What on earth did that mean?

The telephone rang a shrill alarm. “Don’t answer it!” Martha snapped at Gail. The phone rang a second time and went silent. Martha stared at it, willing it to ring again. It did, and Martha picked it up, saying nothing. A male voice crackled from the receiver. She said, “ Bestätigt,” then hung up.

She turned to Gail. “The plane should be here in a matter of minutes.”

“What plane?” I asked.

“A seaplane,” said Martha.

“I’m still going?” said Gail hopefully.

Martha nodded. “You’ve truly earned it.” She turned to me. “And I’m going to let you go, as I promised. I honestly believe you won’t tell anyone anything, because it would be very bad for Gail if you did. Gunther will be guarding you until after we’re on our way. Gail, let Gunther out of the bathroom.”

As Gail stepped over to the washroom, Martha gave me the same look of contempt she’d shown me at the Claremont. She said quietly, “Before we go, I’ve prepared a little surprise for Gail to give you.”

I could hardly wait.

Gail was back with Gunther, who angrily strapped on his holstered Luger.

Martha said, “Gail, I want you to share your good news with Ray.”

Gail’s face brightened. “It’s okay? You’re sure?”

Martha nodded.

There was nothing mean-spirited in Gail’s tone. “I’m glad I can tell you, Ray, because maybe this will better help you understand the things I’ve done. We’re flying from here to Mexico City. Then to Buenos Aires, Morocco, Lisbon, and from there to Berlin. After that, I’m not sure where I’ll be going. Lisbon, most likely. But I won’t be alone.”

“Tell him what you’re picking up in Berlin,” Martha prodded.

Gail’s eyes grew wide. “Ray, I’m going there to get my father.”

Her father.

Oh.

I looked at Martha. “You know who her father is?” I asked.

“Yes,” said Martha. “I’ve known all along. I’m told he’s a wonderful man, warm and gentle and creative.”

It was good that Martha was holding a gun on me, because I would otherwise have slain her with my hands. “You let me think—” Oh, the delighted smile on Martha’s face.

Gail perceived none of this. She was too full of her own happiness. “Do you remember when I was talking about my uncle Joe, the composer, who taught me what I know about music? Ray, I was really telling you about my father. I so wanted to let you know about him but”—she cast a glance toward Martha—“I’m not allowed to, so I pretended I was talking about my uncle.”

Numbly, I asked, “What do you mean, you’re not allowed?”