Free Jack 1939 by Francine Mathews Page A

Nationality?”
    Jack’s eyes flickered open. Dobler’s arm was bent upward at the elbow, the smoke from his Dunhill masking his face.
    “You sound like a cop, Willi. Next you’ll be asking for my driver’s license.”
    “Was he blond? Brown-eyed? An Italian tough?”
    “—Blue,” Jack said sharply. “His eyes were blue and cold as ice. And yes, he was blond. Very . . .
Aryan
.”
    “Aryan,” Dobler repeated evenly.
    “You know the type.”
    “I do,” the German agreed. “But are you suggesting he was German?”
    “No idea. He didn’t speak.”
    “Old? Young?”
    “Late twenties, early thirties, I’d say. And he had an inch-long scar through his upper lip, like he’d been in a nasty knife fight once.”
    Dobler went very still, his eyes fixed on Jack as he exhaled a thin stream of smoke. Then he leaned forward and discarded his ash. There was a silence that was not entirely comfortable.
    “Look—he probably
was
drunk,” Jack said harshly. “Or he’s just a thug who gets his kicks beating up complete strangers. It’s not that uncommon. In Tourist Class.”
    Dobler glanced at Diana. “Have
you
run into his kind before, my dear?—In Tourist Class?”
    She gazed at him blandly. “Give me a cigarette, Willi.”
    He tossed her a gold case and looked back at Jack. “You should be in bed. I’ll walk with you.”
    “I can manage, thanks.” Jack forced himself to his feet, pain creasing his abdomen.
    “Still—I’ll walk with you.” Dobler bowed to Diana and kissed her hand. “Good night,
charmante
.”
    Jack simply stood, aware of a slight, singing tension in the air because she breathed it. She returned his dinner jacket, neatly folded. Her dark eyes met his, and a line of fire moved from his gut to his throat. It was impossible to speak; and he was never at a loss for words.
    Dobler smiled faintly and steered him like a fractious child through the stateroom door.
    * * *
    “HOW DO YOU KNOW the Old Man?” Jack demanded abruptly as they made their way around the First Class deck toward his cabin. His was on the port side, Diana’s was starboard. He’d made a point of memorizing her cabin number.
    “Your father? I told you. I’m at the embassy.”
    “Not Dad. FDR.”
    There was a pause. “I do not think we should discuss such things out here in the open.”
    Jack laughed, then winced with pain. “It’s the middle of the goddamn night, Willi. You think anybody’s listening? Your Aryan friend with the ugly scar?”
    Dobler’s grip on his arm tightened. “If you hope to serve your president, Jack, learn when to shut your mouth.”
    “What do you know about my president?”
    The German halted in front of Jack’s cabin and waited while he searched for his key. When he’d found it, Dobler’s hand grasped the knob. “Allow me.”
    The German’s other hand was in his pocket, and with a sudden sense of unreality Jack knew he held a pistol. In sheer disbelief he stepped back as Dobler eased through the door.
    “Christ,” Jack muttered. “Who the hell
do
you work for?”
    “It’s all right,” Dobler said. “There’s no one here.”
    “I asked you a question.”
    The German smiled his thin smile. “I’ve already answered it.
I’m with the German embassy.
Come inside, Jack.”
    He obeyed. Dobler shut the stateroom door behind him.
    “Today is the first of March,” he said. “You know that we’re scheduled to make Cherbourg and Southampton tomorrow?”
    “Sure.”
    “I strongly suggest that you remain in your cabin until we do. Is someone meeting you at the dock?”
    Jack shrugged. “Maybe Dad’ll send a car. If not, I’ll catch the London train. I’m a big boy, Willi.”
    “The White Spider is bigger.”
    “The
what
?”
    “The man who punched you tonight. From your description, I think that’s who it is. Although there’s no one by his true name on the passenger list. I made sure of that before we sailed. Which means he’s traveling on a false