They’d taken turns dozing on the studio bed, only because they were older than they’d once been. Forty or fifty years ago, Wilhelmina thought, nothing could have made her sleep. At ten o’clock, the guard had brought them a repulsive meal of plain yogurt, granola, and grapefruit juice. Wilhelmina had reminded herself of the days of eating tulip bulbs and fodder beets; she was surprised to see that her sister didn’t seem to mind the food. They’d done what they could to splint her arm, binding it with a handtowel, but it needed proper tending. Catharina never complained, although she had to be in agony.

Now they were both up, Catharina posted at the front window overlooking the strange, dark lake, Wilhelmina posted at the side window looking out at the cypress trees laden with what her sister told her was Spanish moss. Beyond was a handsome rustic lodge made of rough uncut pine. A screened porch ran its entire length, and a well-kept gravel walkway led to a boathouse and dock. The helicopter pad where they’d landed was a good distance behind the lodge, but exactly how far was difficult to say. Wilhelmina had still been so preoccupied with the terrible ride and her sister’s pain that she didn’t trust her sense of distance.

“Our sergeant lives well,” Wilhelmina said, speaking still in Dutch. It was natural for her, and Catharina had made no objections.

“I don’t think this camp belongs to him,” Catharina replied, not looking from the window. Her color wasn’t good; Wilhelmina was worried. Neither woman was as resilient as they’d been forty years ago. “My guess is it belongs to Senator Ryder.”

“And Bloch has his fingers in his pocket-a nasty business.”

“He’s called my bluff,” Catharina said despairingly.

“So it would seem,” Wilhelmina said, solemn but not dispirited. “I’m sorry, Catharina. But I don’t think we should underestimate Juliana. She has a good mind and courage. She’ll do what’s necessary.”

“What’s necessary to her will be saving us, Willie.”

“Then so be it.”

Catharina made no answer, sinking into the silence that had overtaken her since arriving at the camp. Wilhelmina was worried about her sister and wished she could do something to take away her pain, to ease her sense of despair.

“I know how desperately you want Juliana just to hide herself away,” Wilhelmina said quietly. “I understand. But Catharina, she must make the decision herself.”

“I don’t want her to suffer!”

“Of course you don’t. You want to protect her, just as all of us wanted to protect you during the war. But tell me, Catharina, haven’t you always wished we hadn’t? You’ve tortured yourself for years because we all did everything within our power so that you wouldn’t be taken by the Nazis, too.”

“You and Johannes sent me to Hendrik with the Minstrel because you knew he would never hurt me,” Catharina said suddenly, half to herself. “If he were to betray us, as he did, you knew he would keep me safe.”

“No, you were the logical choice-”

“Don’t lie to me, Willie. Please.”

Wilhelmina sighed. “None of us wanted anything to happen to you. If you survived, a part of us would survive.”

“Mamma and Papa didn’t survive. They died for me.”

“No, Catharina. They would have died for you, make no mistake about that, but they didn’t. They died because they were knowledgeable, active members of the Dutch Underground Resistance. They knew names and places. They were filled to the tops of their heads with information the Germans wanted. The Nazis weren’t interested in you. You were safe in hiding, but they didn’t torture Mamma and Papa to find out where you were. That’s youthful self-centeredness, Catharina. They died because of their convictions.”

Tears had spilled from Catharina’s soft eyes, and she pushed them away angrily. “I’ve always wanted to be as strong and unshakable as you, Willie-and look at me! Did you…were you there when Mamma and Papa died?”

It was a question she’d never asked, and one Wilhelmina, although she’d known her sister must have thought it, had never tried to answer. She nodded, feeling so tired, so alone. “I was brought out to watch while they were executed-shot. Papa was nearly dead from the torture.”

“Mamma?”

“She was tortured as well, but not as much. They made me watch to weaken my resolve.”

“They didn’t know you very well, did they?”

“No,” Wilhelmina said. Her resolve had been strengthened. After that moment, she’d never feared pain or death.

Catharina was sobbing openly now, her entire body shaking uncontrollably. “All my life I’ve thought I should have been there.”

Wilhelmina shook her head. “I’m so glad you weren’t-and that was the best gift you could ever have given Mamma and Papa, not to have been there. Think if it had been you and Adrian, Catharina. Isn’t that what you’d have wanted for Juliana?”

“Yes.” There was no doubt in her tone. “Yes, it’s what I’d have wanted.”

“Then let us put the past aside for now, shall we? We must concentrate on the problem at hand.”

Catharina smiled through her tears. “You’re a tough old bird, Willie,” she said in English. “I’m glad we’re together.”

Wilhelmina nodded, deeply moved. “I, too, Catharina.”

“His body turned up on a beach in Florida,” Alice Feldon said, giving Matthew the straight facts on what had come over the wire on Otis Raymond. “Apparent suicide. He was shot in the head. Usual burned-out Vietnam vet crap. Only reason it hit the wires is because he was found by a socialite on a fancy private beach on the Gulf of Mexico near Apalachicola. She promptly fainted. Anyway, that’s it.”

Stark nodded slowly, his thoughts drifting back twenty years.

“Beg pardon, sir,” Otis Raymond had said, sidling up to him with that deceptive ambling gait the first day they’d met, “but I want to tell you, you and me, we’re getting out of this shit alive. I ain’t planning to get aced in no goddamn jungle.”

He’d given Lieutenant Matthew Stark a crooked, yellowed grin that strangely lit up his face, made him look almost innocent. He was skinny and ugly, and he still had pimples.

“Hate snakes, you know?”

But it was bullshit, and they both knew it. Otis Raymond hadn’t expected to live.”

“I’m making sure the Gazette carries the story,” Alice Feldon said.

“Thanks.” There was no emotion in Stark’s voice. “Weaze would appreciate that.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah.”

“Ziegler’s seeing what more he can find out.”

“He doesn’t have to. I know what happened.”

“Matt-”

He looked at her, his eyes unfocused. “Weasel had an instinct for survival that he couldn’t suppress, but it didn’t make him cowardly. In fact, he’d do the craziest damn things and still live. But when Jake and Chuck got aced, Weaze figured it should have been him.”

He stopped, and for once, Feldon didn’t press him for more. She just stood there and waited for him to go on-or not.

“Jake MacIntyre and Chuck Fisher,” Stark said. Saying their names still hurt. “Jake was a pilot and Chuck was our crew chief. They died when a chopper I was flying went down. Chuck took three bullets and died on the ground, before the search and rescue team could get us out. Jake lived a while longer. Weasel held onto him all the way back, and he screamed the whole time, there wasn’t anything anybody could have done, but Weaze felt he should have been able to do something, that it was his fault, that because he didn’t mind dying he should have.”

“Maybe it wasn’t anybody’s fault,” Feldie said.

“No, it was somebody’s fault all right. It was Sergeant Phillip Bloch’s fault and Lieutenant Sam Ryder, Jr.’s-and mine.”

“Stark-”

But he didn’t listen, walking over to his desk. He pushed back the memories and picked up the telephone and dialed his attorney. “Dave, Stark here. I want you to do something for me.”