Part 31 (1/2)

She jerked her head from his shoulder. ”Our advantage? How is that possible?”

”What they did to those men from the Underground-that was beyond barbaric.” He squinted in disgust. ”But surely it no longer matters whether or not the old man thought you were a collaborator. No one will be coming for you now.”

”No, I suppose not,” she said. ”The old man, maybe he didn't tell the Kempeitai about me after all.”

Franz looked at his wife. Sunny's eyes danced with both affection and desire. He couldn't remember her ever looking more beautiful. Slowly, almost teasingly, she lowered her lips to his. They shared a long kiss, and she gently ran her fingernails across his neck and shoulders. He resisted the urge to slide her dress up over her hips and instead, reluctantly, pulled his face away from hers. ”Esther and Hannah could return at any moment,” he said.

”We live in dangerous times, Dr. Adler,” she said throatily.

The others had gone to the shop for rice and hot water. Hannah loved carrying Jakob through the streets. It reminded Franz of how she used to insist on lugging her beloved rag doll, Schweizer Fraulein, with her everywhere when she was younger. For his part, while Jakob adored his cousin, he had begun to resist being held. He had started crawling a few weeks before and was far more interested in exploring the ground for himself.

Just as Sunny leaned in for another kiss, the door shook with three heavy knocks. She went rigid in his arms. Another softer series of raps followed. ”Franz, it's me,” Ernst's voice could be heard through the door.

Sunny's body relaxed. Franz rose to his feet and hurried over to the door.

After a quick handshake, the artist marched over to Sunny and kissed her on both cheeks. ”You just grow more gorgeous by the day.”

Sunny waved away his mock flirtation. ”Is everything all right, Ernst?”

A cigarette and a lighter materialized in his hands. ”Well, I am still trapped in that twisted little neighbourhood-Wiesbaden on the Whangpoo, I call it-but I have few complaints otherwise.”

”And Simon?”

”Ah, that reminds me.” Ernst dug in his back pocket and fished out a crumpled envelope. ”For Essie, of course.”

”How is he managing?” Sunny asked.

Ernst heaved a sigh. ”I am not certain how much longer I will be able to retain my house guest. Hard to blame him, though. He's desperate to be with his family.”

Franz folded his arms. ”Even if that means endangering us all?”

Ernst lit his cigarette. ”In my experience, seldom do common sense and emotion correlate.”

”Yes, I have noticed the same,” Franz conceded.

”Simon simply has to wait,” Sunny declared. ”Never has the time been worse for reckless behaviour. I will speak to him.”

”Best of luck with it.” Ernst whistled out a stream of smoke. ”You are right about the atmosphere, though. On my way over here, on Broadway, I saw something . . . ghastly.”

Sunny looked down at her feet. ”Those men hanging from the beam?”

”You saw them, too?”

”They were from the Underground,” she murmured. ”I knew one of them.”

”It's a hazardous business, this subversion.” Ernst's eyes narrowed as he looked quickly from Sunny to Franz. ”Unfortunately, the j.a.panese are not the only ones in Shanghai in a vengeful mood.”

”What are the n.a.z.is up to now?” Franz asked.

Ernst whistled. ”Von Puttkamer's plans are heating up.”

”He told you so?”

”No, he wouldn't include me in those kinds of discussions. But there has been more activity. More meetings.”

”How do you know it concerns the Jews?” Sunny asked.

”You remember Gerhard?” Ernst said, lowering his voice. ”That young man in the baron's entourage?”

Franz had only a vague recollection of the young man who had accompanied von Puttkamer on his tour of the ghetto. What he remembered most clearly was the boy's unflinching scowl. ”What about him?”

”Gerhard has taken a bit of a s.h.i.+ne to me.” Ernst rolled his eyes. ”Not in that way, of course. Apparently, I remind the lad of his uncle or some other unG.o.dly relative who is under the impression that he can paint. Regardless, Gerhard has taken to confiding in me of late.”

Franz took a step closer. ”What has he told you?”

”Believe it or not,” Ernst said with a chuckle, ”Gerhard is suffering a crisis of conscience.”

”Why?”

”Gerhard doesn't care what happens to the adult Jews-'it's a better world without them,' as he so charmingly puts it-but he is troubled by the idea of harming children.”

”Scheisse!” Franz groaned. ”What are they planning?”

”A bomb.”

Franz felt as though his innards had turned to stone. ”They're planning to bomb the ghetto?”

”Where? How?” Sunny's voice cracked.

”Even Gerhard doesn't know. Von Puttkamer has not shared the target with anyone, it seems like.” Ernst viewed them with a helpless shrug. ”All I know is that the baron has promised something . . . spectacular.”

”'Spectacular.'” The word lodged in Franz's throat.

Sunny rubbed her temples. ”Do you have any idea when they will do this . . . this terrible thing, Ernst?”

”Soon,” Ernst said. ”Gerhard doesn't know the precise date, but von Puttkamer is intent on carrying out the attack before the New Year.”

”But that's less than two weeks,” Franz said.

Sunny reached out and clutched his elbow, squeezing tight. ”We cannot just wait. We must do something.”

”Do what?” Franz cried. ”Tell Ghoya? The Kempeitai? No. Colonel Kubota is the only one who would have listened to us.”

Sunny turned back to Ernst. ”You must get more details from Gerhard.”

”And if he doesn't know any more?”