Michael hesitated. How indeed? he thought. “I… didn’t know, for certain,” he said. “A lot of bullets were flying.”
“Yes.” Chesna was watching him carefully. “We’re lucky we didn’t lose anyone. Now maybe you can tell me why you refused to come out with Bauman, and then wandered into camp more than eight miles from Falkenhausen. What did you do, run that distance? And how did you find us?”
“Lazaris,” Michael said, stalling while he thought up a good answer. “My friend. Is he all right?”
Chesna nodded. “He brought an army of lice with him. We had to shave him bald, but he said he’d kill anyone who touched his beard. He’s in even worse shape than you, but he’ll live.” She raised her blond brows. “You were about to tell me how you found us?”
Michael remembered hearing Chesna and Bauman arguing that night as they came out of the tent. “I think I went a little crazy,” he explained. “I went after Major Krolle. I don’t recall much of what happened.”
“Did you kill him?”
“He… was taken care of,” Michael said.
“Go on.”
“I took Krolle’s motorcycle. That’s how I got through the gate. A bullet must’ve punctured the gas tank, because I only got a few miles before the engine stopped. Then I started walking through the woods. I saw your flashlights, and I came in.” Flimsy as hell, he thought, but that’s all he could come up with.
Chesna was silent for a moment, staring at him. Then she said, “We had a man watching the road. He saw no motorcycle.”
“I didn’t use the road. I went through the forest.”
“And you just happened to find our camp? In all the woods? You stumbled onto our camp when none of the Nazis could track us down?”
“I guess I did. I got there, didn’t I?” He smiled wanly. “Call it destiny.”
“I think,” Chesna said, “that you’ve been breathing through another hollow reed.” She came a little closer to the bed as Stronberg prepared a second injection. “If I didn’t know you were on our side, Baron, I might have grave misgivings about you. To beat Harry Sandler at his own game is one thing; to travel, in your condition, over eight miles through the forest at night and find our camp-which was very well hidden, I might add-is something quite different.”
“I’m good at what I do. That’s why I’m here.” He winced as the second needle broke the skin.
She shook her head. “No one is that good, Baron. There’s something about you… something very strange.”
“Well, we can debate this all day, if you like.” He let feigned exasperation creep into his voice. Chesna’s eyes were sharp, and they saw his evasion. “Have you got the plane ready?”
“It’s ready, whenever I want it.” She decided to let this matter go, for now. But this man was hiding something, and she wanted to know what it was.
“Good. When can we leave?”
“There’ll be no traveling for you,” Stronberg said firmly. He snapped his bag closed. “Not for two weeks, at least. Your body’s been starved and brutalized. A normal man, one without your commando training, would be a basket case by now.”
“Doctor,” Michael said, “thank you for your attention and care. Now would you please leave?”
“He’s right,” Chesna added. “You’re too weak to go anywhere. As far as you’re concerned, the mission is over.”
“Is that why you got me out? To tell me I’m an invalid?”
“No. To keep you from spilling your guts. Since you were imprisoned, Colonel Blok has closed down the Reichkronen. From what I hear, he’s been questioning all the employees and going over their records. He’s having the place searched room by room. We got you out of Falkenhausen because Bauman let us know Blok was about to start torturing you the following morning. Four more hours and a catheter would have been an impossibility.”
“Oh. I see.” In that light the loss of a leg was a minor inconvenience.
Dr. Stronberg was about to retreat to the door. But he paused and said, “That’s an interesting birthmark you have. I’ve never seen anything quite like it.”
“Birthmark?” Michael asked. “What birthmark?”
Stronberg looked puzzled. “Under your left arm, of course.”
Michael lifted his arm, and had a shock of surprise. From the armpit to his hip were streaks of sleek, black hair. Wolf hair, he realized. With all the stress to his mind and body, he had not fully changed back since leaving Falkenhausen.
“Fascinating,” Stronberg said. He leaned closer to look at the streaks. “That’s one for a dermatologist’s journal.”
“I’m sure it is.” Michael lowered his arm and clasped it to his side.
Stronberg walked past Chesna to the door. “We’ll start you on solids tomorrow. Some meat with your broth.”
“I don’t want any damned broth. I want a steak. Very rare.”
“Your stomach’s not ready for that,” Stronberg said, and he left the room.
“What day is this?” Michael asked Chesna after the doctor had gone. “The date?”
“May seventh.” Chesna walked to a window and peered out at the forest, her face washed with afternoon light. “In answer to your next question, we’re in the house of a friend, about forty miles northwest of Berlin. The nearest village is a small hamlet called Rossow, eleven miles to the west. So we’re safe here, and you can rest easy.”
“I don’t want to rest. I’ve got a mission to finish.” Even as he said it, he felt whatever Stronberg had given him beginning to work. His tongue was numb, and he was getting drowsy again.
“We received a radio code from London four days ago.” Chesna turned from the window to look at him. “The invasion’s been scheduled for the fifth of June. I’ve radioed back the message that our assignment is incomplete, and that the invasion may be in jeopardy. I’m still waiting for a reply.”
“I think I know what Iron Fist is,” Michael said, and he began to tell her about his Flying Fortress theory. She listened intently, with no evidence that she agreed or disagreed: a poker face. “I don’t think the plane’s hangared in Norway,” he told her, “because that’s too far from the invasion beaches. But Hildebrand knows where the plane is. We’ve got to get to Skarpa…” His vision was fogging up, the taste of medicine thick in his mouth, “… and find out what Hildebrand’s developed.”
“You can’t go anywhere. Not in the shape you’re in. It would be better if I chose a team myself and flew them up.”
“No! Listen to me… your friends may be good at breaking into a prison camp… but Skarpa’s going to be a hell of a lot tougher. You need a professional for the job.”
“Like yourself?”
“Right. I can be ready to go in six days.”
“Dr. Stronberg said two weeks.”
“I don’t give a damn what he said!” He felt a flush of anger. “Stronberg doesn’t know me. I can be ready in six days… providing I get some meat.”
Chesna smiled faintly. “I believe you’re serious.”
“I am. And no more tranquilizers or whatever it is that Stronberg’s stuck into me. Understand?”
She paused, thinking it over. Then: “I’ll tell him.”
“One more thing. Have you… thought about the possibility that… we may run into fighter planes between here and Skarpa?”
“Yes. I’m willing to take that risk.”
“If you get shot, I don’t care to… go down in flames. You’ll need a copilot. Do you have one?”
Chesna shook her head.
“Talk to Lazaris,” Michael said. “You might… find him very interesting.”
“That beast? He’s a flier?”
“Just talk to him.” Michael’s eyelids were getting heavy. It was hard to fight against the twilight. Better to rest, he thought. Rest, and fight again tomorrow.