The Losing Role by Steve Anderson Read Free Book Online

probably
ordered it. Though you could never tell from the way the lieutenant
colonel was entertaining Max in this bourgeois villa. His nasally
Vienna accent didn’t fit his brutal physique in the least. His eyes
sparkled as he spoke. A definite charmer. Yet so was the Marquis de
Sade. “Spiritual,” Max added. The fire seemed to grow hotter. The
sweat itched under his hair.
    “Feel free to unbutton your tunic, Corporal.”
    “Right. Thank you.” The unbuttoning helped. Max also
took his cap off and hung it on a chair to warm—that would come in
handy in the cold barrack. Good thinking. He was coming around.
    Skorzeny continued, “We cannot—will not—tolerate
leaks or dissension from within the unit. Traitors could be
anywhere. Turncoats. American spies. The mission must be protected.
Certain types, they resort to their own ways, and ends. Think they
know better.”
    The adjutant was standing over Max, offering him a
cognac. The glass was oversized and warmed. Max drank from it. It
went down as fine as he imagined, all fumes and caramels. He wiped
the sweat from his forehead.
    “Let’s get you away from this fire,” Skorzeny said
and stood. Max followed him across the room cradling his glass.
Skorzeny opened wall-to-floor red curtains, revealing French doors.
They looked out at the black night full of twinkles from snow
falling. “Most men here, they volunteered,” Skorzeny said. “But
you? They say you can act and sing in English. You did just that in
America. So you see we had to send for you, find you at all costs.
You’re our German Chevalier, what?”
    “Ah, if only . . . Let’s call me our German Kaspar
for now.” Max fought a blush. “In any case—had I seen the order for
volunteers, sir, I certainly would have—”
    “You’re one of the few who didn’t see it.” Skorzeny
slapped at the door glass, his face hard and his eyes black with
rage. “An uncoded order goes out to all German units, on all
fronts, soliciting English speakers? What were those twits
thinking? Surely Allied intelligence saw it. Might as well have put
an ad in The New Yorker Time .”
    “ New York Times ,” Max blurted in English.
“—Sir,” he added in German.
    “Certainly. Now here’s the thing, Kaspar—I’m putting
together a special unit culled from the troops here. Cast, if you
will, with the best American speakers. Sort of a spearhead force.
Most of the sailors are in. Get the picture? Just the production
for you. Sort of a, shall we say, a touring show. Ha ha. You’re in,
of course?”
    It wasn’t really a question, of course. How could it
be? Max was the one who’d auditioned, yet he didn’t even know the
script. A special unit, Skorzeny said. It was already top secret.
If Max said no, he could very well end up like Pielau—on leave and
caught in the next air raid. Still, he had to admit it couldn’t
hurt the plan he had in his head, the one he’d been developing in
the dim obscurity of his lower bunk. It had him sliding through on
just enough ability, and then? Perhaps, somehow, he could get far
enough behind the US front lines. Get to New York if the role had
any legs at all. That was where he belonged. Hadn’t he told himself
that so many times? Germany had fooled him. The Fatherland was a
trickster. Promised success and a grand life but delivered the Grim
Reaper and a Götterdämmerung . He could go AWOL. Defect.
Hopefully he wouldn’t have to fire a shot. It was to be the
greatest role in his life. It was indeed true what the masters said
of the best performances—they had to be lived.
    Max’s eyes had filled with wet heat. He glared off
toward the fire.
    “I can see you’re moved.” Skorzeny was rocking on
his heels. “What if I was to tell you what’s next, eh? Give you a
taste. Could you keep it mum?”
    Max’s head and shoulders rose up, with fervor. “You
forget, I’m an actor, sir.”
    “Yes, I was just thinking that . . .” Skorzeny
studied Max, tapping a thick finger at