Von Lutzow was enjoying himself; he grinned at Macurdy. “The doc here tells me I arrived just in time. Says if I’d come a week later, I’d have missed you you’d have been off to rehab. He says your recovery has been nothing short of miraculous.” He laughed. “Why is it I’m not surprised? Your right arm even healed to the same length as the left; that impressed him as much as anything. When they brought you in, they figured you might be ready to leave in four months. It’s been less than one.”
“How did you do that?”
Macurdy shrugged, a bit uncomfortable. “With mirrors,” he said, then added, “honest to God.” Quick-healing the shattered shoulder blade, after surgery, had involved holding a shaving mirror in his good hand to look at his back in a bathroom mirror. Then he’d manipulated the lines of force with his eyes and mind.
Von Lutzow gazed at him appraisingly. “I thought maybe it was your Aunt Varia. The guys in your platoon told me more about her than you did. They half believe in her, you know? And me? I believe in her all the way. Three-fourths at least.”
Macurdy sidestepped the subject. “You were going to tell me how you found me,” he said, “and why. I can kind of see the how–you knew I was with the 509th, they told you the outfit my mail had been forwarded to, and someone referred you to Doc Alden … That still leaves why.”
Von Lutzow replied in German. “Because my outfit wants to recruit you.”
Macurdy answered in Klara’s baltisches Deutsch. “Have you cleared this with Division?”
Still in German, Von Lutzow replied, “You’re not in the 82nd anymore. You’ve been assigned to ETOUSA-headquarters for the European Theater ofOperations U.S. Army. The whole shebang. It’s also known as the paperwork capital of England and the chickenshit capital of the world. Which it needs to be.”
Macurdy frowned. ETOUSA didn’t sound like, anyplace he’d like to be. “And that’s your outfit? I thought you were in G-2, some kind of spy.”
“We’re entirely separate from G-2. We’re the OSS-the Office of Strategic Services. You’d like it; it’s a good outfit, even more unconventional than the airborne.” Von Lutzow cocked an eye at his passenger. “And it has an absolute minimum of chickenshit.”
Macurdy introverted. It seemed to him he was being railroaded. The choice was the OSS or ETOUSA, and ETOUSA sounded worse than the MPs by a big margin.
They drove some beautiful country roads, Von Lutzow describing in general terms what the OSS did, which went far beyond spying. One of its principal jobs was to work with partisans in Nazi-occupied countries, training them in guerrilla warfare. Macurdy’s impression was, that’s what they’d have him doing.
By that time, evening was settling. In a town named Tonbridge, they went to a small Italian restaurant. The food and wine both were excellent, but the conversation-now in English, of course-was innocuous. Then Von Lutzow took him back to the hospital, not pressing for a decision.
Nor did Macurdy volunteer one. It seemed to him his only choice was the OSS, but there were questions he needed answered before he’d commit himself.
When Von Lutzow showed up again the next day, Macurdy suggested a walk in the estate’s woodland park, and while they walked, they talked. “You’ve gone to a lot of work to recruit me,” Macurdy said. “Why? Why not just order me to report?”
“The OSS is like the airborne: volunteers.”
“Volunteers? Sounds like the only other choice I’ve got is ETOUSA.”
Von Lutzow ignored the comment. “We have a mission that so far as I know, you’re the only person suited for. In the whole damned world. In fact, you’re ideal for it: intelligent, resourceful, you speak German . . .” He paused meaningfully. “And you have psychic talents.”
“Psychic talents? If that means magic, about all f can do is light fires and heal. What good is that to the Office of Strategic Services? You’re not part of the Medical Corps.”
“There’s one other thing.” Von Lutzow paused. “Apparently you can make yourself invisible, and others around you if they’re close enough. How else did that German patrol miss seeing us in Tunisia? One of them actually stumbled over your leg, for chrissake!”