straight ahead at the end of the path, you can't miss it."
"A side door?" Karin had interrupted, brushing the rain off her face under her black canvas hat.
"Jdger's living quarters," answered the German intelligence officer.
"Bedroom, bath, office, and an addition on the north wall that contains a small personal chapel with its own altar. It's said he spends hours there in meditation. The side door is his private entrance, the closest to the riverbank and forbidden to everyone else. The front door is at the far left, the old boathouse's original entrance; it's the one the guards and visitors use."
"In other words, he's basically separated from the rest of the household when he's in his quarters."
"Definitely. Director Moreau was particularly interested in the arrangement as I described it to him. He reached me after you called him in Paris, and together we devised the plan to accommodate you with the minimum of risk."
"What did he tell you, if I may ask?"
"That you knew Gfinter Jdger years ago and that you were a highly trained strategist who might accomplish what others could not. I along with most senior officers in our profession accept Moreau's judgments as those of an expert. He also mentioned that you would be armed and capable of protecting yourself."
"I hope he's right on both counts," said Karin softly.
"Oh?" The German officer stared at De Vries.
"Your superiors approve of your tactics, of course."
"Naturally. Would the celebrated Moreau himself have reached you on my behalf if they did not?"
"No, he wouldn't.. .. Your raincoat will soon be soaked. I can't offer you a new one, but I have an extra umbrella. You're welcome to it."
"Thank you, I'm grateful. Are you in touch with your personnel by radio?"
"Yes, but I'm sorry, I can't let you have one. The risk is too great."
"I understand. just let them know I'm on my way."
"Good luck and be very, very careful, madame. Remember, we can lead you to the door, but we cannot do anything else for you.
Even if you cried out, we could not respond."
"Yes, I know. One life compared to so many thousands." With those words Karin snapped open the umbrella and started down the flagstone path through the deluge. Constantly wiping the rain from her eyes, she reached the once-elegant gazebo, its skeletal outlines of burnt wood and coiled screening somehow akin to a wartime photograph illustrating the lesson that war was an equalizer, touching the rich and the poor alike. And then beyond, as if to purposely contradict the lesson, there was a perfectly kept croquet field, the lawn manicured, the wickets and the brightly painted poles intact.
She raised her head, squinting under the brim of her canvas. hat studying the enormous pine tree with different, less imposing trees on either side. Suddenly there were the barely visible flashes. Two of them! A guard was on patrol. Karin lowered herself to the ground, peering into drenched darkness, waiting for another signal.
It came quickly: three flashes, repeated twice. The way was clear!
She raced across the croquet course, her flat shoes sinking into the swollen, wet grass until she felt the hard surface of the second flagstone path. Without hesitating, she raced down it, keeping in mind the approximate forty paces and the sharp curve; she found it too late, plunging headlong into the overgrown foliage as the flagstones turned abruptly left. There was no visibility, no way she could have known. She got painfully, awkwardly, to her feet and picked up the umbrella; it was broken, useless. On her knees, she looked to her right, as instructed. There was nothing but downpour and darkness, yet she dared not move until the signal came. Finally, it did: three flashes. Karin walked slowly, cautiously, to the end of the flagstone path; she was at the edge of the woods and saw the lair of her once and now-despised husband, Fiibrer of the Fourth Reich. There were lights on at the far left side of the structure, darkness everywhere else.
The former boathouse was much longer, though not necessarily larger, than she had envisioned, for it was one level. The German intelligence officer had said there was an addition on the right that housed the isolated living quarters of the man called Gunter Jdger.
Additions had been made on the left as well, she thought, observing the lighter, newer wood, twenty-five or thirty feet long, and considering the width to the river side, enough for two, three, or four added rooms for the staff. The officer