At the airfield in the shadow of the huge U.S. Army transport plane’s wing, Maurice handed Victoria a note as she prepared to board. “From Colonel Albrecht,” he said. “I was instructed to give it to you at the plane shortly before you were up and away. Au revoir, Mademoiselle Veronique Colbert. Safe trip home.”

From her window, Victoria watched the detective brave the whip of the C-47’s takeoff, hat removed, to see her on her way before he turned to walk back to the police car. Airborne, Victoria tore open the envelope. “Remember your promise to me. Yours always, Derrick Albrecht.”

CHAPTER NINETY-THREE

CHAPTER NINETY-THREE

One by one, the lives of Dragonfly fell into place while the war raged on in Europe. All but Victoria, whose return to the United States had not been documented, were issued letters bearing the seal of the U.S. State Department to present to employers to explain the applicant’s missing two years as “time served in the national interest of the country.”

Bucky went to work for a civil engineering firm in Tulsa, Oklahoma, an hour-and-a-half drive from his hometown. At a stopover on his return home from France, he had telephoned his parents to alert them that he was on the way, and his father’s bellow of joy and his mother’s cry of “Oh Dieu merci!” were ringing in his ear all the way to Oklahoma City. They were at the station when the Santa Fe steamed in, looking as if they’d been standing on the platform all night in case they would miss it.

*  *  *

Three days later, helping Wilhelm down, Brad stepped onto the platform of the Glenwood Springs railroad station. “Is this the village where you live?” Wilhelm asked in a wondering voice and held Brad’s hand tighter.

“No, buddy,” Brad said in German. “Remember that I told you that I live in Meeker, an hour away.” He scanned the platform for his family, disturbed and not a little disappointed at the lack of a reception committee. From Washington, D.C., he’d telephoned his home number to find it had been disconnected. He realized that the number had probably changed since his family had moved into the new house, but the operator had told him that none was listed for Jared Cramer and explained that phone hookups for new residences took weeks, if not months, to be installed because of technician and material shortages. Brad had then placed a call to the lumberyard and asked to speak to Jared.

“He’s not here,” said a young woman whose voice Brad did not recognize.

Could he leave a message? Brad had asked.

“Sure, wait till I find a pen. There’s one around here somewhere.”

Where in the world had Jared dug her up? Brad wondered. A secretary without a pen handy? Had he interrupted her painting her nails? “Okay, I got one,” she’d said. “What’s the message?”