Dieter Schwarz
There are some things about Gretchen and me
that I do not discuss
with anyone.
Dieter searched the raging river of passengers streaming from the passport control part of the airport for Rae Stone’s two friends. He’d seen them before in the Southwest when he’d been skulking around the Devilhouse, standing in the shadows to provide Wulfram just a bit more security at night.
They should be around here somewhere: a tiny blonde and a taller brunette.
He rubbed the grit out of his eyes. Three hours of sleep was not optimal for him, though he had survived on far less and far worse when he’d been in the Swiss Special Forces. He’d even had a bed for his three hours instead of cold mud and some scraped-together leaves like on some deployments.
The interlude of living in the Southwest—where Wulfram was practically unknown and no one from Europe had yet put together where he was—had been an uncharacteristic relief, but Dieter never let his guard down. He had kept Wulfram von Hannover, an ideal terrorists’ target, alive foryears.It had been his finest accomplishment since he had left the military, he thought, to have allowed Wulfram unparalleled freedom and yet kept him safe.
Through the milling crowd, Dieter spied the slim brunette and petite blonde he remembered from the Devilhouse. Their posture suggested they were seeking someone, their noses pointing into the crowd while their necks craned for a better view of the faces.Mission accomplished.
He broke through the crowd to them. “Lizbeth Pajari? Georgiana Johnson?”
The girls turned toward him. The little one nodded her blond head.
“I am Dieter Schwarz,” he said. “Ms. Reagan Stone sent me to collect you from the airport.”
The blonde piped up. “Thanks. Nice to meet you. I’m Lizzy.” She handed over her bag and cocked her head to the side. “Have we met?”
Dieter took her bag. “I think not. I work for a mutual friend of ours in a private capacity.”
Lizzy snapped her fingers and pointed at him. ‘You’re one of The Dom’s mysterious Men in Black that we all speculate about all the time.”
Dieter frowned. He needed to talk to Wulfram about operational security. “We had hoped to be less obtrusive. This way, please.”
He led them to the waiting SUV and handed off their bags to another of theWelfenlegion. “This is my associate, Friedhelm Vonlanthen.”
The girls smiled and nodded at Friedhelm, too. They clambered into the back seat.
Good.It made his life easier if he had tractable clients who took direction.
Dieter scanned the sidewalk and parapets for any out-of-place movement before he got in the passenger side of the SUV.
Friedhelm pulled the SUV into traffic and drove toward the hotel.
Dieter turned to him and continued their conversation from the ride to the airport. “When we get back toSchloss Southwestern,Gretchen and I will have you over for supper.”
“Yes, and how is your lovely wife?” Friedhelm asked, watching the road.
Dieter sighed inwardly but didn’t let it out. No use sugar-coating it too much. His marriage was surely a topic of discussion among the other guys. “She’s busy taking care of the incorrigible toddler-girl and very angry that I am traveling yet again this week. And how is your lovely friend?”
“Much the same,” Friedhelm said, shaking his head. “Vivienne is very angry at the proposed move, also.”
Wulfram had told everyone to expect an imminent relocation, perhaps to the south of France, perhaps somewhere in Asia. Gretchen had flipped because she had just started to find friends and put down roots in the Southwest after Wulf’s sudden move from Chicago just a few years before.
Best not to talk about it too much, though. He didn’t need to stir up more gossip about Gretchen and his marriage.
On to other topics.
Dieter asked, “Who is the mysterious woman that Hans is spending his time with? He never brings her around to meet theWelfenlegion.”
“I couldn’t say,” Friedhelm said, “but he has managed to stay atSchloss Southwesternevery time we travel.”
