Amerikan Eagle

LaCouture picked up his cup of coffee. “Your little city and the Navy Yard are now the most tightly controlled and secure area in North America. In addition to your fine police force”—LaCouture’s voice dripped with sarcasm—“we have the New Hampshire State Police, the Maine State Police, the FBI, the Secret Service, the Department of Interior, the navy, and oh, yes, a contingent of marines from the Navy Yard. Not to mention the Gestapo, the SS, the SD, the RSHA, and all those other German-alphabet security forces. All of them here to protect President Long and Chancellor Hitler. There’s no way your brother will get close enough to do any harm. Not in a million years. However…”

Groebke leaned forward and spoke again in German, but LaCouture ignored him. “However, this is still a delicate time, having the summit in Portsmouth. Besides your nutball brother, we have Jews, Communists, labor leaders, the press, and every asshole who thinks he has a grudge against Long or the Nazis planning to be here. Fine.”

LaCouture put his cup down, clattering it in the saucer. “But what’s not fine is your brother, who knows this city backward and forward, making trouble and bad press. Trust me, Inspector, the President knows exactly what kind of press he wants for these next couple days. He wants a new era of peace and understanding between the Long administration and the Third Reich. He wants trade agreements that put millions of Americans back to work. And if it helps crush the Bolsheviks, than that’s just a nice bit of extra credit, isn’t it?”

“I see,” Sam said, looking to Groebke. “First killing the Jews, then killing the Bolshies. Some credit.”

Groebke smiled. “Nobody cares. That’s what I read in your newspapers, hear on your radio broadcasts. It’s Europe’s business, not yours. We can do anything we want and the world doesn’t give a shit. Except the Reds.”

LaCouture frowned, “You’re off point, Inspector. I agree with Hans. Europeans have been slaughtering each other in creative ways for thousands of years. Why should we care how they’re doing it this year? We care about us. All the closed banks and businesses, all those damn hobo camps. With a few signatures and a trade agreement, all that’s gonna change. You and me and Hans here, along with everybody else guarding this town, are going to make sure your brother doesn’t fuck that up. Got it?”

Sam said, “Yeah, I got it. But one condition.”

LaCouture crossed his legs. “Not sure if you’re in a position to ask for conditions, but go ahead. Amuse me.”

Sam knew it was a long shot, but still he had to say it. “I don’t want Tony hurt or killed. Just pick him up and bring him back to the labor camp. Let him serve out his sentence.”

LaCouture laughed. “That was two conditions.”

“One condition, two conditions, I don’t care,” Sam said. “That’s what I want. Nothing bad to happen to Tony.”

LaCouture said. “Interesting offer. Here’s my counteroffer.” From the paperwork on his desk, he pulled out an envelope. He slid out a black-and-white photograph and tossed it over. “Take a look. Even though it is a government photo, you can see the faces pretty well.”

From the time he reached over to the photo, Sam could sense it all go wrong in an instant, like riding alone on a snowy night and feeling the Packard’s wheels slip on the ice and snow.

The photograph showed Sarah standing with her arm across Toby’s shoulders, pulling him tight to her. Her face was almost empty of emotion, gaunt with some terrible burden. Toby’s head was buried in her waist, as though he were hiding from the bogeyman.

On either side of them were frowning National Guardsmen. All four figures were standing by a gate. It shouldn’t be familiar, but it was. The photo blurred then, as his eyes stung with tears.

His wife and son were at the Camp Carpenter Labor Camp.

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

LaCouture’s smile was sharp, as if he were a happy predator facing a bleeding and three-legged prey. “So here’s the deal. Nonnegotiable, of course, since I hold all the cards, from the deuce to the ace of spades. We’re looking for your shithead brother. So far we’ve come up with squat. And you’re going to help us find him.”

“Why… why are Sarah and Toby there?”

“In federal custody pending the outcome of an investigation.”

“They didn’t do anything!”

“They never do, do they?”

Sam’s hands started shaking. He put them in his lap to hold them still and out of sight. The FBI agent went on. “This is the deal. You find your brother. That is your sole job. Nothing else matters. How your son and wife are handled, how much food they get, how your wife is… treated all depends on you.”

Sam said hoarsely, “How long are they going to be kept there?”

LaCouture shrugged. “Up to you, boy, ain’t it.”

“And Tony…” Sam felt like the room was slowly closing in on him.