OP-DEC: Operation Deceit

Chapter 10

Claire sat huddled against her aunt on the leather sofa in her father's dusky office. She stared into nothing while she tried to make sense of the events of that evening and how they wove with the tattered strings her distant past. Aunt stroked Claire's hair and held her close, just like when she'd suffered nightmares as a girl. However, this time, she didn't feel the usual ease from her aunt's affection.

Carsten guarded the women from where he perched casually on the edge of Father's desk. He listlessly held the gun on his thigh. Reaching into his breast pocket, he withdrew a small object, deftly used his fingers to goad something out of it, and threw it in his mouth. He tucked the packet away and chewed.

Claire knew without seeing that Aunt glared at their casual captor. She would have done the same if she could have managed to stop thinking of her mother. Naturally, she had clung to the wreckage of her broken home, hoping her father would provide some flotsam on which to ride the tumultuous waves back to some safe harbor. She wondered at how deftly her mind had picked up on warnings, though she'd never pinpointed anything concretely criminal after the fateful day. She'd talked herself into forgiving him so many times, but something in her core refused to follow through, firmly blaming him. Claire refused to berate herself for having tried to be the better person. Anyone in her situation would have tried to dismiss such suspicions as nonsense, as she had, for the sake of holding onto what crumbled pieces of her home were left.

"I should have told you," Aunt mumbled.

"Told me what?" Claire asked, stunned.

"Your mother," Aunt said. "She passed me a note the day your father sent her away. It told me she'd found out something terrible about him. He'd been siphoning money overseas to the Germans. I thought, reading it, that your father just might be right about your mother. It didn't make me any less angry at him. I just never wanted to believe-" Aunt swallowed her words. She blinked back tears and hung her head unable to go on.

"Aunt-please go on," Claire said.

"I just didn't want to believe your father capable of such evil," she finished. After a pause, she addressed Carsten. "How long has this been going on?"

Carsten's eyes rolled to hers. He stopped chewing. His hand shifted on the gun; he resembled a mafia goon more than he did a Nazi.

"You should know that by now, Frau O'Shea," Carsten replied. He gripped his pistol tighter, seeing the women more alert than he had presumed they would be. "Besides, it is not my business to discuss this with you."

"What's he going to do with us?" Aunt pressed.

"Leave you in Switzerland, hopefully," Carsten said.

"Everything you said was a lie." Claire scowled, hating him for the inference.

Carsten's gaze faltered for a moment, seemingly stunned by her words.

"Not everything, Fräulein," Carsten replied coldly. His tone struck hard. "A bit of truth constructs a potent story, but you will never know what was true and what was a lie." His bold gaze went through her like a chill.

"I should have listened to myself when I first saw you," Claire sneered. "I knew you were a rat."

Carsten raised his brows and sighed doubtfully.

Father's office door abruptly burst open. Carsten jumped up from the desk, prepared to shoot whoever had barged into their hideout. The intruder shut the door quick and, before realizing a gun was aimed at him, continued unhindered. But it was only Father, who quickly drew up short, raising his hands to halt his eager henchman. Carsten hid the piece at the ready in his jacket, wearing a malicious countenance.