The Soldier Spies (Men at War 3)

“Reasons of state, of course,” he said. “I can’t get into that, of course.”

“Naturally not,” she said, hoping he thought she sounded very impressed with him.

“But I can tell you something rather interesting about them,” he said.

Whatever that was would have some sexual connotation, she knew. He liked to embarrass her.

“Really?”

“They like their women shaved,” Peis whispered.

“What?” Gisella asked, but then she understood. “Wilhelm,” she said, somewhat surprised to realize she was really quite curious,“how could you possibly know that?”

“Frau Gumbach told me,” he said, “that when His Excellency sends his bodyguard for girls once or twice a week, payment is generous and in advance, but before the girls can leave, they have to show N’Jibba, the bodyguard, that they have shaved their most intimate places.”

“I don’t believe that,” Gisella said. “Why?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea,” he said. “But I’m going to find out.”

“How? Are you going to walk over there and ask him?”

“No,” he said. “I’m leaving. You’re going to find out for me.”

“I don’t think this is funny, Wilhelm,” Gisella said.

“I’m not teasing you, if that was your question,” he said. “I’ve been trying to think of a way to meet both the Arab and the Baron. Socially, I mean. And I just worked out how to do it. I’m going to go over there with your apologies for refusing their wine. I’m going to tell them you are a respectable girl who didn’t know who they were. And then I’m going to leave.”

"I told you, I don’t think this is funny,” she said.

“I told you I wasn’t teasing you,” Peis said. “Let me phrase that another way. I want you to get to know one or both of them intimately. Preferably the Moroccan. And I hope you can do that with discretion. Because if you can’t, Gisella, the next time N’Jibba fetches whores from Frau Gumbach, one of them is going to be you.”

She fought back tears. He was obviously serious, and besides, her tears only pleased him.

“Will you tell me why you want me to do this??

?

“I will expect a full report from you,” he said.

“About what?”

“About anything interesting they do,” he said.

She watched in her compact mirror as Peis bowed and clicked his heels at their table. When she saw them glance in her direction, she quickly snapped the compact closed and studiously looked away. Peis then walked across the room, but stopped just outside the door and nodded his head to signal that he had arranged things.

Three minutes later, with a triumphant smirk, the waiter brought the bottle of Gumpoldskirchner ’32 back to the table.

“Compliments of the Baron, Fräulein Dyer,” he said.

“Thank you,” she said.

Then von Fulmar was standing beside her.

“I thought perhaps, since you are alone, I might ask to sit with you,” he said. There was sarcasm in his voice.

He was quite self-confident, which was strange and even a little funny. He was not a day over twenty, if that, despite the well-tailored English suit. She was twenty-five. Quite a gap as far as she was concerned, but he seemed oblivious to it.

“Please do,” she said, and gestured to a chair.