I should not be speaking of these things. Lieutenant Hart! I will say no more."
Tommy nodded. This didn't surprise him terribly. He scratched at his own cheek, feeling the day's stubble growing there, then fired another question, taking the ferret by surprise.
"What did you get, Fritz? When you traded the knife?"
Fritz Number One shuddered, almost as if a sudden fever had slid through his body. Either the damp rain or sweat had broken out on his forehead, and his words continued to quiver.
"I got nothing," he answered, shaking his head back and forth.
Tommy snorted.
"That doesn't make any damn sense!
You're telling me that this was a big deal, the biggest deal, and that Trader Vic had a buyer already lined up ready to pay through the nose, and now you're saying you got nothing in return? Bullshit! Maybe I should go talk to Visser. I'm sure he has all sorts of extremely clever and decidedly unpleasant methods for extracting information…"
Fritz Number One shot out his hand, grasping Tommy by the arm.
"Please, Lieutenant Hart, I am begging you. Do not speak to the
Hauptmann of these matters! I fear that even Oberst Von Reiter would not be able to protect me!"
"Then what did you get? What was the trade?"
Fritz Number One lifted his head, eyes skyward, as if wracked by sudden pain. Then he lowered his eyes, and whispered to Tommy Hart: "The payment was due the night Captain Bedford was murdered!" The ferret's voice was so low, Tommy had to crane forward.
"He was to meet me with the payment in the dark that night. But he never arrived at our meeting place."
Tommy inhaled slowly. There was the explanation for the ferret being in the camp after lights out.
"What was the payment?" Tommy insisted.
Fritz Number One straightened up suddenly, leaning back against the wall of the hut as if Tommy had thrust a weapon into his chest. He shook his head. He was breathing hard, as if he'd just sprinted some distance.
"Do not ask me this question, Mr. Hart! I cannot say more.
Please, I am begging you now, my life depends on it, other lives, as well as my own, but I cannot say to you more of this matter."
Tommy could see tears in the corner of the ferret's eyes.
His face had turned a wan, gray color, like the sky overhead, the sickly, agonizingly fearful appearance of a man who can see his own death lurking close by and beckoning. Tommy was surprised, and he took a small step back, as if the look on Fritz Number One's face scared him as well.
"All right," he said.
"All right for now. I'll keep my mouth shut. For now. No promises for later, but for now, we'll keep this between ourselves."
The German quivered again and broke into a grateful smile filled with reprieve. He seized Tommy's hand and shook it hard.
"I shall never forget this kindness, Lieutenant Hart.
Never!"
The ferret took a step back, away from Tommy.
"I will be in your debt. Lieutenant Hart! I will not forget this."
And with that, he lurched away, hurrying out into the dank morning.
Tommy watched Fritz Number One's head twisting about, trying to ascertain whether he'd been observed in this conversation. On the one hand. Tommy knew he had just acquired enough information to blackmail Fritz Number One into doing whatever he wanted, probably for the duration of the war. But on the other, he was left more filled with questions than ever before. And one question that dominated all the others: What was the payment for the weapon that was turned on Vic? He watched as Fritz Number One scurried across the exercise yard, and wondered who else might have the answer to that question. He glanced down at his wristwatch, felt a pang of loneliness crease across his heart. For a single second, he wondered what time it was back home in Vermont, and he had trouble remembering whether it was earlier or later. Then he dismissed this unfair thought when he realized that if he did not hurry, he would be late for the beginning of that morning's proceedings.
The throngs of kriegies were already surrounding the makeshift theater and jamming the aisles as Tommy arrived for the trial's start. As he'd feared, everyone else was in place. The tribunal behind their table at the front, the prosecution seated and waiting impatiently, Lincoln Scott and Hugh Renaday in their chairs, Hugh wearing a concerned look.
Off to the side, Hauptmann Visser was smoking one of his thin, brown cigarettes, while the stenographer next to him nervously fiddled with his pencil. Tommy picked his way down the center, stepping over feet and outstretched legs, stumbling once as he tripped over a pair of flight boots, thinking to himself that his solitary entrance was much less dramatic than when he had joined the two others and walked in formation.
"You've kept everyone waiting, lieutenant," Colonel MacNamara said coldly, as he stepped to the front of the room.
"Zero eight hundred means precisely that. In the future…" Lieutenant Tommy interrupted the Senior American Officer.
"I apologize, sir. But I had business crucial to the defense."
"That may well be, lieutenant, but-" Tommy interrupted MacNamara again, which he was absolutely certain would infuriate the commanding officer. He didn't really care.
"My first and primary duty is to Lieutenant Scott, sir. If my absence caused a delay, well, then it equally demonstrates vividly, once again, sir, the unfortunate rush that this proceeding takes place within.
Based on information that has just been made available to me, I would once again renew my objections to the trial continuing, and would request additional time to investigate."
"What information?" MacNamara demanded.
Tommy sauntered to the front of the prosecution's table, and picked up the homemade blade that Scott had fashioned.
He turned it over once or twice in his hand, then set it down again, looking up at MacNamara.
"It has to do with the murder weapon, colonel."
Out of the corner of his eye. Tommy saw Visser stiffen in his seat.
The German dropped his cigarette to the floor, and ground it beneath the heel of his boot.
"What about the murder weapon, lieutenant?"
"I'm not really at liberty to speak openly, colonel. Not without considerable further investigation."
Captain Townsend rose from his seat with liquid confidence in his voice.
"Your Honor, I believe that the defense seeks delay simply for delay's sake. I believe that absent some real showing on their part of dire necessity, that we should continue-" MacNamara held up his hand.