Golden West Hotel

Minneapolis, Minnesota

Kinch sat at the table in his hotel room, back aching from pouring over every scrap of information he and Russell had been able to pull together from phone books, library resources, and various business listings. They had driven from Moorhead to Minneapolis right after leaving the police station, snagging brochures and pamphlets at every stop as they went. Now Kinch was in the Golden West Hotel, pulled from his Green Book, while Russell had retreated to a 'safer' location. They would meet up in the morning to make phone calls.

Kinch scrubbed his face, eyes blurring as he scratched out another business name and number on a pad of paper. His mind went over his plan again. He'd call each and every one and make a preposterous business proposition, one that he knew they would turn down. All of them, except maybe the one familiar with the name of Otto Kinchmeyer.

Kinch couldn't help but smirk, the idea of resurrecting General Kinchmeyer at so many years tickling his sense of humour despite everything. He had no doubt Hochstetter was getting help from someone. Maybe someone with access to some sort of business dealing with cattle. And if he dropped the name, his commanding voice deep with a German accent, it might be enough to filter back to him. On the way to the hotel, he and Russell had passed by a block of abandoned warehouses. They'd use one of the addresses to lure Hochstetter in.

It was a bold gamble, he knew. One unlikely to pay off. But, by now, there was little chance his advertisement had hit the papers yet. Another day? Two? Time Carter didn't have. And then, of course, he would have to wait for Hochstetter's reply. It was a slow business, making any gamble, any chance, better than waiting.

Kinch's eyes stung and, finally, he threw down his pencil, having scribbled down the last name and phone number. He pushed back his chair from the desk and groaned as he stood, his back screaming, reminding him he had pulled into Bismarck just that morning. Or, rather, yesterday morning, he amended as he looked at his watch, its hand creeping towards 0500.

Damn, he was getting old. Too old to be pulling all-nighters. Hell, he had been too old back at Stalag 13. Old before the war had even started! But that didn't matter. He'd pull an all-nighter and then some if it meant getting Carter back.

Still, his bed called to him and he fell onto it, his eyes closing before he even had a chance to stop them.

Rader Stockyard

Elsa sat on the couch, one of Wolfie's books in her lap, her hand resting on it. She had finished reading to him an hour ago, a slow, unsteady recitation, as her mind had wandered. He had lost interest and, instead, was playing on the floor with some stuffed animals.

Two days. It had been two days since she had discovered the man in the shed and she still didn't know what to make of it. Her questions burned through her skull, but she didn't dare voice them. How could she? What possible explanation could her husband have that wouldn't repulse her? So she kept her questions to herself, mulling them over, scrabbling for some sort of explanation that wouldn't shatter the image she had crafted for her husband.

She knew–knew– he had been no saint during the war. There was a reason men like him came to Argentina. She had been content, once, to imagine he had just been fleeing the economic aftermath of a ruined and disgraced nation. She had convinced herself of it, overlooking his temper and his dark edge. She had prided herself, even, on smoothing out his rougher edges. A beast, she always said, tamed by her beauty. She had overlooked the way he growled and snarled at others, keeping his love all for herself like a secret treasure only she had access to.

But now? That man in the shed was a cruel piece of evidence that wrenched free the darker side of her husband, laying it bare before her and her denial buckled.

The door opened and Karl Rader came in, stomping snow off his boots. In his hand was a bundle of mail, wrapped up in the day's newspaper. He set it down on the table and shook the snow off his jacket before hanging it up.

"Bertha! Letters. Bills. Deal with them!" he barked as he stretched. "I'll be in my office!" He stomped up the stairs, leaving Elsa and Wolfie alone. Bertha quickly came out of her bedroom and grabbed the pile of letters, muttering to herself as she sat at the table and began sorting them.

From the floor, Wolfie heaved a great sigh as he rolled onto his back. "Mama, will you read me the newspaper comics?"

Elsa sighed, and, without thinking, replied, "Your papa will when he's done." As soon as the words left her mouth she froze. When Papa was done. In the shed. And she shivered. Done doing what in the shed? To that man? It had unnerved her, thinking back. He had left the shed yesterday evening, only to play with Wolfie on the ground as if nothing had happened. As if he wasn't keeping a tortured man in there. He had been the father he always was– doting, playful. And, all the while, keeping that hideous secret locked up outside.

"Ay, but he's always busy!" Wolfie whined.

"Bring it to me, then. Quick."

Wolfie jumped up, clapping his hands. "Oh, good!" He scurried over to the table and grabbed the paper and brought it to Elsa.

"No! Wait!" Bertha said, jumping up.

Elsa raised an eyebrow as Bertha marched over. But, before she reached her, Elsa saw it. A sketch of her husband, staring back at her from the front page. Kidnapper Suspected of Murder!

Bertha grabbed the paper, glaring at Elsa who shrunk back. Bertha huffed and went back to the table. Wolfie looked up at Elsa, confused and Elsa waved him away.

"Nothing to worry about, my darling," Elsa said quietly, her mind churning over the headline. Kidnapper? Murder? And Bertha must have known she would see it and was trying to keep it from her. Her breath quickened even as her chest tightened around her heart.

"Mama!" Wolfie said. "I am bored!"

"Then find something to do!" Elsa said sharply as she stood. Wolfie huffed and went to the door, grabbing his coat and boots.

Slowly, Elsa went to the table. Bertha glared at her, but she ignored it as she put her hand on the paper. Bertha slapped her own hand down, preventing Elsa from taking it.

"What's going on, Bertha?" Elsa asked, her voice shaking.

"Going on? Nothing," Bertha snapped.

"I saw it," Elsa said, steadying her voice, making it stronger. "You must know what's going on, or you would not have tried to hide it from me."

Bertha grunted. "Old business, I think," she said. "A traitor to the Reich who fled to America. Your husband has hunted him down."

"But why?" Elsa asked. A traitor? To the Reich? A fallen empire, lost to the ashes of history? Something she knew her husband clung to, but after ten years… Why was he chasing ghosts?

"That's all I know. That's all you need know!" Bertha stood and pulled the paper out from Elsa's hand. She rolled it up and took it out of the room.

Elsa watched her go, the news racing circles around the questions she already had and spinning out new ones. She started back to the couch and stopped. Wolfie. Where was Wolfie?

She looked around, frantically. And then she remembered him going for his boots and coat. Going for the door.

With a gasp she scrambled to the window, looking out to the backyard. To the shed. He was there. Just outside it, his little hand pushing on the door!

"No!" Elsa cried, reaching over the sink to bang her fist on the window.

She was too late. Like a shot, she turned and ran for the door, throwing it open and running out, shoes and coat be damned. She ran down the steps and into the yard. As she turned the corner, she heard Wolfie loudly protesting. Then she saw him: one arm wrenched behind his back as Wolfgang grabbed hold of it with one of his meaty hands, the other one grasping Wolfie's collar.

"I told him! I told you! I am busy!" Wolfgang snapped as he pushed past Elsa and marched to the front door, hauling Wolfie up the steps.

"Papa! You're hurting me!" Wolfie cried, twisting in his father's grasp. Wolfgang let go of his collar to open the door and shoved him into the house. Then he whirled around, pointing an accusatory finger at Elsa.

"Why did you let him out?" he snapped.

"He… He was bored," Elsa stammered. Wolfgang grabbed her arm, fingers digging in, and yanked her forward, pulling her up the stairs. She stumbled and he pushed her inside. He came in himself, slamming the door shut behind him.

"I said I did not want to be disturbed. And you let him into the shed!"

"I didn't let him," Elsa said. "He misses you! He just wants to spend time with you!" Elsa's heart hammered in her chest. She had never seen her husband like this. Had never seen that look in his eye that made her pale and shake, fearing what he was capable of doing.

"Papa, who is that man in–"

"Shut up!" Wolfgang said. Then, he stopped short and took a deep breath. "Wolfie," he continued, his voice strangely calm after his outrage. "I do not know what you think you saw in the shed, but it was not something for you to worry about."

"But I–"

"Wolfie!" Wolfgang barked, his tone turning the word into a slap. Wolfie backed away, hunching his shoulders as he winced.

Wolfgang sighed and knelt down, holding his arms out. Wolfie hesitated and then gingerly stepped forward, close enough for Wolfgang to pull him in. "Wolfie," Wolfgang said, his voice soft but with a firm edge. "Do you remember the story of the wolf and the bear?" Wolfie nodded, lip trembling. "Well, it is a true story, my darling. Your Daddy is the brave wolf and he is trying to bring that bear to justice. Do you understand?"

"Oh!" Wolfie lit up. "Oh, yes, I understand… I think."

Wolfgang smiled and patted him on the head. "My bright boy." He looked up at Elsa, the dangerous glint returning to his eyes. "So there is nothing to worry about. Nothing at all." A low threat underpinned his words and Elsa found herself nodding.

"Now!" Wolfgang said as he clapped his hands and stood up. "How about an early lunch?" he suggested. "Elsa, darling? Perhaps you can make some sandwiches."

Elsa nodded and went into the kitchen. Wolfgang sat on the couch and grabbed her abandoned book. Wolfie jumped onto the couch beside him and snuggled in.