Tamara, however, had resisted. She did not seem to be afraid of him. Most women would sleep with him because of what he represented, not because of who he was. This one, he thought, might be different.
Before he got too carried away by Miss Toumanova's beauty, he reminded himself that there was a war on against the Russians, and when victory came she might have to suffer along with the rest of her countrymen. A pity, but it could not be helped. Besides, the Germans had been told to expunge the word“pity” from their vocabulary. It was weak, it was Western, it was Jewish. Mercilessness must be the hallmark of the New World Order, lest the world think less of its conqueror.
“Do you see that tower, there?” he asked her, pointing out the window and into the courtyard of the castle.“It used to be a prison; perhaps it will be necessary to make it so again someday. It is called Dalibor Tower after its most famous inmate, who had been condemned to death and was incarcerated there for many months while his fate was being sealed. To console himself, Dalibor spent hours each day playing his violin, with such surpassing beauty—or so the story goes; these Slavs are such sentimentalists—that people would come from all over the city to hear him play. On the day of his execution, thousands turned out to see him die, weeping copiously.”
“Surely,” Ilsa said softly,“he could not have played more beautifully than you.”
“But,” said Heydrich,“on the day of my death, will so many weep?”
No, thought Ilsa, but her lips spoke otherwise.“Let us not have these morbid thoughts on such an auspicious occasion,” she said.“Shall we greet our guests?”
That was why he preferred Tamara to the hundreds of other women available to him. Because she could appreciate his genius—yes, his artistic genius—when few others could. They said—those Jews in Halle—he would never be good enough. Look at him now: ruler of all he surveyed and accompanied by the most beautiful woman in Europe.
How glad he was that she was with him on this important evening. Several of the military leaders and party officials would be present, including General Keitel, Admiral Dönitz, and Himmler, as well as that Austrian pig Kaltenbrunner, who probably plotted against him in his sleep. The real generals, Heydrich thought as he examined the brass buttons on his tunic for signs of smudged polish, unfortunately would not be there. They would be fighting on the Russian front: men like Guderian, the Panzer commander, and von Paulus, who was even now driving on Stalingrad—men who were actually carrying the fight to the enemy, instead of strutting in Berlin.
He studied his reflection in his shoes.
That evening, the lights of the castle blazed as never before. As the guests departed, they all proclaimed that never had they seen such an elegant gathering. The Protector came in for the most extravagant praise, for the quality of the guest list (and with a war on!), for the distinction of the food (and with a war on!), for the elegance of the ladies (and with a war on!), and most of all, for the loveliness of his companion, the enigmatic Tamara Toumanova, descendent of the Czar of all the Russias, whose comeliness was surely unsurpassed in Prague, Bohemia, or even, according to some (who perhaps had imbibed too frequently of the French champagne), in all of Germany itself.
How lovely she looked tonight in her scarlet dress! they all told him.
As for his own clothes, he preferred gray.
Across the river, Rick Blaine saw the lights of the castle.“Live it up, you Nazi bastards,” he said.
“Now, Ricky, let's not be jealous,” said Renault, puffing on a Gauloises. He loved the name—”Gallic girls.” It reminded him of his favorite subject.“There are very probably some extremely beautiful women up there. In a happier time, our task would be to lure them down here.” He laughed bitterly, more at his former self than anything.“The thought of those German hands on such lovely creatures … It's a crime against nature, is what it is.”
Renault saw his friend wasn't paying attention.“Well, good night. Be sure to get plenty of rest tonight. Somehow I suspect tomorrow's going to be a very busy day.”
Rick said nothing as Renault departed, but continued staring at the castle until the last light had gone out and everybody had gone home to bed.
Ilsa Lund returned with Reinhard Heydrich to his villa that night. She had no choice.
“Etwas trinken?” he asked, not waiting for an answer. One of his stewards had already poured them each a glass of champagne.
Ilsa didn't want any, but she thought it best not to refuse. She had managed to get by at the party by sipping a little of her drinks and then discreetly pouring most of them into some houseplants. She needed all her wits about her now.
They toasted each other. She let him lead.“To the most magnificent hostess in the Reich,” said Heydrich.
“To a wonderful party,” she said as they clinked glasses.
They drank in silence.
“Another?” asked Heydrich, beckoning to the servant.
“No, please,” she said gaily.“It's going right to my head, and I’ve had so much already.” She threw her champagne flute into the fireplace and listened with satisfaction as it shattered.
Heydrich followed suit, flinging his glass into the hearth.“The finest blown glass, from Rattenberg in the Ostmark.” He laughed, using the Nazis’ new name for Austria.“How easily we consign it to dust!”
He collapsed into an armchair and sat appraising her. He was largely drunk, and very dangerous. She was mostly sober, and even deadlier.
“Stand by the window, that I may savor your beauty in the moonlight,” he commanded her, and turned to the butler.“That will be all, Ottokar,” he said.“Tell the staff they may retire for the night. All of them.” The manservant gave the Nazi salute and bowed gravely as he backed out of the room.
They were alone now and facing each other across the room like hunter and prey.“See how das deutsche Reich greets its future Führer.”
“Führer?” she asked playfully.“But surely—”
“No.” Heydrich laughed.“There is nothing wrong with Adolf Hitler. May he live a hundred years! But our Führer is a wise man, and he realizes that every leader, no a successor. I am proud to say that he has given me reason to believe that, in his eyes and in his heart, I am that man. I intend to prove myself worthy of that great honor. Imagine: the opportunity to complete the glorious work begun by the Greatest Field Marshall of All Time, Adolf Hitler!”
She glimpsed a condescending little smile, and in a flash she knew that, even were she the real Tamara Toumanova, even were she a member of the noblest family in Russia, she would still be in his eyes only a Slav, a slave, and there would never be any place for her in his world, or in the New World Order the Nazis had planned.
The window was open, and the night was chilly. She shivered, unprotected in her evening dress. Heydrich rose and snaked one long arm around her quivering form.“What is it, my little treasure?” he asked“There is nothing to fear. Not with me to protect you.”
With terrible clarity, she knew exactly what to say.“Oh, but there is!” she cried.“There is everything to fear.”
Heydrich laughed at her as if she were a child, afraid of the dark.“There now,” he began, and got no farther.
“They are going to kill you!” she exclaimed.
“Who?” asked Heydrich. He laughed dismissively.
“The partisans,” she told him.“They are going to bomb your car on the way to the castle tomorrow. On the Cechuv Most.”
“The Cechuv Most, you say?” he asked warily.“How would they know I have been planning to change my route?”
The moment of maximum danger was here. How many other people had he told about his intention? If she was the only one, then she was as good as dead. Please, she prayed, let there be someone else.
In a flash, he had spun her around. His grip was not so tender anymore, and the contemptuous smile was gone from his thin lips.“How do you know this?” he demanded.
“There's a traitor in your office,” she said.“Someone close to y
ou. Someone very close.”
He had to believe it. He had to.
She took a deep breath.“Someone who has decided to betray you: Frau Hentgen.” All her chips were on one number, and she hoped it was lucky.
“That is impossible,” said Heydrich.“Frau Hentgen has been with me since my arrival in Prague. She is a valuable servant of the Reich. Why would she betray me?”
He spoke confidently, but Ilsa could see a tiny flame of mistrust in his eyes. All she had to do was fan it.“She is jealous of you. She is jealous of me. She is jealous of us.”
“Bah!” snorted Heydrich.“Frau Hentgen is beyond such petty emotions as jealousy. Those are for other, lesser women.”
Ilsa saw her opening and made a silent prayer of thanks.“She is still a woman, though,” she reminded him.“And you are a man. The most glorious man in the Third Reich.”
Heydrich looked at her warily, trying to decide what to believe. Ilsa could sense him teetering. All he needed was a little push.
She pushed.“Oh, Reinhard,” she said.“Until tonight, I didn't know how to tell you of my suspicions. I was afraid you wouldn't believe me. I needed proof. This afternoon, I got it.”
She unfolded the piece of paper Helena had given her.“I found this on her desk. In her haste she must have forgotten it.”
The blue parrot. Operation Hangman. Tell London. Danger.
“I checked immediately with our network of informers, of course,” she went on.“The details are still sketchy, but what is clear is that ‘Operation Hangman’ is an assassination plot, directed from London, and spearheaded in Prague by—”
Heydrich slammed his fist against the wall so hard, it nearly made her jump.“Die verdammte Sau!” he roared.“I have suspected something like this for some time. There have been unexplained leaks, unaccountable security lapses.” His eyes grew very small.“That business in the Böhmenwald, for example. How did they know we were coming?”
She took her cue.“Frau Hentgen,” she said.
“No.” He shook his head.“Frau Hentgen is only a functionary. This conspiracy goes much higher.”
He began to pace furiously around the room.“Kaltenbrunner,” he said at last, trying to shake the muzziness from his head.“I might have known better than to trust any Austrians. They are innately treacherous. To think he came here tonight, to enjoy my hospitality, to sit at my table, to drink my wine!”
Ernst Kaltenbrunner: the tall, ugly, pockmarked killer whose appearance filled everyone with loathing. A sadist who was known to torture his victims personally. The deputy who wanted his boss's job. The man who would be Heydrich.
“Yes, that must be it,” she said conspiratorially.“Kaltenbrunner. She is working with him against you. He hates you and he wants your job, but he is too much the jackal to try to take it from you. That is why he is working with the British. So no one will suspect him.”
He stormed over to the telephone, a direct line to the castle. He spoke quietly, but rapidly and angrily.
“I have just ordered the arrest of Frau Hentgen,” he told Ilsa after he had hung up.“She will be interrogated in the morning. Thoroughly.” An evil smile played across his mouth.“Perhaps there will soon be a senior position available in my office.”
“What about Kaltenbrunner?” she breathed. She didn't have to fake her eagerness for his blood, too.
“That I cannot do,” Heydrich replied.“Not just yet. But soon.”
He went to a cabinet, rummaged around, and came up with two more champagne glasses. Unsteadily he poured them full and handed one to Ilsa.
“We must drink,” he said.“To the late Frau Hentgen!” He downed his at once, tossing his head back to drain the glass, which gave Ilsa time to empty hers out the window, unnoticed.
She rushed to embrace him.“Magnificent,” she said.
To her surprise, he put up his hands to hold her off.“Perhaps I should order your arrest, too,” he said.
“What?” gasped Ilsa. In his eyes she could see mistrust mixed with desire.
“I did not become chief of the Reich security service by being careless. One should always interrogate all witnesses. A night spent in my custody would be good for both of us,” he said, trying not to slur his words.
He grabbed her. He tore at her dress, he kissed her violently, he ran his hands up and down her body.
For a brief moment she was tempted to give in. Why not? He was in the trap now and had to be drawn in even more tightly, until he suffocated in it. Then she thought of Victor. Then she thought of Rick.
She slapped his face, hard.“Stop!” she cried“Do you think I am one of your whores?”
He loosened his grasp.“Aren't all women?” he sneered.
“If I were,” she said gently,“if I were only a whore, would Frau Hentgen hate me so?”
He said nothing.
“If I were only a whore, would you want me so?”
Heydrich released her and sat down heavily on the floor.“You are a witch,” he sighed,“who has enchanted me.” He laughed bitterly.“See how the Protector cowers before you.”
She tried to control her revulsion as she stroked his hair.
“Do you love me?” he asked.
“Why else would I be trying to save your life?” she replied.
Now she could see him for what he was. The mask of the beast had fallen away. She no longer felt guilty about what was going to happen to him. It would be a mercy killing.
She bent down and raised his face to hers. His unreasoning desire was his Achilles’ heel, and now, like Paris of Troy, she was going to shoot her arrow into it and kill him.
She took aim and fired.“A man called Victor Laszlo is behind it,” she whispered.
Her words had the effect she desired. The Protector's eyes were on fire once more.“Laszlo!” he spat.“That pathetic weakling! The Feigling who runs from the very sound of my name! Who prints the foulest lies about me and the Reich and thinks himself a hero! I will kill him with my bare hands!”
Now, at last, she knew why Victor had been protecting her all this time. She felt a sudden, urgent stab of love for her husband.
Unsteadily Heydrich rose to his feet. She could feel his breath on her face, smell his cologne, see his hatred, and taste his fear as he grasped her for support.
“This Laszlo is a dangerous man,” said Ilsa.“Send your best men to the Cechuv Most. Station them there to watch for him. You and I, however, will be at the Charles Bridge tomorrow.”
Heydrich flailed the air with his fists.“I will not run! I will not let Laszlo think that I am afraid of him. The true Aryan flees from no man!”
“You are not fleeing,” she assured him.“You are sparing the people who love you from unpleasantness. What does it matter if you cross the Cechuv Most the next day, or the next week? In the Thousand-Year Reich, that is but the blink of an eye. You have all the time in the world. Victor Laszlo will sleep for eternity.”
He looked at her in defeat.“Make love with me,” he begged.
“No,” she said.“This is not a time for love. This is a time for hatred.”
He drew himself up, struggling for his dignity.“You are right,” he said.“A German must put aside weak emotions like lust in favor of the grander passions. I shall order my men to the Cechuv Most. You shall stay here tonight, and ride with me over the Charles Bridge in the morning, that all Prague might see the Protector and his consort together!”
Stiffly he bade her good night.“Hear this, however: If my men find nothing on the Cechuv Most, you will die. If anything untoward happens on the Charles Bridge, I shall kill you myself.”
He offered her a formal bow.“Sleep well, Fräulein Toumanova.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
In the early dawn light of May 27, 1942, Hradcany Castle looked like something out of one of Franz Kafka's dreams. Then Rick remembered that it wasn't Kafka's dream at all, but Kafka's nightmare. Rick hoped his experience would have a happier ending, but he wasn't optimistic.
&n
bsp; Even in late May, a chill was in the air. Nobody was up or about. There were no cars in the streets, no subways rumbling underfoot, no newsboys hawking bulldog editions, no colored cleaning ladies trudging home to their families, no Italian greengrocers washing down the produce for the opening of business, no Irish train conductors in freshly pressed uniforms heading over to Pennsylvania Station for the first run down to Baltimore, not even any cops, idly chatting up the late-shift drabs in Times Square and hungrily awaiting the opening of the bakeries in a hour.
This is not the way it would be in New York, thought Rick. He was suddenly terribly homesick.
As he stood there, looking up at the castle, his mind raced back to a legend his mother had taught him when he was small. It was the story of the Golem of Prague, Rabbi Loew's mythical creation who righted the many wrongs committed against the Jews of medieval Prague. In Yiddish, a golem was also an unlettered, half-formed creature, a robot, a fool. How well all those adjectives described him. Fine: from this moment on, he would be the Golem of Prague come to life once more.
At last he had found a cause worth dying for. Only this time he had no intention of doing so.
Ilsa was awakened by one of Heydrich's maids.“The master is impatient,” she said.“The master is always impatient.”resser read precisely 7:00 A.M. She would have to move quickly to be ready when the car left at 7:25. The Protector was never late, even for his own demise. She dressed quickly.
She had to wear the same dress she had worn last night. If she had to die, she wished she could do so in something fresh, something pure, but she had not been planning to sleep at the villa. Perhaps this way was better, though: that she should perish not in blue, but in scarlet. She only hoped that Victor would forgive her as he threw the bomb. That he would have the courage to do so, she had no doubt.
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