CapturedbytheSS Read Online Free PDF Page A

headboard.
    Tilting my head back, I watch him loop the chain of my
tethered handcuff over the headboard before securing the loose shackle to my
other wrist.
    Apparently satisfied, he turns without looking at me and
then wordlessly leaves the room. I hear his heavy footfalls going down the
stairs.
    Fairly certain he’s downstairs, I grab the headboard with
both hands and quickly pull myself up. Resting my head against my hands, I
frantically dig for a bobby pin. I always try to have at least two tucked in my
hair somewhere during an assignment. I actually know how to pick several types
of locks with just a bobby pin, including handcuffs. To me, they’re a vital
tool behind enemy lines.
    No one ever actually taught me how to pick a lock with a
bobby pin. It’s a trick I taught myself. I told one of my instructors about it
once, but he just rolled his eyes and told me, “A hairpin will pick only the
simplest of locks. It won’t get you into a secure building.”
    Technically, my instructor is indeed correct. Whenever I
break into a highly secured building, like the Echelon, I have a little toolkit
I keep strapped to my thigh. It has sophisticated lock-picking tools, a Philips
and flathead screwdriver, a small saw for stubborn locks and even a lock
scrambler that can bypass both fingerprint scanners and ocular readers. I
always have to toss it before leaving Berlin though. Something like that could
be a problem at checkpoints.
    But I don’t need my toolkit for handcuffs. Holding my
breath, I find a pin in my hair. After pulling it out, I deftly get to work on
unlocking one of my cuffs. In a matter of seconds, I have one unlocked. I don’t
have a lot of time, so I leave the other cuff on and let the restraint dangle
from my wrist. Not making any noise, I hurriedly sit up while tucking the pin
back in, and then slide out of bed. The minute my shoes hit the hardwood floor,
there’s a distinct tap.
    Biting my bottom lip, I quickly bend over to pull off my
shoes. I walk softly across the hardwood floor barefooted toward the open door.
Peering through the door, I search for my captor. I don’t see or hear him.
Being careful not to make any noise, I slip into the pitch-black hall and feel
my way toward the stairs.
    Clutching my shoes in one hand, I silently make my way down
the stairs. Leaning over the railing, I search for any sign of him. There’s no
sound or movement. Of course it’s so dark I can’t see anything. I think there’s
a living room spilling out to the side of the stairs.
    Taking a shallow breath, I tiptoe off the last step. My eyes
have adjusted to the darkness, and I can see moonlight streaming in from
several small windows in the foyer. Hurrying toward the door, I glance behind
me, searching for him. There’s no sound or movement. A bit giddy, I fiddle with
the locks.
    My mind is already planning my next move. I have no idea
where I’m going to go or how I’m going to get there. Hannover is still my best
bet. But I don’t know where David’s synagogue is, and by now, he’s probably not
at our rendezvous point anymore. I’m basically stuck behind enemy lines with no
ID, no transportation and no help.
    Of course, the ID is the really important thing. It’s hard
to walk in any direction without a guard or a patrolman asking for
identification. I have no idea how far I’m going to get, but at least I won’t
be here. There’s a distinct click when I turn the deadbolt. Off to my right, I
hear a soft sound and then a startled intake of air…followed by rushing
footsteps.
    Crap. He’s in the living room. Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!
    I frantically try to get the door open, but he’s on me in an
instant. His arms wrap firmly around me.
    “And where do you think you are going, American?”
Amusement filters through his German-heavy English.
    I thought I’d leave. It’s been fun though. “Let me go!” I
protest, pulling against him. In the struggle, I drop my shoes.
    “You said you would be good.”