The staff of the Sicherheitsdienst were buzzing around the room outside of Oberst Braun's office. They had been standing over a transmission tape moments before. Of course it was in code, but though they had to translate it, the mood of the men appeared to say they already knew what was on that tape. Braun, an older man primped in and preened with the fastidiousness of his type, set the file he had been reading back on his desk. His serious aspect grew more severe when an underofficer approached him and his stoicism cracked once he read the missive the man handed over. His hollering couldn't be heard at that distance however, for he was being watched from the scope of a rifle aimed at him from a window in the building across the street.

Sitting back on his haunches, a man dressed in brown from his fedora to his fine loafers set his rifle scope aside. Had anyone walked into the abandoned rooms he was using to spy on the SD from, it would be clear that he was there for secret purposes. Behind him, a younger, darker man waited for instruction, but the elder of the two remained pensive. His concerns were not with anyone walking in on him, he was thinking of a young man he had invested a lot of time into. What had just happened was what he had feared was going to happen before he could make the final move himself.

"What are your orders, Herr Kohl?" The darker man asked.

His name was Löic Frehner and he was the same dark, heavy-browed young man who had helped Kohl through many assignments since his last lad was sent state side. Born in Switzerland to privilege and advantage, Löic was a natural spy. He spoke several languages fluently and liked to face danger as often as he could get before it. Though he was dusky, he promised to be just like the boy who had left the nest on other assignments.

"I'm going to wager they just got a whiff of the scent they've been seeking," Kohl said.

Löic looked troubled by this. He packed up the rifle in a case while he waited for his counterpart to gather himself. Kohl rubbed a finger across his lips beneath a graying mustache. He was quite troubled by the development. Löic placed his hand on Kohl's shoulder to reassure him.

"Carsten-Carsten-what are you up to?" Kohl mumbled to himself.

The packing was done and so was their unauthorized stake out.

"That's a good man, Herr Frehner," Kohl said acknowledging the effort on his behalf. "Shall we, then?"

Löic nodded with a grin. They abandoned the rooms for other places and other investigations.

***

It was hard to tell that the world clashed in war with the lawn so lush and the sky so pure. From the perspective of Switzerland, things appeared, at least at first glance, to be peaceful. The country somehow managed to remain neutral, sitting in the middle of the room while the dance went on all around it. That didn't omit the occasional event, but peace dwelled here much more often than not.

Irene Healey had seen this same garden every late afternoon for nearly a decade since she came to Waldau. The staff there made an intriguing mix of devils and angels. Together, they kept the patients on their toes, issuing judgments and punishments as they desired. Somehow Irene evaded most of their trouble. The precarious status she enjoyed was merely due to special instructions from her once loving husband who pulled the strings of the doctors through his pockets.

Irene drew in a deep breath. She tightened the bathrobe sash around her waist. She wasn't crazy and hadn't been crazy a day in her life. The failure of the staff to care or acknowledge that fact galled. They spoke down to her, placating her anger with soft words and idiotic activities. The nurse would come back any minute to take her to her room or drag her off to some infuriatingly childish craft time, then speak down to her like she needed her hand held to make it through a day. She folded her hands and tried to hide the emotions from her face. She'd never needed such painstaking guidance and it sat sorely with her, but if they watched, and they always did, they would be there in moments to address her anger. She hated their questions. Is the sun too much? Are you feeling all right? Do you wish to see the doctor? Do you want to discuss what ran through your mind just then? Is it very serious? What does this blot look like? The questions went on endlessly.

Irene squeezed her fingers into a tight fist. She heard the tread of shoes on the gravel path behind her. They had noticed. They always noticed. The answers to the questions flooded her mind, so practiced, having answered them so often before. Yes, I'm fine. The sun feels wonderful. I am only thinking of home and my daughter, of how much I miss her and how I should really be with her, not here. No, really I am fine. I don't need the doctor. I don't wish to discuss my thoughts with anyone. This has never been very serious, though you seem to need to make it so. I merely discovered that my husband conspired with Nazis. He gave them our money. He fired our workers to give them more. He fired certain men to comply with their new order. I am not crazy. I know what I saw and I know what I heard. It's a damn ink blot!

"Missus Healey." A woman's voice stung her ears.

Many of the staff knew English, though poorly. Irene had learned enough Swiss to make up the difference. They prattled in their language, eyeing her, knowing she didn't understand. She hoped one day to answer them clearly in their own language and put an end to it.

"Missus Healey," the woman repeated, when Irene didn't respond.

"Nurse," Irene said. She loosened her fists. Her nails had dug deep into her flesh, leaving red crescents. She drew one hand out of sight at her waist to conceal the damage and the other she bent at the elbow to chew her nail. They hated nail biters and she hated them.

"There's a Mister Mehler to see you," the nurse said.

Irene's chin snapped around. "Who?"

"Mister Mehler," the nurse repeated. "He's come all the way from Boston-from your doctor's office in America. He's here to check up on you."

"There's no Mehler in Doctor O'Reilly's office," Irene murmured.

Quite a bit of time had passed and it was within reason that Dr. O'Reilly had hired new staff. Despite the sense that made, something was off. Why would her American doctor send anyone there to check on her? O'Reilly had ceased to do anything with her case since she'd come to Switzerland. Besides, he would come himself if he chose to pick up the case again. Unless, something had finally happened to her dear husband?

"Now don't tell him any of your stories, Missus Healey. Doctor Klaesi doesn't like it. We really treat you rather well here and you know that. Tell the truth and I'll make sure there's extra dessert for you this evening," the nurse cooed.

"Why, you intolerable thing," Irene said, jumping to her feet. "I am no child to be bated with sweets so I will lie for you. Treat me well? You keep me locked up here because my husband buys your silence. I should tell him everything you do to these people. What you threaten me with."

"Missus Healey," the nurse tried to interrupt.

"I won't be silenced. My daughter is suffering God knows what at that maniac's hand. He's the one who should be in here, not me," Irene continued despite the nurse's efforts to quiet her.

"That will be all, nurse," a man's voice interrupted.

The women looked toward the gravel walk. A man in a brown suit stood there, wearing a fedora and carrying a brown briefcase. He smiled beneath a thin moustache and peered at them through brown eyes.

Irene noticed something strange about the man, something intangible. She'd seen it on her husband before she'd made her discovery. This man kept a secret. She eyed him warily, taking her seat on the bench once more.

"That will be all," he repeated calmly.

The nurse reluctantly gave up her charge. She shook her head and walked away from Irene, muttering in her native tongue.

Irene listened to the nurse's retreat as she scrutinized the grass before her feet. Her wary gaze went to the newcomer.

"Doctor O'Reilly didn't send you," Irene said. She cast her eyes back over the lawn. "What do you want?"

The man joined her at the bench. He set his case beside it.

"May I?"

Irene glanced at him and then at the vacant seat. She waved her hand and pushed away from him. He sat, but she kept her eyes on the trees in the distance.

"No," he began. "Doctor O'Reilly didn't send me."

Irene glanced at him questioningly. He gazed across the garden, seemingly distracted or disinterested in her.

"Aren't you going to ask who did?"

"My husband," Irene sneered.

"No," Mehler answered with a chuckle. He made a study of the trees instead of her. "Mrs. Healey," he said with a deep drawl. "Your husband has gone missing. He took his new assistant with him, a Mr. Carsten Reiniger or Denny O'Brien, depending on who you talk to." He fell silent for a moment. "They also took your daughter and sister."

"What?" Irene gasped.

"We have reason to believe he liquidated all his assets and is taking them to Germany. That's what he'd prepared for before he sent you up the river, claiming you have-dementia, or some such thing."

"Claire! Is she all right? Oh, my dear, Noreen."

"The government," he continued in an even tone as though she had not asked her desperate question. "The United States government received intelligence that he helped to fund the Nazis through his factory in Boston. I'm guessing he got wind we found him out."

"He has my daughter?" Irene asked. As her mind tried to absorb the information about her daughter and sister, she paid little attention to what else he said.

Mehler nodded. "Took them on his yacht a few days back."

"Where are they? Have you found them?" Irene begged, growing frantic.

The man lifted his hand to quiet her. Irene looked at his fingers. Her eyes shifted to the nearby staff who regarded them suspiciously. She carefully sat back on the bench and guarded her emotions, just like she'd practiced.

"We know he did this to you, put you in here," the man said.

The pair slipped into silence. Irene's eyes wildly searched the lawn's expanse.

"I am going to get you out, but you must be patient. The time has to be right."

"What do you mean, the time has to be right?" Irene said. She didn't want to spend another moment there.

"There's an allied operative set to intercept them. If I make the wrong move now, it may tip off your husband. I don't want to put the operation in a lurch."

"Operative?"

The man slowly nodded again, "Allied operatives have been watching for a few years now."

"You knew everything," Irene snickered. "Why didn't you stop him before he did this to me? Years of my life are gone forever. I never saw Claire grow up."

"We didn't know everything. We were gathering evidence," the man said. He glanced over his shoulder as a nurse strolled too close with a patient in a wheelchair. "We can't make up the time lost to you," he added, bringing his attention back to the trees before them. "But you aren't in any danger so long as we keep you here. Just keep your nose down. If we left you home-there's no telling what lengths your husband would have gone to for your silence."

"Not in any danger?" Irene said. "Do you know what they do to patients in here, Mr. Mehler? Patients like me, the ones they label with dementia praecox? What my husband paid our doctor to tell them I have? What they were paid to believe? They make my husband look like Shirley Temple."

"Yes, I do," Mehler answered. "Do you think your doctor alone could stop them from testing treatments on you? It certainly wasn't your husband."

Irene's shoulders slumped and her eyes widened. They'd pulled the strings. They knew what he planned and kept watch. They'd left her there to rot.

"Why?" Irene asked. "What do you care now?"

"Just in case you were complicit, but got too feisty for the old man." Mehler smiled. Irene glared at him. "At the time, you had a little girl at the mercy of a beast-there was no telling when or if he would demand her back from her aunt."

"He didn't though," Irene said. "You gave him more time to conspire."

"Yes, we did," Mehler said. "And you're our witness. We need what you know."

"If you keep my sister and my daughter safe," Irene said, "I will do anything."

Irene's heart pounded. Her chance to escape might slip through her fingers. She didn't dare hope until she stood in her living room in Boston. After so many years behind those walls, it wouldn't be surprising that she'd hallucinated the whole thing. She was so desperate to escape. If they thought she'd truly slipped beyond reason, who would save her from their therapy?

"I'll be in touch," Mehler said, getting to his feet.

"How do I know I can trust you?" Irene asked, sliding across the bench closer to him. "Maybe you came from them to see how much I know."

Mehler picked up his case. He shrugged. "You don't."

"Are they still alive?"

Mehler nodded. "I'll see you in a few days."

She folded her hands in her lap and twiddled her fingers, troubled.

"Remember, keep your nose down."

Irene followed Mehler with her eyes as he walked back to the building. She faced the trees and sat as before, chewing her nail. Her face openly displayed worry. Her dearest kin were in the hands of a true madman, facing terrible danger somewhere in the middle of the Atlantic with no hope for help. Tears filled her eyes. If she spoke a single word of it, they'd think she truly was insane.

"Missus Healey," the nurse's voice disrupted the painful thoughts. "It's painting time."

"Oh, to hell with your painting time!" Irene said.

"I'm sorry, Missus Mrs. Healey?" The nurse pretended not to hear.

Irene exhaled forcefully and stood. She stepped past the nurse and followed the gravel walk to the stairs and the building. The nurse hurried along, trying to keep up. She didn't need the woman's guidance and wished she would give up. She knew the way to the recreation room quite well. She'd walked it nearly every day since they'd put her there.