front door and found two buttons. He pressed the first button three times and the second button twice. The front door clicked and Crown stepped inside.
"Nothing rhymes with orange." He said the code words, feeling ridiculous. But he had shot a man once because the code was not forthcoming, and Crown knew the bulkhead guard holding the .45 pistol had been given similar instructions.
"Nor with purple," came the reply. The agent put the weapon back on the windowsill and resumed his watch.
Crown signaled the convoy. A commando emerged and held the door for Heather and Hess. Another soldier stood near the car door and scanned the windows of houses across the street. Two escorted them quickly through the gate and to the porch.
The commandos amused Crown. They had been ordered to act like civilians doing everyday business. But they looked just like what they were—dangerous, trained menon an important assignment, keyed up, ready to explode, fingers taut on triggers. God save a plumber from walking out of a nearby house carrying a length of pipe. He wouldn't make it through the front door.
Crown closed the door behind the group and turned to face Peter Kohler.
"Welcome to our house." Kohler smiled, his English lightly accented with his German upbringing.
"Glad to be here," Crown replied, shaking Kohler's large hand. He was a wide-shouldered man in his late twenties. Kohler wore a short-sleeved flannel work shirt, and the cords of muscle were visible on his hairless arm. Crown guessed the German's neck size at eighteen inches. Kohler had receding, wispy blond hair and a nose that had been broken and badly reset. His smile was marred by a chipped front tooth. Crown knew his gentle handshake belied the power of the man. "Looks like a good job preparing the house while I was gone."
"Actually, I only did the legwork," Kohler demurred. "Everette Smithson was very helpful. He could secure a soccer field if he had to. Professor," Kohler said as he held out both hands to Ludendorf, "good to see you. You look like the trip was terrible."
"It was. It was. I haven't taken a full breath since we left Croydon Airport hours and hours ago."
They laughed together, and Kohler took the professor's briefcase. Then Kohler stopped short.
"Ah, Deputy Führer Hess, welcome to America. I understand this is your first visit here." Kohler's voice took on a hard edge as he slipped into the strong-man routine. Hess stared wide-eyed at Kohler, and the edges of his mouth turned down in fear. He locked his lips and said nothing.
"Come, come, Peter," said Ludendorf, "we can talk to Rudolf later. He needs a good meal and some sleep first."
"Let's not waste time with this—"
"Peter," Ludendorf interjected harshly, "we'll do as I say."
"
Ja, Professor
," responded Kohler, sounding suitably reprimanded. The little act was impressive and professional.
Crown introduced Heather McMillan, and Kohler said he was charmed as only a European can say he is charmed. Heather said she was glad to know him, and it bothered Crown. And that disturbed him further.
"We've done some work on the interior of the house, too, John. Why don't I show the three of you around? Hess can wait in the office," Kohler said as he pointed to a door to the rear of the living room. A commando gently took Hess's arm.
Kohler led them up the stairs to the second-floor hallway. A heavyset man sat on a three-leg stool, and his posterior hung over the edges. He turned, nodded a greeting, and resumed surveying the yard and street. A scoped .30-06 rifle lay in a case at his feet near a telephone. A flashlight with transparent red foil taped over its lens lay on the windowsill.
"This is Jones, or so I was introduced by Smithson. I'm told Jones is a crack shot."
Kohler ushered the group into a back bedroom. It was sparsely furnished with a cot, a chest of drawers, a well-worn leather easy chair, and a sink.
"We'll keep Hess here when he's not being questioned. The bars over the window are set
"Nothing rhymes with orange." He said the code words, feeling ridiculous. But he had shot a man once because the code was not forthcoming, and Crown knew the bulkhead guard holding the .45 pistol had been given similar instructions.
"Nor with purple," came the reply. The agent put the weapon back on the windowsill and resumed his watch.
Crown signaled the convoy. A commando emerged and held the door for Heather and Hess. Another soldier stood near the car door and scanned the windows of houses across the street. Two escorted them quickly through the gate and to the porch.
The commandos amused Crown. They had been ordered to act like civilians doing everyday business. But they looked just like what they were—dangerous, trained menon an important assignment, keyed up, ready to explode, fingers taut on triggers. God save a plumber from walking out of a nearby house carrying a length of pipe. He wouldn't make it through the front door.
Crown closed the door behind the group and turned to face Peter Kohler.
"Welcome to our house." Kohler smiled, his English lightly accented with his German upbringing.
"Glad to be here," Crown replied, shaking Kohler's large hand. He was a wide-shouldered man in his late twenties. Kohler wore a short-sleeved flannel work shirt, and the cords of muscle were visible on his hairless arm. Crown guessed the German's neck size at eighteen inches. Kohler had receding, wispy blond hair and a nose that had been broken and badly reset. His smile was marred by a chipped front tooth. Crown knew his gentle handshake belied the power of the man. "Looks like a good job preparing the house while I was gone."
"Actually, I only did the legwork," Kohler demurred. "Everette Smithson was very helpful. He could secure a soccer field if he had to. Professor," Kohler said as he held out both hands to Ludendorf, "good to see you. You look like the trip was terrible."
"It was. It was. I haven't taken a full breath since we left Croydon Airport hours and hours ago."
They laughed together, and Kohler took the professor's briefcase. Then Kohler stopped short.
"Ah, Deputy Führer Hess, welcome to America. I understand this is your first visit here." Kohler's voice took on a hard edge as he slipped into the strong-man routine. Hess stared wide-eyed at Kohler, and the edges of his mouth turned down in fear. He locked his lips and said nothing.
"Come, come, Peter," said Ludendorf, "we can talk to Rudolf later. He needs a good meal and some sleep first."
"Let's not waste time with this—"
"Peter," Ludendorf interjected harshly, "we'll do as I say."
"
Ja, Professor
," responded Kohler, sounding suitably reprimanded. The little act was impressive and professional.
Crown introduced Heather McMillan, and Kohler said he was charmed as only a European can say he is charmed. Heather said she was glad to know him, and it bothered Crown. And that disturbed him further.
"We've done some work on the interior of the house, too, John. Why don't I show the three of you around? Hess can wait in the office," Kohler said as he pointed to a door to the rear of the living room. A commando gently took Hess's arm.
Kohler led them up the stairs to the second-floor hallway. A heavyset man sat on a three-leg stool, and his posterior hung over the edges. He turned, nodded a greeting, and resumed surveying the yard and street. A scoped .30-06 rifle lay in a case at his feet near a telephone. A flashlight with transparent red foil taped over its lens lay on the windowsill.
"This is Jones, or so I was introduced by Smithson. I'm told Jones is a crack shot."
Kohler ushered the group into a back bedroom. It was sparsely furnished with a cot, a chest of drawers, a well-worn leather easy chair, and a sink.
"We'll keep Hess here when he's not being questioned. The bars over the window are set
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