“Disgusting?” Karl repeated.
“But enlightening,” Richard assured him. “It would not do for us to be uninformed, now would it?”
“No, no, not at all,” Karl agreed, suddenly happy in his discovery of a new friend and useful colleague. “You know what, Richard—I may call you that?”
“Of course.”
“I think we’ll need to discuss this in greater depth. Maybe I’ll even manage a trip out to Göringstadt.”
“We’d be honored. Perhaps we could . . .” Richard stopped speaking as a man walked unannounced into Karl’s office. Karl stood immediately to greet his visitor, and Richard followed his lead.
“Herr Schindler! How good of you to visit!” Karl enthused, clicking his heels and bowing slightly.
Richard read the signals and delved into the names and life summaries that Kasia had compiled for him and that he had so arduously memorized. Schindler, Schindler—ah, yes! Silently thanking Kasia for her tireless work, he was prepared with a gracious smile when Schindler turned to him in confusion.
“Who’s this?” Schindler asked Karl.
“This is Richard Traugutt. He’s here from Göringstadt to make a report.”
“Treugott, Treugott . . . ,” Schindler repeated distractedly.
“And this—” Karl attempted to conclude the introduction.
“Oh, Herr Schindler needs no introduction to me!” Richard grinned. At Schindler’s confused look, he explained, “Your methods on the London riots are quite famous! We studied your techniques and have applied them successfully in many situations. In fact, I was just telling Herr Vogel how it was your inspiration which caused me to initiate the changes I’m reporting on here in Berlin.”
“Treugott, Treugott . . . ,” Schindler repeated. “Yes, of course, your report. Ah, yes, I’ve heard. Um, so what have you been up to?”
Richard managed to talk to Schindler for nearly twenty minutes, praising his famous work and his marvelous career. Schindler invited him to dinner for the next day, and Richard happily accepted. By the time Schindler remembered what he had come to Karl’s office for, he and Richard were like old friends.
“Ah, yes, to get back to business,” Schindler said, turning to Karl and waving a report that he had clutched the entire time. “Your report miscalculated the numbers! Here’s the proposal and it’s way over budget! That isn’t what you told me! How are we supposed to pay for these things?”
Karl timidly took the report from Schindler’s hands and paged through until he found the numbers. He stared at them disconsolately, shaking his head in disbelief. “This isn’t what they told me,” he muttered. “The bastards are trying to screw us.”
Richard waited patiently for a few minutes, listening to Schindler and Vogel worry about the prices set forth in the proposal, then, when the moment seemed right, he asked, “May I have a look? Perhaps an unfamiliar eye will spot the problem.”
Both Schindler and Karl looked at him in surprise.
“You gentlemen are both experts here,” Richard explained, “but your very expertise may make it difficult for you to notice an irrational mistake in the presentation.”
“What’s your clearance?” Schindler asked.
“Top secret, mein Herr.”
“Well, that will certainly suffice.” Schindler handed the report to Richard. “If you can work out what’s wrong here . . .”
Richard scanned the report. “So the arms are manufactured in the North American Union and are given to the Mexican government to aid in their fight against drug smuggling?”
“That’s right. We get them from there via Spain,” Karl added.
“And it’s these prices which are the problem?” Richard asked, indicating an accounts page. He noticed that the page seemed to be computer-generated. That, in and of itself, was interesting.
“Yes, they’re outrageous!”
“Of course, since the point of origin for the arms is Mexico City, the prices are in pesos,” Richard commented to himself.
There was silence from his two companions.
“It’s always difficult for me to remember things like that,” Richard continued, mostly to himself. “You know, the symbol for the peso is the same as that for the dollar. Confusing for someone like me, but I’m sure you gentlemen are used to such subtleties.”
Both Karl and Schindler nodded.
“And, let me see, I’m not an expert, so I have trouble converting, but I think the mark is running at three and a half to the dollar on export trades, and the peso is, oh, something like seven to the dollar, so that would make each of these prices—oh, that is quite simple! Divide by two and the prices are in the equivalent marks. But you knew that, of course.”
Karl peered at the page. “Yes, of course, if you divide by two, the prices . . .”
Schindler looked at the page. “Yes, divide by two . . . Oh, look at the time.” He snatched the report from Richard’s hands. “We’ll handle this later. I think I have a meeting.”
He was gone before either Richard or Karl could say a word.
Karl looked in the direction Schindler had gone and laughed silently. Richard laughed as well, just happy in the camaraderie of a close-knit, well-organized, competent ministry. Karl rubbed his face and then asked, “What are you doing this evening? Do you have plans? My wife and I would enjoy having you and your wife to dinner.”
“Dinner? That sounds wonderful,” Richard said agreeably. “Unfortunately, I am here alone. My wife remained in Göringstadt with the children.”
“Ah, pity. Perhaps I could invite a suitable companion for you. Just for the evening?”
Richard nodded. “What about the archivist. Is she married?”
“The archivist? Hmm. Don’t know. I’ll have my secretary find out and issue her an invitation if it’s appropriate.”
“Oh, thanks, but no. She might view it as a summons. I’ll go down there and ask her myself. I’d like to meet a few people in this building anyway. After all, I might be working here one day.”
In your dreams, Karl thought.
Richard and the archivist, a young woman named Beate, arrived a few minutes late. A servant took their raincoats and umbrellas, showed them into the sitting room, and offered them cigarettes, sherry, and appetizers.
Richard relaxed in his seat and discreetly scanned the room. The house was smaller than his own back in Göringstadt, but he had learned that was typical for Berlin housing. The prices in the city were higher and the competition for good housing was more intense.
They chatted for only a brief while and then were relocated to the dining room—there seemed to be a slight rush to have dinner. It was just as well. Richard was quite hungry, and he wondered if it was his hunger that made the food taste so good or if it was genuinely delicious. He complimented Frau Vogel on her cooking, then seeing the slightly guilty look on her face added, “Or should I compliment you on your choice of cooks?”
Frau Vogel glanced at the servant as she answered, “Oh, it’s all my own doing.” She paused, then added, “It was just a bit of a rush this afternoon, my husband didn’t give me much notice. I hope that everything is up to standard?”
“It is absolutely delicious!” Richard enthused. Beate nodded her head in agreement.
The dinner plates were removed, and a few minutes later desserts were set in front of them. The servant’s arm brushed against Beate’s shoulder, and he apologized for disturbing her.
Frau Vogel scowled at him, but Beate graciously replied, “Oh, that’s quite all right!”
It was the first time Richard had truly noticed the servant, and he found himself-oddly perplexed by the blond man who served the dinner so mechanically. His ashen complexion was eerily emphasized by the candlelight, and beneath his vacantly staring eyes were the blue shadows of exhaustion.
As Richard watched him, he noticed how the man’s whole body shook periodically with some great effort at restraint. Richard realized the man was suppressing a violent cough, and this
was what had made him bump into Beate. Something about the man looked vaguely familiar. Richard tilted his head so he could get a glance at the insignia on the uniform. An English criminal. Well, that would narrow it down to only several hundred men, none of whom would have been important enough to remember. Probably someone he had seen in that notorious prison in Exeter. Still, it would be amusing to see what the man had to say for himself.
“Do you speak English?” he said in English to the servant.
The man looked up at him, perplexed.
“Yes, I’m talking to you. Do you speak English?” Richard pressed. Again he used English. The others at the table looked at him with curiosity.
Finally, the servant managed to nod.
“Were you born there?” Richard asked, still in English.
Again the servant nodded.
“Where?”
“London, mein Herr.” The servant winced as he said the words as though he had said something wrong.
“Ah, London, that’s where I was born,” Richard explained in English. He still could not work out why the man seemed familiar. London certainly didn’t narrow down the possibilities.
His thoughts were interrupted by the archivist asking, “What are you saying to him?”
“Oh, I asked if he spoke English and if he was born there.”
Karl laughed. “He was found in a trash bin near Halifax and raised in an orphanage. Even his mother knew he was worthless!”
Beate gasped.
“Yes, the English are abominable, even toward their own. But don’t fret for him, Fräulein. His bad blood showed up early enough when he turned criminal. He’s lucky we’ve given him a home and a purpose. Isn’t that right?” Karl finished by addressing the servant.
The servant looked at Karl in confusion.
Karl turned to his guests and apologized. “He’s slow-witted, I’m sorry. But they all are. It’s the impure blood.” He turned back toward the servant and said very slowly, “We’ve given you a place in this society, isn’t that right?”
The servant nodded. “Yes. I am very grateful to Herr and Frau Vogel for providing me with meaningful employment.”
“And for keeping you on the path of righteousness,” Frau Vogel added.
“Yes,” the servant agreed. “And for keeping me on a righteous path.” Beate nodded, satisfied.
“I grew up in England as well,” Karl said, turning the conversation back to a topic with which he was comfortable. “Though, of course, I’m pure German!”
“You did?” Richard asked. Chiding himself for wasting time on trivialities, he dismissed the servant from his mind and focused on Karl. “Where?”
“London of course! My father was in the colonial government. What about you?”
“I was raised there as well,” Richard admitted reluctantly. “That’s why I can speak a bit of English.”
“I can’t,” Karl bragged.“Not a word! Stupid language. Idiotic spellings. Totally illogical structure.”
Richard nodded. “So, you grew up there. Where did you go to school?”
From that point on, the discussion centered around Karl’s youth. Richard was the truly interested guest, asking questions and refraining from offering too many of his own opinions. Karl was in his element. Eventually the conversation turned to other topics, and they relocated to the sitting room. They were served drinks, and then Karl motioned to the servant. “Clean up the dishes, then you can leave.”
“Where’s he going?” Richard asked as the servant left the room.
“Oh, he’s working the night shift at a local factory. I get some money out of his worthless hide that way. Clever, isn’t it?”
Richard nodded. “Yes, very. Be careful though.”
“Why?”
“Well, certainly you know, if you rent out one of your laborers for more than a week or two, the Labor Ministry is likely to reevaluate your need for that laborer. It has been known to happen that a contracted laborer is seized and reassigned to someone with a greater need.”
“I didn’t know that!” Karl breathed in horror.
Elspeth cast a worried look toward the kitchen. “Stop him!” she whispered.
“A few weeks, you say?” Karl asked.
Richard nodded. “It’s in the regulations. I can show you tomorrow if you wish. It’s also, no doubt, among all the papers you signed.”
Karl stood suddenly. “Excuse me. I have to make a phone call.”
Ten minutes later he emerged from his study and went into the kitchen. “You are not to go to the factory tonight. That’s finished.”
Peter was standing at the back door, his pass in hand, ready to leave. He looked down at the pass, at the month stamped onto it. September. It used to say May, he thought.
“Do you understand?” Karl asked in clearly pronounced syllables.
Whatever happened to June? July? August?
“I said, do you understand?”
“I am not to go to the factory tonight,” Peter repeated numbly. “That’s finished.”
“That’s right,” Karl said almost gently. “That’s right.”
Karl turned to leave.
“Mein Herr.”
“What?”
“Thank you, mein Herr,” Peter said with heartfelt sincerity. “Thank you.”
Karl nodded his head curtly in acknowledgment.
43
THERE WAS A COLD, driving rain. Richard had his arm protectively wrapped around Beate’s shoulders, and she huddled against him to shelter under hisumbrella as they stood in the doorway to ring the Schindlers’ bell. Richard had spent some considerable time in her presence, and they had become quite close. During the day, with a charming, boyish grin, he had explained how he sometimes inadvertently made insensitive remarks and he would dearly like to avoid such mistakes with his new acquaintance Schindler. Beate was understanding, she often had the same trouble, she admitted, and she had helpfully opened the personnel file for Herr Schindler just to ease their evening’s conversation.
They had learned much about his career. They had also learned he was on his third wife. His first wife had given him two daughters, both in their midthirties, both married and living in the Western Reich. After being divorced, his first wife had moved back to Bavaria. With his second wife, he had one, unmarried son, who was twenty-five and worked in a special branch of the army. “That boy applied to be my aide,” Richard had confided to Beate.
Schindler’s current wife was named Greta, and she was only a few years older than his daughters. She had been born in Switzerland of a German diplomat and his Swiss wife, and judging from the fact that their marriage papers were filed the day after Schindler’s second divorce was finalized, Richard and Beate surmised that she had schemed long and hard to reach her current position. “I’ve heard about her,” Beate had whispered. “She’s mean as hell if she thinks you’re her inferior—and that’s what she thinks of all us working gals, but for the men in the office, she’s always charming.”
“Maybe she’s looking for someone with more promise than her husband,” Richard had suggested.
“Well,” Beate had replied, wrapping her arm around him, “tell her you’re taken!”
A young lad opened the door for them. He had pale skin, brown hair, and the slack mouth and vacant stare common to peoples who have lived isolated in the hills for too long. He announced their presence and, after taking their coats and umbrella, led them into the parlor.
When the two of them stepped into the parlor, they were greeted not only by Herr Schindler and his wife but by Karl and Elspeth as well. “What a wonderful surprise!” Richard remarked, and turning toward Frau Vogel, added, “Always a pleasure!”
He greeted Frau Schindler with charming deference, kissing her hand and adding, “You know, in Göringstadt, it is the custom to greet women by kissing them on the cheeks, but I’m afraid, here in Berlin, my greeting might be misinterpreted!”
“Nonsense!” Frau Schindler argued. “I insist we honor your
customs.” She leaned forward and extended her cheek expectantly.
Richard obliged, bestowing three light kisses.
“They’ve just gone native, if you ask me,” Herr Schindler opined somewhat huffily.
“Ah, yes, that is a very perceptive observation,” Richard agreed, “but I wouldhave expected nothing less from you! Your ability to analyze situations in colonial territory is, of course, why you have been so successful in your administration of southeast England. Certainly we could use someone of your talent in Göringstadt!”
While Herr Schindler grinned his agreement, Richard smiled discreetly at Frau Schindler.
“But that would be a step down,” Karl observed rather sullenly.
“Yes, it’s true there is no place that compares with Berlin,” Richard replied. “But we do have our compensations. For one thing, I can greet beautiful women with kisses, and there are so many in Berlin!” As he said that, his eyes took in each woman in turn, convincing each his words were intended solely for her. Frau Vogel, blushing slightly, approached expectantly, and Richard greeted her as well.
“But you’re not from the East,” Karl noted. “You said you were from London.”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Ach, that explains why you don’t have that lousy Eastern accent!” Herr Schindler remarked. “Like saying Ratusch instead of Rathaus, God in heaven!”
“Indeed, I was raised in London,” Richard explained, “but the past twenty years of my career have been spent east of Berlin, and it’s with that region that I feel the most familiar, though I have not, as far as I know, picked up the dialect.”
They began to discuss Richard’s background and the coincidences that Karl was raised in London and that Schindler currently held overall responsibility for security in the area. Karl noted that Richard even spoke some English, as evinced by his brief and one-sided conversation the previous night.
“Yes, it’s been a long time, but I thought I’d try out a few words. Your fellow wasn’t very responsive though, was he?”
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