“Was it the SS or Gestapo?”

  “He said they were Czech. He wasn’t sure what kind of police they were. He said it looked like the man had been killed with a pitchfork. He’d been there a while from the looks of things. I need to take your order. My boss is getting suspicious.”

  “Just bring me some food. Whatever you have. I’m starving. Bring a glass of milk, too, if you have it.”

  Jakub rolled his eyes. “You’re a dreamer, Anton. I’ll bring coffee.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Tereza went to the cart room to get her cleaning supplies. She felt in the box of rags, and the camera was there, buried at the bottom, as Anton had said it would be. Things happened mysteriously, but that was the way it should be. She didn’t want to know how they happened. If they caught her before she had a chance to take the cyanide capsule, betraying others was the last thing she wanted to do. And she hoped she could endure endless torture before she’d betray Anton. The capsule was there too, sealed in a small envelope beside the camera.

  Now if she could just find something to photograph. The drawers in the desks of the rooms she cleaned were locked; she had checked that out already. Maybe someone would leave something on a desk, or maybe she’d have a chance at something that was being mimeographed.

  She started with the supply room. Will was there, running off copies of something. “Good morning, Will.”

  “Good morning. I have a rush job this morning for somebody important.” He looked as if he hoped to impress Tereza with his connection to one of the officers on the upper floors.

  “I’m sure there are a lot of important people upstairs.” She was fishing.

  “It’s for Reichsprotektor Daluege. Don’t say I told you about it. I don’t want to get in trouble.”

  “I wouldn’t say a word.” But she would take photos given the chance. Something from the big man himself.

  “I have to deliver these copies. I’ll be back before you’re done cleaning. I’ll bring you something to eat if I can.”

  He went off with his copies, leaving the stencil on the drum of the machine. Tereza ran off another copy, folded it, and put it in the bottom of her rag box with the camera and cyanide capsule. She was cleaning the supply shelves when he returned with two small pieces of apple strudel.

  “Thanks. I’m hungry. I didn’t have anything for breakfast.” It was the truth. Maybe if she let Will know frequently that she didn’t have much to eat, he would supply as much as he could get his hands on. The strudel was delicious, and he insisted she eat both pieces after telling him she’d had no breakfast. She felt sorry for him, but she couldn’t let this interfere with taking advantage of the information and food he could furnish.

  “Would you like to go out with me some evening? We could go to a movie or the theater.”

  She had been expecting this. She’d have to weigh whether it would be advantageous for her work against the problems it could cause. She dreaded the thought of being hated by her fellow workers for consorting with the enemy, and she had no doubt they’d find out, sooner or later. “I don’t know if that’s appropriate, Will. After all, you’re my employer in a way.” Stall for now.

  He looked uncomfortable at being rejected and busied himself with taking the stencil from the mimeograph machine. He laid it out to dry beside the machine. She wanted to ask what happened to the stencils once the project was printed, but thought this might arouse his suspicions. Maybe if she took long enough with her dusting, she’d find out.

  He left with a stack of supplies, and she continued dusting, slowly. When he came back, he took the stencil and left with it. They obviously had a storage area for the stencils somewhere in the building. The Germans were meticulous record-keepers and never threw anything away, this she had learned in training. The challenge was to find as many documents as she could and photograph them.

  She finished in the supply room and moved on to the other offices. Most of them were occupied, but she cleaned as best she could. In one vacant room a note had been left on the desk—“Call me. Richard.” This was the only piece of paper she found in any of the offices, although all of the workers had something on their desks—family photos, inkwells, and pens. Getting helpful information was going to be a slow process, she could see, and a lot would depend on carelessness, which was not a common German trait.

  She finished early, put her cart away, and went to Olga to see if there was something more she should do until four o’clock. “Go up to the next floor—actually, I’d better go with you and show you the room,” Olga said. “Colonel Schwann wants someone to set things up for a meeting. I’d better help you do it. The meeting’s scheduled to start in a half hour.”

  They went upstairs to a large room with a long table in the center. A number of chairs were lined against the wall. “They need twelve chairs arranged around the table,” Olga said, and they began carrying chairs to the table, planning to put five on each side and one on each end.

  Tereza was aware of someone standing in the doorway, watching them. She glanced over and saw that it was a tall man with a colonel’s insignia on his gray uniform. He was staring directly at her. “What’s your name?”

  “Tereza Valentova.”

  He smiled. “A lovely name. How long have you worked here?”

  She continued moving chairs. “This is my second week.”

  “You speak German well. Where did you learn German?”

  “I grew up in the Sudetenland. My mother was German.”

  “And you’re on the cleaning crew. I think you’d be more useful in some other line of work.”

  Her greatest fear was that they’d want to use her as a translator when Czech prisoners were being tortured for information. “I’m happy with my job.”

  He asked them to set out coffee cups and bring a large coffeemaker to the sideboard at the end of the room. A private came in with a tray of pastries and set it beside the coffeemaker. How she’d love to stuff a dozen of those in a bag to take home and share with Anton.

  She and Olga went back downstairs, and Tereza got in line to be searched. Natalie got in line behind her. “Did you hear about Pavlina?” she whispered.

  “No. Isn’t she the one who was in line when we were talking the other day?”

  “Yes. I heard she’d been stealing office supplies and selling them on the black market. It’s just a rumor. Anyway, they took her away.”

  “What will happen to her?”

  The guard was scowling at them. “I don’t know, but I’m sure it’s nothing good,” Natalie said.

  Tereza went in to be searched. The thought of Pavlina being taken away to some unknown fate gave her the chills. She hadn’t been near her cyanide capsule when she and Olga went to the room upstairs. Maybe she should carry it in her bra when she was away from the cart. That meant she’d have to return downstairs to the cart before leaving, something that might be regarded as suspicious. The covert life wasn’t something that was all tied up in a neat little bundle, as she’d imagined at Catoctin Mountain Park. The ties on that bundle were constantly popping loose in an unruly fashion.

  #

  She stopped at her favorite store, which was just two blocks from her apartment. The store owner, a plump, pleasant man with a crown of blonde hair surrounding a bald spot, had gotten to know her. He sometimes saved things for her, since she came in almost every evening. She bought bread and a little cheese, and he brought a pear from under the counter. Anton would be pleased. She gave him her coupons, paid him, and went home.

  Anton came in shortly. He had more bread, and he put it with hers. They’d be eating plenty of bread this evening. “I missed you last night,” she said.

  “I missed you, too. There will be times when I can’t make it. Just know I’ll always try to be here.”

  She began unbuttoning his shirt. “I understand.”

  “Let’s take a shower,” he said. They made love with warm water streaming and splashing over them, laughing at the awkwardness of it.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  He stayed at his apartment past ten o’clock the next morning, hoping the phone would ring with an invitation to a meeting. He was eager for an answer to his questions of the day before. He felt he must leave to put in an appearance at the office, and he had just reached the bottom of the stairs when he heard the phone. Three o’clock this afternoon, Our Lady of Victory Church.

  He had put the locker key in the Rosalie last night. The key and the gun would both have to go somewhere in his room if a trustworthy body shop was available to fix the bullet holes. The Gestapo jacket had been dry last night, with barely a trace of the blood stain still visible, and he wrapped it in brown paper and tied it with a string. It now rested on the high shelf in his closet.

  He walked to work, stopping to look in a shop window now and then to see if he was being followed. He’d been practicing this now, since he found out Erik followed him from his office to Tereza’s apartment, and he hadn’t noticed. No one was there today, just the usual pedestrians coming and going as he stood in front of the windows.

  #

  He left the office at two because he wanted to enjoy what was probably one of the last pleasant afternoons of the fall. He’d linger on the Charles Bridge and watch the Vltava flow by. Sometimes he could almost pretend that life was normal.

  Karel and Vaclav were in the reception area, flirting with Martina. “Leaving early again?” Vaclav said.

  “I have business to take care of.” Anton was carrying his briefcase.

  Vaclav didn’t say anything more, just smirked. Anton wondered just what would happen if either of the two were pressed for information about him. Josef had been his best friend since college, and he could be trusted. Of the other two, he wasn’t sure. Maybe they thought he was seeing a lady friend, and he’d tried to foster that opinion. He was sure they knew Eliska had stopped divorce proceedings and gone to Germany. They probably knew he had gone to a party where German officers were present. Maybe they thought he was in cahoots with the Germans. God only knew what they thought, but he was afraid to ask

  He walked slowly and spent fifteen minutes on the bridge. A young couple walked by, laughing, and he thought of his own youthful romances when Czechoslovakia was free, a republic. That time would come again.

  He arrived early at the church, and he sat in a pew in the center of the building. An elderly woman in a black scarf was kneeling in a pew at the front—she was the only one present. The place always gave him a feeling of peace, even though he was a skeptic. He wondered again about Tereza. Was she a believer? If so, he was sure she was Catholic. They would marry after the war, he was sure of that, and she probably would insist on being married in the church. He wouldn’t object; he had been raised in it. His doubts had come later.

  The contact came in and sat beside him. He laid the book of poems on the seat, and then got up and walked farther up the center aisle to another pew. He knelt and bowed his head. Anton put the book in his briefcase and left the church. It was too nice a day to go directly home, so he stopped at the Slavia for coffee. He sat by the windows at the front where he could see the river.

  He had almost finished his coffee when a woman approached his table. “May I join you?”

  “Certainly.” He stood and held a chair for her.

  “Aren’t you Anton Janak?”

  “Yes.” He couldn’t help staring at her. She had red hair, unusual for a Czech, and blue eyes. She had one of those placid, perfect faces that gave no clue as to what was going on inside her head. Her figure was just as perfect. If only the partners could see him now, they’d have no doubts about how he was spending his time away from the office.

  “I’m Maria Dvorakova. I’m in need of legal assistance.”

  Why hadn’t she come into the office, instead of approaching him here in the Slavia? “What sort of assistance do you need?”

  “My husband died in a protest just before the German invasion. Now my in-laws are threatening to cheat me out of my inheritance, even though his will is plain enough. He left everything to me.”

  He finished his coffee. “Let’s go to my office.” This would give the partners fuel for gossip and speculation. “Do you have the will with you?”

  “Yes. It’s in my purse.”

  She put her hand through his arm as they went toward the office. In her high heels, she was nearly as tall as he was. She held his arm right on through the building. Fortunately, his space was at the back, and they’d pass the other partners on the way through. And fortunately everyone was still there, including Martina, who loved to gossip. Now Maria Dvorakova was seated at his desk.

  “May I see the will?”

  She handed it to him, and he read through it. “This seems straight-forward enough. Why would your in-laws think they could challenge it?”

  “They say I don’t deserve his money.” She smiled. “I had an affair with my husband’s cousin. I tried to be discreet, but someone found out, and the family has been in an uproar ever since. They can’t take my inheritance, can they?”

  “Not legally. There’s quite a bit of property involved here. I think my first move should be to speak to them.”

  “They won’t be receptive to any talk. They’ve hired a lawyer, too. They’re especially upset because of the country estate. My husband inherited it from an uncle who never married, and I want to sell it. I can’t stand the thought of living in the country. I love Prague, and I intend to stay here. That house and land need the attention of a live-in owner, and I don’t intend to be that.”

  “I’ll try reasoning with them.” He gave the will back to her. “Why did you choose me to represent you?”

  “Why, because of Eliska, of course. She said you’re the best-looking attorney in Prague.”

  “You know Eliska?”

  “She’s my best friend. She told me to look after Hans while she’s gone.”

  “You know Hans, too?”

  “Yes, and that’s something else my in-laws are upset about. They’re fanatics, and just because I know a couple of Germans, they hate me.”

  “Would you be willing to sell the country place to them?”

  “I’d rather not, now that they’ve been so mean to me.”

  “I’ll try talking to them. It can’t hurt.”

  Now she was smiling again. “Are you invited to Mrs. Horakova’s party Saturday?”

  “No, I haven’t been invited.”

  “That’s too bad. I was looking forward to dancing with you.”

  He took out a pad and pen. “Give me your address and phone number, and also the information for your in-laws. I’ll be in touch.”

  “Soon, I hope.”

  He walked with her to the reception area, back past all the partners. Martina handed him an envelope. “A man delivered this. He said he’s Mrs. Horakova’s butler.”

  “Then you are invited to the party!” Maria kissed his cheek in front of a wide-eyed Martina. “I’ll see you Saturday night.”

  Now let them gossip about this. He went back to his office. Karel pecked on his doorjamb. “Who the devil was that?”

  “Just a client.”

  “Damn, you get all the good-looking ones. What’s her name?”

  “Maria Dvorakova.”

  “What’s her problem?”

  “Just a complication with a will.”

  “Her parents?”

  “No, her deceased husband.”

  “She’s a widow then.” Karel was practically licking his chops.

  “You’re married, remember?”

  “Did you have to remind me?”

  Somewhere a phone was ringing. Anton chuckled. “That’s probably your wife calling right now.”

  He left the office and walked to his apartment. He decoded the message the contact had passed to him in the Neruda poetry book. He was disappointed with the first phrase he saw—No body shop. The second part was more encouraging: Tailor Bedrich Hrabe corner Husova and Karlova. So, not too far, near the Klementinum. At least he could get rid of the Gestapo jacket. It was too late today, but he’d take it tomorrow before going to work.

  He decided to do what he could to camouflage the damage to the car before going to Tereza’s. If he worked in the garage after dark he’d need a flashlight, and the light would show through the windows, so best to do it while he could use the natural light. He found some duct tape and an old paint brush in the cabinet under the sink. In the garage, he took down a paint can from a shelf. It contained a bit of the paint he had used to change the color of the Rosalie to black.

  He found his hammer and used it to tap the ragged edge of the hole in the roof until it was flush with the top of the car. Then he placed a piece of duct tape over the hole and coated that with black paint. Not bad in the dim garage, and he hoped it wouldn’t be too noticeable in bright sunlight. The hole in the inside roof would have to remain, unless he could find a tape that would match the upholstery. If he found such a tape, it would also match the passenger seat with bullet holes in the front and back. In the meantime he’d find a blanket somewhere and throw it over the front seat to cover the damage. He had only one blanket, and he’d need that with winter coming on.

  He was later than usual going to Tereza’s, so he took the jar of soup Mrs. Svobodova left while he was in the garage and carried it in the knapsack to Tereza’s apartment. She was waiting for him with a loaf of bread. “I was afraid you weren’t coming.”

  “Sorry I’m late. I had a project that couldn’t wait. Let’s go to bed and make up for lost time.”

  #

  It was a few minutes past curfew when he arrived back at his apartment, but no one seemed to notice. He saw several people hurrying to make it home in time. He’d forgotten the invitation from Mrs. Horakova, and it was still lying there on his table, unopened. It was for the party Saturday night, and the hostess had written a note on the side. “Mr. Janak, I don’t have your home address. The driver will pick you up at your office at eight-thirty p.m. Saturday.”