She was frustrated, confused, the fear waning. “I don’t see how we could have anything in common. Or any need to conduct business.”
“But I assure you we do.”
She was quiet for a moment, and then her eyes lit with alarm. “Are you an informant?”
“No, of course not.”
She looked at him skeptically. “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”
He paused, letting the silence increase the tension. “Because I’m an Englishman.”
Her eyes widened and she stood abruptly, sensing danger, and started walking away.
“Miss Jaeger,” he called. “You know my secret. But I know your secret, too.”
She stopped and stood still, her back to him.
After a few tense seconds, she turned and walked back to the bench, sitting closer to him. She surveyed the landscape, showing caution, ensuring no one was watching. When convinced they were alone, she spoke. “What do you want?”
“Information,” he said softly. “Troop movements, supply shipments, weapons transfers. The logistics that fuel the war effort. In return, I will pay you handsomely.”
She was quiet, considering his offer. “And if I say no?”
“I can’t afford to take chances. I will either expose you or kill you. I’m not sure which.”
She was cornered, like a caged animal. But she stayed calm, calculating. “What if I call the authorities?”
“You won’t,” he said firmly, even though he wasn’t so sure.
She looked away, trying not to show her thoughts. “What if I don’t need money?”
He knew she was bluffing. Money buys food. And she bought food on the black market because she had extra mouths to feed. She was hiding people in her home. They were probably Jews.
“I know that you do,” he said. “So you can help the people you’re hiding.”
She gasped, and her eyes signaled surrender. She glanced at the neighboring walkways, making sure no one was coming. “Please, don’t tell anyone. Good people will die if you do.”
“I promise you I won’t,” he whispered, pleased he had guessed correctly. He paused, scanning the cemetery grounds, and then continued. “So it seems we have a business arrangement after all.”
“I don’t know what I can do. I can’t steal documents. I would get caught.”
“For now, remember what you hear and what you see, documents that cross your desk. I will find a way to use it.”
York knew she was anxious and afraid; she understood the risk. But he suspected she hated the Nazis. And those hidden in her home proved it.
“Let’s meet on this bench next Thursday at 10 a.m. That gives you some time to collect information.”
“And you will pay me?”
“Yes,” he said. “I will pay you well. In time I will do more.”
Her interest was piqued. “And what is that?”
“I will try to help those you have hidden.”
She didn’t want to acknowledge he was right. But she was definitely interested. “What is your name?”
“Michael.”
“Good day, Michael. I will see you next week.”
She rose from the bench and started to walk away, headed for the bicycle that was locked by the iron fence that bordered the cemetery.
“Erika,” he called as she walked away. He used her first name to show they were friends.
She stopped and turned, a questioning look on her face. “What is it?”
He studied her for a moment, slender and fragile yet brave enough to risk her life to save others. He admired her courage. And her talent. “I think you are a fabulous violin player. I absolutely adore your performances.”
Her mouth opened in surprise, but then broke into a smile. “Thank you,” she said, blushing, her appreciation evident. “Thank you very much.”
CHAPTER 29
York watched Erika Jaeger leave the cemetery, climb on her bicycle, and pedal down the boulevard. She talked to no one, even though there was a policeman and two older women standing near the entrance. He didn’t know what she would do when he could no longer see her, but he was sure she wouldn’t approach the authorities. She had as much to hide as he did.
He had assessed two of the string quartet, Amanda Hamilton and Erika Jaeger. Neither was the potential spy, although he had brought them into his network and would be obtaining information from both. He knew neither was the informant. That left Gerhard Faber and Albert Kaiser, one informant, one spy.
After a quick walk down the adjacent lanes, pausing to read a headstone or two and ensuring that no one was watching him, York went to the drop. He removed the finial on the iron post, surprised to find a piece of paper tucked inside, folded and creased into a small rectangle.
He looked around quickly, making sure he was alone, and shoved the message in his pocket. Shielding his movements with his body, he replaced the cap on the fence post. He then strolled to the bench he and Jaeger had shared, hidden among the trees and shrubs that defined the edge of the cemetery.
He sat down and waited for a moment, feigning interest in a bird that sat on a nearby branch. When no one approached, he furtively withdrew the paper from his pocket and translated the coded message.
WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN? I HAVE DRAWINGS FOR ARTILLERY SHELL THAT PIERCES TANK ARMOR. I WILL DELIVER ON SATURDAY. LEAVE MONEY.
York sat back smugly. The riddle was solved. The spy was Gerhard Faber, the one-eyed viola player who worked at the Ministry of Armaments. Assuming he was correct about Amanda and Erika, and York was certain he was, that left cello player Albert Kaiser as the informant, the grandfatherly man with the shock of white hair. The man Max went to observe just before the Gestapo issued the wanted poster.
York had never been comfortable with the drop at the cemetery, its location selected by Kent and a potential contributor to his demise. How did he know it wasn’t a trap? He had prepared his own location, even though it was temporary. He took a scrap of paper from his pocket and, using the code, scribbled the following:
PAYMENT IN ADVANCE TO SHOW GOOD FAITH. DROP LOCATION CHANGED. LEAVE PLANS IN REAR OF BERLIN THEATER ON KANTSTRASSE. FOURTH BLOCK ON GARDEN WALL IN PARKING LOT, BEHIND LINDEN TREE. LIFT CAP. BLOCK IS HOLLOW.
He returned to the drop, again made sure no one was watching, and removed the finial from the fencepost. He stuffed some Reichsmarks into the opening and replaced the cap. Then he turned and walked away, hurrying to the taxi he hoped was still waiting for him.
*
Friday morning was cloudy, with a slight drizzle that cleared just as York left his hotel. It was several long blocks to the café on Kantstrasse, near Savignyplatz, but he decided to walk. His leg was getting stronger, he could feel it, but he still exaggerated the limp to prove his cover.
He enjoyed the Berlin streets. The people were interesting, a collage of young and old, immigrant and resident, teacher and student. The outdoor cafes rivalled those in Paris, with lace iron tables and chairs. And the building designs were bold and dramatic, granite and sandstone, balconies and buttresses, strong and defiant, promising to last a thousand years even if the Third Reich did not.
The walk took him over thirty minutes, but he found it invigorating. Now he would find out if Max was safe, having eluded the Gestapo or not even aware that they were looking for him, or if he had vanished, just like Kent, his predecessor.
The café occupied a century-old building with an arched doorway. The windows displayed various dishes, from kreppels to fruit to bread. A dozen wrought iron tables were scattered about the pavement, where a teenage waitress wearing a white apron was wiping the last remnants of rain drops from those that weren’t occupied.
York glanced at the tables, saw no sign of Max, and walked inside. The café only had a few customers. An elderly couple near the entrance chatted with a waiter, and a group of teenagers sat in the back.
He went outside and chose a table where he could see the street and ordered a coffee and kreppels. He waited,
scanning a newspaper, keeping a wary eye on the street, hoping to see Max’s familiar face.
The outdoor tables were nearly empty. The earlier rain, and the time of day, midway between breakfast and lunch, left most patrons grabbing a coffee or doughnut and continuing on their way. But a few still enjoyed the morning, sipping coffee and snacking, engaged in casual conversation.
An older man and a young boy sat on the other side of the café, a workman on break near the street, and two women against the café wall. York wasn’t concerned; they all seemed harmless.
He waited for fifteen minutes, pretending to read the paper but still baffled by who betrayed Max. He recalled their last discussion, remembering almost every word. Unless something drastically different had happened only Albert Kaiser, the man he now suspected of being the informant, could have turned him in. And York could not explain how.
A Berlin policeman peered in the café window, studying the pastries before walking inside. His green uniform was a bit baggy, his blond hair feathered with gray. Large black spectacles, looking out of place on his slender face, covered his blue eyes.
He emerged a few minutes later holding a plate with three or four Schmalzkuch and a cup of coffee. He paused, unable to decide whether to sit down or continue on his way. A moment later he walked up to York’s table and pointed to the empty chair.
York looked at him, annoyed, and motioned to the empty tables. “I’m waiting for someone,” he said.
The policeman glanced around, acted as if he were about to leave, then sat down abruptly. “How are you, Michael?”
York looked at him with surprise. “Max?”
“Yes,” he said quietly. “It’s one of my Berlin disguises. Don’t you love it? I was actually directing traffic the other day.”
“It’s a good one. I didn’t recognize you, and I’ve known you for years. Have you seen the posters?”
“Yes, I did, fortunately before it was too late. So I haven’t ventured out unless wearing my policeman’s uniform. I’m in a boarding house a few blocks away.”
“I used the classifieds, but I guess you didn’t see it.”
He frowned. “No, I’m sorry, but I didn’t even think to look.”
“Did Kaiser betray you?”
He looked surprised. “No, he couldn’t have. I watched his apartment for an afternoon, but he never left. He may have looked out his window and saw me. But why turn me in? He doesn’t know who I am.”
York was disappointed, his theory discounted. He searched for another explanation. “How about Kent? Maybe Kaiser saw you with him, and then saw you watching his apartment?”
Max thought for a moment. “I did meet Kent here in Berlin a few times. But it was always in a secluded location. I doubt Kaiser could have seen us. Maybe Kent betrayed me after he was captured?”
“But then how did they get your photograph?”
Max shrugged. “I have no idea.”
“Could it be an informant from one of your other networks?”
“No, I don’t think so. Most communication is through drops. I only meet two contacts in person. And I trust them both.”
“Maybe you were followed.”
“I could have been, last weekend, or maybe Friday. But by whom?”
York sighed. “I don’t know. I’m just trying to make sense of it all.”
“Maybe it was Kaiser,” Max said. “Although I’m not sure how.”
“So what do we do now?”
“I stay in disguise for a few weeks, maybe a month. By then the wanted posters will be gone and forgotten. If they aren’t already.”
York wasn’t convinced. “Just be careful with your other networks. Especially if you don’t think it was Kaiser.”
Max was silent, watching pedestrians walking down the street, the sun peeking from behind the clouds to promise a brighter day. “What progress have you made, old boy?”
York summarized the week and its successes: Amanda and her photos, especially the information about the Jews, the drop and Faber’s message, Jaeger’s secret and possible cooperation.
“If you give me the photographs, I’ll get them to Switzerland. I’m sure London will be interested in the Jews. Nasty business, isn’t it? And don’t bother sorting through them. Headquarters can do that. Get the negatives, too.”
“What do you make of Faber and his offer?”
“I’m not sure,” he said skeptically. “But be careful. I’m afraid if he doesn’t get what he wants he’ll switch from spy to informant. Maybe that’s what happened to Kent. So I think it was a good idea changing the drop.”
York was pensive. “That’s something I hadn’t thought of. The person offering information could also be the informant.”
“And I do think Faber could be both. But so could Jaeger.”
“I don’t think so,” York said. “She has too much to lose.”
“But you don’t know that. You assume it.”
“I think the food she bought on the black market proves she’s hiding someone.”
“Probably Jews,” Max said.
“Do you think we can get them out?”
“Yes, I think so. But it won’t be easy, so don’t make any offers yet. Just tell her you might be able to help.”
“What about Kaiser? Should we rule him out as the informant?”
“I think Faber playing both roles is more likely. But why don’t you approach Kaiser and see what you think? Just keep the conversation innocent; don’t do anything to make him suspicious.”
“I’ll make contact tomorrow.”
Max stood up and prepared to go. “We should meet more often. At least for the next few weeks. I’ll come to your hotel Monday about 10 a.m. You can tell me what happens with Kaiser then.”
CHAPTER 30
Amanda came to York’s hotel room around 1 p.m. She grinned as she strolled in, the sadness that had consumed her the last eight weeks slowly starting to dissipate. Her eyes were brighter, housing a glimmer that showed a love of life, and the corner of her lips had turned to form a permanent smile. A bounce showed in her walk, enthusiasm in her expression, and York was beginning to see the woman described in the information he received in Basel, just before the train accident.
“Hello,” she said as she walked to the table. “I brought two coffees and some more photographs.”
She was attractive on many different levels. Her characteristics were common: black hair, a bit wavy and not quite to the shoulder, dark eyes, a nose that made a slight upturn at the end, and a petite frame. Her cheekbones were high, her neck graceful, one ear just a tad higher than the other, just like her eyebrows; it was something no one would ever notice unless they studied her very closely, like York did. Although all very average, they somehow blended with her optimism and passion for life to make her incredibly attractive.
She brought pictures she had taken at the wedding of a Nazi official. Himmler was there, and Goebbels, but not Hitler. There was also a sprinkling of industry leaders, the heads of I.G. Farben and Friedrich Krupp AG, and a few other conglomerates. More interesting were the military leaders not normally in the public limelight, generals and field marshals.
“I showed your pictures to my contact,” York said. “He was impressed, and would like all the photographs you have. He’ll get them to Switzerland, and then to London, where they can be evaluated. He was especially interested in the information about the Jews.”
“Hopefully something can be done in time to help them,” she said, a helpless sorrow crossing her face.
“At least the world will know.”
“If they don’t already,” she said, wondering.
“Will you be able to give me all your photographs?”
She was hesitant and gave him a wary look. “I have thousands. Ten years’ worth. Are you sure you want them all?”
“Yes, but don’t take risks removing them from your house. Maybe whatever you can carry when you come to see me. Just like you have been doing.”
She
studied his face, a hint of uncertainty clouding her eyes. “Most of my pictures are of birds, with others of buildings and bridges or trees or cats or dogs. The vast majority aren’t military or political. I don’t think anyone would be interested in them except me.” Then she smiled. “And maybe you.”
He hadn’t thought of that. She primarily took photos of nature. The Nazi elite were just mixed in. “Some of the bridges might be important, but not many of the buildings – other than government or military structures. And factories, like those you showed me last week, especially if you remember the locations. But not birds or trees or anything like that. Why don’t we start with the military pictures, like those you brought today?”
“All right, but only the photographs. No negatives.” She paused, her eyes trained on his, hoping he would understand. “I can’t part with them. They’re a part of me. Like the passion that goes into the violin.”
“Of course,” he said softly, feeling like he violated a trust. “I’m sorry. It was stupid of me to suggest it. The photographs are enough.”
She leaned back in the chair and the smile faded from her face. He could see the load she carried, the stress she bore. She wasn’t accustomed to danger and deceit. And now she was mired in it.
“I can see where this ends,” she whispered.
“And where is that?”
She turned away, gazing out the window, studying a bird hiding in the leaves of a tree. “I will have to be smuggled out of Germany by you and your friends.”
“We don’t know that,” he said, although he certainly knew it was possible. “Our goal is to end the war, and we’re working towards that. It could happen soon, or come much later. We’ll do the best we can.”
She continued looking out the window, not facing him or making eye contact. “I wouldn’t be opposed to that,” she said. “If that’s what it came to.”
He suddenly realized how terribly lonely she was, trapped in a foreign country, married to a man who didn’t love her. He felt sorry for her, imagining the turmoil erupting inside her. Do you betray your husband because he was unfaithful? What allegiance do you have to your adopted country, home for ten years? What would the ultimate outcome be? Was it worth the risk? There must be a thousand questions racing through her mind. Probably foremost among them was what would happen if she got caught.
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