Part 1
Australian Line
Near Musu, New Guinea
May10, 1942
Midday
"Tommy, you think they’ll attack today?" Freddy asked his friend, Sergeant Caldwell.
The Australian New Guinea Administrative Unit had taken command of the Eastern half of the Island early in January. Fighting on the border between the Dutch half and the British-held part had been furious. The Japanese had handily routed the remains of the Dutch Army, and were throwing everything they had at Port Moresby and the islands just east. Bougainville had fallen. Bataan and Corregidor had finally succumbed to the onslaught, and the Australians knew this island was next. Only New Guinea stood between Japan and home. There were conflicting reports now as to just who won the Coral Sea conflict. They knew for sure that the great American carrier, Lexington, was lost.
They were all tired, and perhaps that explained why they didn’t notice the tall, bald man until he was standing before them. "Crikey!" Tommy Caldwell fell back on his Darwin roots and stumbled as he tried to bring his gun around.
"Easy, son." AJ Chegwidden used the last of his strength to keep standing. "I need to get to Port Moresby. I have information for the high command." With that, he tottered and fell. Neither man noticed the native slip away back into the jungle.
:: :: :: ::
Kate paced the floor of the living room where she’d set up shop after the consulate was destroyed in the sporadic bombing raids that began back in January. She was glad now that they’d kept Meredith’s old apartment and the equipment in the office downstairs. Her own apartment next to the consulate was destroyed, but she’d salvaged a few clothes. She’d bought more, but her normal workday wear consisted of slacks and a simple blouse. The Australians had managed to run her a Teletype line here, and she was back in business. Only she hadn’t heard from the one person who she really needed to speak with since leaving Selau nearly five months ago. She rubbed her belly and fought the tears that threatened to well up.
It was bad enough that she’d pay for her one true indiscretion. You slept with a man – you got pregnant. That’s what her mother had pounded into her since she was old enough to understand about actions and consequences. She’d pay for her actions. But did Victor have to pay, too? Where was he? He’d promised that he’d be here for her. She’d have gone quite mad had it not been for Bud Roberts. He was the only one who knew the truth. He was the one who convinced her to lie.
"Kate, you know that Victor would want this. Whatever happened to him, you know that he’d want you to do this."
‘This’ being the one truly fraudulent thing she’d ever done in her life. She made sure to tell anyone who asked that, "We married on Selau. The magistrate performed the ceremony. The paperwork is on Bougainville." Jean Luc was dead and, as far she knew, no one cared enough to mount an expedition to prove her wrong. She even went so far as to send in the paperwork to Washington. If anything happened to her, Victor Galindez was now named as beneficiary of her will. Since everyone in Port Moresby had whispered about them for years, no one really questioned it. There were plenty of other hasty marriages in the days just after Pearl. Men running off to war, wanting some small anchor back in reality, knowing they were probably doomed to leave barely known widows and unknown orphans.
Now she waited: For more shelling; for more news of minor victories and disastrous defeats; for invasion. Those were the constant sources of the anxiety that she knew had to be affecting her baby. But those were in the background. Today she was waiting for word back from Washington. The attacks were stepping up and she was being ordered to Sydney. One part of her wanted to stay here, the other, the new part that had slowly emerged as her belly swelled, knew she had to keep her child safe. She wasn’t sure what she was going to do once the baby was born, but she knew she had to keep him safe. Somehow, she knew it was a boy.
She heard the heavy footsteps climbing the stairs from the office below. Bobbi Latham had never left Selau. Kate prayed that Sturgis was looking out for her. She would’ve welcomed the company of the sassy, proud painter. Now she made due with a Marine watchdog. "Yes, Ducky? What is it?" She yanked open the door to find the impossibly young looking Corporal Donald Mallard rolling his eyes at her. Well, he’d been the one to tell her the nickname that all the guys at the US base called him.
"Ma’am." His accent was clipped and so precise that he reminded her of an old college professor. "Commander Flagler sent word. There’s a jeep downstairs to take you to the base."
"So, Flagler has decided to tie me up and put me on the next transport?" She fisted her hands on her hips and glowered.
Ducky Mallard sighed. "No, ma’am. They found an American in the jungle up near Musu. He passed out before the Aussies could get any information from him. But he had a letter in his pocket addressed to you and…" But he was speaking to empty air. Kate was already running down the stairs. "Ma’am!" He sighed again and clumped down after her.
:: :: :: ::
He should feel better. The five-month growth of beard was gone, the wispy remains of the hair on his head once again clipped close to his scalp. He wasn’t sure how long he’d slept, but he almost felt rested. The wound in his leg had long since healed. However, now that his life wasn’t dependent upon brutalizing survival tactics and a native he’d never thanked, guilt was weighing on him worse than the months of desperate deprivation. How was he going to live with it? How was he going to tell Kate? What the hell was he going to do?
"AJ!"
He closed his eyes and turned his head away from the doorway to stare out the window. He hadn’t found the envelope – the one thing he’d protected at the cost of everything else. That’s why they’d contacted her right away.
How very fitting that this meeting would take place in a hospital room. Didn’t all the really terrible conversations he’d been party to in this city, occur in some sterile white room or another? "Kate." He was surprised by how steady his voice felt.
"We’ve determined that our patient isn’t military." The voice of the base commander intruded. "You obviously know him. The Australian unit that found him said he has information for the command. Well? Why won’t he speak to me?"
"AJ?" Now he could hear the quaver in her voice.
Steeling his resolve he turned his head. When he saw her, he almost allowed hysteria to take him. «Of course! How God damned perfect! She’s pregnant! God damned son-of-a-bitch! Damn you, Victor! It should be you lying here. Not me.» "Hello, darlin’."
She hesitantly stepped into the room. AJ looked like hell. Always the most robust of men, now he looked haggard and thin. He looked much older than she knew him to be. She bit her lip, fighting back the tears. "W-what happened?"
His eyes darted past her face to the ramrod stiff man behind her. AJ had known men like Flagler in the last war. Hell, he’d been like Flagler in the last war. He took a deep breath and looked away. "I’m sorry, Kate."
"For what? Damn you, AJ. Where is he? Where’s Victor? What happened?"
AJ sighed, and longed to close his eyes and never wake up. He knew he needed to report on what he’d seen. However, before that, he owed her an explanation.
"Would you leave us alone for a bit, Commander?" she asked tiredly. She didn’t want any witnesses to the coming conversation. She knew she’d leave here weeping.
"This man said he has information that we might need. Even if he’s the father of…"
"Get out!" Gone was the pathetic fearful woman she’d allowed herself to become. She remembered the reasons, and rediscovered the strength that she’d used to make her way in the very masculine world, to reach a spot that only one other woman had achieved before her. "MISTER Chegwidden is not under your command. I am the de facto ambassador of this island, COMMANDER. When I am done with him, you can have him. Not until then!"
"May I remind you that Port Moresby is under martial law?"
"You may remind me all you want – later." She placed her hand on his chest and pushed him out the door. Short of striking her, he had no choice but to comply.
Once she’d shut the door, the room became stifling in the tension that arched between them. "Now, AJ. Just tell me what happened." She walked over to the bed and placed her hands on the rail. "Please! I have to know."
And she was right. He owed her that much. "Sit down. You probably need…"
"Damn you! Is he dead?" She gasped as a pain shot through her. AJ struggled to get up but she held up her hand. "No. Don’t. I’ll be fine." She went and pulled the chair closer to the bed. Sitting down, she reached up and grabbed his hand. He tried to pull away, ashamed by her comforting touch. It should be Victor lying here. Not him.
"I don’t know." He sat up, but was unable to do anything else with the bar in the way. Forcing himself to meet her gaze he took a deep breath and began. "We, Galindez and I, went to Sorong to pick up Mike Roberts and Tom Boone. Their position was on the verge of being discovered. That end of the island was part of the first attacks. They radioed that they’d be at the pick up point, and gave us the day and time. Victor stayed offshore. I rowed in and brought them back. Tom wasn’t doing well at all by then. We thought we’d made it, but the damned fool blew up the Jap’s ammo dump on the outskirts of town."
"Oh, God. We heard about that. We figured it was either you or one of the local resistance groups."
AJ shook his head. "There are no resistance groups. There are native sympathizers and a small, probably temporary, POW camp. We saw it, Kate." He shook his head and tried to clear it of the sights flittering about in his head like a child’s kaleidoscope. "Victor was just gunning the engine when we saw a Jap sub surfacing. He did the best he could. He tried to out run them, but we knew it was useless. He set the boat heading for some rocks and we jumped overboard. We hoped that the Japs would think we all died in the crash. Hell, we almost did, anyway." He paused, only to find himself gasping for breath. It was the most talking he’d done in five months, and he found he was impossibly tired. But he had to continue.
She stood and released his hand. Walking to the other side of the bed, she found the small pitcher. Pouring him water, she held the glass to his mouth. "Can you finish?"
Pride and anger at his weakness gave him a burst of strength. Nodding, he lay back down and studied the paint already peeling from the hastily constructed hospital. "Victor and I got Tom ashore. Mike didn’t make it."
She closed her eyes, a tear streaked down her face. "Poor Bud."
"We’d just made it to cover in the jungle. The sub must have radioed for reinforcements because a patrol boat showed up. Both the ships had spot lights and just as Mike was crawling up on to the beach…"
"Oh, God!" She gripped the rail and hung on.
"They didn’t even give him a chance to surrender. They mowed him down." He didn’t want to be brutal, but Mike Roberts deserved for someone to remember how he died. "I’m sorry, Kate."
"Finish. What happened next?"
"There was nothing we could do. There was no doubt that Mike was dead. We dragged Tom further into the jungle. He was shaking so badly. He kept chattering for us to leave him. Damn it. We should’ve." He’d admitted that to himself soon after Victor betrayed him. And that’s what it was; betrayal, pure and simple. "We found a cave and hid out there for a day. Tom’s episodes never lasted more than day. And this time was no different, but he was weaker now. He couldn’t walk very far. We made it to a small village where I knew a couple of the men. They were wary of helping us; evidently, the Japanese had killed some of their tribe during the first landings. They offered us shelter and we stayed there over a month. We did a little recon. The villagers found us paper and a pencil. We both made notations of Japanese strongholds and troop staging areas. We planned on moving to a village further east. One of the men had relatives there."
He licked his lips. And, without him asking her, she brought the glass to them again. "Thanks." He covered his eyes with his bent arm. He couldn’t bear to look at her as he told the rest of the story. "Late at night, we’d take turns keeping watch. But sometimes we’d talk. We both knew that Tom would never make it. Neither of us wanted to leave him alone. In the jungle, only the strong survive. I told Victor he should go. Victor said it should be me. We both had our arguments. I knew the island better. He was younger and stronger, more likely to make it. Tom just sat there and kept saying, ‘Leave me.’"
"Neither of you could do that."
"And both of us could have stayed, but we had to get the information about the troop movements to Moresby."
"Did you?"
AJ nodded. "Yeah. The son of the tribal chief who hid us led me along the coast.
Flagler has the envelope that contains so much information, but I have more to add. Victor wrote something to you." He turned his head away and sighed deeply. They’d both made promises to each other. Both wrote notes to their lovers. When he’d woke up in the cave outside the village where Victor had dragged him after knocking him out, he’d quickly checked the envelope. He hadn’t opened it since. Everything he’d learned on the trek was inside his head.
"I’ll get it from Flagler." She started to turn away, but he reached out and grabbed her wrist.
"You know you only have to ask. Anything, Kate. I’ll help you in any way I can."
"Just tell me what happened, AJ." Not that it mattered, she thought, Victor wasn’t here.
Anything but that. But he knew he’d have to tell her. "We stayed in village for almost a month, hoping that the Japs would move off, or that Tom would regain enough strength to make it through the jungle. The villagers hid us in a cave three times. Three times the Japs came and questioned them. Each time, we thought it’d be the last time. But we finally understood that someone was behind it. Someone knew that we escaped from the boat. They weren’t buying that we died in the crash, and only Mike made it to shore. There was one Jap captain who seemed to know the island very well. He must’ve been in Sorong for a while. He spoke the native tongue as well as I do. That’s the only reason why I understood what was going on inside that head of his."
He closed his eyes and Kate couldn’t believe that she saw a tear escape. She was so shocked at what this man, so strong and formable, had been reduced to. "AJ?"
He took a shuddering breath. "The Jap captain dragged an old man out of one of the huts. He killed him, Kate. Hung his body from a tree and told the chief that the next day he’d kill two men. He knew we were being hidden. He had no idea how many of us there were, but he told the chief that no one could blow up Japanese property without retribution. And he no longer cared who paid. That night, we decided that we’d have to give ourselves up. But that one of us would have to escape to get the information back to the British or Americans."
"And you drew straws?" she said bitterly.
"Yeah, we did. I lost. I was going to stay with Tom. You have to believe me, Kate."
"So?"
"Galindez sucker punched me! Tied me up and dumped me in the cave and told the chief not to let me go for three days."
She nodded and turned away. "I understand. I’ll send in Commander Flagler."
"Kate!"
But she was out the door.
She had no doubt that AJ was telling the truth, and she knew the loyalty that AJ instilled in his men. Bud waxed poetic about what a great guy AJ was. That was all well and good, but she couldn’t think about that now. She needed to get away from AJ, the hospital, everyone. She needed to be alone in her grief. Running down the hall, she fought the urge to vomit. She wanted to scream. She wanted to hit someone. Unfortunately, Commander Flagler was the first person she came upon.
"May I see him now?" Flagler sneered. He didn’t think that any woman should be working. He certainly didn’t think a pregnant one should be. Women were just too emotional.
"You may have him, Commander," she snapped. But before Flagler could pass her, she reached out and gripped his forearm. Her nails were sharp, and she could see him wince in pain. "I want the letter you took off of Mr. Chegwidden."
"It contains..."
"It contains a personal communiqué to me from... my husband. I want it." She could see that he didn’t believe her lie. She no longer cared.
He reached into the small case he carried, and pulled out the stained and wrinkled brown package. He didn’t hand it to her; instead, he opened it and rifled through the papers until he came to a folded sheet. Kate’s name was on it. He peered at the sheet for a long moment and, for that moment; she thought he was going to read it. Instead, he curled his lip and handed it to her. Clutching it in her fist, she turned and fled the building.
She ran up the street toward the apartment. By the time she closed the door behind her, she was out of breath, panting hard. She’d not gained much weight with the baby, although her stomach was rounded and full, even though she was just barely five months pregnant. She longed for a good, hard cry, but she knew that that, too, would come later.
She stood at the window, looking at the remains of the building across the street, an early victim of the Japanese bombing raids. Placing her hand over her belly, she felt an overwhelming sadness that her baby would be born so far from home. She stood there until the sun dipped below the rooflines to bath her window in golden sunset. Finally, she found the strength to smooth the crumpled paper clinched so tightly in her fist.
She wasn’t sure what she had expected. It was a single sheet. Whatever she’d hoped for - a long missive telling her of his hopes and plans; a crimped page of instructions; a last will and testament - she knew it’d break her heart. What she saw, however, filled her with a sense of calm, a quiet hope. She clung to the words, blurred but written in a firm hand.
Katherine,
This I must do.
But, love, I swear by the Blessed Virgin,
I will return to you.
Victor
:: :: :: ::
Pilots’ Ready Room
USS Enterprise
Northeast of Midway Island
June 4, 1942
0530 Hours
Lieutenant Commander John Farrow fidgeted in his chair. "Enough waiting. Let’s get out there!" he muttered.
Lieutenant Harmon Rabb grunted but just shifted a bit, his crossed arms serving to keep him balanced as he tried to get a few more moments of sleep. Since the Battle of Britain, he’d learned to sleep when he could. They’d been awakened at 0130; breakfast was served at 0300. Now, they waited for word of the Japanese ‘Carriers Striking Force,’ as the enemy flattop fleet was known. Intelligence swore it was out there close – but it was a big ocean and they were just having ‘a wee spot of trouble spotting it,’ as one of the wits had pointed out.
Captain Murray had spared them a quick pep talk. But when the wing commander stepped forward, everyone paid close attention. Not that he’d had much to say yet, either. Rabb figured it’d be like the battle at Coral Sea when they’d received their instructions haphazardly. He really wished that ‘Bull’ Halsey were in charge. The joke going around was that the old man had a rash. Whatever it was, Harm really respected the admiral in charge of combined Task Forces. But perhaps Admiral Spruance deserved a chance. After all, the old man had picked him to take command of the Task Force surrounding Big E.
"Hey!" one of the men shouted from the back of the room. "They’ve spotted them! They’ve spotted the carriers!"
Farrow jumped up. He was squadron commander of twelve planes. "Where? When?"
The man shrugged, and Farrow growled before sitting back down. "It’s the damned waiting that’s the worst."
"Don’t worry, John," someone called. "You and hotshot there’ll get your kills today."
Harm sighed. He couldn’t help it that he was good. Hell, John said he was a natural. He hoped so. He needed to be. He had it all planned out. He knew that he did two things very well. He was a great reporter, and, surprising even himself, he was a gifted fighter pilot. He’d proven that over Britain. Now he was out to prove it again. He planned on becoming the best and returning home a hero. Let Charles Gale stand up to that. It was Harm’s deepest secret and most daring dream. He’d had his first kill over Wotje in the Marshall Islands. Early on, most of the other pilots respected his skills, but thought he was rather unimaginative. Even down to the name of his Wildcat fighter. "Cat?" one of the young pilots had snorted. "Can’t you come up with something classier than that?"
He’d walked away, but Farrow had set the kid straight. "He named it after his wife who was injured on Pearl. You have a problem with that?" After that, he and John, by far the oldest of the pilots, had pretty much kept to themselves, and even though John was two years older, it was Harm who they’d started calling ‘Gramps.’ Until Wake Island. There, flying defense for the bombing squadrons, he’d shot down three enemy fighters and had been credited with taking out a gun emplacement on a strafing run. The other pilots had seen him flying through the bullets of two Zeros, both of whom had tried to take him out at the same time. He’d pulled up, and the two Zeroes had clipped wings, sending them both into a tailspin. That was impressive enough, but afterwards, when the mechanics had begun going over the plane, they’d spread the most incredible news of the feat. "Not one bullet. The lucky SOB didn’t take one bullet." Harm had just figured that his escapade over London, which damn near left him a cripple, was all the dues he’d needed to pay. He’d flown, hard, fast and as carefully as a fighter pilot could.
"To your planes!" the loudspeaker finally sputtered twenty minutes later.
Farrow stood and looked down at the men, boys really, who’d follow him today. With the exception of Harm, none of them had combat experience. It felt almost like murder. He quickly shook off the feeling and said, "Let’s go kill us some Japs." He hurried down the hall and led them up to the flight deck.
It was utter chaos, and Farrow could see they were going about the staging all the wrong way. The heavier bombers, with shorter ranges, took off first. There was a problem with two of the planes not being able to take off, and that slowed them down even more. Finally, nearly two hours later, the Air Group Commander gave the order to set course. Unfortunately, by the time everyone was heading to the coordinates that the spotters had sent in, the strike force was fragmented.
Farrow told his command of Wildcats, "Keep radio silence until you spot something. Use hand signals, if possible."
Through the low clouds they flew, desperately trying to find the torpedo squadron they were supposed to protect. Finally, one of the rookies, ignoring orders, squeaked, "There they are!"
Farrow silently shook his head. He looked across the clear space in the clouds to see Harm giving him the thumbs up sign. He nodded and they followed the squadron of bombers. They heard enough chatter over the radio to know that some of the Big E’s planes were getting through to the enemy’s battle force. However, they weren’t sending any coordinates.
"I see Zeros, Skipper!"
Harm broke in with an exasperated snap, "Position!"
"Oh, uhm..." It was obvious in the excitement that the rookie had forgotten the indicators.
"Eleven o’clock! Eleven o’clock!" someone else shouted.
John was keeping his eyes on the torpedo squadron, whose leader was obviously maintaining radio silence better than his people. All John saw was a wobbling of wings, then the entire group, in a coordination that belied their lack of experience, began to dive together. Finally realizing that no one was that good, John looked down at the silent radio. "Son-of-a-bitch! We’ve been following the wrong group."
"Doesn’t matter, John," Harm said calmly. "They’re ours now. And here comes the fun!"
The sky was suddenly filled with planes bearing the Rising Sun emblem. They wove in and out of the graceful, deadly enemy. «These boys know just what the hell they’re doing.» John’s squadron quickly lost their first plane, its tail shattered. He watched in horror as the kid pushed open the cockpit and prepared to jump. Just as he cleared the plane, a Zero zoomed in on him. Tracer bullets tracked across the sky marking their deadly path.
"No!" someone yelled as the body jerked from the impact of the bullets. "Bastard."
John started to bank to exact his revenge for the unwarranted attack on a man already out of commission. However, Harm’s plane with its surprisingly gentle nose art, come in behind the Zero. The bullets from the Wildcat, seemed to tear the enemy’s plane apart. Cheers erupted in his earphones. "Settle down! Stay alert!" he yelled.
The exchange served to spur the other pilots into action. They took out several planes, counting them out, waiting but a second for confirmation. John was trying to keep an eye on the planes attacking the enemy ships. He dove, and wove, and shot down a Zero dangerously close to a Devastator, trying to line up his shot. "Damn it!" came the anguished cry as the 500-pounder did little more than send a shower of water high into the air next to the carrier.
"Easy, boys," the cool southern drawl of the wing commander urged his bombers as he, too, dropped his payload, while Harm and one of the other fighters were chasing off two Zeros. Harm was successful. But the Zero did a bank and roll, and was soon on the tail of the kid.
"Not this time, Tojo," Harm muttered vehemently, as he positioned himself behind the stalker. A swift burst, and the Zero’s wing sheared off. The Japanese pilot tried to ram the other plane, but he quickly spun out of control, barely missing his own ship as he crashed into the water.
"Confirmed kill, Skipper," Harm said.
"Hot damn! Lookee there!" someone screamed, and John didn’t have the heart to reprimand the kid. Particularly once he realized that a cloud of black smoke was rising from the carrier below.
The rest of the battle was a blur for John. Visibility was hampered by their success, but they continued the dogfights, protecting the bombers, getting in as many kills as they could. They were joined by remnants of other squadrons, but by 1002 hours, Harm’s voice alerted him. "Skipper, we’re gonna be down to fumes here pretty soon." He could always count on Harm. Kills were fine, but getting home was better.
"Let’s head for home, boys."
The only person to respond was Harm. "Just you and me, my friend," Harm sighed, the sorrow evident in his voice..
John looked around, trying desperately to find Harm wrong. He saw no other plane in his squadron. Relief that he was alive was dashed by the overwhelming loss of his command. They’d been so young and so brave and the only thing left for them now was a note in the ship’s log and a telegram to their loved ones. "Let’s get back," he answered bitterly."
They broke off and headed back to the position that the Big E should be in. Once they were away from the fleet, the billowing smoke gave way to a perfect South Pacific day. Visibility was clear, and the only planes they saw were US Army, Navy or Marine squadrons hurrying to take up the slack. "You think they’ll fuel us back up and send us out again?"
"Just the two of us?" God, John hoped not. "We’ll see what the XO says."
However, once they spotted the fleet, they saw that the fight had not been one sided. "Oh, my God." Harm sounded as awed as John felt. There before them, the Yorktown, the flagship of the fleet, was smoking as badly as the Japanese carriers that John knew were sinking. "She’s not going to make it. Look, there’re lifeboats between her and the Astoria."
"Get in line, Harm. Big E is going to have to take in Yorktown’s planes. We have to land and get out of the way."
They landed almost side by side, quickly taxiing to where the flight crew directed them. However, as John was pulling himself up out of the plane, a warrant officer ran up. "Take a leak, grab some chow and some joe and get back out here. XO says anyone not dead gets to go back up."
John groaned but Harm looked pleased. "How much time do you need?"
"One hour. Gotta fuel her, check her out, and get some more of the Yorktown’s planes on board."
"Hey! You want to paint three more flags on my nose and two on Commander Farrow’s plane?" The crew chief made a rude gesture. Harm laughed and Farrow just shook his head.
"You’re insane, you know that?"
Harm’s smile faded. "No. Just want it on the record, that’s all."
:: :: :: ::
Statholdergaarden
Oslo, Norway
July 10, 1942
Late Evening
Clay sat at a corner table watching the crowded room. He’d only played with his dinner, eating just enough to not draw attention to himself. He’d been careful to eat in the ‘European’ way, using his utensils properly. But he was nervous. There were at least a dozen German officers dining in this popular restaurant. It was dangerous and stupid. But his contact had left word at his hotel that he’d be met here. He had the code words memorized, but he had no idea who he was meeting.
He fingered the goatee that he occasionally resorted to when he needed to alter his appearance. And if he had to alter it again, it’d be easier to shave than to try to grow a beard.
He glanced at his watch and groaned. He knew he shouldn’t have come this early. Forcing himself to eat more of the pork roll, he tried hard to get his nerves under control. At least his claustrophobia, suddenly brought on by the long perilous journey by submarine under the North Sea, had abated. He’d met contacts in neutral Sweden where he’d received his papers identifying him as Diederik Heckler, a Dutch businessman with papers from Berlin identifying him as a friend of the Reich. From Sweden, he’d slipped across the border where he’d been met by the Norwegian underground. The man who’d met him had been cautious and uncommunicative. Clay didn’t speak Norwegian, and the man hadn’t responded to English, German or Dutch in the two days they’d sat side-by-side in the Volvo truck as it’d made its way to Oslo. It hadn’t been until the man pulled up in front of the Hotel Bondeheimen that the driver turned to him and, in halting Dutch, said, "Tonight behind the Café Solliløkka, you will be met."
It’d been after ten at night and the sun had still been casting shadows across the cobbled streets. An old man, or at least someone stooped, keeping his face well hidden, had whispered so hoarsely that Clay would never recognize it again, "You will be met at Statholdergaarden. Order nakkerull and trondheim soup. When the waiter asks you for your wine selection, tell him that you always drink what your host recommends, but that you prefer beer to vodka."
It’d seemed innocuous and easily misconstrued. However, the small ring that the resistance agent had pressed into his hand was the final key. "Make sure that your hand rests on the table at all times. Or when you hold your beer stein, it is clearly visible."
He’d argued that the time frame was too liberal, but the man had hissed a warning. "You are here because we are told you can help. Do not presume to tell us how to fight. Your guide has much to do before the meeting." He’d then proceeded to give him more code phrases to memorize.
And so he sat wondering if it was worth it. His briefing with General Proctor and a Norwegian refugee in London had confused him more than anything. All he understood was that something in the water at the Norsk Hydro Hydrogen Electrolysis plant in Vemork, Norway was needed for the terrible weapon that’d be the most powerful on earth.
"We need to know how far along they are in isolating the deuterium in sufficient quantities for them to create a controlled reaction," General Proctor said.
"And just how am I to figure this out?"
"The project reports."
"You want me to steal the project reports?"
Now, he forced himself not to check the tiny camera in his pocket that seemed to weigh more than the gun resting in the holster strapped to his waist.
No one had been able to tell him how to get inside the plant. Not even Professor Sturvik who’d shrugged. "You must understand, I myself, have never been inside. Professor Liljedahl works there. The resistance will get you to him, he will get you inside."
"And why can’t Liljedahl just take the pictures?"
"We have to get the camera to him, anyway. Besides, I would prefer your first hand account," Proctor had told him.
"Lovely." There hadn’t been time to do much more than pull Sarah into a broom closet and kiss her soundly. "Stay out of trouble, Captain Webb."
She caressed his cheek and nuzzled her nose against his neck. "I’d say the same to you, Major."
"Ride with me to the port?"
But she’d been called into a meeting. He just hoped she’d be safe from the bombs that dropped nightly on London and other English cities. He refused to consider his deeper fear. Proctor, as gruff an old misanthrope as Clay had ever met, had somehow fallen under Sarah’s spell. Not that Clay was surprised or jealous; not of Proctor. The fact that there were a dozen aides surrounding the general, every one of whom Clay knew was better looking than he, had nothing to do with it, either, he firmly assured himself. He trusted Sarah. Damn it. He missed her. He could admit they made a good team. She’d saved his butt in Paris not two months ago. That she’d recognized Grisella’s husband after just one meeting, over two years ago, was impressive. She’d got them both to safety before the colonel realized the French couple strolling toward him had suddenly up and disappeared.
"Diederik!" Not only Clay, but everyone in the room snapped their heads to the entrance of the dining room. Clay sat there stunned, not only by the flagrant disregard for his safety and the mission, but also by the beauty who’d cried out his cover name. He watched in horror as the blond, blue-eyed, slender creature made her way across the room. She stopped once to kiss a German general on the cheek, speaking a few words to him. Clay’s eyes shifted slightly, and he took in the reaction from the civilians sitting around the room. Most ignored her, studiously studying their meals or their companions. However, he noted a few curled lips and reddened cheeks.
Standing, he prepared himself for anything. He wasn’t prepared for her warm greeting. Her arms were around his neck and their lips joined. He just prayed he played his part right by wrapping his arms around her and returning the kiss. He was too shocked to think of anything, including the fact that this was the first woman he’d kissed since meeting Sarah four years ago. Her lips trailed across his cheek they rested against his ear. "It’s been a long time since last we met," she said in heavily accented English.
He heaved a sigh of relief. Pulling back to gaze into her eyes, he responded in perfect Dutch, "It’s good to see you again, Tulip."
Pushing him away, she sat in the chair across from him. "Ack. You are the only man who calls me that." Her Dutch was equally accented and utterly charming.
This he could handle. Now the damned code phrases made sense. "It’s as it should be, darling. How have you been?"
It wasn’t that her body relaxed; it was more in her eyes. He’d never met anyone with such expressive eyes. Before, when she approached him, he could see the sparkle that reminded him of the sea that defined this country. Now, a grave but calm look replaced the laughter in her eyes. "I’ve been well, very well actually." She turned slightly and waved at a German officer across the room. "I’ve made many important friends since our liberation."
«Dear God, she’s playing a dangerous game.» His eyes strayed away from her, and now he caught a few openly hostile glances from the other diners.
Her voice dropped to a seductive level, "Don’t look at them, darling." There was a sharp sadness to her voice. He wanted to delve deeper, but now was not the time.
"What’s our plan?" Once again he kept his voice low.
And her voice seemed to project out away from the table to anyone interested. "What would you like to do? I can introduce you to many important people."
He took a deep breath. Everything that the contact behind the café had alluded to now made perfect sense. "Perhaps later. It’s been a trying year. People don’t understand how hard it is to deal with our new masters. The tree must be willing to bend in the breeze or it’ll snap. I came here for a small holiday, and I thought you could show me some of the countryside." He’d worked the code phrase into the flowering speech and the sparkle of approval was back in her eyes.
"Wonderful, darling. I’ve wanted to leave Oslo for a holiday. We’ll drive up through Telemark. It’s beautiful this time of year. We can stay at the summer cottage there."
Clay nodded, the smile on his face almost painful. There was nothing else he could do. The dining room had settled down and most of the diners were ignoring them. However, across the room, one man, dining alone, kept a stony vigilant glare on Clay’s companion. He lowered his head and murmured softly. "There’s someone who’s watching us."
"There are many who watch us, but we won’t speak of that now."
"Then let’s get out of here and go some place where we can speak of it. I’ve got a lot of questions…darling."
She sighed, but instead of complying, signaled a waiter. Clay looked up and saw what could only be described as a look of pure hatred on the man’s face. Before, when Clay sat at the table by himself, the waiter had been polite. Now he seemed furious. When his companion placed her drink order, the man clicked his heels and said in a loud, spite-filled voice said, "Of course, Baroness." Clay kept his face as free of surprise as possible. When he turned to her, she wore an almost exaggerated look of anger.
"You want to tell me…" but her look cut him off. The waiter returned with her drink and placed it before her. Clay was watching the waiter, so he wasn’t paying much attention to the woman and was shocked by her actions.
"Pig!" She stood up, took the drink and flung the contents of the glass in his face. The waiter stood there rigid, not saying a word. "Diederik! Come. I won’t stay here and be insulted."
Dazed, Clay had no choice but to follow her out of the room. However, before they reached the stairs leading out, the German general stood and blocked their way.
"Birgit?" he reached out his hand to stop her.
"It’s nothing, General," she spat. "Just an ignorant beast, who doesn’t understand."
"Colonel Kalb!" The general snapped at one of his officers. "Arrest…" but her hand on his arm stopped him.
"It’ll do no good. Please. He’ll be fired for his insult. Let him starve." With that she led Clay to the doorway.
"Quisling!" someone muttered. But she ignored him, continuing out to the street where a long sleek Benz waited at the curb. A chauffeur waited. As soon as they appeared, he smartly opened the door. Once they were settled inside, she raised the window between them and the driver.
Clay sat rigid in the seat, studying the plush interior, which was lit by the soft glow of shaded lamps.
"Well, that went perfectly." The smile was back in her voice and he jerked around to stare at her.
"Well? What did the waiter do? Spit in your drink?"
"Of course. He did as he was supposed to."
"And the man who called you a traitor?"
She sighed and looked out the window. "He, too, did as he was expected, although he isn’t part of our group. He is just a Norwegian expressing his opinion."
"Well, that’s all very well and good, but you want to tell me just what the waiter meant when he called you ‘Baroness?’"
She studied in for a long time before explaining. "A pointed jab. With the exception of the Royal Family and their offspring in direct succession to the throne, there are no Norwegian titles. They were done away with when we achieved our independence from Denmark. However, my family is old, older in fact than the current King. There are those who think that the traitors hope for a return to landed titles." She sighed. "I supposed some still do."
"I see. Why didn’t you flee?" Clay asked softly.
"When we knew that there was no hope, and that Vidkun Quisling had betrayed us, it was decided to get the King and his wife to safety. Many of the old families of both pure Norwegian and Norse-Danish descent, fled to Sweden, where their voices must be silent in respect to Swedish neutrality. They work in the background. I couldn’t leave. I needed to do something more active."
He stared at her in wonder. "So everyone thinks you’re a traitor, including your countrymen?"
In the dim light he saw a momentary flash of pain quickly replaced by resigned acceptance. "I’ll probably give my life for the cause, just as…" She looked away and he thought he saw her shoulders tremble with emotion.
"Just as who died for the cause?" He reached out to turn her back to him. However, by the time he did so, a bright smile was on her face. "I don’t even know who you really are."
"Of course you do. General Wirth told you. Birgit. You need no other name."
"Very well. Now, I’ll tell you how we’ll get what you need."
:: :: :: ::
Central London
July 10, 1942
Late Evening
Sarah stepped out of the subway tunnel and looked around for a moment at the building blazing in the next block. She wondered if the air raid wardens would be upset if someone opened their blackout curtains. She was sure London was visible from miles away. However, the bombings were over for the night. At least she hoped so. Trudging back down the sidewalk, she watched out for debris. She turned the corner. "Terrific." Two buildings had been hit. The rescue workers were already doing their jobs.
After her first raid, she’d offered to help. The air raid warden had taken kindly offense. "’ere now, Miss, you move along. We know what we’re doin’. Don’t need a Yank driver tellin’ us how to do it." He’d shooed her away and she’d never offered again. Now, two fire trucks were pumping water onto the buildings, and bobbies and air raid wardens were holding back people. No one was really watching the fire unless they had a real stake in the outcome. From what Sarah could see, however, the buildings would be rubble by morning.
She walked down to the next block, but there was so much debris on the sidewalks that she was forced to walk in the street. Ambulances and more fire trucks worked their way past her, dodging fallen brick and still smoldering debris. She’d probably have to walk a mile before she could get to her building – if it was still standing. She supposed she could take General Proctor up on his offer of a small room at "The Castle." That was what everyone called the Eighth Army headquarters outside of London proper. However, she had no desire to be around the Boys Club, as she called the General’s staff. Most of them treated her with a little respect, but mostly they ignored her until it was time to relax. Then, even though all of them knew she was married, the invitations for a pint at the pub down the lane came faster than a crashing B-17.
She really missed Clay. She didn’t feel comfortable socializing with the secretarial staff, and the only other women were drivers for the officers. She had little in common with them; most had just graduated from high school, although General Proctor’s clerk had gone to Smith. None of them had a real clue as to what was going on, and all gratefully followed the orders of the officers – except Sarah. She was a captain but, if she wanted a report typed, she’d either have to sweet talk one of them into it, or type it herself.
She wasn’t looking when she crossed the street. The blare of the horn, the squeal of the tires on wet payment, and the curse jerked her head out of her musings. The bumper of the car was inches from her thigh.
"Hey! Sweetheart, you want to watch where you’re going?" The fires behind them cast the driver into darkness. However, there was no mistaking the accent. In fact, if her heart hadn’t been beating so wildly from the near miss, she might have recognized the voice. Stalking up to the window, the first thing she noticed was the corporal’s stripes on the sleeve.
"Corporal! What the heck were you driving so fast for? You’re running without lights and you’re speeding like…" She lifted her eyes to glare at the driver, only to find a cocky grin greeting her.
"Like a New York cabbie, ma’am," Mickey Carlo said cockily.
"Oh, my God!" She reached inside and hugged him.
"Uhm…ma’am? I don’t think captains are supposed to hug corporals."
"Nonsense. What the heck are you doing here?"
He shrugged. "Go figure. Tony Mordini, great short order cook from 9th Avenue, joined up and what did they do? Put him in the infantry. There’s a guy who played accordion at ‘The Polka Club’ down in the Bronx – him they got cooking for some bigwigs. Me? Me who volunteered to go out to the Pacific? Me they got driving for some schmuck of a colonel out in Sussex. First day off I’ve had since I got here, and I can’t find no place to go. None of the jerks at the base want to be seen with me. They think I’m going to tell the colonel everything they say. Can’t stand the bastard." They’d long ago gotten comfortable around each other, and Mickey didn’t even bother to apologize for his disparaging words.
"How long have you been over here?"
"Six months. Colonel Schmuck is driving me crazy. Hey, doll, you know any place a dogface like me can get a drink?"
She laughed and walked around to the passenger seat. "I can make you a cup of tea back at my place."
"Hey, that would be even better. Where’s the old man?"
She just smiled, and he didn’t push. "So, beautiful, where are we going?"
She directed him around the block. "So how did you rate a jeep?"
He didn’t answer.
"Mickey?"
"Hey, it was just sitting there."
"Mickey! Are you AWOL?"
"Me? Heck, no. I got my pass right here in my pocket."
"But what are they going to do when you drive back up to the base in a missing jeep?"
He pulled over where she indicated. "Hadn’t thought that far ahead. I’ll figure it out."
"Oh, Mickey." She climbed out of the jeep and pointed to her building. "Second floor. Leave the keys in the jeep. Maybe someone else will take it and you won’t have to worry about it."
She made him tea, and they reminisced about New York. "I don’t mind driving I guess," Mickey finally admitted, "But Colonel Schmuck is a hardass. Always screaming at people. Had a WAC driver for General Proctor in tears."
"Sergeant Parker?"
"Yeah. Funny first name."
"Jordan, right."
"That’s her. Nice kid." Mickey had a funny little smile on his face that Sarah decided not to tease him about.
"Yes, and being a nice kid, she wouldn’t say anything to the General about it, either."
"She should have. The colonel had no right to yell at her. Idiot."
Sarah decided she would talk to Jordan Parker first thing before her meeting with the General tomorrow morning. "More tea?"
"You ain’t got anything stronger, do you, ma’am?"
Before she could answer, there was a furtive knock at the door. They exchanged glances, but Sarah walked over and opened it. She stood there for a moment, shocked. "Ari?" she finally gasped.
The old man pushed past her into the apartment. "You are well, Miss MacKenzie?"
"Hey, pops." Mickey hadn’t liked the way the man had just bullied his way in. "That there is Captain Webb."
Ari Stein turned and stated the obvious. "You are married now."
"Yes. A year, next week actually," she said. She hadn’t liked the way he pushed past her, either. She peered down the hall, but could find nothing amiss. Closing the door, she demanded, "What are you doing here, Professor?"
"I escaped." He pointedly eyed the teapot next to Mickey.
"A long time ago, sir," she said. "Or aren’t you talking about Germany? Are the British treating you poorly?"
Stein sighed and pointed to the teapot. "Might I have a cup? It was a long walk from the palatial prison where they are keeping us to the train station, and again from the train station to here."
Sarah made no move to get him tea. Ari Stein was one of the lucky ones. He not only escaped from Germany, he was one of the 234 passengers from the SS St. Louis who found refuge in England. However, instead of being grateful, Stein had turned into a petulant complainer, bombarding headquarters, making demands, generally causing a ruckus. Berkston Manor was where many Jewish refugees, who had no family in England, were being housed. Most seemed grateful for the hospitality of the British government. Many were working in whatever capacity that they could fill. Some were providing medical treatment to villagers who had lost their doctors to war service. Stein, a physicist, arrogantly maintained that he had important information that only President Roosevelt could hear. The Brits had chalked him up as delusional. Sarah wasn’t so sure, but no one wanted to listen to her. And, Professor Stein certainly won no friends with his attitude. "I wasn’t aware that you were in prison."
"Bah! I have a brilliant mind. I should be helping with the war effort."
"How?"
As always, when confronted with the question he got a closed look on his face. He glared at Mickey who glared right back. "I wish to speak to you alone."
Mickey, spurred by gallantry and Sarah by loyalty, both spoke at the same time. "No, sir." "Ain’t gonna happen, pops."
Stein looked like he was going to flying into one of his famous rages, however, Sarah saw him struggle with control. "I trusted you once and you failed me."
She gasped in shock. Lise’s death still haunted her; her son’s fate, a constant source of nightmares. She’d never spoke of it to anyone but Clay, and he’d been there. "How did I fail you?" she demanded.
"Lise should’ve left. You should’ve made her understand."
Sarah shook her head and, surprising both Mickey and herself, reached into the china cabinet for another cup and saucer. Handing it to Stein, she went to stand by the window. Mickey started to rise, but just watched Sarah with concern.
She hadn’t realized how long she and Mickey had talked. But the gray of dawn was lightening the sky as she peered through the slit in the curtain. To the east, a fire still sent its orange glow into the sky. London was seldom quiet, now lorries and delivery vans were already trying to go about with some semblance of normalcy. She’d be exhausted later today. But now, the guilt of her past sins robbed her of anything but cold self-examination. Taking a deep breath, she turned back to Stein, who’d finally realized that he’d need to pour his own cup of tea. «He’ll complain that it’s cold.» But he surprised her. He just grimaced and drank it down.
"There are a great many things I regret about Germany. Many a night I wish that I’d never gone. However, I saw and reported on things that needed to be shown to the world. I found my husband there. I helped…well, I helped where I could." Even running on little sleep, she knew better than to betray Clay’s true mission in Germany; that of setting up a spy ring. "I tried to get Lise to run. She refused. She made her decision, and I’d appreciate it if you’d accept that, Professor. Please finish your tea and leave."
"You’ll need to find me transport back."
"No, I won’t. Go."
Stein saw her determination, and his nod of approval surprised her. "Your husband, he, too, is a spy. Where is he?"
Sarah lifted an eyebrow, but said nothing. Instead, she walked to the small table, opened the drawer, and pulled out the service revolver that few women were issued in the WACs. Pointing it at him, she said grimly, "That, professor, did buy you transport. Mickey?"
He gulped. "Yeah…Captain?"
"I’m afraid you’re going to have to explain about the jeep after all."
"Come now, Sarah, you know you won’t use that." Stein took a step towards her, but she cocked the hammer. He stopped and stared at her.
"Indeed? How do you know that my husband is a spy? Why do you want to know where he is? You’ve threatened one of the few people I’d kill in cold blood for, Professor. Now, you’re going to come with me and tell me and my boss what the hell you’ve been teasing about for over a year."
As she led them down the staircase, Sarah suspected that Ari Stein had accomplished what he’d set out to do.
The drive to Manchester didn’t take long. Once they arrived, the guard at the front gate called ahead. It was nearly 0630 hours by the time the General’s aide led them into the office Proctor used for smaller meetings. Sarah realized that, at this hour, the rest of his staff would be doing their morning duties, pulling reports.
"Sarah?" Proctor looked up from his coffee and the report he was reading. "Who are these two men?" He eyed the gun that Mickey now carried.
"The corporal is an old friend from New York; Michael Carlo. This," she pointed to the very smug looking scientist, "is Professor Ari Stein."
The concerned but tolerant smile faded. Proctor had been hearing about Professor Stein ever since he took command. He quickly put the meeting on a professional basis. "I’m very busy this morning, Captain."
"I understand." She pointedly checked her watch. "You have a staff breakfast in ten minutes. However, I didn’t bring the professor — at gunpoint — because of one of his diatribes." She glared briefly at Stein. "We’re all used to those. No sir. It seems that the professor managed to walk off of the manor grounds, catch a train and come directly to my apartment, which, by the way, I’ve never disclosed to him, only to ask me where my husband, THE SPY, was."
"I wasn’t aware that Webb ever met Stein," Proctor growled dangerously.
"I haven’t." Ari Stein spoke up, the grin of triumph almost splitting his face in two.
"Although, I’m told he’s very good at his job."
Without moving his eyes from Stein, Proctor softly demanded, "You know how to use that gun, Corporal?"
"Yes, sir." To prove his point, Mickey cocked the hammer and pointed it at Ari’s head. "Long before I joined up."
"Good. Now Professor, how is it you even know Webb’s name, let alone his supposed occupation?"
Stein was having trouble maintaining his air of cool superiority. A thin line of sweat formed on his upper lip. "Major Webb’s contribution to the war effort is known by many who applaud his work and the choices he’s made through the years."
Sarah gasped and Proctor’s face reddened with rage. "Guards!" Two beefy infantrymen tumbled into the office then stopped dead in their tracks. "Corporal, the Privates will take over for you."
Mickey hesitated, his eyes shifted to Sarah, who lowered her chin a hair. Mickey then carefully released the hammer and lowered the gun.
After a brief consideration of the interaction between the Corporal and the Captain, Proctor continued. "Professor, I understand that you are unhappy with the accommodations at Berkston Hall. Do you know how this Castle is?"
"What possible reason would I know or care?" Stein snapped.
"It was built in 1490. It’s a fine example of the Tudor mentality. Even after four hundred years of remodeling and improvements, the dungeons were too deep for any real use. They’re even too deep for storage and wine cellars."
"An idle threat." But Stein’s voice trembled.
Proctor, who towered over the physicist, stalked up to the man. Stein tried to take a step back only to find one of the guards was right behind him. Fisting his hands on his hips, Proctor leaned into Stein and hissed, "Never give a boy from the Bronx a dare, Professor."
"The Bronx! I knew it!" Mickey crowed.
Now the sweat was dripping down Stein’s cheeks. "You’re a bully."
"Thank you. Now cut the crap and tell us what the hell is going on!" Proctor roared inches from Stein’s nose.
"I’ve stood up to harsher men than you, General!"
"You ran away," Sarah reminded him. After his accusations earlier, she felt no shame.
He blushed a deep red. "You have no idea..."
"Actually, I do," she said in a softer tone. "However, as the General pointed out, he’s busy. Shall we all sit down and you can explain yourself."
Proctor pointed to one of the guards. "Go tell General Stevens to handle the breakfast briefing and to plan on filling me in at 1300 hours." He pointed to the other guard. "Return to your duties. I think that Corporal Carlo can handle the professor." Once they were seated, he spared another glance at Mickey. "Where are you assigned, son?"
Mickey gulped and quickly glanced at Sarah. However, before he could come up with something, Proctor growled. "Understand this, CORPORAL, as beautiful as the Captain is, I still outrank her."
Mickey looked like he really didn’t buy that, but answered, "The 606. I drive for Colonel Barkley."
"Barkley!" Proctor hit a button and snapped. "Parker!"
"Sir?" came the cool and professional reply.
"What was the name of the asshole you had that run-in with?"
"Sir?!" Calm professionalism turned into a squeak.
Sarah covered her mouth, holding back the release of tension that threatened to manifest in a fit of giggles. Mickey was more vocal. "I knew it. You have to like a guy from the Bronx." However, the look Proctor gave him kept Mickey from expounding on it further.
"You heard me, Sergeant Parker. Was the Colonel who upset you that day Colonel Barkley of the 606?"
There was a long pause but they final heard a small, "Yes, sir."
"Excellent. Kindly inform Colonel Barkley that I’m commandeering his d river."
"Yes, sir!"
Proctor released the switch and turned to Mickey. "Carlo."
"Yes, sir, General, sir." There was a happy grin on Mickey’s face.
"You’re now assigned to Captain Webb. Can you type?"
The smile faded a bit. "I’ll figure it out."
«Great. I guess this is the General’s way of smoothing the waters. I’ll still be doing all my own typing.» Sarah settled back and waited.
"Now Professor, tell me why I shouldn’t throw you in irons and have you put in the stockade?"
Sarah thought for sure that Stein was going to snap something witty back, but he finally lost the last vestige of cockiness. He took a deep sigh, rubbed his hand over his face then glance wearily at the coffee pot sitting on the sideboard. Sarah stood and poured him a cup, which earned her a grateful smile. The transformation was almost complete. After a deep gulp, he began.
"You are aware that the Germans were the first to discover the possibility of nuclear fission.
"All speculation." Proctor snapped. He kept his eyes firmly on Stein, and Sarah decided that she never wanted to play poker with her CO.
"Of course it is. And the speculation is that whoever can harness the power will be able to control the world out of sheer fear, if nothing else. We recognized that possibility almost immediately."
"We?" Proctor demanded.
Stein gave him a determined jut of his jaw. "Several of us. Some fled." He blushed and quickly glanced at Sarah. "Because we thought it was the best way. I’d planned on making my way to Washington and seeking an audience with Mr. Roosevelt. He had to be told. Evidently he was."
"How the hell do you know this?" Proctor grew red in the face. Sarah knew exactly how he felt. How could they have been so compromised?
"We’ve spent our entire existence trying to survive among gentiles. We will do what we have to, to continue to survive."
"You’re a Zionist?" Proctor asked with just a hint of aggravation in his voice.
"I’m a patriot without a country. I’m a scientist with no laboratory, nothing to keep my soul from rotting further. I’m the one man who can help you find where Hitler is building his bomb!" This was pure Stein hyperbole. However, Sarah sensed the truth behind it.
"Nice speech, Professor. I’ve heard it all before, as has Captain Webb. You’re not being sent to America."
Stein seemed to deflate a bit. "I know that."
"Who are your contacts?" Sarah asked.
"People who know that Major Webb left London on the US Submarine, Marlin. Now, did he go to Germany or..."
"As far as you’re concerned," Proctor snapped, "Webb went to Bermuda to visit Edward and Wallis."
"You don’t understand. If he went to Germany to find out about the secret laboratories, they’re being moved. I know where."
"How!"
"Will you at least feed me in the dungeon, General? Because that I will never divulge. I know you won’t torture me. I know you won’t kill me. I’ll give you what you need to know. But I will not divulge the names of my contacts."
Proctor sat there chewing on his lower lip. Sarah knew that an explosion usually followed this. He was just formulating his attack. She took a chance. "Okay. Where in Germany are they moving these testing facilities?"
"Not testing facilities. You think you can just run tests on something like this? You think your people in America are doing such?"
"Professor," Sarah cautioned. "Don’t be so sure that the General won’t do whatever he needs to extract the information he wants. These are desperate times. Just tell us what we need to know."
"Professor." Proctor’s cold, calm voice was more frightening to Sarah than his bellow. "You’ll tell us now, or you’ll pray for the dungeons beneath me. Do not suppose that physical torture is the only means we have of extracting the information we need."
Stein’s face grew even paler. But he nodded. "I will tell you what I’ve been told to tell you."