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I propelled myself out of the way and almost tripped into the path of another oncoming vehicle. My limbs flooded with my final reserves of adrenaline and I somehow managed to barely leap out of the way just as the immense bulk of a delivery truck sped past, honking his horn as if to chide me for almost being crushed under his wheels.
I tumbled down onto the sidewalk, scraping the palms of my hands as well as my knees through the thin fabric of the scrubs. Strangers rushed to my side and I heard voices, in German:
“Are you okay?”
“Miss, you need to watch where you’re going!”
“I’m going to fetch a doctor…”
I found the source of that last voice and shouted “Nein!” That was the last thing I needed—to end up right where I’d started.
Two things were clear. For one, I couldn’t continue to count on finding hidden reserves of strength. I had none left. No snappy CIA mind-over-matter trick was going to bypass human biology. My body needed to recharge.
Second: I needed aplaceto recharge. If this were any ordinary operation, I’d have access to fake identities, complete with passports and credit cards, to allow me to check into any hotel in the city undetected. But now I possessed nothing except my stolen clothing.
Where could I pass out in peace and not be discovered by the authorities?
If I didn’t make a smart choice soon, the matter would be taken out of my hands. My body would shut down without my permission. And it could happen any second now…
CHAPTER 19
I WOKE UP inside a coffin.
Many of us human beings enjoy a wonderful and temporary bit of amnesia upon waking. A gentle case of forgetting can be truly blissful, especially when the sun is shining and you apparently have no troubles or worries. All you know is that you’ve risen to face a brand-new day, and the possibilities are endless.
Well, that didn’t happen for me.
The moment I woke up, I knew I was in a world of hurt and trouble. I had little more than a day to live. And I was tucked inside a wooden box.
Okay, not exactly a box… more like a chamber. And I’d placed myself here the night before.
I could hear Kevin’s voice in my head:
Wilhelm Sauer’s masterpiece. He designed over a thousand organs during the so-called Romantic period, but this was considered his best.
The cathedral was the only hiding place that made sense. I had slipped inside the Berliner Dom right before closing time, and crawled around the massive organ (yes, I could practically hear Kevin giggling right now) until I found a cubbyhole large enough to accommodate my aching, exhausted body. I don’t even remember trying to fall asleep.
The Berliner Dom had survived the mighty bombing campaigns of the Allied powers. And my body had somehow survived the punishment of the day before. We were two tough dames.
I crawled out of my cubbyhole now and stretched my body. I won’t lie to you: I was still feeling miserable. But a night’s sleep had restored some of my strength, and sharpened my mind a bit.
I unfolded the stolen coat I’d used as a pillow the night before and pulled it onto my body. Then I made my way to the first row of pews and sat down. I’m not the praying type—though I was tempted to make an exception.
No, I needed a moment to strategize. If I were going to quickly solve a case that had so far stymied Interpol, the German government, and who knows how many other intelligence organizations, I needed a plan of attack. As well as information.
Also: some nutrients and water, sufficient to keep my doomed body going long enough to avenge my husband.
I stared up at Sauer’s organ and thought again about Kevin. Was it really only the day before yesterday that we’d been strolling around this cathedral, flirting like teenagers and gawking at something constructed in another century? Had the Berliner Dom herself looked down upon us with pity, knowing the ultimate truth?
Love may be powerful, but nothing lasts.
CHAPTER 20
AS I MADE my way toward the Hotel Berlin Alexanderplatz, I swiped a few copies of today’s international newspapers to read the latest on the attack. (Had the story of my own escape from the hospital made the news?)Der Spiegel,theGuardian,theWashington Post, Le Monde,theSydney Morning Herald. I spread my thievery over a series of news agents. To the untrained observer, I was just a harried nurse on her way to the hospital looking for a little reading material for her commute. Okay, alotof reading material.
By the time I wrapped up my little crime spree, I was crossing the lobby of the hotel and looking for the breakfast buffet. Almost every hotel has them. Very few make you present proof that you’re a guest of said hotel.
As I loaded my plate with enough protein and fruit to sustain me for the next twenty-four hours, the macabre thought struck me that this was probably my last meal. Not the one I would have gone with by choice; I’d have preferred grilled swordfish, sautéed mushrooms, and an ice-cold Hendrick’s martini with Kevin by my side. Instead I sat alone, eating runny scrambled eggs, overcooked sausages, and melon slices.
