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“How did you find me?” She forced the words out.
He glanced at her, and then back at the road. “Beimler,” he said quietly. “I’ve been looking for you for a while. He stood out as…a man of conviction. Your coming here had something to do with Scharnhorst, didn’t it?”
Should she deny it? She had to supply an answer of some sort, and this was the obvious one. “How did you know?”
He smiled. “I didn’t, until I saw your picture in the newspaper. That was very clearly you. You look different now, but not so much that anyone who’d met you wouldn’t know you. I remembered the ring you wear on your right hand. It’s still there.”
“It won’t come off.” As if it mattered. “You…you took a risk getting me. Why?”
“You can’t work that out for yourself?” There was a wisp of humor in his face, there and then gone again. “And does it matter?”
Her hands were clenched so tightly her nails were digging into her palms. The answer did not matter now, but it might at some time far ahead. “Where are we going?” she asked instead.
“To pick up a new passport for you, and then to catch the night train to Paris. We should be there in time for the Calais train, and then the ferry to Dover.”
“You make it sound so easy.” It was not criticism, but gratitude, even admiration.
He glanced sideways at her with a quick smile. “Not fooling you, am I?”
“Thank you for trying…”
Everything was beginning to feel slightly unreal. She was so tired, she had slipped beyond exhaustion into a strange dreamlike state where only the pain in her hand had any urgency of reality. It was throbbing so hard she could feel it right up to her shoulder. The rest—the fear, the revulsion, the pity, and the debt to a woman and child she had seen only in a photograph—were all around her, closer than her skin. Perhaps the pain in her hand was preferable.
She glanced out of the window. The light was beginning to fade. She had no idea where they were. It was a part of the city she was unfamiliar with.
Walter suddenly put his foot down hard on the accelerator and the car shot forward, then in a hundred yards he swung to the right, and then right again.
“Is somebody following us?” Elena asked quickly.
“I think so,” Walter replied. “Hang on. We’ve got to lose them. If they ram us, we’re lost.” As he spoke, he twisted the wheel and the car turned violently to the right, slithered around a corner and then, leaning forward and gripping the wheel, he put his foot down again.
Elena was thrown to one side and then the other, as they swerved again and picked up speed. Car horns were blaring at them. Walter took no
notice. He drove with extreme skill, weaving in and out of lanes, often against the flow. Twice they actually grazed cars coming in the opposite direction. The first blow carried off the wing mirror; the second tore a scar right down the driver’s side with a scream of metal and curses from the other driver. Walter ignored it and rammed his foot down even harder, the tires squealing as the car shot forward.
Elena kept her eyes open, not because she knew where they were, or even where they were headed, but because she was compelled to watch the sheer skill of Walter’s driving. It was like being on a racing circuit. They swerved, slid around corners or across the road in an instant’s gap, and then went speeding in the opposite direction. She felt her heart pounding so violently it made her whole body shake. But with a feeling of victory, not fear.
Walter was smiling, but his teeth were clenched so hard his jaw muscles bulged. All his teeth would ache tomorrow, if they lived until tomorrow. If they were caught now, he would pay as heavy a price as she.
She did not speak. They were probably both thinking the same thing, perhaps even feeling the same. They knew the cost of losing. She had no choice, but why did Walter do it? What would she do if this were England? Would she tell herself this evil was a temporary necessity, and as soon as survival was assured, it would be cast off? The older order, the old moralities would be restored?
She knew the answer before she found the words for it. You do not need to believe evil, only to use its methods. You will get accustomed to them, until eventually they are not your last choice, but your first. For a while, you can justify it to yourself, and then eventually you will not bother. You have forgotten what you are fighting for; now winning is the only objective! And the more you win, the more you justify it, until the whole idea of right and wrong disappears and only winning matters.
For now, though, Walter was helping her, whatever his reason.
“Watch the road!” she shouted as a huge car passed them with a black and white swastika fluttering from its hood. “We can’t…we can’t be stopped for speeding!” Her voice choked. “He’ll not forgive you for being a better driver than he is.”
Walter laughed, but he pulled back a bit all the same. “That was an officer’s car; he won’t be driving it himself.”
“Please…” Then she realized how frightened she sounded. “I’m sorry. I should demand to know where the hell they think they’re going at that speed!”
Walter swiveled quickly in his seat to look at her with a momentary frown. Then he realized she was not serious, and relaxed. “Good idea,” he agreed. “Maybe I can catch up with them so you can ask.”
“Do you even know where you’re going?” She was not sure she wanted the answer.
“Of course I do! We’ll get a picture for your passport. We’ll take that when we get to Max’s. I think you could do with a new dress. Forgive me, but you look like a shop assistant, one who sells groceries or hardware. And we should get that hand seen to, before it gets infected.”
“Of course,” she said tartly. “I would rather be shot than die of septicemia!”
