Volk

by Piers Anthony

“Yes. I did not know she was in Spain. I was inspecting the Quaker facilities in Barcelona, and there she was. She did not expose my cover.”

  Lane’s attention was fixed. “When was this?”

  “July tenth. We traveled together, to see Guernica. I returned her to her station July twelfth.”

  “She was well?” There was an intensity to Lane’s question.

  “Physically she seemed somewhat worn, but well. Mentally— she saw war, Lane. It hurt her.”

  “Where is she now?”

  “Why, America, I think. When I returned to Barcelona in August they told me that all the Quakers had left Spain. You did not know?”

  “She did not go to America or to England. That much I know.”

  Ernst gazed at him in consternation. “Then where is she?”

  “That’s why I came here. To find out. Only I haven’t been able to get papers for Spain. So I had to sneak in, hoping to reach Barcelona without being discovered.”

  Ernst shook his head. “The Quakers are not there. Franco deported them. The food trucks are not moving. She would not remain if she could not help. Perhaps there was a mistake in the listing, and she is after all in America.”

  “No,” Lane said grimly. “No mistake. I checked and rechecked every report. She did not leave Spain with the Quakers.”

  “Lane, I know nothing of this. She—I would not want her to be hurt. When we traveled together, it was compatible. It is easy to see why you love her. Had my mission in Spain had anything to do with her disappearance, I would have known. I must conjecture that either the Spanish authorities arrested her—”

  “They tell us they did not.”

  “They will say what they choose to say. But surely they had no reason. She meant no harm to them.”

  “So what is the other prospect?”

  Ernst sighed. “That she somehow fell afoul of—criminals, perhaps. There are many desperate people in Spain.”

  “But she knew enough to stay clear of them.”

  “Yes. She was competent.” Ernst did not like the thought of Quality being killed by criminals much better than Lane did. He cast about for something else. “Or—the Quakers had connections in France. If she went there—”

  “Would the Vichy have arrested her?”

  “Things are confused in France. It is possible. Yet they should have released her when they saw her papers.”

  “Suppose it was the Germans?”

  “They might hold her as hostage. Because she was working with the British, and we are at war.”

  Lane grinned mirthlessly. “Don’t I know it! Can you find out about her?”

  “Yes. I should be able to, if she is in any Vichy or German list. But I do not know whether I could do anything to help her. If she is in a camp—they can be very strict.”

  “You could surely do more than I could!”

  Ernst laughed, but not with humor. “I might suggest to the commandant of the camp that she is of interest to certain parties, and must be kept healthy. But that would not get her free. At least it would help until a prisoner exchange could be arranged. But prospects for any such thing are bleak.”

  “You will do what you can.”

  “I will do what I can.”

  “Now I am glad we met. You know it would be no betrayal of your side to help her. She’s a pacifist.”

  “No betrayal,” Ernst agreed.

  “If you learn anything, maybe you could have news sent to the Spanish authorities.”

  “I will try.”

  “Then my effort here has not been for nothing, thanks to the incredible coincidence of meeting you.”

  “Coincidence? I think not. It was Quality who brought us together-even in her absence.”

  “Must be. But I’m glad it happened, Ernst. I never expected to see you again, when the war got going. Is there anything I can do for you, in return for looking out for Quality?”

  “There is one thing. My people believe that I was in pursuit of a spy. I must make a report. Can you tell me of the defenses of Gibraltar?”

  Lane paused, considering. “That question tells me your mission here.”

  “I am afraid it does. But if I do not get the answer to my question, from the spy, they may choose not to let you return.”

  Lane laughed. “I know how it is. Okay, Ernst, I don’t think it will materially compromise our security to tell you what you already know. Gibraltar is practically invulnerable to any attack short of a major invasion. You could beat it down by shelling it from artillery based in Spain, or by continuously bombing it. But you’d take heavy losses in planes. I’m a fighter pilot, and I looked at their ack-ack. I’d never want to go up against it. I honestly believe that unless you can base your artillery in Spain, you don’t have a chance. Not by land, certainly; you know the isthmus is mined. So is the harbor. So my advice to you is give it up. Don’t even try to take it.”

  “Can you give specifics?”

  “Yeah, sure. They’ll only prove my point.” He went on to do so.

  “I think my people will be satisfied,” Ernst said. “They will know that I could have come by those details only by interrogating one who had seen the defenses directly.”

  “For sure.”

  “Then let us return to La Linea. I believe our business is done. I will follow your car, and will advise my people to let you proceed unmolested. We prefer that the British not suspect that we are observing them.”

  “They already suspect. But they hardly care.”

  “With reason, I think.” Ernst stepped back.

  Lane relaxed. He offered his hand. Ernst took it. Then they got in their cars and Ernst drew his out of the way, letting Lane pass.

  • • •

  Ernst’s report was no comfort to the Abwehr. “Nothing short of a massive assault will take it. We don’t have the resources. There are no weaknesses I could find.”

  “What about Jorge? If we smuggled soldiers—”

  “He wouldn’t do it. If he did, we could smuggle only two at a time. They could not do enough damage to make a difference.”

  However, Ernst did make sketches and write out descriptions of the defenses in fair detail. He had succeeded in defining the enemy emplacements. The problem was that this only confirmed that the notion of taking Gibraltar by assault was foolish. He suspected that his report would not be forwarded to Admiral Canaris.

  Meanwhile, when he was free, he drove again to Barcelona and questioned the proprietor of the house where the Quaker office had been. “We suspect that one of them did not depart with the others.”

  “They all left,” he was assured. “None are here now.”

  “Did any trucks go to France?”

  “There was one, but it did not return.”

  That was all they knew. But it opened an avenue. Quality could have driven to France, and been caught there. But there was nothing more he could do until he returned to Germany and reviewed the lists of detainees. It was galling to have to wait, but he was on assignment in Spain and had to remain there.

  In December Admiral Canaris returned to Spain to meet with General Franco. Ernst accompanied him to Madrid. The Admiral’s mission was unsuccessful: Spain was “unable” to join the war, or even to give a date for entry into the war, because of the current economic and military situation. “The Führer will be annoyed,” Canaris muttered. “I am here on his direct order. But if we can take Gibraltar, that may make up for it. We can still secure the Mediterranean theater.”

  Ernst wanted to tell him that Gibraltar was hopeless, but the man was already so depressed that he remained silent.

  So the consideration of Felix continued. Despite Ernst’s firsthand report of the layout of the defenses, they wanted more pictures. In order to conceal their real intent, they took them by a local brothel, with some of the girls posing in the foreground.

  That was a mistake. The authorities in Germany got the idea that the Abwehr personnel were playing with harlots instead of doing their work, and dem
anded that it stop. Project Felix was canceled.

  But later in the month it was revived, as a possible diversion to relieve the hard-pressed Italians in Greece. It didn’t matter; it remained hopeless.

  Felix was canceled again, resurrected again, and finally canceled for good, and the Abwehr units were reassigned. But before that, Ernst was recalled to Germany. It was a relief. Now at last he would have the chance to check on Quality—if she were a prisoner of the Vichy. He hoped she was, because otherwise there was no hope for her.

  • • •

  Ernst returned to Berlin. It was the Christmas season, and though the Nazis frowned on Christianity, they had no objection to festivities. So Ernst had a week’s leave to visit home. He could not return directly to Wiesbaden, because of his cover, but he found a way to manage it indirectly.

  The first thing he did was look up Krista, whom he had not seen in almost six months. She was getting holiday leave too. She remained almost startlingly beautiful, and her interest in him was undiminished. But Berlin was crowded, and there was no sufficiently private place for her to demonstrate her interest in her normal fashion. So their first date was quite open and chaste.

  “Do you think your family would object if I accompanied you, to meet them?” he inquired.

  Her eyes lighted. She understood his situation, and saw opportunity. “They do know I have been seeing someone in Berlin. I think they might appreciate learning more about him. But it may be difficult to get train tickets, this late; tickets have been sold out for weeks.”

  “I believe I could requisition a car for a few days.”

  Those were magic words. “Then we must do it!”

  They did it. She understood that when they arrived in Wiesbaden they would separate, each returning home alone, to avoid awkward questions both political and personal, and that when they met again there he would be Ernst Best. She was good at secrets.

  As they drove toward Frankfurt, she turned to him. “We could stop anywhere along the way, for anything.” Her meaning was clear.

  Ernst was sorely tempted. But he resisted. “I want it to be right between us—completely right.”

  “But you must let me tempt you, in case it is already right. You must play fair, Ernst.”

  He had to smile. When they came to an intersection with a minor road, he turned off, and turned off again, finding a deserted section in a wooded region. He stopped the car.

  Krista slid over to embrace him. She kissed him. Then she opened her shirt to him. “Touch me, and tell me it is not right.”

  “I fear that would be too much temptation.”

  She loosened her bra and drew it out of the way. “If you wait too long, someone will come and see me, and then you will have much explaining to do.”

  She was daring him to gamble on delay! And she was right: he could not afford to have anyone see her this way, and he did need to demonstrate that he could hold his course despite her.

  He reached out and took her full breasts in his hands. The whole world seemed to fade out, except for that rapturous contact. His desire for her intensified to the point of seeming madness.

  Then he heard something. Was it the approach of a distant car? He slid his hands around and up, catching the straps of her bra on his fingers. He drew it down to cover her breasts, and then closed her shirt over the whole.

  The sound faded. It was a car, but not coming this way. But the false alarm had enabled him to do what he should.

  She sighed. “You have not changed. I think it is your constancy I love most about you, though it frustrates me horribly. When you do commit, I will know it will never change.”

  He nodded. He rather thought he would indeed commit, when he was free of this mission. Krista was ideal for an SS officer.

  The rest of the visit home was uneventful. Four days later they returned to Berlin. Did Krista know how close she had come to overwhelming his resistance? Perhaps she did, and was satisfied merely to inflame his passion without actually doing anything forbidden.

  • • •

  Meanwhile, in Berlin, the Abwehr was involved in plans for the next campaign: the relief of the Italian effort in Yugoslavia and Greece. As Ernst had anticipated, the Italians were messing up the job and needed to be bailed out. The Admiral had worked out an armistice proposal which had gained Hitler’s support, but the Greek Premier opposed it.

  “It is essential that Germany not be drawn into this action,” Canaris insisted. He seemed almost desperate. That was odd, because it was obvious that German forces, if committed, could quickly reduce both Greece and Yugoslavia. It would have been better if it had been possible to take Gibraltar from the British, thus protecting that flank, but that would not stop land action.

  Then Ernst had a bright idea. “Haven’t a number of foreign personnel been interned in French camps? Refugees from the International Brigade may be of any nationality. They could be interviewed by military intelligence to determine whether they possess information or contacts of potential value to Reich concerns in other areas. If we can ascertain whether any are of Greek or Yugoslavian derivation—”

  Canaris paused. “Any lead we can get is worthwhile. If by chance there are any with family members in important positions in Greece who might be blackmailed, that would be better yet. But it would take time to do this, and I have no personnel free.” Then he did a doubletake, looking at Ernst. “Except for you. Do it. Requisition a list of interred foreigners, and go to see them. See about translators who know the languages. If any camp directors balk, refer them to me.”

  That was exactly what Ernst wanted. He would check every name, and if there were any Greeks or Slavs he could certainly do his utmost to get their information. But he would also check for one particular name: an American.

  Soon the lists arrived, because it seemed that Hitler himself wanted Canaris to succeed in his effort. Ernst wondered what was so important about that region, that Germany had to remain clear of it? This was unlike previous campaigns.

  Ernst pored over the names, noting prospects. It was not enough to check foreign names, for a name was no certain indication of origin. He had to catch the familiar names that might nevertheless have foreign connections. Also, some might have given false name to conceal their origins. He would have to actually see them and hear them speak to be sure. It was a big job he had gotten for himself.

  Then he checked Gurs, a camp along the Spanish border. The name leaped out at him. Quality Smith, American. She was there. He had found her!

  But Ernst did not allow anyone else to know his excitement. He completed his review of the lists, and prepared to travel to the camps. He had to do this in such a way that his interest would not cause any possible additional trouble for Quality. For despite his excitement about this confirmation, which was evidence that she was at least alive, he knew that her situation was in other respects dire. She must have been arrested for some reason. He would have to discover what that was, without tipping his hand.

  • • •

  He interviewed the internees at Gurs in rigorous order: first those suspected of having any Greek or Yugoslav connection, then those of other nationalities. He had to use translators for the various languages. The results were disappointing, in terms of his official mission, but he was establishing his credits so that no one would catch on to his personal mission. One of the last was the American, deliberately, as a wrap-up of what remained.

  They brought her in, clad in her worn and soiled shirt and skirt. There was no money for uniforms for internees, so armbands distinguished them. Her hair fell partly across her face, not from any artful device but because she evidently lacked pins to hold it in place. She was completely unremarkable—yet his heart leaped.

  He did not give her a chance to betray their prior acquaintance. He spoke brusquely in English. “Your name is—” He paused to peer at his list of names. “Smith. Of Britain?”

  Her surprise could have been taken for fear of the interrogator. She had never seen him
in uniform before. “I am Quality Smith, of America.”

  “We are not at war with America. You were caught spying for Britain?”

  “I was caught trying to smuggle a man from France into Spain.”

  He frowned. “A Jew?” he asked sharply.

  “Yes.”

  He glanced at the camp commandant. “See how openly she confesses it. Americans are notoriously naive about this matter. She probably did not even think she was doing wrong.” Then he fired the question directly at Quality. “Is it wrong to harbor a Jew?”

  “No.”

  He turned again to the commandant. “It is a mistake to aggravate a noncombatant nation unnecessarily. It would be better to repatriate this one. Notify the American ambassador of her presence here, and advise him that we will deliver her there for a nominal fee to cover our costs in boarding her for this time. In the interim, she should be kept in good health, so that the Americans will have no claim against us.”

  He watched as she was led away. He had done all he could to safeguard her. He doubted that she would be released, but he had accomplished two things: he had verified that she was alive and in health, and he had let her know that he would help her. To whatever extent he could.

  What he had not anticipated was the strength of his personal reaction to the sight of her. He had addressed her with calculated indifference, but he had wanted to take her in his arms and comfort her. The emotion was different, in subtle and unsubtle ways, from what he had felt when touching Krista’s breasts, but as strong.

  In fact, he realized now that Quality was the major reason he had resisted Krista’s allure. It was sheer foolishness and mischief in every respect, but his heart was drawn to her. He had to help her, though he dreaded the price of it.

  CHAPTER 9

  GIBRALTAR

  Lane arrived at the Rock of Gibraltar in October 1940. Because the proprietors were sensitive to any interference by outsiders, he was listed as a temporarily inactive airman sent for recuperation. He would not be allowed to fly, and would not offer any criticism of existing facilities or policies. He would serve in whatever capacity to which it was convenient to assign him, and when he completed his recovery he would return to England to rejoin his unit. In short, he was represented as exactly what he was: a disabled airman who needed to be parked somewhere away from his unit until he was able to resume full activity. That way he could not interfere with the efficiency of his unit, or endanger his fellow airmen by being too eager to get back into the air.