Page 35 of Wicked Deceptions
We arrived in America two weeks ago, and I have spent all of my time with the MID, which I have learned is the Military Intelligence Department. I have not been able to see Christian and have been questioned relentlessly on a daily basis. Tomorrow, I find out if I am cleared or not.
I haven’t really thought about what I would do if I am not cleared by the MID. I wonder if Christian would move to Paris. I have no desire to return to Russia, and of all the places I have been over the last four years, Paris is the only one that feels like home.
Today is my last day of questioning, and frankly, I am not looking forward to it. I’m seated in front of yet another intelligence officer. Each series of questioning has been asked by somebody different, so many questions have been repeated. I assume it is a way for them to ensure my responses are consistent.
“State your name,” the officer says sternly.
“I am Princess Yekaterina Alexandrovna of Russia.”
“And is it true you are related to the belated Tsar Nicholas II, ex-Emperor of Russia?”
“Yes, he was my uncle.”
“When did you leave Russia?”
I think for a minute. “Tenth of August, 1915”
“And why did you leave Russia?”
“My father had planned with my brother that if anything happened that would threaten our safety, he was to take me and go to Paris, with the assumption Mother and Father would follow us there at some point. The night my brother and I left Saint Petersburg, the Bolsheviks invaded our home. We found out months later our parents were murdered that very same night.” I haven’t thought about my parents’ murders in such a very long time. The thought of what those animals did to them causes a single tear to release from my eyes and drop down my cheek.
The officer looks down at the papers he has on his clipboard, then back at me. “There is something about this that perplexes me, Katerina.” He taps his pen on the papers and says, “How does a Russian-born princess become a spy for the enemy?”
“That’s a very good question.” I take a deep breath. “Our original plan was to stay in Paris until our parents arrived, which obviously did not happen, or until the war ended and return to Russia. But then my brother was killed by the Germans, and I was left with nothing. Growing up as privileged as I did, I was never afforded the opportunity to learn how to earn for myself. The only thing I had were my looks and figure, and so I turned to prostitution. I worked for Madame LaRue for many months and encountered all walks of men—French, German, and American men. One of my regular German customers, Malcolm Jager, offered me a ‘better life.’ You must understand, I was young and naïve. I thought anything would be better than making a living on my back. So, I took the offer and was trained to be a spy for the Germans.”
“Do you have a love for the Germans?”
I chuckle. “Oh God, no. I blame Germany and their campaign for power for just about every loss I have suffered over the last four years. At the time, I truly believed I could single-handedly take Germany down by working as a double agent. Like I said, I was naïve.”
“Do you still credit Germany for all you have lost?”
“I sure do.” I cross my legs. “I pray every day that Germany never recovers from this war.”
“And tell me about Malcolm Jager?”
All the questions so far have been repeats of the previous interrogations, but this one catches me off guard. “What do you want to know about him?”
“What was his position with the German government?”
“He was a member of Abteilung Mobile Division, a division centering around counterintelligence and foreign intelligence capabilities focusing on, of course, France and Russia. He deals with counterintelligence in operational and occupied territories. At least, that is what he told me, and I believe it to be true by what I witnessed when I was in Berlin for my training.”
“Were you intimate with him?”
“Yes, when I worked for Madame LaRue, but once I completed my training, we never spoke again.”
“When was the last time you made contact with him?”
“Frankly, I cannot remember. Not since my training, of that I am sure. But I cannot give you an exact date. Once Malcolm turned me over to Gerhardt Wagner, Malcolm disappeared from my life.”
“And what about Gerhardt Wagner? What can you tell me about him?”
“He was my trainer and handler. From the minute I began my training, Gerhardt was my link to the outside world. Once I graduated, he was my handler and partner in all my missions.”
“Were you intimate with Gerhardt?”
“No. Although I believe that if I entertained the idea with him, he would have been receptive.” I always knew Gerhardt wanted more. But it was more than I wanted to give. I never thought it a good idea anyway, for us to have that kind of relationship. It would have clouded our judgement, and in our line of work, it was not acceptable.
He nods. “I see.” Looking back down at his papers, he hesitates and then looks back up. “Just a few more questions, Katerina, and then you will be free to go.”
