A Bodyguard of Lies

by Donna Del Oro

  “Who?” Clare asked, confusion knitting her thin, white brows. “Your mother? I’m your mother, child. You know me, Hannah dear.”

  Again, her grandmother’s mind seemed to be wavering between the distant past and the present, blending the two at times. More than once, her grandmother had called Meg the child she’d lost during the war—Hannah. But Meg had thought her grandmother was referring to Meg’s mother, Hannah Snider, the wayward, estranged daughter who was now with husband number five. They were life coaches in Sedona, whatever that meant.

  As far as Meg knew, her mother showed up once a year at Christmastime, then disappeared with the latest in a string of husbands or boyfriends. Meg could barely speak to her even at their annual reunion. Now she began to suspect that Clare’s American daughter—Meg’s own mother—also knew of her mother’s true identity. Was this the possible reason for their estrangement?

  Other times, her grandmother referred to Madeleine as Hannah, the German daughter she’d had with Horst Eberhard. Whether any of this was true, Meg had no idea. At any rate, her grandmother’s slackening hold on reality made Meg anxious. The doctor said that slurred speech and mental confusion might be signs of mini strokes.

  Apparently swamped with bewilderment, her grandmother sputtered into a frowning silence. Madeleine regained control of the situation by pointing out other landmarks, most of which Clare could barely recognize. The city had changed so much when it was rebuilt, according to the Le Blancs.

  Which made Meg curious. And bold.

  “You’re not really Canadian, are you?” she brazenly asked the woman and Pierre. “Le Blanc isn’t your real name, is it?”

  The couple exchanged a shrewd smile.

  “Who we are and where we live,” Pierre said, “are none of your concern. We work for a movement that will one day reach global proportions. We are grooming leaders in every corner of the world. Including your country, Meg. That is all you need to know.”

  Meg’s eyes smarted. The pressure of repressed tears brought on pangs of a headache. Recalling Jake’s words, she thought it wise to stop probing. Let the FBI and MI5 or Interpol hunt these people down. All she wanted was to get her grandmother home. It had been Meg’s idea to come on the trip and therefore it was her responsibility to get them home safely.

  Again, the beacon abraded her sensitive flesh as she squirmed in her seat, reminding her Jake might help her accomplish just that. Yet, he hadn’t located them in Berlin. Fear crept down her spine. Maybe he didn’t care enough, had just given up and flown back to the States. Maybe MI5 had arrested him for breaking his cover and for warning her and her grandmother. Something broke inside her. Tears spilled over and streaked down her cheeks.

  Jake, find us! Please don’t let me down!

  Madeleine lifted her chin imperiously. “Ah, here we are. Pierre, remember your tripod. I want you in this photo, too.”

  They’d stopped at a turnout along the curb. An ivy-covered wall bore a sign in block letters: “Engesohde Friedhof” and other German words that Meg didn’t recognize. It was certainly not the main entrance into the cemetery, there was a small, gated entrance along this segment of the wall for people on foot.

  Meg recognized the name and the German word, friedhof. Cemetery. Her heart began to pound. This was one of the places she’d written on that postcard she’d left for Jake. He’d know they were coming here. Hope fluttered in her chest.

  “Wait here,” Pierre ordered the driver in front, using a German dialect Meg could understand. She listened closely. “Wolfgang, just you come along. Too many of us will attract attention. We won’t be too long. After this, we must leave quietly and quickly.”

  Wolf had never left her sight in the past twenty-four hours, ever since they’d arrived in Berlin. It didn’t surprise her that he would join them, but the rest of Pierre’s message did. Wolf’s eyes met hers. It dawned on her. This was going to be a fast stop.

  Surely, they could see her grandmother needed medical help. Her speech had become slurred, her balance rickety, her delusions more pronounced. Her tough, stoic grandmother was one moment weepy, and the next, withdrawn and sullen. As though she were having an emotional breakdown right in front of them.

  If Meg had her cell phone, she’d be calling an ambulance.

  What would happen to her grandmother if they didn’t get her medical attention? And soon?

  Dammit, if only she knew Madeleine’s and Pierre’s diabolical plan! They weren’t sharing, at least not with Meg. They’d take their photos, then leave? Then where to? What would the Le Blancs do with Meg and her ailing grandmother?

  Was this their final stop?

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Jake stood behind the tall cypress tree, whose long, thick branches and foliage concealed him from the gravelled walkway facing Clare’s Hillenbrand family vault. He’d observed the restaurant in the Old Town district where the Le Blanc party had dined earlier, had watched the blond bully manhandle Meg when they’d stepped outside. Hidden from their view, he’d been tempted to barge in and pummel the guy. Biding his time, though, Jake followed the GPS tracker and, taking a few shortcuts, arrived at the cemetery before them. He’d set up surveillance near the vault, having learned from Major Temple in Dublin that Clare’s maiden name was Hillenbrand; her hometown, Hannover.

  Fortunately, Jake’s GPS tracker had picked up the beacon’s signal as he was driving in the vicinity of Berlin’s Brandenburg Gate the day before. After that, he’d followed the black limo to a private residence in a southern suburb of Berlin. Parked at a block’s distance and keeping the two-story building under surveillance, Jake had watched at least two dozen men and women enter what appeared to be a private dwelling. Obviously, a meeting was taking place. Three hours later, people emerged and drove away. The driver of the limo and another man left also. Inside remained the Le Blancs, the blond muscle, and Meg and her grandmother.

  Stakeout was not Jake’s favorite field assignment, but he’d bought enough food and drinks to hold him during the evening and late into the night. Urinating into a jar was not his favorite kind of relief, either, but he couldn’t risk losing his targets by driving away and finding a public restroom. Peeing on the bushes along the street was also not an option. Too much traffic, and he couldn’t risk being taken in by the local polizei.

  The next morning, he’d kept a steady pace with the limo on the Auto-Bahn, following at a four-car distance like he’d been trained. The three-hour journey from Berlin to Hannover was tiring, so he’d pulled into an “Autobahn-Stop” for espresso. It was dicey but he’d eventually caught up, following the beacon’s signal and putting pedal to the metal in his smooth-riding Mercedes sedan.

  Good girl, Meg! She’d hidden the damned thing well.

  Now it had come to this. The other destination Meg had marked on the postcard. Engesohde Friedhof. The cemetery where Clare’s family rested in peace.

  The cemetery was huge with rows of mature trees, graveled walkways, and statuary lining the various partitions. At the main entrance there was, in typical German fashion, a large organizational map with an alphabetical listing. It didn’t take long to find the Hillenbrand family vault. He also noted its proximity to a small parking area by the walk-in gate, and assumed that the elderly Clare would not be able to walk much farther than the approximate thirty or forty yards from curb to vault.

  Of course, they could have found her a wheelchair at the main entrance but the pea-gravel walkways would prevent its use. No, Jake was fairly confident the Le Blancs and their group would enter from the street side. That would work for his other plan, too.

  Overhead the sky had turned overcast, dark rainclouds billowing in from the north. He’d bought an overly large umbrella for concealment. Not knowing what to expect, he was banking on just that one muscled goon he’d have to take down. Pierre wasn’t much of a threat but he didn’t want to alert the Le Blancs too much in advance. They’d be carrying weapons.

  As a precaution, Jake carried the loaded
pistol in the outside pocket of his trenchcoat, safety off and at the ready. He had his international cell phone handy to make his next call.

  God, he hoped he wouldn’t have to use his gun. It always complicated things with the locals. Jake didn’t want trouble from the German Republic since only MI5 had authorized his covert work, not German intelligence. But he’d do what he had to do if push came to shove. Easier to ask for forgiveness afterwards than permission beforehand.

  Waiting, he took deep, calming breaths. And thought of Meg and her grandmother. Above all, he had to keep them safe.

  ****

  The dark clouds had whipped up a cold breeze, chilling Meg. She buttoned her peacoat, made sure her grandmother’s coat was buttoned up to her chin. As she helped her grandmother walk along the graveled path the Le Blancs told them to take, Meg noticed Clare’s hummingbird pin on her coat lapel. She hadn’t taken it off since they’d arrived in Germany. Madeleine called it Clare Eberhard’s Iron Cross. What the Wehrmacht used to give their fighting patriots, the ones who’d sacrificed for their country and displayed valor in the field.

  Pierre led the way past looming trees whose arching branches formed a bower over their heads. Meg noticed neoclassical statues, burial vaults and gravestones of all sizes. Obviously, the Le Blancs had been here before, probably scoping out the precise spot. They knew exactly where to go. Which was why they’d parked in the pullout along the curb.

  As Pierre pointed to a large vault to their left, Madeleine pulled something out of her purse and deposited it into her grandmother’s coat pocket. There was something about the woman’s expression that alerted Meg.

  “What was that?” Meg asked. Her grandmother faltered, lost her balance, and nearly fell. Both Madeline and Meg seized her in time and lifted her. “Gran, are you all right? Shall we sit and rest?”

  Her grandmother shook her head.

  “Mutter, dear,” Madeleine said in German, “it’s not far. You’ll see your sisters soon. They were told to meet us there. At your family vault.”

  “What did you give my grandmother?” Meg asked again with clenched teeth, ignoring Wolfgang, who wasn’t far behind her.

  “Not your business!” barked Madeleine.

  “How dare you!” she countered, “my grandmother is my business. You don’t care about her. You and Pierre, you’re using her and lying to her!”

  “Shut her up!” Pierre screeched at Wolf.

  The young hulk grabbed her arm, pulled her to a stop and slapped her across the face. Her head jolted back and her ears rang for a moment. The pain was minor, however, and stung only a little, but the attack triggered her pent-up fury.

  Meg let go of her grandmother, lashed out and kicked the man’s shins. Wolf swung his arm back to hit her again. Her grandmother cried out and thrust out her arms to protect Meg, lost her balance and toppled against Madeleine. Both went down on the graveled walkway and cried out.

  Something snapped inside Meg and she sprang up and flew at Pierre, her fists pounding him about the head. The side of the tripod hit her shoulder, knocking her down again. When she looked up, Pierre was standing over her, the tripod raised as a weapon. Wolf was bearing down on her with a raised fist.

  Meg cradled her head in her arms in self-defense and curled into a ball. She screamed.

  “Stop!” Madeleine shouted in German. The two men halted.

  Meg raised her head and looked up. Madeleine was pointing a small gun at her. Meg recognized it. A twenty-two caliber pistol.

  She looked from the woman to her grandmother, whose hysterical sobbing sounded like a child’s, high-pitched and wailing. Meg was dumbstruck with guilt. Outnumbered, Meg held up her hands.

  “Cooperate, Meg,” threatened Madeleine in English, “or it’ll go bad for both you and your grandmother. We’ll take these photos and afterward leave you both in peace.”

  Meg clambered to her feet, her hands still raised in the air. Interesting choice of words, she worried, especially inside a cemetery. Were the Le Blancs going to shoot her and her grandmother? Leave them by the gravesite to die?

  “What do you mean? Leave us in peace?” Meg glanced to each of the three captors. Their faces revealed nothing. Pierre, still threatening to wield the tripod like a club, stepped forward. Madeleine concealed her gun within her coat pocket and half-turned. They’d attracted attention.

  Around the curve in the walkway, a tall man approached. His upper body was hidden by a large, black umbrella. Meg’s vision was blurred with tears but his walk was familiar.

  Her eyes stopped stinging as hope arose in her chest like a bubble of happiness.

  “I’m warning you,” repeated Madeleine, “now shut up and put your hands down, for God’s sake. You’ll draw attention. You don’t want any innocent bystanders hurt, do you?” She came closer and dug the pistol into Meg’s ribs. “Now, help your grandmother. It’s just a few meters more.”

  Meg trudged alongside her grandmother, her arm supporting the sick, elderly woman around the waist. Clare’s sobs had subsided into sniffles but it was clear to Meg that her grandmother was confused by all the commotion.

  The family vault came into view behind a large hedge. It shared the private corner with nothing else except a tall cypress tree. Huge, the burial chamber was made of marble, and rose at least ten feet above the stone plinth it rested on. A small garden of ivy and ferns stood behind a low railing of wrought iron.

  Although tense and shaking violently, her grandmother appeared to be in a kind of daze. The Le Blancs were forgotten as Clare stared at the white-marbled burial vault.

  “Grandma, is this it? Your family crypt? It says Hillenbrand. Was that your maiden name?”

  There was a bas-relief in stone of a large family crest above a list of names. It bore an eagle in flight on one side; what looked like swords and blossoms on the other. The Hillenbrands must have been a prominent family, Meg concluded, with a long history in Lower Saxony.

  Clare squinted her eyes behind her glasses and studied the marble face. “Yes, Meggie, that’s our family crest. Please, read to me the German.”

  Behind her, she could hear Madeleine and Pierre with their cameras. Wolf was hanging back in the middle of the walkway. Meg ignored them as she stood there, engrossed in seeing firsthand the remnants of her grandmother’s German family.

  She read aloud. “It says, ‘Geliebt, nie vergessen.’” She understood that much German.

  Loved but not forgotten. It was written at the bottom of a list of names.

  Madeleine was clicking away with her camera in one hand, the gun in the other. Pierre was setting up his tripod, screwing on his movie camera. Wolf was watching the man approaching them, then his attention was also drawn away. Pierre was asking him for help.

  Tears streamed down her grandmother’s cheeks. Meg choked up, herself. “It’s beautiful, Gran…the crest, the vault…”

  Suddenly, the names above the sentimental saying registered. Everyone in the Hillenbrand family who’d lived during the war were buried there in that vault. Gesterben, Meg read. Died. Her eyes locked on the date. October, 1943.

  The Allied bombing of Hannover.

  Clare’s parents, Fritz and Helga Hillenbrand. Her sisters, Dietlind and Stephanie. Clare’s little daughter, Hannah.

  “Oh my God,” Meg cried, her hand flying to her mouth.

  Beside her, her grandmother gasped as she, too, read the names. “No-o-o!” One long, shrill cry of agony escaped her grandmother’s open mouth. Then the elderly woman collapsed.

  Meg fell to her knees beside the unconscious woman, lifted her grandmother’s head, and cradled her in her lap. What she had feared would happen, had.

  “Help her, please, call an ambulance!” Meg begged the Le Blancs. She looked up and her heart leaped into her throat.

  A fragment of her mind heard the sirens in the near distance. They were close. Obliterating all that noise was the scene right before her.

  His umbrella closed, Jake’s leg shot out and swung aroun
d to connect with Wolf’s abdomen. The blond hulk’s head jerked back as Jake’s left fist coldcocked the man’s jaw. Wolf’s legs crumpled and he went down with barely a cry. The attack, swift and deadly accurate, drew Pierre’s and Madeleine’s attention. Both pivoted but not fast enough.

  With one hand, Jake swung down the shaft of his closed umbrella to strike Madeleine’s arm, sending the pistol hurtling to the gravel. Another hard swing to the woman’s head and her knees buckled. Dazed, she fell to her hands and knees on the gravel. A moment later, Jake lifted his outsized semiautomatic pistol to Pierre’s head. The little man froze, raising both hands, the digital movie camera spilling on the ground in front of him. Beyond them, Wolf lay flat on his back, his arms outstretched.

  “Pick up the pistol, Meg.”

  Speechless with surprise, she scrambled to pick it up, stuffed it in her jacket pocket, then returned to her grandmother.

  “C’mon, Pierre,” Jake snarled, “give me an excuse to put a bullet in you. Nothing would please me more.”

  Pierre shook his head like a frightened terrier. “Careful now, Jake. We’re just taking photos, no law against that.”

  “Oh yeah? What about assault and kidnapping for starters? You wanna bet that Interpol has a rap sheet on you two? Listen, Pierre-or-whatever-the-hell-your-name-is, take her,”—indicating Madeleine, who was having difficulty rising from the gravel—“and get the fuck out of here.”

  Pierre looked shocked. “You’re letting us go?”

  “Listen, you neo-Nazi dirtbag, I have my own agenda. Interpol and MI5 have theirs. Before you take off—and take your punk-ass thug with you—leave Meg’s and Clare’s suitcases by the curb. If you don’t, I’ve got your limo’s license plate. I’ll report the theft of their bags to the local polizei. That’ll lead to a host of other charges. Do you understand me?”

  Pierre helped Madeleine to her feet. The woman shot hateful glances at Jake and Meg. A disdainful one at the elderly woman lying helpless on the ground. As if the old woman’s hysterical collapse had ruined their plans—whatever they were.