Authors: John Anthony Miller
York walked down the Ku’damm, leaning on his cane, watching people as they moved past him. It always amazed him how, for the most part, people were the same wherever you went in the world. They loved their families, they worked to earn a living, they enjoyed the simple things in life. Only now the world was at war, and they were killing each other.
His thoughts drifted to Amanda. He wasn’t sure how it all fit together, or if it ever would. If he got her out of Germany, would he remain in Berlin, or return to London for a different assignment, maybe at headquarters, plotting strategies, planning victory. Maybe he would go to Buenos Aires, waiting for fugitive Nazis, and when they arrived, capture them for trial. And then someday, when the war was over, maybe they would be together.
He kept walking, his leg cramping, until he reached the telegram office. It was located on the first floor of a stone building with no architectural merit, a nondescript structure squeezed between two majestic neighbors. Through the large window that marked its façade, York could see a counter with two clerks behind it, and a few tall narrow tables, designed for one to stand at while composing telegrams. York entered, nodding to an elderly woman who passed him to exit.
He looked at the customers, ensuring it was safe. There was a blond woman, a bit plump, who stood at a table in the corner, busily scribbling a message, perhaps to a husband on the front lines. An elderly man with wire-rimmed spectacles stood near her, carefully wording the telegram he planned to send.
York nodded to the man, got a blank piece of paper, and leaned on a counter beside the wall. He thought for a moment, smiling, and then started writing. When he finished, he slipped the telegram in the envelope and walked to the counter, handing it to the clerk, hiding a smile. He needed to calibrate Gerhard Faber. This should work perfectly. The telegram read:
GERHARD: MOTHER AND I WOULD LOVE TO ATTEND YOUR PARTY SATURDAY EVENING, OCTOBER 16, AT THIS ADDRESS. SIGNED: ASTRID
He gave the clerk directions, sending the telegram to Faber’s residence, the one he shared with his wife and three children. He chuckled, imagining Faber’s eyes growing wider as he read it. Of course there was no party, and the Brauns had no idea where Faber lived, but it would show Faber what York could do if he wanted. York was sure Faber would be much more cooperative after he realized that.
York had other plans for the day and, when he finished at the telegram office, he walked to the U-bahn station and caught the train to Potzdamer Platz. He still had nagging doubts about Kaiser and Klein, but he didn’t know why. He planned to wander around their neighborhood, stay out of sight, and try to learn something. It was a pleasant day for autumn and the walk would do him good. And if he wanted, he could sit at the outdoor café and have a beer or a coffee.
He considered the occupations of the men he planned to observe. It was easy to accept Kaiser as a musician and real estate owner. And even Klein could be explained as the quartet caretaker, charged with ensuring they didn’t get into trouble, watching those that came near them. It fit the mold of an older man, still trying to make a contribution to the Party, even with his physical limitations.
But something still bothered him. Someone had identified Max as a British spy, after he had been near the apartment building where Klein and Kaiser lived. Was it just a coincidence? It could be. But this was Max’s second war. He had been a spy for both of them. Anyone from his past or present may have caught a glimpse of him and turned him in to the authorities. The most likely candidate was Klein. Max admitted he knew him.
York walked towards the apartment building, staying on the same side of the street, keeping close to the adjacent buildings. He walked around the block, studied the people, the vehicles, the windows of Kaiser’s building. He walked through the shops and cafes that occupied the first floor. It was a large building. If Kaiser owned it, York could only imagine the rents he collected. No wonder the man always had a smile on his face.
He wasted another hour before realizing the involvement of either was unlikely. He eliminated Kaiser as an informant or a potential spy. The man was probably too busy with his cello and apartment buildings. And he couldn’t concern himself with Klein, even though he realized the man could be a nuisance.
Even after removing them from the equation, he realized he had been very successful. Three members of the Berlin String Quartet had provided him with valuable information. And even though the fourth did not, he was harmless, impacting no one. But their military liaison was probably dangerous and should be avoided, which should be easy enough. He had no idea what the man looked like anyway.
He walked back to Potzdamer Platz to catch the U-bahn back to his hotel. As he approached an outdoor café, he stopped short. Max was at a table against the wall, a mug of beer in front of him. Across from him sat the man he had been with at Savignyplatz, who had come from London to run his network. He was much older, a slight man with white hair.
York turned away, and walked briskly across the street and around the corner. He didn’t want Max or his new operative to see him. He really had no business being there. But then, he thought, neither did they.
Amanda Hamilton lay naked in bed, the crumpled sheet covering only her left calf, her head resting on York’s chest. The fingers of her left hand traced the jagged scar near his shoulder socket, the flesh raised and purple, skin stretched taut. She studied it carefully, amazed a bullet could do that much damage.
“How long did it take for this to heal?”
York sighed, remembering but not wanting to. “Many months. It was a lot of work to regain my strength and mobility. A very stern Swiss nurse led my recovery. She never smiled, loved inflicting pain, and thought of nothing but work. Sometimes I despised her. Now I thank her every day.”
“And your leg?”
“Same nurse, but recovery not as promising, although I could barely walk when I left Switzerland, so it is getting stronger. I think the limp will always be there, but hopefully I won’t need the cane forever.”
“Maybe when we get back to London, the doctors will be able to help you.”
He didn’t answer. It was an innocent statement with monumental implications. They would escape Germany, return to London, and then be together. Without the war, without the hatred, without the danger. A history teacher and a violinist that dabbled in photography, living peaceably, loving life. It sounded nice, too good to be true.
“What do you think of London?” he asked tentatively, wondering how much she had thought about their future.
She lifted her head and kissed him on the cheek. “I love London. I could be happy there. I don’t have to live in Scotland. Although summers there might be nice, especially if you’re teaching.”
He smiled, content. “That doesn’t seem consistent with a performing schedule. Aren’t there concerts all year?”
She leaned up on one elbow, her face lit with excitement. “I’ve actually been giving that a lot of thought lately. I have a marvelous idea. I’m going to focus on photography, taking pictures of all the things I love: birds and buildings, people and politicians. It would be absolute heaven. I can do an occasional concert if I want to. Or I can teach.” She kissed him again. “Just like you do.”
He turned and faced her, kissing her lips softly and sensually, his tongue finding hers. He pulled her closer, holding her tightly. His lips moved to her neck, teasing her with tender kisses, pausing at the lobe of her ear, nibbling, while his hands traced the curves of her body, his fingers stroking, gently caressing.
An hour later they lay in bed, basking in love, wanting nothing more than to spend every minute in each other’s arms. Their eyes drifted closed with small sighs of contentment.
“I have a marvelous idea,” York said thirty minutes later, his fingers caressing her thigh.
She raised her head, her face close to his. “And what is that?”
“I found an isolated restaurant a few blocks away. I think it’s where people go when they don’t want to be seen.”
She was thoughtful a moment, weighing the risks. “And you would like to go there for dinner?”
“I thought it might be nice.”
They yielded to emotion, rather than logic, and decided to go. Reluctantly climbing from bed, they dressed. York watched in fascination as Amanda applied a bit of rouge and eyeliner, pinning her hair high on her head to alter her appearance. Then they quietly left.
It was risky to be seen on the street, but for some reason they felt invulnerable, shielded by love. They strolled through Charlottenburg, enjoying the tree-lined streets, the leaves fluttering to the ground, their colors a fiery auburn. Beds of flowers that bordered the cobblestoned streets were wilting, turning brown, yielding to the change of season.
The restaurant was located on Pfalzburger Strasse in the center of the block, tucked between a bakery and a tobacco store. It was close to the boulevard, but not too close, quiet and sheltered. They entered and saw that each table was hidden from the rest, with plants and borders tucked into small alcoves. York had described it perfectly; it was where people went when they didn’t want to be seen.
Once they were seated, he studied the eatery. He heard murmurs from the tables on each side of them, but he couldn’t hear the conversation or see the patrons. The aisle that led to their table was hidden by a potted plant, broad green leaves screening their table so it wasn’t visible from the aisle. The nearest exit was through the kitchen, barely four or five meters away, while the entrance was at the far end of the restaurant. They were safe.
He ordered a bottle of wine and they relaxed, enjoying a rare visit in public. They chatted leisurely, focused on a fabulous future, ignoring the present, forgetting the past. After scanning the menu they ordered the same meal: potato vegetable cream soup, beef stroganoff with spaetzle and salad, and bee sting cake.
“When do you think we’ll leave Germany?” Amanda asked. “I’m so anxious to go.”
He frowned. He wanted to go, too. “I’m not sure. I’m still waiting for permission from London. My contact is working on a safe route, determining what preparations are needed. Assuming London agrees, it might take a few more weeks.”
He could see her disappointment. She wanted to leave immediately, at that very moment if possible. A month had passed since she decided to go. He didn’t blame her.
“What if London doesn’t agree?” she asked.
York shrugged. “I haven’t really thought about it. I don’t think they’ll object.”
She was quiet, pouting and pensive. “I’ve been invited to Berchtesgaden, the Fuhrer’s private retreat, next month,” she said. “I think it’s the end of November. I really don’t want to spend a weekend with Manfred. Will we be ready before then?”
He didn’t want her to spend a weekend with Manfred, either. “Let’s make a pact. I promise we’ll leave before then, whether London agrees or not.”
She seemed relieved. “That would be wonderful. I can’t continue this charade much longer.”
“How often do you go to Berchtesgaden?” he asked. “I remember the photographs you gave me from Hitler’s birthday. Is that the only time you were there?”
“No, I used to go often, but not so much since the war started.”
“Do you know where it’s located?”
“Not exactly,” she said, thinking. “But it’s on the German-Austrian border. Just north of Salzburg, maybe twenty kilometers.”
“How far from Switzerland?”
“About three hundred kilometers. Why, what are you thinking?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “I thought it might be easier for you to flee from there, but maybe not. Who will be there?”
“Hitler and his advisors, most likely.”
“The rest of the quartet?”
“No, I’m performing alone.”
“It might be something to think about. You’ll be closer to Switzerland.”
“Impossible,” she said. “There are guards everywhere.”
He frowned, knowing she was right. “We’ll be gone by then anyway,” he said. He wondered what was taking London so long. For the first time, he thought about leaving without them knowing.
Amanda looked at her watch. “Do you think we should go? Not that I want to, but it might be risky to linger.”
He smiled. She was starting to think like him. “Yes, I suppose you’re right.”
They stood to leave, walking towards the exit, maneuvering their way around the many potted plants, and avoiding eye contact with any other customers. They were almost to the front door when it opened and a couple entered.
The woman had black wavy hair. The man was Manfred Richter.
York sat on the bench in the Friedhof Heerstrasse Cemetery, waiting for Erika Jaeger. He had already decided that they couldn’t meet there anymore; it was too risky. He looked at the tree across the lane, the leaves disappearing, and remembered the first time he had seen it, the leaves sprouting. It seemed like much more time had passed, given the world stage and all that had danced upon it.
He realized he took an unnecessary risk having dinner in public with Amanda, even though he never expected Richter to be there. Fortunately, it had been easy to avoid him. They simply walked away, hiding in a different part of the restaurant, sheltered by plants, until he was seated. Then they hurried out the door.
It had been traumatic for her. Not only was she shocked to see him, but he was with a different woman, not the one she had caught him with at the hotel, not the bank manager she had seen him with, and not the woman he had been with in the winter. Now she despised him even more. But she was also afraid of him. She had wanted to leave Berlin immediately, but York knew he couldn’t arrange it that quickly. He felt sorry for her; he wanted to leave, too. Each day she remained was harder, riskier, more dangerous. And he realized that.
Erika Jaeger arrived a few minutes later. She looked haggard, worn and weary, her eyes accented by dark circles, as if she hadn’t been sleeping. It seemed like there wasn’t enough time to do what she needed to. In most cases, there wasn’t.
She had probably just come from her husband’s grave. It must be difficult. The grief was enough, living life alone when it was designed and envisioned for two. But she bore another burden, something much harder to carry. She was solely responsible for the safety and welfare of eight other people. It must be overwhelming and never ending.
She sat on the bench and cast a weak smile. “Hello, Michael.”
“Erika, how are you?”
“I’m well. I have some information for you.” She paused, collecting her thoughts. “You have to remember that I am only a clerk. I am doing the best I can to get valid troop and supply movements, but there’s always the chance I can be incorrect.”
“Just do the best you can,” he urged.
She sat back, collecting her thoughts. “They are still moving troops into Italy, as you probably expected given the early Allied successes. I think they may be planning a counterattack.”
“Do you know where?”
She shrugged. “I don’t. Both troops and supplies are routed into central Italy.”
York listened, knowing where the troops came from was also important. “Are they being withdrawn from the Eastern Front?”
“Mostly,” she nodded. “But some come from France and the Netherlands. The Nazis also continue to reinforce the Balkans. They are convinced the next assault will be there.”
York absorbed every word. “Do you know which section on the Eastern Front has been weakened to send troops to Italy?”
“I don’t know that. I’m sorry. Maybe I will have more next week.”
“Don’t be sorry,” he said. “You’ve done enough. Do you have anything else?”
“Production will soon start on the V-2 rocket,” she said. “It’s supposed to be a very advanced weapon. I don’t know where the facilities are. At least not yet.”
His interest was piqued. “You must tell me as soon as you find out. It’s important.”
“I understand,” she said. “I’ll know from material shipments.” She paused, her eyes trained on his. “It’s a very dangerous weapon.”
York glanced towards the drop. He should have plans for the V-2 rocket shortly, assuming Gerhard Faber cooperated.
He reached into his pocket and withdrew some money and handed it to her. It was much more than she deserved. The information she provided wasn’t a secret. He knew it before she told him, and so did the Allied command. But he felt sorry for her.
She was relieved, knowing she didn’t deserve what he gave her, but badly needing the money. “Thank you so much. The money goes to a good cause.”
“I know it does,” he said. He paused, looking at her, waiting until she raised her eyes to meet his. Then he said, “You’re a remarkable woman.”
She shook her head, smiling shyly. “No, not really. Anyone would do what I do.”
He wasn’t so sure. “I admire you, your strength. And your loyalty.”
She blushed. “No need to.” She turned away, studying two women who passed, one with a small boy. “Have you thought about how to get my friends out of Germany?”
He found her choice of words interesting. He suspected she was being evasive, so she didn’t reveal personal information, didn’t place them in danger.
“Yes, I have. It takes time to prepare, I told you that. And I need London to approve. But an escape route is being developed.”
She nodded, her face taut. “It seems to be taking a long time.”
York didn’t know what to say. She was right. “We’re trying to prepare the safest route,” he explained. “And we want to take all your friends at the same time.”
Her eyes widened in alarm. “They must stay as a group. There can be no other way.”
He wondered why she was so distressed. Why did it matter that they stay together? Was there something he hadn’t considered? He realized then that he had to meet them. He had to assess their strengths and weaknesses. It was important to know them, and what they could contribute, if they hoped to be successful.
“There is something we have to do,” he said. “At least before we go much further. But I’m afraid you might object to the next step.”
She looked at him curiously. “What is it?”
“I need to meet them.”
Her face showed a flicker of fear, although she tried to contain it. “Is that absolutely necessary?”
He put his hand on her arm to reassure her. “Yes, it is. The sooner the better.”
She was quiet for a moment, considering the risks. “I must protect them,” she said softly. “They rely on me. They have no one else.”
York nodded, his face showing compassion. “I know. I won’t betray that trust. But I need to finalize our plan. Meeting those involved is instrumental in doing that.”
“You will keep my secret?”
“Yes, I will. I promise.”
She sighed, knowing no further steps could be taken until she agreed. “All right,” she said, surrendering. “If it must be done.”
“It must. And we can no longer meet here. It’s too dangerous.”
She stood, preparing to leave. “Come to my home at four p.m. on Monday.” She turned abruptly and walked away, her hands tucked in her coat pocket.
After she left, York walked down the neighboring lane to the drop. There were few people in the cemetery, as was usually the case on Thursdays, and he saw no one suspicious. He had taken less interest in Gerhard Faber, other than the prank he had just played on him. But he did have valuable information, plans to the V-2 rocket.
He went to the drop, waited a moment for an elderly couple to walk away, and then removed the finial from the fence corner post. The cavity was filled with papers, more than any other time.
He quickly replaced the cap, glanced around to make sure no one was watching, and went to the bench. There were several pages of drawings, completing the set to the initial offering. York saw the full rocket casing design. But he knew the internals were more important. Faber had left a note.
YOU WIN. I WILL COOPERATE, BUT NO MORE TRICKS. THIS IS THE V2 ROCKET. MORE DRAWINGS NEXT WEEK. PAY WHAT YOU WILL. USE THEATER FOR MONEY. DRAWINGS WILL BE HERE.
York took a taxi to Berlin Theater and slowly wandered back to the parking lot. It was normally deserted during the day, most movie-goers attended in the evening or on weekends, very few went to the matinee.
There were only three cars, but a dozen bicycles were parked in the rack, some locked, others owned by trusting individuals. York walked back to the garden wall, squeezed between the tree and a parked car, and removed the loose capstone. He took a generous amount of money from his pocket and stuffed it in the opening.
He returned to his hotel and sat at the table, sipping a cup of coffee. He glanced through the drawings, and when he realized how detailed they were, he studied them more closely. He had underestimated Faber and the information he could provide. He had to get the blueprints to Max. They could change the war’s outcome.