She reached for his hand, setting her fingers on top of his. Warmth pulsed up her arm, so different from her powers, but Bastian pulled his hand free and moved toward the end of the truck, where he sat down and drew his knees against his chest. Zara’s face flamed with embarrassment.
“Leave him be,” Uncle Red said, but she followed after Bastian anyway.
She sat in front of him, waiting for him to say something, but he didn’t look up at her.
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. Guilt sank into the bottom of her stomach. She knew Bastian wanted to join the Alliance, but she didn’t expect that choice would break him apart from his mother so soon. He probably didn’t, either. Tonight, he had only thought that he was helping her escape from the hospital. Not leaving behind his entire life. “Maybe we can get a message to your mother somehow. Or we could find a phone and call her.”
“That would be too dangerous. I couldn’t put us at risk like that.”
“Then we’ll send a letter. We won’t put any return address on it. That way —”
He still hadn’t met her gaze. “I knew what I was doing by joining the Alliance. I knew I might have to leave her one day.” Anguish overwhelmed his features. “That was the choice I made.”
Zara couldn’t look at him, not with her throat tightening again. If she ever had to leave her uncle behind, never to see him again … She couldn’t do it. The mere thought of it ripped her apart inside. But for Bastian, this was his new reality.
“I wish there was something I could do or —” she started.
“It’s not your fault.” He was quiet for a long moment. “I just thought I’d get the chance to tell her good-bye.”
From the front of the truck, Alene called out, “We’re a few hours away from Neuberlin. You better get some sleep if you can.”
Zara started to move away from Bastian. “I’ll let you get some rest. We’ve all had a long night.”
He caught her hand, and she froze. He had pulled away from her only a minute before, but now his fingers curled around hers, gently seeking them. “You don’t have to go. I — I don’t mind.”
Zara could only nod, and she didn’t let go of his hand. Tingles spread from her palm, climbing up her wrist and arm. “I’m sure your mom is okay. She’s safe.”
He squeezed her hand. “Safer than we are, at least.”
They drove north, passing soybean farms, sagging houses, and a handful of Nazi factories that spluttered white smoke into the sky. Despite the bumps in the road, Zara managed to drift asleep, but she blinked awake at once when the truck lurched to a stop.
Eyelids heavy, she yawned in the darkness. According to the vehicle’s clock, it was three in the morning. Her body, sore and tender from the battle at the fort, yearned for more rest, but Alene told everyone to move. As Zara stretched out a kink in her neck, she realized Bastian had rested his hand over hers during the ride north. Very quietly, she glanced at him. Her gaze skirted over his profile, no longer seeing the resemblance between him and his father. In the last week, she had seen courage in Bastian’s eyes and heard a gentleness in his voice, traits that the Colonel could never possess. And when Bastian smiled, there was no cruelty there. It was a smile that reached deep into his eyes, a smile that made Zara’s breath tighten whenever she saw it.
Bastian shifted in his sleep, and his curls fell over his forehead. Zara was tempted to brush them aside, but then she heard her uncle awaken at the other end of the truck. Flustered, she untangled her hand from Bastian’s and flushed at her ridiculous thoughts. They were heading to war soon — on a mission to kill the Führer. She had to stop thinking about Bastian in this way. This hope in her heart, this flutter in her stomach — she had to quash it before it bloomed even bigger.
Bastian stirred next to her. His eyes opened slowly, and when he saw Zara sitting next to him, those dimples of his appeared. But then he noticed the rough canvas of the truck covering, and the dimples vanished. The memories of last night must have crashed through his mind.
“Where are we?” he said, stretching out his long legs.
Alene opened the back of the truck, and the blinking light of a lamppost filtered into Zara’s eyes. Beyond the door, she saw a row of tenement buildings crumbling around them and broken sidewalks lining the road. Graffiti covered every surface in view.
“We’re on the outskirts of Neuberlin,” Alene said. A gold necklace peeped out from her bloodied shirt, and Zara noticed its shiny pendant — a Star of David. She must be one of the last Jews in the Territories, Zara thought, thinking immediately of Molly and her family. “We’ll meet with one of our contacts here.”
Zara followed Bastian out of the truck and noticed Alene watching every one of his moves, still wary of him. After Bastian had fallen asleep a couple of hours earlier, Zara had asked Garrison for more details about assassinating the Führer, but he had hesitated to say anything more, not with Bastian within earshot. Zara had told him and Alene repeatedly that they could trust Bastian — that he had risked his life for her — but Garrison had pointed out that Bastian remained an unknown factor. And Uncle Red had agreed with him.
“He’s unproven,” Uncle Red had said while the truck veered onto a side road to avoid any Nazi checkpoints. Before she could protest, he had held up his hand. “I’m not saying that I don’t trust him, but I haven’t seen enough evidence that I can.”
“He will prove it to you. I know he will.”
“You should have told me about him sooner, Zara.”
She had nearly rolled her eyes. “Like that would have gone over well.”
“You lied to me, and now Bastian could be a liability to us.”
“He’s giving up his whole life to join the Alliance!” She had wanted to shout at him, but she hadn’t wanted to wake Bastian or Garrison, who had started dozing. “And Bastian checked on you after I hit you with that bolt of lightning. He helped.”
Uncle Red had been taken aback. “You didn’t tell me that.”
“Because I knew you would flip out about it.” She had tried to tamp down the frustration in her voice. “Both of us would still be in those cells at Fort Goering if it hadn’t been for Bastian.”
“I’m not saying he isn’t resourceful —”
“You only see the Eckhart in him, but he’s nothing like his father. Just like I’m nothing like mine.”
Uncle Red had gone quiet for a long moment, his gaze scanning over Bastian’s sleeping form. Then he had surprised Zara with what he said next. “No, I suppose he isn’t.”
“He gave up everything to come with us. His mother. His home. He didn’t realize he was doing it when he came to the jail to free me, but he’s accepted it. He knows he can’t go back.” She had swallowed hard as she thought of her own home, the house and the farm and the land her family had worked on for generations. Despite her misery, she had said, “At least we have each other.”
“That’s all that matters,” Uncle Red had said, but Zara had heard the pain in his voice. They couldn’t go back to Greenfield, either, not when they were traitors. Zara’s head had felt heavy, bowed with exhaustion and a heart-twisting sadness. She had wanted to curl up in her bed, nestled in the blanket her mother had sewn for her, but she might never sleep in that bed again.
“What’ll happen to the farm?” she had whispered.
“I don’t know,” Uncle Red had said, his voice tinged with sorrow. “I just don’t know.”
It could be months until they saw their land again. Years even. But Zara decided then and there that she would do anything to reclaim their home one day. If she survived the mission at the White House …
Uncle Red and Bastian helped Garrison out of the truck. Thankfully, Garrison’s shoulder had stopped bleeding, although he grimaced whenever he moved it. Alene led them toward a two-story factory and into the shadows of a sign that read, VEGA TOBACCO AND CIGARS, EST. 1893. The factory was silent at this time of night; the workers wouldn’t start their shift for hours.
“My f
riend Dominic owns this building,” Garrison explained. “His family has been a part of the Alliance since the very start. We’ve been planning to rendezvous with him after the raid on Fort Goering.”
“Will we be safe here?” Bastian said. He chewed his lip as he glanced at the abandoned apartments and the rubble littering the street, remnants of the long-ago war bombings. Zara doubted that he had ever stepped foot in a place like this. It wasn’t his fault, of course, but a Nazi upbringing would have shielded him from this destruction, from this poverty.
“We’ll be fine,” Alene said curtly. “Let’s get going. I don’t like being out in the street.”
Once they reached the factory entrance, the door opened to reveal a heavy-set Latino man with a salt-and-pepper beard that engulfed his face in a furry mask. He hurried toward Garrison with his arms outstretched, burying him in a tight hug.
“I was starting to think the worst,” said the man that must have been Dominic. “Murdock contacted us after the attack and said you should have gotten here over an hour ago.”
“We took the long way, just in case anyone was following us.” Garrison gave Bastian a look. Turning back to Dominic, he made some quick introductions to the others. “Dominic’s the one who first told us about the gala. He has been helping us organize this last attack.”
Dominic ushered them into the building. “I’m sure all of you are tired and hungry. Let’s head inside and I’ll have someone dispose of that truck. I told my workers not to come in today, so we’ll have the building for our preparations.”
“Any news from Fort Goering?” said Alene.
A smile spread across Dominic’s face. “A victory! We ransacked half of the fort’s armory before the Nazis regrouped and Murdock ordered everyone to fall back. Communication has been spotty since then. Many of the rebels are still on the run, but a good number followed Murdock’s orders and have arrived in Neuberlin. We took in some of the wounded, but everyone else is lying low for now in the safe houses around the city.”
“What about the C4?” said Garrison.
“Saved and ready for the attack. Come see.”
They entered the main floor of the factory, and Zara immediately felt tiny. The ceiling soared forty feet above her, making each footstep and each word an echo. Long tables spread neatly across the factory floor, and Zara assumed this was where the workers rolled cigars by hand. Dominic beckoned them down a flight of rickety stairs to the basement below, where stacks upon stacks of dried tobacco greeted them. Beyond the last pile of sweet-scented leaves, Zara saw dozens of men and women — rebels, by the looks of it — lying on cots or blankets spread over the floor. Some had bullet wounds, while others had gashes covering their bodies. A harried-looking nurse tried to attend to all of them.
“I can help treat them. I’m a medic,” said Bastian. As he looked over the wounded, something shifted in him, like when he had treated Uncle Red’s burns.
Dominic’s tired eyes lit up. “We’d be grateful. My cousin Sofia has been tending to the injured and hasn’t slept in hours. You should get some food in you first, though.”
“I can get started right away,” said Bastian. “Eating can wait.”
“You really should eat something,” Zara protested.
“I need to work,” he said so quietly that only she could hear. “To get my mind off of things.”
Zara didn’t think starving himself was a very smart idea, but Dominic brought Bastian over to meet Sofia and directed the rest of them toward the kitchen around the corner. Each of them took a bowl of hot beef stew and sat around a small foldout table. Before anyone could even take a bite, Uncle Red started asking about the assassination attempt.
“What I don’t understand is why we have to kill Dieter. He’ll be dead in months,” Uncle Red asked, not touching his food. “What’s the point of killing him now?”
“The point is the statement we’ll make,” Alene said between chews. “Can you imagine the support we’ll receive if the Alliance takes down the leader of the Nazi Empire?”
“It’s not only that.” Garrison took slow slips of water. “If we take out the Führer, the Soviets are bound to go to war with the Nazis. It’s the opening they’ve been waiting for.”
“So you want to ally with the Reds?” Uncle Red said.
“No, not if we can help it, but a war between the Nazis and the Soviets would work in the Alliance’s favor. It’ll force the Germans to fight on both sides of the Atlantic — and that will give us a chance to take back some power.”
Uncle Red took a moment to digest the information, and Zara knew Garrison had struck a chord in him. “What’s the plan, then? And what does Zara have to do with it?”
Garrison and Alene exchanged glances before Garrison continued. “We’ll infiltrate the gala tonight. Alene will disguise us as the Japanese ambassador Nakamura and his personal entourage. He’s over eighty and is recovering from prostate cancer. That means he turns down nearly all social functions.”
“There’s no guarantee that he’ll turn down this one,” Uncle Red pointed out.
“True, but we’ll take our chances. Nakamura will be our best bet, since everyone else will most likely accept the invitation.”
“How exactly will Alene ‘disguise’ us?”
“As long as we stand very close together, I can manipulate other people’s appearances. Three or four at most,” said Alene.
“That’s why we can only take four people on this mission,” said Garrison. “Me, Alene, and two others. We had hoped to bring two more of our Anomaly fighters, but they’re either dead, missing, or injured.” He looked across the table at Zara. “That’s where Zara comes in.”
“You want to bring my niece with you,” Uncle Red said flatly. He pushed his bowl of stew away from him. “To the White House.”
“If they want me to go, I’ll go,” said Zara, her eyes drilling into her uncle’s. Despite the fear coursing through her, she knew that Garrison was right. The Alliance had a chance to take out the Führer himself — and she could help them do that.
“Actually, we want both of you to come,” said Garrison.
That made Uncle Red do a double take. “Me?”
“I know of your exploits before Mission Metzger. You know tactics and strategy. You know your way around a gun.”
“There are plenty of other rebels who know the same things that I do,” Uncle Red said, flustered.
“Sure, but you’re the only one who has a niece with dual powers. And I doubt you’d let her come with us if you didn’t tag along, too.”
Uncle Red shook his head. “Zara just manifested her new power. She needs more time to control it.”
“I can control it,” Zara said. Mostly, she thought. There was no way she could sit this mission out. Finally, she could bring justice to her mother, to Mrs. Talley, to Molly. How could she say no to this?
Zara looked her uncle in the eye. “I’m going with them.” Before he could say anything else, she added, “I want you to come with me, too. We’ll do it together.”
“This has to be suicide.” There was so much uncertainty in Uncle Red’s voice, so Zara pressed harder.
“If we don’t go to the White House, the Nazis will keep coming after us. We’re fugitives already. We can’t go home.” She swallowed as she thought about Greenfield and their farm. “We have to finish what Mom started.”
“She died for what she believed in. If that happened to you, too —”
“Then come with me. I have to do this, for Mom.”
Uncle Red stared blankly at the table and said nothing for an achingly long minute. His gaze traveled from Alene to Garrison and finally to Zara, where it came to rest.
“If I can’t stop you, then I don’t have a choice.” He nodded at Garrison. “Count me in.”
“Really?” Zara breathed.
“Count us both in.”
* * *
Garrison explained the rest of the mission while their stew turned cold in their bowls. Appare
ntly, getting into the White House — tricky as that was — would be the easiest part of the plan.
Once they arrived at the White House and passed through the metal detectors, they would keep a low profile until the official ceremony started at seven, at which point Dieter’s double would offer a speech. At seven-fifteen, the Alliance rebels would strike from the Hofer Street entrance, due west of the White House. Using Dominic’s C4 explosives, the rebels would break through the electrified fence and storm the gala, drawing attention away from the real mission: the attack on the Führer.
“That’s why we told everyone to head to Neuberlin after the attack on Fort Goering,” Garrison said. “There will be soldiers stationed throughout the White House grounds, over a hundred maybe, not to mention the Corps of Four. If the four of us want a fighting chance just to reach the Führer, then we need the Alliance attack to distract some of those guards.”
Garrison went on to explain that once the C4 went off, Zara would use her lightning to destroy Dieter’s double, which would be captured on camera by the incoming rebels. Uncle Red bristled at the suggestion, saying how he should take on that responsibility, but Garrison shook his head.
“Even if we could smuggle a gun into the White House for you — and we’re working on that — there’s too much of a chance that you’d miss the target,” said Garrison.
“I don’t think you’ve seen me shoot,” Uncle Red countered.
“Look, I’m not doubting your abilities, but we have to maximize our chances of success, and Zara’s power is our best option right now. I’ll need you and Alene to protect Zara so she can take out the double.”
Uncle Red didn’t seem pleased with this plan, but he didn’t protest it further. “What will you be doing, then?” he asked Garrison.
The Only Thing to Fear Page 18
