by Renee Ryan
With slow, cautious steps, Jack approached the complex from the southeast, cloaking himself inside the impenetrable fog. The crack of boot to ground had him freezing in midstep. The noise came again, behind him and off to his left. Loud, precise, unmistakable.
Cocking his head, Jack listened to the cadence of boots hitting gravel. Click, a short pause, another click, pause. Click, pause, click, pause…
One man. Twenty feet away, his footsteps striking the hard, frozen ground in a slow but steady rhythm.
Glad he’d left Kerensky in the safety of her own home, Jack blew into his cupped palms, flexed his fingers, then pulled out his gun. Crouched low, he slipped into the edge of the dense forest, cleared his mind. And waited.
In a matter of seconds, a beam of light arced in a right-to-left pattern on the road.
Jack couldn’t make out the exact uniform the guard wore, or the type of rifle he carried. However, he could hear the man muttering to himself, grumbling about the cold weather and the rotten shift he’d pulled three nights in a row.
An amateur. Probably local police.
Jack knew he could avoid detection by letting the guard continue on his way. But if Jack could silence the man now, his exit out of the shipyard would go much smoother.
Decision made, Jack holstered his gun. He wouldn’t have to kill the man, just render him temporarily useless.
As the guard passed by, Jack fell into step behind him. He couldn’t actually see his quarry, only the sweeping light on the road at his feet.
Jack stepped forward. He could hear the man’s breathing now, feel his nervous energy crackling like electricity on the air.
Another step and Jack slipped his left arm around the man’s throat, palm over his mouth, and yanked him backward. The flashlight tumbled to the ground, clicked off at the moment of impact.
Using the thumb of his right hand, Jack applied pressure to the guard’s wrist until the gun fell onto the gravel with a dull thud.
Flailing hands came up in a wild fight to fend off Jack’s attack. Jack tightened his grip, and the hands fell away.
After another moment, the guard started making odd gurgling sounds.
Self-reproach tried to rise inside Jack, guilt tried to blunt his edge and make him quit before he had the man subdued.
Jack turned off his mind, adjusted his hold, let his training take over.
The gurgling sounds morphed into strangled gasps.
Enough was enough.
A quick blow to the temple and the guard went limp.
Silently, Jack laid his prey onto the ground, far enough off the road to avoid detection.
He took an extra moment to check for a pulse at the throat. The beat against his fingertip came slow, steady, but strong enough to tell Jack he’d done no permanent damage to the man.
Working quickly now, Jack emptied the bullets from the guard’s gun, stashed them in his pocket, and then tossed the weapon into the dense underbrush lining the road.
Retrieving the flashlight, he flicked the switch. The shaft of light flickered, then died. Jack flung aside the useless object and listened to the movements of the night.
Somewhere in the distance, a foghorn wailed, deep and low. The sound kicked him into action.
Moving slowly, he proceeded forward, pausing every few steps to listen and recalculate his position.
At an estimated fifteen yards from the front gate of the shipyard he crouched low. Blood pounded loudly in his ears, making it hard to hear. He took several deep breaths until his pulse steadied.
For several more minutes, he simply listened to the movement of the guard at the front gate, or rather lack of movement. The rhythmic breathing indicated a deep sleep. Another amateur.
Rising, Jack trekked silently through the gate no more than two feet from the slumbering guard.
Simplicity was often very effective.
Veering left, Jack took a moment to gather his bearings.
Halos of golden mist surrounded a large pole light, creating a murky beacon in the center of the complex. As he worked his way to the northeast quadrant of the yard, he continued to gauge his surroundings.
A light breeze kicked up, sending damp fog slithering along the concrete walls of the cavernous submarine bays. Three massive cranes loomed over ships in various stages of completion.
Everywhere he looked, giant rubber hoses crisscrossed over one another along the ground, presenting a perilous walkway. Hammers, saws, rivet guns and grinders sat in neat rows along metal shelves to the left of the dry docks.
The Krupp-Germaniawerft looked like every other shipyard. However, considering the nature of the work commissioned by the Kriegsmarine, Jack thought it was odd that he found no guards patrolling the inner perimeter of the complex.
A trap? Or typical German arrogance? Were the owners of the shipyard so consumed with keeping intruders out, that they had left themselves vulnerable to attack from the inside?
Jack stayed hidden in the shadows as he made his way to the U-boat pens. He quickly located U-116 by its size and position facing the Bay of Kiel.
A small loading crane lay just to the left of the sub, but there was no cache of weapons waiting to be hauled up.
Were the mines already inside the U-boat?
Prepared to enter the steel beast, Jack crossed to the wooden walkway leading to the deck. But he froze as a beam of light swung next to his feet.
So. There was a roaming guard, after all.
Wheeling around, Jack slipped behind the tall stack of the U-boat. Heart hammering in his chest, he tapped in to the man he’d once been. He closed his eyes and prayed. Lord, I need Your courage and protection tonight.
The light swept past again. Left to right. Right to left. Jack counted off the seconds between each arc. By his calculations, the guard was closing in on him.
Running out of time, Jack considered his options.
He could scramble into the U-boat, but the beam of light was getting closer. Too close. As much as he hated failure, Jack couldn’t risk capture now that he was this far into the mission.
He would simply have to wait for the guard to complete his sweep of the complex before climbing into the U-boat.
Resigned, Jack settled into position to wait.
And then the shouting began.
Chapter Seventeen
Jack froze as the individual shouts blended into one long, angry spurt of German.
All at once, several floodlights burst to life, creating a muted halo of light around each pole. The crack and buzz of electricity surging through ice-coated wires overwhelmed the other noises.
But soon the angry shouts prevailed once more.
Crouching low, Jack stayed in position behind the U-boat stack. In spite of the cold air, he started sweating. He considered ducking inside the sub, but the odds of getting out undetected were heavily against him. The U-boat could easily become his coffin.
He opted to wait it out a bit longer.
One voice lifted above the others, and Jack was finally able to make out the individual words.
He didn’t like what he heard.
The guard he had hit on the head had recovered. As a result, every man on duty was searching for the intruder.
His primary goal now was to get out of the shipyard as quickly and as quietly as possible.
He began to walk briskly toward the outer rim of the yard, away from the commotion. He had to fight the need to rush his steps. Catching sight of three pale beams of light vibrating through the fog, he changed direction.
Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you.
Fusing with the shadows, Jack clung to God’s promise as he moved at an angle perpendicular to the one he’d used to enter the yard.
Lord, be with me now. I can’t succeed without Your help.
After a few more steps, he stopped again, listened to the raised voices and scrambling of feet. He guessed five, maybe six men.
Using the fog to blanket his movements, Jack crept to his
left, dropped under a beam that swept just over his head.
He rose again. Took three more steps. Dropped under the next beam of light. He repeated the procedure again and again and again, until the last guard had moved to the back of the yard and Jack had moved closer to the front.
Taking slow, even breaths, Jack let his mind work through the alternatives. He knew once they’d searched the immediate grounds, the guards would fan out, covering one mile at a time. As bad as he wanted to study a mine up close, Jack couldn’t stay in the area any longer.
His only chance to avoid capture was to get to his car and out of Kiel before the search expanded past the main perimeter of the shipyard.
As he melted into the mist, he could hear the clumsy guards shouting at one another.
Using the voices to pinpoint each man’s position, Jack moved in a wide, cautious circle along the outer rim of the chaos. Keeping his eyes and ears open, he quickly slipped free of the yard.
He took a single step, and then his foot slipped. The resulting crunch of gravel was unmistakable.
Jack flung himself into a run.
They hadn’t seen him yet, but it wouldn’t be long now.
The rapid report of gunfire trailed in his wake. He picked up speed. A bullet whizzed by his head and drove harmlessly into the underbrush.
Another bullet hurled past him. And another. Jack heard a muffled pop, felt a burning sting high on his left arm.
He’d been hit, but he didn’t slacken his pace.
Allowing adrenaline to fuel his steps, he continued in the direction of his car. After several minutes of running flat out, the shouts became distant murmurs. His own labored breathing filled his ears, distracting him, but Jack forced his mind to focus, to numb all other thoughts except one—escape.
He entered the edge of the forest. Diving into the thick foliage, he pitched around the front of his car, fumbled with the lock.
Throwing the gearshift into Neutral, he wheeled the car silently back onto the road, letting out a gush of air at the pain in his left arm.
With mechanical movements, he slipped behind the wheel, fired the engine and steered the car south toward Hamburg. He checked the mirrors, relieved that no one followed him. Yet.
Not taking any chances, he pressed the accelerator hard against the floorboard.
With one whiff, he caught the scent of his own blood. He took his eyes off the road for a split second and looked at his left arm. He was bleeding badly. Unfortunately, he would have to wait until he had more distance between him and Kiel to tend to the wound.
Lord, God, please protect me a little while longer.
A sense of peace fell over him. Breathing slower now, he took stock of the situation.
He was alive. He’d avoided capture. But he hadn’t been able to study an actual mine. He’d also left a witness, alive and talking. Worst of all, he’d been shot.
He tentatively flexed his left bicep, gave a grunt at the burst of pain.
“Lord,” Jack prayed out loud as darkness crept along the edges of his vision, “if this is the end of my life, will You welcome me home, or are my sins too great?”
Part of his mother’s favorite verse came to mind. While we were still sinners, Christ died for us…
“Is that promise for me, too, Lord? My sins are more than most.”
But God demonstrates His own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us… Jack heard the words clearly in his mind. In response, God’s peace that transcended all understanding flowed through every fiber of his body.
But then the wind picked up, sending one vicious gust after another in a sideswiping pattern against the car. He focused once more on his driving. The effort to ignore the aching in one arm and control the car with the other stole his breath away.
By the time he felt safe enough to pull off the road, Jack had to lean his head against the steering wheel and gulp for air.
He tried to swallow between breaths, but his mouth was dry as dust. A bad sign, indicating he’d lost a considerable amount of blood.
First things first. He needed to stop the bleeding, before he passed out from the pain and loss of blood.
Setting the brake, he pushed away from the steering wheel, shifting until he had enough room to work unhindered.
He tugged aside his sweater, yanked his shirt free, and then ripped off a strip along the bottom seam. Working as quickly as he could with only one good hand, he rolled the material into a makeshift tourniquet. He then tied off the flow of blood to the wound with a pull of his teeth on one end and his free hand on the other.
His efforts were clumsy and inefficient, but he knew the bandage would hold until he made it back to Katia’s house.
He pulled his shirt closed, shrugged into the jacket he’d left on the seat then checked his watch. He tried to calm his mind, but no matter how slowly he breathed, he couldn’t seem to focus.
Dragging a hand down his face, he fought to keep his mind free of worry. Fear not: the most often stated command in the Bible. Worry was nothing more than the absence of faith.
Faith. Yes, he was slowly realizing he still had a little faith left—though he’d surrendered much to the war effort—far too much.
From this point forward, he would manage what he could manage, and surrender the rest to God.
I am in Your hands, Lord. Your power is made perfect in my weakness.
Favoring his left arm, Jack steered the car back onto the road and pressed down on the accelerator.
In spite of his failure at the shipyard, he still had to keep his appointment with Himmler at 2300 hours. He would be ready. Too many innocent lives were at stake to go into the meeting unprepared, including the lives of a certain Russian stage actress and her blue-blooded mother.
Jack frowned at the road ahead.
Katarina Kerensky’s involvement in this mission had been problematic from the start. Considering the secret she’d revealed to him earlier, Jack could no longer endanger her life. By rescuing her, perhaps he could begin the process of becoming an agent of protection rather than an agent of death.
His vision blurred again. Oblivion beckoned. But Jack set his jaw at a hard angle. This mission was far from over. He still had much work to do this night.
First order of business: send Katarina Kerensky packing for the next flight out of Germany.
By the time Jack arrived at Katarina’s, the pain in his left arm had become a burning throb. His vision blurred, again. How many times was that? He’d lost count after four. He blinked—hard. The smudge of gray in the center of his eyes didn’t go away.
His ears started ringing, but he managed to stagger to the bottom of her front steps without incident. There was no outdoor lighting so he could at least stumble along in obscurity. Thankfully, he’d memorized the yard’s layout the last time he was here.
Before navigating the first step he took a moment to catch his breath. He was no stranger to pain. He’d been shot other times. However, he was human. And he knew his body well enough to know that two important limbs, primarily the ones holding him upright, were about to give out on him.
He needed to get his arm bandaged, deal with his dehydration then be on his way. He could not miss his meeting with Himmler. There was the important matter of damage control now.
Sending up a prayer for strength, he tripped up four of the five steps. He lost his balance, righted himself just as quickly. All he had to do was climb that last one—which seemed to be getting farther away with every blink. Once inside Katarina’s house, he would take a moment to clear his head. That’s what he would do first. After he had his equilibrium back he would tell her the whole story of his failed trip to Kiel. She deserved the full truth. She…
Lord, I’m tired.
In a final burst of energy, Jack shoved up the final step. And collapsed against the door. He closed his eyes and waited. One more burst of energy. He needed a little help here. No, he needed a lot of help.
He called on an old
staple.
The Lord is my shepherd, he prayed, I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: He leadeth me beside the still waters…
Perhaps Jack would stay here awhile. Praying felt that good.
Now where was he?
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for Thou art with me…
He couldn’t stay here much longer and risk discovery by the wrong person.
Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies…
Another moment of rest, he promised himself, just one more moment and he would pull together his strength and knock.
I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever!
Just one…more…moment…of rest…
Chapter Eighteen
Katia woke with a start.
Disoriented, she pushed to a sitting position and then rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. She couldn’t remember what had startled her. Or why she was on the couch in her living room.
She’d been exhausted when Reiter had dropped her off, mentally and physically worn out from the events of the last two days. That much she remembered. But she wasn’t usually so slow to regain her focus.
The room had grown dark, with only a few shadows dancing across the wall in front of her.
Still trying to pull her thoughts together, she shifted her gaze to the clock on the far wall—9:00 p.m., 2100 hours.
Her mind cleared at once. Where was Friedrich? He’d said he wouldn’t be long. Why wasn’t he back yet?
A maelstrom of emotions had her flattening her hand against her stomach. Familiar panic rose up. Only a matter of hours ago, she’d confessed her darkest secret to a man she’d known less than two days.
Would he prove trustworthy?
Yes. Yes, he would. She couldn’t put her reasons into words, but she knew he was the only man she could trust, the first since her father had died.
But why him? Was it because he’d mentioned God with such conviction in his eyes, as though he’d rediscovered his own faith and wanted her to have that same hope?