Carsten brought Claire safely back to the inn. Neither Marcel nor Noreen were present. Perhaps the devil was in the kitchen cleaning up from dinner or hid in his office. He hoped he was one of those two places, for Noreen's sake.

Carsten paused to lock the front door. Then they quietly made their way up the stairs and to the room Claire would share with Noreen. There he found the matriarch quite safe, but quite worried. He relinquished Claire to her aunt, hanging back in the doorway as they reunited. Noreen showered Claire with kisses and squeezed her tightly. Claire didn't fight the woman off. Instead, she received the affection without a word to the contrary. Carsten preferred this softer side, having had a glimpse of it in the alley, though he couldn't be certain he preferred the quiet to the quips.

"I will knock before dawn to wake you. Please be ready as quickly as possible," Carsten instructed. "We need to make an early start."

Carsten pulled the door closed.

"Mr. Reiniger," Noreen called him back.

"Ja, Frau O'Shea." He reopened the door.

"You've been honest with us this far," Noreen said. She released her niece and faced him. "What exactly are we facing when we get there?"

Carsten gauged the woman's temperament. She was exhausted, distrustful and starved. He weighed that with how much he knew and formulated what he was authorized to tell her. Her eyes implored him.

"When we arrive in Berlin, we are to report to the Chancery and more commanders," Carsten replied. "There, I will be debriefed and await new orders. You will both be taken to a house that you will share with Herr Healey until a permanent residence is found-quite possibly they will want to interview you and find out why you came along. Following that, a dinner is to be given in Healey's honor. You will both be expected to attend. Several high officials will be present, if you understand my meaning, so please mind what you say," he continued. "I will no longer be with you, so I cannot stop you from hanging yourselves."

Noreen's chin dropped. She searched the floor, thinking over all he'd said. Lifting her chin again, she nodded and stepped back to Claire. The women sat at the foot of the bed, mournful.

"I will see you in the morning," he murmured and shut the door.

Carsten stood outside with his hand still on the knob for several silent moments. He had much to say to them. He just couldn't bring himself to do so right then. His strength was fading fast and his fatigue flared his temper. He had been managing with only catnaps for too long. The women deserved answers from someone who was collected and would advise them wisely.

Carsten crossed the hall to the opposite room. He slid the key into the slot and unlocked the door. Twisting the knob, he pressed the panel open. His eyes searched the dark room for intruders. Grabbing a chair, he propped the door open. With no way to lock the women in their room, he needed to be able to hear them if they tried to escape. Though he empathized with their bad situation, he didn't trust them for the same reason.

Carsten took another sweep of the room. He pulled his jacket off and tossed it on the foot of the bed. The numbness before sleep already had him. He threw himself down on the mattress and scrubbed his hands over his face, trying to revive himself. His arms collapsed at his sides. He focused on the ceiling, feeling his body sink. He was tired, more tired than when he'd hoofed it across Spain with a full pack and a loaded rifle. Carsten's eyes closed. His body relaxed and he listened.

In the distance the sound of artillery boomed like thunder on the horizon. The cadence brought forward a line of dismissed thoughts. He wondered what he would tell Claire to keep her safe within the hive. His mind wandered, imagining ways he might help them escape. He lost himself in the ideas, letting them unfold and curl around his mind. If he could only insinuate himself as their guardian for just a bit longer. . .

In what felt like an instant later, his ears focused on an uncomfortably close booming sound. He bolted upright, cursing. Marcel stood in the gloom and shadows of the doorway with a grin.

"Good morning, ma petite," Marcel said. His laugh was low and rumbling.

Carsten got to his feet. He still wore his shoes. Then he recalled the women. He leapt across the room and into the hall. Carsten knocked on the door and listened. His eyes searched wildly. He heard no sound. He knocked again, more insistently.

"Wer' up. Wer' up," Noreen called out, her voice weak and sleepy.

Carsten exhaled with relief. He went back to his room to prepare for the car ride to Bastogne. Marcel took up the doorway.

"Don't worry," he said to Carsten. "I kept watch all night." He smiled and lifted his shoulders. "I figured you would be tired."

"Danke, Marcel," Carsten said. Marcel moved aside for him. Carsten passed back into his room and found his bag. "Any chance you could make un petit-déjeuner?"

"What do you think you want?" Marcel asked.

"Toast-jam will be fine," Carsten replied, pulling a tie from his case with a clean shirt.

"Bon," Marcel said. "You ate my only hen last night. I am glad you don't want eggs."

"I'll send Gustave back with a brood," Carsten replied, grabbing a handful of clothes from his case. He walked to the bed and laid them out. He considered the wardrobe before him, hands on hips. His eyes lifted, noticing Marcel remained. "If you don't mind, Marcel?"

"Of course." Marcel took his exit and closed the door behind him.

Carsten paced the bar of the inn after getting dressed. The women pecked at their toast. At a separate table, Healey sipped his coffee and flipped through a new book. Even Gustave took the mission with little care. He hadn't shown up yet. The driver sat in the car out front, the bags packed inside. Each moment that passed led them further into danger. All they needed was to be looking the wrong way when a jumpy Frenchman planted plastic under the runners. Carsten put his hands on the bar and dropped his chin, shutting his eyes to stave off a headache.

"Sorry I'm late," a voice boomed through the quiet room. Gustave stood by the bar, having entered from the back through the kitchen. His cheek bore a bruise. "My dear wife experienced some difficulty in letting me out the door this time." He smiled.

Carsten smiled back, no longer worried.

"She doesn't like you," Gustave told him. "She told me to tell you that."

"I'm very sorry to hear that, Gustave," Carsten replied.

"You think that's bad," Gustave said, buffeting him with the back of his hand. "She told me to go to hell and not to bother coming back."

"I always have a room, Gustave." Marcel grinned at him. "Mr. Reiniger promised me chickens. They ate the last one for supper. You make sure you bring them back."

Gustave waved him away, mumbling incoherently.

"Who says anyone in Bastogne has chickens?"

"Steal them off the street," Marcel said, throwing his hands up. "I run a decent inn. I can't run it without food. I need chickens, Gustave."

"Gentleman," Carsten said. He continued when they fell silent. "If you don't mind, we need to be going. I will see to your chickens, Marcel."

"I couldn't give this beautiful woman a decent breakfast this morning," Marcel grumbled. "Do you know how terrible this is?"

Carsten joined Healey at his table, as Marcel continued to go on about chickens and eggs. He rubbed his fingers in the corners of his eyes and tried to focus on the real matter at hand.

"Herr Healey," Carsten said to the man hidden behind a thick book.

Healey looked up, annoyed at first, then surprised.

"Oh, good morning, Mr. Reiniger. Is it time to go already?"

"Indeed," Carsten replied. "This is our escort through France, Herr Gustave Adelais."

"Good morning, Mr. Adelais." Healey rose to his feet, setting his book aside. He held his hand out with a welcoming smile. He and Gustave shook hands. "I hope we won't be a burden."

"Think nothing of it, Monsieur Healey." Gustave grinned broadly. "It is my pleasure."

Carsten held his hand out toward the women. "You've already met Claire. This is Noreen-her aunt."

"Pleasure." Noreen smiled up at them.

"Good morning, Madame. Mademoiselle." Gustave nodded to each. "I trust my brother was a gentleman?" he asked Noreen.

"You'll get no complaint from me." Noreen smiled.

"I treat that woman like a lady," Marcel mumbled from the bar.

"You'll have to excuse my brother," Gustave said. "His English-he's still learning."

"I speak good English," Marcel declared.

"You're doing a lovely job, Marcel." Noreen leaned to see around the men. She raised her cup of tea toward him.

"Mon Dieu! How long did you leave them alone?" Gustave asked Carsten.

Carsten watched the episode unfold with interest since they were leaving in a moment, and perhaps the little freedoms he allowed them would make them more tractable later. Marcel and Noreen eyed one another. She winked at him and returned to her breakfast. Carsten stroked his chin and shook his head.

"Just the time to meet with you and come back," Carsten admitted.

"You know better." Gustave backhanded Carsten's shoulder and pointed in his face. "They could be married by now. Il est le diable!"

Carsten scoffed and pushed his finger away.

"If he knows what's good for him," Carsten said.

Gustave laughed. Marcel muttered to himself, cleaning the bar top.

"Come," Carsten said loudly. He clapped his hands together. "The bags are packed and we are overdue to leave. I do not wish to give the Resistance any more time to prepare."

Claire wiped her hands on a linen napkin. She set it down and rose to her feet, taking up the clutch that rested on the table beside her plate. Noreen finished her toast and took one more sip of tea. It seemed she didn't want to leave yet. While they waited for her, Healey stepped away from the tables, folding his book under his arm. He stood expectantly near the door.

"Do hurry, Noreen," Healey said.

Noreen got to her feet, unhurried. Marcel raced from behind the bar with a neatly wrapped package. He rushed toward her, pushing his brother and Carsten aside. With a smile, he handed his parcel to Noreen. She was astonished by the offering.

"Bread and cheese to keep you until you make Bastogne," Marcel explained. He produced a bottle of wine and handed that to her too. "Godspeed, Madame O'Shea."

Noreen took the gifts, blushing.

"Oh, well-thank you, Marcel," Noreen said, a bit embarrassed by his affection.

Marcel inclined his head and pressed his hands together, stepping back.

"If you're through," Gustave said to his brother.

Marcel glowered at his brother.

"Come along, ladies," Carsten said, walking to the door.

Carsten exited the inn first, holding his hand out behind him to signal the others to hang back. He glanced up one side of the street, then the other. It was quiet as usual in the early morning. The clouds lay thick, promising rain, but also created deep shadows among the many buildings. He listened to his instincts to get a sense of their surroundings. The artillery boom had long since ceased. The silence appeared harmless, but one properly aimed muzzle in a window or door was all it would take. His senses didn't reveal any threats hidden in the stillness. Comfortable the trek to the car was safe enough to attempt, he faced the inn and waved the women forward.

Claire and Noreen stepped through the door with only the slightest hesitation, seemingly wary of Carsten's uneasy behavior. He opened the back passenger door and they quickly got in.

Carsten waved to Gustave, who guarded Healey at the inn door. He nodded, holding his rifle at the ready. Gustave advanced, waving his hand for Healey to follow. He kept a close eye on the buildings and streets while Healey ducked safely into the car, taking up his usual seat.

Gustave exchanged glances with Carsten and the latter winked. Then Carsten jumped into the backseat, surprised to find Noreen next to Healey. Beaten to the punch, he secured the door and then relaxed beside Claire. Their cooperation in the hurried exit had won them all some peace.

Gustave then climbed into the front beside the driver. He rolled down his window and adjusted his rifle after the vehicle lurched forward. Gustave gave Hoch directions in broken German.

Carsten sat back, feeling for his gun. Satisfied it was in its place, he glanced at his watch, calculating their expected arrival time.

"You seem a bit on edge," Claire spoke to him for the first time that morning.

"Resistance area," Carsten muttered, reminding her. "They will be well aware of our arrival by now."

"Aren't they the good guys?"

"You won't think so when they attack the car," Carsten answered. "The intelligence they have is about your father. Even if they know about you and your aunt, as I have said before, they will think you one and the same."

"I did give you a choice, you know," Healey said to his daughter with a wry twist of his lips.

"Like you gave mother?" Claire asked. Her eyes were hard and unwavering.

Healey laughed.

"I heard last night they are looking for you with a little incentive from the Americans, Monsieur Healey," Gustave said over his shoulder. "I wouldn't find such enjoyment in my day if I had such a price on my head, but you Americans are a different breed. You shoot each other in the faces and call it liberty."

Healey's mirth went dark and his jaw rigid. His eyes narrowed.

Claire folded her arms with satisfaction at the Frenchman's comment. Her freedom might come at the end of a French rifle. She crossed her legs and smiled out the window.

"It is nothing to worry about," Carsten said to Healey. "I have been living with a price for six years now."

"So is the life of a soldier," Healey said. "I am a businessman-not a grunt."

Carsten locked eyes with Healey. Healey's mouth twisted in defiance, but Carsten didn't flinch. Healey was treading on a dangerous path.

"Boys," Noreen said, sitting forward. "Bickering certainly isn't going to help. Now, Carroll, we need him. He's been helping us this whole time and doing a damn fine job of it. Don't go and screw it up-unless you wish to get killed. I'm most certain he's quite capable. I for one don't wish to raise his ire, so I'll ask you to stop now. Keeping in their good graces benefits your deal. Would you rather they got the money from Claire?"

Healey turned his fiery gaze on Noreen.

"But they need me, not some idiot girl who never set foot in a factory one day in her life," Healey arrogantly pointed out.

"You brought me when I was six and each year after until you took Mother away," Claire corrected him. "And I take offense at being called an idiot. I graduated top of my class. I will have you know that I am not the one who fell prey to his own greed and locked his wife away to keep some torrid little secret like funding the Nazi war effort so he could make himself a billionaire."

"It is genius." Healey smiled. "You'll thank me for it one day when you don't have to rely on your inadequate wits to sustain you. Those pretty looks won't last forever, my dear, and setting tables and making shopping lists isn't a viable career skill."

"The girl?" Gustave questioned, and twisted in his seat to see the exchange. "She seems smarter than you, rubbing up to Reiniger, Monsieur Healey."

Claire scowled in indignation as Aunt Noreen's head dropped into her hand unable to stem the tide. Claire tightened her arms about herself and slide further from the aforementioned man, who was looking pressed for patience. A cannon was about to blow.

"What would you know, Frenchman? You look like ambition is a rare commodity you can ill afford," Healey snapped as the conversation continued.

Gustave cocked his head to the side and raised his brow. He cast an unspoken appeal to Carsten who responded with a doubtful and weary look. Carsten had grown tired of the arguing and the scathing stabs. He should just let Gustave pound him to bits. It was exceedingly tempting, as it would end the mission before Berlin did.

"I am sick of you all," Carsten said. "I suggest you bite your tongues and use this drive to collect your thoughts. The first comment from any of you and I will pull my gun and use it."

Gustave chuckled.

"You included," Carsten snapped.

Gustave faced the front, still laughing quietly to himself.

Carsten fixed his jacket and drew a deep breath. He pushed back on the seat, fiddling with his buttons and trying to relax despite their provocations. He fell prey to the urge for a smoke, prompted by the stress.

Both the women and Healey, surprisingly, obeyed his order. The sound of the engine vibration and the rhythm of the tires on the road were the only sounds for miles. Carsten sat patiently observing the passing landscapes. They soon left Orléans and its outlying villages, crossing into increasingly rural territory. Outposts cropped up, manned by German occupation forces. Large guns aimed at the sky belied the peace. Later on, they pulled aside as troops marched through with trucks and tanks, giving the Healeys their first close up glimpse of the German army. Carsten had no more problems from his three guests as the one who was intended to be there swelled with satisfaction and the women deflated with despair.

The car entered Troyes just as the rain began to fall. It poured as they made their way to Reims. Carsten observed the passengers. Healey diligently read his book. Noreen had fallen fast asleep against a window. Beside him, Claire languished between sleep and wakefulness, forcing her concentration on the countryside and villages and the rain. Carsten read the time on his wristwatch. It was half past ten in the morning. He let his arm fall back to the seat.

Hoch and Gustave murmured, exchanging directions and comments. Gustave rumbled with laughter at something the driver said. Carsten smiled to himself as he listened to their exchange. They were discussing Claire and her outbursts since yesterday. Gustave didn't believe Hoch, but seemed amused by the idea of Claire making life so difficult for their friend. When Hoch shifted the subject to Miss Healey and their commander, Carsten's smile faded. He folded his arms and pressed his fist to his lips. He kept his eyes forward and pretended not to listen. He only hoped the girl wasn't listening.

"He is young, too," Gustave said wistful for those days.

"Not so young to be naïve. She is brave, but naïve. He will use her."

"In more ways than one, my friend," Gustave agreed with a laugh.

"If I were him-she is as ripe as a-" Hoch said, clucking his tongue.

"Kraftfahrer Hoch," Carsten called out when he'd heard enough.

The man responded by regarding him in the mirror.

"When we reach Charleville Mézières, look for a place to pull off. The women will be hungry and I don't wish to force them to eat with Herr Mertens. I am sure he will be no company for them. I would rather leave Bastogne as quickly as possible and get to Köln early."

Hoch nodded, accepting the orders. He darted his eyes between the road and Carsten until he thought he was no longer being watched, then winked at Gustave.

"Something you would like to add, Kraftfahrer?" Carsten asked. He lofted his icy glare at the man through the rearview mirror.

"Nein, Herr," the man replied, adjusting uneasily in his seat.

Carsten felt Claire's eyes on him. He directed his gaze to Noreen because he did not wish to fight with her niece right then. She stirred awake at the sudden voices. He folded his arms and scowled. Claire had understood nothing more than his tone, although her gaze hadn't left him. From the corner of his eye, he saw her gaze go back to the fields and houses outside.

A short time later, the car passed through Rethel on its way to the Belgian border. The rain slowed to a drizzle and the sky brightened to white. The cities and villages became farms and forest. Both Gustave and Carsten grew increasingly tense, their voices low and quick.

Claire shifted on the bench seat as if she understood more than was good for her. Her large eyes were glued to the window, but she looked dismayed. He waited for the girl to realize she had his attention, and when her chin came around, he smiled at her. Her owlish eyes met his nervously. She sat back in her seat, a slight blush blooming on her cheeks. She rubbed her arm, swallowed and returned her attention to the passing world.

Patting her hand, Carsten tried to impart some of his confidence to her, but she was put off by his attention. Perhaps that was a sign the intuitive girl understood more than he dare admit. He went back to his surveillance. In his experience, any more attention would lead to a show of claws and teeth. He was in no mood to be bitten that morning.

"Gustave," Carsten said. "What've your men learned of this area?"

"Mostly guerillas," Gustave said. "They have some contact with the Belgians across the line. They've been focusing on the border units mostly."

"What are the chances of a run-in?"

"Not much was said. They knew of this transport and why. No mention of the women," Gustave replied. He scratched his scruffy chin. "Being a lone car on the road-perhaps." He shrugged.

"Good odds then." Carsten frowned.

Some time after noon, they skirted the city of Charleville-Mézières near the northeast border of France. The rain stopped, but no sun emerged. Inside the town, they came across a small occupation unit. Carsten instructed Hoch to stop the car. The vehicle came to a halt near a vault of sandbags and a soldier on a motorcycle.

Carsten jumped out of the car, receiving questioning glances from the soldier on the bike and the one behind the bags. He saluted and received a reluctant response. The man got off his bike.

"Guten tag, Soldat." Carsten approached the suspicious man. He smiled at him and produced his papers. The man took them and quickly drew up in a salute. "Never mind that. Have you any news of the OCM or Belgians?"

Carsten offered him a cigarette from his case, and lit it for him too. They smoked a moment before the soldier replied.

"Just the usual, mein Herr," the man replied with a reluctant smile. He passed Carsten's credentials back to him. While Carsten pocketed his papers, the man continued. "They strike at us and we strike at them. Of some annoyance, but to be expected."

"Have they been unusually quiet these last few days?" Carsten pressed.

"Mostly," the soldier said. "Is there something going on?"

Carsten shrugged. "Nein." Carsten cast his eyes over the square. Pulling out a piece of gum, he came back to the soldier. "Is there a good spot to stop and have some lunch?"

"The mess, Herr? Or private?"

"Private," Carsten replied, popping the piece of gum in his mouth.

"Round the way-here." The man pointed toward a lane that disappeared through the trees across from where they stood. "Regularly patrolled. Haven't had trouble there."

Carsten nodded, scrutinizing him. Then he pivoted and walked back to the car. As he moved, his eyes shifted over the small village. No one was outside but the two soldiers. He chewed his gum and realized no French remained. Carsten climbed back in the vehicle and directed Hoch to the lane the soldier had pointed out. They parked quite close to the trees, near the edge that faced town.

Gustave and Carsten chatted, peering into the woods before they exited. When they climbed out, the soldier with the motorcycle drove past them. Carsten half expected the guerillas to mount an attack on him from the shrubbery. He safely glided out of sight and the raucous engine of the bike dissipated. The sounds of insects again filled the air with a continuous drone.

When Hoch joined them, Carsten opened the trunk and retrieved some rations, along with Noreen's gifts from Marcel. Hoch checked his pistol then holstered it. He accepted a package from Carsten. Satisfied there were no observers, he wandered back to the driver's door. He grabbed his rifle from the seat and walked to the front bumper where he placed the weapon on the hood.

Gustave took up a post at the rear, dragging his rifle with him. Carsten passed him a package of rations. The Frenchman took it with thanks. Carsten made his way back to the women where he knelt in the doorway and passed Noreen her gift from Marcel. He set the bottle of wine by her feet. Then, he divided the rations between Healey, his daughter and himself. The women each thanked him, but Healey remained silent.

Carsten went back to the trunk. He found Healey's leather bag and threw it down on the wet ground beside a tree near Gustave. He sat on the luggage and tore into the pack of rations.

"Memories," Gustave said with a smile.

Carsten smiled. His attention went to the arch of trees that opened on the small village. The troops probably carved the lane into the forest to make a more direct route to another camp or highway. He guessed frequent run-ins with the Resistance on the other winding road had made travel difficult.

They ate in relative silence, murmuring now and then in low voices, whether to keep him satisfied or because they finally understood that danger was never far away, Carsten was unsure. He listened in the direction of the woods; he suspected that if anything happened, it would start there.

"Hey," Gustave said. He swung his hand out to get Carsten's attention then jutted his chin toward the lane.

Carsten followed Gustave's line of sight. Shadows appeared at the distant bend, marching in their direction. He set his rations on the case beneath him as he stood as the formation come closer. Slowly lifting his hand, he motioned for Gustave. The man set his lunch aside and joined him. Carsten closed the passenger door on the women and stepped to the other side of the vehicle with the Frenchman close behind. Hoch picked up his rifle and left his rations on the hood. He sat in the driver's seat with the door open and his rifle resting on his lap.

The gang of soldiers drew closer along the lane. Carsten eased once he recognized the gray uniforms from the shadows, even though that was no longer definitive. The man in front hesitated and signaled caution to the rest. Carsten folded his arms and waited while they closed in. Their leader was a young lieutenant. He eyed them suspiciously, but found nothing that raised alarm. Hoch stood up, leaving his rifle on the seat.

"Guten Tag, Leutnant," Carsten said. His men flared out across the lane. "Ich bin Hauptmann Reiniger." He reached into his suit jacket pocket and retrieved his papers. He handed them to the man. "We're passing through with some cargo for Köln. Can you give us any information on the activities of the Resistance in this region?" The man took the papers and read them over.

"Hallo, Hauptmann," the man said dryly. He passed Carsten's identification back to him. He then stiffly saluted. Carsten gestured back with much less feeling and tucked his papers in his jacket. "We have been dealing with the Resistance in these parts since we arrived. They're smart. Annoyingly smart. If you're on your way to Köln, you had best move quickly, Herr."

"Where are they most concentrated?" Carsten asked.

"Don't take the main roads," the man replied, narrowing his gaze. "We built this lane to avoid them, but it won't be long before they are here too."

Carsten eyed the other officer. He was worn down behind his coolness.

"Danke, Leutnant," Carsten said.

The man nodded and waved his men forward.

"Finish your lunches and then we leave," Carsten told his men. He watched the soldiers continue on.