Thank you Marilyn!

Chapter Fifteen

"Do you trust him?" Tiger propped her hands on the table behind her and leaned back, extending her legs ahead of her.

His face lit up with the lop-sided smile that affected her every time. "Well, we're not ready to roll out the red carpet and show them everything yet."

"It is a tremendous risk that you are taking, Colonel. For all of us."

"Yeah. But Leidel proved that he passed up some golden opportunities to take us out."

She had the impression that there was more to tell and told him so.

"Apparently, he's saved my skin a few times," Hogan admitted lightly. "But I'm not ready to call him my guardian angel."

Her heart lurched. There had been many nights that she had awoken from nightmares of losing him. Calming herself, she asked, "Is it possible that he had reasoned out who you are, and decided to wait so that he could bring down the entire network?"

"Why wait? He's proven to me that he knew enough of our key people to start making arrests and cripple our network. A few hours or days of interrogation and he would have had even more of our people. The damage would have been huge to us. No, between that and the other stuff, I believe he's really on our side."

Tiger grinned. "Stuff'?" She immediately regretted the question.

A look of mild discomfort came and went on his face. Once, in a rare moment of confidence between them, he had confessed that he had long ago learned not to question the hunches and nebulous insights that often steered his actions. They were a part of him and he accepted them. But he could not explain them.

He shrugged now, squarely met her gaze. "Body language, reactions, something in their eyes. A split second impression when Leidel and I first met face to face. Stuff."

"What of the other one? Nuechterlein, you called him?"

Hogan chuckled. "Where-so-ever Leidel goes, there, too shall Nuechterlein go. He's Leidel's shadow, the yin to Leidel's yang."

Tiger cocked her head to one side, conscious of using one of his mannerisms. "You are confident you can bring these two German wolves to heel?"

His eyes crinkled in amusement. "All it took to train the camp guard dogs was some biscuits, tummy rubs, and a few French lullabies."

She giggled at the image of the two men sitting up and begging for treats. Pushing away from the table, she went to Hogan and leaned into him, letting her lashes drift downward while she fingered the collar of his bomber jacket. The heat of his body warmed her, drawing her even closer. The scent of leather, cologne and pure Hogan surrounded her in a heady cloud. Humming in contentment, she tipped her face up and nuzzled against his neck.

"I've trusted my life to your instincts many times, Colonel. And I'm still here."

Releasing his collar, she cupped his face in both hands and drew him to her. They lost themselves in the kiss, drawing out the moment of pleasure. Her eyes opened as she felt him gently grip her wrists.

He pulled back slightly, took a deep breath. Hoarsely, he said, "If we don't stop this right now, we could find ourselves in a very embarrassing situation."

She chuckled, made herself straighten away from him. "You need locks on the doors, Colonel."

"We need the doors first." He looked at her, tipped his head in thought. A smile slowly turned up one corner of his mouth, and he murmured, "Aw, what the heck. We're all adults here."

HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Newkirk and Hermann were silently keeping von Rogner company when Hogan returned with Tiger in tow. Newkirk eyed them shrewdly. They just relaxed enough for him to have an idea that not all had been work between them. Hogan suggested that von Rogner go back to his small room with them so that they could review his information. With a slightly ill-at-ease glance at Newkirk and Hermann, von Rogner rose off the bench and went with them.

Newkirk casually tilted his head, snuck a quick sideways peek at Hermann, seated farther along the wall from him on the same bench. The other man's eyes were half-closed, but Newkirk wasn't fooled into thinking that Hermann was the slightest bit sleepy.

It seemed a good time to try questioning the big German again. He thought for a moment, was readying an opening remark, when Hermann blinked and cleared his throat.

"What would you like to know?"

Newkirk paused in the act of lighting a cigarette, somewhat unsettled by the German's perceptiveness. "Feel like making nice now, do you?"

Hermann tucked his hands behind his head and lounged back against the wall, stretching out his full length like a large cat. "You are lucky, it seems. I become 'nice' for ten minutes during the full moon of odd months."

"I'll be quick then, like 'Jack be nimble'."

"What an odd name."

"It's not a . . . never mind. Let's go at it from the beginning, eh? How did the two of you meet?"

"He tripped over me."

Newkirk flicked ash to the floor. "Tripped?

"Fell over me, actually. In the park. Behind a bush."

"Oh, now. Conversations like this aren't meant for tender ears such as mine."

The displeasure in Hermann's expression warned him that he might have carried the teasing too far. Hermann's arms came down and folded across his chest.

"He was after a ball that his father had thrown. When he went to retrieve it, he found me, instead."

"I would have chucked you back."

"Were that the case, I probably would have died. I don't remember the encounter, actually, since I was delirious with fever. I'd been living in the park on my own for months, eating what I could. To this day, I can not abide the taste of berries."

"The Hammelburg Park?"

Hermann's head tilted and dipped in a nod. "The very same."

"You were nine?" Newkirk asked, remembering their earlier conversation.

"Yes."

"Klaus?"

"Seven."

"Your mum and da?"

"Murdered." The answer was delivered as smoothly as the rest, but there was a stillness to Hermann's expression that had not been present before. If Newkirk did not tread carefully, he would send Hermann right back behind the wall he usually presented to the world.

"Sorry for that."

Hermann stared intently at him for a moment, and then nodded again. "Thank you. We were walking home from town one evening. I saw my uncle's face through the windshield just before my father threw me out of the way. My uncle had given me ample reason in the past to believe that he had been aiming the car at me. Once I was old enough, I located him and reintroduced myself."

An image of a young Hermann hovering grief-stricken over his parents' bodies burst upon Newkirk's mind. The picture bothered him more than he expected. He looked into the hard hazel eyes.

"Short reunion?"

"Very," came the clipped response.

"Ah." Newkirk took another drag off his cigarette. He could well imagine the man next to him delivering retribution like some dark avenging angel. The eyes upon him were slightly amused again and Newkirk was surprised to discover that he was starting to like the big man.

"Are you still feeling nice?"

The amusement grew into an open smile, the first Newkirk had seen. "Hmm . . . Yes."

"Just checking. Why would your uncle want to kill you? Seeing as that you were a little tyke then and couldn't have been much bother at all. Not like now."

"Insults aren't usually the best way to gain information," came Hermann's mild replay. Throwing his arms over his head, he stretched, yawned, and returned to his former position with an easy grace. He cocked his head, looked at Newkirk with mild interest.

"Well?" Newkirk drawled. He blew a perfect smoke ring, then another, which sailed neatly through the first. He felt none of the impatience of their earlier question and answer session. Oddly enough, this conversation had the pleasant familiarity of a poker game.

One of Hermann's eyebrows lifted. "Yes?"

"My question?"

"That last was too personal for mere acquaintances." The deep voice was prim, with a faint undercurrent of laughter. Newkirk was hard-pressed not to smile despite the lack of information. He suspected Hermann was enjoying the session as much as he was.

"Going dodgy on me, again, are you?"

"Will you be terribly upset if I don't answer that question, either?"

Newkirk squinted through the cigarette smoke, regarded Hermann as he would an intricate lock.

"How many are there in your brave band?"

"Twelve. We were up to fifteen, but several of us were transferred to the Eastern Front and one thought it best to kill himself."

"Sad, that. Still. Twelve is a bonny number. Apostles, you know."

"A very good crowd to be associated with," Hermann agreed, nodding solemnly.

A jolt of surprise washed through Newkirk. "You've read the Good Book?"

"Herr Leidel would read to us from his grandfather's Bible whenever the opportunity presented itself."

"Us?"

"Klaus," Hermann intoned, flicking out a finger. "Risa." A second finger joined the first. "Myself," he finished, now holding three fingers aloft, each slightly separate from the other. "Us."

Newkirk held up his free hand, fingers splayed.

"Carter." He folded his little finger toward his palm. "LeBeau." Another finger folded down. "Me." A third finger curled inward. "Kinch." Down went the fourth. "Colonel Hogan." His thumb came down, clamped firmly atop his clenched fingers, forming a fist. He held it up with a smile of pride. "Us."

"Symbolism, Newkirk?" Laughter again lurked beneath Hermann's tone and this time, Newkirk couldn't hold back a chuckle.

"Looks as if we're having a round of 'Rock-Paper-Scissors', mate." He shook his head, stopping the question on the tip of Hermann's tongue. Drawing himself up, Newkirk recited in a stiff, proper tone, "Rock-Paper-Scissors is a very, very, old game used to make decisions when one can't be reached by any other means."

"You can not be serious."

"Indeed, I am. The results are binding and as good as a handshake or a man's word. Rather like settling an argument by flipping a coin or such. Surely, you have done?"

Hermann stared at him as if he had taken leave of his senses.

"That, I'm guessing, would be 'no'," Newkirk muttered, stuffing his hand into his pocket. His fingertips brushed against his cards then moved on to Hermann's watch and idly traced over the watch's inscription. Hermann had to know the watch was gone; probably knew exactly when he had lost it and how. There had to be great sentimental value attached to it, yet Hermann had made no attempt to regain his possession. It struck Newkirk as a sign of trust; one that he found strangely flattering.

Giving the watch a light pat, he pulled the deck out and held it up for Hermann to see.

"Fancy a hand or two while we talk?"

"I'm quite observant. And I've observed that you are much too dexterous for me to participate in any card games with you."

"You've gone and insulted me. And here we were having such a civilized time of it, too."

"My apologies," Hermann replied, looking far from repentant.

Newkirk slowly exhaled a ribbon of smoke through his nose. "You're nothing like what I expected."

"I do so like to surprise people." A touch of sarcasm accompanied the remark. "Since we are having such an honest discussion, I must admit that you are not what I expected, either."

"We're not all raping and pillaging murderers, you know."

Hermann's lips pursed with mock surprise. One black eyebrow cocked again. "Propaganda says otherwise."

"Scandalous rumors," Newkirk told him, waving the cigarette through the air in a wide arc. "All of them. I haven't had an urge to rape or pillage for a good month now."

"That's a relief. I would be terribly saddened to have to bash your head in. That's what black-hearted, cold-blooded, heathens such as I do when provoked. At least, that is what Allied propaganda says." A faint frown passed over Hermann's face. "Do you mind saving the rest of your questions for later? This moment of niceness is fading and I wouldn't want our burgeoning friendship to be undermined by any further rudeness on my part."

Newkirk relaxed comfortably against the wall and took another deep drag off the cigarette, killing the last of it. He threw the butt to the floor. "We're settled then. It's all good."

"I feel ever so much better now that we've had this talk." Hermann watched as Newkirk kicked dirt over the smoldering cigarette butt, then asked, "By the way, is it true that you eat only boiled fish?"

"Only on the fourth Tuesday of the eleventh month of a leap year."

Hermann suddenly leaned the length of the bench and clamped a hand upon his arm. The index finger of that hand pointed, indicating the tunnel entrance to Newkirk's right. He glanced that way and jumped to his feet. Von Rogner stood in the doorway.

"What are you doing back here, Field Marshal? Got lost, have you?"

There was a rustle of clothing behind him and Newkirk risked a glance that way. Hermann had returned to his recumbent position and was grinning smugly at von Rogner. Benson edged into view, looking oddly pleased. Newkirk suddenly understood that he had been fooled.

"Well, I'll be . . . !"

He slowly walked across the room and circled Klaus, examining him closely from head to foot. "You did it! You well and truly had me fooled!" He completed another circuit, while Klaus obligingly remained still for the inspection.

Hermann deserted the bench and moved to stand in front of his friend. A smile passed between them while Newkirk made one more circuit for good measure. He finished up shoulder to shoulder with Hermann.

"You'll do." Beaming like a proud parent, he elbowed Hermann. "'He even got the set of the cap right."

The mustache made a sudden dip to the left. Newkirk's grin vanished along with his good mood.

"You took it off, didn't you?"

Klaus' effort at looking innocent was totally ruined by the mustache hanging from his upper lip at a forty-five degree angle. Newkirk yanked the mustache off, fully intending the removal to be painful. Klaus jerked forward, let out a strangled yelp and clapped a hand over his mouth. Hermann casually removed himself from the range of fire.

Newkirk shook the limp bit of hair in front of Klaus' face. "Just couldn't leave it alone, could you?"

Klaus glared at him through eyes swimming with tears of pain.

Giving him another hard shake of the mustache, Newkirk stalked away. Exasperation thickened his accent.

"I told you, didn't I? Once it comes off, it loses its stick and you got to reapply the gum. What if you'd been in the meeting when it took it into its mind to fall off, eh? Lovely picture, that!" His voice changed to a mocking falsetto. "What's this, Herr Field Marshal? Your mustache seems to have gone walkies!"

Klaus trudged pigeon-toed across the room to sit beside Hermann. Newkirk's rant cut off mid-sentence and he followed. Klaus peered up at him in suspicion, one hand clapped protectively over his lip. But Newkirk had forgotten all about the mustache.

"That was von Rogner's pigeon walk, right down to the drooped shoulders!"

"And not a moment too soon," Hogan drawled from the doorway. "Your ride is leaving for town, gentlemen. According to von Rogner, Hochstetter is due at the hotel in less than ninety minutes to take him -- you -- to the big meeting."

Newkirk bolted from the room.

Startled, Hogan peered askance at Klaus and Hermann. Klaus sheepishly tapped a finger against his bare lip. Hogan scowled and braced his hands on his hips.

Klaus was spared another tongue lashing when Newkirk burst into the room and slid to a stop in front of him. A few quick dabs of spirit gum and the hated mustache was once more in place.

"Von Rogner has horrible taste in grooming!" Klaus snarled, lightly fingering the mustache. Newkirk's open palm flew up in warning.

"Let's go," Hermann demanded in an obvious effort to avoid a confrontation.

Mouthing "good job" to Newkirk, Hogan led Klaus and Hermann into the tunnels.

"Olsen is waiting with the car at the same spot where I let you out. He'll drive you to von Rogner's hotel."

"In Klink's staff car," Klaus chuckled.

"We pride ourselves on keeping it running smoothly. Got to keep the gunk cleaned out."

"Gunk?" Hermann and Klaus echoed.

"Ask Carter. He can tell you all about the stuff."

They walked on in silence until they came to the entrance leading above ground. Hermann's face was impassive as he turned to Hogan.

"Hochstetter, having met the real von Rogner earlier, will be the true litmus test."

"A very deadly one," Klaus murmured in a somewhat brittle tone.

Hogan frowned at the sign of nerves. "We wouldn't send you into this if we didn't think you could pass muster." An unpleasant thought suddenly occurred to him. "Has Hochstetter ever seen either of you before?"

"No," Klaus answered immediately and confidently.

Hermann's expression became remote and Hogan leaned toward him.

"Nuechterlein? Does he know you?" Wary hazel eyes turned in his direction.

"He doesn't know me."

Hogan had just started to relax when Hermann added hesitantly, "He may, however, have seen me."

Klaus' head snapped around. "What?"

"'Know' and 'seen' rate pretty much the same in my book," Hogan pointed out. "And in this case, they both add up to disaster."

"It was from a distance and at night," Hermann said, somewhat defensively. "If he saw me at all, it would have been in profile."

Klaus paced away, paused with head down and hands on hips, then returned. He spoke to Hermann as if they were alone.

"When would this have been?"

"It was the night that you were so ill and I met with Vogt at the Hauserhof in your place. Vogt left first. When I left a few minutes later, Hochstetter was standing on the far side of the street, facing me, talking with him. I kept my head down and went in the opposite direction."

A smile had slowly been growing on Klaus' face during the explanation. "That was over three weeks ago!"

Hogan nodded. "You're probably safe then. At least from that threat."

Klaus sobered. "What of Risa? Despite my instructions, she may return looking for answers."

"Let me worry about that." At their twin expressions of fierce protectiveness, Hogan added, "I won't Klink let cling to her like an extra small sweater. She'll be safe, both here and away from Stalag 13. You have my word on that."

They regarded him in silence, visibly weighing his sincerity. Finally, they nodded, and the three of them shook hands.

"Good luck, gentlemen," Hogan told them somberly.

Klaus put his hand on the ladder, hesitated, turned back. "A question."

Hogan checked his watch, warning, "It better be quick."

Klaus' expression hardened with determination. "What is her name?"

"Who's name?" Hermann asked, glancing between them.

"I consider it impolite to give out a lady's name without her knowledge or consent," Hogan responded in a gentlemanly fashion.

"What lady?" Hermann pressed, frowning at Klaus in obvious frustration.

After a long moment, Klaus flatly told Hogan, "This conversation is not over."

"It is for now," Hogan said with quiet authority. "Keep your mind on your job." He waggled his thumb at the ladder.

Klaus and Hermann climbed outside and the tunnel fell quiet. Hogan, staring straight ahead at the empty ladder, asked, "What do you think?"

A shadow detached itself from one of the side tunnels behind him.

"They seem like a pair of all right fellas," Kinch said quietly.

Hogan scrubbed at his face, feeling the weight of his promise and of the days ahead. "Tell Zoellner what's going on and that we need his best people to watch over Risa Leidel. They're to bring her here at the slightest sign of trouble."

Kinch was silent for a time, his gaze, like Hogan's, still on the ladder. "You know, Colonel, trusting his sister's care to us doesn't seem like the thing he would do if he's working against us."

Hogan grunted. The same idea had crossed his mind. "Tiger make it out all right?"

"Yes, sir. I took her out through the emergency tunnel."

Minutes passed while they stood together in silence. Finally, Hogan sighed and clapped a hand to Kinch's shoulder.

"C'mon, buddy. This war isn't getting over any faster with us standing here."

To be continued . . .