Charades (12 page)

     “Why didn’t someone just ask me? I would have come gladly.”

     “But what if you had refused? Kidnapping a United States citizen for the benefit of the Israeli government has repercussions even you can see.”

     Mercy nodded. “But I thought you were just an oilman. Why are you involved in all this?”

     He could tell how shocked she was. In time, she would also wonder if he honestly loved her.

     “I am an oilman. That’s what made me so perfect for the job. My oil venture with Reveille had fallen through. The Organization said they’d guarantee Reveille’s cooperation if I would secure your agreement to come to Germany.” She didn’t need to know Hazel’s part in this, too.

     “The Organization? What’s that?”

     “A research organization backed by the Israeli government. I don’t even know if it has a real name. They’re responsible for research, investigation, and justice for the victims of the Holocaust. They pursue monetary compensation, but from the looks of today, I’d say the Mossad has something to do with it, too.”

     “The Mossad? What’s that?”

     “It’s sort of like the Israeli CIA and FBI rolled into one.”

     “Okay, let me get this straight.” Mercy put her forehead in her hands, propping her elbows on the table. She desperately wanted to make sense of what he was telling her.

     The unbearable hurt of his lying to her caused her breathing to become shallow. She could feel a part of her withering and dying inside, the part that had blossomed so profusely in the sunlight of his love.

     “If I understand you right, this whole trip to Germany was just a ruse for me to meet my grandfather. If he can see me, he’ll turn over the money he stole during the war. And this whole charade was dreamed up by the Organization.” She looked up at him, keeping her face blank and unemotional.

     He nodded. “That’s about it.”

     “Then what happened out at Sachsenhausen?”

     “Someone tried to kill you.”

     “What? Why, for God’s sake?”

     “I wish I knew,” he replied. “All I know is that someone with a silencer shot at you. Didn’t you hear the bullet bounce off the monument?”

     She shook her head, then stopped. “No. Wait a minute. Yes, I think I did. I’m not sure. Maybe.”

     “Whether you believe me or not,” Wulf continued, “someone also tried to kill you last night. If I hadn’t moved when I did, I’d be dead now instead of my pillow.”

     Mercy gasped. “But who? Why?”

     “I don’t know, damn it! I’m only a petroleum engineer, not a spy or a detective, for Christ’s sake!”

     Mercy stared at Wulf for several minutes. She felt so numb, how could a person walk and talk when they felt so dead inside? “Why? Why are you doing this?” she asked, her brain feeling muddled.

     “Why am I trying to keep you from getting killed? Oh, I don’t know. It’s Wednesday, and I guess Wednesday is the day to keep Mercy from getting killed.” What the hell was he doing? She didn’t deserve his anger. All he wanted to do was hold her and thank God that they were both alive.

     “I’m sorry,” Wulf said, shaking his head. “I shouldn’t talk to you like that.” He put his hand on her arm.

     She jerked away, looking at him as though he were a bug. “Why did you agree to this? Are you being paid a lot of money? What?”

     Her voice broke slightly as her eyes filled with tears. He’d better stick to the facts and not make it any harder on her.

     “I simply believe the victims of the Holocaust should be reimbursed for their suffering.” Wulf sighed. Even he didn’t buy that explanation. “I had no idea there would be any danger when I agreed to work with the Organization, nor did I realize that I’d fall in love with you!”

     She flinched and pulled further away.

     “It’s true, Mercy. Don’t let what we have be thrown away because of what’s happening. I love you, and, God, I just came close to losing you. At least say you believe me.”

     Mercy stared at him. “Oh, sure, I believe you,” she replied slowly, distinctly.

     The naive charm was gone. Anger showed in the tautness of Mercy’s shoulders, the stony set of her face. She reminded Wulf of a cobra ready to strike.

     He closed his eyes. “I’ll keep you safe, Mercy. I promise. We can stay in Rudersdorf tonight, but I need to call the Organization to find out what happened today. Will you still meet with your grandfather if I can guarantee your safety?”

     “As if I could do anything else,” she said grimacing and looking away. “My grandfather doesn’t mean a thing to me, but I owe it to all the people he hurt.”

     “Thank you,” Wulf said, his eyes never leaving her face.

     She ignored him. “That doesn’t mean I like the danger, but somehow I can’t believe someone tried to kill me, according to you, not once, but twice.”

     “I’m not lying, Mercy. You are in danger. What about that car following us on the Autobahn?”

     “I saw a car following us, but it was probably a plain-clothes policeman trying to ticket you for speeding.”

     “There is no speed limit on the Autobahn,” Wulf said, his lips tightening in irritation.

     “Where does one of your lies leave off and another begin? The only thing I’m sure of is that you betrayed my trust.” She stood abruptly and grabbed her purse. “I need to go to the ladies’ room. Go make your damn call.”

     He got up and walked with leaden steps to the pay phone in the back.

* * *

     When Mercy returned several minutes later, Wulf was not at the table. She went to the back of the cafe where the pay phone was, but still no Wulf. She scanned the small cafe, then walked over to the maitre’d.

     “Excuse me, sir, have you seen the man I came in here with? Did he leave a message or tell you where he went?”

     “I’m sorry, Madame. I cannot say. I’ve been setting up for lunch. He’s not in the men’s room. I just came from there myself.” He smiled and excused himself.

     Had he left without her? What should she do now? Contact the Organization herself?

     “Excuse me. Miss Fuentes?”

     Mercy turned in surprise to see a strange nondescript man standing too close to her, a tan raincoat draped over his arm. He struck her as the quintessential average man: average size, average looks, average height, wearing a plain gray business suit. Totally unremarkable.

     “Yes? May I help you?” she answered, leaning away from him.

     He smirked, pushing forward and getting in her face. “You will come with me,” he demanded. “I will take you to your Uncle.”

     Mercy took a step back. “My uncle? I don’t have an uncle. Anyway, I’m waiting for a friend.”

     She scanned the restaurant again, ignoring the man. What had happened to Wulf? Where had he gone? She started when she felt the man nudge her waist. The very nerve of him! He was standing much closer to her again, closer than she liked.

     Mercy looked down with annoyance and gasped. A black, snub-nosed gun peeked out of his coat.

          Whoever he was, Mercy could see he was enjoying her fear. Still no sign of Wulf. She was on her own.

     “Okay,” she said, nodding, “okay.” Just breathe, she reminded herself. You’ve practiced this over and over in class. It’s as simple as one, two, three. She cleared her brain of any distractions and noted the man’s proportions, his lax hold on the gun, and his negligent stance.

     If she went with this creep now to meet her mythical uncle, she’d never come back again.
Ever.

     Mercy struck his hand with all the fear-induced force she had. The gun clattered noisily to the floor. She grabbed the lapels of his jacket and jerked forward, pulling him off balance. Bending her knees slightly, she thrust with her arm and shoulder into him and using his falling motion flipped him to the ground.

     Curses rained blue murder as he flailed in the air before landing with a thump on the floor. Mercy grabbed the fallen gun and pointed it at him. Her hands shook. She did it. Just like in class. It worked!

     What should she do next? The man stared up at her, hatred making his dark, beady eyes gleam. Her class didn’t cover what to do after disarming and subduing someone.

     “What is the problem here?” the maitre’d asked from behind her. He blanched at the gun in Mercy’s hand.

     “This man tried to make me leave with him.” Her voice sounded shaky.

     “
Sacré bleu
!” he exclaimed, looking with shock at the man on the floor. The maitre’d hastened to the phone, muttering “
Mon Dieu
.”

     “Let me have the gun, Mercy,” Wulf said calmly behind her. She stepped sideways, swinging the gun his direction.

     “Where have you been?” she demanded.

     “Mercy,” he said in a tired voice, his body sagging. “Give me the gun before you hurt someone. I don’t need a bullet hole, too.” He turned and bent his head showing her a jagged cut that trickled blood.

     Mercy took a deep breath and let her pulse slow. What was she thinking? Wulf didn’t want to kill her. She sighed, her muscles sagging with fatigue. Wulf reached out and she handed him the gun. Too late, she saw the stranger bolt up from the floor and launch himself at Wulf, knocking him into her. By the time they got themselves untangled, the man had escaped out the door.

     Wulf started after the man, then stopped. It wasn’t worth it. His head hurt like hell.

     Mercy’s face looked so pale it scared him. Wulf reached down to help her up but she jerked back and glared at him

     “Don’t you dare touch me!”

     “We’ve got to get the hell out of here,” he said, grabbing her hand and pulling her to her feet. He headed toward the front entrance.

     “But our car is out back,” she protested.

     “Yes, and it can damn well stay there.” He laid the gun down on the counter.

     “You can’t leave!” the maitre’d objected.

     “The hell we can’t,” Wulf retorted.

     “What will I tell the police?” the maitre’d whined, following them through the door out onto the sidewalk.

     Mercy shrugged helplessly as Wulf tugged her along. He flagged down a cab, quickly stopped to pick up their luggage, and then directed the cab in half a dozen directions before getting out at a gas station and convenience store. After the cab drove off, he called a local rental company and arranged for a car.

     While they waited Mercy applied antiseptic to the cut on his head.

     “Ow! That hurts, damn it!”

     “Oh, I’m sure you’ve had worse cuts than this growing up.” The wound probably needed stitches. Too bad. Thank God for that summer camp. They’d taught her more than how to put worms on hooks. She cut Band-Aids into butterfly strips, trying to pull the torn flesh together.

     Mercy absorbed the impact of Wulf’s piercing look without a twinge of anxiety. Somehow, somewhere she’d begun to change, hopefully for the better.

     She smiled in sympathy as she said, “You’re all done now.”

     Wulf snorted and got up to watch for the rental car.

     Mercy slowly cleaned up, keeping an eye on Wulf. He’d been hit hard on the head. It didn’t seem to bother him, though. He seemed normal, although what normal was for him she didn’t know. Which person was the normal one? The harmless blundering oilman, or the man of decision and determination.

     A dark blue BMW full of gas was delivered, and the next thing Mercy knew they were barreling down a country road. She had no idea where they were, or where they were going.

     She’d let him make the plans and decisions—for the moment. After all, Germany was his turf. But her life was her own, damn it. She would live it without fear, particularly fear of men.

     “Is your head still hurting?” Mercy asked.

     “No,” Wulf shot back.

     “Well, you don’t have to bite my head off.”

     His shortness didn’t really bother her, nor did it scare her. Something about taking care of his wound had touched her heart in a way that all his apologies hadn’t.

     “I’m sorry,” he grunted.

     “Why don’t you take me back to the hotel. I’ll be fine.”

     “No, you won’t, damn it!” he growled.

     “I don’t know why I’m staying with you. You have a bad temper.”

     “Why are you?”

     She gave that some thought. “Better the devil you know than the devil you don’t,” she answered. “It seems the person trying to hurt me is also trying to hurt you.”

     “So, I’m the lesser of two evils. Thanks.”

     Maybe that was it. She trusted him, but she didn’t trust him. She loved him, but she didn’t love him. She hated him, but… No! She
did
hate him. For making her feel so…what? Used? Old and shriveled up? All this brooding and ruminating gave her a headache. “Maybe I’m staying with you because I can’t think what else to do right now.”

     Wulf grunted; he didn’t look happy with her answer.

     Mercy studied his profile, trying to detect something in his features that revealed his heart. Unfortunately, his face was a mask.

     “What?” he asked belligerently, glancing at her.

     “Nothing, I’m just wondering if you’re capable of feeling anything.”

     “Well, what’s your decision?” he asked after a moment.

     “My father always told me to trust my instincts, but I think he was referring to golf.”

     “What do your instincts say?”

     “I don’t know.” Mercy shut her eyes. Unfortunately, her instincts weren’t talking at the moment. Too tired, she decided, heaving a sigh. One thing she did know was that she was not going to make love with him again, no matter how hard he tried to persuade her. She would make it a point to refuse any overtures. As long as he didn’t attempt to kiss her again she’d be all right.

     She inspected the ring on her finger as though a bug had crawled onto her hand. She tried to pull it off, but it wouldn’t slip over her knuckle. At the first opportunity she’d use cream or soap to take it off.

     After about an hour of silent driving, they turned down a tree-shaded lane, at the end of which stood a small, rough-hewn cottage. Wulf parked the car in front, pulled their suitcases out of the trunk, and pointed his chin at the cottage. “There’s a key under the mat.”