by Bodie Thoene
Then Anna spoke with Dr. Wertmann, and he agreed that Wilhelm should remain immobile for at least a month. Certainly they would not be able to return to Berlin until the boy had recovered somewhat. An extension of their Ausweis, the German travel permit, was easily arranged through the Fremde Intelligence Office near the hotel on Rudolfstrasse.
Armed with all this information, Anna and Elisa sat down for lunch at the Café Maximillian and spent the next two hours writing a series of letters to Theo in Berlin. Each letter was dated in sequence through Christmas and reported the progress of Whilhelm’s recuperation after the accident, as well as the details of their holiday in Innsbruck. Each expressed the desire to see him soon and the hope that the government mix-up would soon be straightened out.
Stamped and sealed, the letters were then left with Herr Schroder at the hotel. One letter would be posted each day until the arrival of Theo Lindheim.
A final stop at the telegraph office relayed the urgent message that Wilhelm had been badly injured while skiing near Innsbruck. The return address was listed as Tyroler Haus, Room 7, Bahnstrasse, Innsbruck, Austria.
12
The Bait
Theo Lindheim had not shaved in three days. He sat in the red leather chair in his library and stared up at the shining volumes on the shelves. As daylight streamed through the window, he reached up and turned off the reading lamp on the table beside him.
He ran a hand wearily over his face and pressed his fingertips against his throbbing temples. The outcome of his arrest in Munich had been a simple matter of answering a few questions, and then he was escorted back to Berlin on the morning train. An official car had driven him to his own doorstep, and he had been dropped off with the Gestapo assurance that additional “routine questioning” would take place within a week or two. His travel permit had been revoked.
He had not been asked the whereabouts of Anna and the children. The Gestapo had no interest in where they were now. With Theo Lindheim back in Berlin, his wife and children would return.
Theo now understood everything quite clearly. He had offered a sizable amount of cash to the officer who had brought him home.
“Herr Lindheim, you are a Jew, and therefore, an alien. Everything in your possession now, down to the last Reichsmark, is already owned by the state. You cannot offer us anything here!” The man had laughed at the absurdity of Theo’s naive offer.
“Then, why am I being held?” he questioned with dignity.
“We suspect that a man of your former financial stature would not have attempted to leave Germany unless you also have considerable assets banked outside the country.”
“I have stayed within the law.”
“No doubt. We have checked everything. There was a time when it was not against the law for a Jew to have accounts outside Germany. No doubt your wife will arrange for some of that capital to come back into this country in exchange for visas—for the sake of the Reich.” He looked amused. “Of course, she will have to return here as well. We shall hope she arranges to finance her own Ausweis and those of your children as well.”
So Theo had become the bait that would draw his family back into the clutches of the Reich—but not until they had arranged a ransom to be paid from outside the country. Now he knew that the sequence of events had been quite deliberately staged from the beginning. Travel permits had been granted, but no matter how or when the family tried to leave the country, at least one of them was destined to stay behind as hostage. Had it not been for the intervention of the American newsman at the station, Elisa would have been arrested and detained until Theo returned with Anna and the boys and appropriate payment from a Swiss account had been arranged. Theo had heard horror stories of young Jewish women left to the mercies of the Gestapo. He was thankful that he had been taken from the train instead of Elisa. To have watched her being led away would have been more than he could have endured.
Cradling his head in his hands, he tried to think what he could do next. How could he keep Anna and the children from returning to Germany and playing into the hands of Himmler’s Blackshirts? Even if a ransom were paid, there was no guarantee that the entire terrible cycle would not begin all over again. Next time, perhaps, it would be Anna taken to the police station. He could not bear the thought.
“Anna,” he whispered. “My beautiful Anna.” He stood stiffly and moved toward the towering bookshelf. For a long time he surveyed the titles, at last resting his eyes on a row near the ceiling containing the works of William Shakespeare. The set was a rare edition published in the early eighteenth century. No doubt when the SS tore through the house, the volumes would be destroyed or confiscated.
Theo shook his head in disbelief at the certainty of the event. “Ominous. Yes, Anna,” he said as though she were at his side. “Ominous that they burn such works.”
He rolled the walnut library ladder to the front of the shelves and climbed toward Hamlet, King Lear, and Macbeth. “Perhaps such a world is not worth living in, Anna. If this is indeed to be the way of things.” He stretched out his hand and chose a copy of Romeo and Juliet. “We were so young when we saw this at the English Theatre in Vienna. I remember how you gripped my hand and wept when Juliet held up the dagger. Later you said you would not live without me, Anna. But you must, dearest. You must live and be safe for the children. You must not come for me.”
Theo stroked the cover of the book lovingly, caressing its satiny surface as if he were touching Anna herself. He flipped the pages slowly, then lifted the open volume to his face and inhaled deeply the rich scent of antique leather, paper, and ink. With a sigh he set Romeo and Juliet aside, pulled out several more volumes of Shakespeare’s tragedies, and drew a revolver from its hiding place behind the books on the shelf. “You must not come back to Berlin, Anna.” He pocketed the small ivory-handled weapon and climbed down, clutching the copy of Romeo and Juliet in his left hand.
***
Admiral Canaris towered over Thomas von Kleistmann’s cluttered desk. His face was angry as he flipped a copy of Anna’s telegram toward Thomas.
“I thought perhaps you should know, since you have some special interest in this case,” Canaris said as though he was testing the depth of Thomas’s concern.
“Innsbruck,” Thomas repeated as he read the wire. “Is this confirmed?” He was hoping, of course, that the information was wrong. He measured his response so that he appeared disinterested.
“The Gestapo agent in Innsbruck has verified their presence there.” Canaris almost smiled. “Of course, the Gestapo was formed only for police work inside Germany. They lack our resources. They are idiots and gangsters, for the most part.” He hesitated. “Our informant in Innsbruck reports that the two women were in the city for only one day. They are obviously staying elsewhere.”
Thomas felt sweat bead up on his forehead. He wondered why Canaris was telling him about a case he had nothing to do with. Had his visit to Theo Lindheim’s office been reported? Was Canaris testing his loyalty and his truthfulness now? “Yes, I assumed they would—that is, they are probably staying in a smaller village, away from prying eyes, if your suspicions are correct.”
Canaris studied him for a minute of silence until Thomas cleared his throat uncomfortably. “And what do you think, young von Kleistmann? Do you believe my suspicions? Will Theo Lindheim attempt to escape?”
Thomas stared hard at the telegram. “Frau Lindheim will not leave him here in Germany to his own fate, if that is what you are asking. Wherever she is, she will not leave him here alone, not as long as he is free. If Himmler has him thrown into Oranienburg, that is another matter. Then there will be nothing for her to do. But if he is still free, at home in Berlin, able to move about—”
“But not cross the border.”
“As you say.”
“Theo Lindheim is a man I once admired. This is not my doing.”
Thomas did not reply. He did not tell Canaris that he believed Theo Lindheim would never allow his wife and children to re
enter Nazi Germany. Thomas was certain that he would stop them some way. “Certainly he knows he is being watched.”
“Night and day by Himmler’s Gestapo. Technically, this will not become a matter for us to contend with in the Abwehr unless Lindheim somehow escapes from the state police and crosses the border. An impossibility, I am told.”
Thomas frowned. There was a hint of disappointment in Canaris’ voice. Was he disappointed that the Abwehr was not involved, or that Theo could not escape the surveillance of Himmler’s men and cross the border?
“If he is arrested”—Thomas groped for some word that might help Theo remain momentarily free—“then Anna Lindheim will not return. It is that simple. The Reich will not ever recover the funds that have been taken out of the country.”
“Yes. Our conclusion exactly. And that of the Führer. He insists that Himmler continue the game of cat and mouse.” There was an edge of anger and disapproval to Canaris’ declaration, but Thomas did not dare question it.
“And what do you say?”
“I say, you know him well.”
Thomas flushed and looked down uncomfortably. “Yes. He and my father—”
“We know all about that.” Canaris snatched the wire from him. “But this is the Third Reich now. We are all expected to do our duty. Loyalty, you know.”
“I wish no duty in this matter.” Thomas leaned forward, almost pleading with Canaris.
“You know him well.” Canaris brushed the protest aside. “Himmler has a half-dozen gangsters watching Lindheim. We have let the telegram go through to him. I need one good man to watch his movements, von Kleistmann.”
“I ask that you choose someone else.”
“I have already chosen.”
***
Nearly thirty minutes passed as Theo sat behind his desk and contemplated the pistol on the blotter. Again and again he mentally rehearsed his options. A roster of names and familiar faces of old friends rose up and then faded away one by one. Yes, there were men from among his old squadron who now served as officers in the Wehrmacht. Most had been serving Germany when upstarts like Hermann Göring were still carrying schoolbooks. Those noble few remained in their positions in the hope that they might still be able to reverse Germany’s downward spiral toward war. Months ago these men had expressed their loyalty to the old order and their friendship to Lindheim, but that very declaration had been a way of saying good-bye. They could not hope to have the slightest influence in the government if they continued their twenty-year association with Theo and the Lindheim family. In August, the SS had written a concise definition of the Nazi Party line against stiff-necked churchmen, Freemasons, and all Jews: The Jew as a person is an enemy of National Socialism, as proven by the difference in his race. The logic was that anyone having friendship with a Jew must also be an enemy of Germany.
Elisa had already returned to Vienna when this edict was issued. She did not have to see the silent stony faces of dear friends as they passed on the street. Yes, of course, they still came to the big store. Old Grynspan altered their uniforms as though nothing at all was wrong. But these were small and ineffective acts of defiance.
There was no one to help Theo now. The phones were undoubtedly tapped. Watchers stood on every corner along Wilhelmstrasse. For Theo to attempt to approach those men who had been his friends would mean their certain destruction. He knew he could not chance that, not if there were to remain any good men at all among the military hierarchy. This was something he must face alone, with the dignity of a soldier.
He pulled out a clean sheet of stationery and groped for some word of explanation and comfort for Anna and the children. They must not, under any circumstances, return to Germany, and the only way to prevent that was by his death. He had studied the issue in every light, and now that he saw the inevitability of it, a sense of resignation settled on him. There was also some slight satisfaction that Hitler’s diabolical forces would lose their hostage and the ransom in the bargain. Twenty years before, Theo had fought for Germany. Now, he reasoned, he was about to fight his last battle for the nation he loved.
The letter was short and to the point. Theo addressed the issue of his own death with the same directness with which he had conducted his life and his work.
Beloved Anna and children.
Do not grieve for me, but for Germany.
The Nazis take all, but not our souls, and thus they have lost the battle before it began. What I do now must be done. Know that I love you, each one.
Your loving husband and father
Theo sealed the envelope, then climbed the stairs to shower and shave and dress as though he were going to work. His leg ached. The jagged scar left by bullets from a French machine gun throbbed the warning that it would rain today in Berlin. Theo had often joked about his built-in barometer. Now he rubbed it, vaguely astonished that soon he would feel no more pain at all.
Dressed in a dark double-breasted suit, an overcoat, and a black slouch hat, he looked as though he was going to work, like any other day. He pocketed the gun and the letter, confident that if he was detained he would put the weapon to good use before his tormentors could stop him. As for the letter to Anna, he knew he could not risk sending it to her through the mail. No doubt it would be intercepted. But there were ways around such things. As he conceived his plan he had remembered John Murphy, the American news reporter. Most of the foreign correspondents stayed at the Adlon Hotel only a few blocks away, and if he could find Murphy, he might find the help he needed.
Now Theo stood for a minute in the foyer of his home. He was past sentiment, beyond regrets or sadness. His mind was firm, and he moved without emotion. He stared blankly at himself in the mirror as though he were seeing the photograph of a man long dead.
As he turned to leave, the doorbell buzzed insistently. Theo slipped his hand in his pocket and let his fingers curl around the grip of the gun as he opened the door.
“Telegram for Herr Lindheim!” snapped a stern-looking boy of about twelve. On his sleeve he wore a swastika armband. He appraised Theo coolly and with disdain.
Theo uttered a few words of acknowledgment in a voice that sounded very far away. He resented the intrusion. He wanted nothing to distract him, to pull his mind from its deadly purpose at this moment.
“Three Reichsmarks,” said the boy.
Theo paid him without speaking and then shut the door on the boy’s “Heil Hitler!” He was tempted to throw the message away, assuming that it was some additional warning or instructions from his captors. Then he skimmed the envelope and the point of origin . . . Innsbruck! Instantly his heart beat faster. His hands trembled at the realization that he held a precious word from Anna. Do not weaken me, Anna. Do not come to me now when I am so certain of my course! Theo caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror again. The icy reserve and determination had vanished. In their place stood the image of a man longing for his family and his life; the face was pale and anguished.
“Do not call me back to you, Anna!” he said aloud. “I cannot! The choice is made!”
At that he shoved the unopened telegram deep into his pocket and stepped out into the drizzling rain.
13
Lindheim’s Resolve
Murphy sat on the windowsill of his cluttered hotel room. His long legs stretched to the top of his desk, and he thought how easy it would be to simply kick his typewriter onto the floor and smash it to pieces among the wads of discarded paper that overflowed his wastebasket. He was in a lousy mood, homesick for New York City and the sight of an American woman. Homesick for anyplace besides the Adlon Hotel and Berlin in a rainstorm.
It was pouring out on Wilhelmstrasse. Pedestrians splashed through puddles on the sidewalk, while inattentive taxis drove by, cutting wakes through the water on the street. Murphy grimaced at the German women in their black rubber overshoes and ankle-length raincoats. Except for the fact that their dripping hair was a bit longer, it was difficult to tell some scowling women’s faces from the men’s. O
f course, there was Elisa Lindheim. But then maybe she didn’t count, since she was no longer in Berlin.
The thought of her created in him with a strange restlessness that bordered on anger. Most of the guys had steered clear of him since his return from Berchtesgaden. They had all assumed that the current diplomatic dance between Hitler and Mussolini had upset him. Actually it was the haunting image of Elisa that returned again and again to his mind. Her wide helpless eyes gazed pleadingly at him as she asked what he could do to help Theo Lindheim. The answer was nothing!
Inquiries at the American Embassy had only yielded embarrassed shrugs. A word placed here and there brought Murphy the information that Theo’s Ausweis had been canceled. Lindheim was back in Berlin until further notice.
Murphy’s work had suffered through the days, and so had his conscience. The whole Lindheim matter was really none of his concern, and Murphy had come to the conclusion that his own motives for interest had been rotten. Elisa was a good-looker, all right, and had that kind of helpless-little-fawn quality that always stopped him in his tracks. He could imagine how she might repay him if, in fact, he could really help her father out of a jam. The realization that his interest was based on Fraülein Lindheim’s shapely beauty filled Murphy with an enormous amount of self-reproach. He figured he had every right to be angry at himself.
He scowled at the typewriter, at the empty sheet of paper staring back at him. He closed his eyes in a moment of frustration. When Elisa’s imploring face materialized before him once more, Murphy opened his eyes and frowned down at the German women sloshing down Wilhelmstrasse. The whole world was falling apart, and he was thinking about a girl he would probably never see again.
