time pressing her bare thigh into his groin.
Hans laughed into her hair. He wanted her, and his want was obvious,
but he sensed something more than desire behind her sudden affection.
'What are you up to?' he asked, pulling away a little. Ilse's eyes
glowed with happiness. 'I've got a secret too,' she said. She reached
up and touched her forefinger to his lips-then the telephone rang.
With a curious glance, Hans tugged playfully at her rot)e and walked
into the living room. 'Hans Apfel,' he said into the phone. He looked
back toward the kitchen. Standing in the doorway, Ilse opened her robe
with a teasing smile. He forced himself to look away. 'Yes, Sergeant
Apfel. Yes, I was at Spandau last night. Right, I've seen the
television.
What? What kind of questions?' Sensing Ilse behind him, he motioned
for her to keep quiet. 'I see. Formalities, sure.'
His face darkened. 'You mean now? What's the hurry? Is everyone to be
there? What do you mean, you can't say?
Who is this?' Hans's jaw tightened. 'Yes, sir. Yes, I do realize
that, sir. Don't worry, I'll be there. I'm leaving now.'
Slightly dazed, he returned the phone to its cradle and turned around.
Ilse had retied her robe. 'What is it?' she asked, her eyes troubled@
'I'm not sure.' He looked at his watch. 'That was the prefect's aide
on the phone, a Lieutenant Luhr. He said the Russians are still in the
station. They're making some kind of trouble, and the prefect wants to
satisfy them before the Allied commandants get too involved. He wants
to ask everyone from the Spandau detail some questions.'
Ilse felt a tremor in her chest. 'What do you think?'
He swallowed hard. 'I think I don't feel so good about that call.' He
slipped into the bedroorii to change into a fresh uniform.
'Are you going to take the papers with you?'
'Not with the Russians still there,' he called. 'I'll pull somebody
aside when I get a chance and explain what happened. Maybe even the
prefect.'
'Hans, don't be angry with me,' she said. 'But I really think you
should talk to your father first. He'd cover for you on this, I know he
would.'
'Just let me handle it, okay?' Hans realized he had spoken much louder
than he'd meant to. He buttoned up the jacket of a freshly pressed
uniform and went back into the living room. He was reaching for his
gloves when the telephone rang again.
Ilse practically pounced on it. 'Who is this, please?
What? Just a moment.' She covered the mouthpiece with her palm.
'It's someone named Heini Weber. He says he's a reporter for Der
Spiegel.'
Hans moved toward the phone, then stopped. 'I'm not here,' he
whispered.
Ilse listened for a few moments, then hung up. Her eyes showed
puzzlement and fear. 'He said to tell you he made a mistake before,'
she said slowly. 'He wants to meet you as soon as possible. He ... he
said money's no object.' Little crimson moons appeared high on Ilse's
cheeks. 'Hans?'
she said uncertainly. 'He knows, doesn't he?'
She stepped forward hesitantly, her face flushed with fear and anger.
She tried to summon harsh words, but her anger faltered.
'Hans, take the papers with you,' she said. 'The sooner we're rid of
them, the better.'
He shook his head. 'If I let the Russians get those papers, I really
could lose my job.'
'You could slip them under somebody's door. Nobody would ever have to
know they came from you.'
He considered this. 'That's not a bad idea,' he admitted.
'But not while the Russians are there. Besides, our forensic lab might
still be able to link me to the papers. It's scary what those guys can
do Ilse reached out, hesitated. The tendons in her neck stood out.
'Hans, don't go!' she begged. 'There's something we need to talk
about.'
He kissed the top of her head. Ilse's hair smelled of flowers, a scent
he would remember for a long time. 'I don't have any choice,' he said
tenderly. 'Everything will be fine, I promise. We're just jumpy
because of the papers. Don't worry. I'll be back in an hour.' Before
Ilse could say anything else, he slipped through the door and was gone.
Ilse sagged against the wood, holding back tears. Hans, I'm pregnant.
The words had been right on her tongue, yet she'd been unable to force
them out. The lie had done it.
First Hans's crazy idea about selling the papers-then the lie.
She wanted badly to call her grandfather, yet she hesitated . He would
probably take an 'I told you so' attitude when Ilse admitted that Hans's
behavior had shaken even her. He had been against her marrying Hans to
begin with.
Ilse's doubts made her think back to when she had first met Hans.
Three years ago, at a traffic accident. An old Opel had broadsided a
gleaming Jaguar right before her eyes on the Leibnizstrasse, smashing
the Jaguar's door and trapping its driver.
There'd been a police patrol car behind the Opel.
Two officers had jumped out to help, but as they tried to free the
trapped driver, the Jaguar had burst into flame. All they could do was
hold back the crowd and wait for the fire police to arrive. Suddenly a
young foot patrolman had hulled his way through the crowd-right past
Ilse-and dashed to the Jaguar. Shouting at the driver to get down in
the seat, he drew his Walther, fired several shots through the stuck
window and kicked out what was left of the glass. He dragged the
stunned driver to safety only moments before the gas tank exploded.
The handsome young officer with singed eyebrows had taken Ilse's
slightly awestruck statement, then accepted her invitation to go for
coffee afterward. Their romance, like the newspaper accounts of Hans's
heroism, had been brief and fiery. He was promoted to sergeant, and
they were married as his splash of celebrity faded from the picture
magazines.
Ilse had always believed she made a good choice, no matter what her
snobby friends or her grandfather said. But this madness from Spandau
