Chapter Nineteen
Hogan barely glanced at the sleek black sedan as it passed him the first time. It was when the Daimler skidded to a stop just beyond, and then slowly backed in his direction that he bothered looking up. Both hands shoved in his overcoat pockets, Hogan cautiously curled the fingers of his left hand around the grip of a Walther that rested there. After the incident with Hermann and Gunther, he'd taken to carrying the weapon with him for protection. He noticed the windows of the vehicle were curtained, concealing its occupants.
The rear passenger door was thrown open, as the sedan came even with him. Hogan halted in his tracks, looking to either side before slowly approaching.
"Get in," barked a harsh voice.
Taking a deep breath, Hogan bent forward and stepped inside. The car immediately sped off with a lurch, throwing him onto the rear seat. His head banged against the low roof, as he fell back.
"Hey!" he protested angrily, removing his good hand from his overcoat and rubbing a sore spot at the back of his head. He found himself meeting Kronbach's bemused look, then glanced curiously at the small figure beside him on the rear-facing bench seat. The man's dull green eyes blinked nervously behind thick horn-rimmed glasses. He paled slightly, when he glanced down at Hogan's bandaged hand.
Still irritated, Hogan testily spoke to Kronbach in German. "What's this all about? I thought we were all set to meet tomorrow night at Karl's."
Kronbach assessed him carefully before answering. "We've had a slight change of plans."
Hogan removed his hand from the back of his head, dropping it casually in his lap, where it rested against the bulge in his overcoat pocket.
"Oh, yeah?" he asked evenly. "Well, you want to fill me in or do I have to play twenty questions?" He gestured in the direction of the man next to Kronbach. "And who's our mystery guest this evening? I don't think I have his Gestapo rookie card in my collection, so pardon me if I can't name him right away."
Kronbach chuckled. "For the time being we shall introduce him as Mr. X."
Hogan smiled grimly at the visitor. "Wunderbar."
The gentleman nodded his head, as he nervously cleared his throat. "Happy to make your acquaintance," he said in a thin, reedy voice laden with a Welsh accent.
Hogan lifted his eyebrows in surprise. "Hmmph. I'd say Mr. X here spent some time across the pond."
"Quite perceptive, and for that reason I will ask you to please continue in English." Kronbach smiled reassuringly at his companion. "Mr. X has yet to master our noble Teutonic language."
"So what do I look like, Herr Berlitz?" Hogan scowled. "You expect me to give him language lessons?"
"You could say that." Kronbach inclined his head slightly. "Mr. X is a, er, displaced person, somewhat like yourself. I'd like you to take him under your wing and teach him the international language."
"You want to run that past me again?" Hogan's brow wrinkled in bewilderment.
"Our little enterprise set me thinking." Kronbach pursed his lips. "One doesn't necessarily need to speak German in order to make a living. Take you, for instance. Your German is fairly decent, but it is clear you are not a native. The more valuable language you speak is that of black market currency. One doesn't need to understand German if one instead knows how to obtain and barter in desirable goods."
Hogan looked suspiciously at Kronbach. "Just what are you getting at?"
"You're going to take Mr. X here as a partner and 'show him the ropes,' as you say. Teach him the business of black marketeering."
Hogan balked. "Now, wait a minute here, Kronbach. What are you trying to do, cut my share down to nothing? No way." Hogan shook his head angrily, waving a hand to dismiss the proposal.
"Relax, he won't be receiving a percentage. I simply want you to show him how things run so that he can start a similar venture on his own. It will help him to develop his own independence, if you will."
"Look, Kronbach, I told you I don't like partnerships. I only agreed to go along with the first deal so I could clear some inventory before moving on. Which I intend to do as soon as possible. There's no way I'm going to allow someone else to squeeze in on our arrangement. Haven't you ever heard the saying, 'three's a crowd?'"
Kronbach looked at him coldly, slowly withdrawing his pistol from its shoulder holster and pointing it at him. "If I were you, Colonel Hogan, I would be more prudent in my decisions."
Hogan glanced nervously at the bespectacled gentleman. There was no reaction at the mention of his real name.
"Ach, you are worried Mr. X is now aware of your true identity? There is no need to be troubled. He, in fact, has provided me with quite a few more facts regarding your background. Most fascinating details, indeed."
"What are you talking about?" Hogan's mind began racing. Although the windows were curtained, he could estimate the vehicle's speed from its movement. Presuming the doors weren't locked; it wasn't a speed at which he'd care to have to hastily make his exit.
Kronbach shifted slightly in his seat, the gun still trained on Hogan, and turned toward his companion. "Why don't you share with Colonel Hogan here what you know, hmm?"
Green eyes stared expressionless at Hogan through the distorting lenses, as he began to speak.
"Ah, yes, indeed. Of course, sir. You might be interested to know that he appears to have a number of influential friends in London. Including one General Walter Fitzhugh who specializes in, shall we say, rather unique intelligence operations. One of Fitzhugh's more inventive plans was to create a team of covert operatives masquerading as prisoners of war. What better way to disrupt Germany's war effort behind the lines than from such a well-disguised base, what?"
Hogan felt his heart begin to palpitate.
"I understand he personally selected the man who would lead that team of operatives. Must have been quite an honor for you, eh, Colonel Hogan?" The reedy voice hardened slightly.
"How...how do you know that?" Hogan asked, his voice rasping.
The man smiled briefly at Kronbach before turning his spectacled gaze back to Hogan. "I, too, have many friends in London, Colonel. Friends with deep and trusted connections to intelligence networks."
"So, Colonel Hogan, just whose side are you on?" Kronbach looked at him levelly. "Or, should I say, the former Colonel Hogan? According to Mr. X's sources, you seem to have fallen into disfavor with your military superiors. I can't understand why, you appear to be such a likable fellow. Ach, but perhaps there was a bit too much strong-headedness for them to contend with, eh? I imagine it presented quite a handling problem for them." Kronbach chuckled. "It seems you left town quite suddenly before they were able to convene your court martial, hmm?"
Finally finding his voice, Hogan spoke. "Look, I'm on nobody's side. If I stay in London, I find myself facing a dishonorable discharge. If I stay in a POW camp, I find myself facing Dachau. That doesn't exactly leave me with many choices, does it?"
"I'd say your choices were most limited. I, on the other hand, have several options available to me." Kronbach paused thoughtfully. "It is principally a question of market value. Certainly, as a businessman, you should understand that concept, ja?"
Hogan made no response.
"What do you think this information would be worth to my dear friend Major Hochstetter, hmm? On the other hand, the rather intriguing possibility presents itself that London might be willing to provide a generous compensation for your return to their custody. Decisions, decisions."
Kronbach glanced at the figure beside him. "However, another factor weighs into the equation. And that is the need to provide Mr. X here with a means of self-sufficiency. Therefore, I suggest you share with him your business strategy. Introduce him to your contacts, explain to him the secrets of your success, and then allow him room to set up his own operation."
"You strike a hard bargain, Kronbach."
"I told you previously, don't underestimate me." He smiled coldly at Hogan.
Hogan looked askance at the Welshman. "So, when do you want to start?"
The man looked questioningly at Kronbach. "I'm beginning to feel quite bored, now that the debriefings," he stole an uncertain glance at Hogan, "have become less frequent."
"I see." Kronbach pondered Hogan for a few moments. "Why don't we allow our expatriate friend here to at least enjoy the remainder of his holiday period, hmm? We can resume our business after the start of the new year."
He reached into a jacket pocket and removed a slip of folded paper. "I want you to meet Mr. X at this hotel three days from now, the second of January. The room number shown will have already been obtained for you."
Hogan frowned as he glanced at the paper.
"Oh, and try to clean yourself up for a change, hmm? We've arranged to use a reputable hotel for this meeting and I don't want the staff refusing you entry because you resemble a street beggar."
"Yeah, sure," Hogan mumbled.
He stiffened as Kronbach leaned forward, but he merely twisted around to tap twice on the glass divider sealing off the driver's section. The car swerved to the curb, screeching to a halt. As Hogan reached for the door handle, Kronbach clamped his hand firmly on his forearm.
"I'll have someone watching your every move, so don't think about leaving town without saying goodbye."
"Gotcha." Hogan smiled morosely at the man in glasses. "Happy New Year, partner."
The man merely nodded politely in return.
Hogan had barely stepped from the vehicle before it sped off, a hand reaching out to secure the open door, while it rounded a corner. He stumbled to the side of the road, trying to catch his breath that suddenly only wanted to come in hitches. He wasn't quite sure how to weigh this unexpected turn and knew he would have to put into place some sort of contingency plan. It seemed clear that things would be coming to an end very soon. Had he miscalculated? He felt pushed to the edge of a precipice, a momentous judgment awaiting him.
***
Braden's teeth ached as he spit out the chewing gum his jaws had worked over the past couple of hours. They'd been grinding so hard out of frustration, he thought sure he'd loosened a molar. He absently rubbed the side of his face, as he insistently repeated his statement to the small circle of men grouped around him.
"I'm telling you, he's gone over to the Krauts. If we don't do something about it, he's going to sell us all out and then we're done for."
A short, almost stout, corporal named Williams looked down at the ground, as he absently drew circles in the dirt with the toe of his boot.
"I dunno," he slowly drawled, "Colonel Hogan ain't never showed no sign of bein' no Nazi-lover before." He looked up at the NCO beside him. "You sure you're right, Sergeant?"
Braden looked around at the intent faces. "I don't care what he acted like before, I say the pressure finally got to him. He's folded and gone over to their side. I say we go after him to teach him a lesson about playing on the wrong team."
A redheaded British enlisted man shook his head. "Here, now, what about those orders from Sergeant Kinchloe? He made it plain as day none of us was to set foot outside this camp 'til we hear back from London."
"Oh yeah, well who elected Kinch our commanding officer?"
An Army Air Corps sergeant named Comminsky spoke up. "Braden, the last time you came up with some hare-brained scheme, I ended up soaked in water and pulled a week's stretch in the cooler to dry out. I say forget about it."
Comminsky slapped Braden good-naturedly on the back, as he removed a cigarette he'd propped over one ear and stuck it in his mouth. Patting his pockets, as he walked away, he called, "Anybody with matches gets the first drag."
The rest of the group, with the exception of Williams, gradually dispersed.
"Sarge, you still reckon you might try something?" Williams squinted up at him curiously.
"Yeah, I might. Why? You gonna run and tell Kinch?"
"Nah. I was just thinkin' maybe I'd tag along. I'm getting tired a just hangin' 'round here."
"Yeah, me too, Williams. Me too." Braden broke his gaze from the main gate and looked down at the shorter man. "Maybe we'll quit this dull routine and make a little visit to a certain Benedict Arnold."
Williams looked puzzled. "Benedict Arnold? I thought you was talkin' 'bout Hogan."
Braden rolled his eyes.
"Just sit tight. We're going to wait for the right time to make our break."
Williams nodded hopefully, wondering how long they might have to wait.
Chapter Twenty
The only sound in the still street was the crunching of feet against snow, as the solitary figure trudged his way through the fresh fallen covering. Hogan shivered as several wet, fat flakes deposited themselves down the back of his collar. Pausing before one of the ancient brick storefronts that lined the street, he removed his hand from his coat pocket, grasping the half-empty flask. Teetering slightly as he tilted the container upwards, Hogan leaned back and took several deep swallows, the liquid warming his chilled body. He drew the back of one hand across his mouth and then replaced the canister's top, sighing.
He felt the depression settling on him like the blanket of snow that carpeted the town. Had he made the right decisions? It seemed too late to try to turn back and change things now, he thought glumly.
He raised the flask once more and was suddenly startled to see another face reflected in the store window before him. Whirling around, he met a pair of hazel eyes looking at him in troubled silence.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to surprise you like that." Her voice was filled with evident sympathy.
Hogan felt momentarily embarrassed, wondering what private thoughts his face may have telegraphed before he became aware of Leisa's presence.
"Sheesh. If you're going to shadow me, give me a little warning, huh?" Hogan's voice was gruff.
Leisa looked momentarily startled. "Why...I...I don't know what you're talking about," she stammered.
"Yeah, right," Hogan said harshly. "Let me guess, you're just doing your job, right?" He turned back toward the window. "I've heard that line before. Do me a favor. Go make your report and then leave me alone, huh?"
He glanced at the reflected image and saw her head drop, a hurt expression materializing, and was immediately struck with remorse.
Sighing heavily, he turned slowly back toward her.
"Look," he said apologetically, "maybe I shouldn't have been so abrupt. I...I guess I've just been out here in the cold for too long; it's made me short-tempered."
She looked at him quizzically. "Why don't you just go home?"
"Home?" Hogan repeated, his face assuming an alarming despondency once more. Leisa was disturbed to see him so unguarded.
"I mean, why don't you go to your flat?" She peered at him anxiously, noticing that he had begun to shiver. "Your landlady didn't evict you, did she?"
Hogan snorted. "No, not yet, anyway. The furnace isn't working. Again. All the same, compared to my flat, it almost feels warmer out here." Hogan shrugged. "I figured maybe I'd find someplace still open where I could spend a few hours. But, it looks as though everything is closed up."
"Ach, I'm afraid so. New Year's is a time to be with family, so most establishments close early."
"Yeah, I suppose so."
Leisa stood there awkwardly, unsure of what to say. She'd certainly seen him at some definite low points, but what she had never encountered previously and now found so unsettling, was the spirit of utter despair and melancholy that filled his lifeless eyes.
"Look," she began hesitantly, "why don't you come to my place. At least the flat is heated. You can warm up for a while and then go home."
Hogan paused, taken aback at her offer. "No, thanks, I don't want to put you out." He smiled wanly. "I'm sure you must have other plans this evening."
Leisa gave him a small smile in return. "Well, actually, I don't. I just decided to make it a quiet night at home this evening, so why don't you join me?"
"Yeah, okay, why not?" Hogan shrugged. "At least if you've got to keep an eye on me, I might as well make it easy on you, hmm?"
Nonplussed, she simply shook her head. "Follow me. My place isn't far from here."
***
Leisa preceded him into the apartment and crossed to turn on a lamp, the warm glow showing through an ancient parchment shade.
Hogan stood just inside the door, arms wrapped around his torso, fighting to keep his teeth from chattering. Leisa looked at him with concern.
"There's a fireplace over there stocked with wood and kindling. Do you think you could get a fire started?"
Hogan nodded. He still felt too chilled to try and talk.
"I'll be right back." Leisa disappeared into another room.
He surveyed the modest, but comfortable, flat. The front entrance opened into a combined living and dining area, a worn sofa separating the two sections. Long faded drapes covered the tall windows and were gathered in soft folds on the floor. The furnishings, once possibly considered lavish, now clearly showed their age. A small fireplace was inset against one wall. Hogan crossed to the hearth and inspected its contents.
A few minutes later, Hogan triumphantly surveyed his handiwork, basking in the glow of the crackling fire that filled the room with a golden hue. He stood there, gazing at the yellow and blue flames licking upwards from the stacked splits of wood. Absently, he reached with his good hand into his overcoat pocket and withdrew a flask, unscrewing the metal top. A hand suddenly reached out, preventing him from raising the container. Startled, he turned to see Leisa standing there, a concerned look on her face.
"Not tonight. Please. I...," Leisa hesitated, "I don't want to see you get drunk. Okay?" she said uncertainly.
Hogan shrugged in embarrassment. "Geez, if you're gonna make me adopt a New Year's resolution, the least you could do is give me one more night, huh?" She looked at him resolutely. Sheepishly, he recapped the flask and set it on a nearby table. "Besides, I was just trying to warm myself up, unless you have another idea?"
"Mmm, perhaps I do," Leisa murmured coyly as she slipped her hand into his. Demurely, she arched one eyebrow and hooked a finger to signal for him to follow. His heart skipping a beat, Hogan trailed her into the dimly lit bedroom. His delight was exchanged for dismay as they continued into an adjoining bathroom. Hogan looked around, puzzled. A tartan plaid man's dressing gown was draped over a wooden towel stand, and the porcelain clawed-foot tub was filled with water.
"I thought a hot bath might help get rid of that chill," Leisa said, a purposely chaste and innocent look on her face. She gave him a wink, as she retreated to the other room. "Take your time. I'll be in the kitchen, preparing supper."
Hogan stood there for a moment and then began to chuckle. "Serves you right. That'll teach you to try and be suave, Robby old boy."
***
Warmed by the bath and then supper, Hogan sank into the sofa in front of the fire. He fingered the heavy woolen robe that was wrapped around him, wondering curiously why Leisa would have a man's garment at her flat. The pensiveness to his face was quickly replaced by a purposely bland expression, as he heard her footsteps approach.
"Thanks," Hogan said, accepting the cup and saucer she held out to him.
She sat on the sofa next to him, while he lifted his cup and sipped from it.
"Say, this is the real thing," he exclaimed with surprise.
"Once in a while Karl shares some of his coffee with me. I understand he has a special source for certain hard-to-get items." Leisa winked at Hogan over the rim of her cup.
Hogan chuckled. "Yeah, that he does." He turned back to the fire, the orange and red glow casting flickering shadows across his face.
"What brought you here, anyway?" Leisa hesitantly probed.
Hogan shifted on the sofa, turning sideways, as he draped his good arm over the back of the cushion and studied her for a few moments.
"I guess you could say I made some mistakes. Some errors in judgment. And now I'm just trying to sort things out." He paused, uncertain how much to reveal. "I suppose you think I'm running away from things, don't you?"
"No, I wouldn't think that about you at all," she said softly.
The front of Hogan's robe fell open, and Leisa noticed the medallion hung around his neck, the light of the fire glinting off its gold surface. Hesitantly, she reached toward him. He stiffened slightly, watching her warily, as she lifted the chain. She studied the medallion, before looking up at him in surprise.
"Why, it's a Saint Michael medal, is it not?"
Hogan nodded mutely.
"This has special meaning for you, then?" she asked quietly.
"Yes, it does." Hogan paused, looking down as though to study the back of his bandaged hand. "It was given to me by someone whose friendship once meant a great deal to me."
"And then something happened between the two of you?" Leisa left a great deal unsaid, but the tone of her voice communicated her personal concerns.
Hogan struggled with an answer. How much of his background should he share? He realized that opening up would impose an unfair burden on her. By knowing more about him, that knowledge might place her in greater danger, and he didn't want to create that risk.
After what seemed forever, Hogan finally spoke, his voice hoarse with apology. "Let's just say there are things about my past you'd be better off not knowing."
"I think I know all I need to know about you," she said kindly.
She studied the hurt in eyes. Whatever it was from his past, it was clearly troubling him. Impulsively, she reached out with one hand to gently stroke the side of his cheek.
Inwardly, Hogan felt himself tremble. It had been a very long time since someone had touched him with such caring and tenderness. He closed his eyes to savor the caress. Bringing his good arm around to cup her hand in his, he turned and pressed his lips into the soft flesh of her palm. He drew his other arm across her shoulders, pulling her into his embrace, as she leaned forward and willingly accepted his kiss. Her hand slipped to the side of his neck where she could feel his pulse quicken, as they drew each other nearer.
It was several long minutes before they reluctantly parted. Hogan dropped his head, sighing heavily. Leisa slid her hand under his chin, bringing his head up, and looked into eyes reflecting confusion and uncertainty.
"I feel the same way," she said softly, "Here we are, two mature adults, and we both feel like a couple of guilty adolescents stealing a forbidden kiss in the front parlor while one's parents are away."
Hogan gave her a small smile of relief. "War just isn't the best time to start up new relationships."
"No, it isn't. There's too much apprehension to deal with these days. From day to day, one never knows what will happen. It makes it too difficult to become close to people. I know."
"Exactly."
"I think maybe it would be better if we just retired for the evening, hmm?" She patted him warmly on the shoulder, as she rose from the sofa. "I'm afraid, though, that this couch is all I've got to offer." She gestured toward a chair against the wall. "There's a comforter and pillow there that should help you feel more comfortable."
"I'm not complaining. This sofa's a lot better than that hard-backed chair you had at my place," Hogan replied.
Leisa flushed momentarily and looked away guiltily. "Oh, yes, er, right," she stammered. "Er, is there anything else you need?" she asked, anxious to change topics.
"No, I'll be fine," Hogan said. "You go on in."
"Adieu, then."
"Good night," he acknowledged, as he turned his face back toward the fire, his mind a jumble of thoughts.
***
"Lights out!" bellowed Schultz, as he cast a disinterested glance around the barracks room.
"Yeah, okay, Schultz," Carter grumbled. "And a Happy New Year to you, too."
"Hmmph. What's so happy about it," Schultz muttered as he headed for the door to continue his evening rounds. He'd been pulling extra guard duty ever since Hogan's escape. Klink was still arguing with his superiors that because Hogan had been in the process of being transferred, it shouldn't count against his unblemished record, but so far he hadn't received a reprieve. Until then, he was overreacting to every situation and undeniably making life less pleasant for his senior sergeant-at-arms.
Kinch rose and stretched, his body weary from boredom more than any physical exertion. The sudden movement of the bunkbed trap door interrupted his accompanying yawn. Curiously, all eyes focused on the prisoner who clambered up from below.
"Kinch," he hissed, looking cautiously around the barracks. "I need to talk with you. Now."
Puzzled, Kinch approached the bunk, leaning over the gaping entrance. "What's up, Comminsky?"
Carter and LeBeau inched forward, while Newkirk peered down from his upper bunk.
"Kinch, Braden's gone."
Kinch glanced over his shoulder, noting an empty bunk across the room.
"So what. I'm sure he's just out for a quick walk around the compound before lights out. He's been as restless as the rest of us lately."
"No, Kinch, I mean he's gone. Really gone. As in left the camp."
Kinch's frown deepened. "What do you mean?"
"I mean he left camp and took Williams with him."
"What? How do you know for sure?"
Hesitant, Comminsky shrugged uncomfortably under Kinch's glare. "I guess I should have told you this before."
"Told me what before?" Kinch shot back, his voice hardening.
"Well, I just thought it was only talk. You know Braden, how he's always going on about one thing or another. I was with him and Williams the other day and all he could talk about was Colonel Hogan and how he wanted to go teach him a lesson. Because of his having turned traitor. Or," Comminsky quickly added in response to the scowls his remarks received, "at least, according to Braden."
"So what are you trying to tell me?" Kinch asked.
"I think Braden and Williams broke out of camp earlier this afternoon. I didn't take much notice of it at the time, but I saw both of them sneak into the rec hall when they thought no one else was around. You remember we added a tunnel in there a while back."
Kinch nodded, deep in thought.
"Well, I never saw them come back out again. And it looked as though they had some extra clothing on under their uniforms. I've asked around and nobody's seen them since then. I might be wrong, Kinch, but I don't have a good feeling about this. I think they may have gone after Colonel Hogan."
Kinch balled his fists in frustration. Great, this was the last thing he needed. He'd had enough difficulty handling their German captors without contending with a renegade POW who was rapidly living up to his unmanageable reputation.
"I'm sorry, Kinch. I guess I should have told you earlier."
"No, that's okay, Comminsky. I appreciate your letting me know."
"Yeah, I figured you'd better hear about it now rather than wait until morning when even more problems might develop."
Kinch nodded gratefully. "You'd better get back to your barracks before Schultz finds you missing."
"Right." He quickly disappeared below, the bunk sliding back into place, as Kinch strode for his locker.
"What're you going to do, Kinch?" Carter inquired.
"I'm not exactly sure yet, but I guess I'm going to have to come up with something." He felt responsible for Braden's absence and the trouble that might bring for the rest of the men in the barracks.
Newkirk hopped down and began to yank off his nightshirt, reaching for a uniform draped over one of the bunk posts.
"Where are you going, Newkirk?" Carter asked.
"Well, you heard what Comminsky had to say."
"Yeah, so?"
"For heaven's sake, Carter, don't you realize that Braden's gone after the Colonel? And I don't think it's exactly to serve him a summons, neither. I don't have a good feeling about this, mates."
"So what do you have in mind?" LeBeau asked.
"I say we go to Hamburg to stop him or find Colonel Hogan and warn him."
"Geez, I don't know, Newkirk," Carter reflected. "Hamburg is a pretty big city. How're we supposed to find them?"
"Look, Andrew, if I had all the bleedin' answers, I'd be a bloomin' brigadier. I came up with the first idea, now give me a break, will ya?"
"Kinch, what do you think?" LeBeau asked.
He pulled on his fatigue jacket. "I think Newkirk's right, fellas. I don't know what our chances are, but we can't do much good sitting here. I say we borrow one of Klink's trucks and try to get to Hamburg. Braden and Williams got quite a jump on us and we've got a heckuva haystack to sort through to find any of them."
***
Hogan rolled again onto his other side. He'd been tossing and turning so much, he was beginning to feel as though he was in the training simulator back at Mitchell Field. The gyroscope-like contraption excelled at hurling one's body in several directions at once and usually turned even the toughest pilot candidates green.
With a heavy sigh, he tossed aside the comforter and rose quietly from the couch. The fire had long ago died out and the chill that now pervaded the room covered him in goosebumps as he stretched, clad only in his shorts. Shivering slightly, he felt for the robe draped over the arm of the sofa and pulled it on, tightening the sash around his waist, as he crossed to the windows.
He pulled aside the heavy drapes. With the fire out, there was no longer any reason to cloak the apartment against the nighttime blackout. The room became flooded with moonlight streaming in through paneled sheers. Hogan breathed in deeply, as he gazed out over the snow-covered rooftops and narrow streets below. The full moon seemed balanced precariously on the edge of a rooftop across the way, as though sitting atop a seesaw and about to slide off.
Shaking from the cold once more, Hogan remembered the flask he'd set down on a table and retrieved it. He resumed his position before the window and upended the container to take a deep swallow, when he heard the sound of feet padding softly toward him.
"Tsk, tsk," Leisa said mockingly, as she looked disapprovingly at the flask.
Shrugging apologetically, Hogan said, "I'm sorry. I couldn't sleep and just thought maybe this would--"
Her finger pressing against his mouth silenced him, as she took the flask in her other hand. She helped herself to a sip from the flask, her throat glistening in the moonlight, while she raised her head. Leisa handed him back the flask, their hands touching lightly in a shock-like tingle, as she passed him the container.
"I, uh, didn't wake you, did I?" Hogan tried clearing the sudden hoarseness from his throat.
"Not exactly. That would assume I had been asleep. I haven't been able to drop off, either." Leisa shrugged and then gestured to the sofa, not wanting to look too directly into his eyes. "Is it uncomfortable for you there?"
"No, not at all."
"What is it, then?"
Leisa's eyes became riveted on his. He tried not to stare at the way the moonlight silhouetted her body beneath the pale gown she wore.
"I think it has something to do with this," he murmured, reaching slowly out to her. They drew together, the woody sweetness of the whiskey on her lips only increasing Hogan's ardor, as she raised one hand to caress the nape of his neck.
He traced a line of kisses along the side of her jaw and down her neck, while she arched her head, moaning softly. His mouth finding hers once more, he struggled with his bandaged hand to loosen the knotted sash of her dressing gown. She brought a hand around to assist him, the folds of her gown falling open. Trembling at his touch, her long silken legs straddled his hips, as he gradually carried her into the bedroom.
Chapter Twenty-One
Hogan awoke at the sensation of the mattress shifting beneath him. He opened his eyes to see Leisa on the edge of the bed next to him, fully dressed and holding a cup of coffee in her hands.
"Happy New Year," she said, smiling at him warmly.
He sat up, the comforter falling to his waist, as his face registered a mixture of surprise and suspicion.
"Where...where are you going? Karl's isn't open today."
Leisa could see the worry begin to form, while he worriedly assessed the situation.
"Relax, I just need to go out for a short while." She gestured toward his hand. "I'd say you haven't changed the bandage since I first dressed it, and I don't like the looks of the area around that cut. I'm just going to stop at Karl's where I can pick up some antiseptic and clean bandages."
Hogan relaxed slightly and leaned back against the pillow. "Why the rush? Stay here with me, and we can both go out together later."
Leisa shook her head, as she set the coffee on the nightstand next to him. "It's not wise for the two of us to be seen together. It won't take long. Now drink your coffee before it gets cold," she clucked, heading for the door. "I'll be right back."
Hogan lay there for several moments before reaching for his coffee. Sipping from the cup, he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. The robe was still there on the floor where he had abandoned it the night before. He managed to reach down and snag it, drawing it on as he rose from the bed. Cup in hand, he wandered out into the living room and walked leisurely over to the windows. The drapes had already been drawn, and the early morning light filtered in softly through opaque sheers. He pulled them aside to gaze out on the street blanketed in white below.
His reaction was as violent as if the window had been flung open and a vicious blast of cold air had suddenly struck him. A woman, heavily bundled in a woolen overcoat and kerchief, stepped into the street, as a tall man, a fedora pulled low over his face, moved from the shelter of a small alleyway and began to follow her. Hermann. Hogan, his face ashen, watched impotently, as her pursuer nodded to a hidden companion across the street.
Hastily setting the cup on the edge of a nearby table and abandoning the robe, Hogan raced for the bedroom to retrieve his clothes. How could he have been so careless? Someone must have seen them together the previous evening, while they walked back to Leisa's flat. They had then alerted Hermann and Gunther, who clearly had been waiting for their prey to emerge.
He knew the vengeance they would wreak on one of their own would far exceed the punishment he had experienced at their hands. He gulped a breath, trying to wipe away the thoughts of what would happen to Leisa if they caught up with her. His hands shook slightly, fumbling with the buttons of his shirt. Snaring most of them, he pulled on his jacket and overcoat in a single move. The door flew shut behind him, as he tore down the stairs.
His hand resting on the front doorknob, he paused for a moment, breathing heavily. Gunther was probably still lying in wait for him to exit the building. He'd have to find a back way out. Looking down the hall, he noticed a small door, about half-height, cut into the enclosed area beneath the rising stairs. Maybe it led to a root cellar, he thought. He lifted the latch and the door creaked open. Poking his head into the musty space, he saw faint beams of light, indicating an opening to the outside. With a backward glance toward the front door, Hogan ducked low and cautiously felt his way down the rickety steps. The casement window was a narrow fit, but with a bit of squirming and grunting, Hogan pulled himself up and through. Avoiding the front street, he hopped the wall surrounding the rear yard and mentally plotted an alternate route to Karl's.
***
The snow made his footing against the slippery cobblestones precarious, and he had to fling out his arms to keep his balance, as he rounded a corner. He was only a couple of blocks from the Hofbrau, but he still hadn't spotted Leisa. Had her pursuer already caught up with her?
A sound from behind made him whirl around.
A tall man stood leering at him, gun in hand. Hogan blew out his breath, his shoulders slumping in relief.
"Braden, you don't know what a start you gave me." Hogan stepped forward, his brow furrowing in a perplexed look. "Say, what are you doing here?"
"Keep your hands up, Hogan, " Braden warned, as he raised the gun, aiming at Hogan's chest.
"Whoa, wait a second, Braden, what do you think you're doing?" Hogan halted, startled.
"I said, put your hands up. I meant it," Braden growled, jabbing the gun menacingly in his direction.
Hogan's eyes narrowed. "Braden, you're making a big mistake here."
"No, Hogan, you're the one who's made the mistake, taking sides with the Gestapo and shacking up with a Kraut girlfriend."
"Braden, listen to me, that's not the way it is. I can explain." Hogan glanced hastily around the alley; there appeared to be no refuge.
"It's too late for your explanations, Hogan. That might work with Klink, but it's not going to work with me. Now, turn around."
"What're you going to do, shoot me in the back?" Hogan asked bitterly.
"That seems the right thing to do to a traitor, wouldn't you say?" Braden raised the gun, his finger tightening on the trigger.
Hogan began to turn, reaching surreptitiously toward his overcoat pocket. His fingers closed around the pistol grip, as he began to twist back around. He was a deadly accurate shooter, even with his left hand, but drawing the weapon with his left was another matter. The barrel caught in the pocket lining, and as he struggled to free it from its entanglements, Braden squeezed off a shot.
The projectile barely missed his left ear, the bullet slamming into the brick wall behind him. Spinning to avoid the shot, Hogan tripped against a pile of empty wooden crates stacked haphazardly against the wall, losing the Walther amidst the refuse. Struggling to regain his footing, he could hear the crunch of snow behind him, and the click of the hammer being cocked echoing through the alley. Hogan suddenly sprang upwards, flinging a crate at his assailant. Braden tried to duck but was too slow, and the wooden box splintered against the side of his head, sending him temporarily reeling. Hogan took advantage of the momentary reprieve and spun away, pounding down the snow-covered alley.
The maze of narrow passageways twisted and turned, and Hogan couldn't resist the temptation to glance back and see if he'd been followed. He turned, leaving him slightly off balance, just as his foot landed on one of the angled, jutting cobblestones. It had been more than a month since the injury to his ankle and, although it had healed well enough that the limp was no longer noticeable, the joint wasn't able to withstand the torque. It twisted painfully beneath him. Hogan collapsed defenseless against the alley wall.
The fatal hesitation was enough for an arm to reach out from a nearby darkened entryway, seizing him around the neck, another hand firmly clasped over his mouth. Hogan struggled to free himself, but the grasp was unyielding, and he felt himself being helplessly dragged through an open doorway. The door closed silently, cloaking them in darkness, while the sound of footsteps running past the entryway echoed down the alley.
"Shhhh," hissed a voice, as the hand covering his mouth was taken away, the sound of his pursuer vanishing into the distance.
Still off balance, Hogan struggled to upright himself. He groaned, his ankle protesting beneath the weight. An arm wrapped itself around his waist, and a woman's voice in a distinctly British accent spoke urgently in the dark.
"Colonel Hogan, come with me, quickly, please."
They stumbled together along the darkened hallway. As a faint light illuminated the end of the hall, he realized they had entered the rear of the Hofbrau. They passed into the main room, which smelled faintly of stale cigarette smoke and beer. Hogan was dragged to the nearest chair, sitting down heavily. Checking to make certain the blackout curtains were in place, his rescuer switched on the room lights. Hogan blinked in pain, as the circles of reflected light from the mirror behind the bar shimmered and danced before his eyes.
Leisa stood before him.
"You? How...how did you know my name?" he asked, confused.
Without pausing, Leisa replied, her voice a different clipped, yet softer, timbre now. "Come now, Colonel, we're well beyond the point of formal introductions, wouldn't you agree?" A coy smile came to her lips as he looked at her, dumbfounded.
"You're...you're British." The look of amazement was momentarily replaced by a grimace, as Leisa knelt before him and manipulated his ankle, checking to make certain it wasn't broken.
"Oh, most definitely, Colonel."
"But, what are you doing here?" He looked questioningly at her.
Coming to her feet, she turned back to him. "General Fitzhugh sent me to keep an eye on you. He didn't want you handling this assignment completely on your own and asked me to position myself where I could assist if things went awry."
Hogan shook his head in amazement and gratitude. "I should have known Fitzhugh would be up to his old tricks," he said with a chuckle. "But that doesn't tell me who you are."
"Ah, yes, of course, Colonel. Angela St. Lawrence, Special Operations, Intelligence, London." Smiling, she slightly inclined her head in a bow. "Pleased to make your acquaintance."
"St. Lawrence." Hogan pursed his lips thoughtfully. "That name sounds familiar."
She raised one eyebrow. "I believe you know my older sister, Audrey. Or, should I perhaps call you Horst?"
Hogan groaned and not from pain this time. "Of course. Audrey." He opened his eyes quickly. "But, you realize, we didn't know each other in exactly the same way."
"Yes. I understand from Audrey that you made quite a show of having to catch a train." Laughing, she patiently smiled at him. "There's no need to explain, Colonel. Certainly not now."
She placed her hand gently on his shoulder. "I need to get some bandages from the back room. I'll only be a moment."
Nodding, Hogan closed his eyes in sudden fatigue. He listened to her steps fading away from him, while she made her way to the back. The sound of a door opening was abruptly accompanied by a distinct gasp, promptly followed by a choked cry.
Hogan sat bolt upright. "Leisa? I mean, Angela?" He rose with effort from the chair. "Are you okay?"
There was no response. Pushing the pain away, Hogan slowly made his way toward the bar, his eyes fixed on the entrance to the rear hall. He knew Karl kept a club concealed behind the bar, used to occasionally knock sense into the intoxicated heads of belligerent customers. His good hand closed around the wooden handle, as the sound of approaching footsteps neared. He hefted the club to his shoulder and pressed his way along the wall.
Leisa appeared in the doorway. From the tense look on her face, Hogan could tell something was wrong. Spotting Braden immediately following her, he knew the reason why. Hogan lifted the club above his head and was about to bring it down, just as Braden was roughly shoved from behind. A hand poked a gun at his back, ordering the enlisted man into the Hofbrau. Hogan sighed with audible relief at the sight of Kinch entering the room, followed by Newkirk.
"Colonel Hogan!" Kinch exclaimed, as he rushed forward.
Hogan dropped the club to the floor and sank against the wall. Newkirk brusquely herded Braden and Angela toward the center of the room.
"Might as well make yourselves comfortable, mates, 'til we figure out what to do with you." He gestured with his pistol for them to be seated. Angela opened her mouth, as though to say something in protest, but then spotted Hogan leaning weakly against the wall and rose to go to him.
"Here now, miss, you just have a seat and stay right where you are. You've had your chance at him."
Hogan looked up wearily, waving for Newkirk to let her proceed. "It's okay, Newkirk, she's one of us."
"Beggin' your pardon, sir? One of 'us'?" Newkirk looked perplexed. He and Kinch exchanged worried glances.
Kinch assisted Hogan to a chair, dropping to one knee to look him directly in the eyes. He spoke, his voice passionate with distress.
"Look, Colonel, we know things have been tough for you, but you don't have to continue doing this. We can square things away with London and Klink. Just give us a second chance and c'mon back to camp, huh?"
"What?" Hogan looked confused, not recognizing their implied concern.
"Colonel, we can fix things like they were before. You don't have to turn your back on your country. It's not worth it."
Realization dawned suddenly on Hogan's face, and he began to smile. Kinch and Newkirk frowned in frustration at each other, assuming their appeal had been rebuffed.
"Relax, fellas. I'm still on the same side you are." He inclined his head toward Angela. "Meet Angela St. Lawrence, British Intelligence."
"St. Lawrence?" Newkirk paused. "Is this the bird, pardon me, ma'am," he tipped his hat in apology, "the, er, lady agent you met that time, sir?"
"Not exactly. This is her sister. It would seem intelligence work runs in the family." Hogan glanced up at Angela, as she came to his side.
Kinch shook his head in confusion. "Colonel, you've got me feeling as though I'm listening to Carter trying to explain something. What's been going on?"
Hogan nodded apologetically. "I'm sorry, fellas, I hated doing this to you, but General Fitzhugh and I both felt it was the only way we had a chance to pull this off."
"You remember when we lost that resistance leader a while back, Rudolph Leitmann?"
Kinch and Newkirk nodded, glancing in surprise at each other. It was the first time they had heard Hogan even mention Rudy's name since the tragic death.
"Well, soon after that, Fitzhugh developed the suspicion that someone had penetrated his intelligence network. He began to quietly look into it, and from what he could figure, an analyst working at Headquarters was providing the Germans with the names of our underground agents."
"Blimey, Colonel. You mean that's how they got Rudy and the others?"
"That's right. The analyst's name is Harry Whitlow. Unfortunately, less than a day after Fitzhugh figured out his identity, he vanished."
"The myopic little worm," Angela muttered under breath.
Hogan nodded grimly in agreement. "You can say that again."
He shifted in the chair, trying unsuccessfully to get comfortable, before continuing. The dull ache in his ankle seemed to radiate up his body with the smallest movement.
"They determined he'd defected and was brought to Germany. It wasn't until later that we learned he'd holed up here, under the care of a Gestapo officer named Kronbach."
Angela shuddered in the recollection of her intense dislike for the man.
"I volunteered to go after him and bring him back. It was the least I could do to try and make amends for Rudy's death." Hogan bowed his head before continuing. "We were concerned Whitlow still had connections to others in London we didn't know about yet. The only way I could get close to him, through Kronbach, was to make it appear I'd not only broken away from Stalag 13, but also from London. The charges against me, the threat of court martial, even the blowup to get me tossed out of camp, were all part of the ruse."
Kinch looked regretfully at Hogan. "But why take the risk all by yourself, Colonel? Why not have the rest of us go with you on the mission to grab him?"
Hogan shook his head. "If word got to Whitlow about a mission to go after him, his German handlers would have him so far underground he wouldn't emerge until the end of the thousand year Reich. I had to first carefully make the approach through Kronbach. The drinking was to make myself seem more vulnerable, so he'd drop his guard a bit."
"I'd say it was effective. Not even I knew exactly what you were up to, Colonel," Angela remarked. "General Fitzhugh was rather vague, simply directing me to put myself in a position that would place me in contact with Major Kronbach. I was then to keep an eye out for you and be ready to assist if things went wrong." She raised her eyebrows. "We almost aborted the mission the night you were attacked by Hermann and Gunther."
"Hermann and Gunther!" Hogan looked up, as if just remembering something. "They were the ones I saw following you this morning, when you left the apartment."
A contrite voice spoke up from across the room. "Uh, no, sir, that was me, I suppose." Braden swallowed hard, awkwardly twisting his hat in his lap. "I have to apologize, Colonel. I...I thought you'd turned traitor on us. I never would have shot at you, if I'd known..." His voice trailed off, realizing he was probably in for it now.
"We'll deal with that later, Braden." Hogan looked over at Kinch. "I think someone's still waiting outside Angela's flat, though."
Kinch nodded. "Probably Williams, sir. He left camp with Braden, which is why we showed up." He shrugged his shoulders sheepishly. "Given what everybody was thinking about you, they were going to come here and teach you a lesson. We decided to try and head them off." Kinch rubbed the side of his jaw. Two of his teeth still felt loose from the punch he'd taken from Hogan. "I'd have to say, Colonel, you sure had me convinced."
Hogan winced in regret. "I almost broke from my role-playing when that happened, Kinch. I hope you realize it was an accident."
Kinch smiled. "That's all right, Colonel. Although, if Battling Bruno ever shows up for a rematch, we're putting you in the ring instead of me." He turned to Newkirk. "You'd better tell Carter and LeBeau to go round up Williams."
"Righto." Newkirk headed for the rear hallway.
"Carter and LeBeau? What'd you guys do, stage a mass breakout? Isn't there anybody left at camp?" Hogan shook his head in amazement.
"Uh, yes sir," Newkirk offered, feigning a pensive look, "I do believe Schultz is still there. We would have brought him with us, Colonel, but we didn't think he'd fit through the stump at the end of the emergency tunnel." He grinned, disappearing through the door.
Hogan laughed and tried to stand, wincing as the movement sent another ripple of pain through him.
Kinch frowned in sudden concern. "Colonel, take it easy, we've got a truck from the motor pool parked around the corner to get you back." Kinch picked up his hat and gun from the table, ready to move out.
"Wait a second, Kinch. I'm not going until this is finished. I didn't come this far to leave without Whitlow." Hogan's voice was firm.
Angela rolled her eyes in exasperation, glancing at Kinch. "Has he always been this stubborn, Sergeant?"
Kinch ducked his head, trying to conceal his grin. "Uh, ma'am, I'm hoping the Geneva Convention protects me from having to answer that question."
He turned back to Hogan. "Colonel, I understand why you feel that way, but you're in no condition to take Whitlow on your own."
Hogan pursed his lips, trying to come up with an alternative plan. He knew Kinch was right. After a few moments, he looked up at Kinch and Angela.
"All right, Kinch, but I've got to be the one to make the initial approach. If he sees anyone else first, he'll run like a scared rabbit."
Kinch nodded, focusing on Hogan, as he slowly began.
"Here's what we're going to do..."
Chapter Twenty-Two
A knock at the hotel room door made Hogan sit up, his nerves taut.
"It's open," he called out.
The visitor timidly pushed open the door, peering around its edge to spy Hogan seated in an armchair. His bandaged right hand waved to him from across the room in a comradely gesture.
"C'mon on in, partner. Wait until you see what I managed to find." Hogan smiled broadly at the slight, bespectacled man, as he hesitantly stepped into the room.
The door closed quickly shut, and Whitlow's eyes magnified even wider, as a chloroform-soaked pad was clamped over his mouth. After a few moments, Newkirk looked down at his unconscious charge, now crumpled on the floor.
"I take great personal pleasure, chum, in reclaiming you as official property of his Royal Highness King George."
"It's not over yet, Newkirk. We still need to get him back to London."
Hogan stared down at the pale, shapeless form at his feet. Emotions boiled within him at the realization of the damages he had caused.
"All because of his greed and disloyalty," he muttered angrily.
Angela stepped from an adjoining room to stand beside him. "I never met Leitmann," she said softly, "but I understand from General Fitzhugh that he was very much like you." She looked up into his eyes.
"He was a good man," Hogan acknowledged, brushing away the memories.
Kinch entered the room, glancing down at the figure on the floor.
"We've confirmed with Headquarters, Colonel, that the sub will be waiting. We can drop him and Miss St. Lawrence off at the relay point on our way back to camp."
Angela nodded. "I'm sure he'll be no trouble for me."
Hogan smiled at her appreciatively. "I have a feeling you can handle yourself just fine, Angela."
Newkirk raised his eyebrows inquisitively. "Pardon me, ma'am. Er, you don't by any chance have any other sisters at home, do you?" he asked hopefully.
"No, I'm afraid not, Corporal, I'm the last of them," she answered, laughing.
Newkirk looked disappointed, turning to help Kinch lift Whitlow's dead weight into a room service cart. They carefully draped the tablecloth over the sides to conceal its cargo.
Kinch stood with a grunt. "Carter and LeBeau are waiting outside with Braden and Williams. We're ready to go when you are, Colonel."
Angela interrupted. "What about Major Kronbach? Don't you need to take him in as well?"
Hogan shook his head. "I don't think we'll be hearing from our friend Kronbach for quite a while. By the time he finishes explaining how the defector in his custody turned up missing, General Eisenhower will be admiring the view from Berchtesgarten, while his aide serves him his morning coffee."
He linked his right arm in hers. "I say we call it a day, hmm?" Smiling with relief, Angela placed her hand on his, as they followed the others from the room.
***
A cheer rose from the men filling the barracks, as Hogan entered the room. Smiling warmly in appreciation of their welcome, he gratefully accepted the chair LeBeau pulled out for him at the head of their long table. The men grouped excitedly around him.
"So, sir, what did Colonel Klink have to say?" Carter asked, taking a seat at the table.
Hogan paused, reflecting on how to summarize the hour-long, rambling conversation.
"I'm not sure," he admitted, "but I think halfway through the lecture, he started apologizing to me. He assumed this," he gestured to his freshly bandaged hand, "was from the Wehrmacht soldiers he believes recaptured me."
Carter chuckled. "Yeah, I'd have to say those two guys from the underground looked convincing in their German uniforms."
Hogan laughed. "He felt so sorry for me, he said he'd overlook a sentence in the cooler this time. He even got on the horn and managed to convince Burkhalter to withdraw my transfer from Stalag 13."
His head turned, as Kinch emerged from the tunnel below, slapping the lever to close the bunkbed entrance behind him.
"The sub get off all right, Kinch?"
"Sure did, Colonel. London's ready to pick up our package at the other end." Kinch sat at the end of the bench near him. "Oh, and General Fitzhugh offers his congratulations. He said they were able to identify the other infiltrators after Whitlow contacted them to find out about you."
Hogan nodded thankfully. "I'm just glad it's all over, fellas. I hope you'll forgive me for having to mislead you like that. We weren't sure where the other leaks were at first."
LeBeau fondly placed his hand on Hogan's shoulder. "We forgive you, mon Colonel. Now, to celebrate your return, look what I've been saving!"
He produced a bottle of champagne from behind his back. Hogan winced noticeably, groaning aloud.
"Uh, LeBeau, do me a favor, will ya?" he asked uncomfortably.
"Mais oui, mon Colonel. What is it?" LeBeau inquired with concern.
"Make mine a coffee. Black."
The room erupted in laughter, as the cork rocketed across the room, signaling to all the start of their homecoming celebration.
Hogan barely glanced at the sleek black sedan as it passed him the first time. It was when the Daimler skidded to a stop just beyond, and then slowly backed in his direction that he bothered looking up. Both hands shoved in his overcoat pockets, Hogan cautiously curled the fingers of his left hand around the grip of a Walther that rested there. After the incident with Hermann and Gunther, he'd taken to carrying the weapon with him for protection. He noticed the windows of the vehicle were curtained, concealing its occupants.
The rear passenger door was thrown open, as the sedan came even with him. Hogan halted in his tracks, looking to either side before slowly approaching.
"Get in," barked a harsh voice.
Taking a deep breath, Hogan bent forward and stepped inside. The car immediately sped off with a lurch, throwing him onto the rear seat. His head banged against the low roof, as he fell back.
"Hey!" he protested angrily, removing his good hand from his overcoat and rubbing a sore spot at the back of his head. He found himself meeting Kronbach's bemused look, then glanced curiously at the small figure beside him on the rear-facing bench seat. The man's dull green eyes blinked nervously behind thick horn-rimmed glasses. He paled slightly, when he glanced down at Hogan's bandaged hand.
Still irritated, Hogan testily spoke to Kronbach in German. "What's this all about? I thought we were all set to meet tomorrow night at Karl's."
Kronbach assessed him carefully before answering. "We've had a slight change of plans."
Hogan removed his hand from the back of his head, dropping it casually in his lap, where it rested against the bulge in his overcoat pocket.
"Oh, yeah?" he asked evenly. "Well, you want to fill me in or do I have to play twenty questions?" He gestured in the direction of the man next to Kronbach. "And who's our mystery guest this evening? I don't think I have his Gestapo rookie card in my collection, so pardon me if I can't name him right away."
Kronbach chuckled. "For the time being we shall introduce him as Mr. X."
Hogan smiled grimly at the visitor. "Wunderbar."
The gentleman nodded his head, as he nervously cleared his throat. "Happy to make your acquaintance," he said in a thin, reedy voice laden with a Welsh accent.
Hogan lifted his eyebrows in surprise. "Hmmph. I'd say Mr. X here spent some time across the pond."
"Quite perceptive, and for that reason I will ask you to please continue in English." Kronbach smiled reassuringly at his companion. "Mr. X has yet to master our noble Teutonic language."
"So what do I look like, Herr Berlitz?" Hogan scowled. "You expect me to give him language lessons?"
"You could say that." Kronbach inclined his head slightly. "Mr. X is a, er, displaced person, somewhat like yourself. I'd like you to take him under your wing and teach him the international language."
"You want to run that past me again?" Hogan's brow wrinkled in bewilderment.
"Our little enterprise set me thinking." Kronbach pursed his lips. "One doesn't necessarily need to speak German in order to make a living. Take you, for instance. Your German is fairly decent, but it is clear you are not a native. The more valuable language you speak is that of black market currency. One doesn't need to understand German if one instead knows how to obtain and barter in desirable goods."
Hogan looked suspiciously at Kronbach. "Just what are you getting at?"
"You're going to take Mr. X here as a partner and 'show him the ropes,' as you say. Teach him the business of black marketeering."
Hogan balked. "Now, wait a minute here, Kronbach. What are you trying to do, cut my share down to nothing? No way." Hogan shook his head angrily, waving a hand to dismiss the proposal.
"Relax, he won't be receiving a percentage. I simply want you to show him how things run so that he can start a similar venture on his own. It will help him to develop his own independence, if you will."
"Look, Kronbach, I told you I don't like partnerships. I only agreed to go along with the first deal so I could clear some inventory before moving on. Which I intend to do as soon as possible. There's no way I'm going to allow someone else to squeeze in on our arrangement. Haven't you ever heard the saying, 'three's a crowd?'"
Kronbach looked at him coldly, slowly withdrawing his pistol from its shoulder holster and pointing it at him. "If I were you, Colonel Hogan, I would be more prudent in my decisions."
Hogan glanced nervously at the bespectacled gentleman. There was no reaction at the mention of his real name.
"Ach, you are worried Mr. X is now aware of your true identity? There is no need to be troubled. He, in fact, has provided me with quite a few more facts regarding your background. Most fascinating details, indeed."
"What are you talking about?" Hogan's mind began racing. Although the windows were curtained, he could estimate the vehicle's speed from its movement. Presuming the doors weren't locked; it wasn't a speed at which he'd care to have to hastily make his exit.
Kronbach shifted slightly in his seat, the gun still trained on Hogan, and turned toward his companion. "Why don't you share with Colonel Hogan here what you know, hmm?"
Green eyes stared expressionless at Hogan through the distorting lenses, as he began to speak.
"Ah, yes, indeed. Of course, sir. You might be interested to know that he appears to have a number of influential friends in London. Including one General Walter Fitzhugh who specializes in, shall we say, rather unique intelligence operations. One of Fitzhugh's more inventive plans was to create a team of covert operatives masquerading as prisoners of war. What better way to disrupt Germany's war effort behind the lines than from such a well-disguised base, what?"
Hogan felt his heart begin to palpitate.
"I understand he personally selected the man who would lead that team of operatives. Must have been quite an honor for you, eh, Colonel Hogan?" The reedy voice hardened slightly.
"How...how do you know that?" Hogan asked, his voice rasping.
The man smiled briefly at Kronbach before turning his spectacled gaze back to Hogan. "I, too, have many friends in London, Colonel. Friends with deep and trusted connections to intelligence networks."
"So, Colonel Hogan, just whose side are you on?" Kronbach looked at him levelly. "Or, should I say, the former Colonel Hogan? According to Mr. X's sources, you seem to have fallen into disfavor with your military superiors. I can't understand why, you appear to be such a likable fellow. Ach, but perhaps there was a bit too much strong-headedness for them to contend with, eh? I imagine it presented quite a handling problem for them." Kronbach chuckled. "It seems you left town quite suddenly before they were able to convene your court martial, hmm?"
Finally finding his voice, Hogan spoke. "Look, I'm on nobody's side. If I stay in London, I find myself facing a dishonorable discharge. If I stay in a POW camp, I find myself facing Dachau. That doesn't exactly leave me with many choices, does it?"
"I'd say your choices were most limited. I, on the other hand, have several options available to me." Kronbach paused thoughtfully. "It is principally a question of market value. Certainly, as a businessman, you should understand that concept, ja?"
Hogan made no response.
"What do you think this information would be worth to my dear friend Major Hochstetter, hmm? On the other hand, the rather intriguing possibility presents itself that London might be willing to provide a generous compensation for your return to their custody. Decisions, decisions."
Kronbach glanced at the figure beside him. "However, another factor weighs into the equation. And that is the need to provide Mr. X here with a means of self-sufficiency. Therefore, I suggest you share with him your business strategy. Introduce him to your contacts, explain to him the secrets of your success, and then allow him room to set up his own operation."
"You strike a hard bargain, Kronbach."
"I told you previously, don't underestimate me." He smiled coldly at Hogan.
Hogan looked askance at the Welshman. "So, when do you want to start?"
The man looked questioningly at Kronbach. "I'm beginning to feel quite bored, now that the debriefings," he stole an uncertain glance at Hogan, "have become less frequent."
"I see." Kronbach pondered Hogan for a few moments. "Why don't we allow our expatriate friend here to at least enjoy the remainder of his holiday period, hmm? We can resume our business after the start of the new year."
He reached into a jacket pocket and removed a slip of folded paper. "I want you to meet Mr. X at this hotel three days from now, the second of January. The room number shown will have already been obtained for you."
Hogan frowned as he glanced at the paper.
"Oh, and try to clean yourself up for a change, hmm? We've arranged to use a reputable hotel for this meeting and I don't want the staff refusing you entry because you resemble a street beggar."
"Yeah, sure," Hogan mumbled.
He stiffened as Kronbach leaned forward, but he merely twisted around to tap twice on the glass divider sealing off the driver's section. The car swerved to the curb, screeching to a halt. As Hogan reached for the door handle, Kronbach clamped his hand firmly on his forearm.
"I'll have someone watching your every move, so don't think about leaving town without saying goodbye."
"Gotcha." Hogan smiled morosely at the man in glasses. "Happy New Year, partner."
The man merely nodded politely in return.
Hogan had barely stepped from the vehicle before it sped off, a hand reaching out to secure the open door, while it rounded a corner. He stumbled to the side of the road, trying to catch his breath that suddenly only wanted to come in hitches. He wasn't quite sure how to weigh this unexpected turn and knew he would have to put into place some sort of contingency plan. It seemed clear that things would be coming to an end very soon. Had he miscalculated? He felt pushed to the edge of a precipice, a momentous judgment awaiting him.
***
Braden's teeth ached as he spit out the chewing gum his jaws had worked over the past couple of hours. They'd been grinding so hard out of frustration, he thought sure he'd loosened a molar. He absently rubbed the side of his face, as he insistently repeated his statement to the small circle of men grouped around him.
"I'm telling you, he's gone over to the Krauts. If we don't do something about it, he's going to sell us all out and then we're done for."
A short, almost stout, corporal named Williams looked down at the ground, as he absently drew circles in the dirt with the toe of his boot.
"I dunno," he slowly drawled, "Colonel Hogan ain't never showed no sign of bein' no Nazi-lover before." He looked up at the NCO beside him. "You sure you're right, Sergeant?"
Braden looked around at the intent faces. "I don't care what he acted like before, I say the pressure finally got to him. He's folded and gone over to their side. I say we go after him to teach him a lesson about playing on the wrong team."
A redheaded British enlisted man shook his head. "Here, now, what about those orders from Sergeant Kinchloe? He made it plain as day none of us was to set foot outside this camp 'til we hear back from London."
"Oh yeah, well who elected Kinch our commanding officer?"
An Army Air Corps sergeant named Comminsky spoke up. "Braden, the last time you came up with some hare-brained scheme, I ended up soaked in water and pulled a week's stretch in the cooler to dry out. I say forget about it."
Comminsky slapped Braden good-naturedly on the back, as he removed a cigarette he'd propped over one ear and stuck it in his mouth. Patting his pockets, as he walked away, he called, "Anybody with matches gets the first drag."
The rest of the group, with the exception of Williams, gradually dispersed.
"Sarge, you still reckon you might try something?" Williams squinted up at him curiously.
"Yeah, I might. Why? You gonna run and tell Kinch?"
"Nah. I was just thinkin' maybe I'd tag along. I'm getting tired a just hangin' 'round here."
"Yeah, me too, Williams. Me too." Braden broke his gaze from the main gate and looked down at the shorter man. "Maybe we'll quit this dull routine and make a little visit to a certain Benedict Arnold."
Williams looked puzzled. "Benedict Arnold? I thought you was talkin' 'bout Hogan."
Braden rolled his eyes.
"Just sit tight. We're going to wait for the right time to make our break."
Williams nodded hopefully, wondering how long they might have to wait.
Chapter Twenty
The only sound in the still street was the crunching of feet against snow, as the solitary figure trudged his way through the fresh fallen covering. Hogan shivered as several wet, fat flakes deposited themselves down the back of his collar. Pausing before one of the ancient brick storefronts that lined the street, he removed his hand from his coat pocket, grasping the half-empty flask. Teetering slightly as he tilted the container upwards, Hogan leaned back and took several deep swallows, the liquid warming his chilled body. He drew the back of one hand across his mouth and then replaced the canister's top, sighing.
He felt the depression settling on him like the blanket of snow that carpeted the town. Had he made the right decisions? It seemed too late to try to turn back and change things now, he thought glumly.
He raised the flask once more and was suddenly startled to see another face reflected in the store window before him. Whirling around, he met a pair of hazel eyes looking at him in troubled silence.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to surprise you like that." Her voice was filled with evident sympathy.
Hogan felt momentarily embarrassed, wondering what private thoughts his face may have telegraphed before he became aware of Leisa's presence.
"Sheesh. If you're going to shadow me, give me a little warning, huh?" Hogan's voice was gruff.
Leisa looked momentarily startled. "Why...I...I don't know what you're talking about," she stammered.
"Yeah, right," Hogan said harshly. "Let me guess, you're just doing your job, right?" He turned back toward the window. "I've heard that line before. Do me a favor. Go make your report and then leave me alone, huh?"
He glanced at the reflected image and saw her head drop, a hurt expression materializing, and was immediately struck with remorse.
Sighing heavily, he turned slowly back toward her.
"Look," he said apologetically, "maybe I shouldn't have been so abrupt. I...I guess I've just been out here in the cold for too long; it's made me short-tempered."
She looked at him quizzically. "Why don't you just go home?"
"Home?" Hogan repeated, his face assuming an alarming despondency once more. Leisa was disturbed to see him so unguarded.
"I mean, why don't you go to your flat?" She peered at him anxiously, noticing that he had begun to shiver. "Your landlady didn't evict you, did she?"
Hogan snorted. "No, not yet, anyway. The furnace isn't working. Again. All the same, compared to my flat, it almost feels warmer out here." Hogan shrugged. "I figured maybe I'd find someplace still open where I could spend a few hours. But, it looks as though everything is closed up."
"Ach, I'm afraid so. New Year's is a time to be with family, so most establishments close early."
"Yeah, I suppose so."
Leisa stood there awkwardly, unsure of what to say. She'd certainly seen him at some definite low points, but what she had never encountered previously and now found so unsettling, was the spirit of utter despair and melancholy that filled his lifeless eyes.
"Look," she began hesitantly, "why don't you come to my place. At least the flat is heated. You can warm up for a while and then go home."
Hogan paused, taken aback at her offer. "No, thanks, I don't want to put you out." He smiled wanly. "I'm sure you must have other plans this evening."
Leisa gave him a small smile in return. "Well, actually, I don't. I just decided to make it a quiet night at home this evening, so why don't you join me?"
"Yeah, okay, why not?" Hogan shrugged. "At least if you've got to keep an eye on me, I might as well make it easy on you, hmm?"
Nonplussed, she simply shook her head. "Follow me. My place isn't far from here."
***
Leisa preceded him into the apartment and crossed to turn on a lamp, the warm glow showing through an ancient parchment shade.
Hogan stood just inside the door, arms wrapped around his torso, fighting to keep his teeth from chattering. Leisa looked at him with concern.
"There's a fireplace over there stocked with wood and kindling. Do you think you could get a fire started?"
Hogan nodded. He still felt too chilled to try and talk.
"I'll be right back." Leisa disappeared into another room.
He surveyed the modest, but comfortable, flat. The front entrance opened into a combined living and dining area, a worn sofa separating the two sections. Long faded drapes covered the tall windows and were gathered in soft folds on the floor. The furnishings, once possibly considered lavish, now clearly showed their age. A small fireplace was inset against one wall. Hogan crossed to the hearth and inspected its contents.
A few minutes later, Hogan triumphantly surveyed his handiwork, basking in the glow of the crackling fire that filled the room with a golden hue. He stood there, gazing at the yellow and blue flames licking upwards from the stacked splits of wood. Absently, he reached with his good hand into his overcoat pocket and withdrew a flask, unscrewing the metal top. A hand suddenly reached out, preventing him from raising the container. Startled, he turned to see Leisa standing there, a concerned look on her face.
"Not tonight. Please. I...," Leisa hesitated, "I don't want to see you get drunk. Okay?" she said uncertainly.
Hogan shrugged in embarrassment. "Geez, if you're gonna make me adopt a New Year's resolution, the least you could do is give me one more night, huh?" She looked at him resolutely. Sheepishly, he recapped the flask and set it on a nearby table. "Besides, I was just trying to warm myself up, unless you have another idea?"
"Mmm, perhaps I do," Leisa murmured coyly as she slipped her hand into his. Demurely, she arched one eyebrow and hooked a finger to signal for him to follow. His heart skipping a beat, Hogan trailed her into the dimly lit bedroom. His delight was exchanged for dismay as they continued into an adjoining bathroom. Hogan looked around, puzzled. A tartan plaid man's dressing gown was draped over a wooden towel stand, and the porcelain clawed-foot tub was filled with water.
"I thought a hot bath might help get rid of that chill," Leisa said, a purposely chaste and innocent look on her face. She gave him a wink, as she retreated to the other room. "Take your time. I'll be in the kitchen, preparing supper."
Hogan stood there for a moment and then began to chuckle. "Serves you right. That'll teach you to try and be suave, Robby old boy."
***
Warmed by the bath and then supper, Hogan sank into the sofa in front of the fire. He fingered the heavy woolen robe that was wrapped around him, wondering curiously why Leisa would have a man's garment at her flat. The pensiveness to his face was quickly replaced by a purposely bland expression, as he heard her footsteps approach.
"Thanks," Hogan said, accepting the cup and saucer she held out to him.
She sat on the sofa next to him, while he lifted his cup and sipped from it.
"Say, this is the real thing," he exclaimed with surprise.
"Once in a while Karl shares some of his coffee with me. I understand he has a special source for certain hard-to-get items." Leisa winked at Hogan over the rim of her cup.
Hogan chuckled. "Yeah, that he does." He turned back to the fire, the orange and red glow casting flickering shadows across his face.
"What brought you here, anyway?" Leisa hesitantly probed.
Hogan shifted on the sofa, turning sideways, as he draped his good arm over the back of the cushion and studied her for a few moments.
"I guess you could say I made some mistakes. Some errors in judgment. And now I'm just trying to sort things out." He paused, uncertain how much to reveal. "I suppose you think I'm running away from things, don't you?"
"No, I wouldn't think that about you at all," she said softly.
The front of Hogan's robe fell open, and Leisa noticed the medallion hung around his neck, the light of the fire glinting off its gold surface. Hesitantly, she reached toward him. He stiffened slightly, watching her warily, as she lifted the chain. She studied the medallion, before looking up at him in surprise.
"Why, it's a Saint Michael medal, is it not?"
Hogan nodded mutely.
"This has special meaning for you, then?" she asked quietly.
"Yes, it does." Hogan paused, looking down as though to study the back of his bandaged hand. "It was given to me by someone whose friendship once meant a great deal to me."
"And then something happened between the two of you?" Leisa left a great deal unsaid, but the tone of her voice communicated her personal concerns.
Hogan struggled with an answer. How much of his background should he share? He realized that opening up would impose an unfair burden on her. By knowing more about him, that knowledge might place her in greater danger, and he didn't want to create that risk.
After what seemed forever, Hogan finally spoke, his voice hoarse with apology. "Let's just say there are things about my past you'd be better off not knowing."
"I think I know all I need to know about you," she said kindly.
She studied the hurt in eyes. Whatever it was from his past, it was clearly troubling him. Impulsively, she reached out with one hand to gently stroke the side of his cheek.
Inwardly, Hogan felt himself tremble. It had been a very long time since someone had touched him with such caring and tenderness. He closed his eyes to savor the caress. Bringing his good arm around to cup her hand in his, he turned and pressed his lips into the soft flesh of her palm. He drew his other arm across her shoulders, pulling her into his embrace, as she leaned forward and willingly accepted his kiss. Her hand slipped to the side of his neck where she could feel his pulse quicken, as they drew each other nearer.
It was several long minutes before they reluctantly parted. Hogan dropped his head, sighing heavily. Leisa slid her hand under his chin, bringing his head up, and looked into eyes reflecting confusion and uncertainty.
"I feel the same way," she said softly, "Here we are, two mature adults, and we both feel like a couple of guilty adolescents stealing a forbidden kiss in the front parlor while one's parents are away."
Hogan gave her a small smile of relief. "War just isn't the best time to start up new relationships."
"No, it isn't. There's too much apprehension to deal with these days. From day to day, one never knows what will happen. It makes it too difficult to become close to people. I know."
"Exactly."
"I think maybe it would be better if we just retired for the evening, hmm?" She patted him warmly on the shoulder, as she rose from the sofa. "I'm afraid, though, that this couch is all I've got to offer." She gestured toward a chair against the wall. "There's a comforter and pillow there that should help you feel more comfortable."
"I'm not complaining. This sofa's a lot better than that hard-backed chair you had at my place," Hogan replied.
Leisa flushed momentarily and looked away guiltily. "Oh, yes, er, right," she stammered. "Er, is there anything else you need?" she asked, anxious to change topics.
"No, I'll be fine," Hogan said. "You go on in."
"Adieu, then."
"Good night," he acknowledged, as he turned his face back toward the fire, his mind a jumble of thoughts.
***
"Lights out!" bellowed Schultz, as he cast a disinterested glance around the barracks room.
"Yeah, okay, Schultz," Carter grumbled. "And a Happy New Year to you, too."
"Hmmph. What's so happy about it," Schultz muttered as he headed for the door to continue his evening rounds. He'd been pulling extra guard duty ever since Hogan's escape. Klink was still arguing with his superiors that because Hogan had been in the process of being transferred, it shouldn't count against his unblemished record, but so far he hadn't received a reprieve. Until then, he was overreacting to every situation and undeniably making life less pleasant for his senior sergeant-at-arms.
Kinch rose and stretched, his body weary from boredom more than any physical exertion. The sudden movement of the bunkbed trap door interrupted his accompanying yawn. Curiously, all eyes focused on the prisoner who clambered up from below.
"Kinch," he hissed, looking cautiously around the barracks. "I need to talk with you. Now."
Puzzled, Kinch approached the bunk, leaning over the gaping entrance. "What's up, Comminsky?"
Carter and LeBeau inched forward, while Newkirk peered down from his upper bunk.
"Kinch, Braden's gone."
Kinch glanced over his shoulder, noting an empty bunk across the room.
"So what. I'm sure he's just out for a quick walk around the compound before lights out. He's been as restless as the rest of us lately."
"No, Kinch, I mean he's gone. Really gone. As in left the camp."
Kinch's frown deepened. "What do you mean?"
"I mean he left camp and took Williams with him."
"What? How do you know for sure?"
Hesitant, Comminsky shrugged uncomfortably under Kinch's glare. "I guess I should have told you this before."
"Told me what before?" Kinch shot back, his voice hardening.
"Well, I just thought it was only talk. You know Braden, how he's always going on about one thing or another. I was with him and Williams the other day and all he could talk about was Colonel Hogan and how he wanted to go teach him a lesson. Because of his having turned traitor. Or," Comminsky quickly added in response to the scowls his remarks received, "at least, according to Braden."
"So what are you trying to tell me?" Kinch asked.
"I think Braden and Williams broke out of camp earlier this afternoon. I didn't take much notice of it at the time, but I saw both of them sneak into the rec hall when they thought no one else was around. You remember we added a tunnel in there a while back."
Kinch nodded, deep in thought.
"Well, I never saw them come back out again. And it looked as though they had some extra clothing on under their uniforms. I've asked around and nobody's seen them since then. I might be wrong, Kinch, but I don't have a good feeling about this. I think they may have gone after Colonel Hogan."
Kinch balled his fists in frustration. Great, this was the last thing he needed. He'd had enough difficulty handling their German captors without contending with a renegade POW who was rapidly living up to his unmanageable reputation.
"I'm sorry, Kinch. I guess I should have told you earlier."
"No, that's okay, Comminsky. I appreciate your letting me know."
"Yeah, I figured you'd better hear about it now rather than wait until morning when even more problems might develop."
Kinch nodded gratefully. "You'd better get back to your barracks before Schultz finds you missing."
"Right." He quickly disappeared below, the bunk sliding back into place, as Kinch strode for his locker.
"What're you going to do, Kinch?" Carter inquired.
"I'm not exactly sure yet, but I guess I'm going to have to come up with something." He felt responsible for Braden's absence and the trouble that might bring for the rest of the men in the barracks.
Newkirk hopped down and began to yank off his nightshirt, reaching for a uniform draped over one of the bunk posts.
"Where are you going, Newkirk?" Carter asked.
"Well, you heard what Comminsky had to say."
"Yeah, so?"
"For heaven's sake, Carter, don't you realize that Braden's gone after the Colonel? And I don't think it's exactly to serve him a summons, neither. I don't have a good feeling about this, mates."
"So what do you have in mind?" LeBeau asked.
"I say we go to Hamburg to stop him or find Colonel Hogan and warn him."
"Geez, I don't know, Newkirk," Carter reflected. "Hamburg is a pretty big city. How're we supposed to find them?"
"Look, Andrew, if I had all the bleedin' answers, I'd be a bloomin' brigadier. I came up with the first idea, now give me a break, will ya?"
"Kinch, what do you think?" LeBeau asked.
He pulled on his fatigue jacket. "I think Newkirk's right, fellas. I don't know what our chances are, but we can't do much good sitting here. I say we borrow one of Klink's trucks and try to get to Hamburg. Braden and Williams got quite a jump on us and we've got a heckuva haystack to sort through to find any of them."
***
Hogan rolled again onto his other side. He'd been tossing and turning so much, he was beginning to feel as though he was in the training simulator back at Mitchell Field. The gyroscope-like contraption excelled at hurling one's body in several directions at once and usually turned even the toughest pilot candidates green.
With a heavy sigh, he tossed aside the comforter and rose quietly from the couch. The fire had long ago died out and the chill that now pervaded the room covered him in goosebumps as he stretched, clad only in his shorts. Shivering slightly, he felt for the robe draped over the arm of the sofa and pulled it on, tightening the sash around his waist, as he crossed to the windows.
He pulled aside the heavy drapes. With the fire out, there was no longer any reason to cloak the apartment against the nighttime blackout. The room became flooded with moonlight streaming in through paneled sheers. Hogan breathed in deeply, as he gazed out over the snow-covered rooftops and narrow streets below. The full moon seemed balanced precariously on the edge of a rooftop across the way, as though sitting atop a seesaw and about to slide off.
Shaking from the cold once more, Hogan remembered the flask he'd set down on a table and retrieved it. He resumed his position before the window and upended the container to take a deep swallow, when he heard the sound of feet padding softly toward him.
"Tsk, tsk," Leisa said mockingly, as she looked disapprovingly at the flask.
Shrugging apologetically, Hogan said, "I'm sorry. I couldn't sleep and just thought maybe this would--"
Her finger pressing against his mouth silenced him, as she took the flask in her other hand. She helped herself to a sip from the flask, her throat glistening in the moonlight, while she raised her head. Leisa handed him back the flask, their hands touching lightly in a shock-like tingle, as she passed him the container.
"I, uh, didn't wake you, did I?" Hogan tried clearing the sudden hoarseness from his throat.
"Not exactly. That would assume I had been asleep. I haven't been able to drop off, either." Leisa shrugged and then gestured to the sofa, not wanting to look too directly into his eyes. "Is it uncomfortable for you there?"
"No, not at all."
"What is it, then?"
Leisa's eyes became riveted on his. He tried not to stare at the way the moonlight silhouetted her body beneath the pale gown she wore.
"I think it has something to do with this," he murmured, reaching slowly out to her. They drew together, the woody sweetness of the whiskey on her lips only increasing Hogan's ardor, as she raised one hand to caress the nape of his neck.
He traced a line of kisses along the side of her jaw and down her neck, while she arched her head, moaning softly. His mouth finding hers once more, he struggled with his bandaged hand to loosen the knotted sash of her dressing gown. She brought a hand around to assist him, the folds of her gown falling open. Trembling at his touch, her long silken legs straddled his hips, as he gradually carried her into the bedroom.
Chapter Twenty-One
Hogan awoke at the sensation of the mattress shifting beneath him. He opened his eyes to see Leisa on the edge of the bed next to him, fully dressed and holding a cup of coffee in her hands.
"Happy New Year," she said, smiling at him warmly.
He sat up, the comforter falling to his waist, as his face registered a mixture of surprise and suspicion.
"Where...where are you going? Karl's isn't open today."
Leisa could see the worry begin to form, while he worriedly assessed the situation.
"Relax, I just need to go out for a short while." She gestured toward his hand. "I'd say you haven't changed the bandage since I first dressed it, and I don't like the looks of the area around that cut. I'm just going to stop at Karl's where I can pick up some antiseptic and clean bandages."
Hogan relaxed slightly and leaned back against the pillow. "Why the rush? Stay here with me, and we can both go out together later."
Leisa shook her head, as she set the coffee on the nightstand next to him. "It's not wise for the two of us to be seen together. It won't take long. Now drink your coffee before it gets cold," she clucked, heading for the door. "I'll be right back."
Hogan lay there for several moments before reaching for his coffee. Sipping from the cup, he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. The robe was still there on the floor where he had abandoned it the night before. He managed to reach down and snag it, drawing it on as he rose from the bed. Cup in hand, he wandered out into the living room and walked leisurely over to the windows. The drapes had already been drawn, and the early morning light filtered in softly through opaque sheers. He pulled them aside to gaze out on the street blanketed in white below.
His reaction was as violent as if the window had been flung open and a vicious blast of cold air had suddenly struck him. A woman, heavily bundled in a woolen overcoat and kerchief, stepped into the street, as a tall man, a fedora pulled low over his face, moved from the shelter of a small alleyway and began to follow her. Hermann. Hogan, his face ashen, watched impotently, as her pursuer nodded to a hidden companion across the street.
Hastily setting the cup on the edge of a nearby table and abandoning the robe, Hogan raced for the bedroom to retrieve his clothes. How could he have been so careless? Someone must have seen them together the previous evening, while they walked back to Leisa's flat. They had then alerted Hermann and Gunther, who clearly had been waiting for their prey to emerge.
He knew the vengeance they would wreak on one of their own would far exceed the punishment he had experienced at their hands. He gulped a breath, trying to wipe away the thoughts of what would happen to Leisa if they caught up with her. His hands shook slightly, fumbling with the buttons of his shirt. Snaring most of them, he pulled on his jacket and overcoat in a single move. The door flew shut behind him, as he tore down the stairs.
His hand resting on the front doorknob, he paused for a moment, breathing heavily. Gunther was probably still lying in wait for him to exit the building. He'd have to find a back way out. Looking down the hall, he noticed a small door, about half-height, cut into the enclosed area beneath the rising stairs. Maybe it led to a root cellar, he thought. He lifted the latch and the door creaked open. Poking his head into the musty space, he saw faint beams of light, indicating an opening to the outside. With a backward glance toward the front door, Hogan ducked low and cautiously felt his way down the rickety steps. The casement window was a narrow fit, but with a bit of squirming and grunting, Hogan pulled himself up and through. Avoiding the front street, he hopped the wall surrounding the rear yard and mentally plotted an alternate route to Karl's.
***
The snow made his footing against the slippery cobblestones precarious, and he had to fling out his arms to keep his balance, as he rounded a corner. He was only a couple of blocks from the Hofbrau, but he still hadn't spotted Leisa. Had her pursuer already caught up with her?
A sound from behind made him whirl around.
A tall man stood leering at him, gun in hand. Hogan blew out his breath, his shoulders slumping in relief.
"Braden, you don't know what a start you gave me." Hogan stepped forward, his brow furrowing in a perplexed look. "Say, what are you doing here?"
"Keep your hands up, Hogan, " Braden warned, as he raised the gun, aiming at Hogan's chest.
"Whoa, wait a second, Braden, what do you think you're doing?" Hogan halted, startled.
"I said, put your hands up. I meant it," Braden growled, jabbing the gun menacingly in his direction.
Hogan's eyes narrowed. "Braden, you're making a big mistake here."
"No, Hogan, you're the one who's made the mistake, taking sides with the Gestapo and shacking up with a Kraut girlfriend."
"Braden, listen to me, that's not the way it is. I can explain." Hogan glanced hastily around the alley; there appeared to be no refuge.
"It's too late for your explanations, Hogan. That might work with Klink, but it's not going to work with me. Now, turn around."
"What're you going to do, shoot me in the back?" Hogan asked bitterly.
"That seems the right thing to do to a traitor, wouldn't you say?" Braden raised the gun, his finger tightening on the trigger.
Hogan began to turn, reaching surreptitiously toward his overcoat pocket. His fingers closed around the pistol grip, as he began to twist back around. He was a deadly accurate shooter, even with his left hand, but drawing the weapon with his left was another matter. The barrel caught in the pocket lining, and as he struggled to free it from its entanglements, Braden squeezed off a shot.
The projectile barely missed his left ear, the bullet slamming into the brick wall behind him. Spinning to avoid the shot, Hogan tripped against a pile of empty wooden crates stacked haphazardly against the wall, losing the Walther amidst the refuse. Struggling to regain his footing, he could hear the crunch of snow behind him, and the click of the hammer being cocked echoing through the alley. Hogan suddenly sprang upwards, flinging a crate at his assailant. Braden tried to duck but was too slow, and the wooden box splintered against the side of his head, sending him temporarily reeling. Hogan took advantage of the momentary reprieve and spun away, pounding down the snow-covered alley.
The maze of narrow passageways twisted and turned, and Hogan couldn't resist the temptation to glance back and see if he'd been followed. He turned, leaving him slightly off balance, just as his foot landed on one of the angled, jutting cobblestones. It had been more than a month since the injury to his ankle and, although it had healed well enough that the limp was no longer noticeable, the joint wasn't able to withstand the torque. It twisted painfully beneath him. Hogan collapsed defenseless against the alley wall.
The fatal hesitation was enough for an arm to reach out from a nearby darkened entryway, seizing him around the neck, another hand firmly clasped over his mouth. Hogan struggled to free himself, but the grasp was unyielding, and he felt himself being helplessly dragged through an open doorway. The door closed silently, cloaking them in darkness, while the sound of footsteps running past the entryway echoed down the alley.
"Shhhh," hissed a voice, as the hand covering his mouth was taken away, the sound of his pursuer vanishing into the distance.
Still off balance, Hogan struggled to upright himself. He groaned, his ankle protesting beneath the weight. An arm wrapped itself around his waist, and a woman's voice in a distinctly British accent spoke urgently in the dark.
"Colonel Hogan, come with me, quickly, please."
They stumbled together along the darkened hallway. As a faint light illuminated the end of the hall, he realized they had entered the rear of the Hofbrau. They passed into the main room, which smelled faintly of stale cigarette smoke and beer. Hogan was dragged to the nearest chair, sitting down heavily. Checking to make certain the blackout curtains were in place, his rescuer switched on the room lights. Hogan blinked in pain, as the circles of reflected light from the mirror behind the bar shimmered and danced before his eyes.
Leisa stood before him.
"You? How...how did you know my name?" he asked, confused.
Without pausing, Leisa replied, her voice a different clipped, yet softer, timbre now. "Come now, Colonel, we're well beyond the point of formal introductions, wouldn't you agree?" A coy smile came to her lips as he looked at her, dumbfounded.
"You're...you're British." The look of amazement was momentarily replaced by a grimace, as Leisa knelt before him and manipulated his ankle, checking to make certain it wasn't broken.
"Oh, most definitely, Colonel."
"But, what are you doing here?" He looked questioningly at her.
Coming to her feet, she turned back to him. "General Fitzhugh sent me to keep an eye on you. He didn't want you handling this assignment completely on your own and asked me to position myself where I could assist if things went awry."
Hogan shook his head in amazement and gratitude. "I should have known Fitzhugh would be up to his old tricks," he said with a chuckle. "But that doesn't tell me who you are."
"Ah, yes, of course, Colonel. Angela St. Lawrence, Special Operations, Intelligence, London." Smiling, she slightly inclined her head in a bow. "Pleased to make your acquaintance."
"St. Lawrence." Hogan pursed his lips thoughtfully. "That name sounds familiar."
She raised one eyebrow. "I believe you know my older sister, Audrey. Or, should I perhaps call you Horst?"
Hogan groaned and not from pain this time. "Of course. Audrey." He opened his eyes quickly. "But, you realize, we didn't know each other in exactly the same way."
"Yes. I understand from Audrey that you made quite a show of having to catch a train." Laughing, she patiently smiled at him. "There's no need to explain, Colonel. Certainly not now."
She placed her hand gently on his shoulder. "I need to get some bandages from the back room. I'll only be a moment."
Nodding, Hogan closed his eyes in sudden fatigue. He listened to her steps fading away from him, while she made her way to the back. The sound of a door opening was abruptly accompanied by a distinct gasp, promptly followed by a choked cry.
Hogan sat bolt upright. "Leisa? I mean, Angela?" He rose with effort from the chair. "Are you okay?"
There was no response. Pushing the pain away, Hogan slowly made his way toward the bar, his eyes fixed on the entrance to the rear hall. He knew Karl kept a club concealed behind the bar, used to occasionally knock sense into the intoxicated heads of belligerent customers. His good hand closed around the wooden handle, as the sound of approaching footsteps neared. He hefted the club to his shoulder and pressed his way along the wall.
Leisa appeared in the doorway. From the tense look on her face, Hogan could tell something was wrong. Spotting Braden immediately following her, he knew the reason why. Hogan lifted the club above his head and was about to bring it down, just as Braden was roughly shoved from behind. A hand poked a gun at his back, ordering the enlisted man into the Hofbrau. Hogan sighed with audible relief at the sight of Kinch entering the room, followed by Newkirk.
"Colonel Hogan!" Kinch exclaimed, as he rushed forward.
Hogan dropped the club to the floor and sank against the wall. Newkirk brusquely herded Braden and Angela toward the center of the room.
"Might as well make yourselves comfortable, mates, 'til we figure out what to do with you." He gestured with his pistol for them to be seated. Angela opened her mouth, as though to say something in protest, but then spotted Hogan leaning weakly against the wall and rose to go to him.
"Here now, miss, you just have a seat and stay right where you are. You've had your chance at him."
Hogan looked up wearily, waving for Newkirk to let her proceed. "It's okay, Newkirk, she's one of us."
"Beggin' your pardon, sir? One of 'us'?" Newkirk looked perplexed. He and Kinch exchanged worried glances.
Kinch assisted Hogan to a chair, dropping to one knee to look him directly in the eyes. He spoke, his voice passionate with distress.
"Look, Colonel, we know things have been tough for you, but you don't have to continue doing this. We can square things away with London and Klink. Just give us a second chance and c'mon back to camp, huh?"
"What?" Hogan looked confused, not recognizing their implied concern.
"Colonel, we can fix things like they were before. You don't have to turn your back on your country. It's not worth it."
Realization dawned suddenly on Hogan's face, and he began to smile. Kinch and Newkirk frowned in frustration at each other, assuming their appeal had been rebuffed.
"Relax, fellas. I'm still on the same side you are." He inclined his head toward Angela. "Meet Angela St. Lawrence, British Intelligence."
"St. Lawrence?" Newkirk paused. "Is this the bird, pardon me, ma'am," he tipped his hat in apology, "the, er, lady agent you met that time, sir?"
"Not exactly. This is her sister. It would seem intelligence work runs in the family." Hogan glanced up at Angela, as she came to his side.
Kinch shook his head in confusion. "Colonel, you've got me feeling as though I'm listening to Carter trying to explain something. What's been going on?"
Hogan nodded apologetically. "I'm sorry, fellas, I hated doing this to you, but General Fitzhugh and I both felt it was the only way we had a chance to pull this off."
"You remember when we lost that resistance leader a while back, Rudolph Leitmann?"
Kinch and Newkirk nodded, glancing in surprise at each other. It was the first time they had heard Hogan even mention Rudy's name since the tragic death.
"Well, soon after that, Fitzhugh developed the suspicion that someone had penetrated his intelligence network. He began to quietly look into it, and from what he could figure, an analyst working at Headquarters was providing the Germans with the names of our underground agents."
"Blimey, Colonel. You mean that's how they got Rudy and the others?"
"That's right. The analyst's name is Harry Whitlow. Unfortunately, less than a day after Fitzhugh figured out his identity, he vanished."
"The myopic little worm," Angela muttered under breath.
Hogan nodded grimly in agreement. "You can say that again."
He shifted in the chair, trying unsuccessfully to get comfortable, before continuing. The dull ache in his ankle seemed to radiate up his body with the smallest movement.
"They determined he'd defected and was brought to Germany. It wasn't until later that we learned he'd holed up here, under the care of a Gestapo officer named Kronbach."
Angela shuddered in the recollection of her intense dislike for the man.
"I volunteered to go after him and bring him back. It was the least I could do to try and make amends for Rudy's death." Hogan bowed his head before continuing. "We were concerned Whitlow still had connections to others in London we didn't know about yet. The only way I could get close to him, through Kronbach, was to make it appear I'd not only broken away from Stalag 13, but also from London. The charges against me, the threat of court martial, even the blowup to get me tossed out of camp, were all part of the ruse."
Kinch looked regretfully at Hogan. "But why take the risk all by yourself, Colonel? Why not have the rest of us go with you on the mission to grab him?"
Hogan shook his head. "If word got to Whitlow about a mission to go after him, his German handlers would have him so far underground he wouldn't emerge until the end of the thousand year Reich. I had to first carefully make the approach through Kronbach. The drinking was to make myself seem more vulnerable, so he'd drop his guard a bit."
"I'd say it was effective. Not even I knew exactly what you were up to, Colonel," Angela remarked. "General Fitzhugh was rather vague, simply directing me to put myself in a position that would place me in contact with Major Kronbach. I was then to keep an eye out for you and be ready to assist if things went wrong." She raised her eyebrows. "We almost aborted the mission the night you were attacked by Hermann and Gunther."
"Hermann and Gunther!" Hogan looked up, as if just remembering something. "They were the ones I saw following you this morning, when you left the apartment."
A contrite voice spoke up from across the room. "Uh, no, sir, that was me, I suppose." Braden swallowed hard, awkwardly twisting his hat in his lap. "I have to apologize, Colonel. I...I thought you'd turned traitor on us. I never would have shot at you, if I'd known..." His voice trailed off, realizing he was probably in for it now.
"We'll deal with that later, Braden." Hogan looked over at Kinch. "I think someone's still waiting outside Angela's flat, though."
Kinch nodded. "Probably Williams, sir. He left camp with Braden, which is why we showed up." He shrugged his shoulders sheepishly. "Given what everybody was thinking about you, they were going to come here and teach you a lesson. We decided to try and head them off." Kinch rubbed the side of his jaw. Two of his teeth still felt loose from the punch he'd taken from Hogan. "I'd have to say, Colonel, you sure had me convinced."
Hogan winced in regret. "I almost broke from my role-playing when that happened, Kinch. I hope you realize it was an accident."
Kinch smiled. "That's all right, Colonel. Although, if Battling Bruno ever shows up for a rematch, we're putting you in the ring instead of me." He turned to Newkirk. "You'd better tell Carter and LeBeau to go round up Williams."
"Righto." Newkirk headed for the rear hallway.
"Carter and LeBeau? What'd you guys do, stage a mass breakout? Isn't there anybody left at camp?" Hogan shook his head in amazement.
"Uh, yes sir," Newkirk offered, feigning a pensive look, "I do believe Schultz is still there. We would have brought him with us, Colonel, but we didn't think he'd fit through the stump at the end of the emergency tunnel." He grinned, disappearing through the door.
Hogan laughed and tried to stand, wincing as the movement sent another ripple of pain through him.
Kinch frowned in sudden concern. "Colonel, take it easy, we've got a truck from the motor pool parked around the corner to get you back." Kinch picked up his hat and gun from the table, ready to move out.
"Wait a second, Kinch. I'm not going until this is finished. I didn't come this far to leave without Whitlow." Hogan's voice was firm.
Angela rolled her eyes in exasperation, glancing at Kinch. "Has he always been this stubborn, Sergeant?"
Kinch ducked his head, trying to conceal his grin. "Uh, ma'am, I'm hoping the Geneva Convention protects me from having to answer that question."
He turned back to Hogan. "Colonel, I understand why you feel that way, but you're in no condition to take Whitlow on your own."
Hogan pursed his lips, trying to come up with an alternative plan. He knew Kinch was right. After a few moments, he looked up at Kinch and Angela.
"All right, Kinch, but I've got to be the one to make the initial approach. If he sees anyone else first, he'll run like a scared rabbit."
Kinch nodded, focusing on Hogan, as he slowly began.
"Here's what we're going to do..."
Chapter Twenty-Two
A knock at the hotel room door made Hogan sit up, his nerves taut.
"It's open," he called out.
The visitor timidly pushed open the door, peering around its edge to spy Hogan seated in an armchair. His bandaged right hand waved to him from across the room in a comradely gesture.
"C'mon on in, partner. Wait until you see what I managed to find." Hogan smiled broadly at the slight, bespectacled man, as he hesitantly stepped into the room.
The door closed quickly shut, and Whitlow's eyes magnified even wider, as a chloroform-soaked pad was clamped over his mouth. After a few moments, Newkirk looked down at his unconscious charge, now crumpled on the floor.
"I take great personal pleasure, chum, in reclaiming you as official property of his Royal Highness King George."
"It's not over yet, Newkirk. We still need to get him back to London."
Hogan stared down at the pale, shapeless form at his feet. Emotions boiled within him at the realization of the damages he had caused.
"All because of his greed and disloyalty," he muttered angrily.
Angela stepped from an adjoining room to stand beside him. "I never met Leitmann," she said softly, "but I understand from General Fitzhugh that he was very much like you." She looked up into his eyes.
"He was a good man," Hogan acknowledged, brushing away the memories.
Kinch entered the room, glancing down at the figure on the floor.
"We've confirmed with Headquarters, Colonel, that the sub will be waiting. We can drop him and Miss St. Lawrence off at the relay point on our way back to camp."
Angela nodded. "I'm sure he'll be no trouble for me."
Hogan smiled at her appreciatively. "I have a feeling you can handle yourself just fine, Angela."
Newkirk raised his eyebrows inquisitively. "Pardon me, ma'am. Er, you don't by any chance have any other sisters at home, do you?" he asked hopefully.
"No, I'm afraid not, Corporal, I'm the last of them," she answered, laughing.
Newkirk looked disappointed, turning to help Kinch lift Whitlow's dead weight into a room service cart. They carefully draped the tablecloth over the sides to conceal its cargo.
Kinch stood with a grunt. "Carter and LeBeau are waiting outside with Braden and Williams. We're ready to go when you are, Colonel."
Angela interrupted. "What about Major Kronbach? Don't you need to take him in as well?"
Hogan shook his head. "I don't think we'll be hearing from our friend Kronbach for quite a while. By the time he finishes explaining how the defector in his custody turned up missing, General Eisenhower will be admiring the view from Berchtesgarten, while his aide serves him his morning coffee."
He linked his right arm in hers. "I say we call it a day, hmm?" Smiling with relief, Angela placed her hand on his, as they followed the others from the room.
***
A cheer rose from the men filling the barracks, as Hogan entered the room. Smiling warmly in appreciation of their welcome, he gratefully accepted the chair LeBeau pulled out for him at the head of their long table. The men grouped excitedly around him.
"So, sir, what did Colonel Klink have to say?" Carter asked, taking a seat at the table.
Hogan paused, reflecting on how to summarize the hour-long, rambling conversation.
"I'm not sure," he admitted, "but I think halfway through the lecture, he started apologizing to me. He assumed this," he gestured to his freshly bandaged hand, "was from the Wehrmacht soldiers he believes recaptured me."
Carter chuckled. "Yeah, I'd have to say those two guys from the underground looked convincing in their German uniforms."
Hogan laughed. "He felt so sorry for me, he said he'd overlook a sentence in the cooler this time. He even got on the horn and managed to convince Burkhalter to withdraw my transfer from Stalag 13."
His head turned, as Kinch emerged from the tunnel below, slapping the lever to close the bunkbed entrance behind him.
"The sub get off all right, Kinch?"
"Sure did, Colonel. London's ready to pick up our package at the other end." Kinch sat at the end of the bench near him. "Oh, and General Fitzhugh offers his congratulations. He said they were able to identify the other infiltrators after Whitlow contacted them to find out about you."
Hogan nodded thankfully. "I'm just glad it's all over, fellas. I hope you'll forgive me for having to mislead you like that. We weren't sure where the other leaks were at first."
LeBeau fondly placed his hand on Hogan's shoulder. "We forgive you, mon Colonel. Now, to celebrate your return, look what I've been saving!"
He produced a bottle of champagne from behind his back. Hogan winced noticeably, groaning aloud.
"Uh, LeBeau, do me a favor, will ya?" he asked uncomfortably.
"Mais oui, mon Colonel. What is it?" LeBeau inquired with concern.
"Make mine a coffee. Black."
The room erupted in laughter, as the cork rocketed across the room, signaling to all the start of their homecoming celebration.