Stella found the cab right where she left it with her wig and handbag still inside. There was a little gas left in the tank, not enough to get to Amsterdam, but that didn’t matter since there was a flat tire. She had no idea when that happened. A spare hung off the back of the cab and looked all right, but Stella had been taught a lot of things, how to change a tire wasn’t one of them. Hailing a cab was considered beyond the pale by Francesqua Bled. Uncle Josiah probably knew how, but she wasn’t going back to ask.
She craned her neck back to look at the beautiful blue sky. It was eight o’clock in the morning. She hadn’t been awake for twenty-four hours yet, but it felt more like thirty-six. Her energy pills were tucked away in her handbag, but she needed rest so she could think. Energy wouldn’t help with that, if she didn’t have a plan, so she opened the cab and crawled in the back. A couple of hours should do it.
But it wasn’t a couple of hours and a hard rapping on the window knocked her out of her deep sleep at what felt like five minutes later. Stella rolled over in the tight backseat and looked up at a sight that sent a jolt of fear through her.
The cab was surrounded by Wehrmacht, a whole lot of Wehrmacht frowning and saying something about what she thought she was doing. Germans did like rules and sleeping in the back of a cab in broad daylight had to be against one or maybe a dozen, knowing them. But she wasn’t Micheline at the moment and had no shot of becoming her again if she didn’t act fast. Someone else was called for.
Stella put a wide smile on her face and gave them a little wave. That surprised them and the displeasure turned to confusion. She wasn’t supposed to be happy to see them. What did it mean?
She yawned and opened the door, extending her hand to be helped out, like the pretty, young woman she needed to be. “Thank you,” she said in German with a heavy American accent. “I can’t believe how long I slept.”
A Hauptmann came forward and asked, “You are American?”
“It shows? I thought my German was getting better,” she said, tilting down her chin and smiling.
“Your German is very good.”
It wasn’t.
“Thank you so so much. I’ve been trying.”
“Who are you and what are you doing here in this cab?” the Hauptmann asked.
She held out her hand and nearly every Wehrmacht moved to take it, making her smile all the more. The men were young with fresh, clean-cut, and eager faces. Some younger than Stella. It’d obviously been a long time since a pretty young woman smiled and didn’t hate them on sight. Despite their many hands reaching for her, the Hauptmann won out and they shook briefly.
“I’m Cathy Capshaw.” Stella knew the real Cathy. The Capshaws loved alliteration and had Christophers, Carries, and Calebs. The name sounded so very American, it popped out with no thought at all and got a smile from the men. Americans had the oddest names. “I’m from Chicago. Do you know Chicago?”
They did or said they did anyway. Stella told a good tale of how she was trying to get on her ship home when it happened. Everything was burnt to a crisp and she had to go back to Amsterdam in the cab she hired but it had a flat tire. She didn’t know how to change a tire and she was so tired, she just laid down and went to sleep.
“Why are you going to Amsterdam?” the Hauptmann asked.
“My passport’s gone. Blown to smithereens. I have to go to the embassy to get a new one.”
“Who told you that?”
“Zebulon Wilcox III. He’s a diplomat here.” She leaned forward eagerly. “Isn’t it true? Can I just go home without one?”
Sadly, he told her she couldn’t. That was against the rules. He proudly told her that they would be establishing order and in a remarkable time the ships would be sailing again.
“That’s good to know. I was visiting friends in Berlin and my father telegrammed to have me come home in case the shipping lanes closed, but I delayed. I was having such a good time and now look. All my clothes, the gifts I bought gone and this tire.” She turned to look at it in dismay. “My mother said ladies don’t change tires.”
Every man hopped to it. That tire was changed in record time with Stella asking their names and where they were from. Asking them questions kept them from asking her anything and they liked it. They told her about their farms and families. One missed his favorite cow. Stella didn’t know farmers had favorites and the information made her happy.
They all had sisters and mothers. They wanted to know about America and Chicago. Did she know any cowboys? How about film stars? Stella found herself enjoying it. Being Cathy was easy, like putting on cozy pajamas. She could almost forget who they were, what they had done, and would do. None were professional soldiers. They were doing what the Reich said they had to. Were they doing it wholeheartedly? Some were. Some weren’t. But they would do it either way and she kept that in the back of her mind, all their charm notwithstanding.
With the flat put on the back of the cab and secured, the Hauptmann opened her door and held out a hand to help her in.
“Do you know where I can get some gas?” Stella asked innocently.
It took them a second to remember what gas was, but once they did, she was rewarded with the Hauptmann sending two men off to acquire a can of it for her.
“You’re so nice,” she said. “I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.” It was the first true thing she’d said. She really didn’t know.
“Our pleasure,” he said with a big smile. “I believe our countries will stay friends for many years to come.”
I seriously hope not.
“Of course, we will,” she said. “Your affairs are your affairs. It’s nothing to do with us. That’s what my father says.”
“He is a wise man.”
“And the sweetest.”
Two young Wehrmachts ran up and frantically asked the Hauptmann what they were doing. Command was expecting them. The Dutch were resisting in some quarters. General Student had been shot in the head. The Hauptmann told them they would be there directly and the men eyed her curiously before running back the way they came.
“What’s happening?” Stella asked with wide eyes. “I couldn’t understand them.”
“Nothing. Nothing. The city is secure,” said the Hauptman. “Not to worry.”
“And the road? Will I be able to get through?”
He tapped his chin. “Yes, you are an American. You must go to the embassy.”
“I hope they let me. Mr. Nagy said there might be roadblocks. What do I do at the roadblocks?”
Come on. Think about it.
The Hauptmann nodded. “There will be roadblocks. They might give you some trouble.”
“Oh, no.” She batted her eyes. “I just don’t know what to do.”
The Wehrmacht patted his chest and found a fountain pen. “I will give you a pass.”
He pulled out a small notebook and wrote her a note, complete with his name and a Heil Hitler at the end.
“And I just show this at the roadblocks?” Stella asked.
“It is not official, but you are American. It should get you through.”
She impulsively kissed his cheek. “Thank you.”
The Hauptmann blushed with pleasure. He was a long way from his wife and daughters in Dusseldorf and missed them terribly. The man was human. Stella only hoped he would remember it when he should.
The men who’d gone off to get gas returned with two cans and filled Stella’s tank, smiling at her gratitude. Stella kissed more cheeks and got in, waving as she drove off. An American losing her passport. Who knew it could make things so easy? Cathy was dead useful. Park-Welles might even be impressed, if she ever decided to tell him.
The café was still crowded on the street near the Burgerweehuis, but not loud like it had been the day before. It was hard to believe it’d only been a day. It was all so different. The streets were quiet. There were people moving about, but their heads were down and their faces pale and shocked.
Stella parked the cab in the same spot where she’d stolen it, tucking the keys and his cash in the visor. The nasty driver would find it or someone would and tell him the cab was back. She didn’t really care, but it seemed the right thing to do. He probably had a family to support. She got out and listened to the quiet. Only the sound of radios came out of the windows. No voices. None at all. The people in the café silently sat around a radio, listening to news of the formal surrender being signed. The queen was safely in England where she and the ministers would lead them from afar. How that was going to work was a mystery to Stella, but she didn’t spend any time pondering it. She hurried down the street until she found a deserted alley where she put on Micheline’s wig and lipstick. She was filthy from Rotterdam and the soot and grit would be enough to hide her youth until she could get the makeup back on.
She didn’t need to worry about it anyway. Nobody paid Micheline much attention on a normal day and it was anything but. The city was hunkered down in grief and fear with radios turned up loud. Battles were still going on. Some of the Dutch refused to stop fighting and it wasn’t going well. There’d been a threat to level Utrecht and despite the surrender the radio said it might still happen. Another Rotterdam. Worse than Rotterdam.
Stella hurried through the streets, trying not to hear anything about Rotterdam. She couldn’t talk about it, so she didn’t want to think about it. Dam Square was deserted and the hotel lobby looked like it was, too, but Stella decided to go around back and sneak in the service entrance. To her surprise, no one was around and it was mid-day, too. She went up the stairs to her floor and walked down the empty hall, hearing more radios and feeling like she wasn’t really there. Everything was so clean and the same when nothing was the same. She wasn’t. Uncle Josiah wasn’t. The Wahles gone. Hundreds upon hundreds dead and being dumped in mass graves. But there she was walking down an immaculate hall, like nothing had happened at all.
Her door was locked and her belongings untouched. Somebody had come in. Her breakfast tray was gone. Then she saw herself in the mirror. It was a wonder that she’d charmed the Wehrmacht. If she’d seen herself, she wouldn’t have even attempted it. Bloody and covered in filth. What in the world were they thinking?
She tossed her wig aside and took a quick bath, washing away the blood and grime before getting dressed in fresh clothes and making a decision. Leave directly or say goodbye?
Goodbye won out. The trains weren’t really running yet. She’d asked at the roadblocks. The Hauptmann’s note and her American accent worked wonders. The soldiers she encountered were happy to tell her anything she wanted to know. Train service would be completely restored to areas within days. If she couldn’t get out through a Dutch port, they were sure she’d be able to go to Norway for a ship or France once they surrendered, which was just a matter of time in their opinion.
She put on her makeup and found a pair of gloves to cover her battered hands. A longer skirt and hose concealed her bruised knees and shins and she took a look. Not bad. The deep purplish grooves under eyes helped her with being Micheline and there was nothing else readily visible to show something had happened. Her stomach was growling, so she had to eat, which meant not slipping out the back. After hiding her Charlotte papers back in her handbag’s secret compartment, she took a deep breath and focused. She was Micheline Dubois and everything was fine. Perfectly fine.
Her hands shook when she opened her door, but that would go away as soon as she had something to eat or so she told herself. When the elevator opened, Michel gasped. “Micheline!”
“Hello, Michel.” Stella got on the elevator, feeling stiff and unnatural. Maybe this was a mistake.
“Where have you been?”
He knows I’ve been gone. Why didn’t I think of that?
“IJmuiden. I went to make sure my shipment left on time,” she said.
“During all the fighting? You could’ve been bombed. Why would you do it?” Michel asked.
She sighed and leaned on the paneling. “I didn’t want to, but my company would expect me to make sure my purchases got out in good order.”
“Did they?”
“Yes, just before the surrender.”
Michel put his hand on hers. “Did you hear about Rotterdam?”
Breathe. Be calm.
“Yes. I can’t believe they did it,” she said.
“Bastards. We were negotiating surrender. They didn’t have to,” said Michel.
“Add it to the list of things that didn’t have to happen.” She must’ve sounded quite bitter because he gave her a funny look. “I’m sorry. It’s been a long day and I have to go see my friend. She’s very ill.”
He stopped the elevator and asked, “Are you well yourself?”
“As well as can be,” she said. “I’m dreading what comes next.”
“We all are.”
Stella left the elevator and tried to get into the café without being seen, but it was hopeless. Ludwik was at her elbow before she crossed the threshold.
“Micheline, are you all right?” Ludwik asked.
“Very well thank you. I’d just like an early dinner if that can be arranged.” She didn’t look over at him. The sound of his voice, his concern, his fear, was almost too much.
Thankfully, he didn’t question her, he accompanied her to her usual table and snapped his fingers. Ester ran up with a menu. Her eyes were large and worried.
“Micheline would like coffee immediately,” he said.
Ester nodded and scampered back to the kitchen without a word and Ludwik sat down uninvited. It was so out of character that Stella could only stare.
“She knows you were gone, but she thinks the world of you and won’t say anything,” he said. “What did you tell Michel?”
Stella straightened her back and said, “I went to IJmuiden to check my shipments.”
Relief washed over the concierge and a smile changed his whole countenance. “That’s what I said.”
“It’s true.”
Ester hurried out with the coffee and asked, “We have your favorite. Stampot. Would you like that?”
Stella couldn’t have cared less what she ate, so she nodded and handed back the menu. Ester took it, uneasily shifting from foot to foot. “I’m not supposed to say anything, but I think it’s just wonderful.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Stella in all honesty.
Ester grinned and winked at her before dashing to the kitchen to yell for Stampot.
“Well, she wasn’t supposed to do that,” said Ludwik, “but I understand the impulse.”
“What on Earth are you talking about?”
“Dr. Tulp told us.”
Oh, my God.
“No, no. Don’t worry. I made him, the poor man. When you disappeared from your room, I knew he had something to do with it. He was looking so odd the last time he checked on you and I had to know what was going on. You understand, don’t you?”
“No,” Stella whispered.
“I needed to cover for you while you were gone. A missing guest and an ill one as well. Questions would be asked, so he told me about the children. I thought you would be back from the Burgerweeshuis by five at the latest. When you didn’t come back, I knew something had gone wrong. That you must’ve gone to IJmuiden and you did.” He glanced past her to the door and then said, “Did the children get on the ship?”
Stella’s mouth was so dry she couldn’t speak. A tiny nod was all he got.
“You don’t have to say any more. Ester and I were the only ones in your room. Everyone else thinks you were there the entire time.” Ludwik stood up with tears in his eyes. “It was a very good thing what you did.”
She nodded again and he headed off, saying loudly to whoever was in close proximity. “She’s all better. Dr. Tulp is a genius.”
Ester brought her Stampot with a broad smile and left her in peace to force the food down. It was probably delicious, but it felt like chewing yarn. The coffee did help and she drank a pot of it. Ester kept her well-supplied. Her service had certainly gotten a lot better. Other guests had come in as dusk came over the city and they got the same attentive Ester as Stella.
After she forced the food down, she paid her bill and left the hotel with quiet nods and smiles to anyone who expressed joy at her recovery. She should’ve slipped out the back, but she couldn’t be bothered. Mussert wasn’t there, but Stella probably would’ve let him follow her to Elizabeth’s house anyway. She just didn’t care anymore. She had good news to tell and hoped it would ease her friend. Some good had to come of it all. She had to remember that the children were alive and safe. It was a slender thread of joy, but she was holding onto it with both hands.
The trams were running, but almost no one was on them. The city was still quiet, blanketed in grief with only radios to interrupt the silence. Stella found Elizabeth’s street the same. News of Rotterdam’s destruction bounced off the buildings. Thousands dead the BBC said and Stella could well believe it. She went up Elizabeth’s steps where the windows were open, but no news was drifting out to tell Stella once again what had happened. Maybe Elizabeth had had enough. Stella had. She knocked and waited. No one came. They were there. They had to be there.
Finally, after ten minutes, the knob turned and Rena opened the door, looking like she had been in Rotterdam herself. The maid’s face was pale and shocked. Her full cheeks sagged and her dress seemed looser.
“Micheline,” she said dully.
“Yes,” said Stella. “I…are you all right?”
“I’m fine. I’m always fine. I didn’t get it.”
“Get what?”
A man came up behind Rena and Stella stepped back in surprise. “I should go now and leave you in peace, Rena,” said Baron Van Heeckeren and then his eyes found Stella. “Micheline! I didn’t expect to see you here. I thought you’d have left.”
“I didn’t leave,” said Stella.
“I see that—oh, oh, of course,” he said kindly. “You’ve just heard.”
The baron reached past Rena, took her arm, and pulled her inside. Before Stella knew it, they were in Elizabeth’s sitting room and she had a cup of tea in her hands. The baron sat in front of Stella, patting her knee and consoling her. At first, she thought he knew about the Wahles, but eventually it came to light that Elizabeth had died. She’d caught some horrible flu and her system couldn’t withstand it.
Rena sat in Elizabeth’s chair sobbing, beyond any consolation and Stella had none to give. It was her. She’d given it to Elizabeth. That was what Dr. Tulp had been referring to when he asked when Stella had first felt ill. Elizabeth was his very sick patient.
“I wish I could’ve known her better,” said the baron. “After meeting Father Brandsma, I couldn’t let it rest. I had to know how you’d done it, Micheline. I met Father Schoffelmeer and they told me about Elizabeth. We’re going to continue her work.” He touched her hand. “Your work.”
Stella shot to her feet. “I have to go.”
Rena looked up tearfully. “Why did you come?”
There seemed no point in concealing it from the baron or Rena. Everything was out. Nearly everything anyway. “I came to say the children got on the ship. They made it.”
A smile came over Rena’s face. “She would be so very happy that they’re safe.”
I have to leave. I have to leave.
“Excuse me. I have to go,” said Stella, bolting for the door.
“I’m sorry it was such a shock,” called out Rena behind her. “I thought you knew. Dr. Tulp should’ve told you.”
Stella didn’t stop. She banged out of the front door with tears stinging her eyes. It was all unraveling. The baron knew the priests and their connections with her and Elizabeth. Ester and Ludwik. Dr. Tulp. Too many people and they were there, coming at that very moment. If she didn’t get out…
Stella didn’t go for the tram. She didn’t go very far at all. Footsteps pounded out behind her. She darted into an alley, running for the canal up ahead, but a hand grabbed her, yanking her back off her feet.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” The baron towered over her. “You’ve had a shock, but we must speak.”
She struggled, but he wouldn’t let go. “Leave me alone.”
He came in close. “I know.”
“What are you talking about? Let go.”
“The priests. Elizabeth. The Jews. Befriending Cornelia.” The baron looked in her eyes. “I see it now. You’re not old and unattractive.”
“I’m—”
“I want to fight for the right side and I want you to help me do it.”
Stella’s heart felt like it would leap out of her mouth. “I can’t help. I’m just a businesswoman.”
“No, you’re not.” He moved closer, whispering in her ear, “You’re not even Belgian.”
“Yes, I am.”
“You quoted Oscar Wilde and it was a mistake. I saw you realize it.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Stella said with panic washing over her.
“You’re a spy.”
“No. No. That’s crazy,” she said.
“I think you’re an Amer—” The Baron Van Heeckeren never finished the word. He never uttered another syllable again. A slim blade stuck out of his neck and then was retracted. His wide eyes fixed on Stella, his hands clutching on her shoulders. Blood flowed out of his mouth as he was pulled backward and lain facedown on the cobbles, his jerking body ten feet from the quiet canal.
Oliver wiped his stiletto on a handkerchief and then shoved the fabric under the baron’s body. A scream burst out of Stella and he pounced on her, shoving a dirty hand over her mouth and slamming her head against the wall. “Shut up,” Oliver hissed. “It’s done.”
She clawed at his hand until he gave way. “Are you insane? That was the baron. A good man. How could you? Are you insane?”
Oliver’s brilliant blue eyes were bloodshot and his breath rank. “I had to come back,” he hissed in her ear, “because of you.”
“Get away from me!” Stella screamed.
He slapped her and whispered in her ear. “He knew what you are. I wouldn’t risk you and the war for an unstable, useless—”
She clawed at his face and he flipped her around, pinning an arm behind her back. “You’re coming with me. No more nonsense.” Oliver lost his Dutch accent, his British voice coming through and traveling down the alley.
“I’m not going anywhere with you. Ever!” she yelled, and he shoved her against the wall.
“You’ve lost your mind!” he yelled. “He is nothing and you belong to us.”
“Get off me.”
“You’re coming with me. We have work for you to do.”
“I’m not doing it!”
“You have no choice. You have skills we need.” He pushed her harder against the wall, pressing the air out of her lungs. “Nothing matters but winning this—”
There was a terrible cracking sound and Oliver jerked away from her, releasing his grip. Stella spun around and pressed her back against the wall. Oliver lay crumpled at her feet with his head cocked at an odd angle and not two feet away stood Jan Bikker, looking down at the spy’s body and flexing his long fingers. “Now she belongs to us.”
Nobody came. Not a single person stuck a head out a window or ran to see what happened when they heard a woman scream. It wasn’t completely dark yet. Anyone could’ve seen two bodies splash into a canal and float away facedown, but if they did, no fuss was raised. No sirens. No police. Nothing.
Stella stood still pressed against the wall and that pleased Jan Bikker. He’d told her not to run and she hadn’t. There was no point. On her little legs, she’d have gotten nowhere and then he would’ve killed her. She had no doubts about that.
Bikker watched the bodies for a moment, giving Stella a chance to think. She had to say the right thing, except she didn’t know what he’d heard or why he was even there. He would understand strength. That’s what he wanted. Tears would be the death of her, but his death would be preferable. She had her pen with the blade nestled in the bottom of her handbag. If she could get it…
Lights across the canal showed off his strong silhouette as he admired his work. Stella grasped the clasp on her handbag, sliding it slowly so as to not make a sound, but Bikker spun around to face her. “You may thank me now.”
“Thank you?”
“For saving you,” said Bikker with a wry smile. “I knew that fool was up to something. Always asking questions. Cozying up to the right people. I didn’t realize anyone else was watching him though. I should’ve guessed others would notice his activities.”
Stella just stared. She didn’t know what to say. It was best to let him lead her down his path.
Bikker tapped his chin. “It’s a shame, considering who he really was.”
Stella’s foot slipped in the baron’s blood and a chill went up her spine. “What was he?”
“A good man. I did not think so, but I can admit my mistake.”
I don’t know what’s happening. Who are we talking about?
“Yes, he was a good man,” she said.
“When did you find out?” Bikker asked.
Stella hesitated and his eyes narrowed.
Say something. Quick.
“I don’t know exactly when.”
“Did he ask for the list?” he asked. “Is that how you knew?”
List?
“What list?” Stella asked.
He got in her face. “I know everything.”
She clutched her handbag to her chest. If only she could open it. Distract him. “Everything about what?”
“The Jews you wrote down in Der Totale Krieg. Were you going to sell that list? Why did he want it?”
She shoved him back from her. “How do you know about that?”
“I have my ways.” He smiled at her. He would’ve been so damn handsome if he wasn’t completely vile on the inside.
Be who he is.
“I don’t think you do, Mr. Bikker. I’m a businesswoman. I’m not going to be on the wrong side.”
“And which side is that?”
Please let this be right.
“The losing side, of course. There I said it. My country and yours were always going to be part of the Reich. You people are delusional if you think it wasn’t inevitable.”
“Are you sure about that?” he asked. A shadow fell across his face and she couldn’t gauge his expression, but it was too late anyway.
“Yes, I’m sure. You fools can’t add up two and two. They walked over Poland. They were always going to walk over us.”
He moved in closer. “Where did you go?”
“When?”
Jan Bikker was thinking, evaluating. “Yesterday. I had a man follow you to a Jews’ house. Then he lost you. I don’t think you were at your hotel last night.”
“As if it’s any of your business,” said Stella.
He shoved her back against the wall. “Don’t try to pretend there’s a man. There’s no man.”
“There’s only business and you people are ruining it,” she said between bared teeth.
“Where did you go?”
“Rotterdam.” It just slipped out. She hadn’t planned it, but the name did back Bikker up.
“You went to Rotterdam?” he asked with wonder in his voice.
“Yes, you don’t expect me to lose everything and do nothing about it, do you?”
“I…why did you go?”
“That’s where my shippers are. Thanks to you people, I’ve lost friends, the entire warehouse is gone, the ship on fire and I spent the last six weeks working for nothing.”
Bikker flexed those long fingers again. “Who are you blaming?”
“You. It’s your fault. You and your stupid government. All those people dead for nothing. All my profit gone.”
He cocked his head to the side and said, “Oh, really.”
“Yes,” she spat. “If your government had surrendered in a reasonable manner, none of it would’ve happened.”
His shoulders dropped the slightest bit. “My government?”
“Do you deny it? You weren’t going to win. It was just stupid and I’m sick of the whole thing.” She went to pass him and was yanked back.
He bent over to stick his face in hers. “Why were you at that Jews’ house? My man said you were there a long time.”
Stella struggled and then said, “Negotiating. Thank goodness I did or I’d have nothing to show for my trouble.”
“What did they have?” Bikker was full of doubt and she had to shut it down. Fear overwhelmed her, but she had to do it.
Please don’t let me lose the last bit of her.
“Here.” She pushed her handbag into his hands. “If you don’t believe me, look for yourself.”
Even in the dim light, she could see he was surprised. Women didn’t generally give up their handbags, but it showed she had nothing to hide and she needed that.
Bikker opened her handbag and rooted around before he stopped and smiled, pulling out a slim black case. He opened it and the diamonds from Judith’s necklace caught the light from the windows across the canal and showed their worth. “That scum had this?”
“Yes. I don’t know where they got it and I don’t care.” Stella snatched the necklace out of his hands and snapped shut the case before grabbing her handbag and putting the case inside while surreptitiously sliding her special pen up her sleeve. “I’m going to lose my job, but at least I’ve got that.”
She tried to walk away, but Bikker’s hand shot out and grabbed her bicep. “You’ve got a job.”
“I did. Thanks to your idiot government, I lost my company thousands of dollars.” She put her hands on her hips, letting her pen slide into her hand with her finger on the button.
If this doesn’t work…
“I can hear it now. You should’ve sent it out earlier. Rotterdam was a bad choice. Blah. Blah. Blah. You’re fired.”
“You could’ve worked for that Englishman.” His voice took on a kind of wheedling tone, but she doubted that he knew it.
“I wouldn’t and you know what? I will thank you for that. He’s been bothering me for weeks. I couldn’t get rid of him. So thank you for doing it for me.”
“I wish I’d noticed him before it was too late. Bad luck for the baron. Tell me what the Englishman wanted.” Bikker’s grip on her bicep grew tighter.
“You’ll probably be on his side. No, thank you.”
“Tell me.” A new threat came into his voice and Stella found it hard to breathe. The blade was designed to be thrust up into the base of the skull, much the way she killed Gabriele Griese with her great grandmother’s hatpin. Would it be as effective through to the heart or into the throat? Was she even fast enough to attempt it?
“He wanted me to work for the English as if I would. Those idiots are next. Why on Earth would I put my hat in their ring or yours for that matter?” Stella asked.
“We don’t have the same ring,” said Bikker.
Stella snorted. “Oh, really?”
“That’s right.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I killed the Englishman, didn’t I?”
“Only because he killed the baron. You were friends.”
“We weren’t, but we would’ve been had I known what side he was on,” said Bikker.
“And what side is that?” Stella asked, sliding the pen back up her sleeve.
Bikker came in close and put a wad of Reichsmarks under her nose. “The Reich’s. I like winners, too.”
Stella took the money and smiled up at him. “I’ve misjudged you, Mr. Bikker.”