The traitor. She’d left with their mother all those years ago by choice.
Her sugary letter had played right into his plan. Of course, he’d responded, telling her everything she wanted to hear. All he had to do was get her back on German soil, and he would pounce.
Whatever information she had would be his.
And once the pianist’s treachery was revealed, the Führer would want to promote him again.
Tempted to allow a grin to grow on his face, he swiped a hand over his mouth instead. Right now, though, he needed to know what that pianist was up to. Why on earth had she been carrying all her musicin braille when she memorized everything? They’d searched her bag. The officer said he had sensed they were hiding something. But what?
He spun on his heel and headed to the door. He needed fresh air to think. He’d disposed of too many of these worthless blind people who couldn’t decipher the code the past few weeks.
Therehadto be another way to catch the traitor.
Once the Führer knew about Miss Frappier’s defiance of the Nazis, he would want to take matter into his own hands. He was already upset that she didn’t show for the demanded performance on November fifteenth. Now that the world was watching with bated breath for Germany’s Supreme Commander-in-Chief to make his next move, he could make an example out of her.
Walking out of his office to his car, he lit a cigarette and scanned the trees.
Wait a minute.
He squinted his eyes.
There—in the park. That man. Where had he seen him?
He snapped his fingers. The man had spoken with Melanie weeks ago. Was it after one of the concerts? He did his best to picture the exact location.
At the moment, the man was surrounded by children. He sat in the snow in his black suit while the children laughed.
Of course! He might not have to use his pathetic little sister after all.
He strode through the snow, staying out of sight as long as possible.
Ten feet away from his target, the man snapped his gaze up.
Gotcha.
On a back road in Germany—Tuesday, December 13, 1938
Thank you, Lord, for a cloudy night.
Melanie’s hands gripped the steering wheel. Having driven theroute from Berlin to Amsterdam several times in the last month since Kristallnacht, each time the clouds covered the heavens she breathed a grateful prayer. It made it harder to see, but it also gave them more cover.
There were only three vehicles their little team could use, and she filled in as a driver whenever one of the others couldn’t.
The job helped her to feel useful even though it caused her great stress every time. Not that she would tell any of the others that. But at the moment, the pounding of her heart was so loud in her ears that it drowned out any other sound.
Breathe deep, Mel. Even as she was thinking that, it was her mother’s voice she heard.
She took several long, deep breaths and the pounding in her ears quieted. Her heart still raced, but that wouldn’t stop. At least not until her cargo was delivered and safe.
Three young children huddled together in the back seat, a thick blanket draped over them. One—only ten years of age and yet the oldest by several years—suffered from epilepsy. One was born with a cleft palate, and the last child only had two fingers on her right hand.
It had been more than an hour since any of them had made a sound. Perhaps they’d fallen asleep. The rest would be good for them, the poor dears. They were so malnourished, worse than any she’d seen so far. Which made her concerned that things were only going to get worse. Sad, how that thought echoed every time. And every time it was worse.
The little ones devoured the sandwiches and water she’d brought so fast, Melanie hoped they didn’t get sick.
But the food stayed down, and the children settled in for their long drive.
Melanie suppressed a yawn. With only a few hours’ sleep the last few days, her exhaustion and the warmth of the car made an unsafe combination. She knew this route, the curves and slopes. The soothing sway of the car was enough to put anyone to sleep.
