Conspiracy of Blood and Smoke

by Anne Blankman

  Birgit. She looked beseechingly at Gretchen. “My ankle,” she gasped.

  Gretchen grabbed Birgit around the waist and hauled her to her feet. “Come on,” she panted. Birgit draped her arm across Gretchen’s shoulders and they half ran, half hobbled through the woods, finally bursting through the last line of firs. They struggled forward, stumbling on the ice-encrusted grass. Birgit started to fall again. Gritting her teeth, Gretchen yanked her up.

  Directly ahead, Delmer’s car sat beside the road. They staggered toward it. Gretchen flung the back passenger door open. She pushed Birgit inside, throwing herself after her, half falling across the seat. She heard a wrench of metal as someone ripped open the front door—she bolted upright and saw it was Delmer—and jumped in. The car started with a throaty rumble and shot forward, its tires skidding on the grass for an instant until they reached the smooth pavement of the road.

  Beside Delmer, the front seat was empty.

  PART FOUR

  TORCHLIGHT

  Whoever lights the torch of war in Europe can wish for nothing but chaos.

  —Adolf Hitler

  29

  “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” GRETCHEN SCREAMED AT Delmer. “Daniel’s still back there!”

  “Do you think I don’t know that?” he snapped. “He didn’t run. He stayed behind to fight them.”

  She whipped her head around. Through the rear window, she could see the trees, and beyond them, the dark shapes of men ranged in a circle, their arms raising again and again as they hit at something on the sand. Daniel.

  “We have to go back!” Gretchen yelled. “We can’t leave him there—he’ll be killed!”

  “We can’t! They’ll kill us, too.”

  As Gretchen watched, several SA men broke away from the circle around Daniel and plunged into the forest, running toward them. They were shouting something—it sounded like “Stop!”—but they were too far away for her to hear them clearly. The men rapidly shrank as Delmer’s automobile shot down the road.

  “Turn the car around!” Gretchen lunged over the front seat, trying to grab for the steering wheel. “We have to help Daniel!”

  “Sit down!” Delmer barked. Keeping one hand on the wheel, he reached and shoved her away, his fist connecting with her shoulder, then her neck, so hard that she lost her breath and fell back into her seat. “Do you want us to die, too? Because that’s what will happen if we go return.”

  She tried to reply, but her neck ached where he had pushed her, and she started coughing instead, tears coming to her eyes. She sucked in a lungful of air and felt it burning as it traveled down her throat. Birgit stared at her, white-faced.

  “I can’t leave him!” Gretchen gasped out.

  “You go back, and you’ll be dead, and you won’t be able to help him at all,” Delmer said. He drove so fast that the tires squealed on the road. Through the windows, the trees streaked past, an endless haze of black. He glanced at her, his eyes wild. “I’m sorry.”

  “Stop the car. I’ll get out.” She would have to be close, within at least fifty yards of the men, if she wanted her aim to be accurate. She looked down at the gleaming metal of the gun and knew she couldn’t possibly hit all of the SA men before some of them reached her. It didn’t matter. She would shoot as many of them as she could, providing a distraction so Daniel could get away.

  “I won’t send a young girl to her death!” Delmer cried.

  She grabbed the door handle and pushed. It was hard to open; the car was barreling so fast down the road that the wind pressed on the door like an iron weight, and she had to strain with all of her might. The door opened a foot. She leaned out a little. The wind tossed her hair over her face, so she saw the road rushing below through a screen of brown strands. The car was going too quickly; there was no way she could jump out without breaking her legs, forced to lie, helpless, along the road until someone found her.

  She screamed in frustration and slammed the door closed. “Please,” she begged Delmer. “I have to go to Daniel.”

  Delmer glanced at her. “Do you think Herr Cohen didn’t know what he was doing? He never ran. He sacrificed himself to save us. To save you, I should say. You won’t help him by going back; you’ll only sign your own death warrant.”

  “No!” Gretchen shouted. “Please, please stop!”

  Birgit’s arms came around her, trying to hold her in place as she thrashed, desperate to get out of the car. But Delmer kept driving. He didn’t look at her.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, and she heard the grief in his voice. “We can’t go back.”

  Her thoughts seemed to be made of ice; all she could think over and over was Daniel’s name, and she heard Delmer’s voice as though from far away. She pushed Birgit off and twisted around to look through the rear window again. She couldn’t see Daniel and the SA men anymore, just the silvery waters of the Müggelsee and the dark mass of the forest. Then the car rounded a curve in the road, and they were hidden from her, too.

  The car ride into central Berlin was silent. Gretchen sat slumped in her seat, watching the farm fields of the Köpenick district flash past with dull eyes. Her hands held onto the revolver so tightly that they had begun to ache, but she couldn’t loosen her grip.

  This isn’t real, she told herself. But she looked at her hands, white-knuckled on the Webley, and her wool overcoat falling gently over her legs, and the cracked leather seat of the automobile, and she knew that what she saw was real; she wasn’t trapped in another nightmare. Daniel truly had been captured.

  Slowly the farmland turned into rows of apartments and shops. The eastern edges of the city’s heart rose around her: shabby structures of stone, streaked with soot; streets whose gutters were choked with trash and snow darkened by tires. The car slid to a stop at the curb and Delmer turned to look at her and Birgit, his expression serious.

  “I’ll go to a friend of mine at the British Embassy first thing in the morning,” he said. “Perhaps there’s something he can do, given that Herr Cohen lived in England for the past year and a half. It’s doubtful,” he added as Gretchen raised her head to stare at him, hardly daring to hope. “He’s a German citizen, so the British can’t lay claim to him. But I’ll do what I can.”

  She nodded. It was something, at least. She wanted to curse him for not turning the car around; she wanted to climb over the seat and shake and slap him, but she saw the agony on his face. Part of her understood that he had had to make an impossible choice, and she couldn’t hate him. She swallowed over the dryness in her throat and said, “Thank you.”

  “There are a few lodging houses on this street,” Delmer continued. “You two should stay together tonight.”

  “I want to go back to my rooming house.” Birgit’s voice was shrill with anxiety.

  Delmer shook his head. “Not a good idea after what happened to your Ring tonight. You ought to go under for a bit. I’ll come by in the morning after I’ve gone to the British Embassy. Try to get some rest. There’s nothing more we can do for now.”

  Gretchen nodded mechanically. She got out of the car, carrying both her and Daniel’s suitcases. Each of her movements felt painfully slow, as though it took several minutes for her body to respond to her brain’s commands. Her legs felt wooden as she forced them forward, following Birgit down the street.

  The avenue was dark and deserted; she heard nothing except their footsteps echoing on the sidewalk. There was a lodging house halfway down the block, a skinny stone building with unlit windows. She stood on the front steps and watched without interest as Birgit rang the bell. It seemed as if everything was happening to another person; she had separated from her body and stood off to the side, observing.

  Birgit had to ring the bell a second time before an irritated-looking man in a belted bathrobe opened the door.

  “People with any sense are in bed at this hour,” he grumbled. As they slipped inside, Gretchen looked over her shoulder to watch Delmer’s car drive away. He waved to her, but she could not make her hand
wave back.

  In the lobby, the man got out the guestbook for them to sign. Gretchen had to write slowly and carefully so she didn’t scribble Gretchen by mistake. Once she’d written Gisela Schröder, Nuremberg and she and Birgit had shown the fellow their papers, he led them upstairs to a cell of a bedchamber.

  The instant he left, Gretchen looked for something to barricade the door. There were no chairs, only an old wooden bureau, so she dragged that across the floor, heedless of the racket it made. Birgit watched her, rubbing her wrenched ankle. Still in her coat, Gretchen slid down the wall to sit. The iciness of the floorboards seeped through her clothes, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. Nothing mattered, now that Daniel was gone.

  Tears burned in her eyes. Gone. What a weak word to cover a multitude of horrors. It was no use prettying up the truth: Daniel was as good as dead. The SA must have gotten to Heinz Schultz first and taken him away somewhere or beaten him senseless, then set up several men to keep watch on the tent and capture anyone who arrived seeking the fireman. If they had recognized Daniel, they’d want to know how much he had uncovered about Fräulein Junge’s murder and they’d be frantic to know where she was. Capturing Hitler’s former little pet would be quite a coup for them.

  Daniel might survive for a day or two, while the SA tried to torture answers out of him. He would hold out for as long as he could. She could imagine the sort of agony that was in store for him. Burned with cigarettes until his arms were a patchwork of blackened flesh. Dunked face-first into a pail of water and held under while he thought his lungs would explode. Whipped again and again, the skin of his back splitting apart into deep troughs of blood and severed muscle.

  No one could withstand such pain for long. Eventually, he would die or he would break. Even the second option meant death; they would kill him once he was no longer useful. And she had absolutely no idea how to help him.

  She covered her face with her hands and sobbed. The floorboards creaked as Birgit sat down beside her.

  “I’m so sorry, Gretchen,” Birgit said. She wrapped her arms around Gretchen’s shoulders and pulled her closer. Gretchen pressed her face into Birgit’s shoulder and wept. Daniel. She still felt his hand on her back, pushing her toward the trees. Run, he had shouted at her, but he had stayed. Sobs caught in her throat. He had sacrificed himself to save her.

  In sudden frustration, she slipped from Birgit’s arms and surged to her feet to pace the room. How dare Daniel? He deserved to live, more than anyone else she’d ever met. He should be working at a first-rate newspaper, writing the stories that he thought everyone needed to read, exposing the lies that he despised so deeply. He should be able to stop by his family’s house for Sabbath evening supper and tease his sisters about their beaux. He should be able to live freely here, in his own country that he loved.

  As abruptly as the anger had consumed her, it drained away. She sagged onto the mattress and started sobbing again. Now she heard how loud she sounded, though, so she muffled her mouth against the pillow. Her tears trickled into the flowered pillowcase, making the dampened fabric stick to her face.

  She cried until she felt empty. Then she lay on her back and stared at the ceiling. Birgit sat on the edge of the bed, watching her with anxious eyes, but Gretchen couldn’t summon the energy to say anything to her.

  Her thoughts drifted to the time she and Daniel had left Munich and run out of money in Switzerland, where they had taken menial jobs to earn enough to pay for their passage to England. In their hotel, she had rested her head on his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart. Beyond the window, the waters of Lake Lucerne had glittered in the autumn sunlight.

  “What if we stayed here forever?” she’d asked him. “Just you and me, hidden away?”

  He’d laughed. “We’d both die of boredom within a month. We’re city people, Gretchen. Besides, we need to get you to the Whitestones. From everything you’ve told me, Herr Doktor Whitestone sounds like a good man. And he said he’d like you to stay with his family, if you were ever in trouble.” His hand had rubbed her shoulder. “You deserve to have a real family.”

  “What about you?” She’d shifted in his arms so she could look into his face. “What do you want?”

  He’d looked serious. “I can’t ever have two of the things I want the most—my family and my job. But I’ll find another newspaper post, I’m certain of it. I’ll only be unhappy if I feel useless.” He’d ruffled her hair and smiled. “Don’t look so upset. We’re together and we’re alive. That’s what matters most.”

  Now Gretchen’s throat tightened. He had felt useless in England, and miserable and alone, while she had moved in with her new family, content and secure for the first time in her life. And she hadn’t realized it. If only she could unwind the clock, so they could be in England together again. Or to yesterday morning, when she’d lain beside him, listening to him breathe. She wished she could hold on to that moment forever. Feeling the warmth pulsing from his body, smiling because they had told each other they could solve the obstacles keeping them apart.

  A sob rose in her throat but she choked it down. Thank God she had told him that she loved him, before he had been taken from her. He knew how she felt. She repeated the thought over and over, clinging to it like it was a life preserver and she was swimming in storm-tossed seas. He would die, knowing she loved him. It was the last gift she would ever be able to give him.

  “Gretchen?” Birgit sounded desperate. “Please say something. I need to know you’re all right.”

  Her voice dragged Gretchen back to the present. She sat up, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes, stanching the tears that threatened to return.

  “I’m fine,” she said for Birgit’s sake, although it couldn’t have been further from the truth.

  She crossed the room and twitched aside the curtain to look at the street below. Still deserted. No cars, no policemen walking their beat, no SA fellows prowling past. Daniel was somewhere out there: in a prison cell, perhaps, or the dank cellar of an SA barracks, where nobody would object to a prisoner’s torture.

  Calm, calm. She rested her forehead on the glass and took three deep breaths, focusing on the sensation of air filling her chest. She moved back from the window, letting the curtains fall into place.

  What could she possibly do? There was no one she could go to for help; the Ringverein men were scrambling to save themselves and reassemble their organization, and the police force was under Göring’s jurisdiction and had been invaded by his men. She didn’t dare go to the Cohens’ house—her heart twisted at the thought of them. They had no idea what had happened to their son; they might never know. She couldn’t go to them for help, for now that the National Socialists knew for certain that Daniel had returned to Berlin, they might have the house under surveillance, expecting that his allies could drop by. She couldn’t telephone the Cohens either or telegram the Whitestones, since there were no longer any secure lines of communication throughout Germany. Except for Delmer and his pessimistic offer, she was alone.

  “I have to help him,” she said aloud.

  “You mean, we have to,” Birgit said.

  Gretchen started. She had been so wrapped up in her thoughts, she had forgotten that Birgit was there. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Birgit watched her, white-faced but determined.

  “You don’t need to,” Gretchen said quickly. “Going after Daniel will be dangerous—”

  “I know.” Birgit’s eyes burned into Gretchen’s. “Those men killed Friedrich and Monika. They shot them without a second thought. We both know what will happen to Daniel if we don’t get him out.”

  A wave of gratitude washed over Gretchen, swamping her so that she couldn’t speak for a minute. “Thank you,” she said at last. “I have no idea where to begin.”

  “Well, we can’t do anything tonight. Herr Delmer will have news tomorrow, and we can figure things out from there.”

  Gretchen nodded woodenly. She knew that Daniel would live thro
ugh the night. The SA would torture him, but they’d be too eager to learn the information he knew to kill him immediately. Daniel could withstand tremendous pain, thanks to the months he’d spent coping with his arm injury. He knew how to build a wall within his mind, isolating it from his body.

  Stay strong, Daniel, she thought, wishing he could somehow magically hear her. Hold on.

  Because no matter what, she was coming for him.

  30

  MORNING DAWNED GRAY AND COLD. TWO DAYS until the Reichstag session when the Enabling Act was up for a vote, Gretchen thought automatically. She rolled onto her side, seeking the warmth of Daniel’s body. Her hand skimmed his arm, and she frowned. Something was wrong. She didn’t feel his puckered scar through his pajama sleeve, but the harsh scratchiness of wool.

  She bolted upright. Even as she saw Birgit, still asleep, wearing one of Gretchen’s sweaters over yesterday’s frock, the knowledge crashed down on her like a wave: Daniel was gone.

  She had to put her hands over her mouth so she didn’t cry out. Don’t fall apart, she ordered herself. Daniel deserved more than her tears.

  Quickly, she slipped from bed and dressed in a black skirt and red sweater set. After she’d washed in cold water in the basin, she combed her hair and brushed rouge over her cheeks. In the mirror, she almost looked normal; only the tightness around her eyes betrayed her tension. Satisfied, she turned away. It was important that she appear ordinary, so nobody would give her a second look.

  Although she longed to do something, anything, she sat in a chair while Birgit got up. When Birgit returned from the lavatory, white dust surrounded her nostrils. Gretchen said nothing. A part of her longed for the escape of cocaine, too, but Daniel needed her to keep her wits.

  In silence, she and Birgit waited for Herr Delmer to show up. From the street, she heard the bells of the Church of St. Nicholas ringing the hour. Eight o’clock. Maybe somewhere in Berlin, Daniel was waking up to a new day, too. Or he’d been kept awake all night by his captors as they whipped him—