Inside the Chancellery, Carsten was forced to part with his cargo. He looked back over his shoulder as he walked a lower hall with Braun, and Claire mounted a set of stairs beside her aunt. When she glanced back at him, her brow raised and her mouth twisted into a frown. The fire and fear swimming in her eyes nearly broke his will, but the steel eagle at his side kept him on task. He wanted to run to her, but he had already risked too much. She disappeared beyond a corner, shattering his wish to pieces.

"She's a lovely girl," Braun said. He pinned his attention on the empty hall ahead.

Carsten straightened his shirt, ignoring the comment and the teasing grin.

"Perhaps she'll help you decide to stay in town for a while. All the more incentive to take up police work-to be home at night."

Carsten half smiled. The man brilliantly worked his leverage. He tucked his hands in his pocket and kept quiet. Braun couldn't promise him anything.

"Where are they taking them?" Carsten asked.

"To the apartments upstairs, as I said," Braun replied.

"They lost everything in the car bombing," Carsten told him.

"I'll see to a voucher," Braun said. "Someone can take them out tomorrow. I hear Focke ordered you to play guardian a while longer. Perhaps he wishes to use your relationship with the girl to find out more information?"

"No doubt," Carsten replied.

"You realize we don't trust Healey," Braun said.

"Why should we?" Carsten said. "I don't believe my reports said differently."

"Very good." Braun smiled. "Use his daughter as you see fit. She makes it easy for you. She must know something." Braun stopped beside a door flanked by two similar uniforms. They stood with their backs stiff and wooden faces frowning at the opposite wall. "Through here," Braun indicated. One of the wooden soldiers opened the door. They saluted Braun as he passed through. "Some of our men wish to have a little chat with you. Consider it an interview."

Carsten swallowed his worry. The SS had been observing him since he set foot in France. They wouldn't back down now. With the loss of their man in the field and the shooting in the alley, they had new reasons to ask him questions. It wasn't the time to lose his nerve.

Braun escorted Carsten through an empty office to a meeting room. The space was dimly lit by overhead lamps. Three men in similar uniforms to Braun's sat around the head of the table. A stack of files was set before the man in the middle, who was also the second highest rank in the room, and probably Braun's assistant. A fourth man sat somewhat apart and wore a tan uniform. On his arm he wore the red armband with the party's insignia. Likely he was there to report to their supreme leader.

Braun gestured to where Carsten should sit. Carsten did so, folding his hands before him and waited for Braun to join them. It seemed his old teacher had abdicated the interview to his second. This knowledge eased Carsten's mind some, hoping they only meant to assess their new recruit under Braun's guidance.

"Welcome home, Hauptmann," Braun's second said in that unemotional tone characteristic of his kind.

"Danke."

"We wish to ask you a few questions and then brief you on the situation," the tan-dressed man said.

Carsten flicked his eyes to him and nodded.

"Oberführer Braun and Oberstleutnant Focke have expressed their highest of praise in your regard," Braun's second began the interview. "We must add that we are most impressed with your performance. The Führer himself has reviewed your file and wishes to bestow great honors on you for the work you have done for the Fatherland."

Carsten held as blank a face as he could manage. They didn't require a show of enthusiasm at these admissions. Soon enough, they would waffle in disagreement. Their snooping left him uneasy. With so many trails left behind, he could hardly guess which apparition would catch up to him first. His heart beat harder.

"The information you transmitted on Herr Healey proved most enlightening," the man continued. "But he still gives us pause. A man who so easily betrays his native land to aid one from whom he isn't even descended gives us cause for concern. You stated in your reports that he's eager to serve. He looks forward to being a part of the effort to cleanse the world's nations of their evils and bring about the new order humanity requires."

Carsten sat back in his seat and laid his clasped hands on his waist. He eyed each of the men while their designated speaker droned on. Their piercing gazes drilled into him, but they would have a long wait to see his mask fail him.

"A man who'll accept payment for loyalty is a disloyal man. Time has often shown us his loyalty will be to himself alone. Would you agree with that assessment, Hauptmann Reiniger?"

"In most cases, I would," Carsten replied. "Herr Healey isn't being bought though. He's giving you more than three quarters of his wealth to move here and start over. He believes in our fight and has said nothing to the contrary."

Braun's second peered at him, a blank wall barely disguising his hatred.

"Quite true," the man finally spoke. "We want you to keep an eye on him-gather intelligence for us on this matter. It's important that we're entirely sure."

Carsten agreed.

"Now, for the matter of Frau O'Shea," the man drawled, "she's of no use to any of us and appears to be of no harm, according to later reports. It says here that she's a wealthy heiress, inheriting the entire stock of wealth from her parents when they died. She has lived the life of a socialite since, never marrying. When Herr Healey put his wife in hospital-she took their daughter as her own. Her sole position in the family was to rear the Healey heir. Would you agree, Hauptmann?"

Carsten agreed.

"And do you still feel she's of no threat or use?"

"She's the daughter's guardian," Carsten replied. "I would no longer say of no use. She has great influence over Miss Healey."

The man nodded. He lowered his serious gaze to the scattering of papers before him. He folded them neatly back in their file and pulled the remaining and largest one from under the others.

"That brings me to our next and most interesting subject-Fräulein Healey."

Carsten disinterestedly inspected the baseboard along the wall near his seat. Whatever the man hoped to capture by the sudden pronouncement of the girl's name, his present demeanor sorely disappointed him. The man drew and released a deep breath, examining the file.

"You report she has no background that would stir ideas of trouble. She recently graduated from school-a prestigious girls' school north of New York. She has never had anything to do with her father's company, let alone him, since her mother's incarceration. She also appears of little use to the Reich, but of some possible threat. Focke mentioned that her resentment of her father is quite volatile. He also mentioned your preoccupation with her, which may have led to the shooting in the alley in Köln."

Carsten rolled his eyes toward the man in an arrogant display of irritation at the proceedings. Braun grew antsy, and Carsten forced himself to sit up straight and pretend to pay attention. He knew they would rehash the incident and attempt to make it look as though he'd overreacted instead of arresting and then allowing the unit stationed there to deal with the men. After all, soldiers would be soldiers.

"Oberstleutnant Focke's exact words were that you have grown quite fond of the girl. You shot three German infantry men to protect her from-it says here-an attempted rape." The man gave a slimy smile. "Would you agree with that assessment?"

"Not entirely," Carsten countered. "I've grown a rapport that gives me access to her secrets. Focke ordered me to do as I see fit. I believe that's in his report also. As for the infantrymen, they would have done it to some other woman, perhaps a child, a citizen, perhaps not. But if they are willing to do such things, what else will they do when angered by something so trivial? They were not fit to serve or wear the uniform."

"Of course," the man said, smiling. He seemed to rather like the way Carsten dealt out judgment. "Well done."

The interrogator closed the file and pushed the pile aside. He folded his hands and pinned Carsten with a deadly serious gaze, and Carsten knew exactly what he was going to say. He wondered if the drones kept a script on hand or just spent their time memorizing the drill as they sat in rows of tiny desks in their hive-like offices.

"We agree with Herr Focke in that we would like you to continue to observe them. You're assigned to their protection," the man said. "You'll report to us twice a week. If you get even a notion they aren't what they pretend, you will inform our office right away. We put ourselves at quite a risk accepting the merger. I wouldn't like to see such a stellar soldier besmirched by some silly infatuation."

"There is nothing between me and the girl," Carsten cut him off. "I've explained my position to both Oberstleutnant Focke and Friedrich Kohl, who assisted me on the mission, and many of my other contacts. I would never leave anything out. Yet you all insist I'm up to something else-which is not unusual for your office. Neither is it reason to find fault. I've merely used the devices given me. If you think I underperform in my duties, then remove me from the assignment. Otherwise, allow me to continue those duties unhampered by gossip. It's obvious from where I sit that I have done well. The cargo is in Berlin, and I can get any information you want out of them."

The men held an aggravated silence.

"It's a dubious matter, Hauptmann-especially when killings get to be involved," the head of the table finally spoke. "Oberstleutnant Focke recommended you take care in getting close to her. We think you should do whatever it takes to get very close. We need you to make sure we aren't making a mistake and that you did not waste the lives of three of our men."

"Already working on it, Herr," Carsten said.

"Very well, then," the man said. "Let us conclude with best wishes for your continued success. We hope we don't have to resolve this matter in an unseemly fashion. Sometimes we get closer than we think to a target and harming it would have an adverse effect upon us. Either way, Healey's donation will arrive in a day or two, as it has nearly completed its route. At that time, we will make our final decision on how you shall proceed with them."

Once the man was finished giving him orders, the door to the office popped open. Braun's second rose to his feet, followed by the others. They saluted Carsten. Carsten saluted back out of propriety, and Braun escorted him from the room with a stony aspect that hinted at the worry he'd tried to disguise. In silence, they crossed the office and exited into the hall.

"You must keep your temper," Braun suggested. "They're simply assuring themselves that everything goes to plan. It's in your best interest that it does, as well as the girl's."

"I see no sense in threatening the women or me because of your distrust for Healey," Carsten told him.

"I've a feeling there is more here than your chivalrous notions."

They paced up the hall with only their boot steps keeping them company.

"You mustn't lie, Carsten." Braun faced him at the base of the stairs.

"Why did you lie to me?"

"What are you talking about?" Braun said, shocked.

"You said you didn't know about them," Carsten challenged him. "Not once did you show surprise at anything they said."

"None of it is surprising, Carsten."

"Did I fail on some point?" Carsten pressed.

"It was just the usual interview, Hauptmann," Braun replied. "We run all our agents through this. Don't you know that by now? You killed three soldiers. And you must admit at least one was a revenge killing."

The man eyed him with a growing smile.

"Then I haven't disappointed you in my operation?"

"You could hardly do that." Braun patted his arm. "After all, you learned everything from me. I would have shot them myself. Now I would greatly enjoy talking about this over a bottle, but alas, I must excuse myself. I am expected for a late supper at home." He smiled at Carsten and took one last study. "It was good to see you again."

"Ja. It was good to see you again also, Braun," Carsten replied.

After a pause, Braun smiled approvingly at him, patted his shoulder again and then stepped away. His boot heals clicked loudly on the floor. "I will see you tomorrow," he called back.

Carsten stepped in a circle. The maze that constituted the Chancellery could hide the Healeys anywhere. He started up the stairs where he'd last seen the women, hoping someone would appear to direct him.

***

It was like they fell into the middle of a fairy tale. Claire sat at the foot of a bed in the middle of a room, trying to relax. Although she was no stranger to fine things, she thought the room was overdone and overtly sinister. There was no ounce of subtlety to be found. The colors were angry and intense, and at any moment, she was sure an evil queen or king would plow through the doors and demand her head. Perhaps it was only the stories she'd heard about this particular king. After all, he had been in the papers and on newsreels for several years, and every story molded a chilling impression all crafted to make Americans want to go to war. His over-the-top passion and penchant for the violent was reflected in every inch of the extravagant décor. Perhaps her mood was merely the alley incident lingering around her mind. Though they'd only succeeded in scaring her, her responses were still affected.

Claire wondered if the doctor would ever come see about their injuries. He'd left them there under the observation of two armed uniforms stationed on the other side of the door, but promised to check their injuries to make sure they were well situated before he took his leave of them that night. According to the clock ticking away on top of the carved oak armoire, he had been gone nearly an hour. But she was far more disturbed by a different absence. Their only hope of assistance might have disappeared forever.

Aunt suddenly burst from behind a broad door. Claire jolted up with surprise. The older woman's eyes bulged and a smile split her face as she exited a massive bathroom. Somehow, Aunt had managed to forget where they were. Claire wished the jollity of her antics were contagious.

"Oh, my God!" Aunt gasped. "It makes the Rockefellers look like paupers," she laughed. "Can you believe this place?"

Claire peered past her to the glassy white room beyond. Her gaze lowered, disinterested right then in exploring anything but her thoughts. She huffed, annoyed and was too tired to care. She placed her hands behind her and leaned back.

"Look at this!" Aunt cried. She had found another set of doors and went through. "Claire! You should see this!"

Claire groaned and rolled her eyes. She didn't want to take another step. Her leg hurt from hip to toe. The soldiers had added to her injuries by pushing her around. Dragging herself away from the comfortable seat, she limped toward the doors.

"What is it?" Claire moaned, hobbling through the doorway.

Claire's consternation was met with an awe-striking view. Aunt stood in the dark of a vast parlor. The furniture was like something you would expect to find in a rooftop penthouse of a millionaire. A sterling white and silver bar stood in the corner across from the entrance. Shelves of leather and cloth bound books stretched down one wall. Sofas were paired with companion chairs and tables. Fresh flowers lolled in vases, filling the space with a dreamy fragrance. Paintings, nearly indiscernible in the low light, hung from the walls in heavy gilded frames. On the furthest wall, two arched windows peeked behind sheer fabric, pleated and draped like ethereal gowns. Between them rested the centerpiece of the room-a black marble fireplace.

Aunt grinned at her from behind a chair. "Amazing, isn't it?"

"No wonder they have to invade other countries," Claire said. "How else do they plan on paying for all this?"

An abrupt hammering on the door startled them both from their scrutiny of the room. Claire clasped her hand over her heart, distressed by the sudden sound. She wasn't really sure what she expected to happen. Perhaps a brigade of gray-coated rifleman would come next. She envisioned soldiers pecking holes in all the walls and their bodies until everything was mown under. Feathers floated down like snow, until they settled in pools of red.

Claire scowled at her aunt as the woman dashed from behind the chair to answer the door. She caught herself short and rushed back, pulling Claire out of the room by an arm. Then she carefully closed the doors, leaving Claire to wonder what had gotten into her. They gave them these rooms to live in while they were there. They must have known they'd explore them. The girl wandered back to her spot on the bed and threw herself down, praying sleep would come soon. Then another knock sounded and Aunt finally answered the door, perhaps assured their search of the rooms wouldn't be discovered.

"Hello again, Frau O'Shea," the doctor said.

Claire's leg ached horribly, and she hoped the doctor would present her with a little something from his black bag to help. However, what she really wanted wouldn't fit in the small case. Disappointment replaced Claire's angst. Though she had wanted the doctor to hurry along, she had hoped the knock had been made by a different man.

"Ah, Fräulein!" the doctor called to her. "Just who I wanted to see." He wandered over to her and set his bag on the bed. "Now, let's have a look, shall we? And how are you feeling? I hope that those terrible boys didn't leave an impression on you. I hear Herr Reiniger took care of them though." He smiled.

Claire hiked up her pant leg as far up as she could and answered him. "I'm just sore from the bombing, though they didn't help when they pushed me around. I had no idea how hated we were."

"Not everyone feels that way, Fräulein. You see how kind Herr Reiniger is to you-myself and so many of those you have met so far. I am sure you could find the same such men in your own military."

Claire stared at him, poised again between alarm and insight. The doctor cautiously removed her boot, dropped it to the floor and pulled her sock off. Her ankle had improved very little since they had left the hospital; there was still a slight swelling and bruising. The same went for her knee. The doctor examined each thoroughly, feeling with his fingers and making her use the joints. Then he had her pull up the other pant leg so he could peel off the bandage and tend to the cut. He smiled warmly while he waited.

"Herr Reiniger is a resourceful man," he said. "This should heal just fine, maybe leave a little mark."

Claire frowned. She hated being reminded a scar was on order, but she hated being reminded of Carsten's brilliance even more.

"Frau O'Shea," the doctor said. "I must apologize, but my assistant remains with Herr Healey. Could you do me the favor of fetching towels and a clean washcloth with some warm water and soap?"

Aunt followed the doctor's orders.

"I'll get it," Carsten said, breezing into the room as if he had never been missing.

Aunt gaped as he tracked into the bathroom. She placed her fingers over her mouth, staying whatever words had popped into her mind. She faced the doctor and Claire as panic darkened her brow. Aunt muttered to herself, wringing her hands, before finding herself a chair.

Claire guarded her emotions, once again disappointed, but this time at her reaction to his arrival. Her heart thumped in her throat and made her feel sick. The doctor went on about elevating and icing. Claire half listened, convincing herself not to be so sensitive. After all, he was an enemy combatant and they were his prisoners. She had no business finding any further interest in him. She certainly shouldn't rely on him for protection. If the explosion in Belgium hadn't proved that, then the time it took for him to come to her rescue in Köln should have. Though the attempted assault wasn't carried out, it showed how easily Carsten Reiniger pulled a trigger.

Carsten appeared with the doctor's requests, and he arranged them on the bed beside Claire. She peered casually over her shoulder at the items. Then she ignored him, reminded of how he seemed to blame her for the attack earlier that day which just had him drawn off for a reprimand, at least she assumed by his cold shoulder that he was due a reprimand.

The doctor bathed the cut with little concern for her comfort, for Claire winced and had to bite her tongue to keep from making a sound. She didn't want Carsten jumping to her rescue or choosing to belittle her with his alternate personality. She wasn't quite sure which man had entered the room.

"That was very resourceful of you, Herr Reiniger," the doctor mumbled. "I was just telling the ladies. I have not seen honey used in quite a while. Thanks to you, this young woman will heal just fine. She owes you much thanks on several accounts. Infections can still be deadly, especially ones so close to major arteries."

"The sprains were the worst of it," Carsten said, sitting on the bed. He leaned on one hand and seemed to be trying to force her to acknowledge him.

Claire held her attention in the opposite direction, which happened to be Aunt's chair. Her aunt quietly chewed her lip to shreds while keeping a tenuous silence. They both kept quiet.

"Could you ask the guard outside to send for some ice?"

Carsten took it upon himself to fulfill the request. It was just as well. He didn't have any injuries to speak of. Claire couldn't help but wonder if he had somehow managed to plan that too, but then she remembered his arm and the large bruise stretched over it.

The doctor sprinkled Claire's cut with some foul powder and then covered them with a fresh bandage. He then went to Aunt. She rolled up her pants like Claire, exposing her scraped knees.

"Another clean cloth, Herr Reiniger," the doctor said, as the spy returned.

Aunt wasn't as keen as Claire to keep her pain a secret. She winced and exclaimed with great energy. Carsten stayed on the other side of the room until the doctor finally dressed the wounds and completed his task by passing out aspirin. He lingered only to view some x-ray sheets. He clucked and chirped at the images and then smiled at the women and assured them they were just fine. After he bid them good night and made his exit, they were once again alone with Carsten.

Claire watched her aunt roll down her pant leg, paying no mind to Carsten or anything else. The room stood deathly quiet except for the sound of his feet brushing against the rug, which warned Claire of his approach. She braced herself as if she expected him to climb on top of her right there. He had probably shot those men because they were getting to the task before he could.

"Tomorrow morning, Oberführer Braun will have arranged someone to help you shop for clothes and other necessaries before you are relocated to a residence inside the city."

"Are you coming with us?" Aunt asked.

"I have been asked to continue my assignment with you," Carsten said. "They wish to see if I can find out any further information that may be of interest to them."

"What could we possibly know that they need?" Claire complained.

"It is like I told you before," Carsten said. "They feel threatened by you both. The suddenness of your decision to go along, as it was painted, is suspect. We must take extra care to not feed that worry."

"Threatened by us?" Aunt said. "What could we possibly do to them?"

"Attempts have been made on the Führer's life," Carsten replied. "He is naturally distrustful of anyone he does not know and even some he does. It makes sense to them that you may be planted here to do some such thing. You have no idea what an inconvenience your staying here tonight will cause the staff."

"I can sympathize," Claire said sardonically. "I'm sure if they took one look at us they wouldn't worry so much, though. We're hardly the spy type."

"Exactly the point," Carsten said. After a pause, he spoke again. "I regret to mention it, but they were also not at all pleased by the shootings this afternoon."

"What?" Aunt cried. "I suppose they would've preferred we let them finish?"

"Nein. That would have been embarrassing for the Reich, and I am afraid that it would have given them incentive to send you to a prison camp and ensure your silence. However, shooting them is just as embarrassing. I am sure they will mark them down as insubordinates and the matter will be swept under the rug."

Claire's heartbeat thundered in her chest. Tears sprang to her eyes as she relived the moment in her head.

The silence imprisoned them again. A quick rap on the door saved them from an uncomfortable interlude. Carsten immediately answered and accepted several bags of ice from the guard. Carsten set them on the floor beside the bed. She could feel his eyes on her, but she refused to meet them.

"If you need nothing else, I would like to get some rest," Carsten said, attempting to get her to talk. She refused to take up the invitation. "Good night, Fräulein-Frau."

Carsten hesitated before taking his exit. The door closed behind him and Claire felt as though she could breathe again.

"Thank God that's over," Aunt said.

Claire took the bags of ice and went to sit against the headboard of the bed while she treated her injuries. The corners of her mouth pointed down and she beat a pillow within an inch of its life to make it stand. Then she threw herself down roughly and proceeded to make a prop for her leg out of the other pillow.

"You feeling okay?" Aunt asked, joining her on the bed. She picked up the ice to hand to Claire. "I mean other than your leg being nearly twisted off and having to sleep in hell's den-those damn pigs putting their paws all over you."

Claire's spirits lifted, hearing her aunt put things so plainly. The woman smiled at her.

"Never better," she lied, laughing a little.

Aunt patted her good knee.

"I've never seen you beat the hell out of anything," Aunt said. "Not even when your mom left."

Claire pushed her hair back from her face, closed her eyes and took a long, deep breath. The ice soothed the wounds, relieving the ache to a dull annoyance. She released her breath and opened her eyes again to scan the room, nearly too tired to keep her eyes open any longer.

"I keep having this strange feeling," Aunt said, casting her eyes on nothing in particular.

"What do you mean?" Claire asked.

"I don't know," Aunt said. "This thing's happening-all around us-and yet I have this sense of peace."

Claire sat forward and placed a hand on her aunt's shoulder. "You promised me that we would get through this. You told me not to worry. Now I am going to tell you the same thing. Don't worry. I am fine. Just a few scratches and a good scare."

Aunt softly smiled. She stroked Claire's hair, tucking it behind her ear.

"Can we trust him?" Aunt asked. "I'm so frightened for you."

"I don't know anymore, but something will happen to let us know," Claire said. "For now, we do what he says."

*

Follow me to read the rest of the book! And if you love it, subscribe to my website at www.AuthorKWilliams.com,
then pop on amazon to buy a copy.

Read another title by K. Williams ...

Also by K. Williams: