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Chameleon Fever (2)

Chapter 14-26

The Story of Oskar Danzig

Master of Disguises, Famous (Female) Impersonator

& Esteemed Leader of the Underground

(wip)

Treason

For a while, the resistance group lay a little low to give their new leader the chance to settle down in his role. Karl took the time to teach his make-up techniques to some of the ladies of the group, so that at least for that they wouldn't be so solely dependent on him anymore.

He also issued the order that from now on, only first names would be used to address one another. For if the Gestapo were ever to pick you up and forced you to spill names, they could do far less with only a first name than with a last name.

Of course most of the present members knew each other by the full name. But at least new members would never learn anything but their comrades' first names.

And there were a lot of new members. As fear and grimness in society grew, more and more people decided they wanted to do something – anything – to protest what was going on. Usually they were brought along by existing members – friends and family.

But Karl soon noticed that some of them seemed more interested in the thrill of danger and adventure than in the cause for which they were fighting. Some of them - like Uwe and Harro - were converted by a few stern discussions with Josel and Dieter and became useful helpers. Others however were less willing to accept the bitter truth of fighting the Nazis, and Karl was wary to include those 'cowboys' in their missions. Which occasionally led to unpleasant scenes as they accused him of favouritism. But especially Josel supported him through thick and thin, and even went so far as to suggest that if they didn't have faith in their leader's judgement, they had better leave the group altogether.

Which some of them did. Usually to start their own resistance group, which – maybe a sign from heaven? – invariably ended up in Gestapo hands within a few months.

It only made Karl more determined to keep his people safe, and his missions were always meticulously planned. Marya was still their main informer, and as his confidence grew over time, his plans became bolder and more unorthodox. And Karl was quite proud that – although their success rate was not 100% (it was high, but not perfect) – their casualty rate remained steadfastly at zero.

And so the year passed with its moderate ups and downs, and it saw Karl grow and mature in his leading role. Josel remained his closest confidant with whom he went over every plan in detail, and whose advice he valued greatly. And the two soon became really good friends.

Great was his shock therefore when shortly after Christmas he went past their café on his way to the theatre, just in time to see a black Gestapo truck drive off.

With a sick feeling in his stomach, Karl watched the truck round the corner. Were they...?

He quickly crossed the road and pushed open the door of Café Brunn.

His breath caught in his throat. The place was in complete disarray – as if someone had been furiously searching for something, not caring about what he broke in his drive to find it.

"Josel? Lena?" His voice sounded shrill, and he nearly jumped as someone answered from behind him.

"They've been taken away. I saw it." An elderly man stood behind him. He looked sad. "Such good people. Always available for a friendly chat over a good cup of coffee. But I doubt I'll ever get a cup of coffee from them again."

"Why?" Karl implored. "Do you know why they were taken away? Or where?"

The man shook his head. "Darned pity though. They served the best peasoup between Tegel and the Brandenburger Tor."

Karl glanced at his watch. He still had some time, and it was quite clear that this man couldn't tell him much else that was useful. But with two of their people picked up by the Gestapo, their entire group was in danger.

Try to keep your mouth shut as long as possible – they all knew the mantra for when they'd be arrested.

But it was publicly known that especially the Gestapo could be brutal in their interrogations, and there was no telling how long Josel and Lena – or anyone – would be able to hold out under torture. They'd have to find a way to get them out of there, and fast!

The problem was that the café had always served as the group's communication centre. The lunch special on the blackboard outside had several options for messages that insiders could read simply by walking past the café.

But now with the café out of order, they'd have to find another way to pass on this all-important news.

"Thank you," he said absent-mindedly to the man, and hurried off down the street. Fischer's Fish Shop was but a few blocks away – maybe they could pass on the message with fake deliveries or something.

Luck wasn't with him – the shop was full of customers, and neither Berthold nor Kläre recognized him in his disguise as the actor Oskar Danzig.

And that's when it struck him – Josel and Lena did know him in this disguise! He often had a late lunch with them on his theatre days, giving them the chance to discuss Marya's latest news and possible plans born from that news. Josel and Lena were the only ones to be aware of this disguise belonging to their leader Oskar Danzig, but with them being the ones in Gestapo custody, that left him pretty vulnerable in this look.

Fortunately, when it finally was his turn, there were no other customers left. "It's me – Oskar," he said quickly and quietly. "Josel and Lena have just been picked up by the Gestapo. Can you find a way to pass on the message?"

Kläre brought her hand to her mouth in shock, and Berthold put down the knife he was cleaning. "It'll look a bit odd for a fish shop, but I'll fix it right away." And he wiped his hands, grabbed a cloth and a piece of chalk from under the counter and stepped outside.

"Here." Kläre quickly wrapped up some cold cod. "Can't leave the shop without groceries – that'd be odd. Don't worry, we'll pass on the word. And we can meet here upstairs tonight."

"Thanks. It'll be close to midnight before I can make it though."

"We'll just start thinking up plans," Kläre promised.

With a mutual warning to be careful, Karl left the shop, past Berthold who had erased the offers for fresh haddock, eel and whelks, and now advertized mushroomsoup.

"Take care," Karl said to him, too, and quickly hurried off home to change his disguise. If he was quick, he'd even have time to call on a few of the others on his way to the theatre.

He reappeared as a burly fiftyish-year-old, and took the road to the city centre with long strides. Only to stop dead in his tracks when Fischer's Fish Shop came in sight. For the place was ransacked much as Café Brunn...

A chill went down his spine. This couldn't possibly be the result yet of Josel and Lena talking – they wouldn't act that fast, would they?

Which meant... they must have had someone on his trail... On anyone's trail who'd gone near Café Brunn today. So he was the one who had led them to Berthold and Kläre and Sanne and Tobias...

It also meant that he had led his shadow straight back to his own apartment, thus totally compromising his Langenscheidt persona. And despite his change of appearance, there was a chance that the guy was still on his trail. So going to warn the others pretty much equalled turning them into the Gestapo.

No. The first thing to do was to lose this hound on his trail. Or rather – to determine whether his present persona was indeed being followed.

He set off again at a firm pace, his mind in turmoil. He hopped onto a tram, hopped off again, took a bus and another bus, all the while keeping a keen eye on his fellow passengers.

But none of them kept up with him – none even travelled on two the same vehicles as he did. So apparently he was not being followed at the moment. His shadow must have stayed behind watching his apartment – not that such was much of a reassurance.

He got off the bus again and checked his watch. If he walked from here, it wouldn't be much out of his way to go past Dieter's and Uwe's place, and perhaps even past Benno's. The sooner the word was spread, the better. It would probably mean he'd be a little late for work, but warning his friends was worth a good scolding. Those nuts who paid good money to see a guy dress up as a woman could wait.

But as he turned into the Kastanienstraβe, he felt the colour drain from his face. There was that ominous Gestapo truck again. And from number sixteen, Dieter and his wife were led down the gardenpath – handcuffed and all, and prodded by a machinegun.

Bleakly, he watched the truck as it drove off in the other direction. This couldn't possibly have happened through their following him. Coincidence then? Or was there some other factor in the game?

He walked on again, in the direction of the Mendelssohnstraβe. And tensed as he saw the small clump of people talking in front of Uwe's house.

Casually, without really slowing down, he walked past them, feigning no interest at all. But he heard enough to deduce that Uwe had been picked up by the Gestapo as well.

What the heck was going on here? Had Josel and Lena mentioned every name they knew the moment they had entered Gestapo headquarters? That seemed highly unlikely...

He continued on to Benno's place, and was already hardly surprised to find much of a copy of the situation in the Mendelssohnstraβe.

With a deep frown he hurried on from there to the Park Theatre. Although to be honest, he wasn't even sure if it was a good idea to go there at all. For with the Gestapo picking up his people one by one today, they might well be waiting for Oskar Danzig at the only address where they could be sure he'd show up.

But first of all he needed to think. To calm down and think. And find out somehow who else had been hauled off by the Gestapo.

He took the stairs two at a time to the stage door, showed his theatre pass to the porter and hurried on to his dressing room. And throwing open the door, he stood eye to eye with the director.

"Mr. Danzig, I presume?" the man said icily.

Karl immediately refound himself. "Yes. And I'm sorry for being so late, but there was..."

"You have less than twenty minutes to curtain!" the director coldly interrupted him as he watched his star tear off his cap and sit down in front of the mirror.

"I know." Karl turned to face him. "And I said I'm sorry. But if you'd still like to see the show to start on time, I think you'd better leave me now and postpone your tirade till the interval."

He turned back to the mirror, and heard how the director angrily breathed in through his nose in a snort. "Superstars..." he heard him mutter, and then the door closed with a bang.

Karl reached it in two steps and turned the key. He never allowed anyone in his room while he was changing, for the justified fear that they'd see the 'real' him in between his disguises.

But right now there was a greater fear in his heart. Not only for his own sake, but for his friends' as well.

For one possible explanation of this whole thing was, that someone had deliberately informed the Gestapo on them – with names and everything. And the only way that could have happened so thoroughly, was if this informer had been part of their group for quite a while. Which meant that right now, he really couldn't trust anyone but himself. Not until he had figured out exactly who had been picked up and who hadn't.

With his many years of experience, he easily made it in time for the show. But he went through the whole thing entirely on routine.

Back in his dressing room he sent out for dinner, listened to the director's promised tirade without batting an eyelid, did the two evening shows on routine as well, and ended up with a massive headache from all the brooding and second-guessing he'd been doing all night.

Tonight of all nights, just when he needed to be alert and clear-headed as never before – and all his body really wanted to do was to curl up under a blanket and turn off the lights!

He found a nearly forgotten aspirin in the back of his drawer, and prayed it wasn't so old that it had turned toxic.

But he couldn't stay here. He had to find out what had happened to his friends. So he gathered up his willpower and the fiftyish man's act, and made for the stage door.

It had barely fallen shut behind him when two men in official Gestapo black accosted him. "Ausweis, bitte."

Karl glanced from one to the other, hoping, praying that the dark would obscure his fear.

He pulled the papers that matched his present disguise from his pocket and placed them in the waiting hand.

He thought he sweated water and blood as he watched how thoroughly they were studied, with frequent intrusive stares at his face to see if the information was indeed correct. A jovial remark would be in place right now – to show them that he had nothing to fear. But the fact was that he was absolutely tongue-tied with fear.

The best he could manage right now was to feign disinterest, so he forced himself to glance at the other Gestapoman. And was surprised to see that the guy was peering the other way, toward the dark bushes of the neighbouring park.

The instant curiosity as to what the guy was looking at nudged Karl out of his fear induced paralysis. He followed the man's gaze, and within seconds he had located a person – a man by the looks of it – standing in the bushes, looking their way.

Why would a guy hide in the bushes late at night and stare at the stage door of a theatre? Was he a stalker perhaps? Was the Gestapoman perhaps wondering the same?

The door behind him opened again, and out came Agnita, one of the revuegirls.

The other Gestapoman turned to her, and said, "Moment, Fräulein. Ausweis, bitte."

As Agnita muttered something not so nice while she dug around in her purse for her papers, Karl caught the Gestapoman looking over his shoulder towards the man in the park again. And from the corner of his eye – no, this couldn't be! The guy in the bushes was making a clear negating gesture! He was...!

And indeed: Agnita's papers got but a cursory inspection, and she was free to go.

But there was no time to dwell on that, for he got his own fake papers thrusted in his face again, and with a barked, "In Ordnung," he, too, was free to go.

He felt he could faint with relief, but now was not the time for that. So he turned past the theatre, and forcibly suppressed the urge to run away as far as his legs would carry him. Clearly he had passed inspection, so for the moment he could move freely. And despite his pounding head, he finally had a clue here that might help him find, maybe even save his friends. For surely it couldn't be coincidence that the Gestapo showed up at Danzig's theatre with a nark the same day that half his team was picked up?

He only walked one block around before seeking his way back through the park to the theatre's side entrance. He still heard voices through the night, which only made sense – he had been one of the first to leave tonight, so there were still many to come.

And there was the clump of bushes where the nark was hiding. He was itching to know who it was, and more so in the knowledge that it was likely to be someone he knew. Someone he had trusted. Someone whose neck he'd like to wring.

But now was not the time for that. First he needed to know more.

So he crouched down behind the bushes, not far from where the nark was hiding.

His head was pounding painfully, but he tried to ignore it the best he could and concentrated on the voices at the stage door. They were too far off to really make out anything, but his patience paid off in the end when the two Gestapomen left the theatre and came straight to the nark's hiding place.

There was the sound of cracking branches as that someone stepped out of his hideout to meet his companions. And Karl held his breath – if they'd find him here now, he'd be dead meat!

"Well, Herr Eckner," he heard one of the men sneer. "It seems your insight in the man's disguises isn't as thorough as you thought it was."

Karl tensed. They were after him indeed...

He heard an obvious sigh. "I'm sorry, sir. I told you the man is a master of disguises. The only thing he really can't change is his height. And you checked everyone within that range."

"And he slipped by us nonetheless. Well, we'll have to come back tomorrow and pick him up as soon as he leaves the stage. I just hope we haven't alerted him with our presence tonight."

That was it: Oskar Danzig would quit performing as from this very moment.

The voices began to move away, and quickly, Karl rose and followed them, carefully keeping to the grass and keeping out of sight whenever he could. His headache was still splitting – the aspirin didn't seem to work at all. But he wanted to know who this Eckner guy was, and if he'd let him go now, he may never have another opportunity.

So he kept up with the three men, and when they went their separate ways coming out of the park, Karl hurried to catch up as the only one not in uniform took a left into the Charlottenburgerallee.

Following someone through a city centre is a lot more convenient than through a deserted park. Especially when this someone has no inkling that he's being followed. Karl made sure he never let the guy get too far ahead, and followed him as a shadow as he walked straight home, clearly not suspecting anything. It turned out he lived indeed in the part of town where most people of the resistance group lived, and following him, Karl became more and more convinced that there was something familiar about the guy indeed. Something about the...

He held in his step in surprise, and then walked on as if nothing were the matter. But some twenty meters ahead of him, on the other side of the street, the Eckner guy had come to a halt and pulled a key from his pocket.

His face remained in shadows though as he unlocked the front door of a small terraced house and pushed it open.

Well, at least he knew the guy's last name and address, Karl thought as he stamped the housenumber on his memory and looked around for the name of the street. If necessary, he could post here all day tomorrow to catch a glimpse of the guy by daylight. There was...

He froze. Eckner had switched on the hall lights before closing the front door. And the man now turning back to the door to close it was... Harro! Harro, their mechanics expert!

Alone

Now that the immediate mystery was solved, his headache instantly came crashing down on him with such force that for a moment, he physically staggered. Calling on all his strength, he managed to force himself to walk on, lest Harro should look out the window and recognize the man from the theatre. But in between the merciless blows of the sledgehammer in his head, his mind was reeling.

Harro... He should have... He'd been with them since... when? Before the summer at least, for he was with them when... Who'd brought him on – had it been Olaf? Dieter? Benno? Ferdi maybe? He couldn't remember – there had been too many. He should have... He should have...

Harro... Another one of those thrillseekers at first. But one who'd come to realize the seriousness of the matter, and had become one of their most dedicated people. Dedicated... to the Gestapo, yes. Oh, what had he done, the creep, the monster, the snake, the...

But he should have known, he should have seen it, he should have...!

Suddenly he became aware that he'd been taking the route home. No – no, he couldn't go home! Not with the Gestapo waiting for him there!

Or were they? Well, maybe at least. But he certainly wasn't going to find out now.

Instead, he took the first sidestreet back to the Königsallee, wandered back towards the city and checked in at the first still open hotel he passed. The sleepy receptionist didn't ask any questions and merely had him sign in (he had to think a moment to recall which papers he carried), gave him the key and directed him to the third floor.

Up in his room, he didn't even bother to turn on the light. He just locked the door behind him, and sank down on the bed, hiding his warm, pounding head in his hands. If only that sledgehammer would stop hammering around, so that at least he could think clearly...

But mere wishing for his headache to go away had no effect, and in the end he came to the conclusion that he might as well go to bed. Hopefully sleep would silence that awful pounding in his head.

Slowly, he took off his boots and clothes, splashed some cool water on his face at the washstand and crawled under the blanket.

He felt slightly guilty as he cautiously tried to find the most comfortable position on the pillow for his pounding head. For here he was – in a bed, with a pillow and a blanket and clean sheets... while his friends were locked up in some Gestapo jail, maybe even being interrogated at this very moment.

Quietly, he asked them for forgiveness, explaining to them that there was not much he could do for them at this hour of the night, and giving them a solemn promise that he'd do everything in his power to get them out... and suddenly the wintersun tickled his cheeks and woke him up.

He sat up with a start as both memory and the remnants of that headache came flooding back to him. Fortunately, the awful pounding had ceased. It was still lurking in the back, but not to the extent that it really impaired him anymore.

Good.

He got up, and noticed the brownred smears on the pillow. Oh brother, he'd forgotten to take off his make-up as Kurt Hagedorn last night. Well, that was easily enough hidden. He pulled off the pillowcase, turned it inside out, put it back on the pillow and placed it with the dirty side down. Not perfect, but there was a good chance that it wouldn't be noticed until it got to the cleaner's.

He got dressed, more or less fixed his features with the few sticks of make-up he carried (the sleepy receptionist probably wouldn't notice the difference anyway), and went down to pay for his room and leave.

And then he stood outside again, contemplating what to do next.

Breakfast was a first necessity, but paying for the room he had realized he didn't have much money left. Not in his pocket at least. He really should find out whether or not his apartment was being watched. For with the stuff he had there, he could have a serious go at helping his friends.

And of course call the theatre with some excuse for Danzig not to perform anymore. After all, his co-workers there were dependent on Danzig's presence, too. If he couldn't be there, the entire show would have to be cancelled, so the very least he owed them was a reasonable explanation as to why their star had suddenly cleared off.

Or perhaps he ought to do that here – in case they had bugged his telephone at home.

So he went back inside and asked the receptionist if he could make a phonecall.

The man nodded. "There is the phone booth, sir. But it is a payphone."

Karl dug out some change from his pocket, went into the booth and dialled for the operator. "The Park Theatre, Herr Direktor Brühl, bitte."

"Moment, bitte."

Silence – then, "Brühl here, guten Morgen."

"Guten Morgen, Herr Brühl, this is Dr. Augstein speaking from the Berlin Stadthospital. I'm afraid I have some bad news for you."

"What?" He heard Herr Brühl draw in his breath in shock. "My wife? My children?"

"No sir, not your family. This concerns one of your employees: the actor Oskar Danzig."

"What about him?" The man's utter relief was almost tangible, and Karl felt bad for having given him such a scare.

But he went on with, "Herr Danzig has been brought in here this morning with a bad case of pneumonia. I'm afraid he will not be able to perform for quite a while."

"What?" Obviously, that news shook the director back to reality. "He can't! The entire show is built up around him!"

"I'm sorry, sir, but you're going to have to do without him for a while. He is in no condition to leave his hospital bed – let alone to stand on stage all night long."

There was a rumble at the other end of the line. "So much for getting the big star in. But I suppose it can't be helped. Anyway, thank you for letting me know, doctor. And wishing you a good day."

"Thank you, Herr Direktor. And a good day to you, too."

So – that was that. And now straight home to find out whether his apartment was indeed under surveillance.

It turned out that – unless someone was covertly keeping watch from inside one of the apartments in the building opposite to his – no one was paying any special attention to his apartment, or hanging around somewhere for no apparent reason.

It did make sense of course, he figured as he took the familiar stairs two at a time. He had thought they had gotten onto the Fischers because they had followed him there. But the later discoveries of the others having been picked up before he even got close to their homes negated that. So apart from the fact that the Gestapo was looking for him, he was still relatively safe.

Besides, after what he had overheard in the park last night, it seemed fairly obvious that Harro was the man behind this. And it was equally obvious that Harro was not aware of his real identity. So much the better of course, but it did mean he couldn't use his most recent disguises.

As he made himself a few sandwiches and a cup of tea, he pondered about how to tackle the problem to find out who had and who hadn't been picked up. He needed an excuse to go and call at certain houses. A Jehovah's Witness could do that, but with the way those people had been treated lately, it would be a rather hazardous charade. And right now he really couldn't afford getting into trouble himself.

In the end he settled for a shabby pedlar, trying to sell his own meagre supplies of razorblades, shoelaces, safety-pins and matches.

The afternoon's charade was a success in that he learned indeed that literally all his people had been picked up by the Gestapo yesterday. All except Harro of course. Sure – he didn't know all the addresses, but the latest members being friends and family of the older ones, a few careful questions were usually sufficient to get the information he wanted to know.

At least the situation was clear now: it was Karl Langenscheidt solo versus the entire Berlin Gestapo. With the lives of nearly forty of his friends at stake.

But before he could do anything to rescue them, he needed to know where they were being held. There were several Gestapo offices in Berlin – it wouldn't do to barge into the wrong one to demand the liberation of his friends. So he went home, typed up some fresh Gestapo orders along the specifications of some older ones he still had lying around, had a full change of appearance, changed into the conspicuously inconspicuous dark Gestapo outfit with the Nazi pin prominently displayed on his black tie, and marched out of the building on his way to Gestapo headoffice in the city with a flat briefcase handcuffed to his wrist.

It was shortly before nine in the evening when he swiftly took the steps up to the impressive building and brought a crisp salute to the officer sitting at the reception desk.

"Good evening, sir. What can I do for you?" the clerk-officer greeted him.

Karl pulled his papers from his inside pocket. "I'm Leutnant Lothar Böttcher, aide of General Stahl. I am to take some very sensitive documents to him in Berchtesgaden, but our car broke down. I do not want to expose these papers to a public place. Can I wait here until my men are ready to take me to Berchtesgaden?"

"Of course, Herr Leutnant. I can even get you another car, if you like."

Lieutenant Böttcher bared his teeth. "'Trust no one,' General Stahl always says."

The clerk immediately backpedalled. "No. Of course not."

"Now where can I wait? Preferably someplace where I can get a decent cup of coffee," the lieutenant demanded.

"Of course. Why don't you wait in our refreshment room – on the first floor, the second door to your right."

"Danke." A short nod, another Heil Hitler salute, and Lieutenant Böttcher made his way up the stairs.

The coffee room turned out to be small, but deserted. There were a few easy chairs, a side table with a thermos jug that smelled of old coffee, a few mugs, and about a dozen newspapers lying around.

He poured himself a cup of coffee, picked up a newspaper and sat down in one of the chairs with his briefcase in his lap. The waiting could start...

In the hours that followed, only two people came into the room. But they merely glanced at him, fetched their cup of coffee and left again. Clearly, the coffee room at Gestapo headquarters wasn't the busiest place in town on a Saturday evening.

But in the early hours of the morning he was joined by two sniggering junior officers who poured themselves some coffee and fell down in the chairs opposite.

"What's so funny?" Lieutenant Böttcher inquired.

The two men looked at each other and burst out in a fit of chuckles.

"Ever heard of Oskar Danzig?" the elder of the two asked at last.

"The female impersonator? Of course I have." There wasn't a single soul in all of Berlin who hadn't.

Another snicker. "Well, it turns out that Mr. Danzig is a double impersonator."

Böttcher frowned. "A double...? What do you mean?"

This time the younger of the two answered. "Well, we've known for some time that Herr Danzig was the leader of a rather notorious resistance group here in the city. So we went to the theatre tonight to pick him up for some questioning, and..." Once more his mirth overtook him, so the other one completed, "It turns out that the famous female impersonator really is a woman!"

"What?" They must have gotten one of the girls to play my part, just to let the show go on, it flashed through his mind.

"Yeah, can you imagine: a woman impersonating a man in order to be a female impersonator?"

"No wonder he was so good," Karl commented wryly.

"Now what would we call such a person?" the younger Gestapoman mused. "Perhaps a female male female impersonator?"

"The length these superstars will go to – just to attract attention," the other one said.

"Well, she'll sure get all the attention she wants tomorrow." The younger man snickered and leaned forward in confidentiality. "Major Lüpertz was as cross as a swastika, for it soon became clear that this girl knew absolutely nothing about any resistance activities. Which means he now really doesn't have a clue where to find the real Danzig."

"If there really is such a person," the other one cut in.

"Of course there is," the younger man huffed. "He may not be the Oskar Danzig, but we know for sure that he's a master of disguises. And his helpers all claim that their leader is Oskar Danzig."

"But they're either being incredibly stubborn, or they really don't know anything about the guy," the older one objected.

"Eckner couldn't find out anything about him either. But he met him regularly, so he does exist. I still say Major Lüpertz was too hasty in shooting most of them this morning though."

Karl winced painfully, but managed to hide it in a smirk. "You can't squeeze information from a dead body," he agreed, pushing away the hurt.

"My idea exactly. Now he's only got a few left to work on. They're the big shots of the group, but still..." He chuckled. "One of them let slip that the Russian medium Marya works for Danzig as well. Remember her?"

Böttcher frowned. "I believe so. Isn't that the one the Führer recommends so highly that all his generals are fighting over her?" So Marya had been implicated as well. That was valuable knowledge.

"Yeah, that's the one," the Gestapoman continued, and took a sip of his coffee. "It's certainly possible – she did start her Berlin career from the house of one of the resistance people."

"It would be a bit of a scandal if it were true," the other guy commented. "I mean involving the Führer and all. I think Major Lüpertz wants some more proof before stirring up that hornet's nest."

Böttcher chuckled. "I sure wouldn't want to be in his shoes if it turns out he's wrong."

"No, certainly not!" His two companions chuckled, and returned to their previous subject about Danzig being a lady after all.

But Karl was suddenly on tenterhooks. Set off by the information about Marya, a plan was hatching in his brain. A desperate plan, especially if he had to do it on his own, but at least it was a plan.

But he couldn't just run out of here while his two informants were still chatting away over their coffee – that'd be awfully suspicious.

So he forced himself to stay relaxed in his easy chair, sipping his coffee, listening to the two indefatigable twaddlers and occasionally throwing in an off-hand remark of his own.

But finally, finally they got up, left their mugs on the table, wished him goodnight and left the room.

Tense as a spring, Karl waited for their footsteps to recede. Then he made for the door, inched it open and listened for any human presence in the corridor. When all remained quiet, he reclaimed his Gestapo lieutenant role, buttoned up his overcoat, and went quickly down the stairs as if the building were his daily workplace.

There was still one obstacle to bypass to get out of here – the clerk at the reception desk. But luck was with him for once today: the clerk who had let him in had been relieved by someone else who merely looked up, nodded, and let him exit the building without asking any questions.

Time was now of the essence. He took a taxi to the corner of the Königsallee three blocks past his own apartment. From there he hurried home, unlocked the by now rather irritating briefcase from his wrist, sat down at his typewriter to fix some new orders, and then went to remove all his make-up and went out.

It was awfully early in the morning, and the city was fast asleep. But Karl knew of one address where he could always go for help: Father Werner's vicarage.

As soon as the door opened at his insistent knocking, he opened his mouth to...

And stared.

"Yes?" the young man before him said encouragingly.

"Who are you?" Karl blurted out. "I was looking for Father Werner."

The young man in the doorway hid a large yawn. "He's been replaced. I'm the priest here now. Father Kreutz is my name."

"Replaced? When? Where?"

"A few days ago. Not sure where they sent him, but it certainly wasn't a friendly little parish for him to keep spreading about those silly rumours about the Party."

Father Werner had been picked up, too, Karl's brain bleakly translated.

Which meant he was now totally, entirely, completely on his own. No friends. No allies. No colleagues – no one.

"Oh. Thank you," he mumbled, and turned to go.

"Is there anything I can help you with?" the replacement priest called after him.

Karl looked back. "I don't think so. Sorry. This really called for Father Werner's expertise – he knows the situation and the people. I don't think you'd be of much help, coming in without that knowledge."

"Alright. Well, good luck then, and good night."

The door was closed, and Karl stared at it for a moment. If anything, those last words made it crystal clear that this Father Kreutz was no real priest. Or if he was, he probably held Mein Kampf in higher esteem than the Bible.

Just wishing him 'good luck'...

He quickly hurried home, his mind arguing with itself whether or not it would be a good idea to go on with this plan all alone. Father Werner – if he had indeed agreed to come along – wouldn't have had to do much, but his mere presence as an aide would have given Karl's character credence.

But now?

There was no one left to ask unless he'd pluck someone off the street at random. And that didn't strike him as a particularly good idea either.

So now he had the choice between taking the risk of going in all alone, or giving up his friends altogether.

His jaw tightened as he leapt up the stairs to his apartment. Giving up his friends was simply not an option.

Even if it was practically suicide to try and get them out.

Rescue

But first he needed a complete make-over in order to get back into Gestapo headquarters.

Twenty minutes later an aristocratic man in a colonel's Heer uniform came down the stairs again and calmly walked towards town. But instead of following the Königsallee, he turned left towards the barracks of the Luftwaffe.

It was approaching 5.30 now. Everything in the military camp was still quiet, but it wouldn't be long before the loud bell would chase the young soldiers out of bed.

But now was not the time to contemplate on that. He was here to get a car – or better still: a truck. And he knew there were always a few vans parked out in the street here at night.

With one of his small burglar's tools he opened the door of the first truck. A glance in the back to make sure he had no unsuspecting hitch-hikers, and then he pulled free the wires that – if connected – would start the truck without a key.

He had a grim smile as he recalled it had been Harro Eckner who had taught them that trick. Harro... the snake, the traitor, the... But that could wait. First he had to get his people out.

Without anyone bothering him, he drove off towards Gestapo headquarters. (Amazing what you could get away with, simply by pretending it's the most normal thing in the world to do...) The truck was heavy, and more difficult to steer than an ordinary car, so Karl took no chances and drove very carefully through the still sleeping streets of inner Berlin.

And there was his destination.

He parked the van at the bottom of the stairs, released the contact, made sure the cardoor was unlocked, and with a quick prayer ("This time it's just You and me, Lord. So let's get them.") he took the stairs for the second time that night to report to the receptionist.

"Guten Morgen, mein Herr," he greeted the man affably. It was still the same one as when he had left the building a few hours ago.

He brought the Heil Hitler salute, which the man silently reciprocated.

"What is your business?" the clerk asked sourly.

"I'm Colonel von Le Fort, the aide of General Atzorn."

The clerk raised his eyebrows. General Atzorn was one of the biggest big shots in Germany – and Marya had had some dealings with him recently, so Karl was quite up-to-date with the General's relations and position in society.

"Papers, please," the clerk requested, and the noble visitor handed them to him.

"In Ordnung," the clerk mumbled with an air of disappointment after a short but hawkish study of them. He gave them back to the Colonel and inquired in a still morose tone, "What is your business then, Colonel?"

"Well, word has reached the General about Oskar Danzig's resistance unit being held in custody here, and – this is true, isn't it?" he interrupted himself.

The clerk nodded.

"Good. But we were left to understand that the lady Marya was not among them. This is also correct?"

The clerk shrugged. "I don't know. I don't know their names. You'd better speak to Major Lüpertz himself. He is the one in charge of the case."

"Excellent. Will you please inform him then that I wish to speak with him on behalf of General Atzorn? You may tell him it is a matter of great importance."

A frugal look was his share. "I'm afraid the Major is not available at the moment, Herr Colonel. He's been in consultation all night."

The Colonel raised an eyebrow. "Isn't it about time for a break then? Besides, I represent General Atzorn in this matter. Would he let the General wait?"

The look turned to ice. "We shall see." He picked up the phone and dialled a short number. "Krug? This is reception. I have an envoy of General Atzorn here who insists on speaking to Major Lüpertz right away. Go ask him if he wants to be disturbed, okay?"

A long pause, in which the Colonel leisurely looked around and admired the stucco-work and the architectural intricacies of the hall. "Beautiful building," he commented quietly to the sour receptionist. "Very tasteful indeed."

The receptionist gave him a glare, but turned his attention back to the telephone. "Ja? Was? Nein? Gut. Heil Hitler." With a menacing little smile he turned back to his visitor. "I'm sorry, but Herr Major does not wish to be interrupted. Not even by the envoy of General Atzorn himself."

Suddenly the Colonel straightened himself to his full impressive height and thundered, "Well, if the mountain won't come to Mohammed...! Take me to him – now!"

The toad of a receptionist withered under this giant vocal attack. "But... but... Herr Colonel, he..."

"I said now!"

"J... jawohl, Herr Colonel... But I warn you: it's at your own risk!"

"I don't care. Take me to this man, or you will suffer the consequences of the General's wrath as much as he will!"

"Of course, Herr Colonel. Follow me, please."

Keeping the anger in his step and the controlled blaze in his eyes, Colonel von Le Fort followed the boor down an arched corridor that ended at a heavy, iron-studded door, guarded by two men.

"The good Colonel here insists on having a word with Major Lüpertz this very moment," the clerk murmured with anticipated gloat. "Please escort him down into the dungeons to see the major."

The two guards exchanged a glance, but the one on the left took out a heavy key, opened the door, and gestured for their guest to follow him.

An awful smell – damp and fuggy and rotten – hit him in the face as he followed the guard into the dark hole. There was no light, but the guard took a torch from a holder in the wall before pulling the heavy door shut. "Careful now, Herr Colonel," he mumbled. "It's rather slippery here."

By the light of his torch they descended the twenty-four steps down into this present-day hell. It was eerily quiet – only from the right somewhere came the muffled sound of voices.

It was exactly the direction in which the guard took him. Karl dreaded every step. Any moment he expected to step on some forgotten bodypart, left lying around to rot – not that he saw any in the light of the torch. But it was just the entire atmosphere that brought back some of the spooky horror stories he secretly used to read as a young teenager. The ones you read merely to challenge yourself to deal with some horrible nightmares the night following...

The guard stopped in front of one of the doors and knocked loudly. A little shutter was shoved aside and an annoyed, blond face appeared. "What now?"

"Um..."

Karl heard gasping sobs in the background, and a knot formed in his stomach. Was that one of his people?

"Na?" the major demanded.

"Um, well, the Colonel who was sent here by General Atzorn didn't want to wait, sir. He wants to talk to you. Now – he says."

The major's eyes flitted to his face, and Karl kept his gaze steady. "Yes, I am Colonel von Le Fort. And I suggest you grant me a few minutes of your precious time, Herr Major." The way he stressed the Herr-title did not bode well for the major, and angrily, the Gestapoman ordered the guard to open the door for him.

"Na? What is this?" he demanded as he stood opposite his unwanted visitor with his hands defiantly on his hips.

Once more, the Colonel straightened to his full height, which made him easily a head taller than the major. "You are Major Lüpertz, I presume?"

"Ja. Und?"

"Major Lüpertz, General Atzorn, who is my direct superior, has received word that you have captured practically the entire resistance unit of the man known as Oskar Danzig, and he commends you for that.

"However, the General happens to know that the lady Marya – the Russian medium – has connections with these people."

"That is no news to me. So?"

"Herr Major..." The Colonel leaned forward a little in an attempt at confidentiality in these horrid surroundings. "Just between the two of us, Herr Major, General Atzorn is madly in love with this lady Marya. In fact, he wants to marry her. But General von Weitershausen has filched her away from him, and he is desperate to get her back. He sent me to take Danzig's people to him, so that he may personally question them on the matter. He is certain they should be able to tell him how to contact her."

"Hm. Then why doesn't he come here himself to question them?"

"But Herr Major!" The Colonel looked shocked. "The matter is far too delicate for that. No, no, these people must be brought to his place. Now – today! And once he's done with them, he says he'd be happy to release them back to you."

The major gave him a suspicious glare. "It sounds awfully fishy to me. Where are your orders?"

The Colonel pulled them from his pocket, and Major Lüpertz studied them by the light of the guard's torch. "Hm. It looks authentic enough. At least the signature is real."

"Of course it is." Over the years, Marya had collected dozens and dozens of authentic signatures from the big shots. And it really didn't take all that much practice to copy them.

The major was still studying the orders. "Still, it is highly unusual," he persisted.

"Herr Major, it is unusual because it's such an awkward situation. It might easily lead to a scandal. And seeing that this would involve not just the two leading military men in the Third Reich, but even our esteemed and beloved Führer who originally promoted this Marya wherever he could..." A significant pause. "Personally, I don't think it would be a good idea for the General to marry this woman. But who am I to gainsay the biggest military mind beside the Führer? Or to waylay him in his search for the woman of his heart?"

The major looked half convinced. "Okay, I'll let him have one of them."

"All of them," Colonel von Le Fort insisted sternly. "My orders are very clear. I have to take all of Danzig's associates to see the General. There is no telling which of them can help him find this woman."

The major smirked. "Well, there's not all that many left. We shot most of them yesterday. To set an example for other maladjusted troublemakers in town."

"All the more reason to let me have all those that are left. And heaven forbid that you shot the ones who did know how to contact this woman."

The major flinched. "Alright, all of them. But I do want them back."

"Of course." When the cows come home. "Now will you please line them up for me?"

Major Lüpertz gestured to the guard, and together they opened four adjoining cells.

Karl kept his face carefully placid as four human figures were dragged out by the light of the torch – caked in blood and dirt and unmentionables.

"Well, here you are," Major Lüpertz said. His face got that suspicious look again. "Where are your men? Or do you intend to guard them all by yourself?"

The Colonel sighed. "Herr Major, if you don't believe me, why don't you call General Atzorn yourself? I'm sure he'd be delighted to confide in you all the secrets of his personal life."

The major blushed a little, and the Colonel continued, "And I assure you I am more than capable of handling a handful of shackled and broken prisoners by myself. I have my gun. Now the key, if you please."

"The key?"

"Of their handcuffs of course! How can I shackle them to the van if I can't open their handcuffs?"

"Oh. Yes." A small key changed hands, and the Colonel ordered, "Now quick – march! Get them upstairs and into the truck. I don't want the General to be kept waiting any longer than necessary."

That took some doing, but with the help from the two guards and the major, the four men got hauled into the back of the truck and were securely shackled to the side rail.

With a proud Heil Hitler greeting, Colonel von Le Fort took his leave, and with a happily rumbling motor the van moved away from the kerb to destinations unknown.

It wasn't until they had left the city behind them that Karl pulled over and stopped the truck in a quiet spot. In the dawning twilight he opened up the canvas flap that gave him access to the back of the truck, and crawled into the cold space on all fours.

There was a moan to his right. He had no flashlight to see who it was, so... "It's okay. It's me – Oskar. You're on your way to safety."

"Oskar?" An icy cold hand sought his, and he grabbed it. Firmly. "Didn't they get you, too?" It was Volker.

He shook his head. "No. They almost did, but I got away. Are you okay?"

"They told me they shot you," came a cracked voice from his left.

Karl turned to him. "Josel? Is that you?"

"Yes. I think so."

Karl heaved a sigh. "Well, I've been told by two different Gestapo sources that they shot everyone else. Everyone but you four."

A shallow sigh from ahead. "At least they've been spared this hell." It was Dieter. And next to him was Berthold – Berthold Fischer from the fish shop. He was mercifully asleep. Or unconscious.

Carefully, Karl stepped around them in search of valuable commodities. But all he found were a few blankets, which he tucked in around his friends with care.

"Water?" Josel whispered.

"I don't have any – I'm sorry. I'll get some at the first open shop we pass," he promised. He got up. "We better get going. I'll have to leave you shackled to keep up appearances in case we get stopped. But with a bit of luck, you should be well cared for and in relative safety before midday."

"Where are we going?" Volker inquired in a tired voice.

"Neustadt, near Kiel," was the answer. "And from there hopefully to Denmark."

It took some doing to convince Father Kilius that he really was the same guy as the one who had brought seven dying retarded children here three years ago. But Karl knew too many particulars to be doubted, and of course the good Father was willing to help the four badly abused men who so wholly unannounced had arrived at his doorstep.

And Karl was more than a little grateful that at least one old friend was still where he was supposed to be.

Together, they helped the four men into the shed, and Father Kilius washed their wounds and helped them drink some hot broth. All but Berthold, who indeed seemed to be unconscious.

Karl helped Father Kilius to the best of his abilities. And cleaned up and getting a little warmer, at least three of his friends looked a little better already.

Josel pulled him down on his knees by his side. "Oskar, what are you going to do? Will you come to Denmark with us? I'm sure we can find a way to keep fighting from there."

Karl shook his head. "It's tempting, I admit. But I've got some unfinished business in Berlin."

Josel's bruised eyes searched his face. "You know who's responsible for this, don't you. Who betrayed us." It wasn't even a question.

And Karl nodded. "But he won't get away with it – I promise."

A shallow sigh. "Then promise me something, too." He paused, holding his friend's eyes. "Don't do anything stupid, okay? I'd like to see you again some day."

Karl had a sad smile. "I'll try."

After a few hours' nap in Father Kilius's easy chair, Oskar said farewell to his friends and gave them a poste restante address for them to drop him a line how they were doing.

However, with no one left for him in Berlin, he wasn't quite sure what he was going to do with himself next. Danzig was certainly out of the question, Marya had been compromised, his entire resistance team had been eliminated or removed... What else was there in Berlin for him, other than his taking care of Harro, and the Gestapo who by the sound of it was still looking for him?

Well, he'd think of something. But first he ditched the stolen Luftwaffetruck not far from the port of Rostock, changed back to his own inconspicuous Langenscheidt persona with the help of some clothes he had borrowed from Father Kilius, and took the train back to Berlin.

Justice?

Returning to Berlin, he got a bit of a chuckle when he caught sight of the tabloids.

"OSKAR DANZIG IS A SHAM"

and

"Famous Female Impersonator Is A Woman:

OSKAR – OSKARIA!"

It jumped out at the passers-by with big fat letters on the front pages.

So that's what those two talkative Gestapo guys had been on about. Apparently, Lüpertz had been so pissed off over his failure to grab the 'real' Danzig, that out of spite he had sold the story of Danzig being a female to the press. Probably to get back at the female version of Danzig, but if Karl Langenscheidt had any insight in the mind of the public, this news was likely to only double Danzig's popularity.

But at least it freed him from the role. Well, good riddance. He never wanted to dress up as a woman again in his life!

To his silent surprise, nothing had really changed in the city. People just went on living, working and meeting over a beer as if nothing had ever happened. But then, maybe it hadn't – not for them.

But for him, things were violently different. It already started when he came home, turning the lock behind him and entering his living-room.

It seemed terribly empty. Empty – and lonely.

Which was rather odd, for as a precaution, he had never, ever had anyone over here for a visit. He knew where to find his friends, and for him, that had been enough.

But now there was nobody left.

Nobody – except that detestable Harro Eckner.

He sank down in his favourite chair and hid his face in his hands. Don't do anything stupid, Josel had said. Was it stupid what he wanted to do? Or rather, what he felt compelled to do?

He felt he could cry for his friends. Benno, Olaf, Lena, Tobias, Sanne, Kläre, Uwe – Schattner... Shot, like bloody animals.

He felt he could cry for the four he had managed to rescue from the Gestapo, and whom he would probably never see again.

He felt he could cry for Father Werner, taken away to Lord-knows-where, and he didn't have the faintest idea where to start searching for him.

But boys don't cry, he had always been taught.

And focusing on being furiously, excruciatingly mad at Harro, feeling that he could wring the guy's neck with his bare hands for what he had done... it made it easier somehow to hold back the tears.

He decided to give it a few days, so Harro would begin to feel safe. In the meantime, he sent a sweet little note in Marya's name to General Rommel, explaining that she had been called away to Paris on urgent family business, and apologizing for not being able to meet him anymore any time soon. For even though Marya had been compromised, the damage done was certainly not beyond recall. At least not for someone with her connections and skills. And anyhow, her familiarity with the big brass might still prove to be useful at a later date.

The few days pause also gave him the chance to study up on the subject he was about to put into practice. From early morning till late at night he sat poised over his thrillers and detectives, taking note of every little detail that might trip the bad guy. There were bound to be other pitfalls of course, but these mistakes at least he should be able to consciously avoid.

He decided to put his plan into action the following Saturday afternoon, when Harro was likely to be home after work.

So that afternoon, he dressed in the inconspicuous dark Gestapo outfit (but put the party-pin in his pocket for now) and sat down at his dressing table to fix his features. His hair a few shades lighter, with some distinctive grey at the temples. A sleek comb-over. Some wax to elongate his ears. His face a little paler, a little thinner, ending in a rather pointy chin. Thin, narrow lips, the nose a bit smaller, defaced by an ugly inflamed pustule. The eyebrows slightly longer and blonder, the eyes small and shrewd, with wrinkles that sure hadn't developed from laughing. A small scar on his stubbly neck (he hadn't shaved all week to create that effect). Sharp lines above the nose and from the nose's wings to the corners of the mouth, and as usual, it was a total stranger looking back at him from the mirror.

He nodded grimly to his reflection, and got up to get his coat. The papers in his pocket, money in the other, the gloves, the hat, today's accessory, and he was ready.

With a decisive click he pulled the front door shut behind him. The stairs, the street. He strode down to the Königsallee at a grim pace, and took the tram to Köpenick on the other side of Berlin. A garage was easily found, and shortly afterwards he sought his way back to Harro's place in a rented car, and with the party-pin proudly displayed on his tie.

And there was the house. And as the car pulled up to the kerb, the last remnants of Karl Langenscheidt disappeared and made way for Major Simon Schamoni.

He got out of the car, slammed the door shut and strode up to the door of number fifty-two.

A pretty woman opened at his knock, her eyes growing wide as they immediately noticed the tell-tale party-pin on the visitor's tie.

And under his rigid Heil Hitler greeting, Karl suddenly wavered. He had never considered the possibility that Harro might be married – perhaps even had kids?

But he forced himself to steel his heart. Harro had been the cause of nearly forty families losing their loved ones. The guy didn't deserve any compassion.

"Guten Tag, gnädige Frau," he snarled, clicking his heels and bowing stiffly, as if being courteous and polite didn't come easy to him. "I am looking for Herr Eckner. Is he home?"

"Yes," came Harro's wary voice from further down the hall. And there he was. "What is it you want?"

"Herr Eckner." Another Heil Hitler greeting – deftly returned – and more clicking of the heels. "My name is Simon Schamoni. Major with the Brandenburg Gestapo, section two. I was referred to you by Major Lüpertz – you know him well, I believe."

"Yes." Still wary.

"We have apprehended a man in Joachimsthal this morning whom we have reason to believe to be the notorious resistance leader Oskar Danzig. I have been told that you may be able to positively identify him. This is true?"

Eckner hesitated. "I might, yes, but I can't guarantee that I'll be able to. I've met him quite often, yes, but the man is a master of disguises."

"But certainly you can give it a try. So I'm here to escort you to our Joachimsthal jail. To have you try and identify this man as Danzig."

Harro glanced at his wife. "Alright. I'll come with you." He took his jacket down from the coat-rack and his wife helped him into it.

"Be careful, honey," she whispered as he buttoned up his coat.

"Sure." He kissed her on the forehead, and followed the Major out to his car.

They drove off in silence, and it wasn't until they had exchanged the city of Berlin for the woods of northern Brandenburg that Schamoni opened the conversation. "I understand that you were responsible for rolling up Danzig's entire gang."

Harro smiled a little. "That's true. Well, sort of. I only passed on their names to Major Lüpertz. He did the rest."

"May I ask how you collected that information? Surely you must have gone undercover and joined them to find out so many names. I heard there were some forty people involved."

"Yes, I did join them. At Major Lüpertz's request. I suspected one of my friends to be involved, and with some carefully placed remarks, I got him to sound me out on whether I would like to join the resistance movement. And of course I said yes."

So that's how it happened – Lüpertz had suspected something, and sent in Harro to try and infiltrate. And Harro had lured someone into introducing him. The snake, the...

"It was kind of fun actually," Harro continued. "Danzig is a bit stuck-up of course, and he had a couple of people around him who said 'amen' to anything he said..." (Is that how it had come across? It certainly wasn't true...) "...But once he accepted me and saw that I had some skills he could use, he let me participate in their operations now and then. And believe me – even though I didn't support their cause, blowing up things really is cool!"

Schamoni had a thin smile. "I can imagine."

They were both silent for a moment until Schamoni asked, " And this Danzig character – you never found out who he was?"

Harro shook his head. "I tried to follow him a few times after his work in the theatre. But that was hopeless – there was no knowing what he'd look like from one day to the next."

Schamoni nodded. "That's what it says in his dossier, too. The man must be leading a double life, and maybe even more than one. For according to our records, there is no person named Oskar Danzig."

Harro agreed. "I don't think any of his followers knew his true identity either – not even his closest confidants. All they knew of him was that he was the famous female impersonator. But nobody seems to know who's behind that role either."

Schamoni raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Didn't I read just last week that the infamous female impersonator Oskar Danzig is really a woman?"

Harro sighed. "A trick from the real Danzig no doubt."

"Oh? How so?"

"Well, Major Lüpertz told me that the theatre's director insists that he had been called by some doctor from the Stadthospital that morning, who told him that Danzig was in hospital with pneumonia. But no calls had been made from the hospital to the theatre all day – not even in the past three months. And the operator's logs traced the call back to a small hotel in Charlottenburg – to a man named Kurt Hagedorn with a fake address, who had stayed there for only that night."

"And they think this Hagedorn might have been the real Danzig," Schamoni summarized.

"Yes. Besides, he matches the description of one of the people who left the theatre by the stage door that night. And according to the theatre's director, this girl who played Danzig's part was only filling in for him because they didn't want to cancel the show. So the real Danzig is still at large."

A thin smile. "Maybe not. And that's where you come in today."

Harro smiled. "It'd be my pleasure."

They drove on again in silence, until Major Schamoni turned into a metalled road leading deeper into the woods.

"Where are we going?" Harro inquired as small stones were jostled about, hitting the fenders with irregular clangs.

"We have our special facilities in some nearly forgotten barracks here in the woods," Schamoni explained. "Nice and secluded, so the passers-by aren't bothered by a scream or two."

Harro paled visibly. "You mean a torture chamber?"

"We prefer to think of it as intensive questioning," the major replied smoothly. "But not to worry – we won't put you on the rack."

"What r...?" Harro closed his mouth – apparently unwilling to learn what kind of rack the major meant. Instead he asked, "You haven't tortured him yet, have you? I mean intensive questioning," he amended quickly.

"A little," Schamoni admitted. "So far, he's frightfully stubborn. But that only adds to the challenge, doesn't it?"

Harro made no reply, and looked at the dilapidated concrete blocks up ahead among the trees. The gloomy light of a late winter afternoon did nothing to improve the impression of death and decay.

Suddenly the car came to a halt. "Come," Major Schamoni told him.

They got out, and sought their way through a veritable sea of nettles and scratchy brambles.

"Coming from Joachimstal, the place is easier to reach from the other side," Schamoni excused their difficult approach. And indeed, when they rounded the building, they stepped out into a large overgrown clearing.

Harro looked around at the knee-high grass and the muddy, unused dirt road leading off through the trees. "Not many people coming here, are there."

"Well, Danzig does."

Harro turned back to him. "So where..."

A fierce, totally unexpected punch on the jaw sent him reeling, until he tripped and tumbled down on his backside. "What...?" he began to ask in askance. But looking up, straight into the muzzle of an unwavering revolver, he knew the answer.

"You're Danzig."

"Yes."

With that, the situation seemed to have reached a stalemate. For several awfully long minutes, neither man moved or spoke a word.

It was Harro who at last broke the silence. "So what are you going to do – shall we remain frozen in this tableau till kingdom comes?"

Karl made no reply. He kept his eyes firmly fixed on his fiend, with his finger tight on the trigger... but what now? He had visualized this, even acted it out this past week – a dozen, a hundred times. But to really do it in practice... To shoot a man...?

Harro seemed to sense his hesitation, for slowly, he began to get up. And saw his suspicions confirmed as Danzig stepped back.

He smiled – a little superior smile. "You're no killer, are you."

"Hands up," was all he got in reply.

Obediently, Harro raised his hands to shoulders' level, and slowly, he began to move toward his nemesis. "You're no killer, Oskar," he spoke gently, inching closer and closer, forcing Karl back even further. "I know you aren't. So why don't you put away that gun, and we can work this out between the two of us."

Karl stepped back again. And again. He knew he was quickly losing the upper hand in the situation, even though he was the one holding the gun. But to actually look the guy in the eye and shoot him...!

"Put – down – the gun, Oskar," the smooth voice in front of him droned. "You won't shoot me. I know you won't."

His hand was trembling uncontrollably, and he placed his left hand over the right to steady the gun. "Don't move," he ordered shakily as Harro came yet another step closer.

The feet stopped moving forward, but now the hand approached him – a giant, spidery hand, totally out of proportion, trying to...

"Give me the gun, Oskar."

A shot echoed off the concrete walls behind him, and as in slow motion, Karl saw the man in front of him topple over backwards. His eyes were mesmerized by the little hole in the jacket – a hole that was surrounded by a quickly growing stain of bloodred.

Some rustling, a thump, and there he lay – motionless at his feet.

Slowly, as in a trance, Karl lowered the revolver. His eyes were still locked on that little hole with the red stain around it. It was about the position of the heart, he distantly noted.

But the guy was still breathing, wasn't he? He clearly heard the gasps of... No, that was his own breathing – irregular and wheezing. The guy lying there at his feet in the long grass didn't move at all. He must be...

He looked down at his hands. They were holding a gun.

A gun.

He was holding a gun.

And there, at his feet...!

In a sudden panic, he shook the gun out of his hand as if it were a snake. He hadn't... he had't...! Had he?

Without thinking, he tore off across the clearing and into the woods – further, further from... Crashing through the undergrowth, jumping ditches, clawing his way up on shallow hills, leaping over logs and branches in his way, he just ran blindly on, with only one goal: to get away – as far away as possible. Not from that place, no – from what he had done...

The woods of northern Brandenburg are extensive, and it wasn't until he had violent spasms in his side and he was gasping for air that he allowed himself to drop down on all fours and crawl in under a dense rhododendron bush. And there he curled up, shutting out the world, hoping to become invisible.

"You're no killer," Harro's voice taunted him.

Well, now he was. He had killed a man. Shot a man in cold blood. Knowingly and deliberately murdered a man.

"What am I turning into – a professional crook?" he had asked Schattner at the time.

Well, now there could be no doubt anymore. Karl Johann Langenscheidt was more than just a petty crook – he was a real criminal. A killer. A murderer. And the fact that it had been done for justice – as a payback for Harro being ultimately responsible for the death of nearly forty of his friends... Somehow, that suddenly was of no importance at all anymore. All that counted was that he – Karl Langenscheidt – had deliberately killed a man. 'Killed' – as in 'ending a man's life'.

Suddenly the tears couldn't be stopped anymore. Don't do anything stupid, Josel had said. Well, he had done it.

And as the floodgates opened to give an outlet for his shame and remorse, the grief about Schattner and Father Werner and Olaf and Tobias and all those others finally sought its way out as well. And by the time he became aware of his surroundings again, it was dark.

Hamelburg

---

"Karl," she whispered, lest the other Karl would overhear. "Karl, lie still! Stop the fidgeting – you're only making it worse!" She struggled to hold down his shoulders, to at least keep the body with the ugly shotwound steady, but it only made the patient more frantic.

"One of those febrile nightmares, no doubt," Karl's gruff voice said from behind her.

"So help me to keep him still! You heard what the doctor said!"

Karl squatted down beside her, but did nothing to help her restrain their wounded leader. "Maryse, I bet he's been through enough these past years to merit some horrible nightmares. Maybe you should just... you know, hold him. Gently. Like a parent comforting a child with a nightmare."

Maryse glanced at him. Maybe he was right. After all, he had raised three children of his own – two of which had been killed at the front. He'd certainly have had his share of experience with nightmares.

She released her grip on Karl's shoulders, and hesitantly pulled him half upright in her arms.

The effect was instantaneous. He clung to her as if he were drowning, his too slender body jerking with gasping sobs.

"Ssh," she murmured over his shoulder. "It's okay. You're safe. Just hold on and you'll be fine."

A moan welled up from deep inside him. "I'm sorry, Harro," Maryse made out. "I'm sorry..."

She closed her eyes and held him tight, the poor burning head resting against her cheek.

Harro... She knew that story alright...

---

Stiffly, he rolled over and sat up. Where was he? And what time was it?

The latter question was easily answered by peering at his watch by the dark light of the night. Around half past seven, the hands told him. Not exactly night yet.

The other question was less easy to answer. 'Somewhere in the Kienhorst Woods between north Berlin and Joachimsthal' was as close a guess as he could get. He knew where the place was when coming from the city. But he had no idea in what direction he had run off from there this afternoon. Or even whether he had run in a somewhat straight line.

But no matter in what direction he had run, going southwest should eventually bring him back to Berlin. But in these dense woods, it was impossible to make out the stars, even in winter time, thus crushing that option as well. Besides, the sky had been covered all day, so it was doubtful whether there would be any stars at all tonight.

No. The best thing to do was probably to simply stay put, and seek his way back at dawn, when at least he would have some idea where he was going.

The night was long and chilly. Occasionally he crept out of his hide-out and walked around a bit – to stretch his limbs and get a little warmer.

But he always crawled back under the rhododendron bush, for the semblance of shelter and seclusion it gave him. And there he sat, with his knees pulled up to his chin, trying with all his might to block the image of the little hole with the growing red stain around it from his mind.

Yet the harder he tried, the more persistently it haunted him – enlarged, up close, zoomed in.

In a way, Harro had been smarter. He had just passed on names, and had let Major Lüpertz take care of the dirty work. He hadn't stood eye to eye with the people he had killed, having to pull the trigger himself and watching blood spread from a sudden little hole in their clothes as they fell.

He screwed his eyes shut. That fit of crying certainly had left him much calmer. More rational. But he wasn't sure whether he'd ever be able to live with himself again...

When dawn came, he crawled out of his hiding place, and set off cross country in what was an approximately southwestern direction, until he found sandy track heading the same way.

That is – until he passed a farmer who openly stared at him, and then quickly walked on.

What – ? Was it written on his forehead that he had killed a man?

No – good heavens! Of course, his make-up! Crying wasn't the wisest thing to do in make-up in the first place, and brushing at your tears was about the biggest no-no there was. He probably looked enough of a fright to scare a scarecrow.

There were indeed a few whitish smears on his gloves and his sleeves. Which meant he really had to find a mirror before he could get back to civilization. Even the rearview mirror in the car would do.

The thought stopped dead in its tracks. The car – he had to go and pick up the car! That was one of the not so little mistakes that could give you away: leaving your belongings at the scene of the crime. Okay, the car wasn't technically his, but if the police were a little determined, they might trace the man renting it back to his apartment building. Not a good idea. So much for his studying up on the small mistakes...

And he suddenly remembered another not so little mistake: he had dropped the gun before he had run off. He was absolutely certain there were no fingerprints on it – he had thoroughly cleaned it beforehand, and never taken off his gloves yesterday – but still...

Which meant he was now obliged to do the one thing that often became the downfall of the villains in the books: he had to return to the scene of the crime.

He didn't want to. He really didn't want to. He'd much rather avoid the place by a hundred square miles.

But apparently it could not be helped. He had to go back there to pick up the car and the gun. That is of course, if the police hadn't been there before him. And if he could find the place at all...

He wandered on in an approximate southwestern direction, avoiding human contact (not that many people would venture into these woods on a chilly Sunday morning in January), and debating with himself whether or not he should simply turn himself in to the police.

When he passed a small lake that lay there as smooth as a mirror, he took out the few sticks of make-up he carried and squatted down at the margin to fix his features. The result sure wasn't perfect, but at least he wouldn't scare the living daylights out of people anymore.

Now that he was presentable again, he sought his way back to the nearest path or road. Only to discover that he knew this road – he had come out maybe half a kilometer past the turn-off to the place.

So he crossed the road and made his way back to the deserted barracks through the woods.

All was quiet there. Dreadfully quiet. No sound but that of the rustling leaves and cracking dead twigs under his own boots.

Had they found Harro yet? Were they lying in wait for the killer to come and pick up his car and his gun?

The car was still there – he could clearly make it out on the path.

But to retrieve the gun, he'd have to go around to the other side of the barracks. Past Harro's body – his dead body, with the tell-tale little hole in it.

But first he crouched down behind some bare bushes. First he wanted to know if the place was being watched. With policemen patrolling and taking pictures and samples and everything.

He waited half an hour. An hour. An hour and a half. Two. But nothing moved around him, save for the branches in the breeze and an occasional bird or small animal in the dead leaves on the ground.

And finally, finally he mustered up the courage to go and take a look.

Carefully he stuck to the trail of crushed and broken nettles they had made the day before. Sherlock Holmes may still be able to deduce that someone had taken that path again much later, but fortunately Mr. Holmes didn't work for the Berlin police.

As he came to the side of the building, he slowed down more and more. What if Harro hadn't really been dead, and was now waiting for him in an ambush to jump him on the neck?

He shuddered, and brought back the image of the little hole and the motionless man at his feet. No doubt about it – he had been dead.

The knowledge still didn't stop the shudders as he reluctantly inched his way to the corner of the building. A deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment, and... Good Lord, what...?

His stomach turned, trying to throw up its contents. But after twenty-four hours without food, there wasn't much left in there to throw up.

He spat out the bitter juices in his mouth, and cautiously, warily looked again.

It was true. It wasn't his imagination. There, in the flattened long grass, lay a bloody carcass – eaten bare to the bone.

The wolves, he realized. Or other beasts of prey that lived here in these woods. Oh God, this wasn't what he had intended...!

Then again – what had he intended to do with the body?

He realized now that – for the first time in years – he hadn't quite thought his plan through. He had been so intent on shooting Harro that all his plans had stopped cold at the moment that would have been accomplished.

But even now – even if it hadn't been ravaged by the wolves – even now he shied away from the thought of handling, even touching a dead body to bury it properly. Not to mention having to do so in yesterday's panic.

But all in all, he still had to go past the hideous bloody carcass to fetch the gun. So he took a deep breath, estimated the distance, screwed his eyes shut and edged his way along the rough walls of the barracks. Peering through his eyelashes – yes, he made it.

Now he had to look for the gun, and preferably without looking at the carcass.

Luck was with him – it lay but a few feet to his right. And picking it up, he also noticed the glimmer of the spent cartridge a little further off. With those things out of the way, and with the body in such a state, his pragmatic self argued that it would be practically impossible for the police to even suspect that the man had been shot before the wolves got to him. Let alone prove it.

Another deep breath, eyes screwed shut, and he edged back along the wall until he had rounded the corner of the building.

"I'm sorry, Harro," he breathed.

And he really, really was.

In the end, he didn't turn himself in. He kept telling himself that he would as soon as there would be a mention of a man found in the woods of Kienhorst, ravaged by wolves.

But it remained strangely quiet. Almost as if it had never happened. Almost as if no one cared.

But he knew all too well that there was someone who cared. Someone who had probably lived in fearful anxiety ever since her husband hadn't come home from his trip with this Major Schamoni to go and identify Oskar Danzig.

At last he simply couldn't stand it anymore. He didn't have the guts to go and tell her in person, but at least he could end her limbo by letting her know that her husband was dead.

Aware of the many pitfalls when making a message out of newspaper letters, he made sure he never touched any of the papers without gloves, and he burnt all the leftovers in the stove as soon as he was done.

And sometime during that night, a woman sneaked up to Harro's house, and left a short, clipped out message in its mailbox. 'Your husband is dead. My condolances,' it read.

A few days later he could finally collect the letter he'd been waiting for himself. Carefully worded as one had to do nowadays, Josel brought both good and bad tidings.

'Dear Friend,

Finally a word from us. And I have to start with bad news: B didn't make it. He finally passed away yesterday, without ever waking up. He will have found peace now, and happiness in the reunion with his wife and his children.

We others have recovered pretty well. V has returned to Germany, to go and live with relatives in S. D and I have decided to stay here for now, helping new arrivals to settle in, and to help our new friends to find fosterhomes for them. The language is quite a barrier, but we're learning.

I hope everything is alright with you? Let me know how you handled that problem we last spoke about if you can. If you should get yourself into trouble now, we won't even be able to return the huge favour you did us the last time, so please, be careful!

We do miss our homes and our old friends, though somehow none of what happened seems to be quite real. Maybe we are too far from our old lives to truly realize what has happened. Or maybe we just don't want to think about it. But we'll be fine, I'm sure.

Please let us know how you are faring. You can contact us by poste restante in Rödby.

Take care, my friend, and thank you for everything. May God bless any path you take.

Your friends.'

Slowly, Karl lowered the letter and stared out of the window. Of course Josel wanted to know what he had done about the 'problem'. His words at the time – 'Don't do anything stupid' – clearly indicated that he had suspected what his friend was planning, and didn't particularly approve of it.

Yet he had done it.

Or had he?

Sometimes he seriously wondered if indeed he had done it. Shot and killed Harro Eckner, and finding his body ravaged by wolves the next day. If it hadn't been just a nightmare. A dream. Not real.

Granted, the place wasn't exactly as busy as central Berlin. It could be a while before someone took that path to those disused and dilapidated barracks again, especially at this time of year.

But surely his wife must have reported his going missing? After all, it wasn't like he'd been swiped off 'in Nacht und Nebel' for Nazi purposes, which they always hushed up.

So why hadn't some large scale search been launched? Like they usually did when people went missing? And Major Schamoni had mentioned Joachimsthal in her presence, so they did have something to go on.

Occasionally he even toyed with the unbearable thought that he'd been wrong. That Harro's cooperation with the Gestapo had been a ruse, a smokescreen, and that they had uncovered his deceit and were actually content to be rid of him. It would explain why there was no public search for him, but it didn't make any sense at all for Harro's own role in this. For if he was a double agent, who really worked against the Gestapo, then what good would it do for him to turn in an entire resistance group?

All in all, Karl Langenscheidt became a bit of a recluse after all this. He still went out for groceries of course, but the rest of his time he spent pacing his apartment, morbidly reliving the horror of his undetected crime. If only there'd be a few lines in the paper – just to give him some semblance of closure...!

Until one afternoon, when he felt he was slowly going crazy with nothing to do, and decided to throw out all his female clothing. After all, if he were never to dress up as a woman again, what did he need those for?

It felt incredibly good to tear those hated female clothes off their hangers and stuff them in boxes. Karl Langenscheidt was a male, and he wanted to know it, too!

But when he came to Marya's many evening dresses, he hesitated. Some of the ones he had gotten from Marya's big shot admirers were really beautiful. Couldn't he... Shouldn't he... like... save them for his future wife?

As he pondered how to explain these dresses to a possible wife, he was suddenly flooded by an overwhelming longing to settle down somewhere. Somewhere quiet – a small house in the country, with a loving wife and a few children and a dog and a coopful of chickens... Just living together, in peace and quiet. As if today's horrid problems never existed.

He heaved a sigh and sank down on the footend of his bed. Perhaps what he needed was a break. Just to get away from it all for a while.

And what better place to go than the carefree vacation home of his childhood?

A note to his uncle was quickly dispatched, and the reply arrived by return post: of course he was welcome to come and stay with him for as long as he wished! Just let him know with which train he'd arrive, and he'd be there to meet him.

A nearly forgotten warmth spread in him. It had been way too long – three years in fact – since he had last seen his godfather. Or any of his family for that matter.

Maybe it was time for the prodigal son to return home. To leave the big bad city behind – a place where he had no friends left. Perhaps he could find that small house in the country, and find a wife, and settle down there and have a few children and so forth. He still had the gold in his old Swiss account – that should be more than enough to buy himself that little cottage of his dreams.

Thinking equalled doing in this case. So he gave his notice to the landlord, packed up his belongings (and in the end decided to keep much of the female stuff for that future wife anyway), sent it off to be stored in Düsseldorf for now, and met his uncle at Hamelburg station on a Friday afternoon in mid February.

As they looked the other over before they had their traditional bearhug, both uncle and nephew noticed that the other had gotten visibly older these past years. Maybe the uncle noted it most acutely. But he didn't say anything – not yet. If his godson wanted to talk about it, he would – in time.

Karl settled into his old room, and came down to the kitchen to a hearty supper.

"We've got to rush a bit," Uncle Frank said. "I've got a wedding to perform in forty-five minutes. Come to think of it – you're a legal adult now, aren't you? Would you mind being a witness? I believe we're still one short."

Karl chuckled. "Do I know them at all?"

"Not likely. They just moved here. Actually, they pretty much eloped. For he is Jewish, and the girl's parents are dead set against them marrying."

Karl heaved a sigh. "Can't blame them under the circumstances. A friend of mine in Berlin was married to a Jewish girl, too. They were all taken out and shot." He visibly repressed a shudder, and immediately felt his uncle's kind, searching eyes on him.

"You can talk to me, Karl. You know that, don't you?"

He nodded without looking up. "Maybe later."

His attending the wedding that night turned out to be important in that it got him straight back into his old business of helping Jews to get out of the country. For only a few weeks after the wedding, he was only just in time to help the groom get away from the Gestapo. But when the guy pretty much seemed to have disappeared off the face of the earth, and his young wife was being continuously harassed by the Gestapo as to where her husband was hiding, he ended up helping her deal with the menace and they became close friends. So close in fact, that when Magda shortly afterwards discovered that her husband had gotten her with child before he had had to flee, the town was convinced that Karl was the father, even though he had never touched the woman.

In the meantime he had found his little dream cottage in the woods south of Hamelburg. Besides, it felt good to stay close to his uncle, so he had bought it and moved in there. It was nice and secluded, too – an ideal base for destructive raids on registrar's offices where all the information on people's descent was kept.

But as it goes, one thing led to another. Soon he had gathered a few people around him with whom he once again did everything they could manage to thwart the Nazis and help innocent people to get to safety. At least Hamelburg had the distinct advantage of being close to the border, making it so much easier for people to get out before they were grabbed by the Gestapo.

Mostly out of habit, he only ever met these new friends in disguise, and under the name of Oskar Danzig. But he was adamant this time that he wanted to keep the group small – to give him the chance to really get to know everyone.

One of these people however was his playmate from childhood, Udo Steinmetz. Having spent all his school holidays in Hamelburg before he was old enough to work in the factory, he had made a few friends here, too, at the time. Of course he hadn't seen Udo for many, many years. But as Oskar Danzig, he always had to be a little extra alert around him, in order not to let slip anything that would give away his true identity to his childhood companion.

Meanwhile he became aware that it would be a good idea to have some funds flowing in again, too. Trying to get a job as an 'ordinary' actor met with as little success as ever. Throwing out a cautious feeler about Oskar Danzig however led to the usual fervent enthusiasm, and immediately the theatres were fighting again to engage him.

It was a bit risky of course, with the Berlin Gestapo being onto the famous impersonator equalling a notorious resistance leader. But he was fortunate enough to have a reliable source of information in the local Gestapo headquarters, where Monika (the eldest of Hasso the miller, one of his new resistance team) worked as a secretary. Having access to all files, she could assure him there was no national wanted notice out for Oskar Danzig. Apparently they limited their search to the Berlin area, or – although less likely – they had given up altogether.

So as long as he stayed away from Berlin, and Monika kept an eye on things at Gestapo headquarters, he should still be able to make the necessary money out of his fame.

And with a sigh he resumed the job he thought he had sworn off for good. Oh well, at least it was easy money. An extremely well paid job that would allow him not only to cover his own expenses, but also to help Magda provide for her coming baby, as well as for Jews and others to get out of the country.

And in hindsight, it was a good thing that he did go back to his old job. For if he hadn't, he might never have met the love of his life...

Maryse

---

"Maryse?"

Still cradling her loved one in her arms, she looked up into Karl's concerned eyes.

"I really can't stay any longer. Will you be alright on your own? Or shall I ask one of the others to come out here?"

She shook her head, and carefully lowered their burning hot leader down onto the sofa again. "I'll be fine. I can wait for Papa Bear here." Her eyes darted back to the highly feverish man on the old sofa. He had calmed down from that nightmare, yes, but... "I just hope he will be fine, too..."

An encouraging hand on her shoulder. "I'm sure he will be. Our Oskar is as strong as a bull."

A weak smile was all he got in return, and with another encouraging nod he left the dilapidated house to go to work.

And Maryse went back to changing the cold cloths on the patient's forehead, chest and neck. They seemed to have little effect, for her Karl was really burning up. But since there was nothing else she could do for him, she just kept exchanging the cloths. Just to do something to help him – anything. For even reducing the fever by half a degree might just make the difference between...

Suddenly she lost all self-control and burst out in violent tears. In despair, she fell down on her knees beside the low sofa and cradled the sweaty, feverish head in her arms again. "Karl... Oh, Karl, please...! Please don't die on me!"

Her hot tears mingled with the perspiration trickling down his redhot face. They soaked the cool cloth on his forehead as well. But she had to – somehow she had to get it through to his unresponsive mind that she couldn't face that ordeal again. First Oskar – and now...?

Her mind screamed...

---

She remembered that day as if it were yesterday – the first time they met. She had been working as a cloakroom attendant at the theatre in Duisburg since the summer, and had been severely disappointed (to put it mildly) to learn that the theatre had engaged something as cheap as that notorious female impersonator Oskar Danzig for the holiday season. No doubt the shows would be sold out without exception – but what kind of morals did it show her employers to have?

She had discussed the matter at some length with her seasonal colleague Helga Lindner – there was little else for them to do during the hours of the show, when their sole responsibility lay in the guarding of inanimate coats and hats.

"What decent guy would ever even consider such a career?" she had poned.

Young Helga's reply had been unusually thoughtful. "Maybe it was out of despair. You know, with the depression and no job and all that. If he knew he was good at this sort of thing... For I bet he's making a lot of money."

"I'm sure he is. Those famous guys always do." She had sighed. "But really, I wouldn't want to see his show if I got money into the bargain. A guy dressing up as a woman – yuck!"

Helga had grimaced. "Well, I do suppose he is a bit... you know – odd. I can't see a real man doing this kind of thing, no matter how desperate his situation."

To that, she had whole-heartedly agreed.

As cloakroom attendants however, they had absolutely nothing to do with the performers, so it was a bit of a surprise one day when during the break between the matinee and the early prime time show a strange creature exited the auditorium, and looked around as if searching for someone.

Helga peered at the figure. In every way that mattered it looked like a woman – only she didn't move as a woman.

The woman who wasn't quite a woman now came in their direction, and when she came closer, Helga recognized the face from the posters – it was Oskar Danzig himself!

She cast a quick glance behind her, but Maryse was busy checking the cloakroom tickets in the back of the room.

And there was Danzig. In full fig, with make-up and clothes and wig and all – only the high heels were replaced by comfortable slippers. Yet he really did not look like a woman.

"Fräulein, do you happen to know where I may find Herr Direktor Künneke?"

She smiled despite everything. "I haven't seen him tonight, but he might be in his office," she replied.

"Upstairs, right?"

"Yes. Second door to the left."

"Thank you." He turned and crossed the hall with long, very unfeminine strides.

"Was that the Danzig guy?" she heard Maryse ask behind her while the man in question took the stairs two steps at a time.

"Sure was." Helga chuckled. "And he doesn't look like a woman at all. If you ask me, that show is one big hoax."

They shared a grin, and went on with their work. Only to look up when swift footsteps on the stairs echoed through the hall again. Echoes that stopped so abruptly that the lady-guy causing them nearly came tumbling down the last few steps – he caught himself just in time.

Maryse watched him skeptically as he slowly made his way back to the auditorium. With him being so engrossed in looking their way that he walked right into the wall, eliciting a hearty chuckle from the two ladies.

"And that is supposed to be the superstar," Maryse commented wryly once he had disappeared.

Work went on as usual after that, and it took several days for the younger, more romantic minded Helga to discover a new pattern in their customers.

Most of the regular workers of the theatre left their coats and hats in their care as well. And since a few days, a person had been added to the little group that arrived well before the first show, and didn't pick up their coats until after all the public had left the building.

"I think it's him," she whispered under her breath as Maryse had given out one of the last coats to a dark, thirtyish young man with striking blue eyes.

"Who?"

"The guy who just came to collect his coat. I think it's Oskar Danzig himself!"

"So?" Maryse glanced in the direction her latest customer had walked off to. He was just pulling open the heavy door to the auditorium again. But looking in their direction, he raised his hand in a hesitant greeting, and Maryse gave him a cool nod in reply.

Helga hadn't missed the exchange of course, and a radiant smile lit up her features. "If you ask me, he's absolutely smitten with you!"

Maryse raised her eyebrows. "A guy like that? Don't be silly."

"But how else would you explain that he nearly fell down the stairs when he first set eyes on you? And then walked into the wall? He certainly wasn't that clumsy a few minutes before that, when he came to ask for Herr Direktor Künneke. And ever since that day, he suddenly began to leave his coat and hat here, and it's getting rather obvious that he's making sure that I'm busy and you're not when he comes to collect his stuff, so that you are the one who will attend him!" she concluded in triumph.

"Don't be silly," Maryse repeated curtly. "And besides, even if he was interested in me, I assure you I'm not the least bit interested in him."

"It is a bit gross, yes," Helga admitted. "A female impersonator? But I think he's rather cute as himself. And you don't have a boy-friend, do you?"

The pained expression that crossed her colleague's face caught Helga by surprise. "I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."

Maryse took a deep breath and forced her lips into a conciliatory smile. "It's okay. You didn't know."

"Didn't know what?" Helga hesitantly pressed on. "Do you mean you do have a boy-friend?"

"I did have one," Maryse told her, her voice strangely quiet. "We were engaged to be married. But he got killed in an accident at work, less than two weeks before the wedding."

Helga gasped. "That must have been awful!"

Maryse shrugged a little. "It's been nearly five years now. You learn to live with it. I just... haven't been able to get interested in other men yet." She grimaced. "And definitely not in a man who goes around parading as a woman every night."

Nothing more was said on the subject, but Helga made sure she kept an eye on the situation. The pattern indeed kept up, day after day, but perhaps she had been wrong in calling it to Maryse's attention. For as soon as Danzig approached the cloakroom, Maryse's professional friendly smile froze on her face, and she always dealt with the guy as quickly as possible, in an icy politeness that would not allow one word to pass her lips that was not strictly necessary.

Danzig in turn never said much either, though he regularly gave the impression that he'd very much like to. Clearly the poor guy was intimidated by Maryse's iceberg attitude, and instead he contented himself with letting his eyes follow and admire her every move.

Until one evening when Helga was holding the fort alone, when instead of just collecting his coat and hat and leave, he came to lean on the cloakroom counter and asked – very casually, "Isn't your colleague here tonight?"

Helga smiled – men were so transparent. "No, it's her night off," she informed him.

"Ah." An awkward pause. "She um... she isn't spoken for, or...?" Nonchalance itself, albeit rather floundering. "I mean... a boy-friend or something. Or does she? Have one, I mean?"

It did seem a bit out of line to tell him about the dead fiancé, so... "Not that I know of."

"Ah. Good." He remained silent, but stayed where he was, letting his eyes roam over the near empty hall as if to search for inspiration.

"How was the show tonight?" Helga inquired at last.

"Fine," was the absent-minded reply.

She decided to put the cat among the pigeons. "For you are Oskar Danzig, aren't you?"

That certainly got a reaction out of him. "How did you know?"

She chuckled. "Rather obvious really. When a man dressed as a woman comes to ask for the director, and when he nearly falls down the stairs the moment he lays eyes on my colleague, followed by walking into the wall because he's looking at her instead of where he's going... When from that day on, an unknown guy who is not a regular worker here begins to leave his coat and hat in the cloakroom, making sure it's always my colleague's turn to attend him... And even though they barely exchange a word, he just can't keep his eyes off her... Yeah, I'd say it's fairly obvious that you must be the same guy as the one who walked into the wall and nearly fell down the stairs."

A sheepish grin crossed the guy's face. "You're right – if you put it like that, I suppose it is fairly obvious." A sigh. "It's just..." A shake of the head. "There's just something about her, you know – something really special. And apart from that, she's absolutely gorgeous..."

Helga smiled. This only confirmed that the guy was absolutely potty about Maryse. For although her colleague certainly wasn't ugly, she would never have imagined anyone using the word 'gorgeous' to describe her appearance. Oh well, one can't argue about taste...

But Danzig claimed her attention again. "Does she know, too? Who I am, I mean?"

"Of course she does."

Another sigh. "That might explain why she is acting to rebuffing towards me." He looked up. "Has she said anything to that effect perhaps?"

Helga nodded. "And I'm afraid it wasn't very flattering."

Danzig scowled and looked away.

"But you've been doing this work for years," Helga pointed out. "Surely she's not the first lady to be put off because you dress up as a woman every night."

"That's true, but usually it doesn't bother me. I have my own reasons for doing this." He raked his fingers through his dark hair with a sigh. "Things just get a little complicated when the woman of your dreams judges you by your not so respectable job as well."

Helga had a knowing smile. "How do you know she's the woman of your dreams? You barely know her."

"She doesn't know me either, and yet she's adamant that she doesn't like me." There was something accusatory in his tone.

Suddenly, Helga had an idea. "Then why don't you try and change her mind?"

He gave her a flabbergasted look. "How? She won't even talk to me, and whenever I try to say something, I get completely tongue-tied under that icy glare of hers."

"So write to her instead." Helga's face lit up at a sudden inspiration. "You could start courting her – the old-fashioned way! You know, leaving her little presents and notes and flowers and stuff. Maybe walking her home later on. That sort of thing. Girls usually love that."

Danzig perked up a bit. "That's an idea. Anything special you know that she likes?"

Helga thought for a moment, but truth was she hadn't known Maryse all that long and she couldn't really come up with anything.

"Alright, I'll think of something. Only..." He hesitated. "Do you think it would be okay if you told me her name?"

Helga saw no problem in that. "Her name is Gotthardt. Maryse Gotthardt."

"Maryse?" Danzig raised his eyebrows at the unfamiliar name. "M-A-R-I-..."

"M-A-R-Y-S-E," Helga corrected him. "And I'm Helga, just in case you'd like to know."

An embarrassed grin was her reply. "Sorry. I'm not exactly courteous to you tonight, am I?"

And Helga chuckled in return. "Don't worry, I understand. Now you just go courting that colleague of mine, because believe it or not, no matter how cold she's been treating you so far, she really is a very nice girl. So go for it!"

Truce

The following day, the courting started officially. Unnoticed by everyone, someone had left a tiny little boucquet of flowers on the cloakroom counter. They were tied together with a red ribbon and carried a small card. 'To Fräulein Gotthardt, the most beautiful girl in all of Germany.'

"Sweet," Helga commented, faking ignorance. "Looks like you've got an admirer."

Maryse sighed. "That Danzig guy no doubt. He's just changing tactics."

Well, one could hardly expect instant success, so Helga watched with interest how her colleague reacted to a small bag of candy the next day, followed by a keyring with an M, a sweet postcard with a ladybug, a fluffy little teddy-bear the size of her little finger, a piece of vanilla fudge in the shape of a heart, more flowers, this time with a little note describing in some detail why he thought her so lovely...

Maryse's reactions varied from being plain irritated to being involuntarily pleased, and Helga was eagerly looking forward to her own night off. Surely Herr Danzig wouldn't pass up the chance to talk to his sweetheart in private!

And in spite of the occasional irritation she expressed, the little attentions at least seemed to have mollified Maryse a little towards her admirer. Now if only she'd let go of that frostiness of hers whenever she set eyes on him...

Danzig seemed indeed to have been thinking along the same lines, for he was rather early to come and collect his coat and hat that night. And once that had been attended to, he attempted to further the conversation with the same line he had used on Helga the week before. "Isn't your colleague here tonight?"

He got literally the same answer, too. "No, it's her night off." Though without the smile Helga had granted him at the time.

"Ah." He looked down at his hands, fumbling with his hat. "Did you..." A breath for courage before rushing out, "Did you get your present today?"

"Yes, I did. Thank you. I love chocolate."

He looked up with the beginning of a smile at those hope ingiving words – only to freeze to the spot as he became aware of the stern expression on the face of his dreamgirl.

Maryse leaned over the counter a little, to keep their conversation as private as possible. "Look, Herr Danzig, we both know what you're getting at with those presents and stuff. And I'm flattered that you like me so much, but it's not going to work. I'm just not interested. So you better quit this courting nonsense before it gets embarrassing." There, that came out pretty well. She'd been rehearsing that little speech all night...

Meanwhile, Danzig's face displayed both hurt and indignation. "Not interested – my foot! You've never even given me a chance – you're merely judging by appearances! How can you insist you're not interested when you know absolutely nothing about me?"

"I know that you like to dress up as a woman."

An exasperated sigh. "I don't 'like' to dress up as a woman. It's merely my job."

"Some job," Maryse sneered. "What kind of guy would pursue a career like that?"

All shyness forgotten, he leaned in over the counter, making her instinctively back away a little. "The kind of guy who uses the talent God has given him to raise money to help innocent people who got into trouble through no fault of their own," he hissed at her in anger.

"Oh, right." Maryse raised a mocking eyebrow. "Is that a new eufemism for saying you've got a few illegitimate children to provide for?"

The moment the words had left her mouth, she knew she had gone too far. Danzig all but bounced back – he was absolutely livid.

But before she could open her mouth to apologize, he snapped with barely controlled fury, "You got yourself some company walking home tonight, Fräulein." With that, he turned on his heel and stalked away, leaving his coat and hat on the counter as a threatening promise that he'd be back.

Maryse hid her face in her hands for a moment. What on earth had possessed her to say such an awful thing?

She knew she had some talent for biting sarcasm – it had gotten her into enough trouble over the years. But this had been plain insulting. You don't go around accusing people at random, and especially not about such sensitive stuff as illegitimate children – how low was that? And totally unfounded as well!

She sighed. And now she could look forward to a good scolding – or worse: an angry wordfight – of a good twenty minutes duration. But perhaps if she apologized right away, perhaps it would take the worst of the wind out of his sails. He might even reconsider the walking home with her that way.

It turned out she had some time for remorse, for Herr Danzig didn't show his face again until the caretaker came around to lock up the place. He took his coat and hat without a word, waited till she got hers, and they left the building together in an icy silence.

Before the key had turned in the lock behind them, Maryse jumped at her task. "I'm sorry, Herr Danzig. I'm really sorry for what I said back there. It was totally uncalled for, and nothing you ever said or did to me would justify my saying such awful things. It just slipped from my mouth without thinking. I'm really sorry."

He eyed her quizzically. "Why do you hate me so much that you automatically assume the worst of me?" he asked, his previous anger totally gone.

Maryse looked away. 'Hate' wasn't quite the word for it, but... "You know why."

"Because I dress up as a woman for work."

"Yes."

He sighed. "Believe me, Fräulein, I'm well aware that it's not the most respectable trade in the world. But as I said, I have my reasons to stick with it, even though I don't exactly enjoy the work." He looked around. "By the way, which way do we go? I have no idea where you live, so you're going to have to lead the way."

Maryse nodded to the right, and they set off together in silence.

"So why do you do it?" she asked as they had walked on for several minutes without exchanging a single word.

He glanced at her. "Do you recall the Kristallnacht?"

She shuddered involuntarily. "More than I care to recall."

Her reaction was sufficient for Danzig to know that she was no staunch defender of the Nazi ideologies. "I've been living in Berlin these past years," he told her quietly. "And on a smaller scale, things like that had been going on there for years. Some of my best friends there were Jews..." He paused to gauge her reaction, but he got none. "...And no matter what the propaganda ministry says, they're perfectly normal, friendly people."

"I know." Maryse sighed. "So were our next door neighbours. But that night... I don't know. They were taken away, I think. We haven't seen them since. And the place was completely trashed."

Danzig nodded in understanding. "That's what's been happening in Berlin, too. And I couldn't just stand by and watch. So I started helping Jews and others to get out of the country. But the only way to raise the money to do that is for me to stay on as the famous Oskar Danzig. Theatres are outbidding themselves to engage him, and in doing so, they provide me with the means to help innocent people to get to safety. And that's the only reason Oskar Danzig hasn't been buried in oblivion yet. No matter how much I'd prefer to do just that, because for myself, I'd much rather work as an ordinary actor."

She looked up at him. "Now I feel even more awful about what I said. Can you ever forgive me?"

He smiled a little. "Don't you worry – I've already forgiven you. There was no way you could be aware of the truth, so..." He sighed. "Your words just hit a bit too close to home at this particular moment. I'm helping a friend of mine in my hometown at the moment. She married a Jew, but the Gestapo came after him, so he had to go into hiding. We completely lost track of him – he might well be dead. But shortly after he left, my friend realized that she was with child. His child of course. But since I'd been around her place a lot to help her after he left, the town is convinced that it's my child she's carrying."

Maryse couldn't help a chuckle. "Uh-oh..."

"Uh-oh indeed." He sighed. "The baby is due any day now, and I suspect they'll need some financial support, too, for a while." Another sigh. "It simply means that I can't quit as Oskar Danzig just yet. Too many people are dependent on the money he brings in."

"I understand." She wondered how many people he was talking about, but it wouldn't do to ask.

They walked on again in silence, until Danzig suddenly pleaded, "I do hope you will keep all this to yourself though. May I... Can I rely on your discretion not to mention any of this to anyone? Not even to your parents, or your best friends?"

She nodded. "Not a word. I promise."

A grateful glance in her direction. "Thank you."

"There is one more thing I'm curious about though."

"Yes?"

"I understand why you kept Danzig going, and why he still can't quit performing. But how did he come about in the first place? How did you become famous as a female impersonator?"

Danzig chuckled with embarrassment. "Well, to go back to the very beginning: I was cajoled into it by my friend in order to raise the money for us to go to an important football match." He paused for the hilarity that statement always caused, and then continued to relate briefly how a talent scout had picked him up, how he'd been performing in a hotel in the city during the holidays, and how he had hoped to bury Oskar Danzig in oblivion once he was called into service, but was forced to revive him in order to pay for his mother's stay at the sanatorium. "And after she died, it simply expanded into helping others with the money I made."

She nodded. "I understand. But what did your parents say?"

Danzig shrugged. "I've never known my father – he was killed in the war before I was even born. And my mother... I made her believe I was working in a fancy hotel. I never told her the truth. And no, I'm pretty sure she would not have approved. The rest of the family – my sisters – don't know any better either. It's one of the reasons why I try to keep Oskar Danzig and my true identity completely separate. They'd be mortified if they'd ever find out."

She snickered. "I can imagine."

He looked at her. "So – do you still hate me? Or...?"

She looked up. "No. I don't hate you. In fact, I believe I even admire you for sacrificing your own wishes in order to help others."

He grinned. "That sounds a lot better."

"Still," she felt obliged to point out. "That doesn't mean I'm head over heels in love with you. But at least I wouldn't object to getting to know you better now."

"And that's all I ask for now." His eyes glittered in the light of a nearby lantern. "I can accept it if you don't like me once you've taken the trouble to get to know me. But just dismissing me out of hand because of my job – no." He chuckled. "I just couldn't accept that when I like you so much myself."

Maryse sighed. "It wasn't just that, you know."

"What then?" He stopped walking to search her face. She seemed rather pale, but maybe it was just the light.

Maryse kept her eyes carefully averted as she took a deep breath for courage – and another. And another. "It's your name. Oskar," she confessed at last.

"What about it?" he asked gently.

And finally, she looked up into his concerned eyes. "You've been very straight with me tonight, Herr Danzig, so I feel I owe it to you to be straight with you in return. I..." She faltered, but started again. "A few years ago, I was engaged to be married. But less than two weeks before the wedding, my fiancé was killed in an accident during the construction of the Autobahn between Düsseldorf and Köln. His name..." A difficult gulp. "His name was Oskar."

Silence.

"I understand," Danzig spoke at last. "Or I think I do. You resent me for using his name."

She shook her head. "Not just you – anyone. I know it's silly. It's quite a common name after all, but..."

"It's not silly. It's quite logical, I think." He paused for a moment. "Tell you what – I think it can be remedied quite easily in this case. After all, Oskar Danzig is only a stagename. So why don't you think of me as Karl instead?"

"Karl?" She sounded puzzled.

"Yes, Karl. It's my real name. And you're only the third person on this planet to learn that Oskar Danzig's real name is Karl."

She stared at him in surprise. "Then who are the other two? You said your mother didn't know, and..."

He smiled. "One is my best friend from childhood – the one who got me into this mess. The other is my bank manager. Both have been sworn to secrecy, so I'm going to ask you, too, to promise never to use that name in public, okay? There you'd better stick with Herr Danzig if you want to avoid calling me Oskar. But under the circumstances, I wouldn't mind being Karl for you in private."

She blinked away a tear, moved as she was at the lengths he would go to to spare her pain. "Thank you... Karl."

A warm smile. "You're welcome."

"And you may as well call me Maryse."

He nodded. "Thank you... Maryse." He took her hand for a moment and squeezed it gently as in reassurance. "And now that we understand each other, how much further to where you live? I must say I don't like the thought of you having to walk this far through the city every night after midnight. And on your own?"

She found a chuckle. "Actually, we made a bit of a detour tonight. It's really only twenty minutes. And Helga – my colleague – lives in this direction, too, so we usually walk together."

And Danzig smirked. "May I conclude then that you actually rather enjoyed our talk?"

A smiled, "Perhaps" was his only answer.

But when she lay in bed later on – wide awake because there was simply too much for her to digest for sleep to come – she suddenly realized how vulnerable Danzig – Karl – had left himself to her. If she were to go to the Gestapo with what he had told her about helping Jews, he'd probably be picked up in a flash and never heard from again. In a way, he had placed his life in her hands.

Was that plain stupidity, or...? But he didn't exactly come across as stupid. Besides, he'd have to be pretty smart to keep his Danzig persona and his true identity so entirely separate for so many years.

And that's when it hit her – the realization that apparently to him, his incognito was worth more than his life. That is how much he disliked his work as a female impersonator. He had readily entrusted her with his 'criminal' attempts to help Jews, even though one word from her could cost him his life. But he had realized that – in order to get her to allow him to court her – it was necessary to tell her the true reason for his despicable line of work.

But if it hadn't been for her telling him about her distress over his using the name Oskar, she was sure he would never have revealed his real name to her – at least not yet. And then still only his first name. Which was a rather common one, so it didn't really give her anything to go on to figure out his true identity.

She lay down again in amazement. And – strangely enough – with a faint sense of gratitude. Gratitude for the knowledge that not only did this man entrust her with his life in order to win her heart – he had even begun to share his most precious secret with her.

Could it really be possible that he loved her that much?

Courtship

Despite careful fishing, Helga never really learned what had transpired between her colleague and the famous female impersonator on her night off. But whatever it was, the outcome certainly had been positive.

The courting now continued openly, and whenever Oskar Danzig showed his face around the cloakroom, Maryse was sure to greet him with her warmest smile. He now was usually one of the first of the theatre personnel to come and collect his coat and hat after the last show, and invariably he stayed chatting at their counter till their work was finished, too.

He then walked both the ladies home, first past Helga's place, and then – with a detour whenever the December weather permitted – to Maryse's place.

Apart from that – and without Helga's knowledge – they regularly had a late lunch together before reporting to work, and all in all, Karl and Maryse got to know one another pretty well.

To her own surprise, Maryse found that she actually revelled in the situation. At the age of twenty-seven, and after having lost Oskar, unconsciously she had already begun to resign herself to a life of spinsterhood. Her pain had simply been too raw to make her attractive to any other man – as if she had even wanted to replace her dearest Oskar.

Yet here was a guy who thought the world of her – who openly admired and attended her, and who had placed his very life right in her hands just to get her to allow him to court her.

And although she didn't exactly feel the passionate love for him that she had shared with Oskar, she found she very much enjoyed his company and his attentions. She felt comfortable and at ease around him, and the mere fact that she could still inspire such love and devotion and admiration in a man worked as balm on her wounds. In fact, she sometimes reflected that – given time – she might very well learn to love her present admirer as much as she had once loved Oskar.

And despite his disgusting line of work – of which at least she knew it served a worthy cause, and that his heart wasn't really in it – the prospect of perhaps one day pursuing a more intimate relationship with this guy whom she at least regarded as a really good friend, and who loved her to pieces in return, was certainly worth entertaining as an alternative to spending the rest of her life as a spinster.

It was her own decision however to keep this budding maybe-romance a secret from her family. At least for now. For it would certainly arouse suspicion if she could only tell them her lover's first name. And the news that their daughter was dating (more or less) a guy who worked as a female impersonator was likely to be received with even less enthusiasm.

Fortunately, she had been working long enough in this job for her mother to have given up waiting for her daughter to come home well past midnight nine nights out of ten, so nobody really noticed that she regularly came home later than usual nowadays. And for the rest, she resorted to the subtle subterfuge of telling half-truths, and then only when being asked. It wasn't that she enjoyed deceiving her parents, but keeping them in the dark seemed the most profitable course of action for all parties concerned – at least in this early stage.

So when Karl asked her out for the first night after Danzig's show ended, she simply told her family that she was going out with a few of her colleagues – thus avoiding the etiquette of Karl having to come and pick her up with all the complications that would entail.

She looked forward to the evening with both anticipation and trepidation. For after tonight, with Danzig's show moving on to other theatres in other cities, their encounters were bound to become scarce. And she already knew she would miss her new-found friend terribly.

And then there was Karl's promise that tonight she'd finally get to see the 'real' him. "The personality you've gotten acquainted with these past weeks – that is me," he had assured her. "But as Oskar Danzig, I'm always in disguise. This isn't really what I look like."

To prepare her for the change, he had begun to alter his appearance a little every day. And it had been most unsettling how a tiny little change in his features gave him a totally different look.

"Almost like a chameleon," Helga had breathed when they both had failed to recognize him because of a mere change of the shape of his eyebrows.

Which meant she was rather apprehensive of their meeting tonight. Would she even recognize him? And what if his new, his real face didn't match the Karl she had grown so fond of?

And last but not least, there was her evening gown. She hadn't given it much thought at first, but now that she had taken it out from the back of her closet, memories of the times she had last worn it were flooding her mind.

Oskar... Putting on that gown that she had only ever worn to go out with him... in order to go out with another man... It felt like closing a chapter she wasn't sure she was ready to close yet.

But life goes on, as people said, and here was a new man vying for her attentions. It would have been easier if she'd had another gown to go with it. But as it was, she only had this one, and there was no one in the house she could borrow one from.

Tears pricked behind her eyes while she got ready for her first date in five years. She didn't want to cry – Karl deserved better on this one special evening together than a girl with her head in the past. But alone in her bedroom with the memories connected to these clothes, it sure wasn't easy...

Her father's admiring smile when she came down the stairs however warmed her heart. "You look lovely," were his words as he took in his daughter's fancy appearance.

She gave him a somewhat teary smile, and got an encouraging nod in return. "You'll be fine, sweetheart. You have a good time now, okay?"

He understood how difficult this was for her – so much was obvious. But she was grateful he didn't actually mention it. "Thank you, Dad. I will. And I believe there is my taxi."

The taxi brought her all the way to Duisburg's twin city Essen, and stopped in front of a classy restaurant next to the Grand Theatre. Karl had given her the money for the fare, since it was mainly for his sake (less chance of recognition) that they were spending the evening outside Duisburg.

So she paid the driver, and was pleasantly surprised when a helpful hand assisted her to get out of the car. A doorman of the restaurant, she presumed – until she looked up to thank the man. The guy was in evening dress, and his baby-blue eyes truly feasted upon her appearance. Could it be that...?

"You look absolutely stunning..." he breathed.

She peered at the unfamiliar face in astonishment. "Karl...?"

A slight nod and half a smile. "Yes. This is me." His eyes still hadn't let go of her.

Hesitantly, Maryse searched his face, trying to find something familiar in what apparently had to be the real version of her friend. But apart from the colour of his eyes, there was nothing to remind her of the Karl-Oskar Danzig who had been courting her this past month.

First of all he looked at least ten years younger – more like the twenty-four years she knew he counted than the thirtyish look Danzig had sported.

The second major change was his overall appearance. She had known Danzig with a somewhat southern look: dark, sleek hair and with a slightly bronzed complexion, with which the blue eyes made such a beautifully striking contrast.

Today instead, he stood before her with thick, goldenbrown hair and a much more northern, fair complexion that – once you'd seen it – seemed to suit his eyes better.

Add to that the minute changes in the shape of his nose, his eyes, mouth, cheeks, eyebrows, chin, jaw, even his ears, and it was like going out with a perfect stranger.

He left her the time to take in his features, until at last she said quietly, "I can barely believe it's you..."

An awkward grin. "Well, it's me alright."

"Without any make-up or anything?"

"Nothing. Just plain old me." He shivered in a cold gust of wind. "But perhaps we should go inside? We've got two hours to gaze at each other over dinner before the show begins." He offered her his arm and chuckled, "And believe me, I'm going to do as much gazing as you tonight. You look absolutely breathtaking!"

And so they gazed at each other while they chatted over dinner, and by the time they finished dessert and got ready to go to the Grand Theatre next door, Maryse had more or less managed to coalesce the stranger's looks with the Karl she knew.

Karl had tickets for the operetta version of Cinderella, and if you've never seen traditional German operetta, then words cannot convey the feast it provides for both eye and ear. Its colours, its dancing, singing and laughter make you forget your troubles for a while, and it's practically impossible to leave the theatre afterwards without feeling thoroughly happy.

Karl and Maryse enjoyed the show each for their own reasons – Maryse because she hadn't seen a theatre show in years, and Karl because he loved watching other actors at work. He even went so far as to explain to her in some detail the techniques used by some of the characters when they were having a drink in a nearby café-dansant afterwards.

"Karl, please!" Maryse moaned at last. "I just loved the entirety of it; I don't need to have it dissected!"

Karl chuckled. "Okay, okay. I'm sorry. Occupational hazard, I'm afraid."

She snickered at that.

"But I would love to play the wicked stepmother one day," he mused. "A character so bad that it's funny – that's always a rewarding role."

"I'd rather see you play Prince Charming," she countered.

"Not half as much fun," was his opinion.

"But why don't you?"

"What – play Prince Charming?" A grin. "Only if you will play Cinderella!"

"Ha ha. I mean playing in operettas in general. The ugly stepsisters were men – surely you could use your talents there."

He shook his head. "The acting and dancing wouldn't be a problem, but it takes a better voice than mine to do operetta. By the way, speaking of dancing..." He already pushed back his chair. "Would you care to dance?"

It was about 3 a.m. when a grumpy taxi driver delivered them both at Maryse's home.

"Aren't you going back to town?" she wondered as she saw him pay the driver.

He didn't answer her until the taxi had driven off and they were all alone in the dark and quiet street. "I'll walk. I just wanted to say goodbye to you without extra eyes." He took both her hands in his. "You will write to me, won't you?"

"Prince Charming, Poste Restante, Hamelburg GPO," she promised. "And from next week onwards to Koblenz GPO instead."

A sad smile. "My Cinderella..."

Tired and a little careless as she felt by now, she was just contemplating if it would be a real breach of propriety to snuggle up to him for a moment when he suddenly bent over to her and lightly kissed her on the cheek. "Good night, Maryse. And thank you for a wonderful evening."

She blushed like a schoolgirl. "Thank you instead," she insisted.

But he already spun her around and directed her up the garden path. "Now get inside with you. I'm sure such lingering goodbyes are great on a summer evening, but in January they'll just cause pneumonia."

She chuckled. "Then you better get going, too." Once more she turned back before entering the house. "Thank you, Karl. For... for everything." And with that, she quickly disappeared inside – because she suddenly felt the tears streaming down her face.

Quietly, suppressing her sobs as best as she could, she went into the living-room and closed the door behind her. The warmth from the stove still lingered in the room, and she huddled in front of it with a plaid to profit optimally from the glowing coal. Things just seemed so cold and bleak all of a sudden...

The door cracked open, and there was her mother. "I heard the door. My, you guys made it late... Did you have a good time?"

Maryse merely nodded, and her mother noticed the tears. And she sat down next to her daughter and took her crying child in her arms. "It's okay to cry, honey," she hushed her. "Every first time is difficult."

Maryse frowned through her tears. What was she talking about?

"I'm sure Oskar would be very proud of you, you know that? I certainly am – the way you've picked up your life again, and now you're going out again and meeting new people..."

New people. Karl. She wasn't crying over Oskar at all – in fact, she had barely given Oskar another thought once she had been in Karl's company tonight.

No. What seemed unbearable to her now was the prospect of not seeing Karl for weeks – maybe even months.

So perhaps after all these years, perhaps she was finally beginning to move on...

The letter-writing started the following day, and took place on a practically daily basis in both directions.

Now that the busy holiday season was over, Helga's seasonal job had ended and Maryse had the cloakroom to herself again. For one or two shows a day, that was quite manageable. And instead of knitting her way through her long and lonely guarding hours, she now used them to write long letters to her friend. And of course to reread the latest one she'd received from him that day.

But there was one letter in particular she kept going back to – the one where he explained (at her request) what had possessed him to leave himself so completely at her mercy by telling her about his helping Jews, at a time when he barely knew her, and she certainly hadn't given him much reason to trust her so implicitly.

After I ran off following that sneer about illegitimate children, he wrote, I realized that your prejudice against my job – and therefore against me – was far too strong for me to be able to change your mind the normal way: step by step, in regular encounters. We didn't have time for that, for the show would be moving on to other cities in only a few weeks time. And chances of my ever seeing you again after that were very slim. Besides, so violent as your prejudice was, I sincerely doubted you would grant me the light of day to even be in your company, and not even years would have been sufficient to get you to change your mind about me. So how was I ever to make you see who I really was, and in such short time, too?

The only way I could think of to accomplish that was to tell you the truth about my job. Dangerous, yes. Especially since – like you say – I barely knew you. But as crazy in love as I was with you (and still am!), I simply couldn't stand the thought that after D having messed up so much of my life already, he was now going to stand in the way of my finding the woman of my dreams, too! For here you were, dismissing me out of hand, and only because of that hateful D again!

I knew it was a gamble, and believe me: I was well aware that I was taking a grave risk with my own safety. I had no idea what your sentiments on that subject were, so I made sure to sound you a bit on it before revealing anything really incriminating on my part. You may recall that it wasn't until after you pretty much openly agreed with me about there being nothing wrong with our mutual friends that I told you what I did for them.

Yes, it was a gamble – and fortunately I won. But I knew for sure that – if I hadn't taken that gamble, I would have tortured myself for the rest of my life with the question, "What if...?" So for once I decided to fight for something I wanted for a change. If I could put my life in danger for other people's sake, then why not for the sake of my own happiness?

People might say that you could have been lying to me at that time. That you were deliberately drawing me out to give away my secrets, so you could pass them on to the bullies.

But in that, I felt secure. I may not have known you all that well at the time, but it would only take a half decent judge of character to realize that you are one of those wonderful people who are honest almost to a fault. It's one of the things I love most about you, you know that? Your reflex will always be to tell the truth. Everyone has the decision at any time to either tell the truth or tell a lie. But for people like you, that decision is made by default. It doesn't even enter your mind that you could tell a lie – you will always tell the truth, simply because that's how your mind works.

Mind you, that doesn't mean you are incapable of lying and deceiving. Or keeping a secret. When you have some time to think things over, I'm sure you are very well capable of such things when it suits your purpose. (Like what you told me about your dealings with your family regarding me!) Still, your first, your instinctive reaction will always be honesty – simply because you are honest almost to a fault! And believe me: that is a character trait that's very easy to pick up – even in people you don't know all that well.

I'm not sure if I've ever even had that laudable trait myself. If I ever did have it, life must have bred it out of me thoroughly over the years. Necessity in my situation, yes, but still... Believe me when I say I love you all the more for it, and I promise you I will do my utmost never to lie to you either.

But to get back to your question: based on that trait of yours, I knew you wouldn't lie to me that evening. And if our opinions on the matter had turned out to be sadly incompatible, then of course I wouldn't have told you what I told you now. In that case, I probably would have resigned in remembering you as the most lovely and beautiful girl I had ever met, but sadly out of my reach.

But boy am I grateful that things turned out the way they did! That you agreed with me, and that you were willing to listen to my explanation and in the end you even went so far as to say you admired me for what I did! I don't think anything anyone has ever said to me has mattered more to me than your final approval that night. And your acceptance of me, despite my job.

So imagine if I had let D and my eternal overcaution rule me on the subject of my heart... It sure would have been the sensible thing to do, yes, but sometimes you have to take a risk to get what you really want. Even if it means risking your life. And when the reward is as lovely and worthy as you, believe me: I would risk it all over again, every day of my life. Just so you would allow me to be with you.

Could there really be lovelier words to read?

She was also delighted to learn that Danzig's schedule outside the holiday season wasn't as packed as what she had experienced here in Duisburg, allowing him to occasionally go home to Hamelburg for a day or two, in which he invariably included a few hours in Duisburg.

"Can't do that when I'm playing in München next month, but Koblenz, and later on Dortmund are close enough," he told her over a bowl of steaming soup in a cosy café after they'd been ice-skating together one morning.

"Then we'll just enjoy the opportunity to meet while we can, and resort to writing even longer letters when we can't meet," Maryse decided.

"But tell you what." Karl grinned. "I'm in discussion with your Herr Direktor Künneke about coming back to Duisburg for the summer."

"Mm, I'd like that. It's rather boring to walk home by myself after work. You spoilt me through and through, you know that?"

He chuckled. "Then I'll walk you home again every night. And you better make sure the competition knows it!"

An innocent smile. "You mean Peter and Friedrich and Marius and Simon and Christian and Achim and...?" She chuckled as he leaned over the table in a mock threatening pose.

"Don't you dare toying with me, young lady! It's bad enough that I can't see you anywhere near as much as I want to, without having to worry about you being swamped with other admirers."

And they both laughed – secure as they felt that the other was happy with their present status quo. Without heaps of other admirers to complicate things.

But was Karl really? Maryse sometimes wondered. Happy with their present status quo, that is?

His behaviour and his letters clearly showed that he was as much in love with her as ever. But after she'd told him about Oskar that first night, he had respectfully given her the time and the space she needed to get used to the idea of another man being in love with her. At least that's how she interpreted it.

But for how long would that be sufficient for him?

It was obvious – even though he had never really mentioned it – what he was aiming at in the long run. But was she capable of loving him like that?

She sure liked him very much. She loved being in his company, and missed him like crazy those long weeks when he was away. But love him the way she had loved Oskar? Spending the rest of her life at his side – did she really love him that much?

Besides, no matter how much he had told her about himself in his letters, he still hadn't entrusted her with his last name...

She was pondering the problem again one morning in May, perusing through her by now impressive collection of loveletters. Being home alone, she had laid them out on the dining table, rereading bits and pieces here and there, and trying to figure out her own feelings towards the author.

And so engrossed was she in her private musings, that she didn't notice her youngest brother coming in until he picked up one of her precious letters and read out loud, "'My dearest Maryse!'"

She jumped up and lunged for his hand holding the letter. "Evert! Give it back!"

But as brothers do, he held it out of her reach and read on. "'I really loved your latest letter. Read it six times already! I'm glad you have...'"

With a very unfeminine leap she recovered her letter, and quickly gathered up the others in their box before her brother could lay his hands on them.

But he already stooped down and picked up one that had fallen off the table in the consternation. "'It's getting awfully late, so I'm off to bed now. I can't wait to go to the post office tomorrow and get your new letter! But for now, I'll just try to summon some happy dreams about you. Sleep tight, my dearest Cinderella. Love – your Karl.'" Evert snickered as she pulled it out of his hand. "Cinderella? You got a lover, sis?"

"Mind your own business." She closed her box with a decisive snap.

"And are all those letters from him? My, this Karl sure is a great writer!"

"Mind your own busines!" Maryse repeated sharply before retreating to the stairs to put away her treasure under lock and key in her room.

But she knew the cat was out of the bag, and it was no surprise when her mother carefully broached the subject the following day during the dishes. "Evert told me about those letters yesterday."

Maryse merely sighed, but made no reply.

"So who is this Karl?" her mother probed.

Another sigh. "A really sweet guy. But really, Mum, it's too early to seriously discuss him. We're not really... dating... if you know what I mean."

An ironic little smile. "He's just been sending you heaps of letters, has he?"

Suddenly the need to get a fresh pair of eyes to look at her problem overtook everything else. "I don't know what to think of it, Mum. He's a really sweet guy, and I believe he is very much in love with me. And I do like him a lot, I really do. It's just – it's so different from how I felt at the time with Oskar, that I just don't know what to think of my own feelings..."

A long silence ensued in which several dishes passed through both their hands.

"Maryse," her mother spoke at last. "The only reason why it feels so different is because it is different. You're not the same innocent girl anymore that you were five, six years ago – before you had to deal with losing Oskar. And of course this Karl is different from Oskar as well – they're different people. So no wonder your feelings for him are different, too."

She let her daughter mull that over for a few minutes before asking, "Have you told him about Oskar?"

Maryse nodded. "Right away. I tried to scare him off with it, because I wasn't interested in him at all at first. But he kept at it and he sort of... well, grew on me." She smiled. "He makes me feel so special, Mum... And so... beautiful... I had never imagined anyone could ever make me feel like that again."

Her mother had a knowing smile, for those words conveyed more of her daughter's feelings than that entire monologue she had held before. Besides, her poor bereaved girl deserved a man who made her feel real special. And the mere fact that this unknown Karl was able to do just that already pretty much prepossessed him in her favour.

"That's good," she said therefore. "He sounds like a worthy suitor, Marysia-mine. And if he truly loves you, he'll grant you all the time you need to straighten out your feelings."

Maryse put down her tea towel and hugged her mother. "I know." A sigh. "I know he loves me very much, and he's been ever so patient and understanding. It's just my own doubts and indecision that are driving me crazy."

Her mother patted her on the back. "I'm sure you'll figure it out. Meanwhile, you may tell him from me that I'm really looking forward to meeting him."

Maryse chuckled. "That might be difficult – his job takes him all around the country. That's why we've been writing so much."

"So what does he do?"

A gulp. "He's with a theatre company."

"You met him at work then?"

"Yes." Please, stop asking...!

"And what's his name? Karl...?"

"Just Karl for now."

The look she got was exactly what she had always envisioned when determining once again not to tell her parents about Karl just yet. "Just – Karl?"

"Mum, please!" She closed her eyes for a moment. "I know you're going to tell Dad, and I know that he'll want to do a thorough check-up on him. I know he means well, but I don't want him to. Not yet at least."

Her mother regarded her in worried puzzlement. "Why not, Maryse? Is there something...?"

"No! No, nothing is wrong. It's just that I really need to work this out on my own. I'm nearly twenty-eight years old, Mum – I'm not a child anymore. Try and have a little faith in my judgement, okay?"

Seeing how her mother's worry only increased at that, she elaborated with a touch of despair, "The point is, that Dad would probably already have heard of him through his work." That was the trouble with having a journalist for a father – he knew everyone, and could get to the bottom of anything that caught his interest, no matter in how many mysteries it was shrouded. And she didn't want him to ferret out and expose Karl's true identity – not unless Karl told him himself that he was the man behind the despicable Oskar Danzig charade.

"But this is my life, Mum. I'm going to have to make up my own mind, don't you see? Without Dad's well-meant research into his background. But I promise – once I've figured it out, you and Dad will be the first to know."

A long silence as mother and daughter battled at stares. The mother was the first to give in. "I suppose you're right – you're not a child anymore. The problem is..." She sighed. "No matter how old you are, you will always be my child." She hugged her daughter tight. "And all I want is for you to be happy."

Maryse closed her eyes. "I know."

Her mother forced a smile on her face. "Then let me wish you all the wisdom in the world to make the right decision regarding this Karl. And remember – if you want to talk about it, I'm here, okay?"

She nodded.

But the only one with whom she wanted to talk things over now was Karl himself. And with the way things were rapidly growing over her head, she could even – for the very first time – imagine herself taking refuge in his arms. Even ensconcing herself against his chest, and feeling safe and cared for and loved in his embrace.

But Karl was in far away Leipzig...

The summer brought a welcome surprise. Not only would Oskar Danzig be performing first in nearby Düsseldorf (allowing them lots of opportunities to meet) and then in 'her' theatre in Duisburg, the show he was putting on was the popular farce Charlie's Aunt – in which a guy dresses up as his friend's aunt to help him out of a pickle – and of course instead only gets him deeper into it. Which meant that Karl was going to play a parody on his own Danzig character, and unlike Danzig's regular shows, that was something she would dearly like to see!

Of course it took only one word from superstar Oskar Danzig to get Herr Direktor Künneke to find a replacement cloakroom attendant for the opening night in Duisburg, and for the first time since she'd met him, Maryse got the chance of seeing her dear friend on stage. And she absolutely loved him in this comic role.

He smiled from ear to ear when she told him as much in his dressing room afterwards. "And all thanks to you, you know that? I wanted you to be able to come and see me without feeling grossed out. And comedy is what I've always really wanted to do. So with Charlie's Aunt, I thought I'd strike a compromise between what the audience expects of Oskar Danzig, and my own wishes for you and myself."

"And it's a marvellous solution," she assured him. "I wouldn't mind seeing you in this play a hundred times!"

Karl chuckled and began to remove his stage make-up. "I'm afraid not even Oskar Danzig could talk your Herr Direktor Künneke into that without you losing your job."

Maryse made no reply – intrigued as she was to see the face she knew to be Karl's 'real' one emerge from under the make-up. "Karl," she began at last. "Haven't you ever been tempted to make yourself look really handsome – perfectly handsome, I mean – and then present that to the world as your natural look?"

He looked at her in the mirror and heaved a sigh. "Not really."

"Why not? You could have had all the girls in town chasing after you if you wanted. I would have thought that was every young man's dream."

He turned to face her, very gravely. "Maryse, if you have to go around in disguise all the time... believe me, your own face becomes very dear to you."

Silently, she studied his face – pretty much the 'real' face with which she still wasn't quite familiar. "Yes. I suppose you're right," she finally conceded. "I suppose it's different when you're forced to do it all the time."

He smiled. "I can make you look any way you like," he offered. "Though I really cannot imagine a prettier face than your own."

She snickered. "Maybe some other time." Not with what she wanted to tell him tonight...

She came to lean against his dressing table and watched him transform himself into the look she was the most familiar with: Oskar Danzig off-stage. To her surprise, it only took him a few minutes.

"It's like brushing your teeth," he explained as he got up. "At last you can do it on auto-pilot." He disappeared behind the screen to change back into his own clothes, and a few minutes later he turned off the lights and they made their way to the front hall.

"Did you bring a coat or anything?" Karl asked.

She smiled like a content cat. "Of course I did. I left it in the cloakroom."

"You just couldn't resist, could you." Karl chuckled.

So she picked up her coat, he helped her into it, and a moment later they wandered off through the summery city center together in companiable silence.

Without discussing it, they took the route to one of their favourite hunts this summer: the pedestrian railway bridge across the line to Wesel. Very few people ever used that bridge, so it was a perfect place for private conversations.

Maryse leaned on the balustrade, looking down at the dark railroad track below, and Karl followed her example.

"Karl," she began at last.

"Hm?" He looked up.

"If I tell you something I'm sure you would love to hear – will you tell me your name then?"

"Langenscheidt."

"What?"

"My name. It's Karl Langenscheidt."

Totally taken aback at such a quick result to her request, Maryse just stared at him to the point that he felt obliged to explain that he was tired of playing hide and seek with her. "Besides, how can I ever expect you to learn to love me one day when I don't even show my trust in you?"

She had a quiet laugh of amazement. "Will you believe that that was exactly what I was going to tell you?"

It was his turn to look puzzled. "What?"

"That I love you." There, that came out easier than she had expected.

The reaction was not quite as coherent though. "You what? I mean... you do?"

"Yes," she simply said.

He could scarce believe it. "You mean you really do love me?"

"Yes."

"Honestly?"

"Honestly!"

The next thing she knew she was being twirled around in his arms. But even when he put her down again, he held his tight grip on her – almost as if he were afraid she was going to escape.

"You're really serious?"

"Yes! How often do I have to tell you?" She laughed – laughed with a carefree happiness she thought she had lost long ago.

And he shook his head in amazement. "Every twenty seconds, I guess." A happy sigh. "Oh boy..."

She smiled, her eyes beaming at him. "I love you."

"I love you, too." And he drew her into that embrace she had been longing for ever since that revealing talk with her mother – the embrace that made her feel so loved and happy and secure and cared for... The embrace in which she finally came home. To Karl Langenscheidt. Because she had finally come to realize that no matter what, his love was all she really wanted.

And as their lips found each other for the very first time – hesitant but oh so eager – she just knew that all would be well. At Karl's side, she could finally have a second chance at life.

And there was not a doubt in her heart that they would be the happiest couple on God's earth.

The happiest couple or not, the 'no matter what' had turned out to be an awful lot.

The very next day, her father was sent to Berlin as correspondent, and both her brothers were called under arms. Karl somehow miraculously (through his own doing) escaped that fate for now, but when less than a fortnight later Poland was invaded, it became all too clear that their courtship would not be as carefree as young lovers tend to hope for.

Especially not when Maryse learned that her Karl was actively involved in a perilous sabotage and resistance movement in the Hamelburg area...

---

Gently, she stroked the matted goldenbrown hair off his forehead and brushed away her own tears.

Yes – no doubt that Hitler had to be stopped. The question was, at what cost? And why did he have to be the one to put his life on the line all the time? Hadn't she lost enough loved ones to this insanity already? Her father, both her brothers, and in a way even her first fiancé...?

She recalled every emotional wordfight they had had on the subject over the years. And there had been many – especially in the beginning. Even to the point that she had told him (well, yelled at him) that she couldn't stand living in fear for his life all the time, and if he intended to continue like this, he would never see her again.

That particular fight had indeed ended in their breaking up. But if knowing just a little had been terribly hard on her, knowing nothing at all about Karl's escapades turned out to be plain torture. Knowing that he went out there, risking to get shot or captured – or worse... and she might never find out?

It had been a relief for both of them when she had finally gone back to him. Already, the ties that bound them had been too strong to be so easily severed, and Karl had been ready to promise her anything, if only she'd come back to him.

Nonetheless, it had taken an awful lot of convincing to talk him into letting her be a part of their activities, 'to keep an eye on him'. But seeing that his objections to her participating were a perfect match for her objections to his own involvement, he really had had no choice but to give in – no matter how reluctantly.

Joining the small group that met under the disguise of an amateur drama club (with the shameful average of staging less than one play a year...), she had gained a whole new insight to his character. To these people, he was an inspiring leader, an unorthodox but thorough strategist, and a superb drama coach training them in character play, pokerfaces and improvisation. He was their friend as well as their hero, and it didn't take her particularly long to realize that he held himself personally responsible for their lives and their well-being.

Like that time the night before Udo was to join the army.

---

Heroism

Having been an exceptional student throughout his youth, Udo had been granted deferment of his military training in favour of his studies in chemistry and engineering. With no inclination for the military at all – and even less so under Nazi rule – he had just extended and extended his studies, and up till now he had never seen a military barracks up close.

Without the slightest military training, he had felt secure that he wouldn't be called into service to be sent to the front. What use would they have there for a scholar who didn't even know how to handle a gun?

But it turned out he had been basking himself in false security, for in the fall of 1940, he got his call-up to report to an infanterie regiment in Köln in two days' time.

"Why didn't I think of that?" Oskar reproached himself when Udo showed him the papers. "Oh man... Udo, I'm really sorry. I didn't realize... I've been stupid."

Udo shrugged. "Why? There is nothing you could have done about it, is there?"

Oskar rubbed his face. "I might have been able to help you stay out of the army indefinitely. Or at least away from the front."

That certainly peaked Udo's curiosity. "How?"

Karl sighed and looked the orders over. It had been a while since he had received his last one, but they were bound to get back onto him as well. The others of the group were fortunately either too old or (still) too young to run the risk of being sent to the front, but Udo... Why didn't he think of that?

"How do you manage to stay out then?" Udo cut into his thoughts. "You've had military training, haven't you? So they're bound to want you even more than they want me."

"By faking severe medical problems," his friend replied, deliberately ignoring the second question. "According to my medical file, I suffer from frequent and severe asthma attacks. Plus a few other minor things. I even got a real doctor to sign the certificate. So far it's kept them at bay."

"And you could have gotten something like that for me, too?"

Oskar nodded. "Asthma is fairly simple to simulate. Scary, but simple. And they really have no use for a soldier who has to focus on his breathing to the exclusion of everything else. And that's bound to happen when an asthmatic has to be out in the field in all weathers, day in, day out."

Udo's face lit up in hope. "Can't you teach me how? Then maybe when I start showing the symptoms out there in the field, they'll send me straight back home!"

"It wouldn't hurt to try," Oskar agreed, and they spent the rest of the evening pretending they couldn't breathe.

"So what about tomorrow?" Oskar asked as they were about to part, exhausted from their pretended struggle for breath. "Are you still coming with me? I can understand if you'd rather stay home that last night. I can ask one of the others – that shouldn't be a problem."

But Udo shook his head. "No. I'm coming with you. One last honourable deed before I have to sell my soul to that devil in Berlin."

A grin from his friend. "Good. I'll pick you up around eleven."

Everything had gone textbook perfect. They had hidden the car in the woods, far enough from the fence that a starting motor would not draw attention in the quiet of night.

They had approached the estate from the side, climbed over the eight foot fence without being noticed and sneaked through the landscaped garden up to the lordly manor-house.

Behind the third window from the left on the ground floor lay their booty: a large supply of blank ID cards – a treasure for those helping victims of a cruel system to get away.

The ground floor windows were at the height of their shoulders, but with Udo using himself as a stepping stone, Oskar had no trouble reaching the window's lock, and a moment later he pulled himself up and inside. He gave Udo a hand pulling himself up on the window-sill, and pulling the window shut behind them, they surveyed the room.

Lots of cabinets and drawers. The blank ID cards had to be somewhere in this room – but where?

Without a word, they each started on one side of the room, looking through every drawer in every cabinet. It was Udo who found what they were looking for. Quickly, they filled the silk black bags they had brought and helped one another to tape them around their belly and lower back.

The remains were put back where they came from, all drawers closed, and after a final look around, Oskar pushed open the window, climbed up on the window-sill and jumped down, followed close on his heels by...

A raw cry of pain echoed through the night, freezing him to the spot. The loud gasping sobs following made him immediately turn back.

"What'd you do?" he hissed as he knelt down by his friend.

Udo opened his mouth to (probably) answer, but all that came out was an irrepressible howl of pain that Oskar quickly stifled.

"Keep it down! I know you're in pain, but it wouldn't exactly improve things if they find us here."

In reply, Udo grabbed his arm and dug in deep in an attempt to deal with the excruciating pain in his leg.

"Good. That's better than screaming. Come on, I'll help you up. You think you can stand?"

Udo shook his head, and out of nowhere he suddenly emptied his stomach the wrong way up.

"Oh boy..." Karl took hold of his friend's shoulder to steady him, his mind feverishly trying to assess their options. He was no doctor, but judging by Udo's reaction, this was more serious than a mere sprained ankle. Far more serious. If only he could get him to the relative safety of the woods, instead of out here in the open at the side of the lawn.

But no matter what option they chose, Udo had to get up in order to get away from here. "Come on." He took his friend under the arms and hauled him up, supporting him with his own body as best he could.

It got another barely stifled scream out of Udo, but he was too occupied dealing with the pain to object to his being pulled to his feet.

"Let's see." Holding him steady, Karl inspected Udo's legs. The right one didn't seem to give him any trouble, but the crooked and twisted shape of the left was almost spooky. Double fracture at least, he presumed. And the way it dangled there, as a useless appendage...

"You broke your leg alright," he said, trying to get a pinch of humour into his voice. "We better get you to a doctor. Come on." He placed Udo's arm around his own neck and took a careful step towards the woods.

But Udo positively howled, and Karl nearly dropped him in his hurry to clamp a hand over his mouth.

"Ssh! Keep quiet!"

Udo shook his head in despair, and Karl felt how he tried to lower himself to the ground again.

"Come on. I'll carry you. Put your arms around my neck and hold on."

That went better, although having Udo's gasps and ragged breathing in his ear made him expect his poor friend to throw up down his neck any moment.

He was heavy as a dead weight though – he probably weighed more than Karl to begin with – and Karl was relieved to reach the edge of the woods he'd been aiming for.

"Careful. I'm going to lower you to the ground now. Make sure you land on your right foot."

A far too audible gasp, a quick turn, and he carefully helped his friend to sit down with his crooked leg in front of him instead of under him.

Udo seemed barely aware of him anymore, engrossed as he was in surviving the pain and trying his utmost not to scream. The way he clawed in the ground and pulled at his hair and breathed in gasps through clenched teeth were clear indicators of just how much pain he had to endure.

Karl regarded his friend with a worried frown. For what now?

In theory he should be able to carry him all the way back to the car – if it wasn't for that eight foot fence.

The only entrance without a fence was the main gate – but that was guarded. They were lucky enough that the security on the grounds was so slack, but they'd never get out of that main gate unnoticed.

He spied around into the night, but it was hard to make out anything definite against the black of the trees. Maybe he should just go and see what he could find. And find out how to take on the guards.

But first... He pulled up Udo's black sweater and quickly tore off the silk bags with his share of their booty.

"What...?" Udo gasped.

"Ssh. I'll take them. There is not much chance of them finding you here, but if they would, it's probably better to get caught as a trespasser than as a thief." By hook or by crook he managed to use the now useless tape to tie the additional full bags around his body, and tugged in his sweater just to make sure he couldn't lose them. It really couldn't escape anyone's notice now that he was hiding something under that sweater, but it would just have to do.

"Now why don't you lie down – all the less chance of them seeing you," he suggested in a friendly whisper. He brushed away a few twigs and branches and...

Wait. Branches? A sudden memory from childhood rushed to his mind: vacation in Hamelburg, and Udo who had wanted to practise for his first aid badge for the boy scouts. How old had they been – nine maybe? And they had gone to the woods, and he had to be the victim who broke all his arms and legs, so Udo could practise splinting them with branches. For that was important – broken bones had to be splinted as soon as possible to keep them steady and to relieve the pain for the patient. Or something like that.

"Hold on – I'll be back in a sec."

There were enough branches lying around, but it took a while in the dark to locate two straight and sturdy ones of approximately the right length.

"Here," he said when he returned. "Remember your boy scout training?" And he bit his lip. Darn it – how was Oskar Danzig to know that Udo had been in the boy scouts?

Fortunately, Udo was too engrossed in the pain to notice this unpardonable slip of the tongue. So he knelt down next to his friend, placed the branches on either side of the crooked leg (which already caused some extra gasps from the patient), and pulled off his belt. Sliding it under the crooked leg and...

Udo screamed.

Quickly, Karl clamped his hand over Udo's mouth. "Keep it down!" He waited for his friend to gather what was left of his wits, and then whispered, "A broken leg needs to be splinted, Udo. It helps for the pain. Now I'm going to have to get this belt around it, and..."

Udo grabbed his arm and shook his head. Fervently. "Don't touch," he panted.

Karl regarded him doubtfully. "Are you sure? They say it relieves the pain somewhat – to steady the bones."

Udo just shook his head again and pushed him away.

A sigh. "Alright. Your choice." Carefully, he removed the branches again, and put his belt back on. "Now I'm going to scout the grounds to see what's the easiest way out of here. So why don't you lie down. Less chance of them seeing you."

Even the process of lying down clearly represented hell for Udo, but once he'd settled down a little, Oskar got up and whispered, "Now you stay here and keep quiet. Don't worry, I'll be back. And I promise you: I'll get you out of here and to a doctor, even if I have to carry you on my back all the way to Hamelburg, okay?"

Udo nodded slightly.

"Don't worry. I'll be back shortly." With that, he disappeared in the shadows, and quickly made his way back to the mansion.

He hesitated a moment in the shadow of the monumental stairs leading up to the front door. Would it be useful to check inside? He might find a uniform or two that could fool the guards and help them escape. On the other hand, who would believe them to be officers, with their sootblack faces? They'd need a good scrub to get that off, which would leave him – Danzig – without his disguising make-up as well. Not a good idea – scratch the uniforms.

He moved stealthily on, rounded the corner of the house... and stopped dead in his tracks. That was it – the solution, or at least the beginning of a solution to their problem: a car!

Silently he approached the vehicle, and pulled the window-latch opener from his pocket. Not the most ideal instrument to open a car door, but it would have to do.

It took a few minutes, and in his eagerness he scraped the paint a few times, but finally the door clicked open.

Quickly he climbed in and pulled the door almost shut. He had to think first now.

First of all, the distance from here to where he had left Udo was at least five times the distance he had carried him before. It'd be difficult, but he should be able to manage that without having to put him down for a rest halfway.

Moving the car to Udo would be easier of course, but that was far more likely to attract the attention of the guards at the gate.

Okay, so let's assume he could get Udo in the car. What next? Just drive off and barge through that barrier past those guards?

Yeah, right, they'd be after them in a second, and probably start shooting. Too risky.

No, he'd better go and scout out those guards as well.

Ten minutes later he nearly tripped over his friend as he sought his way back through the woods. "Udo! How is the pain?"

"Awful," Udo grated out through clenched teeth.

Karl squatted down beside him. "But I've found us a way out. A car!" he whispered. "Come on – it's all ready and waiting for you."

He began to pull his friend up in a sitting position, and Udo moaned loudly. "Not carry me again?"

"Yes. Sorry. Too dangerous to bring the car over here."

Not quite succeeding in stifling his gasps and cries, Udo was helped up by his friend, and instructed to put his arms around his neck and not to let go before he was told to. "It's quite a bit further than before, so hold on!"

Staying in the shadows as much as he could, Karl quickly moved past the house. But gradually, as the weight of his friend seemed to increase with every step, he began to slow down, clenching his teeth in determination not to have to rest halfway and put them in extra danger out here in the open. And with Udo half crying in his ear...

By the time he reached the car he was positively staggering, and had to steady himself on the hood to keep his balance. "Careful," was all he brought out before he let go of his load. But all he managed to do at first was to keep his gasping friend upright while he struggled to catch his breath.

But then he opened the door on the passenger side. "In you go. You think you can do that?"

Pushing himself up on the carseat was manageable, though he barely managed to hold back another howl of pain the moment he sat down. But the real trouble began when they had to get his puppet-like leg in.

Karl already bent over to take hold of it to help him, but Udo pushed him away. "Don't touch," he ground out.

Karl waited for him to do it himself then, but Udo made no move to do that. The twisted, eerily limp leg just dangled there, completely out of shape, and Karl tried hard not to stare at it. It made him feel uncomfortably queasy. Instead he focused his attention on his friend's contorted face. "You're going to have to pull that leg in, mate. We can't drive like that."

Udo moaned softly. "Can't. Touch and I'll scream."

Karl gulped. This was rough, but if they'd want to get out of here... "Then you clamp both your hands over your mouth to stifle that scream, and I'll put your leg in."

"Nooo!" Udo half cried.

But Karl forced himself to be inexorable, no matter how hard it was in the face of his friend's agony. "Hands over your moth," he ordered sternly, and put one of them in place for him already. "Ready? Now bite down hard and..." With a swift move he manoeuvered the wobbly leg inside, while Udo only half managed to clamp down on his scream.

As Karl straightened himself and grabbed his friend's shoulder to comfort him, Udo was finally straight-out crying. "It hurts," his friend choked out. "So bad..."

Karl squeezed his shoulder in encouragement. But seeing how Udo didn't know what to do with himself for the pain, he sent up a fervent prayer that they just hadn't made things worse...

He watched him for a moment, but as things barely seemed to settle down, he squeezed his friend's shoulder again. "The sooner we get you to a doctor, the better. I'll go and take care of the guards now. I'll be back in ten minutes max, and then we're off, okay?"

Udo gave no recognition that he had heard Oskar's words, so with a worried look, Karl squeezed his shoulder once more, closed the door of the car and disappeared in the shadows.

It was several hundred meters to the main gate – probably their salvation from the guards there reacting to Udo's screams.

He had already figured out how to take the two guards, so he went over the fence just around the corner of the grounds, and approached his first target through the trees on the public side. From tree to tree he moved, but only when the guard walked away from him. A steady ten pace forth, ten pace back. And at his turning-point on this side of the gate, he was out of sight from the other guard who was lounging in the sentry box.

So the next time he came around... Karl tensed for the jump and... a chop in the neck and the man went down without a sound.

And back to the shelter of the trees he went, to wait for the other guard to come and see what his colleague was up to.

Every second he had to wait for that guy was exactly one second too many. With Udo in such agony back there... But he had to wait till the man came this way – there was no way he could approach the sentry box himself without being seen.

And finally... finally he came. "Heinz? Heinz, what are you... Heinz!" Quick footsteps, the man bending down over his fallen comrade, and the next moment he joined him in dreamland.

Karl swiftly ran past them and lifted the barrier. There was no telling how much time he had before the guards would wake up – probably very little. Tying them up would take too much time, so instead he ran as the devil back to the house, jumped into the car where Udo was still gasping, connected the wires he'd already pulled free the first time, and with a roaring motor he steered the car along the dark driveway.

There was the barrier. From the corner of his eye he saw the two guards already sitting up, jerking into action as the car sped past them in a right turn onto the road.

Well, at least they made it this far.

Suddenly he felt Udo's hand grasping his arm. He glanced aside. "What?"

"Back seat," Udo croaked. "My leg... back seat."

Of course – why hadn't he thought of that? On an ordinary car seat, that wobbly leg had no support at all. No wonder it hurt so much more. The back seat at least would act as a splint by itself – sort of.

He nodded as a new plan came up in his mind. "Hold on. We'll fix it in a minute." And he turned into the woodlane where they had hidden their own car. "We'll just wait and see if they're coming after us," he said quietly. Not that they could see the road from here, but that wasn't necessary: within a few minutes they heard a car race past in the direction they had been going.

Karl grinned. "Good. Then let me open the door first, and then I'll help you over, okay?"

It was still a very painful exercise for the patient, but after that first disaster, Udo did his utmost to keep his wits about him this time. He had already learned the hard way this evening that his own cooperation – excruciatingly painful though it may be – actually made things easier on himself.

But no one could be more relieved than Karl when his anxious question whether the patient was more comfortable now was met with an affirmative nod.

"Then let's get you to a doctor right now!"

And he started the motor and turned left – blatantly past the manor from which they had just escaped. And past one of the guards who stood staring down the road in their direction... and barely gave them a glance.

Dr. Bauer wasn't surprised at all to be called out of bed at 3.30 in the morning – after all, that's part of the job.

He was a tad surprised however to find a black-clad stranger on his doorstep with a sootblack face to boot.

He chuckled. "Well, good morning, Krampus! You're a bit early this year, aren't you?"

The stranger grimaced. "Yeah, sorry about that. But my friend in the car here has broken his leg – by the looks of it in two places at least. Can you please help him?"

Dr. Bauer tied his dressing-gown. "Let's take a look at that leg first." He took a pair of scissors from his bag by the door and followed his nocturnal visitor to the car. He clambered into the narrow space next to the backseat, mindful not to touch the black-clad legs on the seat. "Now let's see." He looked up into the eyes of his shivering patient. "Well, well, if it isn't young Udo Steinmetz. What have you been up to tonight, my boy?"

Udo made but a faint grimace.

"Now let's see. And you better look the other way for a while, because judging by the crooks I already see, this will not be a pretty sight."

He swiftly cut up the black pants under Udo's gasps. And sucked in his own breath. "Sorry, lad, but I'm not going to meddle with this. I'll give you a painkiller, and then I'm going to take you straight to Düsseldorf. This is a specialist's job."

He got out of the car and turned to the hovering stranger. "So how did that happen?"

"He was sleepwalking and fell down the stairs," Karl deadpanned.

Dr. Bauer raised an eyebrow. "Face first into the coal-shed, I presume?" He shook his head. "And you got equally dirty trying to get him out, right? Nice story for Düsseldorf, mein Herr, but what really happened?"

Karl sighed. "I didn't see it myself. He jumped down – less than two meters it was – and must have landed wrong."

"And you've been carrying him and dragging him around quite a bit, am I right?"

Karl took a deep breath to respond, halted himself, and then simply said, "Well, I couldn't leave him there, could I?"

The doctor nodded, with a smug look at the bulging black sweater. "I get the picture, yes. Now you stay with him; I'll be back in a moment."

He was back in a minute, with a blanket, the promised painkiller, some soap and a wet cloth. He handed the latter two to the stranger. "Now if you can make him look a bit more presentable – like he really came straight out of bed? The sleepwalker story is believable – adding the coal-shed is not."

Karl grinned, and got to work on his friend's face as soon as te doctor had administered the sedative and went back inside to get dressed.

Udo subjected himself to his friend's scrub-down without protest. The sedative was already beginning to kick in, making him drowsy and reducing the infernal pain in his leg to a mere unpleasant throb. He was vaguely surprised to realize how exhausted he was – merely from trying to stay on top of the pain?

"Feeling a little better?" Oskar asked as he sat back on his heels – apparently finished with the clean-up job.

He nodded vaguely, trying to remember what he wanted to ask. "What... what coal-shed?"

Oskar grinned. "Your cover-story. And forget about the coal-shed. You were just sleepwalking and you fell down the stairs – got it?"

Udo nodded. "Got it." He grimaced. "I bet I'm going to be cooped up in hospital for months..."

"We'll come and visit you," Oskar promised. "And look on the bright side: they won't be sending you to the front any time soon."

Udo even produced a small chuckle. "You'd almost think I engineered this on purpose. You know, secretly, without knowing myself."

"Subconsciously," Oskar supplied.

"Yes. Though I'd wish I'd had chosen something a little less... painful. Like..." He shrugged. "I don't know."

Oskar smiled. "And I'll see if I can arrange one of those bad health certificates for you, too, in the meantime, okay?"

Udo closed his eyes and sighed. "Yes. Please do. I don't want to go and shoot at people. Especially not in the name of the bloody Führer." He looked up. "You think my leg will be alright?"

A sad shrug. "I don't know, mate. I'm not a doctor. You'll have to wait and see what the doctors in Düsseldorf say."

Another sigh. "Well, at least if I end up in a wheelchair, they'll never send me to the front."

"You're not going to end up in a wheelchair, Udo." There was Dr. Bauer again, with a too large pyjama top to exchange with Udo's telltale black sweater. "This mishap might leave you with a bad limp, but that's about it. So don't worry your head off about wheelchairs." He helped the patient to change into the pyjama top. "Alright. Ready everyone?"

Karl got out of the car and closed the door.

"Aren't you coming?" the doctor asked in surprise.

The stranger shook his head. "I'd better not. He's in good hands now. I'll come and pick up the car some time tonight, okay?"

Dr. Bauer frowned. "As you wish." But suddenly his eyes narrowed. "The car – it isn't stolen, is it?"

A quick, disarming smile. "Don't worry, it's not." He nodded to Udo. "Take care, my friend. I'll see you soon."

With a final wondering glance at the stranger, Dr. Bauer brought the motor to life, and Karl watched it drive off on its way to the hospital in Düsseldorf.

And then he turned on his heel, and sought his way home by the backalleys of Hamelburg.

Stalag 13

It was nearly three months before Udo was released from the hospital in Düsseldorf. Three months of which he spent most of his nights in terror.

For England was fighting back, and one of their most noticeable strategies were the nocturnal bombing raids on German military and industrial targets.

The industrialized Ruhr area, with Düsseldorf as one of its main centers, was in easy range of the British bombers, and the city's industries took a heavy beating nearly every night. But everyone knew by now that – be it by accident or on purpose – bombs didn't always fall where they were supposed to fall...

In those months, he had come to fear the howl of the air raid siren more than anything else. The hospital did have a spacious air raid shelter for the more mobile patients and the staff. But he was anything but mobile – heck, with his leg in the traction, they couldn't even move him with bed and all!

Which meant that every time that air raid siren started to howl, he was left to the mercy of fate.

But the worst had been the times when all his roommates were mobile enough to get to the shelter, and he was left entirely alone in the dark ward, with bombs whistling all around him...

Still on crutches, he was welcomed back into the small circle of their so-called drama club with a little celebration. His friends had put together their sugar and butter rations, Hasso the miller had provided the flour, and where in the world had they got hold of the real whipped cream that prided the cake with, 'Welcome Home'?

"Don't ask," Maryse warned him in mock stern as she served him a second helping. And so coy as they all were about it made Udo suspect they hadn't exactly procured it the legitimate way.

So he said, "Well, no matter how you got hold of it, this was just what I needed after all that hospital food. You guys are the best!"

Oskar gave him a warm grin. "Good to have you back, mate."

It was still a few more months before he was allowed to hand in his crutches, leaving him to walk with a considerable limp. But according to Dr. Bauer, that was as much psychological as it was physiological. "That leg is as good as new. Now it's all a matter of training it again to do its work. And of course to learn to trust it again – that is probably the hardest part."

But it gave Karl an idea, and he took his friend aside before the next 'rehearsal' of their never to be staged play. "Hey, now that you're mobile again, why don't you volunteer for service as guard in the new prison-camp?"

Udo raised his eyebrows. "Uh-uh. My medical certificate proudly declares me unfit for military service. And I'm certainly not going to volunteer for anything."

"Your medical certificate declares you unfit for marching, parachuting and work on unstable floors, like on a ship. That pretty much excludes every branch of the military for you, but none of these things are required for guarding prisoners in a prison-camp."

"But why would you want me to guard prisoners? I'd much rather go back to my studies."

Oskar sighed. "Udo, be reasonable. The Nazis control our science nowadays. If you go back to the university, with your background in chemistry and engineering, I'll bet you a thousand marks that all they're going to allow you – to force you to do is design new weapons for chemical warfare or something like that. Maybe even split the atom. Is that what you want?"

Udo's face darkened. "No. But that still doesn't explain why I should go and guard prisoners."

"Okay, let me lay it out for you. First of all, your deferment in favour of your studies is obviously forfeit, since you already got drafted before you broke your leg. Right now, you have the choice of either going to work for the Nazis in your field of expertise, or you're out of work. You've already vetoed the first option, and being out of work means at your age that they're going to get back onto you for the military pretty soon – despite your medical certificate. It's likely to keep you away from the front, yes. But they need people behind the lines, too. And what better place for a guy with a bad limp and no military training than a prison-camp?"

Udo shook his head. "I follow you so far – now you're talking gibberish again. Why would you want me in a prison-camp?"

"To help the prisoners to escape of course! And then we take over – we provide them with papers and civilian clothes and maps etcetera, so they'd stand a much better chance to get out of Germany!"

Udo frowned as he digested that. "But they're prisoners!" he objected.

"That doesn't mean they're criminals," Oskar countered. "The camp here is a Luftwaffe camp, so they're bound to be fly-boys who survived being shot down. That doesn't make them criminals. And we could help them to get back to their own side so they can help fight the Nazis again."

Udo was silent.

"And if you volunteer for duty, mollifying them by stressing you want to do the very little you are able to do for the bloody Fatherland in your condition, there's a good chance you'll be granted your request to be stationed right here in Hamelburg, close to your family and friends. If instead you wait till you get drafted, there's no knowing where they might send you."

Udo sighed. "I still don't like it, but I see your point. And I'll think about it – that's all I'll promise you for now."

His rehearsing his role as the pathetically impaired young patriot, eagerly offering his humble services for the glory of the Fatherland with Danzig the following weekend was the result, and within a week of Oskar's first mentioning it, the new Private Steinmetz reported to the camp's Sergeant of the Guard for duty.

"He's as round as a barrel," he reported to his friends when he saw them again a few days later. "But I believe he's a good guy. They say he's the president of the Schatzi Toy Company, and when the Nazis confiscated the factory to convert it for their own purposes, he got posted here. But he admits himself that he doesn't even keep his gun loaded."

Oskar chuckled. "At least that solves your problem with the shooting. Can't hurt anyone with an empty gun."

"So how many escapes were there this week?" Young Franz's eyes sparkled with the anticipation of meeting real flyers – he'd love to become a pilot himself one day.

But Udo shook his head. "None. One guy tried to go over the wire, but he got caught before he was over and got thrown in the cooler."

"What's that – the cooler?" Maryse wanted to know.

"Kind of a large, concrete bunker with no windows," he explained. "That's where the prisoners get locked up for a while if they've been really bad."

"Like trying to escape," Hasso nodded.

"Yes. Or calling the Kommandant names. Things like that."

"And what's the Kommandant like?"

Udo shrugged. "I haven't seen much of him yet. Rumour has it that he's furious about being posted here, and that he's pulling every possible string to get back to the glory of the front. But most of the guards are pretty happy to be stationed here, away from the front. They're not such a bad bunch."

"And have you had any contact with the prisoners yet?" Maryse asked.

He shook his head. "So far, I've only been guarding the entrance to the Kommandant's office. And that's a horribly boring job – I can tell you that!"

Soon he began to leave digging tools and wirecutters in unobtrusive places. They always disappeared in record time, but even though the number of attempted escapes increased indeed, the number of ultimately successful ones remained a mere trickle. It was frustrating to know that their clandestine center to assist escaped POW's would indeed be able to make a difference – if only the escaping prisoners knew about it! But he could hardly put up a notice in the rec hall, saying,

Attention all prisoners!
If you're in need of ID papers, civilian clothes, maps and anything you need for a successful escape,
head to the windmill along the road to Glückenheim as soon as you bust out of camp.
Confidentiality guaranteed!

So far, he had had very little contact with the prisoners. He hadn't been assigned the responsibility for a certain barracks yet, and all he ever got to do was standing guard at the Kommandant's office, guarding the front gate, and guarding from one of the watchtowers. And having witnessed up close how strictly the Kommandant adhered to the non-fraternization rule, he was wary to provoke the man's ire by all too obvious attempts to talk to the prisoners.

If only he would be able to talk to anyone who seriously planned to escape...! But how was he to know who was planning such things?

No – as far as he was concerned, the idea of helping escaped prisoners was laudable, but it didn't quite work in practice.

But he dutifully reported the goings-on in the camp.

"Two men were caught this morning when their tunnel collapsed right on top of them."

"We got a visit from the overall boss of the Luftwaffe camps yesterday – a Colonel Burkhalter. He's even rounder than Sergeant Schultz!"

"We're getting Americans in the camp now, too."

"The prisoners are showing a sudden fondness for gardening. If you ask me, it's a smokescreen to hide sand from their digging a new tunnel. I wonder when it's going to collapse again."

"You wouldn't believe what I saw yesterday: the flagpole suddenly grew by at least a meter! I bet the prisoners have built a radio, and are using the flagpole for an antenna. I'd love to see how they managed that!"

"There were a couple of big shots from Berlin visiting today. They've been in the Kommandant's office for hours."

"We're getting a new Kommandant tomorrow. A Colonel Klink. Major Wieland has finally been granted his wish: he's been transferred to the front."

"That rolled beef Burkhalter came to visit again today, together with some civilian guy. They've been talking in the office for the entire afternoon, and nobody was allowed to go in – not even Sergeant Schultz."

"We got a black prisoner the other day. His name is Kinslow or something like that. It was really embarrassing, for all the guards were staring at him as if he were a monkey in the zoo. And the prisoners, too. But I wonder how he got here. I thought the Americans didn't want the blacks on their planes?"

"We got an American colonel now. I thought this camp was only for the lower ranks, but apparently not. So far he hasn't been out of the cooler yet, but he looks real smart. I bet he'll break out of camp within a week."

"The American colonel hasn't escaped yet. The guards are putting bets on how long it will take him. I've already lost."

"The American colonel hasn't escaped yet. And there was some real hush-hush meeting in the Kommandant's office yesterday. With extra guards and everything."

"The American colonel still hasn't escaped. And Colonel Klink has put an ad in the paper for a secretary with good English skills. Something for you, Maryse? You're fluent in English, aren't you?"

She nodded. "It might not be such a bad idea actually," she mused. "With all those secret meetings and visiting big shots you're always talking about. Who knows what I could overhear as an innocent secretary?"

Karl stared at her in appalled disbelief. "You got to be joking..."

She looked up. "Why? I've got several years' experience as a secretary, and my English is of a near native level, so..."

"How come?" Udo interrupted her. "Where did you learn to speak English so well?"

"I spent much of my childhood in London. My father was a correspondent there," she told him.

"But really, Maryse," Danzig brought their attention back to the heart of his problem. "A secretary in a prison-camp? With hundreds of horny men who haven't seen a woman in I don't know how long? That isn't asking for trouble – that's plain begging for trouble!"

She patted his hand. "Udo can escort me from the gate to the office and back. You trust Udo, don't you?" She couldn't quite keep the teasing tone out of her voice, and it sure wasn't lost on her boy-friend.

"Well, you can mock me all you want, but really, you have no idea what a prison-camp full of males is like."

"I've never been in one, no." Maryse crossed her arms over her chest in feminine defiance. "Have you?"

"No, but..."

"But Udo has," she cut in. "So Udo, what's it like for a young woman to work in an all-male prison-camp?"

Udo grinned. "I wouldn't know – really. I don't think I've ever seen a woman in camp as long as I've been there – be it young or old."

Karl threw up his hands. "I rest my case!" He shook his head. "You're not setting a foot in that camp, Maryse. Not as long as I have a say in it."

"Well, who says you have? I'm sure the Kommandant would guarantee my safety. Wouldn't he, Udo?"

Udo opened his mouth to reply, but Karl beat him to it. "And who says that Kommandant wouldn't try to have his way with you himself? It's been done before, you know – the classical tale of the boss and his secretary."

Suddenly she stood. "Ka... Kindly remember, Herr Danzig, that you don't own me. Not yet. I know you mean well, but I'm sick and tired of you trying to protect me from every possible danger – real or imagined. So whether you like it or not, I'm going home right now, and I'm going to apply for that job. And there is nothing you can do about it. Good night."

They both stared after her as she grabbed her coat and hat and marched out of the room.

As soon as the door fell shut behind her, Karl raked his fingers through his dark hair. "Oof... I blew it. Big time." He sagged in his chair.

But, "I wouldn't worry," Udo tried to cheer him up. "Women are like that sometimes. Let her blow off some steam, and all will be right as rain again tomorrow. You'll see."

"But I really don't want her to go and work in that prison-camp." He looked up. "What's that Kommandant Klink like?"

Udo shrugged. "Seems a decent enough fellow. Fiftyish, half bald, reasonably smart. But I haven't seen him around the ladies of course."

Karl groaned. "Udo... can't you intercept that letter of hers for me? Please?"

"How? I never come in the office."

"Can't you accept the mail when you're guarding the office?"

"The postman always takes it in himself."

"Then who does come in the office?"

"Regularly, you mean? Well, as I said: the postman – but he just drops off the mail and leaves. And Kommandant Klink of course, and Sergeant Schultz. And Colonel Hogan."

"Who's that?"

"The American colonel I told you about. Since he is by far the highest in rank among the prisoners, he serves as a sort of liaison between the prisoners and the Kommandant." Better not mention that going by the general standards, most ladies would probably describe the American colonel as 'dashing'... "Look mate, you're probably worrying about nothing. She hasn't even got the job yet."

Karl merely sighed.

"I know you want to keep her safe," Udo continued with his unsollicited advice. "But as long as you don't marry her, she's under no obligation whatsoever to do what you want her to. So why don't you?"

"What – marry her?"

"Yes. You love her, don't you?"

"Yes."

"Then why don't you? Marry her, I mean."

Another sigh. "I can't. It wouldn't be prudent at a time like this – not to mention totally impractical with my double role here. I want to marry her the very day this blasted war is over. But for now I just want to keep her safe. Out of trouble. It's bad enough that she insisted on joining us. If she'd be married to me, she'd be toast the moment they pick me up. Better keep that link unofficial for now. No matter how much I'd love to make her my wife."

"But that does mean there is nothing to stop her from standing up to you occasionally," Udo pointed out. "But don't worry. I'll try and keep an eye on the secretary situation, okay?"

Karl's worries were indeed for nought, for only a few days later, Udo reported that the Kommandant had hired his new secretary: a pretty young lady named Helga Lindner.

"Helga Lindner?" Maryse reacted. "What does she look like?"

She rolled her eyes when Udo made the universal hourglass gesture in reply, but Danzig grinned.

"Can you be a little more specific perhaps?" she demanded.

"Why? Do you know her?" Udo wanted to know.

"I might. Remember?" She turned to her boy-friend. "That girl who worked in the cloakroom with me when we first met."

Karl frowned. "You mean the one who cajoled me into courting you?"

Udo burst out laughing. "Now that's a story I'd love to hear!"

Oskar waved him away. "Some other time. But yes, I do believe her name was Helga, yes."

"Helga Lindner," Maryse confirmed, and turning back to Udo, "So what does she look like? Apart from her perfect figure."

"Real pretty," Udo admitted. "The bluest eyes, a perfect round face with the sweetest smile, silverblond hair..."

Oskar snickered. "Sounds like you're madly in love with her yourself."

And Maryse nodded. "Well, it sure sounds like her."

Oskar shook his head. "Then I do hope she knows what she's getting into..."

She hit him playfully in the chest. "You worry-wart. But I'd sure like to see her again. Who knows – perhaps she could be our liaison in the Kommandant's office and tell us all about the secret meetings and stuff."

"Speaking of secret meetings," Udo picked up. "The weirdest thing has happened this week. At first I didn't even dare to believe that it really did happen, but since I've seen it happening again, I'm pretty sure by now that it did happen after all."

Oskar raised his eyebrows. "You're speaking in riddles, my friend. What are you talking about?"

"Well, this week, me and one of the other guards have been following the Kommandant on his heels when he goes around to collect the reports for roll call. Now the prisoners have assigned places for roll call, so the barracks' guard can check them quickly and efficiently."

"I bet they love to mess up that efficiency though," Oskar grinned.

"They do, but that's not the problem. It's the man standing behind Colonel Hogan. Usually it's a tall, gangly young man with dark curly hair and dark eyes. But last Sunday, suddenly there was a fortyish short stocky man standing in that place. It was the marked difference between them that caught my attention, but at first I thought I was imagining things. The next morning the dark young man was back anyway."

"Maybe he's an impersonator," Maryse joked.

"With that difference in height? Anyway, two days later he was missing from roll call again, and in his place stood a tall blond guy. Now I got really curious, and I studied all the men in the line. But unless he was hiding in the barracks, the dark young man wasn't there. And the odd thing is, I saw him in town that same evening, calmly having dinner at the Hofbrau!"

"So? He escaped. Good for him."

"Yes, but the next morning he was back in camp again! Now how do you explain that?"

Maryse shrugged. "He must have been caught."

"Then why wasn't he thrown in the cooler? Besides, I've asked around at the camp, and there haven't been any escapes this week. Two attempts, yes, but they barely got over the wire. So what was that guy doing in town, and why did he go back? And how? It just doesn't make sense! And how come Sergeant Schultz – who's their barracks' guard – doesn't even notice that it's a different man every other night?"

Mystery

They both watched Danzig frown in concentration as he tried to connect the odd facts somehow. "What army is he in?"

"American."

"How long has he been in the camp?"

"I don't know. There are too many prisoners to keep track of every individual. I hadn't particularly noticed him before, but that doesn't mean he wasn't there."

"Do you know his name?"

Udo shook his head.

"And you're absolutely certain it was the same guy you saw in town the other night."

"Ninety-nine percent or more, yes."

Oskar rested his chin in his hand. "Could it be that he has a doppelgänger?"

"That still doesn't explain why Sergeant Schultz didn't notice him being replaced by someone else twice. He certainly isn't stupid."

"Maybe that was just a prank," Maryse ventured. "And he didn't want to get the prisoners in trouble by telling the Kommandant."

"Does the Kommandant know all the prisoners?" Oskar wanted to know.

Udo shook his head. "From what I've seen, I think he only knows Colonel Hogan on sight. And the black man of course – everyone knows him."

"Hm. And that tunnel you mentioned a while back – has that been discovered yet?"

Another shake of the head. "The prisoners are still busy with gardening, and I think most of the guards should be smart enough to realize it's got to do with them hiding the sand from digging a tunnel. But it hasn't been found yet." He chuckled. "If I would, I would probably do my utmost to look the other way."

Maryse snickered. "And if all the guards do that..."

They shared a grin.

But Oskar was still pondering the little mystery they had on their hands. "The only logical explanation I can think of is indeed that it's all a coincidence: the prisoners were pulling a prank, the Sergeant didn't want to snitch on them for such a minor transgression, and..."

"Minor transgression?" Udo protested. "Roll call is to check whether all the prisoners are still there! If that guy was missing...!"

"Yeah, yeah, but it could be just a prank, right?"

"Well... yes."

"And if the guy has a doppelgänger in town... It has to be. I mean, what prisoner in his right mind would escape and then go back into the prison of his own accord? Not to mention how he could manage that without being noticed by the guards. If that tunnel isn't finished yet..."

"Or maybe they do know," Maryse suggested quietly.

"What?"

"Maybe the guards do know," she repeated. "If he's one of them – like a plant or something. A spy."

Udo gave her a flabbergasted look. "What on earth would the Nazis want to spy on the prisoners for?"

"Well, you said he was in the same barracks as that Colonel Hogan, right?"

"Yes. And?"

"A colonel is pretty high, as far as I know. Isn't he?"

Oskar nodded, and she continued, "So maybe they're trying to pry military secrets from him. There must be a reason why they put him in this camp, with only low-ranking soldiers."

"And you think some of the guards help this man to sneak out at night to report his findings to the Gestapo or something," Oskar concluded in a low tone.

She shrugged. "It could be. I don't know."

"That still doesn't explain why Colonel Hogan doesn't seem to be bothered at all by the guy's occasional exchange for another prisoner," Udo pointed out.

Another shrug. "I don't know. But I find the idea of a perfect double rather far-fetched, too."

Oskar sighed, and rubbed his face. "I'm getting a headache of this. It just doesn't add up no matter how you look at it. Udo – you think you could keep an eye on this guy?"

"Which one? Colonel Hogan or the other one?"

"The other one. And if he disappears again, let me know. Then we go to the Hofbrau together and find out if it's really him."

"If he does go there again of course. But I'm occasionally on duty at night as well."

"Then tell them you've got a headache or a toothache or whatever. I need you to identify the man for me. I want to see what he's up to."

Udo nodded. "And I'll see if I can swap my shifts, so that I'll be accompanying the Kommandant again at roll call next week."

And so it was arranged.

And they didn't have to wait long. Only two days later, Private Steinmetz already barged into Maryse's, panting, "He's missing again, that dark young guy! There was a blond one in his place, but not the same one from before!"

"I'll get... Oskar."

"And please ask him to bring a civilian jacket that goes with Luftwaffe blue. If it really is this guy, I'd rather not have him recognize me as one of the guards."

She nodded.

A quick phonecall, and within ten minutes a stranger appeared at the door, holding out a dark blue jacket. "This should go with the blue of the tie, I think. Would you like me to give you a bit of a make-over as well?"

"Sure."

It certainly wasn't the first time that they only recognized their leader by his words, but Udo still found it a bit eerie. "Don't you find it disturbing that you don't even recognize your own lover?" he asked Maryse as Danzig knelt in front of him.

"Hold still, will you?" the latter ordered.

And Maryse replied with a sigh, "Well, you do get used to it over time – a little. He still surprises me regularly." She watched with interest how – with only a few lines – Karl completely changed the characteristics of Udo's face. He had taught her the basics last year, and they had spent a merry evening at the time with her experimenting on his face. Maybe she should ask him to teach her some more, just as an excuse to...

But Karl already got up. "Come on, let's go." All business-like.

And Maryse sighed as the front door fell shut behind the two men. Clearly, tonight was not going to be one of those scarce cosy evenings when she could have him all to herself. When she could just forget about the war for a while, and just enjoy his company, his talk, his laugh, his arms around her, his sweet kisses...

"There he is," Udo nodded under his breath as they entered the taproom.

Oskar followed his gaze. "Corner?"

"Yes."

But first they ordered two beers at the bar, and made their way to a free table across the room from the mysterious prisoner. Strategic seating gave them both a good view of the man at the corner table, and after a few minutes of sipping their beers in silence, Oskar inquired quietly, "You sure it's him?"

Udo nodded. "Positive."

"Good." He began to tell his companion a wild tale about a friend of his whose model train set had exploded. "And all he had done wrong was accidentally putting one of the points out of order. But when the train derailed at full speed, it toppled over and suddenly it exploded!"

"So I heard," Udo nodded. "I wish I could have seen it. I hope he didn't get hurt though?"

"No, he's fine. Fortunately, he wasn't standing on top of it when it happened. He's okay."

"It was just the end of the train set," Udo summarized with a grin. "And it clearly shows that electricity is no child's play. I hope your friend has learned his lesson."

Oskar grimaced. "I'm sure he has."

They were silent for a while after this exchange – which really was a veiled way of acquainting Udo with last night's sabotage caper. Udo's assignment as campguard meant he had to miss out on quite a few of their raids for rationbooks, ID cards and war sabotage, but they did keep him up-to-date on the bigger feats. Like accidentally blowing up a munitions train.

Udo began to relate some minor events out of the life of a prison-guard, and as they slowly sipped their beer, they both noticed how totally at ease their man was. He had finished his meal, and sat there browsing through the day's paper with a glass of wine as if he dined here every night.

It happened no less than four times that he was approached by another customer, and one of them – a small, elderly man Udo thought looked familiar – sat down with him for several minutes and had a hearty chat with him.

But all in all, the man's attitude was inconceivably carefree for an escaped prisoner in enemy territory.

"He obviously knows those people," Udo commented.

"And more importantly – they know him. I don't know what he is, Udo, but he's no ordinary prisoner."

Udo glanced at him. "A double agent or something?"

Oskar nodded.

They both looked at the guy again over their beerglasses.

"He looks like a pleasant enough fellow though," Udo pointed out.

Oskar grimaced. "So would Hitler if he'd ever allow himself to smile."

Udo hid a snort in his beer. "I doubt it," he brought out and wiped away his sudden moustache. "You know, maybe we should go and talk to the guy. Draw him out. Start talking about the weather and move on from there."

"Hm."

"Or better still: let Maryse do that."

Oskar's eyebrows shot up in alarm. "Maryse? Why her?"

Udo snickered. "Because a young man is more likely to inadvertantly spill secrets to a pretty girl than to other men. Come on... everybody knows that!"

"Hm." He had to admit Udo had a point there. Hadn't Marya constantly proven just that – even with older men?

But there was no time to contemplate on that now, for on the other side of the room, their person of interest had folded up his paper and gestured to the bar for his bill.

Oskar put down his beer and got up. "You pay for our drinks and wait till he's gone – then you go home. I'll go after him." He left a half-mark coin on the table and quickly disappeared outside.

Hiding in the shadow of the trees to the side of the square, he glanced at his watch. Half an hour to curfew – a logical time for anyone to go home.

And there he was, carrying a bulky, pretty heavy package that instantly peaked Karl's curiosity.

He allowed the man to cross the small square before setting off after him. It wasn't busy in the streets anymore at this hour, but there were still enough people around to make him inconspicuous.

Following him then on the same, then on the opposite side of the road, Karl was led straight out of town by the mystery man. Along the Hamelburg Road no less – the unpaved country-track that led past the prison-camp indeed!

The dark shadows of the trees made detection difficult for his prey, and the sandy ground smothered all sounds of footsteps. Karl carefully closed the distance between them a little – to make sure he wouldn't lose him in the woods. The bridge forced him to widen the gap again however, but once he thought it safe enough to hurry over, he was just in time to see his man disappear in the woods on the right.

He hurried to catch up with him, but it was hard to tell in the dark exactly where he had left the road.

Putting his trust in his lucky star, he began to seek his way through the wide maze of pine trees. The ground was covered with a carpet of pine needles, and surprisingly devoid of twigs and dead branches – but then, the trees were very tall here, with the only side branches being at the very top. At least it made the going easy and pretty much soundless. He just hoped he wouldn't accidentally stumble into his mystery man.

Ahead of him there was light – both strong steady lights and the sweeping dance of movable searchlights. That must be the camp.

After snooping around there a little while it was being built, he hadn't been back to the camp since, even though it was less than a ten minute walk from his house.

And there, against the background of light, he noticed his man again, too. It would be impossible for the guards to see him, looking from the light into the dark. And besides, who would be looking for someone breaking into a prison?

He crept closer and closer over the sound absorbing needle carpet. For just as the guards couldn't see the mystery man, the mystery man would not be able to see him either – as long as he stayed behind him.

The man seemed to wait for something. Karl crouched down behind one of the pine trees, and watched how he studied the camp from behind some bushes at the wood's edge. What was he waiting for?

He winced at a sudden dull 'plop' beside him. And another. And another. A big drop on his head, his back, his hand... Oh great, seems like a nice little cloudburst was about to come down on him.

Before he had even finished the thought, the floodgates of heaven were flung wide open, and within twenty seconds flat he was absolutely drenched.

Whether the sudden rain was what the mystery man had been waiting for, or whether he just wanted to get inside, will – I suppose – remain a mystery forever. In any case, the guy suddenly jumped up with his package, ran across the few meters that separated the camp from the woods and...

Karl could scarcely believe his eyes, and seriously questioned if he saw this correctly through the curtain of pouring rain.

But against the strong lights of the camp, it really looked like the guy simply... raised a section of the outer fence, pushed in the package, rolled under it himself, and let the fence fall back in place. And then the same procedure with the inner fence, before he jumped up and disappeared in the shadows between the barracks.

Karl shook his head in disbelief. This couldn't be happening...

He pushed himself to his feet. Maybe he should...?

Quickly, he made his soggy way over to the bushes where the mystery prisoner had been waiting. You could oversee much of the clearing from there indeed, but with the rain still coming down by the bucket, it was hard to make out anything definite in the distance. And that went for the guards, too, of course, so if he wanted to try it...

He waited for the searchlight to pass again, and quickly he crossed the few meters to the fence. This was where the guy had entered the camp, right across from that building.

He almost grabbed in the barbed wire in his eagerness to try and raise the fence, but then he noticed the black rail at the bottom. Muddy and slippery in the rain, but... Yes, he could easily lift it, and with it raise the entire section of the fence! Amazing...

It didn't bode well for the mystery man's affiliation though. For if the prisoners knew about this easy escape route, surely they would be flying out of here by the dozens?

A fierce dog's bark nearby brought him back to reality, and he quickly retreated to the bushes. The rain was beginning to subside, but there was still no other guard in sight save for the one on the guard tower some fifty meters away. Perhaps they were taking shelter from the rain, too?

And as he trudged back through the dark and dripping woods to the Hamelburg Road – on the alert not to run into anyone with his rained out make-up – and from there along a familiar track to his own place, he decided that this mystery certainly merited further investigation. If the guy was indeed a double agent who was to pry military secrets out of this Colonel Hogan... Or whatever was going there. Heck, for all they knew, the Allies could be running an espionage unit from inside that camp, with Sergeant Schultz and that Colonel Hogan as the leaders!

He unlocked his front door, wrung out his clothes the best he could, and stepped into the hall.

And chuckled to himself. "Espionage from inside a POW-camp – yeah, right. You've been reading too many thrillers, my boy!"

Charades

Hamelburg was just the right size of town for this work, Karl reflected as he watched a squirrel hurry across his lawn. It was small enough to be familiar with most of its inhabitants' faces, yet big enough for a new face not to attract attention. It was a commodity they frequently put to good use by going around in disguise on some mission themselves. Without anyone wondering who they were and what they were doing here.

But this was different. If he'd follow Udo's advice – and the advice certainly made sense – then either he himself had to go in dressed as a lady, or they'd have to send one of the girls indeed.

His instinctive reaction was for him to dress up and go in himself. He hadn't done any female impersonating since the outbreak of the war, and to be honest, he was every so happy to have left that episode of his life behind him. Still, for the good cause?

But he had to consider Maryse as well. Up until now, he had run his resistance group here along the same lines he (and Schattner before him) had done in Berlin. In short, that meant the men went out risking to get caught or shot any moment (as Maryse so eloquently put it), and the women provided the necessary services behind the scenes: fake papers, fake orders, fitting, fixing and cleaning uniforms, distributing the seized ration books, running messages and the likes. Dangerous enough if they'd get caught, but not nearly as provocatively dangerous as going out stealing and sabotaging in commando black or Nazi uniform. After all, they are women.

But his girl-friend had revolted against this division of labour from the very beginning, and her insisting on applying for that secretary job in the prison-camp had only been the most recent example. It wasn't so much that she resented his trying to protect her; no, it was much more her continuous fear for his life that made her so rebellious and – in her own words – drove her half insane. In a way, she was as protective of him as he was of her, and he was sure that deep down, she would very much prefer to take over all his missions if she could – if only to keep him safe.

Alright, and there was the matter of her simply being too smart to be content to sit back and let others (e.g. men) solve all the problems. It certainly was one of the things that made her so special, but it did come at a price: he did have to deal with her sometimes almost feministic arguments.

He raked his fingers through his hair as he looked out over his small garden where the squirrel was back, juggling a few beechnuts. Juggling a love-life with perilous resistance work sure wasn't easy. Maybe that's why the spies in the books were always bachelors. Or perhaps they retired as soon as they found the girl of their dreams?

But he had no intention of giving up the fight yet. And giving up Maryse simply was not an option. He had been miserable enough those few weeks when she had jilted him because of his resistance work – it would take an awful lot for him to even consider risking that again.

It did mean however that he had to try and keep her happy, and this might just be an occasion to let her have a share in the 'real' work. Not too dangerous for his own peace of mind, and at the Hofbrau he could easily keep an eye on her. More than one even, if they were to put the other plan into action right away.

Upon being asked, Maryse immediately agreed to do it. (Not that Karl had expected any different.) "But with all those other people at the Hofbrau, I don't want to do it as myself. You know how people talk."

"Of course. I was thinking of going in as a shady blackmarketeer myself. Then you could be my glamorous sister who gets bored with the business talk and goes in search of other entertainment."

She grimaced. "Glamorous, you say? Karl, I don't have anything glamorous."

"But I do. Come." He led her down into the cellar under his house, where large boxes were piled up to the ceiling.

"What's this?" Maryse inquired.

"My play-clothes, so to speak." He pulled down one of the top boxes in the corner and opened it for her. "I'm not that much taller than you, so I don't think they'd need much altering to fit you."

Wide-eyed, Maryse touched the expensive dark green silk. A myriad of glitters shifted as the material moved in the light of the bare bulb. "Karl..." she breathed. "How... Where did you get this?"

He smiled a little. "I've got a few dozen of them. And they'll all be yours one day, I hope."

With delicate fingers, Maryse lifted the dress out of the box. It had a few creases and folds from being stored so long, but still... "It's beautiful," she whispered, her eyes feasting on the elegant cut.

"And I bet it'll be even more beautiful with you in it. Why don't you try it on?"

"What – here?"

"You can use my bedroom." He already pushed her towards the stairs.

But, "Your bedroom? Karl, I don't think that's..."

He grinned. "Well, at least it has a full length mirror. Don't you want to see yourself in this? And I promise I won't peek until you let me in yourself."

"But where did you get these beautiful dresses? Did you use them for Danzig's show?"

"Some of them, yes. But most of the real expensive stuff is Marya's."

"Who is that? No." She sighed. "Don't tell me. She's another one of those female impersonator acts."

He gave her a lopsided grin. "You said it. Marya was a Russian astrologer who was quite a success with the big brass in Berlin. And they kept showering her with dresses and furs and jewelry and I know not what – both to entice her to stay with them, and to poke out the eyes of their envious colleagues."

Maryse nodded. "I get the picture. And apart from the dresses, you got a lot of useful information out of them, too, I bet."

"Of course. That was the whole idea."

With a resigned shake of the head, Maryse went upstairs with the dark green dress, and Karl whistled appreciatively when she came down to the living-room again.

She smiled hesitantly. "Isn't it a little too short?"

"Of course not. You've got lovely legs, so use them to your advantage. With a bit of luck, he'll be so engrossed in looking at your legs that he'll answer any question you ask him without realizing it."

Maryse grimaced. "I'd rather you men would notice more of me than just my legs."

"That's your personal pride as Maryse Gotthardt speaking. But she's not going to the Hofbrau this week – Tatiana Bülow is. And her job is to get that mystery prisoner to talk. And I don't care whether it's her legs, her dress, her conversation, her laugh, her smile, her eyes, her décolleté or anything that does it, as long as you can lure him into talking."

She smiled. "I get the picture."

"So how is the dress? Do you need to alter it?"

"It's perfect." She chuckled mischievously. "I've always wanted a man whose clothes I could borrow."

"And shoes – do you have shoes to go with this? I don't think we have the same size there."

"No, I've got shoes." She made a coquettish twirl for him. "So how do I look?"

"Lovely." He caught her in his arms and kissed her. "Far too lovely in fact to let you go out of the house. But I promise you – I'm personally going to deck any male who pays undue attention to you!"

She grinned. "Except our mystery man of course."

A chuckle. "Except him, yes. I may defer that till later."

The next time Udo noticed the mystery man having disappeared from the camp, he had unfortunately only just come on duty, and there was no way he could warn his friends that night. And before his shift was over, the guy was back in camp.

But a few days later, Udo's shift ended shortly after an impromptu roll call in honour of the newly promoted General Burkhalter – a roll call where the mystery man's place was occupied by a young guy in blue RAF uniform!

So he went straight to Maryse's once he was off-duty, and within fifteen minutes the threesome was together, preparing for their night out. They had already brought their play-clothes (as Oskar called them) here a few days back, and it didn't take long for them to get changed.

"By the way, I found that part of the fence you were talking about," Udo told Oskar as they changed into their somewhat gaudy blackmarketeer outfits in the kitchen.

Oskar sighed. "You couldn't resist, could you? I hope you didn't draw attention to it?"

"Of course not. I simply swapped my nightshift from the watchtower to the compound. Most guards like to be up on the watchtower and play with the searchlight, you know. But Sergeant Schultz is still favouring me with standing duties instead of walking duties. But it's nice to be able to walk around sometimes. And in the dark I can even let go of my limp – they can't tell us apart from up the towers anyway."

"So what did you find out?"

"It's definitely new – much newer than the fence itself. And you can't lift it entirely – only maybe half a meter. Enough for a person to roll under it."

"And its location?"

"Behind barracks 6. Which is indeed pretty close to barracks 2 where Colonel Hogan and our mystery man are housed."

"I can't say I'm surprised. Well, perhaps he can shed some light on it tonight."

They went back to the living-room where the light was better to do Udo's make-up, and Udo whistled when Maryse joined them again wearing the dark green dress. "Hey, Herr Bülow, you didn't tell me your sister was that pretty. Can I ask her out for a date?"

Maryse gave him a tense little smile, but Oskar warned him in mock stern to watch it. "I vowed I would deck anyone who paid undue attention to her tonight, and I have every intention of keeping that promise!"

Udo flashed Maryse a grin, and once his make-up was taken care of, he left the house by the back door to go and keep an eye on the situation at the Hofbrau.

"Come on, your turn." Karl gestured to the chair, and hesitantly, Maryse sat down. She didn't have all that much experience with the result of Karl's magic fingers on her own face, and it was with some trepidation that she left her appearance at his mercy. Who knows what she'd look like in fifteen minutes time? Different of course, but how different? In what way?

She felt Karl's soft fingers rubbing something into her cheeks, and suddenly he asked, "Scared? You're so tense."

She shook her head. "Not scared. Nervous maybe. I'm not exactly a born flirt."

"I know." He smiled. "It's one of the things I love about you. So just talk to him like you would to any young man. Don't overdo it. You'll be fine, I'm sure."

He finished the job in mutual silence, and then sat back on his heels to view the result. "It's not you – it's a piece of art," he observed. "But a lovely piece of art you are..."

Maryse picked up the small handmirror – and her jaw dropped at the sight of her reflection. Mysterious, exotic, excessively beautiful... Looking back at her from the mirror was the kind of seductive young lady that would win a beauty pageant in America. Was this really her – thirty-plus year old Maryse Gotthardt from Duisburg?

Then perhaps those girls in the beauty contests had rather plain faces, too, and were merely 'made' beautiful by a make-up artist?

"Like it?" Karl asked.

She nodded, and shook her head – and nodded again. "It's beautiful. But as you said, it's not me. It'll be rather awkward to go around looking like this, I think. As if my face doesn't match me."

He smiled. "You'll get used to it. And I promise you it will be easier than you think. People will treat you based on what they see, and your reactions will almost automatically adapt to their approach. So..." He got up and extended his hand to her. "Shall we go, my dear sister?"

Karl recalled how apprehensive he had been that first time he had walked through his hometown dressed as Katinka Kordeva. And how Peter's continuous advice and reassurances that everything would be fine only had made him more nervous – right until the moment the curtain rose as they entered the café.

So instead of pushing it with Maryse (who was far less of a natural actor to begin with), he just left her to her own thoughts as they walked along the narrow streets of the town center, and limited his reassuring her to an occasional wink or a squeeze of her hand.

She sure did attract attention though. Heads turned, men stared, women appraised her... And when some officer even tipped his hat for her, she finally found her smile.

"That's the spirit," Karl whispered. "And there is the Hofbrau. Are you ready, Tatiana?"

She took a deep breath. "I hope so."

"Then go get him!" He pushed open the door and let her enter first.

There was not an eye in the room that did not instantly turn to her, and Maryse felt a fiery blush creeping up to her cheeks under the layers of make-up. Suddenly she felt terribly awkward in this glamorous charade, and wooden and uncertain under all this attention, and she was sure she was going to trip or wrench her ankle or...

But there was Karl's hand at her elbow, casually guiding her to the back of the room where the disguised Udo raised his hand.

Udo stood when they approached his table. "Herr Bülow. Fräulein," he bowed formally, as if they hadn't parted less than an hour ago.

"Herr Elsner," Maryse said quietly in return as she made a slight curtsey, and she extended her hand to him as she had seen the grand ladies in the movies do.

Udo pressed a gallant kiss on it, and couldn't keep his eyes off her as Karl took her (his) fur cape and pulled out a chair for her to sit.

"You look absolutely wonderful tonight, Fräulein," Udo said with clear admiration in his voice.

"Thank you, Herr Elsner." Maryse folded her hands on the table and furtively looked around. It was around dinnertime, and quite a few tables were occupied. "So who is it?"

"He's not here yet."

"What? You mean we...?"

"Calm down – it's still early," Karl admonished her.

"Easy for you to say," she hissed. "I had myself all worked up to have a go at him – and now he's not here?"

"We'll just be ordinary customers and have some dinner first."

"I didn't bring my ration book. But I don't think I could eat anyway."

"Are you sure? I can cover for your rations – no problem."

"Thanks, but my stomach is one big knot. I'm sure I couldn't eat a bite anyway."

So the two men ordered, and while Maryse filched some small bits and pieces from their plates after all, Herr Bülow and Herr Elsner kept up a lively conversation about – of all things – cars. She had no idea either of them was so knowledgeable on the subject – or were they? But boring it certainly was, and it made Udo's sudden nudge, "There he is!" all the more welcome.

Maryse (or Tatiana) followed the young man with her eyes as he made his way to one of the empty tables by the wall. An old man stopped him for a moment, and their talk ended in a hearty laugh before the mystery man continued towards the table he had chosen for tonight.

She turned a bit in her chair to have a better view of him. And found he was actually rather cute. Mid twenties by the looks of it, with a pleasant, open face and a ready smile.

She waited till he had placed his order with the waitress, and then she slowly rose to her feet.

Immediately all the eyes in the room were upon her again, but now that her task was tangible, she saw only one man.

And he saw her, too...

With slightly swinging hips she approached his table, and struck the provocative pose Karl had taught her. "Hello gorgeous."

The mystery man quickly let his eyes wander from her top to toe and back before replying, "Hello gorgeous yourself."

Maryse fluttered her eyelashes at him, but it felt totally unnatural, so she quickly amended it with a smile. "Mind if I join you?"

He raised his eyebrows. "Weren't you with those guys over there?"

A careless wave. "Just my brother and his associate." She rolled her eyes and gracefully sat down across from him without a real invitation. "They've been talking business all night. And business is so boring..."

He flashed her a smile. "You're so right."

So far his German was perfect. Perhaps if she'd draw him out a bit more...? He really looked way too nice to be linked to the Gestapo. "So what brings you to town?"

A grin was her reply. "Business."

She sighed with exaggerated suffering. "Men... All they talk about is business... Business and war and cars!"

He rested his elbows on the table and whispered conspirationally, "I wouldn't mind talking about something else with you, Fräulein...?"

"Tatiana," Maryse supplied. "Tatiana Bülow. And the one with that awful orange tie over there is my brother – Louis. And you are...?"

"Tappert," the mystery man said. "Hugo Tappert, at your service, Fräulein."

"It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Herr Tappert," she murmured formally.

"Likewise." He half stood and bowed for her.

After that, they both were silent for a while. It was obvious that Herr Tappert was feasting on her fake features. But no matter what Karl said, she was simply not accustomed to such attention, and she found his overt interest in her rather disconcerting. True – she could really bask herself in Karl looking at her like that. But a total stranger? Was that something the real pretty girls had to put up with all the time?

So she shyly looked away, doing her best to make it look like aloofness.

But her task was to get him to talk, so... "Could it be that I've seen you here before?"

He shook his head. "Impossible. Someone as pretty as you... I would have remembered."

"But you do come here more often, don't you? I saw you greet that old man when you came in."

He shrugged. "An old friend. I'm a travelling salesman – I've got friends and acquaintances in every town in this area."

She played a bit with her bracelet, then picked up a beerspill and twirled it between her fingers. "Girl-friends, too, I suppose? A good-looking guy like you..."

He grinned. "I've been saving myself for someone real special."

She raised her eyebrows in fake ignorance. "Who might that be?" This was finally becoming a little easier.

"Someone like you, for example," he replied.

"Uh-uh." She shook her head. "My brother would never allow it. He lets me talk to men – but no more than that. Unless..." She shrugged, and glanced back at Karl and Udo. "Unless I can get a business deal out of it of course." She gave him an innocent look. "So what is your business?"

"Pencils," he deadpanned.

"Pencils?" She shook her head. "Peanuts. My brother is in cars. Now that's real business. One sale and you're comfortably off for months." But she was quickly running out of inspiration here, so she made the sign for Karl to come and rescue her: tugging her hair behind her ears.

He was at her side before Herr Tappert had even concluded his counterargument about selling pencils.

"Tatiana, is this man bothering you?"

"Louis! What are you doing? This is none of your business!" This part at least had been properly rehearsed...

"It is my business. I will not have my sister being trifled with by some shady stranger. Come." He took her by the arm and forced her to get up.

"Sorry. Nice talking to you," Maryse still said over her shoulder to Herr Tappert as she was dragged back to her own table.

"Keep it up a little longer – people are watching," Karl hissed as he dropped her unceremoniously on her chair.

So instead of heaving the sigh of relief that begged to be released, she pouted. "I'll never find a husband if you keep dragging me away from men."

"You don't need a husband – you've got me," he retorted.

"That's not the same."

They kept up the brother-sister bickering for quite a while, occasionally with Herr Elsner adding his two cents as well. But hand over hand it petered out, and once their volume was down far enough not to attract attention anymore, Karl whispered, "What did you find out?"

"He says his name is Hugo Tappert, a travelling salesman in pencils – though I'm not sure if he was serious about those pencils. His German is flawless, with a strong Düsseldorf accent. And the German way of introducing oneself comes entirely natural to him. I'm fairly sure he is German."

Udo and Oskar exchanged a glance.

"Plan B?"

"Plan B."

Udo disappeared to make a phonecall, and when it looked like Herr Tappert was nearly done with his meal, Herr Bülow asked for the check, and a few minutes later they stood outside in the quickly cooling evening.

"There's Hasso." Karl nodded to the trees at the shorter side of the square, where their friend the miller was waiting in the car. "You know what to do, sis."

Maryse nodded. "But you two be careful, okay?"

A few minutes later she sat in the front seat next to the driver, and Udo and Oskar had taken up their respective places in the shadows close to the Hofbrau. The waiting game could start...

It was around the same hour as last time – shortly after dark – that the mystery man left the tavern.

But this time, Oskar and Udo were immediately on his heels. "Herr Tappert, I believe?" Oskar inquired with a threatening edge to his voice.

The man made a move as to turn around, but the sudden sensation of a revolver pressing against his back clearly made him reconsider.

"Good. Now if you would be so kind as to come with us for a moment? We'd like to ask you a few questions."

Herr Tappert didn't say a word, but obediently went as he was directed. Until they were in the shadow of the trees, when... A sudden turn, a fist connecting with his assailant's jaw, a gun scattering over the cobblestones... And a soundless sigh as Udo hit him over the head with his gun.

"Oof..." Oskar picked up his revolver and quickly bent over their fallen hostage. "Is he out?"

"I think so."

"Quick then."

Together they carried the young man the last few meters to the waiting car, and manoeuvered their unconscious prisoner onto the back seat. They both took their place on either side of him, and off they went, blindfolding and tying him on the way.

Hasso deliberately made a bit of a detour, but in the end he stopped by the windmill. "I'll get him," he said, and under the watchful eyes of his comrades, he threw Herr Tappert over his shoulder and carried him into the woodshed.

He was placed on a straight-backed chair and – unconscious or not – held at gunpoint as they freed his hands and tied them again behind the back of the chair. A thorough body-search produced a small gun, a pocket-knife, and papers in the name of Hugo Anton Tappert that, according to Oskar, looked real enough to leave open the option of them being fake.

Udo had lit the paraffinlamp in the corner, making sure to keep the light low so it wouldn't give away human presence in the shed, and in the half-light the three men studied their sagging prisoner.

"I hope I didn't hit him too hard," Udo muttered with a hint of worry in his voice.

"He'll be alright," Oskar assured him. "He might well be faking it now, to learn as much about us as he can. So..."

Udo nodded. 'No talking', was his motto tonight. For unlike Oskar, he wasn't very adept at disguising his voice, and they certainly couldn't risk this so-called POW to recognize the voice of one of the guards.

"He's a feisty one," Hasso agreed. "Maybe we should tie his ankles to the legs of the chair, too. To avoid him pulling a stunt like the one he did back there."

Oskar nodded, and once that was taken care of, Hasso took his leave. "Good luck with him. I'll go and get the lady home. You guys just shout if there's trouble, okay?"

Once Hasso had left, Oskar removed the mystery man's blindfold. After all, he had already seen them at the Hofbrau, and soon the man began to show signs of coming around. A few moans, a few vigorous shakes of the head, a jerk as he realized he was tied to something, and Herr Tappert opened his eyes.

"Guten Abend, Herr Tappert," Oskar drawled. "I'm sorry we had to knock you out, but we really wanted to talk to you in private."

The guy gave him a blurred look. "What... About your sister? I didn't even touch her – honest!"

"Good for you, but that's not what we want to talk about."

"What then?"

Oskar leaned in on him. "We'd like to ask you a few things about your business with Stalag 13."

The prisoner raised his eyebrows. "Stalag 13? Where is that? Oh, wait... Isn't that the prison-camp just outside town here?"

"Exactly. We know that you belong there, and yet you don't belong there. Do I make myself clear?"

"Not really," the guy muttered.

"Then let me spell it out for you." Oskar began to circle him – slowly, like a beast of prey. "Witnesses have seen you leaving the camp and going back into the camp through the wire. And without being bothered by the guards. And we would like to know: what is a German civilian doing, posing as an Allied prisoner-of-war, and going in and out of the local prison-camp several times a week?"

Hogan

The would-be prisoner-of-war shrugged. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, come on. Don't give me that nonsense, will you? We know you pose as a prisoner in Stalag 13. That'd be odd enough in itself, but you're also walking around town and meeting friends as if you've lived here all your life. So clearly you are not a prisoner-of-war – you're a native German. And then you go back to the prison out of your own free will. A little too many oddities, don't you think? So what is your game?"

The guy sighed. "Look, I'm sure you've got me mixed up with someone else. So why don't you let me go and we'll just forget this... this misunderstanding."

Oskar shook his head. "Sorry, pal. No mix-up. We followed you from the Hofbrau back to camp the other night, so it's no use denying."

Their mystery man contemplated this. "And what's your angle in this?"

"What do you mean?"

"If you think I'm an escaped prisoner, the logical thing for you to do was to turn me in. Or to take me back to camp yourselves. But you brought me here instead. Why?"

"You're no escaped prisoner. An escaped prisoner would want to get out of here as fast as possible. He wouldn't stop at the Hofbrau for dinner and a chat with his friends – if he had any around here in the first place. And he certainly wouldn't return to his prison out of his own free will."

The man had an impudent grin. "Oh yes, he would. Have you ever tasted the food in that camp? Believe me – if you were a prisoner there, you'd take every opportunity to go and have dinner at the Hofbrau!"

"But you're no prisoner – you're German," Oskar stated with deadly finality.

Herr Tappert's face opened up in disbelief. "Noooo... Whatever gave you that idea?"

Oskar rolled his eyes. "Don't be coy with me, Herr Tappert – or whatever your name is. Anyone within a 100 kilometer radius will immediately recognize your accent as Düsseldorfian. You're no Allied prisoner – you're a native German."

Herr Tappert gave him a textbook version of a puppy-dog look. "Then why did you grab me?"

"I told you: to find out what your game is in going in and out of the prison-camp. So why do you do it?"

The man shrugged. "For fun?"

"Very funny."

"Well, it's certainly fun to fool the guards."

Oskar shook his head. "Really – even my grandmother could come up with a more plausible reason. Now tell me: why do you pretend to be an Allied prisoner? Who are you working for?"

"I could ask you the same thing," the man muttered.

"But I'm asking you."

A sigh. "Look – why don't you just drop me off in the prison-camp and have this over and done with?"

"And then you simply go back to your game, coming and going from the camp? No way. Not unless you tell me why."

"Why should I? What business is it of yours anyway?"

"Well, you can tell me, or you can tell the Gestapo. Whatever you prefer."

Herr Tappert's eyes narrowed. "Since when is it a crime to escape into a prison?"

"So why don't you quit beating around the bush and tell me."

A defiant glare was all he got.

"All I'm asking for is a sensible explanation for your odd behaviour. You give me one, and I may very well let you go. But if you don't give me one, I'll be forced to conclude that your actions can't bear the light of day, which means it'd be my duty as a German citizen to turn you over to the authorities. So what will it be?"

No reaction, and after a while, Oskar resumed his circling of their prey again. It had a tendency to make people nervous, he knew, and now that Herr Tappert was beginning to refuse to answer...

But the guy remained as cool as a cucumber – yet another hint that he must have been trained in such tactics. And who else but a dyed-in-the-wool villain would be trained to withstand intimidation techniques?

It did mean of course that this could become a long battle. But at least as long as they held him here, he couldn't do much damage as a Gestapo spy in the camp, and this Colonel Hogan would be safe.

They could of course turn him over to the Gestapo right now. The Gestapo certainly had its useful sides if you knew how to exploit them, and it was generally known that they wouldn't hesitate to arrest their very own people if appearances happened to be against them. And such was fairly easily arranged.

But he'd rather know what the guy was up to before turning him in. For if the Gestapo or whatever agency he worked for were so interested in this American colonel, they were bound to send in another informer once Tappert was out of the way. And as long as they didn't have a clue as to what the Nazis or the army wanted from the American colonel, there was little they could do to help protect the man.

The night dragged on – often in silence, interspersed with more question-and-answer exchanges that got them nowhere.

"What time is it?" Udo mouthed when Oskar slowly came walking in his direction again.

Oskar glanced at his watch. "Twenty past three."

"He's awfully stubborn, isn't he."

Oskar grimaced, and opened his mouth to respond...

... when suddenly the door of the woodshed was kicked open with a clang and a calm voice ordered, "Hände hoch."

In a reflex, Oskar spun around and trained his gun on the black-clad intruder instead – but not without hearing his friend gasp, "Colonel Hogan!"

Colonel Hogan? ! ?

Before he had quite processed the thought what the heck the American officer from the camp was doing here, the man raised an eyebrow and said – in an utterly laid-back fashion – , "So you know me, huh? Well, that saves us one round of introductions." He gestured for his companion – a black man (the black man from the camp perhaps?) – to close the door behind them.

With the American colonel training his gun on them, and Oskar keeping the two intruders covered with poor Herr Tappert caught in the middle, the atmosphere was close to boiling point. But Karl ventured nonetheless, "Are you trying to escape?" Perhaps he needed help...?

But, "Not really," was the slow reply. "We came in search of our friend here."

Karl gasped in shock as the truth hit him. For if the American colonel was a friend of that spy Tappert...! "You're Gestapo, too?" Of course – his perfect Berlin accent, being out of camp but not escaping... Oh God, what had they gotten themselves into?

He heard Udo's ragged breathing behind him – or was it his own? And Tappert's surprised exclamation, "Gestapo?" And the Colonel's calm, "Don't worry, we're not from the Gestapo. And neither are you, I gather."

"I don't believe you." This war was turning totally crazy. Wasn't anybody who he was supposed to be? What with Tappert's highly suspicious behaviour, and this American colonel being a friend of his... And now they had another so-called prisoner outside the camp who spoke German like a native and claimed he was not escaping...?

He grabbed his gun with both hands to steady his aim. He was totally at a loss now as to what was going on here – but there was no doubt they were caught right in the middle of it, and things did not look good. Oh God, please...! Please don't force me to shoot another man...!

"Look." The tall black man behind the treacherous colonel stepped forward and held out his empty hands. "I'm with him. Do I look like Gestapo material?" And he spoke perfect German, too! What was this war coming to?

Karl's eyes darted back and forth between the treacherous colonel and the calm black man. He felt like a deer caught in two sets of headlights – almost too scared to think. But there was something about the black man that... "No," he croaked out. "I suppose you're not Gestapo."

"And I assure you, neither are my friends here." A pause, in which Karl's eyes darted back to the American colonel again. For if he was not Gestapo – then what was he? And Tappert?

"Take it easy now," the black man continued in an almost soothing tone. "We're not here to harm you, so let's put away those guns."

The American colonel glanced at his black helper, but did set the example by putting his revolver in his belt and showing them his empty hands. Amazing how he simply did what the black man said...

And Karl wavered. Technically he had the upper hand now, but things had developed so totally beyond his grasp... "So what are you? What's going on here?"

"We're in the escape business. We help prisoners escape," the American colonel replied.

"By having them go back to the prison-camp every time? That's insane. I don't believe you." Karl tightened his grip on the gun.

"Colonel, perhaps you should let me handle this," the black man spoke softly, and in English.

He got a curt nod from his superior officer in black, and the black man held out his hands again. "We are not Gestapo. We are Allied soldiers who are secretly stationed at Stalag 13. Our orders are to help other prisoners escape, and to sabotage the German war effort as much as we can."

"From a prison-camp?" Karl shook his head. "Impossible. That's crazy."

"I know. And as long as the Nazis think it's impossible and crazy, too, it's the perfect cover."

Never taking his eyes off the black man, Karl mulled that over. Contrary to that shifty colonel, he found it difficult to distrust the black man. He had an air of such quiet integrity about him, that...

"And seeing how scared you two are of the Gestapo," the black man continued softly, "I would be very much surprised if you were not on the same side as we are. Fighting against the Nazis. Am I correct?"

Almost against his will, Karl nodded, followed by Udo.

"So why don't you put away that gun now. We're fighting for the same cause. We're not going to hurt you."

Slowly, still wary, Karl lowered his hand – but he didn't put the gun away. "And what about him?" he asked with a nod to the still tied-up Tappert. "He's German, isn't he? And he's been in and out of the camp several times these past weeks."

Tappert glanced at the Colonel, and at his approving nod he finally explained his odd behaviour. "I'm not German – I'm American. But I grew up in Düsseldorf, where my father worked at the American consulate. So that's why I speak German fluently. With a Düsseldorf accent to boot."

Of course – why hadn't they thought of that possibility? Maryse's English... "And why do you keep going back to the camp? Don't you want to escape?"

"I can't. Like he said, we're stationed here. It's our job to help others escape. But we have to stay put, to make sure the operation keeps rolling."

Karl let that sink in for a moment. The whole idea was still crazy as far as he was concerned. But if – as the black man had pointed out – the Nazis thought so, too...

"One of his tasks," the black man picked up, "Is to try and make contact with people outside the camp. People who don't agree with the Führer's ideologies, and are willing to help escaping prisoners along on their way back to England. I guess you could say he was lucky today, in that you found him instead of the other way around."

Oskar and Udo exchanged a glance. Apparently they weren't the only ones to have come up with the idea of helping escaped prisoners to get back to England.

"Do you think you might be able to help us, too?" The black man's question was tentative – as if he wanted to give them every opportunity to turn down the request.

Oskar's eyes went from the black man to 'Herr Tappert', and to Colonel Hogan. "Maybe," was his equally tentative answer. It would fit in perfectly with what they usually did in helping people to get away, but still... "How do we know this is not a trap?"

The American colonel sighed. "Look, I know the times are such that one can't blindly trust a stranger. But you've already come to the conclusion yourself that my black friend here couldn't possibly be Gestapo. So why should we be Gestapo? We need the help from people like you – people outside the camp who are willing to oppose the Nazis. And since you already admitted you're fighting them, too, wouldn't it be more effective if we'd work together?" A pause. "And I promise you, you won't have to tell us any more about what you do than what you're comfortable with. The less we know about each other, the less we can betray. But that doesn't mean we can't work together to fight that devil in Berlin."

Another silence as Karl carefully considered his options. The fact of the matter was of course, that if this really was a trap, Udo and he were already in way over their heads. But if these guys were genuine (and the black man certainly seemed to be), he could easily see a million things they could do to help them. So perhaps...

"Perhaps we should show them our operation, Colonel," the black man suggested to his superior officer. "That should convince them that we're not working for the Nazis."

Colonel Hogan nodded, and Karl looked questioningly from one to the other. "What operation?"

Turning back to him, the black man explained, "Our set-up back at the camp. We're building everything we need there – underground of course. A radio that can reach London, a printing press, a varied stack of uniforms, a dark room with photographic equipment..."

Underground? Karl's curiosity was instantly peaked, and judging by the hastily swallowed sound behind him, so was Udo's.

"Alright," he said slowly. "I'll come with you. And if what you show me convinces me that you're genuine in your fight against the Nazis, you can count on us to help you whenever we're able to. But..." He nodded at the American-German still tied to the chair. "He stays here. If I come back safely, he'll be free to go." After all, if they were willing to take the risk of going out of camp at night to search for this guy, he must be pretty important to them. Too important to try anything with him in return.

"A little insurance, huh? Alright," the Colonel agreed. "But we better get moving then. We'd prefer to have him back in camp by roll call. Saves us some trouble."

Karl nodded and turned to his friend. "Will you be alright with him?" he asked under his breath.

Udo nodded.

"And remember tonight's motto, okay? These guys are sharp – we can't risk it."

Another nod, and Danzig was ready to go.

As he had expected, the two American 'prisoners' took a pretty much straight route cross country to the camp. In fact, they passed pretty close by his house.

But nothing was said on the way – too dangerous with possible patrols lurking in the woods at a time when civilians were supposed to be in their beds, or at least inside the house. And certainly prisoners were supposed to be in their prison-camp...

And there it was, lit up brightly in the dark of blacked-out Germany.

The two Americans squatted down behind some bushes, and Karl followed their example. They were some twenty meters from the fence, and he could clearly see one of the guards patrolling with a fierce looking German shepherd. But they weren't anywhere near the place where you could raise the fence. Or would the camp have more secret entrances?

"I'm afraid we're going to have to blindfold you now," Colonel Hogan whispered. "For the same goes for you: what you don't know, you can't spill."

Karl opened his mouth to say that he already knew about the fence, but with the blindfold already covering his eyes, he decided he might as well play along. It was a giant leap of faith, but if they were ever to work together, they had to start trusting each other somewhere. They had already entrusted him with the information about their escape business – now it was his turn to learn to trust them in return.

He was pulled upright, and two hands guided him what seemed to be further to the right.

"Get down!" Colonel Hogan hissed.

For a few moments they hovered low by the ground – then he was pulled up again. "Quick! Raise your leg high and find the rungs of the ladder. Kinch will guide your foot there."

A ladder? He did as he was told, and felt someone take hold of his foot and place it on a narrow surface that could be a ladder. The other foot came logically beside it, and sensing the other man just below him, he carefully began to descend into... into what? Underground, they had said, but...?

And there was the bottom – sand by the feeling of it.

He was pulled aside a little, and he heard someone else coming down the ladder and jumping down the last bit. And then his blindfold was pulled away, and as he stepped into his line of sight, Colonel Hogan grinned, "Welcome to our underground department." There was a hint of pride in his voice, and looking around, Karl could easily see why. The tunnel's ceiling was high enough for a grown man to go upright without feeling the urge to duck, and the rough sandy walls were far enough apart to allow two people to walk together.

"Wow," he breathed. "When you said it was underground, I envisioned something narrow and low – of crawling height. But this...!"

"That's the size of an escape tunnel. But we don't dig tunnels to escape – we work here," Colonel Hogan explained. "Come on, I'll show you around."

Karl followed him through the sparsely lit tunnel, with the black man taking the rear. It was hard to estimate the distance, but it was quite a walk before they came to a better lit room. A room full of radio equipment, with a man with headphones on sitting on duty in the midst of it.

"LeBeau and Newkirk back yet?" the Colonel inquired with him.

The man at the radio shook his head, and Colonel Hogan turned back to him. "This is our radioroom. Our radio has quite a good range: we can talk to a submarine in the North Sea, and with them as an intermediate, we communicate with our headquarters in London. But we're working on a better antenna. It'd be easier if we could communicate with London directly."

Karl was visibly impressed. "Where did you get all this equipment? Or did you bring that with you when you got stationed here? No," he corrected himself. "That's hardly possible. The guards would have taken it before you were brought here."

Colonel Hogan nodded. "We get regular supply drops from London. And..."

"In the camp?" Karl half exclaimed in surprise.

"No, outside in the woods. So we go out of camp at night to pick them up."

"And they never catch you?"

Colonel Hogan chuckled. "Only when we want them to." And the black man grinned at him.

"But..." Karl frowned as he tried to make sense of the situation. "Surely the Kommandant of this place must be in on it, too, then. Isn't he?"

"Nope. Well, sort of," the Colonel immediately amended his instinctive denial. "Of course he doesn't know it, but without him, we wouldn't be able to function properly. A little flattery and a lot of manipulation go a long way with Kommandant Klink – we can get him to do exactly what we want. In fact, he's a great asset to the Allied war effort."

"And so is Schultz, our barracks guard," the black man added.

Another chuckle from Colonel Hogan. "It took some time, but we've trained him to 'see nothing, hear nothing and know nothing'. He adheres strictly to it – if only because it'd be his neck, too, if they'd ever find out what's been going on here right under their noses."

"Oh boy." Karl couldn't help laughing. "And the other guards – have you trained them, too?" Udo had never said anything about that.

"Nah. Not really. We've checked them out of course, and any guard we don't like gets transferred out. The bunch we have left either follows Schultz's lead, or they're too stupid to question what's going on around them."

If Udo heard that... Colonel Hogan definitely had a marvellous set-up here. But if he didn't keep his overconfidence in check, his underestimating the enemy would soon end in disaster...

He looked around. There were about half a dozen more dark openings in all directions. More tunnels? Other rooms?

Colonel Hogan followed his gaze. "Yeah, we intend to have a tunnel connection to every important building in the camp, including every barracks. Just in case, you know. At the moment..." – he gestured to the right – "...we're working on a tunnel to the Kommandant's private quarters. Should come in handy one day."

He led the way into one of the other openings. "And this is our printing room, where we print anything from pamphlets to Gestapo orders, and from ID cards to money." He picked up a batch of Reichsmark notes and let it rustle under Karl's nose. "Practically indistinguishable from the real stuff. It comes in handy when you have to bribe people who don't deserve to get rewarded."

Karl peered at them. "Can I see?"

"Sure." The Colonel held out the whole handful to him, but he took only one banknote and held it up in the light of the oil-lamp.

"Are you an expert perhaps?" the black man asked with obvious interest.

Karl shook his head. "No more than your average German citizen. I just wanted to see if I could notice the difference. But I can't." He handed back the note, and said, "Alright, I believe you. What can we do to help you?"

Colonel Hogan raised his eyebrows. "You believe us because of the fake money?"

"No, because of all these tunnels. There is absolutely no point whatsoever for the Nazis to set up a vast tunnelsystem like this under a prison-camp. Though I still don't understand how having a prisoner escape and then go back into the camp helps the other prisoners to escape."

Colonel Hogan grinned. "We'll get to that. Now let's see..."

It was about half an hour before roll call when Olsen returned – through the emergency tunnel this time. He found Hogan and Kinch in the radioroom. "Hi guys. I'm back."

"Are you alright?" Hogan inquired.

"Yeah, sure." He chuckled. "They fell all over themselves apologizing for holding me hostage all night. It turns out they thought I was a Gestapo spy, planted in the camp to pry military secrets out of you."

"Yes, he told me." Hogan shook his head. "Still, considering how much they did find out about your comings and goings, I think we may count ourselves very lucky that they are on our side. Which means you will have to be a whole lot more careful when you go out, understood?"

Olsen nodded. "I had already figured that, yes. What draws their attention, can draw the attention of the Gestapo as well."

"Exactly. So keep that in mind, okay?"

Another nod. "I will."

"Okay, then let's compare notes. We still have the mystery of these guys recognizing me."

Kinch shook his head. "I don't think we can assume that they both recognized you on sight, sir. The other one – the silent one – certainly did. But the guy who came back here with us may simply have heard of you from his friend."

Hogan nodded. "That's true."

"He's probably one of the guards," Olsen suggested.

"That's the most likely explanation, yes," Hogan agreed. "The question is: which one? I wasn't aware that we had any guards with connections in the underground?"

Kinch cleared his throat. "If I may, Colonel?"

"Sure. By all means."

"When we were in that woodshed, I got a gut feeling that the guy who recognized you was Private Steinmetz. I know he didn't look anything like him, but something about him reminded me of him."

"Steinmetz? You mean the guy with the limp?"

"Yes. And it would fit in with his known behaviour of leaving wirecutters and digging tools around the camp."

"But he didn't have a limp!" Olsen protested.

"Are you sure?"

"Positive. They both walked perfectly normal."

"Hm." Hogan stroked his chin. "We'll have to look into that. And the other guy, this Oskar Danzig..."

"Oskar Danzig?" Olsen interrupted him.

Hogan grinned. "What – you've heard of him, too?"

"Of course I have! The greatest female impersonator in the history of mankind!" He chuckled as a fond memory surfaced. "He was playing in a hotel in Düsseldorf when I was what – fifteen, sixteen? And my friend and I sneaked in there one night to see the show. Without paying of course."

Hogan nodded. "I've seen him, too. In Berlin. I remember he was so convincing that I seriously wondered if he really was a guy."

"Well, now you know. But he didn't seem too pleased that you remembered him though," Kinch pointed out.

"No. That's true. Well, we better leave the past the past then, and treat him for what he is now – a possibly valuable ally." He grimaced. "Who at least has promised not to blow up any more munition trains in our faces."

"So that was him, huh? Glad that mystery is solved." Olsen chuckled. "I've got to say I'm impressed though. Some group they have – a worldfamous impersonator, and on top of that a girl so gorgeous you wouldn't believe it..."

Kinch raised an eyebrow. "How do you know that girl wasn't Danzig himself – in disguise?"

If looks could kill...

To chapter 27 - 37

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I don´t own Hogan´s Heroes; I just like to play with them.

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Chameleon Fever (1)

chapter 1 - 13

Chameleon Fever (3)

chapter 27 - 37

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