Hans beamed. "I asked him that. He was very clear. He spoke only a few words to her then turned to look around the lobby while he waited for her to give him a claim tag."
"So they just sat there for an hour and left."
"Yes. The man kept looking around every few minutes, then after two drinks they walked out. But the gentleman came back fifteen or twenty minutes later by himself."
Dulles, forcibly keeping the exasperation from his voice, said, "Go on, Hans."
"When he returned, he went straight to the lift. He asked Lucas how long he had worked at the hotel. Lucas told him that he just started the job, then he was directed to take him to the third floor."
"You said the general went to the fifth."
"Correct, but the gentleman did not. Lucas let him out on the third floor, then bent down, pretending to tie his shoelace, but the man returned to the elevator and asked him if there was a problem, then stood and watched until he closed the door and took the lift down."
"He didn't see where he went on the third floor."
"No. But, here again, we are in the luck, as you say."
"Please, Hans, explain."
"Lucas is engaged to a girl who works as a chamber maid at the hotel. She is a very nice young woman and comes from a good family, but they have not been ... " He saw Allen's expression change, then interrupted himself. "I digress. My apologies. She was working on the fifth floor at the time, making up a room for a late arrival, when your gentleman turned the corner and knocked on a room right next to where she stood."
"How did she know it was the man I told you about?"
"At the time she didn't, but after work Lucas confided in her that he felt he had failed in a task I had given him. When she asked how that was possible, he explained that he was unable to find out what room a certain man had visited, and he was afraid I would be angry. His girl inquired as to what the man looked like, and upon hearing the description, said she might have seen him. Well, it was too late that night, but first thing this morning he brought her to me and asked that I show her the picture, which I did." Hans emphatically slapped his thigh and said, "And it was him. That was the man she saw, the one in the picture, and, what's more, he went into the room occupied by the German General."
"Is this certain?"
"Absolutely. She has seen him at the hotel before and clearly saw the number of the room he entered. It was the same room to which Lucas had taken the German."
"You've done very well, Hans." Dulles smiled, mostly for the sake of his good friend, for he felt no joy at discovering a traitor in his organization.
* *
The winter wheat brushed against their shoulders as Larry and Maria strolled along the narrow path through one of the fields, Maria trailing her arm out to the side and grabbing a handful of shoots from time to time, letting the wheat slide through her closed fist until it escaped her grasp and her empty hand sought something else to hold. These daily excursions were both exercise and catharsis, for Larry had never had anyone to whom he could express the feelings of anger and despair which he suffered after being told of his impending demise and volunteering for duty that would put the final nail in his coffin.
Maria had lived a solitary and lonely life since her parents died, Heinrich at first worried that the Gestapo would come for her next, and then, when months had passed with no further retribution, he was concerned that her visible presence might rekindle some sadistic urge in a party member who remembered her father and mother. Because of all these fears, Schroeder, as her savior and guardian, had instructed her on how to lead an anonymous existence and how to protect herself if needed. Her work at the hospital had been the one foray into the community from which she could not be dissuaded, and Heinrich had discovered in her an underlying strength and stubbornness of which he had not been aware. Maria's spirit had been forged in adversity and, like so many others who had experienced a similar coming of age, there lurked a core of tempered steel under a shell of compliance and plasticity.
Each of them had found a safe harbor in the other, and if not yet soul mates, the ebb and flow of life's exigencies were carrying them in that direction. The burgeoning love between them was unmistakable, to them as well as to those members of the farmer's family old enough to understand the concept; but for Larry it was bittersweet since the clock hand that measured out his life was near its endpoint. Growing up he had been fortunate to have a high school English teacher who believed that literature was for everyone, and Larry had immersed himself in the texts, thrilling at the accounts of adventures, but also finding wisdom and solace in the pages. Now, however, what he remembered were Napoleon's words to his aide: "You can ask me for anything you like, except time." Wise words providing no succor for him.
The sun was still high in the sky and Maria was reminiscing about a trip she had taken with her parents to Italy where they saw the leaning tower of Pisa and she had spent the next hour trying to walk at an angle so the edifice would appear straight up. She was doing the same thing now, denying Larry's illness and the invisible damage from the plutonium, insisting that he was in good health, as if her skewed point of view could make it so. Larry had spent most of their walk the previous day telling his life story, and he was surprised at how the years distilled down to only a few hours. Maria had chronicled her short life in even less time this morning, crying as the hurts resurfaced, but finding comfort in the presence of the man beside her, and feeling a freedom she had not known since her parents were taken from her.
Larry's chronicles of the day before had been edited, at least in regard to the one event that troubled him more than any other, and he felt guilty about his reticence to open himself up to the woman he loved. Taking a deep breath, he began the confession that had lain fallow, buried in his soul since that day in Philadelphia when his brother was gunned down. Tenuously at first, holding back the emotion, the words emerged in a dispassionate monotone, as if the event in question had happened to someone else. As Maria listened, holding tight to Larry, her compassion and support were apparent, in her touch, in her face, in the way she held her body and in a myriad of unspoken signals. And the succor she provided allowed him to reach deep within and exhume the festering feelings and the guilt that had been poisoning him. Exposed to the light of day, they shriveled and turned to ash, to be blown away by the wind, like a vampire removed from his dank soil to face the midday sun. In touch now with the emotions that he had suppressed for so long, the story poured from him with all the anguish and melancholy with which it had been robed. The release was almost explosive, and he embraced her tightly, the tears flowing freely down his cheeks, the sound of prison doors swinging open on rusty hinges, the demons banished.
Afterwards, they talked, then sat in comfortable silence, each content to hold fast to the other. When the sun was lowering in the west, they returned to the farmhouse, speaking in the intimate tones of lovers.
Once back, they busied themselves with preparations for their journey the next morning, Maria preparing food and Larry sitting quietly in a chair in the corner of the main room to run through the plan in his mind, to review options and contingencies. Their possessions consisted mainly of the clothes on their backs, almost everything given to them by the family, except for a knife that Larry kept in his pocket, still there because of the generosity of a young boy he had met on the road in a time and place that seemed so far off.
Later that night at the dinner table, everyone seemed to have long faces, but Larry also thought he saw a sense of relief in the faces of the farmer and his wife, for every day that they harbored the couple increased the risk that they would be discovered. Neither of them told the farmer exactly what they had been doing in that staff car, and he never asked, although it was obvious to him that in spite of Larry's fluent German he was a foreigner, and whatever they had been involved in was something the Nazis would no doubt find subversive.
Maria seemed to be merely moving her food around the plate, not actually eating it, and La
rry said to her, "You have to eat, Maria; we have a ways to go tomorrow and it's better to have the food in your stomach than in a pack." The farmer nodded his agreement, looking at Larry. "We can walk the entire distance, it isn't necessary for you to take us partway. You've done more than we can ever repay and far more than is necessary."
"It is I who am beholden to you, and I always pay my obligations. We leave just after first light."
While the women cleared the table, the farmer lit his pipe, the strong smell of ersatz tobacco filling the room, and spoke softly with Larry, giving him as much information as he could about troops and military installations in the area, after which they said their good nights and retired to their own rooms.
Larry nodded off quickly but slept lightly, and his eyes snapped open at the sound of the door opening. He recognized Maria's silhouette framed in the door, but remained silent as she glided in bare feet to the side of his bed, her borrowed robe tightly around her. She stood at the bedside for several minutes, listening to the deep even breathing of the man for whom she felt so much, both love and sorrow. Love that seemed palpable in her very being, an energy in her body wanting to burst out, straining at the muscle and flesh that contained it, like a magnet seeking its opposite pole. She also felt a deep sorrow that what was so recently found might so soon be taken from her. Maria removed the robe and let it slide to the floor, revealing the body that Larry had only thought of until now, then gently lifted the covers and eased into bed beside him. There was no dissimulation possible now. Larry rolled towards her, enfolding her in his arms as she held him tightly, the heat from her body as intense as any flame he had felt. Then she began to cry. Not the few casual tears that convention might dictate, but cascades of emotion flowing from her eyes in great body shuddering sobs. She clung to him, awash in emotions that she didn't completely understand, a storm tossed piece of human flotsam not knowing if her one anchor would be torn from her hands. And she cried. And cried. Cried.
His chest wet with Maria's tears, he held her close and said nothing, at once not knowing what to say and knowing that no words were needed. When the sobs subsided, and her breathing returned to normal, she lifted her head and looked into his eyes, the palm of her hand against his cheek, and kissed him, a soft gentle, touching of the lips, but one that in spite of its tenderness, blazed with an intensity greater than any he had known. She pulled apart, taking his hand and placing it on her breast, her eyes now closed, her face still wet with tears as she guided his hand down her body, her respirations faster and an occasional quiver rippling across her skin. Larry started to say something, to protest what he thought might be construed as un-chivalrous, when Maria, who understood much better than him the emotional needs of the human body, held a finger to his lips and said, "Hush. Don't say anything. I want you to make love to me. I need you inside of me, I need to be a part of you." She pulled him onto her and kissed him once more, more forceful than before, then laid her head back on the bed, eyes closed again and caressed his shoulders before her arms floated back to her side and she immersed herself in the rhythm that now started to pulsate between the two lovers. When he entered her, slowly, almost hesitantly, Maria inhaled deeply, and when he moved inside her, her breathing came more rapidly and a beatific smile lit up her face. Tentative at first, her thrusts soon found their own measure, in symmetry with Larry, who had shed his fear of hurting her as the realization of just how much he loved this woman overcame him. Their damp bodies collided with one another again and again, but always the feeling of connection, both physical and spiritual, was paramount, and even the low sounds of pleasure emanating from each of them sang in harmony of their newly consummated love. The emotional explosion that ended their physical love making left them panting, but not spent, for the intensity of their feelings filled them with a symbiotic strength of mind and body. Entwined in each other's arms, the mutually whispered "I love you" barely out of their mouths, they fell asleep, to wake up in consort with the first rays of the morning sun.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
The clip clop of the horse's hooves sounded like a metronome, the cadence of their final journey in Germany. The farmer had a cousin, a woman who was widowed by the war, and who lived alone with her young son in Jengen, a town approximately forty kilometers away. It was not unusual for him to visit her, occasionally bringing along a person or two to help her with planting or harvesting, and the farmer was therefore a familiar site in the area, a visitor who would be unlikely to arouse suspicion. Larry and Maria spoke to each other infrequently and in quiet tones, jealously guarding their love. He was glad they had each other because he didn't think their chances of getting out of the country alive, especially through Austria, were very good, and it would be nice that they had at least a few days with each other. The farmer carried on an intermittent commentary as they traversed the countryside, pointing out the changes that the war had caused, not only in the landscape, where military emplacements of various kinds had sprung up, now mostly bombed out or abandoned as the allies advanced, but also in the lives of the agricultural folk who lived in the region. In the beginning of the war, national pride, which had been at a low after World War I, reached its apogee, and while it remained high for much of the populace as a whole, those who worked the land saw more clearly than the others how Germany's aggression and the response it elicited from the rest of the world would sap their resources, their strength and eventually their will.
By early afternoon they reached Jengen, and after offering his suggestions as to the best route to the Austrian border, the farmer thanked them each again, wished them God's speed and watched for a moment as they began their trek along the dusty road, before turning his rig up an isolated cart path that led to his cousin's house.
They walked in tandem, Maria in the lead, each carrying a small pack. Larry wanted her to be in front for two reasons —— as a native born German from the general area she would be more likely to be able to deflect questions, especially since they had discussed in detail what their story would be, and secondly, because Larry wanted his body to be between Maria and the deadly cargo he carried on his back. After about an hour on the road Larry moved up almost abreast of Maria, staying just slightly behind her and shifting his pack to one shoulder opposite where she walked. Although he was still concerned about the plutonium, his misgivings about the locals they might encounter had quickly dissipated as Maria greeted the occasional fellow traveler they met, and even paused momentarily to say a word or two to a few villagers they passed while traversing a small town. Each meeting had been uneventful, and the brief exchange seemed to defuse any suspicion before it arose. For the first time since he woke up in the farmhouse he felt that their chances of making it to safety were better than even. They walked at a brisk pace, their steps buoyed by the confidence they felt, and by evening Larry was pleased with the distance they had covered. Outside the town of Marktoberdorf, as evening gave way to night, they came upon a small inn, a rather dilapidated structure, which at first glance appeared to be uninhabited, but on closer inspection revealed a light and the flicker of a fire reflecting off the windows. The farmer had insisted that they accept a small amount of money and, even more importantly, had provided them with some eggs, cheese and a small amount of cured meat, commodities that could be used as food or money as circumstances demanded. Approaching the inn with caution, they managed to casually glance in the windows, hoping to avoid the appearance of stealth, and were relieved to find few occupants and nothing that looked like a uniform. Following a hasty conference, they strode to the door and Larry opened it for Maria who entered first.
Warm air and the smell of food cooking mixed with the odor of pungent pipe tobacco greeted them as they walked into a low ceilinged room, a misty haze of smoke lingering among the stout wood beams that added to the confining appearance. A bar on one side ran most of the length of the room and the floor was populated with assorted tables and chairs of varied materials and construction, no two of them alike, as if th
e owners had made a point of buying one piece of every old dining set they could find, the only requirement being that they be in disrepair and not match any of the furniture they had already acquired. A couple with a small child looked up from their corner table, pausing, spoons poised in mid air, to survey the new arrivals, then, seeing nothing of particular interest to them, returned to their soup. An old man at the bar, the only other patron, turned in his chair to also give the once over to the interlopers, not because he was at all curious, but rather because the owner, a plump woman behind the bar with whom he had been conversing, turned and walked away while he was in mid sentence in order to take care of what she hoped would be two paying customers. He sat there glaring in their direction before exhaling a cloud of smoke from his pipe and turning back to his unfinished beer to await the resumption of his unfinished conversation. The smoke loitered around his head for a moment then drifted upwards to join the cloud above.
The plump woman hurried over to them, wiping her hands on her apron, and welcomed them most politely. Their clothes, although not fancy, were of decent quality and were in good repair and, coming from a long line of merchants who had honed their ability to quickly size up a potential customer, the owner could see that the two persons before her were not riff raff despite the dust of a long journey; hence her deference in greeting them. After a brief discussion, it was agreed that a few fresh eggs and a few marks would pay for a hot meal and a room for the night. They chose a table along the wall, away from the windows and just outside the glow of the fireplace, speaking in the whispered tones of lovers while they awaited their meal.
The old man, having no one to talk to while the owner rummaged around in the kitchen, ambled over to the table and, uninvited, sat down and began talking as if they had both been regulars and he was merely picking up the thread of some conversation from the night before. Maria did most of the talking, but Larry could not keep mute without arousing suspicion, and so he was forced to participate, although he kept his comments to a minimum. After a few minutes the codger turned to Larry and exclaimed, "You don't sound like no German."
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