He smiled wryly. “I wouldn’t call myself a fan. I’m more of an interested observer. And I’m very interested in why Meike von Bismarck has been having private meetings with Adolf Hitler.” He finally stopped perusing the documents in the folder and focused his attention squarely on her. “I’m also interested in when women’s doubles became a contact sport.”
He tossed her the folder with a quick, sudden gesture that seemed more of an impulse than a planned action. Helen was so startled by the move she nearly dropped the folder on the floor. After she regained her composure, she flipped the folder open to find dozens of pictures of a grim-looking Meike entering and exiting a building identified in neat black type as the Nazi headquarters in Berlin. In some of the photos, Hitler himself accompanied Meike to her waiting car. But those pictures didn’t interest Helen nearly as much as the ones of her and Meike. Laughing over a bottle of Chianti in Rome. Dancing cheek to cheek in London. Kissing in Paris like tomorrow would never come.
She ran her thumb over an image of a smiling Meike dressed to the nines at a drag show in Berlin. Friedrich, dressed as Jean Harlow, was by her side. Though he looked like the spitting image of the movie star, his artificial beauty paled in comparison to Meike’s natural wonders. Golden blond hair, bright blue eyes, and a smile that made you feel warm all over every time she flashed it in your direction.
The first time they’d met, Helen thought Meike was the most beautiful woman she had ever seen. She still did. The second-rate imitations she had tried to replace Meike with after their parting didn’t hold a candle to her. So why had she been foolish enough to let her go without a fight? To save face for being the one who got dumped instead of the one doing the dumping? Or because she was all too used to being rejected by someone she loved? First her family, then Meike. Though they had different reasons for cutting her loose, it all came back to the same thing: she wasn’t what they wanted her to be. Their loss. Because she wasn’t going to change who she was. For anyone.
“What do you want?” she asked. She didn’t bother to deny what the second set of photographs meant. Pictures spoke a thousand words and the pictures in her hands spoke for themselves.
“I want your help. Hitler’s keeping it a pretty piss poor secret he’s rearming Germany’s military, even though doing so breaks the treaty his predecessor signed at the end of the Great War. He has his eyes on Austria. Probably Poland and Czechoslovakia, too. What Uncle Sam needs to know are his plans for the US of A. Does he plan to get us involved in his mess or does he intend to leave us out of it? Should we be more selective about which foreign nationals we allow to enter the country, Meike von Bismarck included?”
Helen couldn’t believe her ears. “The US Championships are held in New York. She’s the defending champion. You can’t deny her entry.”
“Can’t we? Why would we willingly allow a known enemy agent on our shores?”
“We aren’t at war.”
“Yet. Germany hasn’t officially declared war on us or issued any formal threats, no. That’s why I can’t involve anyone employed by a government agency. I need someone who can act in an unofficial capacity. That’s where you come in. If you accept the assignment I’m proposing, you would have a chance to clear Meike’s name as well as your own. You’re used to keeping secrets and you’re not above telling the occasional lie to keep those secrets safe.”
Helen bristled. “It’s no one’s business who I sleep with except for the person in bed with me, Agent Lanier. Telling a few white lies about my personal life in order to protect my privacy is one thing. What you’re suggesting is another. I’m not a spy. I wouldn’t know where to begin. What do you want me to do, travel to Berlin and ask Hitler what his New Year’s resolutions are? I’m afraid he and I don’t travel in the same social circles.”
“But you and Meike von Bismarck do. She’s part of Hitler’s inner circle. If he’s confiding in her, perhaps you can get her to confide in you. You were close once. You can be again if you play your cards right.”
Helen winced at the thought. The last time she and Meike had laid their cards on the table, she had gone bust. She carefully placed the folder on the desk, distancing herself from what was inside.
“Meike and I won’t be seeing very much of each other in the future. I’m joining the professional tour next year and she plans to remain an amateur. Her family’s loaded. She can afford to play for free. I can’t.”
“You could have fooled me.”
Lanier looked around as if to remind her of the luxurious surroundings in which they currently found themselves. The chandelier in the lobby probably cost more than he made in a year. He placed his folded hands on the manager’s desk and leaned toward her. Though his demeanor was placid, Helen instinctively gave ground.
“If the government asked you to remain an amateur, would you be willing to change your mind about becoming a professional?”
Helen glanced at the manila folder. The photos were tucked safely out of sight, but the images had already been burned into her memory. “I get the feeling I’m not allowed to say no.”
“It’s a free country,” Lanier said, “but everything comes with a price.”
And it was time for her to pay up.
Chapter Two
December 1937
New York Harbor
The Southern Star groaned with effort as it pulled away from the pier. Thick clouds of acrid black smoke poured from the stacks as the workers in the boiler room far below the water line piled on the coal. After a brief layover in New York City to take on more passengers and replenish the supply of both food and fuel, the ocean liner was continuing on its way to Adelaide, Australia. The trip would take forty-two days altogether. The ship was scheduled to arrive at its final destination on the eleventh of January, ten days prior to the start of the Australian Championships. Plenty of time for Meike to recover from the arduous transatlantic journey and adjust to the drastic change in temperature before the tournament began. January meant winter in Europe but summer below the equator. And Australian summers were like none she had ever experienced. She hoped she wouldn’t wilt in the heat.
She hadn’t seen the full list of expected entrants for the Australian Championships, but the tournament was a major so she expected the field to be competitive despite the sweltering weather conditions. A bit of friendly competition preceded by several weeks at sea was exactly what she needed to take her mind off her troubles.
Fingering the telegram in her pocket, she watched impassively as the newly arrived passengers lined the railings to wave at their loved ones on shore. Hats, handkerchiefs, and scarves flashed the semaphore of farewell.
She had no one to see her off on this leg of her journey. Friedrich was still at risk in Berlin, but her parents were safely ensconced in the family castle. They were safe because she was here. Far away from them and all the ones she loved. She couldn’t stay away forever, though. She had to return home eventually. But where was home exactly? And what kind of life would she be returning to? Her country was no longer her own. It was in the Austrian’s hands now. And so, unfortunately, was she.
“Perhaps you would like to come inside, Miss von Bismarck, and escape the chill.”
She stiffened at the sound of Oskar Henkel’s voice. The SS agent had been pulled from Heinrich Himmler’s protection detail and assigned to accompany her to Australia. To insure her success or hinder it, she wasn’t sure.
He was a pleasant enough fellow, if you found blind loyalty attractive, but she hated the very idea of him. She didn’t need to be watched every moment of the day or shadowed by a man for whom she felt nothing but contempt, but this was her life now unless she bowed to Hitler’s will.
If she joined the Nazi Party and competed under its flag, the restrictions on her would be lifted. As far as she was concerned, the restrictions could remain. The colors she wore when she competed were not the red, white, and black of the Nazi flag, but those of her tennis club, usually represented by the blue and gold ri
bbon she wore to keep her hair out of her eyes.
As much as she hated Oskar’s unwanted presence in her life, she was willing to accept it in order to retain the principles she held dear. She would rather lose her privacy than her sense of self.
“In a moment, Oskar,” she said with false cheer. “I won’t be much longer. And please remember to speak English for the duration of our journey unless you want to give yourself away. Some of the passengers might think you’re planning an invasion. It would be a shame if you were to be arrested before you were able to file your latest report. We wouldn’t want that, would we?”
Oskar’s thin lips briefly compressed into a frown as if he weren’t accustomed to having a woman tell him what to do. Meike could tell he detested the assignment his superiors had given him. One of the very few things they had in common. She had lodged an official complaint with the German Tennis Association, but the tennis officials were just as powerless to combat the Nazi political machine as she was. Perhaps even more so.
She felt certain she could find refuge somewhere if she decided to speak out against the Nazi regime, but what about the people who weren’t able to travel as freely as she? Without an escape route, speaking their minds could mean a death sentence. Her compatriots’ silence didn’t signify agreement as she had once suspected. For some, it signaled self-preservation instead.
“As you wish.”
Oskar clicked his heels and bowed slightly before he departed. Even though she could no longer see him, she could still feel his eyes on her. Watching. Always watching.
She was used to having the eyes of fans, coaches, and fellow players upon her, but this was different. Oskar wasn’t looking for flaws in her game but in her character. Any sign of weakness would be reported to his superiors and used against her. Used to try to force her to bow to the collective will. She was determined that scenario would never occur, but how long could she hold out? She was one person battling an entire administration. The odds were decidedly not in her favor. But losing was not an option. Not when losing could cost her everything.
She longed for the sanctuary of a tennis court, where good shots were rewarded, bad ones were penalized, and the rules didn’t arbitrarily change to benefit one player and harm another.
She wrapped her fur coat tighter around her as the icy wind blew across the bow of the ship. Logic told her to retreat to the warmth of her stateroom—she didn’t want to risk coming down with a cold that might deepen into pneumonia and cost her a chance at competing in the Australian Championships for the first time—but being surrounded by thousands of strangers made her feel free, a feeling she didn’t know when she would be able to reproduce after she returned to Germany.
Her fingers closed around the telegram in the pocket of her coat and the words of comfort offered on the crumpled, tear-stained page.
MISSED YOU IN BERLIN STOP REGRET YOU HAD TO LEAVE SO SUDDENLY BUT UNDERSTAND WHY YOU HAD TO GO STOP GOOD LUCK IN AUSTRALIA STOP STAY SAFE UNTIL WE SEE EACH OTHER AGAIN STOP LOVE FRIEDRICH FULL STOP
Poor, sweet Friedrich. He was one of her closest friends. He had been ever since they met as children at the Rheinsteifel Tennis Club more than twenty years ago. She worried about his well-being even more than she did her own. By his reasoning, more people recognized him as a woman than as a man so he would be safe walking the streets as himself. So he had decided to stay. In Berlin. In Germany. In a country whose leaders no longer valued his existence.
Recently, he and several of his fellow performers had had their cabaret cards revoked, which meant they were unable to work in their chosen professions. Most of the others had fled to safer locales. Friedrich had friends on the French Riviera who had offered to take him in for as long as he needed refuge, but he had chosen to remain in Germany. Since he was Jewish, he couldn’t leave the country without leaving ninety percent of his assets behind. He wasn’t willing to add his hard-earned money to the Nazis’ already bulging coffers. So he stayed, risking his life in order to make a stand.
Friedrich’s bravery made Meike feel like a coward. Instead of standing her ground, she was running away. Hoping a change of scenery would improve her outlook if not her prospects.
She felt trapped. Caught between a world she once knew and one she wanted nothing to do with. She didn’t know if she would survive the struggle or become yet another carefully catalogued statistic.
“A penny for your thoughts.”
The accent was American, the voice hauntingly familiar. The sound of both stirred an unexpected longing in Meike. She turned to find Helen Wheeler standing behind her, a pleasant grin on her face and her curly brown hair blowing in the breeze. Even though it had been only a few months since they had played each other in Forest Hills in the final of the US Championships, to Meike, the match felt like a lifetime ago.
“Save your money,” she said. “My thoughts aren’t that valuable. What are you doing on this voyage? I thought you had decided to join the professional tour.”
“And I thought you never ventured south of the equator. The Australian Championships have always been my stomping grounds. You already own the other three majors. You couldn’t leave one for the rest of us?”
Helen’s brash fits of temper on the court always made Meike cringe, but her cheeky sense of humor off it never failed to make her smile. “You didn’t expect me to make it easy on you, did you?”
“Never.”
Helen’s gray-green eyes sparkled as her smile grew wider. Her eyes changed color according to her mood. Green meant she was happy, gray meant she was upset, and a mingling of the two meant something else entirely. Meike had been fortunate enough to witness all three.
“Is Mr. Anderson with you?”
“Swifty? He’s around here somewhere. Before I gave him the slip, he was trying to set up a poker game with a group of swells so he can separate them from their dough. He’ll find me eventually. I can’t walk two steps without his clod hoppers stomping on my heels. Sometimes I feel like I’m Fay Wray and he’s King Kong tearing the city apart trying to find me.”
Meike knew exactly how she felt.
“You are, without doubt, the only person in the world who calls Swifty ‘Mr. Anderson.’ No wonder he likes you so much.”
“I thought his fondness for me was due to my uncanny resemblance to Greta Garbo.”
Meike felt herself begin to relax for the first time since she’d been taken to see the Austrian two months before. Then Oskar spoke up, putting an abrupt end to her brief respite.
“Miss von Bismarck, I really must insist—”
“Coming, Oskar,” Meike said, unable to keep the exasperation from her voice.
“Who’s the muscle?” Helen asked with a disapproving frown.
As far as Meike could tell, Oskar knew absolutely nothing about tennis, so she couldn’t exactly say he was one of her coaches, but how was she supposed to explain his presence in her entourage?
“This is Oskar Henkel. I’m not sure of his official title, but his unofficial function appears to be making sure I don’t have any fun.”
Oskar’s naturally ruddy complexion turned even more flushed as he bit back his anger over not having his order blindly obeyed. She was a citizen, not a soldier. She responded to requests, not commands.
“Well, we can’t have that,” Helen said. “Have dinner with me tonight. I’ll make sure you have more fun than you can shake a stick at.”
Pleasant memories flooded Meike’s mind. Memories she thought she had forgotten but now came rushing back as if she were experiencing them for the first time. Memories of Helen’s skin sliding against hers, warm and welcoming as Meike’s body, in turn, urged Helen to find her way deeper inside. Memories of their lips and tongues coaxing one another higher and higher until they eventually crested and fell spent into each other’s arms. The kind of memories she might not be able to make again. With her life in such turmoil, how could she possibly invite someone into it? Everyone she knew was already in danger. She didn’t want to
put anyone else at risk, whether friend or lover or someone who had once been both.
“Thank you for the invitation, Helen.”
Oskar took Meike by the elbow and gave her arm a warning squeeze. “Yes, thank you very much indeed, Miss Wheeler, but Miss von Bismarck will not be able to join you this evening. She has been invited to sit at the captain’s table for dinner. An invitation which understandably takes precedence over yours.”
Meike resorted to humor to diffuse the growing tension. “I’m afraid the captain is quite enamored of me.”
“Who isn’t?” Despite her smile, Helen’s eyes were deadly serious. They darted from Meike’s face to Oskar’s as if searching for something. “Tell you what,” she said as if she had found what she sought. “If you can’t join me for dinner, I think I’ll join you. Save me a seat at the captain’s table and I’ll see you tonight.”
Oskar gave Meike’s arm another subtle squeeze, but she chose to ignore the warning.
“I look forward to it.”
*
Helen stared in the mirror above the bathroom sink as she knotted her bow tie to make sure both sides of the tie were coming out even. She wasn’t especially vain about her appearance, but tonight she wanted to look good. Her assignment was to capture Meike’s attention and she meant to do just that.
The outfit she had chosen to wear might garner her more attention than she wanted, but it was a price she was willing to pay. Meike liked seeing her in suits, and she was determined to give her what she wanted. And, perhaps, she’d get what she desired in return.
She erased visions of a naked Meike from her mind and returned her attention to the task at hand. The thought of Meike working with the Nazis was ridiculous, but if Uncle Sam wanted to pay her to prove what she already knew, so be it. She just had to remember to keep her heart out of the equation. She was supposed to make Meike fall in love with her, not the other way around. This time, like all the other times, she would be the one walking away, not the one left behind.
Break Point Page 3