Conspiracy of Blood and Smoke

by Anne Blankman

  Time was moving too fast; only six days remained until the Reichstag convened to vote on the Enabling Act. Even now, Göring and his subordinates might be manufacturing evidence against Daniel and bribing witnesses to testify. People who would claim that they’d seen Daniel step out of the gray Mercedes and shoot Fräulein Junge in the head. The men who could have proven that Daniel had been in Munich at the time of the murder were probably in jail or had gone into hiding to evade arrest.

  If he was caught, it would be easy to convict him. Göring had always been an ambitious man, and arranging Daniel’s arrest, trial, and execution would be quite a feather in his cap. In her nightmares, Gretchen could see Daniel walking toward the guillotine, his face pale and resolute. Resting his neck on the wooden bar while the executioner stood beside him. Then the sickening whistle of the blade as it flew down.

  The gangsters’ ball couldn’t arrive quickly enough to suit Gretchen. Friedrich had said that she and Daniel could attend, agreeing that since Göring hadn’t seen Gretchen in years he likely wouldn’t recognize her. There weren’t any other National Socialists who would come. Whatever information Friedrich pried out of Göring, she prayed it would help them track down definitive proof of Daniel’s innocence. Something that Herr Delmer could publish in his English newspaper and use to push Hitler out of the Chancellery. But they had to get the evidence soon. Before Hitler’s control seeped into every aspect of the government and police departments. Before the trap swung shut.

  The night before the ball was the Ring’s weekly meeting. Gretchen and Daniel were in their bedroom, waiting for it to be over so they could try out a different National Socialist–frequented bar. Although they sat inches apart on the edge of the bed, Gretchen felt as far from him as if they were in different rooms. If only he would give her one of his old careless grins, or she knew the right words to say to shorten this distance between them.

  Through the door, she heard the rumble of Friedrich’s voice.

  “Light Fingers Matthias was seen drunk in public. Three marks’ fine. Matthias, that’s the last time, or I’ll have to take your membership pin, do you understand?” He plowed on without waiting for a response. “How’s the insurance scam coming along—what’s the meaning of this interruption?”

  “I beg your pardon,” gasped a girl’s voice. Gretchen sat up, startled. It was Birgit. “But Frau Fleischer wanted me to tell you straightaway—she knows who took Monika’s lockbox. His photograph was in a newspaper. He was shown with Chancellor Hitler.”

  Gretchen’s and Daniel’s eyes met. This is it, he mouthed, and she nodded, her heart racing. At last, they had something tangible to go on.

  “Who is he?” Friedrich’s tone was cold.

  “The paper didn’t mention his name.” Birgit sounded apologetic. “It showed a picture of Hitler making a speech. This fellow was one of the SA men surrounding the podium.”

  Daniel dashed from the room into the parlor, Gretchen following close behind. The room was so full of black-clad men, leaning against the walls or sitting on chairs crammed together, that there was no space for her or Daniel to walk. They stood in the doorway, squinting to see through the wall of cigarette smoke. Friedrich swung around to look at them.

  “These meetings are private affairs,” he growled, but Daniel shook his head.

  “I know how to find out the man’s name.” He glanced at Birgit, who was twisting her hands together anxiously. “What newspaper was it? And what did the SA fellow look like?”

  “Berliner Tageblatt.” Birgit bit her lip, thinking. “Tall. He was wearing an SA uniform, of course. And he was standing on the ground directly below Hitler on the stage, if that helps.”

  “Give me a minute.” Daniel ran into the corridor. Gretchen heard the clicking sound of the telephone earpiece being picked up. Daniel’s voice floated back into the silent parlor, where everybody seemed to be holding their breaths. “Herr Delmer? It’s Cohen. Listen, did you see today’s BT edition? Good. Who’s the tall SA fellow right below Hitler in the photograph? . . . You’re certain? . . . All right, thanks, I owe you a favor. Yes, again.”

  He slammed the earpiece down and raced back into the room. “He’s Helmut Weiss, one of Hitler’s new bodyguards. My friend said that Hitler’s delivering a speech at the Sportpalast tonight and Weiss is sure to be there. If I leave right now, I should be able to get there early enough to talk to him and nip out before Hitler comes in. Hitler always likes to keep the crowd waiting for a few minutes. That’s all the time I should need.”

  “How the devil do you propose tricking one of Hitler’s bodyguards into telling you anything?” Friedrich surged to his feet, his chair scraping over the floorboards. “You’ve got guts, I’ll grant you that, but you’re not a miracle worker.”

  “I won’t need a miracle.” Daniel’s eyes were dark and determined. Gretchen’s heart sank at the sight—he was resolved to do this incredibly dangerous thing. “When I was a reporter in Munich, I talked to dozens of Party men. I know how to get information out of them. Trust me,” he added when Friedrich said nothing.

  “Very well.” Friedrich sighed. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Herr Cohen. Birgit, you’ll go with him, so you can show him which fellow Weiss is. I’m afraid my recruits already have an assignment to break into a watch repair shop tonight, and the rest of us are far too recognizable to show up at a Party speech.”

  Gretchen’s heart thundered in her chest. There was no way she wanted Daniel going without her. But she could still feel the heat of Hitler’s hands as he lifted hers to his lips to kiss. In her mind, she heard the deep cadence of his voice, the words slow at first, then speeding up until they rushed forward like a freight train and she’d had to hold on for dear life. You’re a child, my sunshine, and can’t understand yet the dangers that the Jews pose to our nation. They poison us from within. . . .

  She looked at Daniel, who was talking quietly with Friedrich, and the pressure in her chest eased. Despite everything that had come between them, he was still her Daniel, straightforward and loyal and true. She couldn’t let him go alone, and the danger would be minimal as long as they left before Hitler arrived.

  She found her voice. “I’m going, too.”

  Daniel spun around to stare at her, shaking his head. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, but she said steadily, “You forget that I grew up surrounded by Party men—I know how to handle them, too. I want to help.”

  Then he smiled at her, such a clear, grateful smile that she could almost pretend the uneasiness between them didn’t exist.

  They took an omnibus across the river. It dropped them off on the Potsdamerstrasse and they walked down the street toward a massive white building with the black letters BERLIN SPORTPALAST spelled across its front. Lights blazed from its windows. The indoor stadium was set back from the road, and cars rolled along the pavement, disgorging fashionably attired Berliners, the ladies in furs, the men in camel-hair coats. Others, modestly dressed in rough jackets or plain dresses, strolled in from the street.

  Gretchen and Birgit walked on either side of Daniel. None of them spoke. Gretchen shoved her hands in her coat pockets, so nobody could see how badly they were shaking. Hitler might be here already, sitting in a back room, sipping mineral water and waiting for the moment to make his grand entrance. Or he was being driven through the city, staring out the window at the buildings sliding past, reviewing his planned words in his head.

  He won’t see you, she promised herself. Daniel had been right when he’d said that Hitler liked to keep the crowds waiting for a few minutes. They’d talk to the SA man Weiss and slip out before Hitler entered. Still, her stomach was roiling.

  They joined the groups swarming inside and entered a cavernous room. Enormous swastika banners hung from the ceiling. Hundreds of folding chairs had been set up in rows across the floor, which Daniel had explained during the bus ride lay beneath an ice rink or a bicycle arena on other occasions. A main aisle ran between the rows of seats;
it was lined with poles topped with National Socialist standards—carved metal swastikas surrounded by garlands, with silver eagles perched above.

  Hundreds of people, perhaps as many as a thousand, walked to their seats, chattering with one another. The sight took Gretchen’s breath away. She’d been to the shabby Circus Krone in Munich countless times to watch Hitler talk, but back then the audience had usually consisted of a few hundred people. She had sat in a position of privilege in the front row, so close she could see the sweat pearling on Hitler’s forehead and hear the rasp of his voice. It had been nothing like the spectacle unfurling around her now.

  “That’s him,” Birgit whispered. “Third from the left.”

  A wooden stage had been erected at the stadium’s far end; it contained a dozen chairs and a podium. SA men ringed the stage, their feet wide apart, their arms folded behind their backs, ready to spring forward and drag out hecklers. The fellow who Birgit had indicated was burly and blank-faced. Gretchen suppressed a shudder. Just the sort of brainless hulk that Hitler preferred for his SA troops.

  “Let’s go. Remember to follow my lead.” Daniel wove between the crowds, Gretchen and Birgit following. They stopped a few feet away from Weiss. Birgit fished her compact out of her purse and peered into it, pretending to fuss with her appearance, a ruse they had agreed upon during the bus ride. Gretchen fiddled with her wristwatch, trying to look bored. From the corner of her eye, she watched Daniel amble toward the stage, straining to hear him above the song blaring from the loudspeakers. He looked relaxed, his hands in his pockets.

  “Big crowd tonight,” he said to Weiss, who grunted. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to give me a quote or two? I’ve got to turn in an article tonight to my editor or he’ll have my hide. They’re terrible taskmasters at the Berliner Zeitung.”

  Weiss grunted again. “Filthy rag. Owned by a couple of Jews.”

  “Well, we’ll see how long they can hold on to it.” Daniel flashed him a grin. “My boss has been giving me a rough time ever since that girl got killed in the street a couple of weeks ago—maybe you heard about it. Monika Junge? Shot in the head?”

  Weiss shifted. “You’d better find a seat. The chancellor should be here any minute.”

  “We’ve got time yet.” Daniel stepped closer to Weiss, giving him a conspiratorial smile. “Take pity on me, will you? My boss is convinced that Fräulein Junge’s death is some sort of cover-up, no matter what I say to him. I’ve got to come up with a scoop tonight or he’ll sack me.”

  “Your boss is a fool,” Weiss snapped. “That’s your scoop.”

  “A fool?” Daniel grinned wider while Gretchen watched, her heart in her throat. Be careful, she thought at him, but he continued talking. “Come now! You can’t say something like that without backing it up.” He raised an eyebrow. “I heard you fellows took the girl’s possessions. Sounds significant to me.”

  Weiss leaned closer to Daniel, his face hard. “Tell your boss to drop the story. There’s nothing in it. I know—we were looking for the girl’s diary. Her diary!” He snorted in open disgust. “What sort of task is that for me and my men? We didn’t even find it. Stupid waste of time.”

  “Thanks,” Daniel said cheerfully. “I’ll convince him to find another pet story.”

  Whistling, he strolled away. Birgit looped her arm through Gretchen’s and they followed him, skirting the rows of chairs while Gretchen’s thoughts spun. What secrets were hidden in Fräulein Junge’s diary? And, most important of all, where was it now?

  Most people had sat down, talking quietly with one another. Several yards away policemen in dark blue uniforms guarded the entrance; Gretchen wondered if they were expecting trouble tonight. It was hardly her concern, though. A few more minutes and they would be out of this place.

  The German anthem started up. People stood, turning to look at the back of the stadium. Their arms whipped up in the National Socialist salute.

  “Sieg Heil, Sieg Heil!”

  That was the signal that Hitler was entering the room. Gretchen let out a half-strangled gasp. They were too late. They couldn’t reach the doors and slip outside before Hitler came in. If they tried to leave, they’d attract the attention of the hundreds of people in the stadium.

  The apology was clear on Daniel’s face. There was nothing they could do.

  She would have to see Hitler again.

  Everything in her went hot, then cold, at the thought. Dear God, what if he recognized her? Or she couldn’t control her fear and burst into frantic sobs as soon as she heard his voice? I can’t do this, she thought, but the chorus of Sieg Heils had risen to a roar. Hitler was coming, and there was nowhere she could run.

  Daniel grabbed her hand and tugged her toward a row of seats. She stumbled after him, her knee connecting with the back of a chair. Dimly, she was aware of pain flaring up and down her leg, but she barely felt a thing. She stood woodenly. As if lifted by an invisible string, her arm rose automatically in the Nazi salute. On either side of her, Daniel and Birgit raised their arms, too.

  The shouts of Sieg Heil filled the air. Through the crush of bodies, Gretchen had to strain to see a figure striding down the aisle. He looked to be about average height and wore a brown Party uniform with a red swastika brassard on his right arm. The sloping line of his shoulders was instantly familiar. The blood in her veins turned to ice.

  It was Hitler.

  21

  AS HE CAME CLOSER, HIS IMAGE SHARPENED INTO focus. His face still held that half-starved look she remembered so well. Beneath the stadium’s harsh lights, his cheeks looked pale and paper-thin. Above them, his electric blue eyes were focused on the stage ahead. Brilliantine glistened on his brown hair. The lips that used to kiss her hands were tight lines now—exactly how she recalled he used to set his mouth before launching into a speech, as though he had to hold the stream of words inside. His mustache was the same dark smudge. He didn’t look as though he’d changed at all.

  She shrank back and ducked her head, blood roaring in her ears. All it would take was one glance, and Hitler would recognize her. She and Daniel would never escape. On all sides they were surrounded by Party members who wouldn’t hesitate to kill or beat them.

  Through the strands of her hair, she watched Hitler approach her row. Please don’t look, please don’t look, she begged silently, staying motionless, fearing the slightest movement would catch his eye. As he neared, she glimpsed his uniform—a suit jacket and matching khaki-colored trousers. It was finer than anything she’d seen him wear before. Back in the old days, he’d usually worn a blue serge suit, much mended, but of which he was terribly proud.

  Then he swept past her, and her legs turned to water. She grabbed the chair in front of her for support. Ahead, he climbed the steps to the stage. The thousand or so people were screaming now. “Sieg Heil, Sieg Heil!” Hitler looked down at them sternly, then saluted them. The people shouted louder. “Heil, Heil!”

  Hitler raised both of his hands. The crowd immediately quieted and sat down. Mechanically, Gretchen sat, too. There are a few hundred people between us, she told herself. I’m not afraid.

  It was a lie. The pressure on her chest was so heavy she feared she was going to pass out. Daniel’s good hand found hers and gripped it hard.

  “The great epoch for which we have waited for so long is finally upon us,” Hitler said. The loudspeakers magnified his voice so it sounded as though there were dozens of Hitlers speaking all around the stadium in unison. Gretchen wanted to cover her ears. He sounded different; there was a scratchiness to his voice that she hadn’t heard before. Perhaps he’d damaged his throat by screaming so much during speeches, as her mother had warned him.

  “Germany has awakened,” he continued. “For years, our great nation has struggled against the perils of democracy, of parliamentarianism, of Communism. Those political systems pledge freedom, but their promises are illusory.

  “The Communists’ goal is the destruction of all non-Jewish nations.” Hitl
er shook his fist in the air. Gretchen remembered seeing him practice the same movement while Papa nodded admiringly. The whole thing was nothing more than a carefully orchestrated performance. “The Communists’ cowardly act of setting fire to the Reichstag was a God-given signal that a new epoch in German history is upon us! Through all of the Communists’ assaults, we have remained steadfast and strong. The virtue that has sustained us is bravery. That is what will assure us of our eventual victory!”

  With each word, he spoke faster and louder until he was almost screaming. He leaned over the podium, clutching its sides, strands of sweat-dampened hair hanging over his forehead. His face had turned bright red. The audience roared its approval.

  “Beat the Red Front to pulp!” a group of men in SA brown shouted from a few rows behind Gretchen. It was the same rallying cry she’d heard during countless speeches over the years, after Hitler had warned the audience about the dangers their strongest political opponents, the Communists, posed. Once she had shouted those words, too, convinced that Communism was like a foul disease stretching across the Russian steppes to infect so many European countries. Now she understood why Hitler hated the Communists so much: They were strong and they were in his way.

  Hitler raised his hand, signaling that he wanted silence. A hush fell over the crowd. “Communism,” he said slowly, “is the product of Jewish minds. The time has come at last to expose the Communists as the foul Jews and cowards that they are! Germany awake!”

  “Germany awake, perish the Jew!” the audience chanted back. It was the same phrase Gretchen had heard and parroted when she was younger, little realizing the meaning behind it. Not understanding that Hitler was saying that if Germany wanted to survive, then its Jews had to die.