The League of Night and Fog by David Morrell Read Free Book Online Page A

six the other. That number of men, it isn’t easy, it takes a lot of determination, and a damned good reason, to try to sneak past our border defenses. A village in contested territory, I could see them trying for it. A strategic target—let’s say an air base, a munitions site—a risky surprise attack would make sense. But a village of widows, orphans, and deserted wives? Fifty miles from the border?
What’s going on?”
    “Don’t think it hasn’t worried me,” Saul said.
3
    A t sunset, a dusty sedan arrived. Outside the ruin of what had been home, facing a small fire fueled by the wreckage he’d carried out, Saul heard the engine as he ate rehydrated chicken noodle soup and watched Erika spoon the broth into Christopher’s mouth.
    Glancing up, he saw soldiers step from cover and gesture for the driver to stop at the edge of the village. The car was too far away, its windshield too dusty, for Saul to see who sat behind the steering wheel. The soldiers spoke to someone inside, examined the documents they were handed, and turned toward the village, pointing the driver in Saul’s direction. The car approached.
    Saul stood. “Do you recognize it?”
    Erika peered at the car and shook her head. “Do you?”
    “The village is getting too crowded.”
    The car stopped twenty feet away. Villagers watched suspiciously from open doors. The driver shut off the engine. Something wheezed beneath the hood. A man got out.
    He was six feet tall, thin, his shoulders bent slightly forward. He wore a rumpled suit, the top button of his shirt open, his tie hanging loose. He had a mustache, a receding hairline. Saul guessed that he was in his late thirties, and sensed that his thinness was due to enormous energy held in check, constantly burning calories even when sitting at a desk, a position suggested by the stoop of his shoulders.
    Grinning, the man approached. Saul had never seen him before, but the delight in the stranger’s eyes made it clear that the stranger knew
him
.
    In a moment, Saul realized his mistake.
    It isn’t me he knows.
    It’s Erika.
    Her eyes glinted with the same delight as the stranger’s. She smiled broadly, ecstatically, her voice an incredulous whisper. “Misha?”
    “Erika.”
    She rushed forward, hugging him. “Misha!” she whooped.
    Saul relaxed when he heard the name. If his guess was right, the last name would be Pletz. He’d never met the man, but he remained grateful for favors that Misha—at Erika’s request—had done for his foster brother and himself three years ago.
    He waited respectfully until Erika stopped hugging Misha. Then stepping forward, holding Christopher in his left arm, he extended his right. “Welcome. Are you hungry? Would you like some soup?”
    Misha’s grip was strong. “No, thanks. I ate two bagels in the car. They gave me heartburn.”
    “I often wondered what you look like.”
    “As I did you. About your brother—I’m sorry.”
    Saul nodded, retreating from painful emotion.
    “Misha, why aren’t you in Washington?” Erika asked.
    “Two years ago, I was transferred back to Tel Aviv. To be honest, I wanted it. I missed my homeland, my parents. And the transfer involved a promotion. I can’t complain.”
    “What’s your assignment now?” she asked.
    Misha reached for Christopher’s hand. “How are you, boy?”
    Christopher giggled.
    But Misha’s avoidance of Erika’s question made Saul uneasy.
    “He’s a fine-looking child.” Misha surveyed the ruined building behind the small fire. “Renovations?”
    “The interior decorators came today,” she said.
    “So I heard.”
    “Their work wasn’t to our liking. They had to be fired.”
    “I heard that as well.”
    “Is that why you’re here?” Saul asked.
    Misha studied him. “Maybe I’ll have some soup, after all.”
    They sat around the fire. Now that the sun was almost gone, the desert had cooled. The fire’s heat was soothing.
    Misha ate only three spoonfuls of soup. “Even while I