by Michael Dean
Chapter One
Glaser crossed the pavement at Galeriestrasse, first thing in the morning. The green Opel Frosch was parked opposite the building. As he took his keys out to unlock its door, a man seized him under the arm.
‘I’ve got a knife,’ the man said, in a North German accent. ‘Just get in and I’ll tell you where to drive.’
His captor, a bony gangly figure, squeezed himself into the front seat. Glaser was made to drive to a one-family house in Rottenbucherstrasse, in Sendling. There, the captor indicated, with prods in the back, that he should go down the stairs to the cellar. A group of men were sitting round a table, evidently waiting for him. One of them was Sepp Kunde.
‘Grüss Gott, Herr Glaser.’ Kunde looked concerned. The fringe of black hair round his bald pate had started to grow back since their encounter at Dachau. ‘Did these idiots bring you here by force?’
‘They most certainly did!’ Glaser shouted.
‘We are the South Bavaria section of the Communist Party,’ said a young man sitting in the middle of the group. ‘Sit down, please.’
Glaser sat at a chair placed facing the men round the table. ‘Thank you. That’s very kind of you,’ he said, with heavy sarcasm. He stared defiantly at the communists.
Kunde was sitting aside from three others, who were joined by the gangly one with the North German accent. ‘I apologise most sincerely, Herr Glaser,’ Kunde said. ‘When I gave them your name, I made it clear you were to be treated with respect.’
‘They didn’t listen, did they?’ Glaser shouted.
Sepp Kunde looked at the man who had spoken. ‘Apologise, Schwarzmüller,’ he said.
‘What?’
‘Apologise. Or I’m off. You can solder your own typewriter keys when they break. And fix your banda machine yourself, when it jams.’
Schwarzmüller shook his head, as if humouring a madman, softening the coming climb-down. ‘Herr Glaser, we needed to talk to you,’ he said. ‘But, OK, I accept we could have done it a bit more ... nicely.’ He looked at Kunde, who had started to rise from his chair. ‘So I’m sorry,’ he added hastily.
Kunde resumed his place, not bothering to hide his disdain. Glaser nodded, appeased. He looked round. The cellar was large and stank of damp, methanol, and the sweat of the men round the table. Most of the space was taken up by an ancient printing press and a banda machine. In front of him were shelves of the communist newspaper, Neue Zeitung, plus piles of grey copy-paper, spirit masters, compositing equipment, lithographic plates and ink baths. There was no sign of the typewriter they needed Kunde to fix.
Glaser took a copy of Neue Zeitung at random off the shelves and sat down again.
Schwarzmüller seemed ill at ease, and far from in control of the group he was supposed to be leading. ‘My name is Erwin,’ he said in a conciliatory manner. Glaser realised this was a codename, not his first name. He had apparently forgotten Kunde had already betrayed his real name. ‘This here is Paul.’ Glaser’s gangly captor nodded to him. ‘This is Theo; this is Hugo.’
Hugo nodded and smiled. He needed a shave, his hair was matted, his blue overalls were filthy, and he stank. Glaser thought he couldn’t be more than about nineteen. Theo was older – mid-thirties. His clothes were neatly pressed, and could even be new. He had a battered face, with a broken nose and wall-eye. As Glaser looked at him, a pasted-on smile appeared.
‘Very enlightening,’ said Glaser, at the codenames. ‘I suggest you tell me what you want.’
Schwarzmüller nodded. ‘Our movement’s funds have been seized. Unlike the Social Democrats, we did not have the resources to move large sums out of the country. We need money to continue to produce our newspaper.’
Glaser looked down at the copy of Neue Zeitung in his hands. There were seven double-sides of it. It was closely typed, obviously by a typewriter with broken keys, obviously reproduced on a worn stencil.
‘How many of these do you run off?’ Glaser barked out.
‘About a thousand,’ Schwarzmüller said.
‘Distribution?’
Schwarzmüller shrugged. ‘South Bavaria. Mainly Munich. Say, fifty to Augsburg, thirty to Rosenheim, twenty to Gröbenzell ... and so on.’
‘Where, in Munich?’
Schwarzmüller hesitated, but finally answered. ‘Two hundred to Westend, a hundred or so to Nordschwabing and Milbertshofen, sixty or so to Schlachthausviertel, then Sendling ...’
Glaser nodded impatiently. Predictably, the bulk were delivered to the industrial, working-class areas – preaching to the converted. ‘How, exactly, do you distribute the copies?’
Schwarzmüller sounded and looked exhausted. He was a worn-looking, sad-eyed man – prematurely old. ‘Mainly we leave them at factory gates. Or at the Red Sports Clubs and Red Gymnastics Clubs, which are defunct now, of course. But the Nazis know that. Distribution is our weak point. That’s where a lot of the comrades have been caught.’
‘That and the Gestapo infiltrating your groups. Anybody here work for the Gestapo?’ Glaser looked sardonically round the table at them all. Kunde laughed. Glaser found himself smiling when his eyes met his fellow Swabian’s.
‘We don’t have to put up with this,’ said the one introduced as Paul – the stringy fellow who had brought Glaser here. He leaned forward aggressively across the table.
‘Shut up!’ Glaser said. ‘Just ... shut your mouth.’
‘Do you want some broken teeth?’ Paul said. ‘I’ve always said it, the Sozis are the main enemy.’
‘Oh ... just ... run off back to Russia,’ Glaser yelled at him.
‘I wish I could,’ Paul yelled back, his mouth twisting to a snarl. ‘I’d go to Russia like a shot, believe me.’
‘Ladies! Ladies!’ Kunde said, laughing.
To signal the end of the argument, Glaser put the communist newspaper in front of his face and ran his eye down the front page. A report on the banning of the Social Democrat Party was headed ‘The Nazi Cat Plays with the Social Democrat Mouse’. The Social Democrats were referred to throughout the report as fascists, and the piece concluded with an appeal to Social Democrat party workers to defect and join the communists.
‘And you want our help to print this piece of shit?’ Glaser yelled, banging it. ‘You’ve got a nerve.’
‘I told you this was a waste of time,’ Paul said.
‘Come on, let’s give this a chance, shall we?’ said Theo, widening his phoney grin. ‘I hear Otto Wels is in Prague now, Herr Glaser? Along with the rest of the Social Democrat big-wigs. Are they doing anything useful there?’
Glaser stared at him.
‘Come on, comrade,’ Theo said. ‘What’s the matter? Don’t you trust us?’
‘No.’
‘Well, you should. We’re on the same side. I’ve been in Dachau, chum.’ Theo pointed at his battered face. ‘I didn’t get this walking into a door. Nazis did it.’
Kunde shook his head from side to side in mock weariness. ‘You know, you shit-heads bore me,’ he said conversationally, to nobody in particular. ‘You bore me to tears. We going to work together, or not? We going to fight Adolf? If we are, let’s get on with it. If we’re not, let’s all go home, eh?’
Glaser laughed. ‘All right, Herr Kunde. Point taken.’
‘Call me Sepp, my Swabian comrade. What’s your first name?’
‘What? You’ve got a nerve. All right, it’s Gerhard.’
Glaser thought it over: Erich Rinner, still in Munich, had been given 30,000 Reichsmarks to subvert the Third Reich. Rinner, Glaser thought, should be told about this approach by the communists. He had, after all, wanted to back the communist call for a general strike, at that meeting at the Heck, back in February.
Glaser turned to Schwarzmüller. ‘I agree with Herr Kunde that we should get on with it. And then perhaps I may be allowed to leave here? So ... I myself have no access to Social Democrat funds. But I am in contact with someone who has. I can arrange for you to put your case. I will establish a line of conta
ct, but not with people who threaten me with knives.’
‘Oh, stop whining. I didn’t have a knife,’ Paul said. ‘I just told you I did.’
Glaser glared at him. ‘I will work through Herr Kunde only.’
‘OK,’ Schwarzmüller said.
‘What about this man with access to funds?’ Theo asked. ‘What’s his name?’
Glaser was standing, preparing to leave. ‘Erich Rinner.’
‘You shouldn’t have said that,’ Kunde murmured.
Chapter Two
Erich Rinner had heard of the Schwarzmüller Group, and was happy to meet them, to discuss financial help from Social Democrat funds. Meanwhile, he made a counter request of Glaser. Did Glaser know of anyone who would take material out to the Social Democrat resistance in Prague, and smuggle leaflets back into the Reich? Someone not known to the Gestapo and the Political Police was required; a person with no previous connection to the Social Democrats.
Glaser said he knew of no such person. Rinner suggested Rüdiger von Hessert, who he appeared to know all about. Privately, Glaser did not think Rudi was up to it. He was drinking heavily. Glaser feared he would soon make himself ill – if he hadn’t already.
But he did not feel he could share these doubts about his friend with a mere acquaintance, like Erich Rinner.
When Glaser put Erich Rinner’s offer to Rudi, he accepted immediately. He was delighted to go to Prague; he had friends there. The danger didn’t worry him. Glaser said he would introduce him to Rinner.
Naturally, Rudi’s meeting with Rinner would include Ello and, naturally, it would take place at the Glaser apartment, which had taken over from the Stammtisch at the Café Heck as the nearest thing the remaining Social Democrats had to a safe meeting place.
By now, Hoegner had left for Switzerland. Auer had joined his wife in Karlsruhe, leaving Glaser himself and Erich Rinner as the only Social Democrat leaders still in Munich, apart from Zerfass, who was in Dachau. Glaser had been unable to visit him as Himmler had just issued a decree banning Ministry of Justice personnel from the concentration camps.
On the day of the meeting, young Kaspar was writing his homework, head down on the dining-room table, hoping his father would let him stay. Glaser had not sent him away. He was secretly proud that the boy was a Social Democrat, and had been since he was twelve. Lotte was off visiting her sister, Katya. Magda was in her room.
Glaser looked approvingly at Erich Rinner. He respected the young man greatly.
Rinner was an economist by training – he had been economic advisor to the trade union movement. There was a modesty about him, Glaser thought, and a precision which stopped short of pedantry. He had a quiet sense of certainty. He was sparing with words, compact of movement, but everything was made to count, nothing wasted.
He was drinking beer, as they exchanged small talk before the meeting. Everyone else had a glass of the fruity Pfalz wine the von Hesserts had brought. Glaser and Rudi were smoking, as was Ello. Her cigarette was clamped into an ebony cigarette-holder. This fascinated Kaspar, who was staring at her.
Glaser made a point of fetching an extra glass, and poured Kaspar’s wine himself, publicly including him in the meeting. Kaspar looked away from Ello long enough to murmur ‘Thank you, Papa.’ His eyes shone as he looked at his father.
After the pause this created, with everybody expecting Rinner to open the meeting, Ello spoke. ‘Herr Rinner, I know you have a request of my brother. But before you make it, may I make one of you?’ She gave him her long-lashed, Elisabeth Bergner look.
Rinner was unmarried. Kaspar felt a pang of jealousy of him.
‘Naturally, Fräulein von Hessert,’ Rinner said. ‘If I can meet your request, I shall.’
Ello gave him a bright smile. She spoke easily, masking the tension she felt. She had been ill immediately before the meeting, and had been prey to vomiting and stomach cramps since her unsuccessful attempt to kill Hider. ‘When you meet the communists, this Schwarzmüller Group, my brother and I would like to come with you.’
There was a silence. ‘I don’t wish to be rude, Fräulein von Hessert, but may I ask why?’
‘I wish to suggest a way forward. A way of proceeding against our common enemy.’
‘I am intrigued!’
‘You were meant to be.’ Rudi laughed rather wildly. The probationer was immaculate, his swept-back hair thick and glossy, his skin pellucidly clear, but he was already at the bottle. He knocked back the rest of his second glass and poured more.
Ello gave a tinkling, rather affected laugh. Much of her behaviour appeared to be for Rinner’s benefit. She touched her top lip with the pink tip of her tongue. ‘I think I’ll leave it at that,’ she said. ‘When I’ve got you all together, I’ll put forward a plan. I believe you will like it, Herr Rinner.’ She put the ebony cigarette-holder in her mouth and took a deep puff, her eyes never leaving Rinner’s face.
‘I’d rather know in advance, if it’s all the same to you.’
Ello shook her head. For a second she considered telling Rinner the truth – that she wanted help to kill Hitler, but she rejected the idea instantly. Rinner did not look like a desperate man, and taking a life was a desperate act – even taking Hitler’s life. She hoped the communists would be desperate. ‘And I would rather tell you all together,’ she said. ‘Then I need say it only once. You do want Rudi to go to Prague for you, don’t you?’
Rinner clicked his tongue, trying, but failing, to hide his irritation. ‘The Schwarzmüller Group might not react kindly to your family name,’ he said.
Ello had thought of that. ‘Then don’t tell them we are coming, Herr Rinner. Say you are bringing colleagues – a delegation. Tell them to do the same. The more, the merrier.’
‘All right. I agree to your conditions, Fräulein von Hessert.’
‘Excellent!’
‘I can’t wait to hear what your idea is. When the time comes, of course ...’
Their eyes met.
‘Shall we perhaps proceed, Erich?’ Glaser said testily.
‘By all means, Gerhard.’ Rinner produced a bundle of closely typed material on green copy-paper, from an attaché case. It was tied with a piece of red twine. ‘This is what I would like you to take to Herr Wels and the others in Prague, Herr von Hessert.’
He passed the bundle to Rudi, who left it on the table without glancing at it.
‘What is it?’ barked Glaser.
‘I’m thinking of calling them Green Reports, for convenience,’ Rinner said. ‘Because of the green paper they are typed on. The one you have here is the first of what I hope will be regular situation reports on conditions and events in the Third Reich.’
Glaser nodded hard, puffing at his pipe. ‘That’s good.’
Rinner gave a thin smile, at Glaser’s approval. ‘These reports are based on witness interviews. They will be wide-ranging, but objective and neutral in tone. They are intended to bear witness. To keep the truth alive.’
‘Good for you,’ Ello said warmly.
Rinner was embarrassed. ‘I have provided a rough summary in English, which my colleagues in Prague, with the aid of English sympathisers, can polish up. I shall have to leave the French version to them. My colleagues will send these foreign-language versions to newspapers abroad. First and foremost, to the New York Times, the London Times and the Manchester Guardian.’
Glaser took his pipe from his mouth and waved it enthusiastically. ‘My dear Rinner! This ... This is a magnificent contribution. Let me shake you by the hand.’
Glaser leaned over the table and pumped Rinner’s hand, leaving him even more embarrassed. ‘This is exactly what is required at this present point,’ Glaser went on. ‘Rüdiger, we should be proud to be associated with this work.’
Rudi gave a glassy grin, knocked back more wine and gave the bundle of papers a quick pat with the flat of his hand. ‘Where are you staying, Herr Rinner?’ he asked. ‘They will be giving me material in Prague, to give to you, will they not?’
Rudi nodded, then stared blankly past Rinner. There was a second’s silence as everybody else followed the direction of his gaze. Magda was in the doorway. Her muddy-brown hair had been scraped back and forced into plaits, even though it wasn’t quite long enough. She was wearing the blue skirt, white blouse and loose blue toggle-tie of the BdM. There was a swastika pin on the button-down breast pocket of the blouse.
Before anybody could react, the key turned in the lock and Lotte came in. She had her black coat on, and her best hat: black straw wound with grey ostrich feathers.
Glaser put his pipe down on the table, something Lotte hated, and stood. He pointed at Magda. ‘Go back to your room and get that Nazi uniform off. Now!’ he bellowed.
Magda shrugged. ‘Why?’
‘Because I just told you to,’ Glaser roared. ‘Lotte, did you know she had that damned uniform?’
Magda started to cry. Lotte walked over to her and put her arm round her. Magda cuddled into her, like a child.
‘Yes, I knew,’ Lotte said. ‘She needs it for camp.’
‘Camp? What camp?’
‘BdM camp. Two weeks under canvas at Waldkirchen. She’s going next week.’
‘What! Not while I live and breathe she’s not.’
Lotte shook her head. Her eyes were blazing with anger. ‘We have no choice,’ she ground out. ‘The BdM have made it a class trip. If we refuse, she would be at school for two weeks, in a classroom on her own.’
‘Except for the Jewish girls,’ Kaspar said.
‘Correct, Kaspar,’ said Lotte. ‘But at the moment, that is not helpful.’
‘Sorry.’
Glaser shook his head, as if trying to clear it of fumes. ‘But surely she doesn’t have to wear that uniform? Take it off! It’s got a bloody swastika on it. In my house ...’
Magda stepped to the side of her mother, like a sniper leaving cover to return fire.
‘What do you expect me to wear for camp, then?’ she screamed. ‘Do you want me spend two weeks in my knickers?’ There was spittle running down her chin.