His Majesty's Hope

by Susan Elia MacNeal

  He was.

  Walking faster, she went to the entrance of the Gleisdreieck U-Bahn. The man followed, relentless. Maggie stood waiting on the platform, heart in mouth, for the train. When it pulled into the station, she stepped aside to let the passengers off, then stepped on.

  The man stepped on, too, into the car behind her.

  Then, moments before the train left the station, Maggie muttered, “Oh no! I’ve forgotten my ration card!” and pushed her way through the crowd. Just as the train pulled out, she slipped through the doors and jumped back onto the platform.

  She turned to look at him—and saw the rage burn in the man’s eyes as he realized she’d given him the slip. Maggie looked across the tracks. Nazi guards were shouting at people to leave their luggage on one end of the platform, and line up on the other. The uniformed men held large dogs on leather leashes; the barking echoed off the station’s tiled walls. The people being herded were men and women, young and old, some rich, some poor, some alone and some in family groups. A few of the smaller children wailed.

  “I’m thirsty, Mama,” a little girl with dark curls cried. “I’m so thirsty!”

  The woman turned to one of the guards. “May I get my daughter some water?”

  “Nein!” he shouted, and struck her in the face with the butt of his gun.

  The woman fell, then put one hand to her face. Blood ran from her nose. “It’s all right, Mama,” the little girl said. She had stopped crying. She had forgotten about the water. In that instant their roles had been reversed, and it was her job to comfort her mother. “It’s all right.”

  They’re Jews, Maggie realized. She had heard about the deportations of Berlin’s Jews to ghettos and work camps, of course. Still, that was nothing, absolutely nothing, compared to seeing it for herself.

  Another train pulled up. It was rust red and boxy. Not a passenger train at all but one used for transporting cattle.

  Maggie watched in horror as the people boarded, trying to catch a last glimpse of the little girl before she got on the train. It seemed as though hundreds were being packed into each car.

  “Don’t look,” a young woman said softly to Maggie. She was blond and awkward, with fat braids and pink cheeks.

  There were no toilet facilities on that train, Maggie realized, no water. If they were going to one of the ghettos in Poland, it would be days before they reached their destination.… She couldn’t look away.

  Another train pulled up on the track in front of her with a shriek of brakes and a cloud of steam. She must put miles between her and the man in black, she realized. She stepped on, letting the doors slam behind her.

  Gottlieb knew he had to get out, and fast.

  Stopping only to put his papers, his wallet, and his rosary in his pockets, tugging his black hat’s brim low over his face, he opened the door to leave.

  The SS officers had already reached his floor. Their commander pulled out his gun. “Get back inside,” he ordered Gottlieb.

  Across the hallway, Frau Keller shuffled to her own front door, opened it a crack, and peeked out. Her dog started to yap. “Shhhh—quiet, Kaiser!” she admonished. She watched as the SS soldiers followed Gottlieb into his apartment. Then there was a single gunshot.

  After a few moments of silence, Frau Keller could hear profanity, and then furniture being smashed. She saw one of the men take Gottlieb’s crucifix and throw it into the hall. At her feet Kaiser lowered his head and whined in fear.

  That was when Frau Keller closed the door softly, bolting and then chaining it. “Come, Kaiser,” she whispered, reaching down to pat the dog’s head. “Let’s get you something to eat now, shall we?”

  Maggie didn’t know what to do. She sat, paralyzed, as stop after stop passed by, hunched over, her hat hiding her face. She knew it was insane to stay on the train—at any minute the Gestapo could enter the car and demand to see her identification.

  Pull yourself together. You can have a nice big breakdown after you get back to London.… She looked up at the S-Bahn map and realized that she was heading north, into Berlin. Two stations away, at Potsdamer Platz, not far from the Brandenburg Gate, there would be an intersection of four subway lines. It seemed like her best option for throwing the agent off her scent.

  At Potsdamer Platz, she kept her head down and walked swiftly. She boarded the first train that pulled in. At Brandenburger Tor, she realized she was in Mitte-Berlin, the city’s center.

  Charité was in Mitte.

  Charité was where Elise worked.

  Could she get there without being followed? There’s only one way to find out. And, since I’m running out of options … She took yet another train to Lehrter Bahnhof and then stepped off, exiting from the ceramic-tiled station into the punishing midday sun. There was a telephone booth outside the station marked OEFFENTLICHER FERNSPRECHER. Maggie opened the door and then slammed it closed behind her. She searched through her handbag for the correct change with trembling hands. Then she picked up the black and silver receiver, slipped a coin into the slot, and dialed Elise’s work number, which she’d memorized from the slip of paper her half sister had given her at Clara’s birthday party.

  “Charité Hospital in Mitte,” she told the operator. Pick up, pick up, pick up! Maggie urged as she heard the shrill, metallic rings.

  Finally, someone did. “Guten Tag. Charité Hospital.”

  “Hallo,” Maggie said. “May I speak with Elise Hess? She’s a nurse.”

  “Please hold. I will transfer your call.”

  There was a silence, then a voice answered, “Hallo, fourth-floor nurses’ station.”

  “Hello, I’m trying to reach a nurse named Elise Hess.”

  “I’m not sure if she’s working today.”

  “Would you be able to check, please? It’s a family emergency.”

  Oh, it really is a “family” emergency, Elise.

  There was an interminable wait, and then Maggie heard a voice that made her weak with relief. “Hallo?”

  “Elise! This is Margareta—Margareta Hoffman?”

  “Of course!”

  “You remember how you said I could call if I needed anything?”

  “Mein Gott! Are you hurt?” Elise’s voice, warm and reassuring, poured from the receiver.

  “No. But I need you to get me inside the hospital. I can explain later.”

  There was a silence so long that Maggie feared the other woman had hung up. The line crackled. “Meet me at the delivery entrance,” Elise said finally. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  As Maggie crossed Hannoversche Straße in the nearly unbearable heat, she heard a voice. “Stop!”

  Slowly, as though she were achy and arthritic, she turned around.

  It was a police officer. He was young, blond, pockmarked. Could he be older than fourteen? Too young for the Eastern Front, Maggie realized. “Show me your papers!” he ordered.

  Maggie kept her head down. She prayed her limp, gray hair and humpback fooled him, but she knew her face would betray her. Still, do young people ever really look in the eyes of the old? Her breath came faster.

  With gloved hands, she pulled up her purse and fumbled at the catch. Maggie hoped it looked like tremors from old age. She knew the SS had been alerted. But the local police? Was this a random stop, or were they actually looking for her specifically?

  It seemed to take forever to get the catch open. “Oh, never mind,” the officer said, finally, watching her struggle. “Sorry, gnädige Frau. Have a good day.”

  “Danke,” Maggie managed without looking up, grateful for the wide brim of her hat.

  She took several shaky breaths to compose herself, and then shuffled on.

  Exactly as she’d promised, Elise arrived at Charité’s delivery entrance, out of breath from running.

  “Mein Gott!” she murmured, and put one hand over her heart. Maggie knew how she must look—ashen, shaken, wild-eyed. Not to mention gray-haired and humpbacked.

  “I’m sorry, but I�
�m afraid I’m in a bit of trouble …”

  Elise looked around to see that no one was watching them. She put her arm around Maggie’s shoulders, as though to help the old woman. “Come with me. For God’s sake, keep your head down.”

  Maggie shuffled with Elise through back corridors until they reached an emergency stairwell. The two women climbed to the door that Elise and Frieda had propped open to the roof.

  “We’ll stay here, out of sight,” Elise told her. Exhausted, Maggie sank down to sit, back against the wall, finding momentary relief in a small rectangle of shade. Elise followed suit.

  “I would never have come here if I didn’t feel I had no other option,” Maggie said. “But the truth is, I need somewhere to hide. And I thought that, maybe, you could hide me—and perhaps help me find a way out of Germany.”

  “What’s wrong?” Elise’s once round and rosy face was now all shadowed angles and planes.

  Maggie felt the stabbing pain of guilt. How many innocent people would she entangle in her trouble? “The less you know about it, the better. Again, I never would have come here if I felt there were any other choice—”

  “Did Father Licht send you?” Elise interrupted.

  “Who?” Maggie was confused. Who was Father Licht? “No.”

  She shook her head. “I just thought that—Well, you’ve been so kind to me …” And you’re my half sister …

  “Did Frieda tell you about me?”

  Maggie’s brows furrowed. “Frieda?”

  “It doesn’t matter. All right, I don’t know if I can get you out, but I can certainly hide you. We can cut and dye your hair—”

  “No,” Maggie insisted. “I must leave Germany, but not because I’m a Jew.” In English, she added, “You see, I don’t actually belong here. I’m British.”

  Elise gaped at Maggie. “Nein,” she exclaimed. “Nein!” Her face had gone pale.

  “It’s true,” Maggie insisted.

  Then, to Maggie’s astonishment, Elise started to laugh, golden and sweet, punctuated with hiccups. “No!” she gasped, trying to catch her breath. “No! This is a joke! Surely one of the girls at the hospital sent you, as some kind of prank …”

  “I’m sorry,” Maggie said. “But it’s true. I know it sounds crazy, but …”

  Else’s giggles had turned to laughter, hysterical laughter. “You—you are a spy?”

  Half sister. “Yes.”

  “No, it can’t be, it’s like a dream,” Elise said. “I’m going to wake up any minute.”

  “It’s a lot to take in,” Maggie said. Believe me, I know.

  Elise reached out and clasped Maggie’s hand. “I will do everything I can to get you out.”

  “So, will you hide me? Help find a radio?”

  “Of course.” Elise wiped her eyes as her haggard face bloomed into a smile. “Of course. Now, let me get you somewhere safe before anyone sees us.”

  The door to the roof opened. Both women tensed until Elise saw that it was Frieda.

  “Was zum Geier?” Frieda exclaimed. What the vulture? Maggie translated literally. Meaning, were the vultures circling already?

  “It’s all right,” Elise reassured Maggie. “She’s one of us.”

  Then, to Frieda, “She’s a friend. A friend who needs help.”

  Frieda scowled. “And you’re going to take her home with you, too? Yet another lost kitten?”

  The tension Elise lived with day and night began to break through. “I’d like to remind you that your husband is one of my ‘lost kittens,’ Frieda!”

  “But you don’t think things through, Elise! The pilot—people eventually assumed he ran away because he’s a deserter, but you never even gave a second thought to what an empty bed would mean. And I’m being harassed day and night by SS, wanting to know where Ernst has disappeared to. Do you even have a plan for smuggling them out of your attic? And then—you want to add”—she sniffed at Maggie—“her to the mix?”

  Maggie’s heart quickened.

  “What would you have me do, Frieda? Deny her shelter? She’s as good as dead out there!”

  Frieda smiled. A strange smile. “Well, I’m glad then that I made my Pakt mit dem Teufel.”

  “What do you mean—pact with the Devil?”

  “Giving my husband, my beloved, to you,” Frieda snapped. “Trusting him to your care.”

  “Frieda—”

  “Nein!” The blonde put a thin, blue-veined hand up in the air. “We are done.” She went to the exit, then slammed the door shut behind her.

  Elise and Maggie stared at each other.

  Maggie could see the strain in Elise’s eyes. “No room at the inn?” She felt her last chance dying. “I don’t want to put you, or anyone else, in any danger.”

  Elise put her hand on Maggie’s. “Nein,” she said, “there is always room for one more.”

  At St. Hedwig’s, Elise led Maggie directly to Father Licht’s office. He looked up from the paperwork on his desk.

  “I thought I might see you today, Elise,” the priest said. “Please close the door.”

  “Father, this is Fräulein Margareta Hoffman—”

  His eyebrows rose, and behind his glasses his eyes opened wide. “You are Margareta Hoffman?”

  Maggie stiffened, ready to bolt. Who was this man? How did he recognize her name? Just because he was wearing a priest’s collar and skullcap didn’t mean he was on their side …

  “Yes, why?” Elise said.

  Father Licht rose. “I am very glad to see you, Fräulein Hoffman. Elise, how did you know to bring her here?”

  “I just thought maybe I could hide her, the way I did with—” She stopped abruptly. “But once again, Father, I’ll need your help.”

  “My children, we have much to discuss,” he said, rubbing his thin hands together. “But before we begin, I suggest we all take a moment to say a prayer.” He bowed his head and closed his eyes. Maggie and Elise did the same.

  Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.

  Where there is hatred, let me sow love …

  “Now,” said the priest, when the prayer was ended, “let’s discuss how we’re going to handle this, shall we say, rather unusual situation.”

  The final part of Hugh’s assignment was to let Clara Hess know that Operation Aegir had succeeded. Masterman’s plan was that Hugh carry out the mission Krueger would have. Or at least make it seem as if the mission had been carried out.

  Hugh’s orders were to stencil large wooden crates with a skull-and-crossbones symbol plus the stern warning

  SODIUM FLUORIDE

  DANGER! TOXIC BY INGESTION

  Do not get in eyes or on skin. Do not ingest. Wear proper mask.

  Then he was to take photographs of the crates. These he would send to Hess in Berlin, to prove the mission’s triumphant success.

  However, Hugh had a few other plans.

  And for those, he’d need a partner. He picked up the green Bakelite receiver and dialed Mark Standish, his friend at MI-5. “I need a favor, old thing,” he said. “Can you get away from the wife and little one tonight?”

  “Why?” Mark replied instantly. “Do you actually want to go out and have some fun, instead of moping after your girlfriend?”

  Mark had worked with Hugh on the IRA bomb case and the Windsor case—and knew all about his relationship with Maggie. “Meet at the Rose and Crown for a pint?”

  “Rose and Crown, first—and then have some fun, yes,” Hugh replied. “Lots of fun.”

  By the time Hugh and Mark had downed innumerable pints at the Rose and Crown, and reached the designated storage building with the crates Hugh was supposed to paint, both young men were well and truly drunk.

  The warehouse was massive and stuffy. Hugh found the light switch and turned on the overhead fluorescents. Mark had the camera from the XX Committee slung around his neck and an open can of Barkley’s stout in each hand. Hugh carried the stencils, black paint, and a paintbrush.

  “So, what now?” M
ark demanded, wobbling from all the beer he’d consumed. “We stencil the crates and get a few shots for Hess?”

  Hugh grinned. He was staggering as well. “I have something a bit more … interesting in mind.”

  He set the paint can down and pried off the lid. Inside, the paint was glossy and black, and smelled of linseed oil. He dipped his paintbrush into the thick liquid. “And here, my dear friend Mark, is where we’re going to—as Maggie likes to say—wing it.”

  Mark stood back and watched as Hugh painted each box, eyes growing wider with each one. “You can’t be serious,” he protested. “Surely we’re going to turn them around and paint with the stencils now, yes?”

  “No.” Hugh’s eyes were dark with suppressed anger. “We are not.”

  Mark held up his hands. “You must be joking. This is career suicide.”

  “She killed my father,” Hugh said. “She nearly assassinated the King and kidnapped the Princess.”

  “She’s Maggie’s mother,” Mark stammered.

  “Yes, and she left her. Left her. Believe me, if Maggie knew what I’m doing, she’d approve. My father—may he rest in peace—would, too.” He dipped the paintbrush into the paint, then pulled it out, splattering himself inadvertently with tiny black drops. “Get the camera!”

  “You’re a madman!” Mark said, taking a swig and handing the other beer to his friend. “You’ll give the film to Masterman, he’ll somehow get it to Clara Hess in Berlin, and then—”

  “And then I’ll finally have my revenge. Or at least a tiny sliver of it.”

  Mark gave a gust of a sigh. He was too drunk to argue. “Well, it’s your arse on the line, my friend.”

  “And that, my friend”—Hugh smiled, a wild and dangerous smile—“gives me a fantastic idea.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Admiral Wilhelm Canaris, Head of the Abwehr, lifted the handset of his telephone and dialed 1 for his secretary. “Tell gnädige Frau Hess I need to see her. Now!”

  Canaris was an enigma to most. A distinguished-looking man with white hair and shaggy white eyebrows, he was ostensibly head of the military intelligence organization, yet distrusted by Hitler and most of the high-ranking Nazis, including his former protégé SS-Obergruppenführer Reinhard Heydrich; the German Foreign Minister, Joachim von Ribbentrop; and the Abwehr’s own Clara Hess.