OP-DEC: Operation Deceit

Chapter 16

Claire woke to the same grim scene. She rolled onto her back and saw the low, arched ceiling hovering above. The light on the desk was off, leaving only the weak stream of light from the slit of the curtain. Claire sat up. She rubbed her neck and yawned, feeling the weight of the jacket Carsten had given her earlier.

"Hungry?" Carsten's voice broke through the muffled sounds of the grinding engine. He sat on the stool, peering through the dimness at her. The end of his cigarette brightened.

Claire refused to acknowledge him. She wanted to hang onto the lies of her dreams a moment longer. Parties in New York danced in her memory. She saw friends and acquaintances, shopped and ate at restaurants that smelled wonderful.

"Yeah, I could eat," Claire answered after the long pause.

"It would concern me a great deal if you could not," Carsten joked.

Claire swung her legs over the edge of the bunk. His joke died in her coolness. She pulled his jacket tighter around her small frame.

"I'll be back with some dinner," Carsten said.

Carsten's shadow blotted the light as he left. Claire lifted her eyes. The hatchway yawned before her. The men who now owned her life were at work on the other side. They maintained a businesslike calm, and she assumed this was a good sign. Beyond them, the captain stood by the other hatch, near the small kitchen. He chatted with someone on the other side, and two sets of legs moved in the shadows. Carsten leaned out, smiling and talking. The cigarette bobbled on his lip. He'd traded his suit for a pair of work pants and a mariner's sweater. It was more natural on him, especially since he hadn't shaved and his hair was tousled.

Claire studied him, deciding he better resembled the title Fritzy than the appellation of Apollo. Still, she wondered how someone who appeared so virtuous could also be such a monster. Her eyes trailed down the jacket she wore. It smelled of him. She stretched her arms out. The cuffs still hung past her fingertips, so she rolled them. Stretching her legs out, she looked at her feet and frowned. Her toe had made a hole in her stocking. Thinking about the devil in gift wrap, she pulled the toe of her stocking and watched it sag back. Such nice things could be so easily destroyed by one tiny hole.

Carsten had been surprisingly kind since they'd left the yacht. She tried to remind herself of the gun he waved in the theater, in the car and in her home. He hadn't shown the gun since he'd closed her and her aunt in the yacht cabin. She supposed he found no need to. Others brandished their weaponry for him. He made them do his dirty work. Much like her stocking, in him, she saw much squandered worth. She returned to the hole her toe had made, as though pulling at it would make the threads bind back together.

"Here you are." Carsten's voice startled her, as he entered the hatch and came through the curtain.

Claire opened her mouth to speak, but she closed it quickly, deciding not to. He stood there holding a plate of food and bearing a gentle smile. Claire took the offering and sat it on her lap. The food resembled a half palatable blue plate special from a roadside diner. Regardless, it was food and she was starved. Claire picked up the fork, assured the flavors would soon remind her that his kindness was only to curry favor with her father-when payment came, Carsten would want her father to remember his efforts and extend his gratitude a bit further.

Carsten set a tin mug down then snatched up the luggage, placing it beside Claire on the bench. He grabbed his stool and set it beside the small cabinet. He sat, stretching his legs the length of the room at Claire's feet. Claire stuffed the first forkful in her mouth, careful to keep her feet away from him. She soon forgot the uncomfortable arrangement, impressed by the fare they'd served. The Germans seemed to have standards after all. These men faced the possibility of a horrible death day after day, so she supposed their superiors would supply them with the best. She eyed her plate, knowing how food could offer consolation.