Hogan

A few weeks went by. Still, something bothered him about the new secretary but he wasn't sure what, precisely. Hogan hadn't survived by ignoring his instincts and one of them was giving him a persistent tingle whenever he passed through Klink's office. He didn't feel threatened per se; just on alert when she was around.

"It's weird," he admitted to Kinchloe as they sat waiting for their latest mission briefing, "just some little sense that something's not on the level."

"You think she's a spy?" came the practical question.

Reluctantly Hogan shook his head. "No. She doesn't spout any party lines or get goose bumps at goose steps. I just can't pinpoint what it is that bugs me."

"She's delightful," LeBeau announced, refilling the coffee.

"You're only saying that because she speaks French," Newkirk pointed out dryly.

"I'm saying that because she speaks it with a perfect Swiss accent," came the reply.

"Swiss? You're sure of that?" Hogan asked, shooting LeBeau a sharp look.

The Frenchman nodded. "I'd bet my life on it. It's close to Parisian but not quite, mon colonel. I'd say she either grew up there or was taught by someone Swiss."

"But isn't Kovac like, Hungarian?" Carter wanted to know.

"Yeah but it's her married name," Newkirk pointed out. "No telling what her maiden one was, mate."

"Or maybe there is," Hogan mused. "It's got to be in the paperwork, and since she's a recent hire it should be easy to find."

"So we're going to go through Klink's office files all because you want to know Frau Kovac's maiden name?" Kinchloe asked, grinning.

Hogan chuckled. "Why not? It will give us something to do while we wait, and I'm nearly out of cigars."

"Sounds right up my alley," Newkirk agreed. "When do we start?"

"As soon as I find a good reason to get them both out of the office," Hogan replied. "I wonder if Frau Kovac has ever judged an art show?"

-oo00oo-

"But we need her, sir!" Hogan told Klink earnestly. "She's the only impartial person here in the camp!"

"Are you saying I'm not qualified, even if I wanted to look at your ridiculous paintings?" Klink countered in exasperation. "Look you asked to have an art show and I was willing to put up with it, Hogan, but to insult me in return and then demand that Frau Kovac waste an entire afternoon judging amateur paintings is too much!"

"Of course you're qualified," Hogan told him soothingly. "It's just that, well, the men thought getting a woman's perspective on their masterpieces might be helpful for any future art. Of course she'd probably need someone to consult with, someone with an eye for the finer points, someone who knows his way around a canvas . . ."

"A mentor," Klink murmured. He shot Hogan a sharp look. "This isn't some idiotic scheme on your part is it? Because I assure you my critique would be thorough."

"Of course. You and Frau Kovac have a wealth of culture between you. Having the pair of you show up would make the judging something the men would look forward to," Hogan assured him, feeling amused. It was clear that Klink's objection was crumbling at the idea of an afternoon escorting Frau Kovac around, and there certainly were enough pictures to look at; somehow the competitive spirit had bitten hard among his men.

Kink appeared to hesitate and finally snapped, "Twenty minutes, and not a second more! After all it's not as if your men are going to reproduce the Mona Lisa."

"Oh you'd be surprised what Carter can do with enough burnt umber and cardboard," Hogan assured him. "Trust me."

Klink pursed his mouth. "I can hardly bear the suspense," he murmured dryly.

They'd set up the easels in the kantine with all the artwork on proud display; the minute Frau Kovac and the commandant came in, Hogan nodded to Newkirk, who slipped out behind them nonchalantly. Hogan then beamed at the guests of honor.

"Welcome to our show," he announced. "A little culture behind the barbed wire, as it were. Sorry I can't offer you and wine and cheese but with this pesky war on . . . we can start here with Carter . . ."

The easel held a large canvas filled with thick grey squiggles highlighted by lighter white squiggles and a few streaks of charcoal around the edges. Carter smiled as he stood by his work.

"This . . . looks like the inside of a chimney," Klink observed, not impressed.

Carter's face fell and he glanced uncertainly at his art. "Really? I guess it kind of does, doesn't it? Boy that sure wasn't what I was going for."

"Well what were you going for? A close-up of fog?" Klink countered with a hint of impatience.

"It's . . . springtime," Frau Kovac murmured, and everyone looked at her. She waved a hand at the picture. "End of the snowy season, and it hasn't quite melted. The air is wet and heavy, the clouds are thick but just under it all the green is waiting to burst forth. Spring, coming to a cold place."

"North Dakota!" Carter burst out, grinning. "Exactly! Back in Bullfrog, we'd get these days in March when you couldn't even see your hand in front of your face. Or anybody's face really, and while it looked like you'd never see the sun again, everything was turning from cold to just wet, and yeah, you could smell it in the air. Spring was like, RIGHT about there!"

Hogan tried not to laugh at either Carter's enthusiasm, or Klink's surprise. Frau Kovac, though, nodded, her expression sweet.

"I know what you mean," she nodded. "It's lovely, thank you." Turning to Klink, Frau Kovac added, "So you were right, sir—it is fog. Very insightful of you. Let's see the next one."

Carter bounced on the balls of his feet and as they walked away he told Hogan, "I like her. She's an art lover."

"She's something," Hogan agreed, his curiosity piqued. He followed behind Klink as they all approached LeBeau's canvas.

"Madame," he murmured, taking her hand and kissing it, to Klink's annoyance. "Enchanté."

"Également," she assured him and gave Klink an apologetic look. "The French have such sentimental temperaments."

"So it seems," came the grumble. "All right, let's have a look at your so-called masterpiece, corporal."

The canvas was broken into three vertical blocks of color: blue, white and red.

Klink snorted. "This is simply the French flag!"

"Oui!" LeBeau agreed, lifting his chin. "Vive La Belle France!" To Frau Kovac, he added, "This is the most beautiful thing in this room other than yourself."

"Very patriotic of you," Frau Kovac told him. "Très loyal."

"Yes well it's a good representation," Klink shrugged. "I suppose."

"Suppose! This is a perfect recreation!" LeBeau protested, bristling. "How dare you insult le Tricolore!"

"It's not an insult," Frau Kovac interceded. "Not everyone is as familiar with it as you are, not everyone can appreciate it the way you do, oui?"

Grudgingly LeBeau shrugged and when Frau Kovac looked over her shoulder at him when she and the commandant moved on, he gave her an outrageous wink that made her smirk.

Lorelei

It has been a sublimely ridiculous afternoon, and despite her best efforts it was hard not to laugh at the art presented to her. Out of all of them, Sergeant Kinchloe's brooding watercolor of a city park in Detroit had been the piece with the most talent, and by the time she and the colonel had returned to the office she was in a good mood.

That lasted all of three minutes.

Klink had stepped out to discuss some matter with Sergeant Shultz leaving her alone for the moment and Lorelei stood by her desk, a tiny sense of unease flickered through her as she tried to figure out what was out of place.

Blotter, typewriter, telephone . . . she thought, looking around. File cabinet.

Lorelei touched the handle; the warmth lingering there didn't surprise her. Willing herself to stay calm, she pulled open the drawer and scanned the folders there. Nothing seemed to be out of place, and she reached for the second drawer, feeling confused now. A quick scan and she was calming down up until she reached the personnel files and noted the ruffled pages on her file.

Panic flared through her and she forced it back, taking a moment to think hard. Who? Lorelei wondered, followed by, ah. It wasn't that hard recognize the distraction that had gotten her out of the office and it circled back to Hogan. He knows, she thought, and countered herself. He doesn't. He's suspicious and that's why he's snooping.

For the first time in a long time Lorelei considered a darker option. It was brief, and she shook her head. She'd promised Father Gregor she'd never do it again and even though nearly eighty years had passed Lorelei intended to keep her vow. So that meant one choice:

Confrontation.

Not her favorite option, especially with a war on. Especially with this war on, she admitted to herself. Still, clearing the air might at least gain her some time and possibly an ally. She turned away from the filing cabinet and settled in at her desk, pulling out the payroll forms and idly calculating the numbers while another part of her mind tried to figure out a way to have a private conversation with an American Colonel.

There was no moon. Lorelei rode out of the camp as usual, the dim light on the front of her bicycle barely cutting through the darkness. She pedaled on to Hammelburg, rolling in an hour later, gliding to a stop in front of a row of darkened shops facing the town square. Carefully Lorelei walked her bike into an alley and fished out her keys, opening a small side door into one of the buildings. She picked up a bottle that had been left on the step and went in, locking the door behind her.

Inside it was musty and dark, with heavy canvas draped over furniture pieces. Lorelei leaned her bike against a wall, made her way through the showroom and headed to the back, taking the stairs to the basement without bothering with a light: her night vision was excellent. When she reached the small subterranean room she sighed, and uncorked the bottle, sniffing it. Mostly chicken, some beef as well that the butcher had aged. She took a swig and shuddered.

"Here's to you, Herr Hintzmann. When this war's over, I hope you return," she sighed. "If you can."

Lorelei finished the bottle, stretched out on the lone sofa in the corner, pulled the heavy canvas drape over herself-

and went into Repose.