MI Fanfiction: The Minister - Ch 12

12.

With the light of morning pushing through the curtains everything seemed far more positive. All going well, this should be the last day of the mission. If they got everything finished off they could be out of here by nightfall, and perhaps on a plane before the next dawn broke.

Jim stood in his room carefully folding and packing clothes back into his suitcase. He still had to wash and shave, but that would only take a couple of minutes, and soon everything would be packed in the trunk of his car, ready for a getaway. He would be dressed as a businessman in order to deposit his part of the money stolen by Barney and Willy. Cinnamon would be chic and well-presented and waiting for her portion of the funds in a small Volkswagen Beetle. After taking it to various banks around the city they would all rendezvous at a pre-arranged site in the warehouse district, and from there, with a swift change of licence plate on Jim’s non-descript car, they would leave the city.

Somewhere in Berlin Rollin would be putting together his story for the Berlin Daily. Liesl was probably safe and going through the process of rebuilding her life. Jim felt a moment of wistfulness for that kind of life. She could turn her back on things like this, hopefully forever. He pushed himself into them, of his own volition, every few weeks. But he didn’t feel right without that surge of adrenaline to keep him going. Too long at home and he went a little crazy.

The little pocket radio buzzed, and Jim snatched it up, instantly alert.

‘Barney? Trouble?’

‘Something like that,’ Barney replied, his voice distorted through the speaker. ‘We’ve just got through to the back of the safe and I’ve punched one drill hole through, but there’s light in there, Jim. Someone must have the door open, and from the noises I think Bauer’s down there.’

Jim pressed his lips together, his gaze slipping to his suitcase and car keys lying nearby.

‘He might be gone in a couple of minutes, Barney,’ he suggested. ‘Can you see anything useful through the hole?’

‘Give me a moment, Jim.’ There was a muffled half-silence, and then Barney’s voice came again, ‘Jim, I think he’s counting the takings. He’s got the money out on the table. He could be there for a long time.’

‘Damn,’ Jim murmured. He hesitated, eyes unfocussed, considering what to do. ‘You and Willy hang on,’ he said abruptly. ‘Give me ten minutes, and I’ll get him out of there. But I don’t know how long I’ll be able to give you. Once he’s out of that room, move!’

******

The club was still closed when Jim arrived, the blinds drawn on the windows and the main door unyielding when he turned the handle. Jim stood for a moment before the blind-fronted building, then his eyes turned to the alley at the side. It was a grim place, half-blocked with dirty snow that had been blown or swept from the streets. But there was a side door down there, one that the dancers and musicians and bar staff used, and when he tried it he found that it was open and unguarded.

He stood for a moment with the door cracked open, looking inside. Then he pushed it open with a bang, letting it slam into the wall behind so hard that paint and plaster flaked to the floor. He swaggered into the corridor and through into the back rooms of the club, dressed in the guise of Otto Baum, last night’s stubble still on his cheeks, the scent of alcohol on his breath, and an ugly expression on his face.

‘Hey!’ he shouted roughly, banging his fist on one of the doors. ‘Hey!’

There was no indignant response, and he pushed further into the club, shouting more loudly. Eventually a wary looking man that Jim recognised as the barman came out into the corridor, holding a pint glass in his hand.

Jim paused momentarily, recognising that the glass could be turned into a nasty weapon with one strike against something hard. He would have to risk it.

‘Hey, I want to see Bauer,’ he growled, his voice slightly slurred as if he was reasonably drunk.

‘Herr Bauer’s not here,’ the man said, looking shifty.

‘He’s here. I know he is. I saw him come in,’ Jim lied. ‘Where is he? Where is the bastard?’

‘What do you want with him?’ the barman asked warily, shifting the glass from hand to hand.

‘I want Greta back,’ Jim growled, taking advantage of the man’s nervousness to push a little closer to him. ‘I want to see that bastard scum and I want him to give Greta back to me.’

‘Herr Bauer is busy,’ the barman told him, stepping backwards, edging a little closer t the door behind him.

In one movement Jim lunged forward and grabbed at the man’s throat with his right hand, pulling out a revolver with his left and levelling it at his head. The glass dropped to the floor and smashed as the man flailed and then registered the gun, and froze.

‘I want to see Bauer,’ he said again, his voice harsh and so low it was almost a whisper. He pulled the man a little toward him by his collar and then smashed him back against the wall. ‘So get him.’

‘All right, all right,’ the man said, all the fight gone from him at the sight of the revolver. ‘I’ll get him. He’s – downstairs. Just – just wait here.’

‘I’ll come, if it’s all the same to you,’ Jim told him.

He followed the man to the end of the corridor to a door marked ‘cellar.’

‘Don’t be stupid,’ Jim warned him as he saw the man glance at a payphone affixed to the wall nearby.

‘All right,’ the man said again. He opened the door and called, ‘Herr Bauer, there’s a man here – ’

A shout came up from below. ‘Not now, Friedrich, I’m busy.’

Jim pushed past the barman to look down into the brightly lit cellar where Bauer was stood by a table covered in neat piles of notes, intent on noting something down in a large cash book.

‘Now, Bauer,’ Jim said grimly, angling his gun down the tired wooden stairs at the man.

Bauer jumped at the new voice, almost sending a pile of notes tumbling.

‘Now,’ Jim repeated, giving the gun a meaningful jerk. ‘Up here where I can see you. I want to talk to you.’

Bauer’s eyes moved over the piles of cash and the open door of the safe behind him, then he looked back to the sleek black revolver, and nodded.

‘All right, Herr Baum,’ he nodded.

He closed the cash book and came up the stairs, taking great care to lock the cellar door behind him.

‘What do you want, Herr Baum?’ he asked once they were together in the tatty corridor.

‘You come in here,’ Jim said, kicking a door open with his foot and gesturing both men into the room behind. It looked like a dressing room for the dancers, full of mirrors and bulbs that were not switched on, the counters scattered with make-up and small items of costume.

‘What is this all about, Baum?’ Bauer asked again, glancing between Jim and the door as if he was anxious to get back to his money.

‘You sit down,’ Jim said, shoving Bauer roughly into a chair. ‘You too,’ he told the barman. ‘I want to talk to you about Greta, Bauer. I want her back.’

Bauer stared at him.

‘It was a simple transaction, Baum,’ he shrugged. ‘I don’t give girls back.’

‘Like hell you don’t,’ Jim growled. By now Bauer must know that Cinnamon had supposedly been taken by the police, but Jim didn’t expect him to admit to that. ‘I’ve heard about how you treat women in your house. Those ‘special’ rooms you have.’

Bauer looked even more bewildered, understandably so, since Jim had largely fabricated his drunken argument for Greta’s return on his way over here. Of all the things that could be said about Bauer, he rarely physically hurt the women in his possession – at least, not personally.

Of course, if Bauer knew the right place to look he would find the woman that he thought of as Greta Hoch just a few blocks away, sitting at the wheel of a small car, waiting to take his money and deposit it the accounts owned by Bauer’s political opposition. The plan had changed very little on the discovery that Bauer was in the cellar with the safe open as Barney and Willy were drilling through into it. The only problem was that Jim was dressed more like a bank robber than a sleek businessman now, complete with stubble and mussed hair, so Cinnamon would be depositing the money alone and meeting Jim and the others later.

Jim slipped a look at his watch. Bauer had been out of the cellar for about two minutes. He wanted to give Barney and Willy at least ten to complete the breach of the back of the safe and to get the money. He only hoped the hole would be large enough for one of them to scramble through and get the stuff off the table. But the door to the cellar was locked, at least. Only Bauer could get down there, so it was only Bauer he needed to keep out of the way.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, Baum,’ Bauer said carelessly, as if he could shrug away the gun and the angry man holding it. ‘There are no ‘special’ rooms in my house, and Fräulein Hoch is perfectly well treated.’

‘Yeah, that’s what you’d have me believe,’ Jim growled. ‘I want to see her, though. I want her back.’

‘Herr Baum, there is no – ’ Bauer began, but Jim lunged forward and grabbed hold of his jacket.

‘Get up,’ he said. ‘Get up and take me to her.’

‘I can’t take you to her,’ Bauer said eventually. ‘She’s not at the house today.’

‘I’m going to show you what happens to men that treat women like you do,’ Jim snarled, shaking the man by the front of his jacket.

Bauer tore himself away from Jim’s hands, looking to his barman and then back at Jim. Jim’s fear was that he would tell the barman to take the key and put the money back in the safe himself. Better that, Bauer would think, than that it was left out on the table. Jim didn’t want to end up shooting the barman and it was imperative that he didn’t kill Bauer and make a martyr out of him.

‘Come on,’ Jim told him fiercely, pushing him towards the door. ‘Outside, in the alley. And you can watch,’ he told the barman. ‘Just to see it’s all square.’

Once they were out in the alley he hauled off and punched Bauer as hard as he could. Bauer staggered back against the wall, then recovered, coming at Jim with his fists up. Briefly Jim recalled reading that Bauer had been a member of a boxing club during his university studies – and then Bauer hit him, and the explosion of pain in his jaw sent him stumbling into one of the icy piles of drifted snow.

The pain galvanised him, and he started forward again, letting adrenaline take over as he swung a fist into Bauer’s midriff. He needed to keep this up for maybe fifteen minutes – or to put Bauer out cold so he wouldn’t think of going back into that cellar for a while. But it was not going to be easy.

******

Near Barney and Willy’s fake roadwork signs Cinnamon waited in her little Volkswagen, her hands on the steering wheel in impeccable leather driving gloves. Every now and then she glanced at her watch as the second hand sped round, the minute hand following it with a sluggish pace. Any moment now Barney and Willy should be emerging with the cash, and she had her escape route committed to memory. Barney and Willy would strike the tent and the signs and get into the van, and no sign would be left above ground of what they had done.

She wondered how Jim was getting on. He hadn’t had time to be anything more than vague about his plan, which was about distracting Bauer in some way and then meeting up with the others as planned in the warehouse district at the pre-arranged time. Cinnamon was to deposit more money than previously planned at each bank, so that she wasn’t delayed with extra stops.

The tent flap moved, and Willy pushed out through the striped fabric, a canvas bag clutched to his chest. As Barney came out behind him Willy passed the bag through the car door to Cinnamon.

‘Any trouble?’ she asked quietly.

‘Jim kept it clear,’ Willy said concisely. ‘Go. We’ll meet you later.’

Cinnamon nodded, put the car into gear, and went.

******

The dirty snow in the alley was reddened with spots of blood as Jim hauled himself up off the floor, pressing a hand to his ribs. He wondered if one of them was broken, but he considered that a light punishment considering Bauer could have taken his gun from him once he’d felled him and shot him in the back. But Bauer was too much of the politician for that. He wasn’t beyond kicking a man he had already punched to the floor, but there was no need to go further. No need to involve himself in the nasty murder of a man who, left alive, wouldn’t dare to go to the authorities anyway because his only business was the illegal trafficking of women.

Jim stayed kneeling for a few moments, his hands splayed on the ground. Half of his face was numb from what he thought might have been a few minutes of unconsciousness in the snow. His nose had evidently been bleeding, but it had stopped now. He was alone. Bauer must have gone back inside. But he couldn’t help that. He just had to hope that Barney and Willy had completed their task in time, and got out before they were caught.

Jim jerked himself awkwardly to his feet and walked cautiously out of the alley, choosing to come out on the street behind the club instead of in front. If Bauer was inside now it was only a matter of time before he discovered the theft of his money, and there was a chance he might realise that ‘Otto Baum’ had been deliberately distracting him.

He glanced at himself in a window, seeing that the orbit of his left eye was bruised and swollen and there was blood smeared across his mouth and cheek. He pulled out a handkerchief and tried to gingerly wipe some of the mess away from his bruised face, but getting away from the club was more important than the blood on him. He turned his coat collar up, tilted his head down, and walked as fast as his throbbing ribs would let him.

He allowed himself the luxury of a hot-water wash and a shave before he changed and finished packing up to leave the apartment. He still looked as if he had been beaten up, but at least he was dressed now in a smart suit, his hair was brushed, and he was clean. He carried his case downstairs, and dropped off the key with the janitor on the first floor, parrying the man’s questions about the state of his face with an embarrassed-seeming few sentences about a night out drinking. Once out of the place he got into his car and drove towards the warehouse district to the pre-arranged rendezvous. Barney and Willy were already there, cleaned up and changed out of their workmen’s overalls, and they slipped into the back seat of Jim’s car and settled down.

‘You did it,’ Jim said, more as a statement than a question.

‘Thanks to you,’ Barney nodded, leaning forward to look harder at Jim’s reflection in the rear-view mirror. ‘Are you all right, Jim? What did you do?’

‘I distracted Bauer,’ Jim said succinctly, pressing a hand lightly to his ribs. When he had washed in the apartment he had seen the vivid flush of an impressive bruise on his chest in the shape of a man’s shoe.

‘You sure you can drive, Jim?’ Willy asked in concern. Always conscious of health and well-being, he had noticed instantly that Jim was avoiding twisting his torso.

‘I can drive,’ Jim nodded. ‘I’ll get it looked at once we’re over the border.’

In the mirror he caught Barney exchanging a glance with Willy.

‘Get in the back, Jim,’ Barney said firmly. ‘I’ll drive.’

Jim met his eyes in the mirror. He knew that tone. Barney didn’t often go against Jim’s orders, but when he did Jim knew he would be like a dog with a bone. He didn’t argue. He just got out of the driver’s seat and painfully got into the back of the car. It was as he was settling himself on the seat that Cinnamon’s Volkswagen drew up, and Willy vacated his back seat to allow her in to sit next to Jim.

‘Broken ribs, I reckon,’ Willy said succinctly at Cinnamon’s concerned look. ‘See what you can do for him.’

‘Really, you don’t need to – ’ Jim began, but Cinnamon reached under the seat in front and pulled out a first aid kit and began to rummage through for iodine and bandages.

‘Really, I do need to,’ she said as the car moved off.

‘You deposited the money all right?’ Jim asked her, wincing a little as she dabbed iodine on a split in his cheek.

‘And spoke to Rollin, too,’ Cinnamon said with a smile. ‘His story’s going to the presses as we speak. It’s going to be the front cover exposé of all of Georg Bauer’s little vices.’

Jim grinned, and then winced again at the movement of his bruised face muscles. Even Bauer wouldn’t easily talk that story down – not with the photographs that went along with it.

MI Fanfiction: The Minister - Ch 11

11.

The street was empty, but Jim couldn’t help having the prickling feeling in his spine that at any moment a police car would roar up to investigate why officers had raided Bauer’s house with no recorded orders. It was always that way as they walked away from a mission – that feeling of success mingled with an adrenaline-filled suspicion that all could still go terribly wrong. He never felt quite relaxed until he was back home in his New York apartment with the fire burning and a glass of scotch in his hand.

The car was still there, though, and Liesl was still sitting there in the back seat, her eyes intent and suspicious as she watched the street around her. They got into the car quickly and wordlessly, slamming the doors behind them.

‘All right, let’s go,’ Jim said, turning the key in the ignition and moving off down the road.

Cinnamon had slipped into the back seat with Liesl, and Liesl was eyeing her warily.

‘Cinnamon’s with us,’ Jim told her tersely, his eyes on the rear view mirror. There was no one following them, it seemed, but still, he would take a circuitous route back to the apartment.

‘Then she was a plant,’ Liesl said, sounding stunned. ‘All of this – everything.’

‘Everything,’ Jim nodded, his eyes flicking between the road ahead and the rear view mirror. ‘All of it designed to bring Bauer down – nothing more.’

‘Then you – ’ she began.

Jim pressed his lips together, suffused by a feeling of guilt. She subsided into silence. In the mirror he could just see Cinnamon’s hand slipping sideways and closing around Liesl’s. He was glad that Cinnamon was there to give her that comfort.

******

Back in the apartment Jim shut the curtains and carefully locked the door while Rollin spurred the heaters into action and Cinnamon busied herself making coffee on the little stove in the kitchen area. Liesl sat in an armchair with her coat still tightly wrapped around her, looking stunned.

Jim stood at the window for longer than was necessary, checking the street for signs of police even though it seemed obvious that no one had followed them. He didn’t know what to say to Liesl. She was obviously torn between feelings of gratitude and betrayal, and he didn’t know how to explain things to her with Cinnamon and Rollin here in the room with them. What could he do for the woman anyway? It wasn’t as if he could arrange for her to come back to the States, and even if he did, what would she do then? He couldn’t be in a long-term relationship with anybody, not in his job. He should never have become involved. But it was too late now. All he could do was to try to repair the damage.

He turned his head a little and looked at Liesl out of the corner of his eye. Something about her profile and the wave of her dark hair made his heart jump a little in his chest. It was so easy to fall, and so hard to recover from the landing. It could be that he felt more for her than she did for him. After all, what had they really shared together? Eye contact over coffee, and one night in a warm bed? He had been watching her for longer than she had known of his existence.

‘All right,’ he said abruptly, turning from the window, showing no sign of his thoughts in his face. ‘Here’s what we do. Rollin, you’ve got all the evidence from Cinnamon that you need. You need to get that story written up and into the Berlin Daily. I want you to take Cinnamon and Liesl into Germany and over into the Western Zone. We’ll rendezvous there once Barney and Willy have completed their part in this.’

‘Jim, how are we going to get Fräulein Weismuller out of the country?’ Rollin asked seriously. ‘Barney’s tied up underground – he won’t have time for faking papers or knocking up hidden compartments.’

‘We’ll think of a way,’ Jim said tersely. ‘There’s always a way. Once she’s there, it’s your job to be certain she stays there.’

He turned back to the window, his mind racing through possibilities. There had to be a way. He couldn’t just dump her here, after getting her into so much danger with Bauer’s people. Had it really become that they were incapable of rigging up needed equipment without Barney to hand?

He looked around again, watching as Cinnamon bent towards Liesl, offering her a black coffee in a delicate china cup. Liesl’s fingers were closing around the saucer, taking it from Cinnamon’s hands. It was hard to tell whose fingers were whose.

He drew in breath suddenly.

‘Cinnamon, how many passports do you have with you?’ he asked abruptly. ‘What identities?’

She turned to him, raising her eyebrows. ‘Greta Hoch’s, of course. And I’m on your passport as your wife. I also have an identity as a reporter for the Berlin Daily that mirrors Rollin’s, and one as a nurse with the German Red Cross.’

Jim nodded, and looked over at Rollin. ‘Rollin, can you make Liesl look like Cinnamon?’

Liesl looked across at the other woman, startled. ‘Well, no, of course – ’ she began.

‘Oh, I should think so,’ Rollin cut across, unfolding himself from his chair and coming over to look more closely at Liesl. ‘Similar bone structure. The hair should be no problem. She’ll have to have contacts to change her eye colour, of course, but the build’s there.’

Liesl looked at Rollin as if he had gone mad, but Jim smiled.

‘Good. How long will it take?’

Rollin looked at his watch. ‘I’ve got everything I need here. If Cinnamon can sit for the mask and then do Fräulein Weismuller’s hair, I’ll have the mask made in a couple of hours.’

‘I can do that,’ Cinnamon said smoothly, cocking her head sideways as she assessed Liesl’s hair. ‘It’ll be quite simple to make her match the passport.’

Jim nodded. ‘In that case – Rollin, you and Liesl will leave the country together using the press passports. Cinnamon will leave later with the rest of us. We can’t have two identical people trying to leave the country at the same time.’

‘Oh, I think that could be quite fun,’ Cinnamon said in a serene tone. ‘But I’m happy to wait here with you, Jim.’

She took a sip of her coffee, then pushed her hair away from her face and leant back in her chair, saying, ‘I’m ready when you are, Rollin.’

‘I’ll have the plaster mixed by the time you’ve finished that coffee,’ he promised her.

******

No matter how many times Jim had seen Rollin transforming himself or another into a completely different person, it was strange to see Liesl being turned into a carbon-copy of Cinnamon, right down to the silver-blonde hair and the narrow-bridged nose and the wide blue-green eyes. When she stood in the doorway of the bedroom and looked at him, he had to look twice before he could perceive anything of Liesl in her. Of course, it was there. There was something about the way she held herself, the way her lips were pushed together with a subtle sign of stress, the way her hands were curled at her sides – but on the surface, she was Cinnamon.

‘Now I believe it,’ she said simply, glancing sideways at her reflection in the glass of a picture on the wall.

Cinnamon moved past her out of the bedroom, looking smugly satisfied at what she and Rollin had created. Their clothes were different, but still, they looked like the most identical of twins.

‘Liesl, can I have a moment?’ Jim asked, stepping closer and gesturing her back into the bedroom.

Liesl looked at him, then dropped her eyes. No amount of disguise could hide the suspicion in her. She nodded briefly, and he followed her back into the room.

‘Did any of it mean anything?’ she asked him before he could speak.

Jim felt something tighten inside his chest, and he nodded.

‘All of it,’ he promised her, moving close enough to her that he could smell and sense that this was Liesl and not Cinnamon in front of him. ‘The instant you were out of Bauer’s employment I should have left you alone. But I didn’t. I came after you. I shouldn’t have. It was unprofessional of me. But I did.’

‘You’re not even Otto, are you?’ she asked.

He shook his head. ‘My name’s Jim. I can’t say more than that.’

She smiled weakly, her gaze lifting to meet his. He moved closer again, filled with the urge to kiss her, but she drew back.

‘This doesn’t feel – safe,’ she said, gesturing towards the mask that covered her face. ‘I feel as if it would fall off if I sneezed.’

Jim laughed quietly. ‘Oh, Rollin’s better than that,’ he promised her, ‘but I understand. It’s strange for me, too. Cinnamon’s a very good friend. A friend,’ he promised her, at her slightly suspicious look. ‘Nothing more.’

She laughed then, nodding. ‘She’s something more of a friend to Herr Hand, perhaps?’

Jim glanced at the door. He was never quite sure what did go on between Rollin and Cinnamon, if anything did.

‘Perhaps,’ he said. He turned his wrist to look at his watch. ‘Liesl, you’ll have to be going soon. You’ll remember what we’ve all told you? Just keep your cool, let Rollin do the talking as much as you can. Look them in the eye, don’t give them a reason to suspect.’

‘I spent a lot of time acting for Georg Bauer,’ she told him, a hardness edging her voice. ‘I know how to hide my feelings when I must.’

Jim bit back his feelings at those words. His anger was for Bauer, not for her.

‘Good,’ he said, laying a hand on her cheek – Cinnamon’s cheek, it appeared. The false skin even felt like skin. The warmth of Liesl’s blood permeated the soft membrane. ‘Then I will see you in Berlin,’ he promised. ‘Rollin will look after you. Trust him.’

‘I will trust him,’ she nodded. ‘You trust him.’

******

After Liesl was gone, Jim sat in one of the tired armchairs in the apartment and drank Scotch. Cinnamon left him alone. There was nothing either of them could do at this point, either to help Rollin and Liesl or to help Barney and Willy. Cinnamon had given up her chance to escape the country early to let Liesl escape in her place, and Jim didn’t know how to properly express his gratitude for that. He knew it was the kind of the thing that any of them would have done, but still, Cinnamon was risking her life or her freedom for a woman she hardly knew and to whom she owed nothing.

‘I appreciate it,’ Jim said after a while, looking up from his drink. The alcohol had just taken the edge off his tension and made the evening seem a bit more friendly to him.

Cinnamon looked up from her book, seeming startled at the sudden noise in the quiet room. She registered what he had said, then shrugged. ‘You don’t need to tell me that, Jim.’

‘Maybe not,’ Jim said, ‘But I appreciate it.’

‘You should go get some sleep,’ Cinnamon told him. ‘Barney won’t be through to the safe until the morning, will he?’

Jim looked at his watch. It was pushing close to ten p.m., and the night’s cold was pressing through the windows no matter how tightly they kept the curtains closed.

‘Not until the morning,’ he nodded. ‘Then we’ll need to be on hand to take the money to various banks. It’ll all go much more quickly with us there too. Take a lot of the heat off of Barney and Willy.’

Cinnamon nodded. ‘And we won’t hear from Rollin until the morning, either,’ she said pertinently.

‘No,’ Jim said. ‘No, they’ll still be travelling...’

‘They’ll both be fine,’ Cinnamon told him quietly.

‘Yeah, sure,’ Jim nodded with a quick smile. ‘Sure.’

He stood up abruptly, taking his glass over to the little kitchen area and putting it down with a sharp sound on the surface by the sink.

‘Goodnight, Cinnamon,’ he said.

‘Goodnight, Jim,’ she replied quietly.

In his room he lay on his bed fully clothed, his head resting back on the pillow and his eyes unfocussed, staring at the light fitting that hung from the ceiling. In the dim glow cast by the lamp by the bed everything in the room looked strange. He wondered if Rollin and Liesl were making out fine. They’d be just about reaching the border by now. But he wouldn’t know until tomorrow. He wouldn’t be able to do anything anyway. It was up to Rollin to get Liesl through into East Germany, and then to get her all the way through to West Berlin. It was up to Rollin to get Cinnamon’s clandestinely taken photographs and facts made up into a neat news story and printed in the newspaper. If he succeeded, it was possible that Jim’s first knowledge of it would be to see the story on sale in one of the local shops. Then the pressure really would be on, as Bauer started to feel himself attacked from all sides.

There was nothing Jim could do right now to further any of this, and that was the kind of time he hated most of all. All he could do now was sleep, and make sure that the final part of the mission went off properly tomorrow.

Rogue River - Promo and Lobby Cards

Stills and lobby cards for Rogue River, Peter Graves' first film, in 1951. I would so love to be able to see this film.

Shoulders back, hands in back pockets, hips thrust slightly forwards. Yes. I mean, the heels of those hands resting on that pelvis, the fingers lightly touching the muscle beneath the fabric of his jeans. What a happy place that must be.

We don't even care who the woman is in this, except perhaps for future reference, to ask her what it felt like to be carried by a picket fence in those arms. That stance, and the hand curling over her thigh...

She seems happy to be in the other guy's arms. I'm not sure why...

MI Fanfiction: The Minister - Ch 10

10.

The corridor outside Liesl’s apartment was empty as Jim walked down towards her door. A couple of people had watched him approaching the building with Rollin and had melted away into the background as soon as they had registered the uniforms, but there was hardly anyone inside. At this time of day most of the people had probably left for work. The deserted nature of the place would make things much easier.

Liesl’s door was shut, but it bore signs of recent damage. There were scuffs near the base as if someone had tried to kick it in before she had finally opened it. Jim closed his eyes briefly, hoping to God that she had been sensible, that she had not tried to fight or said anything foolish. He didn’t want to be the cause of her death.

He raised his hand to the panel of the door and knocked, far more softly than he would if there were anyone watching and he was having to keep rigidly to his persona as a police officer on an important mission.

There was no sound or movement from inside, and he pressed his lips together, trying to keep his sense of apprehension pushed down inside his chest. He glanced at Rollin, and registered the concern in his face too.

He knocked again, more loudly this time, and then put his mouth near to the door and called, ‘This is the police. Open up.’

Hopefully she should have no special reason to fear the police. It would not have been the police that Bauer had sent to find her last night.

He knocked again, and called out in an even more stentorian voice, ‘Fräulein Weismuller. This is the police. Open the door.’

Finally, he heard noises inside. He glanced at Rollin, feeling as if his spine had suddenly loosened. Rollin met his eyes, and nodded briefly.

The door opened, and Jim saw Liesl standing there, wrapped in a thin dressing-gown, her hair in disarray and her face bruised. She looked fearful and in pain. A hot feeling of anger spiked inside his chest at the sight, and he pushed through the door with Rollin behind him so that he could get that door shut and protect her from the eyes of anyone who happened to walk past.

Liesl’s eyes widened as she recognised who it was in the official uniform. Jim pressed his finger to his lips instantly, shaking his head.

‘Fräulein Weismuller, you are under arrest,’ he said peremptorily. ‘I’d advise you to get dressed. It’s cold outside.’

Her lips parted. She started to mouth the word, ‘Otto?’ and he shook his head again.

‘Get dressed, Fräulein.’

Abruptly something seemed to click inside her, and she nodded, hurrying away into the bedroom. She came back neatly dressed in a skirt and sweater, and Jim picked up her coat and purse from a chair and handed them to her.

‘Where are you taking me?’ she asked as she pushed her arms into her coat.

She sounded fearful, and Jim touched a hand to her arm, squeezing gently.

‘To the police station, of course,’ he told her, letting none of his empathy come through into his voice. ‘Come on.’

As they walked back through the hallways Liesl was completely silent. It wasn’t until she was in the back of the big black car that she finally spoke, her voice desperate and strained.

‘Otto, what is this?’ she asked. ‘What are you doing? Who are you? You are in the police?’

Jim shook his head, twisting round in the front seat to look at her as Rollin drove, wishing that he could have been seated in the back with her.

‘I am not in the police, Liesl,’ he said in a low, firm voice, ‘any more than I am a trader in women. You need to trust me. I’m trying to get you to safety.’

She stared at him, seemingly trying to read some truth in his face under the layers of deception to which she had been exposed.

‘Why?’ she asked eventually.

‘Because I care,’ Jim said. ‘And we’ve got a friend who’s in danger too. I want to get both of you to safety.’

‘Away from Herr Bauer and his men?’ Liesl asked disbelievingly.

‘Away from Herr Bauer and his men,’ Jim nodded. ‘Over the border if we can – and into West Berlin.’

Distrust mingled with amazement on her face. Jim nodded forward down the road. Bauer’s town house was just a few hundred yards away.

‘Our friend’s in there,’ he said. ‘She’s in danger. Now, I need you to trust me, Liesl. Will you trust me?’

She stared at him, fixing her eyes on his, trying to read something in them. Then she nodded.

‘For now, Otto,’ she said quietly.

‘I’m going to lock you in this car when we leave it,’ he said. ‘I’m going to leave the keys with you – you understand? If we’re not back within an hour, you drive it to 271 Eichenstrasse, and go up to my apartment – that’s apartment 311 – and wait there for either me or my friends. Can you do that?’

She nodded again.

Rollin drew the car in to the side of the road, and stopped. Jim fixed his eyes on Liesl’s once more.

‘271 Eichenstrasse, apartment 311. You’ll remember that?’

‘I will remember,’ she nodded.

‘Good.’

Jim pressed his hand briefly over hers, then got out of the car and slammed the door.

‘Ready?’ he asked Rollin, pulling Barney’s sheaf of forged papers out of his pocket.

‘I’m ready,’ Rollin nodded.

******

It took only a brief flash of their police identification to get in at the townhouse’s tall gates. Jim looked up at the tall building with some apprehension. There were a lot of rooms in there for Cinnamon to be hidden in, if Bauer gained enough warning. He could already see the man at the gate stepping back into his booth and moving toward the telephone. Rollin moved like lightning, though, stepping after the man and putting his hand over the guard’s.

‘No warning calls to the house, thank you,’ he said smoothly, jerking the cable out of the wall and cutting it with a penknife.

The guard looked dismayed rather than angry, and Rollin shrugged.

‘You’re trying to do your job, I’m trying to do mine,’ he said amiably.

He left the man in the booth and joined Jim on the path. Together they strode to the door and Jim rang the bell in a peremptory way, his face grim. The door was answered by some kind of butler in a dark suit, and Jim flashed his identification and the forged papers in front of him.

‘Herr Bauer is not here – ’ the butler faltered.

‘We do not need Herr Bauer to be here,’ Jim said in a crisp voice, pushing past the man without preamble. ‘We are authorised to search these premises for Greta Hoch, suspected of immoral conduct. Do not try to interfere.’

He moved on down the wide foyer, looking to the left and right, his eyes taking in ornaments, paintings, the stairs and the many doors leading to other rooms. It was good that Bauer was out of the way and unable to interfere, and at least Cinnamon would not be trying to evade capture – but it was almost certain that Bauer’s butler was now on the telephone trying to reach the minister and warn him of what was happening.

‘Look for her room,’ he murmured to Rollin, and the man nodded, making towards the stairs. Even if Cinnamon were downstairs, Rollin would be able to recover any incriminating possessions from her room.

Jim carried on through the house, opening doors and glancing through them before shutting them again with a bang. He jerked open a door to a small sitting room, startling a woman who was kneeling and sweeping ashes out of the grate, but before she could speak he shut the door again, moving on. Then he opened the door to what was obviously Bauer’s study. His eyes flicked over sheaves of paper left out on the desk, and the locked filing cabinets along the walls. It would be so easy to rifle through those documents. He pushed the door closed behind him and stepped right up to the desk, gently pushing at the top papers with his fingers.

******

Upstairs Rollin walked along corridors that were beautifully decorated, but to his mind devoid of any soul. There was no personal touch in this place. It said nothing about Bauer except that he was obsessed with appearance.

He pushed open a door with his fingertips and looked in on an empty guest room. There was another, and then another, and he wondered what Bauer did with all these rooms day to day. Then he opened one to his left, and drew in breath silently as he saw Cinnamon standing in front of a full length mirror, dressed in no more than her underwear. A twin set and skirt were laid out on the bed, but as yet she hadn’t even reached for them.

He stood staring for a moment at the curves of her body and the suggestive lines of the underwear, before shaking himself, and clearing his throat just as she reached out for the clothes. Cinnamon jumped and spun, and Rollin gave her his most charming smile. He was gratified to see that it brought a blush to her cheeks even as she recognised who it was in the doorway.

Speechless, and obviously aware that she might be under surveillance, she began to pull on her clothes with a kind of flustered speed, and Rollin snapped back into character, saying, ‘Fräulein Hoch, you are under arrest on suspicion of immoral conduct. Come with me please.’

Her mouth worked for a moment, her eyes wide in a look that always reminded him of a kitten. She was perfect at looking innocent, but he knew she had claws sheathed and ready to use.

‘Just a moment,’ she faltered, pulling on her skirt. ‘Will you give me a moment?’

Rollin bowed graciously, watching as she buttoned her shirt and pushed her arms into the sleeves of the cardigan..

‘May I get my purse?’ she asked as she slipped her feet into high heeled shoes.

‘Be quick, Fräulein,’ Rollin said sternly.

Cinnamon turned to the dressing table and gathered a few things together into her purse, then turned back to Rollin, holding out her arms as if she expected him to cuff her.

‘That won’t be necessary,’ Rollin told her, taking hold of her upper arm.

‘Trouble?’ she murmured as he walked her out of the door, and he nodded minutely.

‘Come on. Downstairs,’ he told her, jerking her forward as a maid peeked out of a door down the corridor. ‘There better not be any more of your kind around this place.’

‘And what is my kind?’ Cinnamon asked him in a raised, indignant voice, pulling back a little. ‘I’ll thank you to know – ’

‘That’s enough, Fräulein,’ Rollin snapped, and she subsided into silence.

Jim was at the bottom of the stairs, buttoning something into his top pocket.

‘Ah, you have the Fräulein,’ he nodded with deep satisfaction, meeting Rollin’s eyes. ‘Let’s go.’

He strode to the front door, ignoring the flustered looking butler who was still holding the phone receiver in his hand. He flung the door open and the cold winter air rushed past them as they walked outside.

‘Jim, what’s going on?’ Cinnamon murmured as soon as they were far enough from the house to not be overheard.

‘Bauer may be onto us,’ Jim replied, his lips almost motionless. ‘My fault. We had to pull you out.’ He took hold of Cinnamon’s other arm and hurried her on towards the high gates. ‘Come on.’

There was a sudden yell from behind them of, ‘Officer!’ and Jim’s pace quickened.

‘So he got through to Bauer, then,’ he murmured. ‘Still doesn’t know who we are, maybe.’

‘At least the phone’s cut off at the gate,’ Rollin reminded him.

The guard at the gate looked at them quizzically as they approached, aware of the calls from the butler at the door of the house.

‘If Herr Bauer wants to argue with our orders, I suggest he go to the Präsidium and file a complaint there,’ Jim said tersely to the man. ‘Now open the gate. I am in a hurry.’

The guard gave one more look back towards the house, but Jim waved at the gates impatiently, his expression grim, and the man pressed the button that opened the gates without further argument. The three passed through quickly and into the street outside.

‘This way,’ Jim said, turning Cinnamon towards where the car still sat, just a few hundred yards away. ‘Come on. Let’s get out of here.’

MI Fanfiction: The Minister - Ch 9

9.

‘We need to mobilise,’ Jim said tersely.

It was well past one a.m. There was no point in waking Barney and Willy. There was nothing they could do at this time. They needed to be fresh to continue their efforts to reach Bauer’s safe in the morning. But Cinnamon was in danger. Liesl was in danger. She might already be dead. But he couldn’t go to her. That would be running straight into their hands. No matter how much guilt Jim felt welling inside him, he couldn’t compromise the mission any further to go after a girl he had formed an attachment to.

‘You want me to signal Cinnamon?’ Rollin asked, glancing at the little radio that was sitting on the table near Jim’s hand.

Jim shook his head, rubbing his thumb over his lip.

‘Too risky. She might be with him right now. If he already suspects, that would confirm everything for him.’

‘Then how are we going to get her out?’

Jim sighed. ‘Unless she calls us, we don’t. Not right now – not unless we know she’s in danger. There’s no excuse for turning up at Bauer’s house in the middle of the night to get her out. Did she give you a film tonight, Rollin?’

Rollin nodded concisely. ‘I developed it just an hour ago. Plenty of evidence there. All we need, in fact. There are some perfect images I can run with the Berlin Daily, and other more – explicit – ones we can hold back as evidence for any indictment.’

‘So she doesn’t need to be there any longer.’

‘Well, she still might get a chance to take some snaps of his records,’ Rollin shrugged, ‘but no, it’s not vital any more. Not now we have this.’

Jim nodded and looked up, fixing his eyes on Rollin’s face. He felt exhausted, but so wide awake he couldn’t conceive of sleeping.

‘You think you can get in there in the daytime, in your cover as the reporter? She won’t be out at the club again until the evening. That may be too late.’

Rollin nodded. ‘I can do my best,’ he said openly. ‘Jim – what about Liesl Weismuller?’ he asked gravely.

‘What about her?’ Jim asked tersely, rolling up his sleeves and casting about for another cigarette.

‘You’re not going to just leave her.’

‘No,’ Jim said heavily. ‘No, I can’t just leave her.’

‘Don’t get yourself killed,’ Rollin said seriously. ‘Not for something like this.’

‘I never have any intention of getting myself killed,’ Jim replied. ‘Never.’

He sat in the chair, smoking cigarette after cigarette, drinking coffee and then drinking scotch, and then coffee again. After a time Rollin pleaded exhaustion and retired to his room, and Jim sat alone, in the light of one small table lamp, a cigarette between his lips and his eyes focussed on middle distance, thinking. It didn’t matter how long he sat. He needed to work something out. Tomorrow he could run on coffee and adrenaline. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t pulled a few all-nighters before.

******

In the end he did sleep, just for a few hours, with his mind so wired with coffee and inter-meshing thoughts that his dreams were almost constant. He woke with a start, finding himself still in the armchair in the main room, a blanket over his knees and a glimmer of light just starting up through the window opposite.

He unfolded himself from the chair, instantly alert, and stalked through into his bedroom to look through the curtains at the windows opposite. Liesl’s apartment was dark, the curtains closed. There was no sign of movement. No sign of life.

He stood there and stared at the glass panes, sometimes focussing on the windows across the street, sometimes focussing on the dirty pane just a few inches from his eyes. There had to be a way to get Liesl out – if she was still there. And Cinnamon. Cinnamon had to be the priority. She was trusting her team to get her out safely. There had to be some way of ensuring the safety of both women.

He stood looking down into the snowy street, watching as the first few pedestrians of the day tried their luck on the treacherous sidewalks. A woman came out of a doorway with a brush and started to sweep away snow. A couple of state police walked with confidence across the road in their heavy boots. A van drew to a halt and a man came out with what looked like a tray of loaves, heading for a store just a few doors down from the apartment building.

And then it clicked in his mind. It was so brash and so outrageous that it would work. It would have to work.

He turned and went through into Rollin’s room. He was sprawled asleep in his bed, the blankets and sheets pulled up over his shoulders against the chill in the room.

‘Rollin,’ he said in a low voice. ‘Rollin.’

Rollin turned and muttered, and then sat upright, his eyes wide open. ‘What is it, Jim? What time is it?’

‘Half past six. Rollin, I’ve got a plan,’ he said. ‘A way to get Cinnamon out, and a way to get Liesl out too, if I can.’

‘Tell me what you need, Jim,’ Rollin said, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

Jim pursed his lips together. ‘I need a uniform for an officer ranked Polizeidirektor or higher, and a uniform for his subordinate, and I need them within the hour. I need them to fit you and me. I’m ditching the plan for you to go in as the reporter. You’re coming with me as my backup. Can you get them?’

‘I can get them,’ Rollin said.

Jim half smiled. There was no moment of hesitation, no look of shock at what was expected of him. Just, I can get them.

‘What are you going to do?’ Rollin asked.

‘I’m going to walk right into Bauer’s house, and I’m going to take Cinnamon out of there,’ he said. ‘And when you go over the border to Berlin to pass on your article about Bauer’s brothels to the Berlin Daily, you’re going to take Liesl Weismuller with you.’

Rollin nodded. Again, there was no moment of doubt, no questions. Just the nod.

‘I’ll go put the coffee and some toast on for you,’ Jim said, as Rollin swung his legs out of bed.

Jim went back into the main room and set the water to boiling and slipped a few slices of bread under the grill, then he went into his room and opened his suitcase. Inside the lining of the lid was a concealed pocket, and in the pocket, flush against the hard outer shell of the case, were a number of passports and identify cards all made up by Barney before they had left New York. He pulled them out and flicked through them. There were a couple of varying ranks for the Barnstadt police department. Which one he chose would depend on the uniform that Rollin could acquire.

He slipped the papers back into the lid of the case, and went out into the corridor and down to Willy and Barney’s room. He knocked discreetly on the door, and it was opened almost instantly by Willy.

Jim slipped into the room without speaking. Barney was there sitting at the table drinking coffee. Willy was half-dressed in his workman’s clothes, buttoning up his overalls over a clean white undershirt.

‘We’ll be out in a few minutes, Jim,’ Barney said to him, then paused. ‘Trouble?’

‘Could be,’ Jim nodded. ‘Cinnamon’s cover may be compromised. Barney, can you print me up a warrant for entry to Bauer’s house, and an arrest warrant for Cinnamon?’

Barney’s eyes widened momentarily, then he nodded. ‘Can do. I’ve got the equipment in the other room. How soon do you want them?’

‘Now,’ Jim said concisely.

Barney looked at him, blowing his breath out through his lips, but said nothing.

‘Jim, what happened?’ Willy asked in concern.

Jim hesitated. He wasn’t eager to talk about what had gone on last night, about how he had let his feelings possibly bring the whole mission down, but the team deserved to know.

‘Have you eaten?’ Barney asked him, and as Jim shook his head Barney tossed over a buttered roll. ‘Eat that. I’ll get working on the warrants.’

Jim nodded, biting into the fresh roll. Until he swallowed he didn’t realise how hungry he had been. As Barney went to get his equipment he explained quickly and quietly something of what had happened the night before.

‘Are we all right to continue tunnelling?’ Willy asked in concern.

‘No problem there,’ Jim nodded. ‘If anything, this will distract him from the club. You’ll get to the safe today?’

‘We should get close,’ Willy told him. ‘But it’s a lot of dirt. Won’t be able to get into it until tomorrow, probably.’

Jim nodded again. ‘On schedule. Well, I’ve got to go get a car,’ he said, pushing the rest of the roll into his mouth and brushing the crumbs from his lips. ‘Barney, leave those documents in my apartment. I’ll pick them up when I get back. ASAP, right?’

‘ASAP,’ Barney nodded. ‘You’ll have them, Jim.’

******

Out on the streets the air was so cold that it seemed to burn Jim’s tired eyes. It pushed into his hands and feet and threatened to steal all his energy. But he didn’t have a lot to do – not like Rollin. Rollin was tracking down uniforms, and whether he did that by stealing them from a closet or taking them directly from someone wearing them, it was going to be a risky business.

It was no trouble to rent a car at such short notice – not with the amount of money Jim could flash at the man in the rental office. He found himself in charge of a big black saloon Mercedes, that looked polished and expensive enough to belong to an important officer. He drove back to the apartment with great care on the treacherous roads, and found the warrant papers neatly placed in the centre of the table by Barney. They looked perfect.

When Rollin came in a few minutes later he was holding a bag in one hand, and smiling broadly.

‘Who did you have to knock out for those?’ Jim asked, taking the bag from him and looking inside.

‘A couple of officers in the Police Headquarters,’ Rollin told him, hurriedly pulling the uniforms out of the bag. ‘We’ll have to move fast, Jim, and change fast after we’ve got the girls out. The men I drugged will be safe until at least this evening – they won’t wake up – but someone will be sure to miss them, and when Bauer calls in to complain about the warrants they won’t take long putting two and two together.’

‘All right,’ Jim nodded, sorting out the higher ranking uniform from the other. It looked just about the right size, and he had an identity card that would match the rank. He started to strip off his suit and shirt and pulled on the dark uniform as Rollin did the same.

‘Let’s go,’ he said, slipping his identity card into his wallet and patting Rollin on the shoulder. ‘Liesl first.’

‘You’re going to explain on the way, huh?’ Rollin asked him.

‘Not much to explain,’ Jim said with a grin. ‘We’re arresting Liesl Weismuller for acting as a prostitute. Same with Cinnamon. If we’re not attacking Bauer directly, he’s going to be a lot easier to handle.’

‘And if Fraulein Weismuller’s not there?’ Rollin asked meaningfully.

‘Then I’m going to be asking Bauer some questions,’ Jim replied grimly.

MI Fanfiction: The Minister - Ch 8

[A.N. I have been trying to work on this. Really. I forgot I hadn't uploaded this chapter here, and I've taken far too long working on the next. Life. Children. Depression. Anxiety. Life. All those things. But I've got Ch. 9 started, at least.]

8.

How much information could you get from someone when you were lying alongside them in a narrow bed, warm under blankets, naked as a creature in the wild? Jim asked himself that as he trailed his fingers along Liesl’s arm and touched the sudden swoop of flesh between ribs and hip and rested his nose against her neck and breathed in her scent. There was a sense of ease melted through his body that he only ever found after satiating himself like this.

Her eyes were closed, her head tipped back. She lay there with the contentment of a cat, her arms flung up onto the pillow behind her head.

‘It has never been like this,’ she murmured.

For a moment Jim felt an uncomfortable, primal unease with the knowledge of her seven months of servitude to Georg Bauer. But he didn’t own her, any more than Bauer had. No matter how you tried to enslave a person, you could never truly own them.

‘It never has,’ he murmured, touching his lips to her neck.

Perhaps it had. Perhaps he had been with women like this before. Perhaps she would blend into blurred memories of different women in different countries, of the forthright women back home in New York City, of the sultry women in Latin America, or the intensity of the Eastern Europeans. Perhaps in time she would be just another woman – but for now, this felt unique and irreplaceable.

He lay there in silence, letting time stretch out. It was almost midnight, and sleep threatened to seep into his mind. Rollin would be wondering where he was. Barney and Willy, if they were on schedule, would be finishing up and coming home for a short, hard sleep and another early start. And he was here, wrapped about a woman he barely knew, his skin sheened with sweat and the feeling of never wanting to move in his bones.

He had to move. He stirred himself and stretched and she moaned a little in protest. She was falling into sleep too. His flank touched the cold shock of the wall behind him, and he gasped. It was a good thing. The chill outside the blankets stopped the sleepiness in its tracks.

He lay there. He bit his lip into his mouth, two parts of his mind vying for control. Everything revolved around guilt. He should be making use of this connection for the good of the mission. He shouldn’t be risking everything by having a casual affair with this woman. But he didn’t want to use her. He didn’t want to hurt her. But he didn’t even know if he could truly trust her.

He wanted a cigarette, but the packet was in his jacket pocket on the other side of the room, through all that cold air. He sat up a little more in bed, letting the cold reach his bare chest. He bit his lip so hard that pain flooded him and made his eyes water.

‘Liesl,’ he asked. ‘What can you tell me about Georg Bauer?’

She stirred sleepily.

‘What?’ she murmured.

He put a hand on her shoulder, looking at the darkness of his fingers against the milky whiteness of her skin. He wondered what she would look like in the summer, with sun to tan her.

‘Can you tell me anything about Georg Bauer?’ he asked her in a low voice. ‘Anything that would help to – to bring him down.’

She gave a sudden harsh laugh that broke the warm atmosphere.

‘I could tell you a thousand things that would bring him down, and he would have me killed for each one,’ she said. ‘But why do you want to know, Otto? You don’t want to bring him down. You want to sell women to him.’

Jim felt that like a kick in the abdomen. Her voice had been free of bitterness up until now.

‘What if I did want to bring him down?’ he said in a low voice.

She suddenly became silent and very still. Jim didn’t need to hear her speak – he could read her feelings. She trusted no one. Suddenly she trusted him even less. He could have been sent there by Bauer. He could be one of Bauer’s men, about to betray her. Or, if she was still under Bauer’s influence – she could be about to betray him.

‘If you did,’ she said eventually, ‘I could tell you a lot of things, like where he gets his girls from, like how he makes sure every journalist in the country stays quiet about his work, like how he used to watch everything I did through spy holes and cameras and – ’

Jim felt something freeze inside him at that, but then someone knocked on the door so hard that the sound seemed to shatter the night. Jim sat straight up in bed, staring about in the dim light. Liesl sat too, her face drained of colour. She was obviously terrified.

‘He said he’d send men to check on me,’ she whispered. ‘He said I was to answer at any time. He said I wasn’t to see any man...’

‘You’re not seeing me,’ Jim said firmly.

His clothes were in a pile on the floor by the bed. He grabbed them in both hands and began to dress as quickly and efficiently as he could. Thank God his coat and jacket were in here, not in the other room.

‘Go to the door,’ he whispered.

‘But you – ’

‘Put my coffee mug in the sink. Leave yours on the table. Go to the door. Say you were asleep. I won’t be here.’

He had only given the place the briefest of once-overs before he found himself tussled in bed with Liesl. The whole evening had been spent in the luxury of sheets and blankets and naked skin. Now the cold was biting into him and he was dressed in pants and an unbuttoned shirt, his underwear and tie and socks thrust into his pockets, his shoes and jacket grasped in his right hand. There was no way out in the room but the window, and he would have to take it. No matter that he was three floors up. He would have to take it.

He slipped the window up in its frame and put his head out into the frigid air. There was no fire escape on this building. There were just not the regulations here that they had at home. But there was a thick, cast-iron drain pipe. Thank God. He dropped his shoes out to the street below and shrugged into his jacket and coat, then swung himself over the sill and out onto the pipe outside. He could hear Liesl in the other room calling out in response to the banging on the door, but she hadn’t opened it yet. As he pulled the sash window back down with scrabbling fingertips he heard the men finally burst in, and he ducked out of sight.

It was so cold he was afraid his fingers would lose grip. They already felt half numb. His feet were numbing where he was curling his toes into what grip he could find. He shimmied down the freezing pipe trying not to think about what might be going on in the room above. He had to get down before someone saw him, before his fingers gave way and he fell down.

His feet touched the snow-crusted sidewalk and he groped about for his shoes in the dim light. It was so cold his entire body hurt as he slipped his feet into his shoes and pulled the sides of his jacket together and walked briskly down the street. No running. He mustn’t run. He had to look as if he were simply walking home after a long evening rather than running from a woman’s apartment.

He was shaking as he rounded the end of the block and turned into another street. The air was frigid, his breath coming out in white clouds, and even though he had his coat buttoned tightly the shock to his body in comparison with the warmth of Liesl’s bed was too much. He carried on walking, stamping warmth into his legs, wishing he had had time to pull his sock on. But he would be back at the apartment soon. He had to take the long way to be sure he wasn’t being followed, but he wasn’t going to make it that long.

By the time he was approaching the front of the apartment building he was certain that there was no one behind him. He stopped just outside, leaning against the railings and lighting a cigarette, watching the street around him. There was no movement. He could see no telling footprints in the newly fallen snow, and pretty soon his own prints would be covered over.

He pushed the door open, and went inside.

******

There was a light on in the apartment. He opened the door slowly, always cautious, but it was just Rollin, sitting in his armchair with his feet up on the table, a glass of something that looked like scotch in his hand.

‘Well, Casanova,’ Rollin greeted him smoothly.

Jim pushed in through the door, running a hand over his head to brush the melting snow from his hair. It was warm inside, thank God. Rollin had the electric heater on, and Jim walked straight over to stand by the glowing elements, his palms spread to the heat.

He slipped his coat off and laid it over a nearby chair, and the heat started to press through into his jacket.

‘Hasty exit?’ Rollin asked.

Jim looked down at his unbuttoned jacket and shirt. His chest was bare beneath. He had been wearing an undershirt when he went out, hadn’t he? Damn. He bit his lip into his mouth. He must have left that somewhere in Liesl’s room.

‘Something like that,’ he nodded.

He went quickly across the room to the curtains and looked out between the crack. There was a light in Liesl’s apartment, but her curtains were still drawn and he couldn’t tell what might be going on. It was impossible to see if the men were still there.

‘Listen, Rollin, I need you to do me a favour,’ he said.

Rollin looked up at him from his chair.

‘Just check on that girl,’ Jim said. ‘Some guys came to her room – some of Bauer’s guys. They’re keeping tabs on her, seeing that she doesn’t spill anything about Bauer. I want you to go up there in the morning. Go up as a janitor, knock on her door, see she’s all right. I daren’t risk it.’

‘She really has got to you,’ Rollin said, rubbing a finger against his lip. ‘Jim, are you sure – ’

‘No, I’m not sure,’ Jim cut across him. ‘I’m not sure of anything. That’s why I want you to check on her.’

Rollin just looked at him. Jim shook his head, inwardly cursing himself. He had been a fool to get into this situation, to get at all involved with this woman.

‘I’ll check on her,’ he said eventually.

‘Good,’ Jim said.

He sat down in chair, thinking, barely noticing as Rollin got up to make coffee. The scent of coffee grounds drifted to him, but he was visualising Liesl’s apartment, seeing the yale lock on her door just beneath the handle, the positioning of the lights and furniture, the few sundry knick-knacks and ornaments around. They weren’t her ornaments, she had said. They had been there when she moved in.

He saw the lock again, the scratches on the metal. Not surprising it was scratched. A fumble with the keys would do that. He saw the ornaments in the main room and the bedroom... That ugly ceramic construction on the mantelpiece that looked as if it had been woven of strips of clay. The vase in the bedroom that Liesl gazed at and said, ‘It’s nice. It looks brand new. I was surprised this room had such things.’

He opened his eyes wide, staring at Rollin.

‘Her room was bugged. I was stupid...’

Rollin turned from the counter with two cups of coffee in his hands.

‘Are you sure, Jim?’ he asked, instantly serious.

Jim shook his head. ‘No, I’m not sure. I can’t be sure. But of course it was bugged. Bauer keeps such a close tab on his reputation. Of course she was being watched. She said he was going to send men to check on her. She said he watched her all the time before he let her go.’

‘That means he’s watching Cinnamon too,’ Rollin said in a dark voice. ‘Did she mention you by name, Jim? I mean, did she mention Otto Baum by name?’

‘Yes, she did,’ Jim said heavily. ‘She did.’