The ex-capitán had had the morning to lie and think. Now he said: “The time is short, and I am afraid to risk waiting until night for my papers. You understand, our friends have a place where they prepare such documents; but suppose they don’t happen to have a Swedish visa stamp? Suppose they could get it in the daytime, but not after the office closes?”
“Anton, it would be suicide for you to go out on the streets in daylight!”
“I have a telephone number that you can call for me. I have sworn not to reveal it to anyone, but in this emergency I feel justified in giving it to you.”
“I don’t question that; but remember, your friends may be in the hands of the enemy now.”
“My idea is for you to telephone from some place where you will be inconspicuous, and then get away quickly.”
“Listen, Anton. If the police have raided your place, they will take the call and will trace it; it mightn’t be ten minutes before they’d be asking questions at the place from which I telephoned.”
“That is true. You must not phone from here, nor from a hotel or other place where they have a switchboard operator. It must not be from a shop or place where you have to ask permission. I suggest a small hotel, where they have booths into which you can walk without speaking to anyone. If you have reason to think that somebody has observed you, you don’t have to put in the call. Act as if you got a busy signal, and go elsewhere.”
“Even that is a risk, but not too great, I suppose. Am I to tell your friends what you want?”
“I will give you the exact words, and you are to repeat them. You say: ‘Die Linsen sind geschliffen, Paket Nummer siebzehn, gehen nach Schweden und sie müssen nicht später als 5 Uhr morgens bereit sein.”
Lanny repeated these words. He could guess from the word “lenses” that the secret hideout of the conspirators must be in an optical shop; but of course he didn’t remark this. He asked: “Do I give this message to anybody who answers the phone?”
“If the person doesn’t understand it, he’ll give it to one who will. If the person says: ‘Richtig,’ or Ja, mein Herr,’ or something like that, you may be sure it’s O.K. If he asks you to repeat it, do so. But if he starts asking what it means, and which lenses, and what package number seventeen, and who is to get it in Sweden, and so on, you may suspect that it’s the Gestapo, trying to hold you while they get busy on another line and trace the call. In that case, get out of that place fast. Don’t walk on any boulevard or straight street; turn at every corner and zigzag out of the way.”
“Trust me for that,” said Lanny, smiling, for he had done that sort of thing more times than he was going to let Anton know. “I’ll take a chance and help you, because I’d surely hate to leave you behind tomorrow morning.”
“One thing more,” persisted the other. “The most conspicuous feature of a man in winter is his overcoat. I suggest that you wear the Fürst’s overcoat for this trip. You don’t want the police to have a description of yours.”
Lanny grinned. “Suppose I meet some of the Donnerstein family in the hall?”
“Fold the overcoat with the lining outside and carry it on your arm till you get away from the house. Nobody will recognize it that way.”
VIII
The P.A. carried out this carefully thought-out program. He walked into several medium-class hotels, but the layout did not suit him. At last he entered one by a side door and saw the clerk busy in conversation. He slipped into a telephone booth, dropped his coin, and gave the number his friend had imparted. A woman’s voice answered, and he gave the instruction that the finished lenses, package number seventeen, were to go to Sweden and were to be ready not later than five o’clock in the morning. The woman asked no questions, but repeated the German words carefully, and then added: “Danke schön, mein Herr.” Lanny hung up and walked out, still unnoticed.
He was quite sure he had got away with that one. However, he took the precaution to zigzag; and while he walked he thought about the code. He had been familiar with codes since the age of fourteen, when he and Robbie had been caught in Paris by the outbreak of World War I, and a bright little boy had acted as his father’s secretary, answering telephone calls from all the nations that wanted to purchase Budd guns, and coding and decoding messages on the subject. Obviously, “Seventeen” was Monck’s code number, and “finished lenses” probably had no meaning, but was camouflage to fit the business of an optical shop. If Monck was going to Sweden they would know what papers he would require, and they would understand the time limit.
All right, these people would have half a day and a whole night to work in, and if they could produce a German passport and exit permit and a Swedish visa stamp that looked authentic, Bernardt Monck alias all the other names would stand a chance of getting out of the Nazi gangsterland. Incidentally, Eric Erickson could go on buying German synthetic oil and selling it to the Swedes at a profit. An American “Pink” admitted that a man who came into Berlin under the bombs and ate the ersatz foods of the Germans was surely entitled to some reward for his trouble.
Lanny had only one more errand, and that was to stop at Der Dicke’s official Residenz and tell the General-Major about his change of plans. He wouldn’t mention Erickson, but would say that he had a friend in Stettin he desired to call on. Furtwaengler would accept this and cancel the plane reservation; they would say good-by all over again, and Lanny would stop in a toy shop and order some small gifts to be sent to his friend’s large family. Toys were still obtainable, oddly enough; perhaps because they were handmade, by old people who couldn’t do anything else.
“By the way,” said Lanny to the faithful staff officer, “I have a permit to take out six paintings that Baron von Behr’s office packed for me. I am going to catch a steamer for Stockholm, and it won’t wait if I am delayed. I know from past experience how stupid border officials can be; they have to telephone to headquarters, and perhaps the line is busy, or the chief is out to lunch, or whatever. I am wondering if it might not be wise to have a letter from Seine Exzellenz’s office, stating that the transaction has been approved by him.”
“Certainly, Herr Budd, if that will facilitate matters.”
“I imagine Seine Exzellenz and the Einsatzstah are one and the same. At any rate, in this case I refused to have anything to do with the deal unless it had his approval.”
“I know that, Herr Budd. Seine Exzellenz has left town, but I am sure he would wish me to write you such a letter. There would be no sense in selling you paintings that you couldn’t take out.”
“Write it on official stationery,” suggested the art expert, “and put his seal on it, so that I may be able to overwhelm any officious subordinate.” He said this with his best grin, and it was a tribute to the Allmacht of the Allmächtige Number Two, and therefore of the General-Major who served him.
The P.A. went out from that office carrying a document with a gold seal as big as one of Göring’s medals; he was sure it would make his paintings safe against the touch of any subordinate in Naziland. Too bad that he didn’t have something really secret to put into those packages; for example, if he had been able to steal that priceless dossier of the negotiations in which Molotov had been invited to join the war against Britain at the price of the Baltic states and the Near East with its oil!
But, alas, he didn’t have a thing but the six “degenerate” paintings—and one Monck! He smiled to himself as this not so brilliant jest occurred to him. It warmed his heart, because it made him think of F.D.R., and how inevitably, if the Boss had had dealings with the ex-capitán, there would have been a Bernie the Monck to join Harry the Hop and Tommy the Cork and Henry the Morgue and the rest of them. What a blessing to a nation to have in this crisis a leader who possessed gaiety of spirit as well as courage and vision!
IX
The P.A. went shopping for the last time. The Berliners spent a good part of their day at that duty, standing in lines or wandering from place to place looking for something that did not exist. Usually it w
as the women who bore this burden; but Lanny had plenty of time, all the time until ten the next morning. When he had his arms full he went back to the palace; he gave one bundle to Hilde’s woman servant and took the other upstairs for his friend. The two men ate a meal, and then Monck covered himself up again—you couldn’t stay out of bed in that room unless you were moving continually.
Lanny went to pay his respects to the two ladies and told them his plans for departure, and also, of course, about Vetterl. The unfortunate man was getting himself together. He might go out later to took for a place to stay; Lanny would go with him for safety. “It might be better if he spent another night with me,” said the friend, and Hilde replied that this would be quite agreeable. Lanny added: “Before he leaves, he wishes to meet you and thank you for your kindness.” To this Hilde said that they would always be ready to meet any friend of Lanny’s.
He put a thousand marks into her lap, as he had threatened. That was somewhat more than the proceeds of two of his ten-thousand-franc notes, and she protested that it was too much; but he assured her that he could spare it and that she would need it for her moving. “Put your pride aside, old dear,” he said. “Tell me your situation and I may be able to give you some advice.”
So he heard one of the sad stories of the old aristocracy, which was fading out all over Europe before the power of the big-business class. In Germany the process had been enormously accelerated by the Nazis; they had called themselves a workingmen’s party, but all they had given the workingmen was the Blood Purge of ten years ago, and from that time on they had been the party of steel, coal, chemicals, and munitions producers. The great cartels were making fabulous profits out of the war, and did not worry because they had to put it all back into plant. They were looking forward to victory, after which all the profits in Europe would be theirs.
Hilde didn’t say any of that; what she said was: “Alas, my husband owned very few stocks. He was a conservative man and put his savings into bonds. These pay no more, as you know; and what has happened to the money? The prices of the common things are fixed, but the result is that the goods become scarcer every day; the quality deteriorates, and if you want anything good you have to pay black-market prices.”
“You will find it easier in the country,” he assured her. “You will be farther from the bombs and nearer to the sources of food.”
“Yes, but how are we to get our things moved? Motor transport is unobtainable; and are we to tie our goods up in bundles like the refugees and carry them on our heads?”
Lanny didn’t know the answer to that. He could only say, lamely: “Call in some of the secondhand dealers and sell what you cannot carry.” Lacking the faculty of prevision, he had no idea how simply that problem was going to be solved for the Fürstin Donnerstein and her household—and before that first day of March had passed!
X
He went back to Monck, and they lay in bed and discussed in whispers all the troubles they could imagine. So much safer to think them out in advance than to be confronted with sudden emergencies! Monck had to go to that unnamed place for his papers, and he might be caught in a police round-up on the way, or he might find the place in the hands of the enemy. His own fingerprints had to be put on the passport, because he might be required to make fingerprints for comparison before he was allowed to board the steamer. He and Lanny discussed at length the possibility that the police might have sent the prints as well as the photograph of the much-wanted man to every exit station in Germany and to roadblocks on the way. They might even have enlarged them and sent them by telegraph. No one knew better than this man of many aliases the deadly efficiency of the Geheime Staatspolizei, or the marvelous devices with which modern technology had provided them. He told Lanny that they now had a device for printing code messages in microfilm, so tiny that it could be fitted into a dot or period as printed in a newspaper or by a typewriter key. That must surely be giving the Allied Intelligence services a lot of research to do!
The German said: “I will blur the fingerprints as much as I dare, because the blame for that will be attributed to the official who made them. If any question is raised or delay is suggested, it will be up to you, Lanny, to make use of your magic letters. But you mustn’t go too far with them.”
The reply was: “Forget it, Anton! If I have to choose between sacrificing you and sacrificing my ability to come back into Germany, you know which it will be. For your comfort let me tell you that my Boss forbade me to come here, and I only did it because I couldn’t help it.”
They argued the problem back and forth and came to two conclusions: first, they would move heaven and earth to get Monck on the steamer; and second, if this could not be done, Lanny would not stay behind. If Anton Vetterl were held, it would mean that the Gestapo were going to make an investigation, and they would certainly be able to identify him as Konrad Kraft, and it might even be that they would identify him as Bernhardt Monck. Lanny’s effort to save him might lead to Lanny himself being caught in their net.
“We can die only once,” said the ex-capitän, “and when I go out of this place I shall have the capsule in my mouth.”
“I know,” replied Lanny. “They gave me one a year and a half ago, when I set out for Germany to try to meet Professor Schilling.” Then, changing to a less gruesome subject, he inquired: “What do you expect to do when you get out?”
“How can I tell? I’ll report to the O.S.S. and do what they tell me. I suppose they’ll send me back here.”
“Then what is the use of going out?”
“I have to get new orders, and I suppose a new layout. Perhaps I’ll be an old peasant woman.” They both chuckled, and it made their parting a bit easier.
XI
Monck estimated that he could get to his destination, attend to his affairs, and return by ten o’clock in the evening. So Lanny agreed to be in front of the palace at that hour. If Monck wasn’t there, Lanny would come again at eleven, and again at twelve. If the man had not come by midnight, it would mean that he was in trouble, or that for some reason he had not been able to get his papers until morning. The next appointment would be for seven in the morning, when it would still be dark.
Lanny cautioned: “Remember, the hour when the car leaves is ten. I’ll hold it in front of the house until that moment, and you can take a chance on coming by daylight.” The other replied: “I’ll be on hand if it’s humanly possible.”
Lanny put out the light and moved the heavy window curtains and looked out. He wouldn’t let his friend go until it was completely dark. They went together, silently, and not meeting anybody in the house. They walked together only as far as the corner and then parted. Monck said: “So long, and good luck to you.” His friend replied: “And to the cause.” He knew that Monck lived for that.
Lanny had to pass some time, and he decided to see what Doktor Jüppchen Goebbels was feeding his public. He went into a cinema “palace,” and watched the unfoldment of a story about the love life of a beautiful golden-haired farm girl, a perfect examplar of the Aryan ideal, who raised healthy animals for the Fatherland and made speeches about the Führer that closely paralleled what the old Sunday School books had said about Jesus. According to this movie, each aspect of farm life was more like a colored valentine than the one preceding it; the sun shone all the time, there was never any mud or manure, and the sturdy young lover who came home from the war hadn’t a spot on his uniform.
After that came a newsreel, full of heiling and goosestepping, and with no depressing scenes. Then came Jüppchen himself—it was part of the speech he had tried to make in the great Sportpalast of Berlin on the thirtieth of January, the tenth anniversary of the assumption of power by the Nazis. Göring had been scheduled to speak in the morning and Goebbels in the afternoon, but the malicious Allies had sent their bombing planes on purpose to spoil both occasions. Evidently the Minister of Popular Enlightenment and Propaganda had made this recording in a studio, for no air-raid sirens and no ack-ack interrupted his
eloquence.
He had been driven from his usual line that victory was certain. How could he hold it, with the Allies in North Africa and the calamity of Stalingrad being whispered all over the land? No, he told them that they were fighting for their national existence, and he pictured the horrors that lay before them if they did not win. It surely didn’t make cheerful entertainment, and entirely spoiled the idyllic picture of German farm life.
Lanny was more interested in the audience than in what he saw on the screen. He was pleased to observe that the public didn’t like this odious little man of hate. There was no applause when he appeared and made his smiling bow; and as he went on, there began a murmur that became almost a snarl—the equivalent of what American schoolboys call a “raspberry.” Lanny had been told of these demonstrations, and that it had become the practice of the Gestapo to flash on the lights and arrest persons caught taking part in them. Evidently the audience knew about it, for they were cautious. Nobody stood up, nobody shouted; they just groaned as if they were sick and couldn’t help it, or as if they were distressed by the bad news about the plight of the Fatherland. Lanny was glad, for he surely didn’t want to be caught in a raid and have to explain himself to any SS men.
XII
He stood it until after nine-thirty, and then he went out and groped his way to the Donnerstein palace, arriving exactly at ten. He spoke the name of Vetterl, not too loud, but there was no response. He strolled away, and returned two or three minutes later, but still there was no sign of his friend. He started up the steps to enter the building, and at that moment came the shriek of the sirens. This was not what was called a “pre-alarm,” this was the real thing and meant that enemy bombers were nearing the city. Lanny went up the steps and let himself into the house; he ran up to his room and threw his few belongings into his two bags. You could time yourself in these raids because you would hear the anti-aircraft fire in the distant suburbs before the bombers were overhead.
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