She hailed a cab, gave the driver the address she had memorized from Lanier’s note, and used the ride across town to try to figure out her next move. Lanier had asked her to gather information, but he hadn’t said what he planned to do with it. Would he take action if she told him she thought Meike was in danger, or would he sit on the sidelines and do nothing until she had proof? By then, it could be too late. For Meike and for her.
After the cabbie dropped her off at the warehouse where Lanier had asked her to meet him, Helen pushed the door open and cautiously looked inside. She saw crates and boxes everywhere, but no sign of life. Had she come to the wrong place or had she been lured into a trap?
“Hello?”
Her voice echoed off the high ceilings. The skylight overhead let the morning light stream in, but she felt little of its warmth. She shivered, though she couldn’t tell if it was because of the frigid temperature or the cold fingers of fear dancing up her spine. She froze when she heard footsteps thudding on the concrete floor.
“Hello?” she called again.
Lanier stepped into the open. “You made it,” he said, leaning on a neatly stacked column of crates marked Fragile—Handle with Care.
Helen loosened her grip on the lapels of her coat as anger replaced her trepidation. “Were you trying to blow my cover last night or do you simply enjoy putting me on the spot?”
Lanier shoved his hands in his pockets like he was taking a stroll in the park instead of putting her through the wringer. “Last night was a test. I wanted to see how you would react to being caught by surprise.”
“Did I pass?”
Her voice dripped sarcasm, but Lanier either didn’t detect it or chose to ignore it. “With flying colors. Now tell me what you’ve learned.”
“Nothing yet. Nothing you can use, anyway.”
Lanier looked skeptical. “Try me.”
“What do you want me to say?” Even though she didn’t have anything to report, she didn’t want him to think she wasn’t making an effort. She was trying. She really was, but she seemed to be spinning her wheels instead of gaining traction. “I can’t force Meike to talk to me if she doesn’t want to.”
When she first met Lanier, she had thought he was nothing more than a harmless pencil pusher in a cheap suit. When he took a step toward her, he seemed much more dangerous than she’d previously given him credit for.
“Sometimes what people don’t say is more important than what they do. Like now, for instance. I need you to realize I’m your ally, Helen, not your enemy. I want you to trust me. And above all, I want you to know I’m not stupid. Meike von Bismarck traveled to Adelaide with one of Heinrich Himmler’s hand-picked flunkies and you don’t think that was information I could use?”
“Oskar Henkel is associated with Hitler’s right-hand man? He works for Heinrich Himmler, the head of the Gestapo?”
“You mean you didn’t know?”
“All I knew was Meike was afraid of him, but I didn’t know why.”
Lanier cocked his head. “Is it Henkel she fears or the thought of you unearthing the truth behind her connection to him? Like I told you before, she is a part of Hitler’s inner circle. He might not stoop to sharing troop movements with her, but I know he’s told her something. He likes to brag too much and he’s too obsessed with blue-eyed blondes not to try to impress her with his power. If he’s taken her into his confidence—or his bed—I want to know.”
Helen balled her hands into fists, ready to fight to defend Meike’s honor. “First of all, Meike would never let him touch her, no matter what was at stake. And, second, she wouldn’t lie to me.”
“You’re lying to her, aren’t you, or did you tell her the real reason you decided not to turn pro?”
Helen’s stomach soured. She hated the thought of lying to Meike, someone who embodied honesty and integrity more than anyone she had ever met. On the court, Meike was known to give away not just a point but an entire game if a linesman’s call erroneously went in her favor. Off the court, she was just as forthright, her moral compass directed toward true north. If Helen told Meike the real reason she had come back into her life, would she understand why or would she consider the deceit an unforgivable offense?
“I’m lying because I have to, Agent Lanier, not because I want to. It’s different.” But she doubted Meike would see it that way.
“How is it different? She could be having a similar conversation with her own handler as soon as she reaches Berlin.”
“Meike isn’t a spy.”
“I’m sure, if given a chance, she would say the same about you. You’re keeping a secret from her. Why is it so hard for you to believe she might be keeping one from you, too?”
“Because I know her. What the Nazis believe and what she stands for are polar opposites. Their beliefs are not hers.”
“People change. And sometimes they’re willing to put aside their beliefs in order to survive.”
Helen replayed the conversations she and Meike had shared on the way to Adelaide and on the way back to New York, searching in vain for some subtle sign that would lead her to believe Meike wasn’t who she appeared to be.
“Why didn’t Henkel accompany her to New York?” Lanier asked.
“Because I helped her give him the slip.”
Lanier tapped his chin thoughtfully. “If she’s as innocent as you say she is, she could hear about that when she gets home.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.” Lanier looked at her for so long, Helen grew uncomfortable under his gaze. “What is it?”
“You have feelings for her, don’t you?”
Helen stiffened. “I’m playing a part you asked me to play.”
“And you’re playing it well.”
Helen didn’t know whether to take his comment on her skill at being deceitful as a compliment or an insult. “Now that we’ve established my acting bona fides, may I leave now? I have a train to catch.”
“Not for a few hours yet, you don’t. You didn’t think I dragged you all the way down here just to chat, did you?”
“Then why am I here?”
“Come with me.”
After following him into the maze of crates, she paused when she saw a man with thighs like tree trunks and biceps the size of her head standing in the center of the maze.
“This is Floyd,” Lanier said. “He’ll be your instructor.”
Floyd was so big he practically blocked out the sun, a skill Helen doubted she would be able to learn. “No offense, but what do you plan on having him teach me?”
“Everything from how to handle a gun to how to defend yourself during hand-to-hand combat.”
“Wait.” Helen balked after she imagined Floyd tossing her around on the dirty mattress at his feet. Was that dried blood or rust stains dotting the soiled material? She decided she was better off not knowing. “I didn’t sign up for this.”
“No, you didn’t,” Lanier said. “You volunteered.”
“Today’s session is the first of many,” Floyd said. “You and I are going to be best friends by the time we’re done. Where shall we begin?”
When he cracked his knuckles, it sounded like bones breaking. Helen hoped it wouldn’t be a harbinger of the future. She pointed toward the paper target taped to a nearby hay bale. “How about some target practice? That can’t be too painful.”
“Unless the gun blows up in your hand,” Floyd said as he stepped off the mattress and beckoned her toward a sheet-covered table. Helen couldn’t tell if he was joking or serious about the exploding pistol and decided it was probably better for her peace of mind if she didn’t ask. He pulled the sheet aside to reveal an assortment of handguns. “Try them on for size and see which one appeals to you.”
Helen felt like Goldilocks. The first gun she picked up was too heavy and the second too light. The third, naturally, felt just right. “How about this one?”
“Good choice.” The gun wasn’t much bigger than Helen’s hand, but it looked miniscule when Floyd
cradled it in his massive mitt. “It’s a twenty-five caliber automatic with a six-shot clip. It’s light, accurate at close range, and easy to hide.” He returned the gun to her. “If you don’t want to secure it in a shoulder holster that would conceal it under your arm, you can stash it in your clutch bag when you’re out on the town.”
He took a few mincing steps but stopped the garish pantomime when she glared at him to show she didn’t find his attempt at humor very amusing. “I don’t know about you, but I don’t make it a habit to frequent places where I need to pack a pistol.”
He held up his hands in surrender. “I didn’t mean any offense, ma’am, but Europe isn’t as peaceful as it once was. If you’re thinking of traveling there this spring, I wouldn’t board the boat without it. Not if you’re planning to take on the Nazis in their own backyard.”
Helen’s fear returned in spades. The mission Lanier had asked her to take on suddenly seemed much more dangerous than she had anticipated.
After Floyd showed her how to load, clean, and oil the gun, he finally got around to teaching her how to fire it.
“Don’t pull the trigger. Squeeze it. If you snatch at the trigger, you’ll jerk the barrel of the gun away from your target. If you’ve gone to the trouble of pointing a gun at something, chances are you want to hit what you’re aiming at. If someone gets after you, aim for his body and keep firing until he goes down.”
Helen pointed the barrel of the gun at the paper target fifteen feet away. She took several deep breaths to slow her racing heart. If she was this nervous taking on a paper target, how would she be able to shoot at a live one? A paper target was harmless. A live one could shoot back.
Her first shot went wide and slammed into the warehouse wall. Her second was closer, but still nowhere near the target. The third, at least, managed to hit the hay.
“You’re getting closer,” Floyd said, offering encouragement. “Just breathe and squeeze. Breathe and squeeze.”
She took a deep breath, slowly exhaled, and gently squeezed the trigger. She let out a gasp of surprise when the bullet hit the center of the target. She took another shot to make sure the previous one wasn’t a result of dumb luck. That shot struck the center of the bull’s-eye, too.
“Paul was right,” Floyd said. “You are a natural.”
Helen smiled at the compliment—and the unexpected sense of accomplishment. “What’s next?”
They shot at the paper target for another half hour or so, then Floyd pulled out a cardboard silhouette and taught her how to shoot at something that looked more like a person instead of a target. She effortlessly shot holes in the areas that corresponded to the head, heart, and stomach.
“Good job,” Floyd said. “Do you think you’d be able to shoot at the real thing just as easily?”
“We’ll see,” she said, but she hoped she’d never get the chance to find out.
“We’ll wrap up today’s session with some self-defense training. Here’s a change of clothes.”
With the smell of gun smoke heavy in the air, Floyd tossed her a pair of gray sweatpants and a matching sweatshirt that appeared to be at least two sizes too big.
“Where are the shoes?”
“You won’t need them. Get changed and meet me on the mattress. You don’t have anything I haven’t seen before, but you can duck behind some of the crates if you’re shy.”
Accustomed to walking around crowded locker rooms in various states of undress, Helen wasn’t especially modest. Remaining where she was, she exchanged her clothes for the ones Floyd had provided and rolled up the sleeves of the sweatshirt a few times so she would look less like a kid playing dress-up in her big brother’s clothes.
“This isn’t what I would call a fair fight,” she said after she joined Floyd on the mattress. “You’re almost a foot taller than I am and probably outweigh me by a hundred pounds.”
“It isn’t the size of the dog in the fight. It’s the size of the fight in the dog. You see my size as an advantage, but I’m going to teach you how to use it against me. Put your hands up.”
She did as he asked, expecting him to tell her what was about to come next. She screamed in fright when he grabbed her arm, tossed her over his shoulder, and sent her flying through the air. She landed hard on the mattress and remained motionless until she could breathe without pain.
“Lesson one: never let your guard down.” Floyd held out a hand and helped her to her feet. “Are you ready for lesson two?”
“That depends.” Helen rubbed her aching tailbone. “Is it as painful as the first?”
Floyd grinned. “You’ll thank me when I’m done.”
By the time they were done grappling, she felt like cursing him instead. Every muscle she had was sore, her arms were covered in bruises, and her throat ached from Floyd’s “accidental” karate chop to her windpipe. She had never endured such a strenuous workout. And today was only the first day.
“I think it’s time to stop,” Lanier said from his spot on the sidelines after Floyd taught her how to gouge out someone’s eyes. “You can’t fit three weeks of training into one day.”
“I’m leaving for California in a few hours. Unless you plan on following me there, today is the last day we’re going to have for a while.”
Floyd put his hands on his hips. “She’s right, Paul. She’ll be playing in Europe for most of the spring. We need to take advantage of the time we have.”
Outvoted two to one, Lanier reluctantly conceded defeat. “If you insist.”
Grinning like a schoolboy at recess, Floyd came at her in a rush. Helen kept her hands up like he had taught her, crouched low, grabbed his arm in both of hers, and tossed him over her shoulder. He landed in a heap, but her technique must have been off because she heard something pop. Then she felt searing pain in her shoulder. Her right shoulder. Her serving shoulder. Her worst nightmare had come true. Just as she had feared, coming here today might have put her career at risk.
“Do you need a minute?” Floyd asked, his deep voice filled with concern.
Helen fought back tears as she cradled her injured arm. “No, what I need is a doctor.”
*
March 1938
Rheinsteifel, Germany
Meike fretted the entire journey home. She feared she would be detained the instant she set foot on German soil. But when she stepped off the train in Berlin, the Gestapo agents she had expected to see were not in evidence. The only person waiting for her was Friedrich.
“Meike!”
Friedrich looked upbeat, but he appeared to be wasting away. He had bags under his eyes, his lush brown hair had begun to thin, and he was skinnier than Meike had ever seen him. His once perfectly tailored suit drooped on his narrow frame. Almuth, the family cook, would have her work cut out for her trying to fatten him up before they left for France in two weeks’ time.
“Darling Fritzi.” Meike dropped her carry-on bags on the platform and ran toward Friedrich to give him a hug. The yellow Star of David pinned to the lapel of his coat scratched her cheek as he crushed her against his scrawny chest. “It’s been much too long.”
“Yes, it has.” He held her at arm’s length to take a long look at her. “You are, as the Americans say, a sight for sore eyes.” He gave her shoulders a squeeze, then stooped to pick up the bags she had dropped. “Speaking of Americans,” he said in a conspiratorial whisper, “I see you’re spending time with yours again.”
“Who, Helen?”
He pursed his lips in gentle admonishment. “Unless there are other Americans you’re sleeping with that you haven’t told me about.”
As the porter trailed them through the station at a discreet distance, Meike wrapped her arm around Friedrich’s and leaned her head toward his. How she had missed their gossip sessions. Catching up on everyone’s activities. Teasing each other about their love lives and her decided lack of one. “I’m not sleeping with Helen.”
“If you aren’t, you should be. I’ve heard rave reviews about her per
formance. Mostly from you.”
Meike squeezed his arm to remind him they weren’t alone. And to warn him to keep the past where it belonged: in the past. “She and I are ancient history. Those who don’t learn from history are destined to repeat it.”
Friedrich glanced at the SS agents keeping a close eye on the passengers. Black-uniformed reminders of their country’s inexorable path toward yet another world war. “Truer words were never spoken.”
The porter placed Meike’s luggage in the trunk of Friedrich’s car and bowed after she tipped him a few marks for his efforts. “Thank you, Miss von Bismarck. Welcome home.”
Meike thanked him, but she wouldn’t be home—truly home—for several more hours yet. Friedrich opened the Phantom’s passenger door for her, but an SS agent stepped into her path before she could climb inside.
“Your papers, please.”
“My papers have already been examined.” She showed him the stamp the customs agent had affixed to her passport when she crossed the border.
“Not yours. His.” The agent turned to Friedrich and held out his hand. “Show me your papers, Jew.” His breath reeked of alcohol as he barked the command. Meike guessed his request had more to do with showing his authority over someone he perceived to be inferior to him than performing his duty. “Friedrich Stern. What do you do for a living, Friedrich Stern?” he asked as he slowly read the requested documents.
“I was a…performer before my cabaret card was taken away.”
“A performer, eh?” The agent turned to his equally inebriated companion and flashed him a cruel smile. “Boris and I could use some entertainment, couldn’t we?” Boris shrugged noncommittally, seemingly more interested in scratching his crotch than participating in the conversation. “Why don’t you perform for us now, Friedrich Stern?”
Boris swayed a little as he took a sip from an engraved silver flask Meike suspected hadn’t been purchased but liberated from someone else’s possessions. “We don’t have time, Helmut,” he said, finally giving his crotch a rest. “The girls are waiting for us at the beer garden.”
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