Carsten's knees buckled as he stepped in front of the Abwehr building with Kohl. The old office had never looked so good, he thought, as nostalgia swept through him. The familiar sight only reminded him of how exhausted he was, and how far he was from being able to sleep in his own bed. It mattered little as the mission presented a better alternative than being alone in the field. His mind wandered to his flat a few blocks over. At least the end was in sight. Kohl put a hand on his back, urging him forward. Carsten nodded to reassure him he was fine.

Together the men climbed the steps to the front door and navigated the sentries. The men wandered through the building, finally arriving at the commander's offices. There they would need to pass the staff clerk, Paul Strauss. Strauss was a paper pusher and had worked there for the term of Carsten's assignment with the division. He never stepped outside the office and preferred neat, dark suits and scribbling notes in files. When they reached the inner sanctum, they entered through a nondescript door. Strauss lifted his head as they approached him inside his plain office. Recognition lit up Strauss's pubescent face. Carsten hated dealing with the clerk. He acted like the biggest fan of all the agents in the field and tried to get them to tell their stories. But Strauss never understood the risk or never cared. Besides infuriating the field men, he had a reputation of being too comfortable in his cushy job. Kohl always took it in stride, unlike Carsten, and fed the young man made-up escapades. He was good at it too. Strauss ate it up like a kid with penny candy. It wouldn't surprise either of them if Strauss revealed himself to be another Mertens-an SS informer.

"Herr Kohl!" Strauss jumped up and saluted. "Herr Reiniger." He seemed pleasantly shocked by the agent's appearance. "We had not expected you for another hour. Herr Focke said you could be as late as two days. I told him you would be on time, if not early. And here you are. I have to thank you for proving me right."

"Anytime, Strauss," Carsten replied dryly.

"Is the boss in?" Kohl asked.

"Of course," Strauss replied with a bright smile. He pressed a button on the intercom and called out to the commander who responded almost immediately. "Right this way."

The agents followed Strauss to the door of Focke's office. The clerk opened it and they passed through. On the other side, the Oberstleutnant sat at his imposing desk. Two other administrators relaxed in chairs set before the massive piece of furniture. A third slouched on a leather couch along the wall beside the entrance. It was the same arrangement every time he reported.

"Ah, Kohl," Focke said. "I see you have found Hauptmann Reiniger. It is about time you returned to us."

"It is good to be back, Herr Focke," Carsten replied. "I cannot express how much."

Focke got to his feet and came around his desk. He smiled genuinely and shook Carsten's hand.

"Ja, I have received word of what happened at Verviers," Focke said. He tucked his hands behind his back and smiled at Carsten. "Shall we retire to the meeting room?" He gestured toward the door in the paneling of the left wall.

Everyone complied with Focke's wishes. He led them into the adjoining room where they sat around a large wooden slab. There were no windows and no other doors. The walls were most likely reinforced and layered to prevent people listening in or shooting bullets through Focke and his staff.

Kohl and Carsten sat together in a pair of hard, wooden chairs. Focke sat at the head and his desk men opposite the agents, like the three blind mice of judgment. The mice took out their notebooks and fountain pens. They waited expectantly for the interview to begin.

"Start at when you left Boston," Focke instructed. "Your transmissions were well compiled up to that point. There is no need to rehash old information."

"Jawohl, Herr Focke," Carsten said.

Carsten relayed the story of their leaving from Boston and handed over his notebook for review. He took the men across the ocean in the yacht and the U-boat. He landed them in Lorient and drove them cross-country through France, Belgium and into Germany. He covered every aspect of the journey, divulging every detail he could recall. He mentioned the hotel in Orléans, Mertens and even the chickens. He spread the objects he'd taken from the pockets of the Gestapo man on the table, not mentioning his inspection of the wallet. He knew they wouldn't expect him to give up the items, and it might help to quiet any whispers. Lastly, he spoke in great detail about the grenade in Verviers, insinuating that Mertens was a double agent.

"That was a bold move, taking the girl and her aunt with you," Focke said when Carsten had finished. "Why didn't you do away with them?"

The office men scribbled every detail in their notebooks.

"I had no other choice," Carsten explained. "They posed no harm if they came along, just more cargo. But left behind, there was great risk in the hands of the American authorities. I wouldn't doubt they would have given our heading. The run-in with the destroyer may have been somewhat different in that case. Had I killed them, the staff of Healey's household would have discovered them before we left the port. We never would have made it out of Boston."

"And so these women do not agree with Herr Healey's move to assist the Reich?" Focke pressed. When Carsten hesitated, he added, "The Führer will want to know, Carsten. It is a sensitive matter bringing in foreign men to take up a citizen's job."

"They do not, from my assessment," Carsten replied. "But I have never put the question to them. Claire's defiance is based on how her father treated her mother, as well as herself. She made that point implicitly clear. She despises her father for abandoning her mother in Waldau. I don't think she has thought much about what coming to Germany truly means or if she is against the Führer's plans. But she is pliable, I think. As far as her aunt is concerned-Miss O'Shea is loyal to her niece to a fault and dotes on her like a mother. She follows her everywhere and would do anything to keep her safe."

"I see." Focke sighed. "Miss Healey may be a problem-if she chooses to make hell for her father."

"I have reminded her that no one would see her as anything but collaborating with him. Therefore, it would be useless to do so," Carsten added. "She saw the sense in my advice, and this seems to have eased the tension."

"So she fears reprisal from the authorities." Focke sat forward scratching his chin. "Perhaps it will be of no concern. She is probably just reacting to exhaustion. Not every citizen is behind us with all feet to the floor. However, it might be our heads if she does explode."

"She won't explode, so long as Healey minds his manners," Carsten insisted. "He likes to antagonize her and anyone else he feels he can abuse."

"Yes, you mentioned previously he was short-tempered and impertinent." Focke nodded. "I can see how that could drive anyone mad."

Silence fell over the room. The mice stopped scribbling and waited for Focke to continue the interview.

"Well," Focke said, smiling. "Let us not share this information about Miss Healey any further. We have made a note of it. I trust your judgment, and there really is no need to make a difficult situation any harder."

"Greatly appreciated, Herr Focke," Carsten said.

"As well as what you imply about Mertens," Focke said somberly. "I will handle the question myself. You need think no more of it. The Abwehr is solvent."

Carsten nodded, but wasn't at all appeased.

"Herr Kohl," Focke said, jutting his chin toward the man who sat beside Carsten. "What is your recommendation for the Healeys?"

"In light of the attempt on Healey's life, I think we should keep a man assigned to them until things are settled. The resistance growing in Germany itself may try to finish the job."

"And who would you suggest?" Focke requested.

"I would request an agent who is familiar with the territory. Someone who isn't going in cold," Kohl replied. He paused. "I think Reiniger should stay with them. He's familiar to them and has consistently produced results. I wouldn't recommend sending him back to his infantry unit quite yet."

Kohl winked with his last words.

"Agreed, Herr Kohl. Herr Reiniger is more of an asset here than in the field. He has proven so consistently," Focke said with a smile. "Where are the Healeys now?"

"At the hospital being examined for injuries," Kohl replied. "I put a man on them that I trust."

"How did your interview with the wife go?"

The question took Carsten off guard. They'd gone after Claire's mother. His stomach flipped at the implications of this development. How could he not know? Clasping his hands on the table surface, he tried to remain unconcerned despite the waves of emotions flowing through him. His mind raced to piece the bits together. Either they were gunning for him or he'd gotten careless. In light of the grenade incident, he worried that it was the latter.

"She's rather sane, from what I discerned. She knows the whole thing-end to end. I'm not sure she can be brought into the plan, though, after what Herr Healey did to her. Very set in her beliefs I suspect, but-"

"But?" Focke pressed.

"Perhaps someone more charming can convince her," Kohl said, suggesting Carsten remain on the job.

"You had better return to them, Herr Reiniger. Herr Kohl will follow up with you every few days and provide you assistance as needed. Leave the mother at Waldau for now. We can arrange visits with the sister and daughter. And Herr Reiniger-it will be your duty at that time to convince Mrs. Healey or report to us that she will never leave that hospital."

"Danke, Herr Focke," Carsten said. He masked his pleasure at keeping his post easily with the deflating addition to his duties. It weighed heavily, knowing he would be the one to decide the mother's fate.

"One other thing," Focke said. "I have heard some things, Herr Reiniger. I want to notify you that it has been taken into consideration. We've discussed whether it may be to your advantage to pursue a friendship with Miss Healey. I cannot advise you either way. It is up to you. But-I suggest you choose wisely. Certain elements are quite interested in what you've been up to. It sounds like a promotion, and I wouldn't want one of mine to ruin his reputation or chances at advancement for a girl."

"Whatever you have heard, commander-" Carsten began.

"Nothing further, Hauptmann Reiniger. It happens to the best of us at some point," Focke said, holding up his hand to silence him. "You are dismissed until I need you for further questioning."

"Danke, Oberstleutnant."

The men all stood in unison and silently saluted. Kohl and Carsten left the table, exiting through Focke's office. In the outer room, Strauss let them be, seeing their darkened manner. It was just as well, for Carsten would have lost his temper and made things quite bad for more than Strauss or himself. He was still reeling from the idea that they planned to have Mrs. Healey liquidated.

Out in the fresh air, Kohl walked with Carsten toward a waiting car. The younger lit a cigarette to soothe his nerves after the interview. The convertible staff car would be a welcome change from the cloistered transport they took from Lorient. However, their minds weren't really on cars. Information carried fast. No matter the way you tried to make the facts appear, how others wanted them always managed to reach the bosses first.

"Call on me-soon as you need anything," Kohl insisted.

"Why didn't you tell me about Mrs. Healey?" Carsten asked.

"Not your assignment," Kohl answered simply.

"If I am going to decide her fate," Carsten replied.

The men locked eyes. Carsten's jaw worked angrily. He wondered if there was anyone left to trust.

"Look, Herr Reiniger," Kohl said, taking out another cigar. He picked the end and scanned the street. "What I'm doing is only to help you. You have your orders. Now keep your nose clean and get back to work. I will see what I can find out if you're that concerned your flavor's gone bad. But you heard Focke. He all but told you it was a promotion."

Carsten nodded. He climbed into the far back seat of the staff car. He no longer really trusted Kohl, so he frowned, taking on the aspect of a sulking child denied his latest yearning. Promotion? He smelled something else coming down the pipe for him.

"Carsten," Kohl said. Carsten's eyes went to him, displeased. "Real men may take what they want, but they're also smart enough to know when to leave a treasure buried."

Carsten eyed him questioningly, a touch annoyed by the man's assertion.

"Oh." Kohl's brows jumped. "One more thing." He pulled a news clipping from his jacket pocket. "I thought you might be amused by this. It was sent by one of our undercover boys in England."

Kohl handed the clipping to Carsten. Taking the creased paper, Carsten read the headline. Wealthy American Manufacturer and Family Dead at Sea. Victims of U-boat Attack! Scribbled above it were the words: Our boy HCR! Carsten gave an unimpressed snort.

"Why don't you let the doctors give you a once-over too," Kohl said. "You seem a bit shaken. I'm surprised you have no injuries."

"Nein, Kohl." Carsten folded the paper. "I am fine-just concerned."

Carsten handed the clipping back. He puffed on his cigarette a bit antsy.

"You keep that," Kohl said. "What has you worried? That I'm at your heels and you didn't know it?"

"That-and why the Gestapo is meddling in this. It can't be over a promotion. Something's gone wrong," Carsten said. He peered into the distance.

"Firstly-I am always at your heels, Carsten. Secondly-why do those dogs meddle in anything? They're nosy."

"Nein. They're sharks. There's blood in the water and they're about to feed."

"Is there something you didn't tell them back there?" Kohl asked.

"I told them everything, against my better judgment. I may have thrown Claire in a work camp myself for all I know."

"The girl will be fine, Reiniger. I will help with that, so long as you care so much," Kohl assured him. He sighed. "The things I do for you. I hope this girl's worth it."

Carsten's mood barely lifted, but he smiled anyway.

"Danke, Kohl. You've been like a father to me," Carsten said.

"Well, my prodigal son, get on your way and see to the assignment. Make it worth my while," Kohl said with a smile. "I will check in tomorrow morning." He made to leave, then came back. "Oh, and, uh-don't share any of that stuff about Mrs. Healey with anyone. I don't think it would play well."

Carsten searched the back of the middle bench with his eyes. How could he tell Claire? He nodded sharply.

Kohl mumbled and tapped his hand hard on the staff car door. The engine started and it whisked away before Carsten could say anymore. He sat back with the cool May air blowing through his hair. His head ached with all the thoughts racing through his mind. Carsten flexed his hand, watching the fingers open and close. As he sat there settling back down, a pain radiated through his arm. The fingers tingled. He checked his limb and found a large bruise along the forearm and a scrape on the elbow. Carsten rubbed his palm, relaxing back against the seat. He inhaled the smoke deep.

Focusing on the clouds in the sky, he wondered what his superiors knew. He had a sense from what he'd gathered so far that it was bad for him. He had to find out exactly what buzzed in their ear and who, before he found himself shot through the head in some alley. Like that, he would be of no use to Claire or her aunt. However, his best contact had just left him feeling eerily cold. He couldn't trust Kohl any longer. The only way to get what he wanted was to tap his underground counterparts in Berlin for information. Besides, they would want to know he'd reached Köln and was headed toward them, barring any difficulty with Healey's injuries.

***

Claire observed the skyline of the city of Köln out the window of a hospital room. Below, a blooming garden stretched to a barrier of tall trees. Spires poked the sky and a haze hung over everything as the sun set. The scene was strangely peaceful, unlike the villages and towns they'd seen throughout Belgium. There was no wreckage to be seen from that vantage; it was well hidden by the trees. She could lie to herself all she wanted about where they were and why.

Turning away from the scenery, she focused on the sterile white hospital room. The bed closest to her would be empty, she assumed, until her father showed up from wherever the doctors had taken him. Her aunt lay on the next bed, staring at the ceiling, completely bored. They'd spoken little since entering the hospital. A stranger in a black suit stood outside watching everyone and everything that went on. Though they couldn't be positive he understood English, they were reasonably sure he did. He had the same suspicious manner as Carsten, and that could mean only one thing.

Claire looked down at her leg and the bandage that stretched up her calf. The glass shard had made a seam five inches long before it had dug deep just below her knee. The ankle and knee of her other leg were swollen, both sprained by the sudden fall. Every move now brought a stinging and aching reminder of the explosion. Claire lifted her eyes again. If she weren't so sore, she would wander the room and pester her aunt. The pain and boredom made it impossible to realize she should be glad to be in one piece and not as badly off as the others.

Claire blew out her breath in aggravation. She picked up an ice bag from the table where she'd left it and placed it against her knee, but it only made her injury hurt worse. A few magazines rested on the table beside her chair; the cover images of Aryan men, women and children struck at her heart. She frowned deeply, closing her eyes to the blocks of German words. She pressed the ice bag back to her knee, hoping the cold would shock her out of it.

Footsteps echoed down the hall. Claire listened to them, hoping the doctor had come back to tell them her father had died during the procedure. She winced at the dark thought and cursed under her breath for being just as monstrous as him. It was foolish and deviously hopeful to think that a hurried local anesthetic could go so terribly wrong.

Voices murmured in the hall outside, then a familiar figure swept into the room. Claire wanted to smile, but held it back for fear of exposing the truth. He moved further into the room, pausing at the foot of Aunt's bed.

"Frau O'Shea," he said, grinning.

Aunt sat up. For an instant she seemed happy to see him, but then her eyes became hard.

"Where have you been? That guard dog out there has all the personality of a rock," she complained.

"Headquarters," Carsten replied. "Debriefing with my commander on the mission."

"The mission." Aunt scowled at him.

After setting the ice back on the table, Claire folded her hands together. She pored over the tiny scratches and cuts on her fingers to hide her frown. She pressed her tongue between her teeth to shake herself out of the disappointment she'd felt when he ran to her aunt first. How many times did she need to tell herself he was the enemy? She hated herself for being so foolish over a handsome face.

"I have good news for both of you," Carsten said, stepping further into the room. His glance switched between them, lingering on Claire. Her heart rebounded with hope. Or was it concern? "My commander has given me orders to stay with you. He thinks your transition could be helped by someone familiar to you-someone who has already been helping you. If you wish me to continue, that is."

"Transition?" Aunt questioned derisively.

"Relocation to Germany," Carsten replied. Both women gasped and Claire readied a volley of swears the likes he'd never hear again. He held up his hands stopping her. "Before you start," he said, "please think about what I told you before. It does not have to be forever, just long enough to safely walk away."

"I don't want to stay here another day," Aunt declared. "I want to go home."

"Understandable, Frau O'Shea, but you don't have the luxury of boarding a passenger flight and leaving for home right now."

"Did you tell them what Father did to us?" Claire said.

"They already knew, Fräulein," Carsten replied.

Fear filled Claire's eyes. The warnings he'd given her were coming to fruition. Claire questioned her whole perspective up to that point. She never suspected she would sympathize with an enemy. Neither did she think a man would come out of nowhere and whisk her away to another world where she became the enemy. Her stomach was in knots. Nothing would stop the Nazis from putting them in one of their death camps now. They knew everything and Carsten Reiniger had supplied every detail. Here she sat in their trap, between two men, one of which should have been her valiant protector from the other. Claire gave up believing Father would ever come to any such realizations. With the help of his new friends, she was ever more assured he would leave her to die in a prison camp. He would see it as the perfect ending.

"They are a bit concerned, but have assured me they will put that information on ice if you behave yourselves. The stress of what has been done to you, Fräulein Healey, would cause anyone to despise their father. We will use that to our advantage."

"They think she's a rebellious teenager?" Aunt laughed. "Aren't they in for a surprise."

"I hardly pass for a defiant child," Claire said. "I'm a grown woman."

"It is all we have to work with," Carsten replied.

Carsten stepped toward Claire, but passed, going instead to the window. His ragged suit provided a better impression of his condition compared to what she recalled from just after the bombing. The fabric of one sleeve had been torn. His tie was missing. A thin scratch followed the angle of his cheek. His hair was still a complete mess. A marbling of dust tied the whole picture together. He probably hadn't even noticed yet. Claire wished she hadn't. It was impossible for him to look any better, but he managed to do so each time he appeared. She rolled her eyes and exhaled, wondering when she would get over her senseless preoccupation.

Carsten turned from the window, forcing her to quickly mask her annoyance. He hesitated, then sat in the seat beside hers. Something warm spread across her stomach and her heartbeat slowed. Perhaps he really meant to help them and wasn't the enemy she thought him to be. After spending so much time in his presence, the propaganda melted away to hint that not every German was so horribly evil. He was only on the wrong side of things by birth. Surely he could be made to see reason. Carsten could be cold, but so could she. She thought of her dark wishes for her father, for one, and dropped her chin. Perhaps desperation had made her lose perspective. Or perhaps she was just her father's daughter, looking out for herself.

The door to the room darkened as a nurse pushed in a wheelchair. Her father sat there like the Cheshire cat. He had a bruise alongside his face and two bits of white tape over his eyebrow. As he came closer, she could see that he sported a few stitches. His leg had been decked out in thick bandages from the knee to the ankle, and his pant leg was tattered where they'd cut it to tack his flesh back together. He gripped the arms of the chair with singed hands that were scraped and bruised on the underside. She never saw him in such a state and could only gawk.

"Well hello, Mr. Reiniger." He smiled. There was no doubt the staff had given him pain killers. "I trust the doctors told you about my leg. They tell me I shall need a cane for quite some time. You see, my leg is broken."

Carsten and Claire sat perplexed and silent. They exchanged quick, questioning glances.

"I don't have any other clothes," Healey suddenly blurted. He laughed heartily about this. "They were burned in the explosion. Along with my books," he added, disgusted by the state of his suit.

"Oh, Nelly," Claire said. "Can we get a supply of what you gave him to go?"

The nurse smiled at her. "We will send him off with medicines and a supply of bandages. We don't usually release patients this quickly, but we can do so with relative confidence you will contact a physician to keep watch he does not get infection, Hauptmann," she said, sternly directing the last part at Carsten.

"He is an infection," Aunt grumbled.

Healey made a sudden sound they could only describe as a giggle.

"You're always so full of vinegar, Noreen," Healey said mirthfully, but with words that were more like himself.

Carsten patted Claire's back consolingly as she leaned over her lap, cradling her head in her hand. He stood from his chair beside her.

"Danke Sie," Carsten said.

"If you will follow me," she said, "I will walk you through discharge."

The nurse pushed Father's chair out of the room.

Claire gathered her clutch from the window sill. She limped along, wincing at the pain in her leg. Carsten's arm circled her waist, setting her off balance so that she had to lean her weight against him. Reflexively, she grasped his shoulder to regain her balance. Her stomach lurched, noting how well she fit against his side.

"I've got you," he said.

"I'm sorry," Claire blurted.

"For?" He glanced at her upturned face.

"For being such a baby. It's just a little scratch," Claire said, rotating her leg to show the bandage. She didn't dare bring attention to the rest of her injuries.

"Ganz gleich, Fräulein," he said.

Claire searched his eyes. The ice had definitely gone. Her legs went numb and the air grew heavy.

"If you two are finished," Aunt said, calling her back to reality.

The nurse left the room and waited in the hall. The dark suit stood beside Aunt, helping her shuffle along. He smiled at Carsten.

Carsten adjusted his hold on Claire's side and cleared his throat. She chewed her lip, blushing at being caught so openly with him yet again. What was it about him that made her forget everything but him?

Together, they hobbled silently behind the others. Their bodies did enough talking. Claire was mortified. She cursed herself, her friend Sarry, her father and even her aunt for causing this. If her father had never developed his insane scheme, Carsten would never have arrived in America. Even if he had, neither Sarry nor her aunt should have thrown her at him. They should have left it alone. She could have gone quietly back to New York and been short a father in a few days and rid of Fritzy for good. This harrowing trip wouldn't have happened and she would be unmarred, lying about Aunt's apartment and going to parties meeting nice men, while she figured out what she wanted to do with her life. Instead she was stuck here, injured and cozying up to Nazis to save her own skin.

Claire's eyes went to Carsten's face. How in all of heaven and earth was he a Nazi?. He diligently focused on the hall ahead without a clue of the internal battle she was fighting. He glanced sideways, feeling her stare. And when his hand slid up her side, she couldn't tell if he was rebalancing her or taking liberties. Claire didn't care which it was, she just hoped it would end and continue at the same time. She was incapable of deciding anything.

Claire's torment continued until Carsten brought them to the staff car. He helped her to the far back of the convertible. Then he placed Aunt beside her. Setting the middle seat back, he and the nurse assisted Healey to prop his leg along the bench. All the while, the nurse gave instructions for the care of Healey's leg. With the cargo secured in the transport, Carsten went to the front passenger seat. The nurse and the other agent waved to them as they pulled away.

At some point during the arduous drive, Aunt began lecturing in a hoarse whisper, warning Claire about getting too close and something about the devil. The rush of the air in her face, along with the stirring scenery of Köln, blissfully distracted her from reality. Claire barely listened to the Catholic-inspired ranting. Instead, she wondered exactly when she'd started talking. Something pressed against her leg on the seat. It was a nearly empty pack of chewing gum. Claire debated throwing it out of the car or chewing it herself. Opening her clutch, she tucked it inside for safe keeping. She needed Carsten's help, not his resentment.

"Are you listening to a word I've said?" Aunt asked.

"No, not really," Claire admitted.

"Doll, please," Aunt begged. "You mustn't get close. You mustn't."

"I've no idea what you're talking about." Claire said wearily. She folded her arms and sat back against the seat.

"You very well do," Aunt grumbled. "Behave yourself, little girl. You're not so big I can't still take you over my knee."

Claire passed her a sidelong glance. She crushed her arms about her waist in aggravation. Her aunt just didn't understand. It wasn't her wish to do this. It had just happened and she'd never felt so helpless in her life. The terror she was stricken with was worse than when she lay on the sidewalk in Verviers, seeing the car and driver burn and her father crawling desperately to safety.

"What do you want me to do?" Claire whispered.

"Avoidance," Aunt replied. "At all costs, avoid what just happened back there."

"You're ridiculous," Claire said. "How can I avoid someone who is going to spend every waking moment with us?"

"Then be aloof, but just keep yer distance, for the love of God and all things holy, Claire," Aunt hissed. "He's a Nazi!"

Claire sighed and focused her gaze on the city. With the way Carsten worked, it would be impossible to keep her distance, short of crying rape every time he got near. Claire smiled at the idea. She wondered just what he would do. The heat rose in her cheeks.

"Oh, dear Lord," Aunt mumbled, tossing herself to the other side of the bench. She whispered to herself and shook her head.