It took some doing, but Martin managed to find an opportunity for Brehmer to be alone with Kathryn while Otto and Bruno were poring feverishly over the latest information Ursula had smuggled out of the briefcase of one of her American boyfriends. They had about 15 hasty minutes to pour out their hearts to one another. In that time Brehmer, after an initially abject and tearful apology...which Kathryn matched with one of her own for saying she hated him...had given the girl the briefest thumbnail sketch of his short stint in the Luftwaffe in 1940, his being shot down over England and captured, the voyage to Canada with other German prisoners of war, the harrowing escape across Lake Superior and his becoming enmeshed in Otto's little spy cell ever since.

"I never planned for any of this," he said emphatically. "My only thought was to be a pilot and do my very best, but I have become a spy, and frankly I'm not very good at it. I don't even have a gun. I've been pestering Otto for the last 2 years to arrange a way for me to return to Europe and rejoin my squadron, but he has no intention of doing so. He needs every pair of hands and eyes he can get here. I hate this work! It's not what I trained for...and if I get caught I will be shot...because I'm out of uniform. Besides...we are involved in things that are very ugly, and likely to become more so...and now I have involved you in this quite unintentionally, and I could kick myself for it! I am the world's biggest idiot, and that is for sure."

"No you're not," said Kathryn. "You're not an idiot at all. You're just someone who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Jurgen...you know I'm still not used to not thinking of you as Wally," she laughed a little through her own tears, "Jurgen, you have got to get clear of Otto. Run away! You escaped from Canada so why can you not escape from Otto? Just walk out the door and disappear. I know that you don't want to surrender, but you could go south...to Mexico or something. You could make it. I know you could."

"Yes," he said bitterly. "That is exactly what I should have done after the first few months...but now...everything has changed. Now you are here as a prisoner and I cannot walk away. I am in this for better or for worse to the bitter end, because if I leave they will kill you. Martin wouldn't, but he wouldn't be able to prevent it either. That Otto is a cold devil, and Ursula, if anything, is worse. They would sacrifice any number of lives in order to 'win', as they see winning. But I'll tell you the real truth...nobody wins these deadly games! Nobody. Only some survive, and some do not. Galland said that once, you know, when a member of the German press corps called him a 'hero' for the hundredth time. He got quite sarcastic. He said 'Hero? I never met any heroes yet. Just those who lived and those who died.' And you know, Galland loved to fly against the British, because they were such damned worthy opponents, and he loved the aerial jousting with them, but he could still see that in the end it was just a big meat-grinder swallowing up the youngest and the best on both sides. I didn't see that then...I was too young and hungry for glory...but I see it now."

"Never mind about that," she said, "It's far away now. A world away from us. Now listen...if what you say is true, then we simply must both escape together. Would Martin help us?"

"I don't know," said Brehmer. "I know he would like to if he could, but that's pushing it. He is, after all, loyal to Germany...as am I if it comes to a decent fight...still..." he knitted his brows. "If he thought that Otto was planning something simply intolerable...some horrible murder or atrocity...he might not put up with it. And then, anything is possible."

A sudden three soft raps on the door, and Martin stepped in. "That's it!" he said urgently, gesturing to Brehmer to come out with all haste.

Jurgen and Kathryn clung to each other for one moment, then he tore himself free and stepped away, as Martin closed the door softly behind them and locked it...just as Otto and Bruno entered the room. Otto was scowling heavily.

"We've very little time," he snapped. "Martin, I want you to start putting together the explosives. I want enough to blow the Great Pyramid off its bloody foundation...and get our red-eyed loverboy here to help you," he added savagely. "He needs something to occupy his mind. Bruno! You get back in there and watch the girl. There are no windows, but I'm leaving nothing to chance."

"Come on then, Jurgen," said Martin. Brehmer gave Otto a sharp piercing look, rather like an eagle might eye a dangerous and hated opponent that he plans to kill at the first opportunity. Then he followed Martin to the shop, and they began assembling detonators, wire, and charges.

"I was wondering, Martin..." said Brehmer, after a bit.

"Yes? What are you wondering?"

"This spying trade is always dangerous, and I think you know that Otto has not seen fit to issue me a firearm in the last two years, as he clearly thinks I am just an amateur here. Well...I was thinking that I might sometime be needing one."

Martin stopped what he was doing, and stared into Brehmer's keen blue eyes. They never wavered, but Brehmer was pleading with him desperately behind those steady eyes. Martin sighed, and pulled a small snub-nosed pistol from his vest. He handed it to Brehmer. "Seven shots," he said, "and here's another clip to go with it. Don't use it unless you absolutely must, and don't waste a shot. It's a well balanced gun, but I'm afraid you won't have time to practice now."

"Thank you, Martin," said Brehmer, tucking the gun and the clip away in his trousers. "I won't need to practice. I used to compete with the best in the squadron on our offtime. Only Willi Baatz could shoot a handgun better than I. Damn good fellow, but he burned up in a Messerschmitt one day over Tangmere, after doing a perfect strafing run on the Tommies. Their AA got him on the pull-out when he was almost free and clear."

"Too bad," said Martin, "But something gets all of us in the end." He winked at Brehmer. "Me, I want to die at 75 or 85 of far too much excellent wine, fine music, and incomparable lovemaking. I hope I find a way to do that." They resumed the deadly work of constructing bombs. Bombs big enough to blow holes in most anything they might be needed for. What madness was Otto planning now?

* * * * *

They were all done when Ursula returned and gave them a hell of a shock, because when Otto opened the door she didn't look like Ursula at all. Her hair was dark, and pulled back in a tight bun, and her clothing was...well, rather sober and severe...like a librarian or something. Otto didn't even recognize her until she spoke.

"You should see your faces," she remarked tartly. "You look like you're all trying to catch flies with your mouths hanging open like that."

"Ursula! Bloody hell! What are you doing like that?" spluttered Otto. "I might have shot you."

"Not likely, Otto," she purred, "I am very quick on the draw, as they say in the American Westerns. And...I am quick enough to know when the hounds are closing in! While you gentlemen have been planning your great assault upon the so-called 'Arsenal of Democracy'...(she laughed contemptuously)...I have been watching the waterfront. They are onto us. The place is lousy with plainclothes operatives...and lousier with apes. Stinking apes and monkeys in the alleys, in the trees, on the rooftops...from one end of the waterfront and right down to the other. If I had come here tonight looking as I usually do, they would about now be preparing to smash down your door like the Big Bad Wolf and bring us all out, alive or dead. It is unfortunate that those wretched apes' bodies were discovered. You should have buried them deeper, Otto, or put them in a bath of acid."

"Mein Gott!" exclaimed Otto. "Are you sure?"

"You know better than to ask that," said Ursula, shortly.

"We must move fast," said Otto, but he felt fear gnawing at the pit of his stomach. His nerve was beginning to give way after months of increasing tension. He had a virtual mutineer on his hands in Brehmer, an unknown quantity in Martin, a kidnapped girl in the backroom to keep an eye on, a target that was probably about as well guarded as Fort Knox, and a city full of stinking apes and monkeys...creeping vermin!...watching for him to stick his nose out the door and be seen. He felt suddenly weak, and passed a hand over his brow vaguely, then sat down heavily on one of the kitchen chairs. Ursula was looking at him commandingly with a bit of a sneer on her beautiful lips.

In a sudden moment of sheer blinding hatred Otto realized that she didn't really respect him at all, never had, and that she had more nerve when it came right down to it than he ever would in his wildest dreams. He was nothing to her. Absolutely nothing. He could have killed her for that, if it would have done any good.

* * * * *