The black staff vehicle coasted into the city of Bastogne less than two hours after its stop along the treed lane in France. The border crossing went too easily and explained why they'd had so much trouble with rebels. The destruction that once lay hidden was now fully exposed. The occupation forces were arranged openly, as if they were bragging about their conquest. The country currently suffered under military leadership and the Resistance stayed relatively quiet within the city. Compared to France, any threat that faced them would be minor. After all, Belgium did fall relatively easy to the German invasion.

Gustave directed Hoch through the maze of roads. Then the car halted at another checkpoint, further delaying their tight schedule. A remarkably young soldier checked and rechecked Carsten's papers. He seemed confused or unable to read. An older and higher ranking enlistee wandered over, his hands behind his back, to see what was transpiring. He snapped at the boy in German, throwing up his arms and spitting violently. He tore the papers from the boy's hands and gave them back to Carsten with profuse apologies. He winked at Claire and saluted the men.

Settling back in the car, Carsten explained the importance of keeping their mouths shut until Köln once they made their pick up. It was in their best interest and wouldn't be all that difficult. The comment was made especially toward Mr. Healey. Once the new agent left, they could attack each other at will. He suggested they use the time to develop better remarks to volley. If they had anything pressing to say, they had better use the few minutes they had. His advice was a gamble, but so was the entire mission.

Hoch drove them to the drop point after the interruption with no issue from any of the Healeys. The streets were lined by rubble, haphazardly stacked out of the way for passing vehicles and transports. Hollow facades stood stubbornly against the wind, as if to declare that no bomb should ever knock them over. Hoch parked far away from such buildings, finding a spot that appeared relatively intact on the street where they were told to meet the contact.

Carsten and Gustave climbed out of the car. A small market hummed with civilians to their right. To their left, the field of carnage widened. Hoch emerged from behind the wheel. He lit a cigarette, preparing to guard the cargo. He pulled his rifle through the window and then leaned against the car. He cradled his weapon in his arms while smoking and surveying the street.

"You have your orders," Carsten said. Hoch nodded. "Come, Gustave."

Carsten and Gustave walked toward the market. They studied the stalls as they wandered by the busy people. Somewhere among the Belgians hid Jonas Mertens. Carsten had no idea who to expect. Gustave's message only told them where to expect their contact and his name. The lack of information didn't sit well with Carsten. It meant a lack of faith from his commanders or it might mean they'd had an abrupt change in plans. Either way, it left him uneasy.

Their search led them into the market where they came across a farmer surrounded by basket cages of fowls. Carsten pocketed his hands and grinned. He waited for Gustave to make the same discovery. When the man did, he cursed and shook his dark head.

"You cannot seriously expect me to walk back to Orléans with chickens," Gustave said.

"Walk?" Carsten asked. "Like hell you would." He faced the old man running the stall and greeted him with a nod. "Besides, I promised Marcel."

"That man is the devil," Gustave grumbled.

"If he is, all the more reason," Carsten said.

Carsten bartered with the farmer, discovering he spoke decent enough German to muddle through the transaction. When they closed their deal, Marcel was four hens and a rooster richer. The farmer threw in a half-dozen chicks. His stock didn't sell that day and they would be a waste, too small to eat and too young to be of any other use. Carsten remarked how lucky he was to claim such a resource in the middle of such desolation. Nature marched on despite them. The old man appeared unconvinced of his good fortune.

With Marcel's chickens obtained, Carsten and Gustave carefully picked their way back through the market toward their waiting car, hoping to meet their contact there. Mertens failed to reveal himself to them within the stalls or in any of the nearby lanes. Carsten checked his watch. The man was either late or not showing up. Looking up, he then saw a short man in a navy trench coat closely observing them. He ignored him, knowing he would approach them if it was their pickup.

"I think our friend has spotted us," Carsten quietly told Gustave.

Gustave nodded and scanned the area guardedly.

The pair reached the car, exciting a laugh from Hoch at the sight of the baskets. They piled the chickens on the sidewalk beside the car. Claire insisted on taking the chicks, cooing at them like a proud hen. Straightening from their work, they saw the trench coat headed their way. They pretended to be unaware and waiting for something else.

Carsten pocketed his hands and leaned back against the passenger door. The man was definitely headed in their direction. Carsten quickly stole the chicks back, hissing Claire to silence when she protested. He shut the door and covered the window with his body. Then he drew out a piece of gum, holding the stranger in his gaze.

Crouched beside the car, Gustave pretended to be interested in the hatchlings, peeping like an idiot and poking his finger in the basket. Carsten slapped his hand and scowled. Too many times he'd stood at this crossing. He had enough experience not to be intimidated, but it still left him edgy. Besides, he didn't want to give the impression he was a rube to an SS man.

The worst that could happen is the man would pull a gun and try to kill them all. It didn't mean he would succeed, but he didn't want to encourage Mertens either. Carsten knew very well he owed his life to a strange sixth sense of how to handle himself in any given situation. For instance, he wouldn't strike Gustave and live, if he didn't claim a certain reputation among his men, no matter how close they were. Gustave rumbled with laughter and continued to peep at the chicks, despite that reputation.

The man they suspected to be Mertens carefully closed in. He stood before them like a child playing cops and robbers, hamming up the part of the robber. Mertens forced a sudden smile onto his strange mouth. He held his hand up in a well-practiced salute, giving the usual greeting. Carsten and Gustave returned the gesture and salutation diffidently. The man tucked his hands into his trench pockets.

"Pleasure to meet you," the man said, taking off his brown fedora to reveal a balding crest beneath. He studied them with cold, gray eyes. "Could you tell me where I could find the Cathedral? I am not from Bastogne, you see. But, I like to keep up with my prayers when I travel."

"I apologize, neither are we," Carsten replied, chomping the gum.

The man awkwardly stepped toward Carsten, nearing too close.

"You're German," the man whispered to him, poking a brown, gloved finger into his chest. "Bavaria, if I am not mistaken."

Carsten peered back, refusing to give the man ground, as though Mertens was as welcome as a plague. Mertens stepped back, pressing his hands together before his chest like a greedy insect. Carsten scowled, making a quick study of the small man. From head to toe, he could be considered neatly groomed. An exceedingly thin moustache lined his top lip, adding to the strangeness of his mouth. His stature was small and evoked images of Napoleon. His clothes were neat but worn, and he smelled musty.

Men like Mertens only engaged in war as bureaucrats. Being a spy could get quite dirty. But Carsten knew a certain branch now existed for checking up on everyone in the Reich or being brought into it, and they liked their paperwork. They tended to be fastidious like him. Those men would love a man like Mertens. Yet he didn't wear the uniform, so Carsten couldn't be entirely sure. The small leak of information regarding this new man couldn't be trusted. In fact, Mertens may prove only to be a new agent in the Abwehr. The office sometimes sent new agents out on an easy escort to get their feet wet. Carsten hoped his suspicions were incorrect. At any rate, he didn't wish to work with such a man. New agents were unlucky. If anything, Carsten was certain he was new to the game, no matter who he played for.

Mertens' laugh was pinched and nasal, hinting at his corrupt character. The frenzied condition of his face cautioned both Gustave and Carsten. The man wrung his hands, then stiffly dropped them to his side. He stood there more stiffly than a dead fish.

"You should see your faces," he said with excitement. When he settled back down, he added, "I am Jonas Mertens. I think you've been expecting me."

"Ja, ja. Of course." Carsten smiled, forcing a weak laugh. The man must be half-mad.

Gustave nodded to the man wearing a closed-mouth smile. His eyes communicated his distrust. Mertens shook both men's hands with unsettling energy.

"Monsieur Adelais will need a car back to Orléans," Carsten said.

"That can be arranged." Mertens smiled.

Carsten continued to assess him, while the new agent lifted his hand into the air and waved. Carsten and Gustave snapped their heads around, startled by the motion.

Two cars squealed out of nowhere. The vehicles blocked in Hoch's car. One was a convertible staff car complete with flags, the other a smaller sedan similar in appearance to their own transport. Carsten guessed they'd drawn close while he and Gustave walked the market, unseen until that moment. Carsten ground his teeth, little pleased that he'd made such a novice mistake. He frowned at Gustave, who raised his eyebrow in response.

Carsten was soon surprised again. Mertens had succeeded in getting them away from the car long enough to peer inside. He slickly examined Noreen and Claire. Carsten took up his place in front of the passenger windows. He didn't want him spying on the cargo quite yet.

The women's presence gave him enough reason to distrust the newcomer, but he was also concerned about his friend. Gustave's wife had been justified in trying to deny him the outing. The danger of him never making it home became greater with each mission. Nonetheless, it was war and they needed to keep with the plan. Gustave had a reputation for being a wily old goat. More than likely, he would show up a chicken short, but in good health. It would give him a story to share with his grandchildren someday.

Carsten helped his friend pick up the chicken baskets under the questioning gaze of the new man.

"Chickens?" Mertens questioned. "What is this?"

"Provisions for his brother's inn. They have been a great help to the Reich and the Führer's efforts. A gift to ensure future cooperation and it is of little cost to us."

"You are very kind on our Führer's behalf," Mertens said. He looked at Carsten with distrust. After a lengthy pause, he spoke again. "If you will excuse me, I will request my driver take you to Orléans, Herr Adelais. Such an asset and friend of Herr Reiniger should be brought home safely to his family."

Carsten and Gustave watched him walk to the sedan that blocked them in. They took the armload of chickens closer and waited. Mertens leaned down into the driver's window. His head popped up moments later and the door opened. The driver climbed out, a lanky youth with a stony face. He popped open the trunk hatch of his car. Removing the small pair of cases from inside, he set them by Hoch's door and closed the trunk lid. He then took the baskets and neatly placed them on the floor in the back of the sedan. Gustave reluctantly relinquished the chicks last.

"I will see you next time you are in France, Monsieur Reiniger," Gustave said solemnly. "Call on me if I can be of any assistance. My brother and I will always be available," he added, putting a hand on Carsten's shoulder.

Carsten clapped his hand on the man's elbow and smiled. "I will do that, my friend."

Gustave laughed and pulled Carsten into his arms for a hearty hug.

"Take special care of the girl," Gustave whispered in his ear. "She's vulnerable to treachery. It is not fair to her."

Carsten drew away from Gustave and nodded. He looked anxiously after his friend as the Frenchman went to the car. Both Mertens and his driver expectantly waited for him to join them. Gustave slowly approached the sedan, resigned to what was about to happen. When the stone-faced driver opened the door for him, he climbed in.

Carsten dashed back to the limo and ducked through the passenger door to grab hold of Gustave's rifle. He would need it for the trip home, either to defend himself from the driver or someone else. Carsten wanted to feel satisfied Gustave would have an advantage over anything that might try him. He didn't need to be distracted worrying over his friend when the Healeys gave him enough to think about. He dashed to the front of the other car and quickly passed the rifle through the window to Gustave before the driver started the engine.

Gustave smiled and Carsten patted his arm, erupting with one of his trademark laughs. Carsten was not put at ease by the rifle in his friend's hands, thus he quickly walked away. Carsten did not wish Gustave to catch on to the suspicion he wouldn't make it back. Besides, Mertens cataloged his every move. The man was likely to make a report that Carsten was close with a French collaborator. When something went wrong, collaborators got dissected first and were usually found to be in alliance with the Resistance. Such a thing could end an agent's career.

The sedan carrying Gustave pulled away, making a wide U-turn to journey west. Grabbing the cases left behind, Carsten walked to the trunk of their car. Hoch immediately jumped from his seat to assist. As he moved, Carsten noticed Mertens speak to the driver of his remaining escort. With one eye on his new assistant, Carsten and Hoch put the cases in the trunk with the rest of the baggage. He peered over his shoulder, attempting to appear only half interested.

Then Mertens came toward them with his fat little hands fondling something in his pockets. He wore a smile that stretched the tight skin of his round face. The staff car pulled away, going east. Carsten looked back to the trunk, but the job was done and he had no excuse to keep his attention there any longer. Carsten thanked Hoch and stepped away, allowing the driver to shut the lid and take his post at the wheel.

Mertens stepped slowly closer, grinning deviously at Carsten.

"I am most anxious to meet our benefactor," Mertens said. "Is it true that his daughter and her guardian decided to accompany him at the last moment?"

"Ja," Carsten replied plainly, though he was anxious at how quickly the news had travelled. "They're with him in the car."

"Fabulous. Let us be off then," Mertens said, taking a step toward the car.

Carsten blocked him, putting a hand up before his chest. "I must warn you that he isn't the most sociable person. You know how genius is." Carsten shrugged, wearing a sideways smile.

Mertens examined every detail of Carsten's face. A slow twist curved the crafty man's mouth. Though the gaze reached into him, Carsten didn't look away.

"Of course, Herr Reiniger," Mertens said suspiciously.

Carsten led Mertens to the front seat of the car. He seemed pleased with the placement, probably believing they meant him to feel more important than the man who rode with the cargo. Carsten was relieved he wouldn't need to give up his seat beside Claire. She would be quite unhappy with that change and he could do little to quell a tirade from the front seat. He popped open the rear door and ducked inside. He took his seat. Claire frowned at him, but kept as quiet as a mouse, just as he had asked.

Hoch started the engine, and Carsten checked each piece of his cargo. As usual, Noreen appeared quite nervous and Claire and her father both looked irritable. Focusing his eyes on the road ahead, he saw Mertens twist in his seat to better see those in back. Hoch put his foot to the gas pedal and they started on their way to Köln.

"Guten tag, mein friends," Mertens addressed the Healeys. "I will be assisting Herr Reiniger in escorting you as far as Köln. I am most pleased to make all of your acquaintances. What legend your story will be for the future children of the Reich."

Carsten kept his eyes on the road ahead and prayed. He'd never heard such inane drivel and it was just the thing to send Healey over the edge. The man remained silent, pursing his lips and nodding while the man spoke.

Carsten's concentration and hate made his face harder than granite. He clenched his teeth tight. Mertens must be an SS man-he spoke exactly like one. He'd used the light conversation merely to find out who among them posed the greatest weakness and where he could obtain the most information.

Healey sat up and turned to their new companion. He offered his hand to the man and introduced himself. They shook, grinning at each other like two mad hyenas. Healey then introduced his family to the man, playing the part of the doting patriarch quite well. Carsten imagined drawing his pistol and shooting him in the knees. He ran a hand down the back of his neck to calm his nerves.

When he introduced Claire, the man removed his hat as a show of respect. His eyes lingered on her too long, but she ignored the flirtation and gave him her hand. In a couple of hours, he would be gone and they wouldn't need to be concerned.

"You have a very lovely daughter, Herr Healey," Mertens said. "Are you sure you trust Reiniger to sit beside her?"

"Oh, of course," Healey said with a smile. "They've been good friends since they met in Boston. I think it should be encouraged, in fact."

Carsten locked his icy eyes on Healey. The man was slick. He wanted revenge and he'd quickly found his outlet. He couldn't help but smile in acknowledgment. However, this marked the girl for Mertens. He would think she held the most information about the situation and prove to be the weakest of them all, so frail and pretty. He obviously didn't know Irish American women, especially one like Claire.

"Fabelhaft," Mertens said. "Herr Reiniger is the star of the Abwehr. If he continues so successfully, he will have his place assured in the Reich. A very good friend to have, Fräulein Healey." He'd set the trap.

Claire smiled at the man. "I must admit, he has been nothing short of what you describe. A lesser man would have run by now."

Carsten thought he would run right then. He tried to smile at Claire. She grinned back at him, enjoying the torment she'd inflicted. He cast his eyes out the side window, drawing his shoulders up tight.

Healey grinned. "All this praise is embarrassing him." He played games with their lives just to let Carsten know that he still held a card or two and could cause them pain. Carsten's heart beat hard. He could shoot Mertens and Healey and be done with it. Despite how much joy the thought gave him, he kept his face blank. His eyes shifted to Healey, but the man wasn't intimidated.

"As I have said previously," Carsten spoke, carefully checking the tone in his voice. "I am simply performing the job given me," he laughed lightly to hide his nervousness. Then he decided to play a card he'd held for some time and put Healey back in his place. He might only count her as property, but Claire was a connection he could work against just the same. "Danke wenn," he said, taking Claire's hand and holding. He squeezed her fingers and smiled at her warmly.

This subtle maneuver gave him the leverage he needed, and it also silenced Healey by taking his one pawn off the board. If they believed he had a relationship with Claire, they would encourage it, thinking that would tie the family to the Reich. And if he did, he would protect her before he would protect her father. It also meant that Claire would be perceived as loyal and no longer a target.

Claire observed her hand cradled in his. She blushed, taken off guard by the action. Carsten released her, not wishing to torment her any further. It would only loosen her tongue and bury them all. Besides, Noreen was likely to swoop down and protect her chick.

"If you'll excuse me," Mertens said, pleased with the interactions he'd seen, "I think I better start my watch."

With that, he faced the front and went to work. He quickly undid the belt and buttons of his coat. From inside his khaki suit jacket, he pulled out a pistol, then another. He set them on the dash. Parts of a rifle were strapped to his skinny legs and he took them off, fitting them together one by one.

Carsten evaluated the weapon. He rubbed his jaw line and calculated everything he'd observed of the man thus far. There was no doubt of who he was dealing with. The only question left was what was his real purpose? Carsten returned his gaze to the road. Only time would reveal the answer.

* * *

Claire repositioned herself on the seat. Her back ached in protest, having sat again for too long in a cramped space. Without a stretch or fresh air, she knew her head would erupt at any moment. Placing her hand behind her back, she tried to massage the tight muscles. After a moment of that, she then rubbed her shoulders and fidgeted on the seat for a more comfortable position. She hit a sore spot and involuntarily made a sound.

Carsten's attention immediately went to her. His piercing eyes took in each motion as she fought to relax the muscles in her neck. She hoped he would go back to playing her father's bodyguard and leave her alone, but she knew that hope was useless. Any opportunity that arose, he attended to her immediately, much like Eddie. A small smile curled the corners of her lips at the idea. If Eddie had been good-looking, he could have been a Carsten Reiniger, and she wouldn't be there. The idea nearly made her laugh, until she realized what it meant. Her smile died and she winced again.

"Are you all right?" Carsten asked. He drew her eyes to his.

"Yeah," Claire said. Each encounter played in her mind. She kept rubbing her shoulders and neck. Fear of what grew between them took hold, tightening her neck further. This couldn't happen, she thought to herself, willing her body to relax. It simply was impossible. They simply were incompatible, never mind their political differences.

"You are not very convincing," Carsten murmured.

"I'm not trying to be," Claire said, clasping her hands in her lap. She attempted to ignore him by concentrating on her fingers.

"Do you want to stop?" Carsten asked.

Claire switched her gaze from him to the newcomer in the front seat and back. She wanted him to stop paying attention to her and for the car to hurry up and get to where it was going. Mertens didn't make the situation any easier. Carsten smirked and shrugged his shoulders.

"I'm just uncomfortable from sitting so long," Claire said. "How many days in a sub and now this tin can?"

"You'll be able to stretch when we get to Köln," Carsten said. "Is there anything I can do to help now?"

Claire tipped her chin down and clucked her tongue. She shook her head and glanced at him distrustfully. He took any chance to lay his hands on her. Allowing him to do so was inadvisable. The startling fact he was a Nazi agent proved insufficient for her to hold him at bay even then, let alone if he succeeded in his advances. Something about him pulled her in not requiring any sensible reason.

Carsten shrugged and sat back. He took her hand anyway, turning it over in his. Claire pulled back, but he held her fast, pinning the rest of her with his intense eyes. His fingers shifted over her palm and she shivered, closing her hand against the sensation. He pressed her fingers open and proceeded to massage the heel of her palm, radiating out slowly to her fingers.

Claire observed his efforts with widening eyes. Her mouth hung partially open in disbelief. She wanted to pry her hand away and insist that he cease. His touch was far too intimate and thus inexcusable. Then, the muscles in her back released their knots. The stiffness in her legs subsided. She was content, relaxed, if not at peace.

"Where did you learn to do that?"

"A useful thing I picked up along the way," Carsten said. "It helps when you're stuck in cramped quarters and can't get out."

Claire let her arm relax against his side.

"Feel better?"

Claire mumbled an affirmation. She felt like she could sleep again, so she leaned her head back on the seat. Too tired to fight the roll of the car, she let her head slip toward his shoulder. He breathed against her arm, and she lost herself in the rhythm. The scene outside entranced her. Soon, she could barely keep her eyes open. The scent of him filled her nose, and she quickly found herself imagining them alone. Carsten's fingers still worked on her hand and wrist. Her eyes popped open again with the realization that she didn't wish him to stop. The alarm at her own feelings quickly subsided to sleepiness and her eyes closed.

Popping them back open, she inhaled sharply to regain her senses. This was what he'd done to her in Lorient and on the street before they met Gustave. Both times had left her horribly embarrassed and vulnerable, and he had been using it to manipulate her. Her gaze found her aunt, who appeared troubled by the exchange on the opposite seat. Aunt subtly shook her head. Claire sat up and gently pulled back her hand. Carsten released her this time, offering a small smile.

Claire tucked her hand around her waist. His touch still tingled on her skin. She rested her head back against the seat and peered out the window over her shoulder. Rain slowly fell again. The cadence of its beat lulled her to sleep before she could cry with the anguish filling her heart for what was happening.

The last thing Claire remembered was a farm disappearing behind them and a thick forest along the side of the road. When she woke, she lay against the door. The scene outside was very different. A man in a long wool coat neared the car. Behind him, other similarly dressed men stood by a small building. She heard the driver speak and an unfamiliar voice respond. Claire sat up and looked about startled.

"Good of you to rejoin us," Aunt said with a forced smile.

"How long was I asleep?"

"Since you and your friend were holding hands," Aunt said, gesturing to her and the empty seat beside her.

Claire was startled by the vacancy. Her eyes went to the front. Mertens was gone as well. Then her eyes settled on Aunt.

"Oh, don't worry," Aunt said. "We couldn't be that lucky." She nearly laughed at Claire's concern. "We've been stopped at a checkpoint in some town called Verr-vee-a, I think they said. Who knows anymore."

"So when, exactly, did you and Mr. Reiniger get so friendly?" her father asked, insinuating himself into the conversation.

Claire shut her eyes, trying to keep from responding. She opened them again and saw how exhausted her father appeared. She wished his weariness would have dissipated his malevolence. Instead, he grinned at her like the devil.

"We're not," Claire replied. She sat back in the seat and folded her hands. "But wasn't that your intent when you sent us out on a date?"

"Your knight in shining Nazi armor." Father laughed. "Maybe you're not as dumb as I thought."

Claire glowered at him. She crossed her legs and bobbed her foot up and down. She refused to answer him. She fixed her eyes on the scene outside and saw both Carsten and Mertens stand with several soldiers at the checkpoint. The largest of the men took a close read of their papers. Suddenly, what her father had to say was irrelevant. Biting her lip, she thought of what Carsten had told them about the route. They were close to the border and would be within the gates of hell in moments.

Along with the dreadful exhaustion of surviving both a sea voyage and a trek across Europe, dread suffocated her again. How would they ever escape the very den of Satan himself? Continuing to watch, she saw Carsten and his new partner retrieve their papers and then exchange salutes with the imposing guard. Carsten swung around and his eyes immediately met hers. The look gave her pause, for in it, there was more to be feared than a prison camp. The usual coldness of his glance had gone. Instead, she saw a hint of what she'd felt in each of his startling touches; she saw what she'd only just begun to understand in herself.

The door opened behind her, but Claire held her eyes on the scene outside. It was easier to see the German soldiers guarding the check point than face Carsten. The seat jumped as he sat down and Claire shut her eyes, touching the cold glass of the window to ground herself before she cried in front of him. The car started and her heart pumped. She slowly opened her eyes again and saw the roadblock fade away as they entered another city and drew ever closer to the den.

"We'll be there very shortly," Carsten said. "I think we'll stop to stretch our legs. We're making good time."