The Hunt

gossamer nets, dominated the corners.

Werner Gebhart was waiting. His cold eyes appraised Keegan as he entered the shack. Gebhart took a pair of cord knickers, a tweed cap, a sports shirt, a sleeveless sweater and heavy boots from a rucksack and put them on the worktable. He also produced a blond wig and a pair of glasses.

“Put on die Verkleidung, “ Gebhart said in a rough mixture of English and German. “Beeilung.”

“You’re really prepared for emergencies aren’t you?” Keegan said, quickly peeling off the coat and hat.

“Ve expected dis,” Gebhart said coldly. “Whatever dey found out from Jenny, dey tink you can... how do you say. . -.

“Corroborate?”

‘Ja. You should haf left last night.”

“They’re taking Jenny to Dachau,” Keegan said.

“Heute Morgen ye heard. Das Ungluck.”

“Bad luck? That’s all you have to say?”

“You change, Keegan,” Gebhart said firmly. “Ve talk about dis later. Und ja, it is all I say.”

“You don’t like me, do you, Werner?” Keegan said, continuing to change as quickly as he could.

“Nein.”

“Why not?” Keegan pressed him.

“Because you are playing the hero. You are reckless and arrogant, Ire.”

“Okay,” said Keegan. “If I get caught, you go down, too, so why don’t you just tell me where to go and I’ll get there on my own.”

“Horen sie mal!” he said in a low, angry voice. “I am not doing this to help you, I am doing it to help us because you are poison to us all. Do not fool yourself, you vould not last ten minutes mittout us. You are . . . uh, gefahrlich ... dangerous, you play der hero und vill die and many of us vill die mit you.”

“Nobody’s gonna die.”

“You see? Arrogant. People die every day.”

“I tried to call Vierhaus all night,” Keegan said, changing the subject. “He never returned the calls, sent the Gestapo instead.”

“He is very, what you call schnell.”

“Fast? Quick?”

‘Ja. Und he has been at das Spiel three, four years,” Gebhart said. “You are no match for him, Ire, no matter vat you tink. Dat vass a bad idea.” He gathered up the clothes as Keegan took them off. “Vere did you get Mantel und Hut?”

Keegan took the Luger out of the coat pocket and handed it to Gebhart.

“Gestapo. Here, you might be able to use this.”

“Vot happened?”

“I had to get by a couple of agents,” Keegan said, pulling on the pants. “I didn’t kill them, just gave them bad headaches. I also stole their car and left it on a side street.”

“So . . . now the whole city iss out for you,” Gebhart said. He pulled the wig down on Keegan’s head, shoving his dark hair under the edges and smoothing it down around Keegan’s ears and the nape of his neck. He gave Keegan an ID card listing his occupation as a postal worker. Smart. The Nazis avoided offending bureaucrats.

“If ye are stop, I vill talk. Ve are going on holiday to the Alps for mountain climbing.”

“Okay.”

“Now der Hut und, how you call then, die Brille?”

“Spectacles.”

“Ja. The glass iss clear.”

Keegan looked across the dimly lit room at Gebhart. “Well, how do I look?”

“Just remember, ye know vat ve are doing. Do as I tell you und do not argue. Do it quickly. Verstehen Sie?”

“Yes,” Keegan nodded, “it’s quite clear.”

They walked out of the shed and around the lake to a parking lot, got in the blue Opel and drove through the middle of the city and across the main bridge into a Hauserblock, a residential section. The shops and commercial buildings surrendered to duplexes, six or seven to the block; heavy Gothic buildings with large arched windows, thick, oak-Framed doorways and gray stucco walls, six or seven houses all attached in a single long, gray block. Gebhart pulled behind one of the rows. An alley behind the granite square was lined with