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DISCLAIMERS:
The characters of Janice Covington and Mel(inda) Pappas from the TV show 'Xena Warrior Princess' belong to Studio USA/Renaissance Pictures/Universal or whoever actually owns them now. No infringement on their rights is intended. All other characters are created by myself, and belong to me.
All characters depicted, names used, and incidents portrayed in this story are fictitious. No identification with actual persons is intended nor should be inferred. Any resemblance of the characters portrayed to actual persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.
The registered trademarks mentioned in this story are © of their respective owners. No infringement of their rights is intended, and no profit is gained.
This story depicts a loving relationship between consenting adult women. If such a story frightens you, you better click on the X in the top right corner of your screen right away.
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NOTES FROM THE AUTHOR:
Written: January 19th - February 4th, 2021.
Thank you very much for your help, Phineas Redux! Also, thank you Xusan for providing the German dialogue - if you find any grammatical mistakes, it's because I messed up ;D *Flower* *Flower* *Flower*
This story is dedicated to the Xenaverse bard DJ Belt whose Mel & Janice-series is, in my opinion, the pinnacle of the genre - DJ, your stories are inspiring, superbly entertaining and just plain ol' magical, and I can only dream of reaching the levels you're at. And finally, a word from Janice Covington herself: "Hey, reader, do yourself a great big, fat favor and find DJ's stories. You won't regret it for a second."
And finally, I'd like to say a great, big THANK YOU to my mates at AUSXIP Talking Xena, especially to the gals and guys in Subtext Central. I really appreciate your support - Thanks, everybody! :D
Description: Action! Adventure! Danger! Excitement! Janice Covington and Mel Pappas return to the page in an explosive tale of counter-insurgence, double-crosses, lethal foes and secret agents with dubious pasts. When Mel and Janice are roped into carrying out the dirty work for a top-secret intelligence agency operating in post-war Germany, they find themselves in the firing line in a conflict they want nothing to do with. As the Cold War threatens to flare up, it soon becomes clear why the world of international espionage is known as… THE DIRTY GAME!
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PREVIOUSLY ON MEL & JANICE: THE VALKYRIE'S TOMB
In June 1952, the Doctor of Philosophy Janice Covington and her partner Mel Pappas, a renowned translator of Ancient Greek, received exciting news from a dig site near old Viking burial mounds in Jelling, Denmark. The professor in charge of the excavation had unearthed a runestone that mentioned a hitherto unknown event that had taken place at some point in the first century, AD: the Gathering Of Kings.
The runestone also spoke of three foreign warriors who had traveled to the Gathering - the fearsome master swordsman Amphius of Xanten whose skin was the color of fair leather and whose hair was as dark as Odin's ravens; the Teutonic-appearing yet soft-spoken Garriallus Batticus of Polmus who acted as a mediator though he carried arms as well, and finally Gamberus of Aquae Granni who was a master upon the bow and arrow.
Janice Covington and Mel Pappas took over the assignment of analyzing the finds from one of their esteemed colleagues at the University of San Francisco, and after much hard work, they were able to discover the true identities of the three people mentioned on the runestone: Xena of Amphipolis, Gabrielle of Potaideia and Yannberah of the Langobardi, an honorary Amazon who had joined company with Xena and Gabrielle while they traveled up through Europe to get to the Norselands.
When a natural disaster threatened to destroy the burial mound where the runestone and several other artifacts had been found, Mel and Janice were forced into action to protect what local folklore had dubbed The Valkyrie's Tomb. After much drama, they were able to unearth a prize far grander than any amount of gold, silver or gemstones…
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CHAPTER 1
Late on June 21st, 1952.
There are few things in life as infuriating as when the chosen means of transportation is seriously delayed or breaks down en route. The distance from Vejle to the central station in Hamburg was only just over two-hundred kilometers and, according to the time table, should haven taken three and a half hours to cover.
Janice Covington's face carried a dark scowl as she looked at her wristwatch - seven hours had passed since she and Melinda Pappas had left Vejle and it was now half past ten in the evening. Seven hours of nothing but delays, problems, break-downs, uncertainty and mounting frustration.
The scowl only grew darker as she looked out of the window. Although the vast port city of Hamburg presented a glorious sight with tens of thousands of lights in as many windows and store fronts, she wished she was on her way home across the Atlantic instead of heading off for central Germany on a quest to find the origins of the Langobardi tribe.
Unlike the second-class wagon they had been in on the train going north to Vejle, they had splashed on a first-class compartment that - in theory - should have seen more luxurious elements than wooden benches and bare walls. In reality, the only difference was that the wooden benches were equipped with cushions, and they weren't even as plush and comfortable as they should have been.
Ninety percent of the items within Janice's field of view were the same as in the second-class compartment - her nose even picked up the exact same smell of lacquer used to coat the wooden luggage racks above the two seats.
Everything rattled, shook and shimmied as the train's many wagons rolled over the countless switches leading into Hamburg's huge central station. For each twisting jerk their wagon was put through, the over-filled, foul-smelling metal ashtray that had been bolted onto the wall beneath the window creaked and groaned like it wanted to empty out its contents onto the floor.
The fact the regional train was being pulled by two steam locomotives hadn't had any positive influence on its speed or punctuality - in fact, the unusual combination was the problem rather than the solution as the leading locomotive had been forced to do all the work for a great deal of the distance.
The original engine had broken down for good only an hour after crossing the border into Germany; the replacement had to be called in from a remote service yard which had taken half an eternity to accomplish. On top of that, the replacement engine had a very limited top speed as it was designed to pull heavy freight trains that relied on great torque and constant pulling power rather than swift acceleration and a high cruising speed.
Janice leaned forward and buried her face in her hands. Sighing, she rubbed her tired eyes before she looked over at her sweetheart, the incomparable Mel Pappas, who sat on the opposite bench to have room for all their luggage.
The tall, graceful Southerner seemed calm and at peace though the train ride had been an exhausting one. She wore her tailor-made, medium-brown travel dress that suited her sculpted frame so well that she looked as if she had just stepped off the cover of a fashion magazine. Her hair was up in a bun that was partially covered by a chic pillbox hat held in the same shade of brown as the travel dress.
Janice chuckled and looked at her own far more bedraggled exterior. Despite the fact that all her outfits were rugged and had been able to withstand most everything she had thrown at them for the past several decades, the few days spent in the constant deluge up in Jelling had nearly ruined all of them - the clothes had been drenched so often the threads had begun to unravel, and she repeatedly dug out caked mud in the turn-ups and from the deepest parts of her pockets. Her beloved fedora looked like something the Abominable Snowman wouldn't touch with a ten-foot icicle, and although she had objected strongly to Mel's suggestion of throwing it out, it certainly wasn't the epitome of cool it had once been. Still, it went well with her trench boots and her leather jacket so she kept it.
Her attention was snatched by the sight of a uniformed ticket inspector striding through the narrow corridor beyond the compartment. The purposeful way he moved proved that something else had happened, but before Janice could get up to inquire about it, he was already clear out of sight.
Mel's pale-blue eyes were hard at work moving left-to-right behind her black pair of spectacles; she had her nose buried in a German book although she could only understand the most basic. The book had been discarded or simply forgotten by another passenger as it had been lying on the floor of the compartment when they had claimed it in Vejle. It wasn't until the original locomotive had come to a grinding halt in the middle of nowhere that she had even looked in it, but it had caught her imagination so she had stayed with it. The author's name was one of those multiple-word, multiple-syllable deals the Germans had always been so fond of, and neither Mel nor Janice had the faintest idea of how to pronounce it - not that it mattered.
Both women looked up at the exact same time when a male voice began speaking loudly in the corridor. It turned out to be the uniformed inspector from earlier who used a bullhorn to inform the train's passengers of something seemingly important.
"Dammit! Now what?" Janice said and bolted from the bench. She was over at the sliding door in an instant and soon moved it aside to step into the corridor. The ticket inspector had finished delivering his message and was presently busy answering questions from some of the other passengers. "Mel, did you understand any of it?" Janice said over her shoulder.
"Oh dear, I'm afraid I didn't," Mel said as she adjusted her spectacles.
Janice looked back at the uniformed fellow who appeared to be about to leave the wagon. "Hey! Hey, buster!" she cried and bolted from the compartment before he could do so. "Buster! Hey! Mac! Joe! Hey, fella, will ya wait a Goddamned minute? Yes, I'm talkin' to you!" she said at an ever-increasing volume. When she had the man's attention, she stomped over to him and slammed her hands onto her hips. "First your old piece of crap locomotive breaks down, then we drive slower than a damn toothless hippopotamus walkin' backwards… now what's the problem?"
The ticket inspector - who was a stocky fellow in his mid-thirties with a moon-face and coarse features - cast the American woman a puzzled glance while he tried to decipher the odd comment about the hippopotamus. "Ah, Miss… sorry, but this train go no further. We must stop for the night in Hamburg. Need better lokomotiv," he said before he finished with a polite smile.
"What?! So we're stranded in Hamburg? Oh, for the love of…" Janice said and punched a clenched fist into an open palm. "Don't tell me the replacement has broken down as well?"
"Ah, no… but it is not allowed on south express line. Too slow."
"Ain't that the truth!"
"So I am afraid you must leave the train for now. Ja? Thank you," the inspector said before he moved on to inform the other passengers of the newest crisis.
Janice kept standing in the narrow corridor for a moment longer before she let out a deep sigh and shuffled back to the compartment. "You're not gonna believe what just happened, Toots," she said, leaning against the sliding door.
After adding a bookmark, Mel looked up at the adventurer whose face proved the news couldn't be good no matter what it was. "Why, Jan Covington, I'm sure you'll clue me in," she said in her characteristic southern accent that only grew more elegant as she grew older.
"We're stuck here. The railroad authorities won't allow the dog-slow engine to continue south on the express line. I guess a faster one has been ordered, but it won't arrive until tomorrow."
"Oh… gosh darn it…"
As a somber - and most annoyed - silence spread in the compartment, the train finally rumbled into the central station. It was sent on an interminable journey over to the farthest platforms so it wouldn't be in the way of the night mail train, the morning express or the scheduled regional trains. The lengthy detour was marked by the crossing of at least twenty switches that each made the wagons creak, groan and sway.
The train eventually came to a halt on the far side of the station. As the excess steam was released from the hard-working locomotive with a loud whoosh, several inspectors and a schaffner - a porter permanently stationed on the train - moved through the wagons to make sure that all the passengers had understood what was going on. When they reached the compartment occupied by Mel and Janice, they stopped to stare at the pile of luggage surrounding the two women. It was clear a luggage cart was needed, so the schaffner set off to find one.
"Another damned empty, windswept platform in the middle of nowhere," Janice grumbled as she stepped back from the window.
"Oh, I'm sure it can't be as bad as that…"
"Yes it can," Janice continued before she helped Mel collect the final suitcases containing the priceless tomes on translating Ancient Greek.
Mel let out a lady-like sigh as she took the most valuable of all their luggage - the carefully wrapped bundle containing the ceramic urn and the rolled-up piece of parchment written by Gabrielle of Potaideia. "Jan, dear… when we were here the other day, didn't we see a railroad hotel just across the street from the main entrance?"
"Did we?" Janice said and pushed her battered fedora back from her brow. She broke out in a lopsided grin when Mel reached up to pull it forward again - the elegant Southern Belle was adamant it made Janice look like an oaf. "Yeah, that's right… we did. The Merkur, right? But where the hell's the main entrance? Or more to the point, where the hell are we? This isn't the platform we used the other day."
"We need to ask the ticket inspector. I'm sure he knows."
"Good luck!"
"Why, thank you, dear," Mel said with a chuckle.
Once everything was ready, Janice swung her ex-US Army duffel bag over her shoulder and assumed an even surlier expression. They were ready and able - if not exactly willing - to disembark.
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There were seven-hundred paces from the platform to the sidewalk lining the busy, four-lane Bahnhofstrasse. Janice knew that for a fact because she had counted them all - she had also let out roughly seven-hundred grunts and muted swear words as she had to haul around no less than four cumbersome suitcases to ease Mel's burden.
The tall Southerner already did her fair share of the carrying by having a large suitcase in each hand as well as Janice's duffel bag over her shoulder. The priceless artifacts that had been uncovered in Yannberah's tomb up north in Jelling had been pushed gently into the duffel bag so no harm would come to them.
Crossing Bahnhofstrasse proved more difficult than expected as none of the drivers in the constant rush of cars and vans had any intention of allowing pedestrians into their domain. It wasn't until after the third try had ended in near-disaster - and plenty of honking, angry shouting and arm-waving - that Janice spotted a zebra crossing eighty yards further up the street. Grunting and growling, she and Mel shuffled off to take the safe route to their next stop.
As they did so, a man wearing a tan trench coat and a fedora stepped out of the shadows and followed the two explorers at twenty paces' distance. A folded-up newspaper was stuck under his arm like he had just gone out to get the latest news. He smoked a cigarette as he walked; the rising smoke was caught by the leading edge of the fedora that sat so low across his brow that his eyes were obscured. Although taller and slimmer than many of the people walking close to him, he was able to blend in perfectly and was in effect invisible.
Hotel Merkur turned out to be subdued and unspectacular with nary an architectural highlight save for an illuminated marquee above the main doors - a railroad hotel was meant for tired passengers who needed a soft bed for a single night rather than a movie-star clientele who were there to be seen and who demanded glitz and glamour in return. The war had spared nothing of the old Hanseatic port city, so the four-storey hotel was only three years old like most of the other buildings in the area.
Mel reached out to hold open the wooden door so Janice could enter the lobby with a minimum of hassle. They were soon standing in an open area that was smaller than it had appeared from the outside - only eighteen by twenty feet or so.
Most of the space had been taken up by a wooden reception desk off to the right; a good portion of the remaining floorspace had been allocated to an armchair arrangement that consisted of a pair of leather Chesterfields that had been placed around a circular table. Two vending machines - containing cigarettes and newspapers respectively - took up even more space which only left a narrow, carpeted corridor over to the main staircase.
Staggering over to the reception desk, Janice was finally allowed to put down the heavy suitcases, and she did so with a strangled groan. Another groan escaped her when she couldn't see an elevator anywhere, but her arms, legs and lumbar region were spared the torture when a section of the wall slid aside to reveal a well-camouflaged elevator car. A young man wearing a business suit stepped out and tipped his hat as he went past the two explorers.
"Jan, dear," Mel said and adjusted her glasses, "would you mind dealing with the porter? My German simply isn't good enough for such an occasion…"
Janice was still trying to get her back straightened out after the heavy load, but she was eventually able to get the kinks worked out by pressing a hand firmly against her lower back. "Of course not, Toots," she said and began looking around for someone to talk to. It all seemed deserted, but a metal bell had been placed within easy reach atop the reception desk to summon the porter when needed.
After dinging the bell, Janice pushed her battered fedora back from her brow. She had only just accomplished the task when she happened to look at the arched eyebrow that was displayed quite prominently above Mel's steely glare. "Sorry, Toots… old habits, ya know," she said with a grin.
Before Mel could respond, a wizened, elderly night porter came out from behind a bead curtain to greet his latest customers. He wore a royal-blue, uniform-like jacket over a white shirt; a necktie in the same color as the jacket was hastily arranged as he stepped forward. In his early seventies, the man had snow-white hair and tired features. A pair of ungainly bags under his eyes were joined by flabby skin on his throat and offered a hint he had been far bulkier in his younger years. "Guten Abend, meine Damen. Wie kann ich Ihnen helfen?"
"Sprekken Sie English?" Janice said in broken German.
The elderly porter shook his head. "Leider nicht, Fräulein."
Janice let out a small sigh as she cast a brief glance at Mel. During the war, her German had been good enough to make herself understood, but she had never needed to go much further than 'two beers and a schnapps chaser.' She did now, and it made her tired brain ache. "Accept'en Sie Amerikanish Geld? Dollars?"
"Ja, das tun wir."
"Gut. Gut… Mel, they'll take dollars. We don't have to find a homeless shelter after all."
A short squeak of indignation escaped Mel's graceful lips that were presently curled up into a horrified grimace; she had to adjust her glasses several times to regain her severely shaken equilibrium.
"Ah… haben Sie ein Zimmer frei?" Janice said as she turned back to the man behind the counter. "Mit Badezimmer, bitte… bathroom?" she continued after getting a whiff of her well-traveled self.
"Meinen Sie zwei Zimmer, Fräulein?"
"Nope… ein zimmer… one. Mit Bad… a shower or a tub. Okay?" Janice said and put an index finger in the air to make sure the wizened night porter understood she only wanted to rent a single room instead of two.
The elderly man furrowed his brow as he took in the sight of the two weary female travelers. He eventually shrugged and moved over to a key board that held a dozen old-fashioned brass keys. After eyeing the massive suitcases, he took pity on the women and gave them a room on the first of the guest floors. "Zimmer eins-null-sieben, Fräulein. Im ersten Geschoss. Mit Badezimmer. Die Bettwäsche und die Handtücher sind sauber."
"Room one-oh-seven… gut! Gut… okay… wie viel? How much?"
"Lassen Sie uns nachschauen," the porter said and put pen to paper. After a good deal of hemming, hawing and calculating, he drew a fat line under the sum he had come up with. "Das wären achtzig Dollar, Fräulein."
Janice's eyes briefly opened up wide before they narrowed down to dangerous slits. "Eighty bucks for a single night in a single room in a tourist class railroad hotel? No, I don't think so, buster! Nix mit achtzig Dollars, mein Herr!"
"Eighty dollars?! What in the world?" Mel squeaked; her glasses needed several frantic adjustments to have room for her wide eyes that had grown to saucer-size behind the lenses.
The night porter's eyes grew as wide as Janice's before he returned to his calculations. He made sure to get every sum correct on the second pass, and was soon able to ask for a much fairer price: "Ah… five-and-twen- twenty-five dollars, Fräulein. Ja?"
"That's more like it. Gut so," Janice said and reached into her pocket to find the appropriate amount of money.
Once the bills had exchanged hands, the porter found the book that all guests needed to sign into. The large tome was soon put on the counter and opened to the correct page. After Mel and Janice had both doodled their signatures and filled out the time of arrival on the appropriate lines, all that remained was to call for a bellhop to take care of the luggage.
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The sliding door to the elevator had barely closed behind Mel, Janice and the overworked, underpaid bellhop when the tall man wearing the tan trench coat stepped into the lobby and hurried over to the reception desk. He showed the night porter an ID card that nearly made the elderly man snap to Attention; they exchanged a few words that ended in one-oh-seven, the room the two American ladies had been given.
The shadowy man in the trench coat nodded and briefly tipped his fedora at the elderly fellow behind the counter. He soon left Hotel Merkur, but as he exited through the main entrance, another fellow wearing a similar trench coat entered. The new man, who was far beefier and thus more threatening than the tall one, went straight over to the armchair arrangement and made himself comfortable.
A newspaper, a cup of coffee and a käsebrot - an open sandwich with a slice of mild cheese - were quickly delivered to the circular table so the beefy man had something to do while he was there. He acknowledged the elderly porter by grunting and reaching for the cup at once. After a couple of minutes, he stood up and took off his coat and hat. The actions revealed a gray business suit, a shock of white-blonde hair and pale-gray, steely eyes that sat well in a hard, angular face.
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Room 107 was as subdued and spartan as the exterior of Hotel Merkur: it was dominated by a double bed that took up more than half of the floorspace. A pair of bedside tables carrying lamps stood on either side of it, and two wooden chairs had been placed by a small table that was shaped in such a way it fit perfectly into the corner. A reed basket had been placed in the center of the small table. It would usually carry some kind of welcome gift like a miniature pack of sweets or a small bottle of beer or wine, but it was empty save for a stack of napkins. The carpet, the curtains, the cushions on the chairs and even the bedspread were all held in a dull shade of gray.
Janice was in an exploratory mood so she opened the side door to the bathroom to check out the facilities. The room was so small it was almost impossible to turn around in there without bumping a knee or an elbow into either the toilet bowl or the washbasin. A single, shaded bulb in the ceiling provided the light needed to see that the 'bath'-part of the bathroom consisted of a shower head on a flexible pole that could be moved at a ninety degree angle. A grating in the tiles on the floor would take care of the excess water.
She grunted as she pulled the light-cord and closed the door to the separate room; she pushed her fedora back from her brow. "Well… okay. There's a shower and a john. I guess it beats digging a hole in the ground."
"Quite," Mel added drolly.
Nodding, Janice shuffled over to the bed and swept aside the spread so she could sit down. "Yeah. I had expected more for twenty-five bucks, but, eh… I guess we've been spoiled rotten by Lindholm's inn up north in Yelling."
"That was a very nice place, I agree," Mel said as she took off her travel outfit's jacket. She fluffed it twice to get the worst wrinkles out - the train ride had been hard on the fabric.
The age-long day caught up with Janice sooner than she expected. She had barely sat down on the bed and unlaced her trench boots before she became so drowsy she could do nothing but lie down. The snores that followed proved she was soon fast asleep.
Mel yawned as well as she reached up to release the bobby pins that held her long hair in a tight bun. She chuckled at the mess her partner had made on the floor - the trench boots had simply been dumped in a pile, and the leather jacket and the battered fedora had been thrown on top of the footwear like they were spending the night on a dig somewhere at the far end of the world instead of in a hotel room in central Hamburg.
Instead of adding to the mess as she took off her shoes, she placed them neatly under her side of the bed. She picked up the short jacket once more, but it seemed the room offered no pegs or coat hooks to hang it on. Puzzled, she folded it up and placed it across the backrest of one of the chairs. The travel skirt and her fine shirt were soon loosened as well and put on top of the jacket.
The hard-working bellhop had been kind enough to bring up some coffee a few minutes after they had been installed in the room, but the dark-brown liquid had been so excruciatingly bitter - real coffee was still rationed after the war, so it had been made with Coffee Substitute - that neither of the two explorers could drink it. Mel poured out the rest of the undrinkable contents and filled her cup with cold water from the tap so she could brush her teeth. The horrific taste in her mouth from the other day was still fresh in her mind, and she would rather avoid repeating it if she possibly could.
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While she leaned over the washbasin brushing her teeth, the pipes connected to the shower sent out all sorts of strange noises. Some of them sounded like cats being pulled by the tail while others could best be described as odd thumps, bumps and bangs. A particular noise caught her attention and made her stop her work with the toothbrush to listen.
The noise wasn't repeated so she finished up and rinsed her mouth thoroughly in the cold water. She had barely dried her hands on one of the clean towels when her nape hairs stood on edge - the earlier noise returned, and this time, she was able to pick up a pair of male voices that whispered something to each other in German.
Sticking her head out of the tiny bathroom, she glanced over at Janice who was still sprawled all over the bed fast asleep. Then she turned to look at the door to the corridor. She had locked it herself so she wasn't worried about intruders as such, but the continued whispering made her break out in a slight shiver.
The background lights from the corridor were visible all around the edges of the door's frame. At the bottom, the legs of the two people outside were seen as ghostly shadows that moved back and forth. The conversation continued to be held in a whisper. The words didn't seem heated, forceful or even threatening; more like two gentlemen discussing the results of the weekend's horse races.
Mel cocked her head as she took in the scene - it was obvious something unusual was transpiring, but she couldn't quite grasp the bigger picture. She was about to tip-toe over to the bed to stir Janice awake when one of the people creating the shadows suddenly left. A few seconds later, an envelope was pushed under the door.
She forgot all about waking up Janice and bolted over to the door instead. The note was soon picked up and the lights in the ceiling turned on so she could read to whom it was addressed. When nothing had been written on the front or back of the envelope itself, she tore it open to look inside. The sorry state of the torn envelope made it impossible for it to contain the small piece of paper that had been inside, so it fluttered onto the carpet.
"What… what's goin' on?" Janice mumbled from the bed. She rubbed her eyes repeatedly before she sat up. "Ugh! Kill those lights, will ya, Toots! Damn, I was in the middle of the greatest-"
"Somebody just pushed a note under the door, Jan," Mel said in a voice that held a stronger Southern accent than usual.
Janice shook her head for a brief moment to get all the buzzing bees out before she jumped out of bed and ran over to her partner on socked feet. "They what? Who the hell knows we're here? When?"
"Just now!"
"What does it say?"
Mel hurriedly picked up the errant note and unfolded it. "I don't know. I haven't had time to-"
"Lemme see," Janice said and grabbed the note - it made Mel adjust her glasses and let out a short huff.
Janice's eyes darted back and forth as she took in the brief message. Then she shoved it into Mel's hands and unlocked the door. Two seconds later, she stormed out into the corridor to find the culprit. Not a soul was present save for the hotel's bellhop who had helped them with their luggage - the young man had just stepped into the elevator.
Before Janice could cry out that she wanted a word with him about certain recent events, the elevator doors slid shut which left her no option but to fly over to it to see which way the car went. When a small display above the doors proved it went downstairs, she blasted down the staircase - still on socked feet - to intercept the bellhop in the lobby instead.
The sprint winded her, but she was so hot under the collar from being disturbed in such a sneaky way that she didn't care. She beat the elevator down, and as the doors slid open, she grabbed hold of the young man's uniform and dragged him over to the nearest wall. He was taller than she, but the fire in her gut canceled out any disadvantages she may have had - the best proof came through the young man's eyes that were wide and terrified.
"Hey, buster!" Janice growled as she gave the young man another good shove. "What the hell's the meaning of this stunt? That envelope… who gave it to ya? And why? Huh? You better listen to me, Joe Schmuck! You gonna talk and talk fast or I'm gonna tear ya a new one!"
"Fräulein, bitte-"
"Don't gimme me bitter, ya skimmed-milk pirate! Maybe you just like to spy on your female guests? Is that it? You can talk to me or the cops… I'm sure they'll love to hear all about it!"
"Bitte! Bitte, Ich spreche kein Englisch, Fräulein!"
"Yeah? Well, I don't sprekken much of your Goddamned German so that's just too damn bad!"
Janice glanced over at the reception desk to see if the elderly night porter was present, but he wasn't. Movement to her right proved to be Mel hurrying down the staircase while clutching the duffel bag with the priceless artifacts just in case it had been the target. Her long, dark hair flowed out behind her like she had morphed into a mermaid in the short minute she had been alone in the hotel room. "Mel, ding the bell over on the counter. We need the old fella out here so he can call and talk to the cops for us."
"Will do," Mel said and continued over to the reception desk. She used the bell several times with little success. When nothing happened, she put down the duffel bag so she could button her jacket. Further attempts at calling for the porter proved as fruitless as the first few had been. "He must be a sound sleeper…" she said and adjusted her glasses.
"Or he's dead," Janice growled before she turned back to the young bellhop and gave him another shove. "Listen, Joe, it's time for you to talk. Du sprekken, ja? The envelope… woher kommt that envelope? Uh… Umschlag?"
The young man's eyes continued to dart around in a wide-eyed fright, and it took a slap to the cheek before he was able to focus. Whimpering, he began to speak so fast the words nearly stumbled out of his mouth: "Ein Mann gab es mir… ein Mann in einem Mantel… und einem Hut… er war Amerikaner. Ich weiss von nichts! Ich habe nur getan, was man mir gesagt hat!"
Mel hadn't been able to get the finer details of the information the young man had rambled off, but she had understood the gist of it. "Did he say the note was given to him by an American?" she said while she tried to get her hair back up into its regular bun. When she realized she had forgotten the bobby pins in the room, she let her locks fall around her shoulders once more.
"Sounds like it," Janice said and eased off her firm grip on the bellhop's uniform. "Some fella in a coat and hat. Who the hell can that be? We don't know anyone here… hell, an hour ago, we didn't even know we'd end up here! Mel, try that damn bell again."
Mel did as asked, but the results weren't any better than the first few times she had tried. Another attempt followed with the exact same result: "Nothing…"
"Crap. I don't think the cops will understand me if we call 'em," Janice growled and turned back to the young man.
Furrowing her brow, Mel reached into one of her jacket's pockets to find the typewritten note at the center of the drama. It read,
'Doctor Covington, Miss Pappas. Your presence is required in the Schwertfisch bar located on the 'Am Hafenbecken' street. You must be there at no later than one AM tonight. Choose a table at the back. Do not buy anything, do not attract attention to yourself and do not address anyone there. We will contact you.'
Mel looked up and happened to lock eyes with her partner. "Jan, ask him where Am Hafenbecken is… and what type of establishment the Sch-wort-fish is."
"I'll try. Buster, wie kommen wir to Am Hafenbecken? And was is' der Schwertfisch?"
The bellhop's eyes moved from Janice and over to the note in Mel's hands that he had helped bring up. He shook his head slightly before he replied: "Am Hafenbecken ist drüben bei den Docks. Nicht weit weg von hier. Und… und der Schwertfisch ist 'ne Hafenkneipe… kein Ort für Damen…"
Grunting, Janice eased off a bit more but kept her strong hands on the uniform's lapels just in case the young man wanted to make a run for it. "Danke schön… Mel, that street is down in the docks. I'm guessin' the bar is a hooker joint."
"Oh, my goodness!" Mel said and adjusted her glasses several times. A few seconds went by before her face assumed a perfectly insulted expression. "Why in the name of all things holy are we summoned to a bar frequented by prostitutes? And in the middle of the night?"
"Can't say… and this young pretender wouldn't know, anyhow," Janice said and finally released her grip on the uniform. She took a step back and held out her hands palms-up to show she would pose no threat to him unless he did something stupid like attacking her.
A split second later, the bellhop spun around and ran out of the main entrance to get to safety before the crazy foreigner could slap him again.
Janice let out a tired chuckle as she pretended to dust off her hands. "Hi de ho, bub! Watch out for the traffic! It's a real killer!" The fact she was standing in the lobby of Hotel Merkur in socks instead of her trench boots finally caught up with her, and she shuffled over to Mel to get off the hard, cold floor and onto the softer and slightly warmer carpet that had only been laid out in front of the counter. "Huh. Life sure has a strange way of tripping us up. Well… so much for sleeping," she said as she leaned her elbow on the top of the reception desk.
"Janice Covington, I must object!" Mel said and let out a surly huff. "Surely you cannot even be contemplating visiting such a dreadful establishment? Besides, I haven't had my beauty sleep yet. You know how cranky I get when I-"
"Sweetheart, if you get any more beautiful, every last mirror on the planet will shatter from your radiance alone," Janice said as she reached up to trace Mel's classic facial lines with her knuckles.
"Charmer…"
"You betcha!" Grinning, Janice stood up on tip-toes to place a kiss on Mel's lips. She needed to work much harder than usual because of the far greater difference in height than what she was used to - Mel wore heeled shoes which made her tower over the socked Janice - but she was met halfway there when Mel leaned forward.
Upon separating, Janice assumed a thoughtful expression. "Damn, I wish I was packin'. I knew I shoulda brought my Webley Six after all… going into the unknown armed with a grin and a nail file ain't my idea of being prepared."
"Why don't we stay right here, then? It's half past eleven. Most sane people are preparing to go to bed. Let the boys play their silly games-"
"Toots, aren't you interested in finding out who these palookas are? How they knew where we were? Not to mention why they want to see us?"
Mel adjusted her glasses. Then she shrugged. "No. Not in the least."
"Cute. Verrry cute. Let me see that note again," Janice said and put out her hand. Once she had the piece of paper in her possession, she turned it over several times and even held it up against the light to look for clues as to its origin. "No watermark. Plain, ol' office paper. No smear marks. Doesn't smell of anything other than paper and a faint hint of the typewriter ribbon that was used. The machine must be kinda old since several of the letters are worn and crooked. Hmmm, hmmm, your presence is required… hmmm, hmmm… no later than one AM tonight. Choose a table at the back… do not attract attention to yourself. Oh, Jumpin' Jehoshaphat!"
Mel instantly stuck her nose down to the note to see what Janice had picked up on. Her eyes flew across the text without finding anything suspect. "What? What?!"
"It means I hafta go by myself!" Janice said with a grin. " 'Cos I guarantee ya that if you enter a dive for salty, ol' sea-farin' men, there won't be anyone there not gawkin' at ya! Me included!"
Mel let out a huff and adjusted her glasses. "Jan Covington, will you please act your age? There's a time and place for adolescent enthusiasm, but this isn't it! I'm glad you're able to extract some humor from this peculiar situation because I most decidedly am not… why, we could wake up tomorrow on a slow boat to China!"
"China's a fine nation. Dad and me were there in 'thirty-three… we wanted to find Lao Ma's old stomping grounds, but the trip turned out to be a bust. Anyway, I'm sure it won't come to that," Janice said and returned to the brief note. She went over it a few more times before her eyes stayed on the last line of text. "We will contact you. Hmmm…" she said in a thoughtful tone.
Sighing, Mel took off her glasses to polish the lenses. She knew her partner's Hmmmm's all too well - within thirty seconds, she would ascend the stairs to get dressed and head out onto what would undoubtedly be a highly dangerous adventure for the umpteenth time in the years they had spent together.
As it turned out, it only took Janice fifteen seconds to make up her mind. Stuffing the note into her pants pocket, she strode over to the staircase and began to walk up. Half a flight later, she realized she was still alone. Turning around, she threw a lopsided grin at her sweetheart. "You coming?" she said with a wink.
Mel sighed once more as she slid her black frame up her regal nose. She remained at the reception desk a moment longer, but then she reached down to take the duffel bag. "There's never a dull moment," she mumbled as she took the first step into the unknown.
-*-*-*-
A short fifteen minutes later, at a quarter to midnight, Mel and Janice exited Hotel Merkur and moved out onto the sidewalk of Bahnhofstrasse. The traffic was still as intense as earlier in the evening, but there were far fewer pedestrians around.
Mel had considered changing into her work clothes as the medium-brown travel dress wasn't exactly meant for nocturnal missions to dock-side dives, but it would have meant emptying out an entire suitcase to get to them - the time simply hadn't been there to do that. Instead, she had found her bobby pins so she could roll up her hair into a perfect bun once more. Nylons, heeled shoes and the pillbox hat completed the classy ensemble.
It was obvious they couldn't haul all their suitcases and the priceless artifacts around the seedier parts of Hamburg, so everything had been stuffed into the small bathroom for safekeeping. Janice had used a trick she had learned from their acquaintance Otto Dietrich to seal the lock on the bathroom door by jamming a wadded-up ball of paper into the tiny hole. Although not a fool-proof measure, she hoped the blockage would dissuade any potential burglars from trying to jimmy it open.
Docks were typically rough spots no matter how civilized the rest of the society around them was, so to add a little personal protection, she had made a cosh out of one of her spare socks. Nobody would pay any attention to a khaki sock, but the lead pipe inside it - that she had found in a toolbox behind the reception desk - would certainly make a few bells ring for whomever was introduced to it. Her small foray behind the desk had also yielded a city map that she had given Mel.
"We need to turn right here, Jan… onto Lohmeyerstrasse," Mel said as she used the map to keep track of their progress. She glanced around to find a sign of some kind to confirm what the map told her. When she spotted a street sign that had the same combination of letters as the narrow line she tried to follow with an index finger, she let out a short grunt of satisfaction. "Yes, this is the proper street. That'll take us to Rudolf-Gärtner-Strasse, Kalmarstrasse and then onto the docks. Am Hafenbecken looks easy to find once we're there."
Janice turned right at the corner and began to head down Lohmeyerstrasse. By doing so, they moved away from the busiest streets and entered a neighborhood that appeared to be more working class. Her nape hairs started to tingle - whether it happened because of their new surroundings or something else was difficult for her to discern. To investigate further, she changed direction and put her boot up onto the lowest part of a stoop. "Slow down, Toots. I need to tie my bootlace," she said over her shoulder.
Mel furrowed her brow as she took in the sight of the perfectly tied lace. "Why, Jan, I'm quite sure you don't…"
"Oh, you better believe I do," Janice continued as she pretended to work on the laces. In reality, she let her eyes roam across the sidewalk ahead of them. The other bootlace had apparently come undone as well because she began to work on that one soon after. The change enabled her to look behind them. She let out a dark grunt when she caught a faint glimpse of a wide fellow in a tan trench coat and a soft hat who quickly dove into the deep shadows at the mouth of an alley.
"Mel," Janice said in a whisper, "please don't freak out… I think we've picked up a tail. A fella in a hat and coat."
"Oh… oh, my goodness! Wh- where?"
"I won't tell ya 'cos then you'll look," Janice continued in the same whisper. A casual, bored, sideways glance ahead of them made her narrow her eyes. Now that she knew what to look for, she was able to spot a second trench coat waiting between two parked Volkswagen Bugs. The new guy was quite tall and appeared to be working on the engine of one of the VWs. Grunting, she let out a mumbled: "Damn… these guys are serious…"
"Beg pardon?"
"Nothing. Come on, Toots," Janice said and put her boot back onto the sidewalk. "The goon ain't been born yet who can keep up with us. Hell, they'll never know what hit 'em! Let's show those palookas who Mel Pappas and Janice Covington are!"
Mel let out a deep sigh at her partner's boundless exuberance and desire to match wits with anyone even semi-crooked. Accepting the inevitable, she buried her nose in the map all over again to keep track of where they were and where they needed to go.
*
*
CHAPTER 2
Hamburg's port covered such a large part of the vast city that it wasn't hard to find - locating the correct street, Am Hafenbecken, proved far more difficult even for the pair of experienced adventurers who had traveled the world from the most inhospitable rain forests of South America to the rockiest plains of the Greek lowlands.
The characteristic scents of salt water, warm machinery and exhaust fumes created by the special type of crude oil used by ships permeated the entire area. Powerful floodlights cut through the darkness to illuminate a stretch of the intricate system of basins. A swarm of dock workers standing at a warehouse waited impatiently to attend to a coaster that had just arrived; some shouting could be heard as the men communicated with the ship's crew. Tall, motorized cranes that ran on rails along the quay began to drone loudly and send out plumes of black smoke as the process of offloading countless pallets heavily laden with grain in burlap sacks got underway.
Mel and Janice eventually wound up at a four-street intersection. The connecting streets in the port were all covered in old, dark-gray paving stones that had been ground flat by decades of hard use - some of them still carried the cobweb-like scarring they had received in the destructive firestorm that had swept through the city after the large-scale bombing raid in 1943.
Rows of brick warehouses, silos and dome-shaped tanks as well as wooden barracks and other types of low office buildings dominated the scene, but none of it offered any clues as to the location of Der Schwertfisch bar. An empty articulated truck rumbled past on its way over to the quay where the coaster had just docked. Janice briefly considered flagging it down to ask for directions, but the opportunity passed before she could react.
Mel repeatedly turned the city map around to find out where they were. Now and then, she looked up at the four streets they were standing at to scout for any kind of sign that would help them. Nothing had been put on any of the walls she could see, save for the occasional company name and large arrows that pointed to god-only-knew-what. "Well… I do believe we need to go left, Jan. Yes… or maybe right. No, it's left. I'm sure of it."
Chuckling, Janice shuffled back to her partner to see for herself. The city map wasn't meant to be used for exploring the port as most of that area had been grayed out. Only the main thoroughfare streets had been drawn in since they could apparently be used as secondary routes for the city's regular traffic in case of roadworks or the like.
She looked to her left. Am Holsteinkai, the next street, was completely dominated by a sheer endless warehouse that seemed to go on for hundreds of yards. Turning to her right, she took in the sights of a trio of grain silos, two further warehouses of a smaller nature and finally a low building where the lights had been turned off. An alleyway branched off from the wider Am Holsteinkai exactly opposite the dark building.
Moving around even further, Janice sneaked a glance past Mel's shoulder to look for their trench coat-wearing shadows. The tall man who had been pretending to fiddle with his Volkswagen was nowhere in sight, but the other mysterious fellow had come to a stop as well some distance behind them - this time, he couldn't be bothered to jump into the shadows; instead, he leaned against a brick wall while smoking. His hat sat so low that only the glowing tip was visible.
"Dammit, we still got one of those Palookas behind us. Dunno where the other one is," Janice mumbled before she turned her back on their shadow.
"Goodness me… are we in danger?" Mel whispered.
Janice grinned. "When aren't we?" - The flippant reply caused Mel to let out an annoyed huff and adjust her glasses - "No, seriously… I doubt it. They want us to go to that damned bar. If they'd wanted to come at us guns-a-blazin', they've had plenty of opportunity to do so."
She rubbed her chin several times before she made up her mind: "Toots, I think we need to turn right here. It sure ain't on the left… not with that humongous warehouse there. No. There's a side street or alley to our right… see it? Just opposite the dark office. It's got a maritime supply store on the corner."
"Where… ah, yes. I see it."
"I think we should try our luck there. Dad and me often spent time in harbor bodegas when we traveled together. They were nearly always off the beaten path so the shipping agents and the rest of those fancy folks wouldn't get acid indigestion at seeing a bunch of drunken, horny sailors fondlin' underdressed women."
"Jan?"
"Yes, dear?"
"You're not helping a bit. Let's go," Mel said and let out another impressive huff. Despite her reservations, the graceful Southern Belle left the intersection and began to walk up Am Holsteinkai to get to the side street.
Janice chuckled as she tracked her sweetheart moving away. "That's my Mel Pappas," she said with a grin before she followed her.
---
"Told ya," Janice said and pushed her fedora back from her brow. Like she had hoped, the alley was the home of the low-key establishment they were looking for. The hand-painted sign above the door proclaimed it to be Der Schwertfisch - the swordfish. The bar was merely a flat-roofed, crooked, wooden barrack with a central entrance framed by two windows that had been boarded up. Coarse laughter wafted through the planks, and a dull sheen of light could be seen around the outline of the door.
Mel let out a deep sigh and looked toward the heavens for guidance. When no divine advice or intervention was granted them from the dark sky above, she held out her hand to allow Janice to enter first.
The sight of a shortish but square-built woman wearing khaki pants, trench boots, a leather jacket and a battered fedora visiting Der Schwertfisch didn't raise much of a commotion among the bar's clientele, but they all fell silent when Mel entered and closed the wooden door behind her. Just like Janice had predicted, everyone present stared at the well-dressed, tall, elegant woman who had clearly taken a wrong turn somewhere.
The interior of Der Schwertfisch bar was as crude as its exterior. Not a classy establishment by any stretch of the imagination, it consisted of nine mismatched tables that each had a couple of chairs next to it. The bar counter itself was the center of events, but even that was merely made of planed planks that had been nailed together and placed over two stacks of empty beer crates. There was no mirror behind the counter; in its stead, three further planks that carried various bottles of alcohol had been nailed directly onto the back wall.
Dense clouds of cigarette and pipe smoke filled the air. The smoke and the strong scents of sweet Caribbean rum, stale beer, cheap perfume and hard-working men combined to create an unpleasant cocktail that made the sensitive Mel crinkle her nose at once. Janice didn't think anything of it since she was far more accustomed to such smells from the countless years she had spent around male diggers of every nationality.
At present, there were eight people in there including the two explorers. Of the remaining six, three were burly, bearded dock workers or sailors dressed in the typically rugged dark-blue sweaters and heavy pants used by the sea-faring men. Two were prostitutes wearing garish clothing and makeup, and the final one was a female bar keep who wore a filthy apron over a flowery dress. The keep eyed the newest guests warily as she wiped down a glass using a rag that was even filthier than her apron.
Mel gulped. Then she gulped again. When the burly sailors returned to their beers, cards and gals and thus took their eyes off her, she let out a sigh of relief and shuffled after Janice who had already plotted a course for the table the farthest from the entrance.
Sitting down on the chair offered to her, Mel crossed her legs in a most lady-like fashion. Janice sat like she always did - widely. She took off her fedora and began to play with it. "So far so good," she said quietly. "Man, I could chug down a shot of ouzo or something… I'll bet some of the Greek sailors visiting Hamburg have given them a few bottles."
Almost on cue, the bar keep stepped away from the counter and came over to the two new guests. She was a woman of indeterminate age, but the crows' feet around her tired eyes offered a hint she was past her first bloom. Her hair was cut in a utilitarian style and was kept in check by several pins; she wore no makeup nor did she believe in the saving graces of perfume. "Moin. Was kann ich euch bringen?"
"Sprekken Sie English?" Janice said, leaning forward.
"A little, ja."
"Good. We don't want anything. We're waiting for someone."
"That's no good. Buy something or get out." The bar keep's words and the harshness in her voice caught the attention of the burly sailors and the two prostitutes who once again gawked at the female strangers.
"Do you accept dollars?"
"Ja."
"All right, then we'll have a shot of ouzo each," Janice said and reached into her pocket to find her wallet.
The keep shook her head. "No ouzo left. You can have korn."
"Jan, I'm not familiar with that…" Mel said in a whisper.
"It's a clear spirit based on grain… I don't like it," Jan said and broke out in a shrug. "No korn. Gimme a beer, then. Just the bottle… forget the glass."
The bar keep grunted and moved back to the counter. Several familiar sounds were soon heard: first the cling-clang of a glass bottle being pulled from a crate, then a psssshhhht as the cap was removed. "Here. One dollars," she said once she returned to the foreigners. She placed the dark-brown bottle in the center of the rickety table so it wouldn't tip over and roll onto the floor.
"I'll give you two. Keep the change," Janice said and swapped a pair of bills for a bottle of Astra Pilsner.
The two one-dollar bills were studied intently before one of them disappeared down into a side pocket in the bar keep's dress. The other bill was put into the cash register for the benefit of the tax man.
"Things are looking up at last, Toots. Down the hatch," Janice said before she wiped the bottle's top. After studying the label, she took a long swig.
"I wish I had your confidence," Mel said in a despondent voice. "Here we are, in a seedy dive… it's twenty past midnight… and there are half-dressed prostitutes here… and the men are gawking… and we were followed here… and we're supposed to meet someone we don't know who is to talk about something we have no idea what might be! And you say that things are looking up!"
Janice wiped her lips; the beer had been tastier than she had expected. "They could certainly be a lot worse, Toots. Man, I remember a harbor bodega in… shoot, where was that? Cairns, I think it was. Yeah. Cairns, Australia. That must have been back in 'thirty-seven. Dad and me were there because some fool had let it be known he owned something connected to the Xena Scrolls. Now that was a dive, lemme tell ya."
When no further words of wisdom came from Janice, Mel leaned in to ask: "Well, did he own something connected-"
"No, he was a crook. He thought we'd show up with a wad of cash that he could rob from us," Janice said and took a long swig of the local beer. "His first mistake. The second was to call for his bruisers when it became obvious we had seen through his crooked game. Plenty of fists flew that day. Plenty of blood was shed, too… some of it was mine. Not too bad, though. A scratch here and there. Two of his goons were left nose-down in the gutter, but we got away, dad and me. Yeah."
Mel gulped several times at the callous way the dramatic story had been presented. To take her mind off the dramas - and to have something to do with her hands - she took off her glasses and began to wipe the lenses thoroughly.
-*-*-*-
It took longer than what the ever-impatient Janice had preferred, but the sought-after moment of rapidly mounting tension finally came at ten to one in the morning.
The wooden door of Der Schwertfisch opened to reveal a fellow who beat even Mel's appearance when it came to standing out like a sore thumb. Not only did he wear a high-quality, dark-gray overcoat over a pale-gray business suit, a white shirt and a gray necktie, his dark-gray Borsalino hat had clearly cost more than what the three sailors and the two prostitutes present could make in six months.
While Mel sat up straight and let out a tiny gasp, Janice cocked her head as she took in the man's distinguished features - he wasn't at all what she had expected to see. The fellow looked more like a stockbroker or the chairman of an investment bank than the kind of individual who would summon two strange women to meet him in a harbor bodega at Dark O'Clock.
The man appeared to be in his early-to-mid sixties and had a posture that was typical of former military officers. He smoked a pipe that he kept in the left corner of his mouth so the smoke wouldn't disturb his grayish eyes. His features were bland to the point of being anonymous, and his cheeks, chin and upper lip were clean-shaven. There was no denying that his eyes were as sharp as anyone Janice had ever dealt with. They held a high level of intelligence, and it was readily apparent there was real substance behind his slightly foppish presence.
Eyeing the well-dressed gentleman, the two prostitutes both left their sea-faring men to swarm all over the newest guest. When they were brushed off with a brusque command in German, they returned to their earlier conquests while moping quite badly.
One of the three burly men uttered a joke in the local dialect that was completely unintelligible for anyone but his associates. Much coarse laughter ensued, but it didn't seem the distinguished man paid any attention to being the butt of vulgar bar-room humor.
Instead, he strolled over to the table occupied by Mel and Janice. "Miss Pappas. Miss Covington. Good evening, Ladies," he said as he pulled a chair away from the adjacent table so he could sit down. Although he had spoken in flawless American, there was a strange undertone to his voice - it was almost like he was deliberately trying to avoid using any kind of regional accent.
Mel shot to her feet and thrust out her hand, but the greeting wasn't accepted. Puzzled, she looked at Janice before she lowered herself onto the chair once more.
"Mel's a lady," Janice said in a surly tone of voice. "I'm a Doctor. If ya don't mind, Mista, I'd like to be addressed as such. And since we don't know you from your fancy hat there, we'd like to know your name."
"Gilroy Buchanan, Doctor Covington."
"Yeah? That's got a nice ring to it. What does it say on your passport?"
"Oh, the same," Buchanan said and took off his Borsalino. When he noticed the sorry state of the tabletop, he put the hat in his lap instead. "Let's get down to it. Your reputations precede you, Doctor… Miss Pappas. You are both women of action. We know you're on your way to Luneburg Heath to continue your search for the Langobardi tribe of nomads."
"What- how-" Mel squeaked, but Buchanan cut her off:
"You'll be allowed to do so eventually, but before we can-"
To end the one-sided conversation, Janice suddenly slammed a clenched fist onto the table - the hard, unexpected noise made the bar keep and the three burly sailors pipe down and stare at the unusual scene. "Hold it right there, pal," Janice growled and pointed an index finger at the gentleman. "That sounds like a threat to me. Since you know so much about us, ya oughtta know that we don't respond well to threats. Hell, whenever we're threatened by some Schmuck, we strike first. You hear me?"
"I hear you loud and clear, Doctor. There's no need to be so vulgar," Buchanan said and shuffled around on the chair.
"Vulgar? I'm just gettin' started! Ain't that right, Mel?"
Mel just had time to utter an "Ah, quite-" and adjust her glasses before Janice had moved on:
"So what's really going on here? And who the hell are you people, anyway? It's high time to talk, buster, or we're outta here. I'm guessin' you don't want that, or else you wouldn't have come up with such a circus act," Janice continued. Once she had delivered her statement, she tapped her knuckles on the tabletop and leaned back on the chair.
Gilroy Buchanan leaned back as well to eye the two women cautiously; his pipe sent out smoke signals as he studied his fellow Americans. When he noticed the other people present in Der Schwertfisch were all gawking at him, he turned to fire off a brusque comment in German that made the bar keep, the prostitutes and even the burly sailors mind their own business in a hurry. "Very well," he eventually said as he turned back to face Mel and Janice. "I'm a section commander of the World Security Agency. Section Seven, European Affairs. Before we can allow you to continue-"
"Allow us?!" Mel said in a huff.
"Please, Miss Pappas. Let me finish," Gilroy Buchanan said sharply. "Before we can allow you to continue onto the Luneburg Heath, we require your assistance in rounding up a communist cell that we've had under surveillance for some time. Once the threat has been eliminated, you can-"
"What kind of two-bit, tin-pan-alley operation are you running here, anyway, buster?" Janice said in a growl.
The question caught Buchanan completely off guard, and his well-rehearsed facade gained a markedly puzzled expression. He temporarily took his pipe out to lick his lips. "I… I beg your pardon, Doctor?"
"What the hell kind of security agency needs the help of a couple-a random women to catch a commie cell? You people are either rank amateurs or there's an entire pile of B.S. you haven't told us… yet. And, buster, you don't look like an amateur."
"Janice, please," Mel tried, but to no avail.
Gilroy Buchanan shuffled around uncomfortably for a moment. "I can assure you I'm not an amateur, Doctor Covington. This is delicate business. We need outsiders who possess certain skills. You fit the bill."
"Uh-huh. Sure. And we're expendable."
A simple, though affirmative, hand gesture by Buchanan proved that Janice's assumption was right.
"Yeah. Thought as much," Janice said and leaned back on the chair. She crossed her arms over her chest and shot the distinguished gentleman sitting opposite her a surly look.
Mel looked from her typically confrontational partner and over to the agency commander whose bland face had gained an even surlier look than the one etched onto Janice's fair features. "Ah, Mister Buchanan," she said in a calm voice that she hoped would iron out the wrinkles that had appeared, "I sincerely hope you haven't forgotten we are archaeologists and not field agents? Surely you cannot expect us to act as undercover operatives of some kind… and yet, it seems to me that's exactly what you do."
Gilroy Buchanan's pipe had gone out during all the excitement; instead of answering Mel's question, he focused on adding fresh tobacco from a small pouch he had in his coat pocket. Once that had been accomplished, he found a matchbook, struck a match and ignited the tobacco. He puffed for a short while before the embers were glowing sufficiently for him to let the pipe sit passively in his mouth.
By now, the commander's deliberately time-consuming act had made Janice reach boiling point. Instead of speaking her mind which would only make it worse - even she knew that - she shot up from her chair and stomped over to the counter. She slammed a one-dollar bill onto the planed planks and waited for the bar keep to prepare another bottle of beer for her. Once it had been opened, she took a long swig and strode back to the table. "Hey, buster… grab a beer, loosen your tie and kick back a little. These Astra Pilsners are great," she said in a deliberately mocking sing-song voice.
"I don't drink beer," Buchanan said surly.
"Shucks, how come I ain't surprised? Look, Mac, my lovely associate here asked you a question about five minutes ago. I strongly suggest you answer it pronto. Yeah?"
Gilroy Buchanan drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. He looked at Mel so he wouldn't have to spend too much time with the abrasive Doctor of Philosophy. "Miss Pappas, we obviously don't expect you to act as undercover operatives. You are to be part of a strike team of counter-insurgence experts. All retired military personnel, I might add. Former high-ranking officers who have been recruited to the W-S-A over the past seven years. Believe me, they have plenty of experience and are very good at what they do."
Mel nodded before she adjusted her glasses; Janice took another long swig of the beer. "That sounds mighty fine and fancy, Daddy-O… but we need a little more than that. If you have a commie cell under surveillance, it's because you expect them to do something nasty. You may not know exactly when, what or how, so you need a couple of swell dames like us to be the sacrificial lambs you can throw to the red lions. So, I'm tellin' you right now… we need more. A lot more before we can even begin to think about accepting your smelly deal."
"Doctor Covin-"
"Please. We insist," Janice said in a voice that promised swift retribution if things didn't work out the way she wanted them to. She wrapped her fingers around the improvised cosh down in her jacket pocket. Although violence should always be the last resort - especially against well-dressed gentlemen who were undoubtedly connected to all the right people - there were times where it was the best option for persuading someone to co-operate. Thus, she slipped the sock and its rock-hard contents out of the pocket and knocked it against the side of the table. Since she kept it well out of sight, their cultivated opponent couldn't know that it wasn't a firearm.
Buchanan narrowed his eyes as he finally looked at Janice. Although he took several deep puffs on his pipe, he remained remarkably composed. "Very well, Doctor," he said and took out the pipe to tend to it. Once the embers were going well once more, he locked eyes with Mel. "I presume you're familiar with the new German Chancellor, Konrad Adenauer?"
Mel nodded. "Maybe not familiar with him as such, but we've certainly heard of him. Haven't we, Jan?"
"Mmmm…"
Buchanan only cast a brief glance in Janice's direction before he carried on: "We have gathered intelligence that suggests the main communist group in Germany is planning to create, or have indeed created, several underground cells right here in Hamburg. These smaller cells are to operate autonomously of each other and will disrupt society through bombings and other types of terrorism."
"Oh, my Goodness!" Mel squeaked. She hurriedly put her hands to her bosom as she looked at Janice. Like always when she became agitated, her voice held a stronger Southern accent: "Why, that's terrible! So soon after the war… the lengths certain men will go to to unleash havoc is beyond me…" - Mel's comment made Janice let out a dark chuckle and take another swig of the beer.
Gilroy Buchanan grunted before he continued: "We have reason to believe the main group has drawn plans to assassinate Adenauer when he arrives in Hamburg next week. He'll be here for a political rally. The members of each underground cell only have the tools required to carry out their own part of the master plan, so if we can crack open and eliminate one or more of the individual cells, their entire chain will unravel. The lower levels of the organization will simply collapse."
"Mister Buchanan, when you say 'eliminate,' you mean…?" Mel said with her eyes growing wider for each word.
"Terminate with extreme prejudice."
Janice slammed the half-empty beer bottle onto the table top with a little more force than necessary; the sound made the jittery Mel jerk in her seat. "That's funny… I coulda sworn the reborn Germany was a democracy. Are the German police in on this? Or even the German central intelligence office… whatever they're called these days?"
"No comment."
"I'll bet! No, this is a private enterprise… ain't that so, buster? And you don't care how many local laws you break as long as the real bad palookas disappear for good."
"No comment."
"Yeah, right. Tell me, pal, you made the train break down, didn't you?" Janice growled and pointed an index finger at Buchanan. "You made the damn locomotive crap out so we would have no choice but to fall into your open arms."
"We didn't. That was an unexpected bonus," Buchanan said with the faintest of smiles playing on his lips. "We had in fact created another story that would get you off the train. You've been shadowed since crossing the border into Germany."
"But why, for Chrissakes?! There's no reason for any-"
Some of Gilroy Buchanan's slick veneer seamed to wear off as he leaned forward. A darker expression fell over his face, and his voice turned harder as well. "We have compiled dossiers on both of you. A large dossier in your case, Doctor."
Mel let out a squeak and adjusted her glasses several times. "I beg your pardon! Why, this is preposterous!"
"Welcome to the new world order, Miss Pappas. You and the Doctor here have both traveled extensively. You have visited countless hot spots prior to and following the war. You have often come into contact with criminals, religious leaders, corrupt politicians, militant revolutionaries and all sorts of other unsavory characters."
Janice slammed the bottle onto the tabletop with enough force that the beer suds bubbled over and ran down the sides. "Is that a fact, Daddy-O? You forgot to list shady fellas claiming to work for super-secret spy agencies! It's all been part of my life-long quest to recover the lost Xena Scrolls!"
"But it has put you firmly in our spotlight. And, of course, you're the daughter of Harry 'The Grave Robber' Covington," Buchanan said and leaned back to cross his legs. Taking out his pipe, he pointed the mouthpiece at Janice. "Whom I might add is missing under suspicious circumstan-"
"Leave my poor dad outta this, you son of a bitch!"
Gilroy Buchanan seemed to ignore the latest volley of venom. Without addressing Janice directly, he reached into his suit jacket to find a black-and-white photo that he held up. "Miss Pappas, this is the man we're positive is the leader of the underground cell we want you to help us crack."
Mel adjusted her glasses for the umpteenth time before she reached for the photo. It was an eight-by-ten-inch blow-up of a slightly blurry spy shot that showed a bearded man in his early thirties. The man had been photographed speaking to a fishmonger at what seemed to be a large marketplace near the docks. "I see," she said as she held out the photo so Janice could look at it as well; when she was met by a dark grunt and a brief shaking of the head, she handed the photo back to the commander instead.
"What the photo doesn't show," Buchanan said as he slid the photo back into his liner pocket, "is that the subject is limping. An old war injury. He's a former private in the Wehrmacht. The regular German army. He was captured on the Eastern front and re-educated into following the communist doctrine."
Janice let out another dark grunt. "Re-educated? Is that Big Brother-speak for being brainwashed?"
"Yes."
"Huh. From one nutjob dictator to the other. From what I hear, Uncle Joe Stalin isn't a damn bit less fanatical than dear, ol' Adolf was."
"In some cases, Stalin is worse. But that will soon be resolved," Buchanan said matter-of-factly; the comment drew a shocked gasp from Mel.
"Okay," Janice continued and leaned forward, "let me get this straight. If we do this… if we help you nail these commies, you'll let us go about our business unaccosted, right?"
"We will indeed."
"All right. We'll be watching our backs just in case you get any funny ideas about burying hatches in 'em once we're done… or gunning us down from behind. Yeah? It stinks to high heaven, and I ain't talkin' about your aftershave, Mista. But all right. I'm in. Toots?"
Mel drew a deep breath that she held for a moment. She eventually nodded. "Oh, all right… but Mister Buchanan, you must keep in mind I'm just a translator of Ancient Greek syntax. I'm not cut from the same cloth as Doctor Covington. She's fearless. I'm… not. Please, Sir, I need your word as a gentleman that we won't be thrown into the fire."
Janice furrowed her brow as she looked at Gilroy Buchanan. She knew her partner's request was sincere, but she also knew it was a futile one - regardless of the flowery promises the distinguished fellow would undoubtedly give them, they had to expect the worst every second of the way.
"Oh, but of course, Miss Pappas," Buchanan said in a fatherly and slightly overbearing tone. "You have my word as a retired officer and a gentleman that you will be safe throughout the operation. No harm will come to you or the good Doctor here," he continued and took several deep puffs on his reluctant pipe to keep it going.
"Thank you," Mel said and let out a sigh that had a slight tremble to it. She wrung her hands as she glanced over at her partner to seek confirmation that everything would be all right. When Janice's expression was a little too dark for comfort, she had to gulp down a nervous lump.
"With that out of the way," Buchanan said while he put on his expensive Borsalino. Once it sat just right, he pushed his chair back and got up, "it's time for you to meet the other members of the strike team. They're waiting outside in my car."
Mel and Janice sent each other a long look before they got up as well. On their way out, Janice winked at the female bar keep who mirrored the gesture. To stick with the age-old traditions, she put a couple of fingers to the brim of her fedora to salute the three burly sailors and the prostitutes. "Auf wiedersehen, Jungs und Mädels," she said - it was clear the recipients of the greeting didn't quite know what to make of it, but they all nodded brief goodbyes in return.
---
The night-time air had turned nippy from the perpetual breeze that rolled in from the many open basins that made up the huge port. Despite the fact it was mid-June, Janice zipped her leather jacket all the way up before she cast a look of pure sympathy at Mel who had to endure the chill in her somewhat flimsy, tailor-made travel dress.
A midnight-black 1951 Cadillac four-door sedan was parked just outside Der Schwertfisch with its engine running so the heater could be kept on. The windows had all been tinted black so it was impossible to see the faces of the people inside, not to mention how many there were. Being such a huge - though elegant - lump of metal, the automobile looked completely out of place among the well-worn paving stones, the brick warehouses and the shack-like bodega, but Janice thought it was only fitting that a pompous man like Gilroy Buchanan would be driven around in such a pompous vehicle.
As the section commander of the World Security Agency stepped out of Der Schwertfisch, he signaled his colleagues to exit the Cadillac. The car's doors were soon opened to reveal a group of four professionals in soft hats, tan trench coats and dark suits - one of them was taller than average and wore a fedora not dissimilar to Janice's. As that individual stepped away from the Cadillac, he drew a final puff from a cigarette before he threw the butt onto the ground and crushed it with his heel.
Mel slid sideways to grab hold of Janice's arm as a precautionary measure. Just to add another layer to the already surreal scene, a cargo ship let out a series of long, piercing hoots from its whistle as it either entered or left one of the basins.
Janice just snorted. She recognized the tall man as the one who had been pretending to be fiddling with the Volkswagen. If he was there, chances were their other shadow was one of the others. She studied them closely. All four were distinctly German in appearance with fair hair and pale eyes. Though three of them were older than she had expected - in their mid-to-late-forties - there was nothing middle-aged or sedate about either of them. Their jaws were firm, their frames were fit and wide, and they carried an air of being retired military personnel; most likely officers like their present commander Buchanan. The fourth man was only in his early thirties and could theoretically be working as a liaison with the British or American occupational forces.
"Hi de ho, fellas," Janice said in a steely voice as she looked each of them in the eye. Her greeting didn't prompt any response from three of the men she faced, but the tall one stepped forward with a cold smile gracing his features.
"Hello, Doctor Covington," the tall man said in an English that held a clear German accent. He put out his hand for the traditional shaking but soon withdrew it when it became obvious the doctor wasn't interested. "You impress me with your skills. You discovered us sooner than I had expected. Well done."
"Huh. Thanks, bub," Janice said and let out another snort.
Gilroy Buchanan's part of the arrangement was over for now, so he strolled over to the Cadillac and got in. After the door had been closed by the youngest man present, the tall agent took another step toward Mel and Janice.
Up close, it was revealed he had an Everyman face that would allow him to blend into - or even fully disappear in - any crowd. His fair hair, pale eyes and the bone structure around his face were completely average; the only remarkable features about him were his height and his long neck.
"Please allow me to introduce myself, Doctor. My name is Ernst Wieland. My associates here are Robert von Schenck, Joachim Schulze and Hans-Martin von Gerlitz. Von Gerlitz will not join us in the operation against the Bolsheviks as he has obligations elsewhere, but von Schenck and Schulze will."
"Nice. Only we call 'em communists. Bolsheviks was the word used by your old jackbooted pals," Janice growled.
"Jan, less of that, please. We need to work with them," Mel said under her breath, but she gave up trying to rein in her partner almost before she had started. Instead, she adjusted her glasses and looked at the grim men.
Ernst Wieland smiled again to show he hadn't been insulted by the barb. "Ah, yes. Doctor, I am sure you have already guessed we all fought in the war. Even young von Gerlitz. As did you, of course. And you, Miss Pappas. I was never at the front as such… until the front came to me in Berlin… but my associates von Schenck and Schulze experienced plenty of combat on several different fronts. They were both high-ranking officers."
Janice licked her lips as she studied the hard faces of the men opposite her. Even beyond the surreal setup, there was something lurking just beneath the surface. She felt a slight tremble fall over Mel, so she pulled her a little closer to fight it. "Yeah? Neither of those two joes over there was ever a shrinking violet or a pencil pusher, that's too damn obvious. In what branch of your armed forces did they serve?"
Wieland turned to his associates to exchange a few muted words in German. When von Schenck and Schulze both shrugged and nodded, he turned back to the two Americans. "Von Gerlitz was a Leutnant, a lieutenant in the Wehrmacht. Von Schenck and Schulze were both Obersturmbannführers. Lieutenant colonels. They were battalion commanders in the First Panzer Corps. Our tank units, you know."
"The first panzer corps…" Janice said and furrowed her brow. "In the Wehrmacht, right? The regular army?"
"Not quite, Doctor."
Janice fell silent as she parsed the information. Before Mel could ask what she was doing, a sudden insight flashed over Janice's face - then a hard growl escaped her. "The First SS Panzer Corps! Led by the Goddamned First Division, the Leibstandarte Adolf Hitler! They're the fuckin' Waffen-SS!"
"Oh, my!" Mel squeaked and slammed her hands onto her bosom. Gasping, she stared wide-eyed at the silent men.
"You're nothing but a bunch of Goddamned war criminals!" Janice barked as she stared at the former Obersturmbannführers. "The fuckin' worst of the worst! We ran into you creeps twice… the first time was in Crete in 'forty-one… and don't think for a second that we've forgotten what happened in the Ardennes, either. Mel and I were there in December 'forty-four! We saw with our own eyes what you fanatics did to your prisoners of war! Ain't that right, Mel?"
"Why, yes, it was horr-"
Ernst Wieland held up his hands which cut Mel short. "Come now, Doctor… the war ended more than seven years ago-"
Janice wasn't about to stop: "Don't give me that crap! And what were you? The commandant of a concentration camp? Did you run out of Jews to gas or queers to torture? The stench of death clings to your trench coat, pal!"
"I was in the Geheime Staatspolizei. Our secret police. In Berlin. Like I told you," Wieland said coldly.
Hearing that, Janice's eyes slid down into narrow slits. "Aw, ain't that swell. A Gestapo officer and a couple-a palookas from the SS. And now we're all supposed to be good buddies fightin' the commies, right? Like hell we are!" she said in a voice that increased in volume as she spoke.
Moving rapidly, she stormed over to the Cadillac and yanked the back door open. Thrusting out her arms, she grabbed hold of the section commander's elegant lapels and pulled him halfway out of the seat with such force his pipe was knocked from his mouth and fell into the footwell. "Buchanan, this deal is the worst pile of stinking manure I've experienced in decades! Whatever you think you have on us, it ain't enough to keep us here! There's no way in hell we're working with these raving fanatics!"
"Let go of me, you crazy woman!" Buchanan cried as he tried to swat Janice's strong hands off him. When he finally succeeded, he grabbed his errant pipe, straightened his coat and exited the Cadillac nearly as fast as Janice had entered. "Let me tell you something, Doctor! You know entirely too much to back out now. I'll see to it personally that you'll be deported back to the States in the cargo hold of a military transport if you cause even the slightest problem for the operation… I'll shackle you myself if need be! These gentlemen are fully-approved agents for the World Security Agency. Herr Wieland has even been granted U.S. citizenship. They're experts in this field-"
"Oh, I'll bet!"
"Quiet! They're experts in making sure our enemies are silenced. You may not approve or even understand, but the world has moved on after the war. You need to move with it, or be left behind."
"What a load of-"
"Doctor, we fight as many battles today as we ever did in the war years. None are conducted by great armies marching across terrain to capture land. Today's battles are fought by agents, covert operatives and deep-cover insurgents. Some are ours, some are theirs. Some of them are planning heinous acts against the civilian population as we speak. Agents are everywhere around the world, this very minute. You might say that World War Three began even before the second one had finished!"
Janice scrunched up her face. Her lips turned into narrow, gray lines that were sealed shut so effectively that a crowbar couldn't pry them apart. Instead of acknowledging Gilroy Buchanan's words, she spun around on her heel and stomped back to Mel. Once she had pulled her sweetheart in for a sideways hug - that drew several puzzled looks from the observing retired soldiers - she finally spoke: "All right. We'll do our part. But I'm telling you one thing, Daddy-O, we're not working with those SS-criminals over there. No way. Mista Gestapo, maybe. But not those crooks."
"Fine!" Gilroy Buchanan said and got back into the Cadillac.
Throughout the heated conversation between Janice and the section commander, the ever-calculating Ernst Wieland had observed Mel closely. All the little gasps and other types of shocked reactions created by the Southern Belle while the Doctor had engaged in the shouting match with Buchanan had been noted and duly stored for later reference. His many years of field experience dealing with unwanted subjects of the Reich told him there was more between the two women than met the eye.
Once Janice had finished talking, Wieland greeted her with a cold smile. "I understand your concerns, Doctor Covington. But like Mr. Buchanan said, we are all little cogs in the large machinery known as the World Security Agency. The United States is such a wonderful place to live and work. Really, my job is the same as in the old days, I only have a new title. Like before, we keep extensive records on the Jews, the Moslems, the Bolsheviks and other political dissidents. The workers' unions… oh, and the negroes, the students… and others. Mmmm? Now, please allow us to drive you back to your hotel."
"When hell freezes over!"
"Is that a no?" Wieland said and let out a chuckle that held little warmth. He didn't wait for an answer; instead, he opened the Cadillac's door and slid onto the comfortable seat next to Hans-Martin von Gerlitz who held the huge steering wheel.
Once Robert von Schenck and Joachim Schulze had joined their superiors in the luxurious car, Ernst rolled down the window and put his elbow on the chrome sill. "We shall be in touch, Doctor. Miss Pappas. You can do what you wish until noon. Do not leave your hotel after that.". He waited a moment to make sure the message had come across; then he turned to von Gerlitz. "Fahren Sie los, Herr Leutnant."
The Cadillac soon drove off at a slow pace leaving Mel and Janice standing alone in front of the Schwertfisch bodega. Mel let out a very long, very deep sigh.
"Goodness me, what a viper's nest we've fallen into. I never thought I'd find myself being forced to work with those terrible nazzies," Mel said as she and Janice made their way through the alleyway to get back to the larger Am Holsteinkai. "Jan, dear… what in the world did we just get mixed up in?"
"I don't know, Toots," Janice said and took off her battered fedora to wipe her brow on the sleeve of her leather jacket. "But it sucks."
"Language, dear…"
"There ain't nobody around for miles, Toots. Who gives a sh-"
"I do."
Janice let out a tired chuckle. "I know. I'll try to behave. But I can't promise I'll be civil once we hook up with those criminals later on. Why they weren't prosecuted and convicted in the Nuremberg trials is beyond me."
"Maybe someone pulled a few strings."
"Maybe. Buchanan is certainly a slick operator, that's for sure. A real S.O.B. in a nice suit. Holy Toledo, such company we keep, eh? Poppa Spy, a Gestapo officer and two Waffen-SS panzer battalion commanders… man," Janice said and shook her head repeatedly.
"Quite…"
A small convoy of three empty trucks rumbled past en route to one of the quays; the drivers all gawked at the unusual sight of pedestrians in the docks in the middle of the night. Janice considered for a split second if they should try to hitch a ride, but the firm grip Mel had on her arm proved it wouldn't be a popular action. "We need to catch some sleep, sweetheart," she said and placed a kiss on Mel's cheek, " 'cos I have a feeling the evening's gonna be long, hard and painful to get through…"
*
*
CHAPTER 3
The following day had been a stressful one for Mel. Although she had been able to get some sleep after taking a pill once she and Janice had returned to Hotel Merkur, the tension had mounted so exponentially over noon and the early afternoon hours that she hadn't had any success in coaxing her poor stomach to loosen up enough to accept solid food.
Janice hadn't suffered the same trepidations as her partner and was thus on her fourth brötchen - short, square pieces of white bread that had a harder crust and a softer crumb than what she was used to from back home. The thick layer of cream cheese on her current one was apparently delicious judging by the positive noises she let out, and the other three that had featured ham and scrambled eggs, fat slices of sausage and a freshly-made meat salad
respectively had been firm hits as well.
At present, the adventurer was resting on the bed with her back propped up by several pillows. She studied the city map they had appropriated from behind the reception desk the night before. It didn't tell her much since she had no knowledge of where they would be going, but she had always preferred to know the terrain before she would get thrown into the thick of things.
When the last brötchen had disappeared and the map couldn't hold her interest any longer, she dug out one of her Sally Swackhamer, Private Investigator paperbacks from her duffel bag and made herself comfortable on the bed - it was volume thirty-six, Lead Poisoning Sure Ain't Healthy, Baby.
Mel had been far too jittery to do anything but pace. After twenty-nine complete circuits of the small hotel room, she had changed into the clothes she used when working at an excavation site: a pair of heavy-duty, dark-brown overalls that featured large pockets and reinforced leather patches on the knees. A double-breasted, long-sleeved shirt, a pair of sturdy gloves and finally a former olive-green but now thoroughly washed-out officer's combat coat she had bought in a US Army surplus store. The latter item was still resting over the back of a chair, but she would obviously put it on when their strange associates would show up.
The set still bore damp spots after all the rain it had been exposed to up in Jelling, but it was far better suited to the task at hand than her tailor-made travel dress. The leather knee-patches on the pants meant she could dive for cover without worrying about her Nylons being torn - or her knees for that matter - and the thick officer's coat would protect her not only from the chill but from knocks as well in case it came to some kind of scuffle. The experience she had gained through working and living with Janice Covington for nigh-on twelve years told her there was a very large risk of that happening.
With everything ready, she resumed the mindless pacing. Another seven tours of the room followed before she paused to look at the coat. "Jan… how do you think our… well… escorts… will react when they see this?"
"How they'll react?" Jan said and looked over the upper edge of her book. Sally Swackhamer had just gunned down a crook who had burgled her office to steal a specific case folder, so Janice's mood was along the same vein. "Frankly my dear, I don't give a sh- fluttering fig leaf. They can choke on their rotten sauerkraut for all I care."
"Ah, quite," Mel said and adjusted her glasses. "But what I really meant was, do you think I'll be able to blend in dressed like this? I take it we're trying to be incognito, yet this isn't too chic or ladylike, is it?"
Grunting, Janice put away her book and swung her legs over the side of the bed. "I see your point, Toots, but tell me something… do you feel safer or just more comfortable in the coat compared to your dress?"
"Oh, I definitely do. Very much so, in fact," Mel said and picked up the old combat coat. A few seams had begun to unravel under the arms from the strains it had been put through, but it was still of a far sturdier quality than her flimsy dress.
"Then you'll wear the coat. End of discussion… no matter what the creeps will say. Excuse me… I think I hear Sally callin' my name," Janice said and swung her legs back up into bed. Soon, she had returned to Sally Swackhamer's world that was dominated by tough dames, square-jawed roughs and deadly .45s.
Mel sighed and looked at her wristwatch. It was only a quarter past four in the afternoon - there were still more than four hours to go.
-*-*-*-
At a quarter past eight in the evening, Mel's stomach had evolved from the stage known as 'Tight as a vault door in Fort Knox' to 'You need to go now, or else'. As she came out of the small bathroom for the fourth time in the past eighty minutes, her face had gained a permanent expression of deep concern. "Oh, Jan… I'm so worried about bein' part of this nonsense," she said in a quiet voice that held a stronger Southern accent than usual. "My heart tells me that Gilroy Buchanan wasn't entirely truthful with us last night. We have no way of knowin' what we're headin' into… and on top of that, look at those terrible people we're forced to work with…"
"Sweetie… Mel, hey… c'mere," Janice said and moved away from the table she had been sitting at while giving the city map a close study. She was at her partner's side in an instant and swept her into a tender embrace. They stayed like that for a little while before Janice reached up to trace the wonderfully smooth skin of Mel's cheek and neck. "I know we're stuck in one hell of a bad deal, but it's not the first time. Remember the mine shaft in Tunisia? Or the balancing act above the bottomless chasm near Kalithea? We've been here before. We've always made it out in one piece."
"Those were different, Jan. The mine shaft was just a natural cave-in… we could dig ourselves free in a couple of hours. And the chasm was frightening, but it wasn't about to… to shoot us in the back. These people might do just that," Mel continued before she let out a deep sigh. Lowering her head, she let her forehead rest on Janice's shoulder.
"Toots, you're giving me a crimp in the neck… let's sit down on the bed," Janice said to try to add a little humor to the somber occasion. When Mel nodded, they shuffled over to the bed and sat down on the soft mattress. Janice reached up to wrap an arm around Mel's taller torso; the warm body was pulled into a strong squeeze now they were at equal height. "I know we can't trust these creeps further than we can throw 'em. And that includes Buchanan. We just have to stay alert. Be ready to counteract anything they might do. Let's show 'em the descendants of Xena and Gabrielle can kick plenty of modern warlord butt if it comes down to it."
Mel let out a listless chuckle. "If Xena could see me now, she'd roll her eyes at all my insecurities."
"I'll bet she wouldn't. Xena knew that all sane people need to reflect before going into a battle. Only the blinkered fanatics rush in without a care in the world. And they're the very same people Xena and Gabrielle fought for so long. Mmmm?"
"I suppose that's true," Mel said and looked over at the duffel bag that contained the priceless scrolls they had found in the lower tomb in Jelling. "But I just feel so out of my element. I'm a translator… an interpreter of Ancient Greek. I wield a quill, not a sword… I'm a bookworm, not a warrior! You're the warrior, Jan… you and your father have fought people like these for decades now on your journeys around the world."
"Well, yes, but you and I have too. Did you forget all the business with His Lordship Wotshisname last year? And the two bruisers he had on his payroll? Or the mobster goons we took care of in Palermo? Or the ruffians who tried to mug us on Lesbos when we were searching for Sappho's vineyard? Eh?" - Janice gave her sweetheart another strong squeeze while she listed their former opponents - "Sweetie-pie, we've fought side by side too, you know that. You've always delivered though you claim not to be a warrior. And I damn well love ya for it!"
"Well-"
"We're gonna get through this. I promise."
"I wish I had your confidence. Please kiss me."
"Yes, ma'am," Janice said and scooted in even closer. Locking eyes, they sent each other a silent message of promising to be there for the other no matter what kind of mess they would find themselves in. The perfect moment was only heightened when they shared a warm, loving kiss.
---
At eight-thirty sharp, someone knocked on the door to the hotel room. Janice assumed a grim expression as she zipped her leather jacket and plonked her fedora onto her wild mane. She glanced over at Mel who closed her combat coat while looking just a little green around the gills.
Nodding, Janice stomped over to the door to usher in their former enemies. Her eyes narrowed down into slits when she took in the appearance of Wieland, von Schenck and Schulze who all waited in the corridor.
"Ah! Good evening, Doctor Covington. All dressed up and ready to go, I see," Ernst Wieland said; the cold smile was still playing on his lips. The former Gestapo officer had seemingly dug into his old wardrobe for the evening's sting operation, because he wore a dark-gray hat and a black leather coat similar to the ones the secret police had worn when they had spread fear and terror among the civilian population of Germany and the occupied countries.
Robert von Schenck and Joachim Schulze wore black, uniform-like outfits that had a striking resemblance to the style worn in the Panzer Corps back in the day - their clothes were merely lacking the various insignia that had marked their ranks, units and any commendations they might have received. Schulze's collar bore a WSA patch on the right-hand side where his old SS-runes would have been. Perhaps all too predictably, the 'S' in W-S-A used the old font.
Janice's jaw went into overdrive when she took in the depressing sight. She had a mind to slam the door shut in their faces and call the police, but before she had time to do anything, Gilroy Buchanan came in from the side and shoved his way past her. This proved to be the cue for the three others, and soon, the small hotel room was filled to capacity by semi-uniformed people.
The section commander of the World Security Agency wore the same coat and Borsalino hat as the night before, but his stylish suit underneath the coat was a different one. He didn't have his pipe with him; it was no doubt a precautionary measure against the volatility of the Doctor of Philosophy. He let out a grunt of clear disapproval when he spotted Mel in her work clothes. "Miss Pappas… what is that eyesore you're wearing? You're supposed to be a lady, not an unemployed, homeless bum!"
"Eyesore?" Janice said and finally slammed the door shut. "Gee, that's funny, Mista Big Shot. And there I was, thinkin' you'd be glad to see a US Army coat from the good old days… I mean, it looks like a Goddamned Nazi rally in here. Stinks that way, too."
The only one who responded to the barbs was Ernst Wieland who let out a cold chuckle like the comments had been made in jest - Janice's glare proved she had meant every word.
Buchanan snorted at Janice's short temper and big mouth. "Frankly, Doctor, you're beginning to bore me with your juvenile outbursts," he said and turned back to Mel.
While Janice muttered a "Feel free to leave, Daddy-O… the door's right there!" the section commander appraised Mel like someone eyeing a slab of beef in a butchery.
He eventually nodded. "Perhaps you'll blend in better among the proletarians looking like this, Miss Pappas. They seem to prefer their women looking like they've spent the past week in a gutter."
Mel took a deep breath to let out an indignant squeak that never quite made it past her lips. Ultimately, she abstained from making any kind of comment and simply glanced at Janice instead to keep their connection strong.
"Operation Bright Light has now officially commenced," Gilroy Buchanan continued. "When you leave the hotel, you'll go as a single group to Hoferstrasse. There, you'll split up. Miss Pappas and Doctor Covington, you and Herr von Schenck are to enter the Traumfabrik. It's a small-scale place of entertainment used as a front for the communist cell. Two agents, Herr Wieland and Herr Schulze, will be posted in front of the establishment. Two further agents will go into position in an alley behind it-"
"Wait," Janice said, "there are more agents? More Nazis?"
"No, Americans."
"How will we know 'em?"
"That's irrelevant now."
"The hell it is, buster!"
"You won't come into contact with them unless you screw up!" Buchanan barked. His bland face had suddenly gained a harder edge, but it soon vanished like the morning dew when he composed himself. He took several deep breaths before he continued: "Once Operation Bright Light has been carried out, you are to disperse before the authorities appear. They're as efficient as they've always been. Herr Wieland can attest to that-"
Ernst Wieland nodded and smiled; he even clicked his heels - it made Janice let out a growl.
"-but perhaps not as rapid in responding as earlier."
"Indeed they are not," Wieland added. "They must follow stricter guidelines now. They cannot just barge in with a detachment of police soldiers like we used to."
"Gee, I wonder if that's what they call a democracy? What a cryin' shame, eh, buster?" Janice said, glaring at their strange bedfellows. Von Schenck and Schulze just stood there like the big, lumbering tanks they had once commanded, but it was clear by their intelligent eyes they were keeping track of the conversation despite pretending not to speak any English.
The former Gestapo officer didn't let the barb get to him, but Gilroy Buchanan let out a dramatic sigh aimed at Janice. "Doctor, that's quite enough. Once the leader of the communist cell has been apprehended or eliminated, your part of Operation Bright Light is over. You and Miss Pappas can do whatever you wish for the rest of the evening and night as long as you remain out of sight. At dawn, you're free to head back to the train station and resume your journey south."
"We can't just show up, ya know. We'll need new tickets-"
"That's all been taken care of. First Class," Buchanan said and reached into his coat to get a pair of travel documents. He had no intention of getting too close to the unpredictable doctor, so he handed them to Mel instead.
Janice grunted and briefly locked eyes with her sweetheart. When Mel nodded and adjusted her glasses after checking out the tickets, she moved her eyes back to the section commander to await further words of wisdom from the pompous senior agent.
It seemed the first part of Operation Bright Light was about to be set in motion as Gilroy Buchanan walked over to the door. "Is there anything you didn't understand?" he said when he noticed the two women weren't following him.
"Naw, we pretty much have the basics, don't we, Mel? Goose-step over there with the party faithful. Bang-bang-bang. Every man for himself. Like when the curtains came down on Berlin in May 'forty-five. That's about right, ain't it?" Janice said in a mocking voice. She slammed her hands onto her hips. "But I would like a shootin' iron. I ain't going into any kind of action without packin' heat."
For once, Gilroy Buchanan looked as if he had no idea what-so-ever what the doctor was talking about, but Wieland soon let out one of his cold chuckles and stepped forward. He pulled his leather coat aside and took a black pistol from a hidden holster. "Here, Doctor Covington. My spare should fit your needs."
"Huh," Janice said and looked at the Colt 1911 she had been given. Working like it was all old hat to her, she ejected the magazine to check that it wasn't just a dummy. When she counted eight rounds of .45 slugs, she inserted the magazine again and moved the slider back to make the gun ready to fire. After lowering the hammer to make it safer, she stuck it down her waistband at the back. The leather jacket soon covered the hardware. "I expected a Luger. Rejecting the old Fatherland, are we?"
"Oh, no. Like I told you last night, America is my new Fatherland. And you have so many wonderful guns," Wieland said with a cold smile. "Now… shall we?" he said and stepped aside to allow free passage to the door.
"Such a gentleman," Janice mocked. "You first. Then your pals. Then Mista Big Kahuna there. Then the only swell people in here… namely Mel and me."
Mel let out a trembling breath as the hotel room was finally emptied of testosterone. When she and Janice were the last ones in there, she shook her head and took the first step into the unknown.
-*-*-*-