“Then you have been busy since I last saw you,” Diana said to me, her face relaxing. We’d last seen each other in Naples, a month ago, before an assignment from Uncle Ike cut our time together short.

“Yes. I asked if I could tag along when your mission was finished. I never thought you’d be brought out so soon.”

“It was… sudden,” she said. Her voice wavered, and I thought tears welled up in her eyes, but she regained her composure in an instant, running the rosary beads she wore through her fingers. “What’s the connection?” Diana asked in a low voice, nodding toward Philby.

“It’s a long story.”

“They all are,” Diana said, as she took my hand in hers and gazed out the window. She rubbed the moisture away and stared at the traffic, the streetlights, the glow from windows-all the signs of normalcy that had become so abnormal in these years of war. She blinked rapidly as the tears returned, and one dropped onto the back of my hand.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“Long and sad,” she said. “Every story is so long and so sad.” She gripped my hand until her knuckles turned white. We drove on through the peaceful streets in silence broken only by the sound of muffled sobs.

CHAPTER TWO

The Hotel Turconi was located just north of Chiasso. It sat atop a hill at the start of a wave of foothills and high ridges cresting the Alps themselves. It was a small place, perfect for knowing who your fellow guests were, and for watching the winding road that led up from the border town. When we’d first checked in, the owner nodded to Philby like a long-time customer, the kind who liked to be left alone. He didn’t blink at our passports, both Irish, and reserved a table in an alcove for our meals, set apart from the other diners. Our papers and our names were phony, but the money Philby handed over wasn’t. I hoped he wasn’t stingy with the king’s pound notes, since I didn’t like the idea of German agents paying us a visit while we slept.