Hoch parked the car on a side street. The rain had cleared at last and the sun shone brightly, so Claire climbed out of the car beside her aunt and stood on the neatly swept sidewalk. Carsten loitered nearby with a cigarette, not clinging to her arm for a change. On the street side of the vehicle, her father got out and leaned on the roof of the car, displeased as ever. The scuffing of Mertens' shoes told her that he'd backed up to the building behind them to keep a close surveillance on everything.

"Where would you like to go?" Carsten asked them.

"What's here?" Aunt replied, not seeing much. She squinted in the sunshine.

"Why don't we take a little walk and find out?" Carsten suggested. He turned to Mertens. The man stood stiffly in front of a derelict store front. "Mertens, stay with the car. No telling who's around. You can help Hoch keep an eye on it."

Mertens nodded and went back to his surveillance of the buildings and street.

Claire didn't like the man's tense demeanor. He acted like he was hiding something. She herself had thought of every danger imaginable just while she'd been standing there. Carsten's warnings about how the resistance groups would see no difference between her and her father echoed in her mind. The new spy's behavior confirmed those declarations.

"Shall we?" Carsten startled her out of her thoughts. He scowled.

"Sorry," she laughed. "I'm just daydreaming-such lovely buildings," she added, with cutting sarcasm.

Carsten raised his eyebrow, hardly amused. He took her hand and Aunt's arm and led them toward the street. No traffic barred their way, though the rest of the city seemed busy enough. They hurried across.

"Come along, Herr Healey," Carsten called after him.

Claire cast her eyes over her shoulder to see her father reluctantly follow. He tucked his hands in his pockets and exhaled, annoyed to be an afterthought. Carsten was leading them to the corner across the street and each step made her feel uncomfortable.

In an instant, Claire was flat on her stomach across the sidewalk. All her senses had been battered out of her. She pushed up from the hard concrete, bewildered. A half smoked cigarette rolled toward her. Her mind was fragmented-there had been an inconceivably loud sound, like when she used to jumped in the pool as a girl and it had blotted out her hearing. Her body had instantly thrust forward. Then the deafening silence became a piercing ringing. This was all she remembered before she fell. She clasped her hands over her ears, rolling onto her backside. Her equilibrium was lost, and she wavered on the edge of fainting. Panic rose to replace the numbness.

Something gripped her arm, squeezing it tight and rousing her from debilitating fear. She searched for the source and found Carsten crouching beside her. His slicked back hair hung in tangles. The sleeves of his jacket were dusty. A grave, slightly angry air had replaced his initial shock. Despite his apparent confusion over what had happened, she wondered if he had pushed her down. Though she may have tripped on the curb, her memory crept back and denied both explanations. Claire noticed that his mouth moved, but she heard none of what he said. There was just a piercing ring and numbness.

Searching for her aunt, Claire discovered the woman kneeling in a spray of dust and broken bits. Her knees bled where she'd hit the ground. Aunt promptly threw up. Claire quickly looked away, feeling ill at the sight. As she tried to rid herself of the image, a stinging sensation reached her consciousness. A trickle of blood ran down the smooth skin of her calf. The new pair of hose she wore had been ripped to ruins. Carsten tore his tie from his neck and bandaged her leg with it.

Claire swatted Carsten's arm several times to gain his attention. She didn't need help with a little cut. Once her head stopped swimming, she would be all right. However, Aunt was seriously injured and needed assistance. Carsten looked to her once he'd finished tying the makeshift bandage and she pointed to her aunt.

"My aunt," Claire cried loudly. "She's hurt."

Carsten touched her cheek and smiled, moved by her lack of personal concern. As he moved aside, Claire saw the fire. Their vehicle sat engulfed. Black smoke poured up into the sky like a vent from hell. Her eyes scanned the scene, growing wide. Hoch's corpse had become a cinder skeleton, his body reclined in the broken remains of the seat. His door hung open, torn from its hinges. The trunk lid gaped. Flames poured forth from beneath, making greater clouds of black smoke. Wreckage lay strewn over the road and sidewalks. On the street between them and the car lay another body. When it twitched, Claire realized it was her father who had reluctantly followed a few paces behind them. He was struggling to sit up in what looked like a great deal of effort and pain. He reached for his leg, grimaced in agony and then rolled onto his belly and pulled himself toward them.

"Carsten," Claire cried.

Carsten looked at her. He hadn't thought of anyone but her-least of all her father and the other men. He squinted through the smoke. Healey crawled toward them, dragging his leg behind. A crowd converged on the spot from all directions, their commotion rousing Carsten to action. He dashed into the road and hoisted her father off the ground, gripping him under his shoulders. He dragged the injured man to the curb where the women huddled away from the fire.

Claire trembled as tears slid down her cheeks. With her mind beginning to clear, a great many more things became evident. While the car burned, smoking like an erupting volcano, the situation had become undeniable. She wrapped her arms around herself, as scared as the day her mother was taken from her. Her limbs were horribly bruised, but she wanted to feel a consoling touch.

Aunt crawled to her side and pressed her head to Claire's, encircling her arms around her niece. Claire clung to her aunt's arm like a little girl. She wished she'd argued a little bit more. She wished she'd insisted. She would have never taken that train and walked into such a fate.

Carsten stood over them waiting for help to arrive. He clutched his gun at the ready in one hand. First came the piercing sirens, then a muffled din of voices, but her eyes remained locked on the corpse in the fire.

The military trucks descended on them like a hive of bees. Just as quickly, the soldiers swept the Healeys away to discreet cover and kept the onlookers at bay. Claire allowed them to lift her and Aunt into an ambulance with no complaint. Carsten reluctantly left them to the medics' care. He was clearly angered at his failure to protect them from this attack. Claire wondered if relying on Carsten had been wise. He dashed out of sight before she could decide.

Claire swept her eyes to the medic treating her cut. He pulled a long, thin shard of glass from the top of the scratch with a pair of tweezers, and the blood ran faster. He covered it with a compress, applying pressure. He offered her a comforting smile. He spoke, but Claire only stared, unable to answer. She couldn't tell if he was speaking German, English or some other language. Her ears were still ringing and so was her head.

Father's roar permeated the steel of the ambulance. He lay somewhere outside in agony. Claire wondered at the extent of his injuries, though she knew he could barely crawl to escape the blaze and falling debris. A shadow came over her features as she prayed for the worst.

***

Carsten loped toward the steaming wreck of the transport. The rescue workers placed Hoch's remains in a bag. Pieces of him still stuck to the seat. Carsten winced and walked to the opposite side. The panels were gone, blown to pieces from the runner to the roof. The front passenger door lay blown off and the other in a crumple along the rear wheel well.

Soldiers stood, blocking pedestrians from the walk. They jostled each other to get a better view of the scene. A low ranking soldier stopped Carsten, throwing his hand up to his chest.

"Hauptmann Reiniger-Abwehr," he said. "This was my car. There was another passenger."

"Papers," the soldier asked tersely.

Carsten resentfully produced them. He heard Healey cry out and groan as they worked on his leg, cut by some projectile thrown in the explosion. Without anesthetic, the man took the triage procedure quite well. He expected the man to teach them every foul word he knew before they could even cut his pant leg off, but Healey only growled like a wounded bear.

"Come with me," the soldier instructed, satisfied that Carsten spoke the truth. He waved him forward.

A group of medics knelt in front of the store front where Carsten had left Mertens. He knew without seeing him that Mertens was in a bad way. His eyes settled on the man's foot lying still against the pavement, the rest of him hidden by the twisted passenger side door. A pair of medics knelt over the charred hunk of metal. As they took it away, Carsten saw what he had surmised. Mertens' blood soaked through his suit, along with other fluids. A telling hole marked his chest. Someone had shot him. Carsten stepped closer to be sure. The soldier escorting him explained his presence to the lead medic on the scene.

Mertens suddenly trembled. He gasped a final scream, but he was already dead before then. The brain had transmitted the signal at its last moment. Such tremors, and seeming life were a common occurrence in the field when an accident like this happened. The body fell quiet again, hopefully for good. Carsten scrubbed a hand across his face. He was no stranger to bad deaths. He had known quite a few who'd suffered them. This one, however, was one of the most gruesome he'd seen. The explosion had slammed the car door against Mertens, plunging him head first into the brick wall. The top of the window had lodged beneath his jaw, breaking it and embedding into the flesh. His skull had been crushed against the brick, evident from the blood that smeared the wall above him. The medics withdrew to find a bag for him as well. He wouldn't have survived regardless of their timing. The bullet wound would have bled him out.

Carsten solemnly eyed the body. He pursed his lips and excused himself to the men standing near. His hands flipped through all of Mertens' pockets, emptying them of any treasures that could be compromising to German intelligence, including his wallet. He stepped back from the body and told the medics where to send the remains. Carsten left them to their work, pausing at the sight into the burned out interior of the car afforded him at that position. The remains of Hoch's rifle were on the seat. It had been resting between him and the door when they left.

The scenario played in his mind and it made for an interesting dilemma. Mertens may have in fact tried to do away with Healey, perhaps all of them. If the SS plotted against him, what could he do to secure the women against death? Crossing the street, he opened the man's wallet, and searched through its contents. Indeed, Jonas Mertens was SS, part of the SD branch. His instincts had proved correct. But whatever intelligence the man had collected would never reach his superiors now, and the Abwehr's business remained their own.

Carsten loped back to the ambulance containing Claire and her aunt. Behind him, medics packed her father inside with a heavily splinted and bandaged leg. He could see Claire sitting toward the back while one of the medics examined her eyes. Carsten climbed up behind Healey's attendants, listening to the man blubber with pain.

"You should see Hoch and Mertens, Herr Healey," Carsten told him stonily. He flipped the wallet in his hand and went to Noreen. She lay down, still recovering from the fright and fighting off sobs. "Are you sure you're all right?" Noreen nodded and he patted her hand. "We'll be on our way to Köln in a moment. I will make sure the doctors look you over again when we get there."

"What happened to the driver?" she whimpered.

Carsten patted her shoulder, smiling regretfully. Noreen closed her eyes and fought back her sobs, and Carsten made his way back to Claire. She wore a bandage on her leg, but was none the worse for wear. Yet without further examination, he couldn't be sure of what internal traumas she'd sustained in the blast. He folded his arms and watched the doctor examine her.

"This girl is mute?" the medic asked.

"She doesn't speak German," Carsten explained. "Probably just shaken or she'd be talking your ear off right now."

The medic smiled, looking in Claire's ear. Claire glanced sideways at Carsten. A small cut over her brow glistened a dark red. She frowned at him and he frowned back.

"Can you hear anything yet?" Carsten asked.

"Yes," Claire said much more quietly than earlier. "My ears are ringing though."

The medic appeared startled at her English.

"To be expected," Carsten said. "Sanitätsobersoldat, we'll need to go to Köln," he told the man examining Claire. "I have orders to bring them in dead or alive."

"Ja, Hauptmann," the man agreed, no longer surprised. "That is not too far. We would be happy to bring them."

"Doesn't anyone hear me?" Healey howled. "Is there nothing you can give for pain in this back wood?"

"For your sanity," Carsten suggested to the medic. "You'd better give him something."

The man laughed. He called out to his under officers and ordered something to calm Healey down.

"They're searching for who did this," the medic said, counting Claire's pulse. "Looks like a grenade." He paused, smiling at Claire and taking out his stethoscope. "Did you see anyone on the street?"

"The street was empty," Carsten replied, keeping his suspicion of Mertens to himself.

"Probably came from that building you parked in front of." The medic pressed the scope to Claire's rib cage and listened.

"Something like that."

Carsten didn't particularly care. Mertens had performed a great service for him without knowing it. He only wished he was able to prevent the women from being hurt in the attack.

"Tell her to take deep breaths," the medic instructed.

Carsten passed on the instructions.

"Tell her to turn round, please," the man instructed again.

After Carsten translated, Claire swiveled around as best she could in the cramped ambulance. He checked her back for alignment, pressing his fingers along her spine. She winced at his prodding.

"Oh, that hurts," Claire whined.

"Everything seems to be intact, Hauptmann. I would have them check that leg to be sure nothing's broken. I think it's just sprains, but you never know. Fractures are tricky things. Other than that, she should get a clean bill of health in the hospital," the medic said. He indicated the bruised limb. "Would have been a shame if the rebels killed such a pretty thing."

"Ja, terrible shame," Carsten said, tired of being reminded.

The medical officer snorted in amusement. He walked away, dragging his tool bag with him. He jumped down from the ambulance and called out orders to his men. The doors closed and Carsten listened to the fists thump against it to signal the driver to go. The ambulance rolled forward, taking them away from the danger.

Claire fidgeted in her seat, finally coming to rest with her back against the wall of the truck. She hugged herself and studied the roof.

"Hoch and Mertens are dead," Carsten told her after several quiet moments.

"I don't feel bad for Mertens," Claire said, running her finger along the shell of the ambulance. "Hoch seemed nice though."

"He was a hard man," Carsten said. "Had a hard life."

"Then it's unfair he should die that way," Claire said, her hands dropped to her sides.

"He would have shot you if he needed to, but such is war," Carsten said. She held her eyes on the grimy windows in the back. "Are you sure you feel all right?"

"Just scraped up, Mr. Reiniger. Thank you," Claire said mechanically.

"I am sorry," Carsten said. "I had hoped to avoid this."

"How can you? One man?" Claire asked flatly. "These people fight for their very existence. They're desperate beyond measure. I would have done it myself if it meant an escape." Her voice broke as tears slid down her cheeks.

Carsten reached over and took her hand. He could feel her shaking. Her fingers were cold. He leaned closer to her, clasping his other hand over her fingers to warm them.

"I will see you through this," Carsten promised. "I will do the best that I can not to be reassigned. Perhaps this incident will help to convince them of the necessity."

"Incident? Incident?" she repeated heatedly, sitting up in her seat. She tore her hand back from him. "Two men are dead, Mr. Reiniger, because of your mission-because of my father. It's not an incident, and it's obvious you can do little to protect us."

"Somehow, I think you are trying to add yourself to that equation," Carsten replied calmly. "There is no blame upon your shoulders. Leave it with your father where it belongs. Blame me, if you must. You are as much a victim as Hoch. But realize they did us a favor in killing Mertens. That man was sent by the SS to spy on us-on you. Don't think for a moment that avoiding that grenade would have been better for any of us. Even if your father loses his leg, it is still better than losing his daughter to a work camp or worse. You must try to remember you are in enemy country now, Miss Healey. We are at war. Those men were your enemies." He paused and gauged her reaction. She remained silent.

"And before you go on telling me how your father would have forgotten you and your aunt so easily, know that he would have remembered. Every day he would have thought of you-worked to death for nothing but his greed. In his final hours, wracked with grief over killing his only child, he would suffer worse than those men who died today-but he would not have raised a finger to help you. In that alone, you are right." Carsten sat back against the ambulance walls. "Mertens deserved to die for what he did. Hoch-perhaps not. But remember who your enemies are."

Claire's eyes fell to the floor. She slowly lifted them to her aunt, who lay on a stretcher weeping. Then her eyes switched to her father who lay across the aisle, now peacefully drugged. She frowned deeply.

Over an hour passed before the ambulance came to a final stop. The passengers had been silent since Carsten last spoke. The doors opened, flooding the dim interior with a blazing white light. The medic who'd checked on Claire climbed in with another, while a man in a twill suit peered in at them from the street. He wore an ill-timed grin.

"Welcome to Germany!" the suit called.

Carsten stood, leaving Claire behind him.

"I must apologize for the send-off the Belgians gave you. They really do know how to throw a party."

Carsten's exhaustion faded, and all the tension left his face, washed away by his joy. It was Friederich Kohl, his mentor and friend. Carsten had never felt so glad to see the old man in all his time in the service. The khaki suit and brown fedora was finally the right set.

"Kohl," Carsten said.

"Herr Reiniger!" the man called to him. "Good to see you!"

The medics pulled Claire's father out of the ambulance first, clearing the path for Carsten to join Kohl outside.

"Shame you lost Mertens," Kohl said as Carsten jumped down from the back of the ambulance. "For who, I don't know, but it's the right thing to say." They shook hands heartily and then Kohl placed a cigar between his teeth. "He was on our side, supposedly."

"Am I glad to see you," Carsten declared.

The medics came back for Noreen, clambering noisily into the ambulance.

"Mmm-hmm." The man dismissed the greeting. "Where's the dish I've been hearing about?"

"Depends on who you've been speaking with," Carsten said, scratching his head. He squinted up at the bright sky.

"What do you mean?" Kohl asked. He removed the cigar from his mouth and held it between two fingers.

Two men gingerly carried Noreen out of the ambulance and away. It wasn't always so clear what people meant. He returned his attention to Kohl. The man shook his head.

"I think you know what I mean." Kohl smiled and pointed to the ambulance.

Claire climbed down alone, limping with each step. Carsten immediately went to her side.

"That a boy," Kohl said under his breath. He joined them as Carsten insisted Claire sit down and wait. "Miss Healey, I presume," Kohl said, smiling at Claire.

Claire squinted up at him. Kohl was several years older than her father, but struck most women as having a trustworthy fatherly air that made them trust him. He took her hand and held the knuckles before his face, as if to kiss her hand and she smiled at his old-fashioned consideration. Carsten supposed he resembled the father she might dream of having.

The medics appeared again, but with a nurse in tow to take Claire into the hospital. She looked at Carsten, eyes wide with worry.

"Fräulein Healey," the nurse said. "I have been told you speak no German. I will help you communicate with the doctors while your friends wait. Please come with us."

The medics helped Claire up from the bumper of the ambulance and toward the hospital. They chatted with the nurse about her condition and their preliminary exam. She jotted notes on a clipboard.

Carsten hurried after them.

"Oh, Reiniger," Kohl called him back. "I think they have it covered." Kohl pointed with his cigar.

Carsten hesitated to abandon his assignment and go to Kohl's side. With a sullen manner, his eyes swept the ambulance and road.

"You're quite attentive to her. Something going on I should know?" Kohl said after a moment.

"Nein. What would be going on?" Carsten said. He kept his eyes on the hospital grounds.

"She's a pretty girl-just the right age," Kohl said. "I can imagine quite a lot."

Carsten lowered his chin and scowled at him.

"It's of little consequence to me." Kohl shrugged. "I'm just getting you safe to Berlin. Sorry, by the way, about that whole Mertens thing. Gestapo got involved last minute. I guess they wanted a man on the ground to check him out as well. Didn't give you much trouble, I hope. "

"Nein," Carsten said. He thought of the belongings in his pockets.

"Look," Kohl said. "While they're in there, why don't we go over to the Nest, eh?"

The man outranked him, a superior among the Abwehr, and despite being a friend, he knew it wasn't an invitation. He must accompany him back to the office. He hesitated to answer, lighting a cigarette instead. The smell of Kohl's cigar was making him edgy. Carsten nodded.

"They'll be well looked after," Kohl assured him. "Your little girlfriend has nothing to fear now."

Carsten shot Kohl a deadly glance for his last comment.

"On target," the man said. He then offered an apologetic smile. "Come along, my car's over this way."

Carsten stuffed his hands in his pockets so he wouldn't throttle the old man. He glowered at the street, refusing to look at him. He almost regretted his childish joy at first seeing him.

"How long have you two-"

"She's not my anything," Carsten finally said.

"All right." Kohl splayed his hand out to emphasize his submission. "As you wish, Herr Reiniger. We'll call it what you like."

"It is nothing, Kohl. I assure you."

"Ja, fine. It is nothing."

They walked in silence.

"I retrieved things from Mertens in Verviers," Carsten said. "Perhaps it will help quiet the Gestapo for a time-if they know we are aware of the hit."

Kohl raised his brows in surprise. It was quite an accusation to make. He nodded and then stuck his cigar in his mouth, making a sound of agreement.