“That’s what you think!” Mary yelled. She gulped air, dove beneath the stinging-cold water and swam, scrambling between scaffold beams.
Let Fiske think she was making a break for it, abandoning the two men.
A muffled roar. A flash of light zipped through the water ahead of her. Two bullets down. Four or fewer to go.
Her numb hands found a crossbeam. She tucked her legs beneath her and popped up for a breath.
Another shot. The wood exploded in front of her. She spun her face away. Splinters slashed her cheek.
If only she could make him waste the final three bullets without getting killed. A big breath, and down she went, bumping beams, her skirt sodden and heavy about her thighs.
A shot, and a bullet churned up water beside her.
She fumbled for a beam, but it was underwater now. She’d have to expose herself to breathe. Slowly, silently, she eased toward the wall and surfaced.
The wall edged away from her. The stairs.
What once had been her goal now could mean her death. Fiske could come down the stairs and shoot her point-blank. She plunged underwater and headed back the way she came, her lungs screaming.
Up for air. Her heart thudded in her ears, every muscle shook, her hair fell in clammy streams down her cheeks. Her hat—she’d lost it somewhere.
“Miss Stirling!” Mr. Winslow cried. “He’s slipping. I—I can’t hold him much longer.”
“What do you care, Winnie?” Fiske called. “He’s a Kraut. Thought you hated them.”
“Who are you calling a Kraut?” Another voice rose, angry and male.
Who was that? Mary held her breath.
A shot, a thump, a cry, a thud.
“He’s not a Kraut. He’s a good man, unlike you. To think I trusted you, looked up to you.”
“Ira Kaplan.” A smile competed with the tremble in Mary’s lips. He must have arrived at the Bauer home for dinner and grown as suspicious as Mary had.
Mr. Fiske cried out.
“Take that,” Kaplan shouted. More thumps. “That’s for framing Bauer. That’s for putting me in jail. That’s for theAtwoodand all the sailors you could’ve killed. That’s for—”
Whatever was happening, it sounded like Kaplan was winning.
Now to help Mr. Winslow. He hugged a beam with one arm and supported Bauer’s head with another.
“Hurry, Miss Stirling.”
She worked her way over, her arms and legs no longer feeling the bumps. Her feet couldn’t touch the ground, but she propped them on a beam, grabbed another overhead, and lifted Mr. Bauer. Shouldn’t the cold alone have awakened him?
“Hands up! Both of you! Now!”
Mary’s lungs expanded with joy and hope, cool and fresh. “Agent Sheffield! The FBI’s here. Thank you, God. Thank you.”
“It’s Fiske,” Kaplan shouted. “He’s the saboteur. Not me. He’s the one.”
“We know. Get off him so we can lock him up.”
The beam beneath Mary’s feet shifted and another groaned. “Agent Sheffield! We’re down here.”
“Miss Stirling?”
