Guard,” Barb said. “I remembered about your heart. I’m talking about volunteering with the Civil Air Patrol. You’ve seen these watchtowers they’ve been putting up.”
Ben nodded.
“Well, they train you as a lookout. You don’t get paid anything, but it’s a lot of fun. You sit up there scanning the skies for German planes and the ocean for U-boats, and call in anything you see.”
“Have you ever seen anything?” Hank asked.
“Well, no U-boats, but lots of planes.”
“Lemme guess,” he said. “All ours.”
“Yes,” Barb said. “So far, but you never know . . .”
“I think we do know,” Hank said. “Germans don’t even have a plane that can fly across the Atlantic. Not yet, anyway.”
“I’ll think about it,” Ben said. He wanted to change the subject. This whole conversation made him nervous. They were now talking about the second greatest obstacle to wooing Claire. If his real identity were known, Ben would be arrested, tried, and executed, just like six other German saboteurs had been eight weeks ago. They had been caught in June. Tried in July. Then strapped to the electric chair in August.
The Sinatra song ended.
“Well, gotta go,” Claire said. She stood up.
Ben stood up too. “Yeah, I’ve got to head back over the bridge. I told my landlady I’d help her with a few things before dark.” Another lie, but without Claire here, there was no reason to stay.
Claire stopped at the glass door and looked at Ben. “But you’re coming back for the movie, right?”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Ben said.
As she waved good-bye and headed down the sidewalk, Ben watched her glide past the window. There it was again; she’d singled him out. Claire wanted him at that movie.
So, for her, he’d come back over the bridge tonight and sit through the stupid movie.
On so many rational levels, he knew Claire could never be his. But he didn’t care. His whole life was up in the air now. The finely crafted plan that had landed him on the beach a little north of here in mid-August had been annihilated that very first night. Getting free of that plan, getting a chance to start his life over . . . that was the new plan. The only plan Ben cared about now.
Claire, he thought.
So many lies.
Chapter Two
The spy movie at the Daytona Theater was a wash, for the most part. No surprise there. British actors, a British plot, and loaded with propaganda. The Nazis were evil and incompetent, the Allies noble and intelligent. A predictable ending.
Ben didn’t mind it, though. With the newsreels and previews, it had given him two full hours to sit next to Claire. During some tense scenes, she’d leaned up against him. Twice she’d grabbed his forearm instead of the armrest.
He also didn’t mind how the Nazis were portrayed. He knew firsthand that they really were evil. And many he’d dealt with—some in positions of real authority—were seriously incompetent.
He wanted them to lose this war with all his heart.
It was dark out now. He stood at the center of the Broadway Bridge, looking west at the downtown area he’d just come from, such as it was. One main road called Beach Street ran north and south along a river that divided Daytona into two sections: the beachside and the mainland. That’s how he’d heard the locals describe it. There were a few more streets that branched off from it, a few more on the beachside, but it was a small town. Like many others he remembered seeing in Pennsylvania, where he was born.
The thing he liked most was the absence of the color red. If this had been any downtown area in Germany, in any city, no matter what size, that’s what you’d see. Red flags, white trim, black swastikas. Everywhere. It sickened him.
The downtown area here was lined with charming stores, diners, and the movie theater on one side, and on the other side of the street was a beautiful riverfront park, with peaceful walkways that wrapped around ponds and fountains.
Ben nodded.
“Well, they train you as a lookout. You don’t get paid anything, but it’s a lot of fun. You sit up there scanning the skies for German planes and the ocean for U-boats, and call in anything you see.”
“Have you ever seen anything?” Hank asked.
“Well, no U-boats, but lots of planes.”
“Lemme guess,” he said. “All ours.”
“Yes,” Barb said. “So far, but you never know . . .”
“I think we do know,” Hank said. “Germans don’t even have a plane that can fly across the Atlantic. Not yet, anyway.”
“I’ll think about it,” Ben said. He wanted to change the subject. This whole conversation made him nervous. They were now talking about the second greatest obstacle to wooing Claire. If his real identity were known, Ben would be arrested, tried, and executed, just like six other German saboteurs had been eight weeks ago. They had been caught in June. Tried in July. Then strapped to the electric chair in August.
The Sinatra song ended.
“Well, gotta go,” Claire said. She stood up.
Ben stood up too. “Yeah, I’ve got to head back over the bridge. I told my landlady I’d help her with a few things before dark.” Another lie, but without Claire here, there was no reason to stay.
Claire stopped at the glass door and looked at Ben. “But you’re coming back for the movie, right?”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Ben said.
As she waved good-bye and headed down the sidewalk, Ben watched her glide past the window. There it was again; she’d singled him out. Claire wanted him at that movie.
So, for her, he’d come back over the bridge tonight and sit through the stupid movie.
On so many rational levels, he knew Claire could never be his. But he didn’t care. His whole life was up in the air now. The finely crafted plan that had landed him on the beach a little north of here in mid-August had been annihilated that very first night. Getting free of that plan, getting a chance to start his life over . . . that was the new plan. The only plan Ben cared about now.
Claire, he thought.
So many lies.
Chapter Two
The spy movie at the Daytona Theater was a wash, for the most part. No surprise there. British actors, a British plot, and loaded with propaganda. The Nazis were evil and incompetent, the Allies noble and intelligent. A predictable ending.
Ben didn’t mind it, though. With the newsreels and previews, it had given him two full hours to sit next to Claire. During some tense scenes, she’d leaned up against him. Twice she’d grabbed his forearm instead of the armrest.
He also didn’t mind how the Nazis were portrayed. He knew firsthand that they really were evil. And many he’d dealt with—some in positions of real authority—were seriously incompetent.
He wanted them to lose this war with all his heart.
It was dark out now. He stood at the center of the Broadway Bridge, looking west at the downtown area he’d just come from, such as it was. One main road called Beach Street ran north and south along a river that divided Daytona into two sections: the beachside and the mainland. That’s how he’d heard the locals describe it. There were a few more streets that branched off from it, a few more on the beachside, but it was a small town. Like many others he remembered seeing in Pennsylvania, where he was born.
The thing he liked most was the absence of the color red. If this had been any downtown area in Germany, in any city, no matter what size, that’s what you’d see. Red flags, white trim, black swastikas. Everywhere. It sickened him.
The downtown area here was lined with charming stores, diners, and the movie theater on one side, and on the other side of the street was a beautiful riverfront park, with peaceful walkways that wrapped around ponds and fountains.
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