A man climbed up the rope draped over the side. He glanced around—and spotted Cilla. “Cilla! Come here.”
She should slip under and inhale a lungful of Scottish water, but her leaden limbs swam toward the boat, each stroke painful.
Kraus flung a rope ladder over the side, and she climbed up, her limbs protesting, her sodden clothes weighing her down, small cries escaping with each rung.
“Are you injured?” He helped her on board.
“My head.” She touched the back—slick with blood. A crimson ribbon snaked down her left calf, and the left sleeve of her coat was shredded.
“Superficial wounds, as are mine.” Kraus frowned at the scene. “I see no airplanes or ships. We must have hit a naval mine.”
“Yes. Yes, a mine.” Great shivers took hold of Cilla.
“Start the boat.” Kraus unbuttoned his greatcoat, reached inside, and pulled out a metal case, much like Cilla’s waterproof pistol case. He squatted down with it, his back to Cilla. Two dark ragged holes marred his side and shoulders. “We’ll go ashore and find one of our agents. I know names and addresses. They’ll help us return to Germany.”
Cilla sank down to the deck. Why hadn’t she died? Why couldn’t this end?
“Now!” Kraus glared at her over his shoulder. “Start the boat now.”
She stumbled to her feet and to the wheel. Down in the water, half a dozen men swam towardMar na Creag, and she waved them closer. Kraus would help them on board.
Fighting trembling, slippery hands, Cilla ran through the procedures to start the motor—but nothing happened.
A crack shattered the night. Two. Three.
Kraus stood with his arm outstretched. A gun in hand. Light flashed from the tip.
He was shooting the men in the water! Cilla scrambled back to him. “No! No! What are you doing?”
“They cannot come with us.” He fired again. “They’ll slow us down, give us away. The English will catch us.”
“No! You can’t.” Cilla grabbed at his arm, but he shook her off.
Men screamed in the water, cussed, splashed, swam away.
Kraus fired again.
“No!” Cilla clutched his arm. “See? They’re going away. Let them be rescued by the English.”
Kraus shoved her.
She tumbled to the deck, wrenching her injured arm.
Facing her, scowling at her, Kraus knelt and reloaded his gun. “I hear ships coming. I cannot let the men be captured. The English will torture them and learn our mission, and they’ll search for us.”
“They won’t. They won’t.” Cilla struggled up to her knees.
No one called out. Only a few splashing sounds.
Kraus stood and fired three more times.
Silence.
“How could you?” The words shuddered and sobbed from deep inside her. “How could you?”
“They have died for Germany. They will be hailed as heroes.”
Tears mingled with the seawater tingling on her cheeks. “You murdered them.”
