In the Shadow of Your Wings

by J. P. Robinson

  Jaëger slunk closer, noting that the hum of conversation stilled as those gathered became aware of his presence. He was unknown to most of them but the subtle aura of danger that clung to him often made others think twice before shaking his hand.

  “My congratulations on your recent victory, Herr Haber.” Jaëger dipped his head.

  “Danke. It is truly a victory for all of the Fatherland.” The practiced reply slipped easily from Haber’s thin lips.

  Jaëger tilted his head to one side. “A pity that Frau Haber is not here to share in the celebration.”

  The smile faded from Haber’s pasty face as though wiped away with a napkin. “S-she is... indisposed.”

  “To the contrary, husband. I have never felt better.”

  The unexpected voice rose, clear and strong, from the interior of the home. As one, Haber and his consort turned to face the intruder. Along with them, the murmuring crowd craned their necks for a glimpse of Clara Haber, the scorned woman whose defiance had made her the subject of much speculation in Berlin.

  Jaëger eyed Clara with a sort of detached coolness. She reminded him of a corpse, shrouded in a brilliant white dress that accentuated her one attractive feature—her mountain of dark hair. A diamond necklace graced her long neck while a pair of matching earrings bobbed loosely beneath her curls.

  His gaze shifted to Charlotte who stood with hands on her hips and lips curled in a mocking smile. It was obvious that Clara’s sudden appearance surprised the woman in more ways than one. It was also clear that the wife would not surrender to the mistress without a fight on her own terms.

  Jaëger’s frown deepened. He sympathized with Clara but her anger, coupled with her evident cunning and defiance of custom, made her nothing less than dangerous. He tightened his grip on his briefcase as his trained eye roved over Clara’s body. As she stepped toward Haber and his mistress, he caught a glimpse of a very faint bulge in her right pocket. A gun?

  “I know that this is a defining moment in your career, Fritz,” Clara said as she moved closer. Her right hand dropped below her waistline. “And I wouldn’t miss the excitement tonight to save my life.”

  Fritz’s fat mouth flapped open but Jaëger felt a chill pass through him. She’s going to kill him! Clara’s hand slid toward the bulge in her waist and Jaëger reacted instinctively, stepping between Clara and her husband. At that moment Charlotte leaned forward and whispered a few words into her lover’s ear. Haber’s jaw snapped shut and he shrank back while staring at his wife through narrowed eyes.

  “What an honor to meet you at last.” Jaëger bowed smoothly before Clara, grabbing her wandering hand and pressing it to his lips.

  “A-and you are?” Clara shrank back then tried to step around him, but he anticipated her motion and blocked her path.

  He bowed again. “I am General Werner Jaëger.”

  “How very nice to meet you, General. Now if you’d excuse me—”

  “I oversee operations at the Front.” His lie slipped smoothly from his lips as he took her arm and turned her toward the house. The crowd behind them followed their lead, forcing the duo onward.

  Clara looked over her shoulder once or twice, eyes sparking with fury but, under the press of the crowd, she could only move forward. Inside the mansion’s brightly-lit interior, an orchestra played patriotic anthems on a small stage that had been erected in the center of the dining hall, while, on all sides, guests mingled while sampling hors d’oeuvres.

  Jaëger continued to spin false tales of his exploits against the Allied forces on the Western Front, noting Clara’s glazed stare. She was bored but she was listening. Most importantly she was in front of him. As he talked, his mind ticked off a list of possibilities.

  It was possible that the contents of Clara’s pocket were harmless. Given the formality of the occasion and the naked animosity between Clara and her husband, he found this possibility difficult to accept. It was more plausible that she carried a weapon with which she intended to end both Fritz and Charlotte’s life. I wouldn’t miss tonight’s excitement to save my life. Her words were a subtle hint of her intended plot, he was certain of it.

  In either case, he needed to keep her within his gaze at all costs. Charlotte was dispensable but Fritz was not. If Clara presented any threat to her husband’s life, Jaëger was prepared to eliminate her. He could care less for Haber but the Fatherland needed him. Without the swine’s mind, victory on the Eastern Front could prove impossible to obtain.

  “So, you see, with your husband’s help we will crush our enemies.” He took a sip of water from the glass he dangled loosely between his fingers.

  “Well, I’m sure that you are aware of my feelings about my husband’s activities, General...”

  “Jaëger.”

  “Of course. General Jaëger. How could I forget?” Clara batted her eyelashes, a slight smile on her lips. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I must see to the guests. My husband, as you’ll notice, has disappeared, leaving me to attend to them.”

  Jaëger pivoted on his heel. Haber and Charlotte had indeed disappeared. Like unruly children, they had waited until their audience of admirers had entered the room and then slipped off into the growing darkness to indulge in whatever evil lurked in their hearts.

  He resisted the sudden urge to crush the glass in his hand. “The lecherous fool.” He glanced back to where Clara had stood only moments before, but she too was gone. Movement caught his eye. Clara strode purposefully toward the opposite end of the hall, wending her way around whirling dancers and conversing spectators but speaking to none.

  Jaëger hesitated, his mind spinning through various possible outcomes. Every instinct, honed from years of experience, shouted that Clara would act tonight. But if he followed her now, she would become suspicious. She might postpone whatever it was that she intended, and he could not afford any delay. He needed Clara to commit herself before he left for Great Britain.

  Placing the water glass on a tray Jaëger stalked toward the door, briefcase in hand. Finding Haber was the answer. For he would bet his life that, wherever Haber was, his wife would soon be.

  CLARA HEARD THE thud of the door as it slipped into place behind her. She shivered despite the warm night air—from fear or anticipation it was impossible to tell. Electric lamps illuminated the garden pathway and the full moon cast its bright glow on the verdant acreage. Clara slunk forward, every pore on her skin on edge. She would have no trouble finding her prey on a night like this.

  She passed a fountain whose gushing spray disturbed the tranquil waters below and paused, catching a glimpse of her reflection. She was dead already. Dark eyes, glowing with the lust for revenge, stared out of an angular skull. The white of her dress gleamed ghostlike in the moonlight. Was it a bridal gown or a burial shroud?

  She had died the day she married Haber. In the years following she had entombed herself in a sepulcher of self-pity. Oddly enough, at this moment she felt strangely alive. It was as though the thought of this final act of defiance had produced a sort of resurrection. But she would not leave this world without taking Charlotte with her.

  Charlotte’s coquettish actions had compelled her to exchange her drab garments for the brilliant white dress she now wore. Let Haber see what he discarded one last time.

  She had caught his attention. Shock at her transformation had been written all over his plump face. But then the witch had whispered something in his ear and the spark of desire had been extinguished as quickly as it had come. Tonight, everything would end. His glory would forever be overshadowed by the world’s speculation about her death. The night of his triumph would be remembered as a tragedy, marred by her final act of desperation.

  Clara prowled forward, off the main path and into the shadows of the trees. Somewhere in the greenery her prey waited.

  A feminine giggle to her left made her freeze. “Oh, you devil!”

  Charlotte. Clara’s heartbeat slowed to a crawl. Her blood chugged slowly through her veins while, in her h
ead, a thousand voices cried out for justice. Blinded by rage, she barely noticed the screens of shrubbery that she pushed aside as she made her way toward the illicit pair.

  Her steps were muffled by the damp ground and the guilty couple did not hear her approach. Clara stole forward, weaving her way around the last bush. There! Her quarry lay across the small clearing, on the ground beneath the garden lights, acting like the beasts they were. The iron taste of fury filled her mouth as she pushed herself upright.

  “Fritz!”

  Her voice, sharp and full of anguish, ripped them apart. Charlotte jerked her head up, and her flushed face drained of color. Without a second thought, Clara drew the pistol.

  JAËGER HURRIED TOWARD the gardens. There had been no side entrances visible from the main courtyard, but the adjoining gardens offered plenty of privacy for a trysting couple. Fritz Haber is a fool. Blinded by his lust, he failed to see the threat personified in his enraged wife.

  Jaëger halted beneath a tree, opened his briefcase and retrieved his revolver, a smoke-grey Luger. Screwing on the silencer, he contemplated his next move. The moon clearly illuminated the gardens, and the lamps along the path also spilled light onto the greenery beyond. Sight was not his problem but finding either Haber in time could be a challenge.

  Jaëger rose and slipped forward, keeping to the shadows. He had spent about three minutes inside with Clara before she pointed out Fritz’s absence. It had taken him two additional minutes to reach this place under the tree. If the overweight Haber moved slowly with a woman, the pair should be relatively close by.

  The swish of feet slipping through shrubbery, made him sink further into the darkness. A flash of white appeared around a bush not twenty yards before him. Jaëger felt a sick feeling spread throughout his gut as a woman’s sultry voice reached his ears.

  “Oh, you devil!”

  The beast.

  If Haber were not so valuable to the Fatherland he would let Clara have her way with him. But fate had decided against it. Jaëger moved closer in a slow crouch, hunting the huntress who was about to close in on her prey.

  To his right, a wall of shrubs kept him hidden from Haber and his consort. Clara was too engrossed in the spectacle before her to notice his own stealthy movements. He stopped about fifteen yards from her, a wraith swallowed up by the darkness.

  Clara was now clearly visible, illuminated by a shaft of moonlight that spilled around her. Her trembling body gave mute testament to the strength of her emotions. Her chest rose and fell as though she were lifting boulders with each breath.

  She pulled a gun from her pocket and Jaëger knew then that he would have to end her life. Clara looked like an angel, swathed in white and illuminated by moonlight. But she was an angel of death not mercy.

  She stood erect and turned slightly toward him, presenting a perfect target to the unseen assassin. “Fritz!”

  Time slowed to a crawl, accentuating each motion.

  Clara raised the gun.

  Jaëger did likewise.

  Her fingers hovered over the trigger.

  His own index finger slid forward. Timing. It’s all about timing.Clara’s chest rose and fell in one final upheaval.

  He counted each thud of his heart as a split second.

  Three.

  She sighted along the barrel, frowning as she concentrated.

  Two.

  Her breathing stilled, and her lips parted slowly.

  One.

  Her index finger gently squeezed the trigger...

  Pft!

  Pough!

  Both guns roared to life. Clara had been thrown off balance by the impact of his bullet piercing her breastbone and her shot had flown harmlessly upward. The suppressed sound of his own revolver had been overpowered by the roar of her firearm.

  Clara fell backward but not before Jaëger’s keen eye saw a crimson stain bloom on the white of her dress.

  A scream ripped out of Charlotte’s throat. “Oh God, she tried to kill us!”

  “N-no, she... she’s shot herself.” Haber’s hoarse voice reached his ears. “Get dressed before someone comes. Hurry!”

  Werner retreated into the darkness. Fritz Haber and his lover would never know how close they had been to death. Unable to hear his bullet and, unaware as they were of his presence, the record would state that Clara had turned the gun on herself at the last moment.

  Werner looked back at the fallen body, now visible only by the sharp contrast of the white shroud against the dark ground. “I’m sorry Frau Haber. I am truly sorry.”

  HERMANN TRUDGED ALONG the brightly-lit garden path, hands shoved in the pockets of his lederhosen. He had always disliked public gatherings. His aversion had become outright abhorrence since his mother had sabotaged his father’s speech a few months ago. Bad things always seemed to happen when people gathered together. The only way to escape the evil was to shun public events altogether. And so, while the others partied, he had remained in his outdoor sanctuary.

  Hermann squinted as something white flashed in the distance then moved closer.

  “Fritz!”

  He came to an abrupt halt. That was his mother’s voice. Why was Mamele out here during the party? Why was she calling his father’s name? Crinkling his brow, he remained motionless.

  The sudden roar of a gun made him jump. Then he saw the white shape fall backward. Heart crashing, Herman pounded down the path.

  “Mama!” His thin voice cut through the abrupt silence. “Mama!”

  Hermann stared at the ground in disbelief. His mother lay curled up on her side, her face twisted. Blood spurted from a hole in her chest, soaking the dark earth below.

  “Mama?” He dropped to his knees and pressed his small hands against the hole. Maybe if he tried hard enough, he could get the blood back in. Maybe—

  “Hermann.” His mother’s voice was a faint gurgle in her throat but he heard it above the pulsing roar that filled his ears.

  “Ja?” He moved closer, slipping his bloody hands underneath her head. Tears spilled over his eyes, ran down his nose, and dripped onto his mother’s face. It was pale, far too pale.

  “I was... wrong.” She struggled to speak, opening her mouth abnormally wide to gasp out the words. “Wrong. Science ... kills.”

  Her words made no sense, yet they made perfect sense. His mother had devoted her life to the pursuit of knowledge and now she lay dying in his arms, killed by a hunger that could never be satisfied.

  Shaking, he kissed her sweaty forehead. “Ich habe dich lieb, Mutter! I love you, Mother.”

  “Hermann?” It was barely a whisper now. Whimpering, he leaned forward.

  “I... love... you.” Then her body convulsed twice, and with a long, deep sigh, she lay still.

  “Mama?” Hermann shook her shoulder. There was no response.

  Hermann stepped away from the body and began to scream, not noticing as his father and Charlotte emerged from the screen of bushes. He did not hear the approaching crowd that streamed from the house and formed a semi-circle around the gruesome figure.

  But she was not gruesome. Not to him. She was beautiful, as she had always been beautiful. She was Mamele. And she was dead.

  FRITZ HABER STARED at his wife’s pale corpse, his mind numb. So, this had been her final revenge. Suicide on the night of his greatest triumph.

  Humiliation and guilt squeezed his heart like fists of iron. No one would ever forget this night. The Kaiser, German militaries, his home had been full of dignitaries and tonight of all nights, she had made one final statement. But I’m to blame. My fault... all of it.

  “So sorry for your loss, Herr Haber.”

  “A great woman.”

  “Suicide. Who would have thought?”

  The murmurs of the onlookers finally broke through the fog that surrounded his mind. He felt a presence on his right. Charlotte sidled up against him, slipping her arm around his waist.

  Swallowing hard, Haber looked down at Charlotte’s upturned face. He had bee
n with this woman while his wife, an onlooker, put a bullet through her chest. Nausea swelled in his gut.

  He pulled away and pressed a frantic Hermann into Charlotte’s arms. To the guests, “I-I thank you for your support. This comes... as quite a shock to...” he glanced again at Charlotte’s pensive face. “The celebration is over. I-I have many plans to make before I leave for the East.”

  “Herr Haber.” The shrill voice of a woman sounded from the back of the crowd. “Your wife has just... killed herself in protest of your work. She has become a martyr for her cause. Surely you don’t intend to carry on.”

  “I...” Haber cleared his throat, glancing from the dead woman whose vacant eyes stared at him with stark accusation to the Kaiser’s stern gaze.

  To retreat now would be to lose everything. The Emperor said nothing, merely flicked away an invisible mosquito with a gloved, white hand while pinning Haber with his dark eyes.

  Haber turned back to the crowd. “I cannot undo what I have done. The die is cast, and I must go forward. Now if you will all please excuse us, we have much work to do.”

  With murmured condolences, the assembled guests departed, the Kaiser last of all. He gave Haber a slow nod and cast a somber glance at Clara’s body then, surrounded by his generals, departed.

  Haber watched them leave, keeping his back to the corpse on the ground. Finally, he turned to Charlotte who now stood aloof from his son.

  “I must prepare to leave,” Fritz said. “I cannot make arrangements for her.”

  Charlotte folded her shapely arms across her chest, throwing a sardonic look in his direction. “I will see to everything.”

  “Cremate her.”

  “I will have the ashes buried in Dahlem cemetery.” She sidled up to him, placing her hand against his chest. “I understand how difficult this must be for you. Just—”

  “We will never speak of this night again.”