Amerikan Eagle

“Everything’s my business, Sam. You’d be surprised at what I know. Like where you live. Like that commie ex–college professor illegally livin’ at your house. Shame, your house gettin’ broke into the other night. Some of Long’s Legionnaires, it looks like, figured you were a shithead and decided to pay you a visit. You piss off any Legionnaires lately? Still feel like you’re not an errand boy, Inspector?”

“I know why you’re here,” Sam said. “I also know why I’ve been picked to work with you.”

LaCouture’s smile didn’t falter. “You do, do you? Why don’t you tell us?”

“You’re here because of my brother. He’s escaped from the Iroquois Labor Camp. You’re looking for Tony.”

There was a brief look between the Gestapo agent and the FBI agent. LaCouture said, “What makes you say that?”

“Because you hammered a file clerk from my police department who knows you were looking at his records. Because you said something about Tony being right from the start. Meaning you were looking at his paper trail from way back when. When he got his merit badge for marksmanship, when he was head of the shooting team in high school. He’s good with a rifle, he’s been a hunter all his life, and I’m sure you know he’s here in Portsmouth, right ahead of the summit.”

LaCouture’s eyes stayed locked on his. Sam continued, “And here you are. An FBI agent and a Gestapo agent. Why the Gestapo? To protect Hitler, that’s why. And you’re here to follow me to Tony.”

The words scalded Sam’s throat, but he said them. “My brother… he’s going to assassinate Hitler tomorrow, isn’t he?”

LaCouture looked to the Gestapo man, looked to Sam, and then set his papers down and straightened in his chair. “Very good, Inspector. Welcome aboard. You’re no longer just an errand boy.”

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

Groebke muttered something in German, and LaCouture replied. In English, LaCouture said, “All right, where is he?”

“I don’t know.”

“But you’ve seen him.”

“Twice since he escaped. Once in a city park and another time at my house.”

“Did he say what he was doing here?”

“No, of course not,” Sam said. “He said he was just biding his time. Ready to go someplace else once the summit was over and the heat died down.”

Groebke spoke up. “You kept this a secret from the authorities? Even though it is a serious offense?”

Sam tried to ignore the Gestapo agent. “He’s my brother. What else was I going to do?”

The German persisted. “This brother of yours. He is intent upon killing the most important man the German nation has ever produced, and you chose not to help us?”

Sam said sharply, “Just a few minutes ago, on my own, I determined Tony was here to kill Hitler, genius. If the two of you had let me in on what was going on, maybe I could have helped you. But you decided to keep your secrets. Why’s that?”

“Procedures, policies,” the FBI man said. “We were told to keep an eye on you, to keep you close, but I guess it’s not a secret. Speaking of secrets, why give him up now? Why not keep it to yourself?”

“Because I’ve seen what’s out there. All those cops, National Guardsmen, Interior Department goons—I don’t want him killed on some stupid suicide mission.”

“Aren’t you being the good brother.” LaCouture said. It wasn’t a question.

Sam ignored his condescension. “Whatever you say. But an assassination? Who’s behind it?”

Groebke said something quick in German and LaCouture listened, cocked his head for a moment, then told Sam, “A variety of troublemakers, we’re sure. Communists, either homegrown American Reds or NKVD agents sent here from the Soviet Union. It’s impossible to get at Hitler on his home turf. Many have tried, and all have failed. But in the States, it’s easy for someone to blend into a crowd. So probably the Russians. But maybe the Jews. Or the Brits, French, Poles… Christ, the guy’s pissed off enough people, could be any of the above!”

“And my brother?”

“An ideal choice,” LaCouture said, and once the FBI man started talking, Sam knew with a sick feeling how right he was. “A good hunter. A union organizer in jail for opposing the government. Someone whose hatred of Hitler and the quote, oppressors, unquote, is well known. And someone who knows Portsmouth like the back of his hand. An ideal combination, wouldn’t you agree?”

Sam could only nod. LaCouture said, “We have no doubt someone helped get him out of Fort Drum. There’s been an FBI squad up there for weeks, interrogating prisoners. And he had help getting to Portsmouth. We know there’s a conspiracy, we know who the shooter is, and we know the target. Now we must stop it.”