“Come on. We’ve got to outrun them somehow. The border is close. Get rid of your backpack.”
She threw it down, remembering the photos of her family she’d stuffed into her pockets. She threw a glance backward at the soldiers and the fat officer lagging behind them as they struggled through the snow. They seemed to be gaining. John dragged her by the hand as they ran, cresting a hill and then running down, trees all around them. The soldiers were invisible behind them, the hill and the trees blocking their line of vision.
“We’re not far now,” John said as a light formed at the end of her sight. The trees ended two hundred yards in front. A great white light lay beyond them, and Franka saw immediately what the map hadn’t shown. The trees ended, and a forty-foot drop onto jagged rocks lay beyond for a mile in both directions.
John cursed. “No. No. We can climb down.”
“They’re right behind us. They’d pick us off on the way down. There’s no escape from this, not for me.”
“What?”
“They don’t know you’re with me. They won’t have noticed your footprints among the others in the snow. You were hidden in the trees as they came out of the truck. I couldn’t see you, so I know they couldn’t either. Go on without me. You can climb down and be across the border before nightfall.”
“I won’t leave you.”
“It’s useless, John. We can’t make it together. Think of your mission. You have to go now.”
“There has to be another way.”
“There isn’t. I’ll go back and draw them off.”
“No. I can’t leave you. I won’t.”
“Remember your mission. This is beyond us now. Remember what you were sent here to do. Please. We’ve only seconds.”
She could hear the sound of the soldiers approaching through the trees, perhaps a hundred yards behind.
“Do this for me,” she said.
He grasped her against him and kissed her. She drew back after a few seconds and leaned her forehead into his.
“I can’t leave you.”
“You have to go now,” she said.
“I’m so sorry, Franka,” he said as he lowered himself over the edge of the cliff. She looked down at him one last time as he peered up at her. She retreated toward her pursuers, her arms in the air. Franka heard the soldiers shouting at her to get on the ground, to put her hands behind her head. She was miles away, years ago, with her parents in the cabin on a warm summer’s evening as the sun set over the trees.
The fat officer made a whooping sound as he caught up. “Franka Gerber? I am Kriminalinspektor Vogel of the Gestapo. You’re under arrest for the murder of Daniel Berkel, and let me say, you’re mine now. You’re going to pay for what you did to my friend. I’m enjoying those tears on your face. There will be many more.” He replaced the gun in his holster. “Where is your boyfriend?”
“Who?”
“Don’t play that way with me,” he said, slapping her across the face. “You got crutches for him. Where is he?”
“He left last week. He made his way across the border. He told me the way to come—to follow him.”
“Have a look around,” the officer said. His men spread out, taking a few minutes to search the area.
Vogel took the time to pat her down, his hands focusing on certain places, withdrawing her wallet and her father’s pistol from her pockets.
“Nothing,” one of the men said as they came back. “There’s no one else. There are footprints all over. It’s impossible to tell if there was anyone else with her.”
Her thoughts were of John now, and his escape across the border. In his escape victory was hers. She saw John strolling across the border, presenting the microfilm, receiving the acclaim he deserved, and that was enough. The agonies of the next few hours would pass. Their achievement would live on.
John lingered in the trees, knowing he had only to walk away, and the way to the border would be free now. Freedom and the glory of fulfilling his mission beckoned. The microfilm was vital. Perhaps it could even turn the tide of this war. He imagined seeing his family again, and the look of pride on his father’s face. He tried to purge Franka from his mind. The rest of his life was an easy trip across the border away.
The soldiers shuffled through the snow as they made their way back to the truck, enjoying the moment. Vogel kept his pistol pointed at Franka’s head. And who was going to stop him? This was his world. Soon this whore would come to realize that. It took fifteen minutes for them to reach the truck. The men celebrated with a smoke as they got there. Vogel forced her to kneel in the snow by the side of the road, her hands on her head as he took out the radio to report his success. He’d experienced many great moments in his career, but this was perhaps the finest. He thought of Berkel as he picked up the radio receiver. The justice his murder demanded was coming. Vogel radioed in the good news, making the announcement several times.
“I’m going to take you back to the local Gestapo headquarters now,” he said. “It will be the last place you ever see.”
Vogel bundled her into the back of the truck and tied her hands with twine, as he’d forgotten his handcuffs in all the rush. It hardly mattered. She had four soldiers in the back with her. She wasn’t going anywhere. The soldiers sat beside her; Vogel, the driver, and another soldier sat in front.
“Congratulations, boys!” Vogel shouted once they were ready to go. “You’ve got a night out waiting for you when we get back.”
The soldiers cheered as the driver started the engine and they began to move off. They had gone no more than a few hundred yards when they saw a figure in front of them, shouting for help. Vogel leaned forward to peer at the sight of a Luftwaffe officer clambering toward them, who was holding up ID papers. His uniform was torn and filthy, covered in snow and dirt. He looked exhausted, maybe even close to death. The driver slowed the truck to a halt.
“Please, help me!” the man screamed.
“What now?” Vogel said under his breath.
The Luftwaffe officer was standing directly in front of the truck, his arms in the air. He was so close that Vogel could see the color of his eyes.
“I’ve been out here all night. My plane went down on a training mission a few miles into the forest. I thought I was going to die out here. I heard the shots and made my way over.”
“We have a prisoner to be transported. We’re on important business. There’s a town about two miles west.”
“I don’t think I can make it. My legs. Please, don’t leave me out here.”
Vogel thought about it for a few seconds. He might get extra praise for rescuing a Luftwaffe officer lost in the woods, perhaps even a medal—those uppity pricks in the Luftwaffe would have to respect him if he delivered one of their officers right to them. He flicked a thumb toward the back of the truck.
“We can take you into town.”
The man hobbled around the side of the truck. Vogel called out to the men in the back that they had one more, and one of them reached down to help him inside.
Franka didn’t look up at first, but the raising of the tarpaulin at the back of the truck roused her from the state she’d fallen into. She felt the blood drain from her face as John sat beside her in his Luftwaffe uniform, she on his left with another soldier next to her. The other three men sat across from them, their rifles at their sides. The engine started up once more, and the truck rumbled on. John was panting, and he leaned forward, his forearms on his thighs. He put his backpack by his feet.
“Thank you for picking me up. I owe you my life. Who’s the girl?”
“A prisoner,” one of the soldiers said. “She killed a Gestapo officer.”
“And you’re arresting her for that?” John laughed. “What’s a pretty girl like you doing killing one of our beloved Gestapo officers? You didn’t like his black trench coat? You know what they say about Gestapo men, don’t you?”
“No, what do they say?” the closest soldier said, a smile forming on his face.
“That the Gestapo are all honest and intelligent, but I have to disagree.”