Charades (13 page)

     The cabin’s clean, attractive interior surprised her. The mahogany-stained walls added warmth to the room, and the over-stuffed chairs in front of the fireplace begged to be sat in. A note sat on the table.

     “It says there’s a stocked refrigerator in the kitchen,” she told Wulf, “and the beds in the two bedrooms are made up.”

     Well, that solved the intimacy problem, she thought. Maybe someone was looking out for her. So, why was she so disappointed?

     Wulf disappeared with their suitcases and joined her a moment later, glancing hard at her face before sinking into one of the overstuffed chairs. “How are you feeling?”

     “How do you expect me to feel?” Mercy’s temper snapped. “I’ve been lured across an ocean, lied to, shot at, and then almost kidnapped at gunpoint!”

     “I didn’t know it would be like this. You have to believe me.”

     Mercy wasn’t sure if it was her words that wounded him or if his head still hurt. Her anger melted. “How do you feel?” she asked. “Does your head still hurt?” Lines of strain surrounded his eyes and mouth. This crazy situation was as much a problem to him as it was to her.

     “Yes, my head still hurts. Did they stock any aspirin?” Before she could answer, his face brightened. “On second thought, skip that. Let’s take a walk in the woods. The fresh air will do us both good. Come on.” He grabbed her hand and led her outside.

     For some reason, Mercy allowed him to pull her along, too annoyed and befuddled to protest. What was it about him, anyway? In spite of everything he’d done to her, everything that had happened since she left Dallas, she felt…comfortable.

     “Where did you learn that thing you did in the restaurant?” Wulf asked.

     Mercy felt herself flush. “After what happened to me in college, I swore I’d never be caught that way again. I attended a self-defense class in Dallas. We practice a combination of martial arts and street fighting techniques.”

     He nodded. “I could see it lacked finesse.”

     “It did the trick, didn’t it?”

     Wulf laughed. “That it did,” he agreed.

     They walked side by side down the narrow, tree-lined path, breathing the earthy smell of the forest and the fragrance from the myriad of wildflowers.

     The walk was rejuvenating, but Mercy felt subtly maneuvered again. He took charge so easily. His short temper didn’t bother her as much as she thought it would, as she had one too. The strain of the day had gotten to them both.

     They walked silently for about thirty minutes, letting the forest glade absorb their concerns. Squirrels chattered overhead and the underbrush rustled with unseen critters. A bird called to its mate as they reached the end of the trail and sat down on two large boulders to rest in the late afternoon sun.

     A gentle, sweeping valley with several small farms and a tiny village dotted the landscape. The air was redolent with the scents of clover and wild flowers. At one point, Mercy thought she heard church bells. Everything seemed so peaceful, so normal.

     “Where do we go from here?” she asked.

     “We can go back to the cottage now.”

     Was he being deliberately perverse? “You know what I mean.”

     “You mean between the two of us? That depends on you. I’ve lied to you about almost everything.” Wulf turned to her and gazed into her eyes. “Except the fact that I love you.” He looked away. “I don’t expect you to believe that,” he said, shrugging, “but it’s true.”

     Mercy let the silence stretch.

     “I don’t know what this is all about any more,” Wulf continued, “but I damn sure am going to find out.”

     “What do you mean?” Mercy asked.

     “Stratton, of course.”

     “I don’t understand.”

     “Stratton is being held in Potsdam by the Germans. We know now we can’t rely on the Organization. Something’s gone wrong there.” He looked at her. “And I won’t let you risk your life again.”

     “I think I’m more than capable of deciding what I can and cannot do,” Mercy insisted. Wulf continued as if she hadn’t spoken.

     “All I have to do is break into Stratton’s quarters, abduct him and bring him here to you. You can talk with him and get all the information we need. Then I’ll take him back.”

     She laughed. “Right! You and what army?”

     Wulf glared at her. “I just need a little time to figure out how I’m going to do it.”

     “I’m going with you.”

     “Not on your life.”

     “Think about it for a minute. Couldn’t you just sneak me into where they’re holding him? Sounds easier than you sneaking him out. You know where he is, don’t you?”

     “Yes, he’s in an old section of Potsdam.”

     “Good! We’ll just break in, I’ll talk to him, and then we’ll leave. No one will be the wiser.”

     “No!” His flinty look promised no further argument.

* * *

     Mercy glanced around the dark, unpopulated neighbor-hood of Potsdam. The dilapidated town-homes of pre-war Germany lined the street. The empty houses were spooky, as if behind every darkened window eyes were watching.

     For the past three hours, Wulf had been like a bear coming out of hibernation—angry, growling, and snapping. If she hadn’t been so apprehensive, she might have laughed. The way they were dressed all in black, they looked like a couple of misplaced cat burglars.

     “They need better home security around here, don’t they?”

     “What do you know about home security?”

     “Quit snapping at me.”

     “I’m not snapping at you!”

     She rolled her eyes. “Yes, you are. You’re as grouchy as an old bear.”

     His answering snort was predictable. “They want Stratton’s presence in Germany as unobtrusive as possible. Why do you think they are keeping him in a low-profile place like Potsdam? Now, stay right here until I get back,” he said, slipping into the shadow of a building.

     This was, without a doubt, the craziest thing she had ever done, Mercy decided as she waited. They didn’t even know which room Stratton was in. Just because Wulf was confident he could find Stratton’s room didn’t mean he could. What would the Germans do if they found them?

     She paced back and forth, trying to stay warm. Her pulse beat a little fast, but her hands were cool and dry. Odd, why was she not panicking? Had she really changed that much? She glanced around.

     At least the night was dark and the street deserted. Not a single star was visible. She looked at her watch again.
Fifteen minutes! That does it.
She was going to look for him.

     A large hand covered her mouth and pulled her back against a broad chest. “Don’t yell,” Wulf whispered into her ear, his breath warming her inside and out.

     “You scared the hell out of me!” she breathed, turning around.

     “There’s a way to climb up the building from the back. Come on, and stay quiet.” He led the way keeping a tight hold on her hand. There were fewer windows in back, and it was so dark she could hardly see.

     “When I get to the top, I’ll send a rope down for you. Hand over hand, remember, and keep your knees bent. Got it?”

     She nodded, remembering the basics of climbing he’d taught her earlier. A piece of cake, he’d told her. Mercy hoped he was right.

     Mercy watched as Wulf began his climb, losing sight of him after only a few minutes. The silence lengthened and the darkness grew more threatening. Where was he? Right before she went mad with worry, a bundle of rope landed beside her.

     Pulling on the gloves Wulf had given her, she picked up the rope. Mercy braced herself as she planted one sneaker-clad foot against the old brick building. Hand over hand, she pulled herself up the rope. Halfway up the first floor, she decided that anxiety attacks weren’t nearly as devastating as her own stupidity.

     By the time she’d raised herself one full story, her hands cramped, her shoulders constricted, and her arms ached. At least the gloves kept her hands from being torn to pieces. Somehow, that didn’t help the straining muscles in her arms, legs, and back.

     When she reached the top of the second story, she heard Wulf’s whisper. “Just hang on. I’ll haul you up from here.” She felt so relieved she nearly let go. She didn’t dare look down for fear she’d faint. The pull of the rope dragged her closer and closer to her destination.

     Above her Wulf’s face beamed even in the darkness. She almost laughed hysterically at the sight. What were they doing here? What were they thinking?

     “Why didn’t we put camouflage on our faces?” she whispered fiercely, realizing how inept they both were at this type of activity.

     “It doesn’t matter. We’re already committed,” he whispered back at her as she came over the top.

     Mercy stumbled into him, causing them both to topple back onto the hard roof. Wulf grunted as he landed on his back, her body sprawled on top “We’re mad to be doing this!” she hissed.

     “Shut up,” he whispered back, clamping his mouth to hers in a furious melting of lips. She drew away first, too shocked to do anything but stare at him.

     Wulf put a finger to his lips and silently guided her to a door on the roof. He withdrew a metal instrument and stuck it in the lock. A click, a loud squawk, and the door opened wide. Both of them winced at the noise, tensing automatically. When nothing happened, they both relaxed.

     “Do you use that often?” Mercy asked.

     “It’s standard issue in the oil business. Now, be quiet!” he whispered, as he led her through the dark, deserted third floor.

     “Maybe we have the wrong building,” she whispered.

     “No. This is the right one,” he whispered back.

     They were about to enter the hallway on the second floor, when they heard voices coming toward them. Quickly, they moved out of sight, and waited until after the voices passed. They slipped through a door down the hallway and followed the voices. The hallway made a ‘T’ and the voices disappeared.

     “Stay put,” Wulf whispered. He tiptoed down the hall leading to the right. Two voices came from one of the rooms. Light shone beneath the door of another room. Wulf pressed his ear to the panel. Nothing. They’d try this one first. He beckoned to Mercy and opened the door.

     The large bedroom had a sitting area with two chairs and a table. In the corner stood a bed beside a window covered with blackout cloth. Off the room, a door lead to what was probably a bathroom. Mercy gripped his arm with fingers so cold Wulf could feel them through his pullover.

     The bathroom door opened. Although Wulf had seen an old picture, he would’ve recognized Stratton anywhere. He had the same arrogant bearing, the same pale eyes. He must be eighty-something by now, Wulf guessed, but he hardly looked it.

     About six feet tall, Stratton was lean and wiry, his hair thin and white. He still wore the same style of wire-rimmed glasses Wulf had seen in the picture. Life has obviously been good to him, Wulf thought. Although Stratton may not have actually killed anyone, he had profited handsomely from their deaths. As far as Wulf was concerned, if Stratton was indeed dying, he deserved it.

     Stratton spotted him and stopped, rigid and silent, like a mongoose waiting for a cobra’s strike. He spied Mercy peeking at him from behind Wulf’s back and his face crumpled in shock. He lifted his right hand as though trying to touch a ghost. “God in Heaven,” he whispered, “my Merci has come back to me.”

     “Grandfather?” Mercy asked hesitantly, coming out from behind Wulf. “You wanted to see me? Do you want to tell me something?”

     Wulf stepped over to lock the adjoining door to the other room as well as the door to the hallway. No sense having any unwanted interruptions, he thought, turning on the radio by the bed. Thank God, these old buildings weren’t equipped like a real jail.

     Mercy felt a strange combination of pity, curiosity, and revulsion for the old man standing before her. This was her grandfather, a man who had loved her grandmother so much he thought she’d come back to him from the dead. But he also played a part in thousands, maybe millions, of deaths. How do people live with these kinds of contradictions, she wondered. Was he similar to the mafiosos who did unspeakable things but still had close, loving families?

     Stratton stared at her as he held her hand. A chill ran over Mercy’s skin as she looked into his cold, blue eyes.

     “I’m sorry you disowned Mama after her marriage to Papa,” Mercy began. “But I loved him, and he was very good to us.”

     “Bah, that pig,” Stratton sneered, suddenly coming to life and dismissing her father with a wave of his hand. “Lisa deserved better than him. She wasted herself on that nobody.”

     Mercy stood a moment, stunned. What a wicked old man! She jerked her hand back and pushed him away from her. Surprised and off balance, Stratton stumbled, sitting hard on the bed.

     “Don’t you
ever
talk about my father like that,” she said, her voice low and hoarse. “He was worth a
thousand
of you. He was good and kind, and I know he’s in heaven, a place you’ll never even get
near
.”

     Although she tried to breathe calmly, it was almost impossible. For a moment she felt herself panic. But her palms were not sweating and her pulse, while fast, was steady. This was not panic, it was anger. Anxiety drained away, and in its place came a strange sense of power.

     Stratton smiled at her. “You are so much like Lisa. How I’ve missed her temper. Like me, she was, but I spoiled her after her mother’s death. I could deny her nothing.”

     Mercy shook her head. She was unable to contrast this picture of her mother with the sensible, no-nonsense, practical woman she’d known and loved.

     “Oh, yes, Lisa had a temper like me—like you,” he said, pointing to her and nodding. “She wasn’t sweet and gentle like my Merci. Oh, no. Lisa and I had our fights, let me tell you!” He smiled at her.

     She backed slowly away from him.

     “But, of course, you are right,” Stratton said. “I belong in hell. If it’s any comfort to you, I’ve been there for years. Ever since I lost Merci and then Lisa, I’ve only been existing.” His voice was heavy with self-pity, but Mercy felt nothing.