::  Preludes ::

Part 3

AJ’s
Selau, Bougainville
Sept. 22, 1940
Early Morning

"Is he here yet?" Meredith asked as she entered the bar. "I heard the plane, didn’t I?"

"Yes. But AJ probably stopped to see Harriet and the kid. You know the way Bud is about that boy." Sturgis barely looked up from the paper he was reading.

Meredith huffed and stared down at the pictures she’d developed. "These are the latest of little AJ." She handed him the stack. "And these are the pictures of Fiji. I need to get them to Port Moresby so Kate can put them in the pouch." It was nice knowing someone with government connections. Mail anymore was iffy at best.

She looked outside. "Where is he?" He’d been gone a week this time, and she missed him terribly.

It’d been two months since Taro killed Sharkey and escaped into the jungles of New Guinea. For all they knew, the man had gone back to Japan from any number of tiny coastal docking sites. They never found out what happened; never found anyone who admitted seeing Sharkey after they left him to keep watch. The one thing that was certain was that the Dutch military wasn’t going to expend any energy on it. In fact, there wasn’t much Dutch military left in New Guinea. With the German take over of Holland, the Dutch holdings were rather up for grabs, not that the Germans were in any position to take over. In August, Australia sent in troops to maintain order at Jaypura. But they insisted that they didn’t have enough men to worry about Sorong. Even Dunston couldn’t get them to change their minds.

AJ insisted that she and Kate return to Selau. Meredith thought for sure that AJ was going to stay there. But, in another week’s time, he sent word, and Tom Boone was now the proud owner of a small bait shop near the tiny harbor. AJ returned to her, and when he didn’t press the issue for her to leave him for safety’s sake, things had returned to a semblance of, if not order, back to where they’d been before the tragedy. Except, of course, for the Galindez/Pike situation. Kate refused to talk about what happened on the boat while Meredith had rested. Galindez was even more closed-mouthed about it. Both Kate and Dunston had returned to Port Moresby on Bud’s seaplane.

She sensed his heavy step behind her. Turning, the smile on her face died as she saw the worry and sadness in his eyes. "Now what’s happened?"

AJ stared at her for a long time, then sighed. "Come walk with me."

"AJ!"

"Meredith, please." He took her hand and led her out of the bar.

Her pictures forgotten, Sturgis stacked them up and put them aside. He was rather surprised to see Bobbi standing in the doorway. "Morning."

"Hello." They were alone now. They could drop the reserve they adopted around other people. Occasionally, she wished she could be as open about their relationship as Meredith and AJ were, but that was the way of white folks. She’d learned on her momma’s knee not to show how much you liked something; that was a sure way of losing it. She bestowed a teary-eyed smile upon him. "Did AJ tell you?"

"No. What’s happened?" She was so pretty. Delicate. When she came to his bed, he was in his own version of heaven. A private heaven he refused to discuss; even acknowledge. She was wild and tender, and an angel that he knew he neither deserved nor would be able to keep. She’d told him that herself, that first time. ‘I’m my own woman. Nobody’s ever going to own me.’ He’d accepted it, because he’d no other choice. Now, he waited.

She stood there watching him. To have found him was something she’d never even contemplated when she left the horrors of being talented and black in America. She could’ve made a life for herself in Harlem. There, she could pretend. She hated pretense. She wanted to go where she wanted. She’d scraped and saved, and sold enough of her paintings and watercolors to leave New York. She’d seen Paris, was welcomed there, wooed there, loved there. But she left and continued on until she found her paradise. Sturgis was a gift. And with all gifts, she knew she was going to lose him. Very soon, she suspected.

Walking to the bar, she sat and faced him. "Bad things comin’."

"We knew that." He fussed with the teapot. "Tell me."

****

A crab scuttled in front of them, and AJ paused to consider it. "AJ, just tell me. You’re really scaring me."

"We just heard, Japanese troops crossed into Indochina today. It’s started. They won’t quit until the Australians stop them. The US won’t do anything. Kate sent word that FDR is planning on issuing an order for all Americans to leave the Far East. We’re preparing for war."

"We knew this would happen, AJ. Are you going to leave?"

"You know me better than that. You’re a smart woman. You figured out what I’ve been up to this past year."

"I know you’re spending a lot of time away from the bar. I figure you’ve been gathering information for Kate."

"Not so much gathering information as setting up a network of men who’ll funnel information back. Radio operators who can hide in the hills and report on any kind of troop movements."

"Troop movements! You don’t think…"

He took her by the shoulders and forced her to look at him. "Of course we do. Who’s going to stop them? The Brits? How many ships do you think they have? The Australians have to worry about the mainland! If the Japs make it that far, do you realize how much uninhabited coastline they have to choose from? They need information, and that’s what we’re trying to set up. It’s not like I can join up, Meredith. Nobody wants a forty-five-year old former trench rat. But this, I can do. I can keep my eyes and ears open, and pass on the word to Kate and Dunston."

"Okay. So? Is this it? Are you telling me to leave?"

He released her and laughed ruefully. "Oh, darlin’, you would’ve had to leave eventually. You and Harriet and Bobbi and Carolyn, and all the others. Once the President issues the order, if you’re not on American soil by the deadline, then you’re stuck."

"You think the Japanese will be interested in Bougainville?"

"Yes, and New Guinea."

"Will they make Kate leave?"

"Not ‘till the last minute. They sure aren’t going to bother to send anyone else out to take Clay’s place."

"Whatever happened to him?"

AJ shrugged. "Kate finally told me that he’d been reassigned to Berlin."

"Oh! I wonder if he’s seen Sarah. It’s been a while since I received a letter from her. Though, from that one article she wrote for Time, I can tell she’s very busy. I miss her.I hope she stays safe." Meredith hugged herself, gazing out over the lagoon where they’d spent so many wonderful times. "I don’t want to leave you. I’ll go when I must, but not before."

His long drawn-out sigh made her turn. "What’s that?" she demanded, pointing to the telegram he was holding. "Don’t tell me he already issued the order!"

"No darlin’." AJ licked his lips. "I know we’ve had this argument so many times. But I’d accepted that you would do what you would. I’m surrounded by strong women. No, this has nothing to do with the coming war. This was sent yesterday to Kate’s machine for you. She gave it to Bud to bring. I arrived in time to catch the plane with him. I just wish I could go with you."

"What?" She grabbed at it and read out loud. "Your father had a stroke. Not expected to live. Get here soonest. Sheffield." She just stared at it for the longest time. "I don’t believe it. It’s a ploy!" she said angrily, wadding up the paper.

"No. Kate knew you would want verification. She checked with several people on her own authority. It’s the truth; he’s in a hospital in New York. You have to go."

"No! Why? He cut me out of the will, remember!? He disowned me, remember!? He said all those terrible things to me. Why should I go back?" As her shouts scattered the birds and disrupted the feeding pigs, she stalked away from him. "I can’t believe this."

He let her work it out on her own. Didn’t offer her his opinion. It was for the best. By the time she ran to him, she was sobbing so hard that his shirt was soaked. "Damn him."

"I know baby, I know."

London
September 30, 1940
Late Afternoon

Squadron Leader Harmon Rabb climbed into his Spitfire, giving the thumbs up signal to Jack Keeter. In less than four months, his reputation as an ace was secure. His columns were carried in every newspaper in England and a dozen back in the States. It didn’t bother him that half the time The Sun refused to run them, citing that they were too inflammatory. Now, if he could just get Catherine off his mind. She’d sent him a dozen letters, begging him to listen to reason. The theme was always the same: John Farrow was an old and good friend. They’d stopped being lovers long before she’d met Harm. She’d only kissed Farrow goodbye. The baby, due any day now, was Harm’s. Why she cared was beyond him. He didn’t love her. Until she found out she was pregnant, she’d never professed to wanting more from him than a good time. But every week, like clockwork, another letter would appear. She’d taken to sending him interesting stories about what was happening back home. Sometimes she sent one of Sarah’s articles from Time. Sarah’s reports were a mix of ‘man on the street’ stories and biographies of the men running the Third Reich. She walked a fine line, and people in the know read between the lines. The smart ones knew that war was inevitable.

"Red Two to Red One. Wakey, wakey, oh fearless leader."

"Very funny, Keeter. Red One to Red Squadron, let’s show the Krauts we still aren’t accepting their deposits."

He and his men were exhausted. They’d already figured out that the German who dropped the original bombs on London hadn’t meant to do so. Up to that mistake, the Luftwaffe had been content to keep their raids to military targets. Already, the Spitfire factory had taken two direct hits. However, the die was cast, and Hitler was bombing the hell out of London, as well as the airbases in the south of England. Even the war room had been damaged in its underground location off Clive Street. Things were heating up, and he sometimes forgot just who was in his squadron from day to day, they died so quickly. But they were all good men, and he would do his best.

The skies were overcast, as usual. He figured he’d probably die protecting England, but damn, it was dreary country. Even during summer he could count the number of pretty days. August had been a bear, but he was used to it. September – it rained. Every damn day, it rained. It made flying a mess, and the dog fights particularly interesting.

"Bogey, three o’clock, low!" one of the new pilots screeched.

"Easy, Red Five." Keeter’s voice floated over the airwaves. "I’ve got him."

"Red Squadron, prepare to break, take your time, and do try to not shoot each other today." Harm cautioned. It’d happened last week. Thank God, the pilot of the hit plane parachuted to safety. It’d still been hairy that night, and the fight between the two men bloodier than the injuries sustained by the downed pilot.

He spotted his first target. The new ME109s were the fastest planes in the sky. But the Spitfires beat them on maneuverability. As he lined up his sights on the ME’s tail, he thought of his next article. It really was a sight, almost beautiful, the way the planes weaved and dodged. "Take that, you bastard!" he whispered as he let loose with a blaze of bullets. He followed their streaking tracks across the sky and allowed himself a "Whoop!" as they hit just right to explode the gas tank. He scouted the sky for his next target. "Red Four! Dive! You’ve got company!" He twisted the stick to bring himself in position to get on the German’s tail, but Keeter was there before him.

"Woooeeeeee! Like fishing with dynamite!"

"Easy, Red Two."

"Hey, fearless leader of mine?" Keeter was always chattering. It drove Harm nuts, but still, he was a great wingman, and a friend.

"Watch it, Keeter!" Harm spotted the bogey bearing down on his unsuspecting friend. "He’s on your tail! Get out of there!" He sped to his wingman’s defense, all the while keeping an eye on the battle around him. Keeter was in trouble. Even as he dodged and dove, and then streaked almost straight up, the German stayed on his tail. Tracer bullets shot through the sky like lightening. Finally, Harm, in a daring move, cut right between the German and Keeter’s plane. He was so close he saw the terror in the German’s eyes. He almost made it. He felt the tail of his plane explode.

"Skipper!" one of new pilots, he didn’t know who, screamed. "Bail out!"

"Bring ‘em home, Keeter."

"Get out!"

"Get out!"

He jerked on the lever to free the Plexiglas canopy. Cold, wet air slapped him in the face. He could see the skyline of London rushing up to meet him. Death was suddenly a very real possibility as he struggled to free himself from the safety harness. Even as he jumped free, he could see the battle still raging around him. The bombers had made it through again. Fires were already burning in the dusk, unaffected by the pouring rain. As his parachute opened, jerking at his groin, he knew he wasn’t out of danger yet. Twisting around to get his bearings, he saw water off to his right. That would be better than landing in the middle of the burning warehouse to his left. Pulling hard on the guidelines, he worked his way to relative safety. He heard the explosion behind him, but the only thing he felt was the hard shock, rather like when Billy Simpson had tackled him back in high school.

Sarah MacKenzie’s Apartment
Berlin, Germany
December 2, 1940
Late afternoon

Sarah sat at her typewriter pounding out the latest story on what life was like under Hitler and war. It would be the story she showed Wilhelm Fuerst. The real story, slightly different, just enough to convey the effect of constant worry and rationing, was already sitting in the Embassy mail pouch. It looked like an ordinary letter addressed to C. Booth of New York City. Mrs. Luce would pass it on to her husband’s editors.

She’d been here over a year, and each day brought new fear. Alex Kirk held out no hope that America could stay out of it. "All it’s going to take is one misplaced bomb on one of our ships. Roosevelt knows we have to be part of this."

It was no use. She stopped typing and buried her head in her hands. She wasn’t sure what was wrong between Clay and her. Oh, she figured it had to do with the tension of his job. But it also had to do with that girl they’d met two months ago, Grisella Ackerman. He refused to speak about her.

Sarah knew they’d been intimate. Hell, a virgin nun forty years in a cloister could’ve figured that out. The smoldering vicious looks. She still remembered her shame the night he’d introduced them. Grisella had raked her eyes over Sarah’s sleek, exotic form and purred, "So this is the way you assuage your guilt? I’m surprised you didn’t find yourself a Nigerian."

Sarah had gasped in shock. True, Grisella, tiny, blue-eyed and white blond, was as far from Sarah in looks as possible. It truly amazed Sarah when people thought she was Jewish. Even in this city of pure blood Aryans, she wasn’t the only brunette. Hell, look at Hitler. But she also knew her coloring was darker than most Bavarians.

Clay didn’t come to her defense, which hadn’t bothered her. Instead, he snidely countered with, "Well, I hear that Hitler will have three more soldiers to send to the slaughter in a few years."

"My sons will serve the fatherland to purge the world of the," she smirked at Sarah, "unclean." Before either she or Clay could respond, Major Ackerman came and roughly pulled his wife away without even bothering to acknowledge Clay or Sarah.

That night, right here in this small apartment near the university that Lise had helped her find last November, she came close to telling him she never wanted to see him again.

"Just tell me! What was she to you?"

His eyes flashed and his face reddened to the point where she thought he would have a heart attack. But in the end, he regained his control. "A stupid mistake. A youthful folly." She knew it was more, but he’d stalked out before she could pursue it. It wasn’t like she was afraid of the woman. Ackermann was a member of Adolph Eichmann’s staff. And Grisella seemed quite proud of her perfect Aryan husband and three boys, all under the age of four. In fact, Sarah thought the woman looked positively sickly. But that could’ve been pure jealously. No, she didn’t think Clay would leave her to go back to Grisella. She was afraid that whatever Clay was feeling about the relationship with his former lover was affecting what he and Sarah had together.

They had such a strange relationship. Everyone knew they were dating. Most just figured it was a casual thing, but the nights she spent in his arms were anything but casual. She shuddered at the memories of the way he made her feel. Dreamed of his fingers and lips on her skin. Sex had never been like this for her: wild, passionate, wonderful; even, for some reason, free of guilt.

But they shared something else besides sex and unspoken feelings. They shared Lise and her small band of resistance fighters. Not that they could be called fighters, more a network of information, an underground for the few Jews still able to move about the city without the dreaded yellow star. Jews who looked much like Sarah – or even Grisella herself – without the pronounced features that the cartoonists caricatured in the daily German newspapers. And, in fact, they didn’t really share Lise and the resistance. Lise passed on information to Sarah, who gave it to Clay. However, Sarah never met any of the other members. Clay did. Lise would give Sarah the time and place for a meeting, and Clay adamantly refused to take her with. "You don’t need to know this part. It isn’t safe. This is the way it has to be. If you want out, then say so."

"And will you stop seeing me if I do?" As soon as she said it, she regretted the words.

He’d looked at her for a long time, weighing his answer. In the end, he’d just turned and left. He did that a lot, more so lately. They couldn’t seem to find the words they needed to say to each other. She hated it. She’d even tried talked to Lise about it, but then Lise was in no position to help.

She and the chemistry professor had become fast friends. They spent long nights together when the men in their lives were away, which was often. However, Sarah never understood why Lise married Wilhelm Fuerst.

"You hate everything he stands for," she’d insisted the morning they were to go to the magistrate’s office for the wedding.

"I’ve loved him for fifteen years. He and I were students together at Humbolt. I’ve never wanted another man."

Sarah tried one last argument. "You do know that he made a pass at me?"

"Ja, and you turned him down. He told me."

It wasn’t until a month later she discovered the real reason. Lise was pregnant. The thing that astounded Sarah was that Lise insisted upon not only lecturing right up to the end, but also continuing her work with the resistance, though that had be cut back tremendously. Even still, Sarah had railed at Clay over the danger to her friend.

"How can you continue to put her in danger like that!?"

He looked at her so strangely before finally answering. "It’s her choice, Sarah! Some things are important!" But she’d seen the haunted look in his eyes. She’d never told him how much she respected his strength to do the things he needed to do, even when it meant putting people he cared about in danger. She was just afraid of what it was doing to him. She knew that it was frustrating to send back report after report, only to be told to just get more information. But she didn’t dare tell him. She suspected that he was holding onto the stoic snide exterior by a thread. If the fury she saw in his eyes after the dinner party where she’d been subjected to Grisella’s cold prejudice ever came out at the wrong time, he would probably be killed. And that, she couldn’t face.

She forced herself to return to the fake article before her.

She barely heard the furtive knock. Rising, a pencil still between her teeth, she opened the door. A very frightened Lise, clutching her bundled child to her chest, pushed inside. "Close the door."

"Lise?"

"He knows!" Lise turned around, and Sarah finally noticed her friend’s battered face.

"Oh, my God. Who did that?"

"Who do you think? Wilhelm!" Lise burst into tears, clutching the bundle so tightly that a high-pitched wail joined her sobs.

Sarah walked over to her friend and gently pulled Günter Fuerst away from her. "There, there, sweetie. Mommy didn’t mean to scare you. Lise, go wash your face."

"There isn’t time. You have to go."

"Go? What are you talking about?"

"I left him. I’m going to run away, but I know he’ll find me."

"Lise, you’re upset. Hell, I would be, too. Why did he hit you?"

"Aren’t you listening? He knows, I tell you."

"Calm down." Sarah gently rocked the crying baby. "Tell me what happened."

Lise stalked up to Sarah and grabbed her shoulders. "He knows I’m helping the Jews. He told me that he knew and that there was nothing he could do to save me. He said the Gestapo was coming for me. He was going to take Günter away to someone to watch him."

"Then how did you get here?"

Lise put her hands to her face and took a deep breath. "I hit him. You know how arrogant he is. He turned toward the baby, and I picked up a lamp and hit him in the head."

"Clay! We have to find Clay."

"No! If Clayton is smart, he’ll not return to Berlin."

"Why? Is he in danger? He was supposed to return this morning!"

"No. He’s very good at what he does. He stays in the background. But there are people to warn him. You don’t know any of the contacts. But you must do this for me, Sarah."

"Do what?" She went to the window expecting to see black-shirted troops already surrounding the quiet little apartment building. Save for a small boy playing in the snow, she saw no one. Had it not been for the huge red flag with its black swastika billowing in the brisk December breeze, she might’ve thought they were in a small town in upstate New York.

"Take Günter and flee."

Sarah turned, her shock complete. "Flee? Where? Where can I go? To the airport? Hand them my passport and say, ‘Oh, I’m taking my friend’s baby for a ride?’ To Zurich?" I can’t leave without special papers."

"I know." Lise took another calming breath. "I know. I’ve planned for this day. I’ve always known he would find out."

"Why the hell did you marry him?" Sarah repeated the old argument.

Lise looked at her in exasperation and sadness. "He isn’t the man I fell in love with. He was so happy when we were at university. So smart. He’s become twisted and terrible. Just like all the rest. Clayton understands."

"Clay?"

"Yes. But you must ask him another time. You will do this for me, Sarah." She pushed a purse at her. "Everything you need is in there: money, papers, a ticket on the Munich train." She joined Sarah at the window. "See down there? See the car by the lamppost? Drive it to the station. Leave it."

"But what about you?"

"Me? I will go for a walk."

"You’re mad! You can’t."

"I will go and wait for him at the river. He will wake soon and send his men to look for me. He may even come here first. But when he finds you’re not here, but all your things are – there’s a suitcase in the car for you – he will think you’re merely out working on a story. I planned everything. Please, Sarah. He won’t look for you at first. He’ll find me, and then he’ll waste more time trying to find out what I did with Günter."

"He’ll kill you. He worships the boy."

"Bah!" Lise’s hand slashed through the air. "Wilhelm only worships evil now. I should’ve known that all along. For me, I thought I could wait. I thought he would come to see what Hitler and Himmler really were. I was the fool. A blind, stupid fool. But you will save my son from growing up with the evil."

"Lise. Come with me. You have the car, we’ll drive to Munich."

"In December? It will snow tonight. The mountains will be impassable."

"I can’t do this. I’ll take him to the embassy."

"No! No! No! The Gestapo watch the embassy. Sarah! There’s no time. For years I’ve helped people to escape certain death. I’ve helped Clayton set up a network of spies. I’ve asked nothing for myself. I ask only this. Go." She stalked to the closest and pulled out the mink coat Clay had given her for Christmas last year.

Sarah tried one last time. "My German…"

"Is much better now than it was. However, you’re not going to be German."

"American!?"

"Hush. With your coloring you know that they’ll look at you. In America, you do not look Jewish. Here? Who knows what they see. Jewess, gypsy, it doesn’t matter." She shrugged. "You told me you speak Italian."

"As well as I spoke German."

"Well then, let’s hope that there are no Italians on the train. Your papers show that you are Elena Ravagni, the Italian wife of Colonel Karl Vogt, who’s stationed at Berchtesgaden."

"Lise!" Sarah suddenly knew how Alice through the looking glass felt. Günter whined, and Lise took him back for a moment. She stared at her son, and Sarah could see the tears forming in her eyes. "How long have you been planning this?"

Lise met her gaze. "Since the day after the doctor told me I was pregnant. "Please, Sarah. Do this for me. Protect my son. Go."

"I have to get word to the embassy! I would do that anyway if I were covering a story. I’ll…"

"I’ll do it! Please, I swear it. Go."

The Berlin to Munich Train
December 3, 1940
Dawn

The farms and the towns looked peaceful enough. She’d been here before, last spring, trying to get close to the concentration camp that Lise had told her about. Dachau. Lise had said the name in a whisper. That’s where Wilhelm spent much of his time now, training with the 3^rd Panzer Division’s elite shock troops. "Awful things happen there. Even Wilhelm will not talk about it." From the information that Lise gave Sarah, and Sarah passed onto Clay, it was one of the few things the arrogant bastard didn’t talk about.

But her thoughts didn’t remain on Dachau. She was scared. She’d not been this scared in Bougainville when she helped rescue Harm. She spared a thought to her friends back home. Harm had sent her a letter through the paper telling her of the plane crash that had nearly cost him his life. Poor Meredith. She’d also sent a message telling of the changes in her life. "I don’t want this, Sarah. I never wanted to run the paper. I want to go back to AJ, but I’ll be damned if I’ll let those vultures ruin it further." She hadn’t explained who the vultures were or how they could ruin a decidedly third-rate paper.

She shifted Günter and closed her eyes again. Would anything ever be normal again? The train lurched and she jerked her eyes open to find they were pulling into Munich at last. The trip had been horrible, stop and go, waiting for troop trains and one long train pulling cattle cars. She tried to tell herself that she hadn’t seen human hands clutching the boards, or a gaunt face at the too small window. She pulled her thoughts to what needed to be done next. What house she was to go to, so she and Günter could be passed on to the next step on the journey to Lisbon.

"Zurich is too close, too obvious. If Wilhelm even suspects that you’re involved, he’ll send your description to the border. It’s better this way." Lise had insisted as she pushed Sarah out of the apartment.

The papers that Lise provided worked wonders at the station. Even with the odd looks she received, and the slow German that she was supposed to just barely be able to understand, they had been impressed enough with her husband’s position at Hitler’s Bavarian retreat, that they’d shown her abashed curtsey. [If there was a private car for you and the child, Frau Vogt, but alas…] But they were all taken with German officers of various services. In fact, she was surround by soldiers, though no one had sat next to her, so she’d been able to put Günter down for a bit. Ten hours for a 300-mile trip was most wearing. The few other women on the train had studiously ignored her as she struggled the one time to go to the cramped lavatory. No one offered to watch Günter for her. No one said a word. She was beginning to understand Clay’s rabid hatred of all things German.

"Frauline?" The voice was harsh and bold, and Sarah returned his disdainful look with a haughty glare of her own.

"Ausweispapiere!"

Sarah shifted Günter, causing him to squirm and whimper. [There, there.] She crooned in Italian, causing the German guard to raise his eyebrow. She found the papers that Lise had provided her, and handed them over.

[Frau Vogt? Oh!] The pale skin flushed red all the way to his scalp. [Your pardon.] Sarah just sniffed, took the papers back, and then put the baby to her shoulder. She sensed the man glaring at her for a moment longer before continuing on.

She kissed the baby’s soft cheek and rose from her seat.

[Your pardon, Frau Vogt?] She turned at the soft voice and kept her face as calm as possible. Even though he was dressed in a heavy civilian trench coat and fedora, her eyes were drawn to the tiny death-head pin on his lapel. Gestapo!

"Si?"

[Gerhard Jaeger. Allow me to assist you.], he said even as he took down the small case. He reached for Günter, but she shook her head and laid him back on the seat while she donned the soft fur coat.

It made no sense to be rude to the Gestapo, so she allowed him to follow her off the train, though she carried Günter. What the hell was she going to do? How would she get rid of him? She made her way through the throngs at the station toward the taxi stand.

[May I offer you a lift, Frau Vogt?]

Oh, God. What was she to do? She couldn’t show up at the garrison. She didn’t dare give him the address of the people who were helping her. She would have to give him the name of a hotel. Would there be room? What was the name of the place she’d stayed in the last time, the time when she’d tried to get a peek at Dachau?

"Elena!" She froze in place. It couldn’t be. He couldn’t be here.

Gulping down her fear, she turned and almost gasped out loud. What the hell? What was his first name? She settled for, [Darling!]

Clay, dressed in a 3^rd Panzer Division SS uniform, complete with full colonel pips on one collar and the dreaded silver skull on the other, pushed through the crowd of soldiers. [The train is very late.]

She couldn’t find the words to respond, but managed to nod. Fortunately, Clay looked at the Gestapo agent next to her and clicked his heels. [Obersturmbannführer Karl Vogt! Is there a problem?]

[Of course not, your wife looked like she needed help.] He thrust the suitcase at Clay and turned to her. [Gerhard Jaeger, at your service. You are staying in Berchtesgaden?]

Clay answered for her. [We have a small apartment in Munich. Why?]

[Excellent! It is not good to have our wives too close to where we work!] His smile made him look all the more dangerous to Sarah. [My wife is lonely. She has no friends here. She, too, is a foreigner. Dutch.]

Clay shifted his eyes to her; judging what she was capable of. She cleared her throat. [I’m quite sure], she began in halting German, praying he wouldn’t notice the hideous accent she was attempting, [once we are settled, I would be delighted to meet your wife.]

[Excellent! Where may we call upon you?]

Again, Clay took control. [On Arcisstrasse, near the University. Come, Darling. Let’s get little Christina home. Herr Jaeger, I will contact you at headquarters. Good day and thank you for helping my wife.] With great aplomb, Clay placed his hand on Sarah’s elbow and led her back through the crowds.

She didn’t dare say a word. For all the world, he’d been the perfect, dutiful husband meeting her. Only she saw the fury in his eyes. She dared not think what he had to have done to get here. How had he known? Obviously, Lise had reached him. But still, he couldn’t have driven. How? Where had he found the uniform on such short notice? "How did you get here?" she finally hissed once they were free from the crowds. The narrow street before them was relatively free of traffic. She couldn’t have found her way back to the train station without asking. So upset with the entire day, she’d actually lost track of the turns and weaves he’d taken.

Instead of answering, he pushed her into a doorway. "Stay here. Don’t move. So help me God, Sarah..." He allowed his fury to come to the surface for just a moment before turning back the way they’d come.

She stood there shivering against a cold that had little to do with the temperature. The coat kept her warm and the soft blankets protected Günter. The fear that had propelled her on her wild rush across Germany had her shaking so badly that the baby started to whimper. "Hush. Please don’t cry," she said even as the tears began to freeze on her face.

"All clear. Perhaps Herr Jaeger was… Sarah?" For a moment the anger left. She thought he was going to reach out for her, but the furious mask replaced the concern. He could easily be an SS officer, just like Fuerst.

"I thought only Aryans could be SS," she snapped.

His eyebrows rose. "My papers show I come from the same district as Der Fuehrer."

"Your papers!" she hissed. "How did you do this?"

"Lise planned well," he said bitterly. "I’ll explain what I can later. We have to get to the apartment."

"There really is an… oh, the safe house."

"No. I’m not using that anymore. I’ll get you out. Damn it, Sarah!" His grip on her elbow hurt, even through the fur. "Why the hell couldn’t you have come to me?"

"I was going to go to the embassy but Lise said…"

"Lise is dead!" He pulled her across the small side street and back into the flow of the early morning traffic of people hurrying home from their late night jobs. The office workers wouldn’t be out for another hour or so. [Taxi!]

He put the suitcase in front with the driver, took the baby from Sarah, and then climbed in beside her. She sat rigidly next to him, not even reaching for the baby. Lise dead? It was all she could think. She wanted to scream, cry, hit at him. Perhaps that’s why he told her when he did; she couldn’t say a word with so many people around, or with the taxi driver able to hear every breath. She barely heard Clay give the driver an address. Wasn’t aware of the passage of time or where they were going. Finally, they came to a stop and the door was opened for her. She saw that Clay not only held the baby in one arm, but the suitcase in his free hand. "Give him to me." She didn’t recognize her own voice.

"Are you sure?"

"Damn you! Give him to me!" She pulled the baby from him, dislodging the covers that protected him from the cold. "Where?"

Instead of answering her, Clay hurried up the steps, and using a key, led her inside a small vestibule. [We’re on the second floor.] He reverted to German, signaling her that it was no longer safe to speak. As he opened another door, he said, a little too loudly, [I hope that you like it. I’m sure you and little Christina will be very comfortable here.]

She didn’t answer, and he seemed relieved. Once they were outside the door to the apartment, she looked around, and sure enough, a door down the hall quickly shut the rest of the way.

It wasn’t much of an apartment. The furnishings were sparse and the rug bare.

He went to a small table and turned on a radio. Classical music floated through the air, and he finally relaxed a bit. "Put the baby in the bedroom."

By the time she returned, she was already shedding the heavy fur. She didn’t need the radiator; she allowed her anger to warm her. "Tell me how Lise died."

"Sit down. I’ll make tea."

"Damn you!" He was at her side immediately, his hand firmly over her mouth.

"Keep it down! Unless you want your friend Herr Jaeger here!"

She jerked free. "He’s not my friend. What’s going on, Clay?" The tears were coming now and she hated it. She didn’t want to cry. But she was too exhausted. Too angry. Too scared.

"Sit. Tea, and then we’ll make our plans."

"Please just tell me what’s going on… while you make the tea."

He took a deep breath, but, as he pulled down packages from the cupboard and ran water into a kettle, he finally started. "I returned to the embassy this morning. From here, actually."

"Where they know you as this German soldier?"

He sighed deeply. "Not before today. Of course, after today, it won’t matter. You’ve managed to ruin a fairly decent cover."

"Yell later. Continue," she whispered.

He turned to study her. The anger had fled as soon as he’d held Günter Fuerst. He understood the need to protect something so small. Usually, he was able to ignore the urge. He had to. But gazing at her now, knowing the danger she was in, knowing their chances were slim, at best, fear gripped him. God, how loved her. Loved her more than he’d a right to love any woman. She raised her head from where it had been buried in her hands. He tried hard to put the mask back on, but she saw his anguish. However, it didn’t sway her. She didn’t come to him. Her expression didn’t change. She just waited.

"Lise caught me as I was coming out of the embassy. She’d been hiding in the park across the street. She told me everything that had happened. How Fuerst had found out about the network and had already told the Gestapo. She told me what she’d done to him and with Günter. She told me where you were going and how everything would be okay. Only I knew better."

"Of course you did. The great mastermind; always manipulating people! And how did you know better?" Her dead demeanor voicing the bitter words cut him like a whip.

"Because the Gestapo had followed her. They followed her to you, and I have to assume you to the train."

"No. No, they didn’t. I made sure of it."

"Really? And how did you do that?"

"Because I took a later train, exchanged the tickets. I drove out of town and around the city. If they were following me, I would’ve spotted them. I may not be the master spy you are, but I’ve had a little experience."

He snorted but didn’t say a word in argument. "She filled me in on the entire plan. But as soon as she came to me, I knew it was too late. That’s probably why Fuerst let her escape. He thinks we’ll lead him to all the members of the network."

"She hit him on the head! She could’ve very well have killed him."

"I doubt she hit him hard enough to knock him out." He fisted his hands trying hard to remain in control. "We were fools to underestimate Fuerst. All I know is that I told her I would take care of it. I sent her away, knowing that I only had a few minutes before they arrested us both."

"What happened?"

"She must’ve known she was followed. She looked back at me right before she stepped into the street in front of a speeding truck." He sat down hard in the chair. He finally pulled the steeped uniform cap off his head and flung it across the room. "She had to have seen it. It gave me the opportunity to escape. Everyone was running up to her. I ran through the park and went straight to the airport. I had a man there, a man who I’ve been paying a great deal of money just in case. And, even then, I was lucky he was there when I arrived. He flew me down to Munich. We just made it ahead of the snowstorm. Fortunately, the trains were delayed. I wasn’t sure which train you’d be on. Lise didn’t tell me that. I had little time to prepare before the first train that you could’ve been on arrived."

"Where did you find the uniform?" He didn’t answer for a long time. She looked up at him again and sighed. "You killed someone, didn’t you?" He didn’t need to answer. "We’re in danger if we stay here, aren’t we?"

"We’ll leave tonight."

"Where?"

"We’ll try and make it to Marseilles. They won’t be expecting that. But, as Americans, we can still leave France – at least I hope. If not, we’ll figure it out when we get there."

"You don’t trust Lise’s people?"

"I don’t want to put anyone else into danger."

"What about Günter?" she asked fearfully. "It’s the last thing, the only thing Lise ever asked for herself. Clay, I can’t leave him."

He took her hands in his. "So cold, even in this oven."

"Clay?"

"Here’s what’s ahead of us. We can’t go back to the train station here. We’ll have to drive to Ulm. If we’re lucky, we can catch the train there. I’ve got contacts in a few cities between here and there. People who I can trust, I hope."

"What about the pilot and the plane?"

"Not in this snowstorm. If we could afford to wait, we might be able, but where we’re headed, we’re just as likely to be shot down by the Luftwaffe. Fuerst is looking for us. We have his son! Plus, he knows about me now."

"That’s what it was all about, wasn’t it?"

"Probably. He knew that there was a foreigner helping Lise. But I haven’t talked directly to her in two months. Part of it was because of the baby… Part of it…" The teakettle began to sing and he gratefully rose to prepare the tea.

"You didn’t trust her, did you?"

"It wasn’t my call, Sarah."

"The resistance?"

"After she married Fuerst, they became leery of her. You’ve been her only contact since the wedding."

"I have!? I thought… Oh, God, was she part of it and…"

"No, Sarah, no. I think Lise finally just gave up. It’s a hard life." It was as close as he’d ever come to admitting the toll such a life took on him. But still she couldn’t find the strength to comfort him now.

"Have I been followed?"

"Not by the Gestapo. By them. Every time Lise came to see you, every time you went to see Lise, they followed you for several days just to see if anyone else was doing the same."

"They didn’t trust me?"

"They didn’t trust Lise!" He practically slammed the mug of tea down in front of her. "Don’t you get it? Lise was out of it. Had she just passed on the occasional information she picked up from Fuerst, she and the kid would’ve been safe. But something happened. We still don’t know what she did to alert Fuerst."

"You can’t think she did it on purpose!"

"I don’t know what to think." He sighed and then shook his head. "No not on purpose, but with the baby…maybe she was just tired of it all, maybe she dropped her guard. I can’t deal with maybes all we have is what we know and we know that Fuerst found out somehow."

"How much does Fuerst know now? What will they do if they catch us?"

"You might very well find out, first-hand, what goes on at Dachau. I certainly will. If I live that long. He won’t let me escape if he can help it."

"Do you know about Dachau?"

Fine lines appeared around his mouth and eyes. He was thirty-five and she thought he looked ancient. "Yes. Shall I tell you? Do you honestly think that anyone will publish the story without proof? America still doesn’t want to be in this war, Sarah. Oh, people want the Brits and French to win. They want Hitler destroyed. But no one wants American lives lost."

"So, we take off across country by car. You can get the gas we need?"

"That’s my point, Sarah. I don’t know. I can give you the contacts if something happens to me. But we’re in danger. We’re in greater danger because we won’t have the mobility. If we turn the baby over to…"

"To who? All Lise wanted was for Günter not to be brought up amongst all the evil. Can’t we do something? She helped so many people. Don’t you owe her anything, Clay?"

"We’ll find an orphanage. Not all Germans are evil. If I can accept that, you can!"

"You don’t believe that. I know how you feel about Germans. I’ve heard you rant and rave about Grisella and…"

"Leave her out of this."

"No! Because you can’t leave her out of it. She’s colored your whole life. She’s who you were talking about that day in Bougainville, when you told me your opinion about women and how we never mean it when we say we’re sorry." She stood and began to pace. "You don’t really care who we turn Günter over to. You think he’s evil, too."

"I never said that." He stood and halted her pacing, forcing her to look at him. "One of us has to be a hard-hearted realist, or you and I are going to die, and Günter will go back to his father anyway."

She tried to pull away from him, but he held her tightly by the shoulders. "Please. I have to think."

"Fine. Go lie down with the baby. I have to go out."

"Go?" Panic seized her. "Where? What if you don’t come back?"

"If I don’t come back, you won’t have any choice. You’ll have to go to Gestapo headquarters and turn him in. Maybe…" His voice trailed off, and she could see that tears were threatening to pool in his eyes. She’d never seen him cry. He pushed her away. "I’ll come back. I just have to make some arrangements."

She paced back and forth, occasionally checking on Günter. Once, she changed his diaper. She wished that she’d asked Clay to bring back some milk for him. Lise had given her two bottles, both of which she’d fed him. Clay would just have to go out again. God, how were they going to do this? How could they make it across most of southern Germany and France? What would they do once they reached Marseille? What would happen if Günter became ill? Günter was beginning to become restless. He kept trying to kick the blankets off. He’d rolled over several times, and she was afraid to leave him for long, even after she’d placed the thin pillows around him.

Then he began to wail. Shrieking cries that she knew would bother the neighbors if it were later at night, perhaps even now. She checked his diaper. It was dry. She bounced and cooed to him. She filled the empty bottle with water and honey. He didn’t even want to taste it. His face was so red she began to panic. "Hush, honey. Oh, Günter, darling. Please don’t cry. Oh, God. Do you want your mommy?"

By the time Clay returned, they were both in tears. He put down the bags he was carrying and strode forward to take him. [What’s the matter? Hush, now. Good little boys don’t cry.]

She’d no idea if it was the fact that Günter was more used to German, if the masculine sound of Clay’s voice soothed him, or the fact that Clay just hid his own fears better than she, but the baby calmed down almost immediately.

"There’s canned milk in the bag. Do you have a bottle? I figured you did, but I bought another one."

"Oh, thank God."

This time, Günter gratefully accepted the bottle that Clay held for him. He sucked noisily, his bright blue eyes locked on Clay’s.

"You were right. We can’t take him," Sarah sobbed. "What if we have to hide and he starts crying? What if we can’t find food for him? What if…?"

"Stop it, now. We’ll figure it out. I’ve made arrangements for another place to hide until we can leave."

"The car?"

"All taken care of. All we have to do is pray it stops snowing soon. We’ll leave just before dark."

"Will the neighbors turn you in?"

"An SS officer? No. But they will talk about it. And we can’t afford that."

"Well? Where are we going?"

"Small hotel near the northwest side of town. Here’s the plan. We walk out of here at dusk. The car is parked two blocks over. There are clothes in the car. Where we’re going that coat will cause talk, so we’ll leave it in the trunk. I found you another one."

"Stole it?"

"No! I just pray they don’t find Vogt’s body." He hit his chest indicating the uniform he was wearing. She wondered how he’d killed the man, where he’d hidden the body and what it had cost him to do it. He’d killed a man for her. Just so he could save her.

"I brought us some food. Lay the baby down for a bit, we’ll eat and go over the plan, such that it is."

They ate the meager meal in silence. The snow was picking up outside, and at noon it looked like it was nearly dusk. When they were done, he led her into the bedroom. "Come and lie down." He smiled in approval at the cradle she’d made out of a drawer from the dresser and one of the blankets from the bed. He pulled off the uniform jacket, and she took it to hang over a chair. That’s when she noticed the blood on the collar. She started to ask him about it, but the look on his face stopped her. She pulled off the dress she was wearing, but left her slip on. By the time she joined him on the bed, they were both dressed in just their underwear.

He reached out and touched her cheek, but made no move to hold her closer. "The hotel is in a working class part of town. Farmers and common soldiers stay there. Families with little money stay there. I’ve found a new uniform for me. No, I didn’t kill this one. The man I killed..."

It was her turn to reach out and caress his stubbled cheek. "I don’t need to know. You did what you had to do because of me."

He took a deep shuddering breath, then turned on his back. Looking at her was too hard. He would do whatever it took to protect her and, now, Lise’s baby. But he couldn’t tell her of his guilt. If he started talking about it, he would never stop. And what good would it do him, anyway?

"Clay?" She wouldn’t let him hide this time. Instead of giving him room to distance himself, she scooted over and rested her head on his shoulder. "Tell me what’s really wrong?"

"Wrong?" His shuddered laugh bounced her head, but she wrapped her arm across his chest. "What could be wrong? We have to elude one of the most vicious men in the SS. We’ve got to protect a small baby in the middle of December. We have to…" She loomed over him, her dark brown eyes holding his, mesmerizing him. "Oh, God, Sarah." He tried to pull her to him, but she held herself away. "I can’t…"

"You have to. Tell me about Grisella. Tell me about what happened." When he tried to push her off, she straddled him, her hands were on his shoulders. "Damn you. I have a right to know. I have a right to hear about the woman who so hurt you that you can’t love me like I love you."

"Love me? How can you possibly love me? You don’t know me. I won’t…" She kissed him hard.

Sitting back up she shook her head. "You loved her?"

"Yes." He spit it out angrily.

"You did something for her that you regret?"

He closed his eyes, unable to meet her steady gaze. "No. But not because I didn’t want to. I begged her to come with me. Leave Germany. And when she wouldn’t, I decided I would stay with her."

"Oh." Sarah’s breath caught in her throat. It took several swallows for her to take a deep breath again. "What happened?"

His bitter laugh hurt more than anything she could imagine. "Her father had me sent away. I went to her house to demand her own answer. She wouldn’t even talk to me. Sarah, it was in ’33. I was 28. I was no teenager in high school with his first crush. I knew things. Even then, had I stayed, I would’ve helped the Germans. I could’ve been a traitor."

For a long time they remained locked in their strange struggle. Finally, it was her turn to laugh bitterly. "Damn you, Clay," she sighed. "Why did you have to find something that I have to like about Grisella?"

"Sarah?" He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

"Hush. You came close. Damn close. You’ve spent the last seven years atoning for it. You’ll probably die atoning for it. But not this time, okay?" She relaxed her grip and fell into his arms. "Let it go, Clay. I love you. Do you love me enough…"

He rolled them over and gazed into her eyes. "You saved my sanity, Sarah. Loving you is the one good thing I’ve ever done." His lips covered hers, and he gently explored her mouth with his tongue.

"Please, Clay." She moaned when he pulled away from her. "Please make love to me. We probably won’t get another chance for a very long time." Even as she was begging him, she was pulling at his undershirt, pausing only to make sure he, too, wanted this. He thrust into her hand and shuddered as she caressed his cock through his underwear. "Take me, Clay. Long and slow."

He hiked her slip up and bestowed a kiss on her belly. She sat up and pulled it over her head, quickly releasing the catch on her bra, flinging both away. He stood to remove his underwear. He paused to check on the sleeping baby, then returned to her on the bed. "I love you so much. I’ll do whatever it takes to get you and the baby to safety."

"I know you will. Come here."

He covered her with his body. He couldn’t stop kissing her. Even as he filled her, he kept his lips on hers. Even as he thrust more and more wildly, he strove to maintain their contact. Finally, as her walls milked his shaft, he arched back and groaned out his release. Collapsing next to her, she resumed his kisses. "I promise, Sarah."

"Sleep. Then tell me the rest of the plan."

****

Waterfront Inn
Marseille, France
December 24, 1940
Dawn

Christmas Eve. Sarah shuddered and wrapped the blanket tighter around her. Outside the window, she could see little but a few fishermen preparing to leave for their daily work. The streets should’ve been busy, but with the war, there was little traffic. The freighter, leaving at noon, was Spanish owned. It would take them to Gibraltar, where Clay was certain they could find transport back to England.

She turned briefly to watch him sleep. His eyes were closed and his breathing was even, but she could see the tiny wrinkles that aged him so. The beard didn’t help. He hadn’t slept much in the past three weeks. Not that she had either.

Returning to her vigil, she wondered why she couldn’t cry. Perhaps she was too exhausted. She no longer held out any hope that they could save Günter. Hell, everything she’d done since taking the boy from Lise had brought him closer to death.

Images of their flight across Germany and France flashed before her. It was almost funny how those first hundred miles they drove from Munich to Ulm had been deceptively pleasant, even though there was little heat in the car. Once they were away from Munich, Clay had stopped by the side of the road and pulled out the fur coat for her. However, instead of pulling it on, she’d fashioned a warm carrier for the baby; turning the fur to the inside and using the arms to tie it tight, forming a handle of sorts.

One little boy. Ultimately, had he been worth all the deaths? How many men had died during their escape? She tried to feel some emotion for the two men she’d been forced to kill. She couldn’t work up any regret. They would’ve killed Clay, then found her and the baby. The problem was, she couldn’t feel anything right now but an intense hatred for all things German. Jaeger and Fuerst were easy targets. But she found herself even hating Lise for getting them into this mess. Only Günter was free of her hatred. For him, she felt guilt: guilt that he still might die, guilt for what Clay had given up to help her, guilt that she’d let everyone, from Lise to Time to Clay, down.

Their flight had almost been cut very short. She wondered what would’ve happened if she’d made Clay leave her on the train in Ulm. They hadn’t even reached their compartment when Clay spotted Jaeger outside the train. A dozen SS troops were with him.

Clay pushed her off the passenger train. He’d grabbed the baby and thrust the suitcase at her. "Drop it if you have to." She’d held onto it. Even when Clay handed her back Günter to pull himself up onto the freight car, then reached back to help them up, she’d found the presence to fling the case behind him.

Clay pushed her and the baby into the darkest corner, and then shut the door. The light seeped through the slats, and she saw the gun in his hand. They waited for the storm troopers that would find them. Several ran past, but Clay whispered hoarsely, "Someone thinks they spotted us farther down."

When the train jerked into motion, he still stood guard, peering out into the countryside. "I think we’re heading west, but I don’t know why. It’s so overcast."

He carefully checked every inch of the car. There were only a few bales of hay, which seemed to brighten his spirits some. "At least it isn’t one of those cars," he muttered so softly that Sarah thought she’d misunderstood him.

"One of what cars?"

He didn’t answer but proceeded to cut open the bales. "Here. This will help some."

"What cars, Clay?" she insisted even as she settled into the little nest he made for her.

"Never mind."

"The cars they move the people on? I saw people in cattle cars, didn’t I?"

"Please, Sarah."

He didn’t want to talk about it. But she pushed. God. Would she ever learn?

A huge truck in the street below brought her momentarily back to the present. She tensed, sure that it would be full of SS troopers. But it continued on toward the end of the dock, only to disgorge a few burly dockworkers. She released the breath she was holding. But, with her relief, the memories of their frantic flight returned.

The train had stopped in a village Clay finally identified as Freudenstradt. That’s where she killed the two Germans who captured Clay as he was returning with food for her. Even now, she jumped at the memory of how loud the gun sounded. She didn’t dare shut her eyes for fear she would see the corporal’s head explode. Clay had punched the other, but she’d been the one to kill him as he flailed dangerously close to where the baby was screaming.

They’d lost the suitcase there. Fortunately, she’d dropped one of the bottles into the recesses of the fur. Clay scooped Günter up and pulled her out into the alley. They ran until it was dark and they found a barn to hide in.

"What happened?" she demanded. "Why did they spot you? They were enlisted! You’re a captain! Why did they dare confront you?"

"Yeah. A captain that, it seems, most of the SS is looking for," he panted out.

"Oh, God. Fuerst?"

"Not yet. They’re somewhere between Ulm and here. I heard a major telling some of his men all about it. They even have pictures of our passport photos. All dark skinned, brown haired women with babies – of either sex – are to be stopped and held for Fuerst to question. Papers don’t matter. You could have a letter of transit and they would hold you."

"And?"

He turned away to scan the street.

"And!?"

"And we find another way. We have to get through the mountains, and the only way to do so will be by truck. Stay here."

"And if you don’t come back?"

He took her by the shoulders and stared into her eyes. "If I’m not back by morning, you’re going to have to turn yourself in. I don’t know anyone here. I’d hoped we could make it from Ulm to Offenburg on the passenger train. I know a doctor there who will help us. But there’s no way for you and the baby to make it alone. The mountains here are treacherous. I’m not even sure we’ll make it in a truck. But," he sighed deeply and released her, "we’ll try, Sarah. That’s all we can do."

She never asked him how he found the truck, or where he found the two uniforms complete with parkas. Not only had the coats kept them warm, but the hood hid her features.

Throughout it all, Günter had been good as gold; too good. He never cried, only whimpering his need. Clay found cloths they fashioned into diapers. She’d kept Günter as clean as possible. The canned milk was harder to come by, but somehow, Clay came through again. Each time they came to a roadblock, she would climb in back and hold the baby close to her chest, praying he wouldn’t give them away. The truck was full of boxes of boots, blankets and other supplies for the German garrison at Strasbourg. Clay had been convinced that they could board a train there.

They spent two nights with the doctor in Offenburg. They bathed and ate, and the doctor even checked out the baby. [He has a temperature. This is not good for him.]

[It isn’t good for any of us. Would you like to take him?] Clay asked snidely.

[I only tell you what I know.]

The doctor and Clay had disappeared for hours, returning late at night. At first, Clay wouldn’t discuss it with her, saying only that people would help them.

And again, they changed identities. When he explained the plan, she’d balked. "You’re going to take the baby? We’re going to split up?"

"They aren’t looking for a man with a baby. I’m to be Fritz Diedrich, a scientist working in Hamburg. I was married to a Frenchwoman and she died. I’m taking our son back to the only family left. Her father, a member of the Vichy government in Nancy, and her mother, will care for the child."

"And me?"

"You will go on the train to Strasbourg with another woman. You’re both going to work at a rather notorious beer hall there.

"As what, Clay?" she’d ground out.

"Look. Outside of Strasbourg we’re changing identities again. You’ll never get near the beer hall. It’s just the best way to get across the border!"

And, remarkably, it’d worked. Though she still couldn’t believe she’d sat there next to Ilsa Abt while SS troops checked everyone’s identity papers. She’d never been so embarrassed in her life. But Ilsa had been correct in her assessment. [Darling, if they’re staring at your bosom, they aren’t staring at your face.] The dress she’d worn barely covered her breasts. The bodice pushed them up, almost squeezing them out entirely. She’d been forced to flirt and giggle with the guard until the officer had yelled at his men to continue. Funny, neither man had commented on her completion. When she mentioned that to Ilsa, the blond shrugged. "We’re so close to both France and Italy here, we get all kinds. Though, had you dressed in dowdy clothes and scowled, they might’ve mentioned it."

Clay and Günter were two cars ahead of her, and her head had throbbed through the entire trip until she and Ilsa met up with him at the rendezvous point. There, Clay found them another resistance fighter, a dour French farmer who hid them in the back of his truck and was to drive them down the Rhine valley all the way to Belfort. The ride was colder than even the boxcar had been, with no hay to insulate them. The clothes that the farmer had supplied Sarah were simple and homespun, and lightweight shoes. The baby, who’d been fussy on the train, began to whimper almost constantly. He even stopped wanting his bottle.

"His nose is stuffed up. He can’t suck and breathe at the same time," Clay said. He couldn’t hide the worry in his voice.

"Do you know another doctor?"

"We’re in the underground now, Sarah. We go where they send us. I have no idea anymore."

"But wouldn’t he know someone who will help us?"

"The doctor in Offenburg couldn’t help us. We need to keep him as warm as we can." Fortunately, she’d kept the fur, stuffing it into the suitcase the doctor had given her. Clay insisted that she hold the baby close to her body. He sat against the side and pulled her to him. Then he covered her and the baby with the fur. For two days they did little but sit there. The farmer brought them cheese and water, and goat’s milk for the baby. What little he drank, he spit up. She could still summon the smell in the back of the truck.

They were into the second day of the trip, the snow had stopped falling, but the temperature had dropped even further. She was sure her feet would never be warm again. "We should’ve packed a pair or two of those boots," she sighed.

"I’ll find warmer clothes for us in Belfort," he responded wearily. They didn’t talk much. There wasn’t much to say.

She’d fallen asleep, her head resting on Clay’s chest, the baby wrapped in her arms. The crash would’ve sent them careening out the truck, but Clay managed to hold onto both her and the baby, and still brace himself. He moved her aside to peer out the flaps on the side of the truck. She’d struggled to join him only to find her legs were asleep. Günter whimpered so softly that she’d barely heard him.

The fog had rolled off the Rhine, shrouding everything in a murky, depressing gray. The farmer and a German were shouting at each other, but the fog was so heavy, they couldn’t see much. However, when another German voice joined the argument, Clay quickly nudged her to the back of the truck. They could see no one behind them, so Clay jumped down and reached up for the baby. She’d just climbed down, wobbling on legs unused for nearly two days, when they heard a hoarse curse, followed by two explosive shots. There was nothing they could do except run into the woods along the side of the road.

Back in the present, at the waterfront hotel, Clay stirred behind her, moaning softly. Her heart clinched when she realized it was her name he was whispering. The enormity of their – no, her – folly was like a crushing weight. She should have listened to him back in Munich and found an orphanage for Günter. She should have left him with the nuns. She couldn’t remember all the places they’d hidden. Hunger became their constant companion. There was stretch, she couldn’t remember how long, where they didn’t eat for several days. It was an act of extreme desperation on Clay’s part when he approached the small farmhouse to ask for help.

Three weeks of faces, and most were a blur. But she would always remember the face of the woman who’d betrayed them. The woman had wanted the fur, ratty though it was, and made her husband give them food, and boots to replace the thin shoes. The woman had seemed kind enough, and even insisted that they could spend the night in the barn. Clay hadn’t trusted her though. They were already deep in the woods when they heard the Germans arrive. Later he’d finally explained. "I saw her husband leave right after they showed us where to sleep."

They would’ve died had they not found the abbey outside Lavel. The mother superior who answered the ancient gate almost turned them away. But for the first time since she’d killed the two soldiers, Günter had taken that moment to cry piteously. Reluctantly, Sister Margaux allowed them inside. Once inside, the nuns had rallied round. They found them dry clothes, and one even supplied herbs to clear Günter’s nose, allowing him to eat to his heart’s content.

On the third day, they had a visitor, a cobbler from Cluny. They met in the high-ceilinged church, and their angry voices echoed off the stone walls. No names were used, but the man knew who they were.

[Are you mad? Do you know how many Germans are looking for you? Your pictures are everywhere. You’re wanted for murder and kidnapping.]

Clay sighed and translated for Sarah. Then he turned to the man. [Yes, I suppose we are. And, in Fuerst’s eyes, I suppose it’s even true.]

The man was unimpressed. [Bah! You’ll be the death of us all. You must leave here.]

[Will you help us?]

[Why should we?]

[Because, if you don’t, we’ll die and the baby will be returned to his Nazi father.]

[Many have already died, and the baby will only grow up to be another Boush and kill more Frenchmen.]

[Then help us because I can help you. I can get you supplies. More importantly, I can let people know that there are people here still fighting the Germans.]

She really hadn’t thought the man could be swayed. But Sister Margaux pulled him aside, and they talked rapidly, their hissed whispers seemed to float around them. But in the end, the man agreed to get them to Marseille.

Jaeger arrived two days later. She’d just fed and changed Günter when there was a furtive knock on their door. Clay opened it to find a frantic young postulate standing there. [You must come immediately. Bring everything. You can leave no evidence.]

They were two steps ahead of the soldiers who where pushing the nuns out of the way. They’d just turned the corner when Jaeger and his men burst into the small dormitory section. They were barely down the steps leading to the crypts when they heard shouts overhead. The nun led them through a heavy door down a passageway to an ancient room filled with dusty crypts. Unerringly, by the light of one candle, she pointed at a huge sarcophagus whose lid appeared too heavy to move.

"Quickly, we’ve used this in the past. The fulcrum allows us to swing back the lid. You must know the exact spot at which to push." As big as the stone coffin was, they were still cramped. Until that day, she’d never thought she was claustrophobic. But lying there on top, and to one side, of Clay, while he held the baby in his free arm, a very real fear of being buried alive was born. She began to shake, and even Clay’s calming caresses on her back weren’t helping much.

"Calm down," he whispered in her ear. "The baby’s starting to get upset, too. If he starts crying, not only are we dead, so are all those nuns up there."

It seemed an eternity, but finally, the nuns came to lead them back upstairs. As she blinked her eyes in the dim, yet blinding candlelight of the church, she saw the man from Cluny standing there, scowling at them. Clay handed her the baby and grabbed him. [What happened?]

Try as he might, the man couldn’t twist free. [Fool! I told you, they’re looking everywhere. This is a logical place to look. You’re lucky that they had no idea of the secret catch on the crypt.]

[No. The nuns are lucky. Now, is it safe to leave?] Clay snapped.

[Bah! What is safe?]

Clay pulled the man closer. [These men have chased us across Germany and France. Why are they always finding us?]

[I will show you.] Clay released him, and the man reached into his pocket. Pulling out a folded paper, he shoved it at Clay. Sarah, rocking the very fussy Günter, moved to see what it was. "Oh, my God." She looked at Clay for his reaction. His face seemed to drain of all the blood there. She knew she had to be strong, though she wasn’t sure why her knees didn’t buckle. Gulping, she finally managed a weak, "Well, at least it’s a lot of money."

Clay wadded the wanted poster and threw it in the corner. "Ten thousand Francs will buy a lot of information. They did a good job on the pictures. Damn it. Jaeger’s good." He looked into her eyes and managed a tired smirk. "But we’re better." [Will you still help us?], he asked the Frenchman.

The man sighed and nodded. [It’s what we do. It is little enough, but we cannot let the traitors in Vichy win. You’ll make sure we get the supplies that we need?] The man pulled Clay to a quiet corner of the church.

Sister Margaux signaled her to follow. Once in the cozy office, one of the nuns brought tea, and together, they sipped in silence. Finally, Sister Margaux sighed, and in halting English said, "Supplies are already hard to come by. The Germans steal what they cannot buy. We have a small garden, thank God. But there will be much killing in the years to come."

"I’m sorry that we put your convent in danger."

Sister Margaux shrugged. "Will you leave him with us?"

For a long time, she actually considered it, but shook her head. "No. If they return, they’ll find him."

"We’ve had several children left with us. We find homes in the area." Again, she shrugged. "But now, it’s harder. It will be harder for you. He’s not well yet."

"I promised his mother I’d get him to safety. It isn’t safe here. No. We’ll take him with us."

"Sarah?" His voice snapped her out of her reverie. She turned away from the window overlooking the harbor. He was sitting up in the bed, the sheet around his lap, scratching his bare chest. "What time is it?"

"About seven, I think. You should get ready," she said.

"I’ll be just a minute. He grabbed up his clothes and hurried down the hallway. She sighed and let the blanket fall around her feet. As she dressed, she tried hard to focus on the coming day, but the guilt was too sharp.

Farmers’ carts. Hay, chickens, even a small cart carrying two cows to market. Their mode of transportation changed daily. She hadn’t thought they’d ever reach Marseille, or that she’d ever be warm again. Two days into the jostling, damp cold nightmare, Günter became sick again, only worse. The nuns had given her several blankets, but still, she knew he was cold. Once, when he managed a weak sneeze, great glops of green slime erupted from his nose, and he was able to breathe – and scream out his discomfort. The farmer almost ejected them, but fortunately, the bottle calmed him down. That was the last food he would take. By the time they reached the outskirts of Marseille, he was burning up, his eyes were glazed, and she was sure he was going to die.

Risking everything, Clay took them to the hospital on the edge of town. He left her in a small café down the street. "It will be better if I go alone."

"Clay?"

"Sarah. My own mother wouldn’t recognize me with this beard. You however," he reached out and caressed her cheek, "still look beautiful. You’ll have to trust me."

"I do. I just…" She gently kissed Günter’s cheek and wept at how hot he was. "I’ll wait here." Clay left her with enough French coins to buy something to eat. The soup was hot, but she was so worried that she barely touched it.

When he returned, less than an hour later – without the baby – she almost attacked him. But the look on his face gave her the control she needed to sit and listen to his explanation. He ordered soup before quietly telling her, "The doctor who examined Günter yelled so loud, I’m surprised you didn’t hear him. I pretended to be a farmer from Salon. He thinks that Günter has pneumonia. Makes sense, I guess. He’ll keep him for the night. We can’t stay here though."

"Do you think the Gestapo gave them copies of the wanted poster?"

He nodded. "I saw it. But like I said, I don’t look like my picture, and Günter is so sick, he doesn’t match the description." He took her hand and stood up. "Come on. We need to find a place to stay."

They’d cleaned up at the first rundown little hotel. Clay trimmed the three-week growth of beard to a neat goatee. "You look like a young Emil Zola," she said trying to lighten the mood somewhat.

He rolled his eyes. "Just so I don’t look like an old Clayton Webb." However, he pulled out a pair of glasses and put them on. They’d looked just prosperous enough to go to another hotel and change yet again. "We’ll leave the old clothes here, I paid for a week. They won’t notice when we don’t return."

It was there she’d finally asked, "Where are you getting the money for this?" He showed her the money belt that had never left his stomach. "I gave the last of the cash to… Antonio."

"Antonio?"

"Yeah, the cobbler from the convent."

"He told you his name!?"

He’d rolled his eyes. "Code name. We picked Merchant of Venice."

"Gee. You’re the money man, so that would make you Shylock?"

"Yeah, and you’re Portia."

"At least I look the part. So if you gave all the money away…" she stopped when he handed her a folded piece of paper. "Oh. A line of credit for Adam Corwin from the Chase Manhattan Bank. Oh!" She stared at the passport. "There’s no picture and what about me?"

"You’re my wife – you don’t need one. I’ve got the name of a guy…"

"Let me guess, Lorenzo."

"You know your Shakespeare characters, I’m impressed."

"Ha-ha. What, you think only Harvard men know things?"

It was the closest they’d come to joking with each other in a very long time. His face cleared for a moment. "Actually, he’s part of another network."

The mood chilled somewhat. "You really do get around, don’t you?"

"Yeah, and you should be glad. I’ll take this, get my picture taken, have my status changed to married, and all you have to do is stay at the new hotel by the harbor. You can’t grow a beard."

"How are we going to check on the baby?"

"I’ll do that last. I’ll go back to the first hotel, change back into my old clothes, scuff my face up a bit and go and check on him. Hopefully, the smell of those clothes will keep them from checking me out too much."

That had been two days ago. They’d changed hotels twice, ending up in this rather nice harbor inn last night. Each night, he watched while she tried to sleep. She would’ve never made it this far without him. She knew what she needed to do now.

When Clay returned from the bathroom, he was wearing clean peasant clothes. "You want to wait for me at the restaurant, or at the hotel? I’ll get the baby and…"

"Stop." She reached out and took him in her arms. "You said he was still sick."

"There’s nothing we can do about it, Sarah." He pushed her back. "We don’t have time. I’ve got to get to the first hotel and change into the dirty clothes and…"

"What name did you give?"

"Name? Francois Dubreuil. But he’ll be little Abby Corwin on the passport."

"Will there be a doctor on the ship?"

"It’s a freighter that will be at sea for two days, Sarah. No!"

"And if we leave him?"

He just stared at her. "I don’t believe you!" He fought to keep his temper under control. "We aren’t leaving him. Too many people have died to get him here."

"And you’ve promised people that you would help them if they helped us. How do you know that Jaeger and Fuerst won’t be there?"

"They couldn’t have recognized me."

"They couldn’t have followed us across Germany and France, but they did."

"It will be fine. Hang in there, Sarah. We can do this."

They gathered up their suitcase. He donned the fashionable heavy wool coat over his peasant garb and hurried down the stairs. "You got the story straight? I’ll drive to near the restaurant, park down the street, and you’ll walk there. I’ll walk to the hotel, change and go retrieve Günter."

She didn’t like it. But she nodded. Once they reached the car, he drove a distance, then shed his coat, pulling on a coarse sweater. Before he started again, she pulled him to her. Their lips met, and she knew she might be kissing him for the last time. "I love you, Clay. Please, keep an eye out."

"I will. I promise you; it will be okay." They drove in silence until he parked around the corner from the restaurant. He handed her a packet. "There’s money, and the passport. If I’m not back by 10:30, you leave without me. The guard at the boat is expecting to see this passport. You remember the password?"

"Yes and how much to bribe him. But he’ll be expecting us both!"

"Tell him whatever you think you have to. When you get to Gibraltar, go to British commander there." He pressed a gun into her hand.

"But you’re sure everything will be okay," she said bitterly.

"Just in case."

It was very cold, even inside the small café. Several people in the café had kept their coats on, so she felt inconspicuous leaving her hood up. She ordered tea and waited.

She breathed a sigh of relief when she spotted him shambling down the street heading toward the hospital, his head bent against the cold, hands clutching his sweater to his neck. She waited. She tried to imagine the forms to fill out, the procedures, the time it would take for him to get the baby and leave. But then, she saw two cars pull up in front of the hospital. She recognized Fuerst immediately. Jaeger climbed out of the other car. There was a driver and soldier in each car, and they followed closely as Fuerst and Jaeger ran up the steps.

She stood, knocking over the table, and fled from the restaurant. She made her way down to the car. She wasn’t even thinking. Clay needed her. God, please don’t let them kill him. Please, just let me help him. One last time. I’ll never ask for anything else.

She pulled the car around and down the block. She waited for more Nazis, but all she saw were the two soldiers dragging Clay out of the door. Only Jaeger followed, she supposed that Fuerst was checking on his son. They’d been so arrogant thinking they could pull this off.

*****

«I can’t believe it. So close. I should have known. Please Sarah, get away.» He wouldn’t look toward the restaurant. Even as they dragged him down the steps, he wondered what kind of torture they would use on him. Could he withstand it?

"So, Herr Webb." Jaeger sneered as they reached the car. "You thought you could escape the Reich? No one escapes me. I know how you think. I know how I will break you. I will find your whore, and you will give me the rest of the names."

"I don’t know what you’re talking about," Clay gritted out.

"Very good. I shall have fun getting you to talk." He snapped his fingers. "Throw him into the back of the car. You two, get in back with him, and when the others come out, one of them will drive. I will ride with…."

He never finished. The shot rang out, and he crumbled to the ground. One of the soldiers was stupid enough to release Clay to check on Jaeger. Clay wrenched himself free from the other and started to run when he heard the engine whine followed by screeching tires. The door was already open, and he flung himself inside without a word.

She pulled away; flooring the engine, swerving so hard he fell against her. Pushing himself off, he finally said, "Two streets down. That will take us all the way to the docks."

"Got it." She made the turn, and he settled back to keep watch.

"Gun?"

"It was on the seat."

He found it on the floor, and turned to keep watch out the back window. "Damn it. They’re behind us."

She didn’t even ask, but turned at the first street she came to. Then turned again, and again. For once, their luck held true for a bit. She never hit a dead end. Clay tried to keep track of her turns, but soon, he was hopelessly lost.

"Did they know your name on the passport? Can we still make the boat?

"We’ll have to try. I don’t think they have a clue about the boat, but I don’t know. The doctor had become suspicious. A bulletin had been sent that they were to inform the local police if any baby was brought in under suspicious circumstances."

"Fuerst recognized Günter?"

"I don’t think Fuerst had even seen him yet. They were just checking in."

"I knew it! I knew…"

"Turn left at the next street. I think I saw the harbor."

"Can we chance it?"

"Pull down that side street." He found what he was looking for, and had her turn again. The alley was very narrow. In fact, neither of them could open the door. It was a struggle, but he managed to change into the fine clothes that matched what Sarah wore. "We’re going to chance it."

They had to hurry as it was. She was surprised that there were only a few soldiers on the dock, though there were a dozen Vichy police checking papers. "Clay?"

[Papers, sir.] The policeman studied Clay’s passport. [It says here that you were a professor of history at the Institut Catholique de Paris.]

[Yes. We’ve been trying to go home since the fall.] Clay was careful to repeat the code phrase he’d been given earlier word for word. He handed the guard an envelope with the required bribe. [I would greatly appreciate it if you could allow us to board.]

The guard checked the envelope before putting it in his coat. [I haven’t got all day!] he snapped, waving them through.

Up top, the second officer scowled at them but led them to one of three cabins, all of which were occupied. [Dinner is at 6:00. Nothing before then. This isn’t the Aquatania.]

Once they were alone and the door was closed, Clay gave a deep sigh. "We should be okay now." She just looked at him for a long time, her eyes dazed. "Sarah? Sweetheart? Surely you know I did everything I could. If I thought…"

"Stop it!" she cried. "It was my fault. Not yours. Oh, God. All that for nothing. All those people dead for nothing. Lise dead! For nothing! Her son is with that monster! He knows who you are!" Her voice steadily rose until she was nearly hysterical.

Clay knew he should slap her, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He let her rant. The departure preparations covered her cries. Finally, as the boat pulled away from the dock, she collapsed onto the small bunk. "Now what?" Her voice was dead.

He knelt before her. "You think everything is ruined? It isn’t. Oh, we messed up. But only you and I know that." He took her hands in his. "Don’t worry. I’ll make it right."

"How can you say that? Everything you’ve worked for…"

"Hush. The resistance in Berlin is intact. No one there was compromised."

"Lise?"

"Lise died a heroine. She died for a cause she believed in. Had she been captured, Fuerst and Jaeger would’ve managed to get some names from her."

"And Günter?"

"I don’t know, Sarah. We can only hope that there’s some spark of decency in the man. I don’t know." He stood up. "Lie down. I want check out who the other passengers are. See about being able to eat in the cabin."

"Clay!"

"I’ll be right back."

She didn’t lie down. In fact, she paced the entire time he was gone. She hated what had happened. Hated the way she felt. Guilt was only part of what she was feeling. There was little – nothing – they could do about Günter now. What she really hated was how frightened and impotent she’d become. Even saving Clay from Jaeger had been an act of utter desperation. She’d faced down gangsters and helped save Harm from Clark Palmer. But this past year had shown her true evil, and it scared her on a very deep level. Would anything ever be right again?

With each step, anger began to replace her fear. She wanted to avenge Lise. She wanted retribution for the people of the SS St. Louis and for the poor souls she’d seen in the cattle cars. She wanted to do what she could to fight all the Fuersts and Jaegers that Germany seemed to be spawning like flies on a three-day old carcass.

"Sarah?"

So lost in her furious thoughts, she hadn’t heard him open the door. "Problems?" she snapped. Of course there would be.

He eyed her carefully. "No. Actually all I have to do now is figure out what to do when we reach Gibraltar. I just hope I can get you back to the States with no passport. The British can be prickly about some things."

"No!" She stepped up to him. "I’m not going back. Why? What would I do?"

"I’m sure Henry will…"

She grasped the lapels of his fine suit coat. Her eyes were almost blazing in her anger. "I go back home, and he would be a fool not to fire me."

"He can fire you in England."

"True. Then you’ll just have to let me help you fight those bastards."

 Next:  I'll Be Seeing You

 Home     ::    JAG Index     ::    e-mail