by Jina Bacarr
“You’ve got quite an active imagination, Mr.—”
“Dawn. Chuck Dawn. I’m an American reporter with a New York City newspaper. I’d hate to think what would happen to you if your name appeared in my column as a traitor to the Reich.”
“I don’t believe you, Mr. Dawn. This hotel is swarming with foreign newspapermen. You wouldn’t be wearing that SS uniform if you were under the protection of the American government. You murdered that Nazi for a reason. You’re hiding something.”
“We both have something to hide, Laila. Remember that. If I’m arrested trying to leave Berlin, I won’t hesitate to spill your game to the Gestapo. I hear the Nazis have a most interesting way to deal with traitors. They hang them from a meat hook with a piano wire around their neck.”
Laila cocked the trigger on the pistol and pointed it at him. “I’m warning you—”
Rrring…
Laila grabbed the phone, but she didn’t lower the gun. “Yes?” she said in English, keeping her eyes on Chuck and her aim steady. “No, this isn’t Eve, Maxi, it’s Laila. Don’t hang up. I want to talk to you.” Pause. “Maxi, Maxi?” She slammed down the phone. “Silly girl. If she talks, she’ll end up like her father, tortured and left to die in a labor camp.” She pointed the gun at the American. “I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, but I’ve no doubt the British Secret Intelligence Services sent you both here. Where is this woman who calls herself Eve Charles?”
“Like I told you, Laila, she’s on her way back to London. I made sure of that before I came here to collect her things.”
“The woman I knew as Lady Marlowe wouldn’t leave the perfume behind.” Laila shook her head. “She’s here in Berlin and I intend to find her.”
Eve appeared without warning.
Footsteps. Heavy, as if she was wearing men’s boots, breathing erratically. Chuck saw her before the Muslim woman did. Standing behind her, her eyes on him silently saying she was grateful to see him. Her beautiful face determined, character and fire etched in the high cheekbones, full lips. Where did she come from? His rational mind told him she’d found her way back to the city after commandeering clothes. From a farmer’s wife, he guessed, by the looks of her in the shapeless blue dress, rolled cotton stockings and heavy brown boots covered with dried mud. The irrational side of him wanted to believe the perfume had made her appear in that instant. An image born of legend, of scent, made more beautiful by her courage. Seeing her cast a never-failing spell over him, her perfume sweeping over him with an arousing spiciness, the powerful nature of the essence filling the room with its alluring aroma.
Laila also inhaled her scent, her primal instinct kindled, her nostrils recognizing the balmy odor. Before she could react, Eve said, “You don’t have to look for me, Laila. I’m right behind you.”
The woman whirled around, stunned. “So you escaped one enemy, Lady Marlowe, only to face another. It makes no difference. I’m not leaving here without the perfume.”
“I wouldn’t count on it,” Eve said, leveling her gaze at the Muslim woman, a determined note of defiance in her voice.
Laila smiled, her mind calculating her next move. “My plan is most ingenious, your ladyship. You see, if I shoot you, you disappear. Next, I shoot the American reeking of the scent and he disappears. Then the perfume is mine.”
The sight of Eve facing the Muslim woman with a Luger in her hand galvanized him into action, slamming his shoulder into her chest before she could get off a shot. Chuck grabbed the pistol out of her hand and snaked his free arm around her neck, twisting the barrel of the gun in her side under her breast. “I won’t shoot you unless you make me.”
“You won’t get away with this,” she sputtered. “The Gestapo will find you and when they do—”
“You won’t be around to find out, Laila.” He increased the pressure on her throat, not letting up when he felt her body convulse against his, fighting his stranglehold. She clawed wildly, tearing the swastika armband off his uniform sleeve before her body went limp in his arms, blood dribbling from her mouth where her teeth had punctured the skin. He felt no remorse, no guilt, satisfied he had put an end to her plan to get the perfume as he dragged her back away from the door and dumped her on the floor.
Eve spoke with a trace of apprehension. “Is she dead?”
“No. She’ll wake up with nothing more than a stiff neck.”
He should have killed her, but he didn’t. They’d have enough explaining to do if they were caught. They didn’t need a murder rap on their heads.
Quickly and without giving in to their need to ask each other questions, they stripped off the Muslim woman’s clothes, tied her up, naked and unconscious, then gagged her. When she came to, they’d be long gone.
Chuck ducked behind the southeast corner of Salon Kitty on Giesebrechtstrasse after he watched Eve race up a short flight of stone steps in a nearby four-story redbrick house. A deep, rich blackness pervaded the deserted street; a few German officers stumbled out of the famed plush bordello known for its stable of gorgeous women and catering to the bestial depravity of the Nazi hierarchy, specializing in orgies and sadism. He wasn’t afraid of being seen; he was still dressed in his SS officer’s uniform, his swastika armband firmly back in place. But what if he was stopped and questioned? He didn’t speak German and clipping a Nazi on the jaw wasn’t going to help get them out of Berlin. He couldn’t lose her again.
Eve.
The way he felt about her was inescapable. She was no mere sexual conquest. She was a brave soldier, risking her life to do a job in Berlin, and he respected her for that. Routed of all self-control, he wanted to take her in his arms, groaning at the feel of her body against his, holding her, squeezing her, kissing her parted lips, ready to begin a breathless new adventure with her. But that would have to wait for later. First, they must escape.
She had convinced him they’d have a better chance of getting out of Berlin and into France with the help of the underground. His nights wandering the streets, evading the police, hiding in doorways, paid off. He recognized the address she gave him, which led them to a brick house near Salon Kitty in the fashionable west end of Berlin. He stayed out of sight. He had no doubt his SS uniform wouldn’t be a welcome sight to anyone answering the door. Night had fallen and, though it was against the law for anyone to be on the streets after police curfew, they encountered no trouble. Who would question an SS officer out with his girl? Chuck also made certain to give a rigid Nazi salute to everyone they had come in contact with when they left the hotel. Eve followed him, walking in a casual manner, dressed in her own clothes, and carrying no luggage so as not to arouse suspicion.
When they were away from the hotel, they walked arm in arm as lovers do, speaking little, their body language conveying so much more, her warmth heating him up, his hard body giving her security in his arms. Before they left the hotel, he had returned the diary and invitation to her, along with the perfume nestled in its plain box. He’d never forget the haunting look in her eyes when she asked him if he’d read it. Behind her stoic show of spirit, he sensed a vulnerable woman waiting to be judged. Yes, he told her, and he thought it a tour de force in courage, strength and fortitude. She smiled, her sensuous eyes bright and upturned at the corners, drawing him in, waiting for him to say more, but he didn’t. Why? What was stopping him? Why did he continue to harbor this malady of doubt and jealousy? Because he was afraid of her? Or himself?
She had allowed him a view into her secret being, exposed herself to scrutiny in the same way a woman exposed her nude body to a man in the act of making love. She had every right to know how he felt about her. Why couldn’t he tell her?
All these thoughts raced back and forth in his mind for the long minutes he watched from his vantage point from the corner near the brothel. Finally, he saw the door of the safe house open tentatively, then a beautiful dark-haired girl appeared in the high portal. Slender, her hands flying about in graceful gestures as if they were puppets on a strin
g dancing on a stairway. Something about her seemed familiar, but he couldn’t place her. The girl looked hard at Eve’s face lit up under the soft lamplight and almost simultaneously, they burst into loud whispers, chattering, then hugging. He couldn’t help but notice their breasts crushed up against each other, hard nipples, flat bellies, two gorgeous females in heat. He smiled, in spite of the danger. This could be interesting.
Looking left then right, the dark-haired girl pulled her inside, but not before Eve motioned for him to join them. It was then he recognized the brunette as the piano player from the Cleopatra Club.
“There’s no guarantee the plan will work, Eve.” Josette La Fleur was being honest in her assessment of their escape and no one was more aware of the danger than Chuck. Getting back to England required an operation consisting of several people, many of whom he’d never see, contributing to the escape line. This house was the first of numerous stops along the route.
Sitting in the backroom fitted with blackout curtains on the windows, away from curious passersby on the street, the trio huddled over a map of Berlin. Chuck visualized the plain stone buildings, the budding trees, the grim landscape, its very simplicity reminding him of a caricaturist’s cartoon done in charcoal. He would have little in the way of landmarks to guide him. He must memorize the street names around the airport. Due to a recent roundup of suspected members of the underground group, they would have to make their escape without a guide.
Chuck followed the thick black line Josette pointed to on the map spread out on the heavy wooden table, committing the route to memory, the glare of her flashlight tracing the road from the location of the safe house to the airport. The more he listened to her, the more he respected her. Gone was her Parisian accent, though she still wore a fresh pink flower behind one ear. A skintight black skirt emphasized her slim hips, he noted with an admiring eye, her low-cut white blouse as much revealing as concealing her full breasts. Deep red lipstick emphasized her full lips. He inhaled and smelled a familiar scent. Eve had convinced her to rub on Cleopatra’s perfume “for old times’ sake,” she said. He had no idea if she’d revealed its secret to her.
“But,” Josette continued, “it’s the fastest way to get you out of Berlin before the Gestapo find you. It won’t take Laila long to put them on your trail. Your information must get to London as soon as possible.”
“I’m willing to take that chance,” Eve said, not looking at him. Chuck wanted her to look at him, let her know how much he believed in her.
Josette said, “You know what will happen, Eve, if the Gestapo arrest you—”
“Yes, I know,” she said with certainty, obviously having been forewarned of the ingenious methods of torture the Nazis used to get information.
“Isn’t there some other way to get your information to London, Eve?” Chuck asked. He buttoned the plain dark jacket, glad to be rid of the hated SS uniform, though he carried Eve’s stocking with the scent of the perfume lingering on it in his side pocket. “A courier or someone more experienced with getting through the lines?”
Eve shook her head. “When I undertook this mission, Chuck, I knew the risks. I won’t change my mind now and put everyone in jeopardy.”
“She’s right, Captain Dawn,” Josette added. “The members operating out of this underground organization are putting their lives on the line to get this information back to England.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you were an American, Josette?” Eve asked, curious but not judgmental.
“I spent most of my life trying to forget I was a colored girl from the South.” She looked off into the distance. “But when the Germans marched into Paris, I had to come back and help the country that gave me a life. A place where I was invited to sit at a table in a restaurant and dine with white folks, where I could go into shops without being stared at, or stay in the same hotel like everyone else. I’ve never forgotten that. When I joined the Resistance, I couldn’t be much help to them being colored.” She explained how the Third Reich banned “Negro music,” what they called degenerate music. “So I started passing.” She grabbed Eve and hugged her. “When I got word you were coming to Berlin, I asked to be assigned here, though it’s against the rules for anyone we help to know our real names. Josette La Fleur is my stage name.”
“Why?” Eve asked. “London should know about your work.”
Josette shook her head back and forth. “A slip of the tongue at the wrong moment and the Gestapo will be breathing down our necks.”
Chuck pulled a cigarette out of his pants pocket, then held it in the middle, bending it. His second in the last few minutes. A half-smoked cigarette lay crushed in the saucer in front of him. The thought of Eve falling into Gestapo hands was preying on his nerves.
Josette said, “Let’s go over the plan again.”
“I go around to the service entrance in the back of Salon Kitty,” Eve said, pointing to an X marked in red on the map. “And wait for the girl to let me in.”
Grudgingly, Chuck understood the subtlety of Eve meeting her contact in an upscale bordello. Dripping in red velvet with an old-fashioned foyer and drawing room, the Salon Kitty was the best brothel in Berlin, according to Josette. A beautiful girl wouldn’t create an avid curiosity in the same way she would loitering in a train station or dining alone in a seedy café.
“Else works there as a kitchen maid.” Josette indicated the young girl sitting by the fire, her back to them, staring at the dying embers and poking a stick through them. “She will let you in.”
“Does she speak English?” Chuck asked, trying to get the girl’s attention, but she refused to look at him. He lit the cigarette he’d been holding, then blew out the smoke.
“Yes,” Josette said, “but she’s been in hiding for so long, she rarely speaks.”
“Hiding? Why?” Eve asked, smiling at the girl. Still no response.
“She’s Jewish.”
“Jewish?” Eve asked, surprised. “How can she—”
“She has a false passport, enabling her to work in the brothel without arousing suspicion.”
“Isn’t she in constant danger?” Eve regained her composure, but Chuck knew what she was thinking. That girl could be her.
“Yes, but she insists she has no place else to go.”
Josette picked up the bent cigarette sitting in the saucer and lit it, explaining to Chuck no German would ever leave a cigarette half smoked. Such a move would alert the Gestapo he was probably a foreign agent. She turned to Eve. “Once you’re in the brothel, what do you do next?”
Eve said, “I wait in the kitchen until I hear your signal—”
“I’ll play a Cole Porter tune on the grand piano.” She named a song and Chuck could see Eve looking off into the distance, her mouth set in a grim line, as if she was in a trance, remembering something about that song she didn’t share with them.
Finally, Eve said, “After I hear the song, I sneak up to the third floor to room…” She mentioned a number, then, “…where the Romanian diplomat will be waiting for me.”
“Remember, Eve, every room in the brothel is bugged with hidden microphones,” Josette said, “and every word is recorded on wax disks by Gestapo agents using equipment hidden in the basement.”
“Won’t they be suspicious if Eve speaks German with an American accent?” Chuck questioned.
“Eve will say nothing,” Josette said. “Else will bring up champagne and canapés and pretend to be one of Madame Kitty’s girls for any Gestapo agent listening.”
Eve stood up and began pacing back and forth. “The diplomat will give me a forged passport, papers and a visa to leave Berlin, along with an airline ticket for Lisbon.”
“If anyone asks who you are,” Josette said, “say ‘Ich bein Fräulein von Dieter,’ and nothing else. They will believe you’re a German society girl doing your patriotic duty for the Reich, not uncommon these days. Then you must get out as quickly as you can before any of the other patrons see you.”
Josette
leaned back and inhaled, then blew out the smoke. She stared at the filmy wisps disappearing, then at Eve. “By then, Madame Kitty will be in her office settling the accounts, and the customers will be either drunk or worn out from the night’s sexual activities, though the secret police encourage after-hours soirees in the foyer. I’ll keep them busy while you sneak out the back service entrance. A car will be waiting for you.”
The beautiful dark-haired girl with the fair skin and gray eyes turned to Chuck, her face serious. “That’s where you come in, Captain Dawn. After you pick up Eve, take her to the airport, where you’ll make contact with one of our agents.” She described how he would know him. Old man, red feather in his hat and carrying an empty birdcage. Whistling. Chuck was to wait for him by the car, smoking a cigarette and reading a newspaper.
“Do you both have all the information memorized?” she asked.
“Yes,” Eve answered, nodding.
“Are you sure you can trust this Romanian diplomat?” Chuck wanted to know.
The pretty, colored girl smiled. “Yes. He’s a British agent. Good luck to both of you.”
She got up to leave when Eve slipped the ruby-and-pearl ring off her forefinger and placed it in the girl’s hand, then closed her fist over her arm. “Take this ring, Josette, to help those who come after us.”
“Thank you, Eve. It will buy food and supplies on the black market.” Josette looked at her watch. “Time to go.” She smiled, her lips glistening with the shine of her red lipstick, her eyes sparkling with humor. “Madame Kitty insists I play Chopin every night at ten o’clock.”
Eve invited him to watch her change into the long, slinky red gown reeking of the smell of cheap satin but displaying her soft contours to the best advantage. Backless, it was cut so low he felt himself getting hard staring at the crack between her rounded buttocks revealed above the satin. She turned and picked up a powder puff off the small makeup table used to disguise as well as tantalize. She dusted the valley between her breasts, letting the puff trail over them, but the matte powder couldn’t dampen the glistening nestled in her cleavage. Her curved bare arms, shoulders and back begged for his touch, his hands stealing over her, lingering in the small of her back. She shivered, then turned to him. Chuck held her eyes with his own. For a moment or two, the eroticism, the sensuality—even the horror of not knowing what had happened to her—returned. Eve smiled. She was remarkable, he thought, made more so because he’d never expected it.