#which booth said he would split with david in the morning (he never lived that long) but david refused the money

[lorephobic]

just read (from an extremely unreliable source) that booth had wanted to give his diamond stickpin to one of secretary seward’s maids who he had a thing for. which is extremely unlikely, (the source also suggests that booth might have already given the pin to her, which is why it wasn’t found on his body—a claim that i have a whole host of issues with) BUT. it does make me even more insane to think that booth had wanted to give the pin to a girl he was in love with, but had promised it to david instead.

or that david knew that booth wanted to give the pin to a girl he was in love with, and tried to claim it for himself after booth’s death.

[justanoutlawfic]

Life Unexpected: Chapt. 2

Story Summary: 15 years after the events of Why Did It Have To Be Me? and much has changed. Mary Margaret and David are back living in Storybrooke, but don’t speak to one another. One day, David gets a knock on his door from the daughter they gave up all those years ago. She wants to get emancipated from the foster system, but they can’t let themselves sign the papers. As they split custody and try to help her heal from a lifetime of pain, will they find their way to each other?

Chapter Summary: David gets to know August. Emma finally meets Mary Margaret but it doesn’t go as planned.

Also on AO3

David let out a small yawn as he stood in line at Granny’s the next morning. He had barely gotten any sleep after Emma left. Killian tried grilling him for details, but he didn’t feel much like talking about it. Killian was one of the few people who knew about Emma to begin with. He normally didn’t tell anyone, not even his mother or brother knew. After he started living with he Rogers’ however, he found himself wondering about Emma. She would’ve been 8 years old at the time and he wished he could be with her, wherever she was. He ended up getting drunk after Killian took Alice to a father/daughter dance and spilled his guts to him. He promised to keep it a secret, even from Alice.

 God, what was his mother going to say?

 Shaking that thought from his mind, he took a step up to the counter where take out orders were put in. Ruby flashed him a smile, which only added to his guilt. She was always so nice to him, for someone that was on Mary Margaret’s side. She always said that they had been friends in high school and even if she didn’t agree with him, they could still be friends as well.

 “Hey David, the usual?”

“Um, yeah but one extra sandwich and…” He looked up at the board, trying to think of what drink to order Emma. Coffee was out, kids didn’t drink coffee, right? He decided to go with what he liked back in high school. “One hot chocolate with cinnamon.”

Ruby punched it into the register. “Got a hot date?”

“Uh, no. Just bringing something by to Alice before class,” he fibbed.

“Alrighty. Granny will have it out in a minute.”

“She’s still working?”

Ruby rolled her eyes. “Try getting her to stop, I’ve given up.”

 David chuckled a bit and stepped to the side to let the next customer through. Granny’s had always been the hangout spot in high school. He spent many a Friday night after the game in a back booth with Kathryn and their friends, enjoying burgers and fries. He had even worked at Granny’s on the weekends and some weekday afternoons when he didn’t have practice. Outside Ruby, he was probably the only kid that worked but it was nice to have extra money so he didn’t have to rely on his mom for everything.

 The food and drinks were ready quickly and David headed to the inn that was near the diner. Emma had texted him the room number, so he went right up and knocked on the door. A tall teenage boy answered, with a mess of curly brown hair.

 “Um…maybe I don’t have the right room.”

“Are you looking for Emma?”

“Yes.”

“Then you do. August Booth, her best friend.” He led David inside. “Emma’s just finishing up getting ready. She overslept, as usual.”

David slowly set down the food. “So…you’re the friend that came with Emma.”

“Yes.”

“And how old are you?”

“18, sir.”

“Are you two…”

August let out a loud laugh. “No, Emma and I are just friends.”

“Right.” David folded his arms over his chest. “I just find it odd that an 18 year old would want anything to do with a 15 year old.”

 August stared at him for a moment, before looking back at the bathroom. His eyes settled back on David, no longer as playful as they were before.

 “You know how Emma and I met?” David shook his head. “She was 3 and the family that had been taking care of her had just put her back into the system. It was pretty traumatic for her. She wouldn’t stop crying, asking for her mommy and daddy. I was only 6, but had been at her new foster home for a while. The parents weren’t the most sympathetic and I knew she’d get in trouble. So the first night when she was crying her head off, I went in her room and comforted her. I snuck her some cookies and gave her my teddy bear to cuddle. I told her that everything was going to be okay.”

 David’s arms slowly started lowering and he felt the heat come to his cheeks. August either didn’t notice or didn’t care, because he kept on going.

 “Emma didn’t last very long there and I eventually was put into a new home, they thought they might want to adopt me. That didn’t work out well. A few years later, we got put in the same home again and this time, we bonded. We looked out for each other and it stayed that way. We stayed in touch when we could, begged to be put in the same homes at other times. I’ve always kept an eye on her. She’s like my baby sister.” August grabbed a mug and took a sip from it. “That’s what an 18 year old is doing with your kid.”

David bit his lip. “I’m sorry. I know I probably have no right to act like a protective…well, anything.”

August shrugged. “It happens. I’m not gonna judge you. From the looks of it, you couldn’t have been that old when she was born.”

“18.”

“Yeah, if I had a kid right now, not sure what I would do. Also why I use protection, though.”

 David couldn’t help but laugh. Maybe this kid wasn’t so bad after all.

 “You brought Emma up here?”

August nodded. “After she met with a lawyer, she asked me. I figured I could use the road trip.” He lowered his voice. “You’re not signing the papers are you?”

David looked towards the door he assumed Emma was behind. “I can’t,” he whispered. “She’s 15. She can’t take care of herself. I just…I’m bringing her to Mary Margaret to give her a chance to decide if she wants to help.”

“Good.”

“Good?”

“Emma can’t be on her own right now. I’d take her in if the state would let me, but let’s face it, I’m fresh out of the system and I live with three other guys. She’s going to be better off with you two.”

“Even though we gave her up?”

“Like I said, you had your reasons. I was adopted too, you know? Before I went in the system.”

“Really?”

August nodded. “I don’t remember too much about my dad, he died when I was 6. But he had always told me about my biological parents. My dad was my biological father’s mentor. He got this girl pregnant in college and they just dropped me off on Marco’s doorstep one night. Never came back for me after he died…at least you’re there for Emma.”

“I’m sure your bio parents had their reasons.”

“Maybe, but I’ll never know.”

 The bathroom door opened and Emma walked out, wearing similar clothes to what she had been in the day before. She smiled when she saw David.

 “You came.”

“I told you I would.” He held up the sandwich wrapped in foil and the cup of hot chocolate. “I brought you breakfast, wasn’t sure if you’d eaten.”

“I’m starving.” She accepted the two from him and sipped the cup. “Hot chocolate?”

“You’re not old enough for coffee.”

Emma rolled her eyes, but the smile stayed on her face. “So, we gonna go see Mary Margaret or what?”

“Let’s go.”

“I’ll be back later, Auggie.”

August nodded and kissed the top of her head. “Be good.”

“Always am,”

 Emma grabbed her backpack and slung it over her shoulder, following David out to his truck. She got in the passenger seat as he slid into his.

 “Seatbelt,” he told her.

Emma rolled her eyes and pulled it on. “Loser.”

“Sorry, I don’t want you to die.”

“Uh huh.” Emma kept studying him as he drove down Main Street. “So, you’re a lawyer?”

“Yup. I’m a partner at my uncle’s firm. I’m mostly in family law.”

“Family for the guy with no family.”

David cleared his throat. “I have a family.”

“Are you and that Killian guy together?”

“Oh, no. We’ve just been living together for years. I’m single. I just meant, I have a mom and a brother. My mom got married not too long ago. To a woman, actually.”

“So, David has two mommies.”

He snorted. “I guess.”

“What happened to your dad?”

“He died when I was young.”

Emma frowned. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright. It was a long time ago and honestly, I never felt like I missed out on anything.”

“Lucky you.”

 David tried to think of the right thing to say, but he came up blank. Emma didn’t seem to want to talk about it anymore, so she flicked on the radio and the smile returned to her face when ACDC’s Highway To Hell began to play. David grinned himself, she clearly had a good taste in music.

Mary Margaret threw her purse over her shoulder as she started to head out of the studio. She had been nervous about returning to Storybrooke after spending so many years WHDH News, but she really loved being in a small town station more. There was so much room for growth and she found herself really loving the staff. Sure, she didn’t get to report on things that exciting, but she found her own way.

 As she walked out, she caught a poster of Herc Akin and let out a tiny sigh. They had gotten into relationship once she got back to Storybrooke and for a while, it seemed like a match made in heaven. He did sports, she was co-anchor of the morning news. Then he proposed and she realized that she didn’t love him. He switched to doing primetime sports and they had barely spoken since.

 She shook it off and walked out to the parking lot. She wanted to take a nap before her dinner with Regina’s family that night. As much as things had changed for her, they had seemed to doubly change for Regina. After Daniel died, Regina had sprung into action. She finished up her degree and got a job for a pretty big corporation in Storybrooke. A few years later, she fell in love and got remarried, adopting Robin’s kids while he adopted Henry. They still accepted Mary Margaret as part of their family and she was grateful to have them.

 When she turned the corner to her car, she saw David. Her stomach flip flopped and firm line formed of her face. She hadn’t spoken to David after she had texted him that Emma was born, that was until she moved back to town. He grilled her as to why she hadn’t told him when their daughter was born and she snapped. Why did he care? He was the one that told her to give her up in the first place? Besides, it didn’t matter. By that point, Emma would be 12 years old, she had a new family. Ever since then, if they saw one another in public, they walked the other way.

 She was going to do just that when he called out to her. She turned on her heel and stormed over to him. “What are you doing here?”

“I need to talk to you.”

“And so you have to come to my work? My god, you haven’t changed a bit…except maybe your hairline.”

David rolled his eyes. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“What is so important that you’d have to come out here?”

He stepped away from the door and gestured to a blonde teenager that was standing there. “Meet Emma, our daughter.”

 Mary Margaret’s eyes widened as she looked over at her. This couldn’t be possible, it just couldn’t. She had been told over and over again that the Swans didn’t want Emma having anything to do with her. The way they worded it, there was no way Emma would ever even know that she was adopted. Yet, there she was. She looked so much like the two of them.

 Emma was staring at her, but shook it up and smiled a little. “Hi,” she whispered.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” Mary Margaret breathed. “How did you find me? I mean…I’m glad you did, it’s just the last time I saw you…you were so tiny.” She thought of the baby that didn’t look big enough to be alive in the NICU. “Now, you’re so…you’re so…” She blinked the tears that came to her eyes. “Are you okay?”

“I’m good, I’m good. I’m not…tiny,” Emma replied with a laugh.

Mary Margaret chuckled. “You have blonde hair.” Just like David, she wanted to add, but couldn’t. She was seriously a perfect blend of them both.

“Em,” David said, nudging her a bit. “You wanna tell Mary Margaret why we’re here?”

“Oh, right.” Emma dug through her backpack and pulled out the forms she had shown David the night before. “I need your signature. I can’t get emancipated without it.”

“Emancipated?” Mary Margaret had to let herself adjust. “From…your parents? The Swans?”

“The foster system, she was never adopted,” David cut in.

Mary Margaret tilted her head. “What…that’s not possible. You had a family, they told me…you had a family.”

“It’s a long story,” Emma said. “I went with the Swans for a few years but then they got pregnant and John lost his job. There was only enough for one kid and well, the one who didn’t share their DNA got the boot.”

 Mary Margaret couldn’t believe this. How could this be happening? The Swans were good people, would they really get rid of one kid just because they fell on hard times?

“So, you’ve been in the system this whole time,” Mary Margaret whispered.

“Just since I was three.”

“Still…I would’ve thought…”

“That I’d be adopted?”

“It was what was supposed to happen. They were supposed to get you a family.”

“There’s a lot of things they’re supposed to do. Look, I just can’t take it anymore. However, a lawyer told me that if I got you two to sign off on it, I could be free. I guess you two are still legally my parents.”

 Mary Margaret looked over at David, who had this look in his eyes. It was almost as if he knew what she was feeling. Emma was only 15, her birthday had been the day before. She couldn’t be on her own, she was far too young.

 “I…I can’t,” she whispered.

Emma took a small step back. “What?”

“Emma, you’re 15. How are you going to take care of yourself?”

“I have savings and I’ll get a work permit…please. I cannot go back into the system. Do you know what it’s like? Drunk foster moms and pervy foster fathers. And even if you manage to get a good family, something will go wrong and you end up in a shit one.”

Mary Margaret flinched, not wanting to imagine her daughter going through all that. “I won’t let you end up in another bad home. If we’re still legally your parents, then I can take you.”

“What about me?” David stepped forward. “I could take her too.”

 Mary Margaret raised an eyebrow and looked over at him again.

 “I’m sorry, I didn’t think you’d want that.”

“I’m the one that’s been helping her.”

“Right, you were so much help when you told me to put her up for adoption.”

“What did you want me to do? Propose? Marry you? The last time I saw you, you didn’t want a kid either!”

“I didn’t want a lot of things! I didn’t want to have feelings for some meathead quarterback!”

David’s eyes widened. “What meathead quarterback?”

“No.”

“Because you said we were nothing more than a one night stand.”

“We weren’t.”

“Yeah, then why are you upset?”

“Because you upset me, David!”

“Oh my God, get over it!” Emma exclaimed, causing both of them to look over at her. “So, he let you down. Like you haven’t let anyone down before.”

Mary Margaret bit her lip. “Emma…”

“Did you even consider keeping me? Either of you?”

“I did,” she whispered. “I…I was going to. Even after we agreed to place you for adoption.”

“What?” Emma and David asked at the same time.”

“I was going to keep you,” Mary Margaret looked at Emma and Emma alone. “I had a plan. I’d get a job and a place to live, it’d be us against the world.”

“What happened?” Emma asked, wonder in her eyes.

“You were born early, I was barely 6 months along. I didn’t have anything for us yet and I knew I wouldn’t by the time you were out, so I had to give you, your best chance.”

 Emma stared at her for a moment, not saying anything. Mary Margaret felt like she was going to cry. She could remember the day she was released from the hospital, going back to her dorm. She had to go to class the next day and act like nothing had happened. Like she didn’t have a baby in the NICU waiting on a family. She had gone to visit her a few more times until they told her that they had found Brenda and John Swan. They had made it clear that Mary Margaret was no longer welcome.

 “Which is what I have to do now,” Mary Margaret continued. “I’m going to file for custody of you.”

“We’re filing for joint custody,” David said.

Mary Margaret shut her eyes. She wanted to argue with him, but knew that she couldn’t. He had every right to Emma, just as much as she did. “We’ll figure it out.”

“I…I don’t want this,” Emma said. “I don’t want parents, I want to be emancipated.”

“That’s not what’s right for you, Emma,” David told her.

“And how would you know? Because you bought me breakfast one time?”

Pain filled David’s eyes and Mary Margaret wished she didn’t, but she felt for him. “Just let us be there for you.”

“Maybe we won’t be your parents right away, but we want to be,” Mary Margaret added.

“No.” Emma shook her head. “No. I’m going back to Boston.”

 She started walking away and Mary Margaret went to go after her.

 “Emma!”

“Just let me go! You did it once! It shouldn’t be that hard to do it again!”

 With that, Emma stormed out of the parking lot and was soon out of their line of vison. Mary Margaret shut her eyes, tilting her head back.

Mary Margaret knew she should’ve let David go, but somehow found herself inviting him to have a drink at her loft. God knew they both needed it. She poured David out some scotch and they sat down at the counter, staring at their glasses.

 “What are we going to do?”

“Call her social worker, tell her what we want,” David said. “We’ll have to get our places checked out before we can take her in, but they’ll both probably pass.”

“How do you know this?”

“Lawyer.”

“Right.” Mary Margaret sipped her drink. “God, this was the last thing I was expecting when I woke up today.”

“How do you think I felt last night?” He was quiet for a minute. “Were you really going to keep her?”

Mary Margaret nodded. “I only went to Columbia so no one else would know.”

“Were you ever gonna tell me?”

She let out a deep breath through her nose. “One day…maybe?” She looked up at him. “If I lied would that make you feel better?”

David shook his head. “I deserved it. I’m sorry.”

“David…”

“No, I really am. Look, I was wrong to tell you to give her up.”

“Maybe it was her best chance. We were only 18, what could we give her?”

“More than the system would’ve.”

“True.” She took another gulp of her drink, cringing at how it burned her throat.

David let out a deep breath, running his fingers through his hair. “How did we end up in this situation anyway?”

“You and Kathryn had that big argument. None of your so called friends were being supportive, so we agreed to talk.” Mary Margaret laughed in spite of herself. “I told you it was too loud, so we went into the guest room and the more we talked…the closer we got on that bed and ya know…”

“Emma was created,” David mused, a soft smile on his face.

“She has your smile.”

“She has your eyes. I always really liked your eyes.”

 David leaned over, putting a hand on her cheek. She looked at him, her breath catching. Soon, his lips were connected to hers and her tongue was halfway to his throat. They were kissing and she wasn’t even sure how it had happened. Quickly pulling away, she smoothed down her shirt.

 “We have to go get her,” she said.

David nodded, clearing his throat. “Yeah, you’re right.”

“Has she been staying with you?”

“No, an old foster brother gave her a ride into town, they’re staying at Granny’s.”

“Then I guess we’re going to Granny’s.”

[creativitytoexplore]

The Konigsberg Affair by David W Landrum https://ift.tt/34GKli0 In Nazi Germany, a US diplomat discovers a clandestine smuggling operation, and must make a difficult choice; by David W Landrum.

My secretary told me the meeting with Golper was on and that he was waiting for me at a small restaurant seven miles away. Since it was urgent, I left at once. I stuck the reports of the incident that involved him into a diplomatic case, headed to the garage, and threw the satchel into the sidecar of my BMW R75 motorcycle. I am the only US diplomat who lives in this part of the German state of Prussia. We have a Consulate in Konigsberg, but there are enough Americans in the local settlements and surrounding countryside to warrant having a representative for them so they did not have to go all the way to K-Town when they needed something or got into a scrape. I pulled out on the road that led to the largest town in the area. To my left, the Baltic, grey and choppy, spread north toward Scandinavia and the Arctic. Gulls screeched. The road was clear that morning. I turned the throttle open and felt the cold, raw morning air buffet my face. I liked riding in weather like this. Sometimes after a long ride on a blustery day my face felt like the top layer of skin had been sandpapered off, but the pain was worth the thrill of riding fast, of wind, mist, and rain on my skin - and of nothing ahead but the air and the road. My R75 ran like a dream. The Germans know how to build machines. For a little while, I could forget my job as a diplomat. Americans over here got in trouble. They had affairs with German wives, young boys, underage girls; they got drunk and in fights in bars; they swindled people and took advantage of the local populace. Then they ran (sometimes literally) to the house where I lived and worked to ask for help - or for refuge. Sometimes I felt like a priest who, through years of sitting in the confession booth, knows the pathetic or shocking sins of the people in his parish. I knew the sins of my countrymen - and countrywomen. Though I could shove these sordid episodes into a compartment in my mind, they always were there to emerge and mess with my gut. The outlines of the small city where I was to meet Golper appeared. I saw the old church tower and the roofs of the buildings around the city square. People were out shopping, visiting, transacting business. On the courthouse a Nazi banner flapped in the sea breeze. I slowed to a halt, parked my motorcycle at the address the ambassador had given me, climbed off, and headed for the gasthöff where Golper had agreed to meet with me. I went in and saw him sitting at a table, a stein of beer in front of him. His three bodyguards - I assumed they were this - sat at a table near the front door. Two local citizens sat and played dominoes at a table a little further off. Golper looked up and gave me a crooked smile. "Welcome, Mr. Popper." I sat down, looked over at his bodyguards and back at him. "You guys are causing me woe," I said. "We're sorry, of course. I guess I should have been a good little boy and let those bastards beat the hell out of me like they did to the Kaltenborn family, Samuel Bossard, Harold Dahlquist and Roland Velz." He had recited the names of American citizens assaulted by German paramilitary the past few months. Meacham Golper had lived here several years. He came from New York and had grown up in the ethnic sprawl of the Big Apple. From a German-speaking home, he fit right into this area of Europe. He spoke Deutsch so well the Germans could not believe he was not a native. He also spoke fluent Polish - besides English and Yiddish and Russian. His polyglot abilities landed him in international business. He managed a highly profitable shipping firm in Konigsberg, though he lived out in the country in a palace built by the Teutonic knights. Of late, he had landed in a conflict with the government. Government - it would be more accurate to say he got in a conflict with the thugs and criminals running in packs across Germany now that Hitler and Röhm had come to power. The brownshirts loped through the streets of German cities like gangs looking for people to intimidate. They had frightened most of the population of Berlin, Cologne, Munich and Frankfurt, into submission. Konigsberg too. Every now and then a contingent of them showed up in our small city. They strutted around flying Nazi banners and singing patriotic songs. Everyone knew to give the arm-extending Hitler salute when the passed by. Foreigners who did not do so, and German citizens who were not aware of the new requirement, were roughed up. Golper caused a row by turning the tables on the brownshirts one afternoon. Out for a stroll, he turned a corner and came upon a parade of maybe twenty Sturmabteilung marching down the main street of town. Five of them in the rear beat drums and played trumpets and fifes. Two in front carried Nazi standards - the now-familiar red banner with a white circle and black swastika in the center. The town folk, most of who were politically conservative and did not like the Nazis, knew enough to cheer and stick their arms up. Some even said, "Sieg heil," or "Heil Hitler." Golper knew what was expected but stood with his hands in his pockets and watched the troupe go by. The reaction came immediately. The two commanders of the brownshirt unit broke ranks and strode over to where he stood. They demanded he give the salute. "I'm an American," he answered in his flawless, unaccented German. "Since I am not a citizen of your country, I am not compelled to salute the symbol of your ruling party. I only salute my own nation's flag." They stood, fulminating. Legally, he was right. Still, they were piqued and wanted to have the last word. This is where the trouble started. "Maybe so," one of them said. "But people who observe that you do not salute the symbol of our Fatherland might get the wrong idea. They don't know you are an American. They might suppose you are a disloyal German - or a Communist or a Jew." "I am not a Communist," Golper said, "but I am a Jew." The younger of the two, I was told by a couple of eye-witnesses, turned beet red and, in a spasm of rage, drew back his arm to strike Golper. He never delivered the blow. In a split second, one of Golper's bodyguards knocked him cold. The other brownshirt leader, who was older, stared a moment, stunned, roared out his anger, and lunged at Golper. Another KO put him down on the cobblestones. The parade had stopped and the brownshirts gaped at what had just befallen their leaders. Most of them were just kids - members of the Jungenbond, a sort of perverted version of the Boy Scouts the Nazis had come up with. They stared and, seeing Golper's tall, Aryan-looking bodyguards eyeing them, turned tail and ran. Now I had to undo the damage at the diplomatic level. "We need to talk about it," I said. "Beer always helps," he answered. He ordered me one. Golper had red hair and the kind of ruddy face that went along with having red hair. I would put his age at a little over forty. I knew from my file that he had fought with distinction in World War I. He had built his shipping business up from nothing. Today he was worth millions. The waitress brought a stein over. The Germans drink their beer at room temperature. "I do miss a good cold one," Golper said, reading my expression. "A toast." I raised my glass indicating that he could propose it. "To the Sturmabteilung - bad health and short life." He said this in German. I scanned the room, afraid someone had heard us. The two men up front did not look up from their game of dominoes. The waitress had walked back to the bar and was washing glasses. "I see they have you on edge too." "It might be best to accommodate them." "Popper, I would rather shovel shit than show deference to those goddamned thugs. Shoveling shit is an honest living, so it would be preferable to accommodating the stormtroopers, as they call themselves - which is also a travesty. I fought against General Hutier's stormtroopers in France during the War, and I respected them. They were tough. These paltry bastards wouldn't have lasted two days in one of his units." I looked over at the three men sitting at the table on the other side of the room. "So who are your bodyguards?" I asked. "Would you like to meet them?" We got up and went over to see them. They rose as we approached. Ironically, the men looked like they could have been members of the Sturmabteilung. Tall, blond, they had the bearing of soldiers. They were trim, fit, and muscular. "Gentlemen, let me introduce you to my friend. This is Shimen Lapid, Eli Shalit, and Michael Hartman. Gentlemen, may I present to you the representative of the United States government for this district, Solomon Popper." "Joel," I said. This rankled me. I go by my middle name, Joel, not by my given name of Solomon. That bastard Golper knew I was a Jew and meant to make a point of it. The way I was raised, I feel as out of place in a synagogue as a snake-handler from Kentucky would feel in an Episcopal Church. Except for having a little better food on the Sabbath and my sisters getting married under a canopy, there was nothing to distinguish me from any other New Yorker. When questionnaires had a set of choices for "Religious Preferences," I always checked "Other." Of the three men, two were American and one Russian. I found out, in our short conversation, that all of them were Zionist settlers from British Palestine. A report circulated to the Consulate suggested Golper had a connection with the endeavor of settling Jews in that territory, though we had no more information on it. Their presence suggested the connection was more significant than the embassy imagined. The men, polite but taciturn, settled back to their beer. Golper and I returned to our table. "I didn't know you had a connection with the Palestinian project," I told him when we were seated and sipping our beer once more. "I have a connection, yes. I'm even helping your friend and mistress Anoushka get there. She and her family will be safe when the Nazi tyranny fully engulfs this land." I had broken up with Anoushka three months ago. Golper seemed to have his own private intelligence-gathering agency and a thick file on me. "Anything else you would like to tell me about myself that I don't know?" He laughed. "I don't normally get mixed up in local politics, especially with a bunch of overgrown boys who like to play soldier and think wearing a swastika arm band makes them one. But this time I couldn't put up with the insults." "I'll grant as much, but what you did will only provoke more harassment." "Like what happened to those Americans in Berlin? Is our government going to stand by and let those gangsters abuse us like they've been doing lately?" "We've filed protests over all of those incidents. Of course, your bodyguards complicated things." "Were they supposed to just stand by and let the krauts beat me up so you could lodge a protest?" "We're doing all we can, Mr. Golper, to protect our citizens over here. You called the brownshirts a gang, and your characterization is accurate. They are a gang and they act like a gang. They'll want to avenge the members of their band of thugs that you hurt. They're mobilizing the ST units from Konigsberg, Zinten, and Insterburg to converge on our city for a rally that could easily turn violent. You might be targeted." "Can't you protect the Americans in this region?" "We'll try our best. But picking fights with the brownshirts is not a good strategy for creating a peaceful environment." "I won't gainsay that. I'll try to be more careful." He looked around and lowered his voice. "And, by the way, Mina sends her greetings." Up to now he had failed to get a rise out of me. This jab hit home. I sat silent a long moment and then spoke. "You must spend a lot more time over in Palestine than I realized." "I've got to go now. Come to my place tonight at six. Dinner. I'll explain it all to you. You might find it an interesting conversation." He drained his beer and left me sitting there. His three bodyguards followed him out the door. When I got back on my bike, I opened it up all the way. The motorcycle shot along the road at top speed. I felt the vibration of the engine shake my body and the wind batter my frame, chilling me to the bone. Back at my residence I told my valet I did not want to be disturbed, poured a whisky, and down in a chair. I gazed out the window at the grey sky and the slate-colored water of the Baltic Sea. Though the water was rough, five cargo ships went by as I sat there and drank. All of them might have belonged to Golper. He knew something about Mina Lavington, who, since she had settled in Palestine, went by the name of Chava Zurer. Mina was my first lover. Golper knew how to throw good punches. I never imagined he could reach into my life to pluck a string that would resonate so painfully. I knew her in school. We went to a rough school, and as a Jewish girl she took a lot of crap from people. She got it from teachers as well as students. Mina was smart and sharp - athletic too. She did gymnastics and played on the girls' softball team. Our families were friends. She graduated in the top ten of our class. I think she might have been valedictorian if some of her teachers had not graded her so hard because she was a Jew. We hung out. I got my first kiss from her. And, one night, after we went to see the Dodgers play, she asked me to come to her family's apartment. I was so naïve I focused my mind on how to make a good impression on her family. When we got there, the place was deserted. It was the first time for both of us, I remembered our clumsiness, her hymeneal blood, my over-eagerness, but I also remember how sweet it was. She and I were lovers from our junior year. We might have walked the old familiar road of marriage and kids but that she went away for a summer to work on a farm - she called it a kibbutz - in the Jewish area of Palestine. She left in May and returned in August. I registered amazement when I saw her. Of course, there was the tan, but she looked taller and stronger. She seemed more confident. Talking with her, I found out she had become an ardent Zionist. This rattled me. Mina had never been political. A lot of kids in my school had picked up on the Marxist ideas going around, but Mina never paid much attention to any sort of ideology. When she came back from Palestine, though, she had brought the notions of the Zionist movement hook, line, and sinker. I wondered if maybe she had found a new guy over in the Promised Land. If she had, it did not end what she and I had shared. Three days after we were back, and at her bidding, we rented a room and spent the night. She felt so different in my arms I could hardly believe it was the same woman. We made love at dusk and then at night and again at three am. We sneaked out before the sun came up and constructed alibis about where we had been. Her increased strength seemed to have increased her desire, which was fine with me. She talked a lot about Palestine, the Jewish people, and Zionism. I listened to her stories. Her eyes lit up as she talked about the increasing number of Jews settling in the British colony; of how they were draining the swamps and transforming the country from a fen to a place of productive farms where everyone owned a share and lived as equals. "We work hard. We do strength training. We've got to be strong to defend ourselves. So I've done calisthenics, weight work-outs, hiking and running." "Who do you have to defend yourself against?" "Bandits. Arab militants. They attack us sometimes. I think you would like it there, Joel. You could train some guys there to box." Inspired by Barney Ross, Max Baer and other champion Jewish fighters, I had trained at boxing clubs since I was in high school. "You should come over with me next summer." As it turned out, I did not go with her. I finished a second whisky and went to clean up and change. Dinners at Golper's place were usually fancy affairs. I didn't ride my motorcycle. The US government knows that good-quality vehicles are necessary to create a classy impression of their diplomatic corps and had blessed me with a Cord 812 Phaeton - a car that dazzled the Germans to no end. I drove through the deepening darkness and arrived at Golper's place. The windows were brightly lit. Stars gleamed over the turrets of the old castle. I had expected something like a gala, but only my vehicle occupied the circular driveway. I parked. A valet came to escort me inside. Golper, dressed elegantly for dinner, greeted me. Standing not far from him was Mina. I had not seen her in eight years. In high school, she was just a girl - a beautiful, strong, mature girl to be sure, but not quite an adult. Now I saw her in the fullness of her womanhood. She wore her hair long. She still possessed the strength that I had noticed the first year she came back from Palestine, but looked comfortable with it, whereas that first year she had seemed awkward with it. Now, settled into herself, she wore her strength and her full maturity with confidence. I admired, just for a second, the light brown hair, green eyes, symmetrical face that was square and beautifully featured, eyes, straight nose, a small, slightly bowed mouth, her strong shoulders and full breasts mounted atop a slender waist and long legs. She wore a simple blue blouse and a black skirt that came to the middle of her knees. I had to remind myself not to stare. In a flash my mind remembered her in her beautiful white nakedness: the slope of her arms and shoulders, her breasts with dark nipples above her flat stomach and powerful rib cage, the strong thighs and swath of dark brown hair that thatched her opening. Her firm knees and ankles gave uplift to the top part of her body. I thought of the gasping way she made love, of how she had educated me into the mysteries of sexuality, and of what a marvelous teacher she had been. It seemed like a dream now. She stepped forward. "Hello, Joel. It so good to see you again." She took hold of my shoulders and gave me a kiss. The kiss generated even more specificity of memory. "Wonderful to see you, Mina. You're more beautiful than ever." "I like to think I'm better looking than when I was a gawky eighteen-year-old girl." "Gawky you never were." Golper, who had been watching all this with benign amusement, gestured toward the dining room. "Shall we eat?" He escorted us to the next room. A long table occupied the center. Two young women in black maid's livery stood nearby. Broad windows on the north side looked out on the Baltic. Stars pulsated white and blue and reflected in the expanse of water. Lights of ships moving across the sea-lanes added their artificial glow to the night. The servers brought in salad to begin the meal. I felt too anxious to talk to Mina - like when I was fifteen and too nervous to talk to girls I liked. She looked over at me and smiled. I remembered her smile in her bedroom when her parents were away, the lights of the City filtering in, the shadows on her body accentuating her curves and lines. "I hear some good things about you, Joel," she said. "I'm surprised anyone in Palestine hears about me." "Quite the opposite. Your journalism is popular. Your article on the anti-Semitism in the State Department circulated all over the protectorate." "That was a stupid thing to do and I'm still wondering why I did it. It made me lots of enemies in Washington. I'll probably never go very far in the foreign service because of it." "Why would you want to work for people like that?" "Only a few people in the State Department are biased. I hoped calling attention to it would change that. I think I can do some good by staying in and calling attention to what's wrong on Capitol Hill." "Admirable. It's a lonely post you have." She hardly knew how lonely it was. "Sometimes," I replied. "And you, Mina - I haven't heard much of what you're doing these days." "I live on a communal settlement. We work together - mostly farming. We've started a couple of business ventures as well. I'm also trained as a soldier. We have to fight to defend ourselves." I had already noticed how strong she looked. Even through her dress made out of thick material I could see her strength. As we ate, she gave me a detailed description of her life in a Jewish enclave in Palestine. "We call a collective farm a kibbutz. It's Hebrew. It means 'clump' or 'gathering.' We're learning to speak the language of the ancient Israelites." "Speak it? For everyday conversations? You're using the sacred tongue to talk about how much manure to spread on the cabbage patch?" "Why not? King David did. The settlers who come to our farm and the adjoining area speak Russian, German, Yiddish, Polish, Lithuanian, English... you name it. Rather than trying to accommodate one language, we're just going to start new - going back to our roots." "I'm impressed." "You should be," Golper commented. "And maybe you should be over there yourself." Golper had no doubt done research on me and knew my lack of religious fervor. "I think I can do more good by serving in the US Diplomatic Corps - at least for right now." "We're in agreement on that," Golper said. We had just finished dessert and wine. The serving women would bring us coffee soon, but I could see that the words my host had just spoken were a cue. He had brought me here to ask something of me. Now I would find out what it was. Mina was in on it. The request would undoubtedly relate to the current situation in Palestine. "Do you know much about what's going on in Palestine?" Golper asked. "Only what's been in the news. The settlers and the Arabs are fighting." "The British are worried that the Arabs will support the Germans when war breaks out - and it will break out pretty soon. They have restricted Jewish immigration and will continue to do so." I began to get annoyed. "Look, why don't you just tell me up front what's going on and why you brought me here?" Golper looked over at Mina and then back at me. "I think I can safely tell you, Popper. I'm in the resettlement business. I use my ships to take Jews who emigrate from Russia and the Baltic nations and ferry them to Palestine - Ertz Israel it will eventually be. Now that the British are clamping down, limiting the number of settlers we can bring, we have to do this clandestinely. We also run guns so the settlements can defend themselves." "You didn't invite me over to tell me this." "Do you remember Marion Warner?" he asked. I knew Marion from school. He had been a gung-ho advocate of the Zionist project to settle Jews in Palestine. I liked him because, like me, being a Jew was more of a cultural thing. Unlike me, being Jewish in the secular sense did matter a lot to him. I especially remembered him because he had taken me up in an airplane. He had money, had learned to fly, and owned a DH 60 Cirrus Moth. One sunny afternoon he and I flew the two-seater out to sea. I remembered the exhilaration of flying and the sense of freedom it gave. Marion eventually served four years in the Army Air Corps and then, like Mina, emigrated to Palestine. "I remember him. How does he fit into this?" "He flies for us," Golper said. "For us?" "Mina and I are involved in the immigration project - to get our people to Palestine before war breaks out and Europe shuts down." I glanced out at the Baltic. So that was it. "Your ships from Konigsberg aren't carrying what's on the cargo manifesto?" "They carry what I list. It's just that, below decks, they have a few hundred people we're smuggling into the land." "And how does Warner fit into this?" "He flies missions for us. The Nazis caught him." "Caught him?" "He had some engine trouble and had to land in a field not far from here. The brownshirts captured him. He had a Russian - a military leader we want to get to Israel; the Russians want to keep him for when the Germans attack. The brownshirts are holding them both. He also has some documents on him we don't want them to see." "Why are they holding him?' "They're suspicious. You know how these people work. They have no legal reason to hold him, but they think they are above the law. He's an American citizen. They're holding him illegally." "The consulate in Konigsberg has a lot more clout that I do. Why don't you call them?" "We don't want the Consulate to know about our operation." "Why not?" "A lot of people in Washington are not far from being brownshirts themselves. And there are a whole knot of bankers who are afraid if we antagonize the Nazis they might default on the debts Germany owes us. If they find out we're running an unauthorized operation taking thousands of German Jews out of the country, they'll shut us down." "So you think I'm a loyalist?" "I think you might become one. I know you're not keen on your heritage. Let's be frank and lay our cards on the table. We need your help and you are on our side whether you want to be or not. We know you can trust us because of that." Silence fell - a very tense silence. For a moment I wondered if Golper had brought Mina along to offer to me as a reward if I agreed to the mission, but I dismissed the idea. Still, I thought I would ask. "How does Miss Zurer fit into this?" "I fit in because we used to be in love and because I know our people matter to you." "I've never been religious." "Neither have I. What we're doing is building a homeland. It will be for the religious, yes. But also for people like you and me. Can you help us out?" I looked at her. God, what a beautiful woman, I thought. She and Golper waited for me to reply. "If I agree," I said, "what Mina's role in the deal?" "She will accompany you when you go to arrange for Marion's release. He knows you, of course, but would think you are simply coming because you're the embassy contact in this part of the country. She will be the signal to him that you're okay and that he is to cooperate. And she also will keep you safe." I looked at him and over at her. They were dead serious, though Mina's eyes were soft. I liked to think I saw a spark of the old-time feeling there. The silence had grown too tense. "All right," I said. "I'll see if I can get them to free him." "I think you can, Joel," Golper said. "I hope I'm not overstepping the bounds of propriety by calling you that." "We can be on a first-name basis. Your first name is Meacham, but you've always gone by Melvin." He smiled. "I wouldn't think you could find something like that out." "We have a file on you." Afterward, we went to the parlor. Golper lit up a cigar. I had never smoked. Apparently Mina didn't either. We had some good brandy - too good. After a couple of hours and several glasses of the stuff, Golper stretched in his chair. "You'll never make it home, Popper. You're soused. I don't want you to get in an accident. You can stay here." I might have objected but when I got up out of my chair I almost fell over. I nodded as he chuckled. Mina maintained an austere silence. Golper led me to a room. I settled into a comfortable bed and fell asleep at once. A noise woke me early in the morning and opened my eyes the sky pre-dawn grey over the sea. More noise. I rolled over to see Mina standing just past the door to my room. She wore a simple white cotton nightgown. She smiled at my startled expression. "Nothing has changed, Joel," she said. She pulled the nightgown off. Without any ado or fanfare, she got in bed with me. The grogginess and headache from drinking too much last night miraculously disappeared. She lay down beside me. I gripped and pushed into her. The ripple of strength that came down her back into her hips then into the muscles around her velvety opening sent shocks of pleasure through me. I thanked my lucky stars (couldn't thank God, since I didn't figure he would approve of this) that I had continued to train as a boxer and that my strength was at least equal to hers. I worked out at a local boxing club and sparred with Germans who were into fisticuffs. Mina bucked like a colt, twisted her hips, locked her legs around mine, bit me, swore and cursed in English, Polish, and what I assumed was Hebrew. We went off at the same time. Afterwards, it took me a couple of minutes to get my breath and orient myself. I realized we had not used protection. We lay side by side. I wanted to talk to her, but there are times when silence is the proper utterance. After what must have been ten minutes, she spoke. "I love you." I tried not to laugh and the effort brought a twisted grin to my face. "I can hardly believe that, Mina." "Why?" "You've forged a new life for yourself - without me." "Who says I was without you? A person can live in another person's heart and mind." "You're not in love with one of your fellow kibbutzniks?" "I won't say I haven't had my flings - but they're different - ideological and manipulative. The kibbutz men are like most converts - not to Judaism but to Zionist ideology. They are too zealous and too sure they're absolutely right and the rest of world is wrong. They scorn anyone who compromises what they believe is orthodoxy." I did not reply. A long silence passed then she spoke. "I hope you don't think I slept with you to get you to go on our mission. You can banish that thinking from your mind. I'm not that much of a slut." "You were never a slut." A long silence, then she said, "Come with me to Palestine." "Who's the convert now?" "Not me. I'm not urging you to become a convert to anything. In fact, I want you there so I don't become a convert." "It would be hard to leave what I have." "What do you have, Joel?" "A job I like. The chance at a career." "You shot your career in the foot when you wrote those articles. Those rich goyim don't forget. They won't forget that you called attention to what they don't want anybody to know." She was probably right. I regretted writing those opinion pieces. I had already felt a chill from the higher ups in Berlin (except for Ambassador Dodd, but he was an exceptional man). "Let's get on the other side of this little undertaking. Then we'll talk about the future." I felt a twinge of shame as I looked at her, the curve of her breasts, the beauty of her light hair falling over her shoulders. "You're the most beautiful woman in the world," I said. A sad look crossed her face. "All I hear back home is that I'm a good comrade; or a fine, strong woman who could give birth to a whole platoon of healthy Jewish settlers - like I was breeding stock - a cow or a healthy filly. I get sick of it." "I can't imagine how any man would think of you that way." "They do," she said curtly. She went off to clean up. I lay back and enjoyed the feeling. It had been a while. Occasionally I made it with a woman from the expatriate community - Anoushka Blacoviac being my most frequent lady friend. When she was not able to arrange to be around much, a trusted German associate discretely arranged for me to rendezvous with various whores. It had been a long time since I had slept with a woman I loved - it had, in fact, been the last time I was with Mina. I came down to breakfast. Golper greeted me with a grin that was not supposed to be knowing, but he could not disguise his glee. Mina sat at the table and ate a grapefruit. She had put on a sensible business suit. She would pose as my secretary. As we ate, he gave me the details. The brownshirts had detained Warner and the man he was flying out of Russia. They had not officially arrested him. They did not have authority to make arrests and were afraid they had overstepped their jurisdiction and might get in trouble. Rudolf Diels, the head of the German secret police, was not overly friendly toward the brownshirts. But they suspected Warner of wrongdoing, even of espionage. I needed to get there before they made definite plans. If the Nazi party in Berlin decided to question Warner, he might reveal vital information about the smuggling operation. And, worse, they would recognize the Russian, whose name was Mosin. He was a man the Germans would love to get out of circulation so their troops would never have to fight him. Mina and I headed off in the Cord. The weather had turned cold. The sun and clouds fought for dominance of the sky. A cold, stiff wind blew off the sea. The brownshirts had located their headquarters in an old farmhouse maybe twelve miles from Konigsberg. Swastika banners festooned it. Scores of vehicles circled the place. Armed guards stood near the doors. I saw additional guards had posted farther out from the house. They raised their rifles when we approached, though we had called to tell them we were coming. I slowed. The guards demanded I identify myself and when I did they pointed us to a parking slot. We climbed out of the car and were escorted inside the old, spacious house that had served as residence for a big farming family. It was warm inside. The brownshirts had stoked a fire in the fireplace. Two swastika flags covered the walls. It seemed these people had to have one of those everywhere they went. Guards stood on either side of the desk where their commander sat. He identified himself as Jergen Eibeling - about thirty years old with short blond hair and Nordic face. Like many young Nazis, he looked trim and fit. I wondered if he would give the Nazi salute and expect me to return it. He did not. He got right to the point. "Mr. Council, we are not convinced by your explanation of Mr. Warner's activities." "He is an American citizen, Captain Eibeling. As far as I know, he has committed no crime. He had permission to fly from the Soviet Union into Germany." "And bring a Russian with him?" "He is authorized to carry passengers. The passenger had a valid passport and the necessary paperwork to authorize entrance into the country. Again, no crime was committed." (Mosin's paperwork, Golper had told me, was forged.) He had nowhere to go. He might waste my time and his through obfuscation, but it looked like he did not intend to do so. "We will release him. Your American compatriots, like Mr. Golper, seem to like to make trouble for us. Of course, we would expect as much of Jews." I did not reply. I wondered if he knew I was a Jew - or Mina. Probably not. He would have no way of knowing. The German shuffled a sheaf of paper and then tapped them on the desktop to get them straight. "Take him and the other one too." "The embassy will contact you about the recovery of his aircraft." In a moment they had brought Warren and Mosin in. They looked weary but unharmed. Warren recognized me, though he apparently thought I had just come as a representative of the US government. I gave him a look and he communicated that he would not greet me or seem familiar. It might complicate the procedure if the local commander knew we were friends. And I could also tell he recognized Mina and knew we were working for his spy cell. The four of us went out into the cold, clear day. We got Mosin and Warren into the Cord. Just as Mina was crossing in front of the Cord to get in one the passenger side, a hubbub broke out. I heard shouting and, worse, footsteps of running jackboots and the clatter of arms. Someone shouted, "It's Mosin, it's Mosin!" I turned. Mina ran around to the front of the car. Two brownshirts with rifles rushed toward us. One closed in from the other side. Someone had identified the Russian. They did not intend to let him get away. As I stood there, paralyzed with fear, not certain what to do, shots rang out. The two Germans coming at me fell to the pavement only a foot away, their bright blood spurting out, staining the cobblestones, and smoking in the chilly air. A shot sounded behind me. I turned. Mina stood over the prostrate body of a stormtrooper. She had shot him with a pistol. She looked up. "Let's get out of here." I broke from my lethargy. More shots sounded. Brownshirts swarmed out of the building but were brought down by rifle and machinegun fire coming from a copse of trees fifty yards beyond their headquarters. I caught a glimpse of Lapid, Shalit, and Hartman. They were our back-up. They had taken down the first two Germans and now were engaging the group of them that had surged from their headquarters building. I sped around to the driver's door. As I did, Mina turned to get into the car. I saw three stormtroopers round the corner of the building. They were only thirty feet away. Instinct for protection kicked in. I dove, picked up one of the rifles from the fallen guards, leveled it, and fired just as they were drawing a bead on Mina. The bullet glanced off the rifle the brownshirt in the middle had aimed. I think (I was never certain) its velocity knocked the weapon out of the center guard's hands and ricocheted, hitting the one to his left. The one in the center fell, knocking the third guard over. I fired at them as they tried to get up. If they got a shot off, they could hit Mina or me. They could puncture the tires or the engine or gas tank on my Cord. I'm not a good shot, but I hit all three of them, threw down the rifle, and dove into the front seat. (I later found out I had wounded all them severely, but they did recover, fought through and survived the war.) Gunfire rang as I screeched out of the compound and on to the road. I immediately got off the main highway and and on to the rural routes and backroads I knew from riding my motorcycle. Fortunately, the Phaeton was a fast car and we rapidly put distance between us and the Germans. When we were a safely away from the compound, I turned to Mina. "So," I said. She looked at me. Those eyes. "So?" "So this was a set-up?" Warren and Mosin began to converse quietly in the back seat, speaking Russian. "Not like you think. We knew things might not go as planned. We had a back-up course of action." "So Golper's bodyguards were in place and armed, and you had a gun?" "Yes. And we have a plan to get you out of Germany." Realization struck. This incident that would cost me my job and my freedom. Diplomats do not shoot nationals of the country where they are posted. The fallout would be intense. I would be hung out to dry. I would probably spend the rest of my life, or the best part of it, at Sing-Sing or Alcatraz with Al Capone and Baby-Face Nelson. "We've arranged for you to get on a ship and come to Israel." I looked at her. I stared so long I almost ran off the road. "We? Who are 'we'?" "Mr. Golper and his associates." I gripped the steering wheel. Mina leaned toward me. "We didn't want this to happen, Joel," she said, trying to express her sincerity through tone of voice. "But we knew it could happen. We had plans if it did." "Plans that mean exiting the life I've lived up to now?" "What life, Joel? You've never married. From what Meacham tells me, you don't have many friends. After those articles you wrote, your career will go nowhere. Those high-ups in Washington who hated your exposé of their attitudes toward us will delight to see you tarred and feathered and sent to prison." I said nothing. By now our two passengers had quieted down and were listening to our conversation. She went on. "That's not because you couldn't have all of those things I mentioned that you don't have. You had them with me. I had them with you. Since we went our separate ways, neither of us has much of anything in life." She paused. "They'll to block the roads. Can you find Niederwerrenstrausser?" "It's about a mile up ahead." "We'll ditch the car there. Someone will pick us up and take us to the ship." "To take me to Palestine?" "It's your choice. You can stay here and face the music if you want to." The full impact of what I had done began to register even more clearly. The mission to free Warren was unauthorized. I had allied myself with a clandestine organization. In my role as a representative of the United States Foreign Service, I had shot and possibly killed three representatives of the new German government - a government with whom our relations were tense. Mina had nailed it. I had interfered with the arrest of two figures the Germans considered criminals opposed to their government. I was a dead duck. We turned on Niederwerrenstrausser. A mile down the road I saw Golper and his three bodyguards (who had emerged from the gunfight unscathed). We all got out of the car. I wanted to slug Golper but restrained myself. He had me by the balls. My life depended on his good will. He knew it too. He grinned. "You'll like Palestine, Popper," he said. "We've got everything set up. You'll go there with Mina." I looked over at her. Her beauty brought a little comfort in the grimness of the whole thing. I had no choice, but at least I would be with her. It would be like old times, though I would never have wanted it to happen like this. "I'll see to it that you get your car. We've already stolen your motorcycle and packed it on a freighter - and your clothes and personal belongings. I think we got most everything you own. If you'll trust me with your access number, I'll transfer all your money to a Swiss bank before they freeze your assets." He would know I owned no property. Looking out to the sea, I saw a ship sitting at anchor. Two men were speeding from it in a motorboat. They would get us on the ship and take us to Palestine. No choice and no way out. I nodded. Mina came over and took my hand. We stood by the grey, choppy waters of the Baltic and watched as the boat slowed down and drew to shore.