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"I think he suspects me, and taking me to the execution was a test. Perhaps he thought I might lose my self-control and try to intervene. Anyway, I think I passed the test."
"But if you were arrested . . ."
Werner nodded. "Everyone talks under torture."
"And you know everything."
"Every agent, every code . . . The only thing I don't know is where they broadcast from. I leave it up to them to pick the locations, and they don't tell me."
They held hands in silence. After a while, Carla said: "I came to give it to Frieda, but I might as well give it to you."
"Give what?"
"The battle plan for Operation Zitadelle."
Werner was electrified. "But I've been trying to put my hands on that for weeks! Where did you get it?"
"From an officer on the General Staff. Perhaps I shouldn't say his name."
"Quite right, don't tell me. But is it authentic?"
"You'd better take a look." She went to Frieda's room and returned with the buff envelope. It had never occurred to her that the document might not be genuine. "It looks all right to me, but what do I know?"
He took out the typewritten sheets. After a minute he said: "This is the real thing. Fantastic!"
"I'm so glad."
He stood up. "I have to take this to Heinrich right away. We must get this encrypted and broadcast tonight."
Carla felt disappointed that their moment of intimacy was over so soon, though she could not have said what she had been expecting. She followed him through the door. She picked up her bag from Frieda's room and went downstairs.
With his hand on the front door, Werner said: "I'm so glad we're friends again."
"Me, too."
"Do you think we'll be able to forget this period of estrangement?"
She did not know what he was trying to say. Did he want to be her lover again--or was he telling her that was out of the question? "I think we can put it behind us," she said neutrally.
"Good." He bent and kissed her lips very quickly. Then he opened the door.
They left the house together, and he climbed on his motorcycle.
Carla walked down the driveway to the street and headed for the station. A moment later, Werner drove past her with a honk and a wave.
Now that she was alone, she could begin to think about his revelation. How did she feel? For two years she had hated him. But in that time she had not had a serious boyfriend. Had she remained in love with him all along? At a minimum she had retained, in her heart of hearts, a fondness for him despite everything. Today, when she heard him in such distress, her hostility had melted away. Now she felt a glow of affection.
Did she love him still?
She did not know.
iv
Macke sat in the rear seat of the black Mercedes with Werner beside him. Around Macke's neck was a bag like a school satchel, except that he wore it in front instead of behind. It was small enough to be covered by a buttoned overcoat. A thin wire ran from the bag to a small earphone. "It's the latest thing," Macke said. "As you get closer to the broadcaster, the sound gets louder."
Werner said: "More discreet than a van with a big aerial on its roof."
"We have to use both--the van to discover the general area, and this to pinpoint the exact location."
