The drawings from the children were innocence in chalk, lovely sketches of the family, the pony, the stars. Annete clutched them to her chest and could feel the hands of the young ones upon the drawings themselves.

The dossier on Villenueve was old news, as fas as she was concerned. Laissez le repos mort. He pointlessly ran from pocketbook to pocketbook like a hound begging for scraps. Maybe the afterlife held some joy for him now.

The file on Morzik held the most interest for her, at the moment. The fact that Hank brought it to her must mean that Morzik had turned. She could barely make herself read the contents. The man who had risked his life to save hers was now just another enemy. The early information, she knew by heart. From the days when she would grab wine and cheese and go to the rooms that Curioso and Morzik shared above the bakery. The three would talk until the sun came up. The middle years, she knew because she had been a part of them. Her working as a dancer in the brothel had given them easy access to information, and to clients. Her gentlemen protectors were much more experienced than she, but they allowed equal partnership. When she reached the first of the latter pages, she recoiled from the touch of them, like they had been contaminated by the hunt that they explained.
The Germans were on to her. That much had been certain. She took the train to Berlin that evening knowing full well that she would probably lose her life. Morzik was to meet her there and then continue on to Istanbul, Curioso held her hand for a moment and told her that she didn't have to go. They both knew she did.
The Germans had to have been alerted. The small band escorted her off the train and into a waiting car. She tried to resist, and even managed to wreak havok on one guardsman's--how did the Inspector say...goolies?--No matter, the young man was incapacitated, and the others were enraged. Her next conscious moment found her bloodied, tied to a chair in a wet, dark room. Torture was indeed torture.
All this time she had thought it was Morzik who saved her. His nimble fingers untied the ropes, his voice urged her to stay awake, and his arms carried her back to France. Pas aussi. German intelligence seemed to have been alerted, by a man fitting Morzik's description, to her entrance into Germany.
It was at this point that the first tear fell and began to run the ink on the page. "Femme stupide," she thought, "Revenge is simple enough, finish the job, find Morzik, and kill him."
The was then interrupted by a knock at the door of her compartment. A small covered silver tray lay on the floor before her door. Funny, she didn't order lunch. She looked up and down the hall, but it was empty. She took the tray into the room, and there she lifted the lid. On a lace doily, there lay a worn chunk of rosin.