The hallways were silent except for his boot clicks on the tile and the occasional plaintive mew coming from the bundle clutched to his chest.
Io murmured reassuring words to his quarry, stroking her head through the blanket to keep her still.
So far, so good.
The East Wing was disserted; no one saw him invite Major Krauss’ beloved Persian cat into room 307 and no one saw him emerge with the Major’s feline half an hour later, dripping wet and wrapped in a moth eaten green blanket.
He thought he was home free, until he saw the soldiers standing at the bottom of the stairs.
If he saw them, they saw him, and there was no use in turning back to find an alternate route.
“Comrades!” He called cheerfully to them, descending the stairs with grace and enthusiasm. “How are you, on this lovely, lovely morning?”
The blanket in his arms meowed, and struggled.