“So I find Schey and I … eliminate him,” Deland said without thinking about what Donovan had just told him. “Then what? How do I get out of there?”
“Using your Fiihrer-orders, you commandeer a vehicle and make your way north.”
“North?”
Donovan nodded. “The Baltic Sea. Pomeranian Bay. A submarine would be standing by to pick you up.”
Deland’s stomach tightened. “Exactly where? That is a long coastline.”
“Just offshore from Heringsdorf. It is a small town …”
Deland closed his eyes tightly. “My God, I know Heringsdorf. It is south of Koserow. Not twenty miles from …” Deland opened his eyes.
Donovan nodded. But he didn’t look too happy. “South of Wolgast.”
“You’re bargaining with me.”
“There is room for two on the submarine.”
“Oh … shit,” Deland said. He got up. His legs were wobbly.
“Oh shit,” he said again. He went to the door where he stopped, his hand on the knob. He looked back. Donovan had turned around and was staring out the windows across Lake Mendota.
Most of the ice had gone out.
“I’m sorry, David,” Donovan said.
“I’ll get my things. Where shall I meet you?”
“Truax Field. The operations shack on the flight line,” Donovan said. He turned back. “Don’t be long.”
His father had been sleeping when he left and his mother was at the store, so he wrote a short note and left it for his parents with the nurse. He was glad it worked out this way. Driving down East Washington Avenue out toward the airfield, he glanced up as the capitol building disappeared in a whirl of snow behind him.
His months home had been strange. He had not been able to settle into any kind of a routine. He understood that he had changed, of course, but he had not realized the extent of his change until Donovan had shown up.
The snow seemed to part, and he glimpsed the capitol building in the rearview mirror, its dome patterned after the U.S. capitol dome in Washington. It was lit by floodlights.
He’d never be able to come back here. There was nothing left for him. Certainly not his friends. They had nothing in common with him any longer. Not his parents. They had taught him as a child that he had to make his mark in the world. And certainly he would not come back to the university. He felt as if he had gone as far in academe as he cared to.
It only worried him that he might never find a place that would be right for him. Everything was so damned lonely. Frightening.
The MPs at the gate had been given his name so that after he signed in he was waved through. He drove out to the flight line, where he parked behind base ops, left the keys in the ignition, and went around to the front door.
Donovan was waiting inside for him, along with the crew of the DCS waiting on the apron.
“You made it.”
“Are we going to take off in this?” Deland asked.
The pilot, a captain, shrugged. “Depends on how badly you two want to get to Washington.”
“Badly,” Donovan said dryly.
“Then we’ll go right now. It’s not supposed to get any better.”
Deland tossed his keys to the sergeant behind the desk. “It’s the ‘38 Chevy out back.”
“I’ll take care of it for you, sir; don’t you worry about it.”
“Yeah.” Deland winked. “I don’t think I will … worry, that is.”
Donovan carried only a briefcase with him. They shuffled through the snow out to the aircraft, then climbed in while the pilot and his crew made their preflight checks. The gusty wind rocked the plane. They could see their breath even inside the main cabin. It didn’t seem to bother Donovan.
“Here’s some reading for you,” he said, handing Deland several thick file folders when they were settled in their seats.
As soon as they took off, Deland started through the material, a life history of Dieter Schey, the man he was going to Germany to kill. At various spots throughout the dossier, whoever had compiled the files admitted by notes that certain items of information were purely guesswork, while others were even less significant—nothing more than speculation, at best. ;
Schey’s father was a baron, which technically made Schey \ Prussian royalty. He had been educated in the best academies, had had the best of tutors, and had been the most brilliant student ever graduated from the Abwehr’s schools, including a place called Park Zorgvliet. There were several photographs of him, showing a good looking, well-built man who could have been mistaken anywhere for a well-to-do American or an Englishman.
“Where’d we get this information, sir?” Deland asked. “I thought all their agents were mystery men with clean slates.”
“Dulles got it.”
“He speaks English, of course.”
“His English is perfect … almost too perfect,” Donovan^ said.
The plane was bouncing all over the place. They had been in the air for nearly three hours. Deland was stiff from holding i himself against the motion, and his eyes were very tired from { reading in the harsh, imperfect light.
He looked up and smiled tiredly. “His Oxford tutors. How’d r he get around it here?” I
“Everyone thought he was from Connecticut. Or Massachusetts.”
“He’s a good engineer, from what I gather.”
“He’s bright, David. Very bright, and very dangerous. He knows his own strengths, as well as our weaknesses.”
“Our weaknesses, sir?”
“Our sense of fair play. Our sense of sympathy for the underdog.
He’ll play it to the hilt. He’s a devil.”
Deland had read all the files. He remembered every word. He i had gotten a far different impression from his reading than he had from Donovan’s description. He shook his head.
“What is it? What bothers you?” Donovan asked.
“Schey is not … he’s not a murderer.” Donovan sighed deeply and looked out the window. The DC3 was set up for passenger service. They were the only two aboard except for the crew. They sat across the narrow
