Claire and her aunt stepped into a small room off a narrow hall. Carsten hung in the doorway while the women perused their new quarters. The ocean blue walls cast a somber mood on the space, damping the wary occupants. He shut the white door behind them, then the lock slid and clicked into place. Carsten's muffled German resonated through the door panels. Boots scraped and something dragged along the wall. Claire explored their new prison cell. She opened a narrow white door and found a closet.

Aunt looked to Claire, biting her lip. "What are you doing?" Aunt asked in a harsh whisper.

"Looking around," Claire replied.

"Not that! Him." Aunt gestured erratically.

"What do you mean?" She still felt him creeping up her arm and into her brain.

Claire found another door on the opposite wall and opened it. Behind the panel hid a small, white tiled bathroom. Some of the tiles were loose and others lay broken on the floor. Tiny octagons laced the floor in odd little clusters. She pushed them with her toe, wondering at all the damage. It wasn't just wear and tear.

"You're flirting, for one," Aunt said, frustrated.

"Aunt," Claire sighed. "Why would I flirt with such an insufferable wet blanket as that man? I'm only exhausted, just as you," she said yawning. "I can barely stand."

"Wet blanket?" Aunt chuckled. She sat on the edge of the bed smiling. "You sound like your mother. Don't change the subject," she added more sternly, realizing her niece had shoved her off course.

Claire walked in a slow circle inside the bathroom, giving it the once over. She then sat beside her aunt, resting her head on the woman's shoulder and placing her arms about her ample girth. Aunt stroked Claire's hair and smiled softly. She didn't speak, but the sentiment said a great deal. Claire recalled the unspoken reprimand from days long gone. She saw through everything, which made it useless to try and hide a thing. Claire decided to change the subject anyway. There was no use discussing it. The words to describe how she felt still eluded her and thus it was still safer in hiding.

"What should we do now?" Claire asked, sounding drowsy. "Can't exactly bathe and put on these old threads again."

Claire held the dirty cuffs of Carsten's jacket up to see how bad they had gotten. She had folded them to free her hands from the long sleeves, but the thing still hung on her like a bag, making her feel small and helpless. She pushed the collar to her face. It no longer smelled like him, but held the scent of the sub, diesel and sweat.

Aunt didn't respond to her question. Instead she smiled to herself, combing Claire's hair with her fingers. Claire rolled her head to see her. Aunt looked a touch older than when they'd left. Her cheeks glowed pink and her eyes sparkled, but she was marked by weariness and worry.

"Sarry was right, wasn't she?" Aunt whispered, not giving up.

"About?" Claire asked, pretending not to follow.

Aunt glanced sideways, letting her know it was no use to avoid the question. A knock shook the door to the room, saving Claire from having to answer. The women trembled in their seats. They sat up straight and regarded the door. The lock flipped and it burst open. A line of uniformed Germans entered with bags. The soldiers were mere boys, and one of them spoke, but Claire and her aunt only blinked at him, confused. He frowned when he understood that neither spoke his language. He grumbled under his breath and marched out with the others. They closed the door and threw the lock in place.

"Who's first?" Aunt said, forgetting Carsten. Claire opened her mouth to reply, wanting to give up any claim on the bath just to lay back on a real bed for a while. "You go ahead," Aunt said to her, before Claire spoke.

Claire jumped to her feet with renewed energy. She had dreamt of taking a bath for days. She grabbed her bags, and set them on the bed and found the maids had neatly packed fresh suits and other garments inside, with a couple pairs of shoes and handbags to match. She guessed the other pack held her toiletries. And there was no mistaking her hatbox. She wished she could hug each of the maids. They had no idea what comfort they had provided.

"Oh, I can't wait to get out of this thing!" Claire said, pulling off Carsten's jacket and the fine silvery rag.

Finally being able to stand in only her undergarments was more liberating than she dreamed. After so many days in a tin can surrounded by sweaty men and their brazen gazes, she relished the moment.

***

Carsten sat in a leather recliner with his feet on the desk of the red-haired clerk from earlier. The man busily wrote up some report. He cast his eyes on Carsten's feet intermittently, irritated by the lack of respect. The smell coming from Carsten's clothes was also probably less than soothing. Carsten raised an eyebrow at him, challenging the man to speak up. He was in a horrible mood and needed to antagonize someone. Claire was upstairs resting and it wasn't much fun to torment her anymore. She managed to turn the tables too often.

"Something wrong, Ober-maat?"

"Nein," the redhead replied flatly. "Of course not."

"Where's the supply office?"

"Three doors down across the street."

"That's why there's so many enlistees hanging around," Carsten said.

The redhead flicked his eyes to him and back to his papers. He puffed his cheeks, letting Carsten know his disapproval. Carsten got to his feet and went to the windows behind the desk. "Keep an eye on my cargo, will you? Anything happens to them-"

"Of course, Hauptmann Reiniger." The man forced a smile. "They will be safe with me."

Carsten pinned him with his trademark scowl. He smiled, doubtful, and departed the room, then the house. The sentries greeted him stiffly. He offered them a wave of his hand and mumbled back. He put his hands in his pockets and took note of the men on the street, hanging about the fence and gate. When he stepped down the walk to join them, they watched him warily, unsure of who he was or what he wanted. He dressed like one of the flotilla captains, but his face was different from all the others. They probably thought him one of the new recruits, an unlucky omen, like a black cat crossed in front of them. They dispersed with little encouragement, disappointed they wouldn't get another gander at the legs.

Carsten continued to where the redhead had directed. He guessed the man meant the small cottage with the line of sailors stringing out its door. Carsten hurried his pace, eager to get back.

Removing his papers from his pocket, Carsten went straight to the sentry on duty. The men in line eyed him with cross glances. The sentry took the papers and read them over. While he waited, Carsten studied the enlistees, inspecting the appearance of each man and his state of dress. They seemed displeased and greatly suspicious.

"Hauptmann," the sentry said, eliciting a quick change in the manner of the men nearest them. He gave Carsten back his papers and saluted him. "You may jump the line, sir. As you see fit."

He nodded. "Appreciated, sentry."

Carsten entered the cramped quarters and waited until the man before him finished. He quietly passed his papers again and requested one ration of chewing gum and Havadoras. The clerk eyed him perplexed, then jumped to get the items. He set them on the counter and eyed Carsten with much interest as he picked it up.

"Will that be all, sir?"

"Ja, danke," he said and pocketed the small bundle.

Carsten turned out of the building and walked slowly toward the house on the opposite side of the street. It appeared the bunker forces had taken over the entire town, and damage from air raids was stamped all over it. The Allies, fully aware of the depth of the incursion, frequently showed their displeasure.

As Carsten closed in on the command post once more, he spied Kappel exiting a car near the gate. He hoped to be rid of the fool before he left Lorient, but it appeared Kappel had other plans.

Carsten made to cross the street, but backed up quickly. A black staff car drove by with its top up and red fender flags flapping. He saw the next pass more closely. The SS men from the landing were inside. They watched him in return so remembering protocol, he snapped his hand out in salute. They returned the gesture with the accompanying deadpan gaze.

"Reiniger!" Kappel called and waved.

Carsten's salute must have caught Kappel's attention. Carsten jutted his chin toward the other Abwehr and then stepped across the street toward him. The staff car disappeared up the lane, where it slowly turned out of sight. Carsten stuffed his hands deep into his pockets again, while the eyes of the men in the car haunted him.

"Are our guests all settled?" Kappel asked.

"Ja, resting now," Reiniger replied, joining him on the walk in front of the gate.

"You should get cleaned up yourself," Kappel suggested, grimacing at Carsten's clothing. "Kuhnke will be making his way here soon."

"Superb suggestion, Leutnant," Carsten said, slightly annoyed. "I think I may do just that."

"I'll be joining you for lunch," Kappel said, oblivious to his annoyance. "But I need to make a stop at the supply office first. Don't let me keep you, sir."

"I wouldn't dare," Carsten said.

Kappel parted from Carsten and the latter passed through the gate of the command post. Once inside, he took the stairs two at a time, hurrying to his rooms before someone rang to announce Kuhnke's arrival.

A hurried shower and shave later, Carsten paced the foyer restlessly in a fresh, dark gray suit. He had gotten no sleep, despite his fatigue. It was of little wonder that his mind ran at full speed with half the job done and everyone celebrating him as if it was completed. They still had to traverse France and the Resistance, then Belgium and finally over the border. And behind the border, they still wouldn't be safe. A rising resistance within Germany might decide to take aim. One just never knew where the bullets would come from next.

The door of the house opened behind him. Carsten faced Kuhnke and his staff, including Kappel, when they filled the foyer. He saluted the commander.

"Hauptmann," Kuhnke drawled. "Still out of uniform?"

"My apologies, sir," Carsten replied, thinly veiling his annoyance at the question. He considered himself impeccable in appearance, whether in suit or uniform, and took great pride in such. Compared to his state at the docks, there should be no complaint. He hurried his preparations, though he had taken the utmost care in dressing. "I was ordered to leave it behind until I have returned to Berlin. My cover cannot be risked, even in France."

"You Abwehr are an unusual breed of soldier," Kuhnke said.

"It is an unusual job," Carsten replied.

"Just so, just so," the man said.

The red-haired clerk appeared again. This time, he stood at a set of double doors opposite the room from his desk. He inclined his head and tucked his hands behind his back, patiently waiting.

"Welcome back, Kapitänleutnant Kuhnke," he said, when the commander gave him his attention. "Lunch will be served in the dining room at your convenience."

"Danke, Herr Ober-maat Engel," the commander said dryly. "We'll start now." He eyed Carsten, weighing his worth yet again. "You best retrieve your charges, Hauptmann."

With that, Kuhnke walked past him, followed by his entourage. Kappel joined Carsten, who was hanging back from the crowd. They quietly waited for Carsten's cargo as the flotilla staff disappeared beyond the double doors. Then Engel crossed the foyer back to his area, leaving them alone.

"He's an excitable fellow," Kappel whispered to Carsten.

Carsten opened his mouth to reply, but a creaking step muzzled him. The Healeys descended from the second floor. Carsten smiled. The guards had followed his orders to the letter. His calculation as to what time the commander would finally arrive was as impeccable as his suit, he thought, adjusting his lapels. Not a bad job at all. His pride was appeased somewhat.

Healey led the way, somewhat lost in his surroundings. He had also shaved and put on a fresh suit. Behind him stepped the extravagant Noreen, appearing refreshed in a satiny yet matronly gown. On her arm hung Claire, who'd discarded her silvery drape for a black skirt and jacket. Her hair, parted to the side so it partially covered one eye, cascaded past her shoulder and gently curled under at the tips. She wore a black cap with a large upturned brim and bow. She looked nearly the same as the night they'd first met. The thought brought a smile to his lips as he marveled at the change. His eyes were stuck to her.

"Lovely," Kappel grinned, joining him. "No wonder you kept your hands on her," he added, eyes glued as closely to her figure as the skirt she wore.

Carsten raised an eyebrow at Kappel's statement. He didn't much care for the younger man to begin with, but now he'd crossed a line insinuating himself between Carsten and the cargo he transported. The younger man had sensed the tension and decided to strum it for his own amusement.

Kappel shrugged and chuckled, rescinding any sincerity that could have been discerned in the gesture.

"She is none of your concern, Leutnant," Carsten warned.

Kappel shrugged again, not quite agreeing. Carsten abandoned the upstart, brushing off the petty rivalry he offered.

"Perfect timing, Herr Healey. Lunch is being served in the commander's dining room. You and your family are expected to join them," Carsten said.

Carsten indicated the French doors to his right. Behind him, Kappel quickly moved to Claire's side. Carsten was forced to lead the way or risk making a fool of himself. He would be glad to be rid of the agent as soon as possible. An intrusion made an unaffordable danger at this juncture, though he would allow him to advance Kappel likely saw himself as a pirate making off with the goods. Unfortunately, Kappel wasn't prepared for Miss Healey. Liberty Belle would give him an Allied bombardment he'd never forget. Carsten bit back a grin, wiping his hand across his mouth to disguise his humor.

Kuhnke and his staff lounged in their seats at the table, enjoying a drink and small talk before their meal. Their hosts had left seats along one side nearest the entrance, meant to be taken up by their guests. Carsten directed Healey to the first seat at Kuhnke's elbow. He hoped to seat Claire next to her father, and then her aunt and himself. Kappel would need to find a seat elsewhere. Just as Healey took his seat, Kappel escorted Claire further along, also deftly ushering her aunt like a blockade behind him. He left the seat beside Healey vacant, placing Noreen after it and Claire beside her. Lastly, he seated himself at the end. The overt vacancy he'd left was Carsten's only option. Carsten ground his teeth at being bested. Kappel was wily, but not smart in making such a move.

Carsten sat in the vacant chair, wearing a pinched face. Kuhnke addressed his guest of honor in the usual composed manner while the rest of the men murmured their welcomes to the family. A pair of enlistees set out the meal on a sideboard. A cork popped, and more wine was served. Carsten listened to Healey speak about his investment, what brought him to it and his adventure in leaving Boston.

"When the Depression hit, I was forced to release some of my workers to keep the factory running," Healey said. A man at Kuhnke's other elbow played interpreter for those unacquainted with English. "Thankfully, I wasn't so heavily invested in the market. My father always called me weak for not investing, but in the end, my way proved the smartest at the time. Whereas many of his kind lost their shirts and leapt out of buildings, I let go a handful of men and continued on. When things started in the other direction, I was ahead of the game," he continued.

"Such a modest explanation," Kuhnke said, actually expressing something like a smile.

"It sounds to me that you are a shrewd businessman, Herr Healey," one of the English-speaking staff added.

"I like to think so," Healey replied. "I believe a man of my acumen will achieve greatness for Germany. The Führer's mission is clear and logical. If certain men hadn't exercised their greed, the world's economy wouldn't have slumped. His plan will prevent all that. Mankind will finally see the glorious future it was meant for."

"Indeed," another among the staff replied.

"Herr Healey has made a rather astute deal with the Reich. He sold his resources to us for a modest cut to sustain himself," Carsten explained. "In exchange, he will begin work on a factory similar to the one he ran in Boston, teaching his business style to our men while making himself very rich. You have seen the ingenuity of the Americans-how quickly they mobilized. It will be to our great advantage to have one of their industrial leaders among us."

"Fräulein Healey," Kuhnke addressed Claire. "You must be quite proud of your father."

"Oh, we all are," Claire said, surprisingly authentic. "You have no idea." Her smile roused their hosts with its electricity.

Carsten saw the men's eyes sparkle as she quickly charmed them. Healey smiled nervously while Noreen smiled proudly, drawing a glass to her lips and sipping the wine. She sat back, as if relaxed at a friend's party in New York. The staff seemed none the wiser for Claire's underhanded compliment.

"I hope you will enjoy the lunch," Kuhnke drawled. "After your harrowing escort to France, it will be a small comfort."

"I'm quite sure we will," Noreen replied. She patted Carsten on the shoulder.

Carsten grimaced, took up his glass of wine and drank its full contents. The enlistees started the service, moving the focus away from the Healeys for the moment. When he set his glass back down and it was quickly refilled; he stared at the red liquid, feeling haggard. He spun the glass and then swallowed its contents again.

"You better slow down, kid," Noreen grinned at him. "I hope you're not driving."

The corners of Carsten's lips curled at the jest. He opened his mouth to reply when Kuhnke interrupted him.

"Hauptmann Reiniger," the commander spoke with surprising energy. "I nearly forgot to tell you. The car for Orléans will be ready in about a half an hour. The commander of our infantry friends has released Kraftfahrer Hoch and their staff limousine to you for the duration of your mission. Word was also sent to advise you that all transport planes have been grounded and you should stick with driving to Berlin."

Carsten nodded. "Excellent, sir. Danke."

"The men will bring the bags out while we eat," he added.

Carsten hoped the time would arrive quickly.

"Herr Reiniger," one of the staff called to him while still chewing a bite of his meal. Carsten rolled his eyes to the older, balding man. He noticed his carefully groomed moustache and that he wore a cheap pair of wire frame glasses from which he peered with slitted eyes. "Why don't you entertain us with tales of your exploits in the Heer? If I am not mistaken, that is what caused you to be placed in the Abwehr, was it not? I hear the Führer's secret police would like to recruit you. I overheard our friends expressing these sentiments today from Heydrich himself while on the docks."

"You flatter me, sir." Carsten laughed as if embarrassed, though he was actually far from it. The Gestapo's presence at the landing had made him suspicious. "There is not much to tell."

"Modest," the man smiled approvingly. He then addressed Claire and her Aunt. "You are in the presence of a true hero, Frauen. Herr Reiniger fought in '36 with the Condors. He is a very brave man and received several decorations for his service."

Carsten wanted to throttle the man across the table. Instead, he kept his face stone flat while his guts boiled. He saw from his bourgeois exterior that this spoiled administrator priced silly heroics too highly, when he should have been paying more attention to his own interests.

"You should show them your medals, Herr Reiniger," the man said to him as he cut a piece of meat.

"I, for one, would love to hear you tell it," Kappel chimed in. "It was legend by the time I arrived."

"Of course," Carsten said. "Legend-because I am so much older than you, Leutnant Kappel." He leaned forward over his plate, taking up his fork and knife. He laughed, cutting into the meat as if it were Kappel's throat. "Forgive me if I do not indulge this wish just now. I have had a difficult trip with little rest and little food. All I can think of is eating."

"Of course, Hauptmann," the staffer agreed, a bit woeful. "Another time then."

Carsten was relieved the man had relinquished his request. He concentrated on eating while Kuhnke and Healey talked quietly about this and that. He half-listened to the drivel but his ears were primarily bent in another direction. Just to the other side of Noreen, Kappel attempted to engage the woman's niece in a conversation. However, Claire stuffed her mouth with the lunch their hosts had served and appeared uninterested. Since their evening out, he hadn't seen her eat so eagerly. It warmed his cool mood that her appetite was still strong.

***

Kuhnke and his staff saw them off with bright wishes. Carsten stood beside the driver while the boys packed the cases in the trunk. When they shut the lid, he faced the officers observing him and saluted. Kappel stayed with Kuhnke's staff, well away from the cargo. He smiled, seeing how unhappy Kappel grew, and bid him farewell. There would be other conquests. The loss of Claire wasn't a mortal wound. Carsten ducked his head inside the car and released a deep sigh of relief.

Noreen and Claire sat on the forward-facing bench, while Healey took the rear-facing one alone, just as they had positioned themselves earlier. Carsten waved his finger at Noreen, indicating the seat beside her brother-in-law. She reluctantly complied.

"Danke, Frau O'Shea," he said. "I need to do surveillance."

"Is that all?" Noreen asked, tellingly, pretending not to care as she made herself comfortable again.

Carsten didn't answer as he climbed in and took the seat beside Claire. He lit one of his refreshed supplies and eyed the road through the windshield. Hoch closed the door and stepped around the vehicle. Everyone remained quiet while the man climbed behind the wheel. Carsten continued to scan the streets and men, seemingly impatient. The engine revved to life. The car pulled along the lane and they left Lorient behind.