CIA Fall Guy by Phyllis Zimbler Miller Page B

Leopoldstrasse, the main thoroughfare of the artists and nightlife district called Schwabing. It had been here that Beth had studied German for foreigners at Ludwig-Maximilian University. She'd had eclectic classmates, including one refugee from the spontaneous closings of universities in chaotic Italy, an Israeli couple fresh from military service, a Turkish woman whose husband worked at the American army kaserne garage, and a young man who appeared to be from Communist China (although Beth was never quite sure if that were possible). She had actually learned basic German because she had to — no English was spoken in the class although it was beginning German.
    On the sidewalk a clump of people passed them. David took her elbow. “How come you never remarried after your husband's death?”
    “How do you know I never remarried?”
    He hesitated. “You have that look about you — unloved.”
    “Unloved! I have lots of friends, besides relatives, who care for me.”
    “You're missing that glow.”
    “Are you talking about sex?”
    He didn't answer.
    “Where are your wife and kids?”
    “I've never found the time. The needs of the service come first.” David steered her around a runaway cafe chair plunked in their path.
    “You still haven't answered my question,” he said. “Why didn't you remarry?”
    Beth hesitated, then decided it was best to get this over with quickly. “I … I couldn't. I was afraid to love someone that much and risk losing him again. Every time I started getting close to someone I was dating, I found a reason to break it off.”
    David propelled her forward, a submarine forging a path through rough seas. “You were right,” he said. “That bomb in the Frankfurt Officers Club was meant for someone specific.”
    Her scalp's beating escalated. “How do you know?”
    “It was meant for me.”
    Beth's feet stopped. She was a statue, Lot's wife turned to stone. Someone shoved her from behind, yelled something nasty in German. David drew her off to one side, out of the pedestrian stream.
    Her mouth unglued. “What do you mean?”
    “I was investigating an agent of ours suspected of being a double agent for the East Germans. I was getting close. I got a warning note, but it was a riddle.”
    He took her arm, pulling her with him to start walking again. “I was never very good at riddles. I didn't figure it out until it was too late.”
    “Why weren't you killed?”
    “Timing. Probably the one time in German history that a German train was late. I got to the club moments after the bomb went off.”
    Beth's entire head pounded, the anger flashing rainbow lines through her vision. “You're responsible for my husband's death! You're responsible for my miserable life!”
    She exploded, swinging her right arm in a punch to David's face. He blocked her punch and grabbed both her arms, pinning them to her sides.
    “Look, I'm sorry. I was sent underground after that and the trail got cold. I never found the guys I was after — the guys who killed your husband.”
    Tears welled in her eyes. David let go of her arms and hugged her to him. She pulled back and slapped him across the face.
    “You son of a bitch! Is this your idea of a joke?”
    David grabbed her arms again. Pedestrians streamed around their island, yelling at them to get of the way.
    “I swear it's true. And I swear I've never stopped looking for those guys. That's why I met up with you. I'm on to something — and that something seems to have you in the middle of it.”
    Beth shook her head, her arms still imprisoned. “After all these years you think you'll find the killers?”
    “You don't know the East Germans — former East Germans. They have long memories — and long agendas. Some of them are still around — and I think they're up to some of their old tricks.”
    Beth's knees buckled. David's grip prevented her from collapsing. This was too much. All too much.
    “Come on,” he said. “If you promise not to hit me