Dangerous Allies (11 page)

With one trip to Kiel, Jack could gain the information he needed to help the British formulate a counter measure for the bombs. Success tonight meant he would not have to involve Kerensky in the mission any further. In that, at least, he could keep her safe.

Thank You, Lord.
It was his first prayer in two years. Short, imperfect, but heartfelt.

Returning the blueprints to the briefcase, Jack pulled the top down and clicked the latch in place. For now, he would think only in terms of the offensive. “I will have your information by 2300 tonight.”

“You realize, of course, there can be no room for error.” Himmler smiled, very slightly and with just enough vicious intent to alert Jack to the Nazi’s dark mood.

“There never is, Herr
Reichsführer.
” Jack returned the smile with equal intensity, his mind drumming up an image of Katarina’s sparkling eyes as they’d last stared into his. “There never is.”

K
atia didn’t relish the upcoming confrontation with Friedrich Reiter, especially after their strained lunch. Aside from the tension-filled exchanges he’d shared with Hermann and her mother, the British spy had boldly staked a claim on Katia. Katia, for her part, had played cheerfully along. A little too cheerfully.

She could try to tell herself that her behavior was all part of the cover they’d been building since the first time they’d met at the theater, but she knew better. A very real connection was building between them.

Unfortunately, Katia had not been the only one to notice. The interrogation she’d suffered from both her mother and Hermann had been long and tedious. Worn out from the experience, Katia considered turning around and settling into a hot bath. But this was not about her. She’d stalled long enough. She had to tell Reiter about her mistake in Admiral Doenitz’s private chambers.

Resolved to face the worst, she headed up the front steps of the
Vier Jahreszeiten
hotel.

The late-afternoon wind blew bitter and harsh against
her exposed cheeks. Katia didn’t mind the cold. She found the nasty weather appropriate for the situation.

Entering the lobby with her famous smile in place, she sauntered toward the heavyset clerk standing behind the reception desk. His balding head shone from the reflection of the lights overhead. The poor fellow stared at her with a mixture of shock and interest.

“Fräulein Kerensky.” He bowed in a show of deference reminiscent of old Russia. “What may I do for you?”

The clerk’s reverence might remind her of all she’d lost, but this was not the time for nostalgia. “I understand Friedrich Reiter is a guest in this hotel.”

“That is correct.” The clerk spoke with meticulous politeness, but his eyes began filling with questions. Questions his training prevented him from asking.

She pulled a man’s leather glove out of her purse, a prop she’d borrowed from the theater this afternoon. With a flourish, she set the article on the counter. “Herr Reiter left this at my home last evening.”

The clerk swallowed, his double chin jiggling from the gesture. “I… Yes, I think I understand. Would you like me to deliver it to his room for you?”

The part of a woman without morals was not one of her favorite roles. In fact, the real Katia, the one she hid under all the subterfuge and lies, was appalled by the shamelessness required of the role. But if she could use her talent for nothing else, she could use it to save innocent lives. Ultimately. She had to get past this German first.

She swallowed her apprehension, shoved the real Katia a little deeper in her mind, and went to work.

“I wish to return the item to him personally. You understand.” She punctuated her statement with a sly grin. “Perhaps you wouldn’t mind telling me his room number?”

“I cannot give out that information, Fräulein.” The clerk dropped his gaze to his toes. “It is against hotel policy.”

“Come, now, Herr—” she scanned his name tag “—Schroeder. Won’t you bend the rule this one time? For me?”

She drew slow, mesmerizing circles along the glossy reception desk as she spoke.

Schroeder swallowed, his gaze riveted on her swirling finger. “Room 312,” he said in a choked whisper. “But you didn’t hear it from me.”

She placed her hand on top of his pudgy fingers and squeezed gently. “Hear what?” Her tone dripped with syrup.

Stuffing the glove back in her purse, she aimed a quick wink at the clerk, and then made her way toward the elevator. His choked gasp was far more rewarding than applause.

Fully aware that all eyes were on her now, she tilted her nose at a regal angle. After pushing the brass button, she lifted her chin another notch. Because this particular role required unprecedented boldness, she didn’t fidget, didn’t look around, didn’t make eye contact with the couple waiting for the elevator with her.

Although she had to share the small space with the
gawking duo, she pretended not to notice how they whispered back and forth as she settled in next to them. She thought she heard something about her loose morals. Katia stifled a sigh. They were obviously too polite or perhaps too conventional to make any comment to her directly.

Typical German behavior, she thought with a hint of bitterness. Never make waves, never question authority and always,
always
look the other way. Like so many in the Fatherland, the elderly pair had been too easily “brought into line” by the Nazis.

For one black moment, Katia wanted to turn and scream at the couple, to yell at them to open their eyes and stop the atrocities going on in their own country.

But what would be the point? Most Germans were, well, they were just so
German.
Her own mother included. When bad things happened to them or their loved ones, they turned the other cheek. Literally. Not out of obedience to the pacifism taught by Christ in the Gospel, but out of fear. And maybe even laziness.

How many times must they be slapped down until they rose up and rebelled? A hundred? A thousand? Or would they never rise up?

Would they simply adapt to the horrors around them, as Elena Kerensky seemed to be doing?

Feeling a great burden resting on her shoulders, Katia rushed out of the elevator at the third floor. She held her breath until she heard the soft swoosh of the doors closing behind her.

Alone at last, she took a deep breath and headed down the hallway, toward room 312. After only a few
steps, however, she caught sight of her quarry exiting his room.

He ambled along at an easy pace. She wasn’t fooled by the lack of urgency in his steps. Even from this distance, Friedrich Reiter radiated absolute power. He was a man in control of everything, and everyone, around him. Yet there was something else that set him apart. It took her a moment to understand what made him different. He carried none of the Nazi intimidation in his manner. At least not with her.

Odd she would notice that about him now.

He stared at her as he approached.

Her face heated in a blush.

A blush? When was the last time Katarina Kerensky blushed? Long before Hitler had risen to power.

Reiter stopped mere inches in front of her and raked his gaze over her in blunt appraisal. Although the gesture was beyond rude, arrogant even, there was something unmistakably soft in his eyes.

Captivated, she leaned forward but just as quickly pulled back. “We need to talk,” she blurted out.

Feet splayed, hands clasped behind his back, the air around him crackled with impatience. He was clearly headed somewhere important.

“Perhaps another time,” he said.

Gone were any signs of the cooperative partner in a shared mission. This was a man who worked alone, a man who needed no one’s assistance. “But you don’t understand. I must—”

“I said another time, Katarina.” He linked his arm
through hers and began leading her back toward the elevator.

Caught off guard, she allowed him to turn her around but sanity quickly returned and she dug in her heels. “I haven’t yet told you why I’m here.”

“It will have to wait. As you can see, I’m on my way out.” He looked meaningfully at his watch. “And you have other obligations this evening.”

“No, the theater is dark tonight. And I don’t have any—”

“What of your mother and her fiancé?”

He had a point. A very valid point. Although no specific plans had been made, Hermann and Elena would expect her company later. “This won’t take long.”

She tossed her hair behind her back and hurried down the hallway toward his room.

Reiter caught up to her in five strides. “Perhaps you didn’t hear me correctly.” He clamped a hand on her arm, his gentle touch at odds with the frustration in his gaze. “I said I was heading out.”

“What’s the rush?”

“As I said, I have to attend to some business to night.”

She didn’t like the sound of that. “You will want to hear what I have to say first.”

She shrugged away from him and continued down the corridor. “Ah, here we are.” She tapped the gold numbers on the door in front of her. “Room 312.”

He appeared to debate with himself before letting out a frustrated burst of air. “This better be good.”

“Actually, it’s rather bad.”

A thousand words passed between them without a sound. “Another piece of information you forgot to divulge?”

His directness made her hesitate. But she’d come this far. She wouldn’t back down now. “Can we at least do this inside?”

He rubbed a hand down his face, muttered something unflattering about obstinate females. “All right. But don’t say a word until I tell you it’s safe.”

“Safe?”

“We won’t be the only ones listening.”

The Gestapo had wired his room with a listening device? Already? She hadn’t expected this. But she should have. Friedrich Reiter, whoever he was, was not a man to go unnoticed in a place like Hamburg for long.

She needed to be careful with him. Very, very careful.

Pushing past the threshold, Katia made a slow, comprehensive sweep of the room. She noted the spotless tabletops, the shining fixtures and the rest of the perfect decor. It struck her as odd that nothing was out of place. Not even a stray newspaper. She opened her mouth to remark on his unusual neatness, but he stopped her with a finger against her lips.

Frozen like that, with him standing so close she could smell his spicy, woodsy scent, she simply stared at him. He stared back. Another moment passed, and then another. Their breathing fell into a shared rhythm.

Her head grew dangerously light.

All the fear she’d told herself she didn’t feel, all the tension she’d denied for days, came crashing into her.
For one insane moment she wanted to trust this man. She wanted him to share her burdens for a while. She wanted to tell him about her heritage.

She would not, of course. For one, the deadly secret was not hers alone. “Katarina,
darling.
” As he lowered his hand from her lips, the warning in his gaze cut like a blade. “What a surprise to see you….”

He trailed off, pointed to a table on her left, the telephone on her right and then up to the ceiling.

Three listening devices in this room alone? Someone wanted to keep a close eye on the man.

Nodding her understanding, she settled into her role. “You left your glove at my home last evening.”

“And you couldn’t wait to get it back to me, is that it?” His voice sounded amused, but his eyes were deadly serious.

“Something like that.” For the benefit of the secret police listening to them, she continued talking in a soft, almost coy tone. She might hate this role but she played it well. “Or perhaps I simply missed you.”

He gave her a very masculine chuckle in response. “Ah, darling. What fun you are.”

He took two long strides toward a table, then fiddled with the dial of a modern-looking radio until the strains of a Wagner opera crackled in the air between them.
Tristan and Isolde.
Another story of star-crossed lovers. How…appropriate.

“Why don’t you come over here and show me just how much you missed me.”

She knew her duty, knew it was important to be
obvious. She also knew she could very well be heading straight to her doom with this man.

“I thought you’d never ask.” She forced out a carefree laugh through very tight lips. No one would believe Katarina Kerensky had to work at this, not even Katia herself.

He turned the volume up a notch, and then kissed her on the…

Forehead.

The gesture was so sweet, and so at odds with the routine they performed that Katia’s knees nearly gave out.

“Well.” He kissed her again. On the forehead. Again. “That’s certainly a nice beginning.”

She started trembling, but so did he. For different reasons, she supposed. She could all but feel the impatience vibrating out of him, the frustration at being detained.

Or was it something else that made his hands flex and then relax at his side?

A vague sense of hope shot through her at the thought. She was on dangerous ground with this man, potentially life shattering. She had to remember this was an act for them both.

“I can do better,” she said.

This time his chuckle came out low and slightly amused. “Please do.”

But he didn’t move toward her. The kiss, then, was up to her. She released her breath very slowly, very carefully. No one knew the importance of playing this role with practiced skill better than Katia. Swallowing one
last time, she set her hands on his shoulders and lifted onto her toes until her lips gently touched his.

She drew quickly away. “Something like that?”

“It’s certainly better than the first.” His eyes filled with a challenge. “Why not try that again?”

The air knotted in her throat. She could do this. Of course she could do this. Lifting up again, she touched her lips to his for a second pass. Like a clichéd heroine in a Hollywood movie, she had to cling to him to keep from falling backward. “How was that?” she rasped. “Much better.”

His gaze filled with genuine affection. But in the next instant his expression closed, making him look as if nothing had happened out of the ordinary. The man was a rock.

Stone-faced, he gestured for her to follow him out onto the balcony. She wanted to rage at him for his coldness. She wanted to demand he show some emotion, any emotion. But she knew she wouldn’t voice any of her thoughts aloud. The man was a professional spy. And so was she.

This was not a time to lose her head over a man, especially a dangerous one like Friedrich Reiter.

This was a time to take control.