At ten past one, with the sun high in the sky, two people, a man and a woman, walked along the inside of the fence. Patton had the binoculars and she motioned to Bob, who could see the pair easily with the naked eye. They came to a stop about fifty meters away and spoke in hushed tones for a moment. Then, they did the last thing Bob or Patton expected from a patrol. They looped their arms around one another and began to kiss. Not perfunctory dry kisses, but deep, long, passionate kisses. Practiced kisses. The sort of kisses that seriously contemplated progressing to something much more than kissing.

“That’s the patrol we’ve got to outfox?” Bob whispered, smiling.

Just as Patton was beginning to think Ingrid Weiss’s posse might not be so hard to outsmart she heard a loud groan behind her. She looked back in horror to see Alex Lansdowne, standing up, stretching, and letting out a prodigious yawn. She glared daggers at him, but he did not seem to notice. Before she could move, Bob grabbed Alex’s ankle and pulled him to the ground, covering the idiot’s mouth with his hand. Patton could just hear Bob whisper, “Shut the fuck up.”

When Patton looked back toward the fence, she could see that the two paramours had disentangled themselves and were looking right at her. She plastered herself to the ground and held her breath. She did not speak much German, but she could easily guess from the tone of their voices what they were saying. Did you hear something? Maybe it was just an animal? Should we report it? Should we go looking for whatever it was?

The man pulled a pistol out of his pocket and walked up to the fence, scanning the woods. “Wer is da?” he shouted. Who is there? Patton ran through scenarios in her mind. What if they came outside the fence? Could she and the other two pretend to be hikers lost in the woods? Or would it be better to make a run for it so they could live to fight another day. She and Bob might be able to do that, but Weiss’s guards looked young and fit. Rotund, middle-aged Alex Lansdowne would never outrun them. She looked toward Bob, catching his eye and silently communicating, What should we do? Bob wore an expression that said simply, Hope for the best. Patton started imagining what lost hikers would say and decided she would tell the patrol they were bird-watching—hence the high-powered binoculars.

“Wer is da?” said the man again, but this time the woman tugged on his sleeve and shook her head. The man lowered his pistol, turned to the woman, and gave her another long, lingering kiss. Then they walked on, disappearing around a curve in the fence line. Five minutes later, when they had not heard another sound, Patton sat up.