by Layton Green
After finishing his coffee, he strolled past the line of bicycles in front of his hotel, heading toward the city center. He cut through the busy train station and walked east on Vesterbrogade, past the whimsical arched entryway to the Tivoli amusement park. The pleasure ground was legendary throughout Europe, and as the cries of delighted children floated to his ears, it brought a wave of nostalgia for his own childhood, as well as a stab of regret for not having wed.
How very human we are, he mused. My heart lies with science, yet the cry of joy of a single child, flying through the air from a Ferris wheel, makes me reconsider my entire life in an instant.
Copenhagen was a flat, immensely walkable city. Quite different from Rome and Leipzig, the Danish capital managed to be both cosmopolitan and bohemian, progressive yet laced with tradition. The contradictions fascinated Ettore. He also liked that the city did not take itself too seriously, smug with the superiority of its own culture, as Germany and Italy were.
Ettore did not consult a map but let himself wander through the cobblestone streets. He felt bewildered by the crush of people on Strøget, the main pedestrian artery through town, yet once he entered the narrow lanes veering off in every direction, he became lost in the ivy-covered walls and courtyards, enjoying the street musicians and jugglers, the spray of fountains and the aroma of fresh pastries, the stiff but reviving breeze that carried the tang of sea air, the parks and quiet cafés. The lack of tall buildings imparted a rare feeling of intimacy for a European capital.
After passing through the university district, he made his way toward a cylindrical brick tower jutting above the city like a giant thimble. This was the Rundetaarn, or Round Tower, the beloved landmark that everyone told Ettore he simply must visit. Not one to dwell on historical facts, he knew little about the seventeenth-century edifice except that it boasted great views of the city and housed one of Europe’s oldest observatories.
Inside, a ramp of inlaid brick—broad enough for a motor vehicle—spiraled upward around the whitewashed core. There were no stairs in sight. It was quite a unique building. As he set foot on the walkway, someone touched him on the shoulder from behind, startling him. His surprise turned to shock when he turned to find Stefan’s piercing blue eyes glittering with amusement from beneath a tweed cap.
“A fine morning for a walk, ja?”
A familiar double-breasted woolen coat wrapped the German’s tall and lean figure, all the way to the tops of his black boots. Ettore noticed the military insignia was nowhere in sight, and wondered if Stefan had removed it or owned more than one coat.
“I admit it is, but what are you doing here?”
Stefan studied him for a moment. “This is your first time to the tower?”
“Yes.”
“Then come. Let us talk above the city.”
As the German officer led the way into the higher reaches of the observatory, Ettore followed behind, drawn as always by the man’s hypnotic charisma.
I wonder if some human beings exert more gravitational pull than others. Or perhaps the source is not gravity, but the mysterious body of energy that surrounds us all, repelling and attracting the spirit rather than the corporeal body. How else to explain the ability of men like Adolf Hitler to bend a nation to their will?
The slope on the long and winding ramp was quite gentle. Along the way, windows recessed into oval archways provided excellent viewing points, as well as nooks that sheltered delighted children hiding from their parents. Halfway up the tower, Ettore and Stefan passed an open door that led to a connecting corridor.
Ettore stopped to peer inside. Displayed in glass cases were a variety of historical objects: a sextant, an old copper globe, a collection of antique telescopes, and a set of crossed stone keys. A star map on the wall connected the constellations with dotted yellow lines.
“When the tower complex was first built,” Stefan said, “this corridor led to a library, which housed the entire collection of the university. The width of the ramp allowed a horse and carriage to transport books to the library, as well as instruments to the observatory.”
“Remarkable,” Ettore said, though he was not that interested.
“Do you believe public libraries should provide access to all books, Ettore?”
When he glanced over at Stefan, surprised by the non sequitur, he found the German affixing him with an intense stare. “Why wouldn’t I?” Ettore said.
“Perhaps because you have never thought deeply about the question.”
“Oh,” he said, flustered. “Do you not agree?”
“Is some knowledge not unfit for public consumption?”
“I don’t believe banning literature is beneficial to society. I’ve heard it rumored that the Nazis”—Ettore couldn’t help glancing with distaste at the sleeve where Stefan normally bore his military rank—“wish to make a bonfire of literature that conflicts with their myopic worldview.”
Stefan caught the downward glance. “Yes, of course that’s an affront, a buffoon’s attempt to silence his critics. An easy target. But what of morally reprehensive books that might offend the sensibilities of women and children? Books illustrating the sexual practices of various cultures or discussing in detail the perversions of man? Books containing explicit descriptions of violence?”
“Yes, I suppose you’re right. There should be some limits.”
“Do not simply agree with me, Ettore. You should think long and hard about this question. It is one of the most important mankind has to answer.”
“Is that so?” Ettore said, unable to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.
There was a knowing light in Stefan’s eyes, as if he had anticipated Ettore’s rebuff. “You are more aware than most of the incredible advances of science in recent years. Every day, we unlock more and more of Mother Nature’s secrets. I ask you: Should a library contain the recipes for deadly poisons and chemical weapons that can be manufactured in the home? The blueprints for every single detail of our capital cities? What if someone were to prepare a vat of phosgene and mustard gas and unleash it in a subway in Rome or London or New York City?”
“What a horrible thought! But, yes, I . . . I suppose you have a point there.”
“And what of your own field of study?” Stefan’s lips parted in a grim, humorless smile. “Tell me, Ettore: Should we teach every man and woman on the street how to split the atom?”
“That is an impossible task, outside of a handful of institutions.”
“Is it?” he said calmly, which took Ettore aback. “But that doesn’t answer my question. We both know the technology will one day be far more accessible. The query remains: Should we teach such a thing? Do we make all knowledge accessible to the general public?”
“Perhaps not every form,” Ettore mumbled.
“Oh, no? Who are you to judge! Why should you become a censor and not Adolf Hitler, or a farmer from Lower Saxony, or a bushman from an indigenous culture in the Amazon jungle?”
The German’s rebuke confused Ettore. He had never met anyone so unpredictable. “Because I have experience with these technologies. I understand the awesome potential of their power,” Ettore said.
“And?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Are you so arrogant to think the ramifications of this awesome ‘power’ cannot be explained to others? Did you yourself create the atom? Why should your position as a scientist give you the moral high ground? Should not the public decide? The church? The state? A body of international observers? A committee of farmers and bushmen? Who, Ettore?”
Ettore opened his hands, flustered, but said nothing. Stefan chuckled and clapped him on the shoulder. “I was not seeking an answer, my friend. At least not today.” His penetrating gaze locked Ettore in place, making him feel as if he were the most important person in the world. “I ask only that you consider the implications of these questions for yourself,” he said gravely, “as you go about your work. Agreed?”
Ettore shrugged. “Agreed.”
They continued upward, stopping to peer inside the planetarium before accessing the observation deck via a claustrophobic stone staircase at the top of the tower. Ettore appreciated the metaphor of the long walk up the ramp to the observatory, spiraling into the heart of the cosmos.
As they exited onto an open-air viewing platform surrounded by a wrought-iron lattice and buffeted by the wind, they saw below them the city unveiled: its canals and palaces and green copper spires, chimneys and sloping red roofs, the gossamer blue table of the sea. Stefan pointed to the east. “Over there is the tip of Sweden. This morning is a rare treat.”
Ettore squinted into the haze, wrinkling his nose as the wind carried a whiff of cloying perfume from a trio of older women. “I didn’t realize it was that close.”
“Ja, only a few kilometers.” After absorbing the view for a while, Stefan continued, “How are you finding the institute?”
“It’s adequate. Niels is a bit tiresome, to be honest.”
“Isn’t he considered one of the founding fathers of quantum mechanics?”
“I suppose, if one’s father is rather senile, drinks beer like a dockworker, and is grumpier than a babushka.”
Stefan gave a hearty laugh and led him across the wooden planking to a more isolated section of the deck. Quietly, out of earshot of any listeners, he said, “We need your help, Ettore.”
“Who does?” he said absently.
“The Leap Year Society.”
A hiccup of disbelief escaped Ettore, until he looked over at Stefan and saw how very serious he was. “Help with what?”
“With an important mission.”
“I don’t understand. What kind of mission?”
“Do you trust me, Ettore?”
“I don’t really know, to be honest.”
“That’s fair. You need validation. Something to prove I am not simply a master of spirited rhetoric, or perhaps even insane.”
It’s as if he can read my thoughts. “I suppose, yes,” Ettore said faintly.
Stefan gripped the railing as he stared out at the city. “You have asked me before how I can wear the uniform of an SS officer. I can tell you now—I had to learn to trust you as well—that our society is working to subvert the Nazis from within. The elections in Germany were rigged, and Hitler has seized full power. He is a cancer that must be stopped. There are things happening in my country—depravities—of which the public does not yet know. Corruptions you would not believe attributable to the mind of man. The Nazis must be deterred, Ettore.”
“I cannot disagree. But what can I possibly do?”
“Right now, a small but important task. Everyone who seeks justice has a role of some kind to play—never forget that.”
“What sort of task?”
“Help us with this, and I promise you will be granted membership to the Leap Year Society. Not in some indeterminate future, but before you leave Copenhagen.”
“What—the Society is here too?”
Stefan’s eyes gleamed in the rising sun.
That evening, according to Stefan’s instructions, Ettore stepped out to meet a black coupe de ville with curved fenders that pulled in front of his hotel at precisely ten.
Tonight, Ettore thought, we shall see if he is mad or not.
When the rear passenger door opened, he saw Stefan waving him in, clad in a pair of wool trousers and a crisp white shirt, his overcoat folded across his lap. The driver was invisible through a partition of smoky glass separating him from the passenger section. Ettore found that odd—he had never seen such a thing before—but said nothing.
Stefan offered him port and a cigar, which Ettore declined. After a few minutes of small talk, the German was uncharacteristically quiet as he puffed on his cigar and sipped from a fluted glass. When questioned about their destination, he said it was better to wait, and that all would be revealed in due course.
Highly curious and more than a little uneasy, Ettore consigned himself to riding in silence as the car left Copenhagen and entered the Danish countryside. The towns and road signs grew sparse, the road turned rough and narrow. A gibbous moon revealed glimmers of flat grasslands dotted with lakes and forests, as well as the occasional church steeple marking the presence of some shuttered village.
Judging by the long drive and the direction they had left Copenhagen, Ettore’s limited geographical knowledge of the region told him they must be nearing the southern tip of Zealand, the main island. Where in God’s name was Stefan taking him? Was he about to be kidnapped and ferried across the border, held hostage in Berlin while forced to develop advanced weaponry for the Nazis?
Just before midnight, Ettore thought he was dreaming when they pulled into a long, paved drive that led to a fairy-tale castle backlit by a starry sky. He blinked twice. The castle was still there.
Though small, the fortification was quite fetching, tall and elegant and graced with a forest of spires and conical towers. Instead of taking the bridge across the moat, the driver veered down a service road, parking beside a high wall covered in ivy. Stefan exited the vehicle, switched on a brass flashlight, and beckoned for Ettore to follow. The driver waited inside, still unseen.
After passing through an iron gate set farther down the wall, they entered a landscaped portion of the castle grounds marked by fountains, dormant flower beds, and rows of cypress. The smell of damp soil settled in Ettore’s nostrils. Stefan led them to the far side of the gardens, where they passed through another iron gate and entered a passage lined on both sides with a hedge of sharp holly, which rose well above their heads. As the passage twisted and turned and split off in multiple directions, Ettore realized they were inside a hedge maze.
“It’s designed on sacred geometry,” Stefan said in a low voice as they walked.
“What is sacred about geometry?”
“Do you not find order in the grand design? What is not sacred about geometry?”
“I suppose it depends on your meaning of ‘sacred.’”
“I’ll allow that ‘sacred’ means different things to different people, but it doesn’t change the nature of the word. Whatever one believes, the incredible repetition of certain shapes and proportions is a fact of nature. The plants in this very garden are brimming with the Fibonacci sequence. The shells of the snails that eat the plants reflect the spiral arms of the galaxies. Repeating patterns are the law of the natural world, of the universe itself. Infinite symmetry. You should know this better than I, Ettore.”
Ettore smiled to himself. He knew a very great deal about such things. He was only being contrary and had wanted to hear what Stefan had to say. “Is there a particular geometric inspiration for the design of this garden?
“The vortex,” Stefan said softly, after a moment.
“And why is that?”
But the German never answered.
They probed the maze for at least half an hour. Despite the confidence with which Stefan guided them, Ettore began to wonder if they were lost. As he grew more and more nervous, realizing he had yet to see another human being in close proximity to Stefan besides the thugs in Leipzig, not even the face of their driver, Ettore was relieved when they rounded a corner and saw two middle-aged men conversing by the light of a kerosene lamp hanging from the hedge. The passage dead-ended where the men were standing.
“One thing,” Stefan whispered as he and Ettore approached the men. “Do not mention the Leap Year Society.”
“Why not? Are they not part—”
Stefan silenced him with a finger. “They are. But you are not. Just follow my lead, please.”
Feeling rather like a devoted beagle, Ettore shadowed Stefan as he entered the clearing and greeted the two men. Ettore caught his breath when Stefan introduced the taller of the two—a spindly, dark-haired man with kind eyes and a widow’s peak that formed a narrow isthmus down his forehead—as a member of the Danish royal family. A prince, no less, whose face Ettore remembered from a portrait at the Copenhagen
institute. He was very respected among the Danes, and his presence lent gravitas to the midnight meeting, as well as raising Ettore’s estimation of Stefan.
The German soldier bowed to the prince and shook hands with the other man, whom he introduced by title instead of name: a senior member of the US State Department. Despite their prestigious positions, both men seemed to hold Stefan in high regard.
When Ettore himself was introduced, the two men shook his hand with respect, nodding gravely as Stefan summarized his scientific accomplishments.
“It’s an honor,” the prince said, causing Ettore to blush in the shadows of the kerosene lamp. “I’m the scientific liaison to the crown and am kept well apprised of the institute. Niels speaks very highly of you.”
“He does?”
Stefan blew on his hands as he studied the high walls of the maze. “I trust there is no possibility of interference?”
“The castle is nearly empty this weekend,” the prince said, “and this corner of the maze was designed expressly for this purpose. No other passages are within reach of eyes or ears.”
“I’ve checked for listening devices myself,” the American added. He was much more businesslike than the prince.
As Stefan nodded in satisfaction, the prince bent to pick up a padlocked leather attaché case. “The documents are in order,” he said, then shocked Ettore by holding it out to him. Unsure what to do, Ettore sensed Stefan’s stare boring into him and felt he had no choice but to take the attaché case.
“Thank you,” Stefan said to the prince. “It will reach its destination safely.”
The prince addressed Ettore. “Your assistance in this matter is greatly appreciated. You’re doing the crown—and the people of Denmark—a great favor.”
Ettore had no idea what they were talking about but sensed that Stefan wanted him to play along. “It’s my pleasure,” he murmured.
After a round of handshakes, the meeting adjourned, and Ettore found himself returning through the hedge maze with his friend, fraught with questions. Once they were settled in the car again, on the way back to Copenhagen, Stefan calmly lit another cigar and cracked the window to expel the thick smoke as he puffed.