“Tsk, tsk,” Helmut said, shaking his head. “Aubrey, why are you getting involved in matters that don’t concern you?”
“There’s no time to explain—they’re going to kill us. You helped us once. Please help us again.” She didn’t pause to wonder how Helmut had just miraculously appeared in this small town.
“I helped you,” Helmut agreed. “He, however, is another matter.” He turned to Fuchs. “Are you going to tell her, or should I?”
“Tell me what?” Aubrey said.
“Richard Fuchs, alias, Richard Zorenko, alias Rudolf Zorenkosko.” The count pulled a pistol from his jacket. “Go on. Tell her, comrade.”
“He’s a communist,” Aubrey said. “I already know that.”
“He’s much more.”
There were the sounds of trucks now. The pursuing troops were entering the village. It was only a matter of minutes before they were upon them.
“Tell her,” the count repeated.
Richard shrugged. “You tell her. You’re dying too.”
“He’s a spy, Aubrey, a Soviet spy. He reports to the Kremlin. We’ve been on to him for a while, but I never had the proof I needed to bring him in. When I heard he was working with the Rote Kapelle, the Red Orchestra, I knew it was only a matter of time before he would lead me to them. We could take care of them all in one stroke. And now, one part is done, Mr. Fuchs. Your friends are all dead. Now there’s only you.”
Aubrey pulled her pistol and put it to the count’s head.
“Drop your gun or I’ll shoot, Helmut, I swear.”
“Aubrey, you fool.” He swatted the gun away. She raised it again and pulled the trigger. Click.
“My men took the liberty of unloading it when they were in your room.”
Aubrey stared at him. “It was you?”
“Yes. Convincing, wasn’t it. I wanted you to be more agreeable to working with the Rote Kapelle. And it worked, just like it worked when I got you out of that dungeon. Do you think he would have killed you? That little rodent in the SD almost did. Good thing I had my timing right. Ahhh—speak of the devil himself. Here comes our friend.”
The trucks came around the corner, and the count waved his arm at them. “Over here.”
Richard saw his chance: he launched himself at the count, delivering a drop kick that sent the titled gentlemen sprawling across the hood of his Mercedes before dashing away. The chauffeur sprang out. He had a gun of his own and fired a shot at the fleeing Russian spy, but missed.
Aubrey stood her ground. A day ago, she would have gone to Helmut to help him. Now she loathed the sight of him. The SS troops jumped out of their trucks and surrounded her. They were shouting for her to drop her weapon, empty and useless though it was. They were just waiting for her to resist, she knew, for the chance they needed to gun her down. They must not know it’s unloaded, she thought. Or maybe they didn’t care.
She dropped the useless weapon on the dirt. Helmut’s chauffeur scooped it up and handed it to Helmut, who had gotten slowly back to his feet. He put the gun inside his overcoat.
Then the soldiers were on her fast. They held her by the arms. Then all heads turned as Hauptsturmführer Schmidt appeared, wearing a smile that was half smugness, half fury. He still had the bloodlust of the recent battle at the slaughterhouse in him.
Helmut had recovered himself and spoke to the captain. “The one we want got away. He can’t get far. Set up roadblocks on all exits out of here. Have the rest of your men do a house-to-house search, and call in for reinforcements.”
“I won’t be taking orders from you, Herr Colonel,” Captain Schmidt said. “This is an SD operation. The Abwehr can stand back and watch if they like.”
The count gave him a dark look. “Power struggles—that’s all you people know, isn’t it? Very well, run the show. I’m taking her back to Berlin.” He inclined his head at Aubrey.
“No, I am taking her. She is in my custody,” Captain Schmidt said.
“I don’t want to fight about it. We can use my car; you can come along for the ride if you like.”
The captain snapped a command at an adjutant standing next to him, and the soldiers started to spread out into the town.
“Make sure he does not escape, and I want him alive,” the count called after them.
The chauffeur opened the back doors of the Mercedes.
“Aubrey, don’t play silly games by trying to resist. You’re in enough trouble as it is,” Helmut said.
Aubrey knew it was true. She shrugged and got in the car. Schmidt and the count slid in on either side of her. Aubrey was forced to perch on the bar that jutted out from the back of the driver’s seat and hold on to the red curtain for support.
“What are you going to do to me?”
Captain Schmidt answered her. “You’re an enemy spy, an agent provocateur, sent here to disrupt the achievements of our glorious Reich. I ask you, what do you think should happen to you?”
Aubrey looked at the count and saw him roll his eyes at the pronouncement; he was trying to charm her again. Aubrey wondered if this was a case of good cop, bad cop. Clearly, they were both going to go to work on her, and it seemed the count was going to try the soft approach.
Helmut said, “Aubrey, why don’t you fix us a drink. It’s a long drive back to Berlin.”
She relented, pulled out the crystal decanter and poured them both a drink. What the hell else was she going to do?
“Make one for yourself,” the count said. “It will calm you down. I hate to agree with my colleague in the SD here, but he is correct: you will be kept at the convenience of the state.”
“I’ll want to call my embassy.”
“You do not make demands here,” Schmidt said. “You
