Free Stealing Trinity by Ward Larsen Page A

a few cases, were paired cozily with much younger women. Martinis came and disappeared in a constant flow. Braun found it all entertaining, and he imagined that in both groups the lies flowed as freely as the alcohol. It occurred to him that the men seemed quite confident, sure of themselves in these gilded surroundings. He doubted a single one had ever killed a man. It made him feel like a wolf among sheep.
    The fine meal was a pleasure he had not experienced for nearly five years, and he left nothing but a scattering of bones picked clean. Braun winced when the bill came. He paid, allowing a nice tip, and headed outside into the warm sun. There, he practiced his new trade.
    Braun walked to a corner, turned, and ducked into a shop. He studied the scene out the front window. The lessons had been rushed. On leaving Berlin, he'd spent three days in a safe house before boarding U-801. There, his instructor was Frau Schumann, a graying woman of about fifty who had probably been attractive in her time. She'd given Braun a crash course in the arts of deception. How to build a radio from commonly available parts. How to work with invisible inks and simple codes. Her particular quarter of expertise was an adult version of the child's game of hide-and-seek, the nuanced mechanics how to see but not be seen, how to follow but not be followed. He found her information useful, steeped in an unsavory brand of practicality. Braun took to it naturally. Frau Schumann was pleased.
    She had kept him busy for sixteen hours the first day, and at the end she shared a little about herself. She had worked for the Abwehr in Spain, Italy, and France. She spoke seven languages. Her husband had died in the Great War, a victim of the gas. Braun listened politely.
    The second day had lasted twelve hours. She then tried to seduce him, which he allowed. The final days lesson lasted ten hours and, after a pleasant dinner, Braun had put a bullet in the back of her head as she stood washing dishes. Those had been his instructions -- Gruber wanted no possible trace of the spy sent for Die Wespe. Braun suspected it was also another part of his education. A final exam, as it were.
    Now, as he walked out of the shop, Frau Schumann's words echoed. Crowded places are best. Know every exit. Listen freely, look sparingly. It all made perfect sense.
     

Chapter 10.
    Penn Station was busy in the early evening rush. Office workers swarmed in every direction like ants across a pile. Braun suspected the bustling atmosphere was amplified today, victory in Europe adding a spring to everyone's step. He sat quietly on a bench, waiting for the six fifteen train to Boston. In fact, he would not go quite that far, exiting two stops before the tickets final destination. The extra cost had been minimal, and while he was quite sure that no one was presently seeking him out, there was comfort in the small lie.
    A whistle blew and steam billowed around the frame of a departing engine. As he waited, Braun tried to use the time constructively. In the conversations around him he picked up slang. He noted the New York accent that held a stronger edge than his natural midwestern tone. Braun would have to be careful -- five years of speaking only German and a smattering of Russian would creep in if he wasn't careful. He would have to be deliberate and precise. Bit by bit, information came. The Yankees were winning, but struggling in the pennant race. La Guardia was still mayor.
    A young boy scurried toward him barking a pitch to sell the New York Times. More to learn. Braun waved him over.
    "Hey, boy. I'll take one."
    "Five cents, mister."
    Braun paid and took a copy. The headline, of course, was Germany defeated. The city had climaxed in a spontaneous explosion -- liquor and confetti, strangers kissing strangers. The celebration would last a day or two, probably until the next horrible casualty count from the Pacific.
    He turned to the papers latter sections and flicked his eyes across the