missing or dead. Isn’t that how it’s supposed to be? He can’t be dead. He just can’t be. Perhaps the Germans captured him? Oh God, no. That would be so much worse, and if that is the case, I pray he is dead. In my heart, I know exactly what happened to Lieutenant Stanley, and my heart breaks for him. I cannot help but feel responsible for this.
Over the course of the next several days, I hear nothing of my handsome lieutenant. I don’t know if he is dead, captured, or wandering somewhere lost. Will I ever know? Will they ever tell me the truth? I spend the next three weeks waiting to hear from Gerhardt and where I am to go next.
I’m sitting in Saint James Park. It’s still very cold, and it is quite windy today. We should be meeting someplace where it’s warm, but he insisted we meet here. I look at my timepiece and see he’s almost a half hour late. What could be keeping him? I know his lateness is on purpose. He wants me to squirm and to reinforce to me that they are in charge. But he doesn’t realize I’ve known this all along. When I sold my soul to the devil, my life belonged to them and will never be my own again.
In an effort to keep warm, I get up from the park bench and begin to pace. Perhaps if I get my blood flowing, I won’t be so cold. Moving around usually helps, but today, it doesn’t seem to be doing the trick. I can’t shake the chill that has rooted itself deep into my bones. I’m not gonna like what he has to tell me. I know deep in my heart my worst fears have come true.
I’m anxious and worried about this meeting, and fearful of what he has to tell me. It’s been almost a year since I’ve seen him, and quite frankly, I was surprised when I received his post two days ago. Truthfully, I expected him to wait longer, but there must be something new on the horizon and we need to close this up quickly.
Just when I turn to pace back the other direction, I spot him. He’s dressed in a long wool coat, scarf, and a very stylish derby. He looks very British, but I know he is not. He was always a handsome man. There was a time when he thought there might be more between us, but I never had those kinds of feelings for him. I always portrayed complacency with our friendship and working relationship.
When he approaches, he says in almost a whisper, “Guten Tag, Fräulein Mueller.”
“Guten Tag, Heir Wagner.”
He then continues in English, in case we are overheard. “Well done, Katerina. The information you provided us on the Zeppelins, the listening station, and the special ammunition has helped our cause immensely. You will be rewarded for your efforts.”
“Thank you, Gerhardt. It was my pleasure. I was only doing my job.” I hate every minute of it, but I must continue to make him believe I love my job. My life depends on it for I know now that they can erase a life in a blink of an eye.
“I’m here to tell you we are so pleased with the work you have done here that we are allowing you to return to Paris, with Madame LaRue. Your next mark is an American soldier, a Lieutenant Christian Barnes. We’ll have his dossier sent over to you by courier within the next few days. You should plan to return to Paris by the end of the week.” He hands me an envelope. “Your transportation is all arranged.”
“Why an American, may I ask?”
“Now that the Americans are involved in the war, everything is changing. It is my understanding he holds one of the highest security clearances in his country and he is key to upcoming negotiations with the Allied forces. All the information you will need is in your packet.” He winks at me and leans in close. “Remember, Katerina, play nice with this one.”
“Oh, Gerhardt, I always play nice and do what I am told. Isn’t that what you taught me?” He smirks and then turns to leave, and I call after him, “Gerhardt, wait.” I walk toward him. “Lieutenant Stanley, what happened to him?” Please let him still be alive. I don’t want the blood of another soldier on my hands.
“His plane was shot down testing the special ammunition you reported.