18

  BERLIN, 10 MARCH 1940

  The envelope was creased and filthy, with ocher stains on it that looked like dried blood. The single sheet of paper inside was not much better, and the writing was shaky, though she recognized it as her brother’s.

  Dear Hedda,

  I am well. Things aren't too bad here, now I’ve got used to them. After all, I committed a crime against the State. 1 can quite understand your not writing to me. 1 exposed you and Father and Mother to suspicion and interrogation, but I pray to God nothing worse. I was ordered to write to you, by the camp Gestapo. I don't know why. But it's a good opportunity to tell you I understand your silence. One day, if we all survive, I'll see you again, and try making up for what I did. Look after each other. I can't very well put "with love" at the end of this letter, after all the trouble I caused. But I still love you. After all, you never did anything to me, it was the other way around.

  Keep well.

  Your brother, Franz

  Before she had finished reading it, the sheet of soiled paper was shaking in her fingers and her heart was breaking. So none of her letters had reached him . . . not one. And she had sent forty-nine, their number carefully recorded in her diary, two every week since his arrest in August last year; she had never given up, even when she felt sure that by now he' could no longer be alive to receive them. And now she was being tom apart by the relief that he was still alive somewhere, and the torment of knowing that in his loneliness he believed she refused even to write to him. . . . She’d thought there was nothing more for her to suffer, until now.

  “So you see, Fräulein, I have kept my word,” Superintendent Vogel told her softly. “Your brother is still alive and well.”

  His voice shocked her out of her reverie. He’d given her the letter as soon as he’d come in, presenting the stained and ravaged envelope with the studied courtesy that made everything else he did seem infinitely worse.

  “Where is he?” she asked dully. The postmark was too smudged to read.

  “He is in transit.” Vogel was standing by the window with his back to it, a favorite place. “I shall tell you the moment I learn where he’s been sent. By earlier reports it was to Kozuchow, in Poland.”

  She had dared to ask him, that evening last week after Martin had been, if he were certain Franz was still at Buchenwald, because she had still received no letters from him. Martin had told her Franz had left Buchenwald, but she couldn’t tell this creature that she knew.

  “I hope his letter is cheerful, Fräulein?”

  “Cheerful?” She turned to look at him, trying to fit a meaning to the word. “Oh, yes. Quite cheerful.” She wasn’t going to reveal a single thought of her brother’s to this foul brute—the letter was private; creased, soiled, perhaps bloodstained, but private.

  “A mistake was made,” he told her primly. “With so many in the concentration camps, mistakes are inevitably made. Your brother should have been transferred to the privileged section at Buchenwald, as I’d requested; instead he was sent to Kozuchow with a group of prisoners selected for punishment, following the monstrous attempt on our Führer’s life last November.”

  “Punishment?” She felt she was going to fall, and had to put out a hand to the edge of the table.

  “Yes. But I was in time to sort things out, as soon as I received the list of prisoner movements. You mustn’t worry, Fräulein. I have appointed myself your brother’s guardian, as we agreed in the beginning.” He came closer to her, his black boots creaking in the quiet room. “Now that you are reassured, we can proceed to other things. You have never looked more beautiful, you know, than tonight.” His voice was very soft now. “I think losing a little weight has made you even more attractive, if that were possible . . . your eyes seem larger, in the hollows of your face ... I would like to write a poem for you, or paint a picture of you, just as you are now, or even better, as you’ll be in a few minutes, in all your exquisite nakedness . .

  She supposed, as she always supposed when he approached her like this, with his clumsy attempts at tenderness, that her stillness and her closed eyes could be interpreted as a kind of surrender, even as pleasurable anticipation; he must certainly see it like that, because if he suspected what she was thinking of him he’d kill her, and Franz too. In any case, the tenderness was only the prelude to his habitual little show of caveman ferocity.

  “Take off your clothes,” he commanded abruptly, “or do you want me to tear them off?”

  His mouth caressed her body.

  Every time he came here it was more difficult for him, more painful, more tormenting.

  The heat was flowing into his groin as it always did, tantalizing him, making him think that something at last was happening, that he was becoming a man; but nothing was happening, nothing.

  Long ago, with other women, he had given up trying to imagine he was doing what other men did; it made the torment worse. He would have been spared, if only he could look at women, even women as beautiful as this one, without any feeling, any desire for them. But the desire was always there, as strong as with other men, until he was forced to go with whatever woman he chose from among the many at his disposal —and then there was this torment, this nothingness as his hands and his mouth did all they wanted, touching everywhere, savoring her body and making it entirely his, a slave, a toy to play with, while the heat burned enticingly and nothing happened, nothing happened, until he moaned in his frustration, once shedding actual tears on her while she must have laughed silently at him, lying helpless under him but laughing . . . laughing . . . until he had jerked himself away from her as if suddenly she had become a corpse.

  But she daren’t laugh at him openly. She daren’t taunt him with being only half a man, a freak. None of them dared to make fun of him, because they knew his power.

  Let this one smile incautiously, even for a second in the glow of the lamplight, and her beloved brother would be strung up from a gallows and left for the flies. She knew that.

  “Fräulein . . .” he murmured, the scent of her moist body maddening him, the feel of her skin kindling the heat in his groin. “Fräulein . . .” as his hands moved, as his tongue delighted in her.

  But he knew that one day it would become too much for him, and he would have to kill her. This one was so beautiful that he couldn’t bear to think of another man with her, giving her what was utterly beyond him to give. She must remain his forever, and he could make it so.

  Until then she must be taught how much he hated her for being what she was, the exquisite incarnation of the unattainable, his whole life’s torment.

  “A perfect example of gold inlay work,” he said, “as I think you’ll agree.”

  Fully dressed now, he had presented the diamond and amethyst ring to her as a parting gift.

  “It’s quite lovely,” she said, her heart shrinking.

  “I think so, yes. It was made by a man named Gronowetter, at Buchenwald. He had a shop, you know, on the Kurfürstendamm, until last year—Gronowetter and Kader, they were partners. It was quite a famous place, I’m sure you were acquainted with it.”

  “I think I've heard of it,” she said. She was in her blue flowered dressing gown, her feet still bare, her body aching for the cool cleansing water of the shower, • where she would soap and soap herself until her skin was raw. She had never got used to it; since the first time this creature had come into this room she had never felt clean.

  “Gronowetter was an expert on diamonds,” Vogel told her conversationally. “He was an official appraiser to the Berlin Chamber of Commerce.” Watching her face he went on. “Unfortunately there was an accident, soon after he made this piece. He was running toward the main gate one day in answer to an announcement on the public address system, and one of the guard dogs thought he was trying to escape, and slipped its handler. They keep the guard dogs short of food, you see, so that they don’t become lazy. It took four men with whips to get the dog away from Gronowetter—the beast was maddened with blood lust, once he’d broken the skin.”

  She had learned, by now, to shut her mind to what this creature was saying, just as she’d learned to think of other things while he raped her with his hands and his mouth. She knew what he was telling her, but she was able to go on listening as if his voice came from a long way off, on the far side of reality.

  “How unfortunate,” she said, staring at the delicate inlay of the ring. “But accidents will happen, won’t they?” And she looked up at him with her eyes dead, giving him nothing, seeing his disappointment. “It’s a magnificent gift, Herr Vogel, and I’ll wear it with great pleasure.”

  He turned away brusquely, picking up his gloves from the marquetry table by the door. “Next week, Fräulein, perhaps you’d care to accompany me for dinner somewhere?”

  It was intended to shock, as she knew; until now her shame had always been private, in the seclusion of her own home. But she kept her control, and even smiled for him.

  “I’d be delighted, of course.”

  Superintendent Vogel climbed into the black saloon and slammed the door.

  “Is this as close as you could bring the car?” he asked his driver curtly. *

  “There was someone parked right outside, Herr Superintendent.”

  “Why didn’t you take his place?”

  “I was just about to do that, Herr Superintendent.”

  “You’ll have to be a little quicker the next time. I prefer not to have to walk the streets in the blackout, do you understand?”

  “Of course, Herr Superintendent.”

  The driver looked at the pale face in the mirror and glanced away quickly, pulling out from the curb and changing gear. The Chief was in a filthy mood, as was to be expected, after seeing a woman. It had been the same pattern for three years now, since Fritz had been his personal driver.

  “Go to the Wilhelmstrasse.”

  “The Wilhelmstrasse, Herr Superintendent.”

  The pattern never varied. He’d pick a new woman, visit her once a week and every time come away like a bear with a sore arse, worse than before; they seemed to get his rag out instead of calming him down, as if they wouldn’t let him have it or something—though Fritz very much doubted that. This one, the von Gerlach woman, had lasted longer than the others, but the signs were there, the signs were there all right—the Chief was thinking in terms of a change to someone new.

  “What is that crowd?”

  “I don’t know, Herr Super—”

  “Pull up here.”

  Fifteen or twenty people were watching four or five Gestapo officers struggling with two civilians.

  “They’re making an arrest, Herr Superintendent.” “Quite so. Well, get on, man.”

  “Yes, Herr Superintendent.”

  One of the civilians managed to break away and lunge for a gap in the crowd but a man tripped him and he went down, one arm hitting the wing of the black saloon. Then the officers were on him, and a club swung and he stopped yelling.

  It used not to be like that. They used not to make a fuss when their turn came. But everyone was getting to hear of the KZs by now, and no one wanted to go there.

  Fritz made a left turn and headed through Wilmers-dorf, going as fast as he dared behind the cowled headlamps in the pitch-dark street.

  “Is this as fast as you can go?”

  “I’m thinking of the Superintendent’s personal safety, Herr Super—”

  “You can still go faster than this.”

  “Yes, Herr Superintendent.”

  Bite your bloody head off, and just had a woman. Two hours he’d been in that house, and much good it had done him. The signs were there, and no mistake. Next thing he’d be taking her out somewhere, dinner or a nightclub or maybe both, let everyone see what a catch he’d got—they were always absolute smashers, you had to admit that much—then it’d be curtains, and there’d be a new address to go to every week, a new woman. He’d seen five of them disappear, one after another, in the last three years. Ravensbruck, of course. A shocking waste of good crumpet, when you came to think of it, with the brothels so short of fancy material —but that was the Superintendent’s game, all along; once he’d finished with them he didn’t like anyone else taking over. Exclusive, that was the Chief.

  Fritz checked his mirror again and found the eyes of Superintendent Vogel watching him steadily, forcing him to look quickly back at the road, a chill running down his spine; his eyes were like a reptile’s, and he’d never got used to it.

  Taster!” the cold voice came. “Have you forgotten how to obey an order?”

  “No, Herr Superintendent!” Fritz put his foot down and sent the car through the darkened street with one hand on the horn, and God help anyone trying to cross the road.

  Watery sunlight was filtering through the windows of the American Embassy.

  “I am charged by the President,” said the Ambassador slowly, “to make the situation clear to you, and also to offer his warm personal congratulations to you on your success with this project to date. No one can say whether the United States will find herself at war with Germany in the near or distant future. You may already know that the sympathies of our President lie with England and her allies, not only because of the

  hereditary bonds still joining our peoples in continuing friendship, but also because we realize that if Europe should fall to Hitler’s armies, the British colonies— whose strategic location is of vital interest to the United States, especially in time of war—would also fall under the German yoke. The way would be open for the conquest of South America, and subsequently our own country just across the border.”

  Pausing for a moment to look from the windows across the wide boulevard, he turned suddenly to face his audience. “Until recently we believed it would take a long hard war to carry the Germans to world conquest. Today we must face the terrifying fact that it will happen much sooner than that, if Hitler develops this new and unimaginably powerful superweapon that we call the atomic bomb.”

  The tension in the room increased. They had all read the von Fleig documents and understood their significance, but this was the first time the threat to world peace in the future had been put into words.

  “You’ve studied the papers that were taken from General von Fleig,” the Ambassador continued, “and you know what I’m talking about. Until the Nazis assumed power here in Germany it was easy for all of us, in the rest of Europe and in the United States, to scoff at scaremongers and keep our faith in a bright future. Today we know that the most frightful horror stories have become reality, and even commonplace. And what is happening in this country will begin happening all over the world, on the day that Adolf Hitler has the atomic bomb. From the information the heads of government have received from the nuclear physicists in Britain and the United States and other countries, it is not too much to say that with the atomic bomb in Hitler’s possession we would witness the end of the civilized world as we now know it. Hitler would become a global potentate, and his Thousand Year Reich would cover the earth.”

  Major Haslam hadn’t moved since he’d come into the room; he hadn’t even exchanged so much as a glance with Martin or Otto Tempel In these surroundings and in the presence of the Ambassador he looked exactly what in fact he was: the blank faced, enigmatic chief of an enemy intelligence network, for the moment on neutral ground. Martin felt now that Haslam must have known the true objective behind the Damocles operation: in direct terms, the rescue of certain physicists and their safe conduct to England; in indirect terms, the destruction of any chance Hitler might have of possessing the atomic bomb, and beyond that, world conquest.

  “I’m permitted to tell you,” the Ambassador said in his level tones, “that whether or not the United States is brought into the conflict, plans have already been made to develop the atomic weapon as speedily as possible, in the hope that one day we might stop the war simply by demonstrating its awesome power. And to develop the bomb we shall need the help of those eminent physicists who are already safe, in England on their way to the States and the nuclear laboratories there—thanks to the work you have done.”

  With something like a smile he added quickly, “We’d like to help you do it. We have quite a few trained men who’d give a great deal to pitch in with you, here in the field where the action is.” Then the smile was gone. “But I don’t need to remind you that at present America is a neutral power, and that even if only one of her agents were caught in a clandestine operation here on German soil, she could be pitched into a war she’s not prepared for, either in terms of armaments or public opinion.” The smile came again, fleetingly. “It doesn’t look, in any case, like you need any help at the moment.”

  Before he ushered them to the door he made a final statement. “The crux of the message I was charged by my president to convey to you, gentlemen, is that we want you to know that the work you’re doing behind the scenes here in Germany cannot be overstated in its importance to the civilized world; and we hope this thought will inspire you to even greater courage and even greater determination as you proceed with your mission.”

  Haslam lit his fourth cigarette from the butt of the third, his right eye narrowing against the smoke.

  “We’ve seen the documents,” he said quietly, “and we know what we’ve got to do.”

  They were assembled in the enormous cellar of the house in Charlottenburg, Haslam occupying the dilapidated baroque chair behind the desk, the others seated or perched around it. Tempel had come straight here from the American Embassy; Klinger, Veidt and Sadler had come down soon after them, their footsteps echoing from the bare stone walls as they descended the stairs. So far, no one except Haslam had spoken. It was known throughout the network that Damocles had suddenly swung into a new dimension, but this had nothing to do with the fact that the true objective had now been revealed—and revealed to be momentously important; it was because a reading of the documents showed that the von Fleig faction was at this moment on a collision course with their own operation.