Heroes by David Hagberg (reading cloud ebooks TXT) 📗

Schey pulled in and parked in front of restaurant. She sat up, blinking.

“What is this place?” she mumbled.

“We’re stopping here for some sleep.”

“Something to eat, too? I’m starved.”

“Sure, why not,” Schey said. He got out of the car, came around to the passenger side, and helped her out. The wind was very strong, and it was cold.

They went into the diner. A couple of truckers were seated in a booth, platters of fried potatoes, bacon, and eggs in front of them. An old black woman was behind the counter, and a burly white man was in the back at a grill.

Schey and Eva sat down at the counter. The waitress brought them mugs and poured coffee.

“Lordy, lordy, you two look like death warmed over,” the woman said.

Schey smiled. “I don’t feel that good,” he said.

“Is it pretty bad out there this morning, buddy?” one of the truckers called out.

Schey turned around. “We just came down from New York. It wasn’t so bad until the last couple of hours, though. Now it’s pretty rough. We just had to pull over.” The trucker shook his head and said something to his friend, who turned around. He had a sour look on his face. “What the hell you doing out in this shit?” he asked. His buddy punched him across the table. “If you don’t mind me asking, sir.”

Schey grinned. “We’re on our honeymoon.”

“You’ll be wanting a cottage then,” the black waitress said.

She was grinning ear to ear.

“First I want some breakfast,” Eva interjected. “I’m practically starved out of my mind here. The brute doesn’t feed me.”

“Go on now,” the waitress said laughing. “Hush your mouth and we’ll fix you two lovebirds right up.”

Katrina had stumbled back, away from Maria’s body, and she stood swaying in the kitchen doorway, a look of incredible surprise on her face.

“Go,” she said. She sounded out of breath.

Deland straightened up and started for her. “Katrina …”

“Don’t come any closer … spy!” She shrank back against the door frame. “Get out of here. Leave me.”

For a moment Deland had no idea what he could say or do.

His trainers had told him that a spy’s likelihood of survival in the field was firmly linked with his adaptability. But God in heaven, what was he supposed to do now, kill the girl?

His train would be leaving very soon. He was going to have to decide whether he should be on it or whether he was going to have to remain here to take care of this.

He tried to weigh the possibilities. The authorities already knew about him. Schlechter was no doubt Gestapo. It meant there were reports on him. On his movements. On his activities.

Or were there?

If they had been certain he was a spy, wouldn’t they have already arrested him? He glanced down at Schlechter’s body.

Was it possible that he was only suspected and Schlechter was merely here to watch for a mistake? The ticket would have been his mistake. They had evidently found nothing in his room. Had Schlechter, or whoever had searched his room, suspected the calculator was a radio, wouldn’t they have taken it?

Katrina was watching him, almost the way a cornered animal might watch its attacker. It made his heart ache to see her like that.

But then he steeled himself to the thought that she was a loyal German, after all. Killing Maria had been a dreadful mistake on her part—a knee-jerk reaction that she was already coming to deeply regret.

It was not likely Schlechter had made any report about the ticket. Not yet. So in that respect nothing here had changed.

Deland could find no regret in his heart for killing the man. This was war. If there was no report about the ticket, he thought, he could take the train to Berlin for his new identity as planned. He could be on his way to Switzerland before the bodies were found here. By the time the alarm was sounded, he’d be long gone.

There’d be no problems at this end.

All except for Katrina.

Her complexion was pale, her hair in disarray. She had gotten dressed. Beyond her, in the tiny kitchen, he could see his sweater lying over a chair. Her coat was on the floor beside it.

“I’m sorry this had to happen, Katrina,” he started. She flinched.

“It’s true, isn’t it,” she said. “You are a spy.” Her voice was hoarse.

Deland looked at her for several seconds. He was very conscious of the passage of time. He nodded. “Against the Nazis, not the German people.”

“What are you talking about?” she cried.

“I’m in the military. I’m fighting your military.”

“Are you British?”

“American,” Deland said. Why was he telling her this?

“I killed for you, Edmund … or whatever your name really is. Do you understand that? I killed …”

Deland didn’t think she understood what she was saying. Or rather she didn’t understand the implications of what she had done.

“No, you didn’t,” he said. “I killed Rudy, and then I stabbed Maria to death. They were both Gestapo, you know.”

As she watched him, he picked his train ticket off the floor and pocketed it. Next, he went to Maria’s body, hesitated a moment, then firmly grabbed the knife, smudging Katrina’s fingerprints and putting his own on the handle. Some blood got on his fingers; his stomach churned. He straightened up and looked at his hand. He turned; Katrina shrank back even farther as he crossed the room and deliberately placed his hand on the back of the easy chair, as if he had used it for support. He left bloody fingerprints.

He wiped the rest of the blood from his hand on the arm of the chair, then turned to face Katrina.

“They were going to get married,” she said.

Deland shook his head. “No, Katrina. They were partners.

They worked together. They used you as bait to make me talk.”

“Lies,” Katrina shrieked, holding her hands to her ears.

He advanced on her. She backed into the table in the kitchen.

He took her in his arms, but she was stiff, her head down.

“You must