Authors: John Anthony Miller
“Captain Rufus Klein,” Max said with disgust. “This is the second war I’ve fought against him. I’m surprised the old goat is still alive.”
York had just described his encounter with Kaiser. Given Max’s reaction, it seemed they may have identified the informant. Maybe it wasn’t a member of the string quartet. It could be the man who was watching them.
“What happened in the Great War?” York asked.
“I was behind enemy lines, posing as a Belgian farmer. The local headquarters for German military intelligence was just down the road. I got a little too aggressive, if you know what I mean, and attracted Klein’s attention.”
“And he captured you?”
Max nodded. “Me and a few others, although he had no proof. Not that he needed any. Klein kept us chained in a barn for seven months. He was convinced we knew a lot more than we really did. But I don’t think he ever got anything useful.”
“Then what happened. Did you escape?”
“No, actually, the war ended.”
York listened closely, never having heard the story before. He wondered why Klein would keep Max in a barn for seven months. Why not send him to a prisoner of war camp? He was about to ask, when Max continued.
“Kaiser and the others may think Klein is their liaison, or manager, or whatever they want to call him. But the Klein I know would never settle for a role like that. Although he is older now, probably past sixty, I’m sure he contributes to the war effort somehow. I can’t imagine him babysitting a group of spoiled musicians.”
“Do you think he suspects one of them is selling information?”
“What do you think?” Max asked, his eyebrows arched in a question. “I’m sure he does. They travel to entertain the troops. They give concerts. They’re exposed to the public. They’re certainly accessible. And Klein knows that.”
“Maybe Klein spotted you watching Kaiser’s apartment,” York said. “And he remembered you. He notified the Gestapo, and that’s where the wanted posters came from.”
Max shrugged. “I suppose it’s possible, but not very likely. We haven’t seen each other in twenty-five years. I wouldn’t recognize him if I saw him today; I doubt he would recognize me, either.”
“Then who do you think it is?”
“I don’t know, maybe someone I bought information from.”
York didn’t find the explanation plausible. “Then it should be easy to find them.”
Max shrugged. “I don’t think we need to. The posters have vanished anyway. An informant told me the Gestapo arrested someone that resembles me; that probably explains why. Hopefully they let the poor bloke go after questioning.”
York cringed. He didn’t want to think about an innocent man suffering at the hands of the Gestapo, even if it did save Max. But the Gestapo would know fairly quickly that they had the wrong man, and then increase their efforts to find the right one.
“There’s something missing,” York said. “There has to be a reason for the posters, and there has to be someone behind it. Regardless of who was arrested, the person that betrayed you is still in Berlin. And they can betray you again.”
“I agree,” Max said, although he didn’t seem to care. “But it could be anyone. It doesn’t have to be Kaiser or Klein or someone who gave me information. It could be the remains of whatever mess Kent, your predecessor, got himself into.”
York shrugged, confused and bewildered. They had nothing specific, just unanswered questions.
“I’m beginning to wonder about Kaiser, after what you told me,” Max said. “He seems to know a lot about everyone.”
“I wouldn’t worry about him.” York said. “He likes to gossip. He was only friendly because I complimented him and he thought I was a fellow musician.”
“But didn’t he say Klein was his neighbor? He must know he’s Gestapo or some sort of military intelligence.”
“Why would he care? I’m sure he has friends who are Gestapo, or policemen, or party officials.”
Max glanced at his watch. “What else do you want to talk about? I only have a few more minutes.”
“I’m meeting Amanda this afternoon to discuss whatever information she got at the party, and I meet with Erika Jaeger on Thursday.”
“Are you sure she isn’t the Gestapo informant?”
“Yes, I’m certain,” York said with no hesitation. “She has too much to lose.”
Max was quiet, pensive. “I suppose that alone would make her cooperate.”
“I do think she has access to valuable information, so it’ll be worthwhile. But she’ll want to know if we can get her friends out of the country. Have you given that any more thought?”
“Some,” Max replied. “As I said before, anything is possible. We need a safe route, which takes a little research. But it can be done. It’ll be much harder than France, though. We can expect little or no help from the locals here. Too loyal to the Austrian painter, if you know what I mean.”
York smiled at his reference to Hitler, but knew he was right. “I’ll tell her we’re working on it. That will give her some hope. Maybe she knows people, Germans that aren’t loyal to the Nazis.”
“Wait until you have her hooked before you offer too much,” Max said, again glancing at his watch, and then starting for the door. “I have to go. I don’t want to be late.”
“What if Kaiser and Klein have something going on, the two of them?” York asked. “Something they’re afraid we’ll find?”
“What do you mean?”
“They see you watching them, and the wanted posters appear. Now you’ll stay away from their apartment building. Suppose they notice me hanging around, and wonder what I’m up to. They send Kaiser down for a friendly chat so I’m convinced he’s above suspicion and I won’t bother him anymore.”
“That theory assumes they know us and what we’re here for.”
“Exactly.”
“It doesn’t make sense,” Max said. “They would just have us arrested.”
“Unless we’re pawns in their chess game, not ready to be taken.”
Amanda arrived near noon, carrying an umbrella and a small box of photographs. She cast a weak smile as she entered, seemed a bit preoccupied, but sat at the table by the window, nervously glancing outside. When satisfied no one was lurking on the street, she sat back in the chair and looked at York.
“Why so glum?” he asked.
“A guest at the party is the commandant at a military school. He told me that Manfred enrolled Kurt. At first I didn’t believe it, but it was true. Kurt left yesterday.”
“Manfred never told you?”
She studied him for a moment, almost as if she was wondering how much she should tell him. “I don’t speak to Manfred,” she said. “Not ever.”
He gave her a questioning look, although he suspected he knew the reason. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“It’s long story.”
He reached across the table and gently held her hand, tenderly caressing it. “I would be happy to listen. As a friend, of course.”
She hesitated, and then spoke. “Not right now. I’m upset about a lot of things. Kurt is just the latest. I know he’s not my child, but I’ve raised him for the last ten years. I love him and I already miss him.”
“Are you lonely?” he asked, prying, even though he knew he shouldn’t.
She hesitated, as if she had built a wall to protect herself and didn’t want him to peek over it. “Kurt and I were together every day, even if just during dinner. We talked a lot. He confided in me, sharing everything from his first kiss to his dreams for the future. Now he’s gone.”
He noticed that she didn’t mention Manfred, and instead kept the conversation confined to her stepson. “I’m sure he’ll miss you, too.”
She shook her head. “I don’t think so. He won’t have time to think about me, not with all his military training. And the dreams of glory his father put in his head.”
“All the more reason for the war to end,” York said.
She glanced out the window again. She seemed nervous, as if something wasn’t right. A premonition, maybe.
“I did try to eavesdrop at the party,” she said.
“Did you hear anything interesting?”
“I overheard two discussions, although I’m not sure I understand them. Hopefully, they’re helpful.”
York was encouraged. “Let’s hear them.”
“The first conversation was between some generals. Jodl and Keitel were there with a few others, just after they talked privately with Hitler.”
York was intrigued by the access she had to Hitler and his inner circle. Jodl and Keitel were his chief military strategists.
“Hitler was at the party?” he asked.
“Yes, and others: Bormann, Goebbels, Göring, Albert Speer, some industry executives.”
“I think we may spend the entire week talking about this,” he said, trying to imagine the Nazi elite all gathered in the same room. “What did you hear the generals say?”
“They were talking about the Russian offensive at Kursk.”
York was pensive, trying to visualize a map of Russia. “Kursk is a city on the front lines. What did they say, specifically?”
“They are halting the offensive and diverting troops to Italy because of the Allied invasion.”
York rubbed his chin, thinking, a distant look in his eyes.
“What’s wrong?” she asked. “You look confused.”
“Why take troops from Russia to reinforce Italy? Why not take them from France or the Balkans?”
“Someone mentioned that,” she said. “It’s because Hitler thinks the Italy invasion is a diversion, and that the real Allied offensive will come in the Balkans.”
York’s eyes widened. Not only had the Russian offensive been halted, but the weakened front line could now be exploited. And since no troops would be taken from the Balkans, the Allies could feign an offensive so Germany maintained a large force there, starving other regions of resources.
“Was there more?” he asked.
“I’m sure there was, but that was the gist of it. I only listened for a minute. I didn’t want to arouse suspicion.”
“That’s the type of information I was talking about,” he said. “It seems like an innocent conversation, just an informal discussion on tactics. But if true, and the Allies can adjust and react, it can have a significant impact on the Eastern Front.”
York watched her reaction. She seemed overwhelmed, tiptoeing into water that was much too deep. He was sure she felt as if the world was so immense, along with the problems in it, that photography and classical music seemed insignificant.
He decided to be gentle, not to probe too forcefully. He didn’t want to scare her away just when she was proving so valuable. “Can you think of anything else?”
“There is more. But it involves Manfred.” She hesitated, thought for a moment, and then continued. “I know that, when we met, I said I wouldn’t betray him. I’m not sure that’s the case anymore.”
York’s interest was piqued, but he tried not to show it. He realized the wealth of information she had access to. “Tell me as much, or as little, as you’re comfortable with.”
She paused. “This is a big step for me. Maybe if we talk about something else for a while. Then we can discuss Manfred.” She looked around the room. It was bare, stark, giving no hint to its occupant. Then she remembered. “Tell me about Elizabeth.”
The pain in his eyes was immediate, the sorrow on his face consuming. He knew she saw it, could feel it. And he could tell she identified with it. He cringed, tried to talk, but turned and looked out the window, watching a light rain bathe the cobblestone streets.
She leaned forward and touched his arm. “I know it’s hard. I can feel your pain. If the child I lost in the train accident had been a girl, she would have been named Elisabeth.”
He turned to look at her, his eyes searching, showing compassion. “I didn’t know that,” he said softly. “So we like the same name.”
She smiled, trying to be strong, but feeling her eyes mist at the thought of the child she would never have. “Yes, we both like the name. Now tell me about her.”
York couldn’t keep a smile from crossing his face. “I’m not sure where to start.”
“How would you describe her – in one word?”
York chuckled. “I’m not sure. Whirlwind, I suppose. She has an opinion on everything, and is convinced she knows more than any other twelve-year-old child on the planet. She likes cricket, a bit unusual for a young lady, and she’s fascinated with the Royal family.”
“King George VI?”
“No, not the King. She actually adores his daughter Elizabeth. She loves that they have the same name. She digests every word written about her in the press.”
Amanda was amused. “She could have worse hobbies.”
He laughed lightly. “I’m not complaining. I think it’s cute. She reads biographies of Queen Victoria and Queen Elizabeth, or whatever else she can find about them.” His face clouded, happy memories masked by sorrow. “I miss her. But the minute this war is over, I will find her.”
Amanda moved to his side and hugged him. He didn’t resist. He felt comforted, enveloped in her arms, drinking the scent of her perfume, feeling her compassion. Then all too quickly she moved away and returned to her seat.
“Time to change the subject,” she said. “I’m ready to discuss Manfred now.”
He took a second to collect himself and urged her on. “Go ahead.”
She thought for a moment, wondering how to begin. She started slowly. “Manfred is a powerful man, and he’s very dangerous. He is closely tied to Martin Bormann.”
“Hitler’s inner circle.”
“Bormann is more than inner circle,” she said. “He’s Hitler’s right hand.”
York corrected her. “The Allies view Goebbels, Göring, and Himmler as those closest to Hitler.”
She shook her head. “It’s not true. Bormann has tremendous power, and extreme influence with the Fuhrer. Manfred used to talk about it a lot. He doesn’t say much anymore. But then, I hardly see him.”
“Do you have any photographs of Bormann?”
“No, he rarely allows his picture to be taken.”
York studied her face, the upturned nose, her eyes sincere and intense. “I didn’t know that. But I don’t think many people do.”
“I overheard Manfred talking to some industrial leaders at the party. They were discussing something he has been working on with Bormann. I know it’s important.”
York was in unknown territory, hanging on every word, drinking information like a man dying of thirst. It seemed too good to be true. And for a moment, he wondered if it was.
She described the planned escape routes from Germany, the importance of Buenos Aires and South America, secondary locations in Spain and the Middle East. She mentioned the money trail and industrial presence, and how they would be launched when the time was right.
He was amazed. “It’s almost like they’re planning for Germany’s defeat. And the Nazi elite will flee and continue the struggle from abroad.”
“I think that’s exactly what it is,” she said. “I heard them refer to it as the Fourth Reich.”
For York, the whole concept was beyond belief, the creation of hell on earth. “That doesn’t sound like something Hitler would sanction. It reeks of defeat.”
“That’s what’s strange,” Amanda said. “I don’t think Hitler knows about it.”