The Darkest Hour(78)

I relish the thought and reach for the doorknob, but it’s locked, of course. “Where’s the key?”

“One moment.” He purses his lips. “I’m to remind you of the parameters set by both the SOE and the OSS concerning this visit. Five minutes. Not a second more. You’re not to lay a finger on him, either.”

“He’s a spy.”

“Miss Blaise.” A blade sharpens in his voice. A warning.

“Very well,” I lie.

He unlocks the door, but before I head in he has one more word of caution for me. “Remember,” he says, “not a finger. I’ll be watching.”

“Duly noted, sir,” I say, and step inside.

My pulse hums. I spent all night plotting what I’d do in this moment. What I’d say to Reinhard. What he’d reply. And how I’d kill him. Colonel James might be watching me, but I know I can get the deed done before he can stop me. Dorner should be a simple kill, too, since he has been incapacitated. His left ankle is chained to the wall, and his wrists have been handcuffed. As Harken would say, easy prey.

If Dorner is shocked to see me, he doesn’t show it. He greets me with his usual polite smile, and I wonder how long he has practiced it in front of the mirror. Was that part of his Nazi training?

“What an unexpected surprise,” he says. His hair is dirty, and he’s wearing a poor-fitting white shirt and trousers, like a boy who decided to play dress-up in his father’s closet. He also looks plumper since the last time I saw him. Maybe he was taking full advantage of whatever the Brits were feeding him before they took my accusations seriously and threw him into this cell.

“Hello, Reinhard,” I reply, even though he’ll always be Dorner to me.

“Dearest Marie-Louise.” He stands to welcome me, never once flinching at the sound of the chain rattling behind him. He isn’t wearing his glasses anymore. I’m guessing he never needed them in the first place. “You know, you never told me your real name.”

“Call me Blaise,” I say.

“Blaise.” He tests out the sound of it. “Do I have you to thank for my new quarters? Not even a week ago I was sitting down to a fine quail dinner with my new English friends, but then”—he lifts up his cuffed wrists—“this.”

I pace around him and take in his living conditions. Mold gathers in the corners of the cramped space, and something foul-smelling drips from the ceiling and puddles on the floor. Lovely. “You are very welcome.”

“I assume once you set foot in England, my cover was blown.”

It wasn’t that easy, but I say nothing about it. “How astute of you, Reinhard.”

His grins. “Now that I know your name, it’s only fair that you know mine.”

“Your uncle was the one who told me. He also told me all about your little plans.”

“I wouldn’t call them ‘little,’” he says. That pompous weasel, I think. “I hope you enjoyed your time with my uncle Alfred.” He taps a finger against his forehead. “Are you feeling well? Any memory loss, or some other side effect of his experiments?”

Just for that, I’m ready to send my shoe into his teeth, but I know that Colonel James’s eyes are on my back. If I plan on hurting Dorner, I’ll have one chance and once chance only. I’ll have to kick him with my words until then. “I’m feeling much better now that I’ve blown up your uncle’s laboratory.”

At my revelation Dorner proceeds to pick at a thread on his shirt, but I see a hairline crack in his smile. “It’s no matter. There are other laboratories to carry on his work.”

“Perhaps, but I doubt it will be easy to carry on your uncle’s work now that he’s dead.” I watch his hands freeze, and I wish he’d look up so that I could see his face at what I say next. “I killed him, you know.”

His chest rises and falls, and slowly he looks up at me. His blue eyes have grown dark and menacing. Calculating how to hurt me. There you are, I think. The real Elias Reinhard. But like a true chameleon, he shifts and wipes his face clean.

“Have you come to kill me as well?” He opens his arms to me, allowing full access to his chest. “Will you put a bullet in my heart with one of your pen contraptions?”

“Alas, I don’t have one with me.”

“Then what’s your preferred method? A beating? Strangulation?”

That would take too long, I think. I’d barely get Dorner unconscious before Colonel James came barreling through the door. I take one step closer to him, but he doesn’t move.

“Or a knife to the stomach?” he continues. “I’m sure you’d relish seeing the blood drip out of me.”

“You’re right. I wouldn’t mind that,” I say softly. What I wouldn’t give for a knife right now—the sharper the better.

He laughs. “I see. By killing me, you could avenge your fallen OSS colleagues. Major Harken, for instance. Oh yes, the Nazis learned his identity months ago. I also overheard from the SOE that he died in a fire.”

I stop myself from wincing, not wanting him to see that he has hit a soft spot. Harken didn’t die because of the fire. Sabine killed him. But in the end, Dorner has the blood of both on his hands.

“What about your friend Odette?” he continues. “Is she alive?” His lips arch upward, sharp as scythes. “If she is still breathing, I wouldn’t mind introducing her to my friends in Berlin. A pretty thing like that.”