by JJ Toner
Mildred explained Arvid’s reluctance. His thinking had always been that smaller cells distanced from one another were more secure than a single large cell. “He got the idea from studying the organization of the Republican rebels in Ireland before they won their independence in 1920.”
They discussed combining the two distribution runs. Greta’s had 200 subscribers, Libertas’s close to 400. Combining the networks would require bigger print runs. They’d need more paper and more ink. Mildred agreed to organize that. She worked in the Department of Propaganda and Public Enlightenment. She also had an artist friend who had a legitimate reason for buying lots of stationery supplies.
#
Mildred left, and Greta and Libertas got down to the basics of how to combine their two distribution networks. Libertas spread a map of the city out on the dining room table, and they went over it, armed with a box of thumbtacks.
When Libertas was happy with that, she put the map away. She offered Greta a glass of white wine. It was her way of inviting Greta to leave.
Greta declined the offer. “Before I go, there’s one other matter I’d like to talk to you about.”
Libertas poured herself a glass of Liebfraumilch. “Go ahead. I’m listening.”
“I thought you should know that Max and Anna’s official Marriage Authorization was a forgery. The Gestapo took Vigo to task over it. I asked Max about it, and he admitted that he forged the signature.”
Libertas came close to spilling her wine. She put her glass down on the table. “I don’t understand. Emmy set that up for them. She assured me everything was arranged. She even gave me the name of the Gestapo man that was looking after the case.”
“Kurt Framzl.”
“Was that the name? I can’t remember. Anyway there should have been no problem. Why did he have to forge a signature?”
“According to Max, Framzl demanded a bribe that Max couldn’t afford to pay.”
“Do you believe that? There are severe penalties for bribery and corruption among SS men.”
“I don’t know, but clearly whatever Herr Göring did wasn’t enough.”
“I’ll talk to Emmy.”
#
When Arvid heard that Delma had been released and that Libertas was looking after her, he was livid. “That’s Libertas all over. I should have been informed immediately. Doesn’t she realize Delma will have to be debriefed very carefully? We need to know what questions she was asked and what answers she gave the Gestapo. I need to know if any of my team is compromised.”
Greta waved a finger at him. “Forget that, Arvid. She’s seriously unwell, and she assured Libertas that she told them nothing. You have nothing to fear from Delma.”
“And you believe every word she said? She could easily be a plant, primed to report our every move back to the Gestapo. We can’t use her ever again, and she needs to be put into immediate information quarantine.”
Mildred put her foot down. “That’s nonsense, Arvid. Delma’s too ill to work for us, and she’s certainly too ill to report anything to anyone. Believe me, I’ve seen her. Libertas thinks she won’t survive another seven days. She has sent for Father Vigo.”
Chapter 58
June 1939
Adam paid a visit to the dentist. When the last patient had gone, Dr. Himpel’s assistant made a fresh pot of coffee. She kissed the dentist and left for the night. Dr. Himpel locked the front door behind her. He invited Adam into his surgery, opened a hidden panel in one of his cabinets and pulled out a Hectograph.
It was bigger than the one the Gestapo had seized from Arvid and looked more modern. Adam measured the plate. If he was careful, he should be able to lay out the text so that each turn through the machine would print a sheet containing two copies of the leaflet.
Dr. Himpel put the Hectograph back in its secret compartment and Adam got to work preparing the text. He worked for an hour. Then he showed his editorial piece to the dentist. It was a warning to the people of Berlin that the Soviets may be planning an invasion.
Dr. Himpel scratched his head. “Isn’t that a little far-fetched?”
“Of course it is,” said Adam, “but the news needs a little spice to make it more interesting than the pap dished out by the Nazis in their newspapers.”
By 10:00 pm, the master was ready. Adam applied the gelatin and ink to the plate, Dr. Himpel provided a bundle of paper and Adam began to churn the leaflet out. Adam replenished the ink after each 40-50 turns of the handle, and Dr. Himpel separated the copies using a large scissors. After 150 turns of the handle – 300 copies, Adam had to rest. Dr. Himpel took over on the handle.
By 11:30 they had 750 copies of the leaflet, printed, dried and separated, ready for delivery. Adam thanked the dentist for his help and took a late tram home.
#
On Saturday, June 10, Max was sent to help Vigo with a delivery run. The priest was somber and distracted following his visit to Delma’s bedside.
Max asked about Delma’s health.
Vigo shook his head. “She’s been seen by Libertas’s doctor. He’s prescribed infusions, but I’m not convinced that they’ll make any difference. Her health has been declining ever since I first met her and spending seven weeks in a Gestapo cell can’t have helped.”
“That was my fault. I saw the danger that day in the fish market but I was too late to warn her.”
“That was not your fault, Max. You mustn’t blame yourself.”
Vigo gave Max an overcoat similar to his own so that they could make the deliveries together.
“Do I have to wear that, Vigo? It’s high summer.”
“Not if you can come up with a different way of carrying your bundle of leaflets.”
The new leaflet looked more professional than the previous ones, and it was smaller. Max read the headline:
‘Is Moscow Planning an Invasion of the Fatherland?’
“No one’s going to believe this headline.”
Vigo ran his eyes over it. “You’re probably right, but we still have to send them out. Come on, get your coat on.”
Vigo’s delivery run had been expanded. It was now three times what it had been with 100 drops. The run took the best part of the day, but when they’d finished, the two of them gasping for breath from the heat of the day, a bundle of leaflets remained.
“What are those for?” said an exhausted Max.
“Those are for delivery tomorrow.”
#
They started again after early Sunday mass. This time they spread out around the city dropping leaflets in railway and bus stations, on U-Bahn platforms, in the Tempelhof air terminal as well as in autobuses, U-Bahn and mainline trains, on the S-Bahn and in trams and buses.
Vigo was back in the church in time to offer 10 o’clock mass. Max had completed his part of the delivery run by 11.30 am. He shed the overcoat, the clerical shirt and collar, the cassock and trousers, and sat in the vestry in his underwear, gasping like a fish out of water.
Vigo laughed at him. “Now you know a little about how it feels to be a priest.”
“The overcoat is a killer. Don’t you have a summer uniform, Vigo?”
“What, like a knee-length cassock and black shorts?”
“Why not?”
“I’ll write to Rome and suggest it.”
#
Max skipped his midday meal. Instead, he took the autobus to Lutherstadt Wittenberg for his scheduled visit to his mother. She took a few moments to answer the door, and when she did her hair was tied up in a headscarf.
She looked surprised to see him. “What are you doing here?”
“It’s time for my June visit.”
“Well, you’d better come in, so. I’m busy cleaning the house. Wait for me in the parlor. Try not to touch anything.”
Max took a seat in the parlor and waited. After 30 minutes, he went looking for her. He found her in the kitchen reading a newspaper and smoking a cigarette. She was a voracious reader of novels, a member of the public library, but he
’d never seen her reading any newspaper, and certainly not the Nazi paper, Völkischer Beobachter. He’d never seen her smoking.
He sat beside her at the kitchen table. “You’ve taken to reading the news, I see, Mother.”
“Why not? Don’t you read the news?”
“I do, but I thought you never bothered with it. That rag is nothing but Nazi propaganda. And when did you start smoking?”
“I used to smoke before you were born. I decided to take it up again a couple of weeks ago.” She handed him a pack. “Take one.”
“I don’t smoke, Mother. Don’t you remember how you always told me it was a filthy dirty habit?”
“Yes, and quite right too.” She wiped the table where his hands had been resting. “I hope you didn’t touch anything in the parlor. I cleaned in there this morning. Tell me why you’re here again?”
“I don’t think I touched anything. I just dropped in to see how you were.”
“Well, there’s no need. You’re a married man now. You shouldn’t have to keep calling to see your old mother.”
“I’d be happy to telephone you from time to time, but you haven’t got a telephone yet, have you?”
His head was spinning on the return autobus journey. Apart from forgetting he was there and leaving him waiting for 30 minutes in the parlor, she seemed a different person. They had completed a conversation about reading and smoking, entirely without tangents or deviations. Her obsessive cleaning was a worry, though.
She had acknowledged that he was a married man, but she hadn’t said a word about Anna, good, bad or indifferent.
Chapter 59
June 1939
The Gestapo picked up Max again on his way to work on Monday morning. They drove him to headquarters, frog-marched him to Framzl’s office, and dumped him in a seat.
The man standing behind Framzl’s desk was not Framzl. He wore the same gray uniform, the same death’s head on his cap, but he was younger, taller, with small, steely blue eyes and almost white blond hair. He slammed a copy of the new leaflet on the desk. “What the hell is this?”
Max shook his head.
“Concerned citizens have been handing this filth into police stations all over the city. Every day since the weekend. They have been found all over the city, in bus stations, U-Bahn carriages, and even in the terminal at Tempelhof. Read what it says.”
Max picked up the leaflet and read the main headline: ‘Is Moscow Planning an Invasion of the Fatherland?’ The byline read ‘Grock.’
The Gestapo man’s voice rose half an octave. “It’s utter nonsense, obvious Communist propaganda designed to stir up unrest, to unsettle the good people of Germany.”
“The Communists ought to be arrested.”
“Who is this ‘Grock’?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know. How long have you been working with the Communist Resistance?”
“Six months?”
“So you admit membership of the subversive organization.”
“Yes, of course. Herr Framzl forced me to join.”
The Gestapo man blinked. “I would advise you to weigh your words carefully. This is not a game. You have admitted membership of the Red Orchestra.”
The left hand of the Gestapo didn’t know what was in its right hand!
“Yes, but as I said, I joined at the express direction of Herr Framzl. Check with him. He will confirm my story.”
“That is not possible. Framzl is no longer with this office, and he won’t be returning.”
Max felt the ground shift under his feet. “I spoke with him six months ago. He promised to approve my Marriage Application, but only if I joined the Red Orchestra.”
“Go on.”
The glint in the Gestapo man’s eyes suggested this was an invitation to Max to dig himself deeper into the hole he was already in. He touched his false tooth with his tongue.
“Framzl wanted me to bring him the location of the subversives’ printer. He said if I gave him this information he would approve my application.”
“I see, and you agreed?”
“Naturally. I had no other option.”
“And have you located the printer?”
“No.”
“You say you’ve been with the Communists for six months and you expect me to believe you still don’t know where their print operation is?”
“It’s a closely guarded secret, but I’m getting close. To tell you the truth, I believe I was on the brink of discovering it when…”
“When what?
“You arrested Harro Schulze-Boysen.”
The Gestapo man blinked again. “The arrest of Schulze-Boysen was entirely justified and legal.”
“Maybe so, but since then, the Red Orchestra has locked everything up.”
The Gestapo man left the room for several minutes, leaving Max under the watchful gaze of the picture of Adolf Hitler. His tongue rocked the cyanide capsule in his mouth. When the Gestapo man returned, he was carrying a folder. “Your Marriage Authorization has been identified as a forgery. It was never approved by this office.”
Max said nothing.
“Tell me why you found it necessary to forge your Authorization.”
“I told you. I couldn’t find the subversives’ printer but my fiancée wanted to get married. She fixed the date. What else could I do?”
“Forgery is a most serious crime. Tell me why I shouldn’t throw you in a cell right now and let two of my men exercise their ax handles on your bones.”
A tremor ran up Max’s spine. He said nothing.
“Our records show that SS-Sturmbannführer Framzl also attempted to extort money from you for his signature. Is that correct?”
Max shook his head, intending to tell the truth, but then he thought, if Framzl has been shipped off to a camp for corruption, why not leave him there?
“Yes, that’s right.”
The Gestapo man checked the folder again. “The report we received was traced back to a Salvatore Vigo, Roman Catholic Pastor. Do you know this man?”
“He was the one who married us.”
“What about Pastor Gunther Schlurr, a colleague of Pastor Vigo’s, do you know him?”
Max shook his head. “I don’t know him.”
He snapped the folder closed. “This whole episode stinks like rotten fish. Your story makes little sense. However, the activities of the Red Orchestra must be brought to a halt at all costs. From now on you will report to me. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Herr…”
“Traut. SS-Sturmführer Jürgen Traut. Remember the name. And remember if you fail to give me what I need, your young bride will quickly find herself drawing a widow’s pension.”
Chapter 60
June 1939
Harro Schulze-Boysen called an emergency meeting of the two newly merged networks of the Red Orchestra. They met in the Schulze-Boysen mansion in Pankow under cover of a social event. Max knew just a few of those present. Frau Greta was there with Adam, and he recognized Bruno, the Communist. Libertas seemed especially close to an American woman called Mildred and her husband whose name was Arvid. Max looked around for Vigo, but couldn’t find him.
Pauletta, the maid, ensured that everyone had a drink in hand before Libertas opened proceedings. “Thank you all for coming, tonight. Harro and I want all members of our network to know that we are grateful to every one of you for your support and help in the past. We look forward to working much more closely together with Arvid and his network. I am sure you will all agree that merging our two networks was the right thing to do at this time. Like combining the strings and the bass in a real orchestra, I’m sure the Red Orchestra will make more and better music in the future.”
This was greeted by polite applause.
“Now Harro has something to tell us. Harro?”
“Thank you, my darling. I’m sure everyone will agree that our efforts in the past would never have been as successful without Libertas’s diligent work.”
“Last week I was called into the office of the Secretary General of the Air Ministry. I really had no idea what to expect. I thought maybe they had wind of our little printing enterprise. But that wasn’t it.”
He paused. Everyone held their breath.
“He informed me that the Air Ministry has promoted me. I am to be moved from head office to the office of Luftwaffe Command.”
Immediately, the room was humming as each person realized the implications of what Harro had said. He had been the jewel in the intelligence gathering activities of the Orchestra from the beginning. The intelligence that he had collected within the Air Ministry had been of the highest quality. A move to the Luftwaffe would see him even better placed to collect military intelligence.
“That’s not the full story.” Silence descended on the group. “I am to be placed in the Intelligence Office within the Luftwaffe.”
The room erupted. There was a round of cheers. Glasses were heard chinking together.
Adam shook Harro vigorously by the hand. “Wonderful news. Wonderful.”
Arvid clapped him on the back. “Many congratulations, my friend.”
Harro held up a hand for silence. “It’s good news, yes, but it comes at the worst possible time. Arvid’s contacts in the Soviet and U.S. Embassies would have been invaluable for rapid communication of information to those interested beyond our borders, but without those contacts, we are forced to relysolely on our couriers to carry the intelligence to our friends in Belgium and France for transmission to Moscow. I’m sure you know that our overtures to the KPD in exile in Prague and Paris have been rebuffed. As an intelligence network, we are adrift. We will try to improve on that situation. In the meantime, we must accelerate our printed output and expand our distribution networks wherever possible. I would ask all of you to think about new outlets for our leaflets.”