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Chameleon Fever (3)

Chapter 27-37

The Story of Oskar Danzig

Master of Disguises, Famous (Female) Impersonator

& Esteemed Leader of the Underground

(wip)

Guard

"You're very quiet tonight."

"Mm..." He just put his arm a little tighter around her.

She raised her head from his shoulder to look at his face. But so up close, with her nose practically touching his jaw, she just couldn't resist the temptation of pressing a sweet little kiss on the smooth skin in front of her.

He smiled and turned his head to look his girl-friend in the eye.

"Tired?" she probed.

Carefully, mindful not to collide with hers, he shook his head. "Just thinking." He watched as her eyes studied his face – sometimes he got the impression that even after all these years, she was still searching for the features with which she had originally gotten to know him. "Why – is there something you'd like to talk about?"

"Not really." She sighed, and nestled up to the curve of his neck again. "I just love lying in your arms like this. And I'd wish we could have evenings like this more often, that's all."

After a moment, she felt a soft nuzzle in her hair, and then a kiss. It seemed to be an awfully melancholy one, and in return, she pulled his arms even closer around her. Karl – her dear, dear Karl... How much longer would they have to wait?

She was well aware of the reasons why they shouldn't get married under the circumstances. She understood those reasons, and agreed with the decision to wait. But sometimes, she almost – almost – prayed that if God for some reason couldn't bring this horrid war to an end yet, that at least he'd let something happen that would force Karl to flee the country. To Switzerland or something, or maybe to England. And she'd follow (or better still, go with him right away), and there, far away from the clutches of the SS and the Gestapo, they would finally be free to marry and live their happily ever after together in peace.

Karl didn't talk about these things much. Perhaps it was his way of focussing his mind on the tasks at hand – tasks that without exception could get him killed.

But she needed the dreams. The dreams – and the memories. Memories of evenings like this. For she was painfully aware that there was every chance that when all was said and done, dreams and memories would be all she'd have left.

As usual when her conscious thoughts reached that point, tears suddenly stung behind her eyes, and she quickly turned to hide her face in the lapel of his jacket.

He didn't even ask what was wrong. He'd seen this reaction so often – by now he knew exactly what was going through her mind. So he merely rubbed her back a little, and after a short silence he said, "You know, I've been thinking about this. And what goes for Udo, goes for me, too."

She pushed herself up with a frown. "What do you mean?"

"The army." He sighed. "The way things are going, they're going to need more and more men. So sooner or later, they're bound to get me, too, no matter what excuses I come up with. And I refuse to get killed in some pointless battle like my father did. More so since I'd have to fight for something I've been fighting against for so long."

It took but a moment for Maryse to make the connection. "You want to try and volunteer as a guard in the prison camp."

He shrugged a little. "It's a Luftwaffe camp, and I'm a Luftwaffe soldier 'unfit' for regular duties. It makes sense, doesn't it?" He stroked her hair behind her ear. "But I admit I have a secondary objective: to keep an eye on that Colonel Hogan. From what I've seen, the man is absolutely brilliant, but he's so confident in his abilities that he gravely underestimates what he's up against. If I can keep him under surveillance, at least I might have a chance of deflecting disaster for him."

Maryse studied his calm, almost resigned expression. "He impressed you, didn't he." It wasn't even a question.

Karl nodded. "To the point that I even started to question the continuation of our own work. They've got so much expertise, so much training, so many people... And one word to London and they can get anything they need. For a while there, I seriously considered becoming an auxiliary team for them – sort of an outside assistance team."

"But?"

"In some things – like sabotage – I think we should. They simply have the superior material for it, and possibly even superior information. But as soldiers under orders, their main goal is to rescue Allied flyers and help escaping POWs to return to England. Helping civilians is not included in those orders, and that's something we've done a lot. So maybe we should concentrate on that part from now on. That way we can complement Colonel Hogan's work, instead of getting in each other's way like we did with that munitions train last week."

Maryse nodded thoughtfully. "You're probably right. And of course you're going to have your freedom severely curtailed if you're becoming a guard, so you couldn't continue on full steam anyway. Just look at how much Udo has had to miss out on this past year."

"Oh, that shouldn't be so bad. I should be able to get time off whenever I want." He chuckled. "If only by faking an asthma attack."

She hit him playfully in the chest. "You're the worst hypochondriac I've ever seen."

A grin. "And proud of it, too! No," he continued. "My main worry in this scheme is Udo. I'd really rather not have him know that Danzig and I are one and the same. But that means I'm going to have to be two different people for him. That could get tricky."

Maryse frowned. "Couldn't you become a guard under another identity?"

He shook his head. "That'd be really complicated with the paperwork. Besides, it would defeat the object: then they'd still be after Karl Langenscheidt."

"And if you pretend you don't know him? Udo, I mean?"

"I can try, but I doubt it will hold up in the long term. Who doesn't recall his best friends from childhood?"

"Karl? Karl Langenscheidt, is that really you? What in the world are you doing here?"

"Guarding prisoners, I suppose." Karl sighed inwardly. The planned strategy of simply staying out of Udo's way couldn't hold up for ten seconds against Schultz getting Private Steinmetz to show him around and introducing them in the process.

Schultz looked in surprise from one to the other. "You two know each other?"

"Yeah, we used to play together a lot when we were kids." But suddenly awareness clamped down on Udo's enthusiasm. This was Nazi Germany after all, and there was no way of knowing where his childhood companion's loyalties lay.

Schultz didn't seem to notice. "Ach, that is nice. Then you two will have a lot to talk about, nicht wahr? So why don't you show your friend around the camp and make sure that he knows everything he needs to know?"

"Jawohl, Sergeant."

"And have him report to Fräulein Helga in the office no later than nine o'clock. There is a lot of paperwork to catch up on," he explained to the new guard. "You can start today by typing up reports. Fräulein Helga will tell you what to do."

"J... jawohl, Sergeant." A nervous salute.

"Good. I'll see you later then." With a friendly nod Schultz waddled off, leaving the two erstwhile friends in the awkward embarrassment that comes with nearly twenty years of no contact.

The air was thick with tense silence as they both studiously avoided to look at each other.

"Hi," Karl ventured at last.

"Hi," Udo echoed, still looking away from his old playmate.

Silence.

"So how've you been?"

"Okay. How about you?"

"Fine."

Silence.

Karl gulped; Udo glanced at him, and averted his eyes again.

"How come you're a corporal? Have you been at the front?"

A shake of the head. "I got promoted on account of technical expertise."

Udo smiled a little, as if enjoying a little private joke. It emboldened Karl to ask after his military experiences.

"How about you – have you been at the front?"

A shrug. "I'm not much use as a regular soldier. Didn't you notice the way I walk when the Sergeant called me?"

Karl nodded. "So what happened?"

"Got my leg shattered in an accident a few years ago."

"Ah." Karl grinned inwardly. Apparently, Udo had moved on from the 'official' story of falling down the stairs. 'Shattered in an accident' sure sounded more impressive, that was true. And accidentally, it was closer to the truth as well.

Another spell of awkward silence separated them. And Karl felt bad for leaving his best friend in the dark. A few lines of explanation from him would have been enough to cut through this awkward stalemate, showing Udo that his old playmate was still to be trusted.

But he couldn't. It was safer to keep Danzig and Langenscheidt separate, and if he were to pull that off in front of Udo, the less chummy he got with him as Karl Langenscheidt, the better his chances of successfully luring his friend.

But Udo seemed unwilling to give up testing the waters just yet. "So what have you been doing since I last saw you?"

Karl shrugged a little. "In theory trying to build up a career as an actor. In practice I've been working as an office clerk."

"No luck, huh?"

Another shrug. "What about you?"

Udo grimaced. "Studied."

Karl returned the grimace. "Why am I not surprised." The real Karl would have added in semi-jest, "Have you made professor yet?" It had been their private joke whenever they met back then. But now he bit down on his lip to hold his tongue. Getting too familiar with his friend wouldn't help keeping his distance. So instead, he looked away again.

Udo seemed to get the hint. For after another spell of awkward silence, he announced with a sudden brusqueness, "Come on. I'll show you around." And in a brisk tempo – his fake limp sure didn't slow him down – he went around pointing out the Kommandant's quarters, the VIP hut, the dog pen ("Those dogs are monsters!"), the camp kitchen, the guards' mess and the prisoners' mess, the non-com club, the motorpool, and anything else that was worth mentioning. And shortly before nine they were back in front of the Kommandantur.

Udo nodded at the building. "Well, there's your first assignment. You lucky dog – I never got to work with Fräulein Helga." He sighed. "I'll see you around then."

Karl watched with a frown as his friend limped off to his other duties. What was that all about? Could it be that Udo...? If his memory served him right, this Helga sure was quite pretty, yes. Slowly, a little smile came to play around his lips. For if he'd guessed right, it'd certainly open up some interesting possibilities...

But that was for later. First he'd have to go and type up reports. Oh well, at least it was better than standing guard all day long and being bored out of your mind.

He reinforced the anxious mask he had conjured up for his guard persona and ascended the few steps to the Kommandantur with deliberate nervosity. A scared glance in the direction of the guy standing watch there (and who completely ignored him), a hesitant knock, and a friendly female voice called him to enter. A gulp, and...

Yes. The moment he saw her there was no doubt that this was the same girl who had advised him to try and court Maryse the old-fashioned way a few years ago. She had matured, yes, but that was about the only difference he noted at first glance.

"Hello there," she smiled. "How can I help you?"

Another nervous gulp. "Um... g-guten Morgen, Fräulein. I was... I mean, the Sergeant... S-Sergeant Schultz said you um... needed help with the um... p-paperwork..."

She gave him an even warmer smile, as if she wanted to reassure the poor bumbling guard on her doorstep. "Yes, the Sergeant told me about you. You're the new guard, aren't you - the one who used to work as an office clerk."

"J-jawohl, Fräulein." So that was the reason he got assigned to the office. A fortunate side-effect of his little lie, so to speak.

"How are you on the typewriter?" Fräulein Helga inquired.

"N-not so b-b-bad. We used it... a lot."

"Good." She led him to a desk where a typewriter and a stack of papers and files were waiting for him. "Then if you can start on these?"

He already began to sit down, but she stopped him. "You better take off your overcoat and your helmet. You don't need those in here."

"Yes. Of course." Flustered, the young corporal did as he was told, and she watched his clumsiness with some amusement. Her face really was an open book, Karl reflected.

"By the way, I'm Fräulein Helga," the young lady introduced herself just as he was about to sit down at his appointed desk, causing him to stumble upright again and with a bob and a salute and a clicking of the heels to stammer, "L-l-langenscheidt. I mean... C-corporal Langenscheidt, F-fräulein."

Another smile, and finally they settled down to work.

Despite the fact that his claim of being an experienced office clerk was complete bulldust, Karl thought the typing went pretty well. Much of the reports consisted of mere routine matters, but there were a few more interesting ones that bore the name 'Hogan' written all over them. For example this implausible story about the spy Wagner...

Suddenly he jumped to his feet, sending his chair flying into the wall as one of the other doors was thrown open and a baldish officer out of the blue yelled for Fräulein Helga.

They both stared at him where he stood, shaking against the wall.

It was Helga who saved the situation with some repressed mirth. "Herr Kommandant, may I present Corporal Langenscheidt? It's his first day, and Sergeant Schultz has assigned him to help me type up the arrears of paperwork. Corporal, this is Colonel Klink, the camp's Kommandant."

Yeah, he'd figured as much. Flustered, he came to attention.

The Kommandant hastily returned the salute and waved him away. "At ease, Corporal. Carry on. And Fräulein Helga, I want to see you in my office right now."

"Jawohl, Herr Kommandant." She cast him an encouraging smile before following the man into his office, leaving her poor assistant to pick up his chair and reclaim some of his dignity in solitude.

With a private grin, Karl brought some order in the papers on his desk and resumed his typing. A few more outbursts like this and he'd be pigeonholed as the jumpiest guard in all of the Third Reich.

The next occasion presented itself an hour or so later, when Colonel Hogan came waltzing into the office without as much as a knock. "Whoa!" the American officer went as he scattered back against the wall, sending papers and chair flying again.

This time Helga laughed out loud. "Take it easy, Corporal. He may be the enemy, but he's mostly harmless."

Hogan raised an eyebrow. "Mostly harmless, you say? Come here and I'll show you..." He picked up some of the papers off the floor and handed them to the shaking guard in the corner. "Gee. If you are a representative example of your compatriots, this war will be over even sooner than I thought."

"Don't tease him, Colonel Hogan. It's only his first day," Helga chided him.

"Ah." A grin. "Welcome to the madhouse then."

"D... danke," Karl stammered as he began to inch his way back to his desk.

But the American officer had already turned back to the young lady. "Is the big shot in?" The way he put his arms around her as he said that made Karl all the more grateful that Maryse hadn't gotten the job.

"Mm-mm."

He made a move as to kiss her, but she pulled deftly away. "Colonel Hogan, please... Not in front of an audience." Which made the audience even more grateful. What would Klink's pretty secretary have to put up with without the accidental presence of a clerk-guard like himself? Not that she seemed to mind, but...

"We'll send the audience to study under Schultz," Colonel Hogan decided. "If he wants to survive Stalag 13, he'll have to learn to see nothing, hear nothing and know nothing. Got that, Corporal?"

"J-jawohl, Colonel Hogan."

"Good boy." A quick kiss for Fräulein Helga, and then he let go of her so she could announce him to the Kommandant. Yet there was little announcing to do, for he followed her straight in.

She shook her head with a smile when she closed the door behind him.

"Is he always so... so..." Karl ventured.

The smile broadened. "It's just a game. He doesn't mean any harm." She picked up a load of files and opened the filing cabinet, and Karl went back to his typing.

Until the phone rang, which made him jump again.

"Can you get that for me, please, Corporal?" Fräulein Helga asked.

He glanced at her – yes, she had her arms full of files. "Of course, Fräulein." He carefully picked up the receiver. "Hello?"

"Is this the Kommandantur?" a nervous voice asked.

"Yes." Apparently he was not the only nervous guard around here.

"This is Private Schnüffis at the main gate. We have a Gestapo Leutnant here who wants to leave. He has a pass indeed, but we have no record of him entering. Can you please ask the Kommandant what we should do?"

"Yes, of course. Please hold." He put down the receiver and cast an anxious look at Fräulein Helga. "Begging your p-pardon, Fräulein, b-but would it be alright for me to d-disturb the K-kommandant while he is c-conferring with C-c-colonel Hogan? Th-there is a problem at the m-main gate."

"Sure. Go ahead." She just kept putting away files.

Nervously he inched past her and knocked on the Kommandant's door.

"I cannot be disturbed!" came Colonel Klink's voice from inside.

Alarmed he glanced back at Fräulein Helga.

"Just try again," was her advice.

So he gulped, and knocked again.

"Come in," sounded the Kommandant's exasperated reply.

More fidgety than ever, Karl entered, almost tripped over the threshold and saluted the all powerful Kommandant, while well aware of Colonel Hogan's very intense scrutiny of him as well. The guy seemed to look straight through him, which made his nervous act all the more realistic.

Meanwhile, Kommandant Klink scolded, "Langenscheidt, are you hard of hearing or do you need a trip to the front to sharpen your senses?"

Karl almost saluted again to appease his angry superior officer, but instead he stammered, "Th-the main g-gate is c-c-calling, b-begging the K-kommandant's p-pardon. A G-g-gestapo Leutnant is there."

"Tell him nothing!" the Kommandant replied in a reflex – clearly he was as scared of the Gestapo as everyone else. But he added as nervously as Karl felt, "What does he want?"

"Um... to leave, Herr K-kommandant. He has a pass, but th-they have no record of him entering."

"What do I care!" Klink yelled. "If he wants out, let him out – the sooner, the better! Dummkopf!"

"Jawohl, Herr Kommandant. Certainly, Herr Kommandant." A flustered salute as he began to back out of the room. "Right away, Herr Kommandant." He let go of a shaky breath the moment the door was closed behind him.

And Helga gave him a smile. "You'll get used to it. He's not so bad."

He took a deep breath to compose himself. "I thought he was g-going to get me c-court-martialled..."

"He wouldn't do that. Believe me, he's all bark and no bite." She nodded to the phone. "You better tell the guys at the main gate what he said."

"What? Oh! Yes."

The rest of the day went by rather quietly with a fairly decent meal in the mess hall, and more typing and establishing his anxious and clumsy character. But when he nearly got run over by a runaway tank when he reported to the office for duty the following day, he realized that guard duty in a camp where Colonel Hogan was held prisoner was not likely to be very quiet...

"Papa Bear calling Red Ridinghood. Come in, Ridinghood."

Maryse glanced at the radio and back to the highly feverish face of her boy-friend. She'd rather not leave his side for a second, but with Karl gone...

She dashed to the radio nonetheless. After all, there was a good chance they were calling to arrange the pick-up of that miracle medicine that could save Karl's life. "Little Red Ridinghood here. Go ahead, Papa Bear."

"We've got the medicine, but things are very tight here. How's the patient?"

"Not good." She glanced at him, and swallowed with difficulty. "The fever is really bad, and getting worse. He needs that stuff, Papa Bear."

"Alright. We'll try and get it through to you somehow. Just hold on. Over and out."

She put down the microphone and hid her face in her hands for a moment. "And hurry," she whispered urgently. "Please, Colonel Hogan – please hurry!"

Helga

"Udo?" Danzig stopped his friend as the other members of their 'drama club' filed out of the parish hall after two hours of varied improvisation and impersonation games.

"Yeah?"

Oskar pulled him aside a little. "Got a little task for you. Are you free any evening this weekend?"

Udo frowned for a moment as he recalled his schedule. "I'm on duty most of the weekend, but I've got Friday night off."

"Good. Now from what Maryse tells me, I think the Kommandant's secretary might make a worthy addition to our group."

Udo gulped. "You mean Fräulein Helga?"

"Yes. So I want you to ask her out for Friday night and..."

"Me?" Udo squeaked.

"Yes." Oskar raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Why – is there a problem? I thought you said you liked her."

Udo heaved a sigh. "That is the problem."

His friend chuckled. "Don't tell me Cupid has made a bumbling fool out of you?"

"Worse." Udo shuffled a little with his feet. "I've tried to talk to her a few times – you know, when she comes in the morning, or when she leaves. But the moment I set eyes on her, I get completely tongue-tied. And my legs get so wobbly they just won't move... It's awful."

Oskar couldn't help a grin. "I know what you mean – I was just like that with Maryse at first. But if you seriously want to get to know her, believe me, it's worth the mortification."

Udo sighed. "But asking her out... She's just going to turn me down. Half the guards have already asked her, but she won't go out with anybody."

"But she won't refuse this time," Oskar assured him. "Because we're going on a double date. You just tell her that her old colleague Maryse Gotthardt from the theatre in Duisburg is coming, too – with her boy-friend Oskar Danzig. She'll accept the invitation, I promise you. No woman will pass up the opportunity to see the result of her matchmaking with her very own eyes."

It was two days till Friday, and Karl watched with growing amusement how Private Steinmetz tried time and again to work up the nerve to walk up to Fräulein Helga and ask her out – and chickened out every single time. It was obvious that he needed some help, unless the pressure of the final day would finally jolt him into action.

Apparently Udo had come to that same conclusion. For the moment he and Sergeant Schmidt had let him in at the gate that morning, he pulled his old playmate aside and whispered urgently, "Karl, I need you to do me a real big favour."

Karl raised his eyebrows. "What?"

"Can you..." Udo glanced over his shoulder at the Sergeant. "Are you working in the office again today?"

"I suppose so, yes. Why?"

"Can you... I know this sounds pathetic, but can you please ask Fräulein Helga to go out with me tonight?"

Karl gave him an incredulous look, while biting back his all too ready chuckle. "Me? Why don't you ask her yourself?"

A desperate sigh. "I've tried, but..."

He was interrupted by Sergeant Schmidt. "Hey Steinmetz, no time for chitchat now. Help me open the gate!"

With a pleading look at his old friend, imploring him not to go on to the office just yet, Udo returned to his duties and helped to open the gate for the approaching staff car. The three soldiers saluted dutifully as it drove in, and Sergeant Schmidt bent down to the driver's window. "Guten Morgen, Herr Major. Heil Hitler."

The greeting was silently returned before the man next to the driver told him to notify the Kommandant of this place immediately that General von Platzen had arrived.

"Of course, Herr Colonel." Schmidt bowed and clicked his heels. "Langenscheidt, go to the Kommandant – quickly! – and tell him that General von Platzen and his party have arrived."

Karl jumped to a nervous attention, "Jawohl, Sergeant," and took off as fast as his legs could carry him.

"If you will just wait here a moment for Kommandant Klink's permission to enter the camp?" Schmidt told the driver.

But from the back of the car a rather high-pitched voice spoke up. "I will not wait. Who does this Klink think he is, that I'd need his permission to enter this rathole? Nonsense. Drive on, Fröbel." And before Schmidt or Udo could stop them, the General's party drove on towards the Kommandantur, high upon the heels of the running Langenscheidt.

Karl burst into the office and without even acknowledging Fräulein Helga he stumbled on towards the Kommandant's door, knocked, and entered without even waiting for a reply. "Herr Kommandant," he began half out of breath before he had even fully come to attention.

The Kommandant – who apparently was in a meeting with Colonel Hogan – scowled dangerously. "Did I ask for you, Langenscheidt?"

"Herr Kommandant Klink," he panted, messing up the form of address in the consternation. "General von Pleisen and his party are here."

Despite his nervous corruption of the General's name, there was no doubt the Kommandant knew exactly who he was talking about, for his eyes narrowed and he barked, "Here? Where – how?"

"J-just outside the building." Seeing how close upon his heels they had been, they were probably about to enter this very room...

The Kommandant however didn't seem to realize that yet. With two threatening steps he stood in front of him, forcing Karl to take a surreptitious step back, and he thundered in his face, "I gave strict instructions I was to be notified the minute they came in the gate! Now I will find those responsible and..." A gasp suddenly ended the outburst as realization hit him. "Did you say 'just outside the building'...?"

Karl nodded anxiously. "On their way in, Herr Kommandant," he stammered as he heard the tell-tale commotion on the porch.

The Kommandant instantly seemed to have forgotten about him, and with a nervous glance at the enemy Colonel by the desk, Karl backed out of the room as fast as he could. For he suddenly realized he didn't have his gun anymore – probably dropped it in his mad dash over here. But the mere thought of the consequences if the prisoners got hold of his gun...

Frantically, poor Corporal Langenscheidt sped right out of the office again, almost knocking the General off the porch in his haste.

Now where had he lost that blasted gun?

But he already saw Udo waving him over to the gate. Perhaps Udo...?

Indeed. "Here you are, you fool. You dropped this."

"Thanks." Karl was breathless with gratitude.

"That's okay. Just don't let it happen again." He pulled his old playmate aside again. "But you can make it up to me right away. Can you please ask Fräulein Helga to go out with me tonight? It's important!"

Karl pulled away a bit. "Look, I'm really grateful that you saved my hide by taking care of my gun. But why don't you ask her yourself? You're the one who wants to go out with her!"

"I've tried, really, I have! But she's... I don't know – just... But I need to go out with her tonight. Tell her that an old friend of hers is..."

"Look mate." Karl stepped back and threw his retrieved gun over his shoulder. "I'm sorry, but this is ridiculous. If you want me to pass on a note to her – fine. But I'm not going to ask her out in your name. That's preposterous, and you know it."

Despite the refusal, Udo's face suddenly brightened – exactly as Karl had intended. "A note! Why didn't I think of that?" He grabbed his old friend by the shoulders. "Would you really do that for me – pass on a note to her?"

But before Karl could answer, a fierce explosion rocked the ground, and in a reflex the two friends dove to the ground.

"What's happening?" a panicky Karl yelled, but the next explosion drowned out any reply Udo might have given.

Three... four... five... six... No seven? No, it seemed that was all.

As soon as he dared to lift his head, he heard Sergeant Schultz yelling across the compound. "Herr Kommandant, I beg to report – a prisoner is missing!"

That certainly got the Kommandant to his feet in a flash. "Sound the alarm! Let loose the dogs!"

Hurriedly, they scrambled to their feet, and Karl, who had yet to get training in this, decided to simply follow Udo's lead.

Behind him he heard the Kommandant shout, " The truck with the dogs! After them! Go!"

The vet's truck was just about to leave. In a moment they had surrounded it and... Karl's jaw dropped. For there was Colonel Hogan, pulling open the back door of the truck just as it started up, and out spilt not only a prisoner, but a whole bunch of the monsterdogs as well! He and his fellow guards couldn't back away from the beasts fast enough, but what was that...? One of the dogs walked up to Colonel Hogan and... licked his face as he lay there on the ground? ! ?

He didn't believe his eyes. Those killer dogs licked a prisoner in the face? A prisoner, of all people? What use were those dogs for guard duty if they were friends with the prisoners? How had Colonel Hogan managed that?

Once things had returned to normal, he finally was able to retreat to the office and get a start on today's typing work. Fräulein Helga however was nowhere to be seen – perhaps she was in with the Kommandant and the General.

The morning passed with some more excitement when first Colonel Hogan exited the Kommandant's office with a scowl the size of a scorpion on his face, followed shortly afterwards by the visiting General, with the Kommandant – proud as a peacock – strutting in his wake.

"He's been promoted to Berlin, to be in charge of all prison camps," Helga replied to his hesitant inquiry. And she grimaced. "The General wants me to come along, too, but I'm not going anywhere near that creep again. There are limits to what a girl will put up with for the Fatherland!"

He nodded in compassion, but couldn't help worrying a little, too. Hadn't Colonel Hogan said the Kommandant was a great asset to their work? He wasn't quite sure in what way that was, but the scowl on the American's face just now spoke volumes. He clearly wasn't happy about the Kommandant's promotion.

Perhaps he could find a way to keep the Kommandant here after all? Perhaps if...?

A wild roar outside made them both jump.

"What was that?" Karl shuddered. "Are we attacked by monsters?"

Helga sniggered, and then they both recognized the sound of some irate tirade outside. "I'd say it sounds more like an angry Inspector General," she said with a touch of humour. She went over to the window. "Yep. He's fallen down a collapsed tunnel."

Five minutes and another explosion that had Karl diving under his desk later, an utterly dejected Kommandant Klink came into the office again.

Fräulein Helga addressed him right away. "Herr Kommandant, about what the General said regarding my coming to Berlin with you..."

The Kommandant raised a tired hand to forestall any further effusions. "I will not be going to Berlin, Fräulein. You may as well consider me shot." And with a visible shudder he disappeared in his office, closing the door behind him with a decisive click.

Anxiously, Karl raised his eyebrows at her, but she merely shrugged in return. "Don't ask me. I know nothing – nothing!"

"Did you ask her yet?" The moment he entered the guards' mess, Udo sidled up to him.

And Karl sighed. "No. I said I'd pass on a note, remember? And you haven't given me any note yet."

"But I don't have pen and paper on me!" Udo yammered.

Another sigh. "Then let's have lunch quickly, and then you can come to the office with me. We've got lots of paper and pens there."

Udo groaned. "And what if she's there?"

"Then I guess you won't need that note. Now come on."

They quickly finished their bowl of well-filling peasoup and returned to the office.

"No one there," Karl murmured over his shoulder as he opened the door. "I just hope I won't get in trouble for this. What is the punishment for guards breaking the rules?"

Udo shivered. "Walking a post outside the fence if you're lucky. Or else..."

Karl gulped. That was clear enough... "Well, we better be quick then. Before anyone comes back."

Udo nodded, and ready to run, the two guards crept inside. "I'm really not supposed to be here, you know," Udo whispered. "If Sergeant Schultz catches me here, or worse – the Kommandant... I'm dead meat."

"Then you better write that note quickly." And nervously, Karl placed a paper and a pencil in front of him. "Hurry up."

Perched on the edge of Fräulein Helga's chair, Udo began to scribble his message to her. But he didn't get far, for the door opened and... Fräulein Helga herself walked in.

Udo's startled reaction was remarkably similar to Corporal Langenscheidt's trademark scramblings on such occasions, and as always, it made Fräulein Helga chuckle.

"So there is two of you nervous rabbits now, eh?" She granted Udo a knee-wobbling smile. "Hello, Private." She picked up the paper that had fluttered to the floor and handed it back to him.

Apart from accepting his note on autopilot, Udo stood absolutely petrified in his corner, staring at her with big, anxious – yes, rabbit eyes.

She gave him a friendly nod. "Please, don't let me disturb you." And she picked up a pile of files and opened the filing cabinet in the far corner.

He gulped, and glanced at his old comrade in the other corner.

"So ask her alright," Karl mouthed to him with equally large eyes.

A difficult gulp, closing his eyes for a moment and... "Fräulein, c-can I... Would you... I mean... I have ehm..."

"Yes?" Fräulein Helga prompted neutrally as her suitor fell silent.

A deep breath for courage, and, "I have a friend who would like to see you again, and I was wondering if you'd want to go out with me tonight to meet her," he rushed out.

She raised her eyebrows rather skeptically. "A friend, huh?"

Udo nodded fervently. "So will you go out with me tonight?"

But Fräulein Helga was not so easily drawn in. "And who is this 'friend' of yours?"

Udo didn't get a chance to reply, for the door opened again (making the two soldiers jump in their respective corners), and in stormed a sour-faced Kommandant Klink. But he stopped in his tracks when he noticed Udo hovering against the back wall. "Private, what are you doing here? Out!"

And tethering on the end of his nerves as he already was, poor Udo simply fled...

As soon as the Kommandant had disappeared in his office slamming the door behind him, Helga shrugged and resumed her filing work.

Karl watched her for a moment with indecision. Should he interfere, or...? It was unlikely that Udo would be able to muster the courage to approach the young lady again after this debacle, so perhaps... "Aren't you going to ask the Private who this friend was?" he ventured at last.

Fräulein Helga shrugged. "It's probably all eyewash anyway. Half the guards have been asking me out already, and you wouldn't believe the outrageous excuses they come up with to entice me to accept."

Karl swallowed. That didn't bode well... "But how do you know Steinmetz doesn't really know an old friend of yours? The least you could do is hear him out – that only seems fair."

She turned to him with a sigh and put down the last files. "Alright, I'll hear him out. Where is he supposed to be?"

Karl picked up the duty roster. "I think he should be guarding the motorpool."

"Alright." She picked up her cardigan and put it on. "Back in five."

It was nearly ten minutes however before she returned – with a radiant smile on her face. "You were right," she told him without being prompted. "He does know an old friend of mine. And her boy-friend, whom I happened to help to get together with her. That'd be really neat seeing them again – I haven't seen them for years!"

And Karl smiled to himself. Once again, his insight in the female mind had been spot on.

Despite the fact that they had worked together for a mere two months, Maryse and Helga greeted each other as long-lost friends at the Hofbrau that evening.

"Maryse! It's so good to see you again!" Hug, kiss, kiss.

"You don't look so bad yourself either. I was so surprised when I heard that you had gotten the secretary job in the prison camp! So tell me – what's it like?"

"Oh well, just another job. A girl's got to make a living somehow." She looked over Maryse's shoulder to where the two gentlemen were watching the reunion scene. "And to think that you're still with him! I confess I had never expected that! I guess he wasn't so bad after all, was he?"

Danzig – in the same southern-looking disguise with which Helga had always known him – smirked. "No, I believe she's quite content with me." They all laughed, and Oskar continued, "Which reminds me – I don't think I've ever properly thanked you for your advice at the time, have I? Then let me do so now, for without your invaluable help, I would never have been able to 'secure her affections' as they say."

Helga beamed at him. "I'm glad I could be of service. But to see you two still being together after what – three years? Four? That's thanks enough for me."

They settled down at a table for four, and ordered a good meal. There was talk and laughter all through dinner as the three old acquaintances indulged in reminiscences of Oskar's courting the girl of his dreams, and to some degree caught up with the others' lives since then. In the course of the evening, even Udo got over the worst of his timidity with the girl of his dreams, and he, too, began to join in their happy discourse.

But when dinner was well over, Oskar suddenly stood. "It was a real pleasure meeting you again, Helga, but unfortunately Udo and I still have some business to attend to tonight."

Udo scowled at him – he certainly didn't want to leave yet.

But Maryse jumped right in. "Then why don't you come back to my place? I've got some real coffee saved for a special occasion. I think this qualifies as such, don't you?"

Helga nodded eagerly. "And then we can have some proper girl talk, too, just like the old times." She gave Oskar a teasing grin. "And gossip about you men, of course."

But he merely chuckled. "Sounds indeed like you two don't need us to amuse yourselves. Well, ladies, if we may help you into your coats then?"

A few minutes later they parted on the doorstep of the Hofbrau, and shortly afterwards Helga found herself in the tiny kitchen of Richterstraβe 18, watching Maryse grind a handful of precious coffeebeans.

"Nice place," she commented appreciatively. "You don't know how lucky you are to have a place all to yourself. I live in a boarding-house for now. It's okay, and it's close to the camp, but still..."

Maryse nodded. "Yes, I was very lucky to get this. It's small, yes, but I have a lot more privacy here than I'd have in a boarding-house." She put the coffee in the filter and poured the first dose of boiling water on before joining her former colleague at the small kitchen table.

Helga rested her chin on her fists. "So tell me all the details now: how come you two aren't married yet? At least you're not wearing a ring, so..."

Maryse looked down at her ringless fingers for a moment. She knew she had to watch herself in what she revealed tonight, especially since Helga had proven more than once that she was exceptionally perceptive – exactly the reason why Karl would like her to join their team. "Well..." she hesitated. "It's a long story, really. And by the time I finally came to realize that I loved him, too, we were living in a world at war."

"So?" Helga grimaced. "That's three years ago. Don't tell me you've been engaged for three whole years?"

Maryse shrugged a little. "It just didn't seem right to get married with so much horror around us. We talked about it of course, but we simply decided to wait until the war is over."

"You're kidding... That could be years!" Suddenly Helga hesitated. "Are you sure he really does want to marry you? That he's not leading you on, I mean? He seems nice enough for sure, but... Has he even asked you?"

All of a sudden Maryse froze. "Now that you mention it – no, I don't think he's ever really asked me. Not officially, I mean. But we've talked about it quite a lot and believe me, he's absolutely serious about wanting to marry me. Always has been, too, from the very beginning." She got up and poured some more boiling water in the filter, using the distraction to force the sudden frown from her face. Of course Karl wanted to marry her... How could there be any doubt?

"So how about you?" she inquired as she sat down again. "Do you have a boy-friend or anything?"

Helga shook her head. "So far the men seem to be mainly interested in my looks, and I hate that. I want someone who likes me for who I am – not just because of my pretty face."

Maryse chuckled. "Yeah, I heard you've already turned down half the guard corps in camp."

Helga sighed. "I barely know these guys – why would I want to go out with them? And besides, I don't want to play favourites by accepting one invitation and turning down another. That would only cause envy among them, and then I'd have to accept them all to make peace again, and where would that leave my reputation? I'd be known as the local army-whore – no, thank you!"

"But you accepted Udo's invitation tonight."

"Yes, but I told him right away that I'd only come because I wanted to see you and Oskar again." She frowned. "How did you know Udo by the way?"

"He's a friend of Oskar's."

"Ah."

Silence, in which the filter was filled up a third time.

"And what about that Colonel Hogan?"

Helga raised her eyebrows. "What about him?"

Maryse smirked. "I hear you're pretty flirtatious around him whenever he comes into the office."

Helga's blush went all the way up to the roots of her hair. "Who told you that?"

"Udo of course."

"How would he know? He's never in the office."

"Maybe not, but the guy who's been assigned as your assistant is an old friend of Udo's." She chuckled as she saw Helga roll her eyes and teased, "Welcome to the country, my dear – this isn't exactly anonymous Duisburg."

"So I see," Helga muttered.

Maryse chuckled, and finally poured the coffee and pushed the milk and sugar in her friend's direction. She certainly proved to be as open and talkative as she remembered her – hopefully the coffee would help in furthering the confidential atmosphere.

"Mm," Helga mused with her eyes closed as she took her first sip. "Haven't had this in a long time..."

For a while, they just sipped their steaming hot treat in silence, but at last, Maryse repeated, "So what about this Colonel Hogan?"

"What about him?"

"Well, do you like him, is he handsome... You know, the usual."

Helga smiled. "He's handsome alright. And a little crazy, too."

Maryse chuckled. "I once knew a few Americans, too. When I lived in England. They, too, were a little... odd. Crazy, as you say."

Helga grinned. "Maybe that's the American trademark?"

They both chuckled at that, and another companiable silence ensued as they enjoyed their coffee.

Helga was the first to break it this time. "Do you know many Americans?"

Maryse thought for a moment. "Half a dozen maybe. But that was in England. I don't think I've met any since we came back to Germany."

"Colonel Hogan was the first American I've ever met," Helga told her somewhat dreamily. "And some specimen he is... I've always been fascinated by anything American – already when I was a little girl. I'd love to go to America after the war."

Maryse's expression wavered between worry and skepticism. "Don't tell me you're trying to get that Colonel Hogan to be your ticket to America?"

"No, nothing like that." Helga folded her hands around her coffeemug. "It's hard to explain, but..." She halted, and looked up in her friend's eyes. "Do you recall how we sometimes used to talk about what was going on in this country?"

Maryse nodded silently.

And Helga searched her face. "And do you still think there is... you know... what we agreed about back then?"

"A lot wrong," Maryse quietly completed, never letting go of her friend's eyes.

"Yes." Helga let out a sigh of relief. "And to be honest, I don't want Germany to win this war. We don't need Hitler ruling the world, so I want the Allies to win. So I'm helping Colonel Hogan in any way I can. Even if I can but guess at what I'm actually helping him with. But whatever he asks, I give to him as far as it is within my possibilities."

A long silence ensued, punctuated by their sips of coffee. Talk about being honest almost to a fault, Maryse reflected. If that went for her, it seemed to go even more for young Helga Lindner. Would she...?

A deep breath. "Helga... would you like to do more to help the Allies win?"

Helga looked up. "You mean...? Of course I would. But I..." Suddenly she sat up. "You mean you are part of the Resistance?" Highly perceptive as always...

A silent nod was all the reply she got.

Helga just stared at her, struggling with her disbelief. "I had no idea women did that, too! I thought it was more something for young men."

Maryse had a sad shrug. "Young men are sent off to die at the front. And someone has to stand up and make a difference. So why can't we women help to make that difference?"

Helga frowned. "I suppose you're right. So what do you do?"

"Basically, we help civilians who've gotten in trouble. And we try to sabotage the German war effort wherever we can."

"And how can I help?"

Maryse shook her head. "That's not for me to decide. Do you like acting?"

Another frown. "Like in the theatre? What's that got to do with it?"

A smile. "Because we're meeting under the pretense of being a drama club. And up to a point, we are."

A sudden grin lit up Helga's face. "With a certain Herr Oskar Danzig as the director, I bet."

Maryse had a rather tense smile, for that was not something she had intended to reveal just yet. That exceptional perception of Helga's sure did have its downsides...

"So when and where does this drama club meet?" her guest inquired.

A deep breath. "I'll meet you under the trees at the Wilhelmsplatz, Tuesday evening around seven, okay?"

Helga grinned. "Okay."

But Maryse remained deadly serious. "And not a word to anyone, understood? This is not a game, Helga," she emphasized, stressing every word. "And we're not an ordinary drama club either. One casual word to the wrong person and we're all dead. Is that clear?"

Helga nodded. "Don't worry – I know how today's world works. They won't hear a peep from me."

"Good." Maryse let out a sigh.

And suddenly Helga reached out across the table, and quietly she said, "And I'm really sorry for doubting Oskar's intentions with you. Now I understand why you two can't get married yet. Far too dangerous for both of you."

Maryse bit her lip and looked away. "I just want this horrid war to end," she whispered. "For the people, for the soldiers, for the world... But if I'm really honest..." She closed her eyes as in agony. "Most of all for me..."

Water

The moment Udo walked into the parish hall he let go of his limp, and with a much promising grin he walked over to the drama group's director.

Oskar raised his eyebrows. "What's up?"

Udo pulled him away from the others. "I ran into a guy from my student fraternity in Düsseldorf today – Michael is his name. And when he heard that I pass my days as a lowly prison guard, he got a little too talkative for his own good – and for the good of his company. It turns out that he's working on nuclear experiments with heavy water. You know, the stuff they use to try and make an H-bomb."

Oskar nodded. "I know. And?"

"He told me they'd gotten that water especially from Norway – a whole barrel of it! And believe me, that stuff isn't so easy to get hold of. So I thought perhaps we could steal it and get rid of it – that'd set them back a fair bit."

A glint appeared in Oskar's eye. "Nice thinking. Where is this place – do you know it?"

"The IG Fröbel laboratory in the village of Erkelenz, just west of here, close to the border. To avoid the bombing obviously. I wouldn't be surprised if they were into all kinds of nasty weapons."

Oskar nodded. "Probably, yes. Anything else you can tell me about the laboratory?"

"Only that he mentioned that the Fröbel complex was heavily guarded, so it might not be so easy to get in."

"Unless you're one of them," Oskar smirked.

"What do you mean?"

But his friend shook his head. "I'll have to think this over properly first. But I think I've already got an idea as to how to get hold of that water."

Oskar wouldn't say anything else on the subject, so Udo let it be and enjoyed their drama games for the night. Once again, Oskar made him act out leadership roles over and over again. He'd been doing that a lot lately – clearly he was training his friend to be able to take command of a mission if necessary.

And a few days later, Udo found his friend on his doorstep one evening. "Care for a walk?" Oskar asked casually.

"Sure. Why not." Udo grabbed his jacket, stuck his head around the kitchen-door to tell his mother he was going for a walk, and the next minute the two friends sauntered off along the road leading out of town.

As soon as they'd left the town behind them, Oskar switched gears from casual chitchat to the problem at hand. "I've been looking into that project of yours. It's certainly viable – we should be able to get hold of that water."

Udo grinned. "Good work."

"Question is..." Oskar remained completely serious. "What do we do with the stuff once we got it? Can it be used for anything but bombs?"

Udo shook his head. "Not that I know of. Its only value – its immeasurable value – lies in the making of those bombs."

"So we'll have to destroy it somehow. Or simply get rid of it." Oskar frowned. "It is pretty much water, isn't it. Perhaps if we just empty that barrel somewhere along the road...?"

Udo chuckled. "I wouldn't do that, if I were you. You'd kill off the entire area. Heavy water," he went into lecturer's mode, "Causes all living things to stop growing. Cells aren't regenerated anymore, and propagation systems will be damaged beyond control. Within one generation, all life will cease to exist if it gets seriously poisoned with heavy water."

"And what if we water it down with normal water? Like pouring it into the Rhine?"

"Not good enough. It'd simply affect a larger area to a lesser degree."

"Then how can we destroy it?"

"I don't know."

"Well, you're the scientist."

"That doesn't mean I know how to destroy heavy water. Look." He spread out his hands. "The whole point of heavy water is that it doesn't exist in nature. You have to go through a whole lot of trouble to make it, and that I can do. But it's so darned valuable, that I don't think anyone has ever bothered to try and discover how to safely destroy it effectively. Why would they want to do that when they've got hard-earned gold on their hands?"

"Can't you simply reverse the process?"

"I don't know." Udo pondered the question for a moment. "It's doubtful, but it might be possible. It'd be worth a try if you got the equipment for it. But I can hardly show up in Düsseldorf with a barrel of heavy water in tow, and tell my professors that I want to experiment with turning it into regular water again. Who's ever heard of turning wine into water?"

Oskar sighed. "But I can hardly hide that barrel of wine of yours in the cellar either, can I."

Udo agreed, and they walked on together in silence for a while.

"Alright, here is what we'll do," Oskar said at last. "We'll go in together, with you as the officer and me as your aide."

"Why not the other way around?" Udo inquired.

"Because I don't know the first thing about this stuff, and it's right up your alley of expertise – that's why. Besides, I want you to get some serious practice in taking on the part of the leader, and what better opportunity than to do so in a situation where you outclass me in the first place? And you've been taking on leader roles a lot in our drama games lately. I think you're ready to try it out for real."

Udo cast him a sharp glance. "Why? Is there something you're not telling me?"

Danzig shrugged. "Merely that I'm not immortal." He forestalled his friend's protest with a curt gesture. "Face it, Udo – you guys are far too dependent on me. My own fault, I suppose, but where does that leave you guys if I'd be the one to get caught or shot one day? I'm no more immune to that than any of you are, you know. So if it should happen, it'd be good if there'd be someone who can take over right away. And from what I've seen in our group, I think that should be you."

Udo remained silent.

"And I'd rather give you a chance to practise that role with me at your side to back you up if necessary. To let you build up your confidence." He grimaced. "Believe me – being promoted out of the blue to be the leader of a resistance group is no picnic."

Udo glanced at his friend. "Is that what happened to you?" Oskar hardly ever opened up about his past.

And Danzig nodded. "And I was quite a bit younger than you are now. And still raw from watching our leader being killed the night before."

They walked on in silence, Danzig with his head in the past, and Udo eager to learn more, but hesitant to ask for his friend's confidence.

"We've been incredibly fortunate so far," Danzig at last continued. "Your broken leg is the only serious injury we've ever had to deal with. But the way things are, that can't possibly keep up forever. Some day, someone is going to get shot, or caught by the Gestapo... And that may just as well be me. We need to be prepared for that."

Udo nodded. "I understand. And I'll do my best." He hesitated. "So what do we do with Erkelenz? And with that barrel of heavy water once we get hold of it?"

Oskar smirked. "We'll drop it in Colonel Hogan's lap. For he's got something that we don't: access to experts in London. Let them figure out how to get rid of the stuff."

The small truck squeaked to a halt at the closed gate of the IG Fröbel complex in Erkelenz.

"Heil Hitler," the driver greeted as a guard emerged from his box.

"Heil Hitler," he returned. "What is your business here?"

"I am Captain Harold Müller," the fortyish officer next to the driver took over. "And I am here to conduct a surprise inspection to determine the progress being made in the development of the H-bomb." He frowned. "Our beloved Führer is getting impatient."

The guard looked doubtful. "Can I see your orders, bitte, Herr Kapitän?"

Without a word, the Captain reached into this pocket and pulled out a small stack of neatly folded papers.

The guard scanned them thoroughly before handing them back. "In Ordnung, Herr Kapitän. You can park the truck to your right here, and report to the reception desk. I will inform Dr. Streichholz of your visit."

He opened the gate for them, and slowly, the small truck turned into the compound. The car was parked as directed, and within minutes, Captain Müller and his aide strode into the main entrance and announced themselves at reception.

"Dr. Streichholz is on his way down," the lady behind the desk informed them. "He'll be just a minute. If you gentlemen perhaps would like to sit down?"

But before they could, the lift door opened and an agitated man in a white lab coat stepped out into the reception area. "What is this? Are you this Captain Müller?"

"Yes, Herr Doktor." The Captain brought the Hitler salute, and it was hastily returned.

"What is this nonsense about a surprise inspection? Why wasn't I notified of that?"

Captain Müller's mouth twitched a little. "My good man, if you had been informed in advance, it wouldn't be much of a surprise inspection, would it?"

The doctor had to grant him that, but he continued to object nonetheless. "But how are we supposed to do our work with inspectors hanging over our shoulders? We are making good progress, and we dutifully report our findings to the National Science Board. This inspection is a waste of time – both yours and mine!"

Captain Müller shrugged apologetically. "I have my orders, Herr Doktor. I'm just doing my duty."

"Hmpf."

"Now if you could please show us around your laboratories? Your time clearly is very valuable, so we better get this over and done with."

Another grunt. "Alright then. But under protest."

The Captain nodded. "Your protest is noted. Now if we can just get on with it?"

Still grumbling, the doctor led them into the elevator. And behind his back, Udo stole a quick glance at his friend. He got an almost imperceptible nod in return, and relieved that he was doing fine so far, he followed Dr. Streichholz into the laboratory on the third floor, where he clearly surprised the man by asking exactly those questions that showed his considerable expertise in the field.

"Are you a scientist yourself perhaps?" Dr. Streichholz inquired with curiosity.

Captain Müller nodded, and took out a small notebook. "I've got a degree in both chemistry and engineering. It wouldn't do to send in an inspector who doesn't have a clue what he's looking at, would it?"

"No. Of course not," the doctor agreed. He suddenly seemed a bit more positively disposed towards his unannounced visitor, and began to garnish their tour of the lab with scientific gibberish that went way over Karl's head, but judging by the doctor's reactions to Captain Müller's remarks and questions, apparently Udo had no trouble following the man's explanations.

And there was the sign: Udo rubbed his chin. Karl waited patiently for the two to finish discussing this particular part of the project, and when they finally moved on, he followed right in their wake – but not without his hand unobtrusively reaching out to the dial and turning it oh so little to the left. Not enough to draw immediate attention, but enough to mess up whatever experiment they were conducting with it...

The procedure repeated itself a few times as they wandered purposefully around the third floor labs, and then onto those on the fourth floor. Karl saw Udo stiffen once – probably because he detected his old study comrade among the lab personnel. But he recovered himself immediately, and by the looks of it, Dr. Streichholz was so engrossed in his scientific elaborations that he hadn't noticed the momentary break of character.

And so came the tour to an end.

"Well, I hope you'll be able to give a positive report about us to your superiors, Herr Kapitän," the doctor said.

Captain Müller nodded absent-mindedly as he added the last few notes to his list. He frowned, and let his finger run by his notes. "I will certainly report that you are doing mighty good work here, Herr Doktor. But unfortunately..." He swallowed quickly. "The Weinbach research complex in Berlin has a higher efficiency rating than the IG Fröbel. They've made considerably more progress than you have here." He saw the doctor turning purple, and quickly dealt his final blow before the man could get a word in. "Therefore, in order to force a speedy break-through, the Führer in all his wisdom has decided that all the available heavy water will be assigned to the most efficient research complex." He looked up. "That means the Weinbach facility will get your full supply of heavy water."

Dr. Streichholz exploded. "What? They can't do that! We got that water from Norway with our own funds!"

"Herr Doktor." Captain Müller calmly put his notes away. "Are you standing in the way of scientific progress that is likely to help us win the war?"

"Of course not! But...!"

"Then you will agree that resources should be allocated where they are used in the most efficient manner, do you not?"

"Yes, but..." Dr. Streichholz heaved a sigh. He knew when he was outmanoeuvered. "It seems so unfair. Why can't they get their own heavy water? Why do they have to take ours?"

"I'm sure it's nothing personal, Herr Doktor," Captain Müller assured him. "We all have to make sacrifices for the war effort."

"Yes, but to lose to Weinbach... What makes them so much better than us?"

The Captain took out his notes again and consulted them. "They work faster for one thing. Which also means they go through their supplies a lot faster than the IG Fröbel does. I suspect that there lies the secret of their success."

"Hm. Speed in scientific discovery is not necessarily a good thing, you know."

Captain Müller sighed. "I know. But our glorious Führer wants to see results, and he wants to see them fast. I'm afraid they grasped that idea a little better at Weinbach's."

Dr. Streichholz nodded in defeat. "Alright then. And what are we at IG Fröbel to do in the meantime?"

"I expect the National Science Board will get back to you soon with new orders." The Captain nodded to his aide. "If you would be so kind then, Dr. Streichholz, as to show my aide where you keep your supply of heavy water? We are expected back in Berlin, so we can take it right with us."

The doctor's eyes narrowed. "Just the two of you? To protect such valuable cargo? Isn't that asking for trouble, Herr Kapitän?"

"We'll be alright," Udo assured him. "The less attention we attract, the less chance of someone getting interested in our cargo. And what can be more inconspicuous than a mere Captain and his aide in a small truck?"

"I still don't like it," Dr. Streichholz insisted. "No offence, Captain, but this is heavy water we're talking about." He drew himself up. "I'll send ten guards with you to make sure you get this valuable cargo safely to Berlin."

"Really, Herr Doktor." Udo glanced nervously at his silent companion. "That won't be necessary." He saw Oskar give him a tiny shake of the head. What the heck did that mean – did he want him to keep protesting, or did he want him to give in and accept the impractical offer?

"But I insist," the doctor was saying. "Remember – it's still my heavy water you're handling, Captain. So..."

"Alright then," Udo sighed, hoping he did what Oskar wanted him to do. "Send along your guards if you have to. But hurry along now, will you? It's a long way back to Berlin, and we'd like to get going."

Fifteen minutes later they drove out of the gate, with a dejected Dr. Streichholz staring after them. He had personally made sure that the barrel with heavy water was properly secured in the back of the truck, and had ordered two of the guards to ride in the back with it, one on the roof, and guards on motorcycles in front, behind and on either side of the truck. It looked as if they were transporting a shipment of diamonds...

"Good work," Oskar said quietly as he turned onto the main road to Düsseldorf.

"But did you really want those guards to come along?" Udo inquired uncertainly. "Honestly, I had no idea what you meant!"

"I'd rather not, of course, but the guy was right," Oskar explained. "A shipment like this would be heavily guarded, so it would only make him suspicious if you kept resisting the offer."

"So what do we do now?"

Oskar shrugged. "Exactly what we planned to do. It'd be way too risky to be on the road with this valuable cargo in the dark, so we'll have to find a safe place to stay the night."

"And what safer place than a POW-camp?" Udo filled in with a grin.

"Exactly." Oskar reciprocated the grin. "And what do you know – there happens to be one only a good dozen miles from here, right along the road from Erkelenz to Berlin!"

Of course – nothing in life is quite that easy. Instead of a calm ride to Stalag 13, they ended up in the middle of an air raid, with most of their assigned guards scattering into the bushes at the wayside.

But Oskar nudged his 'boss'. "Come on – take charge!" he hissed.

Udo shot him a panicky glare – he'd much rather dive for the bushes himself. But there were still some of Dr. Streichholz's guards within sight and earshot, so clearly he had to say something. "Sergeant, go check on our cargo!" was all he could come up with.

Immediately, Oskar lifted the canvas behind him and crawled into the back of the truck. Udo himself got out the normal way – anywhere was better than in a truck during an air raid – and scurried around to the back. Other than the bushes, there was no cover in sight.

"Sergeant!" he called when he got to the back of the truck. Surely Oskar didn't mean to stay in there?

"Jawohl, Herr Kapitän?" he heard Oskar's voice from behind the canvas.

"Come here."

Danzig jumped out the back.

"Give me the map," Udo ordered. Those two guards inside the truck stubbornly remained, and neither the one lying on the roof had fled, so he had to put on a bit of a show, even with bombs falling around his ears.

He struggled nervously to unfold the map, but even then, the wind made it difficult to hold it steady enough to make out its features in the semi darkness. So he knelt down to hold it down on the ground, and Oskar – producing a cigarette lighter that was in constant danger of being extinguished in the wind – followed his example.

"The bombing is much to heavy to continue," Udo stated the obvious through gritted teeth.

"Should we take cover here?" Oskar deliberately asked the silly question to set up for the desired outcome.

And it felt so totally wrong to say this, but... "Dummkopf! With what we are carrying? Do you realize what will happen to us if we do not deliver this cargo to Berlin safely?"

The little flame was blown out just as Danzig shivered, "The Russian front..."

"Ja. We will be just in time for the winter sports."

Danzig snickered, but Udo favoured him with another glare. With bombs still whistling through the air, he was in no mood for jokes. Even though the bombs didn't seem to be aimed in their direction, all he wanted was to get to safety. And the sooner, the better.

"Ah! We're only a few minutes away from a POW-camp. That is where we will go." He folded the map and got up.

"Will our cargo be safe there, Herr Kapitän?"

Udo rolled his eyes at his friend's innocent tone. "The Allies would never bomb their own men." He tapped the map in his hands. "Stalag 13 – the toughest POW-camp in all of Germany!" And under his breath he added, "And stop acting so bloody stupid, will you? That's probably the one thing you don't do very convincingly."

Danzig merely grinned. "Let's go then."

After having impressed upon the guards that no matter who was asking, they were to reply that they were guarding a mere barrel of water, it was time for the charade that Udo feared the most: meeting Kommandant Klink. It was a scene he had rehearsed for hours in multiple variations with his friend (Oskar could do such an uncanny impersonation of the camp's Kommandant that it was hard to believe he only knew the man from hearsay), and fortunately for him, once he managed to wedge in his opening line, the situation pretty much evolved along the script of one of his practised variations, and ended with him being offered the use of the guest quarters.

"Now we only need to wait until Colonel Hogan takes the bait," he whispered to his friend once he had placed the guards around the truck with machineguns and sandbags and all.

Oskar grinned and nodded towards barracks 2, where Colonel Hogan and some of his men were lounging against the wall. "I don't think we'll need to wait long. Now go and enjoy your guest quarters – I'll handle Colonel Hogan."

And handle him he did. In no time, the hapless American Colonel had 'conned' him into obtaining a sample of the so-called water – and then it grew quiet. It was mainly Kommandant Klink who kept up an avid interest in their cargo, insisting on inspecting it regularly. But apparently, Colonel Hogan had lost interest.

Had he perhaps been unable to establish that this was precious heavy water? From what they'd seen of the man's resources so far, that seemed highly unlikely.

Or were they guarding it a bit too closely for the Colonel to chance it? Considering what he'd seen the man pull off, that was highly unlikely as well – but at least that was something that was easily remedied.

So with Udo pretending to have his ulcer acting up, requiring him to stay put for an extra day or so, Danzig got Schultz to take over his duty of guarding the truck for the second night, and the two friends hid in the guest quarters, taking turns at watching the nearby truck from behind the curtains.

And right as rain, in the darkest hours of the night the Kommandant showed up.

"Ah, good evening, Sergeant," Udo heard him say. He peeked around the curtain, and gestured for Oskar to join him.

"Jawohl, Herr Kommandant. Good evening," came Schultz's voice floating back to them through the open window.

"I want you to give me a hand with this barrel."

Udo raised his eyebrows.

"And what are we going to do with it, Herr Kommandant?" they heard Schultz's puzzled inquiry.

"We are going to take it to my office, and then we're going to replace it with another barrel of water."

"How did he find out?" Udo mouthed annoyed to his friend.

But Danzig merely shrugged, focused as he was on the ongoing discourse outside.

"But it is supposed to go to Berlin, Herr Kommandant." Schultz.

"Now that will be just between you and me, Sergeant." Klink.

"I don't know, Herr Kommandant..." they heard Schultz hesitate.

"Obersergeant," Klink interrupted him smugly.

"Obersergeant?" Schultz practically squealed. "Thank you! Thank you, Herr Kommandant!" Only to erupt in excessive hushing noises as the Kommandant's frantic gestures for silence got through to him.

"Schultz, we must be fast."

The two struggled to climb into the truck, and Oskar whispered, "I guess Colonel Hogan somehow piqued the Kommandant's interest in the water, because he figures it'd be easier to take it from him than from us."

Udo nodded.

But there were the voices again – slightly muffled through the canvas of the truck, but clearly discernible in the quiet of night.

"Schultz! Take a look at it first... Did you know that this water comes from Norway? The Fountain of Youth?"

Oskar's snort drowned out whatever reply Schultz might have given, but Udo's forehead was suddenly creasing.

"Did you notice a spring in my walk? A little dandruff on the shoulder?" Klink continued.

"Oh ja, ja, of course, Herr Kommandant," they heard Schultz gush. "Just last night I said to my wife how wonderful you look."

"It's the water," Klink announced. "Schultz, have a little drink."

"The fools!" Udo muttered, and he stormed outside, leaving his friend in the front seat to see how he was going to improvise handling the man he'd feared dealing with the most.

"Have another one," he heard Kommandant Klink say when he reached the truck.

But Kommandant Klink wasn't the one who was supposed to guard the truck, so, "Sergeant Schultz?" he barked.

Shocked silence – then there was some shuffling in the truck and Kommandant Klink appeared. "Ah, Captain Müller!" He jumped down, followed – more laboriously – by Schultz.

"Colonel Klink! What were you doing?" Captain Müller demanded.

The Kommandant floundered a bit. "Ehm... I was just checking up on our valuable cargo." And to his subordinate, "Dismissed, Schultz."

The Sergeant dutifully saluted and disappeared, and the next thing Udo knew, the Kommandant was sidling up to him. "By the way," the man said under his breath. "I found out about that water."

Udo feigned shock. "You did? From whom?"

"Colonel Hogan."

Of course, who else. "He knows?"

Klink nodded. "The Frenchman told him."

"How did the Frenchman find out?" Bother – he should have asked, 'what Frenchman'...

But the Kommandant was only too eager to show off. "Did you know that Marie Antoinette and Louis XVI used to go to that spa in Norway for the same water? Oh, it does wonders for you!"

Udo rolled his eyes. Colonel Hogan alright... But he'd better put a stop to this poisonous nonsense, before... "Colonel Klink, someone is making a fool of you."

The man's superior smile instantly vanished. "What do you mean?"

A sigh. "I suppose you must know now, but this is top secret." He glanced around, and continued in a stage whisper, "This water is for use in nuclear experiments. It is known as 'heavy water'."

All colour drained from the poor Kommandant's face. "I drank some of that water," he choked out, and clutched his throat. "Will I die from it?"

Udo gave him a dark glare. "Only if Berlin finds out." And with that, he stalked off, silently muttering to himself that Colonel Hogan had better come up fast with a plan that did not include poisoning innocent victims...

Karl watched his friend pace the Kommandant's guest quarters with quiet amusement.

"The fools," Udo muttered over and over again. "The idiots! Getting people to drink heavy water... What is that man thinking?!"

Oskar chuckled, and crossed his arms. "Not everyone is as knowledgeable on the subject as you are. Remember – I wanted to empty that barrel by the wayside."

"Hm." Udo turned to him. "But I can't believe he would have had him drink that whole barrel!"

"I don't think he would have. My guess is he would have gotten it away from him before the day is over."

"But what do we do now? We can't stay here forever."

Oskar shrugged. "Your ulcer will just need an extra day of rest. That's probably why you were so cranky tonight."

"But I have to be back on duty the day after tomorrow!" He shook his head. "This place is going to give me an ulcer for real..."

"Don't worry." Oskar sighed. "Colonel Hogan will also realize that he'll have to act fast now. I'm sure he'll get his hands on that barrel tomorrow – somehow."

In the end, the solution Colonel Hogan adopted was perfectly simple and straightforward. And Karl played along as was expected of him.

"Feuer!" he yelled as he noticed the smoke billowing out of the Kommandant's office the next morning.

Colonel Hogan was at his side in a flash. "I smell smoke. Fire! Fire! You better get this truck out of here!"

"We cannot move the truck!" Just for fun.

"You know what's going to happen if this truck burns with that barrel in it?"

"You're right. We'd better move the truck."

The Colonel already moved to climb into the driver's seat. "I'll get the truck out of here."

But Karl wasn't going to let him get away that easily. "Halt!" he yelled, and pushed him away. "I will move the truck."

Colonel Hogan sighed. "Alright, have it your way." He began to spout instructions, and Karl followed them diligently. "Further, further... further... Back up slowly, keep going... a little more... Slowly. That's it. Perfect! Here the truck will be safe." He was probably right in front of barracks 2 now.

With a grin, Colonel Hogan tore off to the Kommandant's office to help his men 'rescue' the Kommandant, while Karl redeployed the guards around the truck. He was right – the back of the truck was right up against the wall of barracks 2.

"Mission accomplished," he thought as he caught a glimpse of the barrack's wall mysteriously hinging down.

"Too much excitement for my ulcer, Herr Kommandant. I'm afraid I'm going to have to brave the road – we're leaving."

Klink came around his desk. "Are you sure, Captain Müller? You know, a glass of warm milk does wonders with an ulcer. You're welcome to stay here as long as you wish – and have a glass of warm milk every night before bed."

"No, thank you, Herr Kommandant. That is very kind of you, but we must be on our way." A silent Hitler salute that was quickly returned, and Captain Müller marched out of the office.

A few minutes later, the truck with the exchanged barrel of water and its ten man escort passed through the gate, and continued on its way to Berlin.

"You handled the Kommandant very well," Oskar praised his comrade.

"Thanks." A grimace. "I just need to forget that he's my boss, too – then I'm fine."

Oskar smiled. "You know," he said with a glimmer of mischief in his eye. "In order to keep up appearances and deflect as much suspicion from Stalag 13 as possible, we're actually going to have to deliver this water to the Weinbach labs in Berlin."

Udo groaned. "I'll never be back in time for duty."

Oskar shrugged. "You can always say you got the dates mixed up."

"Easy for you to say."

Actually, that was exactly what Corporal Langenscheidt was planning to say himself.

They drove on in silence for a while.

"I just hope for one thing," Udo said at last.

Oskar glanced at him. "What's that?"

A sigh. "We know that Colonel Hogan has checked out all the guards' files, so he knows our backgrounds and stuff. I just hope he won't come to me for a safe way to destroy that heavy water..."

Fear

"Remember, Karl?" Grasping at straws in her fear to lose him, Maryse had by now resorted to talking to him constantly – to try and force his mind to stay in the here and now. With her. To not give him the chance to leave her...

She dabbed his face and his neck again with the cold wet cloth. "Remember that night in the shed? Our one special night together? I know it didn't start that well, but..."

"Okay, people, let's get started."

At Danzig's admonition, the last cups were drained of their Ersatz coffee, and the small chatting groups converged into one that was focused on their leader in the center of the room.

"Everyone here? No."

"Helga isn't here yet," Udo pointed out what Danzig just noticed himself, too.

"Shall I go and see if she's okay?" young Fabian immediately offered.

A smile tugged at the corners of Danzig's mouth. "I think we can give her a few more minutes." Boys of that age were so transparent... "Alright, let's get started. Free improvisation – you know the rules. Setting: the Wild West. Hasso – the sheriff. Udo, Karsten, Fabian – criminals. Franz – a dog." A snicker welled up from the group. "Emma – the school teacher. Maryse – behind the bar. Karl and Heike – passing tourists. I'm the wild card to jump in wherever there's an opening. Go ahead!"

It was one of their favourite games, and one that honed their improvisation skills, for you had to come up with both your lines and your actions in immediate response to what the others did. They still kept up the old rule – 'anyone who laughs at an inappropriate moment is out' – but by now they had gotten so good at it, that one of these games regularly occupied them for an entire evening without anyone getting expelled.

This time however, Danzig cut it short after a good half hour. "Udo, was Helga at the office today?" He knew she had been of course, but Danzig wasn't to know that.

Udo's answer, too, was in the affirmative, his sudden frown mirroring Danzig's.

"Shall I...?" Fabian already started again, and Oskar nodded.

"But whatever you find, come back here right away, okay?" he ordered.

Fabian nodded, grabbed his cap and his jacket and ran out. And as soon as the door fell shut behind him, a tense silence descended on the group. They had a strict rule – both for everyone's safety as well as everyone's peace of mind – that if you couldn't make it to their meeting, you'd let somebody know. If only so the others wouldn't have to worry about you being picked up by the Gestapo.

Helga had had to miss out on meetings before. But she had always told Udo, or someone else if she hadn't been able to contact Udo in camp that day.

So why had she failed to do so this time? What had happened between half past five when she had left Stalag 13, and half past seven when their drama group started?

Two hours. Two short hours. But how much trouble one could get into these days in a measly two hours...

Karl drew in a deep breath to try and calm his jittery nerves. If Helga had been picked up... She knew everyone in their group, and was aware – at least to some degree – of Colonel Hogan's set-up as well. This could get real ugly, really fast. But until they knew anything for certain...

"Alright, everyone, no need to expect the worst. It may all turn out perfectly innocent. So let's not panic until we have solid reason to, okay?"

It was obvious that he fooled no one, but if they were already under surveillance, the first thing to do was to keep up appearances.

"Karsten, perhaps you could watch the door – just to be on the safe side." The older man quickly complied, and Oskar continued, "The rest of you: estafette improvisation!"

It was another game that engaged them all. But unlike the first game of the evening, their heart wasn't really in it, and it showed. They all kept glancing at the door, willing for Fabian to return with news – or perhaps even bringing their friend along in person. But Helga lived at the edge of town, on the road to the prison camp. It'd be twenty minutes at least for Fabian to get there and back.

And finally, there he was – totally out of breath, and his eyes wide with fright. "She's gone!" he squeaked in between two panting breaths. "Disappeared!"

"What? How?" Shocked, the group gathered around him as he sank down on a low stool.

But there was Hasso, the calm, sturdy miller. "Calm down, son. What did you find."

Fabian pulled off his cap. "I rang the doorbell, and after a while, an elderly lady opened the door. She was the landlady."

"Yes. And what did she say?"

"She said... she said Helga had an unexpected visitor today."

"What kind of visitor?"

"I don't know – I didn't ask. But they were waiting for her when she came home, she said. And the lady checked. They were gone. And Helga had left all her stuff, but she'd left the key in the door and the room was a bit of a mess, she said. Like they'd been searching for something." He shuddered involuntarily in the icy silence that followed.

"Anything else?" Oskar asked at last.

Fabian shook his head. "Do you think...?" He didn't finish the question, but everybody knew what he was asking.

Feeling everyone's eyes on him, Oskar took a deep breath. "Yes, this sounds serious," he said quietly. "And you all know what to do: keep a low profile, don't do anything that'd attract attention, and keep an eye on each other. And if you want to get out of here for a while, make sure one of us knows, and that you give the people around you a plausible reason for your absence."

Nods all around, and he continued even quieter, "And if you do get picked up, try to keep your mouth shut as long as you can. No one will hold it against you if you do break under torture, but you can rest assured that we'll be doing everything in our power to get you out as soon as possible. And we have Papa Bear to back us up on that. For no matter what they might want you to believe – we're a team. We're friends, and we're not letting each other down. Understood?"

He looked around at his friends' faces – so familiar, so dear they all were to him. Broad-faced Hasso, sturdy Karl, young Franz, friendly Emma, pokerface Karsten, Fabian, still catching his breath, Heike's motherly features, Udo, his best friend, and Maryse... Maryse... Oh God, he couldn't bear the thought of her in the clutches of someone like that Colonel Feldkamp... He had to... She had to...!

He gulped. "I really, really hope we'll be able to see each other again and continue our fight. But in case we won't... I want you all to know that it's been an honour working with you – each and every one of you. No matter how small your part was, we could not have done what we did without you. You can be proud of yourself, for we know that we've done the right thing. Don't we."

Everyone agreed – scared, but sure of themselves, and sure of the choice they had made to take a stand against the Nazis.

"And what about Helga?" Udo asked in a small voice.

"I'll contact Papa Bear tonight. This concerns him as much as us."

Udo nodded, his lips pursed. "Let me know if I can do anything."

"Me too," Fabian added, and several of the others nodded, too.

"I will," Oskar promised. "Now go home – or wherever you want to go tonight. Be careful, watch your back, and... God go with you," he finished quietly.

"And with you," Emma whispered, touching his cheek.

Without a word, everyone took their coats and hats and filed out of the parish hall, out into the scary unknown of the night. Only Maryse remained – her eyes, scared but determined, glued to her boy-friend's face.

But he just stood there, in the middle of the hall, seeing things that were well beyond the wooden walls around him.

Josel, Lena, Benno, Berthold, Kläre, Sanne, Tobias, Dieter, Uwe, Volker... Machine guns rattling. His friends, dropping to the ground. Blood everywhere. The nightmarish Gestapo dungeons. "Don't do anything stupid." Josel. Father Werner. Schattner. "They shot most of them this morning"... Oh God, not again!

"Karl?" Maryse ventured, taking a hesitant step towards him.

His eyes focused on her, and he shook his head. "Don't call me that here."

She made no reply. Instead, she took his trembling hands in hers and stated authoritatively, emphasizing every syllable, "It wasn't your fault."

He squeezed his eyes shut, his hands clenching into fists.

"It wasn't your fault," she repeated slowly. "Now let's get home and warn Colonel Hogan. The sooner we can get her out of there, the better, right?"

He let out a quavery sigh, and let go of her hands. "I know. I'm just... so..."

"Scared," she completed quietly for him, and he nodded almost against his will. "We all are, Karl. But we have to do something. You said so yourself: we're friends and we're not letting each other down."

He nodded, and suddenly he refound himself and took charge again. "Then let's go." He grabbed her coat and helped her into it, then his own. It was work of mere seconds to turn off the lights and lock up the parish hall, and the next moment they stood outside in the pitchblack of night.

A few large, threatening conifers loomed to the side of the building. Harmless? Or was someone watching them from behind there?

Maryse shivered – more from fear than from the cold on this April evening. Sometimes she could even find joy in the black-out regulations, for they caused the majestic nightsky to show itself in all its glory. But there were no stars tonight, and the blacked-out, dead-looking buildings around them seemed to haunt them, following their every move with thousands of evil eyes.

"Come on," Karl said quietly, and he hooked her arm through his. "I'll walk you home."

He didn't take the usual route though. Instead of going through the center, he chose his way by the wide open avenues of the richer part of the town. Avenues that were absolutely deserted at this hour, so that every odd little sound made her heart jump into her throat. And then the idea that someone – someone with bad intentions – might be following their every step...

Karl stopped every now and then in the blackest black of a shadow to listen. There were sounds everywhere, hissing, shuffling, rustling – and occasional footsteps that freaked the hell out of her. But at long last he whispered, "I don't think we're being followed. Let's go home." He squeezed her hand encouragingly, and finally set off in the direction of the Richterstraße near the town center.

When they finally reached her home, she felt absolutely drained, but there was no time to indulge in rest. Quickly and thoroughly, she and Karl put up the black-out curtains and drew the normal curtains as well before turning on the light. The table was pushed to the side, the mat folded over, Karl pulled up the trapdoor, and down they went into the crawl space of the plumbing cellar. By the glow of a single candle, Maryse powered up the radio. She put on the headset, double checked the frequency and tapped their recognition code for Papa Bear.

A moment later, the reply came. "Papa Bear here. Go ahead, Ridinghood."

But it wasn't Papa Bear's usual calm and reassuring voice. Unsure, she glanced up at Karl. "It doesn't sound like Papa Bear," she whispered.

"But it's the right frequency?"

She checked again. "Yes."

He frowned. "Tell him we need an urgent meeting with Papa Bear, but no details," Karl decided.

She nodded. "Chameleon requests urgent meeting with Papa Bear. Repeat: urgent."

"Sorry, Papa Bear is out. Will pass on the message as soon as he's back. Wait for him at K6 after 0200 hours. Can't give you an exact time - sorry."

"K6 after 0200 hours. Acknowledged. Over and out." She pulled off the headset and turned off the power.

"What did he say?" Karl wanted to know.

She repeated it for him, and her frown deepened. "But it definitely was not Papa Bear. His English was perfect, but... he was much younger," she decided.

They climbed out of the crawl space and put the room back in order before Karl made a reply. "I can imagine Colonel Hogan has more than one radioman. No one can be manning the radio twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. It could be mere coincidence that you always happen to talk to the same guy."

"Maybe." Maryse wasn't convinced. Especially not since... "But with Helga picked up... How do we know Colonel Hogan hasn't been picked up as well, and now the Gestapo is manning their radio to track down as many people as they can?"

Karl remained silent – he simply didn't have an answer. For Maryse was right: he could be walking straight into a trap tonight. On the other hand, he needed to talk to Colonel Hogan if they were ever to try and get Helga out – if only to save their own skin. It was a perfectly deadly dilemma alright...

But he suddenly came to a decision. "I'm going. When I've got the choice of hiding at home waiting to be picked up, or taking the chance of going out to meet someone who might be able to prevent just that – I know what to do."

Maryse nodded. "I'm coming with you."

"No, you're not."

"Yes, I am. Karl, this is the first place where they'll come looking for me! I'm not staying here tonight!"

"Well, you can stay at my place then. Nobody but you knows where Oskar Danzig lives, so you should be safe there."

"No, I want to come with you. I just want to make sure you're alright."

"And maybe walk straight into a Gestapo trap with me? No way. You're staying home."

"I'm coming with you."

"Maryse...!"

"Karl, please!" Suddenly the tears were streaming down her face, and his irritation with her instantly melted away.

"Hey..." Gently, he reached out to her. "Don't cry. Please? I know you're scared, but I just want to keep you..."

"I just want to see with my own eyes that you're alright," she cut in, brushing at her tears. "For every second I can see that, my mind doesn't have to conjure up all kinds of unimaginable horrors happening to you at that very second. So please, let me stay with you tonight, Karl?"

He pulled her in his arms. "Alright, I didn't think of that," he gave in. He rubbed her back a little to calm her down. "It's just that when you come with me, I'll be the one worried sick about you instead."

"But at least as long as I'm alright, you can see that I'm alright," she countered rather quavery.

And he sighed. "Okay then. Although I don't like it one bit, I do see your point about imaginative horrors. Especially tonight. So I guess it would be better this time if we'd stay together indeed." He kissed her hair. "But I think we'd better get ready. Like you said, this would be one of the first places where they'd come looking for us."

The practical demands of getting ready for a night in the woods – and more perhaps even the momentary outlet her fear had found in her tears – pretty much restored Maryse's usual pragmatic equilibrium. She put Karl to work in the kitchen to make them some sandwiches, and went up to her room to change into something more suitable for a night in a shed. Including the slender Fabian's tight black trousers that he usually left at her place.

Karl frowned when he saw her in those, but she was quick to head off an argument. "If you can dress up as a woman for years for the good cause, then I can wear trousers for one night for the same reason. They're bound to be a lot warmer than a skirt and stockings."

He didn't press the point, and gratefully accepted the knitted woollen sweater she handed him. One of her own of course, but it fitted him well enough for the night.

A dark green knitted hat was found to hide her blondish hair, and then they stuck their hands in the coal-hod to blacken their faces and were ready to go.

It was a hair-raising expedition through the darkest lanes and alleyways of the town to reach the relative safety of the woods. It was well past the civilian curfew by now, and several times they had to duck away for passing patrols. But they reached K6 – a small forester's shed not far from Stalag 13 – without running into any real trouble.

They didn't go in though. It was still hours before they could expect Papa Bear to show up. And Karl reckoned that if this was a trap, they'd better stay outside the shed to keep an eye on their surroundings – and perhaps see or hear the men when they'd be arriving to surround the shed.

So they huddled down behind a fallen treetrunk instead, and waited and watched.

In the distance, they could make out the ever moving searchlights of Stalag 13 through the trees. It was an oddly comforting sight in the pitchblack of the pine forest.

Maryse sought Karl's hand in the dark.

"Scared?" he whispered.

She nodded. "But at least I know you're still in one piece."

He smiled a little, and squeezed her hand.

They were silent again for a long while, listening to the rustle of the trees overhead and all the small, irregular sounds of a wood by night around them. Some of the dogs far away in the camp started a barking concert – two or three from the town behind them replied.

But nothing happened. No human figures came creeping through the bushes, no commanding officer was seen deploying his men around the shed, no cars were heard on the nearby Hamelburg Road.

"You know," Maryse whispered at last. "Maybe Colonel Hogan was out tonight to rescue Helga already. He could have heard the news from someone else."

"Let's hope so," Karl muttered. At least it'd be a good reason to stop berating himself for lying here doing nothing when he could have marched into Gestapo headquarters himself to get her out right now. Working together with Papa Bear sure had its advantages, but in a case like this, that concerned them both, it would have been easier and faster if they did not have to coordinate their actions with the American Colonel. Still, going in there when Colonel Hogan had already gotten her out would be suicide of course.

He let out a sigh. If only the man would come and tell them the score...

He peered at his watch. Maryse saw the movement and asked, "What time is it?"

"Twenty past one." He stretched his back for a moment, carefully staying below the height of the trunk. "I guess we might as well go into the shed. They would have shown up by now if they were setting a trap for us. And it's getting a little chilly lying here."

"I'd rather catch pneumonia than face the Gestapo."

Karl grimaced. "I agree. But we'll have to get closer to that shed soon, or we might miss Colonel Hogan altogether."

Nevertheless, they stayed put behind their treetrunk until it was nearly 2 a.m., when they stiffly climbed to their feet and stealthily crept from tree to tree until they reached the dark shadows to the side of the shed.

"Okay, here we can't miss him," Karl breathed. He sat down with his back against the plank wall, and pulled Maryse down next to him.

They were sitting directly on the woodland soil now, and she shivered involuntarily with the cold seeping up through her clothes. Karl noticed, and put his arms around her and pulled her up against his chest. She shifted a bit to get more comfortable, but even in the security of his arms she couldn't relax. Not in this wood full of dangers, where every snapping twig could mean the arrival of Colonel Hogan – or trouble.

They watched the distant dance of the searchlights in silence. From there would the night's outcome approach them – in the best case it'd be Colonel Hogan himself, telling them that they had already gotten poor Helga away from the Gestapo; in the worst case an impostor who'd take them to Gestapo headquarters for 'intensive questioning' instead. And they both jumped when out of nowhere suddenly a gruff voice addressed them. "Danzig?"

Karl and Maryse scrambled to their feet. They hadn't seen or heard anyone approaching, but from behind the nearest tree, a dark male figure appeared. Maryse felt her heart in her throat as the dark figure came closer, and unconsciously, she stepped half behind Karl.

"I see you brought yourself some charming company tonight," the man chuckled in perfect English, and she saw a flash of white teeth as he looked her over and then cocked his head. "I was expecting to see someone with high heels and a tight girdle though."

The recognition code!

She heard Karl take a deep breath and start with, "One does not wan... One does not when... wear when's... one's disguises wan..."

"When they are no longer disguises," she completed for him. Clearly, he needed some more practice on that English tongue twister. Or was it sheer nerves?

"Indeed." The dark man smiled at her – she heard the silent amusement in his voice. He was fortyish, as far as she could determine in the dark light, with something of a devil-may-care attitude over him. But he forced his eyes away from her and turned his attention back to Karl. And instantly his demeanor became serious. "What's the problem?" In German. Obviously he knew that Karl's English left much to be desired.

She listened as Karl started to outline this evening's discoveries regarding Helga, but as soon as he mentioned the Gestapo, Colonel Hogan held up his hand.

"Hold it right there. I know exactly where Fräulein Helga is. I personally put her and her mother on a plane tonight. They should be halfway to England by now."

"To England?" Maryse burst out, totally forgetting the need to be quiet. "What? Why?"

Colonel Hogan shrugged a little. "Let's just say it's a personal favour from me. She's gone to join her father in the U.S. I'm sure she'll be alright."

"But..." Karl broke off, not sure what to say, but Maryse was indignant enough to take over. "Then why didn't she say something? We've been worried sick about her all night, and expecting the Gestapo to pick us up any moment, too!"

"It was a real last minute arrangement. I suspect that in the rush, she forgot to let you know she was leaving." He frowned. "I had no idea she worked with you?"

"She was our main supplier of official stationery – to forge papers and passes and stuff," Karl explained. "And you could say she's an old friend of ours as well." He let out a sigh and raked his fingers through his hair. "But right now I'm just glad that she's safe. Which means so are we – relatively speaking."

"Exactly. And I'm really sorry for the stress this little arrangement caused you guys. I assure you that was never our intention – and I'm sure it wasn't Fräulein Helga's either."

"No, but under the circumstances, I think we can forgive her for the oversight," Maryse sighed. "I mean, if you suddenly get to go to America..." She frowned. "I knew she wanted to go to America, but I had no idea her father lived there?"

Colonel Hogan shook his head. "Long story. I'd rather save that for another time if you don't mind. And if there's nothing else you needed to see me about...?"

Karl shook his head.

"Then I'd like to go and hit the sack for a few hours." He wriggled his eyebrows mischievously at her. "Lovely to meet you, my dear. Now take care of yourselves, eh?"

Within moments, he had disappeared in the dark, leaving Karl and Maryse to stand by the shed.

"Boy, what a relief," he sighed at last. He pulled her in his arms and for a few minutes they just stood there, relishing the respite they had gotten from the slaughterhouse.

But at long last Maryse looked up. "Shouldn't we go and tell the others?"

Another sigh. "At this hour of the night? I'd love to put their minds at rest, too, but if we go now, there's every chance that we'd be picked up instead. That's not going to do anyone any good. I'm afraid we'd better wait till daybreak."

"You mean stay here?"

"Yeah, why not? In the shed? It turns out that our worries were for nought, so we know again that it's as safe as it usually is."

Maryse hesitated.

"And I don't know about you, but I'm dead-beat."

Now that he mentioned it, she, too, suddenly felt she could sleep for a week. "But I don't know if..."

A tired twinkle appeared in his eye. "I won't tell anyone if you won't. And I promise I won't touch you – well, no more than I usually do. But you've never before objected to being kissed and lying in my arms, so... Please?"

She couldn't help it – she had to laugh. If only to let go of some of the tension. "Alright then. If you promise...?" She was teasing – she knew him well enough to know that he'd never do anything like that.

"Every inch a gentleman," he vowed, and proffered her his arm.

They entered the small shed together, and Karl – who had been here before – sought his way around the forester's old tools to the back of the hut. There was a generous amount of hay in the corner there, obviously to accommodate escaping prisoners.

He shuffled the hay around a bit, before lying down on it and inviting her into his arms. And after some trial and error, they settled down with her back against his chest.

"You know," Maryse said dreamily as she nestled a little closer to him. "Many years from now, we're going to have to confess to our children that the very first time their Mum and Dad slept together, it was on a pile of hay in an old forester's shed."

She felt his chuckle against her shoulderblades. "I thought this was to be our little secret."

"Well, by the time we celebrate our 25th wedding anniversary, I doubt anyone would mind anymore to hear about this little adventure."

She felt him nuzzle her neck; then kiss her. "I love you, Maryse."

She turned a bit in his arms to be able to look at him. All she could make out though in the dark were the familiarly shaped shadows of his features. And she smiled. "I love you, too." There was not a doubt in her heart – she knew she did.

And on the hay in that old shed, lovingly gazing at the loved one in their arms, exhaustion finally overtook them, and they slept the sleep of the just.

Preparations

"Hilda Schopenhauer?"

Udo had received the news of Helga's emigration to America with stoic equanimity. But despite the fact that Helga had never allowed him to be any more with her than 'just friends', he had been unusually quiet for the past week. The news of her replacement however suddenly stirred him out of his reticence. "Hilda Schopenhauer is going to be Klink's new secretary?"

Oskar raised an eyebrow. "I take it you know her then? Good. Papa Bear wants to know if she can be trusted to help them like Helga did."

"I wouldn't trust her any farther than I can see her – and not even that far!" Udo burst out.

That got him some curious glances from the others. But it took some prompting to get Udo to explain his harsh judgement of the lady in question.

"She was engaged to be married to my brother. It must be what – ten years ago or so. But one night, when she was supposed to be at the charity sewing circle, he saw her come out of the cinema all smooching over a colleague of his. It turned out she had never once attended the sewing circle, and used it as a smokescreen to go out with this other guy instead. In fact, she had been cheating on him from the beginning. So my brother broke off their engagement, and from mutual acquaintances we've heard she's been married twice since. But if she's looking for a job and using her maiden name again, I guess that last guy found out about her extracurricular activities and ditched her, too. Serves her right," he finished bitterly.

His explanation was met with contemplative silence, until Heike spoke up to corroborate his story. "Well, to be honest, I don't know the girl personally. But rumour has it that she's a bit of a gold-digger."

"She's the biggest tart in all of Hamelburg," Udo muttered.

Oskar nodded pensively. "It's not the kind of information Papa Bear was looking for, I think, but we'll certainly pass it on. Who knows – maybe she intends to go after the Kommandant? Or else all those visiting generals? If he knows of her character in advance, I'm sure Papa Bear could turn it to his advantage. Question remains though," he continued. "Do we know anything about where her loyalties lie?"

Heike shook her head, and Udo muttered that she'd probably be loyal to whoever offered her the most.

Oskar gave his friend an understanding nod. "Okay, we'll simply pass on the info we do have then. At least Papa Bear will have some idea of what kind of woman he's dealing with. Now, to get back to our drama games..."

After having made sure that Colonel Hogan's Engländer caught sight of the remote controlled baby tank, Maryse headed back to town.

But the town was not the same as when she had left it a few short hours ago. For that nearby bombing raid that had come so conveniently for Karl and the other Karl to have the testing of the tank moved to Stalag 13 had hit the town!

Appalled, she stared at the ruins of the town's library and the flurry of activity going on around it. Of all the places of military interest in the area, they had chosen to pulverize the library!

'Good thing it was past six o'clock – at least there won't be any casualties,' it went through her mind. And she sighed. Because a bombing is never entirely without casualties. And in this case, the casualties were her job and Frau Schreiber's, the librarian.

Oh well, she'd just have to find a new one. That was one thing the war was actually good at: creating job opportunities, even for women. With so many men away at the front, she'd have a new job in no time.

But suddenly she began to hurry past the rubble and down the street. For if the library in the town's center had been hit, who says they hadn't hit...?

But no, the Richterstraße was still intact. Thank goodness...

She unlocked her front door and stepped into the little hall – only to be greeted by the ticking of the hall clock.

She hung up her coat and hat, and stopped the clock. For it was no ordinary clock – in fact, it was a brilliant piece of ingenuity from Udo's hand, serving as her warning signal that someone (usually Papa Bear) was trying or had tried to contact her on the radio.

She glanced outside. It was still too light to put up the black-out curtains without raising suspicion. Another ten, fifteen minutes maybe. Papa Bear would have to wait – she was not going to put herself in jeopardy for such a small gain of time, no matter how important the message was.

Instead, she started to unpack the leftovers from the picnic basket she had brought along to entice Colonel Hogan's man to stay with her at that strategic point looking out over the Hamelburg Road. She grimaced. She got the impression that the picnic basket had had very little to do with keeping the Engländer at her side. The things she had to put up with for her country these days!

Perhaps she should suggest to Karl that they'd find another younger lady to join them. Especially for tasks like this, it would be a blessing. Being the youngest female in their group by far (even though at nearly thirty-two, she wasn't exactly a spring chicken anymore either), the task of seducing men for their schemes automatically fell to her now that Helga was gone. And she hated it with a vengeance, no matter how much Karl remonstrated that she was merely playing a part. She simply was no actress, and one of these days, the guy she was supposed to seduce was going to notice the shudders going down her back when she had to kiss him.

But by now, dusk had seriously set in, so she put away the basket and began the minute task of putting up the black-out curtains. Then pushing the table aside, roll up the carpet and down into the crawl space she went.

Powering up the radio was the work of a minute, and as soon as she sent their recognition code, Papa Bear responded.

"Good to hear from you, Ridinghood. Papa Bear would like to talk to the Chameleon. Is he available tonight?"

"No, he's not." She glanced at her watch by the light of the candle. "I should be able to get a message through to him though. I can't promise he'll be able to make it tonight, but he should have enough time to organize it for tomorrow."

"Alright. Tell him to rendezvous at K12 tonight at 2200 hours. If he can't make it tonight, M2 tomorrow at the same time."

Maryse did a quick mental check. K12 was close to Karl's home, and M2 was on the other side of camp. "He'll have a better chance of making it tonight if you could rendezvous closer to town," she told Papa Bear.

"Alright, let me check." A momentary silence, then, "Ridinghood, how does F2 sound?"

"Much better. F2 at 2200 hours tonight. If he can't make that, I'll get back to you."

"F2, 2200 hours tonight. Roger. Over and out."

"Major Beckenbauer?"

Karl looked up in surprise as the Hauserhof bellboy suddenly appeared at his elbow.

"Telephone call for you at reception, sir." The boy disappeared as swiftly as he had come, and Karl raised an eyebrow at his companion. "I wonder what that was about."

The other Karl's mouth was set in a thin line. "It could be a trap. I'll cover you."

Karl nodded, and slid off the barstool. And with the other Karl following a few meters behind him, he walked down to the reception. The receptionist was busy with another guest, but he gestured invitingly for him to pick up the phone. So Karl did.

"Hello? Major Beckenbauer here. Heil Hitler."

"Hans, it's me – Jülchen," a voice he'd recognize out of thousands said in his ear. "And yes, heil Hitler."

"What's up?" A wink to Karl that everything was okay.

"Your uncle Behrend called tonight. And he'd really like to see you, too. Would you have time to come and say hello?"

"Um..." Karl frowned. "I might be able to get away for an hour or so. Where can I find him?"

"He's staying with friends, at the Eichmannstraße, number 2F. He said you could call on him until ten o'clock."

"F for Friedrich?"

"Yes, that's right."

"Okay, I'll do my best. Thanks for calling, Liebchen, and give my love to Gisela and Martina. I'll be home in a couple of days, okay?"

"Okay. Be careful, my love. I'll be waiting for you."

"Love you. Bye."

With a jerk of his head, Karl told his friend to follow him up to their room.

"What's the matter?" the older man asked as soon as the door was closed behind them.

They had no idea if the room was bugged, so, "That was my wife. My uncle Behrend wants to see me tonight. But I can hardly show up in this outfit, can I."

The older Karl grimaced. "That could lead to complications tomorrow, yes."

"So if I can borrow your greatcoat and hat? And then..." He pulled a small box from his pocket and sat down at the dressing table. A few lines of make-up was all it took to have a completely different man look back at him from the mirror. "I expect I'll be back around eleven. And I want you to be in the lobby after 10.30. I don't know how alert the reception is here, but if necessary, you'll have to persuade them to let me in."

Karl nodded. "No problem, I'll be there." He hesitated. "Shouldn't we swap papers as well?"

The younger Karl shook his head. "You better keep your own. We know how interested the Gestapo is in hotel guests, so... I'm simply going to have to chance it myself that they won't stop me."

He donned himself with his friend's greatcoat and hat, and mockingly saluted him. "See you later, my friend. And stay away from trouble for me."

The elder man grinned. "The same goes for you. Take care."

F2 was the codename for a boulder in the curve of the Hamel, just where the brook had some rapids due to a few large stones in its narrow bed. With the gurgling of the water drowning out every sound, and surrounded by open beechwood where it was difficult to hide, it was the perfect place for conversations that were not meant to be overheard.

Carefully, Karl climbed down to the riverbank, and walked the last meters to their rendezvous point. Was Colonel Hogan there yet? It had to be close to ten o'clock, so... Slowly, he moved closer to the boulder. And peeked around it. Indeed!

A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "I was expecting to see someone with high heels and a tight girdle." That part of the code was so much easier...

The Colonel, all in black, jerked around. "Danzig! You devil, you got me!" But he grinned. "Oh well. One doesn't wear one's disguises when they're no longer disguises, right?"

"Right." Karl came around the boulder and cautiously seated himself on one of the smaller stones. "What's up?" he asked, switching to German.

"I've got a big favour to ask. Would you be able to go to Paris for me?"

Danzig's eyebrows shot up. "To Paris?"

"Yes. We had a visiting big shot in camp a few days ago, who was carrying a detailed map of the rocket launching sites around Paris. It's too far out for us obviously, but the French Underground could do some nice little sabotage there. And the sooner, the better. Would you be able to deliver a copy of that map to Paris?"

Danzig frowned as he tried to oversee the implications of the request. "I can't get away right now, but I should be able to leave by Friday – Saturday the latest. Is that good enough?"

"Good enough for me," Colonel Hogan nodded. "I certainly won't be able to get to Paris myself any time soon." He sighed. "Pity though, isn't it."

But Danzig stayed on the topic. "And do you have a specific address, a specific person for me to deliver this map to?"

"Yep. I'll provide you with an address, a recognition code and an introduction letter in code, so they know you're coming from me and that they can trust you."

"And what about a map – do you have one I can borrow? I've never been to Paris, and my French is even worse than my English, so..." He grimaced with embarrassment.

But Colonel Hogan grinned in return. "Mine isn't much to write home about either. 'Bonjour' and 'merci' and 'mon amour' – that's about it." They chuckled together, and Colonel Hogan continued, "But yes, I can get you a map. Probably even directions to the address in question. Anything else?"

Danzig thought for a moment – then shook his head. "I think that's all. Except that I'll tell my people to lay low in my absence, so I'd appreciate it if you'd refrain from contacting them. Unless there's a real emergency of course."

"Understood. Can you meet me here again tomorrow, same time, for the handover?"

Danzig shook his head. "Difficult. But I can ask one of my people. They'll pass it on to me."

"Alright." He frowned. "That was the code about the runaway goblins, wasn't it?"

Karl snorted. "I wonder who comes up with these things? I bet they were stone drunk that day." He got up. "But I've got to get going. Good night, Papa Bear. And I'll do my best to get that map safely to Paris."

The development of the remote controlled baby tank went successfully down the drain (though Karl thought they could have done without it using them for target practice), the two original military supervisors attached to the project had been shipped off to the sub with a few escapees, and that evening found him and Maryse in the cellar under his house, surrounded by boxes.

"But why would you want to do away with these things?" Maryse asked, delicately fingering a diamond studded brooch.

"Because I'll soon be running out of funds. A corporal's pay is okay to live on, but it doesn't allow for the kind of activities we engage in."

The diamonds sparkled in the light of the bare bulb that hung from the ceiling. "But it's such a beautiful treasure... And I don't see why you should be the one paying for everything. We can all pitch in, I'm sure."

"Perhaps you can, but I consider it first and foremost my responsibility, simply because I've got the means for it without it hurting me in any way. This lot is worth thousands, maybe even a million marks. And face it – I'm not going to wear that stuff anymore, so why keep it? I might as well put it to good use and sell it for the good cause."

Maryse sighed. She hated the idea of Karl doing away with his little nest egg, but she had to admit he was right. "But couldn't you at least keep some of it? Who knows what the currencies are going to do after the war."

"That's why I'm asking you to pick out a few things that you'd like to have for yourself. Or maybe..."

Maryse looked up when he fell silent. "Maybe what?"

"Maybe I'll just keep a few myself, too. You never know when they might come in handy."

She eyed him quizzically as he knelt down beside her and began to sort through the many pieces of jewelry. "What do you mean?"

"You'll see."

He wouldn't say anything else on the subject, but she did notice that where her own preference tended to be for the more modest bracelets and brooches, Karl's definitely gravitated towards the more garish and extravagant items in the collection. What was he up to?

He refused to explain himself however, and once they had made their choice, they packed everything up and went back upstairs.

"Say, Maryse," Karl began as soon as they entered the living-room. "Why don't you come with me tomorrow?"

Her eyes grew wide. "To Paris?"

"Yes. After all, you don't have a job to keep you here at the moment. And what could be more innocent than a dashing young captain bringing his girl-friend along on his furlough to Paris?"

Her face fell a bit. "You mean you just want me along to have a good cover story?"

"No – no, not at all!" He took her hands in his. "It'd be a nice side effect, yes, but I'd just love to have you all to myself for a week or so. For once I've delivered that map and sold the jewelry, we can turn it into a real holiday – go see the sights and everything. With no guard duty or job or sabotage or whatever to interfere. Just you and me."

The heavenly smile had already returned on her face before he was halfway through with his plea. "In that case I'd love to come," she assured him, quickly pulling him in for a long, lingering kiss. And her eyes beamed at him when she finally continued, "And when I go over to Emma's tomorrow to pick up your papers, I'll ask her to draw up some papers for me, too." She sighed longingly. "Imagine going to Paris..." Paris, the city of romance... Who knows what might happen when two lovers went on holiday there? At the very least Karl would have plenty opportunity to finally ask the question – on top of the Eiffel tower perhaps, or under the Arc de Triomphe, or on one of those picturesque bridges over the Seine... For ever since Helga had drawn attention to it, it had bothered her to no end that she and Karl regularly talked about marriage and knew from each other that indeed they wanted to get married, but that he had never actually asked her to marry him. And a decent marriage proposal was well the least a girl could expect from her suitor, wasn't it?

Besides, there was a good chance that a city like Paris had the facilities to let people get married in secret. So why couldn't she and Karl...? Sure, they'd still have to live separately back here in Hamelburg to protect his cover, but at least they'd be married. And with their friends from the drama club alias resistance group they certainly could be open about it. She could already hear their surprised exclamations and happy well-wishing when upon their return from Paris they told them she and Oskar had gotten married...

Which brought her mind to something else. "Where will we be staying?" she asked, rubbing her nose against his neck, ending in a little kiss.

Unaware of his girl-friend's romantic dreams for his immediate future, Karl produced a leaflet from his pocket while his other hand stroked her soft blond hair out of her face. "Major Beckenbauer picked this up in the Kommandant's office the other day: Hôtel La Fontaine in the Rue Colbert. Apparently it's for German military personnel only, so we should be safe there from vengeful French guests."

Maryse snuggled up to him. "I'm not military though."

"Fortunately not, no." He nuzzled her hair, and ended up kissing the top of her ear. But then he pulled away a little. "But as long as you're with Captain Dehner, I'm sure they'll let you stay there, too. We'll just ask for adjacent rooms."

"With a connecting door?" Maryse purred mischievously.

Karl merely grimaced as he untangled himself from her and stepped back. He had no idea what she was doing to him tonight, but ever since he'd asked her to come to Paris with him, she was exuding an almost bewitching influence over him. It was certainly a pleasant influence, but he felt he was beginning to lose control, and before they'd do something that they'd only regret later on... Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to take her along to Paris after all, but there was no way he could bring himself to disappoint her now.

And they could both do with a break, with the constant tension and fear they'd been living in for years on end. Just get away from it all for a while. Let the war be the war and give in to their personal wishes for a change. And since most (if not all) of his wishes would be greatly enhanced with Maryse at his side...

He sighed. He'd just have to keep his head where she was concerned, for some things would still have to remain beyond their reach for a while longer. So...

"Come on, I'll walk you home. It's getting late."

The down-to-earth activity of putting on coats and hats lifted the almost electric tension between them, and it was under casual but excited banter that they took the route from the Holzstraße to the Richterstraße. But under the large chestnut tree a few houses from number 18, Karl came to a halt and in the safety of the deepblack shadows he cupped her face in his hands. "Tomorrow at this time we might already be in Paris."

Her eyes beamed back at him. "I can scarce believe it, you know that? Paris..." Her voice dreamt away, but she shook herself back to the present. "Thank you for taking me along, Karl. Thank you so much!"

He smiled – that shy smile of his that she loved so much. "My pleasure." A soft kiss on her forehead. "I'm not sure what time I'll be able to get away, but I hope I'll be able to pick you up sometime early in the afternoon, okay?"

"Okay." She pulled him in for good long real kiss, but he resisted.

"I believe Paris is already going to your head." He forced a chuckle into his voice. "We don't do this in public, remember? Everybody knows you here."

She pouted a little as she let go of him. "I hate it when you play the part of the voice of reason, you know that?"

He placed a quick kiss on her nose in consolation. "Good night, Maryse. I hope you'll have pleasant dreams."

The darkness hid her meaningful grin. "You bet I will!" One last quick kiss for the night, and then he watched her cover the last twenty meters or so to her house until she was safely inside.

"Sooo, you're going to Paris, Karl?" Schultz said as he perused through the letter. "Paris... with wine, women, song..."

Langenscheidt laughed a little.

"But I didn't know you had an uncle who was a general?" He winked. "I'll have to remember to treat you with more respect from now on!" He gestured to the Kommandantur. "You better go and show this to the Kommandant, so he can give you a pass."

Langenscheidt accepted the letter back from him. "But, Sergeant..." he started timidly.

"Yes?"

"Do you... do you think he will let me go?"

"Of course he will. Nothing to worry about!" He leaned over confidentially. "Whenever a general – any general – tells Kommandant Klink what to do, he just sits up and wags his tail!" Schultz laughed boisterously at his own joke. "Now in you go. Can't keep your uncle the General waiting!"

Nervously, Corporal Langenscheidt went up the steps, knocked on the door and entered at Fräulein Hilda's, "Herein."

"Yes, Corporal?"

He felt the familiar blush overtake him. "I um... I need to... to see the K-Kommandant. Kommandant Klink," he stammered.

She nodded primly. "Go right on in, Corporal."

Another knock, and a few seconds later he came to attention for Kommandant Klink. Who hardly looked up from his paperwork.

"Yes, yes, what is it, Langenscheidt."

Langenscheidt gulped audibly. "Herr Kommandant... Begging the Kommandant's pardon, b-but... I met my uncle Horst yesterday, and..."

"And what? Get to the point, Langenscheidt."

"Jawohl, Herr Kommandant. Herr Kommandant, he wants me to come to Paris with him."

"To Paris? Impossible. You have your duties here; you cannot be spared. You're away more than enough as it is. Dismissed!"

"B-b-but he s-said it's of great military v-value. His mission, I mean. Maybe if you read his letter, Herr Kommandant...?"

"What letter?"

Langenscheidt handed it to him, and bit his lip as the Kommandant quickly perused its contents. "Sehr geehrter Kommandant Klink, ladeeda, ladeeda... to release my nephew Corporal Karl Langenscheidt to me until further notice... Until further notice? Ha! Ladeeda... ladeeda... ladeeda... to serve as my personal chauffeur during a top secret mission in Paris. Great military value etcetera, etcetera, signed General Horst Goetze, Wehrmacht. Well, I..." Suddenly his eyes flew back to the paper. "General? And you're his nephew? My dear Langenscheidt, but of course you may accompany him to Paris for as long as he needs you! Ha ha – of course you realized I was only joking before, didn't you? No, you go with your uncle the General and look after him to the best of your abilities. And remember – a General's aide does not slouch! So pull those shoulders back, back straight and chin up! Yes – that's the spirit! Show those Frenchies the real Corporal Langenscheidt!"

Immediately, Langenscheidt sagged back into his usual lankiness, and with an exasperated sigh, Klink waved him away. "Perhaps we should let your uncle deal with that. Here is your pass. Now get out of here and let me get on with my paperwork."

Karl saluted dutifully before retreating out of the room. And he was still biting back his grin when he met Udo at the bottom of the stairs.

"Schultz said you're going to Paris, you lucky dog." He did nothing to keep the envy out of his voice. "I wish I could go with you."

Karl shrugged. "You could always get yourself an uncle who's a general."

"Hm. Not much chance there," Udo muttered. "But you will send us a postcard, won't you?"

"Of course. But I have to get going. Keep up the no-escape record for me, will you?"

Udo grimaced. "I will. Have fun!"

And as Karl crossed the compound, he made a mental note that Corporal Langenscheidt would have to stay in Paris quite a bit longer than the time Danzig needed to complete Colonel Hogan's assignment, plus the time his little vacation would take. For Udo was smart enough to get suspicious if both these friends left and returned around the same time...

Sabotage

The journey to Paris had been as uneventful as can be in a time of war. Sure, they had been stopped a few times. But all they got was a mere cursory look at their papers and 'Captain Karl Dehner' and 'Fräulein Marisa Mohr' were waved on on their way to Paris.

The fact that they were actually smuggling something and were getting away with it in broad daylight for once only served to further enhance their giddy holiday mood. And despite the numerous reminders of the war along the way, they were in the best of spirits when – after getting lost four times in the maze of inner Paris – they finally found the cosy, unassuming Rue Colbert where their hotel was located.

"If you stay here with the car for a moment, I'll go and check in."

Maryse smiled indulgently, for he was already out of the car before she could open her mouth to voice a protest – if she had wanted to, that is. But her Karl seemed even more excited about this sudden holiday than she was. And with good reason, too. From what she had gathered from his stories over the years, aside from his frequent stays with his uncle in Hamelburg as a kid, this was probably the very first vacation trip in his life. And once the small matters of that map and the jewelry were dealt with, she was personally going to see to it that he would have the time of his life. If anyone deserved that...!

And there he was again, almost bounding back to the car. "In Ordnung. We've got two adjacent rooms on the second floor." He helped her out of the car, and then joined the young bellboy who had started to unload their luggage. Together, the three entered the modest lobby again, where the receptionist welcomed the lady of the party with typical French flourish.

"Ah, Mademoiselle Mohr! Bienvenue à l'hôtel La Fontaine! Willkommen! Have you had a pleasant journey? I hope the roads were not too bad?"

Maryse blushed a little as he grabbed her hand and pressed an exaggerated kiss on it. She glanced at Karl, but her boy-friend merely grinned.

"Um, yes. Thank you," she mumbled.

With equally effusive attentions she was led to the reception desk, where the man – in between barking at the bellboy to take their luggage up to the second floor – was almost apologetic in asking for her papers. "Procedure, you understand, Mademoiselle. Now if you will just fill out this form here..."

While she filled out her (fake) personal details, the receptionist promised at Karl's request that he would bring the car around to the private parking space at the back of the hotel, and shortly afterwards he led them up the stairs to the second floor, and opened the two rooms for them in his excessively welcoming style. The keys were handed over, and with a bow and the best wishes for their stay, the receptionist hurried back down to his desk.

Maryse shook her head. "What a character..."

Karl laughed. "I suppose that's typical French melodrama."

She frowned. "Collaborator's melodrama then. Didn't you see that sign in the window that this establishment is for German military personnel only? I can't imagine a real Frenchman would put up a sign like that for the people who are occupying his country."

"I don't care." He lifted her up and to her astonishment he whirled her about the room.

"Karl! What...?"

He put her down, but held her close and repeated with emphasis, "For once, I really don't care. We're in Paris, we're on holiday, and as far as I'm concerned, the war can go to hell!"

After a delightfully foreign breakfast the next morning, Karl and Maryse set off on foot to find the dressmaker shop Dumoulin in the Rue Papillon where they had to deliver Colonel Hogan's map. They had memorized the route before they had left the hotel. It seemed straightforward enough, but they hadn't quite counted with the many interesting distractions on the way, nor had they fully realized just how big Paris is. All in all it was nearly lunchtime by the time they found the narrow alley called Rue Papillon.

They had agreed beforehand that Maryse would be the one to make the initial contact – first of all because it was far less conspicuous for a woman to go to a dressmaker's, but also because Karl in his Wehrmacht uniform was likely to be met with distrust.

But now that he saw the seedy alley leading off from the unassuming square, he suddenly changed his mind. "Maybe it's better if I go. You better wait here and feed the pigeons or something."

But Maryse was having none of it. "Don't be silly. It makes far more sense for me to go. You better go feed the pigeons. I'll come and get you in a moment."

She marched off before he could stop her, and with a sigh he turned his attention to the clucking birds at his feet. "Are all women so pig-headed?" he asked none of them particular.

Maryse didn't have to go far. It was only some fifty meters down the alley when she spied the dressmaker's shop in question: Dumoulin Couturiers. A quick mental rehearsal of her line, and in she went.

A friendly bell tinkled as she entered, and from somewhere at the back of the shop a voice called, "Un moment, s'il vous plaît!"

So Maryse just stood and looked around in the semi-darkness. Apart from a counter with an old-fashioned cash register, the small room was chockfull with clothes horses carrying dresses in all the colours of the rainbow, and probably a few more. She wondered fleetingly if perhaps the room was kept so dark on purpose, in order to better preserve the colours.

And there was the shopkeeper – all flamboyant gestures, just like the receptionist at the hotel. "Ah, Mademoiselle, que puis-je faire pour vous?"

Maryse opened her mouth to reply. But she never stood a chance.

"Mais... oh là là, Mademoiselle, what a modest cut you're wearing! It doesn't bring out your delicate figure at all! And those colours! Ma pauvre petite demoiselle... Who's dressing you?"

Apart from the obvious fact that the man did not like her dress, Maryse's rusty school French wasn't quite up to par to follow this rapid soliloquy. And as her mind feverishly searched for the words to tell him that she wasn't here to buy a dress (if she'd ever get a word in, that is), the shopkeeper was already rummaging through the dresses on the racks, pulling out one after another under a continuous stream of French of which she understood at best one word out of ten.

He was now holding up the dresses in front of her, never pausing his rapid stream of commendations, and Maryse was beginning to feel the urge to flee. "Monsieur, s'il vous plaît!" she pleaded.

And suddenly he snapped his fingers and fell silent.

The suddenness of the silence took Maryse by surprise, and before she had gathered her wits sufficiently to at least utter their recognition code, the shopkeeper had already dropped the dresses on the counter and rushed to the back of the shop.

"Mademoiselle, I have just the dress for you. Attendez un moment, s'il vous plaît!"

Maryse took a deep breath to try and steel her resolve. After all, how was the guy to know that she was an emissary from Papa Bear? It was only natural that he saw a customer in her, and apparently a badly dressed one to boot. She glanced down at her home-made dress. Was it really that awful?

But there was the shopkeeper back. "Mademoiselle," he whispered in a respectful hush. "This dress simply is you."

"Monsieur," Maryse began stubbornly – but then she fell silent. For the dress the shopkeeper so reverently held up for her was just... perfect. A deep dark purple, with a single large white rose on one hip. Simple and elegant, it had class, it had style, yet none of the extravagance of the dresses Karl kept in his cellar. It wasn't the kind of dress she had ever seriously looked at – why tempt yourself with something you know you cannot afford? But this creation, this absolutely perfect creation...

The shopkeeper smiled a little. He knew the signs of a woman hooked. "Why don't you try it on?"

Maryse opened her mouth. And closed it again. "No. Pardon. I mean..." A breath. "What would you recommend to go with bearskin?"

Monsieur's jaw dropped. "Bearskin?"

For a moment, Maryse feared he had no idea what she was talking about, but then he fumbled out the required English reply. "Bearskin. Ah... oui. Bearskin. I would say it goes perfectly with a tiger motif."

A sigh of relief, and suddenly they both laughed.

Carefully, the shopkeeper placed the purple dress on the counter with the others. "Ma foi, how was I to know that you were sent here by Papa Bear? So..." He turned back to her. "Do you have news from Tiger?"

"Tiger?" Maryse frowned.

"Our... Never mind. What does Papa Bear want?"

"I think you'd better speak to his real envoy – I'm just his forerunner. He poses as a German officer, and we figured that otherwise you might not want to see him."

The shopkeeper's face distorted in anger. "Those dirty Boches... Can he be trusted?"

"One hundred percent," Maryse calmly assured him. "He even carries a personal letter of recommendation from Papa Bear himself, if you don't believe me."

"Hm. Well, I guess if Papa Bear thinks he's okay..." He looked around. "Where is he? It's about time for lunch anyway, so perhaps you'd like to join me?"

Ten minutes later they all sat around a small table in the back room with a bottle of red wine, a basket full of fresh baguette, and an array of cream cheeses.

The initial meeting between Monsieur Antoine (as he wanted to be called) and Oskar Danzig had been rather cool – especially in comparison to the Frenchman's ongoing gallantry towards 'Mademoiselle Marisse'. But they were probably just sizing each other up; something that the language barrier did not exactly facilitate. So in order to avoid too many misunderstandings, in the end they had settled for English as the only language all three of them spoke reasonably well.

And now Monsieur Antoine sat pored over the map with the rocket launching sites Oskar had given him. "Oh, c'est fantastique, c'est formidable!" he mumbled occasionally. "Now if only Tiger were here..."

"Who's Tiger?" Oskar inquired at last.

"Hein? Tiger? Tiger is the brains of our group de résistance." He sighed. "Would you believe she is in Germany at this very moment, looking for secret fighter bases we have heard rumours about? She could have picked up this map from Papa Bear herself! And instead you had to come out here and..."

Karl grinned. "We don't mind. Do we, Maryse?"

She merely smiled, and took another piece of bread. It was delicious.

"If only Tiger were here," Monsieur Antoine lamented again. "Quel dommage! These launching sites should be disabled as soon as may be. But when she's not here...?"

"Is she such a wizz with rocket launching sites?" Maryse was getting curious about this Tiger.

Monsieur Antoine shook his head. "She is a woman after all. Mais oh là là, what a woman! If she were a man, she'd be a general! Such uncanny strategy skills – her plans never fail. Never! And a figure... oh là là!" He shook his head. "She specifically told us not to borrow trouble while she was away. But how could she have known something as big as this would come along? And here we are, unable to do anything..."

Oskar sat up. "Maybe I can help?"

Maryse raised her eyebrows at him, but he continued, "I don't know the area of course, but I've had quite some experience with this kind of stuff."

Monsieur Antoine stared at him. "You are a rocket expert?"

"No." He chuckled a little. "But I think I may safely call myself a bit of a sabotage expert. I'd be happy to help you plan the thing."

"But..." Maryse began, but her protest was drowned out by Monsieur Antoine's enthusiastic response.

"Would you really? Oh, Monsieur Danzig, I am sure we would all be infinitely grateful if you would help us here. You are a real godsend!"

"You're not happy about this, are you," Karl observed as they walked back to their hotel a few hours later to pick up the car for a leisurely reconnaissance tour.

She sighed. "Not really, no."

He squeezed her hand in understanding. "It's just that it'd be so much more convincing with a native German speaker, you know. And..."

"I know, Karl," she interrupted him. "And I agree. But that doesn't mean I have to like it." She cuddled up to him a bit as they walked, and he put his arm around her. And she continued, "Instead of spending a lovely relaxing time together and go and see the sights, I'm going to have to worry again about you getting caught or shot." She shook her head. "You just can't stay away from trouble, can you."

To that, he made no reply, and they walked on in silence until Maryse tackled a new subject. "Did you see that beautiful purple dress by the way?"

"Where?" Karl looked around.

"Back at Monsieur Antoine's shop." She frowned. "I wonder why the maker of such beautiful dresses has his shop in such a humble backstreet. I didn't look at the prices, but his dresses look awfully expensive. Would ladies from the upper classes really go into a dark little shop like that?"

"I don't know. Maybe they think it's eccentric?"

"Maybe. Anyway, I'm going to ask him for the sewing pattern; then I can make it myself. That's the least he owes me for stealing you away from me and getting you into trouble." She paused as she recalled something else. "Karl, what do you think about this dress? Is it really that awful?" She stepped away from him, and slowly turned around to grant him a good look.

A broad smile lit up his face. "You could be wearing a gunny-sack, and I'd still think you're beautiful."

"I'm serious, Karl. What do you think? Is it really that awful?"

He shrugged. "I don't see anything wrong with it. Why?"

A sigh. "Monsieur Antoine was absolutely appalled when he saw me in this. I couldn't follow everything he said, but..."

"Maryse, Monsieur Antoine probably only sees dresses, not the people wearing them. After all, that's his job. But let me teach you something Oskar Danzig learned a long time ago. In a dress like the ones in Monsieur Antoine's shop, every woman can look beautiful. But to look beautiful in a simple dress like this one – now that takes real beauty."

Laughter twinkled in Maryse's eyes. "Real beauty and the eyes of a lover, you mean."

"Well... yes. That helps, too, I suppose," he had to concede.

And with a laugh and a kiss they continued on their way.

Early the next morning they were back at Monsieur Antoine's shop.

"Entrez, entrez," he greeted them as he opened the door for them. "Did you bring the car?"

Karl nodded. "It's parked in the courtyard at the back, just as you said."

"Good. Then let's get you changed. The earlier you can get started, the more you can do today."

As he led the way to the back room, Maryse pulled at Karl's sleeve. "Look."

"Where?"

"That dress. The purple one. The one I was telling you about yesterday."

Karl frowned for a moment as he tried to recollect what she was talking about. "Oh. Yes. It's nice," he replied vaguely.

And Maryse grimaced. Clearly his mind was already focused on the task ahead. She cast another wistful glance at this dress of her dreams, fingering the intricate rose and the expensive material for a moment, and then followed the two men into the room at the back.

But the moment she entered, she was nailed to the floor by two pitchblack piercing eyes. The eyes of a predator, it went through her mind, and almost unconsciously, she stepped back.

But Monsieur Antoine took her by the hand and led her closer to the dark, intense man. "Mademoiselle Marisse," Monsieur Antoine said with a touch of inexplicable pride, "This is Monsieur Dubois – Maurice for his friends in the Résistance. Maurice – Mademoiselle Marisse, envoy from Papa Bear."

The man's sudden smile negated much of the initial fearsome impression he'd made on her, but she was still a bit wary in shaking his hand.

"Enchanté, Mademoiselle," he greeted her with a curt bow. But instead of the exaggerated flamboyance she had come to expect from French men after thirty-six hours in Paris, he remained all business-like and turned back to Karl to discuss a few final details of their trip today. Monsieur Antoine produced two Luftwaffe uniforms from somewhere and shooed Maryse back out to the shop so the men could get changed. She used the time to study how the purple dress was put together (apart from the rose, it looked like she'd have no trouble copying it if she'd manage to persuade Monsieur Antoine to give her the pattern), and when they called her back in, Karl was just putting the finishing touches on Dubois's disguising make-up.

"C'est formidable!" Monsieur Antoine exulted, seeing how little it took to give his comrade a completely different look. "Monsieur Danzig, you must stay with us in Paris. We could use a man with your magic fingers!"

Karl grimaced. "Thanks, but I've got my own people to take care of." He got up, double checked his papers, and cut into a renewed panegyric from Monsieur Antoine with a decisive, "I think we need to get going."

"Oui. Of course." Monsieur Antoine switched gears in an instant, and handed the two fake officers their hats.

But Karl turned to Maryse first. "You know I'll be careful," he promised, squeezing her shoulders with affection.

She nodded, and sighed. "Just make sure you make it back here safely tonight, okay?"

"I will." A kiss on her forehead, and with an encouraging smile he took his hat and followed Dubois out the back door.

"Now remember – I'll handle the talking," Danzig reminded his French comrade as the car approached the entrance to the first rocket launching site on their list.

Dubois nodded. "Understood. I'm the high brow scientist – I don't stoop to talk to mere guards."

"Exactly." He reduced the car's speed until it came to a halt in front of the closed gate, drawing a young guard from the guardhouse.

"Guten Morgen, Herr Colonel, Herr Leutnant."

"Morgen." A silent Heil Hitler salute was exchanged, and then the young guard asked what their business was.

"I'm Colonel Mück from Luftwaffe Headquarters in Berlin. My companion here," he nodded to Dubois, "Is Lieutenant Wegner – Dr. Dr. Paul Wegner from the University of Frankfurt, to be exact. And we need to speak to the man in charge of this site."

The guard saluted respectfully. "May I see your orders, Herr Colonel?"

Silently, the orders were handed over. And the next moment, the young guard gasped. "From Reichsmarschalk Göring himself? Oi! I'd better... Moment mal, bitte, Herr Colonel!" He scurried into the guardhouse, and a moment later they heard him talking on the phone. "Major Schmalz? There are some men from Berlin to see you, sir. With orders from Reichsmarschalk Göring himself! ... Yes. Of course, Herr Major. Right away. Heil Hitler!"

He scrambled back out. "In Ordnung, Herr Colonel. If you just follow the driveway, and at the end you turn left, you'll find Major Schmalz's office." He hurried to open the barrier, and then stood at attention until they passed.

"Um... Corporal?" Colonel Mück cleared his throat.

"Jawohl, Herr Colonel?"

"Could I have my orders back, please?"

"What? Your..." Frantically, the young guard turned his pockets inside out, and then dashed back into the guardhouse.

"Here they are, sir," he breathed as he thrust them into the Colonel's hand a moment later. "Ich bitte um Verzeihung, Herr Colonel. Ich hatte sie nur auf dem..."

But Colonel Mück waved him away. "It's alright, boy. Heil Hitler!"

"Heil Hitler!" was the utterly relieved reply as they finally moved on through the gate.

Following the guard's directions, they arrived at some barracks in the woods a few minutes later. The first one carried a sign saying, 'Kommandantur', so that's where Karl parked the car. They got out, waltzed by the guard on the porch as if he wasn't there, and the next moment they were in Major Schmalz's office.

"Heil Hitler!" the little man chanted.

Mück and Wegner answered the eager greeting in silent superiority.

"Major Schmalz," the cool colonel began. "We've been sent here from Luftwaffe Headquarters in Berlin. My companion here – best known as Dr. Dr. Paul Wegner from the University of Frankfurt – has developed an improved aiming mechanism for our rockets. And Reichsmarschalk Göring wants this to be installed on all the rockets in the area. Here are our orders."

Major Schmalz gave the papers a cursory inspection, while he already nodded, "Of course, Herr Colonel. An improvement is always welcome. If you wait here a moment, I'll send for one of my men to accompany you to the launching pads."

He stepped outside for a moment to talk to the guard on the porch, and within a minute they were joined by an elderly sergeant.

"Sergeant Klaus Klötzl reporting, sir."

"At ease, Klötzl." Schmalz quickly informed him of the situation, and ordered him to take the two gentlemen from Berlin to the launching pads and provide them with anything they needed. "And remember – they are acting on the orders of Reichsmarschalk Göring himself!"

"Jawohl, Herr Major." And turning to the visitors, "Bitte, Herr Colonel, Herr Leutnant, follow me."

He led them through another patch of beautiful, bird infested wood to a large clearing, where the beauty of nature was defaced by six grim-looking rockets, ready to go.

"Here you are, gentlemen. Do you need any help?"

Colonel Mück shook his head. "No, thank you, Sergeant. Dr. Wegner brought along everything he needs."

They climbed up on the first launching pad, with Klötzl on their heels. An apprehensive round around the rocket – after all, neither Karl nor Dubois had any idea where they might be able to sabotage the thing – but fortunately, there was a panel on the other side.

Dubois put down his bag with tools and took out a Phillips screwdriver that seemed a good fit for the screws that kept the panel's cover in place. "Can you get that guard away?" he mumbled from the corner of his mouth as he started to loosen the panel. "Especially this first time. I have no idea what I will find and what I can do."

An imperceptible nod, and Colonel Mück took the hovering sergeant by the arm. "Come on, Sergeant. Let's grant the genius some space to do his work." He led him away and off the pad, and struck up a conversation with him that could have been taken for an informal evaluation of the base's procedures. Until the 'genius' called him and motioned for him to join him at the panel again.

"Excuse me, Sergeant." And with a few long strides he was back at Dubois's side. "What's up?"

"I have taken out a handful of wires as you suggested, and moved several of the others. But where do I put in that extra piece we brought along? There is no room for it!"

Karl studied the panel inside. The opening was but small, and the area was indeed chockfull with incomprehensible electronics. If only Udo were here... "Perhaps..." He glanced over his shoulder, but no, the sergeant was still where he'd left him – a safe five meters or so away. "Here." He took the screwdriver. "If we take off the casing of one of these dials, and remove one of its communicating nuts..."

Dubois grinned. "Then it will not communicate anymore. And they will not find out until it is too late. Excellent idea!"

"A friend of mine taught me," Oskar said modestly. "But you better take over. After all, you're supposed to be the rocket expert."

He walked back to the waiting sergeant. "He's almost done with this one."

Klötzl nodded. "I suppose he'll have to tinker with all the rockets here, right?"

Colonel Mück nodded and looked around at the launching pads in the clearing. "We should be done here within the hour, I think."

The sergeant looked surprised. "Won't the ones in the depot get the improvement?"

Karl instantly caught on. "Of course they will. How many do you keep in stock here?"

The sergeant's answer was immediate. "Fifty, sir."

Karl only just managed to maintain his pokerface...

It was well past ten o'clock in the evening (with Maryse getting close to tearing her hair out) by the time the two sabotaging officers showed up again at the back door of Dumoulin's couturier shop.

"What took you so long!" Maryse reproached them as she flung herself in Karl's arms the moment he entered.

"It was a lot more work than we thought," Karl replied. He threw down his hat, untangled himself from his girl-friend with a mere token kiss, and sank down on a chair by the table. Dubois followed his example, and immediately, Monsieur Antoine placed a mug of hot Ersatz coffee in front of them.

"So how far did you get? Are you nearly done?" he inquired.

"Not by a long shot." Oskar sighed. "We only got around to three sites today – and we shouldn't even have done that last one. Not only was it getting too dark to see what we were doing, they were getting suspicious as well about our doing this in the evening."

"So what's taking so long?" Maryse wanted to know.

Another sigh. "We thought they had just a few rockets at each site, but it turns out every site has its own rocket depot. We couldn't very well leave those intact, could we?"

"So in that first place I had to do it all by myself," Dubois filled in. "For that's what we had told the Boches – that I was the rocket expert. But once we knew about those depots, we said I had instructed him to do the preliminary work, and I'd put on the finishing touches. That went a lot faster of course. But if they have something like seventy rockets lying around, that still takes an awful lot of time."

"And we're almost out of petrol," Oskar added. "Monsieur Antoine, do you happen to have some coupons for petrol lying around? Or better still: a letter requisitioning it for military purposes?"

Monsieur Antoine nodded. "We have some military stationery. But if it has to be in German, you better type it up yourself tomorrow morning."

"Alright." Karl emptied his mug and stood. "And do you have water and soap and a mirror somewhere? I'd rather not have to argue with the hotelier tonight to let me in."

"So what have you been up to today?" Karl asked as they briskly took the route back to the Rue Colbert.

"I've helped Monsieur Antoine a bit. Pinning patterns, cutting, even sewing a little. In the end he declared I was a decent seamstress after all."

Karl let out a tired chuckle. "High praise no doubt, coming from him."

"Definitely!" Maryse was silent for a moment, and then she asked hesitantly, "Karl, how many more days do you reckon you need for those rockets?"

He shrugged a little. "We still have five sites to go, and those are a bit further out, too. So I guess three more days should do it." He pulled her close. "I'll make it up to you, okay? There is no specific date that either of us has to be back, so I'll ask the hotelier tonight if we can stay an extra week. And that week is going to be dedicated entirely to you!"

She smiled wistfully, and hugged him. "It better be..."

The days dragged with Maryse. As always when Karl was out on a mission, she was too tense and too engrossed in her worries to do anything that required serious concentration. At home at least she had her job and her housework to help her kill the time till he got back. But all she could do here was assisting Monsieur Antoine in his sewing work. And it wasn't that she disliked sewing, but for days in a row when you're on tenterhooks already...

A few times Monsieur Antoine had suggested that she'd go out into town. Who knows – perhaps he wasn't too happy with her help after all. But nothing could get her to leave the place where she would learn whether or not Karl had made it back alright in this unknown megacity with its foreign language.

"The last day," Monsieur Antoine said, clearly trying to cheer her up as he put a mug of Ersatz coffee in front of her. "It is quite far out, this one, but Maurice and Monsieur Danzig should be back late in the afternoon."

Maryse let out a sigh. "It's been going so smoothly so far – I really hope they won't run into trouble with this last one."

"They will be fine," Monsieur Antoine assured her. "So what will you two be doing tomorrow? Finally going to see all the famous sights?"

She shook her head. "We've got one more matter to take care of first. No, don't worry," she added quickly, seeing his startled, somewhat guilty reaction. "There's no real hurry with that one. I hope we can get that sorted out in one day, and then we can..." She hesitated. "Monsieur Antoine, I suppose you know Paris very well, don't you? I mean, you'd know where to go for things."

A grand gesture. "Anything you need. What can I help you with?"

Maryse swallowed. Hard. "Do you... Would you know where we could go to get married in secret?"

Monsieur Antoine's eyes distended. "You are here for your honeymoon?"

"Well, not quite." She sighed, suddenly feeling an uncontrollable urge to vent her frustration with the situation. It should be safe to do so with a fellow member of the Underground whom she'd never see again after today, shouldn't it? "The problem is that I can't really marry him and be his wife in public. For then I'd have to marry him under his real name of course – Oskar Danzig is just one of his aliases." A grimace. "One of the many. And no one – and I really mean no one but me – is aware of his true identity. But far too many people in the Underground know me as Oskar Danzig's girl-friend, so it'd be a dead giveaway if I'd marry him as himself. He has already survived the Gestapo wiping out his entire resistance group once, for the sole reason that none of his people was able to tell them who Danzig really was. It's dangerous enough that I know – I won't put him at extra risk by giving away that secret to others." She hesitated. "But I do want to marry him. Soon. It's not that I don't trust him or anything; it's just... Everything is so uncertain. I just... I think I just want to have some tangible, undeniable proof that he's mine, that he'll be at my side for the rest of my life. That even if..." She gulped with difficulty, her hands restlessly clawing in the table cloth. "Even if he wouldn't survive this rotten war, at least this time I... I'd..." She faltered, suddenly close to tears.

Monsieur Antoine watched her with compassion. "I understand. Marrying him in secret would not really change anything in practice, but it is the idea that gives you comfort in those long hours waiting for him to return from danger."

She nodded. "Something like that, yes. I wouldn't mind keeping up the charade at home, living separately and all. But just knowing that we're married..." Her hands clenched into fists. "All I want is to keep him safe. Alive."

Suddenly, Monsieur Antoine sat down across from her and placed his hands over her restless fists. "Mademoiselle Marisse, I am really sorry that I dragged your amoureux into danger here, too – I really am. But perhaps I can ease your distress a little, for I know just the place you are looking for!"

Maryse looked up, wide-eyed. "You do?"

"Indeed I do! Secrecy guaranteed – the guy is a first class patriot, who would never breathe a word of it to the Boches if we ask him not to. With a bit of luck, you should be married to your Oskar within a week!" A beaming grin crossed his face. "And you know what?" He jumped up and out into the shop, and returned with... "Your Oskar is going to have the most magnifique bride in the world!"

Maryse stared. In the doorway to the shop stood Monsieur Antoine, holding up the dress. The purple and white dream to which her eyes were irresistibly drawn every time she was in the shop. That absolutely perfect creation that made every dress she'd ever had pale in comparison. Would he really...?

But she forced herself to shake her head. "That's very kind of you, Monsieur Antoine, but I really couldn't accept something like that."

"But I insist!" He came into the room and spread out the purple dream on the table. "Besides, I have observed you this week. You do not fool me: you just cannot stay away from this dress. Admit it!"

"It's the most beautiful dress I've ever seen," Maryse conceded quietly. "But I can't acc..."

"Yes, you can. It is my expiatory sacrifice for causing you so much distress this week. So in order to soothe my conscience, will you please accept it? S'il vous plaît?"

His face was such a picture of innocent plea that she couldn't help laughing – laughing with a few stray tears escaping as well. "Alright then." She quickly wiped the tears away, and added with sincere gratitude, "And thank you. For I really do love that dress. So much in fact, that I was going to ask you for the sewing pattern."

"Nix pattern," he grumbled. "This dress was destined for you from the moment you first walked into this shop. Ah, oui! I saw the way you looked at it that first time! Now why don't you finally try it on, so we can see if it needs altering? Believe me." He grinned from ear to ear. "Your Oskar will be absolutely speechless when he sees you in this. Secret or not, we'll make sure you two will have a wedding to remember!"

Caught

Knock knock.

An unintelligible reply, and Maryse pushed open the door. "Karl, there is something I have to talk to y... Oh, pardon!"

With a face as red as a beetroot, Maryse quickly retreated to the corridor and pulled the door shut. This wasn't Karl's room at all – how could she get so turned around? Hopefully that lady she barged in on wasn't the quarrelsome type, but...

She looked around. And frowned. There was her room, number 6. And Karl's room was right next to hers, number... Huh? Wasn't that the room she just left? With the blond, long-legged beauty at the dressing table?

Suddenly, the door of number 7 was pulled open and the long-legged beauty appeared. She was a beauty indeed, of Slavic or Eastern European origin, Maryse noted as she instinctively stepped back for this intimidating woman.

"I... I'm really sorry," she began, feeling her blush overtake her again. "I must have gotten the room numbers mixed up. I didn't mean to..."

A chuckle rose from the woman's throat. "Come on in," she said in a sultry tone, and held the door invitingly open.

Unconsciously, Maryse took another step closer to the stairs. "But I... Honestly, Madame, I didn't mean to intrude upon your privacy! It was a mistake!"

Another chuckle. "Maryse, calm down. It's me."

"What?!" All she could do was stare at the woman as she felt her jaw slowly dropping.

The long-legged Slavic beauty jerked her head, and then gestured for her to come in. But Maryse was too astonished to move, and after a quick glance down the deserted corridor, the lady stepped out and grabbed her arm to pull her into the room.

"What are you doing dressed like this?" Maryse refound the power of speech just as the female Karl had closed the door behind them. "I thought you had given up your female impersonating years ago!"

"I did." It was definitely Karl's voice that answered her now. And somehow, the Slavic beauty seemed a little less convincing all of a sudden as she continued, "And I have no intention of repeating this little encore. But it'd be stupid not to use my skills to get a much better price for that jewelry than Karl Langenscheidt ever could as himself."

"What do you mean?" Maryse hadn't quite recovered sufficiently from seeing him like this to be able to follow his reasoning. Sure, in the early days of their courtship when he was still performing, she had seen him dressed as a woman and made up as a woman often enough. Even in that show of Charlie's Aunt that Karl had invited her to. But it had always been 'Karl dressed up and made up as a woman'. Never before had she seen him in his full glory as female impersonator, playing his role with such conviction that the audience instinctively saw him as a woman. It was disconcerting, to say the least. 'Creepy' was probably a better description.

"Hey."

She flinched as the lady took her by the shoulders in a shockingly familiar manner and tried to pull her into an embrace. Instinctively she backed away – until she realized again that it was Karl standing in front of her. Karl – looking like some Slavic beauty queen. A Karl she seriously had to look up to, for he was suddenly nearly a head taller than she was. She always had to look up to him a little, but this was ridiculous. Was he...? A quick glance at his feet confirmed her hunch: he was wearing high heels, and seemed more at ease in them than she herself was.

She swallowed. "Why, Karl?"

A well-shaped eyebrow was raised. "I just told you that."

A sigh. "I don't think I heard a word you said."

"I see." An indulgent smile. But as the lady's hand lifted in a gesture Maryse immediately recognized as Karl going to lovingly stroke her hair behind her ear, she quickly stepped out of his reach. "Don't."

The hurt was obvious in his – the lady's – eyes, but she just couldn't bring herself to... She took a quavery breath. "Sorry, Karl, but not like this. You know how much I love it when you caress me as yourself, and I've learned not to mind when you do it even if you don't look anything like yourself. But this...!" She shook her head. "No. This is too wrong."

He nodded his understanding, suddenly reminding her much more of her Karl than of the Slavic beauty queen her eyes registered.

And she repeated her question. "Why, Karl? Why are you dressing up like this?"

He heaved a sigh – yes, he. "There are things in which Marya simply outclasses Karl Langenscheidt. Karl Langenscheidt will always be an underdog when bargaining for a good deal, and he's fairly easily intimidated. And I'm afraid Captain Dehner wouldn't be far behind. But Marya – she intimidates them, and can get the most outrageous things done simply by twisting men around her little finger. So I'm sure I can get a much better price for this jewelry when I try to sell it as Marya than I ever would as myself."

Maryse frowned. "That's ridiculous. You are Marya, so you must be able to do anything she can."

He smiled a little. "Not quite. Most of all because I'm not a woman."

She studied his appearance in silence. And finally she sighed. "If you really think it makes a difference?"

He nodded solemnly.

Another sigh. "Alright then. If you promise me this will be the very very last time for you to dress up as a woman."

"I promise. The very very last time. Once this jewelry is sold, I'll be ever so glad to behave and dress like the man I am for the rest of my life."

If only he knew...

It was with mixed feelings that Maryse kept watch while 'Marya' quickly negotiated the fire ladder and disappeared out of sight. Seeing her Karl like this really had shaken her – as if even after all these years, there were still sides to him of which she was completely unaware.

Then again, his fame as female impersonator could not possibly have been based on what he had showed her in their off-stage encounters in the theatre at the time. Knowing how she despised his job, he probably had taken great care to be himself around her even when he was dressed up as a woman. And she had seen him morphing into other characters dozens of times – she knew his skills in that field were truly extraordinary, and disturbing as it was, she admired him for it nonetheless.

But to see those same skills being used to turn him into to a real woman, and a not particularly likeable woman to boot...

She shook herself. At least he had promised that today would be the very last time. And besides, she had more fun things to do today, like...

She froze. In the consternation, she still hadn't told him about this friend of Monsieur Antoine's – the man who held the necessary power to marry them in secret. Karl had been so tired last night that she had considered it wise to wait with springing the news on him until morning. And now...

Oh well. She sighed. Then she'd have to tell him tonight. Or depending on the mood he was in after a day of haggling for a good bargain, perhaps tomorrow morning would be better. She chuckled to herself. It sure seemed like she was procrastinating...

But first things first: she had promised Monsieur Antoine to stop by this morning for another fitting of the purple dress, and then perhaps she could celebrate this being her last day solo in Paris by going shopping the female way – to spare Karl the aggravation later on.

Monsieur Antoine received her in full French state of course. "Ah, Mademoiselle Marisse, entrez, entrez! You are just in time – I have just put the last stitches in your dress, so it is ready to be fitted. Come!" He led her to the spacious fitting cubicle, and handed her the dress. "Take your time, Mademoiselle. Dressing should not be done in haste – it should be savoured!"

Maryse grimaced behind the curtain, but once she took the dress off its hanger to slide it over her head, she thought she understood what he meant. The soft, yet slightly stiff fabric on her skin, the distinct smell of new clothes, and the look of something so rich on her really was something to be savoured.

"Are you alright?" came Monsieur Antoine's voice from behind the curtain after a prolonged silence from her side. "Do you need some help with the hooks and eyes perhaps?"

"Yes, please." A smiling Maryse appeared. "I was just admiring myself already."

His face beamed. "I told you: this dress simply is you!"

"It sure is." She turned her back to him, and as he quickly and professionally hooked up the dress, Maryse was struck by the realization that very soon now, Karl would be the one doing this. And a lot less professionally, too, she hoped. The mere image of him doing up (or undoing) those hooks and eyes on her back sent an expectant shiver down her spine. Especially if it'd be one of those days when he simply couldn't keep his hands off her. The idea of them soon being able to give in to those feelings of physical desire was as tantalizing as it was...

"There," Monsieur Antoine cut into her exciting little daydream. "Now let's have a look at you." Slowly he turned her around, straightening something here, adjusting something there. "Superbe!" he proclaimed, before leading her to the grand mirror in the corner. "I'd advise you to get some white flowers for your bouquet. And shoes – do you have suitable shoes?"

She shook her head. "Back home I've got a pair of high-heeled sandals that could go with purple. But although I did sort of plan to get married in Paris, I didn't exactly expect to do so in a dress like this."

"Maybe I have something for you." He looked intently at her feet as if to study them.

"Why – do you run a shoe shop as well?" Maryse inquired somewhat sceptically.

"Sort of." He disappeared behind another curtain in the back and returned with two pairs of white pumps. "You see," he explained as he put the two pairs down in front of her, "With the present scarcity of shoes, it is difficult for women to find shoes that go with their new dresses. So to make sure the Parisian ladies keep buying my dresses, I have gathered a supply of fashionable shoes for them to go with the dresses they buy. Some are new, some are second hand that still look like new."

Maryse tried them on, and instantly decided to go with the left pair.

Monsieur Antoine nodded his appreciation. "Très jolie. Your Oskar will not be able to keep his eyes off you!" He chuckled. "Alors, what did he say?"

"I haven't told him yet," Maryse confessed. "I figured he was too tired yesterday, and this morning he was gone before I had a chance to talk to him. But to be honest... I'm afraid I'm going to have to talk him into it."

Monsieur Antoine's eyes distended. "Comment? You mean he does not know you want to marry him?"

"Oh, he wants to marry me alright. I believe he's been dreaming about that ever since he first set eyes on me. But even with all the secrecy and anonymity of Paris, there's a good chance that he'll still consider it too dangerous."

"Balivernes!" Monsieur Antoine exclaimed. "Nonsense! There is no danger whatsoever. You just bring him here, and together we will talk him around."

Maryse grimaced. "It wouldn't be very romantic though – literally having to talk him into marrying me."

"Ah, ça!" Monsieur Antoine threw up his hands. "Mademoiselle Marisse, a man will always find excuses not to get married just yet. It's in our genes! But take it from a man with nearly twenty-five years of experience in marriage: in the end, the lady always gets her wish. So don't you worry – we will get him to the altar."

At that moment, the door of the shop opened and Maurice Dubois came barging in. A quick glance around, a cursory nod at Maryse and he blurted out his news. "Tiger a été arrêtée par le Gestapo!"

"Quoi? Mon Dieu!"

But Maryse had only understood one word. "Gestapo?" she echoed, blanching. "Did they find out about those rockets already?"

"No, no." Dubois took a calming breath. "Nothing that concerns your friend. It is Tiger, our leader. The Gestapo in Germany has arrested her."

"And? What else did César say?" Monsieur Antoine pressed.

"He said they are taking her to Paris today – for 'intensive interrogation'." Dubois's voice dripped with sarcasm.

"Oh no..." Monsieur Antoine's hand flew to his mouth. "Not that new guy..."

"I am afraid so – that salopard." He spat out the abusive term. "We are going to have to get her out somehow. No one deserves to die at the hands of cette ordure. And certainly not a brave woman like Tiger."

"After she is made to spill everything she knows." Monsieur Antoine started pacing in between the clothes horses full of dresses. Suddenly his natural flamboyance was severely toned down by a far more business-like attitude.

"She is strong. She will hold out," Dubois stated brusquely, probably more as a wish than as a fact.

But, "No one holds out forever, Maurice. And certainly not in the hands of that... that... canaille of a Backscheider." He kept tensely pacing back and forth, with Dubois and Maryse watching him in anxious silence. "Is she here in Paris yet?"

"Probably not. César said they were shipping her out today. I have already asked Pauline to keep Gestapo Headquarters under surveillance." His eyes flashed fire. "I say we set up an ambush there and grab her before they can take her inside."

Immediately, Monsieur Antoine rounded on him. "Are you mad? They would shoot her on the spot, and grab us, too! Non." He resumed his pacing. "What we need is one of Tiger's own top crazy plans. Without having her here to think it up for us."

Maryse bit her lip. Should she volunteer to ask Karl to help them? But Karl didn't know anything or anyone here. And to send him into Gestapo Headquarters... For she knew all too well that having him help them plan a rescue pretty much equalled having him lead the raid himself. And the absolute last thing she wanted was for him to get involved with the Gestapo – be it here in Paris or in Hamelburg or anywhere.

But that Tigerlady was their leader here. Fighting against the outrages of the Nazis, just like they were. It wasn't too far-fetched to consider them to be colleagues, was it? So it did seem the right thing to do to offer to help them. She'd probably expect them to help, too, if they happened to be in Hamelburg at a time when Karl got picked up. So no matter how the idea frightened the hell out of her, no matter how much she wanted to keep Karl away from the Gestapo, she really should... She squeezed her eyes shut, clenched her fists so tight that her nails seemed to cut into the palms and...

"Get back in touch with César," suddenly Monsieur Antoine's voice ordered with unexpected authority. "Tell him to contact Papa Bear – he is expecting Tiger anyway. And if the man's reputation is anything to go by, he will come up with something to rescue her – even if he cannot be here in person."

Maryse opened her eyes just in time to catch Dubois's grim nod and to see him hurry out of the shop.

And she turned to Monsieur Antoine, who stood staring in the distance, abusing his little moustache. She gulped. She really couldn't remain behind, could she... So she cleared her throat and... "Monsieur Antoine?"

He jumped – apparently he had forgotten she was still there.

But she forced herself to go on. "Do you think... Would you like me to ask K... Oskar to help you free Tiger, too?"

He gave her a sad smile. "That is real sweet of you to ask, ma chérie, but no. Unless Papa Bear's plan explicitly calls for a native German speaker, we should be able to manage on our own. We have a lot of people in the French Résistance."

Her sigh of genuine relief did not escape him of course, and he took her hands in his. "No, Mademoiselle Marisse. You two have done enough to help us. Now you should just enjoy your time in Paris together. It is your lune de miel after all – your honeymoon. That means that for once in your life, you are entitled to a little selfishness." He squeezed her hands. "But I promise I will contact Monsieur Aubault – mon ami the deputy mayor – and explain the situation to him, and tell him to expect you two sometime in the coming week. And as soon as we hear from Papa Bear, I will let you know when Maurice and I are available as witnesses for your wedding."

Maryse swallowed. "But I wouldn't want to get married while your friend is being tortured by the Gestapo."

A sigh. "Mademoiselle Marisse, there will always be war somewhere on this planet. There will always be people who torture and kill each other in unpleasant ways. We cannot let that stop us from living." He watched her mull that over in her mind, and added quietly, "You love your Oskar, and he loves you. Do not allow that prick of light in the darkness to be smothered by the evil surrounding it."

"Ah! My dear little doorman!"

The receptionist of Hôtel La Fontaine already turned pink. "Mademoiselle..." he murmured darkly as a greeting.

"Have you missed me?" A long arm stretched out to him, and if he didn't want to be impolite, the receptionist really was obliged to press a kiss on the hand that hovered under his nose.

"Ah. So passionate...!" the lady mused, but laughter lurked in her eyes.

The receptionist turned a shade darker, and refused to look her in the eye as he rushed out, "Captain Dehner is still working in his room. So please, go on up, Mademoiselle. I am sure you know the way by now."

"Oh, I do," she purred. "I do, darling. But why don't you come up with me and we could be a threesome? This is Paris, after all."

The receptionist's colour quickly turned to scarlet as he backed away against the wall to avoid the lady's long-nailed indexfinger to stroke his jaw. "Mademoiselle, je vous en prie! I am a married man!"

"Ha!" Full of sudden excitement, the lady slammed the desk, making him jump. "That only makes it more piquant, n'est-ce pas?" She leaned over the reception desk with her eyes half closed and her lips pursed. "So will you kiss me now or later?"

"Mademoiselle, I... (gulp)... really do not think this is..."

But there was that taunting hand again, trying to... If he could have, the receptionist probably would have backed away through the wall as that hand came closer and closer to... "Mademoiselle, really...!"

"Deny it all you want, my little doorman," the lady purred. "You know you cannot resist me."

"No!" the receptionist squeaked. "Go away!"

The flick of a fur stole in his face was accompanied by a predatory smile. "Fight me all you can, darling. It will be that much sweeter when you surrender." And with a regal air and a sultry wink for the staring bellboy, the annoying lady finally marched off towards the stairs.

The receptionist let out an audible sigh and quickly took out his handkerchief to wipe his brow. The cloth was still wet from the previous four times when that obtrusive lady had come in here today to bring Captain Dehner some more messages for his top secret project.

He glanced at the young bellboy who was still staring at the stairs with his mouth agape. "Tu, Arnaud!" he tried to get the boy back to the present.

But the bellboy just stood there, gaping at the now deserted stairs with a vacant, blissful grin on his face. "Boy! She sure is something!"

The receptionist glared at him. "Yeah – trouble!" He wondered how Captain Dehner dealt with her...?

Actually, 'Captain Dehner' had no trouble dealing with her. He simply locked the room, kicked off those high heels, deposited the handbag and the stole on the bed and fell down in the nearest chair. And grimaced as he stretched and rotated his feet. He sure was out of practice when it came to walking on high heels.

He glanced at his bag on the bed. The fifth considerable sum of money he'd gotten for Marya's jewelry today. Dubois's advice the other day to try and sell the stuff in small amounts to different merchants instead of everything at once seemed to be paying off well. It just took more time and effort.

Two batches still to go, and it was past five o'clock by now. Hopefully he'd get it all done today. If not, he'd better try and sell the last batch as himself tomorrow, or Maryse would have a fit.

He closed his eyes for a moment and heaved a sigh. Maryse... He really owed her big time by now. First those rocket launching sites, and then this morning...

She really shouldn't have had to see him like this. He had honestly thought she was going out straight after breakfast, so when she suddenly walked in on him this morning when he was in full Marya mode, he had been as caught out as she had been shocked. And all he had wanted to do was to take her in his arms and reassure her that he was still her Karl; that he was merely playing a part, and that the outside look had nothing to do with the man on the inside – the man who loved her so much that he couldn't imagine a life without her anymore.

So to atone for all that, starting tomorrow he was finally going to make good on those promises of spending all their time together, and go and see the sights, and basically make sure she'd have a wonderful time in Paris at his side. If anyone deserved that...

Another sigh before he hauled himself to his feet. Time to get on with it. Money put away, new batch of jewelry in the bag, a quick look at the map, shoes back on, stole, and ready he was to go.

Sprucely, Marya went down the stairs, blew a kiss first to the already reddening receptionist and then to the drooling bellboy, and then she set off for the river Seine.

According to Dubois, there was always some blackmarket activity going on under the bridges there – you just needed to wander along the low-lying wharves and you were bound to come across it sooner or later. He sure hoped it'd be sooner – his feet hurt.

The Seine wasn't too far fortunately, and soon Marya blended in with the myriad of casual strollers and the necking lovers. That is – as far as Marya was able to blend in anywhere of course. For as usual, male heads turned and female eyes glowered wherever she showed her provocative self. But she just teased them with a sultry smile and a little eyelash fluttering, and walked on.

The small group of men huddling together under the fourth bridge looked promising though. Marya approached them with slightly swinging hips to find out what they were so interested in. But disappointment awaited her – it was merely a gambling game. Onto the next then.

And indeed: a few bridges further down, three men were opening their attaché cases and furtively showing each other their contents under a pretty heated discourse.

Slowly, she came close, taking in the situation as best she could. One of the attaché cases was filled with watches and small clocks. That sure screamed 'blackmarket'.

So, "Oh, boys?" she taunted as she struck a provocative pose right behind them.

All three the men jumped around and stared – at the long legs, the enigmatic smile, the promising mischief in the eyes...

"I have something that might interest you." She shook her hand in the air, rattling the jewelled bracelet she wore. "A real heirloom from my native country Russia. If you like, I could tell you the story behind it?" She came closer and tickled the man in the middle under his chin. He had to gulp before he could croak, "Oui! Please do!"

"Alright." A caress here, a sultry look there, and the three were all ears, crowding around her in order not to miss a single word coming from those sultry lips.

"So..." Marya wriggled her eyebrows as she showed them the bracelet in a little more detail. "This bracelet and some other trinkets I have in my bag used to belong to Her Royal Highness Yevguenia Viktorova – the eldest daughter of the sister of the late Russian czar's uncle."

One of the men gasped. "Really?"

"Oh yes! You see, my mother was princess Yevguenia's governess at the time, and we lived in the palace with them. I was still a little girl of course, but I clearly remember all the gold and ivory and big crystal chandeliers. And thick, soft carpets on every floor that made your feet sink in as deep as your ankles. And the jewelry of the princess and her mother – oh! Drawers and drawers full. You could lighten up a blacked out room with all that glitter!

"But when things became ugly with the revolution and all, they had to flee. They hid as much jewelry on them as they could – for later. And Her Royal Highness Valentina Grigoryeva – the princess's mother – told my mother to take care of the rest and guard it with her life until they'd be able to return and resume their rightful place in the palace." She paused dramatically. "But of course, none of them ever returned. They were murdered along with the other Russian royals. My mother and I had to flee the country, too, and as she promised the late Royal Highness, we brought along as much of the royal jewelry as we could carry – to avoid having these treasures fall prey to the greedy bolsheviks.

"But there is no one left alive to whom we can return it. So no matter how much it pains us to part with the gems of our beloved princess, it seems the right thing to do to sell it to people who have use for it. After all, my mother and I really are too humble for such riches – we'd never wear them ourselves. So if you happen to have a wife or a mistress who loves beautiful things...?"

One of the men gulped. "Can I see?"

"But of course! These treasures should be seen! After all, they belong in a museum." She fished a beautiful pearl necklace out of her bag, followed by a golden woman's wristwatch with ivory inlays. And a butterfly shaped brooch, studded with gems in all the colours of the rainbow.

"Ahh..." the men gasped in wonder.

"Magnifique!" one of them pronounced. "Real antique, too, I bet!"

"Of course it is. That brooch probably dates back to the middle ages," Marya stated with a glaringly obvious lack of expertise. But the men took her on any word that left her mouth.

"How much for the butterfly," one of them opened the negotiations.

But before Marya had a chance to name her (outrageous) price, the second man boasted, "Tell me your price and I'll go a thousand francs over it."

"I'll double it!" the third one exclaimed, and heatedly, they started throwing out ever increasing numbers at each other, with Marya discreetly cheering each of them on.

"Alright – sold!" she announced when at last two of her customers had had to back out of the bidding match.

The winner beamed with childish pleasure, and the other two sulked as a big pile of banknotes and the beautiful (garish in Karl's eyes) brooch changed hands.

And then Marya turned back to the other two. "Your friend is probably on the rocks now," she said with a smug gesture at the guy gazing at his butterfly brooch. "So how about you two – care for a consolation prize?"

Soon the pearl necklace was sold in the same manner, and just when the watch and the bracelet were handed over to the third man for a still significant sum, they were suddenly startled by the sound of multiple cocking guns and a voice barking, "Hände hoch."

Gestapo...

Nightmares

A jerk of the head. "Müller."

"Sonntag."

The youngest of the three black-clad Gestapomen pocketed his gun and deftly relieved the suspects of their valuables and excess money.

"You have been caught red-handed conducting black market activity," the leader of the three intoned with an inordinate amount of emphasis in his nasal voice. "Therefore, you shall be taken to Gestapo Headquarters to answer for your crime."

Unnerved as he was by the ominous black Gestapo uniforms, Karl decided it was worth a try to bluff his way out of this upcoming nightmare. So slowly, careful not to make any sudden moves, Marya turned her head to face the leader of the little black troop. "Do you know what you are doing?" she asked with a dangerous undertone.

"Of course I know what I'm doing," the man – a colonel – barked.

Marya shrugged a little. "Well, if you are sure... It can be very dangerous to steal from the wrong people, you know."

"The wrong..." The colonel instantly changed colour and almost choked on his saliva. "I didn't..." Suddenly his eyes widened in surprise. "But... you're that Russian astrologer! Now I see! Fräulein... Fräulein..." He snapped his fingers at his subordinates, but neither of them could help him out here.

So the lady filled him in herself. "Marya, yes. Have we met by any chance?" He didn't recall the guy at all, but if there was one thing he knew, it was that one should never reject an opening to get out of a Gestapo arrest.

Meanwhile, the Gestapo creep exulted, "Yes, we have! Oh, I'm sure you would not remember me. I was a mere captain back then, on General Hellfeuer's staff. You do remember General Hellfeuer, don't you?"

"Of course I do! How is that charming little man?"

The colonel cleared his throat. "Dead, I'm afraid."

Marya wailed. "Oh, my poor little Tommy!" Serves him right, the creep. But then she hooked her arm trustingly through his and fluttered her eyelashes at him. "And what is your name, pussycat?"

Even with a lady hanging on his arm, he managed to click his heels together and come to attention. "Colonel Horatius Backscheider – at your service, Fräulein."

"Marya," the lady corrected him.

"Yes. Of course. Marya." He gave her a sickening smile, but their little tête-à-tête was cut short by the younger of Backscheider's subordinates.

"Herr Colonel, shall we put the prisoners in the truck and take them to Headquarters?"

"What on earth for?" Marya exclaimed in honest innocence. "They didn't do anything wrong, did they?"

"Um... they were caught conducting black market activity with you, Fräulein."

"With me?" Marya threw up her free arm. "Impossible! What would I know about black market activity? All I did was sell some of my jewelry to those men here!"

"That is a black market activity, Fräulein," the young man ventured to point out.

"It is?" Marya was excessively surprised. "They never said anything about that. Did you men know you were conducting black market activity?" she demanded of the three hovering men with their hands up.

Three vigorous shakes of the head were the reply, and she announced in triumph, "There. You see? They know nothing about black market activity. So please, give them back their belongings and let them go."

"But..." the young Gestapo guy began.

But Backscheider interrupted him. "You heard what the lady said – give them back their belongings and let them go!" He shook his head. "Are you really that slow on the uptake, Sonntag, or...?"

"No, sir. I mean yes, sir. I mean... right away, sir."

Backscheider shook his head. "The trouble one has these days in finding decent subordinates!"

Marya purred in reply, while watching from the corner of her eye how her three buyers didn't even bother to check whether they got back their own stuff – as soon as they held an attaché case and a piece of jewelry in their hands, they took off as fast as their legs could carry them.

"And how about my money?" Marya pouted.

"Sonntag, give the lady her money," Backscheider ordered.

He did as he was told, and couldn't help staring when the lady tucked it away in her décolleté and blew him a kiss – "Thank you, darling."

"Now then, my dear." Backscheider patted the hand that lay on his arm to remonopolize the lady's attention. "Now that our business here is concluded, why don't you come back to Headquarters with me for a good glass of champagne to celebrate our reunion."

"Oh, I don't know." Marya gave him a coy look. "I wouldn't dream of keeping you away from your important... whatever it is you do."

Backscheider glanced at his gold watch. "My next appointment isn't due to arrive for another couple of hours. I have time on my hands. It's not every day I get to meet a famous astrologer like you. And I would be honoured if you would agree to program the bumps on my head."

"Alright then. To Headquarters we go. As long as there is champagne!" Karl sighed inwardly. It didn't seem wise to object too much, but what on earth was he getting himself into this time?

"... so they took me straight to Gestapo Headquarters. It's a regular fortress – really, if you'd ever get locked up in there, you'd never get out." Half sitting, half lying on his hotelbed with Maryse at his side, he took a sip of his coffee before continuing, "Anyway, I was treated on champagne and oysters and salmon and I know not what. And all the while this Gestapo creep kept talking about himself and his personal 'accomplishments' for the Reich. The guy is deranged – really. It was sickening what he described." He closed his eyes for a moment. What Marya had been made privy to tonight was simply beyond the range of human imagination, and it took all his willpower to stop the images Backscheider's tales had evoked from rushing back to his mind. Which – of course – failed.

Maryse read him perfectly, and hooked her arm through his for comfort. "So did he simply let you go in the end?" she asked, offering an opening to move on.

Karl took it gratefully. "Sure he did. After I read his lifeline and programmed the bumps on his head (and he mine), and interpreted his chart for him." He grinned. "I told him someone was going to make a fool of him in the upcoming days. You should have seen the state he got himself into!" A chuckle. "Really, those are the innocent pleasures of playing astrologer. He did mention he does have a personal astrologer here in Paris. Some Russian lady – how is that for coincidences? But he insists he puts more stock in one who got a special recommendation from the Führer, even if that was years ago." He shook his head. "Really, I could tell this guy anything. I could have told him the world would be coming to an end tomorrow, and he'd believe me. If you ask me, the true rulers of the Reich are the astrological advisors of the top brass."

Maryse made no reply, and he put down his coffee cup on the nightstand to be able to properly take her in his arms. "And I'm really sorry you had to see me as Marya this morning. I honestly thought you'd gone out straight after breakfast. I never meant for you to see me like that – I know how disturbing you find my past as female impersonator."

It remained quiet for a while, until with a heavy sigh she replied, "It wasn't so much that, you know."

Karl's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "It wasn't?"

She shook her head against his chest, but kept her eyes on his hands. "It was a shock, yes. But somewhere in the back of my mind, I've always known that with a fame like yours, you must have been extremely good at playing a woman. Probably just as good as you are at playing men, and that I've seen often enough. But still, to actually see you as a woman... It was a bit of a shock, yes."

Karl frowned. "I thought you said that was not what was bothering you."

A sigh. "It does bother me – of course it does. But in a way I'm glad I've seen you like this. It showed me that your fame in that field is indeed justified." She chuckled at his indignant splutter. "Sorry, Karl. But look at it this way: would you teach our future daughters the finer points of female impersonating?"

"No!" His reply was as vehement as it was immediate. "I never, ever want our kids to know that I ever even did that!"

"Well, there you go. Until I saw you as Marya this morning, I, too, had but a very vague idea of what female impersonating actually implied. Despite the fact that I've been practically engaged to a professional one for nearly four years now."

"Hm." Karl seemed to mull that over for a moment, but then he got back to his original question. "So if seeing me as a woman was not what bothers you the most, then what is?"

She sighed, began to speak... and hesitated again. "Seeing you like this..." she started slowly, carefully choosing her words, "gave me the... uncomfortable feeling that... that I don't really know you at all."

A tired grimace. "Maryse, if there is anyone who knows me, it's you. You're the only one on this planet with whom I can be myself – for whom I don't have to play a part."

She smiled a little. "I know that. It's just... seeing you like that this morning made me realize that... that I don't know you as well as I thought I did. That there are sides to you of which I'm not aware. And then all those parts you're always playing... It suddenly made me wonder..." She hesitated, just for an instant, before looking him straight in the eye. "Karl, have you ever lied to me? Or deliberately not told me something about yourself?"

He held her eyes for a long moment – then he slowly shook his head. "I can't afford that," he said quietly. "There may be some minor things I haven't told you about, but that's mainly because it just never came up. And I think that goes for me as much as it goes for you." And what about your life with your first fiancé Oskar? You've never let me in on that, even when I did ask.

Still, that was not the issue now.

"But lying to you... Apart from the fact that I don't want to lie to you, simply because I want you of all people to know who I really am... there is also the matter of you being the only person with whom I can be myself. The moment I'd start deceiving you, I'd lose that – then I'd have to put on an act around you, too. And heaven only knows how much I need to be myself now and then in between all those charades."

Her eyes searched his face – then a smile broke through and she hugged him. "Thank you, Karl." She snuggled up a bit closer to him. "And I promise I'll never lie to you either."

"Good." He kissed her. "And if we both stick to a strict no-lying rule, we're going to be the happiest couple ever. And you know what?"

"What?"

"I just realized: we've completed everything that needed to be done here. Just a few pieces of jewelry left, but we can get rid of those anytime – without dressing up. Which means it's finally time for us! And we're in Paris, we're on holiday..." With a quick move he pulled her over, and an astonished Maryse suddenly found herself lying on top of him, with his arms tightly around her.

But before she found the words to express her doubts regarding the propriety of their present entanglement, he added a heartfelt, "And I love you...!" And as he began to cover every inch of her face with kisses, her sense of propriety quickly crumbled down to a faint, 'As long as we're both fully dressed, I guess it should be alright', and she allowed herself the guilty pleasure of relaxing into him, and being covered in loving kisses, and returning the favour right away.

It was an exhilirating game, which occasionally – when their lips happened to find each other – was interspersed with long kisses the French way. But in the end they really had to come up for air, and for a long while they just lay there gazing into the bliss of the other's eyes from very close quarters.

"I love you." Maryse traced his eyebrow, his cheekbone, ending in a caress of his jaw. And a kiss next to his nose.

He moaned a little, and tried to pull her even closer. "Why can't I just marry you right now..." he murmured, before starting on another round of kissing every inch of her skin that he could reach.

But already after two kisses he stopped. "What's wrong?"

Suddenly it was awkward to have those lakeblue eyes looking into hers from a mere two inch distance, and she quickly looked away. But of course this was it – the best opening she could possibly wish for to tell him about...

"Maryse?"

She gulped. His questioning eyes upon her didn't make this any easier, and having his fingers trace and fold over her left auricle proved to be a mighty distraction for trying to gather up the nerve to bring up the fateful subject. Why was it so darned difficult to tell him they could get married in the first place?

A deep breath, then forcing herself to look him in the eye again and... "Karl... there's... something I have to talk to you about."

He just looked at her, waiting for her to continue while he kept playing with her ear.

Maryse gulped, and plodded on, "You remember Monsieur Antoine?"

A raised eyebrow. "Yes." Thank God he finally left her ear in peace, but now his other hand began stroking her back. It did little to improve the situation in the distraction department.

"Well, he's got a friend, and..." She never knew how it happened, but all of a sudden her courage collapsed and she blurted out, "It's Tiger. The... the Gestapo have captured Tiger." Dang it – why couldn't she just tell him about this Monsieur Aubault who could marry them in secret next week?!

Karl wasn't quite with her as it was. "A tiger? What does the Gestapo want from a tiger?"

"Not a tiger – the woman called Tiger. She's the leader of Monsieur Antoine's Underground group, remember?"

"Oh, that Tiger." He frowned, and his hand stopped caressing the small of her back. "That's bad. When did they pick her up?"

"Yesterday, in Germany, but they've brought her to Paris today." Maryse kept talking, if only to avoid having to think about the fact that instead of revelling together (or debating) about this one-time opportunity to get married before that blasted war was over, she was now discussing Underground business with him again. She had been so close, and now...! And only because she had chickened out! So she prattled on, "I dropped in at Monsieur Antoine's today, and Maurice Dubois came to tell him about Tiger's capture when I was there. They were both pretty upset about some new Gestapo monster here taking on her interrogation. I'm not acquainted with the words they used to describe this Backscheider, but they sure didn't sound very flattering."

As if he got stung by a hornet, so abruptly sat Karl up, causing his beloved to roll off of him and nearly down onto the floor. He grabbed her in a reflex, just in time, asking, "Backscheider? Did you say his name is Backscheider?"

Once she had regained her balance, Maryse half sat up, too, and nodded. "Backscheider, yes. Or something that sounds like it."

"That must be the same guy who picked up Marya tonight then. His name was Backscheider – a colonel – and he mentioned he was fairly new here." He got up from the bed and began to pace the room.

Maryse watched him pace back and forth in silence for a few minutes, and regretted it all the more that her courage had failed her at that all-important moment. She could have been discussing their wedding with him right now. Or at the very least they could still have been enjoying that delightful novel intimacy they had shared but a minute ago. And instead she got him all worked up about some Gestapo guy.

"I've already offered our help, Karl," she said at last, in a probably hopeless attempt to get him to forget the matter. "But they said they could probably manage. They have a lot of people in the Underground here. And they were going to get help from Colonel Hogan as well."

He turned to her in a flash. "Colonel Hogan?! What can he do from his faraway prison camp?"

"I don't know. They said they were going to contact him. But Karl..." She slid off the bed and came to stand right in front of him, effectively blocking his pacing path. "We're on holiday here, remember? To get away from it all. Now if Monsieur Antoine himself says that they'll be able to manage to get this Tiger out, I think we can leave it to them without feeling guilty. Okay?"

But she couldn't fail to notice the haunted look on his face, the restlessness of his eyes. That Backscheider guy really had him spooked.

And she was hardly surprised when he objected. "I can't. Maryse, this guy is mad. Mad! I don't want to burden you with the details, but his interrogation methods are... are..." He gulped. "The stuff of horror movies – only worse. Revolting! Who knows what he'll do to this Tigerwoman before Monsieur Antoine and his people can get her out of that fortress?" He shook his head – the dread in his eyes now laced with determination. "I'm going to have to try and stall him or something. Keep him occupied, so he won't have a chance to work on her until they can get her out. After all, Marya has already got a foot in the door with him. Even an appointment for tomorrow night. Which I had no intention of keeping of course, but under the circumstances... And if I play the astrologer act carefully, I might be able to get the guy to do exactly what I want."

Maryse knew a lost cause when she saw one. "Alright then. But Marya disappears and ceases to exist the very moment this Tiger is free. I don't want that Backscheider guy to come after you instead."

"Of course." He hesitated. "You don't mind, do you? I promise I'll make it up to you."

"Again?" She grimaced. "The way you're going, we ought to get an apartment here – I'm sure that'd be cheaper. No, Karl." She placed her hands on his shoulders. "Don't worry about me. Of course I'd rather spend my time with you, but I'll find a way to amuse myself. You just do what you can to keep this Backscheider away from the Tigerwoman."

"You what?!" Monsieur Antoine stared at him as if he were seeing an extinct species coming to life right here in his shop. But as soon as the sheer possibilities began to dawn on him, he became positively ecstatic. "Mon Dieu, c'est formidable! An astrologer, a female impersonator, and one who already has the canaille in his grasp! Monsieur Danzig, c'est une idée extraordinaire! But..." His face fell a bit. "Can you really pull that off? To be like a woman, I mean? Even in close encounter?"

Karl opened his mouth to reply, but to his surprise, Maryse beat him to it. With words he had never expected to hear from her lips. "He's the best. He's been the absolute top in the German female impersonating scene for nearly ten years, and his stagename is a byword in those circles. If he decides to present himself as a woman, then he is a woman, and no one will ever suspect that there's anything amiss."

Karl stared at her in astonishment, and she gave him a shy smile.

And Monsieur Antoine nodded. "D'accord. If you say so, I believe it." And with that, his mind and his mouth immediately set off concocting plans for Marya to distract and manipulate that 'canaille of a Backscheider'.

But Karl didn't hear a word he said. He was still staring at Maryse, with a bubbling mixture of disbelief, wonder, love and gratitude whirling around inside him, topped by a sudden overwhelming certainty that Maryse and he were ready to get married and continue their life together – loving each other and caring for each other till the end of their days, never to be separated again. Who knows – maybe Maryse accepting this less respectable part of his past had been the last personal obstacle for them to overcome. And now that she had reconciled herself with the idea of loving a man who used to work as...

Suddenly he pulled her close – he just had to. A kiss, a whispered, "Thank you!" and...

"Voyons, Monsieur Danzig!" Monsieur Antoine exclaimed in surprise, bringing even Karl back down to earth.

But laughter lurked in the Frenchman's eyes as he shook his head. "You were not listening at all, were you? Ah, l'amour...!" He raised an inquiring eyebrow at the slightly flustered Maryse, who blushed a little and imperceptibly shook her head. So Monsieur Antoine suggested, "Perhaps I should excuse myself for a moment? Or maybe a few hours would be better? I would not want to disturb the private business of two... turtle-doves." He chuckled mischievously, and gave Maryse a wink.

Karl chuckled with him. "No, no, it's fine. It was just something I had to get off my chest." He sighed. Marrying Maryse was not likely to happen any time soon anyway. The danger marriage posed for the other in case either of them was picked up for their clandestine activities was a risk he knew he couldn't take. It would have to wait. If only this rotten war would end soon...

With a sigh, he focused his mind back on the topic. "My apologies, Monsieur Antoine. You were saying?"

Monsieur Antoine was not in the least put out. He briefly repeated what he'd been thinking of, and added generously, "Et naturellement you are welcome to borrow as many dresses from the shop as you need. You can even change here – that would be less conspicuous than at the hotel."

"Much better," Maryse agreed. "You got away with it for one day, but if you continue it, they're bound to enter your room one day for cleaning or so, and discover that you're not there at all. And to have Marya climb up and down the fire ladder every day doesn't strike me as very inconspicuous either."

Karl nodded pensively. "It'd certainly be an improvement. The best thing would be if Marya actually had her own place – a room or something. It'd give her character more credibility if she had a home in Paris. But I don't know if such would be feasible at such short notice."

Monsieur Antoine beamed. "I have a souterrain – a basement. It's used for storage, but we should be able to clear it out and make it look like a lady's quarters by tonight."

Karl raised his eyebrows. "Are you sure? It's quite possible that this Backscheider guy will come and look for me for months once Marya disappears. I don't want to lead him straight to you."

Monsieur Antoine shrugged. "So? My tenant moved out, and she didn't leave a new address. C'est comme ça. It happens all the time."

"Alright. We'll do it that way then," Oskar decided. "And then perhaps the most vital question of all: I want you to tell me everything you know about this Backscheider. The more I know about him, the better I can manipulate him."

A grim nod. "With pleasure."

It was three o'clock in the morning and Maryse couldn't get to sleep. And for a change, her worrying about Karl's dangerous escapades was not the cause. Or at least not the main cause, since she knew him to be safely in bed in the next room.

No. The problem her mind kept churning around tonight was how to break the news to him that they were expected to get married in less than 48 hours...

She could still hear Monsieur Antoine's voice as he took her aside for a moment this afternoon when they were clearing out the basement for Marya. "Did I now understand you correctly – you have not told him yet?"

She had felt the colour rising to her cheeks. "I tried, but..." An embarrassed shrug.

"Well, you better tell him soon. I talked to Monsieur Aubault last night. Unfortunately he is away next week, but when I explained the situation to him, he said he would gladly be of help, so he cancelled an appointment for Sunday evening and agreed to do it." He secreted a scrap of paper in her hand. "Here is the address. Sunday evening, seven o'clock. Maurice and I will be there, too, as your witnesses, so it is all arranged. You just tell him to be there on time, d'accord?"

But that was easier said than done.

She had tried, oh yes. Four times had she managed today to work up the nerve to tell him they could get married on Sunday – totally in secret, confidentiality guaranteed. And four times, the words had gotten stuck somewhere on the way from her throat to her mouth, leaving her more frustrated every time. Why was it so darned difficult to bring up this particular subject anyway? For Pete's sake, their getting married wasn't exactly a revolutionary idea, was it? They'd been talking about it for years! And although she was well aware that – secret or not – Karl might not readily agree to get married right here and now, it wasn't as if she'd have to fear getting jilted over it altogether, was it?

Maybe it was the finality of the question. It was the beginning of a lifelong commitment after all. She remembered how the phrase 'for as long as you both shall live' had hammered in her own mind when Oskar first asked her. It had been a somewhat daunting prospect, causing her to hesitate with her 'yes' no matter how much she'd loved him.

Loved him... in the past tense?

She sighed, and threw herself onto her other side. Oskar... He, too, verbal artist that he was, had stumbled and stuttered his way through his proposal. They had been so young at the time – she'd been nineteen, he twenty-one. They had known each other for two years, and had been courting for most of that time. He had been such a natural fit into their family: his infectious optimism, his literary background and interests, his delightful sense of humour...

But times had been dark. Germany had been broke for over ten years, and now the rest of the world had followed suit. Both the Gotthardts and Oskar's family were still reasonably well off, but Oskar's pride demanded that he'd provide for his wife himself – something both his and her parents commended him for. Which meant that in order to marry her, he needed a job. And there were no jobs to be had.

Nearly three years had passed, with him stubbornly applying for any job he came across. And despite occasional bouts of frustration, he had never given up on his innate optimism that surely this time they'd hire him.

And finally, on a Friday afternoon, she had seen him coming, running down the street in utter excitement. She had quickly made her way to the front door, and pulled it open just as he ran up the garden path.

"Maryse! Will you marry me?" he brought out, his bright eyes beaming like headlights.

"Of course I will." She had thrown her arms around him and kissed him. And only then did his words fully register with her. "You mean you got a job?"

"Yes! Starting Monday!" he exulted.

"Oh, Oskar!" Kiss, kiss. "As what?"

"Roadbuilder. They're going to build a special long-distance road for motorcars. Isn't that grand?"

Grand it certainly was. Until less than three months later – eleven days before the wedding – when a chain of the crane moving the slabs of concrete into place snapped, dropping the ten by ten meter slab right on Oskar's head.

She screwed her eyes shut. Karl certainly wasn't the only one who had experience with trying (and failing) to block certain horrific images from his mind.

Karl...

Sometimes she wondered what her life would have been like right now if Oskar had lived. She'd never even have met Karl – that was for sure. Instead, she'd probably be struggling to make ends meet as Frau Schmidtke, just trying to survive the war with five, six kids to be fed and kept clothed and clean. And a husband who in all likelihood would have been sent to the front – possibly already killed.

No. Her present life certainly was no bed of roses – not with its ever present, chillingly realistic fear of losing Karl, too. But whether the alternative was really preferable...?

Still, she would have given anything to have been spared the black period after Oskar's death. And the bleak years following, when realization began to set in that whether she wanted to or not, she had a life to live.

It had been her mother who had coaxed her into finding a job now that the economy was beginning to boom (probably Hitler's one and only merit, if you didn't look too closely at how he accomplished it), and thereby forcing her daughter to focus on something else again beside her loss. And for several years she had drifted listlessly from one low profile job to another – until she had met Karl.

Karl Langenscheidt – the gentle, smart and surprisingly serious female impersonator who dreamt of being a comedian, of making people laugh.

Karl Langenscheidt – the man with the thousand faces.

Karl Langenscheidt, who constantly put his own life at risk for the sake of others.

Karl Langenscheidt, who took one look at her and never had eyes for other women again.

Karl Langenscheidt, who had carefully cultivated that last little reluctant gleam of will-to-live in her, until she had been able to embrace life again – as long as she could bask herself in his love.

And all she wanted now was to make sure that he would indeed stay at her side 'for as long as they both would live'. Marry him, before it was too late. Before he got killed before the wedding, too.

Which meant she had to tell him. Sunday evening, seven o'clock, Rue d'Arcy 31.

Or was it superstition that was holding her back? That as long as he didn't know he was going to get married, he wouldn't get killed just before the wedding? And the longer she held off telling him, the smaller the window of time was in which he could get killed?

Maybe. But aware as she was that Karl was likely to need some serious convincing to get married here and now, she knew she had to tell him before they went to the Rue d'Arcy tomorrow evening. She couldn't very well...

A bloodcurdling scream stopped the thought dead in its tracks.

What was that!?

Too petrified to move, she lay there with her eyes and ears wide open. The silence was made of lead. But there had been a scream – she was certain of that. Muffled, but fairly close by. Had the Gestapo dragged one of their victims into the alley behind the hotel? Was it...

Suddenly she sat up. She heard it, clearly: footsteps in the next room. Karl's room. A soft moan. Was he...?

Thinking and doing was one in this case. She slid out of bed, grabbed her dressing gown on the go, couldn't find her slippers in the haste and the next moment she was out in the corridor trying Karl's door.

It was locked.

"Karl?" She knocked, and kept knocking with the urgency of fear. "Karl, are you alright?" Oh God, please! He can't die...! "Karl?"

The lock was turned, the door pulled open and to her great relief, there he was – dishevelled, but apparently in one piece. And alive.

"Karl!"

"Maryse?" He wiped his hair off his forehead and rubbed his face. "I'm sorry – did I wake you up?"

"No – no, I couldn't get to sleep. But... Karl, are you alright? That was you screaming, wasn't it?"

He averted his eyes. "Just a nightmare. I'm fine."

He looked anything but, and she certainly wasn't going to leave him alone in the night looking as haggard as he did. So she sidled her way in and closed the door behind her. "You want to talk about it?"

"No." He began to turn away, but the next moment she found him desperately seeking refuge in her arms.

"Hey, it's okay..." she murmured. His skin was hot and damp, his hair sweaty, his pyjama top absolutely soaked. It must have been some nightmare... He had seemed a bit upset when he came back from Marya's date with Backscheider tonight. Maybe that had something to do with it? But it had been late, and he'd gone straight to bed. Considering his previous reaction to Backscheider, perhaps that had been a mistake.

So she murmured soothing sounds and comforting words over his shoulder, and felt how he gradually relaxed, until he let go of her and staggered backwards toward his bed. Heavily he sat down on the edge and rested his warm head in his hands.

Maryse sat down next to him and rubbed his back a little. "Maybe you should splash some cold water in your face. It'd make you feel better. And put on a clean pyjama top." She placed a kiss on his sweaty temple. "I love you."

A minimal reaction was all she got, and once again she tried, "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No." He took a deep breath and sat up. "I just want to forget." Nevertheless, he suddenly started talking. "That Backscheider guy, he frightens the hell out of me, Maryse. He's crazier than the bloody Führer!"

She watched him in silence, noticing his quick breathing, the nervous fluttering of his hands, the haunted, faraway look in his eyes, seeing things that apparently he dared not put into words. Yet he needed to talk about it – so much was obvious.

And no prompt was more effective than silence. "The guy is deranged – really. The things he does to his prisoners... it's... I can't... it's beyond human imagination. The word 'sadistic' doesn't even begin to cover it. And yet he goes around bragging about it, and I have to sit there, listening to it, looking at those gruesome pictures – and flirt with him and pretend I admire him for it!"

His voice broke in tears, and he hid his face in his hands. And what else could she do but take him in her arms again?

He moaned. "I'd wish I'd never have to see that guy again in my life."

"Then don't," was Maryse's quiet advice. "He's not worth it, Karl. You can't take the problems of the whole world on your shoulders. Let others deal with him – a guy like that will get what he deserves, I'm sure. With or without your help."

Another moan. "I can't. What about the Tigerwoman?"

"They said from the beginning that they'd be able to get her out themselves. They'd have to if we weren't here."

"But we are here." Karl sat up – apparently the budding argument was the final push he needed to put the remaining shadows of his nightmare behind him. "And every minute I can keep that monster away from her, that's one more minute she's safe from his sick methods."

Maryse sighed, and couldn't stop the smile that surfaced on her face. "You just can't help yourself, can you? No matter who's in trouble, you just have to step in." She shook her head. "What am I going to do with you?"

"I don't know." A lopsided grin. "Love me?"

She chuckled. "You bet I will."

"And..." He hesitated, suddenly serious again. "Perhaps just... be there for me when... when... I wake up screaming again..."

"Of course." She rubbed his arm in reassurance. "And I'm also going to have a word in season with Monsieur Antoine tomorrow. They better rescue that Tiger on the double!" Before you end up in a psychiatric ward right along with that Backscheider...

Maryse felt less than chipper the next morning when they met in the corridor to go to the breakfast room.

"Are you alright?" a concerned Karl asked as he gave her a morning kiss.

"Yeah. Just need a few more hours sleep." She thought he looked awfully chipper himself. But maybe that was just Captain Dehner's make-up.

They went downstairs to the breakfast room, filled their plates at the buffet and sat down at what was beginning to be their habitué's table in the corner. The waiter came to ask whether they would like tea or coffee (after a full week, the guy still hadn't picked up that they both preferred tea in the morning), and they enjoyed their breakfast under companionable small talk.

Until Karl's hand with a piece of croissant suddenly froze on the way to his mouth. "Holy smoke!" he breathed. "What are they doing here?"

Durkin

"Who?" Maryse turned to steal a glance at the newcomers: a balding officer in Luftwaffe blue, wildly gesticulating, followed in his wake by an elderly oversized Luftwaffe soldier.

"I can't understand why the Gestapo would commandeer my staff car. With all my uniforms!" she heard the officer lament to his aide.

She turned back and raised her eyebrows in inquiry.

"It's Kommandant Klink. From Stalag 13. And Schultz," Karl whispered.

Maryse had to fight the urge to take another look, and instead took another piece of baguette from the basket. "Well, we should be alright," she observed as she calmly began to butter it. "You may not be in any major disguise, but it's certainly enough to fool acquaintances. And they've never met me, so..."

Karl breathed out. "Yes. You're right of course." He visibly relaxed and resumed their previous small talk.

But Maryse just focused on her breakfast and let him do most of the talking. True – she had something important to tell him herself. After all, it was only some thirty-five hours to the fateful Sunday evening, seven o'clock. But with the little sleep she had gotten last night, right now she simply didn't feel up to the inevitable debate that would follow the announcement. Better leave it till tonight therefore, with the added advantage that Karl wouldn't have to be somewhere at a certain time. Late as it was to tell him they were getting married anyway, a few more hours wouldn't make much difference.

It was about an hour later – 9.30 sharp – when there was a brisk knock on the door of Marya's souterrain apartment.

"Entrez!" she called, putting down her powder puff and standing in an appropriate pose to receive her visitor.

In came Colonel Backscheider, followed by his two minions Müller and Sonntag. The former gulped, the latter distended his eyes at the sight of the seductive dream before him.

And Backscheider removed his pince-nez glasses, took the outstretched hand and pressed a gallant kiss on it. "Guten Morgen, my dear. You look absolutely radiant this morning."

"I hope so." Marya winked at Sonntag, who immediately blushed all the way up to under his hat. She saw with satisfaction that the older Müller cast an astonished glance at his companion – the exchange certainly had not gone unnoticed. Good.

Meanwhile, she guided Backscheider in a rather provocative way over to the sofa and made him sit down. "Well then, did you bring your chart?"

"Of course." Backscheider snapped his fingers. "Müller."

"Sonntag."

Sonntag hurried forward with a large roll of paper, nearly tripping over his own feet in his eagerness to please both his boss and the lady. Another wink from Marya made him turn scarlet, but unfortunately that's where the fun ended, for Backscheider sent both his aides outside.

"Now then." Backscheider rolled out his chart. "What do you say?"

Marya studied the chart in silence with half-closed eyes, but didn't make a reply.

"I have been thinking," Backscheider said after a while. "Remember you told me that someone was going to make a fool of me?"

Marya nodded, refusing to look up for fear that the laughter would show in her eyes.

"Well, I thought maybe it's this Durkin."

"Durkin?"

"The black market man. I told you about him yesterday."

"Ah! Yes, I remember," she purred. "The American deserter."

"Yes, that's right. Does it say anything about him in the stars?"

Marya spread out her hands. "My dear Colonel, the stars give indications of events. They don't spell out names."

"Yes. Of course." A pause. "Maybe I should just shoot this Durkin as a precaution then. I don't trust that man."

A graceful shrug. "Then you might as well shoot everybody. There is no telling who the culprit will be until he does it. Or she," she added pensively.

Backscheider sat up as if there were a spring inside him. "She? Is it a woman who is going to make a fool of me?"

Marya tilted her head. "I didn't say that. But considering the comparative division of the sexes, there is as much chance that it'll be a woman as that it'll be a man."

"But what do the stars say?"

Marya pointed out the intersection in question. "Merely that someone is going to make a fool of you sometime soon. No 'who', no 'when', no 'how'."

"Hm."

She patted his arm. "But do not worry, my dear Colonel. All in all, the stars are very favourable for you at this time of month."

"They are?"

"Oh yes. Whatever you undertake in the upcoming days will have a positive outcome. Especially..." She fluttered her eyelashes at him. "Especially business deals will turn out very favourable for you." Maybe that would make him focus on that Durkin instead of on the Tigerwoman.

And indeed – "They will?" A happy, but greedy look spread over the detestable man's face. "They will! Perhaps I should wait with shooting this Durkin then, shouldn't I? Thank you, my dear – thank you!" He took off his glasses again (odd habit) to press an ardent kiss on her hand. "I don't know what I would do without you. What do you say we meet again for lunch?"

Marya smiled her languid smile. "I will be flattered." And lose my appetite no doubt. But if it would keep the guy away from the Tigerwoman... "So where shall we meet?"

"There is a nice little café just around the corner from Gestapo Headquarters. 'East Bank', it's called, in the Rue Pascal. I will meet you there at twelve o'clock." He checked his watch. "But I have to go now. I have a meeting with this Durkin, and with your assurances, my dear, I'm quite looking forward to doing business with him!"

On that note he left, leaving Karl with some time to kill before his task could continue. But at least as long as Backscheider was busy with this Durkin, he'd leave the Tigerwoman in peace.

He sighed, and wondered what Maryse was up to...

After a little extra morning nap to make up for the near sleepless night, and a long luxurious bath in a real bath tub, Maryse realized she really needed to get something to eat now first. The hotel only served breakfast, but earlier this week she had seen a promising café just around the corner. That would probably be the closest.

So once she had dried her hair, she got dressed and went over to Café Le Mirage.

It was surprisingly busy there for this hour of the day, and all the tables outside were taken. But the man and the lady at one of the corner tables in the back were just getting up to leave, and Maryse was quick to take their place. An attentive garçon quickly cleared the table for her, and asked what she would like to drink.

"Un café au lait, s'il vous plaît," Maryse replied in her best school French. "Et vous avez quelque chose à manger?"

He quickly rattled off the available dishes, but when he saw she didn't quite follow him, he promised to bring her the menu.

It was nice sitting here in the sun, watching the world go by. If she'd have some company, it would be even nicer. Karl... How long was it going to take them to get that Tiger out?

The wait for the croque monsieur she'd ordered was considerable, especially with an already rumbling stomach. But just as she was about to take her first bite, a large shadow fell over the little table and a friendly voice inquired, "Excusez-moi, Mademoiselle. Is this place free?"

It was Sergeant Schultz.

"Oh! Yes. Sure." She smiled, and gestured invitingly to the empty chair. This could get interesting. She only knew Schultz from Karl's and Udo's stories about the prison camp. Going by those, she sure wouldn't object to getting to know the man personally.

"Danke." Schultz gently lowered his bulk on the rickety chair and imperiously snapped his fingers at the passing garçon. "Young man, I would like a bottle of your best red wine, and two glasses." He turned to his table companion. "If the fair lady would agree to join me for a glass?"

"Well..." Maryse began, but for Schultz, that was enough of an approval.

"Good. And what is that you have there? It looks delicious! I will have one of those, too," he told the waiter.

"Certainement, Monsieur," the waiter bowed and hurried back inside to pass on the order.

And Schultz focused his attention on the lady at his table again. "Forgive me if I am too forward, Fräulein, but did I not see you in the breakfast room at the hotel this morning? Hotel La Fontaine?"

Maryse smiled, and nodded.

Schultz beamed. "I thought so! Now what – if I may ask – is a pretty young lady like yourself doing in a hotel for German bachelor officers?"

She cast him a sharp glance at the insinuation, but one look at that kind-hearted face was enough for her to realize he didn't mean it that way. So she replied obligingly that she was there with her boy-friend who was on leave from the Wehrmacht. "But to be honest, it's not much of a leave. His superiors keep calling him to do things for them. All very hush-hush. We've been here for over a week now, and so far I've hardly seen him."

"Ah, those big shots! They take all the fun out of leaves, don't they," Schultz commiserated with her. "Mine, too. His staff car got stolen the moment we arrived here. And now he wants me to walk the streets of Paris to try and spot it!" He shook his head. "But if I walk down this street, then the car will drive up the next street, and when I walk up the next street, the car will drive down this street. Therefore, it is much better if I remain in one spot – that way I can't miss it."

Maryse couldn't help a chuckle. "True."

"And besides..." He leaned over to her a little and whispered, "Don't tell anyone, but I know who took it. And I'm sure they'll give it back once the Kommandant's leave is up and it's time to return to Stalag 13."

Maryse pricked up her ears. That sounded almost as if...!

But Schultz's ongoing prattle left her no chance to really focus on her own train of thought.

"Ach ja, our little Stalag 13... 'The toughest POW-camp in all of Germany', they call it. But if you ask me, it's more like the craziest POW-camp in all of Germany. The things that happen there! Only last month, for example. They kidnapped a general, stole his airplane, bombed a refinery with it, and then they made me jump out with a parachute!"

To that, only one question was suitable. Even if she could easily guess the answer. "Who did?"

"The prisoners of course! Oh, they're good boys otherwise, but they can be a bit naughty. Imagine – making me jump out of an airplane! With a parachute! I'm too old to jump out of airplanes! And too big to jump out of airplanes! Not to mention too heavy!"

"But if they were escaping, why didn't they take you along to England?"

"Oh, they weren't escaping. They come and they go, so to say. That's why I know the Kommandant's staff car will show up again. They're good boys – they're just borrowing it."

That clenched it: Colonel Hogan was in Paris. To help rescue the Tigerwoman no doubt. He must have conned the Kommandant into going to Paris the moment he heard the news from Maurice Dubois. That Tiger must be one formidable lady to merit such extreme action from the American colonel!

And if Colonel Hogan was here to take care of it...

"By the way," the big man next to her said. "My name is Schultz. Sergeant Hans Schultz. And you are...?"

"Take a card." Marya held out the fan of tarot cards to the young couple across the table.

Hesitantly, the petite young lady took one and turned it over. She peered at the picture. "What does that mean?"

"Ah! The Lovers!" Marya beamed at her. "Very good choice, ma chérie. Now you, Monsieur."

The guy with the build of a wrestler pulled out the Sun card.

Marya took the chosen cards from them and placed them in the center of the table. "'Love' and 'Happiness'. A very promising combination indeed. May I read your loveline?"

"Excuse us, Fräulein," came a sudden interruption from a white overcoat. "May we have a word with you?"

She waved him away. "In a moment. Just get in line."

"It's a rather pressing matter," the man insisted, and pulled over a chair from a nearby table.

"In a moment, I said!" Marya repeated with some irritation. "Can't you see that I'm busy?" Finally getting an unobscured look at the intrusive stranger who now sat down with them, Karl only just managed to suppress his surprise – it was Colonel Hogan! What the heck was he doing here?

But there was no time to contemplate on that now – action was required first. Karl felt more than he saw that someone else appeared at his left elbow, and across the table Marya still had her two customers to attend to. Two customers of whom especially the male looked rather annoyed at the interruption. And he had a right to.

So with eyes flashing, she lashed out at the intruder, "Are you deaf perhaps? I said I'd talk to you in a moment! Now go away – you're disrupting my business."

"But..."

"I said, go away! If you're willing to pay double the fee, I'll take your 'pressing matter' next. But these people were here first!"

"Alright, alright." Visibly annoyed, Colonel Hogan got up and he and his little friend moved to a table by the back wall.

Marya glared after them, with all kinds of urgent questions chasing each other in Karl's mind. What were they doing here? How had they found him, in disguise and all? Did they even know who they were talking to? And if not, should he reveal himself? No – better not. Not with all the public in the café around.

He forced his mind back to his two customers. Nonsense or not, they had paid for Marya's services, so they deserved his full attention.

Marya shook her head. "Some people just don't have any manners, do they."

The man agreed.

"So..." She spread her hands on the table. "Where were we? Love and happiness – yes."

She took her time telling their fortune – much more time than she usually spent on customers of this nature. It not only served to atone for the rude interruption, but also to show Colonel Hogan there were limits to him getting his own way.

When at last she bade the young couple farewell with all the best wishes for their future happiness, she picked up her tarot cards and idly started shuffling them with her eyes downcast.

Within a few seconds the chairs on either side of her were occupied: Colonel Hogan on her right, and on her left the little French cook from Stalag 13 – he didn't recall his name, but Schultz called him the Cockroach.

"Well," she said in a slow disapproving tone, looking from one to the other. "Didn't your mother teach you to wait for your turn?"

The Cockroach just stared at her with huge calf-eyes and a heavenly smile on his face – he seemed simply enthralled by any word that left her lips. But the Colonel sighed and gave in. "Okay, you're right – it wasn't very polite. But we really need to talk to you. That is – you are Backscheider's Russian astrologer Marya, aren't you?"

"White Russian, but yes." She eyed him speculatively. "And who might you be? Your features are not French. Nor German."

"I'm French," the small one put in, his hopes obviously running sky high.

But Colonel Hogan silenced him with a look. "I'm an American deserter. The name is Durkin."

So he was Durkin!?

Marya nodded slowly, while Karl was feverishly trying to put the pieces together. "So... what is this 'pressing matter' of yours?"

"I want to make a deal with you."

"What kind of a deal? Shall I show you what is to come?" She took his hand to study its lines, but he pulled it back.

"I want to make a business deal with you."

"Aha. And what about you?" She turned to the little French cook. "You are here to make a deal, too?"

The wide eyes with which the little man was drinking in Marya's features spoke volumes, and indeed, "I want to marry you."

Oh brother... But she granted him her most bewitching smile and placed her hand over his. And glanced back at Colonel Hogan alias Durkin. "I like his deal better." Draw him out – find out what this is all about...

"Now look!" The Colonel's voice was laced with frustration when he saw the lady he needed for his plans turn back to her undersized admirer.

"I adore you!" the lovesick Cockroach whispered, and he brought her hand to his lips for an ardent kiss.

"Fräulein, I..."

"It's Marya," she corrected the Colonel without taking her eyes off the little Frenchman.

"Marya, fine." Colonel Hogan sighed with impatient annoyance. He certainly wasn't used to being deliberately ignored, but he plodded on nonetheless. "Now look, we know you've got something going with this Backscheider from the Gestapo, and..."

"Yes. He has told me about you," Marya interrupted without breaking her passionate eye-lock with the Colonel's little aide. "Durkin, the black market man." She almost slurred the words. "He doesn't trust you though," she added matter-of-factly. "He wants to shoot you."

"I know."

Marya sent him a grave glance. "Good." And turned back to the little Frenchman who huskily declared, "Vous êtes la plus belle femme du monde!"

She tickled him under the chin. "And you are the cutest little man I have ever seen! May I read your loveline?"

"But of course!" He held out his hand to her, and Marya studied it with arch interest.

"A very strong line of romance. Very strong! Aha, you have been bad – very bad!"

"Marry me and I shall reform – I swear!" She believed him.

But Colonel Hogan was chomping at the bit by now. "Get married on your time, not mine. Are we going to talk business or not?"

"Unfortunate choice of friends," Marya continued unperturbed as if she were still reading the little Frenchman's hand.

"Yes or no?" Colonel Hogan demanded.

And finally, Marya graced him with her attention. "Well, my chart said to be very careful of business transactions today. Buy a little silverware, plant some petunias..."

"Meet someone short," the little Frenchman filled in, and she blew him a kiss.

"Alright, alright..." Colonel Hogan threw a rolled up bunch of French banknotes on the table.

"Do a little business..." Marya continued in the same tone, speculatively fingering the bundle. Karl saw in a flash that it was quite a sum – but knowing Colonel Hogan, he doubted it was real. So she glanced up at him, her eyes asking what he wanted.

"Let's not dance around – we don't have time," the Colonel began quickly, lest he'd lose the lady's fickle attention again. "We know you've got something going with Backscheider. I don't care what, but he's holding a woman who works for me, and I want her sprung."

Suddenly the pieces fell into place – hadn't Maryse mentioned something about Monsieur Antoine contacting Colonel Hogan to help free the Tigerwoman? So they were actually working on the same problem here! Then he'd better make sure Colonel Hogan was aware of that, too – even if he wasn't sure yet whether or not he should reveal himself to him as his Underground ally from Hamelburg. Considering that they were in contact with Backscheider as well, it might be better to stick with Marya for now.

So she looked at the little Frenchman (who was practically drooling) and back at 'Durkin' and pretended to guess, "Tiger?"

That certainly threw them both. "How did you know?"

A graceful shrug. "From the amount of money, she's a very big fish. My Colonel has told me why she was in Germany: to find the new German fighter bases."

The Colonel scowled. "I don't care about that. I'm in the black market and I need her."

Marya shook her head. "Not very convincing." What he needed were some acting lessons. "May I read your truthline?"

But again he pulled back his hand. "I told you – I'm an American deserter."

Yeah, right. "I hope you lie better to men," she told him gravely, hoping he'd figure out himself that his charade lacked credibility – and not just because Marya happened to be aware of his true identity. But first things first. "Look – you want something, I shall name a price."

"Name it."

"When you find out where the fighter bases are, you will also give me the information."

She could see the cogwheels in the Colonel's mind working at top speed. "Aren't you afraid I'm going to denounce you to Backscheider?" Still keeping up the blackmarketeer charade, wasn't he...

So Marya shrugged with tranquil indifference. "He would not believe you. He knows my character – from the bumps on my head."

The sarcasm in that last line apparently was finally enough to convince the man that she was no great fan of Backscheider's either. But still he persisted, "I don't get it. Why do you want the information, when we may be more or less on the same side?"

"More on the same side," Marya explained with some exasperation – men could be so dense – , "So that we can work together at times. Just enough less, so that I would like the information." And if you get yourself shot by Backscheider and we won't be able to get Tiger out, there will still be someone with the necessary information to destroy those bases.

"I trust her," the little Frenchman put in.

Marya granted him her most promising smile. "I shall marry you – some time." When the cows come home. But exchanging an airkiss was nothing compromising, and she returned his with fervour.

"Alright, it's crazy, but it's a deal," Colonel Hogan decided. "When will you see Backscheider?"

She pulled at his sleeve to be able to look at his watch. "In about a minute. He's always very prompt. I mean..." She shrugged almost apologetically. "It doesn't make up for everything else, but it is something."

Colonel Hogan got up. "Well, then we'll duck out and come back later."

The little Frenchman followed his example, and as Marya got up, too, he grabbed her hand with burning passion and declared, "I adore you!"

Oh brother, Karl thought. He was going to have his hands full with that one.

But Marya dutifully took the lovesick Cockroach in her arms and told him she could not resist short men. That would have to do for now.

At that moment there was some commotion behind the bamboo curtain at the entrance. A loud, whiny voice was heard over the sociable murmur in the smoky taproom. "What a holiday!"

Karl felt more than he saw Colonel Hogan stiffen.

"A week in romantic Paris and I have to go out with you!"

And indeed – it was the Kommandant who haphazardly worked his way through the bamboo curtain, followed by an equally awkward Schultz. This was getting ridiculous. How had they ended up here? The East Bank Café was miles from the hotel!

"We better get going," Colonel Hogan said tersely. And with a last longing look, even the little Frenchman let go of his lovedream and followed his commanding officer out the back. And Marya watched with amusement as they made their way blatantly past the bleating Kommandant, with the Colonel even clumsily bumping into him in the hurry.

"Oh! A thousand pardons!" the Kommandant gushed.

He couldn't make out the Colonel's reply, but apparently it suddenly got the Kommandant's brain to work. "Hogan! LeBeau! Schultz! You must stop them at once!"

"Jawohl, Herr Kommandant."

Karl hesitated as he saw the Kommandant go after his two so-called prisoners. Should he interfere? But no – Colonel Hogan could handle the Kommandant. Even if clearly the Kommandant wasn't supposed to know that he was here.

So Marya sat down, only to turn around again right away at the sound of a frantic Kommandant Klink running back into the room. "Schultz! Schultz!" But just as he reached the bamboo curtain appeared... "Backscheider?"

Marya smiled, and turned her back on the radio play that was likely to unfold next. And she wasn't disappointed.

"What is all the shouting about, Klink?" Backscheider demanded.

"Colonel Backscheider, I just saw two of my prisoners from Stalag 13!"

"I thought no one ever escaped from Stalag 13."

"Of course not. Of course not, of course not, Colonel Backscheider. Never. Nev... Schultz! Schultz, did I see them? Did I see them?" Funny how he repeated everything when he was nervous.

And there was Schultz's voice. "No. No, no, no, he saw nothing, and I... I saw nothing!"

Schultz's declaration of ignorance was followed by silence – Karl easily visualized the glare the poor man got from Backscheider – and then the Gestapo colonel appeared at her side. "Good evening, my dear." He clicked his heels and bowed, and then took off his pince-nez and pressed a kiss on her hand. "My apologies for the delay. As you could see, that fool Klink waylaid me again with his idiotic claims."

Marya pursed her lips. "But you handled him beautifully, darling. Beautifully!" She patted the chair on which LeBeau had been sitting a moment ago. "Sit down."

Backscheider did as he was told, and signalled something to Müller and Sonntag at the entrance, who made themselves scarce.

"So," Marya began. "Was your afternoon as lucrative as you expected?"

"Oh, more than that!" Backscheider's eyes lit up. "I've made some excellent business deals. And I have you to thank for it, my dear!"

Marya made a gesture of (not entirely truthful) modesty. "Ah, it was nothing. It's the stars that are favourable to you."

"But if you hadn't alerted me to their favour, these opportunities I encashed today would have passed me by. So..." He fished in his pocket. "As a token of my gratitude, I would like to present you with this." From his hand dangled two small keys on a keyring.

Marya raised her eyebrows, her eyes glittering with laughter. "A pair of keys? Ah, that is extremely generous of you, Colonel!"

"They're the keys to a car," Backscheider clarified. "A German staff car, to be exact."

Now she barely held back her merriment. "Klink's staff car!"

"Exactly." He gave her the keys and placed his hand over hers. "Unfortunately, I'm going to have to ignore most business opportunities for a while though."

"Oh?" That was not good news. Or was it? "Why – has some other pressing matter come up? You great men are always running from one emergency to another."

"It is our duty," Backscheider replied proudly, squeezing her hand. "But I got a phone call from my superiors in Berlin tonight. They're very anxious to know whether this Tiger indeed found the information she was looking for, and if so, if she's had a chance to pass it on. So I'm afraid I'm going to have to focus on interrogating her for a while. At least until I get the necessary information out of her."

"I see." Marya sounded a bit absent-minded, and Backscheider hurried to assure her.

"Do not worry, my dear. There will be plenty of time to meet you. I wouldn't dream of making any major decisions without consulting your knowledge of the stars!"

"Of course not." But I need to come up with something on the double, or this whole charade has been for nought!

"I'll start with some routine questioning tonight. I still promised that Durkin fellow that he could see her one more time tomorrow morning, so I can't start my experiments on her yet. I don't want to upset this Durkin too much – he can still be of use to me in business matters, you know. But once that visit is over and done with, I'll..."

Karl tuned out. Not only did he really not want to hear this, he also had much bigger problems on his mind. And as long as Marya kept up the façade of interest...

First of all he'd have to keep Backscheider occupied tonight, to the point that the guy's only wish in the end was to go home and go to bed. Tiresome work, but it was manageable.

And secondly, he'd have to come up with some emergency that carried even more weight with Backscheider than the impatience of his superiors. Now that needed some stiff thinking...

Meanwhile, Backscheider prattled on and on, and was getting more excited with every new experiment he described. His words went in one ear with Karl – allowing Marya to react appropriately at the appropriate times – and out the other. At least he hoped they did.

Clearly, what he needed was something that Backscheider valued even more than the good opinion of his superiors. A family emergency might do the trick, but apart from Backscheider being a bachelor, they knew absolutely nothing about any relatives. And it wouldn't do to invent a dying mother if his mother had been dead for twenty years, would it. Monsieur Antoine's people might be able to find out about these things, but that would take time. Time Tiger didn't have.

Now what would a bachelor career officer want – or fear – most of all? Colonel Klink for example. The thought of using the ever edgy Kommandant as a model for that haughty creep Backscheider may be too ridiculous for words, but at least it gave him a starting point.

So what did the Kommandant want most of all? No escapes, yes. And to please his superiors, like General Burkhalter. Or simply anyone outranking him, in the hope of... Wait a second...

A seed for a plan began to germinate in his mind. Backscheider was eager to please his superiors, too, right? So what about his superiors' superiors?

Carefully, with a tiny little smile playing around Marya's lips, he followed that line of thought, as Backscheider's enthusiastic descriptions became more and more revolting, and Marya kept up her feigned interest in them...

"My dear! Marya!"

A hand was waved in front of his eyes, and Karl started out of his thoughts.

Backscheider laughed a little. "I am not boring you with my business talk, am I?"

"No, no!" Marya was back on the ball and rested her shining eyes on her companion. "I was just talking with my grandmother."

Backscheider managed to look both doubtful and interested at the same time. "Your... grandmother?" He glanced around, and only now did Karl realize that the café was pretty much deserted. It must be close to civilian curfew then. Or even past, for of course the head of the Gestapo was exempt from such ludicrous things as curfews.

"Where is she?" a tentative Backscheider asked.

"My grandmother? She's right there." Excitement glittered in her eyes as Marya pointed at the unoccupied table next to them. "I hadn't seen her for months, but she says she envies me my escort." She purred. "She thinks you are a most handsome young man."

Backscheider straightened up like a proud peacock. "She does? But..." Nervously, he glanced at the neighbouring table, and whispered, "You mean you can communicate with the dead?"

Marya shrugged a little. "Only with my grandmother Natasha. And only when she initiates the contact."

Backscheider stared at the neighbouring table with boiling intensity. "I believe I see her," he murmured. "Very vaguely, but..." His eyes narrowed. "She looks just like you. Only older."

"Of course. That's why we have this connection – because I'm so much like her." Marya glanced at her companion. He was absolutely intrigued. Good. "Would you like me to ask her something? About your future perhaps?"

His head snapped in her direction. "She can foretell the future?"

"But of course, darling! If she feels like it, that is. But she seems to like you, so..."

"Oh yes, please!" Backscheider was back at staring at the nothing at the neighbouring table again. "She's Russian, isn't she. I can tell from the clothes."

"Of course she's Russian. She's my grandmother." Marya's fingers played with a beerspill. "She was killed in the October revolution. We were very close. I loved her very much."

They sat in silence for a moment, while Marya's twirling of the beerspill made the flame of the candle on the table waver.

"Look." Backscheider pointed. "Her breath affects the flame."

Marya smiled indulgently.

"So? Are you going to ask her about me?" Backscheider pressed. "I suppose you have to ask her in Russian, don't you?"

Oh help... "Yes. She's never left her home country during her life." She hesitated. "You don't speak Russian yourself by any chance, do you?"

Backscheider shivered involuntarily. "No, I don't."

Good. Then he wouldn't notice that Marya couldn't put a complete sentence together in her supposed native language either.

She sat quiet for a moment, with Karl trying to drag up some forgotten memories from his childhood: the few Russian words and phrases his friend Peter had taught him at the time. Who'd have thought they'd ever come in handy to fight the Nazis?

A deep breath, and, "Zdrasdweetse, babushka. Kak di la? Bozhe moy! Lyeva brava, vi gavaryityu po nyemichki?"

Silence. Backscheider stared, Marya 'listened'.

"Da, garoshe. Minya zavut Backscheider. Adyin dwa tri chtiri, ya nye panimayu."

A longer silence this time. Backscheider looked at her as if he wanted to ask what the old lady was saying, but it seemed his fear of disturbing the connection was holding him back.

Marya smiled. "Da. Spaseeba." She turned back to Backscheider, who was clearly on tenterhooks.

"What'd she say?"

A languid smile. "She said you will soon get a visit from a most important person."

Backscheider gulped with excitement. "When? Who? Did she say who?"

A graceful shrug. "Just that he is a most important person. Now who could that be?"

His eyes suddenly distended. "The... the Führer perhaps? The Führer himself is coming to Paris?"

Marya was a picture of innocent ignorance. "Is he a most important person?"

"A most important...?" Backscheider nearly choked on his indignation. "He is the most important person! But..." He shook his head in bewilderment. "Why would he come to Paris? To see me? But why?"

"I don't know." Marya began to study her nails – clearly she'd lost interest in the 'most important person'. But truth be told, he longed for his bed. What time was it anyway?

But Backscheider was still following his own train of thought. "We'll need to get the place in shipshape. And the files will need updating – we've been a bit lax on that. And..."

"My dear Colonel," Marya interrupted him. "If you want to make a good impression on this 'most important person', what you need most of all is a good night's sleep. You've got bags under your eyes the size of a plum! No officer who boasts about his own efficiency will ever have bags under his eyes."

Backscheider's face lit up. "You're right!" he almost sang. "You're always right, my dear! Getting the office ready will have to wait until tomorrow. First I need a good night's sleep. Müller! Sonntag!"

After a moment, the two aides came ambling over from a dark corner. Especially Sonntag looked like he'd just woken up.

"Colonel?" Müller stifled a yawn.

"Müller, Sonntag – we've got a lot of work to do tomorrow. But first I need a good night's sleep. So I will take Fräulein Marya home in her new car, and you two will follow us, and then take me to my quarters. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," the two men mumbled.

"So go and get the cars. We'll see you outside in a minute. Müller?"

"Sonntag?"

"Yes, sir." And Sonntag went outside the fetch the cars. He even forgot to salute and click his heels...

A good ten minutes later, Karl pulled the door of Marya's apartment quietly shut behind him. Good heavens – he was deadbeat. What time was it anyway?

His eyes found the little clock on the dressing table. Ten to two. No wonder.

He kicked off his shoes, pulled off the wig and... Oh, man, did that sofa look tempting... Perhaps just five minutes, before...?

No. He was pretty sure that if he'd lie down, he'd be asleep within seconds. And he wouldn't put it past Maryse to still be waiting up for him, and worrying her head off that he wasn't back yet. So no matter how tempting it was to stay here tonight, he really couldn't do that to her.

So with a sigh he forced his eyes away from the alluring sofa and sat down at the dressing table to change Marya back into Captain Dehner. Come to think of it – if they were to arrange a visit from Hitler, he'd better give Monsieur Antoine as much time as possible to organize a proper outfit. It wouldn't do to wake him up at this hour of the night of course, but he could leave a note.

It took a moment to locate paper and a pencil, but then he scribbled down, "We may need a 'Hitler' to visit B. Can you please find suitable clothes? And please destroy this note. D."

Right. Lights out, door locked, note in the mailbox, and out into the cool night he went for the long walk back to Hôtel La Fontaine.

The night porter let him in without a word, and coming up to the second floor, Karl immediately noticed the light still coming from under Maryse's door. So she had indeed waited up for him – or at least tried to.

He knocked softly, unwilling to wake her up in case she had fallen asleep.

But the reply was immediate. "Yes?"

He opened the door and stuck his head in. "Hi. I'm back."

"Karl!" Already she was coming towards him, dressed in nightgown and dressing-gown, but clearly wide awake. Certainly more awake than he felt, even after his nocturnal stroll. Oh well. He might as well come in and bask himself in her embrace for a minute.

"How did it go?" Maryse inquired.

"Mm," was all he replied at first. It sure felt good to come home into her arms. But then he looked up. "You'll never guess who I ran into though."

Maryse put on a mien of mischievous innocence. "Colonel Hogan perhaps?"

"Huh? How did you know?" That certainly woke him up!

She chuckled. "I had lunch with Sergeant Schultz today. And he pretty much gave away that Colonel Hogan is here in Paris, too. To help rescue the Tigerwoman no doubt."

"Yeah." Karl sighed. "It turns out he is that blackmarketeer Durkin that Backscheider keeps going on about. And now he wants to make a deal with Marya to help spring Tiger, but Backscheider has been whistled back by his superiors that he needs to work on Tiger instead of cutting profitable business deals for himself. So I hope I've gotten Backscheider off on another tangent for tomorrow, but... How does Colonel Hogan fit into all this?" he interrupted himself full of irritation. "Is he working with Monsieur Antoine? Is that how he knew about Marya? But if he knew that she was with the Underground – even if Monsieur Antoine hadn't told him it was me – then why that whole silly blackmarketeer charade?"

"I don't know." Gently, Maryse stroked back his hair to try and soothe his irritation a bit. "But Monsieur Antoine told me they're going to have a meeting tomorrow night." She grimaced. "Or rather tonight. Apparently they've got a plan to get Tiger out."

"About time," Karl muttered.

"Yes. And they want you to be at the meeting, too."

"For heaven's sake..." Karl laid his head in his neck with an exasperated sigh. "Can't they do anything by themselves? What do they need me for?"

"Well, you've been in pretty close contact with this Backscheider these past days, so I reckon they want you to keep him occupied while they go in to get Tiger out. Or something like that. And of course they'd want you to be there when they coordinate the whole set-up."

Another sigh. "And is Colonel Hogan going to be there, too? If he's working with Monsieur Antoine..."

Maryse shrugged. "I don't know. I guess so." Not.

Yet another sigh – this one seemed to come all the way from his toes. "Alright then. I'll be there. When? Where?"

"Tomorrow evening – or rather this evening, seven o'clock. Rue d'Arcy 31."

"Where is that?"

Maryse picked up the city map from the nightstand and showed him. "It's just a few blocks from here, see? And Karl... I know you're rather dependent on what Backscheider wants from you, but... please, try to be there on time. Remember when Helga disappeared? Those same fears reign the Underground here, too. So please, don't be late."

He muttered something unintelligible, and then said, "I'll do my best – that's all I can promise." He raked his fingers through his hair in frustration. "Meanwhile I'll have to try and think up some other wild goose chase to keep Backscheider busy tomorrow night if both Colonel Hogan and I have to be at that meeting."

Maryse hesitated. He was definitely not in the best of moods – and obviously very tired. But there was still one thing she really had to tell him about tomorrow. Maybe just...

"Karl?"

"Mm?"

"Could you do me a favour?"

He just waited for her to continue, and she felt bad for making even more demands on him when he had already expressed his irritation about being summoned to a 'meeting' on top of having to keep Backscheider in check.

But this was important. "Could you please come to that meeting as yourself – I mean, as Captain Dehner?"

His eyebrows shot up. "Why? It'll just take time to change back. And they all know about Marya, don't they?"

"Yes, but..." She lowered her eyes for a moment; then looked at him again. "I'm just asking this for me. I've hardly seen you these past days. So now that we'll finally have an hour or two to spend in each other's company, I'd much rather have you at my side than that insufferable Marya."

He let out a tired chuckle and took her in his arms again. "You don't like Marya very much, do you?"

"I sure don't," Maryse muttered darkly. "She seems like the kind of person I'd rather avoid having anything to do with. I'd much rather have you with me."

He sighed. And smiled. "Alright, Captain Dehner at your service, ma'am." He rested his head on her shoulder, closed his eyes and pressed a sleepy kiss somewhere behind her ear. Really – all he wanted now was to sleep...

But no such luck yet. "Do you like Marya?" his beloved still wanted to know.

"Not really," Karl mumbled somewhere in her neck. "She's kind of fun to play, but that's about it." A pause. "I'd never want to marry her."

Maryse chuckled, and hugged him tight. "Glad to hear it."

It remained silent. Karl just leaned heavily on her, and she felt how he simply radiated fatigue. Lovingly, she rubbed his back and kissed his hair. Tomorrow... Tomorrow she could take him in bed with her and let him sleep in her arms. But for now...

"Come on. Time for bed." She tried to disentangle herself from him. But he just moaned a little, and his passive resistance was still strong enough to let her attempts to untangle herself fail.

She laughed softly. "Hey, you're practically asleep on your feet! Come on, off to bed with you."

It took some persuasion, but in the end he let himself be guided to his own room, and Maryse helped him to take off his boots and his uniform jacket. It'd probably be better to take off the trousers as well, but getting married tomorrow or not, the idea of initiating that herself still felt rather awkward. And since Karl didn't make any attempt to do it himself and already began to lie down, she just let it be and simply tucked him in. And he seemed to be asleep before his head even touched the pillow.

She remained at his side for a moment, watching him sleep. Tomorrow evening when they'd go to bed, he'd be in her arms as her husband... That is of course, if everything went the way it should. The first hurdle had been taken: he had promised to be at the Rue d'Arcy tomorrow evening at seven. Now all she had to do was to tell him that this 'meeting' was merely a smokescreen to give them a chance to get married in secret.

She smiled. He looked so young and sweet when he was sleeping. She bent down over him and carefully caressed his hair. His breathing was calm and steady – definitely asleep.

"I love you, Karl," she whispered close to his ear. "And tomorrow, you and I are finally going to get married."

There was no reaction, not even when she pressed a gentle kiss on his sleepwarm cheek.

But at least now that she had told him once, it shouldn't be so difficult to tell him a second time tomorrow morning, right?

And with a last loving look at her soon-to-be-husband, she returned to her own room with a happy sense of relief.

Trouble

Maryse woke up from a ray of sunshine peeking through an opening in the curtains, tickling her face. She grimaced, blinked against its brightness – and smiled. That's right: today was the day she was going to marry Karl!

She threw off the covers and went over to the window. The day looked lovely indeed – perfect for getting married.

But first... She glanced at her alarm-clock. Nearly half past eight. She'd better hurry. They cleared away the breakfast buffet at nine, but if necessary, they could always grab something to eat at the café around the corner.

For first of all she needed to talk to Karl now. And without any accidental or intentional eavesdroppers. Would he be awake yet? If not, she'd have to play princess and wake up the sleeping beauty, because it was absolutely paramount that she'd talk to him now. So she threw on her dressing-gown and... hey, what was that?

She picked up the note that clearly had been pushed in under the door while she was asleep, and unfolded it.

Suddenly, her knees buckled under her, and she had to lean against the wall for support. Once more her eyes flew over the few lines on the paper in her hand.

'Liebchen, I didn't want to wake you so early after yet another short night,
but I have to try and catch C.H. this morning before he goes to see B.
I'll see you at seven tonight, okay?
And thanks for putting me to bed last night!
I love you – Karl.'

She was in trouble. Big trouble...

Never in her life had she gotten dressed so quickly. For his room may be locked, but maybe he had left this note only a minute ago and... She practically dove down the stairs and startled the receptionist out of his morning routine.

"Is Captain Dehner still here?"

"Um... no, Mademoiselle. I'm sorry. He already went out."

"When?"

"Pretty early. Around half past six; seven maybe."

Maryse deflated. No chance of catching up with him then. He wouldn't even be at Marya's apartment anymore.

The receptionist regarded her dejected expression with compassion. "You needed to speak with him?"

"Yeah." Maryse bit her lip. She suddenly felt like crying. How was she ever going to catch him now and tell him about...? That stupid Tiger to let herself get captured! If she hadn't been so careless, she'd have had Karl with her all day for several days now, with plenty of opportunities to talk to him! Instead of just a quick half hour in public for breakfast, and then when he came home exhausted in the middle of the night. It just wasn't fair!

"I don't know if it's of any help, Mademoiselle," the receptionist offered tentatively. "But I remember he asked for directions to Hôtel Le Palais. Perhaps you could find him there?"

Maryse's eyes went wide. "Where is that?"

"It's one of the most expensive hotels in the city. You go left here, and then turn right at the Rue de la Liberté – the fifth street from here, a fairly busy road. You follow that for a while until you get to a large green park on your left. You go straight through that park and..."

"Can you get me a taxi?" Maryse interrupted him.

"But of course, Mademoiselle. I will call you one right away."

Hôtel Le Palais clearly was one of those places where people only go to show off how much money they have. Long brocade curtains, purple carpets on white marble floors, huge chandeliers hanging from the high vaulted ceilings, gold, ivory, crystal, oak – anything that has the name of being expensive had been used to decorate the entrance hall.

But Marya had seen it all before. On the arm of this or that big shot in Berlin, she had been at home in such riches. So as she crossed the ostentatious room, she merely flicked her stole over her shoulder and addressed the young man at the reception desk.

"Young man," she began in a sultry tone, leaning onto the counter in a rather provocative manner. "Can you please tell me if there is a man named Durkin staying at this hotel?"

"Certainly, Mademoiselle." The guy remained as cool as a cucumber under Marya's seductive ouvertures as he opened the hotel register and let his finger go by the names. Dealing with eccentric ladies was probably the order of the day here. "Yes, there is a Monsieur Durkin staying here. Shall I call him for you?" He already had the phone in his hand.

"No, no," Marya fended off. "It's way too early for our appointment. I just wasn't sure anymore about the name of his hotel – Le Palais or La Palace."

"Well, he's here," the receptionist confirmed. "Is there anything else I can do for you, Mademoiselle?"

"Yes." She hit him teasingly in his face with the fur stole. "Give me a smile – a real one, not that professional grimace."

The young man chuckled and blushed slightly, despite his training.

"Much better," Marya judged, and she turned to go. "Oh, and darling – don't tell Monsieur Durkin that I'm here, will you? I want to surprise him."

"Of course, Mademoiselle. I understand." And he quietly admired the lady's figure and grace as she crossed the hall again with swinging hips and disappeared through the huge double doors outside.

Marya got into the back seat of her staff car – the Kommandant's staff car – to wait for Colonel Hogan to appear.

And Karl grinned. There was something to say for having your own means of transportation in a city like this. Especially if the vehicle in question was in no way related to your real self.

The car was parked a few meters from the entrance of Hôtel Le Palais. And as long as he'd manage to keep his eyes open, there was no way he could miss the Colonel when he went out.

Good thing though that he had recalled the name of the hotel correctly. Backscheider had mentioned it in the passing a few days ago, but if Le Palais had been wrong, there were eight other hotels in Paris with a name that sounded like it. He knew – he had looked it up in the telephone directory this morning. Glad he didn't have to waste time on finding the right one.

He made himself comfortable the female way, and focused his attention on the hotel entrance. And in the end his patience was rewarded: Colonel Hogan and the little French cook – LeBeau – came out of the hotel and briskly walked past the car.

He whistled sharply – and very unladylike. It sure got their attention: they stopped and looked around, but apparently they didn't notice Marya. Another whistle, and yes, that did the trick.

The little LeBeau was at the window in the blink of an eye and stuck his head in.

"You like my new car?" Marya drawled.

"Yeah, this is the one we stole from Klink and gave to Backscheider," Colonel Hogan replied with a clear hint of satisfaction.

"She bought it," was LeBeau's automatic conclusion – and only then did he ask. "You bought it?"

"It was not cheap." Having to listen to those horrid tales, and looking at those gruesome photographs, flirting with a completely deranged man he both feared and detested, nightmares, sleep deprivation... "Get in."

The Frenchman needn't be told twice, but she stopped him. "Please. With you, I could not trust myself." And we need to discuss something more important than turtle-dove business. So she pointed at the Colonel. "Him."

"LeBeau, get in the driver's seat. Keep a lookout, huh?" the Colonel ordered.

"Right." LeBeau seemed happy enough to get out and get into the front seat – as long as he could be close to her – while the Colonel wedged himself into the narrow space between the lady and the door.

"Well? Did you find time to do anything about Tiger last night? Or were you too busy?"

Karl flinched at the depreciating sarcasm in his tone. Clearly, Colonel Hogan had no idea what was involved in keeping someone like Backscheider occupied. But he resisted the urge to punch him in the nose, and instead stated coolly, "On second thought, change places with the short one." If you can't even treat your fellow Resistance members with respect, I'll talk to your lovesick aide instead.

But the Colonel was not to be deterred. "I don't care what games you play with Backscheider. I'm on my way to his office – what have you got for me?"

Alright then. "I drew aside the curtain of time and peeked into his future. I told him there would be a visit from a most important person."

"Well?"

She purred like a content cat. "That is all."

"That's all?! He could do better than that from a fortune cookie! How does that help spring Tiger?"

She had an indolent shrug. "Ach, details..." In fact, he had it pretty much worked out, but...

But the Colonel turned away in irritation. "Oh swell. Swell!"

She gave him a rather amused look. "Had I worked it all out, you would have hated me. Men are like that." Believe me, I know. "Now, when can I have the location of the German fighter bases?"

"Merci beaucoup." Maryse didn't even wait for her change – she had already spotted Marya in the back seat of that car there. By the looks of it, Colonel Hogan was with him.

But she decided to wait a few meters away by the hotel entrance. She didn't want to interrupt their conference about rescuing Tiger – she could catch Karl the moment he'd get out of the car.

Her eyes rested on the car. It had a German number plate from the Hamelburg area. And with Colonel Hogan inside, there was little room for doubt that this was indeed the missing staff car Sergeant Schultz had told her about.

A sudden movement inside the car drew her attention. They... She couldn't believe her eyes, but... through the rear window, she clearly saw...!

Suddenly, the world seemed to turn upside down around her, and for a moment she thought she was going to faint. Karl... Marya... Colonel Hogan?

But the spell passed as quickly as it had come, leaving her trembling all over.

With that terrible image of Karl and Colonel Hogan burnt onto her retina.

And with only one wish: to get away from here – as far as possible...

And she turned, and ran.

"Klink's coming," LeBeau hissed from the front seat.

And before Karl knew what happened, Marya got forcefully pulled into the Colonel's arms and his coercing lips covered his mouth.

"Hey!" he wanted to protest, but the Colonel was simply too strong. And had pulled their bodies way too tight in an embrace for the 'lady' to be able to do anything more but try and push him off her. And pull his ear – hard.

"Ouch!"

But before he had a chance to take a breath to voice a fierce Maryan protest, Colonel Hogan's tense, authoritative hiss overrode anything he might have said.

"Play along! Klink can't see me."

Karl gave in. It certainly was an effective manoeuver to keep the Colonel out of sight. And it wasn't as if Marya was totally inexperienced in this sort of thing – it just hadn't usually happened this abruptly.

A squeaky boot announced the arrival of the Kommandant. "You – driver. This is my staff car."

The little Frenchman answered something that Karl in his tight embrace with Colonel Hogan didn't catch. But at least Kommandant Klink didn't seem to recognize him.

"What did he say?" came another voice – Schultz by the sound of it.

"How should I know?" The Kommandant.

And suddenly a small blast of air signalled that the door had been pulled open.

Marya looked up with flashing eyes, making sure she was still blocking the view of the Colonel's face for the intruder.

"Oh, excuse me," the Kommandant floundered. "There seems to be a..."

"Shut the door!" she cried, expelling him from the car with an angrily pointed finger.

"Oh. Yes, madam." Meekly, the Kommandant did as he was told – only to stick his head in again through the open window. "But I thought that this might possibly be my staff car."

"This car is the property of the Paris Gestapo," she told him in a cutting tone. "I'm questioning a suspect. Now go away!" She shooed him off, and obediently, the Kommandant backed away. And the very moment his head was clear, the motor roared to life and the car took off.

As soon as they had turned the corner, Colonel Hogan let go of her. "Thanks."

Marya stared at him in accusatory disbelief. "Thanks?! You assault an unsuspecting, innocent woman, and all you have to say is, 'thanks'?"

He sighed. "Alright, I'm sorry."

"You better be," she pouted. Truth be told, he was surprised at the vehemence of his own abhorrence over the Colonel's – in fact very effective – diversion. Perhaps because it had come so completely out of the blue. Or perhaps he was out of practice in being kissed by men. Or perhaps it felt simply wrong nowadays to kiss anyone but Maryse.

But of one thing he was absolutely sure: one day, he was going to pay the Colonel back for this. Maybe... He glanced aside, a glimmer of laughter already in his eyes. How would a ladies' man like the dashing Colonel Hogan feel if he'd be told...?

But the Colonel already turned to her himself. "Look," he said in a most reasonable tone. "I realize you don't like me very much, and I can assure you the feeling is mutual. But right now, we've got a woman in the dungeons of the Paris Gestapo, and if you've got any idea of what happens with women in Gestapo custody..."

"I do," Marya said quietly. "Believe me, I do. Backscheider has been..."

"Yes, Backscheider is a beast," the Colonel agreed. "That little 'assault' of yours just now is child's play in comparison to what awaits Tiger. So let's put aside our differences for now and focus on getting her out of Backscheider's claws, okay?"

Marya nodded slowly. "Alright. On one condition."

"What?"

She looked up at him with something akin to caution. "You are a very strong character, no? Used to command others."

He nodded reluctantly. "You could say that, yes."

"And do you have an idea yet as to how you want to get Tiger out?"

He sighed. "Not really." He glared at her. "And that nonsense of yours about a most important person isn't helping."

She smiled indulgently. "But I do have a plan, darling. I do. I have been weaving a web around Backscheider for days, encapsulating him in my charms. Soon he will be so tangled up, that Tiger's friends can just walk in and free her from the dungeons, and he will not be able to lift a finger to stop them." Her expression hardened, her bright eyes drilled into his. "And I will not have you bulldozering through my web and tearing the threads I have so carefully woven. Do you understand me?"

The Colonel nodded, although he didn't exactly look happy.

"Good. That means that if you really care about Tiger, you will help me do things my way."

"But..."

But Marya cut him off. "You want to get her out as soon as possible, no? And my plan is already underway – you don't even have a plan yet!" She shrugged. "Unless you want to try and storm Gestapo Headquarters and get yourself killed. Please, be my guest! Not that it would help Tiger," she added as an afterthought.

Colonel Hogan sighed. "Okay, you're the boss. So what do you want me to do, Madame Commander?"

Marya merely smiled at the sarcasm dripping from that title. She'd have to be careful in getting him to do what she wanted. "You will go and see Backscheider now, no?"

"Yes."

"Good. Here is what you have to do..."

I'm going to claw her eyes out, I'm going to tear her hair out, I'm going to scratch her face to ribbons, I'm going to strangle her! How dare she make Karl... I mean, how can he... she... no, he...

For the umpteenth time, Maryse's silent rant was brought up short. It was just too complicated. How can you cool your wrath on a person you violently detest, when she is actually the person you desperately want to reclaim for yourself?

She was still shaking with shock and rage, plus a million other conflicting feelings. Was this what it felt like when your husband – well, almost-husband – betrayed you with another woman? Only in this case, he himself was the woman in question and she had caught him passionately involved with another... That ladykiller creep... How dare he kiss her... I mean, him... And that Marya, that insufferable bitch – I could kill her! She made him... but he did... no, she did it... but after all, she is Karl...

Suddenly she felt the tears streaming down her face. She simply was unable to grapple with this; it was too... too... there wasn't even a word for it, dammit!

She brushed at her tears, but they just kept coming. Never had she imagined she'd be capable of despising someone so thoroughly, to feel such burning hatred towards a person all the way down to the core of her being. And the worst of the problem was, that the person in question also happened to be the man she loved more than anything in this world!

She clenched her fists, while her feet pounded the pavement in the ongoing escape from the offending scene. Karl... oh Karl, how could you? That bitch, that... that slut...! How dare she! I'm going to claw her eyes out, I'm going to scratch her face to threads, I'm going to strangle her...! How could you... I mean, she... I mean...

"Fräulein Mohr? Are you alright? Fräulein Mohr?"

It took a moment to penetrate Maryse's overoccupied brain that she was the one being addressed. Once more she brushed at her tears and looked up. A huge man in a blue uniform was standing in front of her.

"Fräulein Mohr?" It was Sergeant Schultz.

"I'm sorry. I didn't see you," she mumbled.

Schultz glanced down at his impressive girth. "Now that is not an easy thing to do."

Again, Maryse tried to stem the flow of her tears, and to steady her breathing.

But the Sergeant's kind, worried eyes remained on her. "Fräulein, are you not well?"

"Yes. No. I mean..." Another attempt to brush away her tears.

"Come." He hooked her arm through his and patted her hand. "Let's go and sit at that bench there, and then you can tell your Uncle Schultz what's the matter."

Suddenly overwhelmed by an almost paralyzing fatigue, Maryse let herself be guided to a nearby bench and sat down with him without a word. Vaguely, her eyes registered that they were in a park, under a green canopy of plane trees.

"Here." Schultz fished a chocolate bar out of his pocket and held it out to her. "When life stinks, there is but one thing to do: eat!" He patted his voluminous stomach. "Believe me, I know."

Almost involuntarily, Maryse chuckled a little, and gratefully accepted the proffered chocolate. She suddenly felt faint with hunger, too. No wonder – she had run off without breakfast this morning.

Her fingers fumbled with the wrap, and despite everything, she tried to savour the treat as best she could. Like every woman, she loved chocolate, but real chocolate was near impossible to get in Germany these days. And she hadn't seen it in Paris so far, either.

Still, as she was slowly chewing away the sweet American candy bar, her mind was feverishly occupied with another task: how to explain her state in a somewhat plausible way to the kind Sergeant. For somehow, the 'my boy-friend and I are supposed to get married tonight, only I haven't told him yet, and now I just saw him dressed as a woman, kissing another man'-story sounded so insane, that Schultz would probably drop her off at the nearest madhouse.

"What are you doing here?" she therefore asked, trying to put off the inevitable question. "You weren't looking for me, were you?"

"Well, a little bit," Schultz happily admitted. "I saw you in the street back there." He nodded across the park, but that meant nothing to Maryse, since she had no idea where she was. "You seemed to be waiting for someone, but suddenly I saw you run away. For a moment..." He chuckled. "For a moment there, I thought the Kommandant had frightened you with his antics about his staff car."

She frowned. "The Kommandant?"

"Yes. Kommandant Klink of Stalag 13." Another chuckle. "He finally found his staff car, and of course the boys were in it. They must have seen him first, so they made sure that the Kommandant couldn't see their faces. The one in front pretended to be busy with the brakes, and the other... oh la la! In the arms of a woman of course – trust him to get all the pretty girls! And then the woman yelled at the Kommandant that this car was a Gestapo car, and that she was 'questioning' a suspect." He still chuckled at the memory. "And of course for that argument, Kommandant Klink immediately backed away."

Maryse sat stock-still. So that was what happened...! They saw the Kommandant coming, and of course the man was not to know that Colonel Hogan was here in Paris, so... She let out a quiet sigh of relief. The idea, the image of Karl/Marya lying in Colonel Hogan's arms, kissing him (or being kissed, whatever it had been) was still highly disturbing, but at least it made sense now.

"What happened then?" she asked in a small voice.

"They drove off," Schultz replied matter-of-factly. "So now the Kommandant has lost his staff car again. And he wants me to walk around again to try and spot it. But first I wanted to make sure that you were alright. You seemed a bit upset when you so suddenly ran away, so I followed you." He peered at her tear-stained face. "Are you feeling a little better?"

"Yes. Thank you." She gave him a watery smile. "I believe the chocolate did the trick."

Schultz beamed. "I told you so! It always does!" He patted her hand. "Now what do you say we find a nice little café, and I treat you to a gourmet lunch? You'll see – things don't look half so bad with a full stomach!"

Marya had been dropped off with her staff car at the East Bank café for her lunch appointment with Backscheider, while Durkin-Hogan and LeBeau went on to Gestapo Headquarters to see Tiger.

Karl thought the Colonel's idea of exchanging Hitler for Himmler a stroke of genius – instead of a flattering event, the visit was now likely to strike plain fear into Backscheider's heart. A visit from the Reichsführer of the Gestapo, and Backscheider as the local Gestapo top man had not been informed...? He'd be at the café the moment Colonel Hogan was out of sight, begging for Marya's advice!

But time passed, and whoever entered the café, Backscheider was not among them. Not even at their scheduled lunch appointment at twelve o'clock. That was alarming for the overpunctual Gestapo Colonel...

At 12.05, he could simply have been held up by someone.

At 12.10, that was still possible, but getting less plausible.

At 12.15, Karl was beginning to worry. What the heck had happened at Gestapo Headquarters? Had Backscheider simply shot Colonel Hogan? Was he mad as hell? Scared to death? Feverishly trying to get things in order?

But there was not much he could do but wait. So Marya kept herself busy, exploiting her astrology and fortune-telling scam on the customers of the café. But neither Backscheider, nor Colonel Hogan and his little aide showed up. The latter made sense – she'd told them to come to her apartment between five and six this afternoon for their report and further instructions. But Backscheider...? What the heck was he doing? What the heck was going on? What the heck had Colonel Hogan been ad-libbing?

At half past two he decided he'd had enough – clearly, Backscheider wasn't coming. Besides, his lack of sleep last night was beginning to catch up with him. He really should try and catch forty winks if he had to deal with Colonel Hogan again this afternoon, and had that Underground meeting to go to tonight.

With the car he reached the Rue Papillon in just a few minutes. He parked it on the square at the end of the street, and heaved a sigh as he locked the door of the apartment behind him. For a few hours, Marya would be blissfully dead to the world...

"This is where you will be meeting your friends?"

"Yes." Maryse swallowed. "And thank you, Schultz. You've been a really good friend today."

The big Sergeant smiled down at the lady on his arm. "The pleasure was all mine... baby." He patted her hand. "But now I better go back to the hotel and tell the Kommandant we didn't find his staff car." He unhooked her arm from his and...

"Schultz?"

"Yes... baby?"

Maryse bit her lip. She couldn't very well ask him to come to their top secret wedding tonight, could she? Not even for moral support – a buoy to cling to in the storm ahead. For she had this awful premonition that Karl was going to be mad at her, and Monsieur Antoine was going to be mad at her, and then this Monsieur Aubault, who had even cancelled something else in order to give them a chance to get married... And she had botched it all up by not telling Karl about it... How she dreaded the long awaited Sunday evening, seven o'clock now!

Suddenly, she just threw all propriety to the winds and put her arms around Schultz's big, comforting bulk. And hid her face in his uniform. He had been such a perfect companion today, diverting her thoughts with stories about his children, his toy factory, his favourite food and the antics of 'his boys' in the prison camp – and what awaited her now was nothing but trouble. If only...

"Hey." Schultz patted her back with a fatherly air. "Don't start crying again now. Are you sure you're alright?"

"Yeah. I'm sorry." She took a deep breath to steady herself, and let go of him. Time to face the music. After all, it's your own bloody fault... She looked up at him. "Wish me luck, Schultz." She heard herself how pleading it sounded. How scared.

Clearly, Schultz heard it, too, for he searched her face for a moment. But Schultz wasn't one to pry. Or to ask questions. Instead, his smile broke through – sunny and reassuring. "I wish you all the luck in the world – baby."

She was sure going to need it...

"Ah, Mademoiselle Marisse! Le grande jour has come at last!" Monsieur Antoine grabbed both her hands as if to congratulate her. "So what did your Oskar say?"

Maryse winced. Oskar... But of course he couldn't know... She gulped. "I... I haven't told him yet," she forced out.

"Quoi?" Monsieur Antoine stared at her in disbelief. "Vous plaisantez."

Maryse frowned. "What?"

"You are making a joke, n'est-ce pas?"

She shook her head. "It's just that I've hardly seen him these past days. Especially since he's been running after that Backscheider. Half an hour for breakfast if I'm lucky, but with all those other people around, I can't very well take up a top secret wedding, can I? And he runs out straight after breakfast, so no chance there. And by the time he comes home, it's halfway through the night and he's utterly exhausted. All he wants then is a hug and his bed. And at such moments, I simply don't have the heart to bother him with my problems."

"Your problems? It is his wedding, too!" Monsieur Antoine rolled his eyes and threw up his hands. "Ah, les femmes!" He shook his head. "You should have told him right away."

"I know." Maryse bowed her head. "In hindsight, his fatigue last week was nothing compared to how he's been coming home these past days. I should have told him on Wednesday or Thursday or so. But..." She shrugged.

"Well, there is not much we can do about that now, is there. Unless..." Monsieur Antoine looked down at the floor. "I believe he is in the souterrain at the moment. I am sure I saw him go in there this afternoon. So why don't you go and talk to him right now?"

Maryse hesitated. "But what if that Backscheider is with him?"

"I don't think there is anyone with him – it has been as quiet as a churchyard down there all afternoon. Now go! Allez!" He turned her around and directed her towards the door. "For I really do not believe, that any man likes to be surprised by his own wedding. The least you can give him is a few hours notice."

Obediently, Maryse stepped outside and went to the door on the other side of the shopwindow. A few deep breaths to try and calm down her galloping heart, and...

But she didn't knock yet. For what was she going to say? 'Karl, just so you know – when you get to the Rue d'Arcy tonight, we're going to get married.' Yeah, right.

And then that disturbing image of Marya – Karl – passionately kissing Colonel Hogan... Schultz's story had clarified the 'why', but she still wanted to hear Karl's version of it. And feel his arms protectively around her and...

In the shopwindow appeared Monsieur Antoine, urging her to get on with it.

Alright then. Hoping against hope that the words would just magically appear out of her mouth when she'd stand in front of him, she closed her eyes, raised her hand and... knocked.

She waited. But nothing happened.

She knocked again. And waited. But still nothing happened.

With a shrug between disappointment and relief she returned to the shop. "He's not there anymore," she told Monsieur Antoine. "So I'm afraid he's indeed going to find out when he gets to the Rue d'Arcy tonight."

Monsieur Antoine grimaced. "Let's hope for the best then. Alors, what do we do? Do you want to change here, or do you want to wait till we get to Monsieur Aubault's?"

Karl didn't know what it was, but something had started him out of his sleep.

He sat up and glanced at the clock. No. Still twenty minutes before it was to go off. It must have been something else then.

He got up – he was wide awake now anyway – , turned off the alarm-clock and went to check the door. Maybe someone had knocked? Colonel Hogan a bit early, or Backscheider? He opened the door at a crack and peered out. No. The alley lay deserted in the late afternoon sun. Oh well.

He went back to the souterrain room and decided he might as well get ready. So he changed into something more appropriate for Marya at home, carefully put on the wig that carried the hair in a crown, and sat down at the dressing-table to touch up his make-up. At least he'd be ready in case Colonel Hogan – Durkin, he reminded himself – showed up early.

For that was the trouble with the man: he was unpredictable to the extreme. It was probably one of his greatest strengths in his resistance work, but it could easily lead to problems when you had to work together with him.

And on top of that, he got the impression this morning that the man was not happy about having to take orders from a woman. Revealing himself here in the privacy of Marya's apartment was certainly an option, but he seriously doubted whether that would ease the relationship. There was a chance indeed that the Colonel would laugh his head off (which would be good), but after what happened this morning, there was a good chance he'd feel humiliated to the bone instead. Passionately kissing a man without realizing it's not a woman?

With Tiger's life at stake, he'd rather not risk it. Better stay with the status quo therefore. Not to mention that the little Frenchman would be absolutely crushed...

It wasn't until ten to six though before they showed up. (Okay, she had said 'between five and six', so there was nothing he could complain about.)

"Ah, my great Durkin! And my dear little small one!" Marya stretched out her hand – the Colonel ignored it, but the Cockroach pressed an avid kiss on it, and refused to let go.

"So, you went to Backscheider with a nice little piece of news. How did it go?" She sat down and patted the sofa invitingly, but again, the Cockroach was the only one to accept the invitation. He was positively gazing at her.

Colonel Hogan hugged his chest. "It went pretty much as expected. He almost fell to pieces when he realized that Himmler hadn't informed him of his visit."

A slow smile, and a gentle tap on the nose of the eager Frenchman. "Good."

"He also insisted that he wanted to start working on Tiger today – but that was before I mentioned Himmler. Tiger herself is getting rather desperate though," he finished in a grim tone.

"I can imagine," Marya murmured. "But we'll have her out soon."

"So what is the next step of your plan?"

She gave him an enigmatic smile. "We are going to bait him."

"How?"

"I'm a great bait," the little Frenchman put in. "I may be small, but for you, I can catch the biggest whale in the sea!"

"Shut up, LeBeau."

Marya chuckled, and blew the little man a kiss from very close quarters. "I believe you. But what we need to reel in here is not a giant whale – it's a slimy, slithering octopus."

"Cut the marine flowers-of-speech, will you?" the Colonel cut in. "What's the plan?"

But at that moment, they all stiffened. There was a brisk knock on the door!

"Backscheider," Marya whispered, her indolence gone in the blink of an eye. "Quick – hide behind that screen!"

She didn't wait to see if they followed her directions – she struck a provocative pose and called, "Entrez!"

Backscheider – apparently alone – was invading her personal space in a flash, and he looked absolutely distraught. He grasped both her hands and pleaded, "My dear – you've got to help me!"

Marya arched an eyebrow. "But of course, darling. What is wrong?"

"It's all coming together: the most important person, and the one who's going to make a fool of me... My dear, you've got to tell me what to do!"

She guided him over to the sofa and made him sit down. "Now start at the beginning," she admonished. "Remember – I cannot read minds, so you need to tell me what the problem is." She arranged herself on the opposite end of the sofa. "What is this about this most important person for example?"

"It's Himmler!" Backscheider cried.

"Himmler?"

"The head of the Gestapo. Oh, you wouldn't know that of course, but he's the top man in the Gestapo. The Führer's right hand man. He can make or break me with the snap of his fingers. And now he's coming to Paris, and he hasn't notified me!"

"Why should he notify you?"

"Why, I'm the head of the Paris Gestapo of course! He's my boss – my highest boss! Surely he would tell me when he's coming for a visit! And if he doesn't..." He shuddered.

"Yes?"

Backscheider gulped. "Why is Himmler coming? What have I done? What have I had a chance to do? I've only been here a good six weeks! Yes, I've cut some business deals on the side, but everybody does that. And my interrogation records are top-top shelf – the best results!"

Karl didn't want to think about how he got those results, so Marya pried, "But why is it so bad that he didn't tell you he is coming? Ha!" She sat up in sudden enthusiasm. "Maybe he wants to surprise you! Everybody loves surprises!"

Backscheider started to bite his nails. "Not Herr Himmler's surprises. Nobody likes those. If he's coming to Paris and he hasn't informed his top subordinate here, that can only mean one thing..."

Marya tilted her head. "He is a forgetful person?"

He glanced at her. "No. Trouble. Big trouble." He shook his head. "But why is Himmler coming? What have I done? What have I had a chance to do?"

It seemed to be developing along the lines of a circular lament, and Karl quickly grew tired of it. After a few more rounds, Marya got up and seated herself at her dressing-table, pretending to touch up her make-up some more. But her apparent loss of interest had no effect on Backscheider – he just kept going on and on in that circle of fear and self-pity.

"My dear Colonel," she sighed at last, gazing at the ceiling. "You came here to ask the advice of the stars, yes?"

"Yes. Yes!" He was close to falling on his knees. "What should I do? What can I do to deflect his wrath?"

"Did you bring your chart?"

That brought him up short. "No. No, I haven't. But... surely you can interpret the stars simply with my basic astrological information? I'm a Taurus; I was born on May 2nd, 1891."

Marya shook her head. "Without a detailed chart, I can only give general indications. It won't be very personal."

"But... you told me that the stars were very favourable for me this time of month!"

Marya nodded. "And the stars are never wrong." She shrugged a little. "Sometimes my interpretation is not so good."

He didn't seem to hear her, caught up as he was in his own troubles. "Why is Himmler coming? What have I done? What have I had a chance to do?"

Marya sighed. He was getting exasperating. So she looked at him in the mirror, determined to put an end to this circular lament. "I forget – did I read for you a long lifeline or a short one?"

Backscheider placed the palm of his hand under his chin and squinted at it. "You told me it was very long."

"But of course, you are no longer young," Marya mercilessly pointed out.

Once again, Backscheider began to bite his nails. He almost felt sorry for the man – almost!

"What should I do?" Backscheider trembled.

Marya heaved a sigh, and moved back to the sofa. If it was metaphysic nonsense he wanted, metaphysic nonsense was what he was going to get. Colonel Hogan would probably have a fit behind his screen, but once he'd take the time to think it through, he was smart enough to figure it out.

So she stared into Backscheider's eyes and placed her thumbs on his temples. "This man you have told me of," she started in a low, quasi hypnotizing voice. "The blackmarket man..."

The moment the door fell shut behind Backscheider, Colonel Hogan and the little Frenchman reappeared at Marya's side. And apparently they hadn't quite grasped the idea yet.

"Very nice, very nice. That's absolutely all I needed. Thanks!"

She looked up from counting the money Backscheider had given her, but before she could open her mouth, the little Cockroach demanded in a huff, "Why did you let him kiss your hand?"

Karl grinned; Marya smiled triumphantly and moved back to her dressing-table. Time to tease the Colonel into thinking things through. "You are both jealous – how sweet!"

"He's jealous – I'm ready to kill!" the Colonel retorted. "I had Backscheider going my way – he didn't even have my phone tapped!" Bristling with annoyance, he leaned over her. "What are you doing?"

"Kissing him this morning, that was in the line of duty. But kissing Backscheider...!" Talk about being jealous...

Colonel Hogan clearly had had enough of it, too. "Will you dry up about the kissing?" (Who knows how the little Frenchman had been going on about Marya's charms...)

And finally, she could get a word in again, too. "I do these things by intuition," she replied to the Colonel's earlier question.

"I forgive you," the Frenchman assured her.

"Well, I don't." Colonel Hogan turned and began to pace the room. "If you can point out any possible advantage in my phone being tapped by Backscheider, I'll..." He stopped dead in his tracks. "Yeah. Maybe."

There you go. "You have thought of something." It wasn't even a question.

"No thanks to you," the Colonel retorted, and turned back to them.

Marya gave him a broad, knowing smile. "Hold out as long as you can, my darling. It will be that much sweeter when you surrender to me."

He returned it with a glare, and the little Frenchman declared, "Over my dead body!"

Marya chuckled, and hit him with her powder puff.

But, "Don't tempt me," the Colonel warned him, while buttoning up his overcoat.

Marya watched them go – the Frenchman practically had to be dragged out – and nodded to her image in the mirror. They'd gotten the idea – or at least the Colonel had. Pity it had to be done in such a roundabout way, but more and more he got the impression that the Colonel wouldn't easily accept direct orders from a woman. So the trick was to give him hints, and then let him work out the details himself.

Suddenly the door was pushed open again, and the little Frenchman reappeared. "We can all three be friends!" he announced enthusiastically. "I forgot I was French!"

Marya chuckled and blew him a kiss. And with that, he disappeared again – for real this time.

Karl sighed. Well, at least that was over and done with. He'd probably see them again at this meeting of Monsieur Antoine's in a moment, but...

His eyes fell on the clock. Good heavens, it was ten past seven!

Reality

"He'll be here. I know he will."

The three men exchanged a meaningful glance. But none of them had the heart to point out to the edgy bride that her groom had no idea of the importance of this 'meeting' for his personal life, and that – in case he was forced to stand his bride up at the altar due to unforeseen circumstances with Backscheider – the poor guy wasn't even aware that he was doing it.

"He'll be here. I know he'll be here." Maryse kept restlessly pacing back and forth, clenching the small bouquet of lilies-in-the-valley in her fist. He had to be here. For telling him they were here to get married was a cinch compared to them getting married without him being here.

She tried not to glance at the relentless clock on the mantlepiece again, but her eyes were already drawn there before she could stop them. Nearly twenty past seven. And he had promised... 'I'll see you at seven tonight, okay?' he had written in that blasted note this morning. So he hadn't forgotten. He wouldn't forget. He'd be here. Unless of course...

An ice-cold hand closed itself around her heart. What if... what if that evil Backscheider had found out about him and simply... shot him?

No – no, he wouldn't do that. Not kill him. Not right away at least. Not someone like that Backscheider. He'd torture him first, and that meant they could get him out together with Tiger. As long as...

Or had her worst fears come true after all – that he had been killed in an accident or something today, just like Oskar – just before they were to get married... Oh God, no... Please! She couldn't face that again – she needed him! Even if he felt compelled to prance around as a woman from time to time and kiss other men; even if he wanted to have a whole string of mistresses at the side – she needed him by her side to be able to face life. After what happened to Oskar... Oh God, please let him be alive! Please let him be...!

A majestic ding-dong resounded through the room, suddenly rooting Maryse to the spot.

"That will be him," Monsieur Aubault said relieved.

Maurice Dubois got up out of his deep armchair, and Monsieur Antoine gently tried to pry the poor manhandled flowers out of Maryse's grip. But she pulled the bouquet away. "No."

Maurice Dubois gave her a steady look. "Are you ready?"

She closed her eyes. A deep breath, and... "Yes." This was it. The single most important discussion she was going to have in her life. Would she be able to convince Karl?

Dubois gave her an encouraging nod, and then he led the way to the spacious vestibule.

Once he had located the mansion in the Rue d'Arcy that carried number 31, Karl had parked the staff car two blocks down. It was always better to attract as little attention as possible to a meeting-place of the Underground; he could walk back those few hundred meters. Late he was already, and bad as he felt about that, avoiding attention was more important than the gain of a few measly minutes.

At least he had gotten here as fast as he could, even if Maryse was not likely to be thrilled about his outfit. But among these people, who all knew about Marya, at least he could drop the act and simply be himself, even if he was in disguise. Better than nothing, so to say.

Number 31 was indeed a pretty grand mansion – lots of high windows on either side of the dark wooden door, and to top it all off an old-fashioned bell pull to go with it.

Karl pulled it, and heard a majestic ding-dong somewhere in the house. Pretty upper class, all this. He grinned, and wondered if perhaps the door would be opened by a real life butler.

And yes, the door swung open and... No. It was Dubois. Looking rather puzzled for an instant, but his expression quickly changed to haughtily dismissive. "Que voulez-vous?"

Karl chuckled. "Bonjour, Dubois. What – don't you recognize your comrade in arms without his colonel's uniform?"

Dubois' jaw dropped. And he quickly glanced over his shoulder. "Danzig?" he mouthed.

"Yes, it's me. And I'm sorry I'm late. Backscheider interfered with the planning, but I came as soon as I could. I hope you guys weren't too worried?"

"But..." Another glance over his shoulder to where Maryse stood – nervous, tense... and unaware of...

But now Karl had picked up on his uneasiness. His eyes narrowed, and he tried to look past the Frenchman. "Something wrong?" he whispered.

"No! No, nothing is wrong." Dubois opened the door a bit wider. "Come on in."

Karl stepped past him and...

The moment she set eyes on him, her breath caught audibly, and from out of nowhere, the morning's rage was instantly back in full force. The car, and Colonel Hogan, and...

Suddenly, something snapped in her. "You... you bitch! Can't you even show up as yourself for your own wedding?!" In two steps, she stood in front of him, and smacked that hateful Maryaface with her lilies-of-the-valley. Hard. And before either Karl or Dubois realized what happened, she had pushed them aside and ran out of the house.

For several seconds, there was just stunned silence.

Karl was the one to break it, asking half dazed, "What was that?" He plucked some small white flowers out of his wig and off his coat. "What wedding?"

From a dooropening further down the vestibule came Monsieur Antoine's quiet voice. "She didn't really have a chance to tell you these past days, but... we organized that you two could get married here tonight – in secret."

It took a moment for Karl to digest that. But suddenly his eyes were ablaze. "Get married? With the Gestapo and all? Has she lost her...?!" And before anyone could stop him, he had stormed out the door, too.

A second stunned silence fell, broken by Dubois as he slowly shut the door. "I guess there won't be any wedding tonight then."

Monsieur Aubault appeared in the dooropening to the drawing-room, too. "A pity. Nervous as she was, she seemed like a nice girl. I would have enjoyed making her wish come true tonight."

"She's a lovely girl," Monsieur Antoine confirmed quietly. "And he sure isn't bad either. You should have seen them together, Philippe – they're absolutely crazy about each other, but in a very tender way. They so deserve to get married..."

"But if they didn't even have a chance to talk about it..." Dubois left the sentence hanging.

Philippe Aubault shook his head. "I wouldn't be surprised if Resistance work in Germany, in the heart of the Reich is even more perilous than it is here. Their life must be something like walking a tight-rope. No wonder he freaked out."

"And unsuspectingly showing up as Marya sure didn't help." Monsieur Antoine heaved a sigh and looked at the front door. "I really hope they can work this out..."

"Bonsoir, Mademoiselle Mohr."

But Maryse brushed past the reception with angry steps, so intent on getting to her room that she completely ignored the receptionist's greeting.

She was followed on her heels by the seductive nuisance who had visited Captain Dehner so much last week – she, too, was the picture of anger.

The receptionist glanced at the bellboy and raised his eyebrows in a most meaningful manner. "Uh-oh..."

The boy grinned. "Catfight coming up." He looked eagerly at the stairs. "Shall I go and listen?"

But the receptionist's face instantly darkened. "You'll do no such thing. It's not our job to spy on our guests – and least of all yours! So if I catch you so much as coming close to the lady's room...!"

He looked at the door, fervently hoping for Captain Dehner to enter next. Ladies fighting over a man were a nightmare for a hotel receptionist – he'd much rather have the Captain sort out his lovelife himself...

Maryse threw the door shut in Karl-Marya's face, but he caught it and followed her into her room, shutting the door behind him with only marginally less force than his would-be bride would have a moment ago.

And immediately, Marya turned into Karl dressed as a woman. "What the heck do you think you were doing?"

"Get out," she ordered, her back pointedly turned to him.

"No, I want to talk to you. What..."

"Get out!" Maryse snapped. "I'm not talking to you like this."

"But I...!"

"Get out, I said!"

With a frustrated growl, Karl turned on his heel and stormed out of the room, first pulling her door shut with far more force than necessary, and then slamming his own so hard that the windows rattled in their rabbets.

And there he stood, in the middle of the room, with his fists clenched at his side and with a frown in his forehead as deep as a ravine.

"I should never have brought her along," he muttered to himself, and tore off his wig. The high heels followed, the fur coat, the jewelry, that flimsy dress, the bra and other underthings... He wanted to talk to her, and he wanted to talk to her now. And if she refused to talk to him when he was dressed up as a woman, well, then he'd personally break the record for changing back to a man!

It was indeed barely five minutes later that Karl Langenscheidt (he hadn't bothered to put his minimal make-up as Captain Karl Dehner in place) stood at his beloved's door again – only to find it locked.

He knocked, and when there was no reaction, he knocked again, more insistently. "Maryse, let me in. I want to talk to you."

"Only if you are you," came her voice back through the door.

He rolled his eyes. "I am me. Open up!"

The lock was turned, and the door opened ajar. "What do you want." A picture of rebuff, with traces of tears.

But he had no intention of having a wordfight in public, so he forced the door open far enough for him to enter, and closed it again behind him.

"What do you want," Maryse repeated, walking away from him and stealthily wiping away the last traces of her tears.

"An explanation. What the heck were you thinking? Instant marriage?! Don't I at least have a say in that?"

She snorted. "If I leave it up to you, it's never going to happen. Face it, Karl – everything is more important for you than me."

His face darkened even further. "That's not true and you know it."

"It is, too!" she retorted with angry emphasis. "You invited me to come to Paris with you so we could have a little holiday together – spend some time together in the anonymity of the city, without having to worry about being seen together too much. All you had to do was to deliver that map and sell the jewelry, and then we'd have all the time in the world for each other. But we've been here now for a full ten days, and all you're doing is going around blowing up rocket launching sites, and prancing around as that... that... Marya woman!"

Karl was instantly on the defensive. "It's not like I'm doing it for fun, you know!"

"You shouldn't be doing it at all!" Maryse rounded on him. "You promised you'd..."

"I know what I promised! But when people need help and I'm able to give it, how can I say no?"

"You can!" she yelled back. "Just say, 'No, I'm sorry'!" She began to pace the room. "But no, Mr. Big Hero immediately has to get involved in all kinds of dangerous activities. And that in a huge city where he's never been before, where he hardly knows a soul, plus he barely knows the language..."

"Now look!" Angrily, Karl stepped in her path.

But she just stepped around him and continued her rant. "And then this Marya woman. You said you only needed to dress up as a woman to sell that jewelry. But every time I turn around these days you're dressed up as her!"

"Believe me, I'd much rather not!" Karl interrupted her vehemently. "But at the moment, Marya is the only chance of getting that Tigerwoman out of the clutches of the Gestapo. And I didn't exactly seek the opportunity, you know – it was pure coincidence that Marya ran into Backscheider. Now if you think I should leave this Tiger to her fate in the hands of that monster, just so I can spend more time with you...!"

Maryse stood stockstill, suddenly silenced. All the anger seemed to have drained away from her, and all Karl could do was take her in his arms.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," he said quietly.

They just stood there in silence for a while, with their arms around each other. But at last Maryse spoke in a small voice, "It's just that this rotten war is devouring everything. Our lives – yours, and mine, and our life together. All I want... well, besides for the war to end... All I want is to finally build up a life with you. Get married, have a family, raise our children in peace..." She looked up at him, her eyes more pleading than he had ever seen them before. "Why can't we at least get married, Karl? Nobody in Germany need know if we do it here. And we can just continue as we always have back home until it's safe enough to... you know, make it public."

He bit his lip. He wanted to say 'yes' so badly that it almost physically hurt to hold it back. It was difficult enough to deny her anything when she asked it normally, and a plea like this... But, "We can't," he forced out. "Believe me, Maryse, there is nothing I want more than to marry you and build up a life with you. But Paris is as much under Nazi rule as Hamelburg. The Gestapo tentacles stretch out to here, too – our marrying here would never remain a secret for them. I don't want to risk them abusing that knowledge if one of us were to get caught."

With a smothered cry of agony, Maryse buried her face in his neck. "But what if this is going to be another Thirty Years War or something?"

Karl screwed his eyes shut at the frightening thought. "Let's hope not," he croaked. "By God, let's hope not." He had to keep believing that it would be over soon, or he'd go mad...

But suddenly Maryse looked up, her hands firmly on his shoulders. "Then let's make a run for it," she propounded with a resolute air.

"What?"

"Go to England," she clarified matter-of-factly. "We're already halfway. And we've got a car. How hard can it be to get to the coast and find someone to take us across the Channel?"

He just stared at her.

"Karl," she said in her most reasonable persuasive tone, squeezing his shoulders a little. "We've already sacrificed so many years of our life for this bloody war – and you even more than me. Don't you think it's time we reclaim some of that?"

His mind was in turmoil. Focused as he had always been on the fight against local Nazi outrages, the thought of defecting to England had never even entered his mind. But now that the option was put before him...

England... A country where the Nazis had no power. No more Gestapo to fear, no SS... Maryse and he could finally get married and have that family they both longed for so badly. And learn to live again without the constant fear and tension that had become second nature to them. For the first time in nearly fifteen years he would be able to be Karl Langenscheidt around the clock, seven days a week, 365 days a year, and bury all his alter egos in oblivion, never to be unearthed again.

And surely he could help defeat the Nazis from England; they were bound to have use for a native German speaker who'd been involved in the Underground for years.

Or better still: pretend the war wasn't there and get back on stage to do what he loved to do the most. Instead of torturing his conscience with (semi-)criminal activities, or sending friends into danger and... No... His friends...

He moaned. It was a heartbreaking sound – a sound one would expect to hear from a victim of torture.

"Karl?" Worriedly, Maryse shook him a little. "Karl? What's wrong?"

"I can't," he brought out.

"You can't what?"

"Leave them. Go to England."

"Leave who?"

"The others. Udo. Franz. Hasso, and Heike. Karl and Emma. Fabian. Karsten." A gasping breath. "They rely on me. I can't expect them to stop fighting if I decide to bug out. But the moment one of them gets hurt, or killed, or picked up by the Gestapo... I would never be able to forgive myself for not being there, and perhaps have a chance of preventing it." Now it was his turn to plead. "Don't you see, Maryse? At war or not, right now England seems like heaven to me. But I can't leave the others in hell. Not to mention the innocent people back home who need our help." A quavery sigh. "No matter how much I long to leave this whole nasty war behind me, I'm going to have to stick this out till the end. And only when the Gestapo is hot upon my trail do I have a legit excuse to get out."

Maryse regarded him with a mix of understanding and disappointment. And took him in her arms again – he seemed to need it.

And Karl muttered over her shoulder, "I can't even bring myself to be as selfless as to suggest that you go to England on your own."

"Good. Because I wouldn't go in any case," was her reply. "I'm not going anywhere without you. You know how I hate the not-knowing. I'd be pulling my hair out for worry about you before the first week was over."

He chuckled faintly. "Lucky for me then. For I'm fairly sure that your presence is the only thing that's keeping me sane in this madness."

Fondly, she ruffled through his hair. "I know. That's why I'm not leaving you behind." And suddenly she chuckled. "You know, I could always ask Colonel Hogan to stage a Gestapo raid where they come within an inch of grabbing you. I'm sure he'd oblige. And then you'd have a perfectly sound alibi to leave the country with me, and we could finally start living our happily-ever-after together."

The prospect of a staged raid didn't even draw a smile from him. He merely closed his eyes and...

A sudden knock on the door started them apart. "Yes?" Maryse called slightly breathlessly.

The door opened and, "Fräulein Mohr, I am really sorry to disturb you, but the Kommandant... Karl?" A frown. "What are you doing here?"

It was Schultz.

Maryse cast a startled glance over her shoulder. How did he...? Good grief, Karl didn't have his Captain Dehner make-up on!

But Karl had already switched gears. "Hello S-Sergeant," he said, and saluted – all Langenscheidt-jittery and blushing up to the roots of his hair. (But that might well be due to his being caught out.)

"But..." Schultz came into the room. "What what what... what are you doing here? In Paris? Ach ja, natürlich: your uncle the general. Is he staying at this hotel, too? And... how do you two know each other?"

"He's my cousin," Maryse quickly interjected. "And he'd just received some bad news from home."

"Ach, das tut mir leid." Schultz's sympathy was obviously genuine. "But now that you're here, perhaps... if it's not too much to ask?"

Karl nervously shook his head; then nodded. "Was ist los, Sergeant?"

"It's Kommandant Klink. He's been arrested by the Gestapo!"

"What?!" Not more people to rescue...?

"Why?" Maryse inquired.

Schultz shook his head. "I don't know, Fräulein. I wasn't there when it happened. When I got back here this afternoon after I dropped you off at your friends' house, the receptionist told me that two Gestapomen had been here earlier today and taken away the Kommandant."

Karl frowned.

But Schultz already continued. "Karl, I know you're technically not under my orders at the moment, but... could you not ask your uncle the general to look into it? The Gestapo is never going to listen to me – a mere sergeant. But how can I go back to Stalag 13 without the Kommandant? But perhaps a general can get them to let the Kommandant go?"

Karl nodded, and twitched nervously. "I will ask him, Sergeant. I can't promise anything, but..." He hesitated. Corporal Langenscheidt couldn't get too assertive, but... "Do you... perhaps... know where they've taken him? Or on whose orders?"

"Yes, they showed their orders to the receptionist. He said they were signed by Colonel Backscheider."

Maryse exchanged a quick glance with Karl. "Backscheider? Isn't that the one from the staff car?"

"Yes. That's him." Schultz sighed. "Maybe he got tired of the Kommandant complaining to him?"

Maybe. Or maybe Marya didn't have the man as tightly in her grasp as he thought she did – which was alarming, to put it mildly. Or maybe Colonel Hogan had decided after this morning's disaster that he wanted the Kommandant out of his hair, without informing his forced female ally of his private little caper. True – Colonel Hogan would never pass up an opportunity to harass the Kommandant. But to leave the man at the mercy of the Gestapo? Of someone like Backscheider?!

Schultz's voice cut into his thoughts again. "Please, Karl, can you ask your uncle the general to try and get the Kommandant out? It would be worth my life! And after all, Kommandant Klink is your usual commanding officer."

Karl nodded. "I'll ask him, Sergeant." He hesitated. "Are you staying here, too?"

"Yes. In room 2, on the first floor." He tilted his head. "You, too?"

"No, we're not staying here." An embarrassed half-grin. "Generals tend to prefer something a little more... classy. But I'll let you know what he says – if necessary, through Fräulein Mohr."

"Thank you." Schultz was overflowing with gratitude. "And please, thank your uncle the general, too, if he agrees to help." He began to retreat to the door. "But I'll leave you two to your privacy now. And I'm sorry about your loss, Karl. But I have to say..." He eyed Maryse appreciatively. "You look beau-ti-ful in that dress, baby! Would you perhaps do me the honour of going out with me tomorrow night?"

Maryse gave him a tense smile. "I don't think my boy-friend would approve of that."

"No, I guess not." Schultz sighed. "But if you show yourself to him dressed like this, I'm sure he'll finally forget about those big shots and occupy himself with you instead – before someone like me comes along and steals you away. Really, you're as pretty as a picture – baby!"

The moment the door was closed, Karl's eyebrows shot up. "What was that?"

Maryse shrugged. "I met him at the café around the corner, and he recognized me from the breakfast room. I had to tell him something." She closed her eyes. Suddenly she felt completely drained.

But, "He was flirting with you!"

She opened her eyes. "Would you rather I'd have told him you were my boy-friend?"

"Of course not, but... letting him flirt with you?" Karl was the indignation personified. "How...!"

"Yes. And it's been nothing but harmless words," Maryse tiredly interrupted his beginning accusative rant. "For Pete's sake, Karl, the man is old enough to be my father!"

"Yes, and he's..."

"Karl, please!" All of a sudden, the tears were streaming down her cheeks. "Don't start a fight about nothing, will you? Nothing happened!" She hugged herself, and brushed at her tears, but more just kept coming. "I haven't exactly had a great day myself either, okay? First you were gone again before I could talk to you about us getting married, and then seeing you as Marya with Colonel Hogan in that car..." Her voice caught. "How do you think that made me feel?"

Karl had brains enough to connect the scattered links. "Oh God," he breathed, paling visibly. "You were there?"

"Yes." Once more, Maryse brushed at her tears, and made a conscious effort to compose herself. "I realized later it was to keep Colonel Hogan out of sight from the Kommandant – Schultz's story explained that when he found me. But to see you... well, you as Marya, in Colonel Hogan's arms and passionately..." She gulped, and kept her eyes carefully avoided.

Karl regarded her in silence. He felt like a first-class jerk. "I'm sorry, Maryse," he said at last, hesitantly reaching out to rub her arm. For somehow, despite an air of despair and longing, her whole demeanor seemed to discourage him from doing what he wanted to do: take her in his arms and let her feel that she was the only one for him.

"Do you do this often?" she demanded. She was still looking away from him.

"No. Even when I worked as a female impersonator I kept it to a minimum, because I hated it." He took a deep breath. "Marya occasionally couldn't avoid it with her big shot admirers, but most of the time I managed to keep it limited to handkisses. And I swear to God: ever since I first kissed you on that bridge over the railroad, I haven't kissed anyone but you, apart from the occasional birthday kiss for a close relative. That is – until Colonel Hogan grabbed me this morning."

Maryse's head snapped up. "You mean he started it?"

Karl nodded, blushing slightly. "I know it'll be difficult to check the story with him as long as I need to remain incognito, but once the war is over, I think you should ask him, too, what happened in that car today." A tiny grimace. "I'm pretty sure he'll remember what Marya did when he grabbed her..."

Maryse suddenly felt faint with relief, and Karl's arms made for a welcome refuge. "I can think of a few other things I want to do to that man," she muttered as she buried her face in his neck.

Karl chuckled softly, and soothingly rubbed her back. "Don't be too hard on him now. How was he to know that the lady in question was actually a man scheduled to get married that evening?"

She groaned, and he pressed a kiss on her hair.

"Maryske?"

"Mm?"

Another kiss in her hair. "Could you do me a favour, please?"

She looked up, and he kissed the tip of her nose.

"Could you perhaps... Would you mind wiping out that memory of Colonel Hogan kissing me?"

A smile spread over Maryse's face. "With pleasure."

And it felt like coming home after a long, trying day.

Enjoyable as it is to stand there with your arms around each other and practise the art of kissing, you can't help that after a while your legs get tired.

"Maybe we should get more comfortable," Karl suggested at last.

But the only place in a fairly basic hotelroom to get more comfortable as a twosome is the bed.

"Maybe I should get out of this dress then first," Maryse murmured.

He stared at her with his mouth open. "Maryse – really! I'm shocked!" But he could barely repress his laughter.

She chuckled with him. "You know what I mean – change into something different. I'd rather keep this dress neat." She frowned. "Which reminds me – I left my other clothes at Monsieur Aubault's. And he was going out of town for the rest of the week."

"I'm sure Monsieur Antoine or Dubois will know how to get them back. But where did you get this one? I've never seen it before." He held her at arm's length. "Schultz is right – you do look lovely."

"I got it from Monsieur Antoine. As a kind of thank-you for your help with the rocket launching sites – so you'd have a beautiful bride." She made a little pirouette for him. "Don't you recognize it?"

That clearly rang a bell with him. "Is it that purple dress you were talking about?"

"Yes, that's the one. Do you like it?"

"I love it. It looks really good on you." He tilted his head. "Maybe you can keep it for when we're really getting married."

She stood still. "Yes. It's probably going to be difficult to get anything this beautiful if the war is going to last much longer. I better be careful with it." She turned her back to him. "Can you please undo those hooks and eyes for me?"

"Me?!" His voice almost squeaked.

"Yes. I can't really reach them well enough to do it myself, so..."

"But...!" An audibly deep breath. "Alright."

But the moment she felt his hands on her back, uncharacteristically fumbling to undo the fastenings, some of his sudden nervosity and suppressed desire jumped over to her. And she held her breath. Good heavens, this was exactly what she'd been fantasizing about that first time Monsieur Antoine had done up this dress for her! Karl's hands on her back, undoing those hooks and eyes... Only they couldn't go any further yet – after all, they still weren't married. Still, this was a guilty little pleasure she could enjoy...

She was acutely aware of his quick breathing, and of his hands on her back – were they really trembling? – as they struggled with the little hooks and eyes. If only...

"There." She felt his relief as he stepped back. "I'll see you in a moment, okay?"

He was out of the room before she had a chance to turn around to see his face. And she tittered like a schoolgirl. Granted, she had but a very basic idea of the details of 'making love' – she didn't come from an environment where such intimate affairs were discussed openly. But if the mere unfastening of her dress already had such an effect on Karl (and on herself), how exciting would the real stuff then be?

She sighed. Hopefully she'd have a chance to find out. Preferably sometime soon.

A good ten minutes later she was lying in his arm, with her head resting on his shoulder – much like they had been a few days ago when they'd been talking.

Maryse grimaced. 'Mental note to self: don't mention anything that is in any way related to Backscheider, the Gestapo or the Underground.' This time she just wanted to enjoy his company in peace. And his proximity. Forget about the war for a while. That's what vacations are for, right?

"By the way," came Karl's voice from somewhere northwest of her head. "You never answered my question."

"What question?"

He kissed her hair. "What the heck were you thinking? I thought you knew why we can't get married yet."

"I do. But..." She sighed. "I know it's too dangerous for us to get married in Germany. So I figured if we did it here in Paris, in secret, then nobody in Germany would know unless we told them."

"Yes, I follow you so far. But why? What's the point in getting married when we'll have to keep pretending that we're not married for I don't know how long?"

Maryse bit her lip.

"Hey." He rubbed her arm encouragingly. "Did you even think of that?"

She screwed her eyes shut. He didn't understand. Of course he didn't understand. And he never would understand unless she told him, but... A quavery breath. "You know about Oskar, don't you."

"Yes..." His sudden hesitation was palpable, but she forced herself to go on.

"I know we can't really be married yet. But I'm just so scared of..." Another shaky breath. "Karl, Oskar got killed just eleven days before we were to get married. I don't..." She gulped, trying to swallow the lump in her throat. "I don't want to go through that with you, too. It's a bit like... once we're married, there won't be a repeat of what happened back then. Then you'll be... I don't know. Safe somehow. Past the danger point." She heaved a tense little sigh. "I know – it sounds ridiculous when you say it out loud. But..."

"No, it doesn't." He pulled her a bit closer, turning over her words in his mind. "I'm sorry I didn't think of that. But whether the idea makes sense or not, I think I understand."

They lay silent for a while, until Karl continued, "However, I'm afraid it still doesn't negate the fact that we'd be in even more danger if we'd be married."

Maryse looked up. "Why, Karl? Lots of people are married, even in the Underground. Hasso and Heike, Karl and Emma – why would it be any more dangerous for us than it is for them?"

"It's not," he said quietly. "But Maryse, do you realize how the Gestapo works when they grab you?"

"They torture you until you tell them anything they want to know, just to get them to stop."

"Yes, but..." Karl hesitated. "There's an even worse form of torture. If for example they'd grab Hasso, they would quickly pick up Heike as well. Or Monika. Or even Monika's little boy. And then they'd put them together in a cell, and make Hasso watch as they torture his family – his wife, his daughter, his grandson. And tell him they'll only stop as soon as he starts talking."

Maryse lay as still as death.

"Now if I translate that to myself," Karl continued cautiously. "The way things are now, the logical local person for them to pick up and torture in front of me would be my uncle Frank – my godfather, and the closest thing to a father I've ever known. Watching him being tortured would be bad enough, and I have no idea how long I'd be able to stand that. But if it were you..." He shuddered at the thought. "I wouldn't stand five seconds..."

He sighed, and pressed a kiss in her hair. "Love is really a bad thing in our line of work. It makes us too vulnerable. So if they'd find out that we were married... And they would, even if we did it here, in secret and all." Another sigh. "The others had no choice – they were already married when this whole mess started. But we do have that choice: wait, and pretend to be just friends in order to keep each other relatively safe – or follow our heart and get married, only to risk having the other tortured in unmentionable ways. And whether I like it or not, I know what I prefer."

"Yeah," Maryse breathed.

He left her a minute to digest that, just pulling her even closer in an attempt to protect her from the harsh truth – as he had for so long.

But apparently, she still didn't oversee the whole picture. "It doesn't work like that for you though. You're always in disguise when you're out for the Underground. So they would never know what relative to grab."

He had a bitter smile. "Maryse, my disguises only protect me as long as I stay out of their grasp. Once they grab me, and – I don't know – start beating me up or something, they'll notice soon enough that I've got make-up on my face. All it takes then is a good scrub and they'll have no more trouble figuring out my identity as they would with anyone carrying false papers."

It remained quiet for a long time. Karl gently rubbed her back. He was well aware that after shattering her dreams about a speedy marriage this evening, he had now also burst the bubble of her presumed sense of his security – as well as her own. Perhaps that was a bit much for one night...

He stroked back her hair, and kissed her. "I'm sorry, Maryse. Perhaps I should have kept that to myself."

"No." She shook her head. "I'd rather know what we're up against." She took a deep breath, but her voice came out awfully small when she confessed, "I'm scared, Karl."

"Yeah."

"Scared that in the end there won't be any future for us. If we get caught by the Gestapo..."

"I know." Another kiss. "And all we can do is be careful and hope for the Allies to win the war soon. And pray that God will keep us safe."

"Yeah." She buried her face against his shoulder, and a long silence ensued. But just when Karl was beginning to wonder if perhaps she'd fallen asleep, she spoke up again in a more cheerful manner. "There is something we can do though – even if we can't really get married yet."

Clearly, her coping mechanism was kicking in. Better go along with it, so, "What's that?"

"You could ask me to marry you."

"Huh?" He craned his neck to try and look at her.

"Yes. You've never actually asked me to marry you, you know."

"Yes, I have."

"No, you haven't."

"Yes, I have."

"When?"

That brought him up short. "Um... I don't know. But I'm sure we've talked about it. Quite a few times, too."

"We've talked about it, yes. But you've never actually proposed to me."

"I haven't?"

"No."

"Oh." Silence. "But what's the point in asking you when I already know you want to marry me?"

She sighed with exasperation. "That's not the same. Dig up your romantic bone, will you?"

"You mean you want to see me on my knees."

"Whatever. As long as it's something memorable, for just like you, I don't even remember when we first started talking about marriage. And a marriage proposal should be a memory to be treasured. Besides, it has the advantage of being easily kept from the Gestapo."

"Alright, alright." He ruffled her hair and kissed her. "I'll think of something, you little marriage tyrant. Does it have to be done tonight, or...?"

"I'd rather you'd surprise me one of these days. At least before we go back to Hamelburg."

"Okay." He sighed. "One official marriage proposal, coming up soon."

"Thanks." She practically purred with contentment as she cuddled up to him and laid a possessive arm across his chest. "At least it's something."

He smiled indulgently. "You're a little tyrant." He nuzzled her hair, and rubbed her back. It simply felt so good to have her lying in his arms. As if she belonged there. Hopefully it wouldn't be too long before they could lie like this all night, every night. He so wanted to make her happy.

Which brought to mind that reproach she had made him tonight: 'Everything is more important for you than me.'

It stung.

It wasn't true.

But if that was how she perceived it, perhaps he was doing something wrong. Perhaps... yes, perhaps he did take it for granted that she'd simply be waiting for him until everything else was taken care of. Perhaps that really wasn't fair – and more so, since it was mainly for his sake that they had to hold off getting married. For if it was up to her, at the very least they would be on their way to England by now.

Of course, that idea of running off to England made total sense from her point of view: they'd be safe there, away from the danger of the Gestapo, and finally free to pursue their own happiness. It wasn't that she was blind to the atrocities they were fighting; it was simply a matter of her worry about him superceding everything else.

But he couldn't leave. Not yet. Maybe later, if the fight against the Nazis dragged on much longer. For to be honest, sometimes he did wonder how much longer he'd be able to muster the stamina to keep up the fight, to constantly be on high alert.

He pressed a loving kiss in her hair. When to get out was a problem to worry about some other time – first he'd have to rearrange his priorities a bit to show Maryse how important she was for him. Which meant in the short term staying away from Monsieur Antoine, Colonel Hogan and anyone else connected to the Paris Underground as soon as they got the Tigerwoman out – which would hopefully be in a day or two at the most. And then dedicate the rest of their time here to cater to Maryse's every wish. And come up with some real romantic marriage proposal, for that seemed to be what she was hinting at.

Heck, perhaps they could even stay another week. She sure deserved it after all he'd put her through with Marya and all.

He tried to see her face. She lay there so quietly, breathing so calmly – was she asleep? "Maryse?"

No reaction.

He smiled. He certainly had no objection to letting her sleep in his arms again like that time in the forester's shed a while back, but there was a little problem: he needed to go to the bathroom. Would he be able to get out from under her without waking her up?

Well, he wouldn't know until he tried.

So he carefully lifted her head off his shoulder, and pulled out his arm from under her before gently setting her head down on the pillow. He watched her for a moment, but no, apparently she was too fast asleep to be bothered by the manoeuver.

So cautiously, he edged himself further out from under her, and moved the arm that lay across his chest until he could roll into a sitting position. Well – so far, so good: she was still peacefully asleep. "Be back in a minute," he whispered nonetheless.

Upon his return however, he found the situation had changed: the still sleeping Maryse had rolled over onto her belly, and almost seemed to be hugging the spot where he had been a few minutes ago. (Little was he to know that this was his first encounter with a future lifelong inconvenience that came with sharing a bed with her.) But this bed being a single one, that left hardly any space for him to crawl in beside her.

While he stood there, contemplating what to do, he was suddenly struck by how small she looked. How vulnerable. Perhaps, with the way she was hugging his residual warmth, perhaps she was cold? Maybe he should just...

He looked around, but there was nothing in the room that could serve as a cover that wasn't already under her. Maybe...

He went back out of the room and returned with the coverlet from her own bed. Carefully, he draped it over her, and tucked it in around her. She could sleep here tonight; he'd take her bed. After all, no matter how much he'd love to, they shouldn't be sleeping together yet. And sharing a bed for the night was yet another step up from their innocent nocturnal adventure in the forester's shed.

Carefully, he pulled out his pyjamas from under the pillow. She moved a little, but didn't wake up.

And he smiled. His brave little Maryse, who was willing to put up with so much, just to be with him. His heart swelled as he realized just how much she loved him. So much in fact, that if it had been up to her, they would have been married now.

He stood there, watching her sleep for a while. It really was a most wonderful sight – he could easily imagine he was going to miss out on a lot of sleep once they were married, spending entire nights just watching her sleep in his arms.

But in the end he stroked a few stray strands of hair out of her face, and kissed her softly on a sleepwarm cheek. "I love you, Maryse. And as soon as it's safe enough, I will marry you. I promise." Another kiss, and then he got up to go to the other room.

And she smiled in her sleep.

To be continued...

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I don´t own Hogan´s Heroes; I just like to play with them.

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Chameleon Fever (1)

chapter 1 - 13

Chameleon Fever (2)

chapter 14 - 26

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