The Serpent's Egg (19 page)

He took an early lunch and travelled by U-Bahn to the cathedral in the center of the city. Arvid, a committed Marxist, hated everything about the Dom cathedral, a massive 3-domed concrete monstrosity, a permanent testament to an earlier age, the age of the Prussian Emperors that ended with the abdication of the insufferable Kaiser Wilhelm II.

He arrived just before noon. Korotkov appeared at 12:05. They knelt together in a side altar.

“I’ve had word from a trusted source that the Gestapo will raid your print station first thing tomorrow.”

Arvid was skeptical. “Who is this source?”

“I can’t tell you that, but the information is cast iron. Your printer location is under surveillance as we speak. They will raid it before 3:00 am. Don’t attempt to save your printer. If you send someone, they will be captured and tortured.”

Arvid was speechless. He could count on the fingers of both hands all the people who knew the secret location where they kept the Hectograph. Who could have betrayed them?

“There’s something else,” said Korotkov. “I’m sorry to tell you, Comrade, that I’ve been recalled to Moscow.”

“Permanently?”

“Looks like it. Uncle Joe has decided to withdraw all his intelligence agents in Germany. God knows why. My personal future is uncertain. Many agents recalled in the past have been arrested, tried on trumped up charges, and sent to the gulags. Some have been executed.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Alexander.”

Korotkov shrugged. “I have one chance. Stalin’s head of intelligence, a man called Beria, knows me. We trained together many years ago. He may stand by me. He may not.”

The two old friends knelt side by side in silence for a several moments. Arvid was a German, Korotkov a Georgian, but they had worked together successfully for two years. Arvid remembered their first contact and some of the most important intelligence reports he’d passed to the attaché. The loss was going to hit the Red Orchestra badly.

“Can you put me in touch with someone at the embassy, someone reliable?”

“There’s nobody, I’m sorry.” Korotkov got up to leave. Arvid stood and they shook hands. “Goodbye my friend.”

“Goodbye, Alexander, I hope it works out for you.”

On the way back to his apartment, Arvid went over his options. He had a second reserve Hectograph. He would have to find a new location for the print operation.

The loss of Alexander Korotkov was a more intractable problem. The Russian had been passing Arvid’s intelligence to the Soviets for two years. The US Embassy had been in hibernation for nearly six months, his collaboration with Donald Heath no more than a fond memory. As a committed Marxist, his preference was to find someone from the Soviet Embassy to replace Korotkov, but if that was not possible, he would be happy to pass his intelligence to any of the forces standing in opposition to the Third Reich. His personal political affiliation was subordinate to the need to bring down the Nazis.

He could try the British again. He’d approached them a year earlier, but they had rejected his overtures. They had their own well-established intelligence network and weren’t prepared to trust any other sources.

The only way he could communicate intelligence to anyone now was by passing it to Harro Schulze-Boysen and asking him to send it to the Soviets through his contact in Belgium. There were many problems with that, not the least of which were his distrust of Schulze-Boysen, who was obviously under Gestapo scrutiny, and the amount of time the intelligence would take to reach Moscow by that roundabout route.

Chapter 54

April 1939

At 2:00 am the Gestapo raided the most secret location of the Communist Resistance, a derelict house in a highly populated easterly quarter of the city. They seized a Hectograph, a supply of inks and several reams of paper. The raiding party waited and watched the house for a week, but no member of the Red Orchestra appeared. Obviously they had been tipped off.

#

As soon as Max and Anna returned from Wittenberg, Max rang Greta. “Tell me Harro has been released.”

“Yes, they kept him for a week. The Air Ministry intervened and they had to let him go. They had no evidence against him.”

“How is he? Is he all right?”

“He’s fine.”

“And Delma?”

“We’ve heard nothing about Delma. She may be under interrogation still or they may have moved her to a camp somewhere. We just don’t know.”

Max swore.

Greta said, “Can you meet me tomorrow evening at Vigo’s church?”

“Why? What’s happening?”

“I’ll explain when I see you. Shall we say six o’clock?”

The S-Bahn was crowded with workers on their way home from their offices, the women dressed in late season spring outfits. Everyone was in high spirits. Max did his best to reflect the general mood, but his mind was working overtime on the meeting to come. If they wanted him to go the Brussels again, he would refuse. After their miserable honeymoon, Anna needed him in Berlin.

Vigo and Greta were deep in discussion when Max arrived at the church. Greta patted the pew. Vigo stood to allow Max past. He sat between the two of them.

Vigo’s dark stubble seemed heavier than usual. He scratched it with his fingers. “How was your holiday? Did Anna have a good time?”

“Some of it was all right. I don’t think Anna enjoyed it much. My mother is not the ideal hostess.”

Vigo said, “But your mother must have been happy to spend time with you.”

“If she was she didn’t show it. Now what did you want to talk to me about?”

Greta said, “We suffered a significant setback while you were away. Someone betrayed the location of one of our Hectographs to the Gestapo. The house was raided. We lost all our paper, all our ink, and the Hectograph.”

“That’s terrible news. Did they catch any members of the Orchestra?”

“No. We were warned beforehand. They captured no one. But that location can never be used again, and we’ve lost a vital piece of equipment.”

Max’s mouth was dry. His tongue rocked the cyanide capsule in his mouth. “Who betrayed us?”

Vigo glanced at Greta. She looked away. Vigo said, “We don’t know that. There was something else we wanted to talk to you about. I had a visit from the Gestapo while you were away. They took me to Prinz-Albrecht-Strasse. They claimed that your Marriage Authorization is a forgery.”

Max came to a quick decision to tell a version of the truth. “It’s true. I forged the signature. The Gestapo man, Framzl, wouldn’t sign it.”

“Why not?”

And Max lied. “He demanded money.”

Greta looked shocked.

Vigo said, “How much?”

“500 Reichsmarks. I couldn’t raise that sort of money. Anna had set her heart on a spring wedding.”

Greta looked down at her hands. “So you forged a signature?”

“What else could I do?”

Vigo placed a hand on Max’s shoulder. “Your civil marriage may not be recognized by the State. The registrar may issue an annulment. But whether that happens or not you will still be married in the eyes of the Roman Catholic Church. You can tell Anna that.”

Max shook his head. “I’d rather not say anything about this to Anna. There’s no point worrying her unnecessarily.”

“If the annulment is issued, she’ll have to know.”

“Yes, but you said yourself that might not happen. I’d rather say nothing to her until I have to.”

#

On her way home, Greta tossed Max’s story around in her mind. She knew Max was not the one who betrayed the location of the Hectograph. They had been careful to keep that from him. As for the forgery, the SS were strict when it came to excising corruption from their own ranks. She had heard of several SS officers who had been tried and expelled on charges of corruption. Some had been shot. 500 Reichsmarks was a lot of money, perhaps half a year’s wages for someone like Max. But would this Framzl really risk his neck for such a sum? It seemed unlikely, but what other explanation could there be for Max’s actions?

Chapter 55

April 1939

Anna was preparing their evening meal when the telephone rang.

It was Max. “I’m going to have to stay at work for a couple of hours, Anna. A mountain of work has accumulated while we were in Wittenberg. I’ll find something to eat here. You go ahead and eat without me.”

Anna was not happy. “I’ve already started cooking our supper. Could you not have contacted me sooner?”

“Sorry, my love. I’ll try to get home before dark.”

Anna stirred the pot on the stove. She had a thick vegetable soup and a beef pie with pastry and potatoes. More than enough for two.

When the food was ready she sat down and ate half of it. Loathe to throw the other half away, she came up with an idea.

She poured the soup into an empty jam jar and wrapped the beef pie and potatoes in a tight parcel. Then she put the food into a basket and set off on foot toward the Rosens’ apartment in Alvensleberstrasss.

Matilde let her in. Anna handed her the basket of food. “Max is working late. He couldn’t make it home, so I had some food left over. I thought…”

“That’s really kind of you, Anna. Come in. I’ll call Sophie.”

Sophie was more subdued that usual. She read a few pages from her book, but her shoulders were hunched. She looked miserable.

“Where’s Aschenputtel today?”

Sophie shook her head.

“What’s the matter, Sophie?”

“Mama wouldn’t let me visit my friend on my birthday. And Papa spends all day in bed.”

“When was your birthday?”

“A week ago. I’m eight.” She brightened a little. “Would you like to see what Mama and Papa gave me?”

“Yes, please, Sophie.”

Sophie ran back to her room.

Anna asked Matilde why Sophie couldn’t visit her friend.

Matilde shook her head. “The streets are not safe for us, now. And some of our neighbors have been harassing us. I’ve had to keep Sophie indoors. I think David has lost the will to live since he lost the shop. That shop was his whole life."

Sophie reappeared carrying her doll, Aschenputtel. She showed Anna a miniature silver brooch pinned to the doll’s chest. “This is what Mama and Papa gave Aschenputtel for her birthday.”

Anna examined the brooch. It was an exquisite piece containing a tiny cameo of a woman in profile.

“It was Aschenputtel’s birthday?”

“Yes, and mine, too.”

“What a beautiful gift,” said Anna. “I hope Aschenputtel said thank you.”

#

The misery of the Rosen family clung to Anna like a cloud all the way home. The injustice of their circumstances struck a chord deep within her. What had they done to deserve such harsh treatment? What sort of country would condemn an innocent 8-year-old to a life of penury? It was no more than an accident of birth that Anna herself had been brought up a Roman Catholic. With two Jewish grandparents, she could so easily have been brought up a Jew and suffered a similar fate.

#

Arvid asked Greta to take a message to Harro, inviting him to a meeting in the same warehouse near Tempelhof where they’d met before. Harro was to take precautions to ensure that no one followed him.

Arvid took his usual care, hopping from autobuses to trams to the subway.
He arrived 30 minutes late.

An iron panel had slipped on the roof. Pools of water covered large parts of the floor and ten thousand dust particles danced in a beam of sunlight streaming from above. The pervasive smell of rust was gone, in its place the musty reek of mold.

Harro sympathized with Arvid on the loss of his Hectograph. He sounded sincere, but the turn of his lip suggested amusement, perhaps even a touch of
Schadenfreude
. Whatever it was, it disappeared from Harro’s face when Arvid pointed out that he had a spare Hectograph.

Arvid
explained that he had lost his contact in the Soviet Embassy. He had no outlet for his intelligence. Harro’s Belgian radio operator was now the only conduit for his intelligence reports to Moscow.

“What are you suggesting?” said Harro.

“I’m suggesting that we merge our two operations. I could make more regular use of your courier runs to Belgium, and we could amalgamate our two distribution networks for broadsheet leaflets and flyers.”

“I was never happy with your broadsheets,” Harro replied. “Our leaflets are smaller, easier to hide and we get the point across in fewer words.”

Arvid bristled at the implied editorial criticism. “That’s not a problem, Harro. I suggest we should use just one Hectograph. We should use yours. It’s newer and bigger than ours.”

“Agreed. And I’ll be happy to concede editorial control to Adam Kuckhoff.”

“That’s very generous of you. We should examine our two distribution networks and see how best we might combine them.”

“That’s Libertas’s domain. I’ll mention it to her.”

Arvid prepared to wrap up the meeting. He was eager to put as much distance as possible between himself and Harro. “We must keep physical contact to a minimum. The Gestapo has shown their interest in you. They are not yet aware of my involvement and I’d like to keep it that way.”

“We’ll need to set up the Hectograph at some new location. Do you have any ideas where?”