Volk (39 page)

Krista soon emerged in a gauzy nightgown. She chose one of the beds and got into it. Lane saw another flash of her leg as she did so. Was she trying to tease him?

“What happened between you and Ernst?” he asked. “Who broke it off?”

“He did. I was most annoyed.”

“He found a more beautiful woman than you?”

“Yes.”

“I don't believe it.”

She glanced sidelong at him. “Believe it, Lane Dowling.”

“Oh come on, call me Lane. We can be friends, can't we? Or at least not enemies.”

“I would like to be friends.” She smiled and lay back.

He went to the bathroom to strip and clean up. Then he realized that he would have to walk by her bed in his underpants, as he did not use pajamas. This was awkward.

Well, there was no help for it. He walked out, went to his bed, and turned off the light. She seemed to be asleep, which was a relief.

“You have a nice body, Lane,” she said.

•  •  •

Next day they resumed the drive to Berlin. Krista wore a skirt and blouse. It was amazing what she had been able to pack in her single bag. The blouse was tight and translucent in bright light; he kept catching glimpses of the outline of her bosom. Finally he addressed the matter. “Please put on a jacket or something, Krista.”

“But it is warm.”

“Because you are driving me crazy. I promised to leave you alone, but the sight of you keeps reminding me how long it's been since I've had a woman.”

“I can do that.”

“So if you'll just put on something—” He broke off. “Do what?”

“You have been kind to me, Lane. You have been a gentleman. I understand your need. I can oblige it.”

“What are you, a whore?”

Her face froze. Then she hid it in her hands.

Lane felt like a heel. “Oh, damn, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to say that. I apologize.”

She faced away from him.

He pulled the car to the side of the road. “Krista, I said I was sorry! It's—I've been in the RAF, and the women—it's like a reflex. They do it for money. Of course you're not that kind.”

She lifted her face, wiping the tears away. “I understand. I should not have spoken that way. I thank thee for thy apology.”

“S'okay.” He started the car again.

Then he did a mental doubletake. Could she have—no, of course not. In his confusion he must have imagined it.

But his interest in Krista increased. She was becoming fascinating in more than just her body.

They reached Berlin in the afternoon. Then Lane remembered: “The Russians hold Berlin! They aren't letting Americans or British in. We're allies, but they haven't quite caught on yet. This is no good.”

“But workers go in and out,” she said.

“I'm not a worker.”

She smiled. “But I am. Or was, before they closed down my job. I could go in. You could pretend to be a German worker.”

“I can't speak a word of German!”

“
Ja
means yes.
Nein
means no. That will be enough.”

“You're crazy!”

She gave him a level stare. “Do you want to get in?”

“Yes! But not if I get shot for spying!”

“They will not shoot an ally. But I think they will not stop us. All we need is some German clothing for you, and a card. I have an extra card for you.”

“Now why do I have the suspicion you are not as innocent as you look?” he asked, amazed.

“I had to survive in a defeated nation. I learned how.”

She took him to a store where he bought a typical German worker outfit. This was a lot like a Nazi uniform, which made Lane wince; it had black boots, baggy brown trousers, a billed cap, and a slightly less weathered place on the arm where the red Nazi armband had been. Obviously a secondhand outfit, though he had paid the price for a new one. Then she had him take the passenger seat while she drove. But before she got in, she adjusted her clothing.

“What are you doing?” Lane asked, staring. Her skirt was now drawn up to the point of nonexistence, and her blouse was open to the naval.

“I am arranging not to be questioned closely.”

“You're asking to be raped instead!”

“In public daylight? I think not.”

He spread his hands. “Do it your way.”

They did it her way. The Russian guard looked down into the car as Krista proffered her card, leaning toward him. His face went slack. He passed their two cards before his face and approved them without blinking. Soon they were on their way into the city.

Lane shook his head in wonder. “You're some woman, Krista!”

“Thank you.”

“Were you really upset when I called you a—when I said what I shouldn't have?”

She shot him one of her sidelong glances, half smiling.

Lane made a soundless whistle. This was a woman who knew how to manage men! His eyes kept straying to her body, but this time he did not ask her to cover it.

She drove to the building where she said Ernst had worked. “He was in the SS,” she explained. “I used to date him here. But he never told me his work; it was secret.”

“And he found a beautiful SS woman?” Lane asked jokingly, then bit his tongue.

“She was not SS. But she was secret from me, until I came to his hotel room in his absence. Then I found her.”

“That must have been a hair-pulling scene!”

“No. I tried to hate her, but could not. He had given her his swastika, so I knew the game was lost. So I moved in with her.”

“You're joking!”

“No. She was very beautiful and nice. A better woman than I.”

“I doubt it.”

“Believe it, Lane. Ernst has a very fine taste in women.”

“That much I believe. I have good taste too.”

“I believe it.”

They parked at the building. Krista readjusted her clothing, becoming considerably more demure.

But the building turned out to be in chaos. Those rooms which remained tight were being used to shelter the homeless. The German SS was no longer in operation. “But maybe I can inquire,” she said.

Krista inquired, speaking rapid German, as she went from person to person, while Lane followed somewhat helplessly Finally she found someone who seemed to know something. “He was transferred to Skorzeny's unit,” she reported. “In October.”

“Who is Skorzeny?”

“They say he participated in the—you call it the Battle of the Bulge. The Ardennes campaign, in December.”

“English-speaking Germans!” Lane exclaimed. “Saboteurs! Ernst wouldn't get into that!”

She looked at him. “If they threatened to kill someone you loved, to make you do their will—”

Lane clenched his teeth. “If he got into that—if he got caught, they'd have executed him.”

“Can you reach the American records? To see whether that happened?”

“Maybe eventually. But this is now. Isn't there a faster way?”

“If they did not kill him, maybe they made him a prisoner of war. There are camps.”

“We'll check the camps! Where are they?”

“I do not know. But your people must know.”

He looked at her cannily. “Your people must know too! You can probably find them faster than I can.”

“I will inquire.” She did, and in due course had the locations of several recently established camps for German prisoners of war. “But we cannot get into them by showing flesh,” she cautioned him as they returned to the car.

“
We
don't have to get into them at all,” he said. “I will take you home, as I promised, then check with the Prisoner of War Information Bureau. If he's there, I'll find him.”

“But you will need someone for the German,” she said. “I will go with you.”

He shook his head. “If I remain much longer in your company, Krista, I'll forget my promise to bring you back unmolested. I may even forget what I'm here for.”

“You need me to get you out of Berlin.”

“Sure, to take you home. I'll do that. Then—” He paused. “Uh-oh. Are you blackmailing me?”

“I would not think of it.”

“Why are you so hot to travel with me? You don't know anything about me.”

“I know enough.”

“We'll discuss it on the way back.”

To that she acceded. She got them out of Berlin in much the fashion she had gotten them in. Then they went to a hotel for the night.

This time the room had only one bed. “Damn!” Lane said. Then he looked at her. “You
asked
for this! You could have gotten twin beds or two rooms.”

Krista shrugged.

“Listen, Ernst probably could've slept naked in your arms and not done a thing. But I'm not that type. You're trying to seduce me, and you have a damn good shot at succeeding. You have a loathsome disease you want to give me?”

“Oh, no!” she exclaimed. “I want nothing but good for you, Lane.”

“Why? I mean, why seduce me?”

“You are a rich American. I have not gone hungry in your company.”

“I'm not rich and you're no whore! And don't pull the tears act this time; you know what I'm talking about. You can get money from me without giving me sex. So why are you bothering?”

She shook her head. “I do not think you want to hear, Lane.”

“I'll be the judge of that! You looked at me strangely the first time you saw me. What are you up to?”

She met his gaze. “Please, Lane, there will be real tears if we go into this. I will tell you when you are ready. You must trust me that far.”

“I don't trust you at all! You have an ulterior motive. Are you a spy or something? What do you want from me?”

She spread her hands in surrender. “Then I must say it. I want to marry thee.”

“Marry me!” he exclaimed incredulously. “We spend two days and nights on the road, and you want marriage?” Then before she could answer, he held up his hand in a “stop” signal. “There! You did it again. You said ‘thee.'
You know Quality
!”

Krista bowed her head. “Now I must tell you, and take the consequence. Quality was the woman who took Ernst from me. The one with whom I roomed. I polished my English, talking with her, and I learned her ways.”

Lane dropped to the bed, stunned. “Ernst—Quality? They would not!”

“They did not mean to. But she was fading in a prisoner camp in France, and he could save her only by taking her with him and hiding her in his room. Then he hit her, and—”

“What?”

“Another officer suspected his loyalty, and thought that she was a subversive agent. So Ernst knocked her down to show that he did not care for her, and after the other was gone, they recognized their love.”

“But he would never—she would never—”

“Believe it.”

He turned on her. “You—what's in it for you?”

“She took my man. I will take hers.”

“In revenge? I want no part of this!”

“In understanding. She chose you first, so I knew you were a good man. You are now without a woman. You are hurting as I was hurting, but I can ease your hurt. I know you, Lane Dowling.”

“You can't know me!”

“I know you from her. I know every detail of you. I know how you seek unusual friends. I know the weakness of thy childhood, and the strength of thy manhood. I know—”

“Don't
do
that!”

“I do it when I forget myself, as she does. She calls me thee.”

“She calls you—
you
know where she is now!”

“She is with Ernst's family. They moved out of Wiesbaden, to better survive the war, but I see them often. She said she would introduce me to you, but you found me first.”

“You could have taken me right to her!”

She shook her head. “You were not ready, Lane.”

“You knew I'd never touch you if I found her!”

“I knew your heart would break if you found her too soon.”

“So you're just going to patch it up. Just like that.”

“I had hoped to. If I could have had enough time with you, before you learned.”

“You even proposed marriage to me!”

“No. You asked me what I want of you. I told you. That is not the same. I did not want to tell you yet.”

“That's right! You did everything you could to avoid telling me anything! Knowing where Quality was all the time.”

“Yes.”

He stared at her. “That's a really practical deal, Krista. Everything all set up in advance.”

“I am a practical woman.” She dabbed at her face.

“And now you make with the waterworks again.”

“I said there would be real tears, this time. I meant yours. I meant mine.”

“Why the hell should I believe you?”

“Because it is true.”

He got up and paced the floor. “Well, you got some of it right. You did hurt me.”

She did not reply.

“Tell me again: exactly why do you want to marry me?”

“I want to marry well. There is a blemish on my ancestry which prevents me from marrying well in Germany. And Germany now is not a good place to be. When I lost Ernst—”

“What do you mean by a blemish?”

“My grandmother may have been Gypsy.”

Lane burst out laughing. “No, really. I want to know. What's wrong with your ancestry?”

“You do not believe?”

“That doesn't matter. I don't
care
. What does it matter whether your grandmother had two heads?
You
don't.”

“A German of quality would care. I may not be pure Aryan.”

He shrugged. “So?”

“So I must marry outside of Germany.”

“You're serious?”

“Always.”

“No love, no fun, just pedigree? That's all you care about?”

“I care about everything. But I must not love without first being practical.”