Betty was pensive as she got ready for bed that night. Scott noticed her silence and at first assumed she was tired. Then he watched as she dropped her earring for a third time and dropped to her knees to search for it in the thick rug.
"Damn," she muttered.
Scott sat up in bed. "What is it?" he asked softly.
"I lost my earring," she answered in a tone that said more than just the missing jewelery was bothering her.
"No, I mean what's wrong?" Scott gently persisted, his forehead drawing down in a frown.
"Got it!" Momentarily triumphant, she leapt to her feet, placing the earring on the bedside table. She looked down at Scott and sighed. "It's this place. I hate it here," she said with unaccustomed vehemence.
"I know. I can't get rid of the feeling that we're being watched." Apprehensively, he glanced around the chamber before motioning her to join him on the bed. Betty gladly did so, sliding between the sheets and snuggling up next to him. His arms slipped around her and she rested against him, feeling safer than before though the unsettling things she'd learned that evening still dragged at her mind.
"Better?" he whispered after several minutes, softly brushing a kiss across her forehead.
She nodded silently and her arms tightened around him.
"What is it that upset you so much?" he murmured curiously.
"Did I ever tell you my first cousin is blind?" Betty asked unexpectedly.
Confused, Scott pondered the question for a moment. "Uh, yeah, I think so. Why?"
She gave an irritated shrug. "Something Elsa said. I don't want to believe it."
"Believe what?" The question came cautiously. There'd been rumors about Nazi atrocities that had disturbed people with stronger nerves than Betty, and that was saying a lot, Scott realized.
For a moment she was silent as she gathered her thoughts. When she spoke, she sounded as though she were on the verge of tears.
"People have been disappearing, Scott. Not just Jews, but people who are blind, deaf, or in any way mentally or physically infirm. They're sent to camps, and they never come back. It just made me think about my cousin and how glad I am she's in America."
Scott gave her a sympathetic hug. "The Nazis are obsessed with genetic perfection, so I guess that shouldn't surprise us. Still, it makes me feel sick," he muttered disgustedly.
"There's another thing," Betty said slowly. "Elsa was mentioning that their daughter's engagement was just 'approved'. I guess people can only get married after passing a battery of tests the US Army wouldn't put new recruits through. They have to prove that neither family has hereditary diseases that could be passed to their children." Angry now, Betty sat up. "Think about it, Scott. If we lived here, we may never have been allowed to get married, let alone have Scotty. Can you imagine a government that would interfere with something as personal as that?"
"That is what my mother would have called borrowing trouble," he said firmly. "We don't live here, we're Americans, so we don't have to worry about that. And, we're doing everything we can to make sure that that kind of thing never spreads anywhere else and to try to stop it from happening here. I know how you feel," he reassured her, "but the only thing we can do about it right now is get that proof for General Hopkins. If we do that, and we're patient, everything else will fall into place."
Betty exhaled a deep breath, more calm now that she'd shared everything that had weighed so heavily on her during the evening.
"Scott," she pinned him directly with her eyes. "Let's have another baby."
"What? Now?" Scott asked in stunned disbelief, his eyes blinking at the rapid change in subject.
She laughed at his reaction. "Of course not. I'm just saying, for the record, that I want to have another baby with you."
He couldn't resist teasing her. "Betty, it's hardly as if we haven't been..."
She cut him off quickly as a blush crept across her cheeks. "I know."
"But I can't think of anything I'd want more," he finished seriously, his gaze warming her.
Betty drew a shaky but satisfied breath. "Good." She kissed him, then drew back with a smile. "Let's get some sleep. I feel so much better," she added as she nestled against him, her back held snugly against his chest.
"So do I," Scott agreed happily, one hand splaying possessively across her stomach. "And I'm glad we talked about having another baby. When we get back to England..."
"You're sending us home," Betty finished for him, smiling ruefully.
"I know it doesn't give us much time together, but I wouldn't have suggested it if I didn't think it was for the best."
Betty acknowledged this with a quiet "I know," and a tremulous smile.
"And in the meantime," Scott continued, nibbling at her ear, "we should make the most of what we have."
Betty half-turned toward him, a smile lighting her face. "I couldn't agree with you more."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Betty tempered the cringe that automatically contorted her face when Herr Konig opened the factory doors. The noises and smells coming from the building were bad enough from the outside. On the very threshold, they were overpowering. It was impossible to think in the distracting melee, and Betty could only respond to Walter's boyish enthusiasm with a stiff nod as she entered the factory floor.
Herr Konig offered his arm and Betty accepted the courtesy mechanically. Avidly, she looked around the room, knowing Scott was doing the same behind her. The workers didn't pause in their steady, long-practiced rhythms, but glanced up curiously at their visitors nonetheless. Betty didn't find the number of women working along the assembly lines surprising. Germany had been at war for several years now, and their need for production workers was great. With the vast majority of male workers serving in the army and other branches of service, women had suddenly become valuable workers.
Walter continued to lead them through the long, rectangular building, pointing out objects of interest along the way. The noise gave the room a chaotic feeling, but the demeanor of the workers belied the impression. Their movements were methodical and rigidly ordered, each person a vital cog in the overall machinery of the factory whose sole purpose was the production of weapons designed to eliminate resistance. Betty suddenly felt chilled. Any one of these guns could be used against a friend or neighbor, someone she grew up with in Elkhart, even one of her brothers.
Her determination reinforced, Betty accompanied Konig up a steep flight of stairs when they reached the far side of the factory floor, their feet making metallic thuds as they ascended. She stole a quick glance over her shoulder to be sure Scott still followed them. He met her glance and with a brief nod, indicated that he hoped this was all leading to Konig's private office wherein they might discover the proof they needed. Their host had remained silent on the subject of his new weapon thus far. Were they finally about to learn the truth?
Konig ushered them into a severe office at the top of the stairwell and closed the door, thankfully muffling the sounds emanating from the factory floor. He gestured toward two chairs arranged across from his desk and waited until they were all settled before speaking.
Konig spread his hands wide above the surface of his desk. "I apologize for the noise, but it's a necessary evil where a factory is concerned. I'm so accustomed to it that I rarely notice it anymore."
Scott waved the apology aside. "It's an impressive operation you have out there. Am I correct in assuming that you're producing MG-42s?"
"Precisely." Konig beamed on them both. "But I have another group of people in a much smaller room working on something that will make the present machine gun obsolete. It is the MG-43."
"Original," Scott observed wryly.
Konig acknowledged this with a shrug. "I admit, the aesthetics leave something to be desired, but the performance of this weapon make other considerations unimportant. Not only is this newer model more accurate, it's also capable of firing double the rounds in the same amount of time as the MG-42."
As he spoke, Konig crossed the room and went to work on the wheel of an ancient safe standing in the corner. After swinging open the well-oiled door, he reached inside and produced the most lethal looking gun Betty had ever seen. It gleamed coolly in his reverent hands, looking somehow smug, complacent in it's own unchallenged abilities.
"And here it is, the prototype." Konig handed it to Scott as if he were conferring the country's greatest honor upon him, which he might have been. The war was not going well for Germany, and if this machine gun performed as advertised, the tide of the war could very well change again.
Scott took the gun's well-balanced weight into his hands, studying every aspect of the weapon, hoping to discover it's secrets. "It's a fine weapon," was his final verdict as he reluctantly handed it back to Konig, wishing he could find a way to smuggle it out of Germany.
"I'm glad you agree." Pleased, Konig turned around to lock the weapon away once again.
"But that doesn't explain why you need us," Scott continued. "It's similar in design to the MG-42. What stops you from producing it?"
"For one, we lack the approval of the high command. We need to prove that we can cost-effectively produce the 43 in mass quantities before the Army even consents to testing. For two, our equipment here is old. We need new machinery to convert to mass production of the 43. That is why you were contacted," Konig explained. "We're cash poor at the moment, and we need funds from those that believe in our cause."
Scott regarded the other man for a long moment. "I'm inclined to help you with your venture, but I need more proof of the weapon's capabilities before I offer financial support. Can you arrange a demonstration?"
Konig nodded eagerly. "There's a range a short distance from here. We can arrange a demonstration in a matter of moments."
"One other thing," Scott added boldly. "It is well known that Germany's raw materials for constructing weaponry are somewhat inferior to our own. I propose to help you with that as well. I have connections that can get you superior supplies, but I'll have to prove the worthiness of the weapon in order to attract investors."
"I cannot allow the prototype to leave these walls," Konig protested, though his eyes gleamed avidly at this unexpected offer.
"I thought as much," Scott agreed. "But, if you would be able to provide plans, blueprints, anything that can give them an idea of the scope of this project, I think I can produce enough investors to provide you with new machinery and all the raw materials you'll need for a very long time."
Konig leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepling in concentration. "I'm reluctant to let the plans leave German borders, but your offer of help is more than I could have imagined."
Scott sat forward, sensing the weakness of the other man's reticence. "If you would entrust them to me, I have every confidence that I will get you the support you need to produce the weapon, win the war, and ensure your place in the new order."
Walter smiled craftily. "And yours as well."
"An inevitable result," Scott shrugged.
"Very well. The plans are concealed in my private office back at the house. We'll go over them after the demonstration on the range and I'll have my assistant get to work on a duplicate copy for you tomorrow, if that's agreeable?" Konig paused hopefully.
"Very exciting," Scott answered as he leaned forward to grasp the other man's hand.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"It was awfully bold of you to ask outright for the one thing we're supposed to sneak out of here," Betty observed as they dressed for the harvest ball that night.
"Just a stroke of genius I had," Scott returned modestly. "I figured it was worth a shot if I could offer him something sufficiently tempting in return...besides you, of course." He grinned up at her slyly as he finished tying his shoe.
"Of course," Betty agreed. "How long do you suppose it will take this assistant of his to make a copy for us?"
"I tried to make it clear we didn't have much time," Scott answered as he fought a losing battle with his bow tie. "And considering how badly Konig wants to get this project off the ground, I'm sure he'll make his assistant hurry. I've never seen anyone so obsessed with a gun. It gives me the creeps." He threw up his hands in defeat.
"Here, let me." Smiling, Betty deftly fixed the tie as she spoke. "I hope it isn't any more than a day or two. I can't wait to get back to Scotty," she finished wistfully.
"I know, I feel the same way," he pulled her to him, his lips brushing softly over her forehead. "But it won't be long now, and I have to admit that a full set of plans is more than I'd hoped we'd get out of this little adventure."
"Yes, there is that, isn't there?" She smiled up at him brightly, and Scott suddenly felt that all the anxieties they'd suffered over the past weeks were worthwhile. "Being given the papers legitimately is far easier than trying to sneak them out. Plus, we get an evening of dancing, which, may I remind you, we haven't had in a very long time," she finished pointedly.
"Pesky war, getting in the way of our social life," Scott joked, pulling her into his arms and executing a quick dance step. He spun her out to arm's length. "You look beautiful, Mrs. Sherwood," he whispered, taking in the long, silvery dress she wore.
Betty had heard nothing but French and German for so long that the softly-spoken English sounded foreign and strange, and oddly comforting.
"You're not so bad yourself, Mr. Sherwood," she whispered when he'd spun her back in.
She relaxed against him for a moment, feeling more herself than she had in weeks. The constant pretense involved with an operation was exhausting, and Betty sometimes wondered if she'd forget her true identity entirely if they remained much longer in Germany. It was good, just for a moment, to stand with Scott smiling down at her and reaffirm that she really was Betty Sherwood of Pittsburgh, PA, with a small son waiting in London for her to reclaim him and an entire life in another place and time at a little radio station called WENN.
"You'd better put you shoes on." Scott still spoke softly, though he'd picked up his assumed identity, and the French language along with it, once again.
Betty arched an eyebrow. "I've been avoiding that. They look like they pinch." She scrutinized the dainty silver shoes with a wrinkled nose.
"Just make sure they're the only things that pinch you tonight." Scott gave her a broad wink. "Now that our business is pretty much done, Konig may move on to other interests."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
One hour later, Betty was beginning to be convinced that Scott's prediction was more accurate than not. Walter had stolen her right out from under Scott's nose mere moments after they'd entered the Konig's opulent ballroom, and he'd hardly let her out of his sight since. He claimed nearly every dance with her, and when common courtesy dictated that he allow her to dance with someone else, he behaved as if he were bestowing a personal favor upon her new partner. As the dance ended, there was Walter, standing at her elbow, ready for another dance or to get her a glass of the frothy punch that was replenished by the kitchen staff with mechanical regularity.
Betty peered over the shoulder of her current partner, Herr Von something or other - all the new names were beginning to be a blur - and wondered again where Scott had gotten to. Men were in short supply, so many ladies were standing along the walls that ringed the room and Herr Konig was the only man who moved among them, bowing and smiling, playing the polished host with practiced ease. Despite his constant wandering, Betty knew he'd find his way back to her at the end of this dance, homing in on her like a carrier pigeon, and she'd be trapped once again.
She sighed softly and used a smile to disguise a wince. Scott's prediction about Konig may have been right, but so was hers. The silver slippers pinched unmercifully and she hadn't been allowed to sit down once. If it wouldn't have been such a faux pas in this formal setting, she would have danced barefoot. As it was, she contented herself with another glance around the room, marveling at the change in the house tonight.
She supposed it was the introduction of all the people into the normally vacant space that made the house seem a different place. Or perhaps it was this elegant room with it's mirrored walls and gilded wallpaper. The dark wooden floor gleamed under a combination of electricity and candlelight that beamed out of overhead chandeliers and wall sconces. The faces that whirled past Betty were shining with happiness, carefree for a short evening before the privations and hardships of war intruded again, the contrast between these few happy hours and the rest of everyday life infusing the harvest ball with an even more festive atmosphere than usual.
Her partner whirled her around the floor once again, and she was thankful that he, at least, was a good dancer compared to some of the other men she'd danced with that evening. She suspected that any number of those men held information that General Hopkins would likely kill for, but so far none had betrayed a desire to share military secrets with her. And why should they? As far as they knew, she was just a housewife from Geneva, here for a short time on a business trip with her husband. Still, she couldn't help but reflect as the dance ended that the evening was rather a waste if she couldn't glean any useful information from it, or at least dance once with her husband.
She turned with her partner to politely applaud the band on the far side of the room and with the corner of her eye was just able to discern a hand lightly tapping the shoulder of Herr Von...oh, what was the use of even trying to remember? she asked herself disgustedly. She resigned herself to finding the inevitable Konig at her side, but refused to acknowledge him in exchange for a moment's peace.
"If I'd known you were so bored with me, I would have stayed on the other side of the room," a velvety and refreshingly familiar voice said in her ear.
Her face was suddenly wreathed in smiles and her aching feet forgotten as she turned to embrace her husband for the next dance.
"Edouard! How did you know I was longing for you!" Ignoring propriety for a moment, Betty leaned her head into his chest and enjoyed the effortless way their bodies moved together. Picking up on her cue, Scott shifted her just a little closer with his right arm and she felt his lips briefly in her hair before assuming a more dignified position.
"This place is a gold mine, Juliette," Scott told her in a hoarse undertone. "A certain gentleman we both know would kill to get into this little clambake."
"I was just thinking the same thing," she smiled up at him. "But no one's sharing anything worthwhile with me."
"That's because you're dancing with a bunch of stodgy, overworked men who are too used to keeping secrets. They spend all their free time at Nazi functions and leave their wives at home, so their ladies are bored, lonely, and only too happy to engage in a little gossip with a charming stranger." His smile suddenly turned roguish.
Betty's laughter trilled over the melodious waltz the band was playing, causing several heads to turn curiously in their direction. "And as I well know, there's no one more charming than you. So, is there any good gossip?"
Scott shook his head regretfully. "Sadly, no. Unless you count the rumor floating around that Herr Berger is planning to divorce his wife if she doesn't give him two more children in as many years."
"Can he do that?" Betty was aghast.
"Apparently, that's grounds for divorce now in Germany. If your wife can't give you at least four children, trade her in on a new one," Scott confirmed flippantly, though she could tell by the tension in his jaw that the callousness of the law bothered him.
"But that's terrible!" Betty exclaimed in a careful undertone.
"Not when you're trying to re-populate a country," Scott observed wryly.
"I don't know why any woman would want to stay with a man who married her just for the children she could give him," Betty said indignantly. "She's probably better off without him."
"Careful," Scott breathed. "Here comes our host, and I'm pretty sure he wouldn't agree with you."
His smile broadened falsely as Konig got closer. Scott avoided making eye contact, hoping to steer Betty away from the onerous man. Walter's hand fell on his shoulder nevertheless and Scott was forced to face the man.
"Herr Boudin," Konig began heartily, "I'm sure it's not your intention to monopolize the most charming woman in the room, especially when there are so many other ladies requiring your attention."
Scott raised a disbelieving eyebrow at the note of censure in the man's voice. He was either incredibly drunk, or fatally egomaniacal to speak to Herr Boudin, his potential benefactor, in such a tone. Scott's brow furrowed in a heavy frown as he watched the possessive way the German's eyes traveled over Betty. The man's audacity was outrageous, but maybe that shouldn't be so surprising, considering the talk he'd heard earlier. The wives of men active in the Nazi organization had dealt with neglect for years, their husbands either too tired or too harried to concern themselves with their spouse's welfare. In light of that fact, it was only too easy for a man on the prowl, like Konig, to seduce an unappreciated wife into unfaithfulness while her husband was too distracted to notice.
Scott, however, was nowhere near to that distracted by anything, and he found himself hard pressed to hold back his anger. "I wouldn't want anyone to think that I was monopolizing my wife, not while you're doing it so well," he parried, softening the words with a charming, but brittle smile.
Konig suddenly seemed to realize that he may have overstepped himself a bit. His smile was graciously servile once again and his tone matched the expression.
"I was only hoping that you might dance with my wife. She's been preoccupied all evening with our female guests, and I know she'd dearly love to dance. If you would be so kind?"
"Of course," Scott agreed, though he made no move to comply.
"Wonderful," Konig nodded his satisfaction. "Now that's settled, but I'm afraid you're left without a partner, my dear."
Betty shifted from foot to foot, trying to relieve the pressure in her overworked toes and enjoying the prospect of an empty chair in a corner. "Oh, that's all right," she began, one eye still on the chair.
"But, no! I insist that you dance with me. I cannot allow my guests to be neglected," Walter protested, holding out his arms in an invitation to dance.
Reluctantly, Betty moved toward him as the music began again, casting a dismayed look in Scott's direction. He shot her a wink, then watched through narrowed eyes as Konig pulled her just a little closer than custom dictated, his hand drifting down to the small of her back and then just subtly lower. Scott's frown turned to a glare and he was just about to walk out on the floor and beat Walter until he was unrecognizable even to his own mother, when Elsa suddenly materialized at his side, one hand lightly restraining his arm.
"Herr Boudin, I hope you are enjoying the festivities," she suggested blandly.
"Oh, yes, it's great," Scott answered distractedly, trying to divide his attention evenly between Elsa and the man who was swiftly leading his wife further away from him. Inspiration struck him. "Elsa, would you care to dance?"
Her blank look dissolved into a radiant smile. "Herr Boudin, I would enjoy nothing more."
Scott took her in his arms and led her across the floor in a pattern that resembled a cavalry charge more than a foxtrot. Couples scattered from the path of destruction, but Scott remained oblivious to their angry glares as he focused on trying to keep one particular couple in his line of sight.
Satisfied that he was close enough now to make sure Konig wouldn't be able to corner Betty in some dark alcove, Scott moderated their pace.
"Well, Herr Boudin," Elsa gasped, removing her hand from his shoulder to repair her disarrayed hair, "your style of dancing certainly is...athletic."
"Hmmm?" A distracted Scott barely registered the comment until he looked into Elsa's expectantly upturned face. "Oh, well, there's nothing I like more than a good foxtrot."
"So I see," Elsa concurred, faintly amused. A long pause ensued which she then broke with "I wonder, Herr Boudin, if you've heard the distressing news concerning Herr Berger's divorce?"
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Much later in the evening, Betty stepped away from yet another in an endless stream of dancing partners and found herself at loose ends. Fanning herself to relieve the heat, she was just considering seeking Scott out when he suddenly slipped into her line of sight and smoothly glided her into the next dance. Betty started a protest, knowing he was the only man in the room who would allow her to sit out a dance, but Scott quickly silenced her, bringing his head down next to her ear.
"We've got trouble," he whispered and the urgent note in his voice caused her back to stiffen. "Relax," he coaxed, "just pretend everything's all right."
Betty arranged her features in a carefully controlled smile, but made no move to pull her head away from his. "What is it?" she asked through clenched teeth.
"Alex."
The one word almost caused her to jerk away in surprise. "Not him again."
"Just our luck," Scott managed a miniscule shrug. "God bless Elsa's alcohol habit, or she may never have let it spill. She gets more talkative..."
"Are you going to tell me what's going on, or do I have to guess?" She chanced a guarded look around the room. "And should we go some place where we can talk?"
The shake he gave his head would have been imperceptible if she hadn't been so close. "We're less conspicuous this way, and there's not as much chance of someone interrupting us." He leaned down even further. "Alex is going to be here first thing in the morning. That means we have to be gone before then."
"But how? We won't have the plans before tomorrow night, and I hate to think that we've come all this way to leave empty handed," Betty protested.
"So do I," Scott agreed grimly. "That's why we're going to take the original plans from Konig's office tonight and be gone on the five am train tomorrow morning. Alex is being driven in from Berlin, so we shouldn't meet up with him at the station. Everyone in the house will be sleeping in after the ball, and we can slip away with no one any the wiser."
"It sure sounds easy when you put it that way," Betty answered archly, though her hold on him tightened in apprehension.
"Piece of cake," he chuckled softly in her ear. Her irritation increased. How could he be so calm?
"So when does this brilliant plan go into action?" Betty asked, trying to muster her enthusiasm which seemed about to be drowned out by bone-chilling fear.
"Right...about..now." Scott carefully manoeuvred until they stood in front of their host and offered his hand. "Herr Konig, my wife and I would like to thank you for a lovely evening, but I'm afraid it's time we retired."
"It's a shame to leave so soon!" Konig exclaimed. "It's barely 11:30."
"Still, I'm afraid we aren't used to these late hours," Scott insisted firmly. "Again, thank you, and we'll see you in the morning."
Scott moved them briskly away, taking Betty out of range of Konig's outstretched hand and trying not to guess exactly what the German had been aiming for. Betty's nerves screamed for hurry, but Scott slowed down and held them to a sedate pace as they exited the ballroom, nodding to new acquaintances as they went.
Our Mutual Spy
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