Chapter One: Belief

Robert Hogan had always wanted to believe that Peter Newkirk would change. He was fairly sure that at Stalag 13, throughout the operation they carried there, that Peter Newkirk had changed. Hogan wanted to believe that whatever Newkirk had done before the war would not follow him afterwards. When they had finally parted ways in 1945—after helping Intelligence to get three years of facts straight about Stalag 13—Hogan had believed it was true. Hogan's command crewmen were given promotions. Newkirk and LeBeau graciously took theirs and left the military. Hogan was promoted to general, and worked in Washington as the Cold War began. Kinch remained in the military to become an officer. Carter took advantage of the G.I. Bill and went to college to become a chemist.

They all had their separate plans, and were eager to get to them once they were released to go home and resume their lives. But wherever they went, they had all promised to stay in touch with one another.

That was six years ago.

Robert Hogan had only heard from Peter Newkirk three times after saying good bye; the last in a Christmastime letter in 1948. It had been long and full, indicating that there was nothing wrong.

After the first two, they stopped for six months. When the letters ceased, Hogan thought that life might be hard on Newkirk. London hadn't been in very good shape when they left. Newkirk had tossed the dreams of owning a pub, because he didn't have enough money or any way of really getting the money. The economy in Europe was ill, compared to America's exuberant one. And it was taking a toll on those left to pick up the pieces of war.

But when there were no more letters, Hogan began to worry. He contacted Carter and Kinch, and they said they'd gotten no word either. Hogan wrote a worried letter to LeBeau. But LeBeau had responded that he and Newkirk saw and contacted each other often. LeBeau swore that nothing was wrong; Newkirk worked in a security business and was busy night and day. Hogan came up with the excuse that Newkirk had probably gotten careless with the letters since he was so busy. Hogan was comforted. Soon afterwards, Newkirk sent the last letter right before Christmas. It started off describing the reprimand he'd received from LeBeau.

But after that, nothing followed. Whenever an envelope arrived marked from Europe, Hogan's heart leapt. Though he loved hearing from LeBeau, there was never another letter from Newkirk. Still, he enjoyed hearing from LeBeau, speaking of his restaurant's success in Paris. He had taken over for his uncle, who had died in the war. LeBeau now had a wife, a child on the way, and overall a bright future. He still spoke of seeing and hearing from Newkirk often, and always berating him for not writing to the states.

At least he's okay, Hogan would say to himself. He just wondered what kept the Englishman from talking to his friends on the other side of the pond.

But now, Hogan was in London in June 1951. He had only just arrived an hour ago, and his first stop was to see his former CO, General Butler, who was still in charge of agents in the Secret Intelligence Service, aka MI6. Hogan had written that he was coming, so Butler invited him for lunch on his first day. Hogan had only just walked into the building, when he was approached by a man in a suit. The man flashed a badge signifying that he was London police.

"Inspector Knight," he said. "General Hogan, I presume?"

Hogan flashed him an annoyed glare. "Yes. Can I help you?"

"I was hoping you could give me the whereabouts of this man," said Knight.

Knight handed him a piece of paper. Hogan looked down, and had to hold back a gasp. It was a picture of Newkirk—albeit an older one—of him in his uniform, probably right before he was captured. But it was what was printed above the picture that had startled Hogan the most: WANTED.

Hogan had wanted to believe that Newkirk would change.