McKibbin’s place, where you all checked in before coming to the Hill. The bus will head back at 1900—that’s seven o’clock tonight, for you civilians.” Or for anyone not used to European time, Fox thought. “If you need assistance,” the man continued, “Mrs. McKibbin can help you. Remember not to talk with strangers about who you are or what you do. Have your new name ready in case you’re asked. Don’t reveal a whit—not even if you get arrested. We’ll take care of everything. Remember, German agents have probably infiltrated Santa Fe, and we don’t want to give them any more information than they already have. Any questions?” Fox fingered his letter to Abraham Esau through his pocket; the note seemed to burn a hole in the material. What if they searched him? He tried to breathe normally, not to give a clue that anything was the matter. This must be the last of it, he vowed to himself. No more. If I’m found even holding this letter, my head will be on the chopping block.
