With Becker pushing from below, Runstedt hauled the corpses through the base of the cabinet and stretched them out on the wooden floor.
"Perfect, perfect, " Becker said, scrambling through the hole. "We are right on time."
"Oberst, " Alfi said, "I have one question, if I may."
"Of course."
"How will we keep the tunnel from being discovered after the fire and explosion?"
"Hah! An excellent point, " Becker exclaimed. "One, I might add, that I am not at all surprised to have you make. I have kept the steel plate you removed to make the opening in the pipe. It fits perfectly, and stays in place with several small hooks I have welded on. With ashes and debris piled on top, I doubt the pipe will ever be discovered."
"Brilliant. Herr Oberst, you are a truly brilliant man."
"Thank you, Unteroffizier. And now, we must check. Have you said anything to anyone which might suggest you are planning to leave tonight?"
"No, sir,"
"Good. And have you told the men in your barrack that you will be working late in the laboratory with me?"
"Yes, Oberst."
"Wonderful. We are ready to arrange the ether, to set the charge and the timer, and to exchange clothes with our friends here."
"Then it is off to hot dogs and Betty Grable, " Alfi said. "Hot dogs and Betty Grable," Becker echoed. "But first a toast to our success thus far. Amaretto?"
"Cheroots! Amaretto! My God, Oberst, how do you keep coming up with these things? " Alfi took the proffered glass, inhaled the wonderful almond scent, and then drained the liqueur in a gulp. The cyanide, its deadly aroma and taste masked, took just seconds to work. Becker was removing his uniform and jewelry as Runstedt, writhing and vomiting on the floor, breathe his last. With some effort, Becker dressed the young farmer in his own uniform, adding a ring, billfold, identification necklace, and, finally, Edwin's watch, an elegant piece which many in the camp associated with him. Next, he stepped back and, with the use of the hooded flashlight, surveyed the scene. Everything, everyone had to be perfectly placed. He undressed the farmer who was to have served as Alfi's double, tossed the clothes to one side, and then dumped the naked body down the tunnel. "Now, Alfi, my most loyal of servants, we must find a place for you." He shone the torch on the contorted, violet face by his feet. In minutes the arrangement was complete. The young farmer's body lay in the center of the laboratory, his face resting beside a laboratory timer and a five-gallon tin of ether. Several other tins were spaced throughout the dry, wooden building. Alfi's body lay near the door, as far from the explosive vapors as possible. It would be the validity of Runstedt's face which would assure acceptance of Becker's own demise. The simple elegance of the whole plan was as pleasing as a major research success, and Becker felt ballooned with pride as he made a final survey of the scene. He checked the small ignition charge and set the timer for ten minutes. Willi Becker was grinning as he dropped into the tunnel and pulled the workbench cabinet back in place. He sealed the drainage pipe opening, and without a glance at the farmer's body, crawled toward the exit beyond the camp's electrified fence. He was behind the wheel of the lorry, a quarter mile from the camp, when the peaceful night sky turned red-gold. Seconds later, he heard the muffled series of explosions. "Good-bye, Josef Rendl, " he said. "I shall enjoy reading in The New York Times of your trial and execution.
And as for you, Dr. Miiller, it is game and match between us, eh? A shame you shall never know who really won. Perhaps someday, if you survive, I will send you a postcard."
His wife and son were waiting for him in Rostock. As Becker bounced down the road, he began humming the "Star Spangled Banner. "
The morning was typical of December in Massachusetts. A brushed aluminum sky blended into three-day-old snow covering the cornfields along Route 127. Dulled by streaks of road salt, Jared Samuels's red MGTD roadster still sparkled like a flare against the landscape. From the passenger seat, Kate Bennett watched her husband negotiate the country road using only the thumb and first two fingers of his left hand. His dark brown eyes, though fixed on the road, were relaxed, and he seemed to be singing to himself. Kate laughed. "Hey, Doc, " Jared asked glancing over, "just what are you laughing at?"
"You."
"Well, that's a relief.For a moment there I thought you were laughing at me… Tell me what I was doing that was so funny, I might want to write it down."
"Not funny, " Kate said. "Just nice. It makes me happy to see you happy.
There's a peacefulness in you that I haven't seen since the campaign began."
"Then you should have turned on the bedroom light last night at, oh, eleven-thirty, was it?"
"You didn't just pass out after?"
"Nope. Five minutes of absolute Nirvana… then I passed out."
He flashed the smile that had always been reserved for her alone. "I love you, you know, " Kate said. Jared looked at her again. It had been a while since either of them had said the words outside the bedroom.
"Even though I'm not going to be the Honorable Congressman from the Sixth District?"
"Especially because you're not going to be the Honorable Congressman from the Sixth District." She checked the time. "Jared, it's only nine-thirty. Do you think we could stop at the lake for a bit? We haven't in such a long time. I brought a bag of bread just in case."
Jared slowed. "Only if you promise not to poach when goddamn Carlisle starts hitting to my backhand."
"Once. I stole a ball from you once in almost two years of playing together, and you never let me forget it."
"No poaching?"
Was he being serious? It bothered her that after almost five years of marriage she couldn't always tell. "No poaching, " she vowed finally, wary of making a response that would chip the mood of the morning.
Lately, it seemed, their upbeat moods were becoming less frequent and more fragile. "The ducks bless you, " Jared said in a tone which did nothing to resolve her uncertainty. The lake, more a large pond, was a mile off 127 in the general direction of the Oceanside Racquet Club. It was surrounded by dense thickets of pine and scrub oak, separated by the backyards of a dozen or so houses-upper-class dwellings in most communities, but only average in the North Shore village of Beverly Farms. At the far end of the ice cover, hockey sticks in hand, a trio of boys chased a puck up and down a makeshift rink, their bright mufflers and caps phosphorescing against the pearl-gray morning. Nearer the road, a spillway kept the surface from freezing. Bobbing on the half-moon it created were a score of ducks. Several more rested on the surrounding ice. The couple stood motionless by their car, transfixed by the scene.
"Currier and Ives, " Kate said wistfully. "Bonnie and Clyde," Jared responded in the same tone. "You're so romantic, Counselor."
Kate managed a two-second glare of reproach before she smiled. Jared's often black sense of humor was hit or miss-"kamikaze humor, " she had labeled it. "Come on, let's duck, " she called. Her runner's legs, objects of the fantasies of more than a few of her fellow physicians at Metropolitan Hospital of Boston, brought her easily down the snowy embankment, her auburn hair bouncing on the hood of her parka. As she approached the water, a huge gander, honking arrogantly, advanced to get his due. Kate eyed the bird and then threw a handful of bread over his head to a milling group of smaller mallards and wood ducks. A moment later, from atop the bank, Jared scaled an entire roll precisely at the feet of the gander, who snatched it up and swaggered away. Kate turned to him, hands on hips. "Are you trying to undermine my authority?"