Authors: John Anthony Miller
York knew he was risking his life. Amanda Hamilton could be dangerous; ally or enemy, a spy or Gestapo informant. The policeman was his only clue as to where her loyalties might lie. She could have turned him in, but she didn’t.
He didn’t think she was the one who provided information to Kent, but he didn’t discount it. He had surprised her, caught her unaware, and she may not have trusted him. Maybe she thought he was Gestapo, especially after her issues with her husband, and they were testing her, plotting and planning like they normally did. But since she couldn’t be sure, she did nothing.
But she could also be the informant, as Max suspected, the musician who cost Kent his life. If that was true, she didn’t have him arrested for a reason. She would pretend to cooperate, baiting him, so she could arrest everyone he interfaced with, like Max, and then those in his networks. She might have even told her husband or some Gestapo agent the story of their meeting. But that didn’t seem like the woman he had chatted with at the cafe.
Although not certain about Amanda, he did suspect that Erika Jaeger was providing information to Kent. But that was based on seeing her at the cemetery and not actually at the drop site. Somehow he had to prove it was her, especially before he approached her. And he had to solve the riddles in her life, like why she needed so much food.
He decided to spend Saturday watching her. If he was right, she would go to the cemetery and he could watch her at the drop. Then when positive it was her, and after exchanging a few messages and observing her behavior, he could arrange a meet. But he had to be careful. She might know about the drop from Kent, when he was betrayed. And she could just as easily be the informant, watching the drop, as he was. It was confusing, and the wrong assumption could be deadly.
He left his hotel Saturday morning and went to the neighborhood where Erika Jaeger lived. Arriving near 10 a.m., he found a location just down the road where he could see both her house and the alley that led to the rear of her apartment building. To avoid suspicion he moved about the street, wandering up and down but still observing, and at times sitting on the bench for a bus stop, reading a newspaper. He took Max’s advice. He was suspicious of everyone he saw, assuming they were just as suspicious of him.
He watched and waited, walked a bit, and chatted with an older man walking his dog about the curious loyalties canines have to their masters. Then he watched three boys kicking a football about the street, even offering a tip on improving their game. When over ninety minutes passed with no activity, he wondered if he was wasting his time. But then near noon, the door to the building opened and Erika Jaeger came out.
She went down the steps, nodded to a woman sweeping the pavement with a straw broom, and turned towards the Ku’damm. She strolled down the street, stopping to pluck a tulip from a flower bed, holding it to her nose and then putting it in the buttonhole of her blouse.
York was relieved she was walking. At least he didn’t have the bicycle to contend with. He followed her, staying a discreet distance behind, hobbling on his cane.
The closer they got to the Ku’damm, the busier the street became. People were leaving their houses and apartments, businesses were emptying, and everyone walked towards the boulevard. Then York remembered the parade, having seen a poster at his hotel. That’s where everyone was going, including Erika Jaeger.
He followed her into the crowd, feeling hidden among hordes of people, but struck by the obvious absence of men. There were old men, and teenagers, and small boys, but the vast majority of people were women and children of all ages. Since most men were in the armed forces, he wondered how strange he looked to the casual observer. He should have worn his uniform, but he thought it would be noticeable while he observed Jaeger’s house. Now he regretted that he didn’t.
When he reached the Ku’damm, he found a place on the pavement, just past a jewelry store, where he could see Jaeger clearly. He kept looking down the boulevard, along with everyone else, waiting anxiously for the troops to come, but keeping his eyes on Jaeger. He watched every move she made, and made a mental note of everything she looked at or the people she talked to. He wanted to know everything about her. And watching her was a good way to learn.
He had been studying her for about ten minutes when someone tapped him on the shoulder. He turned to see the green uniform of a policeman.
“You seem more interested in the crowd than the parade,” the policeman said sternly. He was older, past military age, with white curly hair and round spectacles. He no doubt wondered why an apparently healthy man was not on the battlefield.
York smiled innocently. “Sometimes the crowd is more interesting.”
The policeman wasn’t convinced. “May I see your papers?”
York was alarmed, wondering what he did to arouse suspicion, but recovered quickly. He knew it was better to avoid scrutiny, and any potential confrontation, so he used a technique he perfected in France: distraction.
“I’m sorry, sir,” he said, leaning heavily on his cane. “I was told General Rommel was here and would mingle with the crowd. I served under him in North Africa. I’m on convalescent leave and decided to come to the parade, hoping to see him. But it’s just a rumor, I suppose.”
York watched the policeman’s posture relax, the tension starting to dissipate. “I know of no such rumor, although the General is in Berlin. Where did you hear it?”
York shrugged dumbly. “A man at the café told me. He served under the General in France a few years ago. But you’re right, I suppose. How would he know?” He fingered his pocket. “Did you need my papers?”
The policeman studied him for a moment, looking at the cane, the way he leaned on it for support, the stiffness of his leg. He looked at York’s clothes, the fit, the cut, the stitches, and then at his eyes, searching for a hint of fear or apprehension.
“No,” he said with a wave of his hand. “Not necessary. Enjoy the parade.”
As the policeman turned and walked away, York breathed a sigh of relief. Even though he was sure his papers were in order, he took pleasure in averting the risk. Policemen were unpredictable. Too old or sickly for military duty, they often took what little power they had to extremes. Sometimes it had catastrophic results.
Once the policeman had wandered away, York turned to Erika Jaeger, but she was gone. He spun his head in all directions, looking for her, but couldn’t find her. He frowned, fearing he had lost her and wasted the entire day. He had wanted to see if she went to the cemetery. Now he lost his chance.
He pushed his way through throngs of people until he reached the curb. The troops were nearby, barely a block away, coming quickly. He heard their footsteps, pounding the pavement, the echo reverberating down the street as they approached. All eyes were upon them, arms raised, cheering.
The policeman he had avoided was a few meters away, controlling the crowd. York stepped back behind a heavy woman, turning his head away, hoping to avoid him and any additional unwanted questions, but the man saw him. He nodded, casting a curious glance, but took no action.
York decided to stay away from him. He ducked into the crowd, out of the policeman’s sight, and moved back from the curb. He went to the entrance of a café, pausing to study the window display of kreppels, eyeing the donuts hungrily, and stood on the step, elevated above the pavement. From there he studied the people, keeping a wary eye for the suspicious policeman.
After scanning the crowd for a few minutes, occasionally distracted by the parade, he saw Jaeger standing about ten meters away. She had moved to where the crowd was sparser, and got a better vantage point.
He made his way to her, moving through the people, until he stood only a meter away. Cautiously, he stepped closer, standing behind her, the scent of her perfume lingering, her blonde hair cascading towards her shoulder, waving in the breeze. He watched the parade, Jaeger not even noticing him, her attention drawn to the troops goose-stepping down the boulevard, interrupted by groups of children in Hitler Youth uniforms and members of the Nazi party, lower-level city officials. As Jaeger watched the parade, York watched Jaeger.
She stayed for the entire procession, remaining until the crowds slowly dispersed. Then she entered the café, brushing against York as she walked past, and emerged a few minutes later with two packages, fresh kreppels peeking from the wrappings. She walked briskly to her house, York following at a distance, hobbling on his cane.
He returned to his vantage point, watching both the alley and the entrance to her apartment building. Mimicking his behavior from the morning, he occasionally walked away, traveled around the block, gambling he would miss her but hoping to avoid suspicion. She remained at home until early evening, when a taxi arrived at her residence. She left the building, carrying her violin case, and climbed into the car.
*
On Sunday morning, York took a taxi to the cemetery. The weather was beautiful, a bright June morning alive with chirping crickets, singing birds, and blooming flowers. There were few visitors at the cemetery, Sunday a day of rest for most. He made his way to the drop, cautiously observing the adjacent lanes and making sure no one saw him. When he was comfortable it was safe, her removed the finial and looked for the note he had left there.
Someone had retrieved it.
But it wasn’t Erika Jaeger.
York arrived at the café early on Monday, but stood across the street and watched, searching for anything suspicious. He realized Amanda Hamilton was unpredictable; she had the entire weekend to consider his proposal. She might not do anything, never show, choose not to be involved in any way. Or it could be the other extreme. The Gestapo could be watching, waiting to swoop in and arrest him. He was taking a chance, but he knew that if successful, her information could prove invaluable to the Allies. But Max’s warning also echoed in his ears. Every one was watching him.
Ten minutes later, he saw her walking down a side street towards the Ku’damm, still a block away, her body swaying in a light mauve summer dress. Her camera was absent, not dangling from her neck like it usually was, but a large pocketbook was slung over her shoulder. Maybe the camera was inside it.
It was a pleasant afternoon, and half the outdoor tables at the café were occupied. York eyed the patrons closely, trying to determine who, if any, was dangerous. There were two couples: an older pair sitting against the wall, and another closer to the street, much younger, maybe a soldier on leave with his wife. Two middle-aged women sat at a center table, talking continuously, their arms moving to emphasize their statements. A German policeman sat in a corner, by the pavement. He was a large man, threatening to burst the buttons on his shirt, hurriedly eating a leg of turkey, occasionally glancing at his watch. None seemed suspicious.
He looked at the pedestrians, mostly shoppers, wandering up and down the street, all intent on going somewhere. None seemed interested in what happened at the café. They looked in shop windows, chatted among themselves, and moved down the boulevard, faces changing as seconds passed to create a collage of humanity.
Amanda Hamilton reached the café, briefly looked around at those already seated, and chose a table at the very edge, against the railing that bordered the pavement. The adjacent tables were empty, the policeman sitting closest. She looked relaxed.
York watched a moment more. At least she had come; she wasn’t going to ignore him. Even if she chose not to get involved, she would tell him in person. He respected that. Or she might be willing to cooperate. He scanned the surrounding area, and when convinced he wasn’t in danger, crossed the street and went to her table.
“Good afternoon, Miss Hamilton,” he said, with a slight bow of respect. “May I join you?”
“Yes, of course,” she said with a faint smile.
“You look radiant today,” he said as he sat down, choosing a chair where he could see the street.
She wasn’t expecting a compliment. She blushed.
“Are you ordering lunch?” he asked.
“Maybe some soup,” she replied. “Nothing else.”
He summoned a waiter and ordered two soups and two coffees.
“How were the concerts this weekend?” he asked, offering pleasantries while he ensured they weren’t being observed. “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to attend.”
“They went well,” she said. “Although we were a bit off on a Haydn piece. It will come in time, though.”
He watched her closely. She didn’t seem nervous, as he would expect if the Gestapo was about to barge in. And she didn’t seem angry. But she did seem incredibly attractive. That in itself could be dangerous. At least for him.
York leaned closer. “Have you thought about my request?”
Her expression changed, from buoyant to serious. “I did,” she said. She paused for a moment, looking at the other patrons, and then to the pedestrians passing by. “If pressed for an answer when you approached me, I definitely would have said no.”
The waiter arrived with their soup and coffee, and she put her hands in her lap, waiting for him to leave.
She tasted a spoonful of soup before she spoke. “I spent the weekend being observant. I studied this city I have grown to love, remembering that Nazi flags were draped from every building. I watched the troops at the parade on Saturday, and I discussed the Hitler Youth and what they teach our young with my stepson. I thought about all the Jews who were treated so horribly and now seem to be missing, their destinations unknown. When I looked closely, I didn’t like what I saw. Then I very painfully realized that somewhere, somehow, and right before my very eyes, my husband had become a different person. Someone I don’t really know, or care for, anymore.”
He listened respectfully, letting her talk, sensing an inner turmoil she was struggling to control. She didn’t know he was aware of her deteriorating relationship, and he decided not to tell her. He would listen if she wanted to speak, if she needed a caring ear, or he would pretend he didn’t know anything, whichever made her feel more comfortable.
“Ultimately I decided that, not only am I not happy with my personal life, but I’m not happy with the world. I don’t like what Germany is, and I don’t like what we’ve become.”
“So you’ve decided to help me?”
She frowned slightly and shrugged. “You’re overestimating what I can do. If you think I can get information from my husband, you’re mistaken. Quite frankly, I’m embarrassed to admit that I have no idea what he actually does. I know he often sees the Fuhrer, but I don’t know what for. And even if I asked, I don’t think he would tell me.”
“You don’t realize what you have access to,” York said. “Not many people socialize with Adolph Hitler. But you do. For now, just share any conversations that might be valuable to the Allies.”
She thought for a moment. “I’m not sure that will work. Those conversations occur behind closed doors, even at parties or social events.”
“But you are willing to try?”
He watched as she studied him, assessing and evaluating. He wondered what she was thinking, what conclusions she would draw. But he knew as well as she did, that she was at a crossroads; she was about to make a decision that would forever change her life.
“Yes,” she said softly. “I am willing to help. But to save my family, primarily my stepson, not betray them. I thought about the best way to do that, how to assist the Allies but still be true to myself.”
He could see her struggle. She wanted to do what she thought was right. But she didn’t want to hurt anyone. It was an honorable approach, but one that was rarely successful. He suspected that, in the end, she would be the one that got hurt.
She reached into her pocketbook. “I think I found the answer. I brought some photographs for you. These are just a small sample, but look through them and tell me if they’re useful.”
The pictures were of Hitler, Göring, Goebbels, Himmler, and a few generals: Jodl, Keitel, von Manstein. And Eva Braun, Hitler’s mistress. The backdrop was breath taking mountain scenery, majestic peaks with shimmering lakes thousands of meters below.
“Where is this?” he asked.
“It’s Hitler’s retreat at Berchtesgaden. It’s on a mountain on the German-Austrian border. I performed there at his birthday celebration last year.”
York studied the photos. He was interested. The location could be identified, and potentially bombed. Hopefully when Hitler was there. He continued looking through the packet.
“The rest are from social events in Berlin, and show many generals and high-ranking officials. I wrote their names and dates in pencil on the back.”
“This is excellent,” York said, amazed at the cache of information.
A black sedan, the standard Mercedes used by the Gestapo, pulled up to the front of the café, slowly coming to a stop. A few seconds passed but no one got out. The vehicle just sat there, motionless.
York eyed it cautiously, trying to see those inside. There were many black Mercedes in the city, mixed among the Volkswagons. But there were also many Gestapo that drove them. He wondered what this sedan was doing at the café. A survey of the street showed several places to park, so why there?
He tensed, and looked behind him. Another black sedan was parked a block away, but he couldn’t see inside. And across the street, a hundred meters down the road, was another Mercedes. Something wasn’t right. He suspected a trap.
“What’s wrong?” Amanda asked, noting his expression.
“The sedans,” he said, glancing at each. “They are all black Mercedes.”
The front door opened and a solder got out. He stood erect, at attention, and opened the rear door. An officer stepped from the back seat, tall and slender with a gaunt face and gray eyes, cold and observing. His uniform was black, a red arm band with a swastika on it. He paused, talking to the soldier that opened the door, as if giving direction, while the driver joined them.
Then the officer abruptly strutted towards York and Amanda, the two soldiers close behind him.