The November fog coiled thick and low over Villacoublay Airfield, muffling the crunch of boots on tarmac and the distant sound of morning drills.
The wind was sharp, cutting through coats and clenching fingers numb.
Étienne Moreau stood beside the sleek silver body of a Bloch MB.120, the diplomatic aircraft designated for his mission.
The engines roared low, preheated and waiting.
Bloch MB.120 a modern aircraft for its time, with three engines and a passenger cabin built for diplomatic missions.
It was no luxury liner, but it was better than most.
Beside him, Renaud rubbed his gloved hands together. "You know what I'll never miss about Paris? The wind that feels like it's arguing with your bones."
"You've said that before," Moreau said, not looking at him.
"And I'll keep saying it until someone installs central heating in the sky."
Moreau gave a small grin.
From across the runway, a group approached.
