Free Patricia Potter by Island of Dreams

Weimer killed for the pleasure of it.
    But he had to admit, as he watched, that Hans looked nothing like the arrogant SS man Michael knew him to be. The man slumped slightly even when he straightened up from his chore, and his eyes were mild and blank. There was something of a glazed expression on his face, and his hands moved nervously. He was, Michael thought, a superb actor.
    “Those are lovely roses,” he stopped to say.
    Hans shrugged, his eyes carefully wandering over Michael’s expensive clothes.
    “You’ll have to tell me your secrets, someday.”
    Again, Hans shrugged.
    “No trouble?” Michael said, his voice lowering.
    “ Nein ,” Hans said, his voice only a harsh whisper. “And you?”
    “None. I’ve been invited to a party this afternoon. Most of the members who are here for this season should be there.”
    “How many?” Hans asked tensely.
    “As far as I can tell, fourteen who are on the list.”
    Hans grunted in disappointment. The list given them by German intelligence had included a hopeful twenty-five names.
    “There’s a war on,” Michael said sardonically, and his reward was a baleful look.
    “The radio?” Hans queried.
    “In my room. I found a location for it this morning.”
    “I want to be with you when you transmit.”
    “Impossible,” Michael said shortly.
    “I’ll work late and miss the boat.”
    “A new man? You want to provoke suspicions?”
    “It’s natural enough. Making a good impression.”
    “No,” Michael said. “I won’t take a chance of being seen with you at night. This meeting is dangerous enough.”
    Hans glared at him but quieted, and Michael read his every thought. The man could not argue now with Michael’s decision. But Hans obviously didn’t like it one bit. He lowered his head and stooped over again, his hand tightening on the sharp shears.
    Michael smiled to himself. One minor victory. As if he had all the time in the world, he lazily remounted his bike and completed the ride to the clubhouse, his eyes ranging over the grounds. But he didn’t see a slender woman with two active children. It was just as well.
    He rested for several hours. The damnable leg. The bicycle had placed unfamiliar demands on it, and the damned thing hurt like hell. But he couldn’t stop the restlessness of his mind. He had picked up several magazines, including a Life, downstairs, but he couldn’t concentrate, not even on the war news.
    Fourteen. Fourteen of the wealthiest and most influential industrialists, financiers, and businessmen in America were gathering here.
    There were many more people on the island. Guests and members who were not on the list, their employees, and employees of the club itself. Michael’s job was to arrange to have those targeted assembled in one location on the night of the raid. It meant he had to befriend as many of those people as possible and hold a small party on that night.
    Cal Connor would be of immense help. Michael had believed acceptance, particularly in view of his fictitious though partially true background story, would be much more difficult than it was proving to be. But each guest had to undergo review before being admitted to the club premises, and apparently his credentials had more than passed approval; otherwise he would never be here tonight. Once accepted by the club leadership, a “stranger,” as he was called on the guest register, was apparently accepted by everyone else as well.
    Michael was quickly discovering that the Jekyll Island Club had a relaxed social air. Because of the decline in membership since the Great Depression, the club had been actively soliciting associate members. Possible future members were welcomed cordially, if not effusively.
    Michael knew he had been chosen, in large part, because he could easily associate with this group in a manner Hans never could. His wound was another factor. Canaris had believed the injury would attract sympathy from Americans who had watched war from afar and who