Heroes, David Hagberg [me reader .txt] 📗

Nothing had been disturbed so far as Deland could detect. His pillow lay at a slightly odd angle; the left door of his Schrank was slightly ajar and the small brass key in the right door, cocked to the left. Nor had any of his clothing or his papers been bothered.

No one had been up here. He was certain of it. He locked the door and set the calculator up on his desk, as if he had been working with it. Then he pulled off his coat and tossed it over on the bed.

Seated at his desk, he opened his notebook and unfolded yesterday’s Berliner Zeitung to the back page. The first pair of numbers after the date were for the forty-seventh line and the fifth word: Erforden, German for REQUIRE. The second pair was for the third line, second word: Studenplan, SCHEDULE.

Within ten minutes Deland had the brief message from his control officer translated.

REQUIRE SCHEDULE OF OPERATIONAL TESTS VICTORY THREE THROUGH NINE MOST IMMEDIATE—EVIDENCE YOUR POSITION SUSPECT—TAKE CARE

Deland suddenly saw himself as he had been with his parents at the University of Wisconsin Mathematics Research Center in Madison. Donovan had flown out from Washington to speak with him. Matter of the gravest national importance we have a man like you in position. But you will be in constant danger. You have to understand that right up front. The Germans will always suspect there’ll be someone like you in place. Be on your guard.

There’ll be support, of course. But in the end it’ll be up to you.

You will have to make the final decisions to hold or run. It won’t ever be easy.

He got up from his desk with the translated message which he carefully burned in the large floor-stand ashtray near his chair by the window. When the paper was completely destroyed, he mixed the ashes with his pencil, breaking them into a fine powder which he dumped into the lower body of the big ashtray. Not even the mighty scientists of the Third Reich could put that message back together, he thought bitterly.

He looked out the window and shivered. He took a cigarette from a small wooden box and lit it. He rarely smoked, but this seemed to be the time for it. The schedule for the V3 rocket tests as well as the tests for the more advanced models would be relatively simple to come up with. There were several operational readiness manuals floating around. His section security supervisor, Major Preuser, had one. There were others.

But the other matter. That was something completely different.

His position here was suspect, Bern had radioed. By whom?

Major Preuser, who was so obvious, or by Rudy Schlechter, who was slightly less obvious but a no less likely candidate, or by someone else?

Deland smoked as he stared down at the narrow cobbled lane.

Someone in the parlor began playing the piano. A Liszt tone poem, he thought, and whoever was playing it was very good.

The warm music was a fine counterpoint to the cold, windblown scene outside (it had begun to snow again and the wind had risen). He himself was caught somewhere between the two. He was doing something positive about the war; he was making his contribution. When it was all over, he wouldn’t have to hide his head. It gave him a warm feeling to know that he’d be returning home a hero: It was a feeling he’d never confide to anyone else, of course. He’d be too embarrassed. Nevertheless, he had that feeling of pride in himself that was like a warm brazier on a chill day. That would come later. For now he was here in Germany, and his position was suspect. He didn’t feel much like a hero.

Nor did he feel even particularly grown up. He felt more like a lost, frightened boy. He wanted to go home, or at the very least be with someone who cared.

He stubbed out his cigarette, grabbed his coat, and left his room, after first making certain he was leaving it exactly the way he wanted it left.

Frau Gardner was not in her office when he left the house, but whoever was playing the piano was still at it. Outside, he could hear the music halfway down the block as he strode into town, and for some reason it made him very sad.

The square was busy and Deland looked into a few of the shops that had any goods before he finally crossed to the far side and entered the Hansa Haus Bierstube.

There were still quite a few people inside having late lunch, but it wouldn’t be until after four, Deland suspected, that the work crowd would fill the place.

The beer hall was dark, closed-in, warm—a safe haven from the cold outside. A few of the patrons looked up and Deland smiled and nodded as he went around and took a seat at a small table in one of the tiny front windows. The small panes were thick and very old, yet he could make out people coming and going on the street.

A young girl dressed in a neat dirndl took his order for a Bier und Brot mil Kase, and when she was gone, he went up to the counter in the front and bought a small packet of four cigarettes and a few matches.

Back at his table he lit one just as his beer came.

It had been several days since he had been here last. When Schlechter had dumped him unceremoniously with Fraulein Mueller. All week nothing had been said about the incident. But each time Deland had seen Schlechter, the man had had an impish grin on his face.

His hand stopped in midair as another, an uglier thought crossed his mind. His position here was suspect. If not by Major Preuser, then perhaps by Schlechter … Deland had missed her when she had skipped across the street, so when he finally saw her by the front counter, he was surprised.

At first he sat