“Why so glum?” he asked.
“A guest at the party is the commandant at a military school. He told me that Manfred enrolled Kurt. At first I didn’t believe it, but it was true. Kurt left yesterday.”
“Manfred never told you?”
She studied him for a moment, almost as if she was wondering how much she should tell him. “I don’t speak to Manfred,” she said. “Not ever.”
He gave her a questioning look, although he suspected he knew the reason. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“It’s long story.”
He reached across the table and gently held her hand, tenderly caressing it. “I would be happy to listen. As a friend, of course.”
She hesitated, and then spoke. “Not right now. I’m upset about a lot of things. Kurt is just the latest. I know he’s not my child, but I’ve raised him for the last ten years. I love him and I already miss him.”
“Are you lonely?” he asked, prying, even though he knew he shouldn’t.
She hesitated, as if she had built a wall to protect herself and didn’t want him to peek over it. “Kurt and I were together every day, even if just during dinner. We talked a lot. He confided in me, sharing everything from his first kiss to his dreams for the future. Now he’s gone.”
He noticed that she didn’t mention Manfred, and instead kept the conversation confined to her stepson. “I’m sure he’ll miss you, too.”
She shook her head. “I don’t think so. He won’t have time to think about me, not with all his military training. And the dreams of glory his father put in his head.”
“All the more reason for the war to end,” York said.
She glanced out the window again. She seemed nervous, as if something wasn’t right. A premonition, maybe.
“I did try to eavesdrop at the party,” she said.
“Did you hear anything interesting?”
“I overheard two discussions, although I’m not sure I understand them. Hopefully, they’re helpful.”
York was encouraged. “Let’s hear them.”
“The first conversation was between some generals. Jodl and Keitel were there with a few others, just after they talked privately with Hitler.”
York was intrigued by the access she had to Hitler and his inner circle. Jodl and Keitel were his chief military strategists.
“Hitler was at the party?” he asked.
“Yes, and others: Bormann, Goebbels, Göring, Albert Speer, some industry executives.”
“I think we may spend the entire week talking about this,” he said, trying to imagine the Nazi elite all gathered in the same room. “What did you hear the generals say?”
“They were talking about the Russian offensive at Kursk.”
York was pensive, trying to visualize a map of Russia. “Kursk is a city on the front lines. What did they say, specifically?”
“They are halting the offensive and diverting troops to Italy because of the Allied invasion.”
York rubbed his chin, thinking, a distant look in his eyes.
“What’s wrong?” she asked. “You look confused.”
“Why take troops from Russia to reinforce Italy? Why not take them from France or the Balkans?”
“Someone mentioned that,” she said. “It’s because Hitler thinks the Italy invasion is a diversion, and that the real Allied offensive will come in the Balkans.”
York’s eyes widened. Not only had the Russian offensive been halted, but the weakened front line could now be exploited. And since no troops would be taken from the Balkans, the Allies could feign an offensive so Germany maintained a large force there, starving other regions of resources.
“Was there more?” he asked.
“I’m sure there was, but that was the gist of it. I only listened for a minute. I didn’t want to arouse suspicion.”
“That’s the type of information I was talking about,” he said. “It seems like an innocent conversation, just an informal discussion on tactics. But if true, and the Allies can adjust and react, it can have a significant impact on the Eastern Front.”
York watched her reaction. She seemed overwhelmed, tiptoeing into water that was much too deep. He was sure she felt as if the world was so immense, along with the problems in it, that photography and classical music seemed insignificant.
He decided to be gentle, not to probe too forcefully. He didn’t want to scare her away just when she was proving so valuable. “Can you think of anything else?”
“There is more. But it involves Manfred.” She hesitated, thought for a moment, and then continued. “I know that, when we met, I said I wouldn’t betray him. I’m not sure that’s the case anymore.”
York’s interest was piqued, but he tried not to show it. He realized the wealth of information she had access to. “Tell me as much, or as little, as you’re comfortable with.”
She paused. “This is a big step for me. Maybe if we talk about something else for a while. Then we can discuss Manfred.” She looked around the room. It was bare, stark, giving no hint to its occupant. Then she remembered. “Tell me about Elizabeth.”
The pain in his eyes was immediate, the sorrow on his face consuming. He knew she saw it, could feel it. And he could tell she identified with it. He cringed, tried to talk, but turned and looked out the window, watching a light rain bathe the cobblestone streets.
She leaned forward and touched his arm. “I know it’s hard. I can feel your pain. If the child I lost in the train accident had been a girl, she would have been named Elisabeth.”
He turned to look at her, his eyes searching, showing compassion. “I didn’t know that,” he said softly. “So we like the same name.”
She smiled, trying to be strong, but feeling her eyes mist at the thought of the child she would never have. “Yes, we both like the name. Now tell me about her.”
York couldn’t keep a smile from crossing his face. “I’m not sure where to start.”
“How would you describe her – in one word?”
York chuckled. “I’m not sure. Whirlwind, I suppose. She has an opinion on everything, and is convinced she knows more than any other twelve-year-old child on the planet. She likes cricket, a bit unusual for a young lady, and she’s fascinated with the Royal family.”
“King George VI?”
“No, not the King. She actually adores his daughter Elizabeth. She loves that they have the same name. She digests every word written about her in the press.”
Amanda was amused. “She could have worse hobbies.”
He laughed lightly. “I’m not complaining. I think it’s cute. She reads biographies of Queen Victoria and Queen Elizabeth, or whatever else she can find about them.” His face clouded, happy memories masked by sorrow. “I miss her. But the minute this war is over, I will find her.”
Amanda moved to his side and hugged him. He didn’t resist. He felt comforted, enveloped in her arms, drinking the scent of her perfume, feeling her compassion. Then all too quickly she moved away and returned to her seat.
“Time to change the subject,” she said. “I’m ready to discuss Manfred now.”
He took a second to collect himself and urged her on. “Go ahead.”
She thought for a moment, wondering how to begin. She started slowly. “Manfred is a powerful man, and he’s very dangerous. He is closely tied to Martin Bormann.”
“Hitler’s inner circle.”
“Bormann is more than inner circle,” she said. “He’s Hitler’s right hand.”
York corrected her. “The Allies view Goebbels, Göring, and Himmler as those closest to Hitler.”
She shook her head. “It’s not true. Bormann has tremendous power, and extreme influence with the Fuhrer. Manfred used to talk about it a lot. He doesn’t say much anymore. But then, I hardly see him.”
“Do you have any photographs of Bormann?”
“No, he rarely allows his picture to be taken.”
York studied her face, the upturned nose, her eyes sincere an
d intense. “I didn’t know that. But I don’t think many people do.”
“I overheard Manfred talking to some industrial leaders at the party. They were discussing something he has been working on with Bormann. I know it’s important.”
York was in unknown territory, hanging on every word, drinking information like a man dying of thirst. It seemed too good to be true. And for a moment, he wondered if it was.
She described the planned escape routes from Germany, the importance of Buenos Aires and South America, secondary locations in Spain and the Middle East. She mentioned the money trail and industrial presence, and how they would be launched when the time was right.
He was amazed. “It’s almost like they’re planning for Germany’s defeat. And the Nazi elite will flee and continue the struggle from abroad.”
“I think that’s exactly what it is,” she said. “I heard them refer to it as the Fourth Reich.”
For York, the whole concept was beyond belief, the creation of hell on earth. “That doesn’t sound like something Hitler would sanction. It reeks of defeat.”
“That’s what’s strange,” Amanda said. “I don’t think Hitler knows about it.”
CHAPTER 36
York went to the Berlin Theater on Kantstrasse, planning to meet Erika Jaeger at the cemetery afterwards. He furtively went to the parking lot behind the building, finding only a few parked cars, their owners enjoying the show inside. He wandered to the garden wall and sat beside the linden tree, near the loose capstone, watching the parking lot and adjacent buildings. When satisfied no one was looking, he lifted the stone and looked in the cavity below.
He found only a message, no plans, and his face hardened as he read Faber’s note. York didn’t like him, and he had yet to even meet him. It was important to follow instructions. When you didn’t, you got killed. Maybe that’s how Kent got caught, Faber controlling him, instead of Kent controlling Faber. And maybe Faber led him time after time to the cemetery drop, which may have been compromised. York had to be cautious. Faber was dangerous.
York took a taxi to the cemetery, eyed the few visitors he passed as he entered, and waited on the bench for Erika Jaeger. Ten minutes later she arrived, sat next to him, and studied the landscape, looking at the cobblestone lanes, the birds, the people that wandered past. When satisfied it was safe, she spoke, but she continued staring straight ahead and didn’t look at York.
“I’m not a supporter of the Nazis,” she said quietly. “And I never have been.”
“Good,” York said, easing the tension. “We have something in common.”
“But I never considered betraying my country,” she added.
He wasn’t sure what direction she was taking. Her statement had an ominous tone, almost a threat or warning. He gazed cautiously around the cemetery, looking for anyone suspicious: Gestapo, policeman, informants. After a minute had passed, and he was satisfied it was safe, he turned to face her.
She wasn’t looking at him. She looked at the grass, and a few roses that bloomed at the edge of the shrubs. Then she looked towards the entrance.
Could she be stalling for time? Maybe they were under surveillance. Was the Gestapo about to rush forward and arrest him?
An awkward silence ensued. He watched her shuffling uncomfortably on the bench and decided to proceed. They seemed safe, alone and unnoticed. He would probe her weakness, his belief she was hiding someone in her home.
“You could help other people with the money I give you,” he said, trying to convince her. He leaned towards her, as if sharing a secret. “If there was someone in trouble that you cared about.”
She turned away, expressionless, and studied the lane. No one was coming. The bench was tucked away between shrubs, not somewhere you would go unless you knew it was there.
“The Nazis do terrible things,” she said, her face twisting with hatred. “I’ve seen it. I’ve watched it for ten years.”
He didn’t reply, but let her think. He waited, watching her closely, compassion washing his face. A moment passed before she continued.
“I lost my husband in the war,” she said quietly. “He was a gentle man, loving and considerate, my constant companion. A talented craftsman, an artist, he wasn’t a fighter; he never should have carried a gun. Now my life will always be empty. A piece of my heart is missing that can’t be replaced.”
Her eyes misted and she looked away, sighing. She wiped them with a fingertip, dabbing at tears, before turning to face him, her expression determined. “If I can help, I will. But I want something in return.”
He avoided asking, although he suspected he knew what it was. “What information do you have for me?”
She paused, knowing she couldn’t retrace her steps once the walk was started. “I work in the logistics office of the War Ministry. Usually I route supplies, sometimes, weapons. It’s normally routine, not very exciting, and somewhat predicable. At least until the last few weeks.”
“What’s changed?” York asked.
“There has been a redeployment of troops from the Russian city of Kursk. The summer offensive has been halted.”
“Where are the troops being sent?”
“To Italy, to stem the Allied offensive.”
York listened as she spoke, softly and sincerely, wanting to change the world but not knowing how. She had confirmed what Amanda overheard at the party. Now he had to get the information to Max.
He reached in his pocket and withdrew some Reichsmarks. It was more than she deserved, almost double what he had paid Faber. But he knew she needed it. She had an elderly mother to care for. And whoever else she was hiding.
Her eyes widened when she saw the money. It was more than she expected.
York could tell she felt guilty, profiting from the misery of others. She probably wondered how many men would die because of the information she provided. Just like her husband had. But she thought she was doing the right thing.
“Thank you,” she said. “I need the money badly.” She put it in her purse, scanning the area as she did so.
“May I ask you a few questions about those in the quartet?”
She was confused, not seeing any connection, but shrugged and agreed anyway. “Of course.”
“How would you describe Amanda Hamilton?”
Jaeger thought for a moment. “She’s caring, a good person, a close friend, a fabulous violinist, and a great photographer.” She looked up, her eyes on York. “And she’s very lonely.”
York studied her for a moment, hiding a smile. He would have used the same description. For a moment he wondered if he was becoming too attached to Amanda.
“How about Gerhard Faber?”
She crinkled her nose. “He can be arrogant. I don’t know him that well, so I suppose I shouldn’t say anything. He’s just different. But I can’t say why. I usually don’t bother with him.”
“Albert Kaiser?”
She smiled. “Father figure. He likes to talk. One story after another. Sometimes he reminds me of Father Christmas. He’s very protective of Amanda. But they have known each other for many years.”
“Captain Klein?”
She shrugged. “He spends most of his time with Albert. I think they’re neighbors. They served together in the last war. But Klein can be annoying, very nosy, intrusive, watches everything and everyone. But I guess that’s what he’s supposed to do. He pretends to be our manager, making arrangements and ensuring we’re on time. But his real role is to observe.”
“Kaiser was in the war with Klein?” he asked, finding the information disturbing.
“Klein said something once and Kaiser got mad. I never heard either mention it again.” She looked up, smiling faintly. “Is that any help?”
“Yes, actually it is. It confirms information I already had, but offers a bit more.”
“Do I get more money?”
He laughed. “No, not just yet. How about Manfred Richter?”
She frowned. “He can be charming and sincere, as i
f he would do anything for you. But he’s really dangerous, sly, and selfish. He has a dark side, seems to always be scheming. But it’s something you don’t find out about until months later.”
“Does he have a mistress?”
She hesitated. “I don’t want to answer that. Out of respect for Amanda.”
“You don’t have to,” he said, knowing she already had. “Is there something you want to ask me?”
She nodded, her eyes pleading for help, her lips afraid to mouth the words. “Can you get people out of Germany?”
He paused, pensive. “Possibly,” he said cautiously, not wanting to give her false hopes. “Where to?”
“Somewhere safe. I suppose Switzerland is easiest.”
“Or Sweden,” he said. He wondered how serious Max was. Would he really offer assistance?
He studied her face. Sadness consumed her eyes; compassion lived in her heart. He couldn’t refuse her. She was a good person, risking her life to protect others. It was probably a former neighbor or friend, probably a Jew.
“I’ll do the best I can,” he promised. “How many people are we trying to rescue?”
She looked away, uncomfortable. A moment passed before she found the courage to face him. “Eight,” she said quietly.
York’s eyes widened with surprise. “Are you serious?” he asked. “You have eight people crammed in an apartment?”
She was silent, her arms folded across her chest. She shrugged defiantly. “Maybe.”
He studied her closely, searching for clarification, seeking a hint of truth. “Eight people who may or may not be in your apartment,” he said, trying to ease the tension.
She stood, preparing to go. “No more information. Not until you agree to help me.”
“And get your friends out of Germany?”
“Yes,” she said quietly. “Think about it.”
He watched her walk to the exit, her demands now known. She didn’t look back.
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