Heroes by David Hagberg (reading cloud ebooks TXT) 📗

“You’ll see when we get there,” he said without looking up.

“Now go pack a bag. We’ll pull his body out around midnight.

Everyone in the building should be pretty well settled down by then.” He glanced up at her. “Don’t forget to pack the ration books and anything else that might be incriminating here.”

Eva hesitated a moment.

Schey unbuttoned Montisier’s suit coat and flipped it open. He was wearing a gun. A .38 Police Special in a well-worn shoulder holster. Instantly a dozen grim possibilities crossed through his mind.

Eva sucked her breath. “Jesus …”

Schey pulled out the man’s wallet and opened it. A driver’s license in the name of Bernard Montisier, a few business cards with notes scribbled on the back, a couple of newspaper clippings about a World Series game six years ago, and about sixty dollars in cash.

There was a soiled handkerchief in another pocket, a package of Lucky Strikes and a battered Zippo lighter in another, and in one of his side pockets a small leather wallet. The moment Schey pulled it out he knew what it was.

“What’s that?” Eva asked looking over his shoulder.

Schey flipped it open. Inside was a shield and an identification card signed by J. Edgar Hoover. FBI.

“He knew,” Eva said, stunned. “All this time …”

They either knew or suspected that she would be making contact with someone. Otherwise they would have arrested her by now. Schey did not think the agent had had time to report seeing Schey here. He had merely gone downstairs, thought it over, and then had come back up.

But it was just possible that the man had looked through the apartment and had found the spare identifications that Eva was keeping. It was possible his cover was ruined.

Schey stuffed the wallet back in the dead man’s pocket and started to close his coat, but then hesitated a moment. They were on to him down in Tennessee, and they were on to Eva here in Washington.

He’d been lucky to get free from Oak Ridge and lucky here with Montisier. His luck would not hold out forever.

He pulled the pistol from Montisier’s holster and pocketed it.

Then he got up. “We’ve got to get out of here immediately.”

“But where can we go?”

“Leave that to me. But first I have to see where you’ve kept the spare identifications.”

Eva’s gaze went immediately to the dead government man.

Her hand went to her mouth. “Do you think he … found them?”

“It’s possible.”

Eva turned, hurried down the hall, and went into the bathroom.

Schey was right behind her. She got down on her knees, grabbed the toilet bowl in both hands, and started to shove it to the left.

“Wait.” Schey stopped her. He too got down on his hands and knees. “The things are under here?”

“Yes,” she said.

He looked closer, his nose inches from the floor. “Who taught you this?”

“The Bund in Milwaukee, then later in Chicago. It used to be a game.”

There was a line of talcum powder and dirt around the base of the toilet bowl. It had not been slid aside for a long time. He looked up. “How long have you known Montisier?”

“A few months.”

Schey nodded. Carefully he eased the toilet bowl to the left. It swiveled on the soil pipe. Beneath it a hole had been cut in the floor, opening into the space between the floor joists. A large package wrapped in yellow oil cloth with a flower pattern, tied with some old brown twine, lay just beneath. Schey looked very closely at it. Dirt lay around the package. There were mouse droppings littered on and around it.

“When was the last time you were in here?”

Eva shrugged. “I’ve never been in it. I put the stuff in there a couple of years ago, and I haven’t opened it since.”

Schey breathed a sigh of relief. Montisier had not found this.

Sooner or later he might have, but it was still safe. He pulled the package out, careful to make sure all the dirt fell into the opening, then carefully shoved the toilet back in place. He cleaned up the skid mark across the floor with his handkerchief, then got up, helping Eva to her feet.

“Pack a bag; we’re going to leave right now. With any luck we can be out of the city before they miss your friend.”

“We’re just going to leave him here?”

“It doesn’t matter. He worked with the FBI. They knew about you.”

“We’re not going to make it, are we?” Eva said. Her composure was starting to crumble.

“They haven’t got us yet.”

“I mean, the war is lost. There’s nowhere for us to go. It’s all so useless.”

Schey took her by the shoulders. “Listen to me, Eva. The war isn’t lost until the armistice is signed. And our Fuhrer will never sign such a thing. Do not forget the humiliation of Versailles.

The German people will never go through that again.”

“But they’re bombing Berlin, for God’s sake …”

Schey shook her once, hard, and she hiccoughed. “There’s more to do. But you must hold yourself together.”

“They hate us, you know. Because of the … Jews.”

“That’s mostly propaganda,” Schey said. It had been the same with Catherine. All she talked about was the bombing of Germany and the business with the Jews. Perhaps it was he who was missing something.

He took her firmly by the arm and pulled her back down the hall and into her bedroom. They had to step over Montisier’s body. “Get your suitcase and pack it. Hurry, please.”

She looked into his eyes. “Are we going to make it?”

“If you hold yourself together.”

“You’re right,” she said after a moment. She seemed to draw strength from him. She nodded. “You’re right, of course.” She squared her shoulders, then went to the closet and pulled out a cheap cardboard suitcase. She opened it on the bed and began stuffing clothes into it from her closet and bureau.

Schey watched her.

“Go into the bathroom and get my cosmetic case,” she said without stopping. “And on the shelf is a pair of scissors somewhere. Pack those.”

“Anything else?”

She looked up.