"Here," he said, tapping at the Carpathians, "is the hinge. Romania. The one place both Berlin and Moscow need but neither trust. If they fight over Poland, they'll both glance south."
"And see us?"
"Exactly," Moreau said. "But they won't attack if they think we're unprepared. They'll only attack if they think we're strong."
Artois frowned. "That makes no sense."
"It makes perfect sense," Moreau said. "They fear strength that moves. They respect strength that sleeps."
The colonel gave a low whistle. "You're turning the entire continent into a psychological experiment."
"Not an experiment," Moreau said. "A correction."
A silence stretched between them.
Outside, a car passed through the wet street, its headlights sweeping across the room.
"You really believe we can survive this," Artois said finally.
"I know we can," Moreau said. "Because we already did."
The phone buzzed again an internal line this time.
Artois picked it up, listened, then handed it over. "Foreign Office."
