:: Dreams and Liars ::Chapter Four 13 December, Wednesday She was not at all disappointed when Clyde Marshall and Armin Dettwiler came with them in the limo, she wasn't sure how Farber would react if they were alone together and she didn't particularly want to fight him off – this early in the game. Schumanns was just like many American bars that she seldom visited any more. Loud, noisy and very crowded. They danced and laughed and Kurt always made sure she had a glass of something cool and non-alcoholic. Lucretia Pedrotti spent most of the evening trying to get either Marshall or Dettwiler to pay attention to her with fluctuating degrees of success. She was surprised to see how well Hans Bauer kept up, though the way he gyrated around with any woman who would dance with him caused spasms of sniggers from the onlookers. She had gone to the ladies room twice and tried to reach Webb, but again only got his voice mail. It was nearly 0300 hours when the limo finally pulled up in front of the hotel. Dettwiler had pleaded fatigue hours ago and Marshall had finally succumbed to `Cretia's charms and left in a taxi before they did. While Kurt had made sure that alcohol never touched her glass, he made no such effort on his own part. He was definitely in a happy mood but he was a perfect gentleman in the car. He led her to the elevator and as they waited he nuzzled her neck. She was just about to gently push him away when she finally caught sight of Webb coming in with Sinclair and several of the other men. He looked like he had been having a grand old time without her and she suddenly reached up and pulled Kurt into a goodnight kiss. She told herself that she had meant it to be a friendly `thanks for a great evening kiss' but Farber had other ideas and quickly took control, running his hands up and down her satin-clad back, moving his lips to her neck. She heard the elevator door clink open and saw out of the corner of her eye that Webb was getting on, alone, studiously ignoring her. The door closed and Kurt renewed his assault on her mouth. When his tongue began to dance against her lips she finally pushed away. "Oh, my." She touched her fingers to his lips. "Oh that was very nice, Kurt." She was desperate to get away before he started again and was relieved and very touched when he took her hand in his and kissed the inside of her wrist. Huskily he agreed. "Yes, Hannah, very nice indeed. But too fast, ja? Ah, I see the relief in your face. I do not push myself upon women, Hannah. But I hope that you will be interested in the plans I am making for this weekend." With that he called the elevator again and when it opened, kissed her quickly before turning and walking back out of the lobby. As she unlocked her door she suspected that there would be hell to pay with Webb. The kiss, though very nice, had unfortunately not been as exciting as she would have hoped and was certainly not worth a fight with Webb. She sighed and turned on the light and gasped. "How the hell did you get in here." He quirked his eye and she shrugged. "Yeah, right," she looked down the hall before shutting the door, "spy 101 no doubt." The urge to lash out of him was creeping up but it was late and she wanted to know what had happened so, grabbing her sweats out of the dresser, she walked into the bathroom. Leaving the door open she called out. "Okay, PARTNER¼I am still your partner aren't I." She pulled the dress over her head and jumped at the sound of his voice so close. "Not so loud, you know that Senore Tavares is right next door." Holding the dress to her bare breasts she firmly pushed him back around the corner. "Senore Tavares wears two hearing aids, Webb. So spill, what really happened?" "Leave it Mac. It's something else I'm working on." Quickly she pulled off her nylons and pulled on the sweats. She would leave the make up for later. She stalked up to him, jabbing him in the chest to make her point. "Anything that happens while WE ARE in Munich, concerns me. I am sick to death of you leaving me out in the cold. I told you when we started this that I wasn't going to be your damn Bond girl, Webb, so what else are you working on?" He shook his head. "Look, Mac, I was going to tell you, but the way you and Farber were going at it¼" His head jerked back at the force of her slap. He stepped away from her and began to rub his reddening cheek. Following his retreat, she snarled. "Don't even go there. You don't like it when I make jokes about you and Sinclair, so..." "Actually, Mac I could care less what you think about me and Sinclair." "Bull." She stepped away from him and went to look out the window. "I don't have to explain myself to you, Webb. But, is there something about Farber that I should know?" Webb took a deep breath before answering, "Not that I know of specifically, but there are some questions about Marshall. And you saw the way Farber fawns all over him. Or maybe you didn't with the way you're fawning over Farber." She whirled to face him. "Pretty brave comments considering how high I scored on my last hand-to-hand certification." She chewed on her upper lip for a moment. "But that's what you're trying for isn't it, Mr. Master Spy?" She walked up to him, her voice low and deadly. "You accused me of not watching your back the other night. Now I'm accusing you of pulling the same crap. You were out of touch for almost three hours before the party. I tried a dozen times to reach you by the cell phone number you gave me." She narrowed her eyes. "Where is it?" He stepped away from her but she tripped him and he fell on the bed and she pounced on him. "Where is it, Webb?" He glared up at her, but opened his jacket. Straddling him, she searched, found the phone and looked at it. "Works better if it's turned on." Holding it up for him to see, "it even has this cute little button where you can turn it to `vibrate only' so it won't ring if you're doing something naughty and you don't want your cell phone to give you away." She sat back and suddenly realized that something hard was pressing against her bottom and she had an insane desire to utter the old line, "Is that your gun or are you just happy to see me." The glare in his eye killed the spark of playfulness and she lifted up and fell off of him, landing on the bed beside him. He sat up, but she tugged at his arm. "Webb, I've got to know. Please. You're scaring me. What the hell is going on?" He stood and looked down at her. "I'm not sure, Mac. Really. I¼I'll tell you as soon as I know something." A thought struck her and as he went to the door she whispered. "Does Sinclair know about it?" His shoulders tensed but he opened the door a crack and looked out. Turning back to her, he looked at her sprawled on the bed and she couldn't help but glance down at his pants. All evidence of his earlier arousal was gone. "After lunch tomorrow we're gong to visit Mrs. Kappel." She sighed, "Who's we, Webb?" "Just you and me¼partner." :: :: ::
13 December, Wednesday Five of them breakfasted together the following morning. Lucretia and Lealia were excited about the morning meetings being moved out of the auditorium finally. Professor Bauer was bubbling about Jakobsplatz, the former arsenal that now housed the municipal museum. Lucretia, between bites of strudel and sips of coffee exclaimed, "And this afternoon, I am going shopping. Anyone care to join me?" Mac looked out the corner of her eye at Webb who just sat there and shrugged. Mac sighed, "Oh, I don't think I can miss out on the tour of Frauenkirche. After all, the church is one of the reasons I came. There are a lot of pieces there I want to see first hand." She found that Lealia was staring at her again and it unnerved her. She glanced at Webb and almost jumped when Bouchard asked stridently, "Has anyone figured out what great secret plans Kurt Farber is planning for this weekend?" Bauer looked surprised, but Lucretia just laughed. "Oh, Kurt said something about a long train trip. Frankly, I plan on partying all weekend, with a certain American if I can, and if it means the club car on the train, then..." She ended with a smug little shrug. Webb responded dryly. "Not me, I hope dear Lucretia. I would hate to dash your plans." Pedrotti snorted. "No, Edward. I plan to have FUN this weekend and I think you are great fun, just not with us girls, right Hannah." Mac quirked a smile. "Oh, `Cretia, Edward is loads of fun, just not THAT kind of fun. Now come on, we're going to be late for the meeting and I want to walk off this breakfast. I swear I've gained five pounds since Sunday." Bouchard interjected, "Oh I thought you looked rather thin, Hannah." Mac pointedly ignored the Frenchwoman and led the group out of the hotel. Webb pointed them in the right direction and they set off. They had decided as a group yesterday afternoon to dress casually. The women all wore slacks and soft sweaters under their coats and Webb wore jeans and a cable knit sweater under his bomber jacket; only Bauer wore a suit and tie. As they walked, Mac allowed the beauty of the city to enthrall her. The sun had finally come out and the brick and stone seemed to sparkle under its light. It was cold, but there was no wind today and the walk cleared her head more than coffee had. She spotted the twin onion-domed towers of the cathedral and she experienced a momentary pang because they were going to miss it. The afternoon had been set aside for individual interests and the group was scattering across the city. A few, like Lucretia, would be shopping, but most had a favorite museum or point of interest that they wanted to visit. Webb had decided that this would be the most inconspicuous time to visit Frau Kappel. The morning meeting was a highlight of Munich and Bavarian history. While Hitler and the Nazis were mentioned, Farber and the tour guides tried to focus on the earlier centuries, Munich's founding in the 10th century to its major expansion in the 19th Century. One guide, a pretty, young university student took them through the collection of Old Masters. As Fraulien Mueller pointed out two by Frans Hals, Mac could almost feel the tension radiate off of Lealia Bouchard. She waited for her to say something, to ask a probing question and was thrown off guard when the question came from Vasilii Gubin. "You must tell us what you think about these paintings, Professor Jacobs. After all you are the expert. Do you think that they are both by Hals or by Judith Leyster." His voice was almost accusatory and several of the people in the tour looked at him oddly. Mac cleared her throat and stepped up to study the paintings. Fraulien Mueller waited anxiously until Mac smiled at her and offered her opinion. "They are beautiful. You are doing an excellent job my dear, please continue." When it came time to break and go their separate ways, Mac glanced around. "Who's coming with me to the church?" She prayed no one would take her up on the offer, but when no one did she pretended to pout. "Oh, all right, Hannah." Webb stood. "The manuscripts were destroyed in the bombing and most of the church as been reconstructed, but I'll go with you." She sniffed, "Well if you really don't want to, I can always go alone." He made a show of touching his now very purple bruise and sighed. "No. Come on. I'll go with you." They walked out and everyone who saw him throw his arm over her shoulder thought what great friends they must be. Webb's innate sense of the dramatic or, as he insisted, sense of self-preservation had them actually walking up the front stairs of the Cathedral. Mac hungrily took in every piece of art on display filling her mind with the feel of the place. She gasped as Webb quickly dragged her past the beautiful stain-glass windows and when they came to wooden reliefs she made him stop for a moment to study them. "Mac." He hissed. "Come on, we've got twenty minutes to get to Frau Kappel." She sighed, turned to Webb and whispered, "I just wanted to see some of it Webb. I thought, maybe, when we get back¼you could take me to visit Dr. Jacobs and I could at least tell her about it." She swore the look on his face was one of intense pain but he quickly turned and pulled at her arm. "Sure. If we get the chance." She vowed that even if he didn't make the effort, she would see the dying professor. The streets behind the church were cobble stoned and Mac had the feeling they had stepped back into time. Webb unerringly led her down several streets and then across a wide plaza and suddenly they were in front of a large block of apartments. He led her into the foyer and buzzed a button under a nameplate. "Hallo, ist wer dort?" A thin reedy voice shouted through the small speaker plate. Clay put his mouth next to the speaker and shouted. "Es ist Edward Thomas und Fraulien Doktor Jacobs, Frau Kappel." "Ah, gut." The buzzer clicked open the door and Webb ushered Mac through, pointing to the staircase to the left. "She's on the third floor, let's hoof it." The apartment was small, the furnishings old, but well maintained. Chintz doilies covered every spot that didn't have a picture frame of some smiling group of people, most of them in black and white. Many of them were pictures of a smiling faced youth in a Luftwaffe uniform. Frau Kappel was stooped and as ancient at the people in the photographs would have been if any of them had survived as long. The old woman caught Mac staring at the young man and she quavered. "Der ist mein ehemann, Rudy. Er starb in der bombardierung von Dresden." Clay translated. "That's a picture of her husband. He died at Dresden." Mac smiled sadly, "I'm sorry, Frau Kappel." The old woman insisted that they sit and have strong tea with her. When Clay finally placed the old silver service on the table in front of them, she sat, poured and then coyly looked over the rim of her cup and then asked. "Jetzt junger mann, was möchten sie über meinen schatz kennen?" They had agreed before hand that Clay would handle the questioning and would tell Mac everything later. She sat there and listened, though, and she picked up a few words that she recognized, bruder, army, Juden. and Berchtesgaden. Frau Kappel's speech ebbed and flowed with emotions – sadness, anger and even once, when her voice dropped to a whisper, Mac swore she was afraid of something. Mac sipped from the cup of very good tea and nibbled on a dry boxed cookie that Frau Kappel had painstakingly set out. The interview only lasted twenty minutes and Mac could tell that Webb was getting flustered. Finally he stood and bowed over Frau Kappel, "Danke für sie zeit, Frau. Kein stehen sie nicht, wir kann heraus sich sehen auf." He jerked his head toward the door and Mac followed him into the hallway. He listened at the door after he had shut it and seemed satisfied. Then he stalked off toward the stairway. Mac had to hurry to keep up with him until they reached the second floor and he suddenly pushed her through the stairway door into the corridor, an exact duplicate of the one above. "Sssh. Someone's coming" he mouthed and she clung to his arm and strained to listen. He swore under his breath but closed the door and leaned against it. She could barely hear the scuffing of heavy boots against the concrete and she felt a sudden flash of empathy for Webb. How often has he done this very same thing? Silently, carefully, he opened the door in time to hear the door above slam shut. He waited for another full minute before quickly leading her down to the main lobby. Peering out the front door he swore, this time not quite under his breath. "Damn it." "What? Who is it?" "Bauer." "Bauer!? I thought he wasn't interested." He gave her a disgusted look. "The fact that Bauer is interested doesn't surprise me. The fact that he is waiting down here for someone else to go visit Frau Kappel is what worries me. He sighed. "Come on we have to hide until his buddy comes out." He watched the front entrance and then motioned her to scoot across. The lobby, like the rest of the building was unique blend of old and new. Though not very big, it contained a suite of heavy leather furniture including a giant leather sofa. Motioning her to hide behind it he sat down next to her on the floor and waited. After twenty minutes she had to call on every last ounce of Marine training and strength that she possessed. The long nights and lack of any exercise were beginning to take their toll and she found her eyes were getting heavy, her head kept falling forward. She tried to concentrate on Webb and was amazed to see how completely at ease he appeared sitting there, his back ramrod straight, his head slightly cocked, obviously listening for the slightest sound. At exactly 1638 hours she finally saw him stiffen then kneel up and peer around the end of the sofa. She stretched out next to him, willing her breathing to slow and quiet. She heard two voices on the stairs, not loud, almost indistinguishable but finally as they cleared the stairwell and entered the lobby she heard a harsh masculine, "I wonder if that is why Kurt is so insistent on us going to his damn ski lodge this weekend?" A soft purr responded, "I don't know Armin, but it is perfect for us. Is Clyde going to go?" The front door opened and she missed his answer. She lay on the dusty floor looking up at Webb's dark expression but she waited patiently for him to break the silence. He motioned for her to stay where she was and ran to the door leading outside. "All clear." He led her down the street, and she could see that his eyes never stopped seeking out people they knew, people that they would have to explain why they were on this little side street so far away from the museums and churches of the old town. Finally when a cab dropped off a haggard hausfrau and four screaming kinder he quickly snagged it, pushing her into the back seat. He took one last scan of the neighborhood and gave the driver a street address that she didn't recognize. :: :: ::
13 December, Wednesday He didn't say a word throughout the cab ride and she was somewhat surprised to see the cab stop in front of a small Italian restaurant. After he paid the driver he led her across the sidewalk down the six steps to the simple entrance. The host greeted them warmly and smiled knowingly when Clay insisted on a booth with a little privacy. As the waiter pulled back a curtain covering the entrance of a small booth, she truly expected to find a steel door leading into the workings of CIA central. He took her coat, waited until she was seated and then, instead of sitting across from her, threw her coat and his on the empty seat opposite and scooted in next to her, forcing her to move closer to the wall. Their hips touched and she felt a jolt of excitement go through her. He leaned in and whispered, "what were you expecting, Mac, 'Q' to greet us and lead us into the bowels of British Intelligence." She grinned and blushed. "Something like that, for a moment anyway." She looked around at the still mostly empty room. "So why here?" He waited for the waiter to bring them water and bread and olive oil. "Cause I'm sick to death of German food." "Oh." She pulled a piece of bread off the loaf and dipped it into the oil. "No, you have to fix it first." He pulled a silver container of pungent smelling cheese and spooned some into the oil. Then, doctoring it with some salt, pepper and a little red pepper, he pronounced it ready. She ran her piece of bread through the cheesy mixture and brought the mess to her mouth. "Oh, that is very good. I've never eaten it that way before. Excellent." The waiter took their order and Mac turned slightly and leaned against the back wall. "So tell me. What did she say?" Webb lifted his glass of deep red wine to his lips closed his eyes to collect his thoughts before beginning. "Well, Frau Kappel insists that the reliquary that she tried to sell to the Church of our Lady had been in her family for generations. She said that since the war when her father and mother and husband of three months had been killed during the allied bombings she and her brother had tried to keep the family heirlooms together, but Karl, the brother, is very sick and they need the money. I explained to her than the BMU, that's the Interior Ministry, had confiscated the reliquary and would be returning it to its rightful owner." He waited as the waiter set down their food, checked the level of the bottle of wine Webb had ordered and frowned. "La signora non gradisce il vino, signore?" Before Webb could say anything, Mac held up her glass of water and smiled, "La signora ha molto per fare questo pomeriggio, l' acqua è benissimo." The waiter muttered something about crazy tourists and what could be more important than a good bottle of wine, but pulled the curtain closed, sealing them in the lamp lit coziness of the booth. "I'd forgotten that you could speak Italian, Mac." She shrugged, "Oh I speak a little, enough to get by. It was probably lame anyway. What normal person can't have a glass of wine at lunch?" She saw that she had upset him and laughed lightly, "I pick up languages pretty easily if I'm around them long enough. Give me a chance and I'll actually be able to follow some of the conversations of our German hosts before we through." He attacked his food but said very softly, "Sie sind wirklich ziemlich bemerkenswert." "What?" He couldn't have said I was remarkable? I've got the word wrong. She made a note to try and remember bemerkenswert and waited for him to continue. She saw the slow blush creep across his face but he regained control of his features and between bites told her the rest of his conversation with Frau Kappel. "I made some vague inquiries if there were other pieces that they might want to sell without going through the bother of `official channels.' She told me that her brother was feeling better and it was up to him to decide if he wanted to get rid of anything else." "So where is he?" "Berchtesgaden." "Isn't that where Hitler had his retreat?" "Yeah and there's a reason for that. The whole Berchtesgaden area is like the German Poconos. It's beautiful. If we need to see the brother then it will be worth the side trip." They ate in companionable silence each lost in their own thoughts. At one point Clay picked up the bottle of wine and started to pour another glass and sighed. A large planter with greenery lined the back of the booth. Mac gasped as he reached up and poured the rest of the wine into the plants. She hissed, "Webb, are you crazy. You don't have to do that. For heaven's sake it doesn't bother me if you have a drink." He smiled. "I know, but you were right when you told the waiter we have things to do this afternoon. I need to be on my toes." "Why, what are we doing this afternoon." The affable, pleasant atmosphere suddenly turned bleak. Reaching into his pocket he threw some money on the table and got out of the booth. "Listen, Mac. Go ahead and finish your lunch. Order dessert. I'll see you back at the hotel in time for dinner tonight. Hopefully I'll be able to tell you more." He waited for an outburst but she just looked down at her plate and whispered bitterly, "Okay, partner." She picked up her fork and ignored him completely. She heard his sigh as the curtain fell into place. Immediately, she quietly set her folk down and scooted over until she could peer around the edge of the curtain. He was already out the door and up the steps and she hastily stood up and hurried after him. You really ought to talk to Rabb about what happens when he tries to keep me in the dark too long, Webb. She pulled a simple wool cap out of her coat pocket and shoved it down over her ears. Her coat, classic, rich warm brown wool was similar to many of the coats around her. As she reached the street she saw him heading north. Well let's see how far you can pull this off, Marine. As she started to follow him, she had no doubt that he would eventually spot her tail but if nothing else she wanted him to know just how determined she was to discover this game he was playing. By her inner clock she followed him for exactly 18 minutes and 12 seconds before he stepped into the elevator of the Haus Oberpollinger department store. As the elevator closed on the dozen or so shoppers with Webb against the back wall, he looked her right in the eye and grinned broadly. It was nearly closing time but the store that took up an entire block down town had several public entrances and, if it were anything like Harrods or Macys, probably a dozen service exits and she would never find him. She started to stomp out of the store but spotted the leather counter. She picked out a pair of gloves creamy and soft, the fur lining would be warm even in the coldest DC winters - the Admiral would love them. She picked up a bottle of a perfume that Imes had said she liked and a small stuffed elephant for Mattoni's baby. By the time she left the store she had a new sense of purpose for the evening and made a stop at the Christkindl market and picked up the carved World War I pilot for Harm. A wave of intense loneliness descended on her. Here she was in one of the most beautiful cities in the world, at the best time of year to see it and she was seeing it alone. :: :: ::
13 December, Wednesday Feeling sorry for herself and completely pissed off at Webb she trudged back to the hotel. Her success of nearly finishing her Christmas shopping was overshadowed by her feelings that Webb didn't trust her to do the job they had been sent to do and the desire to be around the few friends that she had. It didn't help at all that tonight was night of the White House dinner she was missing. She was halfway across the lobby when Hans Bauer called out to her. "Hannah, come. We are dining at the hotel tonight." She didn't want to be alone and she had an opportunity to find out what Bauer, Dettwiler and Lucretia Pedrotti had been doing at Frau Kappel's. Holding up her shopping bags she called back, "let me get this up to my room and I'll join you." After she had dumped her bags in the middle of the bed she called down to the desk to check for messages. "Ja, Fraulien Doktor, your Uncle Peter called." Mac raised her eyebrow, checked her watch, picked up her cell phone and called JAG ops. "Gunnery Sergeant Galindez." "Gunny, it's me. The Admiral called and left a message that I should call him back." "Just a second, Colonel, I'll patch you through." "Chegwidden." "Sir, its me." "Ah, Mac." His voice sounded relaxed and calm. "Nothing important, really. Just wanted to let you know that I'll be in Brussels next Monday." "Brussels? Why, Admiral?" "Oh, SecNav promised a presence at the annual Christmas charity ball that NATO throws every year and this year, I guess I'm the presence." He seemed almost happy. "Uhm, sir? I thought you had plans to meet Francesca in New York next week." "This is going to work out better, actually. Her mother is making noises about wanting to go to the Alps for Christmas and this way I can see Francesca and even have a date for the function. Who knows, might even stop and see Marcella too." There was a wistful note to his voice and Mac suspected he might still have feelings for his ex-wife. Mac wasn't sure if SHE thought it was a good idea or not but hey, her track record was decidedly dismal. "Well that works out great for you, sir. Should I check in with someone else while you're gone?" There was silence on the other end of the line then she heard a slight puff of air. "Nah. You've got my cell phone number, just call me on that after Saturday night. That's when my flight leaves." After they rang off Mac quickly fluffed her hair and grabbed her purse. She didn't even bother trying Webb's cell phone.
:: Chapter 5 ::13 December, Wednesday She was surprised and not particularly pleased that Kurt joined them for dinner. In fact it was like the whole gang was there except for Webb. Sinclair was nowhere to be found either. She saw Clyde Marshall in the lobby talking emphatically on his cell phone. She sat down between Dettwiler and Farber who jumped up to hold her chair for her. Lealia Bouchard sat across from her, Bauer on her left was talking to Lucretia, and Vasilli Gubin on her right sat staring myopically around him. Farber snapped his fingers and a busboy rushed up with water. "So, Hannah, you saw much of the Cathedral?" Mac nodded, "Some, not enough, but it was all so beautiful, especially the stained glass windows and the wooden reliefs by Ignatz Günther are quite breathtaking." Lealia Bouchard was nibbling at her appetizer, keeping her eyes firmly focused on her plate but she blurted out, "I'm surprised that you wanted to see them at all." Lucretia stopped in mid-word her conversation with Bauer and the two turned to stare at the Frenchwoman. Carefully putting her napkin in her lap and accepting the large menu for the waiter, Mac pretended to consider her dinner selection. "Why is that Madam Bouchard? Because I am Jewish, I am supposed to ignore whole segments of my period of interest. Or because, based on one short meeting over a year ago, you are the arbitrator of what I think and like." It was harsh and cold and Mac didn't care. She was ready and prepared to have it out with Lealia. Mac had finally found the transcript of Jacobs' speech and it was fairly typical feminist rhetoric aimed the art world in general and art history in particular. It was a good speech Mac had thought, even espousing her own feelings about historical and present day discrimination, but certainly nothing that showed insight into the speaker's day-to-day life. She had gone over the guest list and had found Lealia Bouchard's name. But when she searched all the scanned documents that the CIA had downloaded for her, there was nothing there to indicate that Jacob's had ever corresponded with Bouchard, even though they shared the same love of 15th and 16th century artists. Of course she was finding out that half the art world loved the same period. Now she waited. Bouchard's face flushed a splotchy red, but she spat back, "You spoke so eloquently on the feminist goal and now I see that you are nothing more than¼" "Madam Bouchard!" Kurt Farber tossed down his napkin and started to rise but Mac's hand on his forearm was neither conciliatory nor calming; he saw clearly from her expression that he should `stay the hell out of this.' Mac held the older woman's gaze. "I am sorry that I am not the epitome for everything that you hold dear, Madam. Perhaps you should know better the people you put on that pedestal." She closed the menu and softly gave the waiter her order. The table sat stunned for a moment but Clyde Marshall came in just then and sat next to Gubin. "Well now, did everyone have a enjoyable afternoon? Hannah, how did you like the Church?" Mac smiled sweetly, "Lovely, Clyde." Turning to Bauer she asked, "And tell me, Hans, what trouble did you get into today?" She didn't know what to expect. But, she was rather disappointed when Bauer just looked at Lucretia and solemnly pronounced, "I helped Fraulien Pedrotti shop. She needed someone who knew where everything was located." Mac furrowed her brow, "I thought you were from a northern state, Hans? If I had know you were such an expert on shopping in Munich I would have gone with you instead. After Ed and I finished the church he dumped me for some boring something or other and I'm afraid I got rather lost. I thought I saw you but I was in a little neighborhood, no shops at all. Thank goodness I found a nice big department store." Even though it looked like she was focusing on Bauer she kept glancing at Lucretia and she could have sworn that the Italian was starting to fidget, just a bit. "Ach, it would have been fun, but Fraulien Pedrotti and I shopped by taxi all day. We went to several outlying areas." Next to her Dettwiler snorted, "Well I'm glad everyone else seemed to have a grand time I got stuck with the little group from Poland and Austria. I like art, ladies and gentlemen but if I never see another ceiling fresco it will be too soon, my neck will never be the same." Mac inwardly sighed. She hadn't expected any of them to `fess up' as it were, but it would have been nice to have evoked a embarrassed silence or something. Dinner progressed and most of the conversation revolved around the plans they had for Christmas. Lealia seemed to have recovered and offered that she would spend the holidays with old friends from college. Gubin took the opportunity to tell of the reopening of the Churches in Russia and how it wasn't the same as when he had been a child because all of the art was plundered and nobody seemed to have any conferences about that. No one bothered to point out that the churches had probably been plundered before he was born and the artwork had been sold by the state, which may or may not have been guilty of thievery but there was little to be done about it now. As they nibbled on sorbet and drank after dinner drinks and coffee Farber stood up. "I know it isn't proper to make this offer to just a select group of people out of all the attendees, but no matter. My family has a Skihütte in Ramsau in the Berchtesgaden area. It is quite beautiful and I hope that you will all join me." Glancing down at Mac he smiled. "Dr. Thomas is, of course, welcome. And, I will make sure to invite Herr Sinclair also." Mac swallowed. Well partner, you ain't here and I guess I'll have to decide for both of us. "I've heard the country is beautiful and the towns around there are supposed to be very picturesque. As long as you don't ask me to actually ski, I would love to go." Kurt leaned into her personal space and whispered. "There are many pleasurable things to do in the region, not just skiing but I hope you will at least try, Hannah. I look forward to showing you how." "Hello, everybody. I see I'm late as usual." Mac jerked back when she heard Webb's voice. He was standing there in the same cable knit sweater and bomber jacket, the bruise the most prominent feature on his face. Rupert Sinclair stood just behind him. Kurt stood up and before Mac could say anything he invited them both. Webb looked thoughtful but Sinclair had developed a regular scowl. He whispered something to Webb who responded. "Can we get back to you on that, tomorrow maybe?" Resting his hand, almost possessively on Mac's shoulder Farber smiled. "Of course, Dr. Thomas. Dr. Jacobs has already agreed and I'm sure everyone else here is going." Looking around at the others Mac saw each of them nod, some with more enthusiasm that others. "Please let me know by tomorrow night so that I can secure enough room on the train. They are busy this time of year." She noticed no change in expression on Webb's face and since all of them were done, he and Sinclair went to sit at another table to dine. Farber walked her to the elevator and she prayed that he didn't follow her into the car. He kissed her lightly on the top of her head, something few men in her life could do and bid her "gute nacht, Hannah," before turning on his heel. Lucretia got on the car with her but when she saw Lealia heading toward them, fatigue wore out and she let the door close. "Good for you, Hannah. Though, you must understand about Lealia. Her husband treated her very badly. He used her in the ways that all of us try hard not to be used. She has embraced her cause with such gusto to, how do you say, shove everything else out. When she found out you were going to be here, she was so very excited. I was surprised that one speech by you could have such an impact." Mac said nothing and when the elevator opened on Pedrotti's floor she only nodded when the Italian bid her goodnight. Mac flicked on the light and sank wearily onto the bed. She was exhausted but not from any physical exertion. The duplicity was beginning to wear on her. The few assignments where she had hidden her identity had been trying. She hated lying; the aftermath of Chris Ragle's murder had driven her to drink. She considered pulling on her sweats and going for a long run, but it was late at night in an unfamiliar city. She opted for a long stand under the pulsing shower. After washing her hair and shaving her legs she decided a full facial was called for. She considered her nails and promised herself a manicure and pedicure on the CIA's nickel. Finally, nearly an hour later, she felt thoroughly clean and ready to snuggle into bed. She hung the towel up and opened the door and stepped naked into the bedroom. "Shit!" He stood there at the window with his back to her. She wasn't sure if he could see her reflection or not, but some perverse sense of righteousness made her bold and she took her time rummaging through the drawers. She found a pair of comfortably loose boxers and a matching spaghetti strap cotton tee that did less than nothing to hide her curves. She slammed the dresser drawer. "You know, Webb, for somebody who's supposed to be gay, your spending an awful lot of time in a girl's room at night. I'm surprised Rupert¼" He turned and kept his eyes focused on her face. That's when she knew for sure he could see everything while he looked out the window. "Could you just drop it?" He sounded bone tired. She took a deep breath and then walked over the bed, pulled down the covers and sat, her back propped up against the headboard. Pulling her knees up to her chest she asked, "Why are you here, Webb? You ready to tell me what trouble you're getting poor Mr. Sinclair into? You stringing him along?" She stopped when she saw the expression on his face. She had never seen such a look on anyone's face in her life. She could see dozens of emotions flit across a face that she had seldom see wear more than disinterest, scorn or exasperation. While she couldn't isolate one so she could say, `he's pissed, guilty or sad,' she realized that she was wrong. Wrong to be giving him a hard time about Sinclair, anyway. Softly she repeated, "Why are you here, Webb? Tell me or don't, but I'm tired and I think you better just go." "I thought you would want to discuss this weekend?" His tone was almost apologetic. "Nothing to discuss, Webb. I'm going. I can check on Kappel's brother. Just give me his name and you can go do whatever it is you need to do. You obviously don't trust me with your little side trip so you bring in another poor sucker¼" Webb's laugh was almost hysterical and very bitter. He sat down on the chair next to the desk and clasped his hands in front of him lowering his head. Mac got up and went to him, crouching down next to him. "Jesus, Clay. Just tell me." He leaned back and let out a long shuddering breath. "Of all the things you could have said." This time his laugh was self-depreciating. "Mac, I'd tell you, but it's not my play. I did find out why Dr. Thomas was so anxious to visit his dear friend Jacobs." "Webb, I don't understand." She whispered and took his hand in hers. He looked down at it and then back into her eyes. His thumb gently stroked the pulse point at her wrist and that incredible jolt shot through her again. "Rupert Sinclair is MI-6, so you see there's very little¼" She jerked her hand out of his and stood. "Oh for Christ sake! So the CIA and British Intelligence have got a little operation going and the helpless Marine Colonel is suddenly in the way." God, this man jerks me from one emotion to the next and I just let him. He stood and took her roughly by the shoulders and she knew he was going to kiss her. He did – chastely on the forehead. "Sinclair isn't interested in the Breastplate of Aaron, Mac, and he has no idea that I'm CIA and as far as you are concerned, you’re just another Professor to use as a cover." He let her go and after checking the hallway, left her staring at the closed door. :: :: ::
14 December, Thursday Thursday passed in a daze. Webb stayed out of her way, disappearing all together after lunch. When Gubin pointedly asked after him and Sinclair, Mac rudely shrugged and snapped, "You'll have to ask him, professor." When the conference broke for the day, Lucretia grabbed her arm as she was getting into a taxi. "Hannah, did you bring something to wear this weekend?" Mac did a quick mental inventory of her casual clothes and nodded. "Well I've got jeans and sweatshirts and a fibre-filled jacket that ought to work if it doesn't get too cold. I don't plan on skiing you know." Lucretia snorted, "Boots?" Mac laughed heartily, "Oh, `Cretia, do you ever NOT want to shop?" Lucretia sniffed daintily. "We have been officially invited by a member of the German government¼" Mac looked shocked, "Lucretia Pedrotti! You are not going to go buy ski clothes and charge them back to your museum!" "Of course." The Italian studied the designer suit visible beneath her pashmina shawl. "This is the warmest outfit I have with me." She batted her eyelashes in a self-mocking sort of way. "You must come with me. I can't be trusted not to bankrupt the museum." Mac sighed, but thought, Well she is right and I will charge it back to Webb. Okay, let’s go. But you're buying dinner." "But of course." Giggling like a teenager she followed Mac into the cab and told the driver, "Kaufhof, bitte." Mac, getting into the spirit, retorted, "I bet you know the name of every department store in Munich." `Cretia smiled, "And Berlin and Strasbourg, and Geneva and Zurich an¼" "Okay, okay." Mac sat back and enjoyed the sights. The had a grand time not only at Kaufhof but Haus Oberpollinger again and by the time they were descending the escalator, they were both loaded down with bags. Mac was in the best mood she had been since leaving for that horrid murder trial in Florida. Lucretia asked casually, "So, have you gotten all your Christmas gifts, Hannah?" Mac quickly looked at her to see if she joking or baiting her but her expression was one of innocence. Mac shrugged. "Like I said yesterday, I have dear friends who I exchange gifts with during the holiday and yes, I think I'm fini¼" Just then, on the up-escalator across from them, was a dark-haired man, dressed in a somber three-piece suit. The only color was a deep red scarf carelessly flung around his neck. Mac realized how weird it had been seeing Webb dressed in `California scholar' instead of his usual `uniform.' They walked by the men's accessory counter, the one where she had bought the Admiral's gloves and she spotted a dark red scarf. A wave of Christmas spirit overtook her. "¼actually, I need one more thing." Lucretia groaned, but stopped at the counter with her and even helped keep several bags from toppling over as Mac paid for her purchase. They walked down Bahnhoff and were just getting ready to hail a cab when a long black limo pulled up next to them. "Well, you ladies look like you need a ride." When they recognized Marshall's smiling face in the window, they cried in unison, "Clyde! Oh yes, please." :: :: ::
14 December, Thursday The uniformed driver helped them load their bags and packages in the trunk and then held the door for them as they climbed in back with Marshall, only to find Armin Dettwiler sitting next to him and they sank down in the facing seat. "So where are you ladies heading?" Marshall asked. Lucretia archly replied, "Back to the hotel, of course and then dinner." "Excellent. Armin and I were on our way to a little French Bistro he highly recommends. You will join us?" Lucretia pouted. "Dressed like this?" Mac looked at the woman's perfect suit. It probably cost more than a week's salary, if not two. "What's wrong with the way you're dressed. I don't know about you, but I'm starved." Besides I want another crack at you and Dettwiler, `Cretia dear. The restaurant was on a quiet side street away from the holiday bustle. The interior was simple in its rich dark wood panel. The walls were covered in wine racks, some of them behind glass doors. Mac ignored Clyde's pointed look when she ordered mineral water instead of wine. She would have killed for a Beltway burger, fries and a coke, but instead ordered the Belgium endive and bouillabaisse. When the waiter had left, Dettwiler raised his glass, "To meeting new friends!" Mac though his tone curiously insistent and decided a gentle parry was called for. "Oh. I thought I was the only new kid in town. You all seem so at ease around each other. I thought you and `Cretia were old friends." Her eyes latched onto his and she was rewarded by a look of shifting discomfort, like the obnoxious neighbor boy standing over a trampled bush, looking around desperately for someone else to blame. "Now why do you think that, Hannah?" Lucretia's voice was low and just a trace of steel hardened her words. "Armin and I have, of course, met before at similar conferences and meetings. After all, not everyone is so childishly afraid to fly, my dear." Oh my. The pampered little kitten still has her claws. Mac tried to summon up a little anger on Dr. Jacob's behalf, but Marshall snapped angrily in her defense. "Professor Pedrotti! Surviving a plane crash at the age of 13¼" Mac gently interrupted, "Actually Clyde, I was ten, but regardless, I didn't mean to imply anything, `Cretia other than you seem so comfortable with each other." Pedrotti's smile was cold but Mac could have sworn that the anger behind her eyes was aimed at neither Marshall nor her, but Dettwiler. Thankfully, the waiter brought their salads and only Clyde's running commentary on the changes he hoped to see at the Smithsonian broke the silence. Over a decadent desert of profiteroles drenched in dark Belgium chocolate, as Mac was trying to figure out a way to bring up Mrs. Kappel, Marshall ended his monologue and asked abruptly, "So, are any of our colleagues going after the hidden loot?" Mac sat rigid, the desert spoon halfway to her mouth. Her eyes flickered over Dettwiler who had suddenly gone pale and she just caught Pedrotti's quick glance slide from Marshall to Mac and then back to Marshall. Mac put the spoonful of ice cream and cream puff pastry into her mouth and waited, grateful for the excuse not to be expected to answer. Dettwiler, looking hastily at Lucretia, shrugged. "What particular lost loot would that be Clyde?" "Come now, Armin, we're old friends, you know exactly what lost loot I mean. That old fool of a vicar really messed it up for the rest of us. Course, I don't care about the reliquaries, got enough of them, but there's something else that I might be interested in." Now we come to it, do we Clyde. Mac studied her empty dessert dish and pondered her next move and silently, fervently cursed Clayton Webb for not being here. Being where they had planned him to be when this conversation began. Because this was the sole reason Webb had asked Dr. Jacobs to help. Why, when she couldn't anymore, he hadn't changed his plans and come alone or asked Tammy Russell, art historian at the University of Berlin, and CIA agent when needed, to fill in. Nearly half of the correspondence between Marshall and Jacobs had concerned the ancient Jewish relic. The scans of the letters dealing with the breastplate that she had pored over had started almost six years before with vague questions and hints. In fact, so vague were the earliest reference to the item that it took one of Webb's top analysts to trace the history back to a letter dated April 6, 1995 that ended with a cryptic closing, `heard about something interesting that might intrigue you, considering your heritage.' Subsequent letters and e-mails had become more detailed, but Hannah Jacobs had sworn to Webb that she had always presented a skeptical eye to her `pen-pal's' enthusiasm for early Judeo mysticism. She waited and prayed that Dettwiler or Pedrotti would say something, but the banker just swirled his demitasse spoon around in his espresso cup and Lucretia suddenly became intent on savoring the last spoonful of chocolate sauce. And, Clayton Webb did not suddenly materialize next to her. You're on your own, Marine. Putting her coffee cup to her lips she let her eyes lock on Marshall's. She saw such a longing there. The cup clattered in its saucer as she sat it down. Remember, Jacobs likes him, considers him a friend, misguided, perhaps, but still a friend. She remembered where she had last seen that look. Rabb had it when he thought his father might still be alive – a hope and yearning that she could only relate to when she was so depressed that the craving for a drink was almost unbearable. She let her sigh float between them, "Clyde, surely you don't think that Mrs. Kappel has it?" His voice was hoarse, "Not her, perhaps, but her brother Horst Belk was the one that gave her the reliquary to sell." Mac's heart was in her throat. Shit! It's not supposed to be this easy. What the hell is going on? "Clyde, why do you think that this Belk would have the breastplate?" His voice dropped to a whisper, "You know what I wrote you about the sighting in 1914." She prayed her nervousness would be heard as impatience. Damn you, Webb. "Yes, yes, Clyde. The Egyptian antiquities dealer – thief – sold a shield of many stones to a `dirty Juden Westerner' named Franklin. But what does Belk have to do with Franklin? Besides being terribly insulting, it is incredibly vague." She could see the anger grow and evidently so could Pedrotti and Dettwiler who were both shifting uncomfortably their seats. Finally Lucretia cleared her throat, "Ah¼what are you two almost coming to blows over?" Mac archly looked at the Italian but sat back in her chair. Waving her upturned hand over the table she sweetly insisted, "Please Mr. Marshall, share your, your obsession with the rest of the class." He glared at her and then defiantly met the gaze of the other two. Mac was in perfect position to watch everyone's face as Marshall started slowly, almost hesitantly. "The Bible, Exodus 28 describes the Breastplate of Aaron, I've memorized the important parts:
He paused and took a sip of water. Pedrotti was listening transfixed, but Mac saw that Dettwiler's eyes were focused not on Marshall or on his coffee cup any more, but on the Italian. Pedrotti whispered, "Does that mean that it has mystical powers?" Marshall nodded, "The Jewish historian Josephus wrote of something `still more wonderful.' God would grant victory in battle by the means of the twelve stones by the high priest. And, in addition to its power in battle, the breastplate was said to be an oracle, announcing to people the fate that God had in store for them. Hannah actually has more historical detail than I do." Clyde neatly threw the ball in Mac's court. Oh Clyde, you do have a way with words. Well time for Dr. Jacobs to add something to the mix. Please let me remember this right. She coughed gently. "There have actually been two breastplates... one, the original, which would have been lost during the Babylonian exile of the Jews." Mac spared a moment to thank her chatty Mormon bunkmate back in boot camp. "Or, if you wish to believe the Mormons, the original was taken to North America." At Marshall’s impatient look she continued, "Nevertheless, when the Jews reestablished in Israel eight centuries later, they created another breastplate, referred to as the "Breastplate of the Second Temple." "Bah, you don't know that for sure, but even so. It could be either." Marshall insisted. Mac ignored him and continued. "Until 70 CE it was kept in the Temple but Titus captured Jerusalem and the breastplate was taken to the Temple of Concord. It remained there until it was either stolen in 410 CE by the Visogoths or in 445 CE when the Vandals sacked Rome. The next time it might have been seen was when it was paraded through the streets of Constantinople in 534 CE - if it was one of the Vessels of the Jews stolen after the Vandals sacked Belisarious. Justinian placed the vessels in the sacristy of the church at St. Sophia. But after hearing that, `until the treasures of the Temple were returned to Jerusalem, they would bring misfortune upon anyplace where they might be kept,' Justinian took a lesson from the fate of Rome. He had the ‘sacred vessels’ moved to Jerusalem and placed in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre in an effort to save Constantinople. Everything was pretty quiet until 615 when Jerusalem was captured by Sassanian Persian king, Khusrau II and," she looked pointedly at Marshall, "in 637 the Arabs overthrew the Sassanian Empire. And that is as far as it goes. Keep in mind, this is most likely the second breastplate. The first would have been added to Alexander the Great's spoils as part of the Persian/Babylonian Empire." She sat back almost afraid that Marshall would call her a fraud, that she had gotten one of the dates wrong or mispronounced a word or two. But Marshall just waited patiently for someone to say something. Dettwiler had started stirring his coffee again and Mac had to fight the urge to grab it from him and fling it across the room. Lucretia just sat there looking enthralled and Mac realized that the Italian scholar knew all about the mythology behind the breastplate. She had listened to both Marshall and Mac with the same intensity that a small child pays to the one-hundredth reading of her favorite bedtime story, straining to pick up any missed word or little change. Lucretia purred, "oh Clyde, do you think that it could be true? It would be like finding the Chalice or even the Covenant." Marshall smiled wistfully. "When Dr. Thomas talked about Joe Tom Meador's heirs selling to private parties, he didn't know I had offered to buy the entire collection sight unseen on the chance that one of the manuscripts might have a reference to the breastplate, not found anywhere else." He glared petulantly at Mac. "You said you would talk to Thomas for me." The last e-mail from Jacobs to Marshall had been in response to a plea to talk to her dear friend and find out if the breastplate had been mentioned in any of the manuscripts that he was currently working on. According to the message she had sent back, Jacobs had promised to at least talk to Edward Thomas. "It's been kinda busy Clyde, I haven't had much of a chance." Marshall's face darkened, but Dettwiler finally came out of his stupor. "He seems to have other things on his mind. He usually comes in pretty late with Sinclair." Mac snapped. "How do you know that?" Dettwiler looked down his nose at her condescendingly, "Because, this morning I saw him coming in at 5:30. I had an upset stomach and had gone downstairs to see if the desk clerk had some Brioski or something. Neither he nor Sinclair noticed me, and the clerk told me that it was the third night they had come in that late. The clerk made a point to say they were usually all over each other and they must have had a fight but, from what I saw, they were really engrossed in each other. Lucretia piped up, "Well, Flavie DeLisle, the Administrator for the Louvre program to trace `found' property said she saw them all lovey-dovey at Kay's." Mac felt a wave of emotion so intense it shocked her. She was glad the light in the room was dim because she felt the blush build. She fought for control and managed a shrug. "Well, I'm sure he's entitled to do whatever he wants." Picking her napkin off her lap and carefully folding it before placing it neatly next to her plate, Mac stood up." Excuse me, I need to wash my hands." He's doing his job. Bullshit! He is and what do you care? I don't! Bullshit Damn him. Why didn't he just tell me? She sat in the stall and talked to herself for a good five minutes. She heard the door to the ladies room open and a timid, "Hannah? Are you okay?" I'm fine, you catty bitch. "Just fine. I'll be out in a minute." Jeez. Five minutes 21 seconds and she's checking up on me. She heard the water running and finally stood, adjusted her dress and stepped out to find Lucretia carefully fixing her lip stick. "You're in love with him, aren't you?" Pedrotti asked pityingly. Twisting the handle, Mac thoroughly washed her hands. Grabbing a handful of paper towels, she finally met Pedrotti's stare. "He's my friend and I don't gossip about my friends. I don't like to hear gossip about them either." She tossed the towels and walked back to the dining room to find the men standing by the table, their coats on, holding her and Lucretia's wraps for them. She let Marshall settle the heavy wool around her shoulders before turning and grabbing her purse. "I'll ask him tomorrow, if I get a chance, Clyde." The drive back to the hotel was nearly silent. Only once did Dettwiler make a feeble attempt at starting a conversation concerning their weekend plans. When no one responded he returned to staring out the window.
:: Chapter 6 ::15 December, Friday Mac politely refused Marshall's offer of help in getting her purchases to her room. She was afraid they would find Webb waiting for her there. But he wasn't. It was 0010 and she longed to just curl up in bed, but she carefully pulled the hiking boots and heavy socks from one bag and the down ski jacket she had fallen in love with out of another. She packed her carry on with jeans and sweaters and underwear, lacing the boots through the handle. The train left at 1630 tomorrow and even though the last speaker was Farber and he promised he would finish in plenty of time, she hated to rush. After changing, she checked her messages and then crawled into bed. She kept eyeing her secure cell phone, the one that Webb had promised she could talk to him on without fear. But, she was struck with the need to know that he was actually in his room and having a perfect excuse, she picked up the phone and punched in his room number. She listened to three long burrrrrings, her heart sinking and her anger rising when she heard a sleepy, "`lo?" Shit! He was asleep! "Hey! Since when does the party animal of the left coast fall asleep this early? I figured you'd be out carousing." She kept her voice light and teasing. He sounded exhausted. "Then why did you bother to call¼Hannah?" "Just wanted to find out if you were coming on the trip tomorrow or not." "Actually, I told Farber I was going and so did¼Rupert." There was a short pause before he said snidely, "I'm surprised that he didn't tell you himself." "When would he have told me¼Edward?" Her voice dripped venom. "I had dinner with Clyde, Armin and `Cretia." Before he could comment, she hurried on. "By the way, Clyde asked me to find out what you know about the Breastplate of Aaron. If you remember it being mentioned in any of the manuscripts that you are studying." She could hear the sharp intake of breath. "Well, think on it and let me know." She hung up the phone, turned off the lamp and snuggled down into the covers." She yawned and closed her eyes but sleep tonight was elusive. Tossing off the covers she did some limbering up exercises and tried again to fall asleep. Finally she gave up and allowed herself to consider the enigma that was Clayton Webb and why the hell she cared. She thought back over the years she had known him, over the way their lives had intertwined. The situations he had gotten her and Rabb into and how he seldom gave them the whole picture. Boy, are you pushing the envelope in this case. That he aggravated her was a given and she would love to hate and despise him, but she didn't, hadn't ever, really. Oh, he could drive her to a white-hot rage, like the time she thought he was dead only to turn up and nearly getting himself and Rabb really killed. But she had come to realize something else. He was as much a patriot as any man she knew, doing his job out of a sense of commitment and duty rather than as an opportunity to advance up the CIA hierarchy, though she had no doubt that he had ambition too. And there were acts of simple kindness that few people knew about. Like the hard to find, recording/talking "Burpy" bear that had shown up at JAG ops one week after Lt. Roberts had taken his son's present to CIA headquarters and mistakenly recorded his conversation with the startled Webb. Bud had been upset, but admitted that it was his fault for bringing the thing with him. When the new one had shown up, with no note other than a simple "Lt. Roberts" on the outside of the package, Bud had whispered in awe, "He didn't have to do that. I wonder where he found it." And, if she was honest, he had even worked it so that when she and Keeter were stuck behind Iranian lines he had figured out a way to get them home quickly and in one piece. He always came through for her, helping her to save her overgrown kid of a partner. Damn! I want to¼to what, Sarah MacKenzie? She rolled over one last time and closed her eyes, yet again. The last thing she remembered was the way he crowded her into the corner of the elevator, his lips so close to hers, his incredible green eyes almost sultry as he asked her if she wanted to watch. :: :: ::
15 December, Friday Even with skipping lunch and Farber speaking last, the morning speeches had gone long. The group had rushed back to the hotel, grabbed their bags but then had to search for extra cabs because of Lucretia. Mac admonished her, "'Cretia! We're coming back Sunday night! Why do you need so many suitcases?" When she actually started to explain, Webb gritted his teeth, "Never mind! Let's go!" He threw Lucretia's 3 large suitcases into the trunk and his one over large backpack into the front seat of the cab and climbed in next to the startled Italian. Mac found herself sharing a harrowing cab ride to the train station with Dettwiler and Bauer. The driver got them there just as they heard the "abschließender Aufruf" for their train. Armin looked at the Bauer and muttered, "We're never going to make it, but the fat little man took off and it was Dettwiler who was carrying one heavy suitcase that Mac had to slow her pace for. They saw Farber waving and laughing from a car halfway up. The conductor standing next to him on the platform kept glancing at his watch. Mac waited for Dettwiler to catch up before climbing on board, Farber grabbing her case from her. "Hannah, you didn't have to run so fast, they would have held the train for me. Besides, you aren't even the last. But, please go find a seat." He handed her bag to a porter who took it to the car to the left. He held the door leading to the right open for her. She stepped in and gasped. Armin Dettwiler ran into her, pushing her slightly further into the opulent setting. "You didn't realize how rich Kurt's family was, Hannah?" Mac turned her head to meet his amused look. "His family owns this?" Dettwiler shrugged and put his suitcase behind one of the plush leather chairs. "Oh no, nothing so conspicuous or financially ruinous as that. No, DaimlerChrysler owns it and Kurt's brother sits on the board of directors of Mercedes-Benz." "And it behooves a corporation to stay on friendly terms with the Assistant to the Minister of the Interior." Mac whispered in awe as she took in the plush accommodations before her. The entire car was paneled in rich dark oak. Neat honeycomb blinds covered the windows. There were several small tables scattered throughout the car with two, three or four comfortable looking leather chairs around them. There was a large sofa against one wall immediately to their left and across from that were two more large leather chairs. Dominating the back of the car was a oak bar complete with bartender who was currently placing drinks on the tray of a waitress whose costume may have been inspired by the traditional dress of the Alps. Mac looked with a jaundiced eye at Dettwiler, "Is that Lederhosen?" A distasteful sniff drew their attention. Lealia Bouchard stood at the door of the restroom, just inside the entryway. "For a six-year-old perhaps." Mac privately agreed, but Dettwiler shot back. "I'm surprised to see you here, professor. I didn't think you would approve of such an outing." Lealia's face grew red but a purr from the sofa cut in. "Now, Armin, Lealia is a feminist not a communist. Come Lealia, sit by me and have a drink. Hannah, I'm afraid dear Edward has left no room for you at his table so you might as well join us too." Mac had already spotted Webb and Sinclair talking at one of the tables with only two chairs around it. She smiled down at the smirking Lucretia. "Thanks, but the chairs look like they move and I need to talk to him – I promised Clyde I would." She shed her coat, hung it on a gleaming brass hook and walked to the table where the two men sat. Whispering conspiratorially, occasionally pointedly looking at one of the other passengers. Mac eyed Sinclair and then Webb. "May I join you two?" Webb gulped and Sinclair pouted but got up and moved a chair for her. "So tell me, Professor Jacobs¼." "Oh please, Rupert. Such a good friend of Eddie, you must call me Hannah." She interrupted with a saccharine purr. Webb clenched his jaw but said nothing. "Ah yes, of course. Hannah, then. So, how are you enjoying Munich and are you surprised at the mode of transportation to get us to the slopes?" She could feel his eyes bore into hers. Mac shrugged. "It is very nice. I understand that he is borrowing it for the weekend." She looked at Webb. "So did you get back to sleep last night after we talked?" She kept her smile well hidden as he glared at her. "Actually, yes. And before you ask, I talked to Marshall." He pointed at the philanthropist who was standing talking to Bauer who was sitting with Gubin and a pretty little blond that Mac remembered as being a Curator from the Royal Museum in Scotland. Brody Armstrong looked like she was only 18 and appeared very bored. Mac looked back at Webb. "And?" Webb looked at Rupert before answering. "I told him that there was no mention of the breastplate except in reference to Exodus and a few that he had already knew about." Mac turned around at the sound of laughter as Farber and two young people got on the train. "Everyone, we're ready to go. Ben, why don't you introduce Deirdre to everyone while I go make sure that dinner will be ready for us." Ben Hareesa, the Assistant to the General Director of the Babylonian Jewry Heritage Center had spoken earlier that morning. In fact it was Hareesa's detailed rendition of the long history of Jewish mistreatment that had thrown the whole schedule late. For once Mac could agree with Gubin's muttered complaint. "Late again. These young people have no respect." Hareesa took great care and dignity to take the young lady up to each person or group of people. Finally he reached Mac and Webb's table. "This is Deirdre O'Neill a friend of Herr Farber's. She is studying art history at Humbolt University in Berlin. She is visiting friends in Berchtesgaden and Herr Farber graciously asked her to come with us. Deirdre, this is Dr. Hannah Jacobs, an expert on women artists of the Renaissance. Dr. Edward Thomas is renown for his articles on illuminated manuscripts and," Looking at Sinclair he raised an eyebrow. "I am sorry, sir?" Sinclair languidly raised his hand to the young woman, "Rupert Sinclair, British Museum." Deirdre beamed at the three of them, but concentrated on Webb. "Oh, Dr. Thomas, I am very familiar with your area. I hope we can talk on it – in a more private setting." Ben Hareesa pulled her away from the table and over to the bar. Mac cocked an eyebrow at Webb and expected some kind of depreciating remark from him or Sinclair, but the two just exchanged glances and Mac could have sworn that Sinclair looked decidedly nervous. Farber played the perfect host, spending time with each of the twelve guests. When he came up to the trio, he rested his hand lightly on Mac shoulder. "Thomas, Sinclair. Glad you could come. It makes Hannah very happy to have her friend nearby." Mac met Webb's startled glance. While she was disconcerted with Farber's familiarity, she just smiled up at him and asked. "So tell me, Kurt. How long before we get to this little ski lodge of yours?" "Oh it is a three hour ride, liebsten. We will dine in a few minutes. You will join me at my table, ja? Unless you and Professor Thomas¼?" He let the question hang in the air, waiting. "Well¼" Mac began, but Webb looked at Sinclair and then at Farber. "Don't worry about me, Hannah. Rupert and I have¼things to discuss." And what about discussing stuff with me? She smiled brightly. "Well then, it's settled." The porter appeared and called them into the dining car. As Farber held her chair for her, Mac took in the white linen, china service, silverware and the scenery rushing by. "This is what the Orient Express is like, isn't it?" She asked breathlessly. "Oh, liebling, Bavaria is much prettier than anything you can see between Paris and Istanbul." Leaning over her, his arm draped possessively around her shoulder he breathed on her cheek, he pointed out several interesting points as they sped past. Gently, but firmly she move him away as soon as the waiter brought them soup. She noticed that Webb and Sinclair sat together at a table two rows away. Webb faced her and even over the heads of Dettwiler and Gubin she could see the anger in his eyes and he glared not at her but definitely at Farber. Well now what the hell has Sinclair said about Farber? They had just finished dinner as the train made a long, slow curve and they came out into a valley, the moon high above casting bright reflections off the snow. The lights in the car dimmed and `oohs and aahs' could be heard throughout the car. Mac gasped at the beauty of the sparking lights blinking out from amid large stands of trees. The lights seemed to climb forever upward as the train once again picked up speed. "We are almost there, Hannah, if you watch carefully and look up when I tell you, you can see the lodge from here." Her eyes widened. "Don't tell me the train stops for your ski lodge." "No." He laughed. "Three Land Rovers are meeting us at the train station. We could have driven up Munich 8 but this way you get the pretty scenery and a real chance of making it back on Sunday." They talked of traffic and snow, skiing and lounging in front of warm fires. She noticed that his arm had once again found a comfortable spot around the back of her chair and she felt his thumb caressing her shoulder. She glanced over at Webb but he wasn't looking at them, he was listening intently to something that Hans Bauer was saying. Bauer, Dettwiler, Lucretia and Lealia were sitting directly across from Webb and Sinclair and from the looks on Dettwiler and Lucretia's face he was telling a very funny story. Farber chuckled, patronizingly. "No doubt telling stories of his lost, misspent youth." Not really liking his tone she straightened in her chair and pushed it back, forcing his arm to fall away. "Excuse me, Kurt." With a confused and hurt look on his face, he stood and let her pass into the aisle. As she past the two tables, she saw even Webb was laughing and she was struck how much it changed him. It made him look boyish and devil-may-care. She tried to remember the last time that she had seen him laugh and she couldn't. "Well you guys seem to be having a great time. Hans, you must tell me the story when we get settled in." "Ja, ja." Tears ran down his cheeks; evidently he was enjoying the story as much as anyone was. She pushed into the small restroom and stared at herself in the mirror. Well you've got a rich, important German practically drooling over you. And, you can only think about the damn spy who got you into this mess and who hasn't paid any attention to you in two days. She fixed her lipstick and fingered her hair and taking a deep breath, returned to the dining car, only to find everyone walking into the club car again. Farber hung back until he could take her arm. "We are almost there, Hannah. Don't worry about your luggage, it is being taken care of." The trip up the mountain was scary. The white Land Rovers had met them at the station and Mac found herself sitting between Pedrotti and Brody Armstrong. Farber sat in front with the driver. She and Armstrong exchanged pleasantries and she once again used careful questions to get Armstrong to do most of the talking. After the train ride, and considering the number of people that Farber had invited, she wasn't expecting a small cottage but even so she was astounded by what they all saw as the SUV made a sharp turn. The house was lit by floodlights, as were the massive trees just in front of it. It was huge. Made entirely of whole tree logs, it was two stories high. It was bigger than a couple of the embassies in D.C. and would no doubt provide plenty of room for all of Farber's guests. "Dolce Cielo, sweet heavens." Lucretia breathed reverently. :: :: ::
Ski Lodge – Berchtesgaden Dozens of windows ablaze in a warm glow welcomed them as each car pulled under a covered entrance to disgorge its passengers. Farber ushered them into the huge great room. A stone fireplace took up one wall. Heavy leather furniture was scattered throughout the room in random seating patterns. Antique ski equipment decorated the wall; plush throw rugs dotted the wide plank flooring. Farber stood in front of the fireplace. "Ladies and gentlemen, Willkommen. My home is yours. I know you have just had dinner, but please, Anna and Inge will be happy to make you any late night snacks until 1:00 o'clock. If you get a craving later, please help yourselves in the kitchen. Fritz and Gustav have taken your bags up to your rooms; look for them outside your door. If you would like to go upstairs now and freshen up, please be sure to change into something warm. In a little over an hour, something very special occurs outside." Lucretia tugged at Mac's arm. "Come on," she whispered, "let’s go make sure we like our rooms." The staircase opened onto a large open landing with short hallways leading left, right and straight ahead. It was easy to spot Lucretia's room down the right hand corridor. They looked into the open doorway. A sleigh bed dominated the room. French doors looked like they opened onto a balcony. Suitably impressed, they carried Lucretia's three heavy suitcases in to the room. Mac looked around and pointed at a door next to the oak highboy. "Bath?" "Probably. Check to see." "Oh, `Cretia. Very nice, but it looks like you have to share it." "No matter. I recognized Lealia's case next door." Lucretia called from where she was putting away her clothes. The connecting door swung open and Lealia poked her head in. "Oh, Hannah. I didn't think he would put you here." Still in the other room Lucretia laughed. "He didn't, you ninny. You're stuck with me again. Just like that conference in Milan." Lealia assumed a look of the truly put upon and shut the door without another word. "Come on Hannah, let’s go find your room." Mac followed Lucretia down the end of the corridor, watching their progress in the huge mirror over an end table. They came to a shorter hallway that turned left, back toward the center of the house. Here were two rooms across from each other and Mac noted Webb's backpack rested against one. She assumed that other room would be Sinclair's. Backtracking, they returned to the head of the stairs and looked down the center hall and saw Bauer and Gubin enter their room. No other luggage was left outside any of the doors so they went all the way down the last passage, an exact duplicate of the right corridor, complete with mirror, table and building el, where they found Mac's overnight case resting against one of the doors. "This is a hike." Mac muttered and as she bent to pick up her suitcase, she pushed open the door so that Lucretia saw the room first. "Figlio di buona donna." "Son of a bitch, indeed." Mac repeated the oath. Twice as large as Lucretia's the room was done up in lace and soft flowered patterns on the curtains, bedding, upholstery. Where Lucretia's room had one set of lovely French doors, here one entire wall was glassed. The view of the valley below was out of a fairy tale, lights from the town sparkled, the moon made the snow almost iridescent. Mac walked in a trance to stare out of the window allowing Pedrotti to continue exploring. "Hannah." Lucretia sounded like she was in a church. "Come here and look." Mac turned around to find Lucretia standing at an open door; white porcelain reflected bright light. Mac closed her eyes almost in pain. "Oh lord, how big?" Shaking her head, Lucretia stood aside and waited until Mac took a deep breath and stepped forward to look inside the bathroom. "Well, obviously there's been some kind of mistake." "Why, Hannah? Don't you like it?" Both women jumped at the sound of his low sensual voice."Ah¼no, Kurt, it's magnificent and way too big for me. I figured this had to be your room. Mac paused and looked at him, the indignant question in her eyes. "No, Hannah. Actually I'm in the central corridor. With so many staying this weekend, we needed to use most of the rooms. Does the room make you feel uncomfortable?" He stepped closer. Lucretia looked from one to the other, "You know, I need to go change, this suit isn't really appropriate for outdoor activities." She scooted around Farber and stepped into the hallway. She started to close the door, but the look in Mac's eyes must have changed her mind, because she left it open. Mac only wanted him to leave. Taking a deep breath she met his gaze. "The room is quite incredible, Kurt. I guess I'm just a little overwhelmed and kinda tired. I think I'll take a¼I think I'll wash up and then join you and the others downstairs." He looked like he might protest. Instead he bowed his head. "Very well, Hannah." Turning on his heel he exited and closed the door behind him. She went to the door and locked it. Laying the suitcase on the large table she pulled out a change of clothes. The suit she wore today to the conference had been picked because it traveled well and could be used in a pinch if something other than jeans and sweaters was called for this weekend. Shaking it out, she hung it up in the large empty closet. The bathroom was the most opulent room she had ever been in. Now if this isn't the setting for the perfect wet dream, I don't know what is. The shower was glass enclosed on three sides, but multiple showerheads were strategically placed on long copper pipes rising from the floor. The tiled wall housed a wide chromed opening and a large raised tiled platform. She fought back the vision of the pleasures she and¼Stop it, right now, just stop it. The center of the room was dominated by a huge, but simple round claw-foot tub, the fixtures were made of gold. In their own alcove rested the toilet and the bidet, also with gold fixtures. The sink seemed to float above the floor. Both the bowl and the rim were made of iced blue clear glass. Mac turned around several times taking it all in. She found a stack of lush towels and finished stripping. Timidly she stepped into the shower and studied the controls. "All on?" She pushed a button and suddenly she was assailed by water from every side. She squealed as the cold hit her skin but the water warmed and she was able to look again at the controls. Finding the off button, she stood there dripping as she figured out the controls. One intrigued her so she pushed it, a scared expression on her face, afraid of what might happen. Water began to cascade out of the opening on the wall. Jesus, it's like a waterfall. She held her hand under the water, decided it would do and proceeded to wash everything, including her hair. She dressed quickly, used the wall-mounted hair dryer by the sink and, not bothering to apply any makeup went downstairs. Webb sat along in front of the fireplace. "Hey, where's Sinclair?" She asked as she sat next to him on the arm of his chair. He continued to stare into the fire. "Are we going into town tomorrow to see if we can find this guy Belk?" He shrugged his shoulders and Mac asked the now tired question, "You ever gonna tell me what the hell is going on, Webb?" He sighed and whispered. "Soon, Mac." "Bullshit, Webb." She whispered back. Gubin, who was dressed in the same suit he had worn up on the train, joined them. In fact, when she thought about it, the Russian had worn either a brown suit or this blue one everyday this week. He approached them, almost timidly, "Good evening. It is very cold, yes?" They nodded in unison and were spared any further inanities when more and more of the party began to trickle down. Finally, they were all together and Farber led them to the end of the room and out a door. Pointing upward, his breath falling in clouds, he announced, "Wait just one minute." Suddenly all the lights in the house were extinguished and they gasped as first dozens then more and more lights began to dance down the hill. Deirdre O'Neill, standing next to Mac, clapped her hands and bounced on her feet. "Oh, Kurt, it's so beautiful. Mac glanced over at Webb and caught him staring at her. He turned away immediately, but not before she saw something in his eyes that made her catch her breath. Oh no, oh no, oh no, no, no, no, no. This will not happen. Gubin was the first to loudly grumble that he was cold. Soon Bauer and Lealia joined him back inside. Deirdre squealed "Oh, there's hot chocolate!" Mac turned to follow the young girl inside when she felt a quick squeeze on her hand. Looking back she saw Webb smile ruefully at her but then followed Sinclair inside. They all sat around the fireplace swapping stories. Mac kept glancing over at Sinclair and Webb but neither of them looked at her. She yawned. "Well I want to do a lot of sightseeing tomorrow, so if you will excuse me. Good night." She hurried upstairs, ignoring the look on Kurt's face. As she entered her room her foot made contact with something and it skidded across the room, coming to rest against the far wall. It sparkled in the light and she discovered it was one of the earrings that Lucretia had been wearing. "Ah hell. Once she realizes it's gone she'll probably wake the entire lodge looking for it." Making her way back down the corridor she nodded good night to Ben Hareesa and Brody Armstrong as they entered their rooms. She heard laughter still coming from downstairs but decided to try Lucretia's room first. Mac had just raised her hand to knock when she heard muffled voices coming from the end of the hall. She recognized Webb's voice, but couldn't make out what was being said other than an insistent. "No!" Stealthily she made her way to the end of the corridor and the voices grew cleared. "Edward, there's nothing to fear you know. Nothing is going to happen tonight. Why don't you come in? You know you want to." Mac held her breath as she approached the end of the corridor and suddenly she stopped. Even from a whole room's length away, the large mirror at the end of the hall reflected everything happening just outside of Webb's room. Sinclair was standing in front of Webb who had his back pushed against the door to his room. Sinclair's fingers were caressing his jaw. Mac gulped and wanted to turn away, but she couldn't. She stood there transfixed as the British spy lowered his lips to Webb's and the two men kissed, briefly, but Webb pushed him away. "I'm sorry, Rupert. I-I-I just can't. I'm not over¼" "Bloody hell. You're acting the silly ponce over this bloody Mac. He dumped you didn't he? Grow up!" Shock gave Mac the strength to turn away and just as she came abreast of Lucretia's door she heard the Italian coming down the hall. Loudly she called out. "'Cretia. I was just getting ready to knock on your door." "Why, what's up?" Seeing the gold earring dangling from Mac's fingers Lucretia grabbed her ear. "Maledizione! Where did you find it?" "It was on the floor in my room. It must have fallen out." "Grazie." She opened the door. "Do you want to come in? I have a bottle of ¼" Mac shook her head and yawned. "No. Thank you. I just wanted to get it back to you right away. Good night, `Cretia." She was already down the hall before the door shut. As she approached the center junction she could see her reflection in the mirror at the end of the corridor near her room. Not only was she looking at her own somber expression but she also saw Webb standing in front of that other mirror staring at her retreating form. Just as she made her turn she ran into Kurt who was obviously coming out of her room. "Kurt?" "Ah, there you are Hannah. I knocked on your door and when you didn't answer I became worried." He came up to her and started to embrace her but she pushed him away. "I might have been in the bathroom, Kurt." "But you weren't, geliebt. Where were you?" "Why, Kurt? Are you checking up on me?" She was in no mood for games tonight. She wanted to get to her room and sit and analyze what had just happened at the other end of the house. She started to move past him but he reached out and grabbed her arm. "Where were you, Hannah?" She saw determination, jealously and something else – suspicion. Wrenching her arm away, she gritted out, "None of your business." He grabbed her hair and pushed her against the wall. "None of my business? This house and everything that happens here is my business. What you do here is my business." He brought his lips to her and roughly kissed her, biting her lower lip as he did. Mac brought her knee up into his groin. She put all her frustrations into that kick and he doubled over in pain. "Weibchen," he spat out and he started to straighten and make another grab for her when suddenly he went flying. Mac, who had been focused on his next move jerked around in time to see Webb standing there, vigorously shaking out his hand. Before she could say anything, Webb stalked up to the prone German and yanked him to his feet. "I don't know what the rules are in Germany, Herr Farber, but in America when a lady says no, and I'm thinking a knee to the groin means `No,' then it doesn't mean maybe." He pushed Farber down the corridor, "Go cool off, mein herr." Turning back to Mac he grabbed her arm and pulled her to the door to her room. Opening the door, he stopped for just a moment in surprise as he took in her room, then pushed her to a chair. "Sit there. I'll get a cloth." It was then that she tasted the blood. She looked down at her sweatshirt and groaned. "Damn, I was going to wear this tomorrow." He came out of the bathroom and started to put it to her face but changed his mind and handed her the white square. It was warm and soothing as she cleaned the blood from her face. "So buy another one tomorrow. You're going to charge it to me anyway." "Damn you, Webb. I could have handled him. How's your hand?" She finished softly. "I'll live." "Webb?" He ran his hand through his hair. "What?" "Mac?" "Shit! You heard." "Why Mac, Webb?" "It was short notice. What did you want me to say? Harm. Now that's a name to invoke homosexual derision. AJ?" Unconsciously, he touched his nose in remembrance. "No thanks, if this thing is broken one more time, I'm going to get complaints that I snore." She stood up and walked up to him. "Webb?" Closing his eyes, he whispered, "Please Mac, don't¼" He stood rigid in shock as she brought her lips to his and gently kissed him. His groan shook them both and suddenly his arms were around her as he deepened the kiss, moving his lips against hers. "Oh God," he prayed as he pulled back from her, "this cannot happen, Mac." "I know," she whispered and moved out of his embrace. "Good night¼Clay." Home :: JAG Index :: e-mail |