Day of Wrath

Groggy, his vision blurred, he rolled over and looked up at the men standing over him without comprehension. He managed to mutter “What?”

just before cold water was thrown on his face.

Spluttering, Kentner struggled to his feet, angry now and ready to deck the swine who hadhis vision cleared and he saw Rolf Ulrich Reichardt holding an empty pitcher, a tight, controlled smile on his face.

“Are you awake now, Werner, or do you need another drink?” Reichardt asked with deceptive mildness. “If so, I’m sure Herr Schaaf can bring me a second container.”

Schaaf, the hard-as-nails soldier, stood meekly, one step back and to the side of the ex-Stasi operative.

“What’s going on?” Kentner knew better than to challenge Reichardt, but he was still confused — still trying to get his bearings.

The warehouse windows were dark. He glanced at his watch. My God … he’d only been asleep for an hour or so.

Elsewhere in the makeshift bunk room, men stirred — awakened by the sudden commotion. Reichardt took them all in at a glance and ordered, “Get up, all of you! You have more work to do! Now?

His voice was equal parts anger and impatience.

Kentner wiped at the water still dripping off his chin. “I don’t understand, Herr Reichardt. We are on schedule. Why the rush?”

The ex-Stasi man spared him a terrible, chilling glance. He leaned closer and lowered his voice. “Schedules change, Werner.” His eyes grew even harder. “You will not question me.

Not now. Or ever again. Do you understand?”

Dazed, Kentner hurriedly nodded.

“Good,” Reichardt said coldly. “Then I suggest you get moving.

Now.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN RELAYS

JUNE 14

_{Charlottenbur, Berlin}

Colonel Peter Thorn stepped out of the shower and quickly slipped into the short-sleeved shirt and slacks he’d borrowed from their host.

Luckily, he and Andrew Griffin were much the same size. Then he left the bathroom, still toweling his wet hair — moving quietly out of long habit and hard training. He paused in the doorway to the living room.

The ex-S.A.S officer’s Charlottenburg flat occupied the entire top floor of an elegant house that had once belonged to a wealthy industrialist.

Large windows looked down onto a wide, treelined avenue — now a sea of leaves waving gently beneath a wide, cloudless blue sky. The ornate facades of the houses across the avenue rose above the bright green leaves like wind-sculpted cliffs rising from the ocean. Summer was close at hand.

Helen Gray stood gazing out the window, silhouetted by the mid-morning sun. The light cast a dazzling halo around her dark hair and brought the perfect profile of her face into sharp relief.

Thorn watched her in silence for a moment longer, committing the breathtaking image to his memory forever. He was always aware that she was a beautiful woman — but there were still times when the sheer power of her beauty rocked him back on his heels. This was one of them.

“I’ve got a penny …” he said, at last daring to break the spell she’d cast over him.

Without looking around, Helen shook her head. “My thoughts aren’t worth the price, Peter.”

“That’s my call, I think,” Thorn said.

She moved away from the window, ran her right hand lightly over the polished wood of a baby grand piano, and then turned to face him with a small, sad smile playing across her lips. “All right. I was thinking about the future.”

Thorn let the damp towel fall around his neck. “Oh? Any future in particular?”

“My future. Your future.” Her voice dropped low. “Our future.”

So that was it. Thorn joined her by the piano. “Sounds like a sensible subject.” He slipped an arm around her waist. “So why the long face?”

Almost against her will, Helen’s smile grew a little more genuine.

Her eyes regained some of their old sparkle. “Gee, Peter, I don’t know. Just because we’re being hunted by the German police, tracked by trained killers, and stand to lose our jobs on top of everything else …”

“Just that?” Thorn shook his head. He forced a lopsided grin.

“And here you had me worried.”

“Oh?” she said dryly. “You don’t think my catalogue of woes is all that bad?”

Thorn shrugged. “Well, the way I see it we’re facing three possibilities. One: We get killed. Now, I’m not planning on that.

Two: There’s always the second alternative — we go to jail.”

“And you see problems with that option, too, I suppose,” Helen prompted.

“Yep. Too embarrassing. And the food’s usually lousy.”

“So your third alternative is …”

Thorn shrugged. “We survive. We prove our case. And then we live happily ever after.”

Helen sighed. “Sounds nice, Peter. It really does. It’s too bad I’m feeling a little too old to believe in real-life fairy tales.” She looked away.

“Helen …” He turned her toward him and held her. “We’ll get out of this. I promise you that.”

“Damn it. Cut the pep talk,” she said, pulling away slightly from his encircling arms. “I’m not one of your soldiers.”

“No, you’re not,” he said more seriously. He gently tugged her closer and stared straight into her bright blue eyes. “You’re the woman I love.”