The next day Lena spotted the signal from Hans on her way back from lunch with Sonia. A miniature American flag stood in a snow-covered urn in front of the 57th Street florist. He wanted to meet her after work. She considered not showing up. But if she didn’t, Hans would come after her, or worse, Max. So when she got home, she went to the closet, loaded the .38 and slipped it into her coat pocket. At least she would have the element of surprise.
The Ford rolled up a few minutes later. A typical winter day in Chicago, the sun was setting, but it had snowed a few inches the night before, and the bite in the air required gloves, hats, and scarves. Lena waited until the car stopped and the window rolled down.
Hans called out from the driver’s seat. “Come in and get warm.”
Only after she slid into the passenger seat did she realize another man was in back. She turned around to take a look. He was a beefy, muscled bull of a man. That chilled her more than the frigid December weather.
“Who is this?” She asked.
Hans waved a hand. “This is Dieter.”
The man looked up at the mention of his name.
“He doesn’t speak English,” Hans said.
“Why is he here?”
“I’m training him,” Hans said, but the pause before he spoke told her that was a lie.
Lena’s thoughts darkened. Dieter had to be an assassin, and she was his target. He was there to “deal” with her. She bit her lip. She briefly thought of escaping. Throwing herself out of the car. The Ford was heading south on Lake Shore Drive. But timing was everything. She’d have to scoot to the edge of the seat, fling open the car door, and propel herself onto the road. And she’d have to make sure other traffic was far enough behind that she wouldn’t be run over. She let out a frustrated breath. There were too many variables. She couldn’t do it.
She hoped Hans would turn in at one of the beaches along the Drive. Maybe then she could make her move. Sure enough, at 77th Street, Hans turned into Rainbow Beach and Park, a peninsula that jutted out onto the lake. A wide expanse of lawn with picnic tables and a sandy beach beyond, it was always crowded in summer. She and Karl had come here to admire the view of the Loop to the north, which on sunny summer days was so spectacular it should have been on one of those picture postcards. Now, though, with its skeletal tree branches, grass that was brown and brittle and covered with snow, the park was as empty and desolate as an abandoned graveyard.
“Why are we here?” Lena asked.
“We wanted a place where we wouldn’t be interrupted. You have been asking questions. It’s time to give you some answers.”
She stole a glance at Hans. What game was he playing? The only answer she expected was a loaded pistol aimed at her. Hans pulled around a graceful drive that led to a squat building bordering the lake and parked. He switched off the ignition and motioned for her to open the door.
“Now we walk.”
They got out of the car and started across the park away from the lake. Hans and Dieter flanked her. Dusk plunged the park into shadows, which softened the definition of objects, making them difficult to identify. She slipped her hands in her pockets, felt the comforting weight of her revolver. At least she wasn’t without some defense.
Beyond a stand of trees was a picnic table covered with a layer of snow. As they approached, a figure emerged from the gloom. A man wrapped up in what looked like a black Chesterfield coat, a black fedora on his head, sturdy boots on his feet. Something was familiar about him. The shape of his head. The sharp edge of his chin. The lift of his shoulders. Lena’s heart banged in her chest. She knew this man. She quickened her pace.
He studied her as she approached, his body angled toward hers in a way she remembered well. As she closed in, he gave her a smile.
Lena sucked in a breath. “Josef!”