“He would call my name—‘Clara Schwartz! Clara Schwartz!’ ”
“And then what would happen?”
“Agna would get a horrible stomachache—and I would appear.”
“And this required the medication?”
“At first. Then I didn’t need it anymore. Oh God, she’s coming back!” She doubled over as if in pain, clutching her abdomen. She moaned in agony, then slumped back to her bed.
After a few moments, her eyelids fluttered open. “Where am I?” she asked in a sweet voice.
“Where do you think you are?”
“England? Is it London?” She turned to him, her voice Agna’s but older, a young woman’s voice. “Where is my husband? My daughter?”
“What are their names?”
“Why, Edmund and Margaret. Edmund and Margaret Hope, of course. May I see them? I must see them!” Tears began to spill from her eyes. Suddenly she started, as if pierced by memory, and put a hand to her heart. “And Peter.”
“Peter?” Dr. Carroll looked down at his file. “Peter who?”
“You can’t tell them,” she whispered. “No one must know.”
“No, no, of course not—but who else must you see?”
“Peter. Peter Frain.”
The woman clutched her abdomen. “It hurts, it hurts so much …”
Then came Clara Schwartz’s rough voice again, as if nothing had happened. “The Aryan woman is not the concubine of the Jew! It’s revolting and wrong! It’s against the natural order of racial purity! Does a lion mate with a tiger? No! It’s all about breeding. If a Jew mates with an Aryan, they should be sterilized. Any offspring should be sterilized.”
“This is what you are taught?”
“Yes.”
“Why were you taught to hate?”
“To get me ready for the mission.”
“ ‘The mission’?”
“To London. To Edmund Hope.”
“Who were you when you were with Edmund Hope?” Dr. Carroll decided to press further. “Did Agna know Edmund Hope?”
“I went to London, and Edmund knew only Agna. Grown-up Agna.”
“Why?”
“Why?” Clara shrugged. “Agna is … lovable.” She grimaced with disgust. “Like a fluffy cottontail bunny. And Edmund was an idiot. Plus, Agna didn’t know anything. Not about the training, not about the mission. She could never confess anything, even under torture. Agna was the perfect dupe.”
She smirked. “Of course they fell in love.”
Dr. Carroll was on the telephone in his office. “Frain, I know what you think. But you must come, you must see her for yourself.”
“I’m not up for a dog-and-pony show, Carroll. We’re at war, if you haven’t forgotten, and while we’re bracing for the Kraut invasion, that doesn’t mean we don’t have any number of domestic threats, as well.”
“Half an hour. Give me just thirty minutes. There’s a new personality I want you to observe—an adult Agna. She’s the one who was present in London—she’s the one who married Edmund Hope, who gave birth to Maggie Hope … It was the personality of Clara who was the spy, but Agna was also in London.”
“No.”
“If she indeed has multiple personae, some of them are innocent. Then I must insist on getting another medical opinion before letting you proceed with this execution.”
“Get as many opinions as you want, Doctor. But they won’t sway mine. Unless Clara Hess is willing to cooperate, she’ll be shot on December seventh. Let’s see—that gives you until Sunday.”
The phone rang, the bell shrill in the empty office. Kramer waited for Mrs. Edgars to answer it for him, then realized he’d already sent her home. He picked up the black receiver and barked, “Kramer.”
“I’ve found something.” It was Bratton. “You need to come over, quick.”
“After your crying wolf last week?” Kramer snapped. “I don’t think so.”
“Just because the wolf wasn’t there last Sunday doesn’t mean there’s not a wolf,” Bratton retorted.
“Fine, fine.” Kramer sighed. “I’ll be right there.” He dropped Mrs. Edgars’s translation into his overflowing in-box, to be dealt with the following Monday.
When Kramer arrived at Bratton’s office, he was cold, damp, and even more annoyed. “You scared everyone to death last week,” he admonished, brushing melting snowflakes off the shoulders of his overcoat. “What is it this time?”
Bratton seemed oblivious to Kramer’s sharp tone. “Tokyo’s alerted its embassy here to stand by for a long message in fourteen parts.”