Michael Wenberg - The Last Eagle

A short Estonian naval officer trotted up to Kate at about the same time Reggie staggered through the door. The officer was wiping his mouth, missing the sheen of grease on his upper lip. They had interrupted dinner.

He glanced at them both. Judged them British by their clothes. “Yes, yes, what can I do for you?” he said in accented English.

“I’m here to talk with the officer in charge.”

“That is me. My superior, he is gone for the moment.”

“NANS,” Reggie blustered nervously, holding out his press ID.

“We’re here to interview the Polish sailors….” Kate added. “We’re with an internationally recognized news service.”

“Impossible,” the Estonian said with a shake of his head. “The men are in protective custody. You must not disturb them. I am under orders.”

“Why?” Kate said with alarm. “They aren’t sick are they? It isn’t smallpox, or the flu….”

“Or something really contagious,” Reggie added hopefully. He was having serious second thoughts about this whole operation. If the crew was sick, that would end any hope of freeing them. It would be too bad, but so it goes in life.

“No, no, they aren’t sick. They are perfectly healthy and eating food graciously provided by the people and government of Estonia as we speak at this moment.”

“That’s perfect,” Kate cooed. “You’re feeding them right now. You see, we just want to get their story for our readers, and write about the wonderful treatment they’re receiving from their Estonian hosts. They are being well treated, aren’t they. By the way, what is your name?”

The Estonian officer straightened the front of his jacket. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a white handkerchief, and wiped his lips once again. He glanced at his watch. Talli wouldn’t return for another hour. He would have to decide. He glanced at the woman and decided. “Veski,” he said. “Walter Veski. Lieutnant Commander, Estonian Navy.” He bowed his head formally and smiled.

Kate answered the smile with a giggle. She held out her hand. “Pleased to meet you, Walt,” she said. “Miss Kate McLendon. I’m an American. This is my associate, Reggie Goldberg.”

The Estonian took Kate’s hand. For a moment, she thought he would raise it to his lips. But he didn’t.

“Yes, we treat them very well. They have committed no crime…”

“Then why won’t you let us chat with them? It would mean so much to me.”

Reggie stifled a sigh of disgust. The girlish routine couldn’t possibly work on the man. But, as in the past, he had overestimated the powers of his own gender and underestimated Kate’s.

A look of alarm crossed Veski’s face. He took Kate’s hand. “Of course you can see them. Please, please, dear lady. And you write a nice story?”

“Of course,” Kate replied sweetly, squeezing Veski’s hand. “It’s Walter Veski, isn’t it.”

From the front seat of a nondescript black sedan parked a block away, McBride watched Kate and Reggie disappear through the front door. He hugged the steering wheel, expecting them to reappear at any moment. When they did not, he slumped back in the seat, tipped his hat low over his eye, and waited. So far so good. But if they ran into trouble, they were on their own. He’d made that clear.

Half an hour passed. Still no signs of alarm from inside the building. In fact, the guard at the entrance had slung his rifle over his shoulder and was talking and gesturing to an old man wearing a green beret, arms wrapped around a bag of groceries, who had paused on the walk. McBride watched the guard place a cigarette in the old man’s mouth and then light it, the match flaring brightly in the evening shadows. The old man shifted the load in his arms, nodded thanks to the soldier, and then continued on his way. It was all so normal, and yet McBride now noticed a strange tinge to all the usual activities. It was almost as if he was seeing them for the first time, marveling at what they represented. Or perhaps it was simply a realization that life couldn’t possibly go on as it always had when war had started again and every place would soon be touched by it? Or maybe it was more than that? McBride wondered.

McBride nodded to the old man as he trudged by his car. It was time. He’d waited long enough. Now it was his turn. He started the car, slipped it into gear, and then began to make his way through the darkening cobblestone streets of Tallinn, back toward the warehouse district near the harbor. He kept an eye on his rearview mirror. He had taken the necessary precautions when he slipped out of the embassy, but you could never be sure. It was common knowledge that the city was crawling with intelligence agents from all sides of the war. He glanced at his watch. Nearly 8 p.m. Time enough. He bounced over railroad tracks, wheeled between two buildings, swung down a narrow side street and paused in front of a warehouse door. He flicked the car lights on and off. The door swung open. He gunned the engine and drove into the cavelike interior, turned off the motor, and stepped out. As soon as the door closed, overhead lights flared.

“You weren’t followed… ” It was a statement, not a question. A tall, thin-faced man stepped forward, held out his hand. “Not bad, for an amateur. Nice to see you again, Duncan.”

McBride grinned, stepped out of the car. “I’ll take that as a compliment. All set?”

Ashley Thomas, the local representative of the British Secret Service, nodded. “ A vacant building has been found a half a block away. It should burn quite nicely. No sense killing any locals. And this should do …” He gestured over his shoulder in the direction of a bright red bus.

“I said lorry,” McBride responded, frowning.

“Best I could do on such short notice, old boy. It’s from a local company. Shouldn’t look too out of place. You have a driver? I hope you don’t expect me to waste any of my people on this fool’s attempt.”

McBride could feel his cheeks beginning to color. “You have any better ideas? I’d like to hear them.”

Thomas shrugged. “Not my problem,” he said.

“That’s what I thought,” he said dismissively, the Scottish tinge to his words becoming more pronounced as he continued. “Damn Germans didn’t give us much time. The crew is being hauled off tomorrow. The old man wanted us to help out, and that’s what I’m going to try to do.”

Thomas exhaled in disgust. “Churchill? I heard he was back. We’ll see how long the dinosaur lasts this time. So, who’s your driver?”

McBride took a deep breath. “Me.”

Thomas raised an eyebrow. “Do you even know how to handle one of these? Not like driving a Morris.”

“I think I’ll do all right,” McBride said pointedly. He didn’t mention the fact that his father still drove a dark green bakery delivery van through the streets of Edinburgh every morning, the same van McBride had used to learn how to drive when he was fifteen –years old.

“What if you’re caught?”

McBride shrugged. “I shan’t be. And if I am, I’ll just say the Poles made me do it.”

Thomas laughed, tossed him the keys to the bus. “Good luck then,” he said. “You’re going to need it.”

McBride caught the keys in midair. “Save it for the Poles. Getting down to the harbor is going to be the easy part.”

Ritter was standing in the center of the foyer, legs apart, back flagpole-straight, slapping his black leather gloves impatiently into the palm of his hand.

“How dare you bother me here at the home of my cousin?…” Sieinski said.

“You have a promise to keep, captain. Remember?” Ritter said evenly.

“Józef? Everything all right?” A tall, well-dressed woman came up behind Sieinski, grabbed him by the arm, felt his discolored forehead. “He still isn’t well, you know.”