The colonel wasn’t the only man who was nervous. Hess could see fear etched on the faces of several who were clearly combat veterans. Teeth clenched, eyes focused on something only they could see. Someone mumbled a prayer. A few soldiers sat on their helmets, apparently hoping it might give them some protection from what the Russians were throwing at them. The propellers clawed at the icy air, trying to carry them above the worst of the flack guns. Another shell burst nearby and the plane rocked but kept climbing desperately. Hess had the feeling that not many more planes were going to make it out of Stalingrad.
He looked out the window again. The city grew smaller until it was like a collection of buildings in a child’s train garden, shrouded under dirty snow. The Volga wrapped around it all like a smooth brown muscle. It seemed impossible that this was the city where he had crawled on his belly from one sniper’s den to another, hunting Russian after Russian, every day a game he played with his very life. Stalingrad. In a strange way, he missed it already.
Propped on one elbow in her big feather bed, Eva used a finger to trace a pattern on General Harlan Caulfield’s bare chest. If Caulfield had been paying attention instead of staring at Eva’s breasts, no doubt lost in some fantasy, he might have noticed her fingertip was drawing a perfect swastika — the symbol of the Third Reich — on his chest.
Caulfield was a fool, but he was kind compared to that beast, Colonel Fleischmann. As long as Caulfield was in her bed it meant that Fleischmann was not, which was fine with Eva. Even Fleischmann wasn’t depraved enough to consider a ménage a trois — he wanted Eva all to himself.
“You look tired,” Eva said, feeling like an actress once more as she gave him a look of concern. “General Marshall has been working you too hard.”
“It’s been busy the last few days. Marshall hasn’t been giving us any rest. The man practically lives there.”
“What could possibly be keeping you so busy? Eisenhower has won in Italy. The Nazis are retreating, aren’t they?”
“Don’t believe everything you read in the newspapers.” Caulfield gave a soft laugh that ended in a cough. “I’m afraid the Nazis aren’t beaten yet. You’ve seen them firsthand. Do you think they are going to surrender because they lost Italy? No, my dear, they will fight for every last inch of ground.”
Eva felt angry, and just a bit alarmed, that Caulfield had brought up her German past. She stopped tracing patterns on his chest. “I just wondered why you were so busy. You’re looking thin.”
“A steady diet of coffee and cigarettes will do that to you.”
“Darling, next time you’re here I’ll have Petra cook you a nice steak dinner.”
Caulfield raised his eyebrows. “Where you do get steak? I haven’t had a decent steak in months.” With rationing, it was hard to get much more than hamburger. There did seem to be plenty of pork.
“We have our ways,” she said. She poked him playfully in a love handle. “Some of the delivery boys like Polish girls.”
“Then I’ll leave dinner to you as long as you leave the war to us.”
Eva tried for what she hoped was a sweet smile, though she was ready to dig her nails into his pale flesh instead. That might wipe the smug look from his face. Caulfield always treated her as if she had cotton for brains. He was just the sort of man who was forever calling the women in the office “honey” and asking them to fetch coffee. Then again, Eva reminded herself, this was just why she found Caulfield so useful. He thrived on office gossip, loving a juicy tidbit the way some men must have loved their tanks and guns. He never thought twice about telling her military secrets. She was just an empty-headed woman, after all.
“You’re right, darling, I don’t know anything about war. I’m an actress, remember? That’s why you have someone brilliant like Marshall in charge of the army.”
The mention of Marshall’s name brought a hearty laugh from the colonel. “Honey, you really don’t know anything about the army if you think somebody like George C. Marshall is brilliant. He’s more like one of those adding machines that’s good at figures and at keeping the numbers in orderly rows. I’ll admit that he’s an organizer, efficient as hell, but he’s not much of a general, which is why he’s in Washington. Not like Eisenhower. He’s got the British eating out of his hand. And he’s a brilliant strategist. Hitler won’t last long now.”
“You say that, darling, but from what I hear Eisenhower has been taking his time getting around to attacking Hitler in Europe itself. Someone needs to stop that jack-booted monster.”
Caulfield chuckled the way a man did when he knew more than he was letting on. “Just you wait, my dear Eva. You’ll be back home in Berlin soon enough. Maybe I’ll even visit you there.”
“You’ll forgive me if I don’t start packing my bags quite yet.”
“No, but you might want to think about it this spring,” Caulfield said.
“What do you mean?” Eva went back to tracing patterns on his chest, trying not to show that she was too interested. This time, she drew out stars. The patch of gray hair there matched that on his head, or, for that matter, the gray web of frost on the windowpane. “Is that when Eisenhower is going to invade?”
“Let’s just say there’s a reason we’ve been so busy at headquarters.”
Eva’s heart pounded. This might explain why General Eisenhower was coming to Washington. Along with Marshall and his staff, Eisenhower must be in the early stages of planning the invasion of Europe. She would have to press Ty Walker on the subject, because she couldn’t let slip to Caulfield that she knew about Eisenhower’s impending visit. For obvious reasons, she was sure that was being done under secret conditions.
Caulfield took her hand and gently pulled her closer. “Don’t worry about all those generals, Eva. In fact, forget I even said anything. Loose lips sink ships and all that.” His other hand slipped down her bare back. “Besides, I’m planning an invasion of my own.”
When they had finished making love, Eva slipped quietly as possible from under the sheets and quilt. Caulfield was sound asleep thanks to his exertions — and a large glass of bourbon. The sun was fading from the sky and the web of frost on the windowpane had grown larger as if spun by wintry spiders. It would be dark soon enough. With any lucky, the colonel would sleep for hours.
Eva put on her robe and slippers, then eased out the door, careful to avoid the floorboard near the threshold that never failed to creak. If Caulfield woke up now, he would ruin everything. None of the lights were on in the hall and Petra was nowhere to be seen. Eva opened the door that led to the attic. A flood of cold air spilled down the steps and she gathered her gown tight around her. She pulled the door shut behind her. There was a flashlight on the stairs and she switched it on.
At first glance, the attic was no different from most. Boxes filled the bulk of the space. Some of her better things were hidden away in trunks. She had hung some of her summer dresses from the rafters and they stood out now like ghostly sentinels. There was an air of neglect and a tang of dust, which was just the way Eva wanted it. A single window in the peak of the eaves glowed with the last of the light like the eye of a Cyclops. Eva was careful never to switch on any lights up here after dark. She could have covered the window, but that might have made Petra suspicious. The flashlight didn’t give off enough light for it to be noticeable from the street below. She was unsure how long Caulfield would sleep, so she hurried to a wardrobe pushed against the tallest wall. She opened the door and shoved aside the old coats that hung there, smelling of mothballs, and then crawled through the hole she had cut in the back. She found herself in a cubbyhole under the eaves. That was where she kept the radio.