back to the subject of Evelien, “is there anyone else you might have luck with?”

Hutton sighs, releasing a puff of smoke. “Although naturally I would be delighted to try, I suspect we won’t fare any better. At least for a time.” Before I can prod further, he leans forward to continue, either covertly or eager. “I have, rather, been tickled by an alternative idea.”