Love at war, p.21
Love at War, page 21
“Inga darling, you have no idea. Max met with a terrible accident.” He frowned and then shrugged. “Such is the fortune of war, I guess.” Without further comment, he downed a glass of whiskey. “My God, you look alluring tonight.”
“I brought dinner from the kitchen. We don’t have to leave for a meal.” Nuala stood before him in only her slip and nylons. Her hair hung loose about her face. She smiled at his compliment but merely nodded to a folding table. On it she’d placed a plain white tablecloth, tapered candles, and two plates filled with beef and potatoes. “I’m glad you find me attractive. I wanted to be comfortable.”
“I hope you always feel comfortable with me.”
“So you like the table and the food?”
Blenk strode over to her and took her in his arms. “You do think of everything, my love.”
Nuala felt the hot wetness of his tongue inside her mouth. Ice like a jolt from an electric current raced down her spine, but she endured his advances, running her hands caressingly along his back. She pressed her loins into his and sensed his member harden against her thighs. Suddenly, her back was against the wall. He rumpled her hair and grasped her scalp between his strong hands as he forced his tongue deeper into her mouth. Breaking from her momentarily, he asked, “Do you mind if dinner waits?”
Nuala smiled and drew her slip over her head. She wore nothing underneath, standing before him only in her hose. “We can always heat it.”
Blenk sighed deeply, stroking her bare breasts. He ran his lips along her neck and pushed her hard against the wall. Nuala remembered the madam’s warning that he liked rough sex. Until now, he’d always been a tender lover. Maybe this was his way of dealing with Max’s death. Maybe previously he’d taken his depravity out on the prostitutes. Now Nuala was the only available conduit. He tore at her nylons. “Wait! I’ll do it. We can use them later.” Nuala removed them carefully. She truly could use them in the very near future. She winked. “You know, to play and tie up!”
Blenk laughed and carried her to the bed, stroking her arms and planting ravenous kisses along her body. Starting at her neck, he made his way down each of her limbs, nibbling at her thighs until her body responded. She wrapped her legs around his waist. Nuala glanced at him as he panted over her. His eyes were that of a predator, a wolf. She buried her face in his shoulder, avoiding those eyes. Blenk penetrated her roughly, his manhood exploding inside of her. Nuala wondered if he’d pushed her womb into her guts, his thrust was so intense. Nuala muffled the scream threatening to erupt from the depths of her throat. He smiled at her, apparently taking her cry for pleasure.
“I have a bottle of wine.” Nuala sat up, extricating herself from his arms and moving to the small kitchen area.
Blenk fell onto the bed, obviously sated. “That would be nice.” His voice was no more than a pant.
“Later I’ll feed you dinner. We can eat in bed.” Nuala returned with two glasses and the bottle. She twirled around, letting him gaze with undisguised admiration at her body. She poured him an ample portion, but she sensed his glass would soon be empty. Nuala had learned that whenever he had a stressful day, Blenk indulged in more than a few glasses of wine. Not that she’d ever seen him drunk. He was as sharp as any eagle. She would have to be careful.
“I’m sorry you had a terrible day.” She took a delicate sip from her own glass as she lay beside him.
Blenk turned on his side and ran his hand along her torso. “Such is the price of war, my darling.” He took a liberal sip of the wine. Nuala watched the deep red liquid sliding toward his lips. Seemingly emboldened by the drink, he added, “Important men in the military have heavy burdens.”
Nuala leaned closer to him. “It must be a frightful responsibility.”
Again, the arrogant shrug. “I was brought up to shoulder such responsibilities. My family have served Kaisers and emperors long before we were one Germany. The burden isn’t too much for people of pure blood.”
Nuala plastered the smile on her face. She’d heard people in her own country talk about blacks like they were inferior dogs. It now shamed her to think that she’d dismissed such talk as trivial, but now Blenk’s words struck her as shameful. That people had to run for their lives or deny themselves to survive made her physically ill. “I’m glad I’m in bed with such an important man.”
Blenk put on a bland expression that Nuala imagined he wanted her to take for modesty. “Well, the Fuhrer does keep me informed.”
“Really?” She let an element of girlish excitement enter her voice.
“Oh yes, the Fuhrer’s expected in town later this week. We have business to discuss.” Blenk reached for the bottle Nuala had placed on the night table and filled his glass. He paused and then added, “You realize you can say nothing about this.”
“Oh, of course not.” Nuala grinned at him and suppressed the pulsing behind her eye. “I can keep secrets, unlike some women.” Her skin felt as if a torturer were pricking her with tiny needles of ice. Could he see the goose bumps on her arms? She took a deep breath and said lightly. “I guess the Fuhrer wants to talk about the things in your safe.”
Blenk looked at her for a moment. His expression was unreadable. Then he laughed and said lightly, “Well, yes, I have more than my wife’s jewelry in there.”
Nuala took another dainty sip of wine. “I’m surprised it’s not more guarded than it is.”
Blenk dismissed her concern with a wave of the hand. “I’d kill anyone who tried to break into it.”
Nuala gazed at him with wide eyes. “Has someone tried?”
He laughed cruelly. “Some young hooligan, not military, broke into the compound. He tried to open the safe.”
“Oh my God!”
Blenk shrugged. “I had to shoot him, unfortunately.” He drained his glass and poured another. “Such is the price of war.” He grew reflective and looked away. “Of course, he looked no older than Sigfrid. Sigfrid was fourteen.”
Nuala gasped. “I didn’t mean to bring up unpleasant memories.” Nuala shivered, imagining the boy he’d killed.
“Sometimes the innocent suffer in war.” Blenk shrugged indifferently. “You make choices.”
“Choices?” Nuala tried to keep her voice even.
“Of course. For example, how best to practice shooting? Well, if you have no actual targets to practice on, use the Juden infants.”
Nuala swallowed the bile rising in her throat. She thought of her daughter, so precious and pure. The steadiness of her own voice surprised her. “What do you mean?”
“We’d toss the babies in the air and shoot them.” He grinned and buried his lips in her forearm. “They would die anyway. Why not make it quick? You avoid cruelty. After all, you’d do as much to a sick dog. Those babies couldn't work. They would have burned.”
Nuala suppressed a shiver. Her blood was the ice flowing from a lake on a winter’s day. The man was a monster. As a child, her Cajun relatives had told tales of devils in human form, but she’d dismissed those as folk tales. Now she wondered if there wasn’t some basis for the fantastic tales she’d heard from Tante Eduord. She brought the conversation back to the safe. “You must have to be very vigilant about the combination.”
Blenk was pouring himself yet another glass of wine. “No, not really. I’ll tell you this, darling, but you must be very discreet. Any idiot could figure it out. It’s my boy’s birthday. 09-09-27.”
Nuala took in a sharp breath. This was too easy to be believed, but she had to move soon or lose her advantage. His tongue already was heavy with the effects of the wine. Nuala glanced at the saber on the wall. More lovemaking would totally incapacitate him, but she had to initiate it herself. His wine intake may have rendered him impotent. She gave him a sly smile, indicating the nylons strewn on the ground. “I told you I could use those creatively.”
Blenk licked his lips. Tiny beads of perspiration dotted his upper lip and forehead. His eyelids were heavy. The wine was taking its effect, but he was still a powerful man. Nuala crawled out of bed and gathered the nylons in her hand. She returned to the bed and poured him another glass of wine. He downed it quickly. His eyes were unfocused when he looked at her. “I don’t know if I can pleasure you any more, Inga.”
“Then let me pleasure you.” Nuala stretched the nylons in front of her and smiled at him. “Marc and I used to play games.”
Blenk frowned, puzzled. “Games?” He gazed at her as she loomed over him. Suddenly, realization dawned on him. “Oh, games.” He coughed, clearing his throat. “As I said, darling, I don’t know if I can do what you expect.”
“Let me.” Nuala bound him to the bedstead. She tied the bindings unmercifully tight but smiled beguilingly at him. “Later, you can do this to me.”
Blenk glanced at her with surprise. “You seem so proper. I wouldn’t have asked a whore—” The words died on his lips.
“Sometimes, a real woman is better than a whore, Johann.” Nuala ran her fingertips along his thighs. She felt him tremble. A slight groan escaped from his lips. She gritted her teeth. Tiny knives stabbed at the skin on her back. She had to incapacitate him physically and emotionally. The booze had accomplished the latter. She glided her tongue along his legs and then let it linger by his thigh. She disappeared between his legs and took him in her mouth. He groaned with unmistakable pleasure and lay panting on the pillows.
Nuala spit out his come on the floor. She wiped her mouth and loomed over him. She was shaking. Her head rang like frantic church bells, and tiny pinpricks pierced the backs of her eyes. His eyes were closed as she reached for the saber. The blood raced through her veins as she brought the saber down to his neck. He stared at her for a moment, bleary-eyed, before the impact of her actions registered. With a strangled cry, he fought against the ties that bound him. Swiftly, before she brought down the saber, Nuala whispered, “You killed my brother. You tried to kill my husband. Die, you Nazi bastard.” The blade penetrated his neck. Blood gushed onto Nuala’s bare arms and breasts. A thin layer of skin held his head to his neck.
Nuala could see his severed veins bulging from his gaping neck. She’d killed a man. This was different from Monique, the deranged girl who’d threatened her brother and the integrity of their mission in France. She’d bound a man and killed him in cold blood. She’d committed murder. Murder or execution? This animal had killed her cherished brother, had left her husband to die, and had used children for gun fodder. Her reeling mind cleared.
He’d equated Jewish children with dogs. She remembered her smiling Aunt Elsa and her beautiful cousins while his blood pooled around her. Nuala reached into a nearby nightstand and grasped Welbourne’s knife. She laughed giddily and wiped the blood on her stomach and breasts. His blood was on her hands, and she realized that was all right. Was she now so immune to murder that the death of a man she’d slept with meant nothing? Shaking herself, Nuala raced into the small bathroom, placed the knife carefully on the lavatory, and washed herself. She then threw on a plain dress and coat, then making her way to the safe. Left, right, left. 09-09-27. Nuala held her breath until the lock clicked. Nuala collected all of the materials she found into a large handbag. Then she saw the scrap of veil thrown carelessly toward the back of the safe. She clasped it in her hand and ran it lovingly along her face, drinking in any faint trace of Keith’s scent. The muted sound of footsteps down the hall jolted her to action. Blenk’s keys lay on the table. Grasping them, she pressed the veil and knife into her coat pocket and made for the door.
I’d better devise a cover story or I’m dead. Taking a deep breath, she made her way casually toward the building exit. A young officer saluted her as she neared the door. “The general needs me to run an errand.” Nuala prayed her voice sounded casual.
The young man frowned slightly but waved her through. They all knew she was the general’s mistress, but Blenk sent his men on errands, not the lovely Inga. As she crossed the threshold, the young man asked, “Is everything all right, madam?”
Nuala smiled kindly at him. “The errand is of a personal nature. The general didn’t want to burden the men guarding the compound.”
The boy—he was little more than a boy—blushed crimson, clicked his heels together and saluted, standing aside so she could pass. “Certainly, madam.”
Nuala brushed past him, fighting the sudden urge to laugh. Did he think she was on an errand for birth control? She slid behind the wheel of the Mercedes Benz and pulled onto the road leading out of the compound. Another set of guards, same story. “Madame Benoit?” The young man apologized for shining a light in her face.
“The Herr General needs something from town. I’m to collect it personally.” Nuala smiled to herself. Maybe they did think she was buying contraceptives. Werner, in a particularly blithe mood, had informed her at one point that the men heard Blenk’s enthusiastic lovemaking through the walls. They’d often blush when Werner reminded them she was his cousin. This guard looked as embarrassed as the others. He, too, saluted and waved her through.
Nuala was through the gate when she heard the shouts and the shots fired at her retreating vehicle. One bullet pierced the glass. Tiny shards of glass splattered onto the back seat and pricked Nuala’s skin. Nuala cried out but kept driving. Cars hadn’t come for her yet. It had only been shots, but her own car was jerking and bouncing along the road.
Oh God, bullets had hit a tire. Suddenly, another military issue Mercedes spun out in front of her, blocking her path. Nuala’s heart pounded in her ears. A man emerged from behind the wheel in a SS uniform. Nuala murmured softly, “Hail Mary, full of grace . . .” No, she had to try to live. There was still Sandy to think of. With one hard jolt, she threw open the door and bolted out of the car, making for a wooded area.
“Nuala, wait for God’s sakes! Get in the goddamned car.” Jesus, it was George’s voice.
Nuala ran to her brother and fell in his arms. Her weeping came in fierce sobs as he led her to his own car.
“Blenk?” His voice was gentle. Another Mercedes emerged from the woods, lights dimmed. George showed no alarm, and Nuala knew she was among friends.
“Dead.” Nuala forced her attention from the car and gazed into his face. Her brother was there, not simply the hardened warrior. She clung to his uniform. Her fists dug into the fabric. When she spoke, her voice shook. “The things from the safe are in my bag.”
Werner had emerged from the other car and was already collecting the large leather bag from the front seat. “Let’s get out of here.” He looked at Nuala and stroked her arm. “You did well.”
George wrapped an arm around Nuala and practically carried her to the car. Her knees gave out on her. Effortlessly, George lifted her and placed her in the back seat. Chiye was in the car. She slid an arm around Nuala and placed smelling salts under her nose. The sharp scent provided a jolt for Nuala’s senses. Slowly, the world came back into focus. She leaned heavily against Chiye and listened to George bait the small Japanese woman.
“Werner trusts you. I suppose I have to as well.” George slid into the driver’s seat and sped through the isolated roads.
“Yes, you have to. Werner has to get those plans and his parents to safety.” Chiye gazed at him with arched eyebrows. “We all have to get out of Germany, Captain. Do you think Germany will be safe for your sister any time soon?”
“And you’re our friend suddenly? How do I know we won’t face a brigade of Waffen SS men at the next turn?” George snorted harshly. Nuala could see her brother glance at Chiye in the rear view mirror. His eyes held unconcealed hostility.
“What kind of a fool are you? Do you think I would have risked all of this for nearly four years only to see it destroyed?” Chiye shook her head and turned her attention to Nuala. “I think some whiskey would help. I’ve never known an officer not to have a flask.”
George glanced back at them and frowned. “Is she all right?”
“She will be. She just needs something to warm her. For that matter, so do I.” Chiye reached for the flask he handed her and took a liberal sip. She grinned at him. “Afraid I’ll contaminate your flask?”
“Did I say anything?” George swerved roughly to avoid a tree limb.
The woman grinned. “Do you just hate people not like you or do you hate me for some other reason?”
Nuala wanted to interrupt this explosive exchange, but a paralyzing weakness had spread through her body. She moaned softly. Chiye handed Nuala the flask and helped her drink. The golden liquid slid down her throat, and warmth spread through her body. She sat upright and let her gaze slide from Chiye to George. The exchange was confrontational and tense, but Nuala understood that this was something her two companions had to battle on their own.
George turned in his seat to stare at Chiye. “Who in hell says I hate you?”
“Sweet God, you don’t have to be a genius to figure that out.” Chiye met his steady gaze. She was tiny, but she wasn’t intimidated.
“I was at Bataan.” George turned his attention back to the road. “I was at Pearl. Bombs killed my wife.”
Chiye was quiet for a long time. “I see. I am sorry you suffered.”
Then it was George’s turn to be quiet. Finally, he asked, “What brought you to Germany?”
“Max.” She said it without hesitation. “I figured that being with an officer wouldn’t be terrible. Things were not good in Japan. When the bombs fell, I was visiting my parents. I’d been abroad, but I left . . .” She paused and looked down. Nuala wondered what Chiye was reluctant to reveal. What was she hiding? “My family had great wealth. We had to go to a bunker in the Azubu district. We sold our possessions. My father was a banker in civilian life. When he’d married my mother, he bought her a German sewing machine.” Chiye stared into the distance and wrapped her arms around her midsection.
