Aleksandra Page 10

  "We also believe Heydrich is working his way to the top. Not even Hitler's job as the führer is safe with Heydrich on his heels. The man is ruthless, cunning, and altogether evil," Mikhail added.

  Aleksandra didn't like the sound of either man and wanted to stay as far away from them as possible. "I assume they are impossible to get to?"

  Out of the corner of her eye she saw Ilya nod. "Yes. To protect a top spy by the name of Franta, who was high up in the Abwehr—the German spy division—several Czech partisans tried to kill Heydrich in May of last year but failed. In his egotistical manner, Heydrich drove in an open, unprotected car with only a single driver. They succeeded in wounding him, but he somehow managed to get to a hospital. Himmler sent his personal physician, but he never made it. His body was found several days later. In his medical bag were capsules filled with botulinum and cyanide. Either of the two poisons would have killed Heydrich had the doctor only made it to the hospital."

  Ilya finished his coffee and swiped the back of his hand over his mouth. "It was also thought that the Czechs laced the bomb with poison, but that hasn't been verified. It was all for nothing since Franta was found out, along with Canaris, who was instrumental in almost every spy operation throughout Europe. Losing them has been a catastrophic blow. We received word Heydrich has set up compounds in Ukraine and Lithuania. We've also heard rumors about Poland, but nothing concrete has turned up in any of those places. Until we substantiate them as fact, we can't afford to send men out looking."

  "So, you need us to find out the truth about these camps. What about getting rid of Bormann—and perhaps Heydrich and Himmler, too, if we're lucky?" Mikhail pushed his empty cup away, his frown directed at his fingers linked with Natalya's. A soft kaleidoscope of colors appeared around the couple, and she felt a building energy between them. She concentrated on their auras but the colors faded from view. What had she just witnessed?

  "Why are you scowling at us?" Natalya stared at her with a quizzical expression on her face.

  Aleksandra shook her head. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize I was. I was wondering what exactly we're going to do."

  A sudden stillness invaded the room. All three men's heads rose, and a tenseness beat at her. The front door banged open, followed by the sound of footsteps. Ilya stood, motioning for them to stay still, and walked toward the hallway, his own steps silent as he crossed the wood-planked floor. She caught a glimpse of the elderly woman who'd served them coffee. The woman handed him something then said spoke to Ilya in a low voice, but the words were garbled. Whatever language the woman spoke wasn't one she was familiar with, and she wondered if Freyja had been mistaken about her gift for languages. Even stranger was the way the woman moved through the room without glancing in their direction.

  "Ilya?" Mikhail asked, his eyes following the man's movements as he returned to his chair and sat, a slight frown on his face as he continued to stare at the envelope in his hand. He handed it to Aleksandra.

  She took the missive with a trembling hand then met Natalya's worried gaze. "How? No one knows we're here..."

  Natalya's lips pinched together then she nodded. "Open it."

  Aleksandra exhaled then forced the tip of her finger under the sealed flap. Tearing it open, she pulled out a folded piece of paper. Unfolding it, she read the elegant script, not understanding any of it. When she was finished, she met their curious gazes and shrugged. "I have no idea what this is."

  Jakob held out his hand, and she gladly handed it to him. Staring at the lined furrows deepening between his dark brows, she knew he was just as confused as she was.

  "Jakob, what does it say?" Natalya asked.

  "It's a poem. Why would someone send Aleksandra a poem? It makes no sense—the reason or the poem."

  "Read it out loud," Mikhail suggested.

  Jakob handed the paper back to Aleksandra. "I'm fairly certain you'll read it better than I can."

  She gave him a face but took the paper from him anyway. "It's titled Two by Two... A nightmare born, In ruthless decay. The horde expands, Plans go into play. Rage grows, uncontrolled, The fearsome scourge spreads. Forest hiding all, Plans advance with dread. The horde is vast, Boundaries removed. Evil strengthened, Power consumes. The secret held close, Hate devours. Time grows near, The submissives' last hour." She raised her head to see both Mikhail's and Natalya's confusion.

  "Who sent it and what in the hell does it mean?" Jakob glared.

  9

  Aleksandra caught a glimpse of Jakob's scowl and pinched her lips together. She had no answer for the question she knew was on everyone's mind. An unsettling sensation crawled through her. She glanced back at Jakob and met his cold gaze. He looked older than her twenty-three years, but she couldn't tell for certain. His build was slender but strong. From her earlier grasp of his biceps, she knew he was solid muscle. His face was nice, not movie-star suave but good-looking enough to turn heads. Aleksandra knew an immediate peace as she met his silvery-green gaze. What odd-colored eyes...

  She sat back and noticed the sinister halo surrounding him. Her eyes widened. She blinked, hoping her mind was just playing tricks on her and exhaustion was causing her to imagine things. When she looked again, the dark gray, almost black aura churned around his body like an oppressive bubble. Only a sliver of lighter colors could be seen against his skin. Her breath hitched in her lungs as the air turned menacing.

  What could have happened to this man to cause such a thing?

  She pressed her hand over her heart and swallowed several times, his rage beating at her. Without thinking, she reached out with her other hand and laid it on his arm. After a moment, a tiny fraction of his anger dissipated and the darkness surrounding him like a cloak lightened. It felt as if there was a heavy weight covering her shoulders, pressing them down until she hunched over the table, her breathing labored as she took in some of his emotion.

  "Don't!" Jakob commanded.

  "Aleksandra! Let go of his arm." Natalya's voice sounded so distant.

  The wooden tabletop shimmered and blurred as she pulled in deep gulps of air, trying to clear away the oppressive sensation flooding her mind. She felt someone take her hand and squeeze. Almost immediately, a light breeze brushed over her and cleared away the emotion swamping her.

  She heard Mikhail and Natalya explaining to Ilya that her injury had been recent, and they needed to get her back to camp, so she could rest. What camp? She felt Jakob's arm wrap around her waist. He pulled her against him and walked her out of the house.

  There is no camp. They just told him that to get you out of there. Don't ever try that again, Aleksandra. My emotions are my own.

  Leaning against him, she couldn't tell where her body stopped and his began and relished the strength emanating from him. She had never been this close to a man's body before. She liked it. I don't understand how we're talking this way...what's happening?

  Mikhail explained to me that you're different, like his wife is different, so this has to be you. Something to do with strange forces and evil...

  He's not wrong, but I don't want to try to explain it to you—I don't understand most of it myself. So, what's next?

  That depends on Mikhail. I know him well enough to realize he won't stop until either Bormann or Heydrich are dead.

  Aleksandra inhaled. One breath, then another, until her vision cleared, and she was able to straighten her shoulders. She pushed away from the safe confines of Jakob's embrace and forced her legs to hold her weight. Remembering the letter, she took a step back toward the house but was stopped by Jakob's hand, which snaked around her arm, holding her in place.

  "We need the poem." Jerking her arm several times to go back inside and get the poem, she gave up when his grip didn't relent.

  He pulled the piece of paper and envelope from inside his jacket and held them in front of her. "I have your poem."

  "I think we need to leave here," Mikhail said, his gaze moving around the area while Aleksandra stuffed the paper into her own jacket
pocket. "I don't like that someone knew we were here." He pivoted on his heel and led them into the forest.

  Keeping as silent as possible, they headed northwest of town and followed the river back toward Minsk. Both Mikhail and Jakob took turns watching their back trail and listening for any sounds of being pursued.

  After several hours of walking, Natalya tugged on her husband's arm. "I'm exhausted and starving. We need to stop and figure out what the poem means—and eat. I need food. If someone took the time to write it then deliver it, it's important. Especially when no one, other than Freyja, was supposed to know where we were."

  "Who is Freyja?" Jakob asked. He dropped his bag on the ground and knelt, pulling out a coffeepot, a small tin, and several brown paper-wrapped parcels Aleksandra hoped contained food. Keeping her gaze on the packages, she ignored his question. Natalya would know how to answer it. Her gaze followed Jakob as he gathered a few dry logs and started a fire as Mikhail filled the pot at the nearby river's edge. While the water heated, Jakob pulled back the paper on each package, revealing some cheese, a loaf of bread, and what looked like shaved ham. Aleksandra's stomach growled.

  "Freyja is umm...well, she's a...Freyja took care of us after our planes crashed," Natalya said in a rushed, breathy voice.

  Aleksandra bit back a smirk. She had never seen her friend and no-nonsense squadron leader so flustered before. It was somehow refreshing and made her feel like she wasn't the only person stumbling around in the proverbial dark, trying to accomplish Freyja's required tasks.

  Jakob's doubtful expression told them he hadn't believed a single word. Instead of asking them about it, he poured the coffee and handed them each a tin cup. He gave Aleksandra a knife and the loaf of bread, which she cut into thin slices. Handing him one slice at a time, he added cheese and meat, then she topped each sandwich with the second slice.

  They ate in silence for a while. She listened to the cool wind blowing through the treetops and caressing her face. Nearby, different birds chirped, sending each other short songs. She chewed the last bite of her sandwich, savoring the sharp tang of the cheese with the savory meat. Swallowing, she washed it down with the rest of her coffee, unable to stop the scrunching up of her face from the bitter taste. Cream and sugar would have been a nice addition.

  With her stomach full, a lazy feeling stole over her. Placing her hands on the ground behind her, she leaned back, ignoring the soft tickle from the grass. "I love the sound of water, whether it's trickling over rocks or a rushing river. It's peaceful."

  "It reminds you of home, doesn't it?" Natalya asked and set her cup next to Aleksandra's.

  "It does. After my parents died, hearing water reminded me of what I'd lost." She tilted her head until it rested on her shoulder. "It took me a while, but I realized listening to water brings them back to me—in memories—and fills my heart, reminding me of their love for me. Their deaths still hurt, probably always will, but it gets easier with each day."

  "I'm not looking forward to this, but Mikhail did tell Jakob we would explain things after our talk with Ilya. I'm just not quite sure how," Natalya said. Mikhail leaned over and kissed the top of Natalya's blonde hair.

  Someday, Aleksandra wanted a love like theirs. She stole a quick glance at the man next to her; but his gaze continuously moved, as if he expected something to jump out at them. Considering what they had encountered near Kursk, she didn't blame him.

  Mikhail pulled Natalya under his shoulder. "I did promise, didn't I?" He met Jakob's steady gaze. "Earlier, I mentioned strange forces in the universe, but some things are beyond understanding unless they're experienced."

  Natalya scowled at her husband. "Can you be any more cryptic? What he's so delicately trying to say, Jakob, is that we have help. Magical help."

  Jakob turned his cold gaze to Natalya. "Magical?"

  She nodded and raised her hand, palm up. A thin spiral of smoke appeared, followed by a tiny, orange spark. Small at first, the flame grew. She moved her other hand over it, and the flame flickered, following the side-to-side motion. Jakob's eyes widened, seemingly mesmerized by what he saw. She lifted her free hand and the flame rose with it. She then lowered her hand until her palms pressed together. A few seconds later, she opened them for him to see.

  He stared at her unblemished palms. "I'm in way over my head, aren't I?" he whispered to no one in particular.

  "No, my friend," Mikhail responded. "I am Romani and have been able to see things since I was a young boy, just as my grandmother. There are so many wondrous things in life—this is just one of them."

  "But how?" His gaze rose to Natalya's. "How can you control fire?"

  She shrugged. "When my plane crashed in Stalingrad, I discovered our world is only one of many. Freyja and Idunn gave me a wonderful opportunity to help them stop this war and save all worlds. I accepted."

  "Who are Freyja and Idunn?"

  "Norse goddesses," Natalya answered without blinking.

  Needing a change in subject, Aleksandra sat up and wrapped her arms around her knees. "How do you think the Red Army is doing at Kursk?"

  Without warning, Jakob stood and walked away. Mikhail pulled his arm away from Natalya, as if to follow, but Aleksandra held up her hand.

  "I sort of caused all this, so I'll go." She followed Jakob as he moved further into the forest. She stopped behind him as he stared at a small stream. The still water was murky and brown. "Jakob?"

  He turned to face her. "I just need to think things through..." He shrugged. "It's a lot to digest, you know?"

  "I know. You left so abruptly, I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

  He took a step closer, the tips of his worn black boots touching hers. His hand rose to cup her cheek. The sensation of his thumb brushing across her skin was both exhilarating and soothing. "I can't seem to wrap my brain around any of it." The motion of his thumb stilled. "That's why you disappeared, isn't it?"

  Aleksandra nodded. "Without Freyja's intervention, I would have died when my plane crashed. I owe her everything," she said. Leaning into his hand, she tried to smile. "Don't think about it. Understanding will come in time. Focus on me, right here—right now. Everything will be okay, I promise. At least, that's what I keep telling myself."

  With a crooked grin, he leaned forward and pressed his lips against her forehead, his warm breath tickling her skin. Without another word, he left her standing there as he walked back to their small camp. She followed, the warmth of his kiss lingering. She felt scattered, her emotions everywhere as she sat beside him once again.

  Mikhail dumped the remaining coffee out of the pot and handed it and the cups to Jakob, who packed everything back into his bag. Mikhail pulled up his knees, letting his hands dangle over them. "My contact in the Swiss network got word to me that the Germans were preparing for a massive counteroffensive at Kursk. I was able to pass along the intel, which allowed our army to plan three defensive lines in preparation. Thanks to you, Aleksandra, and Jakob, the removal of a few key leaders at Kursk gave them the opportunity to break through the German line. With a little outside help," Mikhail threw his wife a meaningful glance, "it seems to have stopped the enemy in its tracks. Quite literally."

  "For the Russians to beat back the Wehrmacht and regain their lands will take a miracle, I'm afraid. The Red Army needs more supplies and manpower, not to mention arms and ammunition," Jakob said.

  "My contact said the same thing. Stalin hasn't allowed the Americans to land their planes on Russian ground and is, instead, forcing them to fly supplies up to Alaska where it's then picked up by Russian planes. Planes, I might add, needed in the battle here."

  Natalya shook her head. "Stupid, stupid, stupid. My father always said Stalin was too controlling and paranoid for his own good. I'm afraid his reluctance to work with the other Allied leaders will be his—and Russia's—downfall."

  Aleksandra pulled out the poem from her jacket and unfolded it. "I hate to bring it up again, but something tells me we really need to figure o
ut why someone sent me this. Why me? It's kind of disturbing to think someone has me in his, or her, crosshairs."

  "What do you think it means?" Jakob's hazel gaze met hers, momentarily holding her captive. He blinked and the sensation disappeared, allowing her to study the elegant script again. She reread each verse, but when she reached the last line, she was still at a loss to its meaning.

  She frowned. "I have no clue."

  "All right then, read each verse separately. Maybe if we tackle it like that, something will pop out," Natalya suggested.

  Aleksandra cleared her throat. "A nightmare born, In ruthless decay. The horde expands, Plans go into play."

  Natalya exhaled. "Well, it's ominous, I'll give it that."

  "I understand the nightmare born part and the plan going into play." Jakob picked up a tiny twig and bent it at different lengths. "Nightmare born is just that—the beginning of a nightmare, like we all experience when we're asleep. Plan go into play means the beginning of a plan. Simple. I have no clue what the decay and horde reference, though."

  "The horde could mean an army," Aleksandra volunteered.

  "Makes sense," Mikhail added. "The decay could represent an ideology or the degradation of it."

  Natalya nodded. "Okay, now read the second verse."

  "Rage grows, uncontrolled, The fearsome scourge spreads. Forest hiding all, Plans advance with dread." She thoughtfully stared at the words. "Could it mean the plan, whatever it is, is hidden in a forest and whoever's in charge dreads what they're about to do or the army itself? The rage could mean his inability to stop whatever the fearsome scourge is."