Michael Wenberg - The Last Eagle

“Jesus, you’re a hopeless shit,” Kate said. “Just follow my lead.” She took his hands, lead him out onto the floor. The two singers began another tune. While the crew of the Eagle stomped and whistled with excitement, Kate and Stefan began to dance.

Walter Veski watched the pair for a moment, then snorted with disdain. American women. What had he been thinking? He still had half a plate of food uneaten on his desk. “You get two hours,” he said loudly. “No more.” He turned on his boot heels, and stomped out of the ballroom.

For Stefan, worries about the war, and his men had been shoved aside by a more immediate fear: that he was just a clumsy ox after all and he would end up stepping on this beautiful, entrancing, spirited woman’s feet. But as they slowly moved across the floor and that didn’t happen, Stefan began to relax. There was something in her gestures and the way she cocked her head and stared into his eyes that made him realize for the first time what he had missed by never settling down. And that realization filled him with a sense of remorse so swift and terrible he winced with pain.

“What’s wrong?” Kate said.

“It’s just…” Stefan fumbled with his thoughts and feelings. “If only it had been… different.”

“But then you and I might never have met, eh?” Kate replied softly. “By the way, I’ve been meaning to tell you something.”

“What’s that?”

“My name really isn’t Roosevelt.”

Stefan laughed suddenly, pulled her closer. “I knew it,” he said.

“Forgive me?”

“Never.”

“And there’s one other thing.” She leaned her head on his shoulders, and began to whisper in his ear. Eryk and Squeaky saw the glance he gave her, noticed the change in the way he moved.

“Lucky sonofabitch,” Eyrk said. “Imagine having a babe like that tell you she loved you.”

“Yeah,” Squeaky breathed softly. “I can….”

Veski and the two guards had forgotten all about the Poles.

The trio was standing on tiptoe by the lead-glass windows at one end of the banquet hall, straining to see through the thick antique glass what was happening down the street. Another fire truck had just screamed past the front pillars of the 16th-century mansion. The orange glow of flames was like the colors of an angry dawn on the windows of buildings across from the blaze.

Veski noticed it first. A bright red municipal bus idling next to the curb in front of the mansion’s steps. Strange place for a stop, he thought. He peered more closely. The driver looked vaguely familiar and somehow out of place, like a man wearing a business suit on a hot day at the beach, or a child in a bowler hat driving a car.

Veski raised a finger as a hazy image of the man began to take shape. As he recalled, however, this man—or someone who looked very much like him—had been wearing the uniform of a British officer. Why? Veski eyes widened with a sudden thought. He nodded, his finger bobbing in unison to the beat of his chin. “I know him….” he breathed.

“Good for you,” came the whispered response. He felt something sharp jab at his side. “Have your men hand over their rifles.” And then another jab.

Veski jerked with surprise. He couldn’t help it. Stefan responded by digging hard with the barrel of the pistol. The motion elicited a loud “ouch” from the Estonian, which was finally enough to drag the attention of the two guards away from the fire. They turned, started to bring up their rifles and hesitated when they saw Eryk, who was positioned behind Veski and Stefan, legs apart, arm out, pointing a pistol steadily in their direction.

“Say it!” Stefan said. “Our quarrel isn’t with you and your boys.”

Veski nodded. That made sense. “All right… all right,” he sputtered. “Just don’t hurt me. You two there, put down the rifles. Do as I say.”

The guards looked almost relieved. They leaned their rifles against the wall, stepped quickly away and raised their hands. Stefan glanced out the window, noticed McBride waving furiously from the driver’s seat of the bus.

It was time.

Stefan had listened with growing excitement as Kate sketched out the plan, her breath soft as a flower petal on his ear. “One o’clock sharp. Be ready then. A bus will be out front.”

He held her delicately, hand resting lightly on the small of her back, trying to concentrate on her words, his footwork and the music, but her closeness—the warmth of her hand on his shoulder, the smell of her hair—was maddening.

He saw the bemused looks on the faces of his officers, Reggie’s sarcastic leer, and the longing smile of every single member of the crew, all them watching their performance, all of them wishing the same thing. He didn’t blame them one bit.

And then the men finished their song, the impromptu trio bowing and smiling and scattered applause. Someone suggested another tune. And then she was off, pressing her handbag into his hand before being pulled away by Squeaky of all people.

“I better take over,” he said with a broad grin, as the men began singing another song. “You look like you’re about to faint.”

Stefan stood awkwardly, watching the pair dance away, admiring Squeaky’s confident steps. He knew how to dance. Kate was smiling, enjoying the skill of her new partner, acting as if dancing were the only reason she was there. As they whirled by him, Kate winked. And right that moment, Stefan vowed that when this was all over…

“Put your tongue back in, commander,” Reggie interrupted, grabbing Stefan by the elbow and steering him off the floor. “Don’t you think you should find some place safe for the purse and the,uh, paperweight inside?”

“Damn you,” Stefan said softly.

“I know, I know. But you’ll thank me in the morning.”

Stefan pulled his elbow free. “Since you’re so insistent on being useful, find Eryk and send him over. We have a few items to discuss.”

Reggie clicked his heels together in mock salute. “As you wish, Herr Captain.”

“Don’t push your luck, American,” Stefan growled.

Kate gamely danced for another hour. Even one of the Estonian guards took a spin, the Poles hooting good-naturedly while the other guard held his rifle. When she had danced with everyone who wanted a turn—nearly the entire crew— the singers were as hoarse as seals. By then, Stefan had filled Eryk in on the plan. They had split up, moving unobtrusively through the crew, briefing the rest of the officers. By that time Kate prepared to leave. As she was saying her goodbyes to the singers, she picked up her coat off the back of a chair and then walked over to Stefan, who was leaning against the far wall, smoking quietly by himself. Most of the men had settled down in their makeshift beds, mattresses and blankets on the floor. Many were already snoring, succumbing to the effects of the food and drink and late hour.

“My purse?”

Stefan pulled it from beneath his arm and handed it to her. She hefted it in her hand, nodded her approval. “Thank you for the dance,” she whispered.

“My pleasure,” Stefan replied. “I hope I can repay you for your help.”

She stared at him, a solemn expression on her face, as if her inner eye was attempting to discern their future. “I’ll hold you to that promise, Commander.” She surprised him with a light kiss on the cheek. “I’ll see you around.” And then she was off, striding like a prom queen across the floor. She found Reggie by the door, hooked him by the arm. The guard at the doorway let them out, bowing slightly as they passed.

“Anyone else we need to worry about?” Stefan asked.

Veski seemed hypnotized by the pistol in Stefan’s hand. Stefan jabbed him again to break the spell. “Uh, one at the door,” Veski said, “one out back. That’s it. We didn’t think…”