He was holding her close as they danced, closer than she cared to be held. She knew her palms were moist and she swallowed hard every time he pressed especially close to her. Turning in time to the soft music, she tried not to feel his swollen rod prodding at her lower belly. He was tense, obviously excited by the closeness of her body. When he spoke, his voice startled her.
"You dance very well," he said.
"Thank you, Dieter," she said with an automatic, meaningless smile.
Dieter's hand slid down her back to rest at the top of her pert rump. "Imagine," he said. "Karin Schmidt. I still can't get over it. I didn't believe it was you in the cafe. How long has it been, really?"
Karin twisted her body slightly until Dieter moved his hand upward. "A long time," she said.
'Too long," Dieter whispered in her ear as his cheek nuzzled to hers. His hand slid down to her rump, then crept to her hip and began moving down her thigh. He attempted to nibble at her earlobe. His hands began to wander over her body, seemingly everywhere at once as he jabbed at her with his prominent manhood.
The song ended and the radio announcer's voice jarred the spell Dieter was attempting to cast. Karin sighed with relief. She drew away from Dieter. She fussed uneasily with her hair, feeling for the moment as though a rash had erupted wherever his hands had touched her. She was being foolish, she thought. She had been committed to a memory long enough; the past was dead and it was time to live again. She had to start living again. But this pawing and clawing from an old school chum who sought to renew acquaintance too rapidly was so-so repulsive.
The radio began to play music again and Karin stood stiffly, feeling awkward, waiting for Dieter to seize her again. When he didn't, she looked at him. She felt a small chill in her spine when he took her hand.
"I don't want to dance anymore," Dieter said hoarsely. He slapped his leg. "Old soccer wound," he explained.
Karin nodded. "Would you like more wine?" she said.
"Later, perhaps. Right now, the sight of you is enough to intoxicate me," Dieter said. "Let's sit down on the couch and talk while I give this leg a rest."
Karin tensed visibly at Dieter's suggestion but she said nothing. I must, she thought. The past is gone. Gone. Begin to live now. Tonight. He isn't here to guide me anymore. I must go on alone. I must begin somewhere. "Do you mind if I have some wine?" she said.
"That's what I brought it for," Dieter said, pleased. "I'll pour it for you." His eagerness was transparent, as obvious as the looming bulge in his pants.
He joined her on the couch, sitting close to her at once. Karin sipped pensively on her wine. It sent an immediate, dizzying warmth to her head and she clung to that warmth and willed herself to remain relaxed when Dieter's arm went across the back of her neck to drape possessively over her shoulders.
Dieter rested his hand gingerly on Karin's thigh. "Here we are," he said in a low voice.
"Yes," Karin managed. She took bigger, quicker sips from her wine.
"This is like a dream come true," Dieter said. "I've always been very fond of you, you know." He inched closer to Karin. His hand clutched at her upper arm and he drew her close to him.
Karin cast a side-wise glance at Dieter. He was staring, undressing her with his eyes and that realization sent a flush creeping into her cheeks. She wished fleetingly that her blouse did not follow so closely the ample contours of her outthrust breasts. She wanted to double over to hide them as his eyes raked over them. Her skirt had ridden up much too far; she regretted wearing net hose, stockings that so enticingly enhanced her rich, creamy thighs. To tug down her skirt now would be a prudish gesture. She decided to do nothing, to say nothing. She waited. The wine glass was nearly empty.
". .. you went away," Dieter was saying, "I was at loose ends. There were other girls, of course, but I never forgot you, Karin, truly I didn't. I was tempted to follow you to Munich but a job offer came along and I had to stay here in Oberhausen. Humph. Stuck here in this crummy little town with those bastard Americans all over us like so much moss. I-" Karin interrupted. "I don't think it's a 'crummy little town,' " she said quietly. "Sometimes a person is so close to something that he or she doesn't miss it until it's taken away. I know one thing. I'm glad to be back."
"And I'm glad you're back," Dieter said, his voice a passionate wheeze. He shifted his body and kissed Karin hard, his tongue flicking at her lips until her mouth opened reluctantly. Her tongue met with his, pushing at it to expel it but he was insistent. His arm held her face in a vise until she had to gasp for breath.
There was barely time to recover. Before Karin could say a word, Dieter's hands were once again coursing over her body. His fingers were nimbly flying down the buttons on her blouse and suddenly his hand was at her snowy breasts, cavorting between her generous mounds of flesh before straining her bra to cup one firm breast, depressing her taut nipple.
"I-" Karin began. Her mind was reeling. It was too much, too sudden. There had been no time to get to know this man, to wonder if she would want him or need him as she had wanted and needed another man in the past. This was less tender desire and more animal lust. This was not the way to begin to live.
"My God, you're beautiful!" Dieter moaned. His free hand was beneath her skirt, snaking upward to the fullness of her thighs where they joined, to the warmth of her matted triangle cloaked by sheer panties, to the hot heat of her flesh, dormant so long and inexplicably moistened now.
Karin felt her resistance ebbing. There was a cruel brutality about Dieter's attack but there was a practiced sensuality about it, too, and she could respond to that. He was stimulating her artfully touching here and probing there, pinching and caressing, moving, drawing her up from her base of impassivity to newer and higher plateaus of hesitant satisfaction. Dieter's fingers had successfully assaulted her panties and she spread her legs slowly, absently, to allow him entry to her throbbing womanhood.
"Oh!" she gasped when he penetrated her puffy lower lips. She sank down on the couch, her hands fluttering weakly, aimlessly, her eyes half-closed, her mouth slack. She was dimly aware of Dieter undressing her and she shifted her body to make it easier for him. He bared her breasts and lingered lovingly on each nipple with his lips, teasing, annointing her with soaring sensations of desire. Her flat belly heaved with emotion, her body seemed afire with a rampant need.
Dieter ceased his expert ministrations to tear at his own clothing. Karin gazed down at her sprawling form clad only in garter belt and net stockings. It seemed so idiotic now to have denied herself the fruits of life she had enjoyed so fully only a month or so before. Here was a marvelous body wanting to be satisfied, needing to be satisfied. Dieter's fingermarks were still faint red streaks on her jutting breasts tipped by nipples so distended they ached. Her tiny navel rose and fell with her breathing and her skin seemed to glisten tautly stretched over her hip bones. Her widespread legs were perfectly proportioned, neither heavy nor thin. It was a delightful moment of self-appraisal that ended with a jolt when her eyes wandered to Dieter's naked body.
"No!" Karin's cry was involuntary, passing her lips before she could control her impulses. Her eyes widened at the sight of Dieter's stiff penis bobbing jerkily as he kicked away his pants.
Dieter collapsed beside her on the couch. He took her hand and led it to his rigid penis. She clasped him loosely until his hand folded over hers to tighten her grip. "What's the matter?" he panted.
Karin pulled her legs together. She pushed her way to a sitting position once more. She cowered against the arm of the couch, drawing up her legs, one arm across her breast as she huddled apprehensively. Her mouth worked but no words came out.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" Dieter said loudly. He tried mounting her but his leg slipped away. He attempted to fondle her breasts but her arm remained inflexible, pressing down on her mounds to make them spread with ugly flatness over her chest.
"Can't," she grunted.
"What? Come on, Karin, don't be silly. Come on," Dieter coaxed.
Karin shook her head numbly. It couldn't be, not this way. It should have been easy but it was impossible. The mental barrier was up, triggered by sighting Dieter's potent tool. The memories had flooded out desire and need and want. To commit herself now would be profaning those idyllic days and nights together, condemning to oblivion the rapturous hours shared with another man, an incomparable man. She couldn't. Not this way. Not yet.
"I can't," she said softly. She shivered. Dieter made another valiant, more frantic effort to get past Karin's defenses and failed.
"Jesus!" he snorted. He sank back, then rallied, his fingers closing over Karin's hand as she clung limply to his vibrant tool. He pressed his weight against Karin, touching her where he could, showering kisses on her exposed skin until his hips began to move rhythmically.
"Please," Karin said, "please don't. I can't."
"I want to have you. You want me to, you know it. Why did you let me go this far. You've got to let me have you!"
Karin squeezed her eyes shut. "I can't!" she said from between clenched teeth.
"You won't let me?"
Karin wanted to scream. Why did he keep at her this way? Why wouldn't he believe her. Her refusal was becoming a chant, a litany. "I can't," she said tonelessly.
"Jesus Christus, help me!"
"There isn't-" "There is. Do as I tell you," Dieter said, his words running together. "Stay still. Yes, that's right. Hold me. Don't let go. No, tighter than that. Like this. No, like this. There. Keep your hand just as it is .. : oh, that's good, yes, good, good, good."
With her eyes shut tightly she felt Dieter's rocking motions swaying her body on the couch. She held on to his penis, his hand folded over hers until she felt it become harder, totally inflexible. Then there was the surprise of a searing, sticky liquid spewing in jets across her hip, oozing down her leg. She failed to comprehend what had happened for a long moment. Then she opened her eyes and stared down at the viscous, whitish fluid pooled on her flesh. Her voice was unnaturally shrill when she spoke.
"In the bathroom-a box of tissues. You'll see it by the sink. Go now."
"I'm sorry," Dieter said. "It was stupid."
"Go and get the tissue," Karin said ...
Once dressed, a few more glasses of wine helped soften the stunning impact of Dieter's act. His genuine contribution helped, bombarding her until she could place his desperation in a different perspective. It was, after all, her fault. He was only a man, not an incomparable man. If there seemed little sense to her in what he'd asked her to do for him, there was no sense at all in the way she had behaved, but there was no point in explaining all that to Dieter now. It was best to forget it. As an adult woman of twenty-six, she saw no value in being childish forever.
Conversation was halting at first, then flowed more freely with the wine. Their mutual reminiscences brought laughter, a good sound that filled the room. The radio played mellow music. They danced again with no tension this time. And no hint of the supposed gameness in Dieter's leg. An hour passed quickly until Dieter asked the question, that question everyone in the small town of Oberhausen had asked her since her return.
"It was bad in Prague, wasn't it?"
She gave Dieter the same answer she'd given everyone. "I don't want to talk about it," she said.
"Oh. Excuse me."
The tone of Dieter's voice and the expression on his face told her she had disappointed him. It made her feel guilty. The people in town had been kind and sincere with her since her return. They asked only a little and she had given them nothing. It was too soon to give but no one understood.
Dieter didn't understand, either. He insisted on pressing ahead.
"Did they, I mean the Russkis, did they, uh, well, you know, ah-" Did they rape you? Was it Berlin all over again? The questions were so plain in the eyes of the townfolk, in Dieter's eyes, too. She gave nothing. "I don't want to talk about it," she said wearily.
"Uh huh. Well, it's late. I'd better let you get some sleep," Dieter said in a tone that implied he knew now all he'd wanted to know, all he cared to know, all the townfolk cared to know. So small a town with minds equally as small, she thought.
Dieter paused at the door. "Will I see you in the cafe tomorrow?"
'I don't know. I'm not sure I'll keep that job."
"You're not going back to Munich, are you?"
"No. I was thinking of going to work for the Americans. Putzi-" "Putzi?"
"You remember-the girl in pigtails who sat behind us. Her mother was as big as a house."
"Oh, yes. She's working for the Americans?"
"For over a year, she said. She's making a lot of money as a maid, much more than I'm making."
"So you want to go to work for the Americans?" There was scorn in Dieter's voice. Those bastards are a blight on us, on all of Germany. Hitler was right, you know. They're subhuman, those Americans. Did you ever study them, look into their faces, notice the way they act?"
Karin frowned. "I don't see anything wrong with them. At least nothing that isn't wrong with anyone or everyone."
"That's the kind of liberal tolerance that will destroy Germany," Dieter said forcefully. "A good German doesn't think that way!"
"A good student of history doesn't talk the way you do," Karin shot back. "Furthermore, there is no need for you to remind me about good Germans. My father served in the Afrika Korps and was killed at Stalingrad. That's what a good German did for your Hitler!"
"The Americans did it!" Dieter snorted. "If they hadn't given aid-" "The Russians did it, damn it!" Karin said angrily. "You talk like a Communist!" She tried to calm down. "I had enough of that in Prague," she said in a softer voice.
"I'm sure you had enough of everything in Prague, enough to turn you away from a German man," Dieter said sarcastically.
Karin stiffened, her eyes blazing hate. "I don't think we'll be seeing each other any more," she said coldly. "I know who you were but I don't know what you are and I don't care for what you are. Good night, Dieter."
Dieter held open the door Karin attempted to close. "I was right and this proves it!" he said bitterly. "You're turning me away!"
"No, Dieter, you're wrong. I'm not turning you away, just your warped mind. Goodbye, Dieter." She shut the door.
Dieter's words were muffled. "You'll be sorry you did this, do you hear? Do you hear?"
Karin pressed her back against the door. When she heard Dieter's footsteps stomping away, her body sagged. She leaned against the door until she'd regained her composure. Then she started for her lonely bed ...
Sleep did not come. Dieter's phrases made her restive. A good German, indeed. What was good or bad in the world anymore? Could he judge? Could she? She could only know by what she had seen, by what had been demonstrated to her in her travels, her experiences. There was no good in letting Dieter's radical thoughts disturb her rest. He was the proverbial marcher who claims everyone is out of step but him. There was comfort in being back home after her ordeal. She was home with her burden, as safe as she dared to be until she freed herself of her enormous responsibility and so many of her vivid memories. For now, it was late and she was home.
Home was Oberhausen, a sleepy village nestling on the Bavarian flat land that sweeps out and away from the lofty German Alps. There were two taverns, a butcher shop, a drugstore, a cafe, and a grocery store in Oberhausen. The police force was ridiculously small and flexible and one dear old man ran, and had run for years, the town's post office and train depot. In the memories of the town's inhabitants, only two noteworthy things worth mention had occurred in fifty years. One was the great war which took the husbands and sons from the tiny village and returned only a third of them when peace came. The other was that peace and the arrival of its enforcers, the Americans.
Oberhausen was small, perhaps too small for the quiet townfolk to co-exist with the brash Americans who dwelled in the former German Army base up on a hill overlooking the town. The Germans had their tavern, the "Amis" theirs.
Young German men had their women, the "Amis" theirs. The uneasy truce was violated occasionally-a few days before a young girl had been raped by a drunken American and two German toughs were still loose after severely beating an American sergeant. But there was peace of sorts. And it was Karin's home. She'd been born and raised there with the Americans entering her life when she was three, just old enough to wonder about a father who was one of the two-thirds who did not come home from the war.
Karin grew straight and tall in Oberhausen. In her early teens, her mother died and Karin lived with an uncle for a time, one of the few uncles in town who did not molest his niece.
Karin matriculated late to the University of Munich and while there took a year out of school to work for tuition. She also lost her virginity to a dashing history professor after a lively discussion of the Punic Wars. She was much better at history than sex, she learned, and thereafter lived without it through her Master's Degree. Because of a dramatic rebirth of freedom in Czechoslovakia, and because of a little-known but dynamic contemporary history professor named Fedor Budcik teaching there, Karin elected the University of Prague for her Ph.D. studies.
Aware of the adage that those who cannot learn from history are doomed to repeat it, Karin promptly fell in love with Fedor. He was a gregarious man, mostly, with a booming laugh and a shock of unruly hair. He could be gremlin or tyrant, servile or arrogant, humble or proud but all the while he taught and he drew from Karin thoughts and ideas she labored to form for him until there was nothing left but love and she gave that to him as well.
They began living together in an austere flat in Prague which Fedor was awarded because of his status at the university. They would breakfast on rolls and sweet butter washed down with strong black coffee before going off to school. In the evenings, Fedor would tutor Karin, or read. Or they would go to the avant-garde cinema. Fedor would emerge from their flat and sniff the air. "Smell that? That's the air of freedom!" he would roar.
Naked, he appeared larger than life, his strong penis seemingly independent of his body. He prepared to have Karin with the ferocity of an ape but he was as gentle with her flesh as a soft rain and when he withdrew limp and spent, she always felt he had left her with more of his spirit than he had taken of hers. When she mentioned this tenderness in him he rejected it, scoffing, "You Germans are either at peoples' throats or at their feet!" When she would pout at this, he would say, "I admired your Adenauer. There was a man! I thank Germany for Bach, Beethoven, and Brahms-and especially for you, my love."
Fedor picked up the first rumblings of change as early as June and his mood changed drastically. He became snappish and brusque with all his students and especially Karin. She would watch him leave their flat several nights a week, something he hadn't done before. He would return with papers and Karin was amazed to discover, one day, a highly professional microfilm apparatus under the bed. Fedor spoke less of love. He had talked with her of marriage, eventually, but they were the intellectually elite; marriage was for earth-bound mortals, for the conventional. Now he spoke of marriage not at all but rather of dark premonitions. He took great pains in showing her capsules of microfilm and disappeared for a day or two at the time.
In early August, he startled and puzzled Karin by presenting her with what appeared to be a realistically stained sanitary napkin. "If anything happens to me," he told her, "I want you to put this on and run like hell for the German border. If anything happens, you will be searched. This search will be extremely personal in nature. This napkin may help you avoid that. When you get back to Germany, cut the napkin open. Take the microfilm capsules and turn them over to the authorities." In answer to her quizzical glance, he said, "The end of the world is near. People will have to know what has happened here. You can help tell them."
On the morning of the twentieth of August, the metallic clatter of tank treads awakened them both. Fedor bounded from bed with a bellow and dressed hurriedly. He stood by the side of the bed then and looked down at Karin wordlessly for perhaps a minute before he bent to tenderly kiss her. "They are here," he said. "You must go. Do everything I said or you will fail the biggest course in history I've ever taught. Do not wait for me. Go to the train station and go back to Germany. I will join you when I can. Goodbye, my love," he said Then he was gone.
At three twenty-two on the afternoon of August twentieth, Professor Fedor Budcik was shot to death by a short burst of machine-gun fire from a Soviet tank as he was in the act of heaving a Molotov cocktail at the same tank. The firebomb burst on the tank's turret but the crew of the tank emerged uninjured.
Karin learned of Fedor's death at the border checkpoint prior to being searched. Instead of weeping, she held her head high and proud as the hatchet-faced female guard humiliatingly probed her vagina. The sanitary napkin was not examined but the guard remarked that Karin was having an unusual menses, at best. It was the last comment she heard from a Czechoslovakian and she didn't write it down for posterity ...
At dawn, Karin rose from bed and stood by a partially open window. She stared, unblinking, as the sun rose. She was bone-tired, mentally drowned in thoughts of Fedor. The sun began to climb in the sky and she remembered Fedor's last words. "Goodbye, my love," he had said to her. He had known they would never meet again, she was sure. His secrets lay untouched in her bureau drawer. The night had been dark but now the sun was bright and it was a new day born for new things. Perhaps that's what Fedor had meant when he asked her not to wait for him. She turned away from the window and went back to bed.
She slept soundly.
Later in the day she awoke when the mailman stumbled on the steps as he delivered her mail. She got up from bed and went to the door. It was a letter, a single letter. She glanced at the address and shrugged. She tossed the letter on the table and went back to bed. The letter could wait. She was too sleepy to read.
Chapter Two
They were four Airmen in similar circumstances sitting at a table in the Airman's Club at Kirchenfeld Air Base. Con Trent, leader of the small group because he'd been restricted to the base most often, was holding forth on his favorite subject. Why, he asked as he had asked so many times before, would the powers that be not allow German beer in the club? His fellow restrictees grunted their agreement and continued to belt their Bud and Miller's. Con glanced at the three vacuous faces around the table. He sniffed with disgust and got up unsteadily from his chair. He wobbled to the bar to order another round.
He didn't notice the thin, prissy figure Airman Keane at once. Only when Keane spoke to him did he acknowledge the rumored fag's existence. He caught only part of Keane's sibilant speech as he stared into Keane's owlish eyes nestling like poached eggs behind thick glasses. He asked Keane to repeat himself while he suppressed a desire to rearrange Keane's teeth.
"I said you're pretty lucky," Keane said, his high voice rising a decibel. "Your transfer came! down today-approved."
Con straightened slowly. He extended a powerful arm and rested it on Keane's fragile shoulder. "You better be saying it straight, son, because if you're joking, I'm personally going to I carve you a new bunger."
Keane seemed to shrink to half his size. "I'm not kidding, Trent, honest. I saw the papers on the First Shirt's desk. No need to get mad, huh?"
Con blew out a long breath. After five tries, it had finally come through. The last little escapade must have done it. Even the base commander had visited the scene of Con's by now legendary water fight with all the other Airmen in the cryptography section. He had wanted them to be rid of them and now they had seen the light. Thank God!
"When do I leave?" Con said to Keane.
Keane said, "It's strictly unofficial, of course, bat you'd probably be notified tomorrow. Don't say I told you." Keane's eyes pleaded with Con until they received a reassuring nod.
Feeling suddenly expansive, Con clapped Keane hard on the upper arm. "You know, Keanie, I always thought you wouldn't make a good pimple on a pig's butt. I was wrong about you. You're okay, Keanie, I mean it. How about having a beer with us prisoners?"
"Oh, I couldn't do that," Keane simpered. "You understand."
"I understand. You keep your nose clean. There's just a smudge of brown there on the tip. You run along and play with your dollies, son. I understand perfectly." Con roared with impetuous laughter when Keane misunderstood and rubbed his nose vigorously before looking at his fingers.
The news was greeted with howls of delight tack at the table. All four Airmen were ejected from the Club.
Next morning, Con's hangover was dulled somewhat by the official word to appear at base headquarters in his fatigues. The First Sergeant was impressed. He scowled up at Con from behind bushy eyebrows.
"You're leaving," the First Sergeant said tersely.
"I'll drink to that," Con said.
The First Sergeant fanned his nose with a hamlike hand. "You already have, apparently," he said dryly to Con. He studied Con. "Weren't you told to report in dress uniform?"
"Both sets are at the cleaners. I didn't have the money to get them out. I wasn't going anywhere anyway."
"You could have afforded a pack of gum," the First Sergeant grumbled. He was about to say more when the adjutant came from the commander office and told the First Sergeant to send Trent in.
The base commander sat behind his desk like a benign Buddha figure. He watched Con's entry into the office, his fingers drumming idly on the desk top. Con's records were open on the desk. He lazily returned Con's sloppy salute.
"Ordinarily I ask my Airmen to stand at ease but you're an exception, Trent," the commander began in a low key. He glanced down at Con's record folder before fixing Con with a malevolent stare. "You're a hard case, aren't you?"
"No-sir," Con answered, hesitating before affording the officer his title of respect.
"Oh. Then you think you're a hard case?"
"No-sir." Again. Con allowed his posture to slip from strict attention to a slouch.
"Stand at attention!" the commander snapped. When Con straightened with a bored expression, the commander went on, choosing another vein.
"I can't understand you, Trent," he said, tapping Con's records. "You were top flight in SAC before your reduction in grade. You were nine level, it says here. You had a lot on the ball. What happened to you?"
"Nothing-sir." Con was not stirred by the where-did-we-go-wrong approach.
The commander cited Con's infractions in a monotone. "Two article fifteens, thirteen discrepancy reports, base restrictions too numerous to mention and all this in the face of superior rating reports from your section heads. It doesn't add up, Trent. Now that you're leaving, perhaps you could add it up for me?"
"I'm bad at figures, Commander," Con said.
The officer flushed. "Mind your mouth, Airman, or you'll be charged with insubordination!" The flush receded as the commander went on. "I've called you in to explain to you that I have the authority to remove most of these blots from your records before they're forwarded to your next station. I was prepared to do that, Trent, but your attitude-stand at attention, I said-has given me no choice and that's too bad. Your records will go forward as they stand. I wish I could say I'm sorry."
"One of the sorriest," Con muttered beneath his breath.
The commander's face turned crimson. "You're dismissed!"
Con executed perhaps the smartest salute of his military career and pivoted expertly in an about-face movement. He marched crisply to the commander's door, his brogans thudding on the floor. The commander's voice detained him at the "One more thing, Trent. I won't order you to tell me but I'm curious about one thing. What started that water fight?"
Con looked over his shoulder with traces of a mischievous smile playing about his lips. "The water-sir," he said. Then he jerked open the door, stepped through the doorway and closed the door softly behind him. He stopped at the First Sergeant's desk and asked for his pass.
The First Sergeant fumbled with a key that unlocked the drawer holding suspended passes. While doing so, he gave Con an I-hope-he-reamed-your-butt look but said nothing He tossed Con's pass at him.
"You're a pussycat, Top," Con said.
"I hope he reamed your butt," the First Sergeant said aloud.
"He sends you his love," Con said.
"You son of a bitch!"
"That's the nicest thing anyone has said to me all day," Con said. "Can I have my processing forms now?"
"I'd like to process you - right into the stockade," the First Sergeant snarled. He thrust Con's shipping orders at him.
Con blew the First Sergeant a kiss which brought the sergeant to his feet. Con wisely hurried from the office.
Strolling through the ritual out-processing procedure, Con reflected on the commander's remarks. For Con, it was an uncharacteristic thing to do. He had trained himself not to think about such things ever since his demotion, down two grades in one fall, at a Strategic Air Command base back in the States.
He had soured and he knew it. He had never quarreled with the spot demotion because only six months before he had received those two stripes in an incentive spot promotion. What he quarreled about inside himself and what had soured him was the reason. He had stopped being vocal about it but that didn't make it any less wrong or unjust, not for a nine level who was moving upward, who was ultra-conscientious about his work.
Security leak. A SAC investigation team had fined it on him and made it stick. The evidence was flimsy, hearsay contributed by a ranking noncommissioned officer who'd feared Con was after his position. Against such telling damnation, Cost's day in court had been a mockery. The sentence had been preconceived, he still felt, and we'd lost two stripes. He'd requested, and got, a transfer out of SAC, overseas where he could begin again when the bitter taste was gone.
Kirchenfeld had proved no better, if not worse, than his former duty station. The only thing that saved ins remaining three stripes was his admirable knowledge in the field of cryptology. The only thing that saved him from becoming an open rebel was the presence of Judy McCann, a voluptuous Red Cross worker assigned to the Kirchenfeld base hospital complex. She was from Keokuk, Iowa, a totally open and honest woman he met while bedded down with a bizarre case of the mumps at the ripe age of twenty-seven.
Judy McCann. Jude, he'd come to call her. Odd that he hadn't thought about her till now. He had no intention of telling her about his departure, of course. It wasn't heartlessness, just practicality, he told himself. Though their stormy affair had been aflame for a year, he was sure she would survive without him. He did not doubt the sincerity of her feelings for him but the line of Airmen ready t fill his shoes formed at the right.
He would miss her. No, that wasn't exactly it. He would miss her body, her heavy-breasted tight-channeled form perpetually bronzed all over by a sun lamp she kept in her apartment of the base. He had sunned and sinned, slept and showered with those clinging arms and sleek legs of hers. He had run his fingers through her red-tinged hair above and below her waist. The hair below her belly was darker, coarser, but more satisfying and closer to the source of her charm. Tonight would be the last time he saw her and he hadn't been to her apartment in the nearly two weeks he'd been restricted to the base. It should have been a time for jubilation, for ecstatic, marathon screwing Instead, he found himself looking forward to the evening with more than a bit of melancholia.
He took a cab to Judy's apartment, exchanging forced witticisms with the taxi driver, a pirate renown who overcharged with a winning smile Stepping from the cab, he asked the driver to return later before entering the building and making the long walk through the arch-ceilnged hallway that led to Judy's comfortable an comforting quarters. He had to rap twice at her door before he got a response.
He was barely inside the apartment when she was nearly atop him, her arms choking him , her lips kissing his breath away until he had to gasp for air. His mind delighted in the small squeals of delight coming from her throat. He let her have her way until he was able to hold her at arm's length "You look beautiful," he told her. "Let's screw."
She threw a weak swing at him which was intended to miss and did. "You are impossible! How did you get off the base? Don't tell me you broke restriction!" Before waiting for an answer, she rushed into his arms and pressed herself against him.
His hands caressed her shoulders, her back, her saucy buttocks, pushing her against his energetic, stifled rod. "They lifted my restriction," he lied.
"Why didn't you come to the hospital to see me?" Judy wanted to know.
"I couldn't torture myself like that," Con said, meaning it. "Can you imagine the two of us together without being able to touch each other?"
"No," Judy said in a low voice, "I can't. Touch me now, darling. Touch me wherever you want to."
He did. Her body opened to him like a flower blooming and he stroked her breasts and her belly and probed at the junction of her thighs and torso through the fabric of her skirt until her clothing frustrated him and the ache below his belt had grown until it thumped with a strident demand for freedom. He was rough with her then, unable to disrobe her quickly enough until she had to push him away and finish the task herself.
When she was naked, she stepped close to him and fondled his bulging crotch. She undid his zipper with maddening slowness, then reached in to pull out his pulsating member. "Poor baby," she cooed, looking down at it, cradling it in the palm of her hand. "Jude missed the poor baby, yes, she did. Come to Jude now, baby."
"Oh, Christ," Con wheezed. He wanted to brush her hand away from his impetuous flesh but she was hurting too well and yet there was the business of freeing himself from his encumbering clothing to feel the length of her naked body against his. His temples pounded and his forehead felt stretched tight. "Let me get ready, damn you," he rasped from a dry throat.
Judy had another, more imperative idea. She leaned her breasts against Con's chest and left twin streaks with the pressure of them down the front of his shirt, over his belt, further down, down until she trapped his raging penis between her tanned, dark-nippled orbs. Pressing her breasts together, she moved up and down on her legs while she continued crooning to Con's ardent pole.
Then, before he could pull away with the savage lust he was beginning to feel, her face was confronting him and her mouth was opening to accept his turgid virility. His knees grew weak and he clutched at handfuls of her hair as her head moved to and fro, her tongue anointing the tip o him, the underside of his shaft.
"You're driving me crazy!" he moaned. He tore at his shirt, popping a button before tugging free of his belt. He whipped his tee shirt over his head and fumbled with his belt. As Judy administered to him, he pushed his trousers down over slim hips until the weight of them dragged them over his legs to the floor. He wobbled back and forth as he removed his shoes. Judy clung to him all the while, her squeals almost inaudible now. Finally, with resignation, he was forced to pull away from her, then further away as she sought to follow him on her knees, her breasts jiggling teasingly as she crawled after him.
"I want to suck the life out of you," she said with a taunting tone.
"Never happen," Con grunted, skimming off his shorts. He squatted and gave Judy's shoulders a light shove. She toppled backward and fell on her rump, her legs akimbo. He dropped to his knees between her legs and leaned forward, his eyes meeting hers with an intense stare.
"So you wanted to tease, eh?" he said.
Judy writhed beneath him. Her legs snaked up to his ribs and she took him between them, erasing her ankles. "No," she said. 'Take me."
"Supposing we just wait a little while so I can enjoy the scenery," he said. "Mmm mmm, look at that, two vanilla cones and each one topped with a ruby red cherry. Looks delicious."
"Cut it out, hon," Judy panted. She tried to rise, to grab at Con's penis bobbing pendulously above her flesh. She couldn't quite reach. "Put it into me, you devil," she whined.
"Just a little snack first," Con said, bending to Judy's breasts. He took each nipple between his lips until both were unwrinkled and upright. Then he nibbled at each in turn, flicking his tongue soothingly over them until Judy began to bang her head against the floor.
"Now, now, now!" she cried.
"Now," Con echoed. He eased down to her hips on the rise to meet him. She was able to take him then, to guide him, and she led him to the edge of her damp cranny. She stopped. She giggled.
"You wouldn't dare!" Con thundered.
Judy's expression changed. Her eyes glowed as she licked her lips. She tugged him one last inch and then he was within her constricted tunnel, hi? rod coursing hard and deep. His motions became rhythmic, driving, retreating, driving forth again and again. A look of bewilderment crossed his face when he felt himself rising to completion too quickly.
"You had to play around, huh? You little vixen, look what you're doing to me!" he said.
"Don't stop, don't, Con, I'm - I'm coining!"
Con exploded at the same time, his pen ; tensing spasmodically to fill her crevice with life fluid while he was surrounded by her warm liquids. He sagged against her, her hips and breasts buttressing his body.
They dressed quietly, each watching the other put on layers of clothing that hid the naked splendor of the other for both of them. They exchanged little conversation, each sated, each filled with wandering thoughts. Con offered Judy a cigarette and Judy took German beer from her small refrigerator. They drank in silence until Con glanced at his watch. He finished his beer in one swallow and stood up.
"I've got to be going," he said. The words sounded alien in his ears.
Judy's surprise was genuine. "You're not staying over?"
"They gave me a mini-pass," Con lied. "Got to check in by midnight. It's just as well. I got a big day tomorrow." He started to leave. He had his hand on the door latch when Judy's words froze him where he stood.
"You weren't going to tell me at all, were you?" Her voice was filled with sadness.
Con turned to her. He didn't have to say anything; it was on his face and she was reading it.
Judy lowered her eyes and wedged her fingers together. Her thumbs moved in jerky, nervous movements. "Why?" she said.
Con tried to bluff. "Tell you what? Why what?"
"You're leaving." It sounded so final when she said it.
Con nodded slowly. "Yes," he said. "How did you know?" He felt a sudden urge to maim the thoughtless person who'd told Judy that he was being transferred.
"There isn't much a girl can't know if she listens," Judy said, her voice straining. "I missed you. I wanted to call you a hundred times in these last two weeks but I didn't think I ought to. Two men from your section were in. They dropped your name and I was instant radar. They were talking about your going away." She paused, choked back a sob, then went on.
"You weren't going to tell me, Con. Why? For God's sake, why? Is there someone else?"
"No."
"Don't He, Con. I could take that easier than knowing you were just walking out on me."
"It wouldn't have been any easier if I told you," Con said. "There isn't anyone else. I requested a transfer and it came through, that's all" He felt miserable.
"I'm coming with you," Judy blurted. "You can't. It's a small base. I can't even remember the name of it but I know they have no authorization for non-military American personnel except dependent wives and children." "You seem well-versed on the place for not knowing the name of it."
"I looked into it. Don't you think I didn't consider asking you to go with me? When I found out I couldn't take you, I decided it was best to simply disappear from your life." It sounded convincing and Con felt ashamed at lying so persuasively.
"You should have left that decision up to me." Judy said. "You had no right to toy with me like that. You've been too much to me, Con."
"I feel the same way, dammit, but there's nothing else to do," Con snapped.
"You were all my tomorrows," Judy said with a catch in her voice. "And now it's supposed to be over. Just like that, huh?" She attempted to snap her fingers and failed badly.
"We're going to have to forget each other. We never talked of anything serious, you know. I never once heard you mention marriage," Con said lamely.
"You never mentioned it either," Judy said. "You make it sound as if it was some kind of game we played."
"Maybe it was. What the hell, we're big kids. Kids play games."
"I don't believe that. Do you?"
"I don't know what I believe," Con said irritably. He flipped the latch and the door eased open. "I've got to go. I told the cab to come back."
"Thorough," Judy said harshly.
"Don't," Con said. "Let's part friends."
"Friends. Oh, we're close friends, all right. I hope you enjoyed my friendship tonight. You didn't want to pass up one last shot at the nooky, did you?" "Please?"
"Goodbye, Con. Stay well." "No goodbye kiss?"
"No kiss. Just goodbye. Get out, Con, please get out!" Judy doubled over with sobs.
"I'll write," Con said. He waited for an answer. Judy's sobs were tearing him apart. When he got no reply from her, he closed the door and walked heavily down the long hallway. The cab was waiting at the curb.
He got into the cab and leaned over the front seat He said to the driver, "You ever hear of a place called Oberhausen? It's somewhere around Munich."
They awarded him with two days' travel time and he used one day to journey to Munich. He checked in at a German hotel that looked to be compliant in its attitude toward female guests. He located Von Goethe Street by instinct and picked up a whore with elephantine breasts because her smile vaguely reminded him of Judy. The whore was worthy of her fee but she left a bad taste in his mouth and he threw her out of his room without enjoying the benefits of the night's stay he'd paid her for. He drank himself sleepy on cognac in the hotel bar and went to bed. Judy was the last thought on his conscious mind.
He was met at the Oberhausen train station by a weapons carrier that took him and his B-4 bags up the hill to the base, leaving him by the Headquarters building. He took his baggage inside wad entered the First Sergeant's office.
"Airman First Class Trent, Connor, AF1756432917, reporting as directed," he said with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. He looked down at the ornate plaque on the desk. It read, "MSGT Morton Howard, First Sergeant."
Sergeant Howard looked up from the crossword puzzle he was working. "What's a gnu?' he said with furrowed brow.
"What's new with you?" Con said.
Howard leaned back in his chair. "You say your name is Trent? Connor Trent?"
Con nodded and slipped a copy of his order across Howard's desk. "It's all there-for the thinking man," he said.
Howard sat up straight. "You must be the smart ass from Kirchenfeld, the reject," he said with an abrasive edge.
Con was about to reply when the office was well-filled by the entry of a tall, gorgeous woman. Her hair was swept back and her carriage was proud. The tight sweater she wore strained to encompass her breasts and her hips were glued to the skirt she wore. Her calves were feminine but muscular, her ankles trim, her feet diminutive in high heels. She met Con's eyes with alarming frankness when he stared at her.
"We try to keep it peaceful around here " Howard was saying. His eyes darted from Con to the woman.
"I wouldn't mind a piece of that myself," Con said softly. The woman smiled knowingly.
"Hilde, are those Airman Trent's records you have there?" Howard said to the woman.
Hilde nodded. "I was filing the 201 Form. Did you want to see it?"
"Yes. And that'll be all for the time being, Hilde."
Hilde met Con's glance once more before leaving Howard's office. Con turned his attention to Howard. "Nice," he said.
"Don't get any ideas," Howard said.
"Why not?" " "You ain't gonna like it here if you do," Howard said. "I don't think you're gonna like it here anyway. Duty hours are almost over for today. Take your stuff and go down to Supply. They'll give you bedding and a room in the transient quarters." "I'm in crypto," Con said. "Tell me tomorrow when you start processing, better get moving. Supply closes in fifteen "Sure thing, Top," Con said. "Get moving. And don't ever call me 'Top' again, Airman. This is the Air Force, not the "You bet, Top," Con said lightly. He left the Fist Sergeant's office. He was willing to bet it was more than coincidence that Hilde was passing through the hall. He stopped her and chatted briefly with her.
From his office, Howard watched. He chomped on his pencil, breaking it into halves. "He ain't gonna like it here," he muttered. "Not at all."
Con whistled tunelessly as he walked toward the Supply Office. He had the feeling he was going to it in Oberhausen. He was going to like it a lot in fact. He had to close his eyes three times before he could blot out the vision of Hilde's burgeoning breasts.
Chapter Three
The chair creaked sharply in complaint as Sergeant Howard swiveled around to watch Con out of sight. He scowled at Con's jaunty stride and turned back to the desk, the grim set of his jaw mirroring his inner feelings. Picking up the stub of the pencil he'd just broken, he doodled glumly with the crossword puzzle for a time without seeing it at all. His cognac-drenched mind labored to cope with this newest threat to his Hilde.
Thinking of her name was enough to make his flaccid rod twitch with life. He closed burning eyes and imagined the proud sweep of her naked breasts and his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth With concentration, he could recall the tormenting sweet muskiness of her body, the way she tortured him by moving around him in her apartment without a mother-loving stitch of clothing on grabbing him, biting his neck, and mussing his hair by running her fingers through it from bad to front. She'd got to him, damn her, and got to him good, too. And he wasn't about to lose her, not again.
Sergeant Howard picked up the receiver of his interoffice telephone and dialed Hilde's number. When her voice purred in his ear he felt a catch in his throat and had to sink back in his chair to compose himself before speaking to her. He cleared his throat gruffly and told her to bring him all of the new man's records. He cradled the receive and noted unhappily the trembling of his hand.
Hilde entered and Sergeant Howard noticed he was sweating. The click of her heels provided a measured beat for the sway of her flaring hips. He glanced at her for a long moment before turning his gaze away from the enticing majesty of her breasts jiggling toward him. He managed to focus on the top of his desk and waited until she was I very close before leaning forward in his chair. He could feel her staring down at him and he knew there was a provocative smile on her lips. There always was, damn her.
He lunged. Before she could react, his hand was under her skirt speeding upward past her knee to the warmth of her thighs, up past the dark stocking top, across the bare, tender smooth flesh to the clump of hair nestling unprotected at the crest of her legs. Seizing random strands of her coarse thatch between thumb and forefinger, he gently hugged her to him.
"Let go, you fool!" Hilde yipped with admirable restraint as she was forced to shuffle clumsily toward him.
"You just can't help throwing it around, can you?" Sergeant Howard growled. When she didn't answer, he tugged harder at her mons. "Can you?"
"What are you talking about? Have you gone crazy? Someone will see!"
"The hell with them. Don't play dumb with me, Hilde. You know what I'm talking about.
What's this between you and that new guy Trent? Do you think I didn't see you getting cozy with him out there in the hall, shoving your knockers in his face?"
Hilde attempted dignity. "I will not talk to you this way," she said. She reached for his arm but her hand stopped in midair as Sergeant Howard twisted his wrist and gathered a larger frond of hair in his fingers. He pulled her still closer, then reached up to tweak the tip of one of her outthrust breasts.
Hilde shivered as her eyes rolled upward. Her hand flew to her breast to comfort the offended nipple as she looked at him with pain evident in her eyes. "You don't want me to scream. It would have to be explained," she said in a soft voice. Her eyes pleaded with him to release her.
"Go ahead, yell. Blow your job. I let go and what have you got to explain when everybody comes running?"
Hilde pursed her lips as her body stiffened. She said, "This is not nice. There is nothing between me and the new man. Let go, now."
"Sure. If you let me come to your place tonight."
Hilde took a deep breath. "The Colonel..."
Mention of the commanding officer triggered a conditional reflex in Sergeant Howard. Without thinking, he dropped his hand from beneath Hilde's skirt. His eyes narrowed to slits. "What about him?"
"Colonel Dunn has requested I work with him this evening."
Sergeant Howard snorted. He wiped his forehead with his sleeve. "I think that's a lotta bull! Just another one of your cute tricks, ain't it? C'mon, babe, let me come to see you. I promise I won't get loaded or anything."
Hilde showed her anger. "I should not like you Morton, not at all. You hurt me and embarrass me and now you refuse to believe me. You treat me very badly." She pouted and made smoothing, soothing motions with both hands on her skirt, pressing down below her belly. In a milder tone she said, "It is perhaps stupid of me but I care for you anyway."
Sergeant Howard mellowed. He reached out, took her hand, and squeezed it. "Aww, damn it all, babe, I'm sorry. Listen, how about later, you know, when you and the C.O. are finished?"
Hilde shrugged. "It will be late. I will be tired."
"I gotta see you, babe. I mean it. I need to be with you real bad."
"Please understand, Morton. I cannot help myself. He has offered to drive me home. How can I refuse him?"
The son of a bitch! He's got a wife to go home to!" Hilde's smile was a knowing one. "Yes, I suppose she is that."
"Yeah," Sergeant Howard said bitterly. So she knows too, he thought. Aloud, he said, "Well, I guess it ain't in the cards for us tonight, huh?" "It is my job. I cannot refuse, as I have already told you."
""Yeah, yeah. All right, skip it. Just beat it out before I rape you."
Hilde gave him a broad wink. "Anytime, Morton, for sure."
Sergeant Howard found it difficult to stand. He half-rose threateningly from his chair, making sure Hilda noticed his condition. "Anytime? How about now?"
Hilde feigned shock and turned away but not before she let him see her lick her lips appreciatively. Then she taunted him with her hips as she left the office.
Sergeant Howard fell back in his chair, forcing his mind to gear down. He looked at his watch. Duty hours were over. Retreat had been sounded and the Headquarters staff was streaming from the building, all laughter and joking. Sergeant Howard grunted and checked his wallet. He stood easily now and ambled from his office after everyone else had left. To any passerby, the despair and disappointment etched into the homely features of his face could be mistaken for the aloofness of his position. But to him, there was only one cure for the rebuff he'd suffered at the hands of his commander and his sometime lover. He went to the mess hall and used his stripes and his place in the squadron hierarchy to squeeze ten dollars from the chief cook. He needed a drink.
Drink tended to turn Sergeant Howard inward to himself which made him very few friends but left him plenty of time for his thoughts. He needed that kind of time this evening for he felt betrayed | by the only two people he'd ever allowed to get close enough to him to hurt. And it hurt now. It hurt like hell. He took another drink and sank deeper into himself. The more deeply inward he went, the more difficult it was to see out until! Hilde and his commander merged as a single conspirator against him.
The hurt had been bad when he'd finally had to face the assumption Hilde was banging for the squadron commander. And after all the years of faithful service he'd given old man Dunn. He'd soldiered with the man at a boondock station in Oregon when Dunn was only a major and then had followed him to Korea to end up squashing rumors of a dose of South Korean clap that threatened to end Dunn's career when he was a light bird colonel. He'd stomped out that rumor so efficiently that even Dunn was moved to disbelieve the truth after he'd taken his last penicillin shot.
The two men had done another Stateside tour together and when this plush assignment had come down for Colonel Dunn, he'd requested his faithful Sergeant Howard be assigned to the same station to serve as his First Sergeant. The Air Force, moving in mysterious ways, actually agreed. So the talented officer and the aggressive sergeant had come to Oberhausen twenty-two months before. Dunn, with the silver eagles of a full colonelcy, had met and married an incredibly beautiful German girl named Lisa. Sergeant Howard had become entwined with the awesomely constructed Hilde Neubaur.
It was idyllic for a time. The two professionals worked as a team to complement and supplement each other in honing the squadron to military precision just as they had worked that wonder on so many other squadrons in the years of their association together. Each paid his price. Dunn's marriage to the seductive but flighty Lisa deteriorated in direct proportion to the amount of time he gave to his military duties while Sergeant Howard came to lean with increasing weight on Hilde's broad shoulders and comforting breasts. In a situation involving two men and one woman, a collision was inevitable. It came when Colonel Dunn noticed Hilde Neubaur.
It came, Sergeant Howard told himself now, when Hilde noticed Colonel Dunn. Yeah. Those silver eagles were up there on his shoulders and she had made a nest for them between her legs and the Colonel was thinking with his crotch, as usual, and here he was in a fast-emptying tavern in Oberhausen trying to drown the recognition of the situation in a sea of cognac. He gazed around the tavern with dull, unblinking -eyes, finished his cognac, and paid his bill.
Sergeant Howard staggered through the main gate, watched idly by two Air Policemen who said nothing to him, knowing that action would produce reaction in a man who had the power over their off-duty passes. Sergeant Howard gave the two of them a lopsided grin that let them know he was aware of their thoughts about that power. It made him brace his shoulders a bit but he still followed an erratic, zig-zag pattern toward the Headquarters building. He stopped and swayed unsteadily as he stared at the solitary light still lit in the building. He hiccoughed and turned away.
As he climbed into his cot, he was absently congratulating himself at having faced down those two miserable goddamn Air Cops, by God. Then he thought again of that light at Headquarters and he didn't want to know it was coming from the commander's office but it was. And he hated like hell to think Hilde was in that room with that man but she was, she had to be. He flopped his head back on the pillow and the room began to revolve But it still hurt deep inside where he'd gone tonight. It hurt real bad ...
Colonel Chester Dunn ran nervous fingers through his thinning hair and took the audacious liberty, to him, of loosening his tie. He straightened to ease the crick in his back, then bent back to the files. He leafed through the folders two more times before he was forced to admit the secret report was not there and that disturbed him. He stood straight again, tugged at his tie, and looked around. No, there was little sense in that. He could look around all night and it wouldn't change anything; Hilde wasn't there nor would she be there.
It was while he massaged his aching back that cool, rational, logical thought gave way to frustrated anger. "Goddammit, Hilde, where the hell did you put it?" he snarled. His voice boomed in the empty office and he immediately felt foolish. But still angry.
He paced back and forth across the room for a time while his anger built. He stepped to Hilde's desk and tried to open the wooden desk drawers but they were locked. At least she had taken that precaution, he thought. The secret report was probably locked in her desk safe and sound but that didn't help him, not when he needed it now. Not when Twelfth Air Force up at Wiesbaden was making authoritative noises about the consistent tardiness of security reports from the 304th ACWRON stationed at Oberhausen. Not when she was doubtlessly off screwing with Sergeant Howard. This last thought, the end product of his flaming anger, so jarred him he mentally sought to retract it. It wasn't true; she'd assured him that ridiculous affair was over. No, it couldn't be true.
Couldn't it? His mind refused to let go of the thought. Hadn't she seen Sergeant Howard this afternoon, and then hadn't she dodged him on the proposition of working late with him this evening? Hadn't she been more insouciant than usual when she'd returned from Sergeant Howard's office with a flush in her. cheek and her pert cheeks rolling from side to side with that slinky, screw-me walk she'd used on him so effectively?
This wasn't doing any good. There was still a good deal of work that could be done without the secret report. He would have to speak to her about that in the morning. Now then. There had been something about a new man joining the squadron. Where were his records? Oh, what the hell was the use of looking for records when you didn't even know what the man's name was? This was intolerable. Really. He would have to talk to her about these shortcomings in the morning. He placed soft white palms over his tired eyes.
He knew he wouldn't. He couldn't stand to, wouldn't dare to berate the woman who'd taken his mind from Lisa's foolishness. It was pointless to try concentrating on work when his thoughts had succumbed again to Hilde. Perhaps she hadn't gone out with Howard after all. How could she after Sunday? Sweet Sunday when he'd possessed her beautifully ripe body three times during the afternoon. The witch would have to be a nymphomaniac to want more than that. Was she?
Drop it, for Christ's sake!
She was in Howard's arms. An enlisted man\ God, how could she! His hands were all over her body and now she would be doing things with Howard's tool just as she had done on Sunday afternoon to his own. The bitch!
He would definitely have to talk to her in the morning. There would be much to talk about.
It had been a daring thing to do, making a pass at a woman who so obviously belonged to the First Shirt, and if Con Trent wondered then why he'd done it, he had the answer sitting across the table from him.
They were in a small German cafe. It had been Hilde's idea. She'd told him, on the way to Oberhausen, that the Americans didn't frequent this particular cafe, and he'd remarked he didn't mind. And he didn't. He'd done the same thing at Kirchenfeld before he'd met Judy. He'd come to learn the locals tolerated a solitary, quiet American. Besides, their women were prettier, cleaner, and more impressionable than the sluts who threw their big boobs and well-traveled gashes at the flyboys in the off-base American-type bars. It was apparently the same situation here in Oberhausen. Having taken the trouble to learn passable German, he could smile at the few dissenting mutters he heard from the old gentlemen in the corner, but other than that, his presence was largely unnoticed.
He leaned forward and asked Hilde, in German, what she wanted to order.
Hilde smiled and said, "You speak German well. Would you not be offended if we talked English? I must keep practicing, you see."
"Okay," Con agreed. It was easy to agree with a woman like Hilde. He wondered idly just how much of one of her breasts he could fit into his hand. It was a delightful way to pass the time. The appearance of the waitress took him away from his speculative study.
"May I help you?" the waitress said.
Con looked up at her then. "I-yesss, you may," he said. He smiled at her and she reacted to it. After consulting with Hilde, he ordered coffee and cake for two. He watched the waitress walk away.
"Attractive, isn't she?" Hilde said.
"Huh? Oh, yeah. Sorry, Hilde, I-" "Don't be silly. I am quite used to it. She has the blonde hair and blue eyes you Americans demand in every German girl, it seems. Sometimes I feel left out," Hilde concluded, meeting Con's eyes with a level gaze.
Con digested Hilde's hazel eyes, high cheekbones and full lips before letting his eyes wander again to her mammoth breasts. "You don't do so bad," he told her.
"Thank you, sir," Hilde said with too much boldness to be demure.
"Don't 'sir' me, baby, 'cause I'm just one of the working men."
"But you were a sergeant, nicht wahr?"
"You've been peeking," Con said. "Naughty, naughty."
"I did not mean to offend you, Connor. I had to process your records," Hilde explained.
"Call me Con," he said. "And you don't offend me at all. I hope I didn't offend you by being so forward back there at the base. It was very nice of you to come out with a total stranger."
"Please do not think me presumptuous, Connor, er, Con, but I think you invited me out for only two reasons. One, you are a stranger, as you say, and you want me to tell you about the squadron. Two, you are much too careless about the attention you are giving to my body." Hilde folded her hands on the table. "It is a good body and you would like to possess it."
Con threw up his hands in a mock gesture of surrender. "Kamerad," he declared. "Wow! I think I've just been shot down in flames. Seriously, Hilde, you're wrong. I asked you out because, well, because you're a nice lady," Con finished lamely. It was a bad lie, a lousy lie when he considered the accuracy of her appraisal of his intentions.
The waitress interrupted by bringing Con's order to the table. Con had time to look at the girl again. She did have blue eyes, bluer than his own. And she did fill out that prim, black uniform with an assortment of fast-breaking curves. Her skin was paler than Hilde's he noted, studying the fine blonde hair on her arms. Her fingers were slender but strong. He imagined them holding him, moving him. It seemed suddenly important he look at Hilde and when he did he saw only her heavy breasts and he felt twice as confounded. The waitress left. Con couldn't resist watching her go. If Judy's shoes were to be filled, that waitress had the trimmest pair of feet in town.
"Am I intruding?" Hilde said.
"Oops, screwed up again, didn't I? I'm sorry, Hilde, really I am," Con said with sincerity. "Let me make it up to you by seeing you home?"
"Anything to tear you away from that waitress," Hilde teased. She ate her cake and watched Con fight down his blush.
Con sipped at his coffee. He tried to sound disinterested when he said, "When do I get to meet the squadron C.O.?"
"Tomorrow you will be processing, clearing into the base. I have your clearance forms completed. You may pick them up from Sergeant Howard in the morning. You will meet Colonel Dunn sometime tomorrow afternoon."
"Tough cookie, is he?"
"He came to Oberhausen to reorganize the squadron. Some of the Airmen say he's trying to make a West Point here, whatever that means. They say it is good if you keep all your buttons buttoned and your shoes shined."
"I see. How about Sergeant Howard?"
"He works very closely with the Colonel. He's the Colonel's man, not a squadron representative. Be careful with him." "Why, because you're his private stock and I took you out?"
Hilde stiffened. "That has nothing to do with it." She went on, almost anxious to close off another question from Con.
"Your section is cryptology, ja? Your supervisor will be TSgt Imre Fenko. What kind of man is he, I know, I know, you need not ask. You will have to learn that yourself. There is one other man in the cryptology section. What else is there? Oh, yes. It is told to me the food served in the mess hall is terrible. The chief cook drinks a great deal, it is said, and in the dispensary the chief clerk is fond of napping on duty. Is there anything I have left out?"
"Just your rank and serial number," Con joked. "I think I'll be able to grope my way with the little road map of landmines you've just given me."
"One more thing," Hilde said. "What's that?"
"I was not wrong. You did want to find out about the squadron."
"Get your coat on," Con said, only half in jest. When the cab bearing Hilde and Con pulled to the curb in front of Hilde's apartment, Hilde said something to the driver in a Bavarian accent much too rapidly for Con to understand. Con helped Hilde from the cab and walked her to the front door.
"I guess this is it, then," he said. "I want to thank you for letting me take you out. And about that waitress thing - uh, well, you know. Maybe we can do it again sometime?"
"You are leaving?" Hilde seemed astonished at the idea.
"What did you have in mind?" "It is now your turn to be naughty, naughty," Hilde chided. "You must come in and see my apartment. I have American whisky. Please?"
There was a look on Hilde's face and a tone in her voice now and both hadn't been there before. Con liked the change. "Let me take care of the cab," he said.
Hilde dispatched the cab with a wave of her arm. She said, "It is taken care of. I told him you might stay. Come. This way."
Con began to feel vaguely apprehensive as he was ushered into Hilde's spacious apartment. Had he been a mark, a set-up? Was she a pro, plying her trade in the sanctity of the Headquarters building, of all places? The arrangement with the cabbie had looked too pat for his liking. Her closing and latching the door didn't help; it sounded like a rock being rolled in front of a cave. Con tried to remember how much he had left in his wallet from his reveling in Munich. He calculated quickly and reached a decision: he wanted her about forty D marks' worth. What the hell, the scenery of her knockers and the information she'd given him had already been worth just about ten bucks. Yeah, ten bucks for the novelty of it. Helluva squadron, this one. Instant flesh at your service.
Hilde's hand came up to touch him, then returned quickly to her side. She gestured to the far side of the room. "The whisky is over there. Why don't you fix us a drink while I, uh, get comfortable, as you Americans say." She left him alone and strutted away, her cheeks fighting for room beneath the tight confines of her skirt.
Con found the liquor with little difficulty but his mind wasn't on drinking. He was imagining Hilde hurrying into something sheer and seductive, rouging her nipples, perhaps, splashing some 4711 under her hairy armpits. Why the hell didn't these lovely German Fuckswagens ever shave under their arms? It didn't matter. He downed a quick shot and it made him all the more heady with the anticipation of seeing Hilde emerge from her privacy in a flimsy orangish thing that hid but revealed those strong legs and those Bismarck cannons she used for breasts. When she called his name, he braced himself, hastily poured double shots in two glasses and turned.
He was wrong.
Hilde padded toward him in bare feet, fully clad in her sweater and skirt. She took her drink from his hand and stroked his cheek with her index finger before stepping back and looking down at her unadorned feet.
"I hope you don't mind. Your American nylons always make my feet itch, you know." She wriggled her bare toes.
"Hell no, I don't mind," Con drawled in a flat voice full of disappointment. He looked up and down her body disdainfully and chugged down his double. "I don't mind making an ass outta myself sometimes, either," he muttered. Forty marks. Rouged nipples. Flimsy orangish things. The broad came on like a housemother.
Hilde held her glass with both hands but did not drink. She tilted her head slightly and scrutinized Con. "Is something wrong?" she said.
"No." Con forced a sad chuckle. "Not a damn thing's wrong."
"I think that is not so," Hilde said. "I think you expected something else, is that not true?"
Con stared at Hilde's breasts and made futile gestures that went nowhere. After a moment or so of this, he expelled a heavy sigh and shrugged.
"It is as I thought. You said I was wrong, but I wasn't." Hilde took her first sip from the drink she held so tightly.
"Huh?"
"I said you escorted me into town and treated me to coffee and cake for two reasons. One, to learn about the squadron and two, to possess by body. So. You have learned about your squadron. Now you shall possess my body." Hilde put her drink aside and began tugging her sweater upward.
"Hey, wait a minute! Hold on!" Con heard himself protesting and wanted to shove one of his size ten dress shoes into his mouth. "I mean-" Hilde stopped manipulating her sweater, leaving her midriff exposed. "You are afraid? I cannot believe that. You are a big man, a starker. I do not frighten you, do I?"
"Not hardly," Con said calmly. "I just thought I might lend you a hand, that's all." He stepped closer to her. "You know how it is when a guy wants to enjoy a good piece of candy, don't you? Getting to the candy is half the fun. A guy likes to take the wrapper off all by himself so he figures he's kinda earned that candy."
Hilde's look of puzzlement gave way to one of understanding. "Ja. The Americans are this way," she said matter-of-factly. "Do you want to play on the couch or on my bed?"
"I'd like to thaw you out first, if you don't mind."
"Excuse me?"
"Skip it." He was sure she wouldn't understand that her fine, Teutonic mind was making an assembly-line procedure out of a good screw. The hell with all the sarcastic little asides. She'd made the offer and she was standing there like a piece of ripe fruit ready to be picked.
He picked. She felt lighter in his arms than he thought she'd be. He pressed tight to her to let her know he was ready. God, he was ready! His swollen penis chafed against the heavy, coarse material of his uniform pants and he could feel her react to the cold chill of his belt buckle against the bare skin of her belly. She answered his kiss and let her mouth open at the right time to challenge his tongue with hers as he probed deep past her lips. She shuddered and leaned to him then, drawing him more tightly to her with her arms encircling his waist.
Con broke his fervent embrace and drew back slightly. He found the bunched-up folds of Hilde's sweater and began skimming it upward. She cooperated by lifting her arms and he tugged the sweater up, over her head and tossed it away. He stepped back a pace.
Hilde stood with her arms at her side. She placed her hands on her hips and threw back her shoulders. Her breasts leaped out at him like tipped moons in parallel orbits. Her hands came up from her hips and she cradled each breast. Her nipples bulged out like miniature rockets about to be launched.
"Gawd!" Con rasped.
"You are disappointed?" Her voice made the question insanely foolish.
Con shook his head. He dared not blink at the sight of so much treasure. They weren't real, they couldn't be. Yes, they were. There was no phony silicone there. They were flesh, pliant, firm flesh, all flesh, so geometrically marvelous, so perfect.
"Are you going to look or will you taste your candy?"
Con closed the distance between them. He bent his head and buried his head, drawing into his body the earthy muskiness, the soft but radiating woman mate lust smell. As his lips wandered over the seemingly endless fleshscape of her mountainous breasts, he found the zipper on her skirt and tugged it down at the same time she was performing the equally helpful operation on his pants. He kneaded her skirt down over her hips and down her thighs until it slid away. His hands massaged her naked butt and when she found his aching rod and coaxed it free from his pants, he seized her cheeks and squeezed.
"This is a foolish game," Hilde panted. The coolness and precision was gone from her now. She wrestled with his uniform until she had separated him from it and clutched at his distended tool with both hands. She bowed her legs to attempt mounting it but sagged when Con's searching fingers crept forward from her rear to find the wrinkled layers of flesh leading to the recesses of her arid channel. She began pumping Con's turgid member.
"The hell with this," Con groaned, feeling his knees beginning to buckle. He surfaced from the sweet valley between her breasts and gave each nipple a tender kiss before his hands came around her hips and down her belly, through the coarse thicket of hair to her puffy lips. Spreading them with his fingers, he urged her to lead him forward until the tip of him entered her. He reached around her again and held the summits of her cheeks as he inched into her.
"Not this way," Hilde complained. "I cannot stand!"
"Too late," Con grunted. It was, for he had met and made his commitment. To the hilt.
The room seemed to swirl around him as his belly slapped against hers. He felt the weight of her giant breasts laying full and warm and comforting on his chest. Her hands were beating a tattoo of passionate protest on his back; her nails dug weakly into his shoulders, his arms, his buttocks. When she began to wilt he drew her up to him and continued working into her, driving, thumping forward and easing back to go home again. His knees throbbed their agonizing burden but he was past pain, lost in the pleasure world of his crotch, his only haven now. In time he clung to her as she clung to him and then it was there, coursing through the tube and into the wet walls of her central chamber to mingle and flow until he withdrew and they both sank to their knees and flopped over on their hips before rolling, spent, on their backs.
A half hour passed but it seemed like only a moment to Con. He stirred when he became aware of her hand creeping shyly across his hairy thigh like a tender-tentacled invader that gathered up his puny flaccidity and stimulated its growth with expertise. He watched himself as though her proficient ministrations were being performed on an alien sector of his body.
"Not yet," he told her. "It's too soon." His gaze drifted to her breasts.
Hilde giggled. "No, it's not. Look."
Con reluctantly turned his gaze from Hilde's hobbling mounds to the flesh sword she'd so cleverly unsheathed. "Omigod," he murmured.
"This time we do not play your foolish game," Hilde said. To emphasize her statement, she sat up quickly and swung over his outstretched legs before he could move. She rested briefly on Con's thighs before moving forward and raising herself. Then she sat down on him until she had enveloped him. She began moving to and fro.
"Hey," Con said, savoring this new experience, "you're not bad, baby."
Hilde looked down at him and said, "I know."
Chapter Four
It was like old times, almost as if he hadn't skipped a beat between Kirchenfeld and Oberhausen. Sergeant Howard's welcoming gift to Con was one week's restriction when he learned Con had absented himself from the base without a pass on the very first night at his new duty station. Con was treated to this information as an eye-opener when he reported to the First Sergeant's desk to begin clearance processing into the squadron.
"I can't understand it, Top. After all we've been to each other," Con remarked wryly when Sergeant Howard informed him of his punishment.
Con's drollery brought Sergeant Howard to his feet. "I warned you about that 'Top' crap yesterday. You keep running your smart mouth off and you'll draw another week on top of the one you got!" he snarled.
Wary of spending his entire Air Force career on restriction status, Con tried a different tack. "What did I do wrong? I used my travel orders to get off the base. I'm still in transient until I clear in and draw my duty section. What the hell, Sarge, be reasonable. What I did is an established military practice done on the best bases in the world."
"The only way you get off this base is with a pass," Sergeant Howard snapped.
"Oh. I forgot. I did say on the best bases..." Con let the remark play out there for effect.
It worked. Sergeant Howard shook a threatening finger at Con. "I told you yesterday you wouldn't like it here. You ain't making it any easier on yourself, Trent. If I-" Sergeant Howard was interrupted by the familiar click of Hilde's heels. Her voice came from behind Con. "Here's your coffee. Colonel Dunn wants you in his office." Her voice was tired, resigned.
"Now?" Sergeant Howard said to her. "Now," Hilde said.
Sergeant Howard snapped into the semblance of a military brace that squared his rounded shoulders and pushed forward the prominent belly hanging grotesquely over his uniform belt. He looked suspiciously from Hilde to Con as though he were leery about departing to leave the two of them alone with each other. When he spoke, he addressed himself to Con but his eyes remained on Hilde.
"You better get it in gear, Trent. You see the C. O. this afternoon. I want to see your clearance sheet when you're done." He stalked out of his office.
Con turned to Hilde. "Whew. He sure has a broom handle up his keester today," he said.
Hilde nodded. "I know. He took one look at me when I came to work this morning and started asking many questions. He made me angry. My affairs are none of his business. I told him I was at Cafe Fech with you. That is probably why he is so angry."
"I'd say," Con said. "That is probably why I'm cooling my heels in this bastille for a week, too." "I am sorry, Connor. It is my fault." When her gaze met Con's, it conveyed a still-lingering tenderness for the intimacies they had shared yesterday.
"Screw him," Con said. "I do a week for breakfast. Let him get his stones in an uproar. It'll keep his mind off his stupid crossword puzzle."
"You must not continue provoking him," Hilde warned. "He is, I mean to say he thinks-" "I know. He told me yesterday when I looked at you. He hasn't put any ring on your linger. When can I see you again?"
"I do not think that is wise," Hilde said. Her eyes said something else. "It is best to let me decide when it is again correct. Trust me."
Con read Hilde's eyes. "What's the matter, baby, was I too much for you?" He stared at her breasts until she shifted her weight uncomfortably and folded her arms under them.
"The next time I shall show you what too much is," she said. "I must go now. One more thing. He kept me in this office while he made telephone calls this morning, for my benefit, naturally. He is a vicious man, Connor. He has alerted the various squadron sections to be waiting for you. Do not expect an easy time processing today. I can say no more. I must go. If he returns and finds me still here with you, we will both suffer." She turned and hurried from Sergeant Howard's office.
Con found Hilde's prediction to be accurate and he grew less forgiving of her as the day wore on. At the mess hall, he was informed the staff was too busy for him now and could he come back later? At the Dispensary, his shot records were scrutinized thoroughly and he was given a tetanus shot he didn't need. At the Chaplain's office, the Chaplain's assistant caused so much difficulty over Con's religious preference Con claimed to be an atheist and snatched his clearance form away from the assistant as soon as it was initialed. When he reached the Provost Marshall's office, a surly captain informed him of the off-duty pass distance limitations and hinted at dire consequences if Con were caught exceeding them, then dwelled overly long, Con thought, on the matter of breaking restriction. When Con asked if the captain's Air Police flight had orders that involved shooting to kill, he was met with an icy stare and dismissed.
He returned to the First Sergeant's office to keep his appointment with Colonel Dunn and found Sergeant Howard in an inquisitive mood. Asked whether he was having any trouble processing, Con praised the squadron section chiefs with exaggerated verbal applause. He kept a straight face as Sergeant Howard's bewilderment grew. When he was ready to see Colonel Dunn, he left Sergeant Howard behind with a furrowed brow.
Con came away from Colonel Dunn with a muddled impression. The man was obviously a leader; he hadn't got to be where he was by looking up womens' skirts, a preoccupation that kept his gaze riveted on Hilde's legs much of the time Con was in his office. Yet there was something about the man that went beyond his weak chin, which was merely a physical attribute and not necessarily significant. It was as if the man had possessed much more strength than he had now, as if his sense of purpose and firmness had been compromised. His eyes darted from Con's records to the window without looking at Con as if he was unable to face him. His questions, which were the substance of the interview, were hardly astute ones, especially in the area of security, which led Con to perceive the man vital to its functioning. As a test, Con volunteered basic information about cryptographic security which left Dunn's face a blank. At the end, the Colonel's dismissal and salute were done sloppily and the job of getting Con out of his office was delegated to Hilde. He had barely time for a word with her before Sergeant Howard loomed into view like an out-sized Peeping Tom, his craggy face set grimly. Con trudged out of the building. As he passed Sergeant Howard, he paused long enough to say, "You know, Top, you're beautiful when you're angry."
If the entire squadron had been alerted to be chary toward Con, it was the Supply section which handled its role to perfection. Con entered the Supply office assured of meeting at least one friend; the man who'd issued him his bedding on the previous afternoon seemed a friendly sort full of mindless babble but harmlessly cheerful. The man had been in fatigue pants and tee shirt yesterday. Today he was in full dress with SSgt chevrons on his sleeves all stiff and fresh, indicating his recent promotion. With moronic simplicity, he snapped the gum he was chewing and appeared to stare through Con.
"What's yours, Ace?" the newly ordained SSgt said.
Con was stunned by the man's attitude. He looked around the office before regarding his latest tormentor balefully. "Your talking to me?"
The SSgt snapped his gum again. "You're the one with the Mickey Mouse toilet paper, aintcha?"
Con smiled at a definition of the clearance form he hadn't heard before. "That's right," he said slowly. "Says here I've been assigned to the crypto bay in the airmens' barracks. I expect I can draw my permanent issue now." Con had reference to the helmet and liner, field pack and web belt, and bayonet issued as a matter of course to Air Force personnel in Europe, especially since the Hungarian crisis.
"You sure can, Stud," the SSgt said. "Soon as you haul your cheeks over to the transient room and get the bedding and blankets I gave you yesterday. And you better shake it up, Airman"-he emphasized the word-"because I ain't gonna hang around here too much longer."
Con rolled his clearance form into a tube in lieu of spreading the SSgt's nose in unexplored directions. "Sure," he said curtly, and left the office.
Outside in the chill air, he took a deep breath and counted down mentally. He'd been prepared for the harassment he would suffer as a result of Sergeant Howard's warped sense of humor or justice, but the SSgt's straw was beginning to overload the camel. He knew it was the man's new stripes more than his attitude; having been a noncom, Con hadn't yet broken himself of resenting power, especially when it was used to taunt. The SSgt had doubtless been appraised of Con's reduction in grade and was rubbing it in. The fact that such intolerance had been handed the SSgt before he reached that grade was no consolation now. He trudged to the transient quarters, tore down his bedding, tucked it carelessly under his arm, and trudged back to Supply. The SSgt was waiting for him with an aggrieved look.
"You made lousy time, Airman. You're holding me up." There was a snigger from one of three Airmen standing to the rear of the SSgt.
Con threw down his bedding on the SSgt's desk, spilling his coffee. In almost a whisper he said to the SSgt, "All right. All right, now you've had your fun and I've had my exercise." Con's voice rose a pitch. "Now I expect I can draw my permanent issue." His voice became louder. "I wouldn't want to hold you up, Sergeant." Finally he was shouting, sucked completely into the military game of meeting power with power and ashamed because it wasn't his own power he was using to stir the reluctant SSgt. "I've got to have this clearance sheet back to the First Sergeant by seventeen hundred hours!"
The SSgt clucked his tongue unappreciatively over his spilled coffee and stretched as if he hadn't heard Con at all. He looked at him disdainfully. "You're gonna have to pack a wall locker and footlocker over to that room, Airman. Carmody, here, will lend you his hand truck, won't you, Carmody?"
Carmody sniggered and nodded, robotlike. "How about Carmody giving me a hand?" Con suggested.
"Oh no," the SSgt said, sounding horrified at the idea. "Carmody's first in grade here. He'll have to take care of the shop when I leave."
"Uh huh. The other two guys can't help either?"
"They got to help Carmody. You'll have to move the lockers yourself," the SSgt said, spacing the last words, clearly enjoying himself.
"Yeah. That's the way it looks," Con droned through clenched teeth. He allowed no other words to come forth. A week's restriction was plenty.
Fortunately, his permanent quarters were not far from the Supply office but he felt stupid pushing a cumbersome wall locker, with footlocker inside, over the base's uneven, cobblestone street. An anonymous sergeant, apparently unstruck by Sergeant Howard's plague as yet, helped him with the door to the barrack. He rolled the wall locker to the door of room seventeen, set it down, opened the door and peered inside. The lights were on and there was a solitary figure reclining on his cot with a magazine. Con called to him for assistance.
The man got up from his cot and came toward Con. He was thin and tall, almost frail, with an infectious smile and gangling, toothpick-sized arms. "Hi," he said to Con. "You must be the new guy. I'm Cooper, Ira Cooper. Everybody I know calls me Buzz." He stuck out his hand and Con shook it gingerly for fear he'd break it. He'd asked for help from a strong back and he was about to get a limp noodle.
"Glad to meet you. I'm Trent, Con Trent. Wanna give me a little help with this doggy locker?"
Buzz followed Con into the hall. He put his hands on his hips and stared at the locker. "Weell, for Christ's sake! If that ain't the Air Force for you! Hah!"
"What's the matter? Something wrong with it?"
"No, nothing like that. It's just plain stupid, that's all. They came and took that locker, that very same locker, outta here this morning..."
TSgt Fenko, Non-Commissioned Officer-In-Charge of the Cryptography section, entered from seventeen a half-hour after Con's arrival. Seeing Con, he paused at the doorway, slammed the door shut, and went directly to his cot. He glared down at an array of Con's clothing piled on his cot for lack of a better place while Con unpacked his B-4 bags.
"Whose crap is this?" Fenko snapped.
Con straightened from laboring with his foot locker and looked at Fenko. What he saw made him sure he wouldn't get along with the man. Fenko's saturnine features were set in a gloomy cast that bidded to predict imminent catastrophe. His dull brown hair was wiry and wavy, his eyes dark, untrusting beads set deep in his face, and his chin was marred with an imperfect cleft. Huge hands hung like clubs from the sleeves of his uniform shirt.
"Well?" Fenko persisted.
"It's mine," Con said. From the corner of his eye, he saw Buzz sit up on his cot and swing his feet to the floor.
"Get it off. When I come back, I want to see my bunk cleared," Fenko grated. He pivoted on his heels and strode rapidly from the room. He slammed the door again.
Con looked questioningly at Buzz. "The stupidvisor?" he said.
"None other. He's really in a bitchy mood. I guess his shack job fell through," Buzz said.
"With that sparkling personality, I wouldn't doubt it," was Con's opinion.
"He ain't too bad most of the time but he can be a real bastard if he thinks he's being crossed." The implication was clear.
"You know, I've been here one day, just one day, and I'm already sick to death of hearing about touchy sergeants."
I know what you mean," Buzz said. "Look, "I'll help you tidy up here and then we'll go to the Airman's Club, okay?"
Con accepted Buzz' offer. When the two men returned to room seventeen some hours later, they found Fenko in his cot, asleep.
It took three days for Con's dislike of Fenko to ripen into real hate, a gut-churning, teeth-clenching hate that bedeviled Con and pushed him to the limit of endurance. Given the two mens' divergent backgrounds and disparate personalities, a clash was inevitable. It came on the night that would end Con's week-long restriction. Con was alone in the room with Fenko, observing a tense silence, when Fenko began pacing up and down as if there were weighty matters pressing down on him. Suddenly he stopped in front of Con's bunk and cleared his throat. Con looked up at him.
"You pulled a real beauty today, Trent," Fenko said.
"Oh?" Con's mind raced back over the day's events. He could remember having done everything right and by the book. What the hell was Fenko's beef?
"You signed for the voucher from Furstenfeldbruck. That's the NCOIC's job," Fenko said testily.
"You didn't seem too eager to do it. You ignored the messenger, in fact, so I did it. And I got stuck with the penny-ante filing."
"It's still my job," Fenko said.
"Well, then, I guess you better start really doing your job," Con said.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"I'll tell you what it's supposed to mean. Have you looked at your filling system? You got Priority in with Unclassified, and both categories slotted into Secret space. That's for the birds. Furthermore, the place is like a bus station, not a security operation. The door is never locked but it should be, and-" Fenko interrupted with a sneer. "Why don't you knock it off, for chrissakes? Any man who loses two stripes on a security operation is no authority in my book!"
The dig hurt. Con knew Fenko would continue using it against him if he didn't stop it now. He said, "Look, you catch me fouling up or screwing off, you tell me, just roll right out, you hear? But you leave my record out of it. I forgot more then you'll ever know about this job, Sergeant!"
Buzz entered quietly, eyed Fenko and Con apprehensively, then tip-toed to his cot" and flopped down on it. He dropped one arm over his eyes and lay still.
"Cocky son of a bitch, aren't you?" Fenko roared. "Let me tell you something, Trent, and you get it straight the first time or you'll be in front of the C.O. so fast your bowels won't move for three days. I'm running this show, not you. I don't need any crap from some hotrod SAC man who couldn't keep his own house clean!"
"I told you to leave my record out of-" Buzz cut in. "For the love of Christ, can't you two guys tear each other apart someplace else? I'm trying to sleep. I got the night shift, you know."
"Okay, Cooper," Fenko said. He started for the door. "Some guys aren't worth arguing with." He opened the door.
"Or working with-" Con shouted after him. The door slammed, chopping short the rest of his sentence.
Buzz bounded up from his cot, not at all fatigued, it seemed. "The silence is deafening," he observed.
Con went to his wall locker and began changing from his uniform to civilian clothes. He did not look at Buzz as he said, "Why don't you sack out? You were hollering about the noise."
"I only did that to stop the brawl," Buzz said. "Lemme tell you, Con, you're bangin' your head against a wall tangling with Fenko. He means what he says. He thinks you're after his job."
Con shrugged. He'd arrived at that conclusion without Buzz' help. Buzz was good-natured, trying like a desperate puppy to be friendly. He was an A3C, next to the lowest rank in the air arm, and he knew his place. He kept his lonely stripe and his equilibrium by largely remaining mute in Fenko's presence, and by being a "gopher," which is to say he had to go for fresh supplies of pencils and papers, rolls of yellow teletype paper, crypto decoding forms and whatever else was needed. Con realized, with observation since he'd joined the crypto team, that only Buzz' belief in himself or his naivete kept him from knowing he was little more than Fenko's flunky. Buzz was worth a minimum of admiration for that, if nothing else.
Noticing Buzz waiting eagerly for a word, Con said, "I don't give a damn about Fenko. My restriction's up tonight and I'm gonna howl."
Not exactly. His mind had been on the waitress who had served Hilde and him in that quiet German cafe. She had shown no sign of interest in him and that would have to be corrected because he was certainly interested in her. He had dwelled, for the week of restriction, on the girl's face, her pleasantly constructed body. He wondered now what it looked like under the prim austerity of that black waitress uniform she wore. He was willing to bet she was built with a maximum of German efficiency. Why, just the shape of her legs alone was enough to- "Hey, who's the chick?" Buzz said from behind him.
He turned to see Buzz ogling the picture of Judy, naked, he'd taped to one of the inside doors of his wall locker.
"An old flame, m'boy. She had three speeds forward and overdrive." He took time to study Judy's nakedness himself. Judy's allure only quickened his thoughts about the delicious blonde waitress he was eager to see.
"I got some pictures like that. Wait a second, I'll get them for you," Buzz said.
Con was finished dressing when Buzz produced his photos, handing them to Con one at a time. The first few pictures were standard art photography of a nude girl who was neither beautiful, nor ugly, nor particularly enchanting. More art shots and some that were graphically explicit, close-ups of vaginas, breasts, some pictures posed with the sole purpose of excitation; slinky, porno poses that made a man stiffen up with only one thing in mind.
"The first one was Siv, the second Ingrid and the third was Maria. She's a little darker than the other two. Told me she was a Spanish Dane," Buzz explained.
"You must've had a ball," Con commented. He was looking at the pictures but his mind was racing downtown to the waitress with the tantalizing cheeks and breasts that attracted attention even in the uninspiring waitress garb that cloaked them.
Buzz looked down at the floor. "I guess so," he said in a low voice. "I took this leave to Copenhagen, see, and I hooked up with all these chicks. You wanna know what the kicker is? They wouldn't let me touch them, not one of them. Oh sure, they look like sex pots there and there were some real raunchy shots that didn't even come out. I'll tell you, I was so hot I thought my rod would drop off and roll around on the floor but I couldn't get near 'em. That's hell, ain't it?"
"It sure is," Con said sympathetically. He handed the photos back to Buzz. "Next time, you got to be a little more forceful, son."
"Yeah. Forceful," Buzz said.
Con left Buzz staring at the photos and muttering to himself. Poor bastard. Too shy, and now all he had was a pile of latrine stall, ham whamming handwork. Christ!
His pass was waiting for him in Sergeant Howard's office and he paid silent homage to Sergeant Howard's integrity. He took his pass and started for the main gate. He was feeling in a forceful mood. It had been a week since navigating through Hilde's juicy channel and it felt like his manhood was dangling down to his knees. He was definitely in a forceful mood.
"Come, come, Fraulein, you can dream on your own time. There are two patrons at your station," the head waitress said sternly to Karin.
Karin was snapped with a jolt from her reverie. She'd been thinking about Fedor again. Her concentration had been so complete she could actually recall the sound of his voice, the feel of his strong arms around her. Recalled to reality so abruptly, she blinked her fantasy away and moved instinctively toward her station.
There were two patrons waiting, as the head waitress had said. One was a middle-aged man who had come in often of late. He wore a long, black leather overcoat reminiscent of coats she'd seen in historical photos of Gestapo men surrounding Hitler and other Nazi functionaries. He also wore a black hat with the brim turned down all around, again recalling the same era. His hat brim kept his face in shadow but he was pleasant enough, invariably ordering two cups of coffee and strawberry cake with a mound of whipped cream which he savored as though it was a delicacy he'd long been denied.
The other patron was Dieter. He sat hunched forward like a panther ready to spring at her as soon as she reached his table. Her heart sank at the sight of him.
She served Black Leather Coat first, postponing her confrontation with Dieter. As she was bringing the man his coffee and strawberry cake, an American entered, easily noticeable by the clothing he wore, the confidence of his walk and the impolite way, by European standards, he crossed his legs when he sat down at a table. She hardly paid attention to his staring; she was used to men staring and there was Dieter, unpredictable Dieter, to concern her.
Dieter stood when she got to his table. His approach was direct. "You are driving me crazy," he said. "I must see you again."
Karin sighed. "We've been all through that," she said. "I told you I didn't wish to see you again."
Dieter grabbed her arm and squeezed. "You cannot treat me this way, do you understand?!"
"Please let go," Karin said, wincing. "You're hurting me. I'll lose my job." She tried to break away but Dieter tightened his grip.
"Let me see you home," he said.
The American was there, suddenly, speaking English to her. "Is he bothering you?"
"Goddam American pig, leave us alone!" Dieter snarled in German.
"If you don't let go, I'm going to tear your arms off and beat your head with the bloody stumps," the American said in perfect German.
Dieter let go with a surprised look. He glared at the American, then at Karin. "One of your kind," he said sarcastically.
The American's hand swung in a quick arc, catching Dieter by the ear and sending him staggering sidewise. The blow started his head buzzing. He regained his balance, rubbed the side of his head, and stalked out of the cafe.
Karin looked about anxiously for the appearance of the head waitress. When the woman did not waddle over with her pronounced limp, Karin was relieved and she showed her feelings to the American. "Thank you, sir," she said with sincerity. "I'm sorry to cause you this trouble."
The American's features reflected delight with her English. "Don't 'sir' me. Trent's the name, Con Trent. Glad to help you out. Now you can help me out. May I see you home when you're done work?"
Con's brashness startled, then amused Karin. "I-I don't-this is most unusual. I-" "I'd like to, you know," Con said. "That punk might be waiting for you outside. It would be for your own good."
"Yes, that is true," Karin said, remembering Dieter's persistence. She studied Con's face. It was open, honest. It was interesting, much as Fedor's had been. This Con Trent had the same magnetic appeal that had attracted her to Fedor, yet the similarity ended there. It was the acknowledgement of that fact that made her agree to Con's invitation. She would've never allowed herself to become involved with a live replica of her head lover, she knew.
"Fine," Con said, pleased. "By the way, what's your name?"
"Karin. I am Karin Schmidt," she said.
"A pretty name, Karin Schmidt. Almost as pretty as you are."
Karin felt herself blushing. She liked the feeling. She liked this extraordinary American, this Con Trent. "I am free in less than an hour. Would you like to order something?"
"Just coffee, thanks," Con said.
When her work shift was completed she fetched her coat and Con was there to help her on with it. She liked that feeling, too. Since her time in Prague there had been no one who had been so attentive to her with the exception of Dieter who had merely acted nice to gain his own pleasure. The thought struck her that this Con Trent might be doing the self-same thing. She was somewhat amazed at herself for not caring. Con Trent intrigued her with his forceful strength and while he reminded her of Fedor, there was no pain in the reminder, nor no need to compare the two. Con was a challenge she was willing to meet. Loneliness was an unnatural way of life to her and she was tired of it.
They walked home slowly, chatting with ease. Less than halfway there, Con sought out her hand and she gave it to him and he squeezed it and it made her warm. When she tossed her head with laughter over one of Con's remarks, she noted a man following them at a distance, the same man who came into the cafe with his leather overcoat and outdated black hat. She made no mention of it to Con. She didn't have to.
"Who's your friend," Con said lightly. "You know, the guy who's following us?"
"Perhaps he is lonely," Karin said. "I do not know him."
"I could take care of him," Con offered.
Con's protectiveness stirred her and she laughed nervously. "You would take care of the world for me?"
"I'd make a world for you," Con said.
Karin could not bring herself to laughter this time. "You do not mean that," she said.
"Try me," Con said.
"The man following back there. You would take care of him, too?"
Con stopped walking and half-turned. "If that's what you want," he said.
"There is no need, my brave hero. We are home." She could laugh again, and did.
"Okay, mission accomplished," Con said. "Can I see you home tomorrow night?"
Karin answered with a question of her own. "Do you want some hot coffee? You are shivering."
"Yeah. Helluva way for a hero to act, huh?"
She let Con enter the apartment in front of her. She looked over her shoulder. The man who had been following them was nowhere to be seen. It gave her a sense of relief for which she chided herself. This was West Germany and she was home safe from the intrigues of Prague, far away from anonymous men who followed at a discreet distance as they had followed Fedor and her during the early days of August. She was behaving with all the melodramatic nonsense of a cheap spy movie, she thought. Fedor's secrets were safe until she could bring herself to let the passage of time ease the agony of having to surrender the last vestiges of him to the authorities. And she was safe. Directly in front of her was the broad back and wide shoulders of Con Trent. She stepped into the apartment. It was good to feel the warmth of heat through her coat. It was good to have a man in the apartment with her.
Con helped her off with her coat. His hands brushed her neck and she reacted not to the coldness of his fingers but to the electricity of his touch. Her breasts began to tingle and her flesh twitched with the first spasms of latent lust. When she spoke to Con, she found she was not in complete command of her voice. The sound of it was husky in her ears as if his contact with her had unloosed a passion in her that constricted her throat.
"I'll fix the coffee," she said.
Con shucked off his coat. He walked toward the bottle of wine left untouched since Dieter's departure. He picked up the label and studied it. "Rhine wine. I bet this would warm us up until the coffee's ready." He held the bottle up to the light. "Looks like there's two good glassfuls left."
Karin produced two glasses after turning on the coffee. She held them out and Con filled them with the wine. She handed his glass to him and instead of taking it from her, his hand closed over hers. She looked into his eyes and felt as if a fist had been driven into her belly.
"This is crazy. I don't want to let go," Con said.
Karin heard herself saying, "I don't want you to let go."
Con guided her hand down to a table top and let go of her as she let go of the glass. She placed her own glass beside his. Then she rushed into his waiting arms.
"Jesus, baby," Con groaned, breaking from their first kiss.
Karin silenced him with another kiss. His lips were so soft for so strong a man, she thought. His arms could smother her but he held her tightly without crushing her and she felt there was nothing in the world that could harm her or destroy her now. She grinded her hips against his and felt the knobby lump of his virility gouging at her lower belly. She moved to it at the same time his hand slid down her back to stroke and gather her buttocks together. Then both hands were there and she was being drawn to him and his penis was making a pleasant indentation in her flesh. Her breathing was heavy and her head was reeling as she pursued his lips without pause until she was close to him and his tongue was extended to flick over her lips. She met his tongue and they danced like probing reptiles loosed from their cages. Then their lips were wide open and together and Karin's tongue was retreating under the onslaught of Con's probing. His tongue was recreating the love act in her mouth and her flesh erupted with heat while sparks of carnal pleasure ignited within her breasts.
Her hand dropped down and she was momentarily repelled by the nakedness and stiffness of his tool. She'd been too caught up in the ardor of his soul kiss to notice he'd exposed himself and the taut-skinned thickness of him made her recoil, but only for a moment. Her hand took him and fondled him; she began pushing her hand two and fro with reflexive motions until Con's grunts bombarded her consciousness.
"...get out of these damn clothes," Con was saying. He was attacking her uniform with uncompromising savagery and her hands flew up to help him before he literally tore her clothing from her body. She undid the rest of the buttons on the front of her uniform and he peeled it away. She worked in unison with him removing her slip and it was barely over her head before her bra straps were being impatiently mangled.
"Please, Con, let me. Let me." She stared down at his bobbing, solid staff and she wanted to be naked all at once, to spread her legs until her hip bones cracked, to receive his marvelous manhood, to be riven apart by his potent pole until she felt it driving so deeply into her it gagged her throat. All the latent, frustrated desire pent up since she'd left Prague, untapped by Dieter's callousness, was bursting through the dam of her self-restraint now.
Con grunted something unintelligible and clawed at his own clothing while his eyes remained wide, gawking at Karin's breasts as the brassiere fell away, freeing himself from his pants with the tinkle of his belt buckle and the rustle of dry fabric being telescoped together. He was naked before Karin was and he staggered to her in time to aid her in removing panties that veiled her clump of darkish blond hair.
He was on her in a rush, his rampant rod jabbing futilely at her naked belly, her pubic hair, her thigh until she trapped it between her legs. She opened her own legs deferentially as his hand swooped down to her, his fingers agitating her pinkish labia before plunging in to thump against her clitoris. She freed his snared penis and back-pedaled slowly toward the couch.
"Do not play with me," she whispered. "Take me. I give myself to you. Use me!" She lapsed into German to express her passion.
"Yeah, yeah, I'll screw your hairy pussy," Con said in translation. He lowered her to the couch with tenderness and her legs opened wide like petals to reveal the damp, pale pink heart of the rose.
She felt him enter gently, filling with his tip her small opening. She gasped then and sucked in her breath as he plunged into her. As his rod slid past her clitoris, she let out a squelched yip and pounded his arms with her fists. He was driving her cheeks into the couch, his weight a heavy flesh blanket, his splendid dork cleaving her flesh open. She tossed her hips up at him, soaking him with orgasmic freshets until she felt his staff harden and she nearly swooned at the spurting shower of sperm that flooded her.
She didn't direct him to the box of tissues. She got them for him and left him alone while she went back to the bathroom to repair herself.
At the end of the evening, Karin stood by the door, not wanting Con to go but knowing he had to. She extracted a promise from him to see her very soon, as soon as he could. She was naked beneath the housecoat she wore and Con reached into it to fondle one of her warm, full breasts. She told him he was fresh and added, as an afterthought, that the coffee was ready.
Con regarded her balefully. "It's a little too late for that," he said. "Coffee ain't gonna help me make that long walk up the hill. I don't know if I can walk that far. I don't know if I can walk, period. God, woman, you drained me dry."
"My poor brave hero. You did to me the same thing and you are proud of it. There is that look on your face," Karin said with a mock scowl.
"By the way, that joker who was following us is over there across the street," Con said.
"Is he? I do not see him."
"He's there. You get back inside and lock up, okay? I'll see you soon." Con gave her a final, tender kiss and was gone.
Chapter Five
Standing in the cold, lurking in the shadows like a common thief in the night, and suffering the insufferable life of a forgettable Bavarian village did not make Anton Kruger a happy man. Two months before, he had been careening down the main thoroughfare of Prague in a Zim limousine on official State business. Tonight he was exposing to the cold feet that had been nearly permanently crippled by the Russian winter twenty-six years ago. He had come a long way in two months.
He had come a long way in twenty-six years. Kruger had been a mere stripling then, but one in superb physical condition. He was a young political animal immersed in the heady crusade of Nazism. Gravitation to the power element was instinctive to him and he applied for and won a commission in the Schutz Staffel, the dreaded, fanatical S.S. Resplendent in his black uniform, a color he affected to this day in tribute, he was assigned to the then secret horrors of a concentration camp called Dachau located outside of Munich. He found murder and torture satisfying but confining and made his feelings known to his superiors. For his zeal, he was transferred as part of a cadre to the Sixth Army on the Russian front.
His job was one that would only be carried off by a devious schemer, personality traits that made up the backbone of his character to the present. Officially, he was to report on malcontents within the Wehrmacht. In the bitterness of a Russian winter, there were plenty of them and he was kept busy informing on them or punishing them himself when time was short and command had disintegrated. Unofficially, he was fond of interrogating Russian partisans captured in fire fights, particularly female partisans. He owed to his superb physique the ability to copulate by force with five Russian women prisoners per day, on the average. In time, the sight of another Russian woman stripped naked and tied down with her legs spread-eagled for his satisfaction began to pall on him and he thought up diversifications on a theme thought to be timeless, some of which were incorporated into official Gestapo guidebooks for the handling of female prisoners anywhere the brute tread of Nazism left its imprint.
The idyll was short-lived. Captured by the Russians, he was nearly killed by refined techniques of Russian torture. In his agony, he called out obeisance often enough to the monolith of Communism until he was heard but never quite believed. He swore allegiance to the Communist Party and found it little different from the Nazi Party. He was at home again and he advanced his survival by outdoing the Communist commissars in scheming and brutality. Because he was German, her career advanced slowly, when at all, but he finally managed to achieve distinction of a sort at a time in his life when most of his colleagues in the MGB had been selected from field work for staff positions. He did it by single-handedly gunning down more prospective escapees over the Berlin wall than any other East German policeman.
It was noted in his record. But it wasn't quite believed.
During the Hungarian Uprising, Kruger was in Budapest with the predictable presence of a trouble shooter or Life magazine photographer. Sent to bolster the sagging, and shell-shot cohesiveness of the AVH, Kruger showed them how it was done. Female Freedom Fighters considered rape or gang rape to be de rigueur so more finesse was needed to make them spill their secrets. He accorded these Hungarian women begrudging admiration as one after another died under his hands, having suffered humiliation and torture that made them too insane to know they were dying.
The Hungarian Revolution was crushed. Kruger did more than his part; But again, it wasn't quite believed.
In succeeding years, Kruger traveled the distance of the world over without leaving the European continent. Because he was amoral as well as immoral, he could serve no useful function strapped to a desk job and so was left to wander, to accept any grisly job and complete it with a minimum of evidence that would trace it back to him or the Party. As such an agent, he was useful if not quite respected. Be it Paris, Rome, or Madrid, he had his pick of women and wine. His pockets were ever full of francs or lire or marks and his cover in the capitals of Europe was impeccably established and never breached.
In 1965, he was able to smother an abortive plot that would have been embarrassing to Gomulka of Poland.
In 1966, he was able to snuff out a mettlesome comrade in Rumania who had made threatening \ noises to defect to the West.
In 1967, he was quietly appointed an official Hero of the Soviet Union, a singular accolade for the German-born Kruger. It was kept quiet, very quiet, but at last Kruger felt he would be believed. He was sure he could cease his breast-beating cries in the night of mea culpa. Not quite. Not yet.
In June of 1968 he was given the assignment of watching a Professor Fedor Budcik, the enfant terrible of the Dubecek reactionary regime. With Professor Budick at that time was his star pupil and paramour Karin Schmidt, a German student who had purportedly come to Prague to study under the Great Man. Intelligence sources pegged her as a West German spy and the command went out to Kruger that both persons were to be watched, one because of the other and vice versa. He was counseled and cautioned to watch, not act. He smiled at that; at last his reputation had come to precede him.
In the pre-dawn hours of August 20, 1968, there was at least one man awake to hail the arrival of Soviet tanks in Prague. That man was Anton Kruger. Two hours later, he was on his way to the flat of Fedor Budcik to arrest the man and his companion for treasonable activities against the newly established regime. He arrived at the Budcik address a scant moment after Budcik met his death at the hands of a Soviet tank gunner. He returned to headquarters under a cloud of gloom. At headquarters, that cloud opened up and rained on him.
"You failed, Comrade," he superior told him. "Can I help it if some trigger-happy Russki shot him down?" Kruger blurted in anguish.
"I will pretend I did not hear that. Let me say I am most surprised to hear you, of all people, maligning our glorious and victorious allies."
Kruger was shocked into vocal immobility. In one sentence it was all spelled out for him. His flaming career could be reduced to ashes by one careless word. Could it be true they still didn't believe him? He backed up and regrouped. Carefully.
"I'm sorry, sir. I meant no slur upon the magnificent Russian Army. As you know, sir, I have served the Soviets and the Party to the best of my ability for many years. Last year I was awarded the Hero of-" "We are aware of that," the superior officer snapped. He leaned forward. "Confidentially, it weighs much in your favor at this point."
Kruger swallowed hard. Christ on a cross! He was still considered suspect! There was only one way to redeem himself, he realized. "I request permission to complete my assignment, sir," he said.
"Admirable, Kruger, admirable. We have every intention of letting you do that. And just what would that assignment be, do you suppose?"
Kruger side-stepped the trap. The assignment would have ended with the arrest of Budcik and the German girl. Since he had not been informed of the German girl's capture, she was apparently still free. He thought quickly and formulated an assignment where there was none.
"I have valid reason to suspect the late Professor Budcik of gathering information harmful to the regime. I submit that information was removed from Czechoslovakia by the girl, possibly without her knowledge. I intend to find her and recover that information."
"Splendid," the superior said, genuinely impressed. "One cannot say you have not done your homework, Kruger. Our intelligence ransacked the Professor's squalid love nest this morning, something you should have thought to do." He paused and let the zinger settle into Kruger, then went on. "A microfilm device was discovered. Budcik had access to a good deal of information that would be, as you say, harmful to the new regime. We are sure that information was taken to West Germany by the girl, with or without her knowledge."
"I will find her, sir," Kruger said.
"A difficult task since her home address is on the file at the University," the superior zinged again. He cocked his head and his eyes burned holes into Kruger's forehead. "How long have you been in our service, Kruger?"
Kruger computed the question and saw no way it could trap him. 'Twenty-five years, sir."
"That long? I hadn't realized." The superior's tone became a bit more unctuous, polite. "In all your years of service, Comrade, how many tailored coincidences have you encountered?"
"I'm afraid I don't understand, sir."
"You have, in your service, completed dual assignments?"
"Yes, sir."
"Very well. Getting back to my original question, how many of those dual assignments fit together like hand in glove, dove-tailed so perfectly as to provoke wonder?"
"None, sir."
"Excellent. A man with your record should have at least one upon which he can look back in the future, if there is such a thing, and marvel at. I have such an assignment for you now. Before I tell you what it is, read this." He handed Kruger a single sheet of paper.
Kruger read the two paragraphs quickly. They concerned Karin Schmidt. The paper informed him she had returned to West Germany on the twentieth of August of this year. She was presently living in the Bavarian town of Oberhausen, some kilometers distant from the city of Munich. She was employed in Oberhausen at a small cafe. The paper went on to say the subject was born and raised in Oberhausen and highly regarded there, implying the use of extreme discretion in dealing with her there. One of the last sentences on the paper stated she was not presently employed by West German intelligence. Kruger translated the official line of bureaucratese: Party intelligence had erred and would not admit it; Karin Schmidt was not now nor had she ever been a West German spy. She was just an ordinary person not given to the nefarious double-talking, back-tracking, back-stabbing world of the professional spy. It would make her easier to overcome. It would make her a pigeon.
"You have digested the information?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good. Now I must tell you about the unusual coincidence relative to this assignment. The paper gives the girl's home as Oberhausen, correct? Yes. In Oberhausen there is an American military base. The Americans, thinking they are vastly clever, have situated an important part of their security apparatus at this inconspicuous, sleepy little base in this timeless landscape. Is that not poetic? Yes. One of our field agents has succeeded in infiltrating the base. I know not in what capacity, nor am I even informed of the agent's sex. I think intelligence is overdoing it a bit," the superior sniffed. He reached for his handkerchief, blew his nose with a resounding honk, and restored the handkerchief to his pocket.
"The agent's name is Schmitt. You will contact the agent by addressing letters to that name and an address they've given me to pass on to you. Tow birds with one stone, you see?"
"Excuse me, sir?"
"An American phrase that intrigues me although I shouldn't use it, really. What I'm pointing up to you is the coincidence. Both of your assignments take place in that little spot called Oberhausen. Astonishing, isn't it?"
"Yes, sir." Kruger was nonplussed. He'd been thoroughly on edge for twenty minutes of monologue only to have it culminate in this. "Astonishing," he said without conviction.
"Your assignment is this, then. You will proceed to Oberhausen with funds adequate to establish whatever cover you wish. You will return from Oberhausen and report to me, and only to me, with the information you've recovered from this Fraulein plus whatever informative security leaks our agent is able to provide you with. Do you have the Bavarian dialect?"
Kruger decided to strike back against the superior's tedious verbosity. "I have Muscovite and Georgian Russian, Serbo-Croatian, Flemish, Castillian and coastal Spanish, Portugese, Cretan, Sicilian, Neopolitan, Venetian and Roman Italian, Parisian and provincial French including Alsatian, Greek, Turkish, Plattdeutsch, Norddeutsch, Standarten Deutsch, Schwabisch-" "Good God, man," the superior interjected. "If I asked you for the capital of the United States, you would presumably reply with their total population, their gross national product, their defense budget, and whether every citizen brushes his teeth after each meal. Do you have the Bavarian dialect?"
"Ja, er, yes." Kruger savored his triumph.
"One more thing. If you fail, which is to say blunder, and are caught in the act of espionage, the Party will quite naturally deny any knowledge of your existence. That goes without saying. If you do not return to me with all you've been sent for..." The superior let his voice trail off.
Kruger could provide the ending to the superior's sentence even without using his fertile imagination. It was common knowledge that agents who did not satisfy the demands of this particular superior were seldom heard from again. It was further rumored that survivors of such agents, if any, were told their relative died in service to the state. That was all they were told. Kruger had no wish to live out his days on the punishing steppes of Siberia.
"I will not fail," he said.
Kruger's lips cracked when he attempted a smile. He smacked his hands together and shifted from one numb foot to the other. He would not fail, he'd said confidently. It was worth a wry smile. Had he succeeded? No. This was hardly success, to be cringing in the darkness watching without really knowing what he was watching for.
It wasn't a success at all but at least it was a stalemate up till tonight. Up till the entry of the American into the proceedings. The American presented a complication and Kruger understandably hated complications. With perseverance, he lingered in shadow until the Yankee left. Then he hobbled back to his plain but comfortable suite at the Bayerische Hof, Oberhausen's only hotel.
Resting while his feet thawed, Kruger recalled the damning accuracy of the report he'd read on Karin in the superior's office. It was correct to the point of being pedantic, he had come to know. Karin had been born and raised in Oberhausen and was highly regarded indeed. She was, in fact, revered. And the cafe was small, hideously small, tiny, a wee cafe where one rubbed elbows with the next table's patron, where a word was overheard and a gesture too noticeable. His attempts at becoming friendly with the girl in hopes of seeing her socially outside the cafe had been politely rebuffed by her. And he'd witnessed tonight what happened when one attempted to exert any kind of pressure on the girl. If the American had not leaped to her defense, someone else would have volunteered.
Karin, Karin, Karin. The name fit the girl and the girl's face whirled around in his mind's eye. There was something familiar about it beyond the familiarity of her features from photos of her he'd studied in Prague or glimpses of her he'd managed when she was out with Budcik. There was another angle and it nagged at him but he couldn't mentally reach out and pin it. He let it slide.
There was another, more tangible problem to consider.
Upon his arrival in Oberhausen, Kruger had wasted no time in establishing a postal box at the Bundespost. Thereafter, he'd sent one letter per day addressed dutifully to Schmitt, Ganzweg, Oberhausen, Oberbayern. He had been in Oberhausen for nearly two weeks. As yet, he had not received one reply from the mysterious Schmitt. Accustomed to the vagaries of contact in the spy world, Kruger did not panic. He was content to wait and to do his job, or jobs well. It was, by suggestion of his superior, his last chance. It would be redemption. Or it would be death, any kind of death, slow or fast.
To the need of establishing a valid cover, Kruger had already devoted considerable time and energy. Besides exposing himself in the cafe at which Karin worked, he had become active in the town's somewhat moribund German-American Club with the blatant he that he was a retired Ruhr industrialist whose factories had been spared by the American Eighth Air Force in World War Two, and that in gratitude he could not do enough to foster better relations between the two former enemies now friends. He forced himself to be gregarious and outgoing and it wore on his mind but he was a professional and used to playing roles. In addition to being the only local focus point where Americans would congregate away from their insular bastion atop the hill, it was useful as a social organization in ferreting out possible contacts for Kruger. While he realized ninety-nine percent of such contacts would be dead ends, one might prove useful to Kruger.
That one would be Lisa Dunn, wife of the American Commanding Officer. She looked like a good prospect on paper. She was volatile, she drank a lot, and threw around a body worth throwing around. When Kruger considered the women he'd known, and there were so very many in so very many ways, Lisa came in low on the list, a bit unappealing because she was so obvious, almost sluttish. Yet in that respect it had been a time since Kruger had bedded down with any woman much less one with the nubile graces of Lisa Dunn. In the quiet of his hotel room, Kruger penned still another letter to Schmitt, then decided to accept the invitation Lisa had extended to him at the last club meeting. She'd asked him to come to have coffee with her anytime he could find a spare moment.
The spare moment was at hand.
Kruger awoke late the next day. He slipped out of bed, showered, and dressed in his best suit. He breakfasted in the hotel's dining room and acquired a carnation for his lapel. He was whistling when he stepped out of the hotel. The day was bright and sunny. If made him feel human.
The day was invigorating, too enjoyable to take a cab. Kruger decided to walk to the American dependent housing development. He was huffing and puffing mightily by the time he reached the top of the hill on which the American complex stood. He strolled by the Kaserne housing their military operation and had to restrain himself from peeking through the gate. He continued on until he reached the housing area. He was crossing the street that separated housing from the base when he became aware of a frantic jingle jangle behind him. He looked over his shoulder and his eyes widened.
He got one leg out of the way in time. The other was struck by the front wheel of a bicycle. Kruger absorbed the shock, cursed, and swayed to the curb where he regained his balance. He spun around, ready to assail the hapless rider who had brought his bicycle to a bone-jarring halt against the curb.
"You crazy fool! You damn near ran me over!" Kruger shouted. He approached the rider, an aged man wearing the uniform of the German post office. The old man's hair sprouted from beneath his ill-fitting cap and thick glasses perched on the bridge of his nose.
"I'm sorry," the ancient mailman said. "I didn't see you."
"You didn't see me! How the hell could you help but see me. You were that close before you rang your idiotic bell! Why don't you look where you're going?"
"I'm sorry," the old man said. His gnarled hands shook on the handlebars of the bicycle. He was clearly distressed. _ "You doddering oaf, you nearly ruined my suit. You mean to tell me the post office employs an infirm old coot like you?"
The old man gathered himself together with dignity. He said, "I am the postmaster."
"I don't care if you're the Chancellor! Next time watch where you're going! I have a good mind to report you! Be on your way," Kruger said, dismissing the old man. He watched the old man pedal away nervously, then looked both ways before attempting to cross the street again.
Kruger rang the doorbell of the Dunn apartment three times before the door opened. When it did, he found Lisa Dunn staring at him. "Oh!" she said.
With the ingrained necessity of a good spy to observe anything and everything, Kruger stared back. Lisa was dressed, more or less, in a canary yellow gown. With the sun striking it, the gown became transparent to a degree. Kruger stared at the twin thrusts of Lisa's dark-nippled conical breasts before skimming down over her flat belly to the wispy, yellow-tinted thicket of hair that flourished at the junction of her delectable thighs.
"Excuse me," Kruger said without embarrassment. "I did not mean to cause you inconvenience. I'll wait if you'd like to get dressed."
"Hot damn, a real gennulman," Lisa crowed. She opened the door wide and backed away. "C'mon in," she said. "I'm as dressed as I'm gonna get today."
Kruger stepped into the apartment. Looking past Lisa, he saw he was in thier kitchen. The array of chrome and aluminum dazzled him. So this was the American dream. He found the panorama of dials and buttons overpowering and a bit revolting. Yet there was a question in the back of his mind. Why hadn't the Russians, with their much-flaunted superiority, done anything like this for their women?
"By God, I sure didn't expect you, Mr., er, ah..."
"Kruger."
"Yeah. I thought you were my girl friend, Mr. Kruger. She always comes over for coffee around this time of day."
"If I'm going to interrupt something you've already arranged, perhaps I should come back another time," Kruger said.
"The hell with that," Lisa chirped. "Come on in here and take a look at the place." She walked ahead of him into the living room.
Kruger tore his eyes away from Lisa's revolving rump long enough to look at the living room. It made his quarters in the Bayerische Hof look like a workman's home. It made the average apartment in Prague look like a rabbit warren. Had he been less worldly and unused to the splendors of Europe's capital cities, the sight of such plush sumptuousness would have prompted him to consider defecting to the West.
"Not bad for a Kraut, eh?" Lisa said.
"Excuse me?"
"I said it's not bad for a Kraut gal. What do you think?"
"You are German?"
"Sure. So are you, Herr Kruger. You mean you couldn't tell?"
"I hope you take this as a compliment but no, I couldn't. Does that offend you?"
"Not at all. Why don't you sit your cute little behind down and I'll get us a little happy water, okay?"
Kruger nodded dumbly. His English, geared to the formal, was woebegone when it came to following Lisa's rapid-fire slang. He took the meaning of her words by context and sat down on the edge of an easy chair, He watched her naked rump out of sight, then watched the lithe lines of her legs when she re-entered the room and handed him his drink.
"That's a boy," Lisa said, standing close to him. "You take a good look. Feast them peepers all you want to. I can show you more, if you'd like."
Kruger was too inured to the sight of feminine nakedness to blush. In Lisa's case, the look was worth it but she was still throwing around what she'd thrown around at club meetings. Only now there was more of it and sluttish or not, he found himself becoming aroused by her nakedness and her candid willingness to refer to it.
Kruger pretended he misunderstood the exact meaning of her words. "I'd like to see the rest of it. If you don't mind."
Lisa grinned. "I don't mind a bit. I like it." She shrugged her shoulders and touched the general area of her belly. The gown parted and fluttered to the floor. She stood naked in front of him, clad only in her heeled slippers.
Carrying the pretense to its logical conclusion, Kruger feigned choking on his drink. "I-I thought you meant-the apartment," he croaked. He did not take his eyes away from Lisa's lush, petite nudity. "I bet you did," Lisa said. "Hey, you got a first name, Herr Kruger?"
"Yes. It is Anton."
"Anton. I'll call you Tony, okay?"
"It does not matter, but why?"
"I make it a rule never to scare anybody when I don't know their first name. Keeps it kind of friendly, you know."
"I do not understand."
"Sure you do, Tony. Screw. You know,figgen.
Mausen. Machen Sie ein bisschen mausen? Komm, mein grosser Stier, mausen mit mirl" "I do not understand your Bavarian," Kruger lied.
Lisa squatted before him with her legs wide apart to expose her puffy lips. It was almost as if she were a frog waiting to jump for a fly passing. She put her hands on him and said, "All right. I'll say it slow in English. You'll understand. Here goes-straight translation. Ready? Do you want to screw, a little? Come on, you big bull, screw with me." One of her hands left his knee and scampered up his leg, stopping short of the bulge rising in the expensive pants of his expensive suit.
"Moment, bitte," Kruger said. He stood from his chair and fended off an attempt by Lisa to unzip his fly. He reached down and caressed one of her nipples and she giggled. He stepped around her.
Lisa scrambled to her feet. "Hey, where're you going? You're not leaving, are you? Tony? Aw come on, Tony, we don't have to if you don't want to, honey. Tony?" Lisa padded after Kruger, following him into the kitchen.
"Allow me to lock the door," Kruger said to her over his shoulder. "Do you have a telephone?"
"Yes, but-" "Kindly remove the receiver from its cradle."
Lisa nodded. "You're a real professional, aren't you? You sure my old man didn't send you to check on me? What is all this business, some kind of signal?"
"Merely a precaution, my attractive little sex animal," Kruger said. "You mentioned that your, girl friend might come to visit. That is why I locked the door. Unless you prefer being caught in the act of making love. Perhaps it does something for you. There are such women, you know."
"I get it. You don't want to be disturbed, right?"
Lisa grinned slowly. "You've got big balls, Tony. Suppose I take a look at what makes you think you're so special."
Kruger did not flinch when Lisa unzipped his fly. Her hand darted between the metal teeth of the zipper and found his expanded staff. Her fingers closed around it and she pulled at it gingerly to expose it. She fondled it with both hands, sandwiching the protuberant flesh sword between them. Her breath was slightly shallow when she spoke to him.
"You better-get out of that-suit, Tony, 'cause I'm going-to really disturb you, baby." She rubbed the knobby tip of him against her sparse triangle.
Kruger hadn't dreamed he could become this excited after so many women, so many years. Lisa was little more than a nymphet with her sharply defined conical breasts barely large enough to satisfy a man's hungering fingers. Were she a bit more slender, she would be gaunt. Her belly was flat and when she moved a certain way, her hip bones threatened to protrude. Her legs were a fine asset, perfectly proportioned, flawless, capped by that thin crown of hair at the base of her lower belly. He had seen better bodies, had indeed possessed them, but he had met very few women who used the sum of their attributes to the advantage Lisa did.
Lisa let go of Kruger and sank to the floor. "You're going to have to do it down here, baby, 'cause I like it that way. Hurry up, Tony honey, hurry up!"
It was Kruger's intention to undress slowly, to teach her that she would be served when he was ready. Had he been able to stop watching her, he might have worked it out. As it was, he became entranced with the subtle writhing of her body, an alabaster Lorelei roiling against the darkness of the rug, beckoning to him. Her knees were up, then down, then up and wide apart as her fingers beat a nervous tattoo on her gash before spreading it temptingly open to his gaze. When she wasn't mouthing the foulest obscenities, her tongue lolled indolently from the side of her mouth and the sight of it thus took his mind back over the years to all his women who had signaled their surrender thusly. He pulled off his clothing as if it were afire.
"Bring it down to me, Tony honey," Lisa urged. "Let me get my hands on you!"
Kruger dropped to his knees between Lisa's legs. Half-sitting, Lisa cuddled his scrotum with one hand and stroked him with the other. "You do have big balls, Tony honey," she murmured. "You're big all over. When're you going to let me have it, Tony honey? Let me have all of it let me have it now damn you!" Her words ran together in a harsh whisper that goaded him forward and she pulled at him until he bent to her and she guided him to her spread sex lips. They closed over him, enfolding him, dampening him before he had sank into the depth of her.
Lisa began tossing and squirming like a tigress ensnared in the net of Kruger's body weighing her down to the floor. Her breasts rose to jab at his chest and her belly heaved upward while her legs flailed about until her heels found and hammered at his taut buttocks. Kruger's knees felt raw against the coarse carpet as he sought purchase to jam his heavy penis into her accommodating slit.
They came together in a flood of ebbing and flowing fluid.
Kruger rolled away weakly and came to rest on his side. Lisa raised herself up on her elbows and wriggled her toes. She looked across her naked body with an air of satisfaction. She glanced at Kruger.
She said, "Now then, what was it you came to see me about?"
"To tell you the truth, I have completely forgotten." Kruger had, for this moment.
"Good. We can have a drink and then we can screw some more."
They did. And they did.
Chapter Six
This had been one of her worst days and Hilde was glad to be home and done with it. The Colonel had acted like a lunatic all day, grabbing, pawing, cooing at her until she didn't know which way to turn. The height of his idiocy had come when the telephone began to jangle insistently just as he was groping under her sweater for a touch of her breasts. Knowing he could become furious enough to dismiss her if she did not let him have his way, she submitted to his clawing while the telephone rang on. And on until a knock at the door and the sound of the Adjutant announcing a command call from Wiesbaden snapped Dunn out of his ardor. He left it to her, naturally, to explain to the staff why the telephone had not been answered in the Commander's office. She lied extremely well; she needed their continuing trust and confidence.
Hilde kicked off her heels and stripped her legs of her itchy nylons before massaging her aching feet. She padded to the front door and opened her mailbox. There was a letter inside and a magazine as well. Stepping back into the apartment, she tossed the letter on the couch, aware of its contents. She thumbed through the magazine, then picked up the letter again.
She struggled with the contents of the letter which were drafted in a Gothic scrawl dating the writer to prewar vintage. Beyond the sugary imitation traditional to German correspondence, the letter adopted a chastising, abusive tone. It acknowledged receipt of her letter, finally-this word being stressed by an underline-after all the letters which had been sent to her. Hilde held the letter close and reread that sentence but it was still too oblique to have meaning for her. She had received one letter and had answered it. This was the second letter and there was certainly no cause for abuse couched in such sarcastic tones. She shrugged and read on.
She was chided for being too discreet in failing to answer promptly, and was further castigated for not providing information asked for, especially when "special material" had been sent her for that purpose, the letter said. Hilde frowned. The writer had obviously been drunk when he wrote this trash.
The letter concluded by establishing a date, time, and place for a meeting sometime in the future too facilitate completion of the assignment. Hilde marked the date on her calendar with an inconspicuous circle. It was another small thing Franz had taught her to do. Franz had taught her to do so many things...
She had married Franz Schmitt when he was completing his engineering studies at the University of Munich. Franz was a puny youth, easily lost in a crowd as a total nonentity and as such turned his energies to the radical, left wing element of the university to make his presence known. In an era when extremist political notions were unappreciated by the German people, it was fashionable and sophisticated to embrace Communism because it was somehow illicit and daring. Franz became a complete convert and he infused Hilde with his beliefs out of sheer vitality. On many nights they talked till dawn, intrigued with being part of an idea that was being thundered through an uncommitted part of the world, smug at being allied to a political structure that harassed the Western powers who had conquered their homeland years before.
Franz became marked as a young man who could be useful to the Party. In that capacity, he was flying to Zurich when the Lufthansa jet taking him there crashed in the Austrian Alps. Hilde was young and widowed and at loose ends. She pulled herself together slowly and vowed to continue the work Franze had started. The Party was delighted with her decision and made a suggestion to her.
As an attractive woman who had a reasonable command of the English language as well as the proper secretarial skills, Hilde's application for work with the Americans was accepted. Her security clearance was rendered by the Office of Special Investigation without fuss since she severed all contacts with the Party or anyone even distantly affiliated with it during this time.
She worked first at Neubiberg AFB, then at Furstenfeldbruck AFB, both stations being near to Munich. At "Fursty," she had her security clearance elevated to include top secret papers because of the good work she was doing. Having achieved what she needed, she requested and was reluctantly granted a transfer to Oberhausen because it was her home. She telephoned the cell leader in Munich the day she began working for Colonel Dunn...
While Hilde soaked away her fatigue in a hot bath she pondered the letter she'd received.
Information, information. Both letters had stressed and pounded at the theme until it was a litany churning through her mind to annoy and frustrate her. The contact cried for, wailed for information but would cite nothing specific. There was information to be got from Oberhausen, much information, but didn't the contact, the agent, realize it took time and effort and caution to establish and cultivate sources? And it took more time and extreme care to gather information that was of any real use? The agent sent to contact her was obviously an overbearing fanatic turned loose on his first assignment.
As soon as she had patted herself dry with a fluffy towel, she applied aromatic creams and oils to her body. There was a cream in which she had complete faith to firm her already solid, proud breasts and another cream to keep her shoulders soft and pliant, and still another cream to smooth out the roughness of her elbows and knees. There was an oil for her complexion and one for her hands. And one particular oil that enhanced the tenderness of the sexually exciting skin on the insides of her thighs. She luxuriated in these daily treatments not only because she enjoyed pampering herself but because she had come to know her body as an asset. It was a flesh bank of sorts from which to draw emergency funds necessary to closing the kinds of deals she had to make to secure information and she used it whenever she had to. Or whenever she wanted to.
She had used it on Colonel Dunn but she was unsure of what she had attained. He was made to be mad for her but was it her charm or the fact he was disenchanted with his own marriage to a girl whom he would never be able to consider his lady? He had confided some security information .to her from time to time, scattered, disparate morsels she had jotted down and forwarded to Munich. There were also the reports he left carelessly exposed on his desk from which she'd extracted what she felt was of value. But he was still his own man, still enough of an officer and leader to conscientiously fill out his most important security reports by himself despite the offers she'd made to help him with them.
Sergeant Howard had been a bad guess on her part. As the Colonel's colleague, a man closer to command than the Colonel's own adjutant, Sergeant Howard should have possessed all that she'd been unable to ferret out from Dunn. He didn't. He was less than a cipher; he was a zero, a drinking, rutting stag whose out-sized penis drove her to ecstasy before it punished her. It was all she deserved, she reminded herself each time afterward, for her error in judgment.
With two prime sources of information virtually nullified, she had considered her move toward Connor Trent, the new man, a logical and necessary one. Thus far, Trent had proven to be an unknown quantity. He was eager enough to pant after her magnificent body but he asked questions a lot instead of submissively giving answers. He could be brought around in time, she was sure, but there wasn't that kind of time as the letter in the living room stated so emphatically.
Hilde considered the cryptography section, nerve center of all the security information coming into and going out of Oberhausen. The section was, in fact, a regional depot for such information. It was a clever ruse, this maintaining a critical security area on an installation appearing as innocuous as the 304th ACWRON. And it worked, too, at least until she had infiltrated the base. The cryptography section was the last chance, the only chance she had to satisfy the yammering demands of her anonymous, impatient contact.
How? She looked at her puzzled features staring back at her from the bathroom mirror. How? Well, there was Connor. She had told him she would see him when Sergeant Howard stopped acting like a rampaging water buffalo but Sergeant Howard was being held at bay only by the office of Colonel Dunn and in that respect the halt was leading the blind. Besides, Connor was too quick, too mentally agile. He could be lured but it would take planning and practice. And time. Oh, the hell with time!
No good for Connor, not now. Who, then? Cooper? A gnat, a flea on an elephant's hide who did little and said nothing. The poor boy-man was so shy he retreated to a corner of the crypto room whenever she entered. In addition, his training had been minimal but thorough. He still believed in all the security precautions that surprisingly enough were not taken at Oberhausen. It would be risky to approach him on such a delicate matter.
Which left - she sighed - only one man. Recalling his brusqueness, his almost total lack of personality, his brooding Slavic features, she thought bad thoughts of the choice left her. She decided to retire early. It would give her less time to think about having to curry the favor of TSgt Imre Fenko.
By noon of the next day, it appeared a squadron of butterflies had taken up permanent residence in her stomach. As if in apology for the nonsense of the previous afternoon, Colonel Dunn left her alone, mercifully, which gave her more time to become nervous about her confrontation with Fenko, but needed time to formulate a plan of attack. She proceeded to the crypto section after lunch. The door was ajar as usual. She went in without knocking. Airman Cooper saw her first and made for the far end of the office with a look of instant business fixed on his bland face.
"Hello, there," she called to Con. The sound of her voice startled him and he lay face down the papers he was reading. Obviously irritated, he did not return her greeting but instead turned with a frown to Fenko.
"There it is again," he said. "You see that? Now, you tell me-" Fenko's sharp voice interrupted Con before he could finish. "I told you before I'm not interested in your gung-ho SAC theories! Do me a favor, Trent, will you? Let me do the thinking and you do the work, okay? That's why I got more stripes than you."
Hilde was surprised and secretly delighted with this outburst of animosity between the two men. It saved her the trouble of dividing to conquer each of them in turn. If they were at each others' throats, it would leave them little time or inclination to compare theories as to why she should be so extremely interested in security matters. She watched Con glower at Fenko.
Fenko ignored Con and approached her. When he spoke, he made clear that he was being deferential only because of her exalted position as the commander's secretary. He didn't quite succeed; he was hopelessly impolite and boorish.
"What do you want, Fraulein? Well? Please, Fraulein Neubaur, tell us what you want. We have no time for social visits."
Hilde thought quickly and pulled a topic out of the back of her mind. "Colonel Dunn would like the reports on the air-to-ground gunnery tests at Grafenwher," she said.
Con went to a filing cabinet and got out what looked to be a memo pad. He walked to Fenko's side and handed the pad to Hilde. "Not without one of these," he said.
"What the hell are those?" Fenko wanted to know.
"Release slips, Sergeant. Surely you've heard of them."
Fenko stepped a pace away from Con as if he was being contaminated. "Some more of your SAC bull?" he sneered.
"AF form thirty-two dash three, Sergeant. Look it up in your regulations." Con turned his attention to Hilde. "These are what we call release slips," he told her. "I'd like you to pass them out to the headquarters staff, it you would. The form pretty much explains itself. Each time you want a report that has a security classification other than 'deferred,' you fill out this form and have it signed by the section head-in most cases here it'll be Colonel Dunn-and give it to us. Then we give you the report you're after. Verstehen?"
Hilde studied the memo pad. "No," she said warily, "I don't understand. This procedure was never necessary before."
"Nooo," Con drawled, "it wasn't. But you see," he went on, staring at Fenko, "we decided to start running this section like a security outfit instead of a coffee shop. Those forms are simply a method of check-and-balance. When you give us the signed form, it enables us to know where our report is, with whom in a position of authority, and how long the report will be gone. That isn't so hard, is it?"
"It is a good idea," Hilde lied, furious inside. "I shall see to it Colonel Dunn, the Adjutant, and Sergeant Howard are informed of this new policy. Meanwhile, I suppose that gunnery report will have to wait until Colonel Dunn signs this form. Oh, by the way, there was something else. Sergeant Fenko, may I see you in the hall for a moment?"
Con eyed Hilde suspiciously. "No tickee, no washee. I know where that report is and I won't give it out without a release slip."
Hilde looked at Con and winked broadly. "Do not worry, Connor," she said as lightly as she could, "I will not kidnap him. I promise."
Fenko stepped into the hall with her. Dropping the last vestiges of politeness, he said, "What's this all about?" in a demanding tone.
"You have a car, don't you, Sergeant?" Hilde said, knowing Fenko owned a car, a tired Opel Admiral with one bent fender.
"Yeah. So?"
"I realize this is being terribly presumptuous of me but I was wondering if you might do me a very great favor?"
"I dunno. Depends on the favor," Fenko punted.
"I was in Marzling last weekend visiting a friend. Quite foolishly, I forgot some of my personal things when I left. Would it be too much trouble for you to drive me there? I'd gladly pay you for it," she tacked on as an afterthought, hoping it would work. It did. It usually did with the gullible, soft Americans.
"You can pay a cab, too. There's no sense in that." Fenko looked at his watch, then at her. "You want to go out there after work, is that it?"
Hilde had become so used to men ogling her breasts that it didn't click in her mind at once Fenko was behaving, or attempting to behave in his churlish fashion, exactly the way she wanted him to behave. She gave brief, silent thanks to herself for having had the good sense to wear her most provocative bra under a semi-transparent white blouse which left virtually nothing to any viewer's imagination.
"It's very kind of you to do this for me," Hilde purred.
"Hold on. I didn't say I would," Fenko said grouchily. Hilde touched his arm and let her hand rest there. Fenko stopped staring at her breasts long enough to consider her hand. "Might as well," he conceded. "I got nothing else to do. They got a tavern out there in Marzling, haven't they?"
"Thank you," Hilde said, turning up the thermostat on her charm. "They have a quaint tavern in Marzling. After I've picked up my things, perhaps you would let me repay you with a drink?"
For the first time since she'd encountered him today, the furrow graven in Fenko's brow disappeared. It didn't make him look any more handsome but it made him appear strangely vulnerable, Hilde noted.
"You got a deal, Fraulein," Fenko said. "Call me Hilde. Everyone does."
"Okay. I have to get back to work. Meet me in the parking lot after duty hours. The gray Opel with the crumpled fender." Fenko began to whistle as he stepped back into the crypto room.
She was standing, shivering, by Fenko's car when he approached. "Why didn't you get in?" he said.
"I didn't know whether you would like me to."
"Aahhh! You-" Fenko did not finish the sentence. He unlocked the car, got in and leaned across to open the door on Hilde's side of the car.
Hilde slipped into the car. It was cold but not as cold as it had been outside. "You were going to say we Germans are all alike. Either we are too subservient or too arrogant. Is that not correct?"
"Yeah. Something like that. How did you know?"
Fenko's sheepish grin amazed her. He could grin! He could talk without snarling! These were encouraging signs; if she had to let him into her for whatever reason, it was better if there was something likable about the man.
"I just knew," she said, answering his question. "I have heard it many times before. It is the Colonel's favorite expression, I think." It was not but the statement served a dual purpose, classifying Fenko's thoughts with the prestigious ones of his Commander and reminding him, if he'd forgot, that he could ill afford to turn this trip into a nightmare because she was the C.O.'s secretary and the ramifications of that knowledge were obvious.
This small conversation in the parking lot was all of what they said to each other between Oberhausen and Marzling. In Marzling, Hilde directed Fenko to the home of her friend. She felt foolish about going to the door of her friend's house. She hadn't left anything personal there last weekend because she hadn't even been near Marzling last weekend but it was a viable way to get to be alone with Fenko. She pounded on the door. No one answered. Thankfully, she returned to the car, not having been in the mood to see the friend she'd ignored for so long a time.
"She isn't home," Hilde told Fenko.
"We can wait if you want."
"No. It's my bad luck. I should not detain you. You've been too kind as it is. Let us go to the tavern."
Fenko was working on his third beer when he began to emerge from his shell at Hilde's skilled, flattering prompting. She had told him he was a different person from the man she knew at headquarters. In answer, he said, "Who wouldn't be? I tell you, Hilde, that section I got there is enough to drive anybody crazy."
Hilde was sympathetic. "You have problems?"
"You bet your, uh, I mean you said it. I can sum 'em up in one word: Trent." Fenko gulped down his beer as though pronouncing the name left a bad taste in his mouth.
"Is that Connor Trent?"
"Con he calls himself. Ain't that cute? He's a con all right. Son or a bitch is trying to con everybody into thinking I don't know what I'm doing, that's what. That miserable bastard has been after my job since that lousy day he landed here and don't let nobody tell you anything different, that's what I say!"
"You should not get so upset, Sergeant Fenko-" Hilde's soothing tone seemed to snuff out Fenko's belligerence. "Hey, hold it there. You let me call you Hilde. Suppose you start calling me Imre, huh?"
"Thank you, Imre." The name rang foreign, not at all American to her ear. Not Joe or Jack or George. Or even Connor. Imre? An odd name for a Yankee. But then again they had odd names, all of them and they called themselves Americans. There was no rhyme or reason to it. They joked among themselves and called each other Wops or Polacks or Krauts and once in a while she would hear one of them referred to as a Mick or a Squarehead but they were still Americans. It was confusing.
Beer made Fenko garrulous. Midway through his fourth stein full he squinted at Hilde as he swayed ever so slightly from side to side. "You know, I never noticed what a looker you are, you know that? I mean I noticed the ah, the-the, well what the hell, who wouldn't notice them, know what I mean? What I'm saying is you're all right. You're really all right. You ain't like a lot of them Kraut gals in town, Hilde, not at all. What you said back there in the parking lot about what I almost sad? I don't know why I would want to say such a thing to you. You don't even act like a Kraut. I wanted to talk to you for so long. I never thought we could get together like this. I don't mind tellin' won it was always at the back of my head, though. I guess every guy on the base has thought about aaakin' it with you. Oops, I shouldn't've said that." Fenko hiccoughed, belched, and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. His eyes were darker now, more intense.
He leaned across the table separating them and patted her hand, speaking in a conspiratorial fashion. "I just wanna, er, I just wanna say, uh, no, that ain't what I wanted to say." He shook his head and blinked his eyes rapidly. "Oh, I got it. I wanna let you know it's been real nice, you askin' me to do this favor for you. It ain't every slob on the goddam base can get this close to you and I 'preciate it, honest. If them guys could see me now they'd eat their hearts out. An' here I am, right next to it. I'll tell you something else. I like it." He leaned back, his hand still on hers. The look he gave her when he stopped talking said more to her, pleaded with her to give him something. Anything.
To Hilde, who had not lost sight of her objective for a moment, his touch and his look were a cue flashing in neon. She had trod so carefully to find the man's Achilles heel and he was laying himself pitifully open to her. She found his knee with her own under the table and pressed hard. Fenko responded, his face lighting up like the morning sun.
It was the right moment if ever there was to be one. "Why don't you take me home?" she said softly.
She sat close to him during the drive back to Oberhausen. Her thigh grazed his and her arm touched his. By the time they reached Oberhausen, Fenko had melted and seemed like malleable putty in her hands. Once they were inside her apartment, though, he had an aloof moment that jarred her until she thought to guide his hands to her breasts. He threw off all his restraint then, seeking to lead her hand to his bulging member that crept down1 one pant leg in a clearly defined outline.
"I hope you ain't teasin'," Fenko said thickly. "God, I hope you know what you're doin'. I got a rod on that won't quit and you just better mean it, baby, 'cause if you don't-" "Don't talk so much, Imre," Hilde said. "How can I kiss you if you will not keep quiet?" Her words and gestures were tender. She unbuttoned her blouse artfully with one hand while she stroked the column of Fenko's turgid pecker with the other. Her face was a mask of wanton desire but behind it her mind was racing. I won't be able to recruit him any other way. He's determined to screw and he thinks that's all I want. I'll have to give him what he wants but he'll be compromised then. I could even blackmail him then. Hell listen. He'll help me. Hell have to help me.
"You're doin' fine, Schatzie. Just keep those hands movin' while I get my honey butt outta this stinkin' uniform. That's right." His hands freed her of her blouse and unhooked her bra. Her breast flesh cascaded out to freedom. "My God!" Fenko wheezed.
They raced to nakedness, Hilde lingering just behind Fenko in disrobing. Her motions were contrived as the lustful looks she gave him. When he was naked, she took his swaying dork and toyed with it while he stripped away her sheer panties. Holding tightly to his rod, she led him to her bedroom and let go of him to crawl on the bed. She had one knee on the bed when his arms went around her waist and lifted her generous body onto the bedspread. She started to crawl toward the pillows on her hands and knees.
"Don't turn over," Fenko said from behind her. "Stay like that. I like to do it from the back."
Hilde was about to tell Fenko she preferred he didn't do it that way, that she found the idea distasteful and the act a kind of animalistic perversion when she felt his knees pressing down on the backs of hers as one of his arms again circled her naked belly. Before she could protest, she was aware of his hand caressing her cheeks. In another instant, he was clawing at one of her cheeks as he would pull open a door and then she was suddenly and agonizingly aware of what he was trying to do and she tried to move her buttocks from side to side but his arm around her waist held her fast, his knees locked her to the mattress.
"Oh, Jesus," she moaned, realizing with full impact what Fenko's intent was. "No! No! No!"
Fenko's bulbous tip penetrated her anal opening and she stifled a shriek.
"There! Next time you start something up, make sure you at least act like you wanna finish it," Fenko croaked. He inched his prod forward with excruciating slowness until the trunk of him began to enter her.
The feeling of Fenko's shaft filling this bizarre cavity pushed Hilde to the brink of hysteria. She dared not move for fear the pain would increase beyond what she was barely able to tolerate now. Tears sprang to her eyes and dropped silently to soak into the bedspread. "Wha-what are you talking-Oh-about? What-are you-oh, please take -it -out oh Jesus Christus I can't-Unh-Standittttf " Her voice rose several octaves until it approximated a high-pitched whine.
"You know what I'm talking about! You got me all hot and when we get here you go through the motions like you have to read the directions. I can get better action from some whore in Munich!"
"Please, no further in," Hilde gasped. "Stop there, let me talk. It hurts, mother of God! I was fooling with you, Imre. Believe me, oh please believe me! We are all strange. New, yes, new. Funny, so funny I thought you didn't-wouldn't want -please, Imre, I will make love with you any way at all-put it where-it belongs-not there-take it out-you can kick me and beat me and-anything but not-this!"
Fenko hesitated. "Anything?"
"Anything, but please-" "Okay, Okay." Fenko withdrew cautiously. When he had extricated himself completely, he sank back on his haunches. Then he moved his knees away from Hilde and let go of her waist. She dove forward and lay on her belly. Her hand came around to her cheeks and she massaged them with feeble, fluttering motions. Fenko grabbed her hand.
"Let's go," he said. "You told me you'd do anything. Let's go!"
Hilde rolled over, her massive breasts swaying and heaving pendulously. She squeezed her eyes shut to rid them of their tears of pain and humiliation. "What do you want me to do?" she said dully.
Fenko straightened on his knees and took hold of his penis. "Your mouth," he said.
Hilde stared at his offending flesh wand, then gathered her legs beneath her and started to bend toward his rigid staff. She swallowed hard as she neared it. She licked her lips and opened her mouth.
"That's far enough," Fenko said. He grasped her shoulders and pushed her back with gentleness.
"But you wanted me to...."
"I wanted to see if you were shooting square," Fenko said. His eyes held hers. "I'm a motherless bastard for what I did," he said in a low voice. "You can throw me out now if you want. I'm sorry. I know I hurt you and I'm sorry."
Hilde realized with a dim instinct that talking now would be damaging. She had gained back the upper hand by allowing herself to be trapped and humiliated. She had passed his perverse test and had won his confidence. Pride was part of her body bank and she had withdrawn a large part of it to negotiate the deal she would make with Fenko. Pride mattered little when the Party achieved its goals, for when the Party triumphed, she had to triumph with it. If she had lost a little, she had won a great deal more. Fenko's sincere apology made her feel more kindly to him. They were both still naked and he was still manfully erect. His apology was not yet a strong enough position from which to deal; she would still have to screw with him.
She did. He came almost at once.
She didn't. Not once. He didn't seem to notice.
After a time she drew on her panties, leaving her breasts refreshingly free and unencumbered. She padded into the kitchen and returned with beer for Fenko. She handed the bottle to him. Fenko remained nude while he drank the beer.
"Don't you want to put something on?" she said to him.
"Nope. Why? Do I embarrass you? You know how big it is. Now you know how small it is, too."
"I thought perhaps you might be chilly."
"I'm all right. I hate the thought of getting back into that damned uniform, that's all."
"You are strange, Imre. How can you hate so much, so hard?"
"I practice two hours every day."
"I am trying to be serious, Imre. I have heard you damn the base and call your co-worker a foul name. You say the uniform stinks and you hate to put in on. Why?"
"I don't know."
"Yes, you do. You must know. You can tell me. There is always a good reason for such strong hatred."
"You want a reason, huh? Won't just let it go, huh? Okay, I'll give you a reason. You'll have to use your imagination but you'll have your reason. Let's say it's twelve years ago and you're living in Hungary. Budapest, Hungary. You wake up one morning and there's a hell of a stir. You can hear it in the streets and that's exciting because the streets have been so quiet for so many years. You stick your head out and pretty soon your neighbor comes by.
"Your neighbor is laughing and joking and that's unusual because Kadar and his bunch have really shoved it up your neighbor's hunger for a long time. But there he is laughing and handing you a rifle and telling you the liberation is on, it is time to fight for freedom. You look at your wife and she nods and you take her in your arms and the damn rifle gets in the way and she doesn't care because you tell her everything is going to be all right.
"You go with your neighbor. He has a rifle, you have a rifle, everybody has a rifle. The first day you don't do much but you get to meet Pal Maleter and it's thrilling because he's an authentic army hero and he's fighting with you and you feel secure because he should know what he's doing. You tell your wife about it when you get home and she smiles and tells you she's proud of you.
"The second day is bad and you're scared as hell because things are backing up. The AVH has rallied because the Russians are in town for their totalitarian convention and you're dragging when you get home that night but your wife makes your heart sing with joy because she tells you the Americans are coming to help liberate Budapest so you and your wife are ready to hurry to your neighbor with the news and you run into this roving AVH squad and your rifle is the second thing they see after your wife. .. ." Fenko's voice cracked and trailed off. He looked at the ceiling for a long time.
Hilde broke the silence. "You poor man. I'm so sorry."
"So am I. Those people, the man and his wife, they were my mother and father. They believed the Americans were coming. They really believed it. The Americans didn't come. They never came. Budapest went under. Hungary went under," Fenko said bitterly. "I don't know to this day whether my parents are alive or not."
"My country went under, too," Hilde said quietly.
"Yeah. But at least you didn't do something stupid. You didn't join the armed forces of a country that failed you when you needed it."
"No. I went to work for my country. And you are still working for yours."
"Hah!"
"It is true. The Americans may free Budapest someday. They may free Prague and Vietnam and North Korea." She felt like a heretic to say what she did. It didn't matter as long as the end justified the means. "You can work for all the peaceful nations in the world right now," she said.
"Oh yeah? How?"
"By selling American security information." There, it was out.
"You're out of your mind," Fenko scoffed.
"Do you think so? Remember this, Imre. It is always the little people who fight the wars and bow we little people have a chance to fight for peace. It may be never before the diplomats make peace but I'm helping right now. You can help too. Sell me the secrets you have access to and "I'll see those secrets fight for peace."
"Just like that, huh? What do you get out of it?"
"A reunified Germany. Information I buy goes to East Berlin."
"To the Commies!"
"Not every Communist is an ogre. Some of them want peace as much as we do. They employ secret information usefully. There can be no war when each side knows what the other is doing, what each is capable of."
"That makes sense," Fenko said.
Hilde wanted to cringe. She had told lies before, scattered lies here and there that served a purpose at the time, but never had she dealt in whole blocks of lies, and never had she espoused so much of the absurd, the illogical. Yet Fenko's mind, saturated with hate, was actually making sense from a gigantic he so grotesque as to be beyond belief. She hoped Fenko's beery state was not alone responsible for his pathetic lack of reason.
"Do you want to join my crusade?" she said.
"They tell me I'm fighting for freedom already. What do I get out of it if I fight harder?"
"You'll be paid, well paid for the information you give me. That money could help you learn what happened to your parents. Money does many wonderful things, you know."
"I'd have to be damned careful with the money. A TSgt isn't exactly a millionaire, you know. Money ain't much good if you can't spend it. What else is there?"
"Me."
Fenko focused on Hilde's naked breasts. He was silent for a long time. Finally he said, "Do you mean it?"
"I meant what I said on the bed, didn't I? I keep my word, Imre. Always."
"If I joined up with you I could have you anytime, is that what you're saying? Anytime? Now?"
"Yes."
"You got yourself a partner. Include me in, baby."
She included him in. From the back, as he had wanted it. She didn't enjoy it but she didn't worry about it. She had got all she wanted.
Chapter Seven
The morning hadn't started out well for a Saturday. It was the only Saturday of the month Colonel Chester Dunn had to himself, the others taken up with meetings and inspections. He had looked forward to this special Saturday. It was to be his and Lisa's alone. Their day.
She burned his toast first and when she got excited about that, she let the yolks of his fried eggs harden. He detested hardened yolks but he forced himself to be tolerant. It was their day. Breakfast wound up a complete disaster when she served him lukewarm coffee with evaporated milk, and was clever enough not to be in the kitchen when he tasted it.
He threw down his napkin in disgust and went hunting her. "Lisa? Where are you?" When he received no answer, he softened the harshness of his voice. "Lisa, honey, can I see you for a minute? Are you indisposed?"
"I'm in here," Lisa called from their bedroom.
Dunn entered the bedroom to find Lisa naked, preening herself in front of her vanity table mirror. He stopped to watch. She stood unconcerned by the vanity table, her face reflecting her hedonistic pleasure. He stepped quickly to her and reached under her arms to caress her breasts but she had spied his reflection in the mirror and threw an arm across her chest.
"What the. hell is this all about?" Dunn said irritably.
"I didn't want you to touch me before I showered," Lisa said.
"That's reaching, isn't it? You were never so fussy before." Lisa turned around and faced him. "I want to be nice for you," she said.
"You weren't very nice to me this morning. And I'm not talking about that calamity you called breakfast. You were never such a sound sleeper. Didn't you feel it poking you in the behind? I couldn't wake you up at all."
"I felt it," Lisa said. "I was just so tired. I wanted to wait until we could both enjoy it."
"We could enjoy it now," Dunn offered. He reached out again to touch her breasts and this time she let him have his way, but not for long. When his hand descended down to her crotch, she giggled and backed away.
It made Dunn angrier. "What's the matter with you anyway?"
"We can't, darling, not now. Putzi is supposed to come over. You wouldn't want her to catch us at it, would you?"
"Oh, for Christ's sake!" Dunn's normally tranquil disposition was being snuffed out by Lisa's almost purposeful attempts at ruining their Saturday morning together. "You know we only have one Saturday a month. Why did you ask her to come over?"
"I didn't ask. She said she was coming. Oh, by the way, she and I may go shopping in Munich sometime next week. I'm going to need some money, Chester."
"I gave you money last week."
"I need more. Don't be unreasonable, honey. With your rank we don't have any problems about money. You know that."
"It's for damn sure you know it. What do you need the money for? I might as well know what I'm being bled for."
"Clothes," Lisa said nonchalantly. "Dresses, under things. My nylons are nearly gone. And I want to buy more nightgowns. The kind you like to see me wear," she cooed at him.
Up till now, Dunn's member had been going up and down like an elevator at the sight of Lisa's diminutive body in all its naked splendor, but when Lisa told him she needed more clothing his penis wilted and his temper flared red.
"More clothes? What the hell have you done with all the clothes I bought you, clothes you bought yourself? A few months ago you couldn't get another skirt into your closet and now you need more clothing? Where does it end, Lisa? More this and more that! Good God, woman, I can't keep up with you! If you're going to take me for a ride, at least give me something back!" In his fury he was ready to hurt and he hoped mention of their declining sexual togetherness would make her more reasonable, if not contrite. She didn't know what contrition was, he'd learned.
"What do you mean by that?"
"You know goddamn good and well what I mean, Lisa. This morning was just another example. A few minutes ago was another example." His voice rose to a falsetto mimicry of hers. " 'Don't touch me, I haven't showered. I'm so tired this morning. I have a headache tonight.
What, again? Putzi's coming over. You don't want to be caught at it, do you?' " His voice resumed its normal register. "What if I do want to be caught at it? I couldn't be if I tried. If you're not putting me off you're turning me down."
Lisa folded her arms under her breasts. "Well!" she huffed. "I didn't think you felt that way about it. You don't seem to be suffering from a lack of it."
Her remark hit Dunn squarely in his chest, scattering much of his anger and making him realize he was being foolish. Perhaps he'd been acting foolish for some time now. Did she know about Hilde? These German women had a way of knowing what went on even when you thought they were not at all concerned. She'd been through hell and high water; perhaps he had acted just as a former lover of hers had acted when he'd found someone new. She'd never said much about her past and though her OSI investigation had been available to him because of his rank and position he hadn't read it, feeling he'd be snooping if he did.
He decided to try again. After all, it was Saturday. "Let's not argue like this," he said. He attempted to embrace her and got her into his arms. She did not respond to him. "What's the matter, honey?" he said.
"You make me appear to be some kind of beast. You make it look like I never want to make love to you and ruin your food on purpose and spend all your money," Lisa pouted. "You have made me very mad and you have hurt me and now you want to kissy-kiss and it is supposed to be all better. I'm not built that way."
"Aw, come on, there are times when you've made me mad, too. We have to forgive and forget, honey. That's life, that's what makes a marriage work, right? Now why don't you send Putzi away when she comes and you and I will go and warm that big, empty bed. And later we can have a nap and a few drinks and if you're a real good girl I'll take you to the Officer's Club for dinner. How does that sound?"
"I can't do that. Please don't squeeze me so tightly," Lisa said.
Dunn loosened his hold on Lisa. When he did, she freed herself from him and went to her closet. When she put on her robe, it seemed a gesture of finality, a closing of still another door between them. She had taken so much from him; now she was taking the sight of her body away as well.
"You can't do what?" Dunn said, bristling again.
"Putzi is my friend. I cannot just turn her away. I have my life to live, too."
"Well I'm double-damned," Dunn said. He placed his hands on his hips and glared at Lisa. "You mean to tell me it's no contest deciding between your friend and your husband?"
"It isn't like that. You make it sound that way."
"I do, eh? I asked you to send that dizzy broad away. In fact, I've asked you before not to see so much of her. You are my wife and a lady, do you understand? That Putzi or whatever her name is does not enjoy a good reputation. I've been told she's been in trouble with the German police. You have to think of my career as much as I do and it's time you started. You're known by the company you keep. Remember that!" "Don't shout at me!"
"I'll shout if I want to! This is my home and you're my wife!"
"I'm not going to send Putzi away when she comes!"
"All right! I don't give a damn! I'm getting out of here! I hope to Christ that will make you happy! I don't know, Lisa, I just don't know about you anymore!"
Dunn charged from his apartment. On the way to his car he passed the frowzy-haired, heavy-breasted Putzi on her way to see Lisa. He snarled at her with something unintelligible in reply to her cheery greeting and continued on until he was in his car, his hands shaking as they gripped the steering wheel. He rumbled with his keys and had trouble steadying his hand long enough to insert the key into the ignition. The engine started and he gunned it to a roar before skidding out of the parking lot. He aimed for the Officer's Club but changed his mind. It wouldn't look good this hour of the morning. Not for the Commander. That was the hell of responsibility; he had to stop and think whether he could get drunk and where.
He knew a place. He turned the car around and headed for Hilde's apartment. She would be kind to him. She would open her stolid legs and assuage his aching pecker. She would comfort him in the swells of her gargantuan breasts. She wouldn't aggravate him and taunt him. She would be kind. It was her job. Literally ...
Lisa was waiting for Putzi. They exchanged salutations. "What's the matter with your old man?" Putzi said.
"Crazy Americans," Lisa answered with a shrug. "Come on in. I've been waiting for you."
"My, that's a lovely robe. Those floral designs are so pretty."
"You like it? You can take it with you when you leave. I can get-" The apartment door closed, shutting off their girl talk.
To Con Trent, Saturdays meant a reprieve from the hustle and bustle of weekday security operations. On Saturdays the Air Force, like any other business corporation, folded up its maximum operations for the weekend but unlike any other corporation, the Air Force still had an understandable need for those who would stand watch. On this particular weekend, Con was elected.
He liked it. He was left alone to do what he did best and it didn't seem like a job or a chore to him. There were no interruptions from the headquarters staff and the teletype machines did not chatter on as incessantly as they did through the week. There was an easy ambiance about Saturdays since TSgt Fenko, his constant nemesis, exempted himself from working on that day. It left the entire shop to Con. Next weekend, he would switch off with Buzz Cooper. It was a workable agreement, each pulling two weekends a month. It left him less time for Karin but it allowed him to scrutinize, at his leisure, the pathetic construction of Fenko's haphazard security system.
The system, as it stood, would give a cryptography inspection team apoplexy. Con had labored diligently to bring the filing system to a sense of order and had further initiated, on his own, the release slip technique which allowed anyone working in the crypto section to be almost instantly aware of where any report was at any given time. Fenko had muttered there would be dire ramifications of such a petty procedure but none had yet arisen. Which proved TSgt Fenko had no idea what the hell he was talking about. That made Con Trent nervous.
Con had got a thumbnail sketch of Fenko's background from Hilde. Fenko had been separated from his parents during the Budapest revolt in 1956. He had survived a harrowing crossover from Hungary to Austria at Andau and had worked in Austria before coming to West Germany. He had enlisted in Frankfurt as a ploy to more rapidly attain American citizenship. His record was not outstanding, even deficient in some areas. Con's reasoning, buttressed with Hilde's information, held up: Fenko had been given his stripes as a sympathetic gesture by sympathetic commanders. Which still proved TSgt Fenko had no idea what the hell he was talking about.
The door to the crypto office creaked open and Con's hand went automatically to the .45 pistol holstered on his hip, standard gear for all cryptography operators on duty. He had the holster flap undone when Buzz stuck his head in through the crack in the door.
"It's only me. Put it back in the holster, Hopalong," Buzz said, stepping into the room. "Just dropped over to see how you're doing."
"You're lucky I didn't blow your funny little pointed head off," Con good-naturedly chided. "It's gonna happen one of these days if Fenko doesn't get that lousy door fixed."
"You still hung up on that door?" Buzz stepped to Con's desk and browsed through messages Con had decoded.
"You're damn right I am. And the more I bug Fenko, the less he does about it. He'll see what happens when an inspection team hits this place. If it was SAC they'd have his stripes on the spot."
"That what happened to you?" Buzz said casually.
Con's reply was interrupted by the arrival of a messenger. He looked official as hell in his dress blues, garrison cap visor shined up, boots high with cuffs Moused like the Airborne cats, white web belt with matching holster. "Top Secret from Rhine-Main," he announced in a deep, virile voice. "Who gets it?" He looked from Buzz to Con.
"Isn't he pretty?" Buzz said. "Gee, just like a recruiting poster."
"Yeah," Con agreed. To the messenger he said, "Care to dance or shall we sit this one out?"
"C'mon, you guys, this is top secret. It's E-O. You're holding me up. I got a hot redhead with the sweetest snatch in Frankfurt but she'll shack up with the first Canuck who comes along if I don't get my tail back there, so let's get on it, huh? How about you, bright eyes?" The messenger offered the voucher to Buzz.
Buzz held up his hands and backed away. "The duty man is over there. I'm just here to spy," he said.
Con took the voucher. "Eyes Only. Hmmm. What's in it?"
"I think it's-oh, how the hell would I know," the messenger said with exasperation. "Here, sign your John Henry on the line and get ready for the firing squad if you don't get that voucher to your C.O. by sixteen hundred hours."
"What kind of gag is that?"
"No gag. Read your rider slip attached to the voucher." The messenger patted Con's holster. "Say, where do you put the water in that gun?"
"Get outta here," Con said smiling.
After the messenger's departure, Con looked at Buzz. "Glad you came by," he said. "Looks like I got to deliver this."
"No sweat," Buzz said. "It's Saturday. Dunn should be in quarters. He's an old stick-in-the-mud. I'll cover for you while you're gone."
"My faithful Injun, Tonto," Con said. He hiked up his holster. 'By the way, where do you put the water in these things?" He closed the door behind him, pausing to listen to Buzz' laughter before he left the headquarters building.
He was nearly to the Commander's apartment when it occurred to him he could have saved himself a great deal of trouble by telephoning ahead. It looked like the C.O.'s car was not in the dependent area parking lot. Con shrugged. If the Old Man wasn't home, he'd have to double back later. It was only thirteen-thirty now, a good while till four o'clock.
Con tucked the voucher securely under his arm and rang the doorbell of Colonel Dunn's apartment. The door opened and a woman confronted him, a petite, pretty woman wearing only a negligee which he saw at once was ultra-transparent. He started at her knees and worked up past her scarce snatch hair, past her tiny navel and up to the pointed breasts with impertinent nipples that stared back at him through their flimsy covering.
"Hello. Why don't you come in?"
"Afternoon, ma'am. Is the Colonel in?"
"Do come in," Lisa persisted.
Con was just as adamant. "Is the Colonel in?" he repeated.
"He should be shortly. Would you like to wait? Please come in. It's cold here by the door."
Con stepped in. Lisa shivered as she closed the door. He was close enough to see her goosebumps. And everything else she had.
"Do you have any idea when the Colonel will return? I have a very important message for him."
"Oh, I see. That's what brings you here." Lisa primped with her hair. She turned to look at the kitchen wall clock and Con had an excellent view of her stimulating view in profile. He imagined it would be possible, given her consent and amiability, to hang his hat on one of her pointed knockers.
Con did not want to become involved in a pointless conversation with the wife of the Commanding Officer. He was in enough trouble with his section head and First Sergeant without incurring the wrath of the head man. His credentials were in order; should Dunn arrive this minute the awkwardness of the situation would be swept away by the most highly classified message Con had for him.
"Do you have any idea when the Colonel will return?" Con said with more anxiousness, keeping all of it businesslike, trying to sound urgent.
"You already asked me that. What's your name?"
"Trent, ma'am. Airman First Class Connor Trent."
"Connor. What an unusual name for an American. I'm Lisa."
"What an unusual name for a German," Con countered.
"I didn't think it showed," Lisa said, smiling.
"It shows," Con said. If she was determined to engage in this kind of drivel, the least he could do was to enjoy the free show. He stared unabashed at Lisa's diaphanous negligee.
Lisa caught his roving eye. "Pretty, isn't it?" She turned her back to him. "Want to know where it's from? Look at the label. It should be back there near the top somewhere."
"It's very pretty," Con agreed. He made no move to hunt for her misplaced label.
"Go ahead, look at the label. For Heaven's sake, don't be so shy. I won't bite you. Do you see it yet?" Lisa reached behind her back to feel for the label, drawing the skimpy gown up to her thighs.
The hell with the label, Con thought. He eyed Lisa's well-formed legs. Deep within his crotch, a slight tickle made itself known. The tickle turned to a twitch which became an involuntary surge and Con felt his rod stiffening despite his best efforts to remain calm. There was Karin to think of, he reminded himself weakly. One did not go around screwing with the Commander's wife.
Finally, what if the Commander should walk in?
"... not even trying to look for it," Lisa was saying. Her hands traveled down her back, popped open a snap and she caught the negligee as it fell from her body. She waded through the material until she found the label. "There," she said. "See? It was made in Paris."
Con accorded one of the briefest attention spans of record to the label because his startled gaze was too busy devouring Lisa's partially hidden nakedness. The pale blue of the negligee had made her nipples appear almost ebony when in truth they were more cinammon-colored. Her breast flesh appeared much paler and her twin breasts looked as though they had been formed by a mold and placed at separate ends of her chest. There was a wide space, deeply cleft, between each mound and Con fancied what it would feel like to kiss that spot and have her breasts nuzzling against each ear.
Lisa tossed her negligee over the back of a kitchen chair. She held out her arms and turned around rapidly two or three times. When she had done this, she kicked off her fluffy slippers. Con gulped, his attention thoroughly arrested by Lisa's nudity and her blatant display of it.
"It's fun to be naked," Lisa said. "Don't you think so? I do. Makes you feel so free, just like there was nothing in your way. Nothing at all. Do you like being naked, Connor Trent?"
"Sometimes," Con said, feeling uncomfortable. He tugged at his collar. His tie felt like it was about to strangle him. He felt a warm flush envelop him as his penis expanded to rigid hardness. He took the voucher from under his arm and held it in front of his fly.
"Would you like to be naked now? Think of it. Every inch of your skin exposed with nothing to hold it down, nothing to smother it." Lisa's hands went to her breasts and she flattened them against her chest to watch them spring out. "They have a life of their own, don't they? Wouldn't you really rather be naked, Connor?"
Con had trouble answering. He cleared his throat. Dry. His tongue was thickening almost as quickly as his staff. "I don't think I'd better, not right now," he answered Lisa, as diplomatically as he could.
"You are shy, aren't you? I didn't think a man who was as free with his eyes as you are could be so shy. Are you ashamed of what you've got? Look at what I've got." She caressed her breasts once more. "They're not as much as most," she said then, "but you put them together with my box and you've got a winning team."
"Excuse me?" Con croaked.
Lisa pursed her lips with disdain. "What do I have to do with you? Do you want me to climb on your shoulders and shove myself in your face? Jesus, man, you're slow. Haven't your big blue eyes told you yet what I'm telling you?"
"No," Con said. 'Tell me."
"Let's screw. Is that simple enough?"
Con's rod thumped against the voucher. His palms were sweaty. "You better put that thing back on. Your husband's going to come home and I don't want to have to explain anything to him."
Lisa took Con by the hand and towed him into her bedroom. She picked up a key from her husband's dresser and dangled it in front of Con's face. "He went out and left his key behind. All we have to do is lock the door and have our fun."
"Oh, sure. He comes home and finds a locked door and I'm here. That's lovely, just lovely. Do you know how much stockade time I could get for that, with a man like your husband pushing it?"
"He won't be home until three. At least. Believe me, I know. Now is there any other reason why you won't make love to me? Are my teeth too crooked or my accent too bad?"
"No."
"Well?"
"You're sure you want to?"
"Aahh! Hand me that candle over there. You can watch while I screw myself. Better than that, you can watch me walk to the candle. Maybe it'll do something for you." Lisa swayed past Con, one hand on her hip, the other massaging her cheeks with a circular motion. Over her shoulder she said, Too bad you're not interested. I do it real good." She kept her back to him while she wrestled with the candle, her small hands too weak to remove it from its crystal holder.
It was all the time Con needed. He eased his pistol to the floor and undressed quickly. By the time Lisa turned around, he was naked. He palmed his strong, distended penis, making a platter out of his hand. He raised his hand slightly, offering it to her. "I don't think you'll need that candle," he said.
Lisa's mouth formed a circle of surprise. "I was wondering whether you had any balls at all," she said.
Con gathered his scrotum into his palm. "I do," he said.
Lisa crouched and clapped her hands together. "I'm going to run to you. Are you strong enough to catch me?"
Con nodded. He planted his feet wide apart. His penis jabbed at empty air. He readied himself as Lisa loped across the wall-to-wall carpet. She collided with him and her arms flew around his neck. She hoisted herself up, knocking his bobbing organ temporarily askew. She clung to him with her knee joints bent around his hipbones and her ankles crossed.
"Just relax now," she told him, lowering herself downward. She reached quickly beneath her with one hand, found his rod and inserted it deftly between her sex lips. Then she sagged down on him.
Con's knees trembled. "What the hell!" he blurted.
"Don't move. Just stay steady. You got it, lover. Let me do the work. That's right. Feels good, doesn't it? You bet it does! Uh, uh uh, oh, man, I'm coming. Don't move I'm-now!"
Lisa pulled herself up and dropped away from Con's body. She took his hand again. "Let's finish it on the bed. That kind of screwing would kill anybody!"
"Damn near killed me," Con agreed. "Why didn't you tell me what you were going to do?"
"I wanted it to be a surprise," Lisa said. "Oooh, look at that beautiful pecker! Let's not talk about it, let's do it!"
Con joined her on the bed, plunging into her before she had time to position herself. He drove hard at her, paying her back for all the little digs she'd given him since his arrival.
"Ease off," Lisa panted. "I already got a hole there, buster. I don't need another one!"
"Still think I got no balls?"
"Too big," Lisa wheezed. She reached between his leg and hers to fondle Con's scrotum. He withdrew and spewed forth his sperm on her belly.
She laughed. "It tickles," she said.
She regained her negligee and slipped a robe over it. Con dressed without speaking and took a position by the kitchen door. Lisa offered a drink.
"I'm on duty," he said.
"And how," Lisa said.
After waiting forty-five minutes, Con began to feel pangs of conscience about having left Buzz alone. "I'd better go," he told Lisa. "I'll have to come back later."
"That won't be any fun. Old numb nuts'll be home."
"Sorry," Con said, "I really have to go."
"Did you enjoy it?"
"You know I did."
"Why did you come on my tummy?"
"No sense taking chances. I don't look anything like your husband. The baby wouldn't, either." He opened the door and stepped out before Lisa could reply.
He was walking through the parking lot when he heard the vvroom of a powerful American car behind him. He glanced over his shoulder and saw the Colonel easing his Buick into a parking space. He approached the car. Dunn stepped out and Con saluted smartly.
"Eyes only message, sir," Con said, handing Dunn the voucher.
"Thank you, Airman. Good of you to deliver it. You could have called and I'd have come for it."
"I left a man in charge," Con said.
"Just the same, it was awfully good of you."
"Yes, sir. The pleasure was all mine," Con said.
Chapter Eight
Karin's fingers trembled as she opened the letter. Was it another one of those letters? Her curiosity was soon satisfied. It was. She sat down hard and passed a shaking hand over her eyes. Who was doing this to her and why? Why?
She looked at the letter again without really wanting to. The familiar greeting was there in nearly illegible Gothic script. It appeared as Greek to her. She caught a random word here and there. She read on past the salutation hoping this letter would give her some clue all the other letters had not given her. No. There was nothing new, nothing informative in this letter either. The same salutation and the same second paragraph as all the others followed by two lines, always two lines of block-lettered numbers and letters mixed, a code of some kind. She stared at the groups of numbers and letters and then took pad and pencil and copied them down: QW3ER Z8YUIAS32D MJU70 9PLKC ZX752 UGFLA FRID4 39PEW 1TRVB It took an hour of eye-straining writing, shifting, eliminating and transferring of possible groups of letters, without regard to the numbers, to convince her she was unable to make any sense at all of this code. It frustrated her keen mind and she slammed the pad and pencil down in anguish. She went to the heavy, unread period novel she kept by her stove as a repository for the few recipes she'd gathered and opened the back cover of the book. There were all the other letters she'd received. She picked them up and counted them. Twelve letters. Today's arrival made thirteen. She held the envelopes close to her eyes, one after another. Her belief in the superstitious coupled with her inability to get to the root of why she had received all these letters made her want to scream.
There was no doubt about it. Someone knew she had Fedor's secrets and was sending her these coded letters. But what for? The letters were all addressed to "K Schmidt, Ganzstr. Oberhausen." On the latest envelopes she had received, the word "Oberbayern" was shortened to "Obb." Otherwise the addresses read the same, written in the same damnable Gothic form she'd abhorred when she'd had to study weighty tomes of such script at the University.
She pondered the return address scrawled in the left hand corner of each envelope. "Box 42, Oberhausen." It was worth a try. Reaching her decision, she put on her hat and coat and went to the post office. She waited until the ancient postmaster had a free moment. When she stepped to the window, he peered over his bifocals and recognized her at once.
"Karin Schmidt, how good to see you. How can I help you?"
"Good afternoon, Herr Biedermann. I was wondering if you could give me some information. Could you tell me, please, who is renting box number 42?"
"Oh, my dear child, I couldn't do that. It's against postal regulations, you know."
"Please, Herr Biedermann, couldn't you stretch the regulations just this once? It's very important to me."
"Karin, Karin, how can I tell you no when you look at me like that. You grow to look more like your father every day, God rest him. But I cannot tell you what you want to know. You see, when you affix a stamp to a letter or package, you are paying for service and the privacy of sealing that letter or package. Any person who rents one of our postal boxes pays for the same privilege of privacy."
Now that she knew she'd be unable to trade on her family's long friendship with the postmaster, Karin's attitude changed and she wished he'd spare her his lectures. "Could you tell me whether a man or woman rented the box, then?" she said.
"No, my dear. That is postal information."
"Could you tell me how long the box has been rented?"
"Please, Karin. I cannot tell you anything. It is a postal matter."
It appeared to Karin that the wizened old man would be true to his regulations. She thanked him for his time and left the post office. Outside, she paused for a moment. The idea struck her that she could possibly learn whose box it was by lingering in the post office all day and watching for whoever went to box 42. She rejected the idea as absurd. There was no time for that. She walked back to her flat in a state of dejection.
She thought of asking Con for help. No, that wouldn't do. She thought too much of his affection for her to burden him with her problems. It was none of his business, the troubles she had. If she told him about the mysterious letters, she might just as well tell him of Fedor's secret rolls of microfilm. She was not ready to do that. Or was she? Something had to be done, if only to preserve her sanity. She was becoming afraid to look into her mailbox for fear another letter would be there. She had to talk to someone. Con did not apply. Her priest? This was not a matter of spiritual guidance although she certainly felt need of some kind of consolation. The Burgermeister? True, her family had been great and good friends of the village mayor but she failed to see what he could do for her. As Herr Biedermann had said, perhaps correctly, it was a postal matter.
In desperation, she settled on the American commander. Yes, that was it. She could take the letters to him and leave them in his lap without involving Con. Pleased with her logic, she donned hat and coat again and trudged up the long hill to the main gate of the base where she got a visitor's pass from the Provost Marshall to go to the headquarters building.
She got as far as Sergeant Howard's office before she was met with her last frustration. She stood nervously in front of this large man with bloodshot eyes and told him she wanted to see the American Commander.
"Can you tell me the nature of your business with Colonel Dunn?" Sergeant Howard said.
"I'm afraid I can't tell you that," Karin said in an unnaturally high voice. "I mean no disrespect, sir, but I would rather discuss the matter with the Commanding American."
"You mean the squadron Commander," Sergeant Howard said in correction. He toyed with a pencil as he consulted his desk calendar. "Well, miss, there isn't much I can do for you, I'm afraid. The Commander sees German nationals on the third Thursday of each month to hear their complaints and requests regarding the actions of our servicemen in town. Unless, of course, it is an emergency matter. Do you have a request or complaint that would qualify as an emergency? Suppose you tell me and let me decide. I may be able to get you in to see him."
"I would rather talk to the American Commander," Karin insisted.
"Okay, Fraulein, have it your way. The third Thursday of this month is the twenty-first. Come back then and you can talk with him to your heart's content."
"That is all?"
"That's all," Sergeant Howard said. "Let me sign your visitor's pass, please?"
Disheartened, Karin went to Cafe Fech and had a cup of coffee. Incongruously, the siege of Troy kept darting through her mind and she told herself this was no time to be thinking of romantic history lessons she'd learned. The more she tried not thinking about it, the more the narrative of the Trojan horse crept into her thoughts.
She was finishing her coffee before the parallel struck her. The Trojan horse, a deceitful ploy down through history used to gain access to the unsuspecting enemy's fortress. Of course! The American Commander was hopefully not an enemy to be sure, but could she not use the same tactics to get to see him? She thought of Putzi, her dear friend who had been working for Americans for the past year. And what had she told Dieter? She looked around the cafe. Was she to spend the rest of her life working in such a place for menial pay, subjugated to the whims of an iron-willed head waitress? Putzi was notoriously lazy yet she had been with the Americans for over fourteen months. Karin paid her bill and went to Oberhausen's Arbeitsamt.
The elderly woman at the Labor Office had known Karin's mother and marveled how Karin had grown up to look just like her. Karin remembered the postmaster's comparison and smiled. She was referred to another clerk under the elderly woman's aegis which eliminated a lot of bureaucratic clock-stopping. She was told where to go and what to do and when to report back to the Labor Office. She did not nor could not know something had finally gone right for her. The very day she applied at the Labor Office for a job as a maid in the American housing complex, Lisa Dunn contacted the Labor Office to hire a maid.
In less than a week's time, she had been processed by the Labor Office and told she would be assigned as a maid to the household of Colonel and Mrs. Chester Dunn. On the morning she was told to report to work, she appeared early, hoping to be able to talk to the Colonel about her problem.
It wasn't to be. Lisa answered the door and regarded her with sleepy eyes. She was attired in her usual alluring negligee. "Yes?" she said.
"I am Karin Schmidt. I was sent by the Labor Office. I am to begin work today as your maid." It was such a simple little speech Karin felt like curtsying when she finished it.
Lisa yawned. "Good Lord. It's too early to get screwed, let alone even think about work. Come on in and let me have a good look at such a determined Landsmann."
Karin stifled a blush and did as Lisa said. Her first glimpse at Lisa's kitchen made her wince. She had been called upon, from time to time, to help with dishes at her cafe job but the pile of plates, cups, saucers, and silver beginning to flow from Lisa's sink like some kind of porcelain lava unsettled her belief in herself to cope with her new job. It looked as though Lisa had been saving up for her arrival.
Lisa followed Karin's gaze. "Hell of a mess, isn't it?" She yawned again and stretched. "If it's any help, I'm not usually that sloppy. Had a hell of a party here last night." Lisa rubbed her crotch. "Boy, have I got a hangover!" She regarded Karin with bleary eyes. "Listen, kid, you do whatever you want to do. I'm going back to bed."
Karin blinked at Lisa's unsteady departure from the kitchen. The impulse came to turn around and walk out of this zany situation but she smothered it by thinking of what had brought her here. She was disappointed at not seeing the Colonel at once, but now that she was working in his home she was sure the opportunity would present itself in a short time. She applied herself to the stack of dishes in the sink.
The following day, Lisa looked better and announced she felt better. She insisted Karin sit and have coffee with her before Karin began work. The two women chatted, Lisa asking rambling questions and Karin answering them because she felt it was expected of her. Lisa seemed reluctant to have Karin work at all and made every excuse to detain her from getting busy. She practically ordered Karen to have a second cup of coffee. As Karin stirred in her cream and sugar, Lisa asked a particularly jarring question.
"How's your sex life, kid?"
"Excuse me?"
"How're you making it? Getting a good lay now and then?"
"I'm not sure I know how to answer that," Karin said, choosing her words carefully.
"Good for you. Spunky little rascal, aren't you? I didn't mean to offend you, kid. I was just noticing things, that's all. You got a great set of boobs, kid. Hips aren't bad either. I wish I had a build like yours."
"Perhaps we are even. I wish I could speak English as well as you. Where did you learn the language?"
Lisa chuckled. "You wouldn't want to learn it the way I learned it. I learned all the dirty words first, just like the Americans learn our language. If it hadn't been for Chester I don't know where I'd be right now. Poor bastard. Ah, what the hell, he's got no complaints. I give him a good ride. "A good ride?"
Lisa patted her snatch. "You know," she said. "No, I do not," Karin said, "but I'm sure I will learn."
She didn't learn. Not much, anyway. There was plenty to do around the house, to be sure, but Lisa was always there to do it in the guise of showing Karin how. Whenever Karin was especially clumsy with some household chore, Lisa seemed incapable of instructing her how to do it without demonstrating. In many instances, this involved touching Karin and, at least twice, standing behind her. At times like those, Karin felt ill at ease because when Lisa touched, she really touched. Karin could not adjust to Lisa's hands constantly grazing her breasts or gliding across her cheeks.
The week flew by. Karin was yet to meet with Colonel Dunn. On Friday she felt brave enough to question Lisa about it. Lisa replied with a chuckle.
"Don't tell me you got a hot box for my Chester? That son of a gun. I didn't think he could make out in a woman's prison with a handful of pardons."
Thanks to Lisa's constant stream of ribald jokes told in both English and German throughout the week, Karin had learned to master the flush that crept into her cheeks when the matter of something sexual arose. She had also learned to take almost all of Lisa's remarks and divide by two.
"I-I was just wondering whether he was satisfied with my work, that's all," Karin stammered, barely bringing off the he.
Lisa shrugged. "I guess he is. Made a remark last night about how good the place looks. Told me he isn't afraid to bring some of the squadron brass over any more. I suppose you can take that as a compliment."
"Chester never teases. He has all the sparkle and wit of a marshmallow. He's a real pussycat, though. I can always tell when he's torn off a piece outside. That's when I get my clothes and candy and steak dinners. I can usually tell when he starts humming to himself. He'd got a God-awful voice, that's the worst part."
Karin was astonished. "You mean he is not true to you?"
"Who's faithful to anybody or anything these days? Let me tell you, kid, I like a midnight snack as well as the next gal. And I like it spicy. Real spicy and interesting. Someday maybe I'll show you what I mean." Lisa winked at Karin.
Con was waiting for her when she returned from work that evening. He was full of vigor as he announced he had garnered a three-day pass. By nine o'clock that night they were on their way to Garmisch-Partenkirchen, a fabled resort nestling in the Bavarian Alps shared by Germans, GIs and tourists. They found a pension on the outskirts of town, a two-story affair replete with traditional Alpine balcony, looking like a gingerbread castle from a fondly recalled childhood storybook.
He was gentle with her and not until Sunday did he become nonplussed with her quiet and reserved attitude. She lied to him as gently as she could but still managed to hurt his feelings by merely being herself. She realized then the problem with the letters she had received was affecting her enough to color her relationship with the man she loved. It didn't make her feel any better.
"We might as well head back," Con said testily after an unsatisfactory exchange of words.
"It is still early. We do not have to leave until three o'clock." She was naked when she spoke, wishing he would look at her or screw her so she could feel exonerated. He did neither.
Chapter Nine
The Air Policeman at the main gate of the 304th ACWRON was undressing Judy McCracken with his eyes as she waited to cross the street. When she approached him and talked to him in her flat Iowa accent, he became all flustered, as if talking to a real, live American girl was something he couldn't handle.
Judy had been through it all, especially since Con's departure from Kirchenfeld. She had expected to wallow in men but she was surplus in a land of copious women; no Airman wanted to go through all the motions of the ritualistic courting of an American girl to get in her pants when there was an overabundance of free and tasty merchandise just beyond the main gate of the base. She was becoming lonelier and lonelier until she was met by Airman Keane in the snack bar one evening.
"He's in a place called Oberhausen," Keane said, his ferret eyes avoiding hers.
Judy's face lit up with a smile. "Damn you, Keanie, how did you know?"
"The place hasn't been hopping very much since Trent left," he said. "Besides, the guys at the hospital say you're looking sicker than they feel."
Judy asked one more question. When she learned where Oberhausen was, she kissed a surprised and chagrined Airman Keane on the cheek.
She was asking the Air Policeman now about an Airman Trent when a tall, gangling figure came down the street toward the gate. The Air Policeman spoke to him before the man could show his pass. "What's your name, buddy?"
"Cooper," Buzz replied. "Why? What'd I do now?"
"This nice lady wants to know about a guy named Trent. You know anybody by that name?"
Buzz grinned. He looked at Judy. She had the strangest feeling he was looking at her as though he'd seen her before. "I know him," he said. "I'll take care of her." Buzz showed his pass and stepped beyond the gate with Judy. He looked hard at her, his eyes traveling down her body and back up to her face. "So you're the gal," he said.
"Beg pardon?"
"I room with Con. He's got a picture of you," Buzz explained.
"Oh." Judy flushed. "That devil. He promised he wouldn't show it to anybody. Is he on duty now?"
"Sack duty is all. You want to wait, I'll go back and roust him out for you. I'm pretty sure you didn't come all the way down from Kirchenfeld just to talk to an unloved Airman Third like me." Buzz turned and loped through the gate.
Judy fretted until Con appeared. Would he like the idea of her coming to see him? Had he changed? Did he still care as much as she did? These questions ran through her mind until she spied him coming toward her and all the questions were gone and she ran to meet him.
"Hi, Jude," Con said warmly. "Boy, what a surprise. My roomie shook me out of the sack and I damn near ruined him for waking me up before he told me there was an American gal waiting at the gate for me."
"You're not mad at me for coming, are you?"
"Hell, no. Tell you what. I hate to keep you waiting any longer but I got to go and get my pass. And don't look so surprised. It's me and I really have a pass, honest." He blew her a kiss and left her.
When he returned, she said, "You haven't changed a bit. How long has it been?"
"Jeez, a couple months at least. Come on, let's have a drink on getting together again. Damn, you look great. Still got that old sun lamp, I see."
"It misses you," she said, trying to sound light-hearted, failing badly. "Damn it, I missed you, too."
"Uh huh. Let's go have that drink, okay?" "Con? Promise you won't be mad if I ask you something?" "Shoot."
"Do we have to have that drink? I mean I brought along some Asbach Uralt. It's up in my room at the hotel. There's only one glass in the room but we could take turns."
"You little dickens. You really haven't changed. Remember when you used to bring me that stuff in cough medicine bottles when I was on restriction? God, I was forever on restriction!"
"I don't want to stand out here and talk," Judy said. "We can talk at the hotel."
"You sure they'll let me up to your room? That's a pretty dignified joint."
"They'll let you. If you want to become Airman McCracken. I told them you might come to see me if I could locate you. It sounded very clever then but it sounds awfully stupid now, doesn't it?"
"I don't think being alone with you is stupid at all," Con said.
The door to the hotel room was barely closed when Judy let herself go. She threw herself into Con's arms, smothering his face with kisses, cooing and whimpering all at once. She felt his arms go around her and she hugged him tightly and then his tool was responding and she was glad, desperately glad.
"Where's the bottle?" Con said.
"Not now, Con. Undress me, Con. Take me as only you can. Jesus God, I've dreamed of this moment for two long, lousy, lonely months. We can drink later, Baby. I need you now!"
Con grunted as her hand found his crotch. She had his fly unzipped in a second and then his penis was free and she held his prize hard in her hand and wanted to swoon. She worked with his belt, his buttons, all at once, her hands racing over the fastenings that held his clothes together to prevent her from seeing his manly nakedness.
"Take it easy, girl," Con counseled. "I can't keep up."
She had him undressed while he dawdled with her slip. "Lord, you always were slow," she sighed. She brushed his hands away and lifted her slip over her head. Con helped by unfastening her garter belt and rolling down her stockings. "You've got better since the last time," she said softly to him. "Now unhook my bra."
Con slipped one hook from its eyelet, then fumbled with the other and cursed. He tugged and twisted it until Judy reached behind her back.
"Forget I ever said it," she told him. She finished unhooking the bra and let it fall away. "Beautiful," Con wheezed. "Still tanned. Just damn beautiful, that's all."
Judy rolled her panties over her hips and wriggled out of them. Her large breasts swung from side to side in unison as she kicked her panties free. She plunged back into his arms, jabbing her orbs against his chest, thrilling to the feel of his masculine flesh touching the length of her body. 'Take it all," she breathed. "What's keeping you, damn you? Let me have it, baby!"
Con carried her to the bed, his flesh wand smacking against her cheeks. He put her down gently and she opened her legs for him. She began tossing her crotch at him even before he got on the bed. He hovered maddeningly over her, his splendid, thick penis only inches away from her hungry flesh.
"Don't tease, not now, not now," Judy whined.
"I always liked the scenery, don't you remember?"
"Damn your soul to hell. Stick it in!"
With deliberate slowness, Con eased himself into her. "Aaahhh. Oohhh, that's good. That's-good!"
"I'm coming," Judy said. "There. Keep going, baby, keep-keep-it-there's more-mother, mother, I've got a fountain for you. Tap it, baby, tap it!"
"You'll get yours," Con groaned.
"Shoot it, lover, empty it into me, let me feel your seed filling me, drowning meeeeee..."
Con rolled away, his damp, limp penis trailing across her leg.
Judy slipped off the other side of the bed and . retired to the bathroom. When she came out, she began putting on her clothing. Con looked at her questioningly.
"It's over, isn't it?" She was glad the words came out without a halting, choking sensation.
Con stared at the wall. "You shouldn't say that, Jude. It can never really be over. Not for all my life."
"It's over now. Time will erase it. It's another girl, isn't it?"
"How did you know?"
"I saw it in your face when you came to the gate. I didn't want to say anything then. I didn't even really think it then. I was scared, I guess. Scared and too happy to see you all at once. When I told you I'd missed you I expected you to tell me you missed me but you grunted and talked about a drink. You talked about a drink here, too, Con. I hope I never get that careless about it. I hope it always means more to me than having a drink first."
"You're being unkind."
"I'm trying to be honest, most of all with myself. I told you last time you were all my tomorrows. I GUESS I've run out of tomorrow. Like you said, we're going to have to forget each other. For real. Forever."
"That hurts, honey. It really hurts."
"I shouldn't have come but I had to find out. I had to know one way or the other. Now I know and I'll tell you something. I don't regret it, not a bit. I'm going out happy. No tears this time." She started for the door.
Con stood. "One last kiss for all the years from now?"
"No, Con. Let's make it clean. No more hitting below the belt. Good luck with your love, Con. She's a fortunate woman. Goodbye."
Con started for the door but Judy was gone. His shoulders sagged and he began to dress. When he had finished, he took at last look around the room. The bedspread was mussed. He looked at the Asbach Uralt, expensive cognac. He left it untouched. When he walked through the lobby, the hotel clerk gave him a quizzical look. He tried to smile. He couldn't. Karin rang the doorbell of the Dunn apartment with grim determination. Her feet wanted to turn and run before Lisa answered the door but she willed herself to stay rooted to the spot. She heard the door being unlocked and then it was swung open and she was confronted with Lisa, clutching her robe tightly at the neck, her hair disheveled, her eyes puffy.
"You got guts, kid. Hurry up and get in here before I freeze to death."
Karin stepped inside. "I can't stay," she said.
"It figures. If you feel as bad as I feel, I don't blame you a bit. Good grief! I was in the crapper all night. Bugged hell out of Chester. I lost everything including last summer's wiener schnitzel. That lousy wine! Never-" "I mean I really can't stay," Karin cut in calmly. She didn't want to be here, didn't want to listen to Lisa any more.
"Sure, kid, sure. I understand. You go home and sleep it off, okay?"
"You don't understand, Lisa. I'm leaving. I'm not going to work here anymore. Not after yesterday."
"You're kidding."
"No, I'm not kidding. I could not force myself to come back to work here. If I didn't owe you for hiring me, I wouldn't be here now."
"Let me get this straight. Jesus, did you have to pick today to start this crap? All right, you say you're quitting because of yesterday. What happened yesterday?"
"You don't remember? The card game and the wine and-and what happened afterward," Karin said in a low voice. She could not look at Lisa.
"Oh, that. Listen, babe, why don't you just go home and sleep on it and you'll feel different tomorrow."
"I won't feel different tomorrow. Not any more different than I feel today. I can't stand myself today. When I think of what was-what happened my flesh crawls. If I could take off my skin, I would. If there was any way for me to get out of this abominable body, I would."
"Aren't you going over the edge? Come on, babe, we had a good time yesterday. Nobody was twisting your arm or-" "Shut up."
"Like hell I will. Listen to me, Miss Goody-Goody Two Shoes, there's all kinds of love in this rotten world and you got to grab whatever kind you can when you can. You got to look around because there isn't always time to pick and-" "Shut up! Shut up! My God in Heaven, can you really stand there and justify what happened yesterday? Is there any way on God's earth you can condone what you did, explain what you did? Are you really proud of yourself? Of all the twisted, warped things a human being is capable of can you think of anything more twisted or warped than what you did to me yesterday?"
"For chrissakes, grow up, Karin! Open your eyes! Do you want to live in a man-on-top, woman-on-bottom mausoleum for the rest of your life? You have to reach out, to experiment. Can you tell me you didn't get one good sensation from what went on here?"
"It doesn't matter. All I have now is shame," Karin said dully.
"It does matter. The sensations weren't wrong, kid. The shame is, don't you see? Some people get all the love they need from a cat or a dog and some poor bastards never get to know what love is at all. Think how fortunate you are, babe. You can admit that you were stirred, moved, yesterday. And today you call that shame. Shame because you felt a kind of love you hadn't felt before, so since you hadn't felt it before you call it alien and stamp it bad, no good, twisted and warped. And you went to two universities? How does it feel to be a hypocrite?"
"Please, I didn't come to discuss it or argue about it. What's done is done. I just don't want to be part of it ever again. I don't want to be anywhere near it or people who are near it. I'm sorry. I have to go. I'll report to the Labor Office that I quit. They'll find you another maid. Maybe you and Putzi will have better luck next time."
"You've made up your mind? Nothing I can say will change it?"
"Nothing, Lisa. It was good knowing you - for a time. Goodbye."
Karin stepped outside. She felt a little cleaner but not much better. She felt she had been sullied, tainted for life. Her thoughts traveled in circles around the stunning vortex of what had taken place, what she had allowed to happen to her. The experience left her mercifully numb except for brilliant flashes of total recall. She could remember Putzi's oversized breasts and huge, black, furry bush that threatened to creep up to her navel. She could remember vividly the wine stain on her naked breast somehow symbolically marking her with the red of evil. She could remember the nerve-rending fire of Lisa's tongue stabbing at her womanhood, defiling it, tormenting it, laving, slavering, abusing her most private orifice.
She could remember far too much.
Home was not solace. She felt trapped within herself, within her walls. She lay down atop the bed and prayed for mindless sleep that wouldn't come. Why her? What had she done on this earth that had been so desperately, tragically wrong? She had been conceived in love, raised in love. Was Lisa presuming to tell her what love was? She had lost her dear father in war and her mother had passed on to leave her alone, but there had still been so much love and so little hate in her world. Yet all that she loved was taken from her. Her father, her mother. Fedor. Would she cast the same blight on Con? Was she star-crossed or cursed by witches? All the improbable burdens of life had been dropped on her, it seemed. Letters that couldn't be explained and appeared too ominous to ignore, the awesome responsibility with which Fedor had entrusted her. How could she know what was right?
One person knew. One person who had not yet failed her as Lisa had, as Dieter had, as Putzi had. There was one person to whom she could turn. She made ready to walk up the tedious hill to the base. Con would be the one to help her. If anyone could.
She took up her customary waiting post outside the main gate. She had been there so often she was scarcely noticed by passersby although the work crews coining and going to the radar site outside of Oberhausen always gave her a piper's chorus of shrill whistles. When she felt good, she would smile and wave at them. She did not smile or wave today. She stood silent and envied them their vitality. They had not been soiled or scarred. They could enjoy their happiness.
"Excuse me, miss, is your name Karin?"
The strange voice startled her and she jumped. She jerked her head sidewise to see a tall, lean man with the face of a faithful beagle waiting for her answer. "Yes, I am she," Karin said. "Who are you?"
"Cooper, miss, Buzz Cooper, the loneliest Airman Third in the Air Force." "What is it you want?"
"Con sent me out to see you. He wants me to tell you he won't be able to keep his date with you tonight."
"Con? What is wrong? Did he have an accident? Is he hurt?" Her voice rose with each successive question.
"No, miss. He's just bushed."
"Bushed? What is that? Is that bad, this bushed business?"
"No, miss. He's just pooped. He's tired is what I mean."
"Why is that? Did he have extra work? Is he sick?"
"Frankly, miss, I don't think he wants you to know. Aw hell, I didn't mean to say that. Now I'll get in trouble."
"He doesn't want me to know what? Tell me, Buzz Cooper, or you will be in trouble, all right!"
Buzz fidgeted and drew vague designs on the dirty concrete with one of his brogans. "Damn it all, miss-" "Do not keep calling me 'miss.' You make me feel like your grandmother. Now what is it he does not want me to know?"
"Well-oh, shoot! He was out with another woman," Buzz blurted.
"So." The pain was intense enough to make her want to clutch at her breasts. The blight was befalling Con, too, and she would lose him as she had lost all the others. It must have been her melancholia on the trip to Garmisch. She had sought to spare him and instead she had turned him toward another woman.
"Do I know this girl," Karin said to Buzz.
"She ain't from around here. Came down from Kirchenfeld. That's where Con was stationed before."
"I see." Yes, a memory from his past he had doubtlessly contacted when he felt Karin no longer loved him. A lover whom he had loved before and who came a great distance, down from the middle flat lands of Germany to love him and tire him.
"I wish you wouldn't look at me like that, Karin," Buzz protested. "I knew I should've kept my big mouth shut but you didn't have to go on digging at me. You should ask Con about these things, not me."
"I thought he did not want to tell me about this."
"You're getting me all screwed up," Buzz said, obviously nervous and ill at ease talking to a woman. "I better go back now."
"No, don't," Karin said, not too quickly she hoped. "Since Con will not see me tonight, perhaps you would walk me home. It is getting dark and I would not like to go down the hill alone. So many Airmen going into town. You do understand, don't you?"
"Why sure. Matter of fact, we could even get a cab. I could use the Air Cops' phone."
"I would much rather walk," Karin said. "We can talk. Or are you afraid of me? I promise to be a good girl."
"Shoot! Well, let's go, then. Awful wind kicking up out there."
They were well on their way down the hill before Karin spoke again. "Tell me, Buzz, does Con talk about me much?"
"No, not that I can recall. Fact is, I hardly knew you were alive until he sent me out to see you tonight."
"You don't feel as if you know me?"
"You're a perfect stranger to me, Karin. But a nice one."
"Thank you." This small conversation with Buzz, fishing for information when she appeared to be chatting, convinced her she was losing her man.
This mordant thought capped an already morbid twenty-four hours. She wanted to cry but that would make Buzz upset. He was hardly more than a boy attempting manhood, she'd noticed, but he was trying hard and that counted. Because he was a friend of Con's, she felt close to him if she could not be close to Con. Yet she felt wronged as well. She was well aware she hadn't been at her best in Garmisch although Con had been most tender and gracious with her. But he hadn't given her a chance to prove herself, to tell him what was bending her personality out of shape. He had dismissed her tonight because he was "tired." She did not think she warranted such cavalier treatment for one mistake. Perhaps Lisa had been right. Who indeed was faithful to anyone or anything these days.
Why should she be faithful now? No one was being faithful to her, most of all those on whom she'd depended. Putzi had let her down and Lisa's chauvinistic defense of a free sex life had been only for her own ends. And Con, now her idol with feet of clay. There was a way to get even. There was a way to punish him, if he still cared, and to punish herself for her myopic stupidity. She glanced over at Buzz strolling by her side.
"Will you take my hand, Buzz? I have only one pocket in this coat."
Buzz fumbled with her hand. "Is that okay?"
"You can hold it tighter than that. It won't break off."
When they arrived at her home he was ready to tan around and go back to the base but Karin insisted on returning the favor he'd done her by inviting him in to thaw. She took his coat and made him comfortable in a great, aging easy chair and told him she would bring him some hot tea to warm him.
Then she went into her bedroom and took off all her clothing, including her watch, a cameo ring, and her earrings. When she emerged from the bedroom she was stark naked.
She approached Buzz' chair from behind and called his name softly. "I have something for you," she purred.
"Already? Boy, that's fast service," Buzz was saying as he started to look around. When he saw Karin naked he leaped out of his chair and jammed his hands into his pockets as he hunched his neck into his shoulders. "Good Christ! I mean, er, holy smokes! What did you go and do that for?"
"I want to show you my appreciation for what you've done for me," Karin said. She took a few steps closer to him but he backed away as though she was carrying a live cattle prod.
"For what I've done for you," Buzz echoed with alarm. "Hey look, Karin, you didn't have to do that. What the hell, you could have shook my hand or gave me a little kiss on the cheek. But this..."
Karin pretended a pout. "You don't like me."
"Yeah, babe, I like you fine. It's kind of sudden, that's all."
"Why don't you come to me? Hold me in your arms, Buzz. Touch me."
"N-n-no, I don't guess I better do that. Con'd be madder'n hell if he ever found out. I wouldn't want him for an enemy, no sir!"
Appealing to whatever vanity Buzz possessed, Karin said, "Don't you think you ought to decide what you can or can't do? You're a man, Buzz."
For good measure she added, "What do you think Con would do if he were in your situation?"
Buzz' dangling hands twitched with consternation at his side. "Oh damn, I just-oh, goddammit!" he cried.
Karin approached him and ran her fingers over his arms, his chest. "Is there something I can help you with?" She leaned against him, teasing him with her body, rubbing her breasts against his shirt.
Buzz flushed scarlet. "I-I don't know what to do! I wish you wouldn't, I wish you hadn't've - Jesus, how can I tell you! I could die, just positively die!"
"What's the matter, Buzz? Tell me."
"I've-never-been-with-a-woman-before!" Buzz said, expelling each word with great effort.
Karin's first impulse was to laugh. She had entertained the notion Buzz was inexperienced because he'd been so shy and indrawn when he'd talked to her atop the hill. But a virgin! She dwelled on the novelty of it. An honest-to-God virgin in this day and age!
"Don't worry. I won't hurt you. I'll show you how to do it. Everybody has to learn sometime," Karin said soothingly. "Take your clothes off now. Let me teach you about making love."
Buzz revealed his gawky, ambling frame and modestly cupped his hands over his genitals. He appeared to be almost rigid with fright. "Please don't laugh at me," he said over and over.
"I couldn't laugh. Not at one of the most beautiful feelings in the world," Karin said sincerely. She led him into her bedroom and pulled down the covers of her bed before slipping beneath them. Buzz stood petrified by the side of the bed.
Karin patted the empty space next to her body. "Come. It's warmer in here. Let me warm you."
Buzz got into bed awkwardly. He shrank away from her touch. His teeth began to chatter. "I don't think I better do this," he said.
Karin made him familiar to the touch of her hands. She stroked his bare, hairless chest and rubbed her palm over his sunken belly. Then she reached down to his stubby penis and coddled it. Buzz came to life with astonishing speed, growing under her hand to a good length in no time at all. She urged him to climb atop her and squirmed under him, opening her legs.
"Don't worry," she kept repeating. "It won't hurt. It'll feel good, like nothing you ever felt before. Let me do it for you. Relax and let me guide you. There. Now push with your hips. Push it in."
"It feels funny. I can't do it!"
"Yes, you can. Slowly now. That's right? See? You don't have to be taught. You were born to do it." She lay back, her job done, and remained impassive.
Buzz drew back. His second stroke was more firm. "Where have I been all my life!" he lamented half in joy, half in agonizing pleasure-pain.
He came on his fourth stroke.
Karin did not share his joy. She suffered his sagging against her and his almost endless verbal praise. She should have been content to have revenged herself against Con by giving what he considered his to another man. She should have felt reviled and utterly degraded to have surrendered herself to a stranger, but there was a vague satisfaction in awakening someone else's virginal sex life.
She felt nothing more strongly than emptiness. And guilt. She closed her eyes against those bottomless feelings. She did not feel Buzz stir and crawl from bed a few hours later.
When she awoke in the morning, Buzz was gone. Her bed was as empty as her life had become.
Chapter Ten
Kruger first became attracted to Dieter when he sat in the corner of Cafe Fech and listened to Dieter trying to hold the attention of his colleagues in a round-table discussion about politics. Kruger listened with half an ear; the young man's theories were hopelessly outdated, some of his ideas harking back to the Korean era of Communist expansion. In the end, Dieter's companions deserted him in disgust, jeering at him and casting reflections on his intelligence.
Sipping his coffee, Kruger mused that it wasn't so much what Dieter said as how he had said it. If the young man's personality were properly shaped, Kruger thought, he could possibly become as charismatic as a Hitler or Stalin though the youth's oratorical skills would never compare with those of, say, a Churchill. Kruger stood and meandered over to Dieter's table and found the young man in a state of dejection.
"May I sit down?" Kruger said to Dieter.
Dieter looked up at him. "Suit yourself," he said.
"You made some good points," Kruger said quietly.
"Bah! They are fools caught up in their capitalistic jingoism," Dieter snorted.
Kruger winced. The boy would need tutoring. His catch-phrases came from Bulganin, not Brezhev. "If you really believe in what you're saying I'd like to talk to you," he said.
"Hah! You can beat it right now, cop! I know my rights. You're not allowed to harass me in a public place!"
"If you're going to be irrational, we can forget the whole thing." Kruger prepared to stand. He shook his head sadly. "Too bad. You could have been useful."
"Wait a minute. Who are you and what do you want?" Dieter demanded.
"If you're interested, come to my suite at the Bayerische Hof Hotel this evening," Kruger said. He jotted down the number of the suite on the corner of Dieter's paper napkin and pushed it toward the youth. Then he stood, paid the waitress his bill, and left.
Dieter came that evening. And several evenings after that. Despite the young man's initial belligerence, the two got on well, strange bedfellows in an arcane locale. Kruger spoke softly but never at length and Dieter listened hard like a rapt pupil soaking up wisdom from the master. At several points during the course of each evening, Dieter would truck out his outmoded concepts and Kruger would quietly destroy them and fill the gaps with the official, new line. He would hand Dieter Party tracts to read and Dieter would read them and Kruger would correct him.
"No, no," he would say. "do it again. It's all in your style. You cannot hope to be persuasive if you're condescending and patronizing to begin with. Your alienate your audience before they have a chance to accept your ideas. Now try it again."
Dieter progressed rapidly under Kruger's tutelage and Kruger felt more contentment than he'd felt since coming to Oberhausen. Kruger's ego had always been subordinate to his work but now in the late summer of his life, he was learning to enjoy the benefits of ego-gratification. Dieter filled that need. In turn, Kruger filled the cocky youth's head with a plethora of promises and kept him in more money than he needed. Dieter became servile in his devotion to Kruger, panting up to him daily with the latest news, all of it worthless, from the base on the hill. Dieter passed on rumor as truth without bothering for verification and Kruger tolerated all of it. He had come to conclude he could not tackle the assignment of Karin Schmidt by himself; he would need a local, a person more familiar with Karin than he himself was. In short, Dieter.
When Dieter had proved himself by performing the most menial tasks Kruger assigned him and doing them without complaint, Kruger felt Dieter was ready to know the truth. He sat the young man down for a heart-to-heart talk.
"I am a Soviet spy," Kruger began. He got no further.
Dieter backed away as if confronted with the Deity Himself. "Amazing! I thought as much but I would never have dared say it."
Kruger complimented Dieter on his astuteness and went on to sketch an outline of his dual assignment. Dieter was especially attentive while Kruger discussed the Karin Schmidt aspects of his task. When he finished, he asked Dieter if there was any comment the young man wanted to make.
"I want to be in on the Karin caper," Dieter drooled.
"Oh, please, this is life, not a stupid television program thought up by those stupid Americans who are convinced spies really talk that way," Kruger chided. "Sorry about that."
"There. You've done it again."
"Excuse me," Dieter said, stifling a smile. His face turned serious again. "Let me work with you on the Karin thing. Please?"
"I have every intention of doing so. Why else would you have been brought along this far, do you suppose? I might say you seem extremely eager to be after the young woman, aren't you?"
"I am," Dieter said with an odd gleam in his eyes. "Extremely so." He cracked his knuckles savagely.
Hilde's preparations for the entrapment and eventual enslavement of Con Trent were virtually complete. There was one bottle each of Canadian Club, Jack Daniels, and Johnny Walker Red, coincidentally, so Con would have his choice of liquor. She had placed cigarettes, matches, and ashtrays at strategic locations throughout the apartment. Her refrigerator fair bulged with an assortment of pickles, cooked and sliced wursts, and other delikatessen. There was a bowl of marzipan on the dining room table and beside it a bowl of fruit and one with mixed nuts. She had thought of the Americans when she filled that particular bowl.
Since having enlisted TSgt Fenko to her cause with deliberate or pathetic ease, whichever it was, Hilde had proceeded apace, setting her cap for Con Trent. Victory over the Sergeant had bolstered her confidence and she was sure she could trap the volatile American by using her durable feminine charms but exerting considerably more guile than she'd employed on the hapless Fenko. To be positively sure nothing was left undone, she ever put on the bed the satin sheets and pillowcases Franz had given her as a sublime dig at capitalistic conspicuous waste.
She met with Con accidentally on purpose outside the cryptography room. Con was laboring with a new door to the office when she approached, pretending she wasn't noticing who ii was working with the door hinges. Cor straightened when her shapely legs were at his eye level.
"How do you like the new door?" he said proudly. "I finally got that bastard Fenko to approve it. Got a double lock and a window flap see? Just like an old-time speakeasy joint. He's still grousing about it. Damn fool doesn't realized I probably saved his bacon. If an inspection team had ever seen that other door we'd be on the list till the end of time."
"It is very nice," Hilde lied. It wasn't at all nice. The. new door denied her the easy access to the crypto room she'd come to rely on, especially when TSgt Fenko was on duty. The door and the release slip system were Connor Trent's innovations. He was not to be underestimated or underplayed, she reminded herself once more.
"How's it been going?" Con said, making conversation. He finished tightening the upper hinges of the door.
"I think it's safe now." Hilde leaned close to him and spoke in a confidential tone.
"Oh, really? Safe for what?"
"Have you forgotten? I told you I would let you know when Sergeant Howard had calmed down. It's happened at last." She saw no point in telling Con the good First Sergeant had nearly drilled a new entrance to her womb a few days before.
"I haven't seen him lately. He's a good man to steer clear of. You say he's finally got off your back, eh?"
"He's an absolute angel lately. I don't know what's got into him and I don't care as long as he behaves himself. I think it was simply awful what he did to you when you were processing into the base."
"That's how the game is played," Con said philosophically. "They played it with him, he plays it with me. Maybe I play it on Cooper. One great big merry-go-round."
"When will you come to see me, dear Connor?" Hilde made the question sound as though she was begging.
"You name it, I'll be there."
"Tonight?"
"Tonight it is. You've got yourself company, Baby."
"Good. I won't disappoint you. This time I will show you what too much is."
Con frowned, then smiled as he recalled what Hilde had told him in the First Sergeant's office so long ago. "I just bet you will," he said.
He was prompt, arriving at her apartment on time to the minute. To Hilde, it was a good sign. She took his coat and asked him to make himself comfortable. She pointed out the different liquors to him as well as the delectables on the dining room table.
"I have to leave you alone for a moment," she said. "You can make a drink for us. And don't be afraid to eat some candy. Have some nuts. That's what it's there for."
"Nice little spread," Con said.
"Just for you," Hilde said. She kissed him lightly on the cheek and went into her bedroom.
She had spent fully half a day Sunday searching for the negligee she was going to wear for Con. It had been another gift from Franz. She had finally found it under a portrait of him. She had looked at the face so alive in the photo, so dead in life and had reaffirmed her vows to the Party.
Hilde discarded her street clothes and slipped into the negligee. She caught a glimpse of herself in her dresser mirror and gasped. She looked down to see if the mirror was lying. It wasn't. The negligee hugged her shoulders and her breasts. A red ribbon cinched in the material directly under her mounds to emphasize them. Beneath the billowing material, they assumed truly monumental size. The gown was cut severely in front, leaving more of her orbs exposed than were covered. Beneath her breasts, the folds of the black negligee made a grayish, indefinable ghost of the rest of her torso. She fussed with her hair, applied fresh lipstick and left her bedroom.
She found Con reclining on the couch, two pillows stuffed behind his back. His feet were resting lightly on two conspicuously white envelopes. Hilde diverted her eyes quickly, not wanting to notice the letters from her anonymous contact and hoping Con hadn't. She pattered over to him on bare feet.
Con was a study of the classic double-take as he glanced up at Hilde, went back ever so briefly to his magazine, then dropped the magazine and nearly spilled his drink. "Wow! Let's get a look at this!" he said with genuine enthusiasm.
"Do you like it?"
"How does it look folded up in a box?"
"I don't know. Why?"
"Because it wouldn't be on you, then."
"You are a madman," Hilde told him. "You do not wish to see it on me?"
"I do not wish to see anything on you except me," Con said in a level voice. He set down his drink and swung his feet off the couch.
"What are you going to do?"
"I think I'll plow the south forty," Con said as he stared at the bulging mounds of Hilde's breasts.
"Don't you want another drink first? I haven't touched mine at all."
"I suppose I could have another drink," Con drawled.
Hilde fixed his drink. There seemed something restive about Con this evening, something she couldn't properly define but it was there. She had heard rumors he was keeping company with a German girl in town. Perhaps he was merely satisfying an obligation by coming to see her this night. No, that couldn't be it. A man like Con Trent was too candid to live a he. He was here because he wanted to be here. He didn't want information any more but she could deduce from the way he was looking at her that he wanted her body. No man could he about a thing like that. She went to him and offered him his drink. He set it down. Then he had her in his arms and his strength was squeezing the breath from her lungs. He bent his head and kissed her neck.
"Get that damned thing off that sweet body of yours before I tear it off," Con groaned. "I can't take any more of it!"
Hilde squirmed out of his grip. She answered Con's puzzled stare by saying, "I was afraid you might rip it. You wouldn't want to do that. You want me to take it off. Let us compromise. I will take off your clothing, you will take off mine. Agreed?"
Con nodded.
He was still poking about with Hilde's negligee when Hilde had him naked and was fondling his firm member. "I'm going to tear it off," he said through clenched teeth. "There's no way in hell it opens by itself!"
"Let me," Hilde said. She let go of him and reached to her back. A tug with her fingers released the ribbon coursing under her breasts. The negligee fell open from her back. With a toss of her shoulders it slid down her arms, fell away from her bounteous breasts and drifted floorward.
"That's more like it. Here we go," Con said, lifting Hilde and carrying her toward the couch.
"Take me to the bed," Hilde said. "Please? Let me have you in comfort!"
Con staggered into the bedroom. He set Hilde down on the bed. She hopped off and tugged down the covers, then scurried under them. Con skidded in behind her. "What the hell?" He slipped and slid before he threw his arm over her belly and drew himself to her. He churned with his knees until he was atop her and inside her, pumping, driving, ramming his rod into her. Without pausing, he drove on until she felt his liquid heat shooting into her pussy.
She served the food afterward. Her appetite had been aroused by Con's pounding and she ate heartily. Con only picked at the wurst and pickles and had only one slice of Schwarzbrot. He appeared moody, bothered by something he wouldn't discuss. When she caught him staring at her, he looked away. She offered him coffee but he preferred another drink. When he finished it, he announced he had to go. Hilde saw him to the door. He gave her a brief peck on the lips and thanked her for the good time.
Hilde closed the door slowly. Her face reflected her bewilderment. Intuition had warned her not to attempt a deal with him, not after the way he'd behaved with her negligee. His farewell had been almost prissy. She began to tidy up. There was so much that would go to waste. It had been so much trouble and had taken so much time and it had all come to nothing.
He hadn't even been a good lay.
And he hadn't said a single word about her silk sheets.
Con's conscience had begun to nag at him shortly after he'd finished screwing Hilde. She'd been good enough, he supposed, yet there had been something gimmicky about the entire affair. Or maybe it was because Karin had popped into his mind as soon as he had rolled away from Hilde. The texture of the silken sheets Hilde had on her bed reminded him of Karin's skin and the thought of Karin's flesh reminded him he had been unfair and untrue to her because of Judy and Hilde. His journey to her home now was a singular effort to make amends. And to get his conscience off his back.
He rapped hard on her door and received no answer. Seeing a shaft of light creeping from beneath the door, he knocked again. He heard Karin nearing the door. She opened it a crack and peered out. When she recognized him she said, "Go away!" and slammed the door in his face.
Con recoiled at this unseemly treatment Angered, he pounded on the door again, harder this time. When Karin opened the door he slid his foot between it and the jamb. "Go away, I said!" Karin told him.
"Just hold it a damn minute, will you? Karin let me in! What's this all about?" When Karin made no move to open the door he forced it open.
Karin backed away and glared at him, her small hands clenched into fists. She was breathing heavily from the exertion of trying to hold the door shut. "Please get out of here," she said in a calm voice. "If you don't leave I'm going to call the police!"
Con pushed the door shut behind him. "Now honey, don't do anything foolish'. Will you please tell me what's got your water so hot? Just tell me that's all I ask. I'll go away if you tell me," he offered in a conciliatory tone.
"I don't want to talk about it," Karin said. "If you are lonely, why don't you call your lover at Kirchenfeld. Perhaps she can help you!"
So that was it. "Who told you about Jude?" he said in a tired voice.
Karin turned away and retreated into her kitchen. Con followed close behind.
"Karin, you're being silly. You're not giving me a chance to explain. Now, who told you about Judy?"
Karin didn't answer.
"All right, "I'll tell you who told you. It was Buzz, wasn't it? Good old loud-mouth Buzz. He's the guy who told Custer the Indians were friendly."
"At least there is one American on the base who cares for the truth. I'm sure you would never have told me. What kind of fool do you take me for, Con? Just because I had things on my mind when we were in Garmisch together is no reason for you to call your lover. You could have told me about her when we met. It wouldn't have hurt so much." Karin sniffed. A tear rolled down her cheek.
"Okay, Karin, I want you to do something for me. I want you to be very quiet and I want you to listen to me. I want you to hear everything I say, not somebody else's cockamamie version of it. Will you do that?"
Karin brushed away her tears. Her lower hp quivered. She nodded her head slowly.
"First off, I love you. I-" "I don't believe you," Karin said in a low voice.
Con sighed. "If you don't believe that, then you won't believe anything else I say. Now make up your mind."
There was a long silence before Karin spoke. "Go on," she said finally.
"Thank you," Con said with a trace of sarcasm. "All right. First, I love. you. Second, whatever happened in Garmisch is done with and forgotten and it isn't even important to me anymore. Third is about Jude. I didn't send for her. She came to me. I told her when I left Kirchenfeld we were through but she came down here to see me anyway. Fourth, how you could be dumb enough to believe everything Buzz might have said is beyond me."
Karin had been listening intently to Con until he made his last remark. It incited her to mayhem. "Oh! You-you terrible man! First you make a fool of me at the base! Then you force your way in here! Now you are calling me stupid!" She picked up the heavy book she had lying by the stove and sent it sailing through the air at him. Letters and recipe clippings fluttered from the back of the book as it flew at him. He side-stepped it easily and it landed against the wall with a thud.
"Nice try," Con said, not knowing whether to be angry or sympathetic with her.
"Now look what you made me do!" Karin wailed. She stooped to retrieve the recipes and letters.
"Let me help," Con said. He bent to the floor to pick up one of the letters. It looked familiar. He picked up the letter and studied it. He glanced at the address on the envelope. Interesting. There had been two letters exactly like this behind the pillow on Hilde's couch. As he stood lost in thought, trying to piece together bits of information that nagged at him, Karin gathered up the rest of the letters and retrieved her book.
She paused in front of Con. "Give me the letter," she said.
"Where did you get these letters?" Con said.
"In the mail. Give it to me. It belongs to me.' "Does it? Look again."
"I don't have to look. I've looked enough already. I don't know who they're from or what they're about but they are addressed to me. Please give me my letter!"
"Let's don't get hot all over again," Con said. "Look, we've got our differences but what say we forget them for a minute, huh? I'm trying to be serious about this. Why did you keep all these letters when they aren't yours?"
"Don't be idiotic," Karin said sharply. "Of course they are mine. They are addressed to me." "And I'm still telling you to look again." He held the envelope up to her and pointed with his finger. "This name says 'Schmitt,' not 'Schmidt.' You're the one who's German. Can't you tell the difference between a'd' and a't'?"
"That can't be," Karin said. She peered at one of the envelopes. "O Gott in Himmel, you are right!"
"I know I'm right. We had to study this Gothic stuff in cryptography school. Here's something else you missed, I'm sure. Look at the second line. The only word there is Ganzweg, not Ganzstr. This is Ganzstrasse you live on, right?"
"Yes. Do you know what this means, Con? It means I've been living a nightmare for nothing! The way I acted on the trip to Garmisch-do you know why I was so out of sorts? Yes, the letters. These confounded letters kept coming and coming and I didn't know why. I thought perhaps it had to do with my time in Prague but I was never contacted and there is no return address on any one of these envelopes. There is something else. Wait and "I'll find it. Here it is. This was in the first letter I received." She handed Con a slip of paper.
Con perused the paper for a short time. I'll know better when I get this back to the base but off-hand I'd say it's Soviet. If it isn't exactly Russian, it's Eastern-bloc origin, maybe Czech, I don't know for sure."
"What is it?"
"It's a code table. With this master sheet, you can encode or decode messages." Con looked hard at Karin. "What's the time span on these letters?"
"They have been coming to me for over a month."
"Uh huh. Okay. I want to take all these letters back to the base and decode them. It will be pointless to work on any letters you get after these because the agent will have changed his code table if he knows his business. And I don't think the Commies are sending boy scouts into the field."
"Will there be trouble? What does it mean?" Karin said anxiously.
"There'll be trouble for somebody, but not for you," Con assured her. "What all tins stuff means is, and this is just an educated guess, that there's a Commie agent loose in this area and his contact is a party named Schmitt who lives on Ganzweg right here in Oberhausen. You'll notice all these letters are stamped with an Oberhausen postmark so it's another good guess the agent is in Oberhausen, too. Imagine that. This is only supposed to happen in the movies, for Chrissakes."
"We should tell the police," Karin said.
"No, we do not tell anybody. At least you don't. I'll have to inform OSI. What they do after that is up to them. They'll probably want to tail the contact in hopes they'll be led to the agent. That's the way they usually operate. That way they crack the whole operation in one shot."
"Black Leather Coat. It must be him! The man who came to the cafe. The man who followed us home the night we met."
"Yeah. It's a thought," Con said. "Right now I got a more important thing to do than play cops and robbers. I want to get back to the base with this stack of letters." He started for the door and paused. "One more thing-I love you."
Karin rushed to him. "I love you too, Con. I'm sorry I made such a fool of myself."
"Maybe I did, too," Con conceded. "I'll let you know what happens. 'Bye for now."
Con hurried up the hill toward the base. His mind was going faster than his legs were moving. Things that had nagged at him were falling into place. The puzzle was gathering form and substance and all the clues were pointing to one person.
She had cultivated him from the first day. She was in and out of the crypto room like a rabbit. She was private secretary to the Commander. To the Commander! And she was a good and great friend, and probably bed mate, of the First Sergeant. She was like an octopus with tentacles reaching everywhere into everything. By her very position she was privy to some security information and the rest she could gather whichever way she had to.
There were questions that could be answered now. Why was Hilde Neubaur so curious about his job? Why did Hilde Neubaur pay so much attention to the men assigned to the crypto section? Why had Hilde Neubaur spread for him this very evening? And how coincidental was it that Hilde Naubaur lived on Ganzweg? And just how damning was it she had in her possession two letters exactly like those that self-indicted themselves as part of a Communist spy operation?
And lastly, why was the magazine he'd read at her apartment this night addressed to "H. Schmitt"?
Hilde Neubaur-Schmitt had got her security clearance somewhere. It hadn't come from a mail-order catalog, to be sure. When the issuing office of her clearance was located, the whole Air Force Europe would fall on it and it would be two months before the vibrations ceased and the dust settled. He felt sorry for whomever would be involved.
He knew exactly how they would feel.
Chapter Eleven
"So you are the contact." Kruger looked at Hilde with appreciation clear on his face. "The Party is doing much better these days. When I began, they were employing hatchet-faced old crones. I supposed you would be one as well. Needless to say I'm delighted you're not. You give my tired old eyes a welcome feast."
"Thank you," Hilde said. She took from her pocketbook an envelope and handed it to Kruger. "This is a Thermofax consolidation of all the information I could get from the Commander's office in the last two weeks. The paragraphs follow a chronological order for your convenience."
Kruger examined the waxen-paper copies of information stolen from the Americans. "Excellent," he said. "It means nothing to me, of course, but I'm sure our people in Prague have a bigger picture."
"The information does not go directly to Moscow?"
Kruger smiled enigmatically. "Perhaps it does, perhaps it doesn't. Why are you so curious?"
"I thought I might get personal recognition," Side said.
"My dear girl, have you not yet learned we in fee Party work together without need for personal recognition? There is no need for competitive strife in the Party. We leave that to the imperialists. Let them claw their throats out."
"I had forgotten. Forgive me. I have been with the Americans so long."
"It is understandable. Come with me, please?" To Dieter, Kruger said, "You will remain out here. I'm told there is another party expected here this evening, an American named Fenko. If he does not show you a piece of paper bearing this suite number and the initials of Frau Schmitt, here, do not admit him. Is that clear?"
Dieter nodded. "I'll take care of it, boss."
Hilde followed Kruger. He led her into the bedroom of the suite, closing the door behind them. "This is not what it appears," he told her. "I didn't want the youth out there to witness our financial transaction. You understand."
Hilde understood. The Peoples' Party had its caste system. There were the haves and the have-nots. It was contrary to the Party line but it was easy to forget when there was money involved. She took that money now and counted it.
"Are you satisfied?" Kruger wanted to know.
"It is adequate."
Kruger looked at the broad double bed monopolizing the room. "You have a rewarding body, Frau Schmitt. Your husband must be pleased."
"I have no husband, Herr Kruger. He died for the Party."
"Unfortunate. Tell me, ah, do you find your needs fulfilled?"
"What are you hinting at, Herr Kruger?"
"Your body, Frau Schmitt. I find it quite enchanting."
"I am proud of it. My body has served me and the Party well," Hilde said. "What is it about my body that intrigues you?"
Kruger's lips twitched. "All of it. You see, Frau Schmitt, an agent such as myself has. very little time for the little luxuries of life. Now you are here and I was wondering whether I ought to impose."
Hilde read through the sterile jargon of the Party. She could be committed by order, she knew, to gratify Herr Kruger. In a party of the people, even bodies were sometimes community property, especially bodies as lush as hers. Since Kruger ranked her in the Party structure...
"What did you have in mind?" she said to Kruger.
"The sight of a naked woman has always fascinated me," Kruger said. "I find it stimulating and relaxing at once. We have a surfeit of time until your American traitor arrives."
"Are you ordering me to commit myself to you?"
Kruger shook his head slowly. "No, my dear. There is little enough enjoyment in our approach to sex. It is ordered, cataloged, packaged and served without ever being savored. I am not in favor of all things being means to an end. Power does not interest me that much. I could command you to accompany me to bed but that would hardly be exciting for you or for me."
"I will go to bed with you if you wish. Tell me, Herr Kruger, how much do you think my body is worth? Since there was a price on the information I provided you, there should be a price on my body as well."
Kruger obviously relished the opportunity to ogle Hilde's body. He stroked his chin as his gaze roamed over the sharp and muted curves of her form. It took him a long time. Hilde tired of holding in her breath to expand her breasts.
"I think an equitable agreement could be arrived at. Let us say two hundred marks?"
"That would be fifty dollars."
"Yes, if you wished the sum in American currency."
"It is equitable."
"Done. Would you undress, please? I'll prepare the bed."
Hilde undressed at a leisurely speed, aware Kruger was watching every move. She stretched out the performance until she was attired only in her bra. "Whenever you are ready," she said.
Kruger dropped his shorts. "I am ready."
Hilde saw he was. For a man his age, he was surprisingly virile. She began to anticipate a hard time of it. His penis was rock solid, lengthy and thick, larger than many she'd seen. Kruger's overall physique was astonishingly good, she noticed. At least she would not have to bed down with an impotent functionary as had once been the situation at a Party meeting in Munich.
"I'm sure you have the wonders of the world restrained by that devilish device you are using to suspend yourself," Kruger said. "Why not remove your brassiere and let me see your heavenly beauties?"
Hilde smiled. Kruger was truly a romantic of the past buried in war. He was as dated to the thirties as his Gothic script. Yet she couldn't help wishing other men had been as colorful as he in inducing her to bare her breasts for them. She unhooked her bra and let it fall away. Then she flopped on the bed. Kruger joined her more graciously.
He was gentle and savage at the same time, bringing her to a peak of passion and then letting her subside only to urge her upward again. His penis worked within her with consummate skill, agitating her clitoris by the cant of its stroke until she felt orgasmic thrills she hadn't achieved since Franz was alive. She lay almost perfectly still, applying restraint to her emotion while Kruger labored over her.
"You have no heart, Frau Schmitt," Kruger grunted. "Must I work to the end for my money? Lend me yourself as well as your body, dear woman."
"Very well." Hilde began to rock beneath him, her heavy thighs caressing his legs while her hips surged upward to meet his force. In a very short time his body stiffened and his stroke quickened. He came well.
Dieter rapped softly on the door as they dressed. "The American is here," he said.
Kruger and Hilde left the bedroom. Hilde greeted TSgt Fenko.
"Hello, Hildle," Fenko said. "I didn't know whether I could make it until the last minute."
Kruger froze in his step. The American's voice arrested his forward motion. Could it be? It was like a voice from the grave. Kruger passed a hand over his eyes. As Fenko continued talking to Hilde, a scene came alive in Kruger's mind as clearly as if it had happened yesterday...
Stalingrad, 1942. The bitter winter wind howled in their ears and driving snow blinded the two men in gusts as they stood by a hunker constructed of logs and shell-shattered caisson wood. Kruger strained to hear the voice of the Captain through the scarf he wore over his lips and nose to prevent frostbite.
"We are surrounded," the Captain was saying. "I don't intend to waste another life under my command, including my own. I have a pregnant wife at home in Bavaria. Why should I go on for that maniac in Berlin!"
"You are talking treason," Kruger warned.
"I am talking sense! Can't you S.S. fanatics see anything clearly? Are you so blinded to reality? Von Paulus himself is ready to surrender the entire Sixth Army and you want to debate a few paltry lives under my command? Talk reason, Kruger. These men have families. They are husbands and fathers and sons! We have to surrender!"
"You cannot! The Fuhrer's orders are that we shall fight to the last man. Not one step backward will be taken by a German soldier on Russian soil. You heard the broadcast yourself!"
"Yes, I heard it. The little corporal sitting on his duff in the Chancellory. What does he know of it? My men are dead and dying, stacked up like cordwood out there. If it wasn't so cold the stench would make your nostrils bleed!"
"Your dead are of no concern to me, do you hear? You will instruct your men to keep fighting, is that clear? That is an order!"
"To hell with your order! I'm-" The Captain said no more. A bullet from Kruger's Walther pierced his temple just below the line of his helmet, killing him instantly. Kruger watched him crumple and fall, his body freezing even as life ebbed from it. Kruger stepped over the stiffening corpse...
It was all back in Kruger's mind now. The girl, Karin Schmidt. Her eyes, her face. The Captain, what was his name? What was his name? His name was Schmidt. It couldn't be. Dear God! No, it must not be! For the first time in more than twenty-five years, Kruger's conscience stirred lethargically. To prevent that catastrophe from overcoming him when it was too late in his life to atone for the past, he hurriedly engaged Hilde in conversation.
"So this is your partner, shall we say, in the operation. A good-looking man, Hilde," he lied. "You pick them well."
"Thank you," Hilde said. "Imre and I have a good working agreement."
Fenko stuck out his hand and Kruger shook it. "Glad to meet you, sir," Fenko said.
"You shouldn't be," Kruger said calmly. "It could mean both our lives if we are caught doing what we talk of doing here."
He left Fenko to blink at the chilling thought and talked to Hilde again. "Tell me, my dear, how is it you brought me more information this evening than all that you sent me. And what you sent me was not encoded. Careless, my dear. Very careless."
"It was most difficult to employ a code when I had no table with which to work," Hilde said.
"That is not possible. I sent you one. It was in my first letter. I could not possibly have been that remiss."
"I didn't receive it," Hilde said.
"Are you sure?"
"My dear Herr Kruger," Hilde said, using one of Kruger's favorite expressions back at him, "I am fully aware of what I received. There were only two letters and neither of them contained any kind-" "Just a moment. How many letters did you say you received?"
"Two. They came about a week and a half apart from each other."
"Two! Come, come, this is no time to jest. I sent you fully a dozen. No, more than that. Thirteen. The number remains in my mind because of the superstitions associated with it. I sent you thirteen and you received two?"
"Only two. And I was lucky to get the second one. There were bottles on the step. The mailman tripped over them and hurt his ankle. I heard clatter and came rushing out. He was so concerned about his injury he threatened suit. We argued and he nearly forgot to leave me my mail, the old fool."
"Good Lord! Dieter, quickly, how many mailmen are there in Oberhausen?"
"Just one. There has been only one for as long as I can remember, since I was a child."
"Does he wear thick glasses that fit poorly?"
"Yes. He is nearly blind, poor man. I admire his constitution," Dieter said.
"You do that. The old reprobate nearly ran me over with his blindness and his bad eyesight might have sent this mission sky high!"
"Hilde, you said this was airtight," Fenko said.
"Excuse me a moment, Hilde, Dieter. Sergeant Fenko, would you come with me, please?"
Hilde watched the two men enter the bedroom. The door closed. Moments later Fenko emerged with much of the worrisome lines erased from his face. "I think I better be going back to the base," he said to Hilde. "Your man in there told me there wasn't much point in me hanging around here. He said it was more or less a family kind of affair from here on." The creases appeared on Fenko's brow again. "Doesn't he trust me?"
"He trusts you," Hilde said. "If he didn't, you would not be in this room. It is best to do as he tells you. He is the assignment leader. He makes all the decisions. Thus far things have gone smoothly. There is no reason to doubt they will continue to do so. I shall not contact you for a few days unless I'm sent to your section on headquarters business. I wanted to let you know this so that you don't worry."
"Sure thing, babe. And about those few days. Does that include the nights, too? You haven't asked me down to your place since we agreed to this. You said-" Hilde sighed. "I know what I said. You come to see me tomorrow night, all right?" She had the feeling she was pampering a backward child.
Fenko brightened. "Tomorrow night. I'll be there." "Good. Please go now before Herr Kruger comes out of the bedroom and finds you're still here." She heaved a great breath of relief when Fenko departed.
Kruger came out of the bedroom. A look of annoyance plagued with doubt could be seen on his face. "Did he go at last? Verdammte Amerikane! So. To get back. Hilde, I know this sounds tedious and bothersome but would you tell me once more how many letters you got?"
"Two," Hilde said wearily. "One and one makes two. I could go home and get them and show them to you if you'd-" "That will not be necessary," Kruger said. He looked at Dieter. The two men exchanged some kind of eye signal Hilde could not comprehend.
"Has something gone wrong?" Hilde said in a suspicious tone.
"Nothing, my dear, nothing at all. A small matter Dieter and I have to discuss. It may take some time. It would be just as well if you departed. I do not wish to appear rude, but there is very little left to discuss. Be assured I will keep in touch with you through the mail. If you do not hear from me at once, do not be alarmed. I shall contact you when I can."
"Very well. May I have my coat, Dieter?"
Dieter fetched Hilde's coat and performed the gentlemanly act of helping her on with it. She thanked him and said goodbye to both men. Outside the suite, she paused for a long moment to think while the matter was still fresh in her mind. What had been the commotion about the two letters? Two out of thirteen, Kruger had said. It did not take her long to reach a conclusion.
Kruger had lied to her. As assignment leader it was his prerogative to do as he wished but he could have known she was to be trusted with the truth She was not a simple-minded dolt. Eleven letters were missing; the arithmetic was simple.
Something was wrong. She could only hope it did not involve her.
"What's the penalty for shooting a postman?" Kruger said to Dieter.
Dieter threw up his hands. "I don't know. Do you want him out of the way? I will do it for you."
"No, my boy. It was just a joke. A grim joke at that. Your postman whose constitution you admire so much nearly ran me to ground a few weeks ago."
"I could fix him for that!" Dieter said impassionedly. He started to crack his knuckles.
"I wish that were the least of it." Kruger pressed his palms over his eyes. "Of all the bungling, stupid idiots," he said sadly. He took his hands from his eyes. "What is the name of the street Karin Schmidt lives on?"
"Granzstrasse. There is no number on the houses there."
"Yes. Now let me show you something." Kruger took a pen and wrote two words on a piece of paper. He handed the paper to Dieter. "Read it," he said.
"Granzstrasse in its abbreviated form is the first word," Dieter said. "The second word looks like Ganzweg. At least I think it is Ganzweg. The characters of the two words are so much alike. But there is a Ganzweg in Oberhausen," he concluded brightly.
"I know. Does this make what has happened any clearer to you?"
"No. I do not follow you. Has it something to do with the letters?"
"Precisely. There is some hope for you becoming a good agent but not yet. You are not thinking at all. Suppose I add that thirteen letters were sent and eleven received. Does that help you?"
Dieter screwed up his face in thought. "No.
There must be a connection but I don't see it. There is a connection, isn't there?"
Kruger snatched back the paper he'd handed to Dieter. "Your last chance," he said. He scrawled two more words on the paper and shoved it at Dieter. "Read that. Then tell me if you have it."
Dieter read aloud. "The first is Schmidt, the second Schmitt. This writing is very hard to read Herr Kruger. Let's see. Schmidt, Schmitt. Oh. Oh no!"
"Oh, yes. You have it at last. Tell me."
"The postman. The postmaster, rather. He is one and the same. His vision. Thirteen sent and eleven delivered. Two went to Frau Schmitt. The others went-to-Karin!"
"Very good. I'm afraid we must make our move sooner than I had anticipated. There is no telling what the dear girl might have done with those letters. She has an American friend. She would quite naturally have no idea why she had received them, you know. Worse, they are partially in code. And I suspect she received the letter with the code table enclosed. This could be mos1 serious."
Dieter began cracking his knuckles. "Whenever you say," he said.
"Very well. Here is the plan." He leaned closer to Dieter and outlined his plan of attack on Karin's apartment.
Chapter Twelve
"This is one hairy son of a bitch!" Con declared.
Buzz hovered over his shoulder. "No luck, huh?"
"I'm so close I can taste it. I think they're using a variation on the Japanese naval code. We had a hell of a time busting that one in the last war."
"Which war? There've been so many lately."
"World War Two, dummy. Oh damn it to hell, it isn't the Jap code."
"Pattern doesn't work, eh?"
"No. I want to try something. Supposing we use the Steinberg formula with an off-set third character reversing every other group. What do you think?"
"You're asking the dumbest Airman Third in The Air Force? I thought Steinberg played for the Detroit Tigers once."
"You're one hell of a big help. You're probably the guy who told Nathan Hale's mother her son was hanging around with the wrong crowd." "Hey, that was good."
"This isn't. The Steinberg formula doesn't play. Ain't that awful? Well, upward and onward. Might as well try the Richter formula."
"Awful lot of Kraut names attached to these formulas," Buzz observed.
"It figures," Con said dryly.
"Hey, remember what we did to the Krauts during World War Two? Had Navajo Indians on the walkie-talkies. Shook hell outta the Nazis." Buzz chortled. "Goes to show they ain't so smart. Nothing like good old Yankee ingenuity."
"Buzz, could you rehearse your valedictory address someplace else? Or would you rather substitute Richter's formula? And before you get cute again, no, he doesn't play defensive halfback for the Washington Redskins."
"You stole my funny."
"I'll steal your balls if you don't shut up and leave me alone!"
"You don't love me anymore."
"No I don't, not since you swapped rings with the First Shirt. Now will you please shut the hell up?!"
Buzz wandered off and lost himself in a magazine. Con worked on, using sheet after sheet of scrap paper. Then it was there, suddenly, clear and concise. He worked two more groups and they came out. The formula had cracked the code. "It's broken! I got it, I got it!" Con trumpeted.
Airman Second Class Morgan, the newest member of the section, checked into the office to relieve Con and Buzz. They briefed him on procedure and left the office.
"Now that you've got it, what're you going to do with it?"
"Give it to OSI, I suppose. I'm not going to keep it as a souvenir."
Con followed Buzz into their room in the barracks. Sergeant Fenko was sitting on his cot, a grim look on his face. "Hey Sarge," Buzz called, "Con cracked the code!"
"He don't want to hear about it," Con said defensively.
"What code?" TSgt Fenko said.
"Con's gal got a bunch of secret letters from some Commie yo-yo. Con brought 'em into work this morning and cracked the code. Richter's formula. Cracks codes and keeps your teeth nice and shiny," Buzz gushed.
Fenko's voice cracked. "For God's sake, let's see it!"
"Here." Con handed him one of the letters addressed to Hilde Neubaur Schmitt and the scrap paper on which he'd broken the Communist code. "It concerns a gunnery report from Grafenwohr. Sound familiar? Hell, even we don't know our jet fighters got such high-powered stuff. But this Commie agent knows."
Fenko's body began to shake visibly. "Oh Jesus, I'm ruined. I'm dead!" He sat down hard on his cot. Tears began streaming down his cheeks.
Buzz rushed to Fenko's side. "Sarge, what's the matter? Look at him, Con, he's crying like a baby!" Buzz tried to put his hand on Fenko's shoulder but Fenko shook it off.
Con strolled over to Fenko. "What's the matter, did you have warm stones for Hilde? She's the red herring, you know. What the hell is cracking you up anyway, Sergeant? You couldn't know about Hilde. Afraid you're going to get an iron-ass inspection team down here to ransack your precious crypto section?"
Fenko shook his head. The more he blotted away his tears, the more he cried. "I-I-Jeeezzuzz!" He was crying too hard to speak.
Con went to his wall locker. He took out a pint of Cutty Sark and handed the bottle to Buzz. "Give him a swig of this," he said. Con didn't want to be bothered. He'd warned the man often enough that his section was in lousy shape. Now let him suffer the consequences. Never warm toward the man, Con felt there was nothing more he could do.
Buzz poured a Dixie cup full of Cutty Sark and handed it to Fenko. "Scotch," he said. "Drink it down. It'll cure your pimples."
Fenko managed to get some of the scotch down and spilled the rest on the floor. He wadded up the Dixie cup and dropped it between his feet. "Done for, done for," he kept saying.
Buzz looked at Con. "Maybe he's gone into shock or something. You think we ought to get him over to the dispensary?"
Fenko came out of his maudlin mumbling streak at this moment. He stood on shaky legs and looked at the letter again. "It's all over," he said.
"What's all over, Sarge?" Buzz said.
"This letter. Trent was right. It belongs to Hilde Neubaur. She's a Communist spy."
Buzz was stunned into complete silence for once.
"How do you happen to know?" Con said, suddenly very interested.
"I was helping her," Fenko said in a flat voice. "You were what?"
"She sucked me in. It sounded like a good idea the way she put it. Fight for freedom, she said. I went to see the agent last night. He gave me all kinds of money and then he practically threw me out. Hilde stayed behind."
"You know what you're saying, don't you?"
Con said. "You're incriminating yourself to being a willing accomplice in espionage against the United States."
"I know. It doesn't matter. You've already got Hilde. She wouldn't protect me. They'd get around to me sooner or later. If they didn't, I would crack. I didn't like the idea as soon as I started. I was in it for the money. I figured maybe I could find out what happened to my parents in Budapest." Fenko began to sob again.
Buzz found his voice. "You're a traitor," he said as if the thought had just occurred to him. "You're a lousy, stinkin', no-good-for nothin' son of a-" "That isn't going to help. I don't think there's time for that now. Listen, Fenko, you're in deep enough but maybe you'll get an easier time of it if you tell us all you know. We'll get to the police with the information. Where was this agent staying that you went to see?"
"In the Bayerische Hof hotel."
"What does he look like?"
"A tall guy, stocky. Graying hair. Good build. He's in good shape. He was wearing black, everything black but his shirt."
"Black Leather Coat," Con muttered.
"Huh?" Buzz queried.
"Skip it." He got after Fenko again. "You say Hilde was with you?"
"She got permission for me to attend. I didn't hear anything important. Like I said, they paid me for what I'd done already and then out I went. If Hilde stayed behind they must have had something to talk about."
"What do you think that would be?" Con hammered.
"I don't know, I don't know" Fenko said, his voice cracking once more. "They were talking about the postman in Oberhausen. Maybe they're going to kill him or something. They wouldn't let me stay to hear."
"The postman." Con snapped his fingers. "Black Leather Coat went the same route I did but he got there later, thank God. It's our only hope."
"What're you talking about?"
"Karin. Her last name is Schmidt. I got the letters from her. "Black Leather-" "His name is Herr Kruger," Fenko volunteered.
"Good. That helps. Anyway, Kruger doped out that Karin received all the letters that didn't go to Hilde. I'm sure of it. Buzz, get your butt over to the Air Cops and alert them. Take this letter and paper with you just in case. Have them alert the German police. Tell them to converge on Ganzstrasse but to leave the Dick Tracy stuff out of it. No sirens or shouting. I have a feeling Kruger's been pushed into moving against Karin. If the fuzz comes on strong, hell fly the coop or panic and kill her. You got it straight?"
Buzz nodded. His eyes were wide with excitement. "What are you gonna do?"
"I'm heading to Karin's place direct. You just get going now!"
"What're we gonna do with him?"
"He's not going anywhere. Are you, Fenko?"
"There's no place to go," Fenko said dully. "I'm done for. I'm dead."
Buzz and Con ran from the room together. "See you down there," Con said to Buzz.
"Take care of yourself, old buddy. I need somebody to bounce my lousy jokes off of. Don't do anything heroic. All they'll give you is two aspirin and bed rest." "Get going," Con said.
The two men split at the entrance to the barrack. Con headed for headquarters and rang the crypto office bell insistently until Morgan answered. "Let me in. Hurry," Con yelled. He waited impatiently. Who said nothing ever happened in Oberhausen on a Sunday?
Morgan unlocked the door and Con ran in and grabbed his holster and pistol. He charged back out without a word and ran out the side entrance of the base.
He hoped he wasn't too late. He couldn't be too late. Karin, Karin I love you, he thought in tempo to the patter of his running feet.
Dieter approached Karin's apartment like a cat burglar while Kruger lurked behind. He knocked on Karin's door. When he got no answer, he rapped again. He looked behind him. Kruger was coming up quickly, looking stealthily in all directions. There wasn't a soul on the street.
Karen answered the door in a robe she held together at her bosom. Her hair was in disarray and her face and eyes were puffy from sleep. She stared without comprehension at Dieter for a long moment before she said, "Dieter. What do you want?"
Dieter charged forward, pushing Karin backward with one hand while he gestured at Kruger with the other. Kruger pounded into the apartment behind Dieter and slammed the door shut.
"Good morning, sweet Karin," Dieter snarled. "We've come to pay you a little visit."
Karin looked beyond Dieter at Kruger, attired in his customary long, black leather coat and hat with brim turned down. "You-you're the man in the cafe. The man who followed me home," she said.
Kruger said nothing to Karin. To Dieter he said, "Get on with it. We did not come for tea."
Prodded, Dieter grabbed Karin's arm. "We've come for the letters."
Kruger spoke up. "And Professor Budcik's little secrets."
The fear Karin felt made a hard knot in her belly. She told herself she had been waiting for this moment for a long time. Now that it was here she was calmer than she expected to be. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said.
"Don?t he to us!" Dieter's hand came up in a quick arc and caught her across the cheek.
Karin struck him back and received a harder blow for her impudence. She rubbed her face and tasted blood in her mouth. "Now "I'll never tell you!" She spat her blood at him, staining his shirt.
"You brazen bitch!" Dieter punched Karin in the belly and when she doubled over he gave her a chop to the kidneys.
"Easy," Kruger cautioned. "I admire your spirit, my boy, but she still has to answer some questions for us."
"Come on, Karin, make it easy on yourself. Tell us now where the letters and the secrets are and you won't get hurt. I don't want to hurt you, baby, but you wouldn't let me love you," Dieter said cajolingly.
"Leave me alone," Karin gasped, straightening slowly. Her belly burned like fire. "I won't tell you what you want to know. Go ahead and hit me again, hero. You'll be a Hero of the Soviet Union for beating up women, Dieter. It's maybe the only lousy thing you're good at!"
Dieter cuffed Karin's breasts and she yelped with pain.
"No noise, I said," Kruger grated.
"Do you want to do it?" Dieter shot back.
"I would be more careful if I were you, Dieter. You mustn't forget yourself in the heat of battle."
Kruger's icy warning served to calm Dieter down at once. He looked at Karin again. "Be reasonable," he said. "We know you've got the letters because we know they were posted and we know our operative did not receive them. Now the postman made an honest mistake; his eyes are failing and maybe his health will be, too, if you don't tell us what we want to know."
Karin said nothing.
Dieter persevered. "Our agents in Prague know Professor Budcik was collecting information of a secret and volatile nature. Budcik was killed in Prague but you left before he died. You took his secrets with you and smuggled them past a border checkpoint. If you'll give us those secrets, and the letters we'll tiptoe quietly out of your life and you won't be bothered ever again. That's fair enough, isn't it?"
"Why didn't you bring your Russian tanks with you?" Karin snapped. "Maybe you could gun me down, too!"
Dieter turned to Kruger. "I'm not getting anywhere this way," he said.
Kruger nodded. "Perhaps if you tried a more personal persuasion," he suggested.
Dieter nodded. "Give me the knife," he said.
Kruger handed him the deadly blade. "Be careful. It is extremely sharp. Let us not have any accidents before we get what we came for."
Karin felt genuine panic for the first time. Up till now she had felt brave in the face of physical blows knowing she could endure them. The knife made her blood run cold. She had been frightened of knives since she was a child, frightened numb of them. She crossed her arms over her breasts.
"What are you going to do with that?" She said.
"It depends on how cooperative you are," Dieter droned. "Take off your robe!" he snapped in a turnabout tone.
"No!" Karin said impetuously, hating her mouth for speaking before her mind could think.
Dieter placed the blade of the knife a few inches from her face. "One slice, ziing"-he gestured with the knife-"and your pretty face would never be pretty again. It wouldn't take a deep cut, you know. Just a lot of little ones. And if you screamed, well..." Dieter drew his thumb across his throat. "Now take off your robe!"
Karin did as she was told. She dropped the robe behind her and folded her hands over her breasts again, keeping her legs close together. She looked ready to be embalmed.
"Take your arms away from your breasts," Dieter said, gesturing with the knife. "We want to see them. We want to see every naked inch of you. We want to know what you show the Americans, what makes their men go for you, American's whore!"
Karin flung down her arms in defiance. "Look," she said. "Take a good look. See what makes my American man go for me, as you say? Do you think it bothers me to have your filthy stare looking at me? It makes me feel clean, Dieter. It makes me realize my man is human. I don't think you will ever know what that feeling is!"
"A very pretty speech, you slut. Since you are so clever with your mouth, perhaps you can be of service to me. Since you are so clean, perhaps your mouth can make me clean." Dieter unzipped his fly and drew out his flaccid organ.
"You wouldn't dare!" Karin said, stepping back.
Dieter brandished the knife at her. "Wouldn't I? The choice is yours. You don't have to caress me with your mouth. Just tell us where the letters and Budcik's collection is. If you do not yet wish to tell, you can do as I tell you to do. And I wouldn't get the idea to hurt or maim if I were you. This knife will be by your nipples every moment of the time it takes you to give me satisfaction. One slip and I'll slice off your little rosebuds and shove them in your craven mouth!"
"You inhuman Schweinhundl There isn't a shred, not a scintilla of decency about you, is there? You make me want to vomit!"
"Keep talking, my precious. You have just earned yourself the right to be raped. Or worse. There are two orifices at the lower end of your body. Pleasure need not always be found between a woman's legs, you know. Think it over."
"Get on with it," Kruger urged.
"Come here, Karin," Dieter said.
Karin did not move. She glared at him with utter hate in her eyes. "I said come here!"
She moved then, as though she were in a trance. When she was close enough to him, he put his hands on her shoulders and pushed down until she kneeled. He waddled forward until his penis dangled in front of her mouth.
"Take it," he said.
Karin opened her mouth and surrounded Dieter's limp pecker. She surrounded it with her lips and let the underside of it rest on her tongue. She made no further move.
"Think you're smart, don't you?" Viciously, Dieter reached down and seized a handful of her hair. With one swoop of his knife he cut the hair from her head.
Karin's hands flew to her head. She spit out his rod and fell back, her legs akimbo. She held her hands on the top of her head and looked up at him. "My hair. You cut off my hair!" Her lips quivered. Tears welled up in the corners of her eyes and coursed down her cheeks.
"Get back to what you were doing!" Dieter rasped. "If you don't, I'll cut off some more!"
Karin crawled to her knees. She took his dork in her hand and slipped it into her mouth. She began moving to and fro. Flesh began to expand in her mouth and she backed away as inches accumulated. She blotted all thought from her mind and concentrated solely on what she was doing. She repeated to herself she was being forced to do this thing. She would later credit the process with preserving her sanity.
Dieter moved his knife away from her nipples and pushed her face away from his erected penis. "Lie back," he told her tonelessly.
"Do you still have the original objective in mind or are you bent on having your own kind of vengeance on this woman?" Kruger said from behind him.
Kruger's voice pulled Dieter back from the brink again. He squatted in front of her naked body and stared at it while he flicked the blade of his knife with his thumb as he might strum a guitar. Karin lay perfectly still. Only her eyes moved, searching his face.
"You know, Karin, I would not dirty myself by screwing you. I am sick and tired of this little game. Whether you give us what we seek or not, you will have to die. The only chance you have is the man behind me. Tell him what he wants to know and he may persuade me to let you live. He is my employer and this is his knife. Your life is quite literally in his hands."
Karin looked up at Kruger. "I gave the letters to an American," she said in a small voice.
"Scheissl" Kruger grunted. "And the other material?"
Karin was about to reveal the hiding place of Fedor's secret data when her ears detected a stirring and rustling outside the door. Perhaps it was the milkman. She toyed with the idea of screaming. She listened harder.
The door banged open and Con stood poised with his .45 at the ready. Kruger spun around and threw up his hands instantly. Dieter raised his knife. "Drop it, punk, or you're dead right there!" Dieter let the knife tumble from his fingers.
German police and Air Police rushed in around Con as if he was a boulder situated in the middle of a river of uniforms. Dieter was dragged to his feet and slapped several times. Kruger was surrounded with an arsenal of weapons pointed at him.
Con rushed to Karin. He knelt down to her as she struggled to sit up. "Are you all right, baby? Karin, listen to me, honey. You're safe now. Everything's going to be okay." The sight of her glassy eyes drove him to distraction. In the, moment it took him to turn his head to look at Dieter, Karin scrambled for the knife and struggled to her feet. She staggered toward Dieter who threw up his hands to protect himself.
"I'll kill you!" Karin shrieked.
Con rose swiftly and disarmed her. "No!" he barked in her ear.
Karin let her arm flop to her side. She looked at Con without really recognizing him. Then the sum of her ordeal welled up inside her and she closed her eyes and slumped to the floor.
Chapter Thirteen
Con commuted between the base and the hospital, shuffling daily up and down the hill from base to town and back until he had memorized every crack in the sidewalk. He grew so used to the pilgrimage he knew he would miss it somehow when it was over.
Karin had not responded to his visits the first two days she was hospitalized. She regarded him with a vacant stare and did not answer him when he spoke. The third day he saw daylight in her stony face. She looked at him and tried to say "hello." No sound came from her lips.
He stopped a doctor in the hall. "About the girl in there, Karin Schmidt. How long is she going to have to be here?"
"Until she comes out of her self-induced trancelike state or until we can find some way to get through to her."
"What caused her to be this way? When I got to her, she was normal as far as I can see."
"She was driven to a point of horror with which her mind could not or would not cope. Her mind simply shut itself off before it became totally short-circuited."
"I don't mean to bug you, Doc, but how long does it take to snap out of something like that?"
The doctor made a vague gesture. "Sometimes they never come out of it." He walked around Con without saying another word.
Con plummeted to the depths of despair. While the base rocked with the internal explosions of the espionage scandal, he walked through the flying debris of rumors and half-truths with his head bowed, staring at the ground and no further. He created a wall around himself, became impervious to anything that was said to him, asked of him, or demanded from him.
Buzz was the only one who got through, at last. They were in their room and Con was flat on his back, staring at the ceiling. He had just returned from visiting Karin. There had been no change in her behavior or of diagnosis. His mind was revolving slowly with a kaleidoscopic array of thoughts too confusing as a mass and too vague as singular synapses. Buzz' voice came from far away like a darting needle at first, then as a small wedge that grew larger to pervade his consciousness.
"Con. Con? Come on, Con, snap out of it. You can't go on like this, Con. Hey, old buddy, you keep going this way and they're gonna give you a Section Eight, man. You won't be any good to Karin that way."
Con blinked at him. "Let me be, Buzz. Do your good deed for the day in some other world. Let me alone in mine."
"Can't do that, old buddy. I ain't got nobody to bounce my lousy jokes off of, remember? Besides, I been drinking for two and I'm gettin' tired of coming back one brick short of a full load every night. You ain't holdin' up your end. What say we go out and have a beer. We don't have to go downtown. Just a friendly little chug-a-lug at the Airman's emporium. How about it?"
Con edged his legs off his cot. "All right, all right. I didn't know you believed in mercy killing," he said.
He went with Buzz to the Airman's Club. He drank three Miller Hi-Life. He had a lousy time.
Next day he was at the hospital again. He entered Karin's room and stopped short. She was not in her bed. He looked around wildly for anyone to question.
"Surprise."
He wheeled around and saw Karin step from behind the door. Her eyes were alert and clear, her smile a radiant one. She looked positively magnificent in her baggy hospital gown.
"It's about time you got here, Con Trent. I was getting tired of standing behind that door."
"Karin!" He stepped to her and gathered her in his arms.
"Careful," Karin chided. "This gown is open in the back."
Con was tempted to fondle Karin's naked cheeks but the eyes of the other patients in the ward, all women, were centered on his presence. He kissed the tip of her nose and held her at arms' length. "How do you feel?"
"Wonderful. Like I was just born." Karin stretched languidly.
"When did you, er, I mean, how long have you..." He let his voice drift off. There was no way to phrase a question he considered so delicate.
"I woke up this morning and I was terribly hungry. The nurses were just thrilled. Do you know I was off to the moon for over a week?"
Con nodded. "You had me worried sick. How do you feel, really?"
"Wonderful. I just told you that. Oh, Con, it's so good to see you. So good to know you care, that you worried about me."
"I love you."
"I love you, too, Con."
A doctor breezed into the ward and skidded to a stop when he spotted Karin. "What are you doing out of bed, young lady?" he said sternly.
"Playing. I was telling my friend here that I feel newborn. You have to give me a chance to experiment with myself."
"You experiment yourself right back into that bed, Fraulein. You could have a relapse just like that." He snapped his fingers. "At least wait until you've been properly tested and examined."
"You better get back in that bed," Con said with a severity that surpassed the doctor's admonition.
"You are both mean men and I don't want to see you anymore," Karen pouted. She turned and her gown flared out and her buttocks were saucily on display. She ambled to her bed and sat on the edge of it. "I was just joking, Con. Come, sit by me."
"It isn't a joke, I'm afraid," the doctor said. "Whether she realized it or not, she's right. She shouldn't have any more attention today. She may overexert herself and cause undue fatigue. In her present condition, that could be very serious."
"I have to go," Con said.
"Will you come back tomorrow?"
"If you're real good and don't play any more games."
"I'll be good," Karin said. There was another flash of her bare cheeks when she got into bed. She waved at him.
Con blew her a kiss and left. He caught up to the doctor outside the room. "She's recovered," he said. "When can she be released?"
"Three to five days. We've decided to move carefully with her."
"What really caused her to go under like that?"
"We were able to hypnotize her for a brief time this morning. She talked freely about what had been done to her. It's a professional matter."
"What did they do to her?" "Are you the girl's fianc�?"
"I plan to marry her. Why? What is it you don't want to tell me?"
"We cannot openly share that information with you, Mr. Trent. If Fraulein Schmidt wishes to tell you at her own discretion, that is not our affair."
"She was raped."
"No. That much we can tell you. Clinical examination precluded any entry of a foreign substance into her vagina for the time period covered."
Con's spirits soared. "Thanks, Doc."
"Would it have mattered to you if she had been raped? You don't have to answer. Just my curiosity."
"No, Doc. You can steal a person's possessions or money or sex. Or even a person's life. It's still stealing."
"You're an astute man," the doctor said. "I wish you luck with her." "Thanks again."
Con went back to the base and opened his eyes for the first time to what was going on around him. By sitting in the Snack Bar over coffee and chatting with Buzz, he learned he, too, had been away for a time.
"Colonel Dunn has had it shoved up so far he's got coughing fits," Buzz told him. "He's got to go to Wisebaden to meet a General's Board. Poor devil What can he tell them?"
"Yeah. He was above the storm and he still got sucked in."
"You said it. You know European Command sent down a Captain to take over until the Colonel's fate is decided. Don't you know he's steadily dipping his wick in the Colonel's wife?"
"No!"
"Yep. She don't let no grass grow at all, at all."
"What happened to Hilde?"
"The Red Baroness? She was cooling it at her apartment with Sergeant Howard when about a quarter of an army swooped down on the place. Made the front page in the German paper downtown. Naturally the First Shirt's ass got plopped into the boiling hot and now he's backing and filling and scooping but they got him pegged and I suppose they'll make an example of him. You know how that goes. Damn shame. Nineteen years' service up the flue, Lou."
"That'll count for him. But how much?" Con felt a twinge of sympathy for the man. Like Dunn, his destiny had got beyond his own control.
"I was in the room when they picked up Fenko, you know. He saw the Snowtops marching in and he made a break for the window. Hadn't even gone near the damn window before that. They slapped handcuffs on him and led him away. Man, I'll tell you, that Fenko could get a job crying professionally."
"Uh huh. Any word on leniency because of what he did for us?"
"He's gonna get a General Court. I've always heard Summary and Special Court Martials are cut and dried. This thing has attracted a lot of attention. Maybe the big brass'll give him a break."
"How about Kruger? Black Leather Coat, Karin called him. He's in the local clink, I suppose?"
"He's a winner. First he claimed diplomatic immunity by claiming he was a consular representative out of Prague. The boys in Prague kissed him off, said they'd never ever heard of him. Then he tried for political asylum. He told them he'd spill his guts if they'd grant him protection from whoever might come after him. Last I heard they're still working on that one."
"I spotted a shavetail Lieutenant walking with a frowzy-haired German girl on my way over here. That broad had knockers out to there. What's the second Looey's act?"
"He's the Captain's assistant. They're not taking any more chances with local talent. Our Adjutant has got his job and his office and his title but he might as well buy a putting green and learn to relax. That broad is the dear and good friend of Dunn's wife, by the way. I hear she puts it down for bottle caps and gives change."
"A little something for everybody. Share the wealth, as it were."
Buzz' smile faded. He looked across the table with a somber face and said, "I'm leaving, Con."
"What? How come? Where?"
"They're dissolving the crypto section here. Once burned, twice shy, something like that. They found a slot for me at Kirchenfeld. I was wondering if you could give me some leads?"
"Discovered women, did you?"
"In a way." Buzz averted his eyes. "Well, my good man, and you've been all of that, I'm going to miss you. But I have something for you that'll give you many hours of solace and pleasure."
"A rubber duck?"
"No. More like a plastic pussy. Here's an address for you. The girl's name is Judy. She works at the base hospital. An American girl."
"Truly, truly? Is that the same one who came to see you? The picture on the inside of the locker, that one?"
"Truly, truly."
"Yummy, yummy." Buzz stood and stuck out his hand.
"What's this for? Why don't we just flip for the bill?"
"Well, I said I was leaving but I neglected to mention when. You're going back to an empty room, old Buddy. I got to catch the fifteen-thirty Toonerville Trolley out of Oberhausen to connect with the seventeen-ten out of Munich. I might as well say my goodbye right here."
"Where does that leave me?" Con wanted to know.
"Go see the Adjutant. There's a note to that effect on your bed. Now, are you going to say farewell or am I going to miss that train?"
Con stood up and grasped Buzz' thin hand firmly. "All the best," he said.
"You were the best," Buzz said. He turned away and walked rapidly out of the Snack Bar.
Con went to see the Adjutant. The Adjutant told him he was being sent back to the Zone of Interior. "We can't give you both stripes back like the glory boys in SAC but we've got one rocker coming down for you if that is any help."
Con was happy with the news of his promotion. "When do I leave?" he said.
"That's up to you. I understand you have some business in town?"
"Yes, sir! She's supposed to be released from the hospital today."
"Very well. You intend to marry her?"
"I do."
"Excuse me for a moment." The Adjutant picked up his telephone and dialed a number. "Hello, Buck? George, here. Right. It's good hearing you voice too, you old lush. Huh? Yeah, all hell has broken loose here. I'm taking it at a stand still. Listen, Buck, reason I'm calling. I've got Airman Trent in my office. Yes, that's right, the one who broke the case. Uh huh. He wants to get married. How long would the papers take with maximum priority? Two weeks? Could that sort of be coordinated with the consulate in Munich? Yes, for the visa. Fine. I'll have him fill out the gallows work today. Yeah? Same to you, Buck. So long, now." The adjutant hung up.
"Thanks, Major," Con said sincerely. "Thanks a lot."
"Don't thank me. Most work I've done since the roof fell in," the Major said. He handed Con some forms. "Fill these out and you're on your way back to the Big PX," he said.
Con took Karin's arm and helped her down the hospital steps. "Easy now," he said.
"You don't have to treat me like an invalid," Karin said. "I don't feel like an invalid."
"What do you feel like?"
"I feel like grabbing you and working you up and sticking you into me and keeping you there forever," Karin said with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. "It's been a long time, Con. I love you. And I want you."
"I want you, too, baby. Forever."
"That's a long time. You can't stay in Germany forever."
"No, but you could come to the United States forever."
"You can't be proposing. You're sober."
"I am proposing. I've got the marriage papers submitted and they're working on your visa."
"Did you stop to consult me about any of this before you went soaring off into space?"
"No," Con said sheepishly.
"Well?"
"Will you marry me and soar off into space with me?"
"That makes it more binding. But what if I say no?"
"Say yes." "Yes."
"You've just accepted. Thank you, my love." He kissed her on the sidewalk in broad daylight.
He was still relating all he'd heard from Buzz when they walked into Karin's flat. She paused and looked at the floor in front of the door. She patted her partially shorn hair nervously and walked boldly over the spot where she'd lain on the rug.
"We'll have to run ourselves ragged with trips to the Consulate and every place for a week but we'll have a week to ourselves."
"They have universities in America, don't they?"
"Yes they do. Fine ones. Why?" "I'd like to finish my studies someday. Can I do that?"
"Sure. You can start right now." "What do you mean?"
"Come over here, future wife. I'm going to teach you some things you won't find in any university anywhere."
Karin had the wish she'd mused about outside the hospital. She lured him to stiffness, inserted him into her and closed her legs around his. Afterward, Con rolled on his side. Karin did not let go with her legs.
