Hess ran, limping, until he came to the car. He stowed the rifle on the back seat and slid behind the wheel. The big V-8 engine came to life with a reassuring sound. Hess hit the gas but did not turn on the lights, navigating as best he could through the alley. He turned onto the side street, then followed it to Pennsylvania Avenue. Here, he switched on his headlights. There was a crowd now in front of the boarding house and in front of the Metropolitan Hotel. He forced himself to drive calmly. Screeching tires or gunning the motor would only give him away. He accelerated gently. No one gave the car a second look as he melted away into the passing traffic.
Ty swam back to consciousness. He stared in disbelief at the blood running between his fingers. He pressed his hand to his side, trying to staunch the flow of blood, but he only seemed to bleed more freely. He struggled to his feet.
“He’s in the alley!” he shouted. “He’s getting away!”
No one else had been reckless enough to follow him out the window. Ty was alone, without any sort of weapon, defenseless if the assassin returned. It was very dark in the alley, but he could hear the assassin’s footsteps going away, and then the sound of a car engine starting.
He hurried toward the noise, forcing his legs to move. Nobody else had come out of the house yet. Where the hell was everyone? Ty staggered forward. He might not be able to stop the car, but he could at least get a look at it.
The wound hadn’t hurt at first, but now pain washed over him in waves. Each step became an agony as he forced himself toward the sound of the car.
“Over here!” he cried, hoping someone would hear him. Up ahead, he could hear the car accelerating but saw nothing but darkness. The bastard must be driving without headlights. Finally, Ty spotted the flash of brake lights, but they were hopelessly far away. The car turned the corner and was gone.
“Hold it right there!” someone shouted.
Ty couldn’t have moved if he wanted to. His whole body ached and he felt lightheaded. He waited as three men materialized out of the darkness, though it was hard to make out their faces.
“Ty, is that you?”
All he managed to do was grunt before he fell to his knees. A lighter flared. Two of the men carried rifles, which they pointed at Ty. The third man was Kit. The last words Ty heard were, “Jesus, what happened to you?” And then he sank into unconsciousness.
Chapter 16
"Frau Von Stahl, there are soldiers at the door!" Petra cried, running into the drawing room where Eva sat reading the by fire, enjoying a glass of schnapps. "We must run!"
"Calm yourself," she said to the girl as she closed her book. Eva was reading Gone with the Wind by Margaret Mitchell. She had never been to Georgia, but she loved the novelist’s descriptions of the Southern gentry. She admired Scarlett O’Hara’s determination even more.
Eva took a final sip of the liquor. The Americans finally must have discovered that she was a spy. But why now, after all this time? No matter. She always had known this day would come. Eva stood and straightened her gown. Her eyes flashed as the alcohol rushed through her blood. If this was to be her final role, she would not end without a fight. She heard the doorbell ring.
Sweeping past Petra, Eva walked swiftly to the front hall and stopped at a small writing desk. She opened a drawer and took out a revolver. She had talked gullible General Caulfield into giving it to her for protection. The tiny .32 caliber was what the general called a “lady’s model.” Eva would have preferred another automatic like the one she kept next to the radio in the attic, but the general had insisted that the revolver was safer because one could always tell whether or not it was loaded. Eva swung out the cylinder, saw the six shiny brass cartridges winking back at her, and then thumbed the hammer.
Whoever was on the front step had given up on the bell and was now pounding at the heavy antique door. From the shadowy light that came through the vertical transom windows that flanked the door, she could tell that more than one person stood on the other side.
Eva's heart seemed to begin pounding as well, skipping a beat now and then. She took a deep breath. The only evidence against her they would find in the house was the radio in the attic. She wished that she had had time to hide it somewhere outside the house or else destroy it. But it was too late for that now, and the soldiers would find it in time. Then it would be prison or the gas chamber. She was not about to submit quietly to either fate.
She became aware of Petra coming up behind her. The girl gave a little gasp when she saw the gun in Eva's hand. "There are soldiers in the back yard," Petra said. "They have the house surrounded. It is just like Poland —"
"Open the door," Eva commanded.
Petra started toward the door, then hesitated. The girl seemed dwarfed by the carved oak door. The pounding was louder, insistent. They could hear men's voices outside. "What do they want with us, Frau Von Stahl?"
"Do as I say!"
Petra worked the modern deadbolt lock that had been installed on the old door, and then opened it slowly. Whoever was on the other side grew impatient and shoved the door all the way open, sending Petra staggering back against the wall.
Colonel Carl Fleischmann stepped into the hall and then froze in his tracks, wide-eyed at the sight of Eva leveling the revolver at him. She had two hands wrapped around the gun in the shooter's stance that the general had taught her. Fleischmann's face was less than eight feet from the muzzle. She had a glimpse of several soldiers on the step behind him, but the colonel's back blocked their view of Eva holding the pistol trained on Fleischmann.
"What the hell are you doing, Eva?" he growled, keeping his voice low so that the soldiers couldn't hear. His eyes were fixed on the revolver rather than Eva's face. "Put the gun down."
"You will not take me alive," Eva said. She had meant to sound calm and regal as Scarlett O'Hara facing the Yankees, but her words hissed out, lashing the air like a whip. "Your soldiers will have to shoot me after I kill you."
For the first time, Fleischmann's eyes left the pistol to look at Eva. He looked genuinely puzzled. "What on earth are you talking about? No one came to arrest you. We came to protect you."
Now it was Eva's turn to look puzzled. Her pistol wavered as she asked, "Protect me from what?"
"The message you sent me, Eva. I just got the news from General Eisenhower's staff. You saved his life."
She nearly dropped the pistol, letting it dangle from her right arm at her side. "What?"
Fleischmann advanced into the hallway. He stepped close to Eva and she felt his hand close around hers, taking the gun away. He eased the hammer back down and slipped the revolver into the pocket of his overcoat. "Dangerous toy, that," he said. He gave a nervous chuckle. "For a moment there, I really thought you were going to shoot me."
Eva's mind reeled, scrambling to process what was happening. Was Fleischmann really saying that she was a hero, not a spy? She could hardly believe her ears. Her heart pounded as hard as ever. Just another role, she thought. A change in the script. She would have to improvise until she could figure out the story line.
"I heard pounding at the door. We did not expect anyone so late. Petra was frightened. I was frightened."
Fleischmann nodded, but he was also frowning at her. "You've been drinking."
"I nodded off in front of the fire. I was reading. Petra woke me up."