Authors: John Anthony Miller
York went to his interpreter assignment wearing his uniform and exaggerating his limp, leaning heavily on his cane. He had to be overly cautious. Berlin was starting to unravel, from Faber’s arrest to Allied bombings to Manfred Richter to the Gestapo. He knew he was running out of time, and it took considerable effort to continue his daily routine, acting like everything was normal.
The building had been spared by bombings, although much of that section of Charlottenburg had not. York hobbled down the Ku’damm, turned down the side street, and was about to walk into the alley that led to the office entrance when he stopped short.
A black Mercedes, similar to what the Gestapo drove, was parked at the end of the lane. A man sat in the driver’s seat, the sun visor lowered, hiding his face. York moved back a few steps and stood on the corner. He looked at his watch, pretended to wait for someone, and then eased back onto the street, hiding behind the building.
He saw another black sedan parked a block away. It was also occupied, the man in the driver’s seat studying pedestrians. York waited for traffic to pass, as if he were about to cross the street, watching the man who now watched him.
The vehicles could be innocent, but he doubted it. The drivers might be chauffeurs, waiting to pick up high-ranking Party officials. Or they could be Gestapo, waiting for him.
A half dozen pedestrians came towards him, hurrying down the street. York turned quickly, sandwiched himself among them, and maintained the same pace, struggling with his cane. He made his way back to the Ku’damm, where even more people bustled by, mingling with the crowd. A block later he hailed a taxi and took it back to the hotel. He waited a few hours, continuously looking out the window and, when satisfied it was safe, he left to see Max.
York knew he had to be careful as he walked to Max’s boarding house. He had seen the Gestapo during his last two visits. He had seen them at the cemetery. They knew who he was, and now they probably knew what he was. They just didn’t know where he was.
He took a different route, walking down Ku’damm towards the city center a few blocks farther than he would have. It was cold and overcast, gray skies either hinting of the future or painting pictures of the past. Buildings destroyed by air raids lay in crumpled heaps of debris, no attempt made to recover or rebuild, their scarred rooflines marring a peaceful skyline.
After walking three or four blocks farther east, he turned to the north and started towards Max’s. He walked up to Kantstrasse, feeling the winter chill, passing bare trees and empty cafes. The city was different with winter approaching. It wasn’t as alive as it used to be, not teeming with people or flooded with traffic. But the bombings probably had more to do with that than the weather. People had fled the city, especially those who lost their homes.
When York reached an alley just before the main street, he ducked into it. He hid behind some rubbish cans, peering out at the street beyond. Cars and bicycles passed, an occasional truck, but nothing seemed unusual. A few pedestrians walked by, housewives returning from the market, children playing. There was no one suspicious, no Gestapo or informants.
He continued to Kantstrasse, turned towards the west for three blocks and then to the side street leading to Max’s boarding house. He walked past the building, studied the ruins of a nearby home, and circled the block, walking as quickly as his injured leg permitted. After studying the immediate area, he was certain he wasn’t followed.
York entered the boarding house, saw no other guests, and went to the second floor. He walked down the corridor to the far end of the hall, climbed the back stairs to the third floor, and then went to Max’s room. The door was opened seconds after he tapped on it, and Max led him in.
York gave a detailed description of the Gestapo agent who was so close to capturing him, as well as the informant staged at the cemetery. Although the drawings for the V2 rocket would have been valuable information, they had been taken by the Gestapo, now part of the evidence that would lead to Gerhard Faber’s guilty verdict and subsequent execution.
“It’s obvious the Gestapo are on to you,” Max said with a frown. “They weren’t sure a few days ago, when they saw you on the street, but after the cemetery and the sedans parked at the military intelligence office today, there’s no doubt. Now we’ve got to get you out of Berlin.”
“I only have a few more days,” York said. “I can manage.”
“You’ll have to,” Max said. “But I think the sooner you’re gone, the better. You’ve become a huge risk for me, too. I have a lot at stake. I can’t let you jeopardize that.”
“I still don’t know what happened. It must be fallout from Faber.”
“It could be, but Faber never met you. So it must have something to do with the cemetery drop. You never should have kept going there. It can’t be Amanda or Erika or you would all be in prison. But it doesn’t really matter now. You have to stay out of sight until you leave.”
“I plan to.”
They were quiet for a moment, reflecting. It made them both uneasy to have the Gestapo so close, especially when they weren’t sure how York had been exposed.
“I didn’t do as well as I wanted with the vehicle, ” Max said. “But I did locate an ambulance at St. Francis hospital, which is on Budapester Strasse, just off Tiergartenstrasse, a few blocks east of here. On Sunday evening it will be in the parking lot with a full tank of petrol. The keys will be in the ignition. Given those arrangements, I didn’t bother looking for a garage.”
“How big is the ambulance? Will it hold everyone?
“It’ll be cramped. It’s a short-body panel truck, probably holds four stretchers in racks. But it has the right insignias, clearly identified as a medical vehicle.”
York digested the information, comparing it to what he had discovered. “I found a larger vehicle by Olivaer Platz. It’s closer to the hotel, and not far from Erika Jaeger’s residence. I think that will work well.”
“Use one as a back-up,” Max suggested. “At least you know the vehicle will be at St. Francis, should you need it. Is everything else ready? Did Amanda get the petrol?”
York told him about Richter’s boathouse, where a hundred-liter supply was maintained. “I’ll get the ambulance, go to Wannsee Lake and take some reserve petrol, and then travel the route you provided.”
Max thought for a moment, and then looked at York. “That seems to be it. I can’t think of anything else. Everything is ready.”
York nodded, the details drifting through his mind. “Erika is packing food for the trip. But I still have to make the warning signs to put on the ambulance doors.”
Max smiled and extended his hand, which York shook. “Good luck, old boy. I think this will be the last time we see each other for a while.”
“What are my orders when I get to Switzerland?”
“You’ll go to Basel with Amanda. British Intelligence will spend some time debriefing her. You’ll get further orders when you arrive. Stay in the same hotel you did last year. They will contact you. London wasn’t too happy about you leaving Berlin, at least not at first. They’re better now.”
“What about the children?”
“There are several Swiss organizations that will help. I didn’t make any arrangements, but Intelligence knows you’ll have them when you cross the border.”
York was pensive for a moment, trying to think of any uncovered detail. When he couldn’t, he turned to Max.
“I can’t thank you enough,” he said, shaking his hand again.
Max smiled. “I’m sure our paths will cross again.”
York walked to Erika Jaeger’s home, constantly looking over his shoulder, trying to minimize his limp. He still never went anywhere without his cane. Not only did he need the support, he needed the weapon. Especially with the Gestapo so close.
They sat in her parlor, talking quietly while her mother rested in the bedroom.
“I know how to get the children into the ambulance,” Erica said.
“Without being seen?” he asked.
“Yes, I think so. There’s a garage in the alley, an old carriage house that belongs to my neighbor. I’m sure the vehicle will fit in it. We’ll just have to get the children across the back lawn.”
He was interested, but wary. “How do you know it isn’t used for storage? Have you been inside?”
“Yes,” she said, a hint of pain crossing her face. “My husband rented it for his woodworking. Some of his tools are probably still there.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, seeing her sorrow. “I didn’t realize.”
She nodded, forcing a weak smile. “So what do you think?”
He was skeptical. “What about your neighbor? Are you sure we can trust him?”
“He left for his daughter’s house in the country after the first bombing. I don’t think he plans to return until Christmas.”
York was intrigued. The location was perfect, and it would be easy to load the children. “Who else has access to it?”
She shrugged. “I suppose everyone does. It’s not locked. But I don’t know who would bother. Come with me, we can see it from the window.”
She led him into the kitchen, and they looked out the window to the ground below. There was an alley between the blocks, the houses on the adjacent streets backing up to it. It was filled with trees, some gardens, and a few outbuildings, including four old carriage houses spread over the length of the street. Each had access to the alley.
“Do the doors have windows?” York asked.
“No,” Erika said. “They’re wood panels that slide on rails. I looked yesterday.”
“But there is a window on each wall that anyone could look in,” he said, weighing the risks. “And a walk-in door in the rear. I suppose it will work, but only if the neighbors don’t get curious.”
“I can’t guarantee that,” she said. “But it is a good neighborhood. Most of the people mind their own business, although an ambulance will attract attention. People will wonder why it’s there.”
“I can get it just before we’re ready to go, then everyone will be sleeping. We’ll load the children and leave. Is there a back door to your apartment?”
She shook her head. “No, I have to take the children out the front door, down the walkway between houses, and then across the yard.”
York frowned. He didn’t like the visibility. “There’s no other way?”
She was pensive, thinking of alternatives. “No, not really. I suppose it is dangerous.”
He shrugged. “It’s not as dangerous as having the children hidden in your attic.”
“No, that’s true,” she agreed.
He turned to face her, gently placing his hands on her shoulders. “Will you and your mother please come? We have the room.”
She hesitated. “It’s too difficult for my mother. I need to think of her, not what’s best for me. Although I will miss the children terribly.”
“The entire trip will take two days at most,” he said. “And one day is more likely. It’s only nine or ten hours of driving. She can make it if we all help her.”
“We’d only be a burden, and I don’t want to put everyone else at risk. I doubt if my mother can be convinced to leave Berlin anyway.”
“Don’t be so sure,” York said. “From what I’m told, many elderly don’t like Hitler or his policies, but are afraid to say so. You may be surprised.”
“It’s not the government that keeps her here,” Erika explained. “Berlin is all she’s ever known. She’s too old to change her ways. And I don’t want her to be uncomfortable, especially when she’s so ill.”
York was quiet, calculating. He wanted Erika and her mother to come. After giving the matter some thought, he tried a different tactic.
“I told you that another adult was coming,” he said. “If it was someone you knew and admired, someone you trusted implicitly, could I persuade you to join us?”
She was perplexed. “I’m not sure. If it was a friend, someone I cared about, I would be much more willing. But it still depends on my mother.”
Then the wall of strength she had always shown suddenly shattered. She sighed, her face pale, her eyes misting. “I’m just so frightened,” she whispered.
He pulled her close, hugging her, wanting desperately to help. “We’re all frightened,” he said. “But this is the right thing to do.”
“I hope so, for the children’s sake,” she said, wavering.
“Is there any way you can make your mother change her mind?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s dangerous and taxing, and she knows that. She really isn’t well, although I realize the trip is a short one. The stress and uncertainty would impact her the most.”
“And that’s your only reason for not going?”
Erika was quiet for a moment, thinking. “Yes, of course it is. My mother’s welfare comes first.”
York studied her face. She knew remaining in Berlin meant heartache and misery, and maybe much worse. But her mother wouldn’t leave, and she wouldn’t leave her mother. “Erica, you’re making a horrible mistake. Berlin will only get worse.”
“Who is the other person?” she asked, wavering.
York hesitated. “The more information you have, the more dangerous it is. Can you accept my word, that it’s someone both you and your mother respect greatly, and then tell your mother it’s really best for both of you if you leave?”
She was doubtful. “Mother will be difficult to convince. I’ve tried.”
York was silent, wondering whether to proceed. The Gestapo was close, probably days away from finding them. Why should he expose her to more danger than she already faced?
“If you tell me who it is, I’ll talk to my mother again,” she said, relenting. “You can trust me.”
“I know that. I would trust you with my own life.”
“Then tell me.”
He sighed, knowing once the words were uttered, he couldn’t take them back. “It’s Amanda Richter.”