"I need you to tell me everything that Thomas said to you," Newkirk said when he had taken a moment to recover from shock. All thoughts of the mission had gone from his mind, his contact lingering at the bar in confusion going completely unnoticed.
"You are… not Thomas?" the woman said, drawing further away now that he had released her arm, and taking a moment to glance again at her protector.
Newkirk took a deep breath before replying. He needed to play this exactly right.
"I've been looking for Thomas," he said earnestly, though inwardly he cringed as he said the name, "Do you know where he is now? He was… he was doing a job and he didn't return. I've been looking for him for ages and thought he might've come back to Hammelburg here."
She just looked at him, her face not moving. Had he said something wrong? He had no idea what this woman knew or didn't know about Thomas, or what Thomas had told her. It would be all too easy to put his foot in it, but he had to know…
"I do not understand," she said after a moment, "You are looking for Thomas? But who are you, if not him? You could be his twin!"
"My name is -" He cut himself, choking on what he had been about to say as he remembered where he was, "My name is Hans. Hans… Fletcher. Thomas is my… brother. He and I work together as well, but I have not seen him for weeks after he disappeared. Please, anything you can tell me that will help me find him."
He could see that there was still suspicion in her eyes. Knowing the kind of person she had to be to have run into Thomas, he was unsurprised. But he needed her to talk. If Thomas was here, then he was in more trouble than he could possibly have imagined. And not just him, but the entire operation at Stalag 13, all of his mates and everything they worked towards. He could not return without knowing.
"Your brother," she said flatly, "How do I know that he wants to be found by you? He did not mention a brother."
"We had a… falling out," Newkirk said in his most honest voice, "Before his last job. I warned him I thought it was too dangerous, and he went anyway. And when he did not return, I feared the worst. If he is alive, I just want to find him. We are partners."
She gave him an appraising look, but he could tell he had started to win her over. Part of that, he assumed, was that Thomas had likely won her over already.
"Very well. My name is Annaliese. I met your brother in this very bar three weeks ago. He was charming, and when we got to talking he told me he had a job that needed doing, something that he needed help with. As it turns out, it was a job for someone with a particular set of skills that Alfred and I happen to have."
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The night had grown dark, and Thomas finally made his way back home. His stomach was full with the spoils of his work earlier that day, and he had stuffed his pockets with plenty more food to keep him going. It was hard work, this, and he needed to keep up his strength. He grinned to himself, though the smile slipped a little as the sad, decrepit place he called home came into sight. He had lived in the orphanage for as long as he could remember, along with other unwanted children. The woman who ran the place was kindly enough, but the funds ran low and the place had long since fallen into disrepair. Still she kept it as neat and tidy as she could, and she never smacked a child who did not deserve it, so he supposed she was alright in his book.
Her husband on the other hand… Thomas did not like to think about him. There were still bruises on his arms and side from the last encounter with that poor excuse for a man.
He slunk down the side of the house, avoiding the front door and whoever might be lurking behind it. Making his way around back, he kept a watchful eye in every direction to make sure he was not spotted by anyone he did not want to see him. When he reached the fire escape that led up the back of the building to a window that he had left slightly cracked, he shimmied up it with practised ease. The fire escape had a door at the top that led to the main hallway on the top floor of the building, but Thomas avoided it. Instead, he made a carefully judged jump from the last staircase to the slightly open window, and pulled himself up and through.
He landed in the tiny room at the back of the house that held his bed and his few belongings. He listened for a moment to make sure his arrival had gone unnoticed. There were no sounds of activity below, so he plunked himself down on the bed. He pulled the extra food he had purchased with his ill gotten gains, and tucked it away under a loose floorboard beneath the bed to keep for later.
As he went to lay himself down and catch a few hours of shut eye before the hustle and bustle of the other children in the morning awoke him, he found himself lying on something hard and sharp. He reached inside the jacket he was still wearing, and found he was lying on the book he had all but forgotten he had purchased earlier that day. He pulled it from the inner pocket and tossed it aside. Perhaps one of the other little urchins in this place would find a use for it, but he had no need of books. He had his other pursuits to keep him entertained.
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"And what exactly would those skills be?" Newkirk asked, his apprehension growing that he would not like the answer.
"I am a procurer of goods," Annaliese answered, becoming more comfortable as she spoke of her trade, "Goods that are not found in a common market."
Black market then, thought Newkirk, no surprise there.
"No offence miss, but my… brother is a resourceful type. He's not one to need much help procuring things, whether they're common or not."
"I sensed that about him," she smiled in an unpretty way, "But in my trade, if you are not well versed in what you are looking for… unfortunate accidents may occur."
Newkirk considered this a moment. She was insinuating something, but he seemed to be missing the piece of this puzzle that would allow him to understand what she meant. This plan of theirs seemed particularly dodgy, and she seemed unlikely to reveal it to him as he had unfortunately already revealed himself to be a stranger. He knew what he needed to do, but it would be all too easy to give himself away.
"I see," he started slowly, "It seems my brother has continued on with his plan without me then. Look, you don't know me, but you know my brother. All I want to do is get back to him. Let me help you, help him"
The smile slowly receded from her face as she gave him a considering look.
"I would not do this," she said, "But you truly are the spitting image of Thomas, so you being his brother is the only possible explanation. And in truth, there is very little you could do to stop his plans now if you are not telling the truth. I will help you find him."
Newkirk let out a breath he did not know he had been holding, but he did not feel any less uneasy about what she was about to tell him.
"I have procured for your brother a rare brew," she said, leaning towards him again in a conspiratorial fashion, "Slow acting, so you have time to make the escape, and all one needs do is have the target ingest it. A simple slip in the drink, and two hours later your target will be dead on the ground and you will be long gone."
Newkirk was trembling. He had a horrid, horrid feeling he knew where this would be going.
"And how do you plan to deliver this to the… target?"
"Well, this is where your brother was quite clever. He has forged some documents for Alfred and I to appear as wealthy merchants, with some subtle black market ties so the men in charge will want to deal with us and invite us to the camp. But to the target, we will secretly be working with the German underground, so he will attempt to make contact with us by joining us for dinner. This is where I will slip my little concoction in his wine, after which we shall make our excuses and be away from that horrid little prison camp long before anyone even knows what we have done."
Newkirk blanched with sudden clarity as the full reaches of Thomas' plan struck him. He needed to get back to Stalag 13, but first he needed just a little more information.
"I don't understand," Newkirk said when he could find the words, "That's an awful lot of risk you're taking. What is in it for you?'
"Why," she scoffed, "Money of course. Your brother will meet us here in Hammelburg after, and pay us for our trouble. I do not know where he is until then, but if you wish to find him, that is where he will be."
"Right. And exactly when is this plan meant to be carried out?"
"Tonight my dear," she said, "In fact, we are soon going to be late. Come, Alfred, it is time."
Annaliese stood up, and Newkirk stood with her. He did not know what he was going to do, but he knew the two of them had to be stopped.
There was just a small secondary problem of the two Gestapo officers who had just walked through the front door.
Newkirk immediately sat back down. He couldn't risk causing a scene in front of the Gestapo, but the woman and her companion seemed perfectly unfazed by this development.
"Good evening Hans," she said as she swept off behind her protector, "I hope we shall see you tonight, and please do keep us in mind for any other … plans you or your brother may have in the future."
He could only watch helplessly as they made their exit, the two blacksuited officers giving them a passing glance as they left. He needed to wait a moment, so it did not look too suspicious for him to be following them, but not so long that they got too far ahead of him. Then he began to stand, but as he did so the man who had been standing at the bar waiting for Newkirk to be alone slid into the booth where the woman had been just a moment ago.
"Good evening," the man said, "Have you tried the schnitzel here? I have heard it is very good, but I am partial to porridge myself."
Newkirk stared at him as if he had grown two heads, before he remembered his original reason for coming to the bar tonight. This must be the underground agent, still trying to complete the mission. Quick as he could, Newkirk rattled off the correct response of "Porridge is for children and the three bears, you should have the schnitzel", and the man surreptitiously handed him the message under the table, away from the sight of the prying eyes of the Gestapo.
He pocketed it, thanked the man, and headed for the door. Luckily, the Gestapo agents appeared to take no more notice of him than they did anyone else in the room, and as soon as he was out of their sight he slipped into a nearby alley to pull out the message. It was encoded of course, but Newkirk had a good mind for these things and had memorised most of their codes.
Underground agent visiting Stalag 13 tonight under the guise of a black market merchant visiting the Kommandant. Important you make contact tonight - they will give you further instructions.
He just bet they would. Newkirk pocketed the slip of paper again and began to run as fast as his still stiff legs could carry him.
Newkirk knew the path back to Stalag 13 like the back of his hand. He ran like his life depended on it, for although his might not, it appeared that Colonel Hogan's might. Although his body still carried the bruises of his recent visit with other, more observant Gestapo officers, he pushed back the pain and willed his legs to carry him faster.
As he ran he tried not to dwell on what else he had discovered tonight, but he could not help his horror creeping through at finding out that Thomas was here. Thomas brought nothing but pain to his life, and clearly this time would be no different. Why he had decided to target Colonel Hogan, Newkirk could not fathom. All he knew now was that he needed to keep Thomas, and that woman, away from Stalag 13, and that meant keeping his wits about him no matter how tired he felt.
Finally his aching legs came to a halt outside the tunnel entrance, and as Newkirk swung himself inside he breathed a small sigh of relief. He did not know how he was going to explain this to the Colonel, or the rest of the men, but he had to make sure that Hogan did not attend that dinner tonight. He turned about, intending to run up the tunnel to the barracks, when a sudden wave of dizziness threatened to overcome him. His vision blurred, and he felt himself falling back slightly.
Something was tugging at him, tugging at his consciousness, and he realised with sudden horror what he had done by coming back here.
"No," Newkirk moaned as he felt himself slipping away, "No no, not now."
He tried to take a step, but his legs wouldn't move. He needed to get to Hogan, and he needed to get there now.
But it was too late. His vision faded into darkness, and the last thing he heard was a sinister whisper.
"My turn now Peter…"