The Saboteurs (Men at War 5)

“Nice wheels,” he said with a smile.

Canidy shrugged.

Fine motioned for the man to get Canidy’s bags.

“Good to see you again,” Canidy said, offering his hand.

He looked back out the door.

“How much should I give the cabdriver?” he added.

Fine said something in French to the man with Canidy’s bags.

The man put Canidy’s bags inside the door, then went back out to the driver. Canidy heard the man and the driver begin to noisily negotiate the fare.

“Let’s get a drink,” Fine said. “You’re in time to watch the sunset.”

Fine closed the door, and Canidy then saw what had caused the sliding sound on the big door: a long, wooden four-by-four beam that, when in place across the door, was held by a U-shaped steel cradle bolted to either side of the doorframe.

Fine saw Canidy looking at it.

“Keeps out the riffraff,” Fine said. “Well, most of it.”

He put his arm around Canidy as they walked.

“You got past it.”

Fine poured two glasses of single malt scotch, neat, and brought them out onto the tiled balcony where Canidy leaned against the masonry wall.

The view from the villa was incredible. The city spread out below on a gentle slope that went all the way down to the port, maybe ten kilometers’ distance.

The sun, now a red ball melting into the horizon, set the sky ablaze with deep reds and oranges. It cast remarkable lights on the ships and barrage balloons in the harbor, and on the houses and buildings of the city.

“Very, very nice,” Canidy said softly, taking one of the glasses. “Must be hard to get used to.”

Fine laughed and touched his glass to Canidy’s.

“Unfortunately,” he said, “I don’t think I could ever get used to something as spectacular as that.”

They both took sips of scotch.

They watched the sky for a moment, then Fine added solemnly, “That said, I hate to spoil the moment but I’ve always believed that news that’s not good always should be dealt with at the soonest opportunity.”

Fine took from the inside pocket of his tunic a folded sheet of paper and held it out to Canidy.

“This is not bad, per se,” he said. “It’s just not what you want to hear.”

Canidy quickly unfolded the sheet.

“‘Nothing new at this time,’” he read aloud.

“I’m very sorry about Ann. Wish I could be the one to deliver good news.”

Canidy took a big sip of scotch, then looked at Fine.

“I wish that you could, too.”

He looked out at the view. The sky was quickly darkening and the lights of the city began to twinkle on.