Chaisley switched back to Dutch. “Rick, I need to ask a favor.”
Her soft, cultured voice cut through his frantic thoughts. How did she make his name sound like an endearment? He pushed the thought away, raised his eyebrows as if startled to attention, and glanced in the mirror. “Ask away, Miss Frappier.”
She chewed on her bottom lip for a moment then lifted her chin. “The concert on Sunday?”
Melanie’s eyes caught his, her concern evident.
He flicked his eyes back to the road. People were still filling the streets after the concert tonight. A petite woman in a fine mink coat clutched the arm of a lanky man in a tuxedo. He said something, and she tossed her head back with a laugh, slapping his arm.
Rick tapped his thumb on the steering wheel. How was that type of joy possible when their country had just been invaded by a rogue government?
Once the road was clear, he eased the gas pedal down, making a left turn and then a right. Finally they were away from the thick of the crowds. He rolled his shoulders, trying to work some of the tense ache from them. “Sorry, ma’am. You asked about Sunday. It’s the last concert here, correct?”
“Yes.” She leaned back against the seat again with her arm propped up on the door. Her fingers drumming. “It seems that we will have none other than Herr Hitler in our audience that evening. This concert has been sold out for months, so I’m wondering who he stole the tickets from. I suppose some of his wealthy supporters would be willing to give theirs up—but nevertheless, he will bein attendance. Which means there will be many of his men and guards with him. Which in turn makes me wish for a bit more ... show of protection for myself.”
Ah, their minds had been on the same thing. “Yes, ma’am. What is it that you need me to do?”
“I would like you to don a different uniform that evening. Not that of a driver, but something a bit different ... perhaps.” Her brow furrowed. “Something that is a bit more imposing. You need to have the appearance of...”
“A bodyguard?”
She nodded. “Yes. Perfect. A bodyguard. I will gladly pay whatever is needed for your new attire. How tall are you?”
“In British measurements, I’m a couple inches over six feet.”
“I thought you were about that height. That helps. An intimidating figure is what I need.” She whispered something to Melanie.
A prick of unease needled him. Those whispered conversations had increased in the last few days. “If you don’t need me first thing in the morning, I will get what I need then and make sure that it meets your approval.”
“Thank you, Rick.” She leaned forward this time. “I would like you by my side at all times that evening. Even when I am playing the piano. No farther than six feet away. Melanie will show you where to stand, and I will need to practice a few times with you standing there because it might take some getting used to.”
“Whatever you need.” He wiped a sweaty palm against his pant leg. Part of what he loved about being a spy was being unnoticed. Melting into shadows. Just another face in the crowd. Now he would stand on a stage.
In front of thousands of people.
In front of Hitler.
He wouldn’t be blending into the background or hiding in a crowd.
At least everyone would be focused on her and the magicalsounds coming out of her piano. He turned left into the hotel parking lot, relief washing over him. He needed to get alone. Fast. How did he tell his bosses he was going to be only fifty feet away from the biggest threat to peace in Europe?
“Also,” Chaisley said, oblivious to his distress, “I delayed speaking with a newspaperman after the news came about our ... guest. But I will have to speak with the man tomorrow. There is sure to be an article out by the time the tenth rolls around.”
Rick eased the limousine to a stop in front of the hotel’s front doors, killing the engine. Why was she telling him this? Did he need to make an appearance? “All right. You just tell me if there’s anything else you need me to do.” He pulled the key out of the ignition and grasped it in his palm.
The two women went back to whispering.
The metal of the key pressed into his skin as he clenched and unclenched his fist. He needed to send a carefully worded telegram to his bosses. Surely, with this kind of access, they would give him some sort of assignment. The prospect was terrifying.
And a little thrilling to think he could be a part of taking Hitler down.
“I think it’s a bad idea!” Melanie’s harsh whisper caught his ear. Were they talking about the newspaperman? From what they’d told him, Chaisley didn’t do interviews. So why had she chosen to dothisone? His eyes narrowed as he exited the car, walking toward the back passenger door.
What did Chaisley have up her sleeve?
And why did he have a sinking feeling in his gut?
Friday, April 8, 1938
