Dangerous Allies (13 page)

J
ack froze as the individual shouts blended into one long, angry spurt of German.

All at once, several floodlights burst to life, creating a muted halo of light around each pole. The crack and buzz of electricity surging through ice-coated wires overwhelmed the other noises.

But soon the angry shouts prevailed once more.

Crouching low, Jack stayed in position behind the U-boat stack. In spite of the cold air, he started sweating. He considered ducking inside the sub, but the odds of getting out undetected were heavily against him. The U-boat could easily become his coffin.

He opted to wait it out a bit longer.

One voice lifted above the others, and Jack was finally able to make out the individual words.

He didn’t like what he heard.

The guard he had hit on the head had recovered. As a result, every man on duty was searching for the intruder.

His primary goal now was to get out of the shipyard as quickly and as quietly as possible.

He began to walk briskly toward the outer rim of the yard, away from the commotion. He had to fight the need to rush his steps. Catching sight of three pale beams of light vibrating through the fog, he changed direction.

Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you.

Fusing with the shadows, Jack clung to God’s promise as he moved at an angle perpendicular to the one he’d used to enter the yard.

Lord, be with me now. I can’t succeed without Your help.

After a few more steps, he stopped again, listened to the raised voices and scrambling of feet. He guessed five, maybe six men.

Using the fog to blanket his movements, Jack crept to his left, dropped under a beam that swept just over his head.

He rose again. Took three more steps. Dropped under the next beam of light. He repeated the procedure again and again and again, until the last guard had moved to the back of the yard and Jack had moved closer to the front.

Taking slow, even breaths, Jack let his mind work through the alternatives. He knew once they’d searched the immediate grounds, the guards would fan out, covering one mile at a time. As bad as he wanted to study a mine up close, Jack couldn’t stay in the area any longer.

His only chance to avoid capture was to get to his
car and out of Kiel before the search expanded past the main perimeter of the shipyard.

As he melted into the mist, he could hear the clumsy guards shouting at one another.

Using the voices to pinpoint each man’s position, Jack moved in a wide, cautious circle along the outer rim of the chaos. Keeping his eyes and ears open, he quickly slipped free of the yard.

He took a single step, and then his foot slipped. The resulting crunch of gravel was unmistakable.

Jack flung himself into a run.

They hadn’t seen him yet, but it wouldn’t be long now.

The rapid report of gunfire trailed in his wake. He picked up speed. A bullet whizzed by his head and drove harmlessly into the underbrush.

Another bullet hurled past him. And another. Jack heard a muffled pop, felt a burning sting high on his left arm.

He’d been hit, but he didn’t slacken his pace.

Allowing adrenaline to fuel his steps, he continued in the direction of his car. After several minutes of running flat out, the shouts became distant murmurs. His own labored breathing filled his ears, distracting him, but Jack forced his mind to focus, to numb all other thoughts except one—
escape.

He entered the edge of the forest. Diving into the thick foliage, he pitched around the front of his car, fumbled with the lock.

Throwing the gearshift into Neutral, he wheeled the
car silently back onto the road, letting out a gush of air at the pain in his left arm.

With mechanical movements, he slipped behind the wheel, fired the engine and steered the car south toward Hamburg. He checked the mirrors, relieved that no one followed him.
Yet.

Not taking any chances, he pressed the accelerator hard against the floorboard.

With one whiff, he caught the scent of his own blood. He took his eyes off the road for a split second and looked at his left arm. He was bleeding badly. Unfortunately, he would have to wait until he had more distance between him and Kiel to tend to the wound.

Lord, God, please protect me a little while longer.

A sense of peace fell over him. Breathing slower now, he took stock of the situation.

He was alive. He’d avoided capture. But he hadn’t been able to study an actual mine. He’d also left a witness, alive and talking. Worst of all, he’d been shot.

He tentatively flexed his left bicep, gave a grunt at the burst of pain.

“Lord,” Jack prayed out loud as darkness crept along the edges of his vision, “if this is the end of my life, will You welcome me home, or are my sins too great?”

Part of his mother’s favorite verse came to mind.
While we were still sinners, Christ died for us…

“Is that promise for me, too, Lord? My sins are more than most.”

But God demonstrates His own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us…
Jack heard the words clearly in his mind. In response, God’s
peace that transcended all understanding flowed through every fiber of his body.

But then the wind picked up, sending one vicious gust after another in a sideswiping pattern against the car. He focused once more on his driving. The effort to ignore the aching in one arm and control the car with the other stole his breath away.

By the time he felt safe enough to pull off the road, Jack had to lean his head against the steering wheel and gulp for air.

He tried to swallow between breaths, but his mouth was dry as dust. A bad sign, indicating he’d lost a considerable amount of blood.

First things first. He needed to stop the bleeding, before he passed out from the pain and loss of blood.

Setting the brake, he pushed away from the steering wheel, shifting until he had enough room to work unhindered.

He tugged aside his sweater, yanked his shirt free, and then ripped off a strip along the bottom seam. Working as quickly as he could with only one good hand, he rolled the material into a makeshift tourniquet. He then tied off the flow of blood to the wound with a pull of his teeth on one end and his free hand on the other.

His efforts were clumsy and inefficient, but he knew the bandage would hold until he made it back to Katia’s house.

He pulled his shirt closed, shrugged into the jacket he’d left on the seat then checked his watch. He tried to calm his mind, but no matter how slowly he breathed, he couldn’t seem to focus.

Dragging a hand down his face, he fought to keep his mind free of worry.
Fear not:
the most often stated command in the Bible. Worry was nothing more than the absence of faith.

Faith. Yes, he was slowly realizing he still had a little faith left—though he’d surrendered much to the war effort—far too much.

From this point forward, he would manage what he could manage, and surrender the rest to God.

I am in Your hands, Lord. Your power is made perfect in my weakness.

Favoring his left arm, Jack steered the car back onto the road and pressed down on the accelerator.

In spite of his failure at the shipyard, he still had to keep his appointment with Himmler at 2300 hours. He would be ready. Too many innocent lives were at stake to go into the meeting unprepared, including the lives of a certain Russian stage actress and her blue-blooded mother.

Jack frowned at the road ahead.

Katarina Kerensky’s involvement in this mission had been problematic from the start. Considering the secret she’d revealed to him earlier, Jack could no longer endanger her life. By rescuing her, perhaps he could begin the process of becoming an agent of protection rather than an agent of death.

His vision blurred again. Oblivion beckoned. But Jack set his jaw at a hard angle. This mission was far from over. He still had much work to do this night.

First order of business: send Katarina Kerensky packing for the next flight out of Germany.

By the time Jack arrived at Katarina’s, the pain in his left arm had become a burning throb. His vision blurred, again. How many times was that? He’d lost count after four. He blinked—hard. The smudge of gray in the center of his eyes didn’t go away.

His ears started ringing, but he managed to stagger to the bottom of her front steps without incident. There was no outdoor lighting so he could at least stumble along in obscurity. Thankfully, he’d memorized the yard’s layout the last time he was here.

Before navigating the first step he took a moment to catch his breath. He was no stranger to pain. He’d been shot other times. However, he
was
human. And he knew his body well enough to know that two important limbs, primarily the ones holding him upright, were about to give out on him.

He needed to get his arm bandaged, deal with his dehydration then be on his way. He could not miss his meeting with Himmler. There was the important matter of damage control now.

Sending up a prayer for strength, he tripped up four of the five steps. He lost his balance, righted himself just as quickly. All he had to do was climb that last one—which seemed to be getting farther away with every blink. Once inside Katarina’s house, he would take a moment to clear his head. That’s what he would do first. After he had his equilibrium back he would tell her the whole story of his failed trip to Kiel. She deserved the full truth. She…

Lord, I’m tired.

In a final burst of energy, Jack shoved up the final
step. And collapsed against the door. He closed his eyes and waited. One more burst of energy. He needed a little help here. No, he needed a lot of help.

He called on an old staple.

The Lord is my shepherd,
he prayed,
I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: He leadeth me beside the still waters…

Perhaps Jack would stay here awhile. Praying felt that good.

Now where was he?

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for Thou art with me…

He couldn’t stay here much longer and risk discovery by the wrong person.

Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies…

Another moment of rest, he promised himself, just one more moment and he would pull together his strength and knock.

I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever!

Just one…more…moment…of rest…

K
atia woke with a start.

Disoriented, she pushed to a sitting position and then rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. She couldn’t remember what had startled her. Or why she was on the couch in her living room.

She’d been exhausted when Reiter had dropped her off, mentally and physically worn out from the events of the last two days. That much she remembered. But she wasn’t usually so slow to regain her focus.

The room had grown dark, with only a few shadows dancing across the wall in front of her.

Still trying to pull her thoughts together, she shifted her gaze to the clock on the far wall—9:00 p.m., 2100 hours.

Her mind cleared at once. Where was Friedrich? He’d said he wouldn’t be long. Why wasn’t he back yet?

A maelstrom of emotions had her flattening her hand against her stomach. Familiar panic rose up. Only a matter of hours ago, she’d confessed her darkest secret to a man she’d known less than two days.

Would he prove trustworthy?

Yes.
Yes, he would. She couldn’t put her reasons into words, but she knew he was the only man she could trust, the first since her father had died.

But why him? Was it because he’d mentioned God with such conviction in his eyes, as though he’d rediscovered his own faith and wanted her to have that same hope?

Even as she pondered such a miracle, a nagging premonition had her shoving her hair off her face.

Something wasn’t right.

She tipped her head and listened past the silence in the room. A sound was coming from her front door.

Knocking?
No. More like scratching.

She gave herself a little push and stood. Her legs wobbled underneath her. Obviously, she needed more sleep. She didn’t have the luxury.

The scratching came again, more insistent this time.

Was it her mother and Hermann, come to get her for a late supper? She’d claimed a headache earlier and had told them she wouldn’t be available for the rest of evening. Surely, they would respect her wishes and take her at her word.

Padding across the thick carpet, she tried to gather her various roles around her. Which one would she need tonight?

Unsure what to expect, her skin went cold with dread.

Katia swung open the door.

“Friedrich.” She was only dimly aware she’d gasped
his name. But he didn’t look right. He was swaying. That much she could discern. But his face was curtained in shadows so she couldn’t see his eyes.

He stumbled past her, weaving across the entryway of her home. Two more bobbing steps and he reached out to steady himself against the wall on his left.

“Friedrich, what’s happened?”

He mumbled an incoherent response in a language that definitely was not German, and in an accent she’d heard only in the movies.

Why would he break cover so noticeably?

Fearing something had gone dreadfully wrong, Katia shut the door behind him and then flicked on the overhead light in the foyer.

Hissing, he covered his eyes against light. “Have mercy, woman.” He growled out his words in slurred German.

What was wrong with him?

She pulled his hand down and stared hard at his scowling face. His pupils were dilated and unfocused. “Are you drunk?”

His scowl deepened. “Of course not.”

Katia had her doubts, especially when he kept listing to his left. She took a sniff of the air around him and reared back. He didn’t smell of liquor. He smelled of…
blood.

A thousand questions shot to her lips but something dark and wet on his left sleeve caught her attention. “You’re bleeding.”

She had no appropriate role for this unexpected development.

He looked down at his arm. His eyes widened, as though he was surprised to find his sleeve coated with his own blood. “Looks like the tourniquet didn’t hold.”

“Is that all you have to say?” Her concern made her words sound sharper than she’d intended.

“It’s just a scratch.” He waved his hand with a dismissive flick. The gesture threw him off balance again.

She reached out to steady him, he tripped back a step and she missed.

“You need to sit down,” she said.

“I’m fine.” He rocked back on his heels and then threw himself forward. “Nothing to worry about.”

“I see that.”

“Let me take care of this first.” He clawed at the bloody tourniquet on his arm. “Then we’ll talk before I go to my meeting with Himmler.”

“Himmler? Heinrich Himmler? You have a meeting with the head of the SS? Tonight?” Just how deep undercover was this man?

“Don’t worry, Katarina.” He placed his good hand on her shoulder. “You haven’t been compromised. Everything will be fine.”

Fine? He used that word rather loosely. Nothing would be fine as long as men like Adolf Hitler and Heinrich Himmler were in power. Nothing would be fine as long as dissenters were silenced and people like Katia’s mother were openly targeted for their Jewish heritage.

“Now. If you could direct me to your washroom.”

Still in a state of shock, she automatically pointed over his shoulder.

He turned and swiftly lost his footing.

She caught him by the right elbow. “I’ll come with you.”

He didn’t argue. Instead, he looked grateful, and a little lost, as though he wasn’t used to being the one in need and didn’t know what to do with the change in their roles.

She wasn’t altogether sure herself.

Once in the bathroom, she filled a glass with water and handed it to him. “Here. You look like you could use this.”

With a trembling hand, he brought the cup to his lips and gulped the entire contents in one taking. A little less shaky now, he filled the glass again and brought it to his mouth a second time.

She stopped him before he could drink. “No. Slow down. Too much will make you sick.”

“I…” He looked at her in cautious silence then set the cup on the counter. “You’re right.”

“Take off your jacket and let me look at your wound.” She spoke calmly, but her heart beat hard against her ribs. What had happened tonight? Where had he gone?

He must have read a portion of her thoughts because she saw the flash of some deep emotion in his eyes—apology, guilt, pain? She shook her head as she turned to the sink and ran warm water over a washcloth.

“It really is just a scratch,” he mumbled. “The bullet missed its mark.”

“Thank You, Lord,” she whispered. It wasn’t much of a prayer, but she was a bit out of practice these days.

Taking a deep breath, she left the washcloth in the
sink and turned to face him again. “All right, let’s have a look.”

Grimacing, he shrugged out of his jacket then pulled off the useless tourniquet. Clearly exhausted from the effort, he sank onto the only seat available in the room. “There. I’m all yours.”

Ignoring the little jolt of pleasure at his absolute surrender, Katia glanced down at his arm. From elbow to wrist his sleeve was coated with a thick layer of blood. She wanted to sob. And then throw up. But she was too afraid to give in to either impulse right now. Later, she promised herself, when she was alone, she would give in to the sickness. And then maybe the fear.

For now, she had to concentrate.

This man’s life was in her hands, the same hands she couldn’t keep from shaking. She had no practice for this, no protective barrier to put in front of the real Katia. She cared for him that much, this man who had dug past all her layers of defense. A dark uneasiness crept over her at the thought.

She must have stood there, unmoving, for quite a while, because he went to work on his arm all by himself.

Stone-faced, he ripped apart the sleeve at the shoulder and then peeled the soaked material away from the wound, inch by brutal inch. He made no sound, nor did he wince, but his eyes glazed over with each passing second.

Katia wanted to weep for him. He had such strength, such courage. He would be an easy man to love.

She shut her eyes a moment, shuddered and then
swallowed the last of her hesitation. With her fingers still trembling, she took over. Moving his hand out of the way, she wiped at the blood on his arm with the warm, soapy cloth from the sink.

“I can do it myself,” he offered, as if he knew how hard this was for her.

A deep affection surged through her. Even in the midst of his own agony, he thought of her first. She felt exposed under such raw concern.

What was she going to do now?

“Right.” She gave her words a hard edge to hide her confusion. “Your previous efforts were very efficient.”

He smiled a little, a very little. “I made it here in one piece, didn’t I?”

“If you say so.”

“I say so.”

What if he hadn’t made it back to her alive? What if the bullet
had
hit its mark? The thought was too awful to contemplate so she cleared her mind and focused only on what she could control—taking care of his wound.

She placed the cloth under the running faucet and rinsed out the blood. So much blood, she thought. Too much.

She slid a quick look at him from under her lashes and felt her stomach flip inside itself. Even with his skin pale and his mouth tight from gritting past the pain, he mesmerized her. It wasn’t his masculine beauty alone that got to her. It was his inner strength. She recognized a man of integrity when she saw one.

How would she ever survive knowing such a man?

Sighing, she wrung out the cloth one last time and went back to work.