The Arms Maker of Berlin

ELEVEN

Nat switched on the light to make sure his eyes weren’t deceiving him. In the instant glare from the overhead bulb Berta threw an arm across her face and pulled up the sheets.

“I tried to reach you,” she said through her fingers. “I was scared. There was nowhere else to go, so I came here.”

“Scared of what?”

“Someone had searched my room. I think they were looking for the memory chips.”

“You sure it wasn’t just the innkeeper tidying up? These B &Bs are pretty finicky.”

“They’d picked the lock. Things were missing from my suitcase.”

Nat saw her suitcase now, lying open on the floor. The nightgown wasn’t the only silky item. She had packed well for this kind of scene. He was tempted to sit on the bed, then thought better of it and opted for the chair, still clutching the wooden box. Maybe it was that Berta’s ambition made him wary, or that Gordon had called her a damned nuisance and then dropped dead. Or maybe it was that he would have enjoyed nothing better right now than to snuggle up next to her on the bed.

Her eyes had adjusted to the light and she looked better than ever. Shoulders bare, except for the white silk straps. Hair in suggestive disarray.

“You’re good at this, aren’t you?” he said.

“Good at what?”

“Manipulating people.”

He had expected to get a rise out of her, but she took it in stride.

“I can be. When there’s something I want badly enough. But not with you.”

“How do you see that?”

“Because we both want the same thing. You might just as easily manipulate me.”

He smiled, admiring her skill.

“Holland returned our cameras, by the way. I don’t know if you were able to tell yet from our work this afternoon, but you were right about the boxes. Four folders are missing. The feds have asked me to find the missing items. On their tab. Interested?”

She nodded, but surprised him by showing no sign of excitement.

“Where do you think we should start?” she asked.

The sheet slipped farther down her torso, showing some cleavage. Healthy tone to her skin for this early in the spring, yet no hint of a tan line. Of course, topless sunbathing wasn’t exactly taboo in Europe. Nat cleared his throat, hoping to also clear his head.

“I was thinking Baltimore.” He figured that would get a reaction, but her face remained blank. He opened the old box in a way that kept her from seeing the contents, and pulled out the key. “This fits a storage locker there. It’s our first stop.”

“All right. Are they paying my way, too?”

“Long as I’m in charge.”

“Good. I’ve maxed out my credit cards. We’d better get some sleep. Shall you take the floor, or I?”

Well, he supposed that answered one question.

“Throw me a pillow.”

She nodded and complied, somehow managing to make the toss without letting the sheet drop a stitch farther. Then she lay back down and shut her eyes. Oh, definitely no manipulation going on here, he thought, smiling to himself as he turned out the light.

As he tried to get comfortable in the dark, he wondered anew what it was that drove her. Scholarly zeal, of course. All the best historians were competitive. But there had to be something more. He was about to drift off when she spoke up from the bed.

“I have some names I can share. Old contacts of Gordon Wolfe’s and Kurt Bauer’s, people who might have once handled the records, or have some leads.”

Throwing him a bone. It was a start.

“Living or dead?”

“Living. In Bern and Berlin. We can visit them, now that we have a budget.”

“Great. But with any luck the trail will end in Baltimore.”

Her silence told him she thought otherwise, which troubled him because it suggested she knew more than she was letting on. He had better check out her credentials, first chance he got. Until then, or until she opened up more, perhaps “arm’s length” was indeed the best policy. Funny how sensible that sounded down there on the cold, hard floor.