Read Online Desert Run by Betty Webb - Free Book Online

are true, I would not wish for any of us to be in America when the war ends.”
    Kapitan Ernst sneered. “Who will care what happened to a few Jews and gypsies? One German is worth ten thousand of each.” With that, he had ordered the two remaining members of his crew to follow him into the mountains. Being good Germans, Gunter and Josef followed orders, even when given by their despised Kapitan.
    Now look at them, Gunter mused, as he huddled in the ravine next to Josef, pooling their body warmth. They were cold, hungry, scavenging food like alley rats from grapefruit orchards and trash heaps. So much for the great glory of the Kapitan Ernst’s American Reich. At least the rain was letting up. Perhaps this night, unlike the last, would not be so cold.
    â€œThe Kapitan has been gone a long time,” Josef whispered. “Do you think something happened to him?” He sounded hopeful.
    Gunter did not bother to hide his smile. “Past events have proven that we are not so fortunate. I am certain he will return soon, bringing more grapefruit and curses.”
    His words proved prophetic. As night folded the desert in its chilly embrace, Gunter heard footsteps scrambling across the rocks above. Then Kapitan Ernst’s wolfish face peered down at them.
    â€œCome up, come up, lazy schweine! We will eat well tonight!” Kapitan motioned them from their cover. “I have found a farmhouse just over that rise. A cow, chickens, a vegetable garden. And inside, tins of food and piles of warm blankets. We will take what we need, then continue east into the mountains.”
    Fear clenched Gunter’s heart. “There will be a farmer, maybe, with a gun. We have nothing, not even a knife.” A farm boy from the same Bavarian village as Josef, he knew it improbable that a working farm would remain unprotected. “Perhaps either Josef or I should reconnoiter?”
    He didn’t like the smile that crept across Kapitan’s face. “I guarantee there will be no resistance. Now, schnell, hurry. A Christmas feast awaits us!”
    With the inky sky darkening their faces and the birds silenced under the burden of night, they crept through the brush toward the house. When they reached the edge of the farmyard where the golden light from a window spilled across the sand, Gunter bit his lip in consternation. Where were the sounds of laughing children, the contented murmurs of husband and wife discussing the fruits of the day, the friendly rumblings of dogs? All he could hear was the pained lowing of a cow, as if its bag was full to bursting. His misgivings increased. It was late, almost eight o’clock. Why had the cow not yet been milked? What sort of farmer would allow his animal to suffer, allow good milk to go to waste?
    As they emerged from the brush and sprinted across the farmyard, the answer floated toward them on a soft desert breeze.
    The smell of Death.

Chapter Six
    Wearing a red wig and the yuppiefied suit I’d purchased from a Scottsdale resale shop, I picked up a dark blue BMW from Hertz the next morning and set about tailing Jack Sherwood. It wasn’t hard to see why Beth Osmon had fallen for him. Even from this distance I could see that he was as tall, dark, and handsome as the cliché. His Southern manners put smiles on the faces of everyone he came in contact with: the desk clerk at his residence hotel, the caddy at the golf course, the waitress at the expensive watering hole where he drawled through a business lunch with local bigwigs, one of them a former state senator known as much for his honesty as his inability to win re-election. I observed no suspicious behavior, and yet by the end of the day, I’d become convinced something was wrong.
    Sherwood was too slick.
    As I dropped off the Beemer at the Hertz lot near Desert Investigations and switched to my Jeep, I made a mental note to ask Jimmy to initiate an in-depth background search on Sherwood. While he had