Claire woke to the same grim scene. She rolled onto her back and saw the low, arched ceiling hovering above. The light on the desk was off, leaving only the weak stream of light from the slit of the curtain. Claire sat up. She rubbed her neck and yawned, feeling the weight of the jacket Carsten had given her earlier.

"Hungry?" Carsten's voice broke through the muffled sounds of the grinding engine. He sat on the stool, peering through the dimness at her. The end of his cigarette brightened.

Claire refused to acknowledge him. She wanted to hang onto the lies of her dreams a moment longer. Parties in New York danced in her memory. She saw friends and acquaintances, shopped and ate at restaurants that smelled wonderful.

"Yeah, I could eat," Claire answered after the long pause.

"It would concern me a great deal if you could not," Carsten joked.

Claire swung her legs over the edge of the bunk. His joke died in her coolness. She pulled his jacket tighter around her small frame.

"I'll be back with some dinner," Carsten said.

Carsten's shadow blotted the light as he left. Claire lifted her eyes. The hatchway yawned before her. The men who now owned her life were at work on the other side. They maintained a businesslike calm, and she assumed this was a good sign. Beyond them, the captain stood by the other hatch, near the small kitchen. He chatted with someone on the other side, and two sets of legs moved in the shadows. Carsten leaned out, smiling and talking. The cigarette bobbled on his lip. He'd traded his suit for a pair of work pants and a mariner's sweater. It was more natural on him, especially since he hadn't shaved and his hair was tousled.

Claire studied him, deciding he better resembled the title Fritzy than the appellation of Apollo. Still, she wondered how someone who appeared so virtuous could also be such a monster. Her eyes trailed down the jacket she wore. It smelled of him. She stretched her arms out. The cuffs still hung past her fingertips, so she rolled them. Stretching her legs out, she looked at her feet and frowned. Her toe had made a hole in her stocking. Thinking about the devil in gift wrap, she pulled the toe of her stocking and watched it sag back. Such nice things could be so easily destroyed by one tiny hole.

Carsten had been surprisingly kind since they'd left the yacht. She tried to remind herself of the gun he waved in the theater, in the car and in her home. He hadn't shown the gun since he'd closed her and her aunt in the yacht cabin. She supposed he found no need to. Others brandished their weaponry for him. He made them do his dirty work. Much like her stocking, in him, she saw much squandered worth. She returned to the hole her toe had made, as though pulling at it would make the threads bind back together.

"Here you are." Carsten's voice startled her, as he entered the hatch and came through the curtain.

Claire opened her mouth to speak, but she closed it quickly, deciding not to. He stood there holding a plate of food and bearing a gentle smile. Claire took the offering and sat it on her lap. The food resembled a half palatable blue plate special from a roadside diner. Regardless, it was food and she was starved. Claire picked up the fork, assured the flavors would soon remind her that his kindness was only to curry favor with her father-when payment came, Carsten would want her father to remember his efforts and extend his gratitude a bit further.

Carsten set a tin mug down then snatched up the luggage, placing it beside Claire on the bench. He grabbed his stool and set it beside the small cabinet. He sat, stretching his legs the length of the room at Claire's feet. Claire stuffed the first forkful in her mouth, careful to keep her feet away from him. She soon forgot the uncomfortable arrangement, impressed by the fare they'd served. The Germans seemed to have standards after all. These men faced the possibility of a horrible death day after day, so she supposed their superiors would supply them with the best. She eyed her plate, knowing how food could offer consolation.

"How is it?" Carsten asked, noticing her hesitation. He drew a small notebook from his pocket and flipped through the pages.

Claire murmured between bites. She wondered if he meant to write down every detail, including how she liked the meals. She cast her eyes sideways, continuing to eat, but more curious about what he did. Maybe it was his diary.

"It probably does not compare to Parker House, but-it will keep you from starving," he added, not paying her full attention as he read something in the notebook. He found a small pen in his pocket and scribbled before putting it back in his pocket.

Claire swallowed. "Where's my aunt?"

"She-is sitting with your father," Carsten said, taking a long drag to finish his smoke. He put it out on the floor and let the butt drop through the grates.

"What could she possibly want with him?" Claire said, disgusted. She lost her appetite and her curiosity about his notebook. Pushing at her food with the fork, she thought of the day long ago that led up to all this. "If there is a god-" Claire prayed.

Claire fell silent. She dug her eyes into the panel door opposite of where she sat, trembling with anger.

"You have already learned that things are not always what they seem," Carsten said. "Perhaps that can help you to survive this time. Your aunt is most likely bartering for your lives-as the alternative seems so deplorable to you."

"You expect me to abandon my beliefs and become one of you?" Claire asked.

"What are your beliefs, Miss Healey?" Carsten asked, leaning forward.

Claire set her plate on the table behind his head. He awaited her answer without flinching at the move.

"I hardly think this is the time for a philosophical discussion," Claire replied.

"Then I will leave you to your supper." Carsten stood. He picked up the plate and handed it back to her. "Do not waste your food. I am not sure when I will be able to feed you again, and these men would not appreciate their rations being thrown away."

Claire reluctantly took back the plate, frowning. He was just as evil as he was good-looking, regardless of how much sense he made. Though things may not be what they seem, he still delivered every direction with a thorn. But if she wanted to survive, she'd best stay smart-she couldn't afford to antagonize her captor.

Claire finished her meal alone, then lay back on the bunk and tried to relax. Her mind surged with thoughts, from how her father had betrayed his family to what Sarry and Eddie might be doing that night. Her mind eventually slipped to memories of her mother. Claire and her aunt may very well suffer the same fate but more likely, they would face imprisonment in a work camp. She and her aunt would never comply with Father's wishes. He would need to be rid of them to complete his plans. Claire imagined her father would remarry and start a new family. He held no remorse for what he did and he would continue on just as well.

"How was dinner, little girl?" Aunt's voice called from the hatch. She tried hard to be cheerful, never one to gloss over anything. In another time and place, the question would have been, "Did you eat their slop?"

"Fine," Claire replied, pushing at the empty plate. "I was just sitting here feeling sorry for myself."

"Well, you're the smarter of the two of us," Aunt said. She sighed miserably, touching her hair.

"What is it?" Claire asked, sitting up.

"Your father," Aunt said. She set Claire's case back on the floor and sat beside her. "I don't know how you could be his. When I see your mother again, I'll beat out of her who really fathered you."

Claire smiled, relieved that she bore no likeness to the devil to whom she owed her name. She touched Aunt's arm.

"What did he say?"

"Nothing really," Aunt answered. "He just speaks in that condescending manner. He won't speak to any of the crew, just Mr. Reiniger. It's as if they don't exist. I suppose that should be some consolation. He generally hates everyone who isn't of use to him."

"I wonder how he'll talk to Hitler," Claire said.

This made them both smile.

"Well, if your father doesn't tell him how to run things, I'll tell him where to go!"

***

The days blended together. Claire's only relief from the dreariness of the sub and the monotony of the engines was when Carsten took her above decks. On the tower of the bridge, she took in the fresh air until the Allied Navy chased them back deep below the waves. The captain made it his business to avoid confrontations, and Claire was thankful for it. Their ordeal managed to save lives on her side of the war. The sting of facing death eased in light of saving some Joes.

On one such event, Claire looked far out over the gently rolling waves. The desolate tract stretched for miles. The moon hung as a silver smile in a sky of sparkling dust, and from up there, the sound of the engines was almost bearable. She gripped the rail and shut her eyes, silently counting her temper down. The cold spray felt invigorating as it misted over her face. She hated the idea of going back inside with the stink. Bad enough that she had to wear the captain's stinking weather jacket when above decks. She just wanted to stand there and pretend she had taken a shower. It would have been perfect if only the eyes boring into her back were swept over the side.

"Tomorrow morning the coast should be on the horizon," Carsten said, joining her, he flicked the last of a cigarette into the ocean. He scratched at his scruffy chin, grown in over the many days at sea. He wore a weather jacket and hat, the outfit issued both to him and her father when they had boarded. The men had been expected to board alone, so few provisions remained for the women. "We will be in France-Lorient."

Claire's eyes popped open. The scene before her was striking, but it wasn't as sweet as when Fritzy stood invisible on the other side of the bridge. She would have settled for him just keeping quiet, but he never did.

"Is that the last we'll finally see of you?" Claire asked, lofting the words at him like a punch.

"Unfortunately for you-we will be spending a great deal of time together." Carsten smiled at her.

The insinuation was clear. He liked to insinuate things when she got feisty with him.

"Unfortunate for you, Fritzy," Claire said back to him, cracking a sarcastic smile.

Carsten chuckled. "And I thought we were getting to be fantastic friends, Liberty Belle."

Carsten touched the collar of his jacket that poked from beneath the captain's coat and turned to the sea. Placing his foot on the bottom of the rail, he folded his arms to rest on the top and displayed his pleasure that she still wore the garment.

"Maybe you're not such a great snoop after all," Claire said, holding her chin up high.

"Maybe not. But so far, I have been able to evade the best of your men, living right under their noses for months."

"I bet you're pretty proud," Claire said. She set her fist on her hip and faced him, gripping the rail with her other hand to steady herself. "But you didn't put one over on me, did you?"

"Quite," Carsten said. "Would you be proud if you were doing such a fine job for your side?" He paused, eyeing her. "But you are not, are you?" He placed his fingers on her chin, lifting it to better catch her reaction. "As for you-I think you are dealt with."

"Oh, I don't know," Claire said, choking back the emotions that rose within her. The beard failed to ruin his handsome features. Now he simply looked like a strapping Viking god instead of a fair Greek one. She stepped to the side, reclaiming her space and senses. "I bet I could have you fooled in the matter of a minute and get myself right out of this."

"Look, Fräulein," Carsten moved closer to tower over her, hands on hips. His eyes took on the usual iciness. "I am the only friend you will have in the Reich."

"Some friend," Claire snarled, tipping her face toward him.

Carsten shrugged his shoulders and grinned. His eyes slipped to her mouth and then back. The ice glinted deviously in that look.

Claire huffed and gave him her back, folding her arms. She watched the sea roll, wishing it would swallow him alive. The night sky and waves no longer calmed her nerves. She shoved away from the rail and went to the hatch. Without her nervy escort, she climbed the ladder to cut short her time in the fresh air. She needed to hide beside her aunt where he couldn't press himself against her or remind her of what might become of her.

***

Carsten waited for Claire to disappear. He'd lifted his chin when she did and gazed out over the ocean. He counted to ten, by which point, he expected her to be tucked behind the curtain. Pushing off the rail, he made his way below and closed the hatch. When he reached the deck below, he eyed the diligently working crew. The captain faced him, expectant of a report, since babysitting the women made him twice as useful to the cause.

"Everything's clear," Carsten said, pulling the hat from his head.

The captain nodded with a wink. A handful of men ran up the ladder to take the next watch. While they ran along the surface, they could move much faster, but they were vulnerable to carriers and destroyers.

"I need to radio my contact," Carsten told the captain, removing his wet jacket.

Carsten lingered to observe the crew and give the captain time to forward any messages. When the man held his silence, Carsten went about his duty.

The radio room was situated on the opposite side of the same passage as the captain's bunk, next to the hydrophone station. Carsten didn't bother to check his charges first. They chattered in a hissing little exchange of which he already knew the dialogue. Right then, his mind was focused on things other than an angry girl. Few opportunities to report made themselves available, so he passed on tormenting them for the time. The thin panel door opened easily. A man with his ear to the radio looked up at him, startled.

"Herr Reiniger," he said, smiling and saluting. The radio man was a friendly, weatherworn veteran with striking platinum hair and oddly dark eyes.

"Make yourself scarce for twenty minutes," Carsten said with a slight smile and raise of the hand. He hung his wet things off a pipe.

"Of course, Herr Reiniger," the radio man smiled at him, pulling off his headphones.

The crewman evacuated the radio room, leaving Carsten alone with the equipment. The radio sat on a crowded and paper-littered table. He slid the door shut and moved the stool so that he could see out the window set high on the door when he sat.

Carsten placed the discarded headphones on his head, adjusting the cups over his ears. No one hovered outside. He took up the microphone and rotated the frequency dial carefully. His eyes returned to the window.

When he found his frequency, Carsten spoke into the microphone. He repeated the words verirrt Adler. His eyes kept watch on the window. He repeated the phrase again. The radio crackled back: Unterschlupf.

Carsten smiled. "Sorry I'm late."