“My God!” he muttered aloud, drawing back abruptly in the chair. “Today’s Tuesday! She means tonight!” He glanced around quickly, surprised at the sound of his own voice. None of the other patrons had noticed his outburst. He checked the postmark again. She had sent this four days prior. She wants to meet tonight at the church!
Ryan tossed coins on the table, grabbed his bag and ran for the Grunewald S-Bahn station a few blocks distant. It was mid-afternoon. He could be in Berlin-Charlottenburg within the hour. Nothing would prevent his meeting her when the church bells struck nine.
CHAPTER THREE
Charlottenburg lay at the city’s heart, where money gathered to celebrate Berlin’s commercial vitality. At the convergence of four heavily-trafficked boulevards vehicles of every description rumbled and rattled past around the clock. Trams with clanging bells swerved in and around Breitscheidplatz, and lanes of taxis, cars and double-decker buses merged only to separate once again. Crowds of pedestrians gathered to shop, dine out, and enjoy the latest releases at the Gloria-Palast Cinema and the UFA-Palast am Zoo.
In the center of the lively square and surrounded by the serpentine traffic, the massive Kaiser-Wilhelm Memorial Church could not be ignored. This Protestant cathedral dwarfed its neighboring neo-Romanesque buildings, all raised in celebration of the pre-war German empire. Its four secondary towers stood as faithful minions to the huge central spire. Large rose windows faced the main boulevards, and an entry portal with three impressive gables welcomed the devout as well as the tourist.
Ryan arrived at the Zoo rail station shortly after four and immediately headed to the church to check out the floor plan. He anticipated meeting her high in the central tower, but found that access to the viewing platform closed at seven each evening. He decided to return later to keep watch from the pews closest to the tower entry. For now, nothing could be done for the poor von Haldheims. Perhaps reuniting with his former lover would be a different story, an opportunity for action. He reminded himself of her long marriage to a dangerous man, but could not quiet his remembrances of her passion in bed.
An inquiry at a local bar found him a relatively affordable hotel on Marburgerstrasse a few blocks from the square. The street name seemed fitting for a reunion with his last university flame. He paid for a small attic room, the fifty-penny surcharge for heat seemingly money well spent.
The slim bed was crammed beneath a steeply-sloped ceiling, a small window opened to the street, and a sink supplied running water. He tested the tap. Reasonably warm. The bath and toilet were down a flight of steps on the next floor. Ryan found the lodgings satisfactory at the price in this expensive district of the city. Now, without the anticipated accommodations at the von Haldheim home and no other personal connections in Berlin, Ryan had no idea how long he would remain. Everything depended on Erika.
The narrow street below his window was still congested with pedestrians and vendor carts. A horse-drawn delivery wagon clopped by, followed by an occasional slow-moving truck or automobile. He left the window open to air out the musty, overheated room, whose radiator handle revolved endlessly to no effect. The heating surcharge had been wasted; he had no choice in this space but to sweat. He washed his face and underarms, combed his hair, and changed to a clean shirt. He spread his shaving gear on the glass shelf above the washbasin, and his spare clothing went into the creaking wardrobe. A quick survey of the room, and he decided he was home for the foreseeable future.
Ryan felt the nervous energy of a first date, wondering what Erika would look like after four years and whether the old attraction would still be there despite her marriage. The hours creaked by.
He left his room for a café on the Kurfürstendamm, where foot and vehicle traffic passed noisily by as he read a newspaper and drank a pilsner. The Berlin press screamed lurid tales of anti-German atrocities in Czechoslovakia. He picked up an abandoned Times of London but found its take on the Prague crisis equally favorable to the Reich, if not as lurid. It seemed no one elsewhere in Europe really gave a damn about the inevitable assimilation of Czechoslovakia. His order of Königsberger meatballs, an old favorite, arrived with unwanted capers swimming in the thick gravy. A few bites of the onion-laden meal and he pushed the plate aside, signaled for a second beer, and smoked another pipe to calm his nerves.
At seven he settled the bill and stepped out into the colorful neon glow. At the main intersection of the boulevards he crossed heavy traffic under the direction of a policeman and entered the cathedral once again. Only a few visitors remained at this hour. The church was ornate for a Lutheran house of worship. He made several rounds of the interior, regarding the stained glass windows backlit by the signage on the grand square outside. He scanned the large mosaic portraying Prussian history. Finally, having exhausted all possibilities for distraction, he took a seat two rows back from the tower access and waited. And waited.
He tweaked the front brim of his fedora. He ran a finger down the furrow in the crown and set the hat beside him on the bench. He wound his watch to assure it was functioning correctly. It was. From time to time the heavy front door opened and closed, and a new arrival’s footsteps resounded in the vast space. Convinced of the clandestine nature of the rendezvous, he did not turn his head despite the strong urge to see Erika arrive to meet him.
Someone took a seat directly behind him but said nothing, so he continued his impatient wait. Should he turn to look? He heard the whisper of a prayer book being drawn from the rack behind his pew. A few moments passed before the visitor rose abruptly and retreated toward the entry. When he could wait no longer, he turned his head and caught a glimpse of a slender woman in plaid overcoat and gray hat leaving the church. Seconds later, a tall man emerged from behind a column and followed her out. He checked his wrist. Eight thirty-eight. Ryan stood and turned, concerned that he had blown the assignation. Had he somehow missed her signal?
On the bench behind him rested an open hymnal, a visiting card inserted between its fanned pages. Erika von Kredow. He reversed the card. In the dim light of the cathedral her fine script was barely legible: Tomorrow 10 a.m. Tiergarten at the canal lock, south end. Please take care! Being watched! Ryan raised the ivory-colored card to his nose and sensed a lingering trace of perfume.
He glanced at the songbook in his hand. His eyes found the hymn she had marked: Wenn wir in höchsten Nöten sein. When we are in most dire need.
CHAPTER FOUR
The Tiergarten, a vast parkland in the heart of Berlin normally alive with walkers and horseback riders, felt deserted on that frigid morning. Autumn gave way to winter before his eyes, the air cold and damp and leaden. The waters of the canal ran sluggish gray, the woodland foliage a blemish of bronze on a monochromatic landscape. He stood below an abutment at the lock bridge and watched her move along the canal path. He could not take his eyes from her, from the small boy holding her hand.
Of course she would already have a child, perhaps children. Until this moment she had been that sensuous young woman of his past. Now she was much more: a wife, a mother, and—apparently—a friend in serious trouble. As Erika and the child neared the bridge he searched in vain for any sign of the tall man from the previous evening.
Her face brightened when she caught sight of Ryan. Her cheeks rosy from the chill air, a cashmere scarf framing her face, she appeared as lovely as before, and Ryan felt the surge of old feelings. “Come, Leo, run with me,” he heard her tell the little boy. The two moved hand-in-hand down the embankment, Erika keeping her steps short to match the child’s. Her long coat parted to reveal those legs he remembered so well, and Ryan stepped up to greet her. She released the boy’s hand and fell into his arms, where he held her tightly, emotions coursing through him.
“I’ve missed you,” he said.
“You came for me—” amazement in her voice, “you got my message.” Relief was there, but also something deeper, anxiety perhaps, her old self-assurance displaced by wariness. “Ryan, this is Leonhardt. He’s three.” Th
e boy stood obediently to attention and made a little bow, then reached up for Ryan’s outstretched palm. “Leo, here’s my friend, Herr Doktor Lemmon.”
Ryan shook the small hand and grinned broadly. “A pleasure to meet you, Leo.”
The child smiled cautiously and nodded, but said nothing. She squatted down to put her arm around his narrow shoulders and squeezed him lovingly. “He’s seldom shy with strangers.” The boy received a radiant smile of reassurance from his mother that warmed Ryan, as well. He noted the child’s deep blue eyes and slender frame. Tufts of blond hair showed beneath the woolen cap. The boy wore a plaid scarf and child’s herringbone topcoat over short pants and calf-high stockings. The fine features of the face, perhaps, but no sign of the von Kredow arrogance.
“A beautiful boy, with his mother’s looks.”
“He sometimes shares her stubbornness, as well. But we must talk quickly, there’s little time.” Again he noted something, a caution deeper than mere anxiety; fear clouded her eyes. She took a small paper bag from her pocket and offered it to her son. “Here, Leo, go feed the ducks while I talk with my friend.” She gestured toward the waterfowl huddled near the water, a mix of migrants resting on their way south and locals accustomed to braving the Berlin winter. Leo, who had eyed the flock from the moment of their arrival, thanked his mother enthusiastically and ran down to a welcoming cacophony of honking and quacking. “Not all at once,” she called out to him with a mother’s smile. The boy waved to acknowledge the rule.
She turned to Ryan and the smile faded as the words came spilling out. “Ryan, I’m in such terrible trouble, and I need your help. Hearing from Rolf von Haldheim that you were coming back to Berlin was a godsend. And that you actually understood my message, that you are here now, is such a relief.” She dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief. “But now I must fear for you, as well.”
He touched her cheek, familiar and yet distant. “Slow down, Erika, just tell me what’s going on; we’ll figure it out together.” He led her to a nearby bench, brushing aside the damp leaves before they sat down.
The story came in rapid bursts: the loneliness and cruelty of her marriage, the threatening words of Klaus Pabst, and now the revelation of her bloodline. “You’re sure of the Jewish blood?” He understood immediately the ramifications in the Third Reich.
“There’s no denying it. My parents are terrified, and rightly so. Horst lives to destroy his ‘enemies of the Reich.’ I’ve been a good Nazi wife, accepted the abuse of the Jews. My God, Ryan, I’ve even played that board game with Leo, tossing the dice, moving the pieces around the board, collecting Jews to ship off to Palestine!” Her eyes sought out the boy surrounded by water fowl. “And now I am the target of my own prejudice.” Leo waved, and she responded. “Ironic, isn’t it?”
Ryan took her gloved hand in his and encouraged the rest of her story, all the while racing through the implications for them, for him. She revealed her suspicions about the governess, and how the driver spied on her every activity.
“Someone followed you out of the church last night. The chauffeur?”
“Oskar hardly lets me from his sight. My pretense to get out last night was a League of German Women meeting, and I made him stop at Breitscheidplatz. I had to know if you’d gotten my letter, understood it, if you’d be there…” Her voice trailed off and she squeezed his hand. “I was scared crazy you wouldn’t be, and then there you were, and I was petrified you’d turn and speak to me. Thank God you didn’t.”
“In all honesty, I was afraid to turn around to see if it was you.”
“This morning Oskar dropped us off at Tietz,” she continued. “We switched elevator cars on the third floor, went back down to the second and took the stairs. Leo thought it a great adventure—he loves the department stores—and at the side entrance we caught a cab.” Erika paused to catch a breath. “I think we lost Oskar at the first elevator, but he’ll report it all to Horst. We’ll have been gone for hours, but I had to see you, see if you can do anything to help us get away.” She drew back Ryan’s cuff to check his watch. “Horst will be fuming, and he’s more dangerous than anyone imagines, so we have to hurry.”
“We must get you and the boy out of here—out of Germany—as soon as possible.” The danger was real, frightening.
“I’ve already made a plan for Leo and me, for my parents, too. I certainly can’t leave them to face Horst. Word of this will destroy his career, and he won’t allow it to get out. Under the laws we should still be safe, but the law means nothing to him, he’s a monster; he’ll kill us all, or have that foul Pabst do it.” She checked on her son, her eyes brimming with tears. “He can, you know.”
“I know his brutality. He went after me that last night we were together, he and his cronies. It was a close call. I’m sure I’d have suffered as René Gesslinger did, if not worse.”
“Horst did that to René?” She hesitated a moment. “Of course he did, who else?”
“No one crosses Horst without payback.”
“Did René recover? I know it was bad.” She and Ryan had visited him briefly when René was in the clinic, still severely battered and unconscious.
“Far better than you’d expect. But time’s short, so tell me your plan.”
“I was set to move forward on my own, and then I heard you were back in the Reich, and I remembered how you stood up for Jewish friends in Marburg.” A melancholic hint of the old Erika’s grin came through. “I thought: now I’m a Jewish friend, too.” She gestured to the little boy holding a cracker high above the birds’ heads to make them work for the treat. “And he’ll pay the price, too.” The fear returned to her eyes. “I’ll understand if there’s nothing you can do.”
“Don’t worry, I’m here for you now, and we’ll find a way out of this mess.”
“There’s more, Ryan, much more, it reaches far beyond my family.” She shuddered and drew her coat more tightly around her. “Horst and his Gestapo plan something monstrous. You’ll think me mad for even believing it all.”
“You can’t shock me when it comes to this bunch.” He tried to keep his voice reassuring. “Tell me the rest?”
She stared down the slope to her little boy and the noisy flock. “They plan to conquer all of Europe, and methodically wipe out every Jew along the way.” She dried her eyes with the handkerchief.
Ryan had been wrong; he was stunned. He had read Der Stürmer and Der Angriff from time to time, and had often heard Goebbels in person and on the radio. He knew the depraved anti-Semitism expressed in those Party rags, the unwavering vilification of the Jews. But to systematically kill them? This was new, horrifying in its ramifications.
“You’re sure this isn’t just Horst’s braggadocio, some sick fantasy?”
“It’s in writing, Ryan, and appalling, a plan to exterminate all of them...” now her eyes fixed on the boy below, “all of us. Special killing units to follow the SS troops. Believe me, Czechoslovakia’s only the beginning, Poland and the Balkans are next. Our beloved Führer will have it all. My God, Ryan, we’re talking children, families, human beings whose only fault is being Jewish!” Her face flushed with anger and sorrow, her eyes damp with tears, she could not go on.
He held her in his arms as she sobbed softly. Ryan kept an eye on the boy near the water’s edge. The child sat on the sloping bank, surrounded by ducks, geese and two swans, talking to them and trying to pet their heads while avoiding their arching, demanding beaks. The crackers appeared gone.
Ryan sorted through their options, choosing and discarding ideas. If this outrageous plan for conquest and extermination were verifiable beyond a doubt, the proof could change the way many Americans thought about the Third Reich and European politics. Could change the minds of those who thought Hitler’s anti-Semitism was a casual whim. Put the lie to his oft-stated desire for peace, for having no further territorial demands in Europe. If such a plan were known as a certainty, many from America’s isolationist camp might change sides. Here was knowledge of inc
omparable value to the State Department and to President Roosevelt, but only if he could get irrefutable proof back to Washington. And that would put this woman and her child at even greater risk.
Once Erika had recovered sufficiently she sketched out her escape plan. It could work, Ryan thought. But it would have to happen quickly, and there could be no errors. Horst was indeed more dangerous than Ryan had suspected. And Ryan could see why she was increasingly nervous at being away so long.
Leo ran back up to his mother to get more crackers. Learning there were no more, he spread himself out between them on the bench, any shyness forgotten, and soon drifted off to sleep, his head cradled in his mother’s lap, his legs crossing Ryan’s. He noted flecks on the boy’s coat and shoes from sitting in the grass with the waterfowl, removed his handkerchief and brushed the droppings away as best he could before discarding the soiled cloth beside the bench. Erika, distracted by her own thoughts, seemed not to notice.
He knew she was losing herself in the horror of Horst’s plan as she stared down at the sluggishly flowing water. Ryan drew her attention back to the escape plan, reviewing it in detail and adding a few strategic changes. Then he made a proposal which might further endanger Erika, but could have momentous consequences if successful. Erika listened carefully and agreed it was worth any risk. They set a list of tasks and a timetable for the next twenty-four hours. Although it would further delay her return home, she reluctantly agreed to meet Ryan again at two that afternoon.
Bending over the dozing child she kissed Ryan gently on the lips. “Thank you, my American man.”
The boy opened his eyes and smiled.
CHAPTER FIVE
Corridor of Darkness Page 18
