Eva (30 page)

She walked over to the large chest. She opened it. She took out a heavy blue bathrobe. “Take your clothes off,” she said. “Everything. We will have them cleaned.”

It was obvious Zorina was not going to leave. Woody hesitated only a moment. What the hell. It was doubtful it was the first time Zorina had seen a man undress. He stripped, watched closely by the woman. Not until he stood stark naked did she hand him the robe.

“I will give you a little alcohol,” she said. “Use it on your arm. It will help the healing.”

“Thank you,” he said. She hadn’t missed a thing. He blessed Doc Elliott.

Zorina opened the door. “Maria!” she called. The mousy girl appeared at the door. “Take these clothes,” Zorina instructed her. “Have them cleaned.”

Maria nodded. She began to gather up Woody’s discarded clothing.

“You will have a bath,” Zorina said to Woody, “and then I will give you your further instructions.”

Woody nodded. “Fine.”

Maria started out of the room with the dirty clothing. “Wait!” Zorina called to her. She pointed at Woody’s boots. “The boots. Take them, too. Have them cleaned.”

Woody hoped the woman didn’t notice the flicker of alarm he knew must have flitted through his eyes.

She seemed not to.

He was lying on his back on the big brass bed, his arms behind his head, staring unseeingly at the ceiling. He was still in the blue bathrobe. The little room smelled of the same cheap perfume as the waiting room. Zorina must have gotten a good deal on the stuff, he thought. The room was exactly as he’d always pictured a cheap whorehouse room would be—to the point of being corny. Chintzy curtains, colored lights, loads of gaudy pillows, and a huge bed with one creaking spring. He could imagine the action it had endured.

Without knocking Madame Zorina opened the door and entered the room. She walked over and sat on the edge of the bed. She stared down on the supine Woody, a strange look in her eyes.

Oh, no, he thought. Duty goes only so far.

A small frown crept onto Zorina’s brow. “Diehl,” she said solemnly, “there is a, problem.”

His heart skipped a beat. What the hell now?

“I want to have a talk with you,” the woman went on. She bit her lip, getting lipstick on her stained teeth. “I know it is breaking the rules, but I must ask you some questions.”

“I will try to answer them, Madame,” Woody said. He hoped to hell he could. His mind began to cast around for a way to get the hell out—if things should blow up in his face.

“Why are you seeking to escape from Germany?” Zorina asked.

Woody gaped at her. “Why?” he repeated. “I am wanted by the
Amis.
They have branded me a war criminal.”

“Why?”

“Because I did my duty, Madame,” he said stiffly. “As an officer in the SS in charge of the guards at Flossenburg.”

Zorina let out a deep breath.

“You are the one,” she said.

“Woody stared at her. “I—I do not understand, Madame,” he mumbled. He tried to sit up on the bed. Zorina put a restraining hand on his shoulder.

“I told you I had a problem,” she said. “You have just solved it for me.”

“I? What—problem?”

She studied him. “There is someone else here waiting to travel the
Achse,”
she said slowly. “The organization—someone high in the organization—sent this special refugee to me. Personally.”

“But—what has that to do with me,” Woody asked, puzzled. “Who is this—refugee?”

“A girl,” Zorina said. “Her name is Use. Use Gessner. She cannot travel the route alone. She must have an escort. You. You will travel as brother and sister.”

Woody’s mind was suddenly awhirl. He fought to control his chaotic thoughts. Girl? Escort?

“But,” he stammered, “I . . .”

“There is no but,
mein lieber Diehl,”
Zorina said firmly. “You will accept my decision. When you travel the
Achse
it is the first commandment that you must do exactly as you are instructed by the operatives. Is that understood?” There was an edge of steel under the heavy makeup, the dyed hair, and the diaphanous robe.

“Of course,” he said. A girl? Was it possible? Could it be Eva? Had she lost her officer companion? Was she stranded here in the damned whorehouse? Was it all going to be as easy as that? Hell, no, he thought. Only in the movies. He half-listened to Zorina’s explanation.

“There is no choice,” she said. “Use has been here too long already. Soon it will be suspicious—unless she starts to work like the other girls. And that is out of the question. So far there has been no one suited to take her along. The last young officer to come through here already had a woman with him. They left here only yesterday.” She looked at him. “You and Use will leave tomorrow.”

Woody’s heart pounded. He hoped Zorina would think it was her touch that caused it. Eva. Eva and her companion. So she wasn’t the one he’d have to play nursemaid to. He hadn’t really believed it. But—she had been here! She and her escort officer were only one—two days ahead. He cursed under his breath. Zorina had robbed him of his edge. Saddled with a damned broad he’d be slowed down to the same pace of Eva and her companion. Shit! How the hell could he get out of that? He debated with himself if he should protest. Better not. Better not rock the damned boat lest the bilge wash off his camouflage. He looked at Zorina.

“Who is this Ilse Gessner?” he asked.

Zorina stood up. She looked pleased with herself. “I will send her to you,” she said. “Tonight you will stay together. In this room. You will have to get used to that. So best you begin at once.”

She left.

Woody stood up. He gathered the blue robe around him and tied the frayed belt. Dammit! That’s all he needed. A damned broad in tow.

There was a timid knock on the door.

“Come in,” he called brusquely.

The door opened. In the doorway stood a young woman.

Ilsa appeared to be in her early twenties. She looked at once sensuous, composed, and vulnerable. A full, hungry mouth was partly open; wide, innocent, disturbingly seductive eyes regarded him. A flimsy, cheap-looking negligee, in which she managed to look graceful, did little to hide her long-waisted, small but firm-busted body. With her short, soft-brushed hair—auburn in color rather than Nordic blond—she was enormously appealing.

“
Herr
Bauhacker,” she said, her voice soft and melodious, “I am Ilse. Madame Zorina sent me to you.”

For a split moment Woody was puzzled. Bauhacker? Then he remembered. It
was
a bit tricky, he thought. Here he was, CIC Agent Woodrow Wilson Ward, pretending to be
SS Hauptsturmführer
Fritz Diehl, using the cover identity of
Obergefreiter
Hans Bauhacker. He almost laughed out loud. Imagine what Abbott and Costello could do with that one!

He stared at the girl.

Suddenly the idea of being saddled with her seemed less of a handicap.

It was midmorning the following day when Woody stood in the perfume-scented foyer waiting for Ilse to join him. At the last minute she had wanted to say goodby to some of the girls who had befriended her during her stay at the brothel. Zorina had beneficently allowed it. He felt a little better. His clothes had been cleaned, but not pressed; his boots were still drab and scuffed. It would not do to appear in too much sartorial splendor as a refugee on the roads of a defeated Germany, Zorina had pointed out.

The night had been a singularly restless one. Too much was crowding in on him to allow him to relax. His mind kept trying to visualize what lay ahead, unable to do so, and therefore conjuring up lurid images in petulant self-defense.

Ilse had slept in the big brass bed. Alone. He had tried to sack out on a blanket on the floor, which hadn’t made falling asleep any easier. Most of the night he’d only dozed, unable to fall asleep not only because of his restless thoughts, the hard floor and the suggestive noises that reached him from the rest of the house during an obviously busy night, but also because of the proximity of the lovely girl.

Although they had talked, they had said nothing of importance to each other. An
Achse Anlaufstelle
was not the place to ask questions or volunteer information, and he knew little more about the girl than Zorina had told him. She less about him. They had taken each other’s measure, as far as they could. He had been reminded of a trip to the zoo. In San Francisco. When he was a boy. With his father he had watched as a female tiger had been introduced into the cage of a male for the first time. The big cats had watched each other warily. They had walked around the cage testing the air, keeping apart, maintaining their own privacy. But obviously interested.

It had been like that.

He let his mind run over the instructions they’d been given by Madame Zorina. One more time.

Use now had papers that showed she was Use Bauhacker, his sister. They had a US Military Government travel pass to go to Coburg where their parents lived. At least as far as they knew. They were supposed to be at the Wartburg turn-off signpost on the road south to Meiningen just outside Eisenach at noon. A truck, a wood-burner, carrying a load of rock salt, would pick them up. They were to wave their arms at the driver and, when he stopped, ask for a ride to Göttingen which was in the exact opposite direction. Only the
Achse
driver would agree, and take them to their destination. Once there, Woody would give him two hundred marks. The money was safe in his inside jacket pocket. They had been lucky, Zorina had said. It was only rarely that she could arrange motor transportation at such short notice. They’d be in Coburg at the next
Anlaufstelle
before the day was done.

It was possible, Woody thought. Just barely possible that Eva would still be there.

Madame Zorina came up to him. She looked tired after the night’s activities. Her makeup could not entirely hide the black pouches under her eyes. She had obviously fortified herself with a nip or two. She still wore her Japanese robe. Woody wondered if she lived in it.

“Ilse will be here in a moment,” she said. She looked at Woody. “Is everything clear?”

He nodded. “Yes.”

“I know you are impatient,
mein Junge,
at having to take Ilse along.” She smiled, exposing her tobacco-stained teeth. “But you will not regret it, I promise you. She is an extraordinary girl. She is well educated. Part of her schooling was at the Sorbonne. In Paris. And at an exclusive finishing school in Heidelberg run by the SS. She speaks French, of course, and she has some English, too. She is a strong girl. She can stand exertion. She will not let you down. You will have no trouble with her on that score. She is an excellent tennis player and a competition-class swimmer. She is in good shape.”

You can say that again, Woody thought. In more ways than one.

“Anything else,” Zorina finished, looking at him out of the corners of her eyes, “any personal matters, she will have to tell you herself. If she wishes. I can only assure you she is well qualified to travel the
Achse.”

Ilse came into the foyer. She walked up to them as Zorina reached out and folded Woody in her arms. She gave him a moist kiss full on the mouth. She drew back and looked at him. His lips and chin were smeared with her lipstick. With a little laugh she used one of her ample sleeves to wipe it off.

“By the way,
mein lieber Junge,”
she said teasingly, “I checked out your story about being in charge of the guards at Flossenburg—as you knew I would.” She shook her head in mock reproval. “You were not a very nice boy, were you?”

She patted his cheek affectionately. “Off you go,” she said. “I know all will go well.”

Woody had suffered the leave-taking in silence, embarassed and ill at ease.

He missed the dark look Ilse gave him at the mention of the Flossenburg Concentration Camp.

I
T WAS
1417
HOURS,
Friday, June 8, when the ramshackle wood-burner came to a wheezing halt at a black-and-white striped roadside signpost which read: COBURG.

The driver turned to Wood. “This is as far as I take you,” he said. “You know where to go from here.”

Woody nodded.

“Good luck,” the man said. He held out his hand. Woody shook it.

“Thank you,” he said.

The man pulled his hand away. He glowered at Woody, “
Nanu!”
he growled in annoyance. “Hey! Shall I have trouble with you?”

Sheepishly Woody remembered. He pulled out the two hundred Marks. He gave the money to the sullen driver. “Sorry,” he said. “Thanks for the ride.”

They got out, and stood at the roadside watching the wood-burner chug off.

The
Anlaufstelle
was near the Coburg Square in the middle of town. From the directions given him by Zorina, Woody estimated it would be a half hour’s walk. He looked at the girl. They had said little to each other since they left Zorina’s establishment. The cab of the truck had not seemed to lend itself to conversation. All three had sat quietly, Ilse between the two men. He had been acutely aware of her closeness on the cramped seat, and had allowed himself to fantasize. It had been a stupid thing to do. He should be concentrating on more important matters. Like catching up with Eva.