Billie nodded, and they walked along the side of the building. Miss Dinkelman showed her the kitchen service door. “We’ll go in there and probably up to the second floor to the doctor’s office. What was her name again?”
“Dr. Greta Bergstrasser.”
“Oh, yes.”
“You don’t know her?”
“No, she joined the staff after I retired. She will instruct us on how to help Miss Meyer escape.”
“So, you know nothing of the plan?”
“No, dear. We seldom do. We are merely the escorts—one cog in the wheel. Sort of like your underground railroad during the American Civil War.”
They spent another hour walking around the grounds. Miss Dinkelman insisted that Billie memorize the layout of Saxonburg. “In case we get separated,” she said. “We must be ready for anything.”
When Billie understood the surroundings, they started back to the train station. Except for a single gentleman reading a paper, the platform was empty.
“The train should be here in a few minutes. I am going inside to the toilet,” Miss Dinkelman said.
“Very well.”
A few moments later, there was a rumbling, and Billie heard the blare of a horn. The train was coming. She looked back for Miss Dinkelman, but she was nowhere to be found. The engine was visible now, and it was roaring up to the station. Again, the horn blared.
Suddenly, Billie’s heart jumped into her throat. The gentlemen who had been reading the paper was running toward her. It was Archie Barnard. She stared at him aghast. What was he doing here? And then Billie looked behind her. Miss Dinkelman was approaching too, and there was a look of fury on her face. What was going on? The next thing she knew, Agna slammed into her, and she started to fall. But Barnard was too fast; he grabbed Billie before she tumbled onto the tracks. The momentum was too much for Miss Dinkelman though, and she staggered. Clawing madly at the air, she screamed, toppled, and fell into the oncoming train.
Billie and Barnard stared in horror.
“That was supposed to be you!” Barnard roared. “She was trying to kill you, Miss Bassett.”
Billie looked at him, stunned. My God! Miss Dinkelman had just fallen under the train. She couldn’t think straight. Had she really been trying to kill her, or was Barnard lying?
“Come!” he barked. “We have to get out of here.” Grabbing her wrist, he pulled her into the woods along the tracks. Dazed, Billie didn’t argue. They ran steadily through the brush, Barnard holding Billie’s hand. “Town’s not far,” he said. “We’ll hire a driver, and I’ll get you back to Max right away.”
“Who are you?”
“A private detective, Rothman hired me.”
They didn’t speak again until they came to the outskirts of the village. “Catch your breath, Miss Bassett,” Barnard said in his proper British accent. “And arrange yourself, if you please.”
He swept debris off his suit coat and straightened his shirt. Billie ran her fingers through her hair and tucked in her blouse. Suddenly, the memory of Miss Dinkelman falling under the train returned, and she bent over and retched. Straightening up, Billie wiped her mouth and said, “I’m sorry.”
“There, there,” Mr. Barnard replied. “Quite natural.” Putting on his straw bowler, he offered his arm and said, “Very well. Here we go.”
They walked into town and hired a cab to take them back to Berlin. Billie’s heart did not stop pounding until they got back to the Adlon. Max was sitting in the lobby, and the moment they walked through the door, he jumped up and hugged her.
Billie could see the tension on his face.
“Thank God you’re all right!” he said between his teeth. “What the hell happened?”
“Let’s go upstairs, Max,” she murmured, “and I’ll tell you everything.”
The moment they shut the door of the suite, Max shook Barnard’s hand. “I can’t thank you enough, Archie,” he said. “Whatever happened, you got Billie here safely.”
“He saved my life, Max,” she said.
Max grimaced. “I had a sickening feeling it had come to that.” He turned to the drink caddie and poured three stiff glasses of scotch. Handing one to Billie and one to Barnard, he said, “Sit down and tell me what happened.”
Barnard sat stiffly on the edge of a club chair and said, “Your hunch was correct, Mr. Rothman. They were indeed Nazi agents.”
Billie looked at Max. “What the hell?”
“Darling, I’ll tell you everything in a moment. Did Dinkelman threaten her?”
“Yes, she tried to push Miss Bassett in front of an oncoming train.”
The blood drained from Max’s face.
“Mr. Barnard caught me in time,” Billie said. “But Agna Dinkelman was not so lucky. She stumbled and fell onto the tracks.”
“My God!” Max exclaimed, making a face. “But why were you by train tracks?”
“We were out at the asylum. Didn’t you know?”
“No.”
“Agna Dinkelman said you wanted me out there to see the grounds.”
Max shook his head. “I knew nothing about it. I only stayed with the Dinkelmans a few moments this morning. After I told them about the note from the bakery vendor, they seemed to be trying to manipulate information out of me. But I wouldn’t budge. So, I headed down to the Taverne to speak with my contact. My suspicions were confirmed when he informed me our actual contact was found dead that morning. His throat had been slit days ago.”
Billie started to shake. Max grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around her. “You could use another drink.” He freshened up her scotch.
Mr. Barnard drained his glass and stood up. “I should let Miss Bassett rest. So, our arrangement is complete, Mr. Rothman?”
“It is. I can’t thank you enough,” Max said and wrote out a check.
When Barnard saw the amount, he chuckled. “No more thanks needed, Mr. Rothman. Best of luck to you, sir.”
“And to you.”
“Thank you, Mr. Barnard,” Billie said.
“My pleasure, madam.”
They shook hands, and the detective left.
Billie took a deep gulp of her drink and stated, “You need to explain a few things, Max Rothman.”
He ran his hand through his hair and started to pace. “Very well, but don’t expect to hear an apology from me about hiring Barnard. I knew you would have no part of a bodyguard, but he saved your life.”
“So, he was watching me the whole time?”
“Yes, at least when I wasn’t with you. He approached you initially in the Press Room during the Olympic Games to confirm your identity and then dropped out of sight. Yesterday, you saw him only because I had just missed a meeting with him here.”
Billie bit her lip and nodded. “You were right, Max, thank you. But what about the Dinkelmans? Why didn’t you tell me your suspicions? I didn’t think we had secrets from one another.”
“I wasn’t sure until today, and might I remind you?” he snapped defensively. “From the very first, I wanted you to go home.”
Billie started to argue and stopped. She was too tired to fight.
“Agna managed to weasel the doctor’s name out of you, didn’t she?” Max asked.
“She did, and I was ever so obliging. I imagine, once they had the name of the doctor, they had no further use for us. But why kill us, Max? Why not deport us and then arrest the doctor?”
“Because you said we were going back to the States to expose Zweig for experimenting on patients.”
Billie moaned. “Oh, my God! I made a mess of things.”
Max pulled her up into a hug. “No, you haven’t.” She was still shivering, and he ran his hands up and down her arms. “Maybe I should have told you everything from the start,” he said. “Maybe that would have been safer. Damn, I don’t know.”
“How did you ever see they were frauds? I was completely duped.”
“Most people would have been fooled by them. They were excellent agents.” Max step
ped back, lit another cigarette, and poured another drink. “Billie, I have more to tell you.”
Swallowing hard, she eased herself back down onto the edge of a chair. “What?”
“I have a contact at the Taverne.”
“I knew that.”
“But I led you to believe it was one of the reporters. It is actually the owner. He was Frank’s source and one of our actual links in the organization. That’s who told me about the murder of our real contact. When he told me, I rushed back to the hotel, but you were gone. The switchboard operator said a call came through for you earlier from a woman, and since you know mostly men, I had a feeling it was Agna Dinkelman. So, I went back to see if you were at their apartment, but her brother was there alone. I demanded the truth from him.” Max paused. “It was then he pulled the luger.”
Billie’s eyes grew wide. “Max!”
He stopped pacing and locked eyes with Billie. “I—we,” Max stammered, “it didn’t end well.”
“What happened?”
Max turned his back and walked to the window. “There was a struggle. He was easy to overpower.”
“You shot him?”
He nodded and took a gulp of his drink.
“Oh, good Lord!” Billie exclaimed. “He’s dead?”
Max nodded.
Jumping up, her heart hammering, she cried, “Surely the whole building heard. We have to get out of here! The Gestapo will trace it to us.”
“There was a silencer on the gun,” he said, taking her hands and easing her back down onto the chair.
Billie was stunned. Max’s attitude was so matter-of-fact, his expression so flat. She stared at him. “For someone who loses his temper when a gumball machine eats his money, you seem very calm.”
“There’s a reason for that.”
“I don’t want to hear anything else,” she said, covering her ears.
“Billie,” Max coaxed, sitting down across from her and touching her knee.
She lowered her hands and looked at him.
“I have been in situations like this before but not for many years. I grew up on the Lower East Side. Life was very different there, just like life was different for you on the reservation. My mother had trouble feeding us, and Prohibition was enacted. Frank and I worked for a rum-running operation to bring in money. I had to bury my feelings, stay aloof from everything happening around me, and detach myself from the violence.” He shrugged. “It was war, Billie. Only the trenches were different. Well, yesterday, all of that came back to me, and I’m not sorry. It served me well.”
Billie gazed at him and murmured, “It kept you alive.”
“And I will keep us alive. I promise.”
Chapter 29
“We must hurry,” Max said. “Everything happens tonight. Our first stop is the Taverne to get traveling papers for Elise and the other woman.”
“There’s someone else too?”
“Yes, an attendant who wants out of the country. She will be blamed for the escape, thus covering for the doctor. The woman will not travel with us; she will go on to Sweden.”
It was late afternoon when Max and Billie arrived at the Taverne. As usual, it was starting to fill up with American and British journalists. A radio behind the bar was blaring jazz music. Men were talking and laughing loudly.
As they waited at the bar, Billie noticed graffiti carved into the counter. There were hundreds of names, mostly journalists and writers, the most notable being Thomas Wolfe. She remembered seeing him at the Games, whooping and hollering for Jesse Owens.
When Billie saw the owner, she was surprised. He was a large, bald German, who looked nothing like an Italian restaurant proprietor, and neither did his tiny blonde wife.
“Hello, Willy,” Max said. “This is Billie Bassett.”
“How do you do? What will you have?” he asked.
“Two scotch on-the-rocks please,” Max replied.
“Hungry? Take a look at our bill of fare,” Willy said, reaching under the counter and handing Max a menu.
He opened it and inside were the travel documents. Billie leaned in, feigning interest, while Max slipped the papers into his breast pocket.
“There was a problem,” Willy mumbled as he poured the scotch. “The forged documents did not arrive.”
Max’s eyes grew large. “Then what are these?”
“Papers for two American men.”
Max said through his teeth. “Goddammit! What good are they to us? We need papers for women.”
“They are for reporters,” Willy replied, running his tiny eyes around the room, smiling benignly. “It will look credible since you two are reporters. Julianna lifted them from patrons this afternoon. As long as we continue to feed them drinks, they’ll not miss them until morning.”
Billie could feel the fury in Max. “How the hell are we supposed to make this work?” he snarled. “I’m calling the whole thing off.”
“There is no time, my friend,” Willy replied, leaning jauntily on the bar. Although he appeared relaxed, Billie could see perspiration on his upper lip. “She could give birth anytime.”
Max’s nostrils flared, and he looked away, his chest heaving.
“We just have to make it happen, Max,” Billie said. “We can’t let Zweig get ahold of a newborn.”
“Just what do you propose?” he replied. “Dressing the women like men? Elise is pregnant.”
With a forced laugh, Willy said, “Not so crazy. I look pregnant all the time.”
Max tossed back his drink and pushed his glass forward for another. “Very well, let’s say we can come up with disguises, then what about the pictures on the documents?”
“You are looking at a photographer, Max.”
“A photographer without a darkroom.”
“Those can be set up anywhere; you should know that. All we need are the chemicals.”
A customer hollered for Willy. “Coming, coming!” He turned back to them and said, “There is a photo shop two blocks down. But it’s getting late. Good luck.” He waddled off.
Max looked outside. The sun was starting to set. “Let’s go,” he said and took Billie’s hand.
They bolted out of the bar and down the street. Just as they were approaching the shop, the clerk pulled the shade.
Billie gasped and started banging on the door. “Please! I’ll only take a moment. I know just what I need. Please let us in!”
No response.
She knocked again and cried, “I’ll give you extra money!”
The door opened. An older man, unusually short with a broad torso, answered the door. He held out his hand. “Tip first,” he said gruffly.
Max handed the clerk some money. The man opened the door, and Billie rushed inside. The clerk stepped onto a ladder and climbed up and down, retrieving items for her.
“Done,” Billie announced.
Max paid, and they were out the door.
“Now we need to buy scissors to cut the women’s hair,” Billie said.
“And men’s shirts and trousers in a variety of sizes. We have no idea about size, so we must have a selection.”
“Shoes?”
“Hard to say,” Max replied. “Let’s try to make mine work with lots of socks. We are running out of time.”
After finishing their shopping, they returned to the hotel and packed. They would come back to the Adlon only long enough to change the appearance of the women and take document photos. Then they would catch the night train to Warnemünde, where they would embark on their voyage to the United States.
“I checked at the station this morning,” Billie said, snapping her suitcase shut. “The last train from the asylum to Berlin is at 23:21 pm. Our rendezvous is at 23:00.”
“God, I hope that’s enough time,” Max replied.
“I wonder why they cut it so close.”
Max shrugged. “They have their reasons.”
“Now quickly, help me set up the darkroom,” Billie stated.
In record
time, they arranged a makeshift darkroom in the bathroom and headed to the train station.
The Anhalter Bahnhof was quieter this time of night. Billie could hardly believe it was just this morning she was here with Agna Dinkelman. The horrors of the day seemed like an eternity ago.
“Max,” she whispered, grabbing his arm as they walked down the platform. “Do you suppose there will still be police at the Saxonburg stop after what happened this morning?”
“Doubtful. It’s late, and it’s dark. Nevertheless, we must operate as if the Gestapo is everywhere.”
“Yes,” she replied and swallowed hard. Nazis were everywhere, and she looked at the soldiers patrolling.
The train ride was uneventful, and Max had been right; the platform was deserted when they stepped off the train. He looked at his watch. It was 10:53 pm. The train was right on time.
Billie had the urge to look over her shoulder at the tracks where Agna had fallen but refused to give in to the morbid curiosity.
Armed with a story in case someone stopped them, they headed up the walkway. Anyone who demanded information from them would hear that Max’s mother, a patient at Saxonburg, was gravely ill. They were here to see her one last time.
The full moon bathed the grounds of the institution in an eerie light. There was no wind, and the only sound was a barking dog in the distance. A few rooms were illuminated in the main building, but everything else was dark.
Their footsteps seemed loud on the walkway. Suddenly, someone let out a blood-curdling scream. Max and Billie froze, their hearts jumping into their throats. Then someone laughed. It came from inside the main building.
“It must be a patient,” Billie whispered, clutching her chest.
Max nodded.
They watched and waited, but nothing more happened. They kept walking.
“Do you know which door?” Max asked.
“Along the side. God, I hope they remembered to leave it unlocked.”
It was open. When they stepped inside, there was a woman in a white lab coat holding a hurricane lamp. She was a large, raw-boned female with a masculine countenance, dark hair, and heavy brows. The glow from the lamp threw strange shadows on her face and illuminated her bulbous eyes.
The Image Seeker Page 29