In Satan's Shadow (25 page)
Authors: John Anthony Miller
York walked into the boarding house and climbed three flights of stairs to Max’s room. He liked the architecture, the detail that went into older buildings that seemed absent in modern construction, but the property was a bit tired, the paint faded, treads on the steps worn from all the shoes that had traveled across them. But it was neat and clean and the residents seemed comfortable. He went to Max’s room and tapped on the door, studying the pattern in the hardwood floor as he waited. He heard rustling from within and someone came to the entrance.
“It’s me,” York whispered.
The door opened and Max led him inside. He was wearing his policeman’s uniform.
“Is everything all right?” York asked, alarmed. He hadn’t seen the disguise since the wanted posters were distributed.
“Yes, everything’s fine,” Max said. “I’m on my way to observe Richter with some Party leaders. I thought the uniform would make me less suspicious.”
“You had me worried for a minute,” York said. “But I won’t hold you up. I just brought some drawings.”
Max glanced at his watch. “I have time,” he said. “Sit down, I’ll make some coffee.”
York put a box of Amanda’s photographs on the table and described his meeting with Erika Jaeger. Once the coffee was done, they sat down and reviewed the blueprints Faber provided.
“It’s a secret weapon,” York said. “It has a greater range and far more power than the V-1 rocket. I thought you would want to send the drawings as quickly as possible. He’s getting the internals, including the guidance system, probably next week or the week after. According to Jaeger, production is about to begin. She doesn’t know where yet, but she’ll find out.”
Max was studying the blueprints. “If all that is true, and the notes on these drawings are accurate, it could change the war. I don’t think the Allies have anything like this. How does Faber have access to it, especially, if it’s top secret?”
York shrugged. “I have no idea. He must be a draftsman, or works in a department that has access to blueprints. He just pretends to be much more.”
He told Max about Astrid Braun, and Faber’s need for money, including the stately mansion in need of repair. Then he described the fake message he sent, pretending it came from Braun.
Max started laughing. “That’s brilliant, old boy. I wish I could have seen his face when he read the telegram.”
York smiled. “I think he’ll cooperate now. He’s been humbled a bit.”
“He’s still a risk,” Max said, glancing at the drawings. “Maybe that’s what happened to Kent. Faber didn’t get enough money selling information, so he betrayed Kent to get more. You had best be careful.”
York had considered Faber playing both Gestapo informant and Allied spy and discounted it. But if Max thought it was possible, it was worth revisiting. “I suppose it’s feasible. It wouldn’t be the first time we dealt with a double agent.”
“It makes more sense than Klein being the informant. He has all he can handle babysitting the string quartet. He can’t manage much more.”
York was thoughtful for a moment. “I don’t even know what he looks like.”
Max shrugged. “If you saw him, you wouldn’t forget him. He’s older, white hair. And he’s as wide as he is tall. Not a threat at all.”
York dismissed any suspicions of Klein and gazed out the window, studying pedestrians passing on the street. Everyone seemed to have someplace to go, hurrying along, carrying shopping bags or briefcases or schoolbooks.
Max was watching him curiously. “Anything else?”
York repeated the question he asked at each of their meetings. “What about the escape route?”
Max shrugged. “I should have something in a week or two. Assuming London approves. Although they prefer that you wait until after the new year.”
York frowned. “I’ve already waited eight weeks. I can’t wait eight more. People’s lives are in danger.”
“But London values the information you get.”
York knew Max was grateful for all he had done, especially coming to Berlin after being so badly wounded in France. But he had made promises to Amanda and Erika. They were risking their lives. It was time to reward them. “Someone else can handle Faber,” he said softly.
“I suppose,” Max said, not disagreeing. “Do you know who these people are?”
“I’m meeting them in a few days.”
“It won’t be easy getting eight people out of Germany.”
York hesitated. “There’s actually nine.”
“Who else?”
“Amanda Hamilton.”
Max was quiet, offering no reaction. If he did have an opinion, he didn’t offer it. An eerie silence prevailed, with neither speaking.
York watched him, unable to read his expression. He had seen it before, the contemplation. Max had many faults, but he was always fair, evaluating everything with equal scrutiny.
“London won’t like that,” Max said softly after a moment had passed. “It adds to the risk. She’s married to Richter. The Nazis will launch an exhaustive search. You’ll be putting the others in serious danger.”
“You’re assuming he’ll even know she’s gone,” York countered. “You’ve been watching him. He goes a week or more without even seeing her. We only need a day or two to get to Switzerland.”
Max sipped his coffee, offering no argument. “Yes, I suppose that’s true. But don’t they have a domestic? Richter must have her watching Amanda.”
York hadn’t thought of that; he made a mental note to warn Amanda. Max always thought of everything. He was just a bit quicker than everyone else, and he always had been.
“I’ll run it by London,” Max said. “After all, she is Scottish. If they understand the danger she faces, they’ll help her get out.”
“She’s desperate,” York said, trying not to sound emotional. “She wants to leave immediately, but I said we had to wait until London agreed.” He paused, thoughtful. “She also has a trip to Berchtesgaden scheduled. That might be an opportunity.”
“If we do help Amanda escape, it would be best if she went with the others. The security around Berchtesgaden is significant; it’s Hitler’s mountain headquarters. There’s risk to two escapes, and there’s greater risk to stealing her from underneath Hitler’s nose. There has to be another way.”
York was silent, considering what Max said. He was forced to agree with him. But he wanted the escape to happen sooner. “Why do you want to use one of Richter’s escape routes? Isn’t there an alternative?”
“I’m sure there is, but Richter’s plan offers the greatest chance for success. If the Nazis have an established route, I’m sure they assumed the entire countryside would be crawling with Allied troops when they use it.”
“But will the route include Germany?”
“Given their penchant for planning, they have contingencies for every conceivable scenario. I’m confident I can get a path from Berlin to a crossing somewhere into Switzerland. The big problem is how are we going to transport nine people?”
York sat back in the chair with a smug smile. “I think I have an idea.”
On Sunday morning, just after 8 a.m., there was a loud rap on York’s door, evenly spaced, urgent and insistent. When he opened it a crack, he saw Amanda standing impatiently in the hallway. He glanced up and down the corridor and, after finding it empty, he let her in.
“Is everything all right?” he asked anxiously, surprised to see her.
“No, it’s not,” she said as she entered, her eyes wide. “I would have called, but I don’t trust the housekeeper, especially after what you told me. I can’t stay long; Manfred came home late last night, but already left for a morning meeting. I’m not sure if he’s coming back or not.”
“What happened?” York asked, a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.
“The Gestapo came to our concert last night. They arrested Gerhard Faber.”
York slowly sat on the bed, a thousand thoughts running through his mind. If they had been watching Faber, they were probably watching him. He may have led them to Amanda without even knowing it.
His mind raced, trying to explain what had happened, trying to prevent what might occur. He had to tell Max. London was waiting for the rocket drawings, but he couldn’t go back to the cemetery to get them. It was too dangerous.
“What was he arrested for?” York asked, developing a defense, forming a course of action.
She sat on the bed beside him, her hair a bit mussed, her eyes glazed. She probably hadn’t slept all night. “I have no idea, but I bet Klein is responsible. When we were in Amsterdam he watched everything we did. It wouldn’t surprise me if he did the same in Berlin.”
York was quiet for a moment. He wanted to tell Amanda that Faber was selling secrets, to somehow reassure her. But he wanted to protect her; it was safer if she didn’t know.
“The Gestapo might question others in the quartet,” he said, his tone calm and collected so he didn’t frighten her any more than she already was. “You have no connection with Faber, so you have nothing to be afraid of.”
Her eyes grew wide, her body animated, her hands clutching his. “What if they’ve been watching me, too? They might know about us.”
He knew she was right; he was wrestling with the same realization. If the Gestapo had watched the drop, his arrest was next. If the trail led to him, it also led to her. And to Erika Jaeger.
He was quiet for a moment, reliving each time he was at the cemetery, recalling every face, every taxi, every bicycle. There had been nothing suspicious; he didn’t think the drop had been compromised. Unless it happened while Kent was in Berlin. But if it wasn’t the drop, then who had betrayed Faber?
“Are you sure no one saw you come here?” he asked. His first concern was ensuring she was safe, that nothing had implicated her.
“Yes, I’m certain.”
“How about the other times?”
“I don’t think so. I always use the back entrance, in the alley. No one can see me.”
York nodded, but he knew differently. Someone could have watched from windows in neighboring buildings, and anyone following her could easily determine which building she had entered.
“We should probably find another place to meet,” he said softly, his thoughts focused on protecting her.
She hugged him, burying her face in his shoulder. “But I need to see you. We should be safe here. It’s only for a few more weeks.”
He knew at some point he had to tell her that eight other people would be with them. But the less she knew the better. Especially with Faber captured.
“What happens to the string quartet now?” he asked, gauging the Gestapo’s next move.
“Our concerts have been cancelled for the next three weeks. Tomorrow Erika, Albert, and I start to audition replacements.”
York was thinking, calculating, barely listening. If the other members of the quartet were holding auditions, they must be beyond suspicion. But they still had to escape; there was too much risk.
He decided to give her some information, but not too much. “We may have others with us when we go,” he said delicately. “At least until we cross the border.”
“I didn’t know that,” she said, looking at him anxiously, wondering why she hadn’t been told.
“I’m not keeping secrets,” he said, seeing she was hurt. “Really, I’m not. Sometimes the less you know the better.”
“I understand,” she said, although it didn’t seem that she did.
“There’s less danger that way,” he said, still trying to explain.
She chewed on a fingernail, thinking. “Can we leave soon? I’m frightened. This is the world you live in, you can manage it. I can’t.”
“We may have to,” he said. “But I’m not sure when. Definitely before Berchtesgaden, I already promised you that. It takes some organization. Switzerland is eight hundred kilometers away.”
“Can we take the trains?”
“We could,” he said. “But they’re the most dangerous. The Gestapo always watches the trains.”
“Should we fly? We could go to a small airport.”
He shrugged. “We could, but then there’s the pilot, one more person we have to trust. We can’t take that risk. I think a vehicle would be the best alternative. But we don’t have petrol.”
She sat up straight, her face lit with enthusiasm. “All we need is petrol?”
He looked at her curiously, confused. “Yes, but it’s a lot. Even if the vehicle has a full tank, we’ll still need about seventy more liters to reach the border.”
She kissed him on the lips and then on the face, each cheek, his forehead, and then his neck.
He started laughing. “What is wrong with you?”
“Why didn’t you tell me all you needed was petrol?”
“What difference does it make?”
“Because I can get all the petrol we need.”
Erika Jaeger opened the door to her apartment and led York to the parlor. It was a stylish building, a century or so old, with ornate moldings that wrapped the windows and doors and defined the floors. The paint was crisp, only a few years old, and the floral print on the wallpaper was bright, recently updated. The hardwood floors were still beautiful even though they had lost their luster, the pattern indicative of a craftsmanship that was vanishing with passing years. Although the furniture was older, it fit well with the apartment, which was clean and tidy and comfortable.
Erika pointed to a closed six-panel door. “My mother is in her bedroom. She won’t disturb us.”
He glanced around the apartment, past the parlor and into a dining room. It was well lit, the curtains pulled back from the window, and occupied by a rectangular table, high-backed chairs, and a hutch displaying china that was probably never used. The furniture was handsomely crafted, appeared to be antique by design, but upon closer inspection York realized it was a modern reproduction. A framed photograph hung on the wall, Erika and a man, smiling, their arms around each other.
Beyond the dining room was a kitchen, simple but functional, plants on the window sill. There was a bathroom adjacent to the mother’s bedroom, the door slightly ajar, exposing a pedestal sink. The stairs were beside it.
“There’s no one else here,” Erika said, watching his eyes wander the apartment.
York nodded, seemed satisfied, and turned to face her. “Were you there when Faber was arrested?”
“Yes, we all were. It was frightening.”
“Do you have any connection with him at all? If you do, you’ll be questioned.”
Her face was pale, but her eyes showed strength. “No, I barely know him. Only through our music.”
He watched her, anxious and afraid. She had probably been a model citizen before she hid eight people. And although she was a very brave woman, he knew she could never survive if caught. They would hurt her.
“I think you should escape with the others,” he said firmly, studying her closely.
“No, I can’t,” she said, motioning to the closed door. “I have my mother. She’s ill, and she’ll never leave Berlin.”
“Can anyone else care for her, a relative or friend?”
Erika paused, running the faces of those she trusted through her mind. “Perhaps. I will think about it.”
“The danger has increased significantly with Faber arrested. The Gestapo could have been watching all of you, not just him.”
“When is the escape?”
“In three weeks, or maybe sooner. But I have to see who is coming. They will need their documents forged, depending on who they are.”
“I hadn’t thought of details like that,” Erika said softly, defeat and desperation flickering across her face.
“There will be one other adult coming with us,” he said.
She was hesitant, not comfortable with the latest revelation. “Can they be trusted?”
“Implicitly. Your only concern is ensuring your friends are ready. They can’t take much, just a small bag.”
“I understand,” she said, still pale. The full realization of what was happening seemed to overwhelm her.
“May I meet your friends?” he asked.
She nodded, still reflective. “Yes, come with me.”
Erika led him up the stairway and into a short hallway on the second floor. There was a room to the left, small and sparsely furnished, bright with sunlight from a bay wall. He saw a music stand, her violin, and two chairs. There was a desk in the corner. To the right was a larger room, the bed was against the far wall, wooden night tables beside it.
She led him into the bedroom. Matching wardrobes flanked the door, set towards the corners. They were massive pieces of furniture, mahogany, beautifully designed, delicately carved. A matching dresser sat on one wall, with a chair and table opposite it.
She saw him studying the wardrobes, admiring the craftsmanship. “My husband made them,” she said quietly. “Before the war. The dining room furniture, too.”
He saw the sadness in her eyes, and could only imagine the ache in her heart. “They’re beautiful,” he said. “Is that him in the dining room photograph?”
“Yes,” she nodded. “He was such a good man, so very talented.” She sighed and looked away, wiping a tear. “I miss him terribly. But he belongs in heaven. Now that Earth has become hell.”
She led him to the far wardrobe and opened the doors. She removed boxes filled with shoes and hats, and then took out a panel, less than a meter square. It was a secret doorway, providing access back into the corridor at the top of the stairs. The hallway was longer than it seemed. It had been walled off, appearing to end when viewed from the steps. No one would suspect there was more to the apartment. It was nicely done.
He climbed through the opening. Erika followed and restored the boxes and the wardrobe panel. They entered the corridor, just past the false wall. A bathroom was on one side, adjacent to the music room. There was a second room, larger, across the hall and next to the bedroom. She led him into it.
As he entered, he expected to find eight Jews of varying ages, primarily adults. But he couldn’t have been more wrong.
Instead he saw a teenage girl, maybe sixteen years old, and seven children. But they were different than most children. One boy had a brace on his leg, a girl wore very thick glasses. They were all challenged mentally, gazing at York with an innocent fascination that only those who don’t know evil can muster. They were very quiet, sitting around the room on pillows, probably doing exactly what they had been told. They all smiled. Their souls were pure.
York was speechless, his eyes misting. It certainly wasn’t what he expected. The aura of the room was one he had never known, filled with innocence and love and trust and happiness. He looked at Erika, seeing the bravest and most compassionate person he had ever known.
She smiled weakly and shrugged. “This is Inga,” she said, introducing the teenager. “She helps me.”
She moved around the room, introducing each of the youngsters in turn. They all smiled and giggled, pleased that a stranger had come to see them.
York nodded and said hello. A small boy walked up to him with a book, showing him cartoons about animals. York sat on the floor and the boy leafed through the pages, patiently explaining the image on each one. With the slightest encouragement, the remainder joined him, and he was soon surrounded by children who introduced him to dolls and trucks, books and balls, all talking at once, vying for his attention and growing louder as each minute passed. Inga and Erika struggled to calm them, smiling as they did so.
“They’re so pleasant,” he said, surrounded by children and looking up at Erika.
She smiled. “I know. They’ll never have our mental capabilities, but we can learn so much from them. They’re so docile and trusting.”
He stood up, looking directly into Erika’s eyes. “You are an amazing person.”
She nodded her thanks. “The Nazis exterminate them. They’re inferior, weak, and not welcome in a society dominated by the master race.”
“They exterminate them?” he whispered, worried the children might understand.
Erika led him back towards the door, a few feet from the children who played under Inga’s protective eye. “It was called the T4 Program. I learned about it when I was teaching school. I had a handicapped boy in the class and one day he disappeared. His mother told me the Germans enrolled him in a special school, one that attended to his needs.”
York shrugged. “That seems harmless enough.”
“She was notified three weeks later that her son had died of appendicitis.”
“That’s terrible,” York said, seeing the pain in Erika’s face as she told the story.
“It is,” she said. “Especially since the boy had already had his appendix removed.”
York winced, cringing. “I don’t even want to imagine.”
“Don’t. It’s as horrible as it seems.”
“How did you come to rescue these children?”
Erika glanced at Inga. She attended to the children, but was still listening to their conversation. “Not now,” Erika whispered.
York nodded, knowing she would eventually tell him. “I admire you in more ways than I can ever express,” he said softly.
“Thank you,” she said as she turned to face him. “But I hope this doesn’t change anything. Can you still get them to Switzerland?”
“Absolutely,” he said with no hesitation. “I just have to change our approach.”
