And then I heard it. Just a small sound at first—what sounded like a grunt—and I pressed my ear against the wall. It came again. Louder this time, and I recognized the sounds of fighting. I couldn’t find the lever to open the door, and I couldn’t remember ever being so scared as I was at that point. I knew it was Graham on the other side of the open door.
He was a man with honor, a man who’d let nothing get in the way of his mission except for death. And I knew in that moment I couldn’t lose him. I wanted the chance for a future, and for that to happen we had to make it out alive.
I tamped down my panic and sucked in a deep breath, letting it out slowly, and then I ran my fingers over the wall again, starting at the bottom and working my way up. Once I got to the point where I could no longer reach, I moved up a step and kept feeling for the anomaly I knew had to be there.
There were more muffled sounds from the other side, and I went up another step, stretching farther this time. And then a third step. I was barely able to reach across the top seam of the door, and then I felt it. Just a small button that would’ve been much more reachable for a man or a taller woman.
I pressed the button and there was a click as the door swung inward and a whoosh of dank air and light hit me in the face. The light was stronger than it was in the stairwell, so I blinked several times so my eyes could adjust to the change.
At first I didn’t realize what I was seeing. And then I hesitated, not believing what I was seeing. Graham and Auguste were locked in close combat, blood pouring from Auguste’s face and a wound that was bleeding badly on Graham’s shoulder.
Behind the fight, someone had built bars from floor to ceiling, caging in the Cordier family. Or what was left of them.
“Run,” Graham said, landing a punch in Auguste’s midsection. “He’s a mole.”
It made sense that it would have to be someone deep in the Alliance. The information he’d have been able to share with Wagner would have been invaluable. I didn’t know what to do or how to sway the fight in Graham’s favor. I’d have given anything for a gun, but the space was small and things were happening so quickly it would have been a risk to pull the trigger.
I still held my knife in my hand, tucked behind my arm so it was concealed, but I felt woefully underdressed for the occasion, in more ways than one. I saw Auguste pull a knife from the sleeve of his coat and I gasped, moving forward as if I could have stopped him with my presence.
It felt like a vacuum inside the secret room, and the air rushed from my lungs and my heart pounded in my ears. There was nothing I could do. The silver of the blade flashed as Auguste drew back his hand, but Graham blocked him by grabbing his wrist and then pushing with all his might until Auguste slammed up against the wall.
Graham’s forearm pressed against Auguste’s throat until gasping and gurgling replaced the grunts and groans. Desperation filled Auguste as he fought for breath and his legs and free arm swung frantically, slowing as the seconds ticked by like a windup toy running down.
Eventually Graham stepped back and Auguste’s limp body fell to the floor. Graham was bruised and bleeding, but he was alive, and he looked down at his friend with a look on his face I couldn’t describe—maybe disappointment—maybe grief.
And then he looked at me and I ran toward him. The sound came rushing back into my ears and I heard the cries and screams of the children locked in the cage.
“Oh, God,” I said. “Are you okay?”
“Is Wagner dead?” he asked coldly.
I shrunk back a little at his tone. “Yes,” I nodded. “He knew who I was.”
Graham nodded, and then quick as lightning he grabbed me by the throat and pushed me against the same wall where he’d killed Auguste. My breath was cut off instantly and it felt like my face was swelling with blood. The lack of air to my brain, and maybe because I was so blinded by what I wanted to be love, was the only reason it took me so long to realize that Auguste hadn’t been the mole. Henry Graham was the mole, and he was cleaning up loose ends and would be going back to MI6 having protected his double agent status. It’s why he’d let the others help him kill all the officers before he’d turned on Auguste. And I’d done the dirty work and killed Wagner.
“Beautiful dress,” he said, his face contorted and crazed. “You were quite good at your job. I don’t want you to die thinking you were a disappointment. But you were playing against a stacked deck. You were always going to lose.”
He loosened his grip enough for me to gasp for air and then closed off my passageway again. Spots danced in front of my eyes and the pain in my lungs felt like I’d swallowed hot pokers.
“If it’s any consolation, I enjoyed you more than any of the others who’ve died before you. But these things happen,” he said. “It’s war. And war is about money and power, and I have both.”
Somewhere during his speech I’d resigned myself to dying. I couldn’t fight him. He was too big, and I didn’t have much strength left. But then he’d made the comment about how he’d done to other women what he was doing to me, and there was somewhere in my brain that took offense to that.
