Chapter Twelve
Hogan was leaning more heavily on her now, and Leisa glanced over at him worriedly. His eyes were closed, his face chalky with pain. He'd been stumbling along on pure reflex, barely aware of his surroundings. She peered down a darkened street, as they turned the last corner. Thankfully, no one appeared to be present. They'd encountered only one other soul out in the wintry night. An older man had passed by, glancing suspiciously at them, as Leisa feigned embarrassment and indignation at her presumed escort's besotted condition.
The lone street lamp scarcely illuminated the narrow buildings, but even under these conditions the seediness of the area was evident. At each doorway, she searched desperately for an address, finally spotting the faded numbers she'd been seeking. The creaking door gradually opened, admitting them to the foyer. It had been dim outside, but with the absence of any hallway lighting it was utterly pitch black inside. She reached out cautiously to feel her way, finally encountering a stairway banister in the inky void. They haltingly made the climb, Leisa now nearly dragging Hogan, as they trudged up the steps and stumbled together toward the far end of the hallway.
Leisa leaned on one arm against the corridor wall, breathing heavily, while supporting Hogan with the other arm. Taking a deep breath, she straightened up and reached for the knob, but the door refused to yield.
"It's locked," she hissed to Hogan.
"Huh?" he mumbled, partially rousing from his stupor.
"The key. I need it to unlock the door."
He continued to look at her in non-comprehension.
"You do have the key, don't you?" she asked worriedly.
"Oh, yeah, th' key, right," he mumbled, patting his pockets while struggling to keep his precarious balance. He grinned victoriously at her, encountering the key, and then cursed, as his attempt to retrieve it met with failure. The thick bandage encasing his hand prevented him from inserting no more than the tips of his fingers into the pocket's opening.
Sighing with despair, Hogan slumped against the wall. Leisa peered at him questioningly. He looked away, gesturing uncomfortably to his right front pants pocket.
"Th' key's in there," he whispered hoarsely.
Leisa rolled her eyes in exasperation. "Oh, for heavens sake," she muttered, awkwardly reaching into his pocket.
The sound of a door opening across the hallway suddenly startled them. Hogan looked up in time to see an elderly matron's white-capped head peering out at them, her eyes widening in shock at the sight before her. Shaking her head in disapproval, she cupped one hand to her mouth and hurriedly closed the door; Hogan's glare pursuing her to will it shut with greater speed.
Leisa once more resumed her efforts, her cheeks tellingly blushing deep red. Hogan hoped the effects of the alcohol might provide an excuse for the burning tips of his ears. She withdrew her hand and inserted the key in the lock. The door to the darkened room swung open with a creak, and they stumbled gratefully inside.
Leisa felt along the inner wall, until she came to a small table. She switched on the lamp sitting there, the bare bulb throwing a stark shadow across the dingy room. Still holding onto Hogan, she maneuvered him to the edge of the bed, where he sat down heavily.
"Okay, s' ya got me here. I can take care of m'self now," he said petulantly.
She arched one eyebrow and looked him over. His heavy-lidded eyes were nearly closed, and she was sure if she tapped him on the chest, he would fall backward on the bed like a limp doll.
"Oh, sure you can. I can see that all right."
Shaking her head, she reached for his hand. Like a helpless child, he mechanically raised each arm, Leisa assisting him out of his coat. He started to fall back onto the bed but was pulled back up, as she grabbed one wrist.
"No, you don't. The jacket and shirt, too," she said. "They're both soaking wet, and you'll catch your death of cold, if you sleep in them."
Too tired to protest, he meekly obeyed, then collapsed wearily back on the bed with a groan. She turned to remove her own coat, throwing it over the back of the sole chair and reached for her bag. Hogan slowly opened his eyes, hearing her approach the bed.
Leisa gently took his bandaged hand in her own, focused solely on her task. Hogan watched, while she unwrapped the kerchief and surveyed the damage. She grimaced, twisting his hand toward the light.
"This cut is very bad. You'll have to get it stitched," Leisa said, turning to the dresser to fill a cracked basin with water from an adjoining pitcher. She dampened the towel she'd brought with her and began to wash away the caked layers of blood, glancing curiously at him.
"Did you hear me? I said, you'll have to go to a doctor to get it stitched. Otherwise, this cut won't heal properly."
Hogan averted his face. "I...I can't go t' a doctor," he said resignedly.
Leisa hesitated, studying him intently, before returning to her work. "No, I don't suppose you can," she said quietly.
Hogan warily looked back at her. Did she guess at the reason for his reluctance?
With a sigh, Leisa pressed a thick compress into the pad of his hand, gently curling his injured fingers over it and wrapping a strip of cloth to hold the bandage in place.
"If you keep your fingers in this position, it may help draw the edges of the cut together so it will heal. At least the compress I've placed there will keep some pressure on the wound. I'm afraid there's not much else I can do."
Hogan paused before responding, his voice husky with gratitude.
"I don' understan' why you've even done this much. You didn' hafta stop t' help--you coulda jus' left me there. Why didn' you?" He looked searchingly at her.
Leisa cocked her head to one side. "Mmm, I suppose I could have," she agreed. "Let's just say I seem to have a knack for getting myself mixed up with the wrong people."
"Like Kronbach?" Hogan asked accusingly.
Leisa dropped her eyes and deliberately busied herself in gathering up the remnants of her supplies. "That's different," she said defensively. "I'm just doing what I have to in order to stay out of trouble." She shot a meaningful look at him. "You'd be well advised to do the same."
She finished washing up at the basin and turned back to him, drying her hands on a towel.
"I--" she began, and then halted, realizing with a look at Hogan's slack face that he had finally passed out. "Ach," she said softly to herself.
Shaking her head, she crept quietly across the room to retrieve her belongings. Jäger's coat and shirt, draped over the back of the chair, caught her attention. She glanced once more at the still form and then picked up the jacket to carefully run her fingers along the lapels and seams. Nothing. Next, she felt through the pockets, again coming up empty. Turning toward the light, she held up the jacket, examining the inner lining and threadbare collar. It was peculiarly devoid of maker's labels. She frowned slightly and then chuckled softly to herself, as she slowly crossed to the bed and pulled on her coat.
Jäger lay there in the harsh light, his face pale and expressionless beneath a shock of rumpled black hair draped across his forehead. She stood there for several moments, studying him attentively, in a way only mothers do with their own slumbering offspring. A small smile formed, as she noticed that even in his unconscious state there was an irrepressibly mischievous turn to the corner of his lips. With a sigh, she reached over the sleeping form and pulled the faded coverlet across his bare torso, then turned and exited to the darkened hallway, closing the door softly behind her.
Pausing for a moment to let her eyes adjust to the dark, she groped for the railing to navigate her way down the narrow, creaking stairs. It took a few moments of searching to find the handle, but she finally located it and slowly opened the front door, holding her breath, as its hinges squeaked horribly in the still night.
She widened the opening slightly and carefully peered out. A contingent of heavy boots suddenly clattered past on the cobblestone street. Instinctively, she shrank back, hoping not to be seen. The patrol abruptly halted a few houses away, pausing in the dim cast of the moon that slipped between two rooftops and illuminated a small portion of the street.
Please don't stop there, she prayed silently. Go on. Don't you have more important places to be at this hour? She watched, while they huddled together and lit their cigarettes. What wonderful timing to take a break.
Leisa knew she couldn't risk leaving until the patrol departed. Even if she tried removing her shoes to slip quietly in the opposite direction along the cobblestones, there was no guarantee she would pass unnoticed. Having abandoned their formation, the patrol now lounged casually on the sidewalk, and several men were looking her way. It was well past curfew, and she knew it would be disastrous to be caught in the street at that late hour. What reason would she give if questioned as to her presence there? Despite her connections, she had no special permit that would allow her to safely pass at that time of night.
Leisa studied the patrol for a few moments and then softly closed the door, leaning wearily against the foyer wall. She forced herself to silently count off an agonizingly slow interlude of ten minutes. It felt more like an hour. Ever so cautiously, she again cracked open the rusted door just enough to see the patrol was still present. Some of the men had removed their packs and equipment belts as though intending to bivouac there for the remainder of the night. She groaned in utter dismay.
Suddenly, a hallway door creaked open. She peered anxiously down the darkened corridor, but the absence of light concealed whoever was there. Pressing herself against the wall, she quietly slipped to the opposite side of the entryway, groping with an outstretched, shaking hand to locate the stairway banister once more.
Carefully, she crept upstairs, slowly easing her weight onto each complaining board near the end of the riser, hoping to minimize the protests that issued with each step. Leisa found herself at the top of the narrow staircase and passed once more toward the room at the far end. Her hand noiselessly turned the handle, as she slipped quickly inside and quietly closed the door behind her. Exhausted, she leaned her forehead against the wooden frame, slowly letting out her breath in relief, before glancing at the still form on the bed. He was in the same position in which she'd left him, his gentle snoring indicating he was still sound asleep.
Her arms crossed, she began pacing the floor and then moved to the straight-backed chair and sat down, looking at her watch. It was almost two in the morning. She'd have to wait another four or five hours before she could blend in with the other early morning workers and safely return to her flat. Until then she'd try to rest as best she could. With a heavy sigh, she shifted uncomfortably in the hard, unyielding chair and closed her suddenly unbearably heavy eyelids.
A nagging stiffness began to form along the back of her neck, and she reached up with one hand to massage out the dull twinge, with little success. She glanced once more at the sleeping form, now comfortably curled on his side. Carefully, she tried to extend her cramped limbs, as she studied the bed. There was more than enough room for a second person to easily stretch out. Tantalizingly, the remaining space beckoned to her. The mounting ache in the small of her back finally overcame any lingering reluctance, and she rose from the chair.
Holding her breath, she lowered herself slowly onto the bed, the ancient, rusted frame seeming to screech in the stillness. Clinging to the very edge, she carefully lay down, trying not to disturb the unconscious form beside her. She didn't dare borrow any of the bedcovers, although the worn and faded quilt looked much warmer to her now than when she'd earlier drawn it over Jäger. Pulling her coat more tightly around her against the cold, she wearily closed her eyes. All she needed was to rest for a brief while and then at dawn she'd be able to slip out unnoticed into the street. Settling more comfortably into the soft mattress, she rearranged her legs to avoid a protruding spring that insistently dug into one thigh. She'd just rest there for a few moments, she thought wearily, closing her eyes once more.
Chapter Thirteen
A shaft of sunlight pierced the room through a tiny peephole scraped into a coating of black paint on the windowpane. As the sun rose in the sky, the dust-speckled beam swung lazily across the room, coming to land directly in the sleeping woman's face. She frowned, opening her eyes and shifting her head slightly to retreat from the ray's glare, and then looked with momentary panic at the barren, dingy walls around her. It took several long seconds before Leisa recognized her surroundings and was able to relax back against the mattress.
Her left hand was tucked under her chin in a makeshift pillow, and she carefully eased it out to check the face of her watch. The hands indicated twenty minutes after seven. Verdammt. She'd intended to be gone long before now. Leisa tried to turn, when she suddenly became aware of a pressure across her lower body. Her glance downward was followed by another silent curse at the sight of a man's bare arm draped across her hips, effectively pinning her in place. She could tell from the even, measured sound of breathing that he was still asleep, but there was no certainty as to how much longer that would be the case. Her dilemma was how to disentangle herself from Jäger's grasp before he awakened.
She slowly shifted her hips toward the edge of the bed, feeling him stir with the movement. His arm unconsciously tightened its embrace, before he fell still once more. Leisa decided she'd have to extricate herself in one rapid motion. Taking a deep breath, she rolled deftly off the bed and leaped softly to her feet.
Hogan turned over with a moan onto his back, cautiously stretching his aching body into a yawn. A frown crossed his face, and he opened his eyes, slowly turning his head to look with a puzzled expression at the empty depression beside him in the mattress. He shook his head in dismissal.
The sound of Leisa clearing her throat startled Hogan into sitting up, his bruised ribs protesting the hasty action. Groaning, he collapsed back against the bed. Opening his eyes once more, he watched Leisa, busy with pushing a few stray strands of hair back in place under her kerchief.
"What're you still doing here?" he grumbled.
Leisa's face tightened. "I was just going," she said curtly. "There was a patrol in the street last night when I tried to leave, so I had to wait until morning." Her eyes broke from his, as she turned to retrieve her purse. "I, uh, dozed a bit in the chair while I waited. I was just getting ready to go, when you awoke."
She pulled a kerchief from a coat pocket and drew it over her head, firmly tying it in place. "I'd advise you to be more careful. Next time there might not be anyone around to help," she said gruffly and headed for the door, roughly pulling it open.
Hogan opened his mouth as though to speak, but the door slammed shut behind her. What had he done, he wondered silently to himself? He shifted beneath the coverlet, hoping to resume his sleep, but something continued to nag at him. He reached out with one hand to stroke the mattress beside him. A feeling of warmth still emanated from the spot, and if he closed his eyes, he thought he could still feel the lingering sensation of someone pressed against him. He yawned, rolling onto one side. It must be his imagination, probably the remnants of a dream just before awakening, he mused before drifting back to sleep.
***
The early morning brightness assaulted her senses, as she stumbled down the stairs and stepped outside. Standing for a moment in the doorway, she took a deep breath to collect herself, the wind swirling drifts of fallen snow against the entryway. Leisa stepped forward and fell in with the passing army of gray-faced workers, muffled into anonymity. Bearing uniform looks of resigned weariness, their shoulders and heads bowed, they shuffled forward in one lifeless mass. It was easier not to draw attention, if you never made eye contact with the others. One could almost go through life invisible in this manner.
She tried to force her mind to adopt the same blank, expressionless cast her face affected, her body numbing itself to the jostling of the crowd. But there was something she wasn't able to block out, something that continued to intrude on her thoughts. An involuntary trembling arose inside her, and she edged her way toward the side of the Strasse, seeking momentary refuge in a recessed doorway.
Closing her eyes, she was instantly flooded with the comfortable sensation of a man's strong, reassuring arm around her. Despite the protective walls she had so carefully constructed, something about Jäger had broken through those barriers. She felt the warmth of his body against hers, the soothing whisper of his breathing beside her. She could have tried pushing the feelings away, but oh, how a part of her so longed to linger there in his imagined embrace.
The blare of a passing motorcar interrupted the momentary spell. Gulping in the crisp morning air, she stepped from the doorway and resumed her purposeful stride down the street, her face once more assuming a vacant facade. Don't be ridiculous, she said to herself, you can't afford such silly schoolgirl daydreams. Her head bowed, she glanced to either side, as she pulled her coat more tightly about her. Remember, you were only told to keep an eye on him.
Chapter Fourteen
Leisa leaned on her elbows against the top of the bar, trying to rub the dull ache from her temples. Ach, this job is hard enough without having gotten almost no sleep last night, she thought wearily to herself. She closed her eyes, mostly from fatigue, but also to indulge for a few moments in the vision of Jäger spooned against her body. She strained to remember the secure feeling of his arm around her, a small smile pursing her lips. The luxuriating moment was suddenly disturbed by someone standing before her, impatiently clearing his throat.
Startled, Leisa's eyes flew open, as she shrank back. Kronbach stood there, his face set in a disapproving scowl.
"What happened last night?" he asked suspiciously.
Leisa shrugged and picked up a towel, hoping to conceal the tremor that had begun in her hands, while she wiped at the already clean countertop.
"You tell me," she said with a touch of false bravado. "I heard there was some trouble out back. I was here late cleaning up and by the time I left, it must have been dealt with. Gunther and Hermann wouldn't have anything to do with it now, would they?"
She looked directly at Kronbach, as she continued to move the cloth over the countertop. His nostrils flared slightly, but he otherwise restrained any other reaction he may have felt at her apparent defiance.
"I see," he said, his voice measured. "You know, my dear, you shouldn't work such late hours. It's beginning to take its toll on your beauty. We can't have that now, can we?" He lifted a forefinger to trace the dark circles under her eyes, letting the nail edge trail across her cheek. Somehow Leisa managed to force her mouth into a weak smile, as she fought the temptation to shudder. Just feeling his touch made her skin crawl.
"Bring a cup of coffee to my table," Kronbach ordered coldly, as he turned to cross the room. Leisa sighed with relief.
She brought him the coffee, managing to not spill any, as her shaking hand set it on the table. Kronbach, engrossed in a newspaper that was spread out before him, merely nodded in acknowledgement.
Leisa retreated to the safety of the bar. Her eyes had just begun to close once more, when the door to the bar opened, and Jäger entered. He sauntered over to his usual table, grimacing as he removed his coat with difficulty, his bruised ribs painfully reminding him of his mishap from the previous evening.
Leisa approached his table, and his smile broadened into a grin.
"I didn't get a chance to properly thank you--" he began. Her eyes filled with terror, causing him to halt in mid-sentence. He saw her look dartingly to one side, and he carefully peered around her to observe Kronbach across the room, seemingly oblivious to his presence.
"...for recommending that tailor to me," Hogan continued casually. Leisa closed her eyes and silently sighed in relief. "I, uh, need to get some new shirts made, and he'll come in most handy. Thank you again."
"Certainly, Herr Jäger," Leisa replied nonchalantly. "And what may I bring you this afternoon? Ach, never mind, I think I remember." She turned back to the bar, smiling coyly for a brief moment out of Kronbach's view.
She returned a few moments later and placed a stein of beer and bottle of whiskey with an empty glass in front of him. Thanking her, Hogan filled the glass before taking a gulp and chasing it with the beer. Kronbach picked up his coffee cup and began to make his way across the room.
"May I sit down?"
Hogan looked up, frowning at the sight of Kronbach standing before him.
"Sure, it used to be a free country," he said curtly.
Kronbach chuckled, as he seated himself at the table. Pointing to Hogan's bandaged hand, he clucked in sympathy. "Tsk, tsk, you seem to have had an accident of some sort, my friend. What happened?"
Hogan behaved as though noticing for the first time that his hand was thickly wrapped in a dressing. "Oh this? It's nothing. I cut myself shaving, that's all."
Kronbach clicked his tongue in disapproval. "Shame. Didn't your mother ever tell you to be careful handling sharp objects?"
Hogan smiled coldly in return. "I'll have to ask her about that next time I see her. So, Herr Kronbach, just what is it you want?"
The German nodded, admiring his directness. "Not so quickly, my friend. If we're going to be business partners, let's try to make this an amicable association, hmm? Let me buy you a drink first."
Hogan held up his glass, still three-quarters full. "Sorry, you're too late."
"Ah, well, perhaps at our next consultation."
Hogan watched guardedly, while Kronbach reached inside his jacket and pulled out a piece of paper. Unfolding it, he handed a list across the table.
"Perhaps in a show of good faith for our new business enterprise, you can obtain some of these items, hmm? I believe I know of certain individuals who would be able to, er, distribute them in return for a small share of the profits."
Hogan casually studied the list. "I might be able to put my hands on some of those things. But exactly what do you consider to be a small share?"
"My associates will receive sixty percent of the profits for their efforts."
"Sixty percent?" Hogan exclaimed. "You sure you've got only coffee in that cup?"
He sat back and shook his head in amazement, taking in Kronbach's impassive expression. "Why, hell, I know loan sharks who would give me a better cut than that!"
"I don't doubt that you do, Herr Jäger, but you're not being asked to engage in a business transaction with them now, are you?"
"No, and I'm not asking to partner with you and your thugs, either." Hogan paused to grimly smile, "I mean associates. The deal is off." He pushed back his chair and lifted his glass to empty it.
Kronbach began to command him to sit back down, when a short, squat man with dark hair and thin moustache entered the Hofbrau. The collar of his black trench coat was pulled up around his neck, and he stood in the entryway removing his gloves, as he surveyed the surroundings. Hogan glanced curiously over his shoulder and involuntarily muttered a curse under his breath. He quickly shifted in the chair, averting his face, which Kronbach noted appeared drained of color.
Still partly turned aside, Hogan rose slowly and spoke in a low voice.
"You'll have to excuse my ill manners, Herr Kronbach, but I just remembered an urgent appointment. Perhaps we can continue this conversation another time?"
Without waiting for a response, Hogan threw his folded overcoat over one shoulder, shielding his face, and quickly made his way to the back of the room. Kronbach watched him pause briefly to speak to Leisa and then hastily disappear through a rear doorway. He frowned. Herr Jäger's marked change in behavior was most bewildering.
"Guten tag, Albert." A slightly nasal, rasping voice broke into his thoughts. "You look troubled. What could possibly be concerning you here in this quiet little hamlet, hmm?"
Kronbach looked up, the perplexity on his face still evident, before smiling warmly. "Ah, Wolfgang, my friend. So, you mean to tell me Herr Himmler can spare his key investigator's presence from Berlin? Or are you looking for that next case that will gain you promotion to Oberst, eh?"
Kronbach chuckled. He and Wolfgang Hochstetter had served in the Gestapo from the beginning of the formation of the secretive organization. Both fierce competitors by nature, their determination to close more cases than their peers, no matter how the solution was obtained, had naturally drawn them together and also led to their steady rise in stature.
"Bah. Nothing so grand as that, I'm afraid. Headquarters sent me here to ask some questions of that British defector you're guarding."
"Ach, of course, I'd forgotten the debriefing sessions weren't yet finished." Kronbach signaled with a raised hand for Leisa's attention. "What can I get you to drink?"
"Ordinarily, I would accept your offer, Albert," Hochstetter replied, drawing a photograph from his coat and placing it on the table, "but I'm afraid I can't stay very long. There is other business I must attend to. I am on the heels of one of the most dangerous men in all of Germany, and my senses tell me I am about to draw the net closed around him."
Kronbach raised one eyebrow with interest. As Leisa drew near, he dismissed her with a wave of his hand, shaking his head to indicate he had changed his mind. She glanced with curiosity at the photograph atop the table. Betraying no response, she crossed the room to retrieve some empty glasses.
Hochstetter tapped his finger against a dog-eared black and white print.
"This is the only photograph we have ever been able to obtain of this menace. It was taken surreptitiously by one of my officers, Major Pruhst, on a visit to LuftStalag 13, where this man was being held."
Kronbach studied the grainy picture of a dark-haired, handsome man wearing the uniform of an American flier. The print was slightly blurry, as though the subject was in motion when the photograph was snapped, but was still recognizable.
"You call him the most dangerous man in Germany?" Kronbach asked incredulously with a snort. "Come now, Wolfgang, you said this man is a prisoner of war. Has the Fatherland become so defenseless as that?"
"He was a prisoner of war," Hochstetter emphasized, "until his escape over a week ago. His name is Colonel Robert Hogan. I have been documenting for some time now his suspected sabotage activities, even while interned, and was finally able to convince a senior Luftwaffe officer that he should be dealt with. He was being transferred to the work facility at Dachau, when he overpowered the guard and made his escape."
Kronbach frowned. "Why are you bringing this to my attention? I have nothing to do with wayward prisoners."
"Bah," Hochstetter exclaimed, "do not underestimate him. With this man at large, all of Germany is at risk. We have tracked him down here in the vicinity of Hamburg. The truck he used for his escape was found abandoned in the woods just outside of town. I thought you might circulate this photograph for your men to keep an eye out for him. If he should be spotted, use extreme caution. Of course, I would like to be notified immediately. I would gain great satisfaction from being there when he is finally taken." His gloved hands formed involuntarily into fists, bringing a brief smile to Kronbach's lips.
"Certainly, Wolfgang," Kronbach said demurely. "We will do our utmost to assist you in this matter. My men are quite vigilant and nothing escapes our attention here. If he is in the area, I am sure we will uncover him."
Hochstetter placed his hand on Kronbach's shoulder. "Thank you, Albert. I knew I could count on you." He made a small bow, heels clicking in salute. "I must be going now. I look forward to your call."
"It has been a pleasure, as always, to see you again Wolfgang. I assume you saw the recent promotion list to Oberst? One of these days I am sure your name will be there as well."
Hochstetter snarled, "I only wish those in Berlin realized the same. But, if I should find this Colonel Hogan, I am sure I will be on that list next time." He smiled a thin, cold smile at the fantasy of effecting the capture he so desperately yearned.
Kronbach paused, eyeing him thoughtfully. "You really think this man is that valuable to Berlin?"
"I have no doubt of it," his Gestapo colleague said emphatically through clenched teeth.
Kronbach lifted his eyebrows in surprise.
"But what about you, Albert?" Hochstetter asked, as he returned his gaze to Kronbach's face, now set in concentration. "You, too, deserve to be on that list. After all, you always bested me at the academy in examinations. Surely, you, too, feel as though you have been overlooked?"
Kronbach smiled modestly. "Ah, Wolfgang, those aspirations are over. I am content to carry out my duties in this quiet hamlet, as you call it. I may not have the glamorous cases you work, but my life is simple and satisfying. I prefer to bide out my time caretaking defectors and awaiting retirement."
"Ja, I understand," Hochstetter said, nodding, as he picked up his hat from the table. "There are days I wish my life, too, could be less complicated. But, I cannot rest while there exist such dangers to the Reich. I am determined to bring this man to what he deserves." As he spoke, his hands began an unconscious wringing action. The fedora quickly lost all semblance of its shape. It was only the bemused look on Kronbach's face that brought him back to his senses. With a chagrined air, Hochstetter vainly tried re-blocking the hat, finally in exasperation plunking the misshapen form on his head.
"Bah. Enough now, I must be gone. Auf Wiedersehn, Albert."
"Wiedersehn, my friend," Kronbach replied, rising slightly in his chair. "You may count on me to alert you if this man turns up."
Hochstetter tugged at the warped brim of his fedora in reply and turned to exit the bar. Kronbach sat there, deep in thought, his fingers thumping a beat atop the glossy photo.
Leisa cleared her throat, suddenly standing before the table. Kronbach looked up with a frown and quickly retrieved the picture, tucking it inside his jacket pocket.
"What is it?" he asked gruffly.
"Excuse me, mein Herr, but I thought perhaps you might like something more to drink?" Leisa asked innocently, her face seemingly devoid of curiosity.
"No, no, I think not," Kronbach mumbled absently, his hand fondling the photograph.
"Wait. Just a moment," he abruptly ordered, as she turned from the table. She turned to him with an inquiring look.
"Jawohl?"
Kronbach looked at her intently. "Where did your friend Jäger go?" he asked evenly.
Leisa gestured with her head toward the rear of the bar. "He said he needed to use the washroom. I told him there was one in the back he could use, next to the storeroom."
Kronbach got up hastily from the table and grabbed Leisa by the arm. "Show me where," he ordered tersely.
Leisa dared not struggle against him, as he forced her down the narrow passageway. She stopped before a closed door at the end of the hallway and looked uncertainly at Kronbach. At his insistent nod, she hesitantly lifted her hand and rapped on the door.
"Herr..." Leisa nervously cleared her throat, "Herr Jäger, are you in there?"
No answer came. Kronbach pushed Leisa quickly aside to try the handle. It firmly resisted. Frowning, he stepped back and rammed his shoulder against the door's warped, cracked surface. It groaned the first time, but gave with a splintering of wood on the second, slamming open against the inner wall. Their attention was immediately drawn by the movement of curtains billowing in the breeze from the small window to the back alley.
"Verdammt," Kronbach muttered under his breath, as he turned and stalked back down the corridor. Leisa stood before the open door, a mixture of astonishment and relief apparent on her face.
Hogan was leaning more heavily on her now, and Leisa glanced over at him worriedly. His eyes were closed, his face chalky with pain. He'd been stumbling along on pure reflex, barely aware of his surroundings. She peered down a darkened street, as they turned the last corner. Thankfully, no one appeared to be present. They'd encountered only one other soul out in the wintry night. An older man had passed by, glancing suspiciously at them, as Leisa feigned embarrassment and indignation at her presumed escort's besotted condition.
The lone street lamp scarcely illuminated the narrow buildings, but even under these conditions the seediness of the area was evident. At each doorway, she searched desperately for an address, finally spotting the faded numbers she'd been seeking. The creaking door gradually opened, admitting them to the foyer. It had been dim outside, but with the absence of any hallway lighting it was utterly pitch black inside. She reached out cautiously to feel her way, finally encountering a stairway banister in the inky void. They haltingly made the climb, Leisa now nearly dragging Hogan, as they trudged up the steps and stumbled together toward the far end of the hallway.
Leisa leaned on one arm against the corridor wall, breathing heavily, while supporting Hogan with the other arm. Taking a deep breath, she straightened up and reached for the knob, but the door refused to yield.
"It's locked," she hissed to Hogan.
"Huh?" he mumbled, partially rousing from his stupor.
"The key. I need it to unlock the door."
He continued to look at her in non-comprehension.
"You do have the key, don't you?" she asked worriedly.
"Oh, yeah, th' key, right," he mumbled, patting his pockets while struggling to keep his precarious balance. He grinned victoriously at her, encountering the key, and then cursed, as his attempt to retrieve it met with failure. The thick bandage encasing his hand prevented him from inserting no more than the tips of his fingers into the pocket's opening.
Sighing with despair, Hogan slumped against the wall. Leisa peered at him questioningly. He looked away, gesturing uncomfortably to his right front pants pocket.
"Th' key's in there," he whispered hoarsely.
Leisa rolled her eyes in exasperation. "Oh, for heavens sake," she muttered, awkwardly reaching into his pocket.
The sound of a door opening across the hallway suddenly startled them. Hogan looked up in time to see an elderly matron's white-capped head peering out at them, her eyes widening in shock at the sight before her. Shaking her head in disapproval, she cupped one hand to her mouth and hurriedly closed the door; Hogan's glare pursuing her to will it shut with greater speed.
Leisa once more resumed her efforts, her cheeks tellingly blushing deep red. Hogan hoped the effects of the alcohol might provide an excuse for the burning tips of his ears. She withdrew her hand and inserted the key in the lock. The door to the darkened room swung open with a creak, and they stumbled gratefully inside.
Leisa felt along the inner wall, until she came to a small table. She switched on the lamp sitting there, the bare bulb throwing a stark shadow across the dingy room. Still holding onto Hogan, she maneuvered him to the edge of the bed, where he sat down heavily.
"Okay, s' ya got me here. I can take care of m'self now," he said petulantly.
She arched one eyebrow and looked him over. His heavy-lidded eyes were nearly closed, and she was sure if she tapped him on the chest, he would fall backward on the bed like a limp doll.
"Oh, sure you can. I can see that all right."
Shaking her head, she reached for his hand. Like a helpless child, he mechanically raised each arm, Leisa assisting him out of his coat. He started to fall back onto the bed but was pulled back up, as she grabbed one wrist.
"No, you don't. The jacket and shirt, too," she said. "They're both soaking wet, and you'll catch your death of cold, if you sleep in them."
Too tired to protest, he meekly obeyed, then collapsed wearily back on the bed with a groan. She turned to remove her own coat, throwing it over the back of the sole chair and reached for her bag. Hogan slowly opened his eyes, hearing her approach the bed.
Leisa gently took his bandaged hand in her own, focused solely on her task. Hogan watched, while she unwrapped the kerchief and surveyed the damage. She grimaced, twisting his hand toward the light.
"This cut is very bad. You'll have to get it stitched," Leisa said, turning to the dresser to fill a cracked basin with water from an adjoining pitcher. She dampened the towel she'd brought with her and began to wash away the caked layers of blood, glancing curiously at him.
"Did you hear me? I said, you'll have to go to a doctor to get it stitched. Otherwise, this cut won't heal properly."
Hogan averted his face. "I...I can't go t' a doctor," he said resignedly.
Leisa hesitated, studying him intently, before returning to her work. "No, I don't suppose you can," she said quietly.
Hogan warily looked back at her. Did she guess at the reason for his reluctance?
With a sigh, Leisa pressed a thick compress into the pad of his hand, gently curling his injured fingers over it and wrapping a strip of cloth to hold the bandage in place.
"If you keep your fingers in this position, it may help draw the edges of the cut together so it will heal. At least the compress I've placed there will keep some pressure on the wound. I'm afraid there's not much else I can do."
Hogan paused before responding, his voice husky with gratitude.
"I don' understan' why you've even done this much. You didn' hafta stop t' help--you coulda jus' left me there. Why didn' you?" He looked searchingly at her.
Leisa cocked her head to one side. "Mmm, I suppose I could have," she agreed. "Let's just say I seem to have a knack for getting myself mixed up with the wrong people."
"Like Kronbach?" Hogan asked accusingly.
Leisa dropped her eyes and deliberately busied herself in gathering up the remnants of her supplies. "That's different," she said defensively. "I'm just doing what I have to in order to stay out of trouble." She shot a meaningful look at him. "You'd be well advised to do the same."
She finished washing up at the basin and turned back to him, drying her hands on a towel.
"I--" she began, and then halted, realizing with a look at Hogan's slack face that he had finally passed out. "Ach," she said softly to herself.
Shaking her head, she crept quietly across the room to retrieve her belongings. Jäger's coat and shirt, draped over the back of the chair, caught her attention. She glanced once more at the still form and then picked up the jacket to carefully run her fingers along the lapels and seams. Nothing. Next, she felt through the pockets, again coming up empty. Turning toward the light, she held up the jacket, examining the inner lining and threadbare collar. It was peculiarly devoid of maker's labels. She frowned slightly and then chuckled softly to herself, as she slowly crossed to the bed and pulled on her coat.
Jäger lay there in the harsh light, his face pale and expressionless beneath a shock of rumpled black hair draped across his forehead. She stood there for several moments, studying him attentively, in a way only mothers do with their own slumbering offspring. A small smile formed, as she noticed that even in his unconscious state there was an irrepressibly mischievous turn to the corner of his lips. With a sigh, she reached over the sleeping form and pulled the faded coverlet across his bare torso, then turned and exited to the darkened hallway, closing the door softly behind her.
Pausing for a moment to let her eyes adjust to the dark, she groped for the railing to navigate her way down the narrow, creaking stairs. It took a few moments of searching to find the handle, but she finally located it and slowly opened the front door, holding her breath, as its hinges squeaked horribly in the still night.
She widened the opening slightly and carefully peered out. A contingent of heavy boots suddenly clattered past on the cobblestone street. Instinctively, she shrank back, hoping not to be seen. The patrol abruptly halted a few houses away, pausing in the dim cast of the moon that slipped between two rooftops and illuminated a small portion of the street.
Please don't stop there, she prayed silently. Go on. Don't you have more important places to be at this hour? She watched, while they huddled together and lit their cigarettes. What wonderful timing to take a break.
Leisa knew she couldn't risk leaving until the patrol departed. Even if she tried removing her shoes to slip quietly in the opposite direction along the cobblestones, there was no guarantee she would pass unnoticed. Having abandoned their formation, the patrol now lounged casually on the sidewalk, and several men were looking her way. It was well past curfew, and she knew it would be disastrous to be caught in the street at that late hour. What reason would she give if questioned as to her presence there? Despite her connections, she had no special permit that would allow her to safely pass at that time of night.
Leisa studied the patrol for a few moments and then softly closed the door, leaning wearily against the foyer wall. She forced herself to silently count off an agonizingly slow interlude of ten minutes. It felt more like an hour. Ever so cautiously, she again cracked open the rusted door just enough to see the patrol was still present. Some of the men had removed their packs and equipment belts as though intending to bivouac there for the remainder of the night. She groaned in utter dismay.
Suddenly, a hallway door creaked open. She peered anxiously down the darkened corridor, but the absence of light concealed whoever was there. Pressing herself against the wall, she quietly slipped to the opposite side of the entryway, groping with an outstretched, shaking hand to locate the stairway banister once more.
Carefully, she crept upstairs, slowly easing her weight onto each complaining board near the end of the riser, hoping to minimize the protests that issued with each step. Leisa found herself at the top of the narrow staircase and passed once more toward the room at the far end. Her hand noiselessly turned the handle, as she slipped quickly inside and quietly closed the door behind her. Exhausted, she leaned her forehead against the wooden frame, slowly letting out her breath in relief, before glancing at the still form on the bed. He was in the same position in which she'd left him, his gentle snoring indicating he was still sound asleep.
Her arms crossed, she began pacing the floor and then moved to the straight-backed chair and sat down, looking at her watch. It was almost two in the morning. She'd have to wait another four or five hours before she could blend in with the other early morning workers and safely return to her flat. Until then she'd try to rest as best she could. With a heavy sigh, she shifted uncomfortably in the hard, unyielding chair and closed her suddenly unbearably heavy eyelids.
A nagging stiffness began to form along the back of her neck, and she reached up with one hand to massage out the dull twinge, with little success. She glanced once more at the sleeping form, now comfortably curled on his side. Carefully, she tried to extend her cramped limbs, as she studied the bed. There was more than enough room for a second person to easily stretch out. Tantalizingly, the remaining space beckoned to her. The mounting ache in the small of her back finally overcame any lingering reluctance, and she rose from the chair.
Holding her breath, she lowered herself slowly onto the bed, the ancient, rusted frame seeming to screech in the stillness. Clinging to the very edge, she carefully lay down, trying not to disturb the unconscious form beside her. She didn't dare borrow any of the bedcovers, although the worn and faded quilt looked much warmer to her now than when she'd earlier drawn it over Jäger. Pulling her coat more tightly around her against the cold, she wearily closed her eyes. All she needed was to rest for a brief while and then at dawn she'd be able to slip out unnoticed into the street. Settling more comfortably into the soft mattress, she rearranged her legs to avoid a protruding spring that insistently dug into one thigh. She'd just rest there for a few moments, she thought wearily, closing her eyes once more.
Chapter Thirteen
A shaft of sunlight pierced the room through a tiny peephole scraped into a coating of black paint on the windowpane. As the sun rose in the sky, the dust-speckled beam swung lazily across the room, coming to land directly in the sleeping woman's face. She frowned, opening her eyes and shifting her head slightly to retreat from the ray's glare, and then looked with momentary panic at the barren, dingy walls around her. It took several long seconds before Leisa recognized her surroundings and was able to relax back against the mattress.
Her left hand was tucked under her chin in a makeshift pillow, and she carefully eased it out to check the face of her watch. The hands indicated twenty minutes after seven. Verdammt. She'd intended to be gone long before now. Leisa tried to turn, when she suddenly became aware of a pressure across her lower body. Her glance downward was followed by another silent curse at the sight of a man's bare arm draped across her hips, effectively pinning her in place. She could tell from the even, measured sound of breathing that he was still asleep, but there was no certainty as to how much longer that would be the case. Her dilemma was how to disentangle herself from Jäger's grasp before he awakened.
She slowly shifted her hips toward the edge of the bed, feeling him stir with the movement. His arm unconsciously tightened its embrace, before he fell still once more. Leisa decided she'd have to extricate herself in one rapid motion. Taking a deep breath, she rolled deftly off the bed and leaped softly to her feet.
Hogan turned over with a moan onto his back, cautiously stretching his aching body into a yawn. A frown crossed his face, and he opened his eyes, slowly turning his head to look with a puzzled expression at the empty depression beside him in the mattress. He shook his head in dismissal.
The sound of Leisa clearing her throat startled Hogan into sitting up, his bruised ribs protesting the hasty action. Groaning, he collapsed back against the bed. Opening his eyes once more, he watched Leisa, busy with pushing a few stray strands of hair back in place under her kerchief.
"What're you still doing here?" he grumbled.
Leisa's face tightened. "I was just going," she said curtly. "There was a patrol in the street last night when I tried to leave, so I had to wait until morning." Her eyes broke from his, as she turned to retrieve her purse. "I, uh, dozed a bit in the chair while I waited. I was just getting ready to go, when you awoke."
She pulled a kerchief from a coat pocket and drew it over her head, firmly tying it in place. "I'd advise you to be more careful. Next time there might not be anyone around to help," she said gruffly and headed for the door, roughly pulling it open.
Hogan opened his mouth as though to speak, but the door slammed shut behind her. What had he done, he wondered silently to himself? He shifted beneath the coverlet, hoping to resume his sleep, but something continued to nag at him. He reached out with one hand to stroke the mattress beside him. A feeling of warmth still emanated from the spot, and if he closed his eyes, he thought he could still feel the lingering sensation of someone pressed against him. He yawned, rolling onto one side. It must be his imagination, probably the remnants of a dream just before awakening, he mused before drifting back to sleep.
***
The early morning brightness assaulted her senses, as she stumbled down the stairs and stepped outside. Standing for a moment in the doorway, she took a deep breath to collect herself, the wind swirling drifts of fallen snow against the entryway. Leisa stepped forward and fell in with the passing army of gray-faced workers, muffled into anonymity. Bearing uniform looks of resigned weariness, their shoulders and heads bowed, they shuffled forward in one lifeless mass. It was easier not to draw attention, if you never made eye contact with the others. One could almost go through life invisible in this manner.
She tried to force her mind to adopt the same blank, expressionless cast her face affected, her body numbing itself to the jostling of the crowd. But there was something she wasn't able to block out, something that continued to intrude on her thoughts. An involuntary trembling arose inside her, and she edged her way toward the side of the Strasse, seeking momentary refuge in a recessed doorway.
Closing her eyes, she was instantly flooded with the comfortable sensation of a man's strong, reassuring arm around her. Despite the protective walls she had so carefully constructed, something about Jäger had broken through those barriers. She felt the warmth of his body against hers, the soothing whisper of his breathing beside her. She could have tried pushing the feelings away, but oh, how a part of her so longed to linger there in his imagined embrace.
The blare of a passing motorcar interrupted the momentary spell. Gulping in the crisp morning air, she stepped from the doorway and resumed her purposeful stride down the street, her face once more assuming a vacant facade. Don't be ridiculous, she said to herself, you can't afford such silly schoolgirl daydreams. Her head bowed, she glanced to either side, as she pulled her coat more tightly about her. Remember, you were only told to keep an eye on him.
Chapter Fourteen
Leisa leaned on her elbows against the top of the bar, trying to rub the dull ache from her temples. Ach, this job is hard enough without having gotten almost no sleep last night, she thought wearily to herself. She closed her eyes, mostly from fatigue, but also to indulge for a few moments in the vision of Jäger spooned against her body. She strained to remember the secure feeling of his arm around her, a small smile pursing her lips. The luxuriating moment was suddenly disturbed by someone standing before her, impatiently clearing his throat.
Startled, Leisa's eyes flew open, as she shrank back. Kronbach stood there, his face set in a disapproving scowl.
"What happened last night?" he asked suspiciously.
Leisa shrugged and picked up a towel, hoping to conceal the tremor that had begun in her hands, while she wiped at the already clean countertop.
"You tell me," she said with a touch of false bravado. "I heard there was some trouble out back. I was here late cleaning up and by the time I left, it must have been dealt with. Gunther and Hermann wouldn't have anything to do with it now, would they?"
She looked directly at Kronbach, as she continued to move the cloth over the countertop. His nostrils flared slightly, but he otherwise restrained any other reaction he may have felt at her apparent defiance.
"I see," he said, his voice measured. "You know, my dear, you shouldn't work such late hours. It's beginning to take its toll on your beauty. We can't have that now, can we?" He lifted a forefinger to trace the dark circles under her eyes, letting the nail edge trail across her cheek. Somehow Leisa managed to force her mouth into a weak smile, as she fought the temptation to shudder. Just feeling his touch made her skin crawl.
"Bring a cup of coffee to my table," Kronbach ordered coldly, as he turned to cross the room. Leisa sighed with relief.
She brought him the coffee, managing to not spill any, as her shaking hand set it on the table. Kronbach, engrossed in a newspaper that was spread out before him, merely nodded in acknowledgement.
Leisa retreated to the safety of the bar. Her eyes had just begun to close once more, when the door to the bar opened, and Jäger entered. He sauntered over to his usual table, grimacing as he removed his coat with difficulty, his bruised ribs painfully reminding him of his mishap from the previous evening.
Leisa approached his table, and his smile broadened into a grin.
"I didn't get a chance to properly thank you--" he began. Her eyes filled with terror, causing him to halt in mid-sentence. He saw her look dartingly to one side, and he carefully peered around her to observe Kronbach across the room, seemingly oblivious to his presence.
"...for recommending that tailor to me," Hogan continued casually. Leisa closed her eyes and silently sighed in relief. "I, uh, need to get some new shirts made, and he'll come in most handy. Thank you again."
"Certainly, Herr Jäger," Leisa replied nonchalantly. "And what may I bring you this afternoon? Ach, never mind, I think I remember." She turned back to the bar, smiling coyly for a brief moment out of Kronbach's view.
She returned a few moments later and placed a stein of beer and bottle of whiskey with an empty glass in front of him. Thanking her, Hogan filled the glass before taking a gulp and chasing it with the beer. Kronbach picked up his coffee cup and began to make his way across the room.
"May I sit down?"
Hogan looked up, frowning at the sight of Kronbach standing before him.
"Sure, it used to be a free country," he said curtly.
Kronbach chuckled, as he seated himself at the table. Pointing to Hogan's bandaged hand, he clucked in sympathy. "Tsk, tsk, you seem to have had an accident of some sort, my friend. What happened?"
Hogan behaved as though noticing for the first time that his hand was thickly wrapped in a dressing. "Oh this? It's nothing. I cut myself shaving, that's all."
Kronbach clicked his tongue in disapproval. "Shame. Didn't your mother ever tell you to be careful handling sharp objects?"
Hogan smiled coldly in return. "I'll have to ask her about that next time I see her. So, Herr Kronbach, just what is it you want?"
The German nodded, admiring his directness. "Not so quickly, my friend. If we're going to be business partners, let's try to make this an amicable association, hmm? Let me buy you a drink first."
Hogan held up his glass, still three-quarters full. "Sorry, you're too late."
"Ah, well, perhaps at our next consultation."
Hogan watched guardedly, while Kronbach reached inside his jacket and pulled out a piece of paper. Unfolding it, he handed a list across the table.
"Perhaps in a show of good faith for our new business enterprise, you can obtain some of these items, hmm? I believe I know of certain individuals who would be able to, er, distribute them in return for a small share of the profits."
Hogan casually studied the list. "I might be able to put my hands on some of those things. But exactly what do you consider to be a small share?"
"My associates will receive sixty percent of the profits for their efforts."
"Sixty percent?" Hogan exclaimed. "You sure you've got only coffee in that cup?"
He sat back and shook his head in amazement, taking in Kronbach's impassive expression. "Why, hell, I know loan sharks who would give me a better cut than that!"
"I don't doubt that you do, Herr Jäger, but you're not being asked to engage in a business transaction with them now, are you?"
"No, and I'm not asking to partner with you and your thugs, either." Hogan paused to grimly smile, "I mean associates. The deal is off." He pushed back his chair and lifted his glass to empty it.
Kronbach began to command him to sit back down, when a short, squat man with dark hair and thin moustache entered the Hofbrau. The collar of his black trench coat was pulled up around his neck, and he stood in the entryway removing his gloves, as he surveyed the surroundings. Hogan glanced curiously over his shoulder and involuntarily muttered a curse under his breath. He quickly shifted in the chair, averting his face, which Kronbach noted appeared drained of color.
Still partly turned aside, Hogan rose slowly and spoke in a low voice.
"You'll have to excuse my ill manners, Herr Kronbach, but I just remembered an urgent appointment. Perhaps we can continue this conversation another time?"
Without waiting for a response, Hogan threw his folded overcoat over one shoulder, shielding his face, and quickly made his way to the back of the room. Kronbach watched him pause briefly to speak to Leisa and then hastily disappear through a rear doorway. He frowned. Herr Jäger's marked change in behavior was most bewildering.
"Guten tag, Albert." A slightly nasal, rasping voice broke into his thoughts. "You look troubled. What could possibly be concerning you here in this quiet little hamlet, hmm?"
Kronbach looked up, the perplexity on his face still evident, before smiling warmly. "Ah, Wolfgang, my friend. So, you mean to tell me Herr Himmler can spare his key investigator's presence from Berlin? Or are you looking for that next case that will gain you promotion to Oberst, eh?"
Kronbach chuckled. He and Wolfgang Hochstetter had served in the Gestapo from the beginning of the formation of the secretive organization. Both fierce competitors by nature, their determination to close more cases than their peers, no matter how the solution was obtained, had naturally drawn them together and also led to their steady rise in stature.
"Bah. Nothing so grand as that, I'm afraid. Headquarters sent me here to ask some questions of that British defector you're guarding."
"Ach, of course, I'd forgotten the debriefing sessions weren't yet finished." Kronbach signaled with a raised hand for Leisa's attention. "What can I get you to drink?"
"Ordinarily, I would accept your offer, Albert," Hochstetter replied, drawing a photograph from his coat and placing it on the table, "but I'm afraid I can't stay very long. There is other business I must attend to. I am on the heels of one of the most dangerous men in all of Germany, and my senses tell me I am about to draw the net closed around him."
Kronbach raised one eyebrow with interest. As Leisa drew near, he dismissed her with a wave of his hand, shaking his head to indicate he had changed his mind. She glanced with curiosity at the photograph atop the table. Betraying no response, she crossed the room to retrieve some empty glasses.
Hochstetter tapped his finger against a dog-eared black and white print.
"This is the only photograph we have ever been able to obtain of this menace. It was taken surreptitiously by one of my officers, Major Pruhst, on a visit to LuftStalag 13, where this man was being held."
Kronbach studied the grainy picture of a dark-haired, handsome man wearing the uniform of an American flier. The print was slightly blurry, as though the subject was in motion when the photograph was snapped, but was still recognizable.
"You call him the most dangerous man in Germany?" Kronbach asked incredulously with a snort. "Come now, Wolfgang, you said this man is a prisoner of war. Has the Fatherland become so defenseless as that?"
"He was a prisoner of war," Hochstetter emphasized, "until his escape over a week ago. His name is Colonel Robert Hogan. I have been documenting for some time now his suspected sabotage activities, even while interned, and was finally able to convince a senior Luftwaffe officer that he should be dealt with. He was being transferred to the work facility at Dachau, when he overpowered the guard and made his escape."
Kronbach frowned. "Why are you bringing this to my attention? I have nothing to do with wayward prisoners."
"Bah," Hochstetter exclaimed, "do not underestimate him. With this man at large, all of Germany is at risk. We have tracked him down here in the vicinity of Hamburg. The truck he used for his escape was found abandoned in the woods just outside of town. I thought you might circulate this photograph for your men to keep an eye out for him. If he should be spotted, use extreme caution. Of course, I would like to be notified immediately. I would gain great satisfaction from being there when he is finally taken." His gloved hands formed involuntarily into fists, bringing a brief smile to Kronbach's lips.
"Certainly, Wolfgang," Kronbach said demurely. "We will do our utmost to assist you in this matter. My men are quite vigilant and nothing escapes our attention here. If he is in the area, I am sure we will uncover him."
Hochstetter placed his hand on Kronbach's shoulder. "Thank you, Albert. I knew I could count on you." He made a small bow, heels clicking in salute. "I must be going now. I look forward to your call."
"It has been a pleasure, as always, to see you again Wolfgang. I assume you saw the recent promotion list to Oberst? One of these days I am sure your name will be there as well."
Hochstetter snarled, "I only wish those in Berlin realized the same. But, if I should find this Colonel Hogan, I am sure I will be on that list next time." He smiled a thin, cold smile at the fantasy of effecting the capture he so desperately yearned.
Kronbach paused, eyeing him thoughtfully. "You really think this man is that valuable to Berlin?"
"I have no doubt of it," his Gestapo colleague said emphatically through clenched teeth.
Kronbach lifted his eyebrows in surprise.
"But what about you, Albert?" Hochstetter asked, as he returned his gaze to Kronbach's face, now set in concentration. "You, too, deserve to be on that list. After all, you always bested me at the academy in examinations. Surely, you, too, feel as though you have been overlooked?"
Kronbach smiled modestly. "Ah, Wolfgang, those aspirations are over. I am content to carry out my duties in this quiet hamlet, as you call it. I may not have the glamorous cases you work, but my life is simple and satisfying. I prefer to bide out my time caretaking defectors and awaiting retirement."
"Ja, I understand," Hochstetter said, nodding, as he picked up his hat from the table. "There are days I wish my life, too, could be less complicated. But, I cannot rest while there exist such dangers to the Reich. I am determined to bring this man to what he deserves." As he spoke, his hands began an unconscious wringing action. The fedora quickly lost all semblance of its shape. It was only the bemused look on Kronbach's face that brought him back to his senses. With a chagrined air, Hochstetter vainly tried re-blocking the hat, finally in exasperation plunking the misshapen form on his head.
"Bah. Enough now, I must be gone. Auf Wiedersehn, Albert."
"Wiedersehn, my friend," Kronbach replied, rising slightly in his chair. "You may count on me to alert you if this man turns up."
Hochstetter tugged at the warped brim of his fedora in reply and turned to exit the bar. Kronbach sat there, deep in thought, his fingers thumping a beat atop the glossy photo.
Leisa cleared her throat, suddenly standing before the table. Kronbach looked up with a frown and quickly retrieved the picture, tucking it inside his jacket pocket.
"What is it?" he asked gruffly.
"Excuse me, mein Herr, but I thought perhaps you might like something more to drink?" Leisa asked innocently, her face seemingly devoid of curiosity.
"No, no, I think not," Kronbach mumbled absently, his hand fondling the photograph.
"Wait. Just a moment," he abruptly ordered, as she turned from the table. She turned to him with an inquiring look.
"Jawohl?"
Kronbach looked at her intently. "Where did your friend Jäger go?" he asked evenly.
Leisa gestured with her head toward the rear of the bar. "He said he needed to use the washroom. I told him there was one in the back he could use, next to the storeroom."
Kronbach got up hastily from the table and grabbed Leisa by the arm. "Show me where," he ordered tersely.
Leisa dared not struggle against him, as he forced her down the narrow passageway. She stopped before a closed door at the end of the hallway and looked uncertainly at Kronbach. At his insistent nod, she hesitantly lifted her hand and rapped on the door.
"Herr..." Leisa nervously cleared her throat, "Herr Jäger, are you in there?"
No answer came. Kronbach pushed Leisa quickly aside to try the handle. It firmly resisted. Frowning, he stepped back and rammed his shoulder against the door's warped, cracked surface. It groaned the first time, but gave with a splintering of wood on the second, slamming open against the inner wall. Their attention was immediately drawn by the movement of curtains billowing in the breeze from the small window to the back alley.
"Verdammt," Kronbach muttered under his breath, as he turned and stalked back down the corridor. Leisa stood before the open door, a mixture of astonishment and relief apparent on her face.