ENEMY WITHIN

by Mick Bose

  Becker stood up and shook hands. Miranda frowned at him. “Becker? Where are you from?”

  Becker paused, and Maggie noticed it. Then he said smoothly, “My parents are from Germany. But I have lived in England all my life.”

  “I see,” Miranda said, not entirely convinced.

  They finished their coffee while Maggie explained to her mother where they met—without mentioning Bennett. “I’m going to show Paul where to get the hay.”

  Maggie showed Becker the barn and the stables, and then they walked towards the acres of corn fields drowsing in the heat. She could feel his presence, the warmth of his body.

  “A lot of acreage here,” he said. “It must be hard work.”

  “Yes, it is,” she said simply.

  He pointed to a clump of trees in the distance. “What`s that?”

  “Come on, I’ll show you.”

  They went to the apple orchard. “Nice orchard. Pretty,” he said.

  They ducked underneath the branches of a tree heavy with fruit and went inside. Maggie’s foot caught a clump of soil and she stumbled against Becker. She would have fallen, if she hadn’t held onto him. She felt the iron slabs of his biceps as she pushed against them, straightening herself.

  “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine, thank you,” she said too quickly, and changed the subject. “What happened to your eye?”

  “An old injury.”

  “Can you see from it?”

  “Mostly, yes. But it’s hazy, and moves less than the right one.”

  “Yes, I noticed.”

  He broke off from her gaze and gestured around the orchard. It was shaded and quiet. “Do you come here often?”

  “Sometimes, yes.”

  “I can see why.”

  Maggie caught her breath. She was still standing close to him and part of her wanted to reach out and touch his face, brush her hand over his eyes. Maggie felt a small flutter in some buried and forgotten part of herself. A shy smile appeared on her face, like sunlight falling in the dark corner of a closed room.

  “There are other things I have to show you.” She turned around and bent over to avoid the heavy branches, taking care not to fall this time.

  After an hour, they came back to the homestead.

  “Right,” Maggie said. “Shall we get to work, Paul?”

  Becker went into the barn, returning with an armful of logs. He dropped them next to the chopping block.

  Maggie said, “I’ll take Mama and head for the corn fields. Come and meet us there later, please.”

  Paul picked up axe, hefted it in his hands, feeling its weight. “Your wish is my command.”

  After an hour picking corn and lifting weed roots, Maggie shielded her eyes against the sun and stared towards the homestead. There was no sign of Paul. Maggie left Miranda and rode Lucky to the stables, gave the horse some water and made her way to the house. She stopped when she saw Paul.

  He had taken his shirt off. His pants were folded up to his knees, revealing stout legs. She pressed herself against the stables and watched him. He held the axe in both hands and lifted it high above his head. The shoulder muscles bulged and his chest glistened with sweat. The coiled muscles of his torso tapered into his waist. With a lightning blow, he split the log in two, then lifted another up and put it on the block. He seemed to enjoy the movement, his concentration fixed on the block and the axe in his hands.

  Maggie knew Papa could never chop those logs in one clean strike, even when he had been younger. Neither could any of the farmhands. She could only do the smaller logs, the ones that crumbled easily in the fire. She realised how muscular Becker was—there wasn’t an ounce on fat on his body.

  “Paul” she called out. He paused, wiping the sweat off his brow. His mouth was open with the exertion, breathing heavily. “Are you coming to the fields? I need you to spread the fertiliser.”

  He leaned on the axe and looked at the chopped wood at his feet. He was still panting, and she realised he had been doing it without a break. Half a barnyard of logs were stacked high to the ceiling.

  “Right now?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she said. “Now. The tubs are ready in the stable. We need to put them in the cart and take them to the field.”

  “Alright, no problem.”

  He stuck the axe into the block and walked towards her. Something caught in Maggie`s throat. He stopped inches away from her. Beads of sweat coursed down his forehead, past his nose, onto his chin. He wiped his face with his hands.

  “I’ve seen them already, when you took me to the stables. They’re not too big. There are three tubs?”

  She nodded.

  “You head down to the fields. I`ll see you there.”

  By the time Maggie lifted herself onto Lucky`s back, Becker had dragged the tub of horse manure outside. Flies buzzed over it. She watched as he tied a rag around his head and put his shirt back on. Then he squatted down and effortlessly lifted the tub on his head. He stood up, wobbled slightly, then steadied himself. He got to the horse-drawn cart and put the heavy tub gently on the cart. Without pausing, he repeated the same action three times.

  The hot and dusty day wore on, with Maggie and Miranda becoming exhausted with the effort. Paul kept his hat on, like the two women, and drank prodigiously from the sheepskin leather bottle. The sun was softer in the sky when they finished working in the fields.

  Miranda had left already and the two of them were alone.

  “I need to have a wash,” Paul said. “I saw the flash of water earlier, when you were showing me around. Is there a lake?”

  “Yes, there is,” she said slowly. “Why don’t you want to bathe in the house?”

  “I like nature,” he said. “Do you mind?”

  She used to swim a lot in the lake herself. Not recently, there was no longer any time. She shrugged. They didn’t have running water in the house. “Shall I show you where it is?”

  “Alright.”

  The lake was ten minutes from the maize fields, shaded by some woods. The woods weren’t large, only a screen of trees—but perfect cover from anyone approaching from the farm. Maggie tied Lucky to a tree and walked with Becker towards the edge of the water. Leaves crackled under their feet.

  She could have told him where the lake was—he would have found his own way. But yet, here she was. She couldn’t deny it—feeling it—the first time she laid eyes on him. His strange, different-coloured eyes. The rugged, masculine physique. She was attracted to him, and the admission made her mouth open and her heart beat faster.

  “You’ve lived here all your life?” Becker asked.

  “Yes,” said Maggie, looking at the ground, aware he was staring at her as they walked. They got through the woods and came to the side of the lake. “How about you?”

  A warm breeze shifted the branches overhead and the water murmured in the reeds. “I grew up on a farm. In the hills. Then we moved to London.”

  “I would love to visit England one day. When this dreadful war is over. What did you do in London?”

  “I took a pilot`s course and started flying planes.”

  “Really? How exciting.”

  “Yes. I loved being in the air. I would always fly, if I could. But I had a bad landing in a storm. That’s how I got the injury to my eye. The propellers broke when we crash-landed and a piece of metal flew into my eye.”

  Maggie gasped. “That’s horrible. Your poor eye.”

  His good eye danced in the sunlight. Somehow, her vision was drawn to that eye and she focused on the right side of his face. It gave him an intriguing look and she found it strangely attractive.

  “It was a long time ago, Maggie. It doesn’t hurt anymore.” He stretched and started to unbutton his shirt. Maggie averted her gaze.

  “It`s been a hot day,” he said conversationally, “and I need to have a cool dip.” He finished unbuttoning his shirt and casually threw it on the nearest tree stump. He turned around to her, raising an eyebrow. “Do you mi
nd?”

  Maggie looked away. “No, of course not. I should get going. See you back at the house.” Before she turned away, her eyes were drawn to the black scabbard hooked on the back of his belt. Curiosity got the better of her.

  “What`s that?”

  He went very still, his face was taut for a fraction of a second, then he relaxed. In one smooth motion he removed the scabbard from his back, showing her.

  “It`s called a kukri. Asian mountain people from a country called Nepal use it for their daily work.” He kept the knife in its scabbard.

  “It’s a knife?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can I see it?”

  His face changed again, an indecipherable look like a cold wind blowing ripples across the lake.

  “I`m a superstitious man,” he said.

  “Meaning?”

  “The Nepalese say if a kukri is unsheathed, it must taste blood. So I only take it out when I’m in danger.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes.” He put the knife back and turned away from her. Maggie took the hint and went back to Lucky. At the sound of a splash behind her, she stole a look towards the lake. An arm flashed, then another as he swam out to the middle of the water. She couldn't see anything else.

  *****

  Cutlery chinked on china as everyone sat around the dining table at Clay Tree Farm. Maggie caught her mother looking at her with a hard stare. Maggie concentrated on cutting into her chicken breast.

  “I want to thank you for inviting me to dinner, Mr and Mrs Myers,” Paul said. “You didn’t have to. I could have eaten on the porch.”

  Karl Myers wiped his mouth. “It`s not a problem, Mr Becker. It`s not like we have guests often. And thank you for helping today.”

  Maggie glanced sharply at her father. His face was serious and there was no mockery in his voice. The rest of the meal progressed in silence. Every time Maggie looked up, she found her mother still staring at her.

  Becker was sleeping in the barn. She’d made a straw bed for him in the loft, covered in a blanket. Later, as she left him with a lamp, he called after her.

  “Thank you, Maggie,” he said seriously.

  “No, thank you,” she said, meaning it. “We couldn’t have gone through all this work without you.”

  “It was my pleasure.”

  They stared at each other for a while, the soft yellow glow from the kerosene lamp suffusing the space between them, casting large shadows to the back of the barn. Maggie sensed something slip and shudder inside her, and suddenly felt very warm.

  “Goodnight, Paul,” she whispered and left, shutting the barn door behind her.

  *****

  Maggie was up at the break of dawn again. As she made coffee, she watched the barn. She couldn’t see any sign Paul was awake. Until she heard the porch door rattling.

  “Hello.” When Paul saw her, he grinned. She couldn’t help smiling back. He stepped inside and held up a leather pouch.

  “I need to shave. May I please use the bathroom?”

  “Of course”, Maggie said. She showed him where to go, and went back to the kitchen to take the dough out of the oven. When he returned, his smooth cheeks made him look younger. He had swept back his hair with pomade.

  “Coffee smells nice.”

  “Have some.” Maggie poured a cup, and put a plate of boiled eggs in front of him. He didn’t waste any time in finishing it, draining the cup of coffee in a long gulp.

  “Where to today?”

  “We start with pulling weeds out of the apple orchard, and then we’ll move some apple crates onto the buggy. I need to take some to the market tomorrow.”

  “Sure thing.” He stood up. “I’ll see you out there.” Maggie watched him go down the porch steps and head towards the orchard, hat on his head. He certainly was hard-working, she thought.

  An hour later, she was in the orchard herself, giving him a hand. She reached up to remove a fruit branch and when she came down, she hit Becker’s back as he was kneeling on the ground at her feet.

  “I`m so sorry,” Maggie gasped.

  He stood up, and the breath left Maggie`s chest. There was hardly any daylight between them. She didn’t move back. The brown eye stared down at her intently. His cheeks were smooth as marble. He ran his finger down her cheek and the touch made her shiver. His hand came around her waist, pulling gently. The heat was palpable. She found his lips close to hers, their sudden electric touch on her cheeks sending a frisson of vibrations through her body. Then their lips met, and the hunger was inchoate, immediate, as their tongues explored each other`s mouth in a slow, elaborate dance.

  Abruptly Maggie broke away and shook her head slightly.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Why?”

  Maggie sighed, almost to herself. “I shouldn’t lead you into thinking that I…that I…” The words caught in her throat.

  “I didn’t think that,” Paul said gently.

  Maggie was silent for a long time. “You’re going tomorrow, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  There was nothing more to say. They came out of the orchard and walked towards the stable. She felt him pull on her arm and stopped. Maggie looked up at him, his yellow-green left eye unfathomable, the right eye shining brightly. He cupped her face in his hands.

  “I want to come back, Maggie,” he whispered. “I really do.”

  CHAPTER 19

  Becker shut the door of his locker in Grand Central Station and put the key in his pocket. He looked around slowly, aware of the number of policemen patrolling the station. He’d just gotten off the train from Cleveland. On his way back, he changed to the Baltimore and Ohio Line, and stopped at Pittsburgh. From Pittsburgh, he took the New York Central line back. If anyone followed him, which he doubted, they must be good. He hadn’t seen anything suspicious.

  His thoughts flashed back to Maggie Myers. There was a war going on, and he was on enemy soil. But he couldn’t forget her. The passion in her face, her lips like wine as they kissed. Becker grunted and stared at the locker door. The summer push was intensifying at the Western Front. Imperial Army HQ would be waiting for his signal that the mission was completed. Now was not the time to be thinking of a woman. He had work to do.

  Twenty of the metallic tube explosive devices were in his shoulder bag inside the locker. That was more than what he needed to complete his mission, but he wanted to get more. While the war carried on, there would always be more need for sabotage. Bomb-makers were notoriously prone to being caught by intelligence agents. The chemicals they needed to make anything in volume almost guaranteed that. Becker had to stock up and use them when the situation demanded. The locker at Grand Central was perfectly safe. It was also a public place, where no one would imagine he was hiding enough incendiary material to bring down half of downtown Manhattan.

  As part of his preparations Becker had been to the bank and withdrawn ten thousand dollars in cash. He left five thousand in the locker and the rest he carried with him. It was a lot to have on him, but he wanted to be prepared for any eventuality.

  Now he’d seen the airfield in Cleveland, a plan formed in his head. The more he thought of it, the more sense it made. He had let Berlin know already, but only vague details. Now he would provide more. There was no choice but to use the radio operators in Long Island. His message would be intercepted and analysed by the Americans, but Becker had his own code. And this time, he couldn’t trust the PO box in Walford. He needed to deliver this message to them in person. The radio operators moved around, but they were last in Bayport, the next town down the coast from Sayville.

  *****

  Becker dozed on the train that took him out of Brooklyn and towards Long Island. As he came close to Freeport, he woke up. The sun was shining and in the distance he could see a faint trace of the blue sparkle of the Atlantic. The train whistled down to Amityville, Bayshore and then Sayville. He got off at Sayville and decided to walk the rest of the way.

  The large ra
dio station in Sayville had been taken over by US Marines the previous year. Too bad. The Telefunken station had many Germans working there before. It would have made his job a piece of cake.

  But now, he had to trust the address the radio operators gave him. It took Becker two hours to get from Sayville to Bayport. The sun was pleasant and the walk warmed him up. He took his coat off and let the sea breeze cool him down. He stopped one block away from the address near the beach. The operators lived on a hill, facing the sea. A strip of flat land had been used to build a cluster of houses. The view would be fantastic, but the operators would have chosen it for the ease of radio communication. Especially with German U-boats in the Atlantic.

  He sat down on a bench in the street, under the shade of a tree. He felt safer beneath the over-hanging branches. Bayport was a sleepy town and the street was deserted. A group of teenage children crossed his path once, heading down to the beach. He didn’t see anyone else. After half an hour, he stood up and went to the intersection to look up the hill. He could see where the operators lived. Similar houses were on the opposite side. Becker frowned. It was his habit to assume someone was watching. He needed to be cautious.

  Instead of going up the hill, he kept going and found another road going to the left. This led to a place where he could see into the open window of the house opposite the radio operators—it was on the second floor of the small, family cottage. The bedroom above the living room. From this angle, a patch of sunlight fell directly through to the bedroom.

  He saw it once, then again. The flash of light on a telescope lens. He withdrew behind a tree trunk and peered out. He could see it clearly now. A telescope, no two, pointed straight across the street. As he watched, a man stood up. He had been crouching at the telescope`s eye-piece. Becker memorised the face, then shrank back again. He closed his eyes and swore softly. He had feared this. His last link of communication being severed. He thought of the operators. The poor bastards didn’t have a clue, or they wouldn’t be here. Becker sighed heavily. It was too late to save them—but he had to save himself.

  He needed to get back to New York. Things had suddenly taken a turn for the worse. He peeled himself off the tree and headed back towards the train station.