lead and Lena again in the rear. If they noticed her, she was afraid they’d send her back to the house.
Herr Schneider waved his arms angrily. “Look at this. It’s another one of Hitler’s super-weapons. How super can it be if the damned thing gets shot down?”
Lena was stunned. She had never heard him criticize the Fuhrer. Perhaps he was drunk. Or, like everybody else, perhaps he was frustrated with the war. But from what she’d seen of it in the air and the remains of the wreckage on the ground, the plane was indeed unique. There were no propellers and the shape had been sleek and looked like a predator. She’d heard people talk of jets and presumed that this was one of them. She was not impressed. Herr Schneider was right. How could it be a super-weapon if it could be shot down? The thought pleased her.
Gudrun tried to calm her husband. There were no spies or informers around, but one shouldn’t get careless, not even if they were themselves closely allied to the Gestapo. “There will be other weapons and other opportunities to stop the Americans,” she said soothingly.
Gustav glowered. “Certainly there are,” he said sarcastically. “Just like the V1 rocket was supposed to bring England to its knees, and then the V2 was supposed to finish the job. I’ve talked to people who know these things and the V1 flies so slowly and predictably that it can actually be shot down. The V2 is much faster but neither of them can be aimed with even the slightest degree of accuracy. They only thing they can guarantee hitting is the ground. Did you know that thousands of both rockets were aimed at the Tower Bridge in London and not one of them hit it? Thousands were fired, but not one hit. Not only that, but their warheads are too small. Even a direct hit on Target 42, which was the Luftwaffe’s name for the Tower Bridge, wouldn’t have destroyed it.”
He angrily and petulantly stamped his foot. Anton had wandered close to the corpse and his mother pulled him back. Astrid averted her eyes. She had no wish to see more death.
“Damn it to hell,” Gustav continued to rage. “Germany is being betrayed by the scientists. I’ll bet they are all Jews pretending to be real Germans.”
The fire was rapidly burning itself out. The local fire and police continents had arrived and contented themselves with containing it. The dead pilot had been pulled from the ground and laid on a stretcher. The impact had flattened the man’s body and left a rough outline of his corpse indented in the ground. She shuddered. At least he’d died quickly. Or she hoped he had.
Gustav Schneider decided that the show was over and they all headed back to the house. Lena maneuvered so she was last. They hadn’t noticed her and she had not spoken. Only Anton had been aware of her presence. He had turned and looked at her. The glance had turned into a stare and then into a leer. Her dress was an old one and the hem was too short, showing more of her legs than she realized she should have.
He grinned and winked. She turned away and walked just a little faster.
* * *
When Ernie Janek presented himself to the Marine guard at the U.S. embassy in Bern, he expected to be told to wait. The summons from the old man in the park had been simple—be at the embassy at ten in the morning. To his surprise there would be no waiting. He was immediately ushered into a small room with a card table and two chairs. Not impressive, was Ernie’s first thought.
The old man entered and took a seat. A servant brought coffee and cakes and left. There was silence while they enjoyed the coffee. Switzerland might be neutral, but good, real coffee was still rare and the cakes were excellent. Even better, from Ernie’s perspective, they were free.
“My name is Allen Dulles, Captain, and I am in charge of all the OSS activities in the area. I won’t be more specific for security reasons and the fact that my job seems to change every day, if not every hour. Just for
Herr Schneider waved his arms angrily. “Look at this. It’s another one of Hitler’s super-weapons. How super can it be if the damned thing gets shot down?”
Lena was stunned. She had never heard him criticize the Fuhrer. Perhaps he was drunk. Or, like everybody else, perhaps he was frustrated with the war. But from what she’d seen of it in the air and the remains of the wreckage on the ground, the plane was indeed unique. There were no propellers and the shape had been sleek and looked like a predator. She’d heard people talk of jets and presumed that this was one of them. She was not impressed. Herr Schneider was right. How could it be a super-weapon if it could be shot down? The thought pleased her.
Gudrun tried to calm her husband. There were no spies or informers around, but one shouldn’t get careless, not even if they were themselves closely allied to the Gestapo. “There will be other weapons and other opportunities to stop the Americans,” she said soothingly.
Gustav glowered. “Certainly there are,” he said sarcastically. “Just like the V1 rocket was supposed to bring England to its knees, and then the V2 was supposed to finish the job. I’ve talked to people who know these things and the V1 flies so slowly and predictably that it can actually be shot down. The V2 is much faster but neither of them can be aimed with even the slightest degree of accuracy. They only thing they can guarantee hitting is the ground. Did you know that thousands of both rockets were aimed at the Tower Bridge in London and not one of them hit it? Thousands were fired, but not one hit. Not only that, but their warheads are too small. Even a direct hit on Target 42, which was the Luftwaffe’s name for the Tower Bridge, wouldn’t have destroyed it.”
He angrily and petulantly stamped his foot. Anton had wandered close to the corpse and his mother pulled him back. Astrid averted her eyes. She had no wish to see more death.
“Damn it to hell,” Gustav continued to rage. “Germany is being betrayed by the scientists. I’ll bet they are all Jews pretending to be real Germans.”
The fire was rapidly burning itself out. The local fire and police continents had arrived and contented themselves with containing it. The dead pilot had been pulled from the ground and laid on a stretcher. The impact had flattened the man’s body and left a rough outline of his corpse indented in the ground. She shuddered. At least he’d died quickly. Or she hoped he had.
Gustav Schneider decided that the show was over and they all headed back to the house. Lena maneuvered so she was last. They hadn’t noticed her and she had not spoken. Only Anton had been aware of her presence. He had turned and looked at her. The glance had turned into a stare and then into a leer. Her dress was an old one and the hem was too short, showing more of her legs than she realized she should have.
He grinned and winked. She turned away and walked just a little faster.
* * *
When Ernie Janek presented himself to the Marine guard at the U.S. embassy in Bern, he expected to be told to wait. The summons from the old man in the park had been simple—be at the embassy at ten in the morning. To his surprise there would be no waiting. He was immediately ushered into a small room with a card table and two chairs. Not impressive, was Ernie’s first thought.
The old man entered and took a seat. A servant brought coffee and cakes and left. There was silence while they enjoyed the coffee. Switzerland might be neutral, but good, real coffee was still rare and the cakes were excellent. Even better, from Ernie’s perspective, they were free.
“My name is Allen Dulles, Captain, and I am in charge of all the OSS activities in the area. I won’t be more specific for security reasons and the fact that my job seems to change every day, if not every hour. Just for
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