by Ann Logan
“We’re parked at the side entrance,” Wulf explained, making sure the other two women flanked Mercy’s body as they walked to the parking lot. Not exactly fail safe, but he didn’t care.
There was still no sign of the shooter, but Wulf could not relax. He wouldn’t feel safe until he was on the Autobahn speeding away.
As they neared the gate and the safety of his car, his fury at the Organization grew. They were supposed to be protecting Mercy! He gritted his teeth in anger.
A crowd had formed in the parking lot. Maybe that was good though, the more people the better. The crowd expanded, getting in their way, and they had to skirt it in order to get to their car. Wulf’s breathing stopped when he heard bits of the crowd’s conversation. Someone had been shot!
Wulf peered over the crowd and saw police clearing a path for the ambulance. As they pushed their way to the car he could see the ambulance crew lifting the body onto a gurney. He was stunned when the sheet covering the body accidentally pulled to one side. It was Muller!
Wulf’s stomach clutched with fear. He had to get Mercy out of here. Now!
Mercy limped along, staring at him with a puzzled face.
“What’s happening?” She strained to look over the crowd.
“No telling.”
Finally they reached the car. Wulf thanked the three women and hurried Mercy into the passenger seat, ignoring her startled look. He leapt into the car and jammed it into gear, leaving a strip of rubber in the parking lot.
Mercy stole a look at Wulf’s face as they raced down the road and out to the Autobahn. His grim, determined look froze the question on her lips. He must think he’s at the Indy 500!
They passed all the other cars as if they were standing still, her breath hissing when he almost side-swiped another car. Why was he driving so fast?
Before Mercy could ask anything, a car crashed into their side, nearly forcing them off the road. The grind of metal upon metal was harsh and jarring. Wulf swerved.
“Damn.” He wove in and out of traffic, beeping his horn, and flashing his lights. What was wrong with him?
“Wulf?” she asked nervously, peeking at the speedometer.
He ignored her, glancing in the rearview mirror.
“Is someone following us?” Mercy asked, turning around to see what he kept looking at. Behind them, about two hundred yards, she saw another car maneuvering through the traffic. Yes, she decided, someone was definitely following them, but who?
His speed increased as the traffic grew lighter on the other side of Oranienburg. Mercy glanced back again. “I–I think the car following us is closer.”
He braked, throwing her forward into the grip of her seat belt and swerving their car from the left lane to the exit lane on the right. The tires skidded, fighting for purchase as the car scraped the side of the ramp.
“Oh, my God, Wulf. We’re going to flip over.” Mercy screamed as she slammed against the door. They bounced off the bank at the bottom of the curve and the car regained its balance.
She straightened up in her seat, brushing hair from her face and glanced over at Wulf. She didn’t know whether to be impressed with his driving or clobber him for scaring her to death!
Wulf glanced in the rear view mirror. “I think we lost them.” He didn’t care if they were friend or foe. There was no way he’d go to Potsdam now with Mercy. Rudersdorf, west of Oranienburg, sounded like a better choice, and he headed in that direction.
To hell with the damned Organization, he fumed. They could get someone else to con Stratton. Wulf wouldn’t let anyone near her.
“Wulf? What’s this all about?” Mercy sounded both angry and frightened.
He groaned. She had a right to know. Wulf took a deep breath. “When we get to Rudersdorf, I’ll find a cafe. Then I’ll explain. Is that okay?”
“You mean we aren’t going to Potsdam to see your family now?”
“No,” he snapped. There never was any of his damned family in Potsdam. Another one of his lies. So many lies. Taking a deep breath, he let it out slowly. “I’m sorry. That was out of line. I’ll explain everything when we get to Rudersdorf. All right?”
The beginning of the end. A band of despair wrapped itself around Wulf’s chest. He was so close to losing her. The rest of the drive passed in silence except for the ominous rhythm of the car wipers.
“How about a French cafe?” he suggested as they arrived in Rudersdorf. He pointed at a picturesque cafe nestled along a tree-lined avenue.
“It doesn’t look open yet.” Mercy looked down at her watch. “But so much has happened this morning, my head is whirling. I’d like some tea.”
Wulf parked the car behind the cafe instead of at the curb in front where there were several open spaces.
They ran through the light drizzle around to the front and when they entered, Wulf slipped some money to the manager to let them have drinks until the place officially opened at 11:30.
“We’ll have a beer and an iced tea,” he told the maitre’d once they were seated at their table.
“I’m very sorry, sir, but we have no iced tea.”
Wulf slipped the man a few more bills.
“No iced tea?” Mercy asked as the man went away.
Wulf waved his hand. “They have it.”
He laughed at her expression when a glass of iced tea arrived a few minutes later along with his beer. It had one small ice cube dissolving in the middle of it. Wulf requested a whole glass of ice this time. The man looked annoyed, but his face cleared as soon as Wulf handed him a few more bills.
“Now, what’s going on?” Mercy demanded.
Wulf felt the rope tighten around his neck. He took a long drink and set the glass down, studying the foam dripping down the inside.
“Mercy,” he began, “no matter what I tell you, you must believe me when I say how much I love you and want to marry you. I’ve never felt so strongly about anything in my life.”
He watched her wrinkle her brow in confusion. How could he ever untangle this convoluted mess?
“When I came to Dallas, I had another agenda besides the oil venture with Reveille. I came to bring you back to Germany with me.”
She laughed. “But you didn’t even know me until that day in Hazel’s office.” The trust on her face wrenched Wulf’s gut.
“I already knew all about you,” he continued. “My job was to get you to fall in love with me and agree to return to Germany with me as my fiancée, ostensibly to meet my family.” He took a long swallow of beer. “There is no family.”
“No family?” Mercy’s voice faltered. “Then why were we going to Potsdam?” Her face clouded with confusion.
“You, my darling, are a very sought-after woman.”
“What do you mean?”
“The reason you’re here is to see your grandfather.”
“But I don’t have a grandfather.”
“Yes, you do. Your grandfather is Erich Stratton, a famous, or I should say, infamous, man. Stratton was a Nazi SS general and a highly placed thug in Hitler’s crowd of cronies. He was one of the main men responsible for confiscating the property, money, and goods of all the Jews in Germany.”
Mercy’s mouth gaped. “Mama never said anything except she was disowned when she married Papa. I thought my grandfather died a long time ago.”
“Well, he didn’t. He’s very much alive.”
“What does all this have to do with me?”
Wulf sighed and continued. “This is about money, Mercy. Lots of it. Where do you think the money Stratton confiscated went? Right into his pocket. Your grandfather, like every smart rat, knew when to leave a sinking ship. He immigrated to Mexico right before the end of the war along with your grandmother and your mother.”
“Oh,” Mercy whispered, her face flushing red.
The look of shame cut Wulf like a knife.
“That’s where you come in. Your grandfather has inoperable lung cancer. He’s agreed to turn over his Swiss bank account to the Isra
eli government if they let him see his granddaughter before he dies. Without seeing you, he refuses to give information to anyone.”
“And he’s here? In Germany?”
“Yes. That’s where I come in. The United States government refuses to allow coercion of its citizens, at least not without adequate compensation. They couldn’t force you to come here; however, you could come here willingly with me.”
“Why didn’t someone just ask me? I would have come gladly.”
“But what if you had refused? Kidnapping a United States citizen for the benefit of the Israeli government has repercussions even you can see.”
Mercy nodded. “But I thought you were just an oilman. Why are you involved in all this?”
He could tell how shocked she was. In time, she would also wonder if he honestly loved her.
“I am an oilman. That’s what made me so perfect for the job. My oil venture with Reveille had fallen through. The Organization said they’d guarantee Reveille’s cooperation if I would secure your agreement to come to Germany.” She didn’t need to know Hazel’s part in this, too.
“The Organization? What’s that?”
“A research organization backed by the Israeli government. I don’t even know if it has a real name. They’re responsible for research, investigation, and justice for the victims of the Holocaust. They pursue monetary compensation, but from the looks of today, I’d say the Mossad has something to do with it, too.”
“The Mossad? What’s that?”
“It’s sort of like the Israeli CIA and FBI rolled into one.”
“Okay, let me get this straight.” Mercy put her forehead in her hands, propping her elbows on the table. She desperately wanted to make sense of what he was telling her.
The unbearable hurt of his lying to her caused her breathing to become shallow. She could feel a part of her withering and dying inside, the part that had blossomed so profusely in the sunlight of his love.
“If I understand you right, this whole trip to Germany was just a ruse for me to meet my grandfather. If he can see me, he’ll turn over the money he stole during the war. And this whole charade was dreamed up by the Organization.” She looked up at him, keeping her face blank and unemotional.
He nodded. “That’s about it.”
“Then what happened out at Sachsenhausen?”
“Someone tried to kill you.”
“What? Why, for God’s sake?”
“I wish I knew,” he replied. “All I know is that someone with a silencer shot at you. Didn’t you hear the bullet bounce off the monument?”
She shook her head, then stopped. “No. Wait a minute. Yes, I think I did. I’m not sure. Maybe.”
“Whether you believe me or not,” Wulf continued, “someone also tried to kill you last night. If I hadn’t moved when I did, I’d be dead now instead of my pillow.”
Mercy gasped. “But who? Why?”
“I don’t know, damn it! I’m only a petroleum engineer, not a spy or a detective, for Christ’s sake!”
Mercy stared at Wulf for several minutes. She felt so numb, how could a person walk and talk when they felt so dead inside? “Why? Why are you doing this?” she asked, her brain feeling muddled.
“Why am I trying to keep you from getting killed? Oh, I don’t know. It’s Wednesday, and I guess Wednesday is the day to keep Mercy from getting killed.” What the hell was he doing? She didn’t deserve his anger. All he wanted to do was hold her and thank God that they were both alive.
“I’m sorry,” Wulf said, shaking his head. “I shouldn’t talk to you like that.” He put his hand on her arm.
She jerked away, looking at him as though he were a bug. “Why did you agree to this? Are you being paid a lot of money? What?”
Her voice broke slightly as her eyes filled with tears. He’d better stick to the facts and not make it any harder on her.
“I simply believe the victims of the Holocaust should be reimbursed for their suffering.” Wulf sighed. Even he didn’t buy that explanation. “I had no idea there would be any danger when I agreed to work with the Organization, nor did I realize that I’d fall in love with you!”
She flinched and pulled further away.
“It’s true, Mercy. Don’t let what we have be thrown away because of what’s happening. I love you, and, God, I just came close to losing you. At least say you believe me.”
Mercy stared at him. “Oh, sure, I believe you,” she replied slowly, distinctly.
The naive charm was gone. Anger showed in the tautness of Mercy’s shoulders, the stony set of her face. She reminded Wulf of a cobra ready to strike.
He closed his eyes. “I’ll keep you safe, Mercy. I promise. We can stay in Rudersdorf tonight, but I need to call the Organization to find out what happened today. Will you still meet with your grandfather if I can guarantee your safety?”
“As if I could do anything else,” she said grimacing and looking away. “My grandfather doesn’t mean a thing to me, but I owe it to all the people he hurt.”
“Thank you,” Wulf said, his eyes never leaving her face.
She ignored him. “That doesn’t mean I like the danger, but somehow I can’t believe someone tried to kill me, according to you, not once, but twice.”
“I’m not lying, Mercy. You are in danger. What about that car following us on the Autobahn?”
“I saw a car following us, but it was probably a plain-clothes policeman trying to ticket you for speeding.”
“There is no speed limit on the Autobahn,” Wulf said, his lips tightening in irritation.
“Where does one of your lies leave off and another begin? The only thing I’m sure of is that you betrayed my trust.” She stood abruptly and grabbed her purse. “I need to go to the ladies’ room. Go make your damn call.”
He got up and walked with leaden steps to the pay phone in the back.
* * *
When Mercy returned several minutes later, Wulf was not at the table. She went to the back of the cafe where the pay phone was, but still no Wulf. She scanned the small cafe, then walked over to the maitre’d.
“Excuse me, sir, have you seen the man I came in here with? Did he leave a message or tell you where he went?”
“I’m sorry, Madame. I cannot say. I’ve been setting up for lunch. He’s not in the men’s room. I just came from there myself.” He smiled and excused himself.
Had he left without her? What should she do now? Contact the Organization herself?
“Excuse me. Miss Fuentes?”
Mercy turned in surprise to see a strange nondescript man standing too close to her, a tan raincoat draped over his arm. He struck her as the quintessential average man: average size, average looks, average height, wearing a plain gray business suit. Totally unremarkable.
“Yes? May I help you?” she answered, leaning away from him.
He smirked, pushing forward and getting in her face. “You will come with me,” he demanded. “I will take you to your Uncle.”
Mercy took a step back. “My uncle? I don’t have an uncle. Anyway, I’m waiting for a friend.”
She scanned the restaurant again, ignoring the man. What had happened to Wulf? Where had he gone? She started when she felt the man nudge her waist. The very nerve of him! He was standing much closer to her again, closer than she liked.
Mercy looked down with annoyance and gasped. A black, snub-nosed gun peeked out of his coat.
Chapter 7
* * *
Whoever he was, Mercy could see he was enjoying her fear. Still no sign of Wulf. She was on her own.
“Okay,” she said, nodding, “okay.” Just breathe, she reminded herself. You’ve practiced this over and over in class. It’s as simple as one, two, three. She cleared her brain of any distractions and noted the man’s proportions, his lax hold on the gun, and his negligent stance.
If she went with this creep now to meet her mythical uncle, she’d never come back again. Ever.
Mercy struck his hand with all th
e fear-induced force she had. The gun clattered noisily to the floor. She grabbed the lapels of his jacket and jerked forward, pulling him off balance. Bending her knees slightly, she thrust with her arm and shoulder into him and using his falling motion flipped him to the ground.
Curses rained blue murder as he flailed in the air before landing with a thump on the floor. Mercy grabbed the fallen gun and pointed it at him. Her hands shook. She did it. Just like in class. It worked!
What should she do next? The man stared up at her, hatred making his dark, beady eyes gleam. Her class didn’t cover what to do after disarming and subduing someone.
“What is the problem here?” the maitre’d asked from behind her. He blanched at the gun in Mercy’s hand.
“This man tried to make me leave with him.” Her voice sounded shaky.
“Sacré bleu!” he exclaimed, looking with shock at the man on the floor. The maitre’d hastened to the phone, muttering “Mon Dieu.”
“Let me have the gun, Mercy,” Wulf said calmly behind her. She stepped sideways, swinging the gun his direction.
“Where have you been?” she demanded.
“Mercy,” he said in a tired voice, his body sagging. “Give me the gun before you hurt someone. I don’t need a bullet hole, too.” He turned and bent his head showing her a jagged cut that trickled blood.
Mercy took a deep breath and let her pulse slow. What was she thinking? Wulf didn’t want to kill her. She sighed, her muscles sagging with fatigue. Wulf reached out and she handed him the gun. Too late, she saw the stranger bolt up from the floor and launch himself at Wulf, knocking him into her. By the time they got themselves untangled, the man had escaped out the door.
Wulf started after the man, then stopped. It wasn’t worth it. His head hurt like hell.
Mercy’s face looked so pale it scared him. Wulf reached down to help her up but she jerked back and glared at him
“Don’t you dare touch me!”
“We’ve got to get the hell out of here,” he said, grabbing her hand and pulling her to her feet. He headed toward the front entrance.
“But our car is out back,” she protested.
“Yes, and it can damn well stay there.” He laid the gun down on the counter.