Lampson thumbed through a new passport with his photo, showing an issue date four years prior and pre-stamped to reflect past travels. "Remarkable," he mumbled as he removed a brown leather wallet from the envelope, containing Austrian and German currency, photos of a fictitious wife and daughter in Vienna, and business cards.
The BMW’s windshield washers swished back and forth, smearing a thin film of road oil across the glass but quickly cleared as rain pelted the car. Reflections of red taillights shimmered on the wet pavement as traffic slowed to a snail's pace as they approached the checkpoint. Adler handed their passports to a guard outfitted in rain gear. After a few questions, he passed them through without incident.
Adler pressed down on the accelerator, never letting up. His eyes constantly scanned the rearview mirror as he purposely wove the car in and out of the thinning traffic. He focused on a set of headlights that appeared to be following every move the BMW made.
"See somebody trying to hitch a ride?" Grant asked without turning around.
"Not sure. Just in case, let's see if we can send him on his way, shall we?" One hand tightened around the leather-covered steering wheel, the other reached for the gearshift.
Grant pressed himself against the black leather seat, turning just enough to see out the back window. "Hang on," he warned Lampson, who immediately grabbed hold of the door armrest.
A steady flow of traffic stretched ahead in their lane. The suspicious auto was three cars back behind a truck. Adler eased back on the accelerator. Heavy spray being kicked up by a Volkswagen's tires brought the visibility down to near zero. The VW's taillights were nothing but a fuzzy, red blur. Adler crept closer, leaving no room for error. He waited for a truck in the middle lane to close in. Then, with one swift move, the BMW shot out from behind the Volkswagen and directly in front of the truck, missing both bumpers by inches. The truck started fish-tailing on the slick road, its driver fighting to maintain control. Cars following it slammed on their brakes, unable to find any means of escape as they went out of control. In his rearview mirror Adler saw the truck slide sideways, finally coming to a stop, blocking all lanes. A sickening sound of metal striking metal could be heard above the roar of the BMW's engine.
"Oops," Adler grinned. Then, immediately taking advantage of the havoc he'd just wreaked, he floored the accelerator. The headlights behind him quickly became nothing more than blurry, white dots in the distance.
Grant turned halfway around in the seat. He took off his baseball cap and ran his fingers through his hair, then rested his elbow on the backrest, reacting like it was just another day at the office. "Guess you're curious where we're taking you, Rick," he grinned.
Pronounced dark circles under Lampson's eyes were in sharp contrast against his pale skin. He slouched down in the seat, a sense of relief overcoming him, but perhaps that reaction was too soon. He smiled weakly.
Grant continued, "Marie Lutger runs what we know as a boarding house, big enough for three regular boarders, with an extra room in the attic. She's a widow who's been working for the West Germans for the past eighteen years, always ready to lend a helping hand."
"She's good people," Adler commented.
Grant nodded. "You'll have to blend in with the town folk, Rick, but make sure you stay with the Austrian visitor routine. I don't know how long this is gonna take." His voice was firm, his words emphatic. "You've got to be patient and don't do anything that'll put you, or us, in any added danger. In case you're wondering why we're not flying you back to the States right away, it's because that's exactly what your new-found teammates will be expecting. Every airport and harbor is probably being watched. If we were being followed, they most likely thought we were taking you to Bremerhaven. Keeping you here for a couple of days should throw them off." Lampson nodded, already aware that the next days would be even harder than the past few months. "We'll try and make contact with you as soon as we know something."
"This is it," Adler cut in as he eased back on the accelerator, shifted to a lower gear, and started making the turn off the highway. No other car was behind them.
Grant looked through the windshield at a pitch black country road. Beams from the BMW's headlights stretched before them, the only means of light. He turned back to Lampson. "We've got a suitcase in the trunk that’s packed with extra clothes and essentials. In the side pocket are an extra two thousand Deutsche Marks."
"There isn't much you've missed, Captain. Now, are you going to tell me what your plans are?"
"Afraid not. The less you know the better."
"You mean, in case they find me, don't you?"
Without answering, Grant turned around as the car slowed, the flickering lights of the village coming into view. Adler adjusted the windshield washers to a slower speed as the rain turned into a sprinkle. He downshifted into second gear and the sound of the engine became a low rumble. The drive along the old cobblestone street put a slight shimmy in the steering wheel as the wide tires encountered large, irregular, slippery cobblestones.
"There's the street," Grant pointed.
Adler turned the BMW left onto the narrow lane, driving slowly up the winding incline, hugging the curb. The street was lined with shops and private homes, the black and white timbered buildings nestled side-by-side. He pulled up in front of a three-story structure, the number '552' hanging from a tarnished brass plate above the door's archway. "This is it," he said, shifting into park.
A small, dim light came out of nowhere, seemingly suspended in mid-air, bobbing up and down, aiming right for them. Grant instinctively slipped his hand inside his jacket, easing the .45 from his shoulder holster. An old man, riding a bicycle with a white headlight, glanced briefly at the BMW, then continued pedaling past the idling car. Adler stared into the side view mirror until the man and his bicycle disappeared around the bakery shop on the corner.
"End of the line, Rick," Grant said, as he opened the car door. "I'll get your suitcase."
Lampson leaned forward from the back seat, shaking Adler's shoulder. "Joe, thanks for everything you've done… and for what you're going to do."
"Our pleasure, sir," Adler grinned.
"Good luck, Lieutenant."
Lampson met Grant at the back of the car, reaching for the brown leather suitcase. Curious, he asked, "You didn't forget to bring any of your so-called equipment, did you, Captain?"
Grant closed the trunk lid. "Couldn't take any chances that we might be stopped and the car searched. Everything's securely tucked away," he winked.
Out of the corner of his eye, Lampson noticed the front door of the house being opened, a light shining through the crack. "Any last minute instructions, Captain?"
"Stay close to home, Rick. If you feel threatened — by anyone or anything — Marie will help. She'll know who to contact. And she’s got a small 'security blanket' for you with enough ammo that should see you through. There’s the standard hidden compartment in your suitcase, just in case."
Lampson reached out to shake Grant's hand, their grip strong and firm. "Good luck, Captain. I owe you more than my life on this one."
Grant closed the car door and rolled down the window. "Be sure to tell Marie we said ‘danke.’" He flashed a grin and snapped a quick salute as the car pulled away.
Chapter Six
"Matt, can I see you for a minute?" Blake Kelley asked as he poked his head around the office door.
"Sure, Blake, come on in. We're just going over today's schedule. I’ve got a few extra minutes to spare before I meet with Rick. What's going on?"