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they roughly dragged Catherine to her feet and into the other room.  They quickly untied her, undressed her, and then tied her up again.  The Russians yelled like schoolboys on a soccer field as the first one had his way with her.  Then the second had her.  Then, the third.  Her mind skipped in and out of consciousness.  These animals were beyond considering what she knew.  Information no longer mattered because they had become something else—ruthless, filthy animals, violating her because they could.  How long this went on, Leni had lost all sense of time, her mind refusing the consistency of time or space or surroundings.
    The fourth one, the officer, had other ideas when it came his turn.  He yelled at the others, and they untied her from the chair and she was forced to kneel.  He grabbed her hair and forced her to look up at him.  His face was shined with sweat, his eyes drunk and wild.
    The door flew open with a loud report.  Shots were fired.
    Catherine’s mind tried desperately to understand what was going on around her.  The officer’s grip relaxed and she bolted upright with all her strength, driving her knee into his groin.  He fell back with a painful yelp.
    When it was over three Russians were dead.  The room smelled of burning cordite.  Her rescuers placed a blanket around her and took her into the kitchen, built a fire for her in the narrow fireplace, and gave her warm tea.  It was then that she told them they would find her husband’s body in the courtyard.
    A small-framed man dressed in a raincoat with a serious face came through the door.  Catherine, teacup clasped in her hands, watched as he walked from room to room, stopping to whisper with several of the men.  Then he came to her, removed his overcoat and stood in front of the fire.
    “Are you feeling better?”
    He was gaunt, middle aged, and even in the weak light Catherine could see his face was colorless and terribly thin.  She didn’t answer.  Instead she took another gulp of tea.
    “Would you like a cigarette?” He asked.
    “Yes, please,” she said.
    He sat beside her.  “My name is Theodor Richter.  I’m terribly sorry we didn’t arrive sooner to disrupt this sorry affair.  But, you are safe now and will be sent to Berlin tonight.”
    Shortly after that the Russian officer was brought from the bedroom.  His face was swollen and red, and now full of fear.  Richter reached in his coat pocket and produced a pistol.  He laid it in her lap and nodded toward the Russian.  “As soon as you have finished your business here.”
    Then they left her alone with the officer.
     
    For two months she was given time to recuperate at a personal home in Berlin.  There she regained her health, though she still had awful nightmares about Ewald.   
    Late one afternoon a week later, Theodor Richter came and took her for a walk in the park.  She remembered walking along the tunneled allees, their footsteps muted on the damp, matted floor of copper leaves blanketing the sidewalk.  In the distance, a woman’s call for her children echoed in the falling dusk.  They walked until they came to several benches and took a seat beneath thick-canvassed yellow trees.
    It was then that Richter told her of his plan for her to be a deep-cover agent.  When she seemed surprised, the German spymaster smiled slightly, and told her, “Why, Catherine, it’s obvious.  Being so beautiful allows you to be a spy.”
    That was when she told him that she was pregnant.
    ----
    Three months after her son Georgi was born, Catherine was sent to Innsbruck to eliminate an agent suspected of turning over information to the American OSS station in Switzerland. 
    Catherine had waited two days without any word from Richter.  Though she knew it was impossible, she sometimes wondered if he had forgotten her. Her thoughts of poor Georgi constantly weighed on her. 
    To pass the time Leni played a simple game. 
    She was supposed to be a tourist, so she