Five Past Midnight - James Thayer [64]
Thoughts of food were a familiar companion, and they calmed her. She walked steadily, the vapor of her breath trailing over her shoulders. On these cold spring nights Berlin was as silent as a country pasture. The citizens had fled or were dead or were inside their homes huddling before small fires, if they had somehow found wood. At least until the British bombers came at midnight, Berlin's residential neighborhoods sounded as the areas must have a thousand years ago, with the soft sough of wind and the occasional lupine cry of a dog. On these long walks she could will away the war.
And she could will back Adam. She was still two blocks from her home, so she had time to re-create one of their dates. She smiled to herself as she picked his birthday dinner — his last birthday dinner ever — at Horcher's. They had sat near the window at the tiny restaurant at Lutherstrasse 2, and had begun the meal with sherry and caviar surrounded by shaved ice, followed by consomme Marcelle, then crabs in a dill sauce served over red nee, then venison in sour cream. Then a 1928 Lieserer Niederberg and peaches flambe, which was brought to the table by two waiters. The peaches and sugar were placed in a silver bowl and cooked over an alcohol lamp for five minutes. Then the skins were removed and the fruit cut in half and placed over shaved ice in another bowl to chill. Finally the peaches were layered on ice cream and topped with crushed nuts and apricot brandy.
Katrin ruefully wiped the corner of her mouth. She had begun to salivate like a dog. And she was painfully aware that, as she had brought back that lovely and departed day she was focusing on the food rather than on Adam. Her home was now just half a block more along the street. It rose in front of her, a dark shadow on a black night, unleavened by a light or the hope of a warm greeting at the door. Instead of a sanctuary, her home had become a roof and a bed to her, offering no joy that was not a memory. She wondered what she would eat that night, could not think of a single item left in her pantry. Maybe there was a potato in the bin on the back porch. She would cut away the rotted black spots. She passed the laurel hedge that marked the edge of her lot.
The sound of auto tires came from behind her. Katrin looked over her shoulder. A black sedan was moving slowly, was following her, and was running without headlight slits. The cab was dark and she could not make out faces. Then she saw a circular antenna on the car's roof. This was the Opel that Colonel Becker had warned her about. The agents inside the car must have been able to fix on her broadcast, and had been following her since she left the abandoned house. A window rolled down on the car's passenger side, and a hand holding a pistol emerged.
Desperation and fear abruptly wrapped around her like a coat. She walked faster, approaching her brick walkway. She held the wireless in front of her, as if she could possibly hide it now. Anything she could do, any thoughts she might have, seemed useless and small. Then she broke into a run, slipping on the brick, but catching herself. She hurried up her walkway toward the front door, aware her attempt to escape was so hopeless it was comic.
Maybe she had known she could never accomplish what the Hand wanted. Maybe she had known they would find her. Without Adam waiting for her in the living