::  Preludes ::

Part 2

Humbolt University
Berlin Germany
September 2, 1939
11:00 AM

She sat in the sunshine outside the lecture hall waiting for Professor Baum to finish with her first class of the day. According to the secretary at the chemistry department, Baum had one honors class today, then a staff meeting in the afternoon.

A stream of students hurried from the hall. Sarah took a moment to study their faces. Most looked excited, a few worried. Many of the male students sported some kind of uniform under their robes. Several looked at her rather oddly, much as the secretary had, until she’d given her name, ‘Miss MacKenzie, from America.’ She hadn’t elaborated, though she’d been prepared to come up with a story.

It really didn’t surprise her that a majority of the students were blond haired and blue-eyed. It bore out what Ari had told her in England. How stupid. Force some of the most brilliant minds of the world to flee. Albert Einstein taught here. So many more. She wondered at the caliber of the students now.

Sarah spotted a woman who still looked remarkably like her graduation picture that hung in the hallway of the main building. The gold square had proclaimed that Baum graduated nearly fifteen years ago.

Sarah was glad that Baum was alone. It would be easier this way. "Professor?"

Baum stared at her with what could only be described as horror and distrust. [Who are you?]

Even though Ari had told her that Baum spoke perfect English, Sarah continued in German. [Sarah MacKenzie. A friend from America.]

"Your German is atrocious. But perhaps that is for the best, considering." Baum walked on, forcing Sarah to hurry to keep up. She had long legs, longer than Baum, but the woman seemed anxious to get away from her. "I have no friends in America, why are you here?"

"A friend sent me to warn you."

"Of what? Americans who draw everyone’s attention to me?"

"Ari Stein sent me, Professor." If she’d thought that would slow the woman down, she was mistaken. If anything, Baum walked even faster. "He thinks you’re in danger from the Gestapo."

Finally, Baum spun around. "Well!" The fury sparked in her eyes. "If I wasn’t before, I certainly am now."

"Why? Are things that bad here in Germany that an American can’t stop by and see…" Sarah stopped and gulped as she saw a man approaching. Very tall, very blond, his hair seemed to sparkle in the fall sun. Even from a distance, his blue eyes seemed to blaze like sapphires. But it was his uniform that held her sick fascination. She’d only been in Germany three days, but she could recognize – and fear – an SS uniform. "I… I’m sorry," she gasped.

Baum hissed. "Say nothing unless I speak to you." Then she turned around, letting a small smile kiss her lips. [Wilhelm, dearest.]

The German officer, after raking Sarah with his eyes, returned the broad smile before stopping before them. Sarah tried to figure out the man’s rank.

"Lise." The man kissed Baum lightly on the cheek, then turned his attentions back to Sarah, waiting.

[You’re early, darling. I thought we were going to meet at the restaurant.] Baum made no move to introduce Sarah, who was starting to feel a little frightened by the intense scrutiny.

[I was able to leave early. Who is this, Lise?]

[Who? This?]

Taking a deep breath, and with the same aplomb she’d shown the first time she’d met Lucky Luciano, Sarah said, [Sarah MacKenzie. I’m a reporter for Time Magazine.]

That earned her a raised eyebrow and a click of his heels. In heavily accented English, he said, "Standartenführer Wilhelm Fuerst, at your service, Frauline. Why are you interviewing Professor Baum?"

"She’s not. She is a friend of Kurt Ziegler, one of my former students. He lives in America now."

"That’s right. He’s a neighbor," Sarah agreed. "He said that if I was coming to Berlin anyway, I should stop by the university and say hello."

"And why are you in Germany, Frauline MacKenzie?"

"I told you, I’m a reporter for Time."

"You’ve come to report on our glorious victories against our aggressors?"

"Of course!" Anger sparked in her eyes. "I’m just waiting for the Polish tanks to roll across your borders!"

Lise gasped but Fuerst smiled brightly, though it never reached his eyes. "We are reclaiming what is rightfully ours. But come. You will join us for lunch, and I will explain it to you." He gave neither woman a chance to argue. Stepping between them, he took both their elbows and urged them to the car waiting at the curb.

Once they were settled in the car, she and Lise sitting in the comfortable seat facing forward, Fuerst in the smaller jump seat facing them, he started in on her again. "So, such a beautiful woman is a war correspondent?"

"No. I really have no interest in the battles," she said, keeping her eyes from straying to Lise. She was already regretting her impulsive promise to Ari. She knew warning Lise wasn’t the only reason why she came. She’d heard many whisperings of Pogroms and the way Jews were treated in Germany. She’d wanted to see for herself.

"Well then, what do you wish to report to your readers, Sarah?"

She knew she needed to allay any suspicions that might be growing. "I came here to report on how Germans are faring under Hitler’s efforts to revive the economy."

He stared at her openly, judging her, reading her like a book. But all he said was, "Good Germans no longer starve. Now that we are doing something about the deviates and other criminals draining our resources, good Aryans have all that they need."

"Oh? And what measures are you taking in order to control these drains on German society?" She felt Lise’s sharp intake of breath, but Fuerst’s eyes never left Sarah’s.

"Through rigorous prosecution, the courts have identified many criminals and sent them to the proper re-education facilities."

"Well, as long as there was due process." She managed to keep the dripping sarcasm from her voice. This man, with one word, had the power to send her home – or worse – if the people she’d interviewed were to be believed. He looked so dashing, and so evil, at the same time.

"But enough of criminals and Jews. You wish to speak with Germans, then come with us tonight."

Before Sarah could answer, Lise finally spoke up. "Oh, she can’t, Wilhelm." Turning to Sarah, she spoke lightly as if it were of no consequence, "Didn’t you tell me you had an appointment with the consul later?"

She hadn’t, but it was an opportunity to escape the hard appraisal of the man before her. Before she could respond though, Fuerst burst in. "Excellent! Then you were planning on coming anyway!"

Both women stared at Wilhelm in surprise – horror? "Excuse me?" Sarah managed.

"Why, Mr. Kirk, his wife, and the new cultural attaché will be at the party. Didn’t you know?"

"I was meeting him before the party," Sarah lied. Actually, she needed to check in with the embassy. But since the invasion, the secretary had turned her away each time she’d tried to present her credentials.

"Well, this will make it so much easier. Ah, we’re here."

Sarah took the opportunity to escape. "Well, if I’m going to a party, I must find a dress. I’ll have to pass on lunch. Where shall I meet you?"

"We will call for you at your hotel." He said it with all the finality of a cell door slamming.

American Embassy
Berlin, Germany
September 2, 1939

Clay straightened his tie, trying hard to ignore the reflection in the mirror. He was thirty-three years old and felt like he was sixty. He didn’t even want to be here. He should be back in New Guinea. It wasn’t fair to Kate to leave her like that. He wondered if Chegwidden was organizing the men like her last coded message had alluded. He should be there, and not here, going to a party at some German General’s house.

The President had decided that the South Pacific could take care of itself. "Really, Mr. Webb, it’s not like you speak Japanese. I need you where you can do the most good." Two years of his life, down the drain just because he spoke German? Just because he knew the country?

After the Olympics, he swore never to return. But then, he swore never to let a woman turn his head again. For a brief moment, the two women who’d managed to breach his defenses juxtaposed over each other. Dark passionate eyes overwhelmed clear blue. Brunette made him forget white blond. Sarah finally displacing Grisella. Sarah, the good, allowing him to finally relegate Grisella, the evil, to minor infatuation, one marred by irrational hatred of an entire race of people. Cold Grisella, who melted under his touch, sent him away without so much as a tear. And most important, the memory of Sarah’s kiss and the feel of her in his arms, the fact that someone good could feel that way about him, helped him forget the guilt he carried about feeling anything for Grisella. There was more passion in Sarah’s goodbye than all the nights he’d spent in Grisella’s bed. He prayed Grisella wouldn’t be there tonight. Surely, by now, she was married to some pure Aryan; a brood mare for the master race. Wasn’t there anyone else who could do this!?

He made his way down to the foyer, only to find Kirk and his wife in a heated argument. The Marine guard was looking everywhere but at the couple. After Kristallnacht in 1938, the American ambassador was recalled, but diplomatic relations were not severed. The Chargé d’Affaires ad interim was Alexander C. Kirk, a career diplomat, good enough at what he did.

"Alex!"

"Clayton, tell her."

"Don’t bother, Clay." Anne Kirk sighed and turned to the door.

"Alex, we have to go." Clay took Anne’s elbow.

"I don’t want her there," Alex gritted out.

"Darling, you don’t want me here, in Germany."

"That’s right. I want you home, where it’s safe."

"Oh, and Egypt was safe? Come along my dear." Anne effectively pulled her husband to her other side, and allowed them both to think they were leading her, protecting her.

Clay could understand his father’s old friend not wanting his wife here, not now. Not after the German invasion of Poland. Britain would have no choice, not after the August 26 accords with Poland; they would have to declare war or look the fool. It would be the end of Chamberlain. "Well, Alex, I think it will be safe tonight, but, Anne, you should return. We don’t know when we’ll have to pack up and make a run for it."

"But the Geneva Convention! Even if we declare war – which you know won’t happen yet, they have to see the diplomats to safety!"

"Anne!" Clay’s voice was sharp. And even though he’d no true standing here – regardless of the title on his passport – both Kirks knew who’d sent him to Germany. "Tomorrow, you will announce that your mother sent a message through the pouch saying that your brother is ill and you have to return home." At her vehement look he sighed. "Do it for Alex."

It wasn’t a happy group who entered the home of the General Bachmeier, the head of the SS group stationed in Berlin. The storm troopers were a mighty force, and Bachmeier was a darling of Der Fuhrer. Clay just hoped that Hitler, concerned with the invasion, would stay home. The urge to kill the man was darkly tempting. But he’d leave that plan to others.

He accepted a glass of champagne. He wouldn’t drink much tonight. There would be dancing after dinner. It would be expected of him to dance with various women. He’d dance with his contact, set up a final meeting with her people, and then leave. It would be the safest way. She was risking arrest, torture, death, to help Jews and other ‘undesirables’ escape persecution. And here I am, asking for more. Jesus, you’re a real prince of a human being.

Kirk and his wife were standing with the Swedish and Irish ambassadors. Clay stood apart, trying to place names to each face, making notes of which men he couldn’t identify. He wanted to know all the people in the room, assess their potential threat. Know your enemies. Then, he spotted Professor Baum walking in. She wasn’t looking at the room or at looking at him, but behind her. Now what… son of a bitch. He almost broke the stem of the glass he was holding. He wondered if there was any blood left in his face. God damn it! God damn you, Claire! I asked you to give her a job. A job with Vanity Fair! IN AMERICA! GOD DAMN YOU STRAIGHT TO HELL.

****

She’d purposefully chosen a demur dress, ivory with a high neckline. The soft material hugged her curves, but she felt that she was acquitting not only Time, but also America, as best she could. She’d done her hair up in a severe French bun. But Fuerst was ogling her to the point that she felt dirty. Darn it! I’ve got plenty of dresses at home that make this look like a nun’s habit. Please don’t let him take a liking to me. Oh, this isn’t good. This isn’t…

Their eyes locked across the room.

"Ah, Sarah. See, did I not tell you? There’s Mr. Kirk and, I believe, the new cultural attaché."

"Sarah?" She barely heard Fuerst.

"Excuse me," she said and walked toward Clay.

"Alex!" Clay hissed frantically.

Kirk turned around to see his friend staring at a woman. And, why not? She was an exotic dark haired beauty heading straight for Clay. Kirk waited as she approached them, wishing for just a second that a woman would approach him like that.

"Mr. Webb." Her voice didn’t shake at all.

"Miss MacKenzie." It came out colder than he’d intended. But she didn’t seem to notice. "May I present Mr. Kirk, the Chargé d’Affaires."

Sarah tore her eyes away from Clay. "Mr. Kirk. I’ve been trying to see you. I know you’re busy, but I needed to present my credentials."

"Indeed, Miss MacKenzie." Kirk took her hand in his; ignoring the glare his wife was giving him. "What credentials would those be?"

"She’s a reporter for Vanity Fair," Clay supplied.

And she knew. Knew who’d set up the appointment with Mrs. Luce. Knew that he’d somehow taken control of her future. She fought the urge to slap him again, just like she’d successfully fought the urge to rush into his arms. Turning her full attention to Kirk, she gave him a sunny smile. "I’m afraid Mr. Webb is a bit confused. I’m a correspondent for Time. Though, I suppose if I found an appropriate story, I could submit it to Vanity Fair. After all, the editors know each other so well." A brief flick of her eyes confirmed that her shot hit its mark. Now he knew that she knew.

Kirk looked from one to the other. "I see. Well, I suppose I could look at them now, though I don’t see anywhere I can sit down and sign them."

"Herr Kirk." Sarah almost jumped at the sound of Fuerst’s voice, so close she could feel his breath on her neck. Without thinking, she stepped closer to Clay before turning to find not only Fuerst, but another SS officer standing there.

Kirk, the consummate diplomat, addressed his host. "General Bachmeier."

"Mr. Kirk, I’m glad you were able to come tonight. The British and French Ambassadors found themselves taken ill."

"I’m sure that they will recover soon, General." When Bachmeier looked at Clay with the question in his eye, Kirk made the introductions. "General Bachmeier, Clayton Webb of the State Department and Miss MacKenzie of Time Magazine."

Bachmeier nodded to Clay but took Sarah’s hand in his. "An honor, Miss MacKenzie. You are here to report on what?"

"I’m doing a series of stories on the common German and how he’s faring under… the new Germany."

"And how are your citizen’s fairing under Roosevelt?" Bachmeier growled.

Sarah, knowing full well that every eye in the room was on her, said softly, "I’m sure you can find out by picking up any number of magazines and reading about it. That’s all I hope to do here. We have a great many citizens of German descent who are avid to read about their former homeland."

Bachmeier glared at her, ready to continue, when Clay gently broke in. "Miss MacKenzie is quite well-known in New York, General. She has a reputation for being a fair reporter of the facts. I’m sure that she’ll give an unbiased account of what she finds."

"I will want a copy of her dispatches." His tone brooked no argument.

Sarah bristled but Clay nodded amiably, "Of course. All reporters do. That’s one of the reasons why we make sure to approve all reporters’ credentials. We like to let them know the rules before they can get into trouble." He paused for effect and added dryly, "Something Miss MacKenzie has been trying to accomplish for a few days." He left it open to the listener to decide if she’d spent the time trying to reach Kirk or get into trouble.

"Yes," she gritted it out, refusing to explain further.

Clay blushed at her look. "We wouldn’t wish to impose upon your hospitality. And I know Mr. Kirk wishes to sample your wife’s excellent meal tonight. So, why don’t I take Miss MacKenzie back to the embassy and…"

"Nonsense. Horst!" Bachmeier yelled, and a man dressed in a corporal’s uniform came running up.

"Jawohl, Obergruppenführer!"

[Escort Mr. Webb and the young lady to the library. There’s nothing there for them to see, but stand watch at the door. Listen closely. I don’t trust any of them.]

Clay looked at Kirk who nodded. There was no need for pretext. The ambassador might not speak his host nation’s language, but career foreign service officers did well to understand much of it, even if they managed to mangle it while speaking.

Clay placed his hand at the small of Sarah’s back and they followed the corporal, who showed them to a small room, and glared at them both before closing the door.

"What the devil are you doing here?" he growled

"Good to see you too, Clay." She opened her purse and handed him her credentials. "You’ll want to check them carefully."

"Why, damn it?"

"Because this is where they sent me. You should know." She narrowed her eyes menacingly and he stepped back. He often relived every moment they’d spent together, he didn’t need a reminder of just how hard she could hit. "How did you do it? When? Why?"

"Not now. Later, I’ll escort you home."

"Oh?" She arched her brow. "Herr Fuerst might object." She said it to wound, but she didn’t expect his immediate reaction. He tossed the papers on the desk and gripped her shoulders, bringing her to within kissing distance.

"Stay away from him, Sarah. If I think you’re seeing him, even for an interview, I’ll revoke those papers so fast you won’t know what happened until you get off the plane in Zurich. Because, trust me, London won’t be an option after today."

She was trying not to touch him, but he was making it awfully hard. Even as furious with him as she was, she wanted to embrace him. She wanted him to hold her. But he just pushed her away and picked up the papers again. But she knew. She could see it in his face; hear it in his ragged breath. "Okay, Clay. I’ll make my excuses. But you won’t keep me from following up on my story."

"Later." He signed, then practically threw the papers at her and stalked out of the room.

Dinner passed in a haze. Clay avoided her. Kirk had his hands full with the other neutral ambassadors and attachés at the table. She couldn’t even get a moment to talk Lise, whom Mrs. Bachmeier commandeered almost from the first.

Finally, just as Mrs. Bachmeier announced that the ladies would retire to the parlor to allow the gentlemen their cigars, an SS Captain hurried in and whispered something to the general. He didn’t need to get their attention. "Ladies and Gentlemen, I have just been informed that Britain and France will formally declare war on the German peoples first thing tomorrow. You will excuse us, but we need to make arrangements for the French and British legations to leave under the terms of the Geneva Convention."

Fuerst stood and motioned for one of the soldiers standing guard. He whispered something in his ear and then said, "Lise, the corporal will see you home. Sarah?" He looked to the other Americans.

Clay spoke up. "Well, it’s up to Professor Baum, but we would be happy to drive her home. We will, of course, drop Miss MacKenzie off." He said it with an air of calm distain as if it really was a bit of a bother.

Lise reminded Sarah of a small cat caught between two very large dogs, unsure what to, or say. Sarah frowned. "Lise will probably feel more comfortable being driven home by the soldier." She didn’t dare meet Fuerst’s eye. "I will, of course, ride back with Mr. Kirk and Mr. Webb – I want to interview them both." She smiled at Baum, "However, Lise, I would still like to have lunch with you."

She saw it, but didn’t quite believe it at first. Lise didn’t so much as move her head but her eyes shifted to Clay before speaking. "I would like it, too. I would like to hear about my old student."

Sarah didn’t dare look to see Clay’s reaction. "Tomorrow?"

"Very well. It will need to be at one, though."

"That’s fine. At the same restaurant that Colonel Fuerst took you?"

"Ja! That would be fine. Excuse me, please." Lise left quickly.

Bachmeier impatiently waited until all the foreigners left his house, as if he were afraid one of them would stay to listen in. Even in the dim streetlight Sarah could see the hungry look on Clay’s face. You would pay a ransom to be able to be in that house tonight. Are you going to use Lise to accomplish that? Did you learn nothing in Bougainville?

"Herr Kirk, perhaps you and I could dine tomorrow?" The Swiss ambassador pulled the American away from the car for a moment.

Clay handed Anne Kirk and Sarah into the back of the embassy’s car. The driver and the Marine guard in the front seat were looking decidedly nervous. Clay stood beside the car until Kirk joined the ladies, climbing in after a long look back at the general’s house.

They were quiet during the drive to the hotel. When they arrived, Clay climbed out and reached in for Sarah. "Go on without me, Alex. I’ll make it back on my on. I want to walk for a bit."

"Damn it, man." But the rest was lost as Clay closed the door. They waited until the car drove toward the embassy before walking into the small hotel.

The clerk, bent over a radio, listening to a speech by Hitler, didn’t look up as they mounted the steps. Neither spoke a word. Both were lost in their own thoughts of the coming war – and other, more personal matters.

She fumbled with the key so badly that he gently took it from her. Then, after following her inside, he waited at the door, watching down the hall. When he was satisfied that no one had followed them, he closed the door.

Even as he twisted the lock, he was preparing to face her, to tell her he’d changed his mind; that she couldn’t stay. The danger would be too great. Taking a deep breath, he turned, only to be lost all over again. One step and she was in his arms. His lips found hers, and he gave in to the passion that had flamed again the moment he’d laid eyes on her.

All night she’d been so mad at him. Just sitting there smirking and watching. His eyes never rested on anyone, on her, for very long. She could imagine him planning, seeing who he could use and how. From the brief glance that Lise had given him, Sarah knew he would use Lise, too, perhaps already had. All the way up the stairs, she’d carefully planned her attack, what she would say. There was so much to be said. But the moment he turned to her, and she’d seen the fear and anguish in his eyes, she took the one step that would seal their fate.

They both knew it was wrong. Even as they pulled at each other’s clothes, they knew it was disaster in the making. He knew she would end up in danger and he couldn’t protect her. She knew that he would try and protect her by trying to keep her from doing her job. She flung his coat behind her; he nearly tore the new dress from her shoulders, only to bury his lips in the hollow just below her ear.

She, who’d called out his name while in another man’s arms, now reveled in his touch as he held her tight against the erection straining against his tuxedo pants. "Clay." Her whimper crashed in his ears like the surf he doubted he would ever hear again.

"Oh, God, Sarah," he prayed as he lowered her to the bed, not bothering to pull the spread down. He stood over her, watching her tugging the dress down her body even as he tore his own clothes off. And then, he was beside her on the bed; touching her, tasting her, listening to her pleas, before finally kneeling between her legs, poised, more ready for a woman than he’d ever been before. Their eyes met, and even knowing it was damnation, she reached for him to pull him to her as he rushed to fill her.

The thought that he didn’t have to hurt her mingled with the hurt that he wasn’t her first, then dissolved at the look of passion and love in her eyes. "Sarah." He whispered it like a monk saying his prayers; over and over, as he thrust into her.

She’d bedded men before. Chris, her first boyfriend, who said he loved her only to beat her worse than her father ever had. Mic, as her supposed fiancé, had taken his due. Other, quick couplings, to prove possession or just because she couldn’t figure out how to say no, had been equally unsatisfying. It’d never been like this before. She felt a tingling in her stomach the moment his lips touched hers. It had grown to a crescendo, and then she shattered into so many pieces she didn’t think she could ever fit together again. Even as she felt him release deep inside her, she still shuddered with the first orgasm she’d ever experienced.

****

When he woke, the sun was already streaming in the window. Her eyes were open, and he could see the regret, the fear, there. He couldn’t take it back, didn’t want to. He knew that he would hurt her greatly today, but he needed to make her understand. "That was incredible."

"I don’t… I’m not…" She closed her eyes and a tear traced down her cheek.

Gently, he took her in his arms and kissed her; just held her tight. "I know you don’t. It was the emotion of the announcement."

"Oh." She rolled away, dragging the sheet off of him and wrapped it around her. She went to stand at the window. "There’re soldiers down there. Marching. Marching off to war."

"They do that every couple of days. Napoleon did it. The Roman centurions did it."

"The first and second Reiches."

"You’ve done your homework, Sarah."

"Why? You think that only MEN with Harvard educations know this stuff?"

He knew she was trying to start a fight, and perhaps that was the best way to handle it. Leaning up, resting his body on his bent arm, unconcerned with the way she’d left him naked, he said, "No. I don’t think that. I’m surprised you knew I went to Harvard."

She chided herself for letting him even suspect that she’d checked him out shortly after returning from New Guinea. Back when she still held out hope that he might, just might look her up. She turned to face him. "So? Give me the speech," she snapped.

God, he could read her like a book. And he suspected she had his number, too. "There’s a plane leaving today. The Germans will insist that the English and French and probably the Canadian legations get out. Mrs. Kirk is going home, too."

"That’s nice. I’ll write a story about it." She tied the sheet over her breasts then crossed her arms under them. Pushing them up, driving him nuts even as he strove to ignore her siren song. "I’m not going." She stalked over to bed, managing not to get tangled up in the sheet as she did. Leaning down, resting her hands on the bed, she got very close to him. "Now, cut the crap and tell me what you want me to say to Lise at lunch today."

He leaned his head back against the pillow to stare at the ceiling, telling himself he needed to think. But he knew he couldn’t continue to look at her without falling under her spell again. He should revoke her credentials, throw her over his shoulder and carry her to the plane. But he also knew that having Sarah meet with Lise, having her set up the meeting, even becoming the go between might be the best, the safest way. Yeah, sure it is. Jesus Christ, this could be worse than it was with Meg. How can I do this to Sarah? He took a deep steadying breath. "Why are you really here? And save the crap about Time, Vanity Fair, or either of the Luces sending you here. They recalled Collins and Fitzhugh last month. Did you even tell anyone you were coming?"

"Yes." She sat down on the bed, her back to him, no longer able to face his intense, cold scrutiny. "That was some favor Mrs. Luce owed you."

"Not really. Answer me, Sarah. Why are you here? How was it that you came to meet Lise Baum?"

"When Mrs. Luce asked me what I wanted to do, I told her I wanted to follow the story of the SS St. Louis." Sarah shrugged. "She liked the idea. I started in London, planning on going to Holland afterwards. Only, there were so many people who wanted to tell me their stories. So many sad stories, Clay." She angrily brushed the tears from her eyes, praying that he wouldn’t know. But he sat up moved closer and gently kissed her shoulder.

"I know."

"Do you?"

"Yes. Why did you come?"

"So many of them spoke of the terror and the corruption it took to escape. They’re happy they made it, but they hold so much anger against their neighbors, the ones who turned on them. But a few spoke of people, good Aryans, who helped. One, I won’t tell you his name, told me of Lise and how she helped him. But he was afraid. He said other people, suspicious-looking people, had demanded the names of anyone who had helped them flee. He was afraid that someone else might give Lise’s name to the wrong person. He made me promise to tell her she was in danger."

"Damn it." He rested his head against her back and she shuddered at the contact. Turning, she looked down into his eyes. "Please, Sarah. Go home."

"No."

Both listened to the sounds of the goose-stepping march right below their window. Both knew that there was too much at stake to let their emotions overrule any other consideration. Finally, he took a shuddering breath. "Very well." He scooted up until they sat side by side. Resting his forearms on his thighs he began to talk softly, telling her what he needed her to say to Lise, where to meet him later. All the while, he fought the bile rising because he knew he was damning them all.

Harmon Rabb’s Apartment
East 47^th Street
May 20, 1940

Harmon Rabb took one last look around the apartment, avoiding the angry tear-filled eyes of the woman standing near the window, refusing to grant her any more power over him. How could he have been so stupid? God, it was all Sarah’s fault. She would never have allowed him to do it. She would’ve asked the hard questions. His body shook with anger and bitter laughter. Sarah would’ve looked him right in the eye and demanded, "Are you even sure it’s your baby?" But really, what did it matter? He probably would never return home anyway. Why not let her have it all.

"Why are you doing this?" Catherine sobbed. "You should stay home with me and the baby."

"Why? You got what you wanted. I married you. Your kid will have a name."

"My kid!?" She screeched in anger. "My kid! How dare you! You think I slept around!?"

"I found you, remember? You and Farrow."

"We never. He… Harm, I swear to God!"

"Save it. Besides, this is something I have to do."

"No, you don’t," she whispered and hugged herself tight as if the blustery May wind could reach her here. "You think I cheated on you?"

"I saw you!"

"I was kissing him goodbye," she insisted through gritted teeth. "He was my friend before I ever met you. I wouldn’t have met you, if it hadn’t been for John." She stalked up to Harm and grabbed his coat. "This is your baby! I never…"

He pulled her hands free. "It doesn’t matter, Catherine. Later, when I can think straight, I’ll write you. I have to do this. It has to make some kind of sense. Farrow taught me to fly."

"Yeah, after you bartered your old girlfriend for the lessons." She spat it out and turned away.

If she weren’t so obviously pregnant, he’d hit her. In thirty years he’d never hit a woman; never even came close. But then, he and Catherine had always been explosive together. From the first night, when he’d insisted that Sarah come to dinner with him to meet Farrow, that night that still brought shame to his soul, Catherine had been a willing, aggressive, violent bed partner. Sex with her was full contact, and that had attracted and ensnared him. Nothing with Catherine was taboo. They’d explored every possible position, sometimes in places that were damned near public. The memory of it all still brought a blush to his face, and made his cock stir.

But he wasn’t running away from her. He’d already offered his services at the British consulate in New York. They were giving him a chance to get into the war. From the way they were taking a beating over there, they would welcome even a greenhorn like himself. Farrow, of course, had been livid. "I trained you! The least you could do is join the AMERICAN Air Corp." That’d been the day before Rabb found the man he’d come to call friend, embracing, kissing - damn near fucking! – Catherine. Was it revenge? No. Deeper. Farrow was leaving for Pearl Harbor to be XO with one of the Naval Squadrons there. He should’ve known. Farrow and women! No one was safe. But what he couldn’t understand was why Catherine? She was right. They’d known each other for years. I guess John never knocked her up. Or did he? Was he the kind of man who would say, ‘Sorry kid, no can do.?’

Turning away from his wife of three months he said, "There’s money in the bank account, I’ve paid the rent for a year, and…"

"Damn you! I don’t need your fucking money! Remember who my father is!?"

"Yeah, Catherine, I remember. He’s the man who damned me straight to hell for getting you pregnant so I could get at your millions." If the lovemaking had been intense, their fights had damn near come to blows. "Well, take care of yourself." He grabbed up his suitcase and slammed the door behind him.

Mickey Carlo, bless him, was waiting at the curb. Of all the people Harm had told, the diminutive cab driver seemed to take it the hardest. "Who am I going to give my leads to now?" He’d nearly wept when Harm handed him the box of unopened liquor bottles he’d packed up. Harm knew he couldn’t keep Catherine from entertaining any man she wanted once he was gone, but he was damned if he was going to supply the liquor for her trysts. "Holy cow! You must be serious."

Now he just stood there, holding the door. "What ship, Mr. Rabb?"

"Not a ship, Mickey, they called me last night. Since I’m going over anyway, they want me to fly one of the planes the Brits bought."

"Well, what about your ticket on the boat? Din’ you tell me you’d paid for that yourself?"

"Yeah, you want to take a cruise, Mickey? Last chance on the Aquatania. She’s in for refitting as a troop ship as soon as she gets back into Liverpool."

"Hey! Ain’t the boat Miss MacKenzie sailed on last year?"

"Yeah."

"Oh, man, you read her latest story in Time?"

Rabb didn’t bother to remind Mickey that he’d been the one to give the cabby the copy of the magazine after he’d read her story. Instead, he leaned his head back and closed his eyes. God, Sarah. Why weren’t you here? You could’ve stopped this from happening. Well, maybe not me going, but this entire fiasco with Catherine. But Mickey’s right. Your stories are great. And, maybe, just maybe, that was one of the reasons why he was so gung-ho to get to England. Sure Sarah’s bylines were all from Berlin. But she couldn’t stay there long.

He’d even gone down to Time and demanded to speak with her editor. He still couldn’t believe what the man told him. "Son, if she was standing in front of me instead of you, I’d tan her behind for her. I’ve threatened to fire her to get her to come home. Hell, we even tried to revoke her credentials, but a guy from State came and told us to stop looking a gift horse in the mouth. Her stories are good, but I don’t want her death on my conscience." And Rabb had to concede the point. Sarah’s stories from Berlin were riveting. Couched in stories about the common German on the street, she painted a chilling portrait of life under Hitler. She was writing better than she ever had for The Sun.

And didn’t that make working for Sheffield fun. Of course, when Rabb had gone in to tender his resignation, Sheffield had waved it away. "Go, fly, shoot down Nazis, then send me dispatches." Sheffield was clueless. Cavanaugh had refused to see him.

He paused to consider why the State Department cared whether or not a reporter stayed in a war zone, though. Hadn’t Sarah mentioned that she met someone from the State Department when she’d come to rescue him in Bougainville? He couldn’t remember. Not that it mattered. It was his turn to rescue her. Once he got over there, he would check into the reason why she was still in such a dangerous situation.

"We’re here, Mr. Rabb."

Harm roused himself and got out of the cab. The guard at the gate eyed him, then took his papers. "Wait here, I’ll call for transport. We stopped letting the cabs in a week ago. Gotta watch out for saboteurs."

"Hey! Watch it, Mack, I ain’t no Nazi."

"Yeah, well you look like…"

"Knock it off, both of you." Harm practiced his officer’s voice. Felt good; right, even. And the guard seemed to think so, too, as he quickly rushed to call the base motor pool. Harm turned and offered his hand to the fuming cabby. "Take care of yourself, Mickey."

"Yeah, you too, Mr. Rabb."

"Sure you don’t want that ticket for the Aquatania?"

"Get outa here." Mickey waved away the fare. "This one’s on me, Mr. Rabb." Then, quickly, he sprinted back to his cab and drove away.

"Here’s your ride, Rabb," the guard said snidely, already regretting his response to Harm’s earlier rebuke. He figured the guy was nuts anyway. Joining up – with the damned Limeys, to boot.

Rabb threw his suitcase in the back of the jeep and hopped in next to the driver. They drove past row upon row of planes in the final stages of production. Past sleek fighters, newer, faster, better than the Corsair, a damn fine plane in Harm’s estimation.

"Here you are, sir." The driver pointed to a row of larger, bulkier planes.

Stunned, Rabb climbed out and just stared up. "What the hell?"

"Douglas A-20 Havoc. Medium range bomber." The voice behind him sounded amused.

Turning, Harm found a ruddy, broad-faced blond grinning at him. "Jack Keeter, soon to be in his majesty’s Royal Air Force," he said as he offered his hand.

"Harmon Rabb. Me too." Harm looked back at the plane. "That’s not a Corsair."

"Hey! You ain’t as dumb as you look."

"I know that. It’s just, I know how to fly a Corsair."

"Not a problem, I’ll teach you the difference and… well, we just won’t let you land her."

As they climbed into the cockpit, Keeter kept up a steady flow of conversation. "This here is special, buddy, so I hope you’re impressed."

Harm settled into the co-pilot’s seat and gazed around him. "It looks familiar."

Keeter snorted. "This is a prototype for the Brits to approve. It’s the British version of the Douglas bomber – the DB-7B. I hear that they want 300 of these babies."

"I thought you said it was an A-20 and if this is an "B" what happened to the ’A.’" He took the check sheet from Keeter and began the rundown.

Even as he flicked switches and checked gauges, Keeter continued. "The DB-7A was a modification for France. And you know how the Brits and the Frogs get along. Damned foreigners don’t know a good plane when they see it."

"So what’s the difference?"

"Brits wanted revised systems." Keeter shrugged and started the two engines. "The bomb-aimer nose extends six inches farther forward and has a lot more glazed area. Jonesy!" He called into the mike."

"Yeah, Keeter." The voice sounded pained.

"You like that new nose glass? Gives you plenty of visibility."

"Great, Keeter. It’s just great. Course they only gave me ONE .303 machine gun!"

"Weight, little buddy. We’re tapping out the distance here."

"Great. Just fucking great."

"They almost doubled total fuel capacity in four tanks. For this trip, they’ve stripped out the bomb bay, most of the guns, added extra fuel tanks. Oh, and it’s just you, me, and Jonesy. Say ‘hi’ to Harm, Jonesy."

"Pleased to fucking meetcha, Harm."

Keeter laughed. "Jonesy’s a pessimist."

"He’s got a foul mouth on him, too."

"That’s just Jonesy. He’s a good guy."

They grew quiet as they sped faster and faster down the runway. Finally, once they were over the water, Harm took a longing look at the sky around them. "I could’ve flown one of those over," he said, pointing to one of the six fighter planes that took off with them."

"Yeah, but this is more fun. You’d have been alone, except for the chatter, and once we get closer, that’s gotta stop. The Germans would love to shoot us down. Wouldn’t they Jonesy?"

"Fuck you, sir."

"He’s not going into the RAF is he?"

"Jonesy? Hell, no. He’s one of Douglas’ best engineers."

"He’s an engineer?"

"Yeah. Like I said, he’s a good guy. Just has an issue with authority. Right, Jonesy?"

The man didn’t bother to answer.

"So tell me, Rabb. What’s you’re story? How’d you learn to fly?"

Harm looked out at the sleek fighter planes. That’s where he should be. "Navy guy. On his time off."

"Yeah, I heard the Navy was pushing for more pilots. Must’ve liked you. How come you didn’t join the Navy?"

"Figured they wouldn’t let me fly."

"Why the hell not?"

"My editor would’ve insisted that I go into public relations."

"Huh?"

"I write for The Sun."

"So this is a stunt?" Keeter sounded impressed.

"No! That’s why I’m going to England. I want into this, now. Hell, the way things are going, we’ll never get in."

"Sure we will. But why wait? Right!?"

Harm found himself starting to like Jack Keeter. They exchanged particulars. Harm even mentioned Catherine and the baby, leaving out the part that he was unsure that it was his. He braced himself for the criticism of leaving her.

"Wow. She caught ya, huh? She gonna be okay? I mean they don’t pay us much."

"Hell, her old man could buy and sell England."

"Who?"

"Charles Michael Gale."

"Holy shit! Hey, Jonesy! We’ve got us a rich kid."

Silence.

Harm shook his head. "Nah. In fact, I figure once the kid’s born, he’ll figure out a way to get her a divorce."

"Why? Pappa don’t like you?"

"You could say that."

"But his daughter does. That’s got to count for something."

Does it? Was she already calling one of her old friends? Maybe Farrow… He forced himself to not think about it now. "So, what do you think we’ll find when we get there?"

"Hell, my friend, hell!"

By the time they landed at St. Eval in Cornwall, Keeter had shown Rabb the differences and similarities of the bomber and fighters that Rabb so loved. They were greeted by an RAF Colonel. "Welcome, gentlemen," he clipped as he took each of their hands in a quick handshake. "Let’s get you situated."

The barracks were raw in their newness, the pilots impossibly young. Colonel Parker showed them to their small room with double bunks. "You’ll only be here the night. You and a group of other lads are training in Dover. Normally, we’d send you by train or truck, but we’ve a transport leaving at 0400 hours. They’ll give you your uniforms there."

"Oh four hundred? Is that when I think he meant?" Rabb groaned to Keeter after the door closed.

Keeter laughed. "Oh, is the Broadway baby afraid he won’t get his beauty sleep?"

"Ha-ha." Harm shuddered. This might take some getting used to.

The next morning, they tumbled onto the transport with six other men – boys, really. All were eager and joking with one another. Harm had never felt so old. The British flyers were talking excitedly amongst themselves, but over the roar of the un-pressurized compartment, Harm only caught a word or two. "Armada. Fishing boat. Rescue." He and Keeter exchanged confused glances. "What are you guys talking about?"

"Why Dunkirk, mate. Haven’t you heard?"

"We’re just over from the States, news gets delayed a bit. What about Dunkirk?"

"Core! Don’t you Yanks hear nothing? The entire bloody Army, along with what’s left of the Frogs, are surrounded right there on the beach!"

"Well? What’s the government doing about it?" Harm’s reporter instincts hadn’t grown dormant yet.

One of the boys spoke up excitedly. "Well, I hear there’s talk of a rescue."

"I hear the wankers in the cabinet want to surrender! Talk peace."

"Well, Winnie won’t let that happen."

"I hear that the Navy’s already sending as many ships as it can."

Another grumbled. "Ain’t gonna be enough, you ask me."

It continued on until they landed, where they were met and put on yet another plane to Debden in Essex. The next five days passed in a blur. They were given uniforms, sworn in and assigned their training officers. Every morning, Harm learned just how little he knew about flying. There were times when he felt he and Keeter were being picked on, but then, he also overheard several of the British trainees express the opinion that he and Keeter were getting preferential treatment because of their volunteer status. By the end of the evening of the fifth day of training, he was so tired, he barely finished his dinner.

"I’m heading in, Keeter. I’ve got to get to sleep before you start snoring."

"Very funny, buddy."

It seemed that he’d just fallen asleep, when a bright light was shone in his eyes. "Rise and shine, mates. You wanted action! You’re going to see it now."

"What? Where?" Keeter nearly fell from the top bunk. "What’s happening?"

"Dunkirk, mates. They need us at Dunkirk! You two will fill out my squadron." The man paused in the doorway and glared long and hard at Harm. "Let’s see if you fight as good as write, Rabb!"

Harm was already climbing into the cockpit of the Spitfire he’d been training in for the week, before he suddenly turned and shouted, "Brumby?" And, with a cheeky thumbs-up, Squadron Leader Michael Brumby smiled in acknowledgement of Harm’s shocked look as he climbed into his own plane.

AJ’s
Selau, Bougainville
June 30, 1940
11:00 AM

Tom Boone carefully made his way into the bar. The flight had taken more out of him than usual, and his hands were shaking uncontrollably. Thankfully, the heavy mail sack helped weigh down one arm. "Hey, Sturgis! How about a drink?"

Sturgis gave him a long look but opened a bottle of beer. It would be easier for the former pilot to hold than a glass. "You bring me anything?"

"Just the usual letters. Oh, Meredith around?"

"Right behind you, handsome."

He turned to find her standing in the doorway, her hair still wet; she wore a terry robe. "The ogre make you do your laps today?"

She laughed softly, then sighed. "I’d rather hoped you might bring the ogre back with you."

"Me? Heck, no. He’s not here?"

"No. I expect him soon."

"Oh. Well, Kate wants to see him. She said she might fly in with Bud, if we radio when AJ’s in. Bud dropped me and the mail off, then took off right away. He needed to go and pick up some passengers waiting in New Britain. You got any real idea when AJ’ll be back?"

"Well, Sturgis?"

"I think he and Galindez are due tomorrow, maybe today."

"Good. I’ll go and radio Kate, then." Tom finished his beer, dribbling only a little because of the shaking in his hand. "Meredith, I brought you something." He motioned toward the mail pouch. "There’s a copy of the Melbourne Sentential. You know that Harmon Rabb guy?"

"Yes?"

"He’s got an article reprinted there. Pretty good."

"Thanks, Tom. I’m going to go change." She grabbed up the paper that Sturgis had fished out for her, and headed back to their room.

She went to the window and gazed upon the riot of color. Though she’d never actually caught him doing it, she knew that Jason had been at it again. She doubted that the Botanic Gardens in New York had as many orchids in their entire collection as she had right outside their window. She thought it was all very sweet, but if she could have AJ back right now, she would give up all the orchids on the island.

He’d taken to leaving her again. But there was always someone, Sturgis, Tom, or several other men who’d make sure that she was never really alone here. It was nearly a year since the attack, and she was fully recovered. Still, AJ didn’t want her to return to Port Moresby until he felt she was safe. Sturgis had turned the old cinder block storage building into a dark room, and AJ gave her a room to turn into an office – they seldom had paying guests anymore.

Meredith had taken her recovery slow, and now, she felt she was as fit, or more so, than she’d been before the attack. The only cloud, of course, was the fact that they couldn’t seem to find the man who’d stabbed her or the reason for the attack. Even after looking through the pictures that Galindez had brought back from her studio at Port Moresby she could find no pattern in what he’d taken or what he could have been looking for. At least everyone knew what her attacker looked like though. She’d asked Bobbi Latham to bring her pad and her pencils. Bobbi carefully listened to Meredith describe the Japanese, right down to the tiny scar above his left eyebrow. They worked together on the sketch for two days, until Meredith sighed with contentment. "Perfect. That’s him." They’d shown it to AJ, who grunted his agreement with a, ‘Yeah, I think that’s the guy.’ However, it’d been Jason Tiner who’d sealed the deal. He’d been sitting at the bar, going over a specimen list for Howard Hughes, when he looked over at the finished picture and gasped, "Hey! That’s Taro! He worked with Palmer. Hey! Is that the guy who hurt you?"

AJ, Galindez, Roberts, and a few other trusted men each took a copy of Bobbi’s drawing, and kept it with them at all times. These men were all part of AJ’s growing network of – for want of a better word – spies. AJ preferred to call them his business agents. And the truth was, after nearly fifteen years of being happy running the bar and brokering orchids all over the world, AJ appeared to be branching out. The plane that he won from Bud Roberts (no one but Sturgis and Meredith knew that Bud’s name was once again on the title) was constantly booked. If it weren’t for Tom Boone’s shakes, they could be in the air twice as much. AJ had bought an interest in Galindez’s boat, allowing the former smuggler (if indeed the man had completely given up that end of the business) to make much-needed repairs to his boat. Galindez ran a regular supply run from Port Moresby, to Guadalcanal, then to the south and north ends of Bougainville, New Britain, Sorong on the north end of New Guinea, and around the island to Darwin on the Australian mainland. It often took two, or even three, weeks. Sometimes, AJ would go with him, leaving Sturgis and Tom in charge of the bar and her security. She knew they’d stop and do more than trade.

Kate was a frequent visitor, her official status was still in limbo, but she was acting like she was consul, and Washington was accepting the reports that she passed on; demanding more. The colonel in charge of the British garrison at Port Moresby, Stuart Dunston, was a frequent visitor, too, usually timing his arrivals with Kate’s. This fact was not lost on Victor Galindez, who professed to not being able to abide the man. However, neither Kate nor Victor showed any inclination to act on the obvious – at least to everyone around them – feelings they had for each other.

For all the growing tension, so much of her life here was idyllic. She and AJ had resumed their sexual relationship, though she had to be the one to ‘force’ the issue. She smiled at the memory of her seduction of him. She still blushed at the way she’d awakened him that morning. Kissing her way down his belly, until her lips blew hot air across his cock. The first time he’d asked her to do that for him, she’d been shocked. It had taken her a long time to come to enjoy pleasuring him with her mouth, but that morning, she’d done so with gusto. Driving him to the very brink. And then, instead of letting him take control, she’d straddled him, driving herself down upon his thick shaft. They’d both been shocked by her boldness. She never returned full control of their pleasure to him, now often instigating their lovemaking. AJ seemed to like it.

She sighed and turned away from the window. She missed him. But she also knew he was moving toward an ultimatum. The longer Taro stayed missing, and the closer they came each day to war, AJ kept hinting that perhaps it would be better for her to return to the States, or at least Melbourne. And that, she wouldn’t do. He’d asked her twice to marry him, and each time, she’d demanded to know the real reason why. "We’re happy this way. You’ve always had your independence. You can’t know what it means to me. After almost 45 years of being the good daughter, the obedient wife, who didn’t even realize her husband was bedding every woman he came in contact with, I can’t give it up yet, AJ. Do you want me to leave?" And AJ had always backed down. He wasn’t happy about it, not one bit. Not because he so desperately wanted to marry; she knew that he accepted her arguments. No, she knew that once they were married, he would fall into that old husband trap and try and order her away. She wouldn’t leave him, wouldn’t leave the only true freedom she’d ever known. She could admit to herself that living in sin with him was part of the attraction. Knowing that her father knew what she was doing only made it a bit sweeter somehow.

Her father had sent a telegram saying that she was no longer to represent herself as an employee of The Sun. Her mother sent a long rambling letter, with blotches and smears making it difficult to read. However, that same bag of mail also brought a request from Life for a photo essay on the Solomon Islands. Since her attacker hadn’t taken all the rolls of film or the files of other pictures, she’d been able to put together a most satisfying story that helped warm the readers last February.

Now, it was time for her to venture away from her safe haven. She wondered if she could get Bud to fly her to Fiji for the spread that National Geographic wanted. It could be an incredible opportunity for her. She wanted to avoid a fight with AJ over it, but by God! She was going to do it.

Throwing on the comfortable clothes she now preferred to her designer suits, clothes that her mother wouldn’t have approved of for their farm in White Plains, Meredith grabbed the newspaper and returned to the bar. "Might I have a cup of coffee, Sturgis?" Even a liberated woman could have manners, she began to search for Rabb’s byline – she didn’t have far to look, it was just below the fold. "Thank you," she said after taking a sip.

"What’s Mr. Rabb got to say, Meredith?" Sturgis asked. The entire bar, now full with the usual crowd, fell silent as she began to read.

Meredith broke off, unable to read the words because of the tears in her eyes. A strong arm wrapped around her, pulling her to his chest to offer her support. AJ’s deep baritone finished.

The entire bar remained silent for a bit. Meredith released the paper and turned into AJ’s embrace. Finally, Tom Boone hit his beer bottle on the table. "Here’s to the British."

"Here, here!"

"We’ll be in it soon!"

"Shut your trap, we’ll be in it too soon."

"Hey!"

AJ released her and turned to growl, "Knock it off. Good men are dying, and you want to start a fight? You want a fight? Go sign up like Rabb did."

A few men easily identified as the troublemakers, malingers of the island, slunk away. The rest talked quietly of the coming doom. AJ drank the scotch that Sturgis handed him without asking. Finally, the young eager voice of Jason Tiner broke the gloom, "Hey AJ, Victor’s going to stay with the boat tonight. Did you tell her?"

At AJ’s glare, Meredith gripped his arm. "Tell me what?"

"Nothing. Later."

"AJ! Tell me what?" Just from the looks on the two men’s faces, she thought she knew. She’d been waiting for nearly a year. She’d always known he would do it. "Tell me."

AJ quickly scanned the bar, satisfying himself that he could trust the remaining drinkers. "We think we’ve found Taro."

She didn’t even blanch. "Where?"

AJ didn’t think he was going to tell her, but Jason chose that moment to ask Sturgis, "Do we still have a Grape Nehi back there?" He knew that Meredith would work it out of the young man who, along with half the island, had accepted Meredith far more quickly than they’d ever accepted him in the beginning. "Sorong."

"On the north end of New Guinea?"

"That’s right. That young British kid who’s been helping Galindez on the boat, Sharkey. He thinks he spotted him, but he didn’t have a copy of the picture with him."

The entire argument was carried out silently. Their eyes locked, and finally, AJ said all that he could, "Meredith, please."

"No. I have to go. I’m the only one who can know for sure."

They went to bed, sullenly silent, lying rigid next to each other, neither sleeping. It was nearly dawn before she shifted toward him. That was all it took. He took her in his arms, and they allowed their passion to wipe out everything else, at least for the moment. It seemed liked they kissed forever. Cockatoos, honeyeaters, and fruit doves chased away the night creatures. And in the humid green-gray dawn, when he finally entered her, their eyes locked in silent understanding. He would take her to verify Taro’s identity. And she would owe him. They both knew how he would try and demand payment.

The next afternoon, AJ and Galindez were going over what they would need to make the trip, and who they would have to get to make the normal supply runs. Meredith sat with Bobbi Latham.

Neither woman said much. They were comfortable together. Bobbi and Sturgis occasionally traded glances. Most people assumed that the two were together, though it was difficult to prove. Neither were overly friendly while other people were around, in fact, Bobbi treated the man much the same way she treated most people on the island, with sassy disdain. Meredith sat back and considered her new friends. Her mother would be appalled. There wasn’t a woman on the island who Mrs. Cavanaugh would hire to clean their bathrooms. Meredith wasn’t even sure if she would be polite to Harriet Roberts and Carolyn Imes, the two missionary ladies who, ever since Allison Krennick suddenly up and disappeared one day, had shared duties at the small mission school. Meredith took the opportunity to finally ask Bobbi what had been bothering her for a while.

"Did you have anything to do with Miss Krennick leaving?"

"Now why would you ask me that?" But Meredith saw the twinkle in Bobbi’s eyes.

"Because you cursed her the first time you ever met her, and after that, every time she saw you, she started scratching at her body."

Bobbi sipped at the ginger tea she preferred, then harrumphed good-naturedly. "And she called me an ignorant savage. I’ll have you know, I graduated at the top of my class from PS 122 in Harlem."

"I know you did, and don’t change the subject."

"Well, I had no choice, now did I? After all, Harriet wanted to go back to teaching the little children, and someone had to keep an eye out for Carolyn, who really is very sweet, if not very bright, when it comes knowing how proud the islanders here are. After this problem with the Japanese is finally settled, you mark my words, Meredith, there will be other problems."

"There always are, and you’re still trying to change the subject."

Bobbi’s roar of laughter stilled all the other conversation in the bar. Victor and AJ looked at her in question, Sturgis just kept wiping down the bar watching everyone, everyone, it seemed, but Bobbi. "Ask AJ."

"Ask me what?" AJ said.

"What I said to that crazy woman, Krennick. I know she came to you and asked you to do something to me."

"Yes she did, and I told her that I was afraid of you, too."

"Ah. You see? It really wasn’t what I said to her, it was AJ."

"You’re never going to tell me, are you?" Meredith sighed.

"No. But only because I’m rather ashamed of it myself." Bobbi looked thoughtful for a moment. "I really do have a mouth on me, you know?"

"Yes you do, and you’re the most incredible woman I know," Meredith said sipping her own tea.

"I am? Incredible?" Bobbi looked so shocked at the honest assessment, that Meredith had to laugh just to break the tension.

Before either could continue, though, AJ walked over to the table. "Bobbi?"

"Yes?" Both women stilled, waiting for AJ to ask the black woman to leave.

Instead, he sighed. "I’m going to need Sturgis with me on this. I’m going to leave Tom in charge of the bar."

"And?"

"I would really appreciate it if you would be in charge of Tom."

"Why? Is he getting worse?"

Meredith couldn’t remember the last time AJ blushed. But he continued on. "Not so much worse, but he was drunk the other night. I think that he…"

Bobbi raised her hand. "Say no more, AJ." Her eyes turned steely. "I think we’ve had just about enough of pity for Mr. Boone. You and Sturgis and Meredith here, you go and find that bastard and take care of him. I’ll take care of Mr. Boone."

AJ’s eyes widened in shock. "Uhm… Now, Bobbi."

"Don’t you bother to ‘Now Bobbi’ me. Just you run along and do what you got to do. You leave me here with Tom."

"Oh, dear," Meredith whispered. She knew Bobbi wasn’t a witch like people whispered. Sometimes, Bobbi would come with her on her photographic safaris, bringing her sketchbook and pencils. However, while Meredith was content to leave the villagers alone, Bobbi spent most of her time talking with the wise women of the village. Sometimes she would bring back leaves and berries and other things. Bobbi was gaining quite a reputation for healing.

AJ just studied the women before him, and shook his head in wonder. Back home, women in general, and a black woman in particular, would never dream to talk to him like the women here in Selau did. But then, he never wanted to go back to the States. He was relatively happy here. If the damned outside world would just leave him alone, he could deal with sassy women of all shades and temperaments. He didn’t bother to answer Bobbi, but turned his attention to the woman who had a firm control on his heart. "Well then, we leave in two days."

"Why?" she demanded. "We should leave now, in case he leaves." As soon as she said it, she knew she’d stepped over the line. Still, she met his angry gaze.

"Because I said…" AJ took a deep controlling breath. "Because there are things I have to do before we leave."

She glared right back at him, but then looked away after a moment. She wondered if he was planning on leaving without her. Well, she would make sure to dog his every step.

"Meredith." He looked at Bobbi, who looked like she was considering staying put for just a moment. After she walked over the bar to Victor – never Sturgis, never directly – AJ took her seat and lowered his voice. "I promised I would take you. I don’t break my promises."

"Why are we waiting?" She kept her voice conversational, hiding her fears.

"Kate radioed this morning. She’s bringing Colonel Dunston with her." Meredith’s eyes shifted to Victor. "Now, Meredith."

"I know, AJ. I know." Meredith sighed. If Bobbi and Sturgis rarely spoke or even looked at each other, the long smoldering glances between Victor Galindez and Kate Pike almost set the thatched walls of the bar on fire; particularly, when Colonel Stuart Dunston of the British garrison was present. Meredith had even asked Kate if she and Dunston were dating.

"Don’t be silly, Meredith." Kate’s eyes hadn’t met hers. "One dinner to discuss consul business doesn’t mean we’re dating."

That had been three months ago. Meredith wondered how many more dinners there had been to discuss consul business.

AJ’s hand on her cheek brought her back to the present. "Come for a swim?"

The Gypsy Girl
Off the coast of Sorong, Dutch New Guinea
July 3, 1940
Noon

AJ stood at the bow of the boat, ignoring everyone else. The plan had been simple: Galindez and the kid, Sharkey, would pilot the boat from Selau to Sorong with AJ, Sturgis and Meredith as the only passengers. He, Sharkey, and Sturgis would go ashore, locate Taro, and then bring Meredith to the island to verify that he was the man who attacked her. If she was certain, then Sturgis and Sharkey would escort her back to the boat, and AJ would then kill Taro. The last man he’d killed had been at La Hamel. It was with bitter humor that he realized that if he managed to kill Taro tomorrow, it would be twenty-years to the day. But he was prepared to do so in this case. He wasn’t sure why Taro hadn’t tried to finish the job he’d attempted a year ago. AJ wasn’t about to let the man who attacked Meredith live.

That was before. Before Kate brought Dunston to Selau. Before Dunston announced that he would accompany them. Before Dunston said his Majesty’s government wished to speak with Mr. Taro, or whatever his real name was. God, it’d been ugly. AJ tried to bluff his way out of taking them. He couldn’t believe that Kate insisted upon coming. In the end, they’d ganged-up on him. With the war heating up, and France and England allies, Dunston now had the power to get him thrown off Bougainville. Kate refused to back him up. He took no comfort in the fact that Dunston’s eye was a vivid shade of purple and black. He just hoped that Galindez’s fist wasn’t still sore.

The only person speaking to anyone else was Sturgis. Sharkey stayed below or in back, or generally out of the way. Meredith, lost in her own dark thoughts, sat huddled in the aft amongst the burlap bags filled with various commodities that Galindez would use as the overt excuse for their visit. Dunston, dressed in khakis and a safari jacket, kept trying to talk to Kate who, it seemed to AJ, would stand there until she realized he was talking to her, and then walk away from him. Galindez stood at the wheel, glaring out over everyone.

So engrossed in his plans to circumvent the plan, AJ didn’t realize when Dunston gave up on Kate and approached him. "I’m not the enemy, you know."

"I never said you were."

"Well, tell her that."

"What is that you Brits say? You’ve made your bed, now sleep in it?"

"That’s the problem now, isn’t it?" Dunston made the mistake of trying levity. "I haven’t been near a bed with her."

AJ turned and saw Dunston’s grin fade to an abashed blush. "You want a matching set?"

"Now, see here. I’m His Majesty’s representative, and we need the information that Taro has. This is bigger than your petty reven…." The rest of what he was going to say was choked off by AJ’s hand around his neck.

"Petty revenge? Is that what you think this is about? He attacked someone I care about. She should’ve died, but she lived. He attacked HER. It wasn’t revenge on his part. Had it been, Galindez would be dead, I would be dead, hell, Tom Boone would be dead. But he attacked her. I don’t care why. It was over a year ago, and you haven’t found out why." He released the sputtering Dunston by pushing him hard. Dunston fell against the rail, and would’ve gone overboard had Sturgis not been there to grab him. Sturgis wasn’t gentle. He sat Dunston down hard, and without a word, walked back toward the aft.

AJ knew everyone was looking at him, but he said nothing until he felt her hand on his arm. Lifting it so he could drape it over her shoulder, he and Meredith watched as they rapidly approached a dock away from the hustle and bustle of the tiny port village. The Dutch stronghold was at Jaypura. Most of the trade that went on in Sorong was between the people of the smaller islands. "I don’t like this, Meredith."

"I know, AJ. But I won’t have you lose everything over this. If Dunston decides to, he can force the French to kick you off the island. I can do this. Besides, this way, you won’t kill him."

"What makes you think…" he began, but blushed even more as she just eyed him. "You think you know me that well?"

"Pretty well, lover." He blushed at her endearment and hugged her closer.

When they docked, he called Sharkey forward. "Now, son. Tell me exactly where you saw him."

"W-w-well, the first time I spotted him was in the small café down near the harbormaster’s office. I know it was him, sir. I saw the scar and everything, and when I got back to the boat, I double-checked Bobbi’s picture. It’s him."

"You said you followed him?" Dunston refused to remain a bystander.

"Yes, sir, colonel. I followed him down the road. Nobody ever pays any attention to me. So I followed him until he entered the jungle down near the end of the…" He looked quickly at Meredith and Kate.

"Down near the end of what?" Dunston demanded.

And AJ knew how he could get rid of the Brit. "Near the end of the street where the prostitutes live?" He glared at Sharkey daring him to give the detail. Sharkey’s eyes grew round when he realized what was going on. He gulped and nodded, and Dunston had no idea that there were two streets in Sorong where prostitutes plied their trade. The main street, where the women worked was well known. The other name, always whispered, was where men went to be pleasured by other men. Sharkey had been around too long to blush over the oldest – female – profession. "You’ll take Mr. Dunston. I’ll take Sturgis. When we find him, we’ll meet back at the café. We’ll decide then if we need to take Meredith."

"Now wait a minute!" Meredith and Kate spoke in unison.

"Don’t argue, ladies!" AJ snapped. The forward thinking women in Selau might very well intimidate him. He might even allow Meredith to win arguments that he would fight Tom Boone to the floor on. However, in this, he would not be swayed. "You will wait here until we return."

With a quick, fearful glance back at Galindez, who was resolutely turned away from her, Kate said harshly, "You have no authority over me, AJ."

Before he could say anything, Dunston spoke up. "No, but I agree with him. You stay here, Kate." He glared at Galindez’s back. "Keep an eye on everything. Make sure that no one does anything foolish." It was an empty insult, one that everyone ignored.

Meredith gazed long and hard at AJ. They were getting good at these silent fights. He knew that if he tried anything, he would irrevocably damage their relationship. "I’ll come for you as soon as we spot him."

Without a word, she turned and entered the small cabin to wait.

Kate stood, her hands on her hips, and watched the four men disappear into the market day crowds. They’d planned well. While the natives were mostly dark-skinned, closer to the Australian Aborigines than the rest of the Polynesian stock of most of the islands, there were plenty of westerners, mostly Dutch, so that the men would blend in. She wasn’t surprised to see a fair smattering of Orientals. She’d been in the Foreign Service long enough to be able to tell the differences. She saw a few Chinese refugees, though she was pretty sure she was distinguishing them from the Japanese by the way they pointed at each other. There were a few others, Korean mostly. There was a regular little mix here today.

She didn’t want to turn around. She was afraid that he would say something mean to her. They’d come to a silent agreement that no matter what they were feeling toward each other, they would never act on it. It would be foolish; he was a smuggler, she wanted more than a South Seas posting. Taking a deep breath she turned only to find him staring hard at her. "What?"

"Nothing." But he didn’t look away.

"Why are you looking at me like that, damn it!"

"I don’t think that consuls are supposed to use that kind of language, Kate."

"These are trying times… Victor." She didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t stay here with him staring at her like that. She could see the anger in his face and suddenly realized – no she’d known from the moment he’d struck Stuart what he thought. "He… I… we aren’t." God she hated having to explain to him. Didn’t know why she was bothering. She turned and was up on the dock without even realizing she moved. She was halfway to shore before she felt his hand on her arm, pulling her back.

He could count on one hand the times he’d touched her. He told himself that he was just doing what AJ would want him to do. He told himself he only wanted her safe. Even as he was pulling her back to the boat, he swore to himself that he would release her as soon as he knew she wouldn’t leave again. Pulling her down as he jumped on board, he realized where this was heading. Glancing at the closed hatch, he turned to catch her and he knew he wouldn’t let her go.

They stood there, so close, his hand still gripping her, almost hurting her. "Victor?" Neither was quite sure what she was asking. But his lips on hers stopped any further explanation. She jerked away, panting hard, just staring at him for a moment. But when he released her arm, she didn’t flee. "No." She whispered even as she wrapped her arms around his neck. "We can’t…" She never finished as their lips found each other again.

****

"You’re sure this is where you saw him?" Dunston demanded.

"Y-y-yes, sir." Sharkey stuttered.

"You know, as a British citizen, I can conscript you into the army." Dunston said it with little conviction as he stared at the women eying them both.

The threat, far from scaring the boy, seemed to give him courage. "The Army doesn’t want me. You think I didn’t try and join up?"

"What’s wrong with you?"

"Weak lungs."

"You’re in the wrong part of the world, if that’s true."

"It’s true enough."

"Well, let’s go into the jungle and see what we see."

****

AJ and Sturgis stood stunned at the sight. "What the hell is that?" AJ demanded.

"Looks like they’re clearing away the jungle for something. I don’t… wait…" Sturgis pulled AJ farther into the trees. "Look over there, to the east. Is that him?"

"Damned if I know. You’ve got better eyes than I do. Let’s get closer."

They made their way through the jungle, skirting the cleared area. AJ had no idea why they would need to cut down so many trees. Not at this end of the island. The only logging was done to the south and east where there was a huge port. Even so, New Guinea certainly wasn’t being exploited for its natural resources. Though the thought that Japan just might want the island for that purpose made sense. Maybe Dunston, damn him, was right.

They were almost to the point where AJ could make out the features on the man’s face. Shit! I guess I do need glasses. He peered through the trees. "Need to get closer."

"Don’t bother. It’s him."

AJ nearly cursed out loud at Dunston’s smug tone. However, by the time he turned, his face was a stony glare. "And you know this well enough?"

"Oh, Kate has a copy of the picture, too, remember? She showed it to me. I have a perfect memory for faces."

"Do you now?"

"Yes, and I have a plan."

"Why does that neither surprise nor impress me."

"Now listen, AJ…" Dunston backed away a step, glancing behind the very angry bar owner. "Let’s not have this discussion here. Remember, you want to make sure that this is the man who really attacked Meredith."

"Did you really think I was going to bring her here? Put her in further danger?"

"I think that if you don’t, she’ll never speak to you again." AJ wanted nothing more than to wipe the knowing smile from Dunston’s face. However, he took a deep calming breath and just nodded.

"Sharkey, stay here, out of sight, and follow Taro if he leaves. We’ll meet you at the café at dusk. If Taro leaves, follow him until just before, but be there at dusk."

Sharkey gave Dunston a brief glance, then nodded.

Turning away without another word AJ made his way back to where he and Sturgis had entered the jungle.

"What the bloody hell is this place?" Dunston’s hiss would’ve been amusing if AJ gave it any real thought. But he just wanted to get back to Meredith.

The smile he gave the Brit was cold and hard. "Don’t tell me you’ve never seen a street like this, ‘old boy.’ I served with too many British officers who went to Eaton and Harrow. You know, there are men who…"

"Shut your bloody mouth." Dunston’s face was blotchy with embarrassment.

AJ laughed evilly. "Well, well. I’ll have to remember to leave you here if you piss me off."

"You don’t want to make an enemy of me, old man."

AJ just snorted, waved away one of the gaudily made up men, and stalked off through the town toward the docks.

As soon as he stepped on board, he was aware of the change in dynamics between Kate and Victor. The two were standing as far apart as the boat allowed. Galindez looked furious; Kate looked like she’d been crying. But AJ saw the tell-tale sign of lips that had been thoroughly, brutally kissed. Meredith often looked like that after a night… He glared at Victor who glared right back at him; looking for an outlet for his anger.

Meredith calmly approached him. "Well?"

He took her hand and pulled her back up on the dock. Leading her away from the village, toward the sea, he didn’t stop until the next step would put them in the ocean. "What the hell is going on back there?"

She shrugged. "What should’ve happened a year ago."

"They didn’t!"

"Of course not. I was in the cabin and it was broad daylight out, AJ. No, they just gave in a little bit. Then I guess they realized that they shouldn’t and she or he… Oh, hell, AJ, I don’t know. When they started arguing, I came up top. They haven’t spoken since."

"What did you hear?"

"Nothing that I’m going to repeat." She smiled ruefully. "I really couldn’t make out much. I suspect that she said no, and he said yes, and then she was more adamant. But I’m not sure. They didn’t come to blows, if that’s what you mean. I heard Dunston’s name once – from Victor. Now. That will work itself out – or not. That’s not why we’re here. Did you find him?"

"Yes."

"Good. Let’s get this over with."

"Later. Sharkey’s following him. He’ll meet us at the café at dusk."

"AJ, why can’t you just take me now. What if he gets away?"

He turned away from her. She was right, of course, but he needed to think about what they’d seen. He needed to keep her safe. He couldn’t stand it if something happened to her. "We follow the plan. There are more Japs here on the island than I’ve seen before. I-I don’t want you walking through town and the jungle during the day. We’ll wait for Sharkey at the bar." Turning around his eyes pleaded with her to understand his fear.

She studied him for a long while, then nodded. She arched up her neck to demand a kiss, but shouts from the boat caught their attention. "Damn it."

They hurried back to the boat. Kate was standing there, her fist in her mouth watching wide-eyed as Sturgis tired to pull the other two men apart. AJ jumped down and grabbed Dunston by the back of the neck, yanking him back. Sturgis was then free to stand in front of Victor who, for a moment, showed no signs of letting that stop him.

"Knock it off!" AJ didn’t raise his voice above a mild bellow. People on the shore still turned to stare at them. "Galindez, go to the wheel. You!" He spun Dunston around to give him full benefit of his glare. "You go below, and don’t show your face until it’s time to return to the village."

"You can’t…" Dunston tried to evade AJ, but the fist connected smoothly with his jaw, and he fell to the deck.

"Get him below," AJ growled at Sturgis.

He glared at Kate, who turned away, frantically looking for a means of escape. But instead of climbing to the deck, she looked right at Galindez, sighed and went forward to stare up at the people staring at them. That seemed to get the people on the shore moving, and AJ turned his wrath upon Galindez. "Are you insane? Do you realize we don’t need this attention? You’ve ignored each other for nearly two years, and you pick NOW to do something about it!?"

"AJ." Meredith tried to calm him.

Victor tried to look anywhere but at his angry partner. He owed AJ much. "Nothing happened. Nothing but…" He blushed a bright copper. "He’d no right to call her that."

"Call her… What the hell did he call her?"

"It’s my fault, AJ," Kate finally spoke.

"What did he call you?"

"Please don’t make me repeat it."

"Are you two going to stop dancing around each other?" AJ finally demanded.

With that, both turned away again, and all AJ could do was sit down on a crate and bury his head in his hands. Meredith settled next to him, nudging him over a bit. "It’ll be okay."

"Okay? I’m taking you to see the man who came damn close to killing you. Meredith…" He finally raised his head to look at her. "There are a lot of Japs in Sorong. That bastard Dunston just might be right."

"Then you won’t kill him. You’ll just talk."

"Talk? About what? I say old chap." AJ did a credible British accent. "Just what would you and your cohorts be up to out there in the jungle." He shook his head. "No, baby. There’s only one way to handle this. Someone is going to have to watch them."

"But not you!" She saw his eyes narrow. "Please, AJ."

"Someone has to."

"But not you. You’re too well known in the islands. We should leave right now. You know that someone on shore saw you. Taro will know." Her panic was rising, and it took every ounce of self-control she possessed to keep her voice to a steely hiss. "What good will it do if they know you’re watching? Find someone else."

He refused to discuss it now. Pulling her close he kissed her softly. "Later. Nothing will be decided today."

Nothing further was said, and even when Dunston came to his senses and returned, rubbing his jaw and glaring at everyone, the boat was deadly quiet. A few minutes before 8:00, just as the sun was setting on the water, they put Dunston’s revised plan into play: AJ, with Meredith by his side, and Dunston, followed by Kate climbed up onto the dock. They walked to the small café as if they were old friends dining. Kate played her part, linking her hand through Dunston’s flexed arm. But still they said nothing until they sat down amongst the locals. There was cross-section of the island’s population, though few natives. They were seated next to a group of Germans, and while none were in uniform, AJ and Dunston both eyed them carefully.

"Oh, dear," Kate said. "I knew this wasn’t a good idea."

They placed their orders and continued to wait. AJ was growing more and more nervous. "Where is he?"

"Perhaps he followed… his friend… too far." Dunston offered it with little conviction.

"What should we do?" Meredith finally asked.

"I’ll go." AJ stood just as a man ran in jabbering away in Dutch. A man in the uniform of the Dutch Army, the authority on this side of the island, stood and responded even as he and others made their way outside. "Stay here," AJ said as he joined the throng. Of course, they didn’t obey.

They found the sprawled body in an alley between a shed and a ramshackle house. Even before pushing his way to the front, he knew who he would find. "Damn it," he muttered. Sharkey had been a good kid. He lay there, sprawled, staring up into the flashlight shining into his dead eyes. But AJ didn’t spare much thought to that. His eyes were riveted to the knife that was sticking out of chest. Pushing several more men out of the way, he knelt next to the boy and felt for a pulse.

"Oh, no." Meredith cried out and allowed Dunston to wrap his free arm around her. The other was already around Kate. But Kate pulled away and walked over to the Dutch Captain to introduce herself.

"Katherine Pike. I’m the consul at Port Moresby. This boy was part of the crew that brought us here tonight. We need to talk."

Part 3

 Home     ::    JAG Index     ::    e-mail