The Diplomat's Wife(100)

Paul shivers, eyes still closed. I bring my other hand to his forehead. He is very cold now—a fact that scares me more than the fever had. He mumbles something. I lean my head close to his. “What is it?”

“A-about what you said before…” His voice trails off.

I shake him lightly. “Paul, wake up.”

“Mmm,” he mumbles.

“You were asking me about something I said,” I remind him gently. “What was it?”

“I—I can’t remember,” he replies.

“Just rest. You need your strength.”

The second man reappears at the top of the steps. “It’s all true,” he says, breathing hard. “Someone anonymously wired a message saying that there would be two stowaways aboard, a man and woman, British and American. They didn’t say anything about an injury.” Jan, I think. She tried to help by sending a message, but of course she hadn’t known about Paul being shot at the port. He turns to me. “The ambulances are coming now.”

Ambulances, plural. “I don’t need medical attention,” I say.

A minute later, I hear sirens in the distance, followed by more footsteps and voices overhead. Several medics race down the stairwell past the guards and come to Paul’s side. “Ma’am, if you would step aside so we can treat him,” one says. Reluctantly, I stand up and take a few steps back. “What happened?” the medic asks as he kneels.

“He was shot,” I reply.

“Any idea what kind of weapon?”

I shake my head. “East German. Soviet, maybe. Beyond that I don’t know.”

He looks up at me. “How long ago?”

I realize that I have completely lost track of time. “Yesterday, I think.” The medic’s eyes widen. Turning back to Paul, he lifts Paul’s shirt and examines the wound, not speaking for several seconds. Finally, I can stand it no longer. “How is he?” I demand.

The medic looks up at me, his expression grave. “Are you family?”

“Yes,” I reply quickly. “I mean no. He doesn’t have any family. I—I’m a close friend.”

“He’s seriously wounded and he’s going to need surgery immediately.” He turns to the other medics. “Let’s get him out of here.” As they lift Paul, he cries out in pain. I follow them as they carry him up the stairs.

Outside on the dock, I blink, adjusting my eyes to the daylight. The sky is a blanket of thick, gray clouds, and light, misting rain is falling. The brackish salt air fills my lungs, replacing the dank, dusty air from the hull of the ship. I walk quickly to Paul’s side as the medics place him on a stretcher. “Paul,” I whisper. He does not respond.

“We have to keep moving,” one of the medic says. I clutch Paul’s hand tightly, walking beside the stretcher as they wheel him from the deck, past several other ships, to one of the two ambulances waiting at the base of the dock.

The medic opens the back doors of the ambulance, then turns to me. “We have a second ambulance for you.”

“I’m fine. I don’t need medical attention.”

“Yes, you do, but there’s no time to quarrel about it. You have to let him go.” I open my mouth to reply, then close it again. Arguing will only delay Paul’s care. I release his hand and the medics lift the stretcher into the ambulance, closing the doors quickly behind them. Then, as the ambulance drives away, I fall to the ground, sobbing.





CHAPTER 25




“Marta,” a voice calls in the darkness. Paul. Are we still in Germany? “Marta,” the voice says again. My heart sinks. The accent is British. It is not Paul.

A hand touches my arm, shakes me. Reluctantly, I open my eyes. Simon stands above me, brow furrowed.

“Simon,” I whisper. Simon, not Paul. I wonder if I am lying in our bed at home, if finding Paul alive and being reunited with him was just a dream. Tears fill my eyes.

“Darling.” Simon touches my cheek, mistaking my tears for happiness. “You’re home now. Safe.”

But I am not home, I realize, looking around the sterile, unfamiliar room. Suddenly I remember huddling with Paul in the bottom of the ship. “Where am I?”

“You’re in the hospital. We received a message at the Foreign Office the day before you arrived that you were coming back by ship, and then Customs reported finding two stowaways aboard the Bremen.” I picture the medics wheeling Paul away, the ambulance door closing. Where is he now? Is he all right? Simon continues, “You managed to tell them who you were and ask them to contact the Foreign Office. But then you became hysterical and refused to let the medics treat you, so they had to give you a sedative. How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” I reply, sitting up. “How long was I asleep?”

“Just overnight. You were suffering from severe exhaustion and dehydration, but the doctor says you’re fine otherwise.”

I swallow. “We ran out of water and…” I take a deep breath, wondering how much Simon knows about Paul. “The man they found in the boat with me. How is he?”

“I don’t know,” Simon replies. “He was in pretty bad shape when they found you two. Shot, I believe, losing a great deal of blood.”

I try to keep my voice calm. “Did they say who he was?”