Boston, Massachusetts

December 8, 1945

gssmaee ciderve. kledat hwti njoh klewar. Lilw dfin oyu. -B.P.

"Do not question my brilliance, Charles, just print the damn thing."

We're standing in Charles's office while his face is going from red to purple.

"I am not going to print something with clearly a huge error in the text. I'm sorry, but it looks like a let a toddler play with a type writer." He sighs. "What's really going on here?"

"If I told you, you wouldn't believe me."

"Try me."

"Fine. The escaped prisoner of war, Frederick Anton Reiker, is not dead. He is being held against his will. One of the writers in the New York Times lied, and I intend to find him or her. They're clearly in on it. I have sources. I have evidence. You can print the story of how the U.S. government is guilty of war crimes."

Charles looks from me to Charlene to me. "Okay, but I'm expecting more information. Dinner maybe? How do you expect to get a response?"

I speak up, "I just want him to know that I got his message. Look here, untangle the words."

He shrugs his shoulders. "Okay."

He thinks for a moment. "But what if his captors get ahold of this message?"

"We have to try something."

"Well," Charles says, "I'll put it in a piece that has some significance to the situation. I have one that's about Germany. I think he would read that."

We go to dinner but I can barely eat, I'm so keyed up. Charlene and Charles are busy deciding a plan and deciphering why the government would hold him. They're putting together a plan to set him free through a threat of public embarrassment to the government.

In my bed that night (Charlene has finally let me have the guest room) I think of the message that will be printed in the paper.

Message received. Talked with John Walker. Will find you. -P.B.

Charlene thought the word love sounded too official, and besides, no spy would ever say that in a message. As far as I know, they're very matter of fact. Like Mr. Pierce. Mr. Pierce. I wonder if he is the one responsible for the cover-up of Anton's "death". I bring this possibility up to Charlene at breakfast in the morning.

"We'll have to get an interview with him. That's a very good idea. I'm sure Charles can track him down." The way Charlene said his name made me wonder if there was anything else going on between the pair.

"So, what about, Charles, eh?"

"What about him?" She asked.

'"Don't you like him?" I fluttered my eyelashes innocently at her,

"Well look at you Ms. Fact-Finder. What's it to you?" Charlene says not denying it.

I chuckle. "Just easing curiosity."

"Why don't you focus on what you're going to say to Mr. Pierce? That ought to ease your curiosity more." She gives me a 'Haha I beat you at your own game look' if there ever was such a thing.

Obvious truth is, I haven't seen Mr. Pierce since well the whole investigation into the fact that I hid a prisoner of war in my backyard. Oh, well. Only place to go is up. Something Ruth would say. Must stay positive, I image Anton saying.

"Alrighty, I will," I say getting up from the table and heading straight to the guest room closing the door. I sit down at her desk with a notepad, plotting. Must be smarter than the FBI. Must be smarter than the FBI.

About thirty minutes go by, and Charlene knocks on the door announcing it's time to head into the office.

When we get to there, we march straight into Charles's office. He's on the phone, kissing somebody's you know what if you ask me. He pauses to give us a wave and Charlene an adorable grin which I notice she's returning. Well, I guess he's not bad looking. They're the same age. He's a red head which isn't terrible. He's not exactly Anton. But then again, he isn't supposed to be.

When he gets off the phone, he gets straight to the point, "Well, any new developments?"

"Yes," Charlene and I reply in unison.

"We need to get in contact with Mr. Pierce in the FBI," I say, "He's a dreadful man. I suspect he's the one who 'shot' Anton. Real piece of work, Charles, he is. You should let me talk to him. I'll be sure to get some information out of that one, I will."

Charles just stares at me. "Au contraire. You seem a little close to the situation. Maybe if you compose yourself a little more than you did just now, I might consider letting you in the room. And there will be no interrogation of him."

A sigh comes from Charlene as if she's content with what Charles said. I give her a look.

"I'll make a few calls. Call in a couple of favors. I'll say we're doing a "Where are they now?" piece of the individuals closest to the situation."

"Oh thank you so much, Mr. Charles. Can I write the piece? It deserves a new light." I begin thinking of all the adjectives to describe a man like Mr. Pierce.

He sighs. "Why don't you focus on what you're next message will be. Also, you need to keep a look out for messages coming through in the paper."

I can't believe my ears a few hours later when I hear that a meeting is set with the man himself tomorrow. We only have to get to New York. Which shouldn't be too bad. Charles has decided to take us all in his car. As he puts it, "We just don't know what we're dealing with." Which means we need his Godly man protection. I mostly suspect it has to do with whatever is happening between him and Charlene.

We decide to leave that night in order to scope out the city. I'm mostly curious to see the area where Anton was supposedly shot. To see if it's a weird area or an uppity area or what. Who recognized him? Maybe I could give them a big ole kick to their backside. Or maybe Charles is right, and I need to calm down if I'm to get any information out of this man or anybody.

The hotel is splendid, and it makes me wonder just how much Charles the editor really makes. I don't know if this plays into why Charlene would like him. I don't think its shallow just convenient. The way it's convenient that my grandparents own a business and even profited on it during one of the greatest wars fought in history.

While, Charles and Charlene make a night of it with some alcoholic beverages, I sip my tea in a corner looking for Anton but telling my heart not to give me such crazy dreams. I feel as if we're getting so close.

I can barely sleep that night knowing that Anton was in this city, might still be.

New York City, New York

Mr. Pierce's house

December 11, 1945

So we end up driving through two hours' worth of traffic just to get to a dirty place called Queens. The house is more dilapidated than the rest. Well maybe this is why Mr. Pierce wanted to go killing other people's happiness.

Charles turns around in his seat to look at me. He reminds me very much of my father in this moment. "Please, Patty, I know this is difficult for you. But please behave."

"Yes, sir," I say quietly trying to make the word murderer disappear out of my head.

Mr. Pierce opens the door before we can even knock. He motions for us to hurry inside. It's dark in the entrance, but we follow him anyway into a sitting area that seems to have been tidied up at the last minute. I get a good look at Mr. Pierce then, and realize its Mr. Pierce but not Mr. Pierce at the same time. He's aged a considerable amount, and it seems as if he's neglected himself a bit. He hasn't bothered to set out tea or cookies. You'd think he'd be more hospitable towards the media.

"I don't know how to break it to you," Charles says, "But this isn't about a "Where are they now?" piece. We have significant evidence and sources proving that Frederick Anton Reiker is alive. What we want to know is why you would lie about it?"

"Well that's jumping right in, isn't it?" He chuckles but there's no humor to his laugh. "Truth is, I don't know what happened. I mean, I know what I saw, and I know what I was told. Truth is, I did shoot Reiker, but it shouldn't have killed him. It hit his arm. But we used fake blood on a shirt we found in his bag to sell the story later on."

"In the arm? But you were trying to kill him?" I ask, and Charles nudges me with his elbow.

"Yes," he says, "But I get around to questioning him, and he has been pronounced dead. From blood loss. I never saw the body. Somebody from "higher up" identified the body. My guess is they want information out of him or wanted. Who knows? All I know is that the U.S. government wouldn't look so hot committing the war crimes that they are putting others on trial for."

I breathe a sigh of relief. "Well that's good." The three look at me as if I've lost my mind. "Well at least we know something."

"I went along with story, and it was sensationalized." He looks at me. "Sorry."

"Well, that's the last thing I thought I'd hear coming from your mouth, Mr. Pierce."

He shrugs, "I don't have any more information."

It's a cue for us to leave.

"Oh," and he says before he shuts the door, "This never happened."

I feel better but still weighed down by the fact that we still haven't found concrete evidence as to his whereabouts. It's in the car, however, when Charlene gasps. She had been reading the paper. My heart starts racing. Could it be?

"What is it?" I ask leaning forward.

"I need a pen!"

"I'm sorry, I don't have one," I say as Charles gives her the one.

I look over her shoulder as she writes the untangled message.

I don't know where I am. Cars are above me. Winter soldier.

"He's in the sewers." I say matter in a matter of fact tone.