Part 35 (2/2)

”Nein,” the man replied. ”We were the only ones sent to the synagogue.”

Franz began to relay the answer to Charlie but stopped mid-sentence. He spun back to the captive. ”What do you mean the only ones sent here? Where were the others sent?”

”I . . . I . . . No, we were the only ones.”

”Tell me,” Franz growled.

Suddenly another voice cried out from somewhere behind Franz: ”Eine Falle! It's a trap!”

Franz spun around to see the second bomber appear from behind the corner of the synagogue, a gun swinging in his hand as he ran.

The young German struggled violently in Charlie's grip. Franz heard a whoos.h.i.+ng sound and felt something warm spray his cheek. He glanced over to see the man go limp in Charlie's arms, blood gus.h.i.+ng down the front of his parka. Charlie lowered the b.l.o.o.d.y knife from his throat.

Franz heard the crack of a gunshot overhead as particles of brick showered down on them. Instinctively, he dropped to his chest.

Charlie tossed the saboteur's body aside and yanked the gun from his waistband. He aimed at the second man, who was sprinting across the snow, making for the lane. But Charlie lowered his weapon without firing a shot.

Franz stared at him questioningly.

”The soldiers out front.” Charlie motioned to street. ”If they hear more gunshots . . .”

Franz watched the man disappear behind one of the apartment buildings in the lane. They could never catch up to him.

Charlie struggled to balance himself upright. Dazed, Franz rose and retrieved Charlie's crutches from where they had landed in the snow.

”Go get your camera,” Charlie instructed.

”There's no time now.”

Charlie gestured to the body of the young German, the snow around his head and shoulder stained red. ”You must photograph this.”

Franz knew that they would eventually need the evidence, but at that moment it was the least of his concerns. ”He was lying, Charlie. I saw it in his eyes. There are other n.a.z.is in the ghetto. Other targets, too.”

Charlie's eyes locked onto his. ”The hospital?”

”Sunny!”

CHAPTER 48.

Franz's heart pounded in his throat with every step as he sprinted for the refugee hospital. Rounding the corner onto Ward Road, he slipped on the snow and fell, landing heavily on his right shoulder with a crunch. The pain was sharp, but he picked himself up and set off in a run, holding his arm like a damaged wing.

A soldier patrolling the street shouted and angrily gestured for Franz to slow down; he eased up for a few yards, resuming his sprint the moment the soldier's back was turned. All he could think of were the explosives he had seen at the synagogue and how Sunny had insisted on overseeing the hospital that morning. ”Please, G.o.d,” he muttered repeatedly under his breath.

With every step, his dread rose. He expected to hear the crackle of an explosion at any moment, or to smell smoke. As he slid around the final corner, relief washed over him: the hospital was still standing. He raced up the pathway and burst through the doorway. ”Sunny? Where are you?” he cried, running down the corridor.

Even before he reached the ward, he heard a flurry of activity: the frantic voices of nurses barking instructions and patients calling out for help.

Inside, Berta and Miriam were lining up gowned patients at the doorway. Franz had to scan the room twice before he spotted Sunny in the far corner, struggling to transfer an old woman from her bed to a wheelchair.

He raced over and helped her lift the heavy woman, igniting a searing pain in his shoulder. ”Sunny, we found bombs,” he said breathlessly. ”Outside the synagogue-”

”There were gunshots, Franz,” she interrupted. ”Not more than five minutes ago. They came from behind the building.”

He grabbed her by the shoulders. ”Where is Joey?”

”I haven't seen him for maybe half an hour.” Her eyes were frantic. ”Joey was outside, Franz.”

”I was just outside. Everything is quiet now.”

”Still, we must clear the building.”

The old woman looked up at them in horror. ”What is going on?”

Sunny ignored her and waved toward the beds, several of which were still occupied. ”None of those patients can walk. And we have just the one wheelchair.”

Franz shook his head gravely. ”We can only do what we can do.”

”We can't just leave them behind.”

”Lower them onto blankets. We'll drag them if need be. Can they crawl? We have to get out now!”

Calmer now, Sunny held his gaze and then nodded. She shoved the wheelchair toward the exit.

”Miriam, Berta!” Franz called. ”Take the patients out front!”

Just then, Charlie came rus.h.i.+ng into the room on his crutches, his face pale and rigid.

”There was gunfire behind the hospital,” Franz exclaimed. ”We're clearing the building.”

”Come with me!” Charlie wheeled around. ”There are footprints outside and . . .”

Franz squeezed past the patients and raced out the door after Charlie. He followed him around the side of the hospital. Charlie came to a halt just as Franz noticed the body lying on the ground ahead of them. The man lay slumped on his side, his head turned into the snow. Franz couldn't see his face, but he immediately recognized the old navy suit. ”Oh no. Joey!” He lunged toward his fallen friend.

Charlie grabbed Franz's shoulder, launching another wave of pain. ”Leave him,” he snapped. ”It's too late. He is dead. Shot through the heart. We have to find the bombs.”

Rage, sorrow and fear cascaded through Franz, jolting him into action. He followed Charlie past Joey's body and behind the building.

Charlie waved at the many footprints they could see cutting through the snow and leading to spots against the wall. ”There. The explosives will be there.”

Reaching the heavily marked area, Charlie dropped to his one knee and swept frantically at the snow in front of him, then leaned further forward and began to brush more gently.

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