There was no electricity in the corridors on the way back to the cell. Dieter had detailed Kuefer to escort her. The man kept a loose grip on her bicep, as if she might bolt at any moment. Anja noticed that he kept clearing his throat. She had heard the symptoms before. Breathing the smoke and debris caused by the raids had left many Berliners with chronic coughs and wheezes. The lights flickered on as they stepped around a pool of water that had collected on the concrete floor.
Anja recognized that they were nearing the cell that she and Nadine had been slung into earlier in the day. A set of keys jangled in her captor’s hand.
“Inspektor Kuefer,” she said, slowing down. “I understand that you are a man of integrity who is doing his duty for his country, but I wonder if there is any influence you could bear in the case of my niece and me?”
The man stopped. He was still holding her shoulder, but he was not looking at her unkindly. Anja decided to push harder.
“We are simple people,” she said. “We have never done anything unpatriotic in our lives. All of us are just individuals living in a time of crisis.”
“I understand,” Kuefer said. He raised his chin a little and looked her in the eye. “Do you feel remorseful?”
Anja tensed. The question appeared genuine, but it filled her with fear.
“Of course,” she said. “We understand that officers of the Reich are required to do their duty, no matter how harsh their behavior might seem to civilian eyes.”
Kuefer grunted and nodded as if satisfied. “I have influence over the Sturmbannführer,” he said. “If you are to escape this place you will need help. He is not a man known for his willingness to compromise.”
“I can see that,” Anja said.
“But first,” he said, “there needs to be some compromise on your part.”
He looked at her slyly, and she knew exactly what he meant. Hadn’t it always been so with men and power? She noticed that there was a cell door open next to them.
“Here,” Anja said, and led him into the room. It was exactly the same as the one in which she and Nadine were incarcerated, except that there was a single bunk lying against one wall.
“Sit down,” she said to Kuefer, pushing him gently to the bunk. She put her hands on his shoulders and began to rub the muscles at the base of his neck.
“This understanding…,” she said to him, tracing her index finger along his jawline. “I want you to release my niece and me. Say what you want to Schnell; it won’t matter. He’s got what he wants.”
“You know that I can’t release you,” Kuefer said. “That would be the end of me.”
“Hush,” Anja said to Kuefer, and moved her finger to his lips. “Be quiet for a moment and think about what you can do for us. Relax. You must be tired. Close your eyes just for a moment.”
Kuefer’s lids fell heavily, his eyes creased and dark with lack of sleep.
Anja continued massaging him with her left hand. With his eyes closed, the man looked old and dejected. Anja felt deep trepidation but, staring at the door behind which her niece was imprisoned, she felt a sense of righteousness as well: She would free them both. She reached around with her right hand to the back of her waistband and felt for the letter opener. The metal felt true in her hand, as if it were welcoming her grip.
The blade hit resistance for a brief second before slipping through into something soft that she assumed was brain tissue. She had committed the act as quickly and violently as she could. She supposed that this was the most humane—and effective—way to commit murder.
Kuefer slumped on the bunk, his body making a much louder noise than she had expected. The thump had a percussive effect around the cell. Anja didn’t want to look at him, but she had to get the keys that he had been brandishing. She cast a sideways look at the man. There was a pool of blood—so much more blood than she ever would have expected—gathering around his head. She had seen many dead bodies after the raids. She tried to imagine that this was just another of those. Another casualty of war.
She felt along Kuefer’s arm and down to his hand and felt the keys that were still hooked around his fingers. As she tugged at them there was a resistance—it felt almost as if the dead man were trying to hold on to them. Anja momentarily panicked that he was still alive and stepped back. She stared at his chest to check his breathing. She couldn’t bring herself to look at his face. She would wait for his hand to wrap itself around her throat before she would look at his eyes.
The keys slipped free of Kuefer’s fingers. Anja exited the cell with a prayer of thanks and made her way along the corridor. She tried to dampen the keys’ metallic rattling as she went. While it seemed that she and Nadine were the only captives, she had heard footsteps along the corridor at regular intervals while she had been locked up. She imagined that they had perhaps five minutes to effect their escape before Kuefer was missed.
There were a dozen keys on the chain. She fumbled through them, desperately trying each to see if it would release the door. She reached the last key—nothing. She started again, working her way through them systematically. She thought of poor Nadine on the other side of the door, oblivious and undoubtedly terrified by what was going on. Anja wished she could risk calling to her. She tried key number five for the second time. It rattled uselessly in the lock. Six… Seven… Eight…
Come on, come on, she said to herself, becoming convinced that Kuefer had picked up the wrong set of keys and that she would be reduced to kicking and shrieking at the door to try and free her niece.
Nine… Ten…
The key turned sweetly in the lock and spun around twice. It was the most wonderful noise Anja had ever heard. She shoved the door open, and Nadine stared at her from a corner of the room where she was pressed against the wall.
“Aunt?” she said, a relieved smile breaking across her face. The two of them embraced. “But…?” Nadine gestured, expecting an explanation.
“I’ll tell you later,” Anja told her, taking the girl by the hand. “We need to hurry.” They stood at the exit to the cell.
“Hold yourself as if you work here,” Anja instructed Nadine. “Things are falling apart, so the building is half empty. No one will question us if we look as if we belong here.”
The two of them tidied their hair and arranged their dirtied clothing as best they could.
“There,” Anja said with a rueful smile, pulling Nadine’s soot-stained collar straight. “Typical Berliners. Now remember to walk confidently. We will be fine once we are out of this basement.”
The two women walked silently along the corridor. Anja thought that it would be more plausible if they chatted, but she couldn’t bring herself to speak. The corridor echoed with their footsteps. She was barely breathing because of the sour smell of the cells.
They came to the main door that secured the corridor. Anja found the larger key that she had seen Kuefer use and opened the exit swiftly. Passing into a hallway, they found another door opposite, which clearly led to another corridor with cells. They worked their way into another corridor, which had rooms that seemed to have been abandoned. Anja suspected that maybe these had been the guards’ rooms. She checked on Nadine, her face fragile and tense. If they could only get up a level then they would find an exit from the building.
She needed to be calm, to remain in control. There must be a way out somewhere.…
There.
Anja saw a staircase at the end of the corridor. The pair of them hurried toward it and began to move up the steps carefully. Just then she heard the thump of boots—someone was coming down. Anja and Nadine looked at each other. Anja glanced behind them to see if there was somewhere they might hide, but there was no time to escape. Anja nodded to her niece and the two of them moved upward as the noise headed toward them. Anja’s head was spinning with anxiety. She feared that she might vomit.
“It was such a relief to hear from him.…”
The voice was Nadine’s.
“Absolutely,” Anja replied as
they climbed the stairs. “My last two letters went unanswered, so to hear that he received the care package I sent him was wonderful.…”
Above her, at the top of her sight line, she saw a pair of men’s boots. They faltered in their downward progress for a moment. The man hovered on a step.
“Although I suspect that maybe he won’t be needing the gloves you knitted him any longer,” Nadine said, smiling.
“Oh, I imagine that he will find a use for them,” Anja replied.
As they rose up the stairs a man’s body came into view. He was wearing a uniform that she didn’t recognize. He was some functionary, a janitor perhaps. She looked him square in the eye and nodded.
“Good morning, sir,” she said.
He eyeballed her for a moment before continuing on his way. At the bottom of the staircase he looked back up at Anja and Nadine. By then they were gone.
Anja squeezed Nadine’s elbow as they reached the ground floor. They were almost free. The two of them maintained the pretense of their conversation as they walked down a corridor with a parquet floor. The concrete of the basement had given way to wood. They were headed in the right direction, Anja was sure of it. They passed along a wide corridor with high ceilings. There were dark lines on the wall where artwork had been removed. On the opposite side of the walkway large oval windows had been covered in tape and blackout. Workers hurried past; Anja and Nadine mimicked the movements and bearings of those around them.
But where was the exit?
They were close, but they were still trapped in the building and time was short. The chances of their being recaptured grew by the second. Anja opened a formidable door at random and peered inside a large room containing a long table—a dining room. She pulled Nadine behind her and led the girl to the other side of the room and opened another door, which led to a passageway. She assumed that this would lead to a kitchen. They pushed their way through swinging doors into a room where a few old women sat glumly knitting and reading among steaming pots. Each of them looked up.
“Oh, I apologize,” Anja explained pleasantly. “We’ve just been transferred here and seem to have lost our bearings. Could you let us know the way out, please?”
One of the old women raised a withered arm drowsily.
“That way,” she instructed them. None of the others said a word, but they continued to stare at Anja and Nadine as if they hadn’t seen anything so intriguing for years. “Go through those doors—one way will lead you to the front lobby, the other to the service entrance.”
Anja started moving toward the door.
“If you’re trying to get out of here discreetly, I recommend the right turn,” the woman added.
Anja halted in her tracks. Had the woman actually said that? The kitchen staff returned to their knitting and reading. Anja and Nadine bolted for the door and moved to their right. Her heart leapt: She could make out daylight at the end of the passageway. They reached a metal gate that afforded access to the exterior of the building. The two of them peered out. There were three officers smoking next to a vehicle and a guard who controlled access to the courtyard.
“This doesn’t feel right,” Anja said to Nadine.
“Let’s go the other way,” her niece agreed. “We’ll look believable if we chat.”
“I’m afraid that’s not going to work,” came a voice.
Anja turned to see Dieter standing behind her.
“I was just on my way to fetch your husband,” he said, “when one of the attendants let me know that he’d made a rather nasty discovery. Poor old Kuefer. I know how much he was looking forward to his retirement.”
Anja felt a wave of exhaustion wash over her. Had they worked so hard just to be thrown back in the cell? With a murder on her hands she was sure to be executed. Her mind spun in a whirl of calculation: She would throw herself at Dieter and instruct Nadine to run. The guards outside would be distracted by the gunfire from Dieter’s weapon. Maybe her niece might escape.
Suddenly a siren began to blare. Then another. The Americans would come in the daytime, flying so low it was as if they might brush the chimney pots. These raids offered very little time to prepare—the attacks were quick and unexpected.
“This way,” Dieter said over the noise of the sirens, gesturing back up the corridor with his gun. “Quickly.”
There was an explosion a few streets away, and then another, closer. The bombing pattern was moving toward them.
“Move!” Dieter said urgently. Farther up the corridor people were running to the shelters.
Another explosion—this time enough for them to feel the tremors. The three of them stopped moving. Each was now experienced enough with the bombardments to know what was coming next. Anja counted in her head: There would be a six-second gap until the next explosion. Her eyes met with those of Dieter. She sensed that he too was counting down the seconds to impact.
There was a percussive whump that sucked the air from them, and the building shook—the walls seemed to bend, and each of them was thrown to the floor by the displaced air. Plaster and timber crashed around them. There were screams from within the grayness that enveloped them. After a moment, Anja realized that she was unharmed. Her first thought was of Nadine. She lifted her hand to discover that her arm was wrapped around her niece’s body. She must have acted to protect her instinctively.
“Quick,” she said to Nadine, pulling her to her feet. The two of them stood up. They could see flames through the dust and smoke. Anja took Nadine’s hand and they picked their way through the debris. The part of the building they were in appeared to be structurally sound, but there was significant damage to the interior shell. They worked their way along the corridor to the exit. Anja checked to see if Dieter was behind them before looking outside. The three officers she had seen earlier were gone—perhaps they had fled to the shelter. Their vehicle was partially covered in debris. The guard at the gate lay dead.
“Come!” she said to Nadine. The stairs down from a loading dock into the courtyard were impassible, so they worked their way downward by sitting and inching slowly across the rubble on their backsides. Once at the bottom, they picked their way across the courtyard, avoiding flames pouring from a ruptured gas pipe. They arrived at an archway, and Anja could see the street at the end of a passageway that was perhaps seventy-five meters long.
“Stop right there!”
Anja turned to see Dieter at the entrance to the building, his pistol leveled at them. She didn’t think twice. She ran toward the exit, pulling Nadine with her along the long tunnel that led to the street. Shots rang out over their heads. Dieter slithered down the mound of rubble and hobbled across the courtyard toward them. He had no line of fire, as Anja and Nadine had disappeared through the archway. He arrived at the arch and saw the two of them running for their lives toward Prinz-Albrecht-Straße, their silhouettes framed by the tunnel. He thought about the key, and the riches of the security box. He would have his prize—and he would take Johann’s family.
His right arm ached as he raised his pistol. Already damaged, his arm had been hit by something heavy during the raid and had gone numb. Looking down the barrel, he aimed at Nadine—the woman would stop when the girl went down. Then he would take them both. His index finger tightened on the trigger. He couldn’t miss.
He pulled the trigger, and felt the satisfying thud of minor recoil. But Nadine was still moving. She didn’t even appear to be injured.
Damn his blasted arm.
He fired two more shots. Still Nadine didn’t hit the ground.
He tried again, but just as he had the girl in his sights there was a flash and a deafening detonation from an incendiary close by. Dieter got his shot away, but he knew in his heart that he had missed—the barrel of this weapon had jerked upward at the crucial moment.
Dieter cursed and leveled the weapon again; maybe there was still time.…
He fired again and missed.
He realized it made no difference: They had not eluded death.
In the distance, where the tunnel exited onto Prinz-Albrecht-Straße, he could see Anja and Nadine entering an inferno of fire and smoke created by the incendiaries.
Berlin was ablaze, and the two women were running into the fire.
24
The morning was so hazy that it was hard to tell whether the sun had risen or not. A few people scurried along the pavement in a hurry. Johann was of the same mind. Lukas moved nimbly through the streets beside him, his eyes scanning the road ahead for danger. Every hundred meters or so, the boy checked furtively behind them. When the pair crossed major junctions he scrutinized every direction before rushing across the road as if exposing himself to peril.
“It’s okay,” Johann assured him occasionally. He wanted to convince the boy that it was no longer necessary to conduct himself as if he were being pursued, to persuade Lukas that now he had an adult with him who would protect him. The boy remained unconvinced, his eyes shifting constantly, his body tense and prepared to confront a threat.
As they made their way west along the north side of the Spree, Johann felt utter dismay at what he saw. In the distance, it appeared that most of the university and Neue Wache—the tomb of the war dead—appeared intact, the buildings’ neoclassical façades remaining like healthy teeth in a mouth full of smashed dentistry. Elsewhere, the city resembled photos he had seen of classical antiquity: a ravaged environment that had been abandoned to the elements centuries ago. He remembered being taken to see the Pergamon Altar on Museumsinsel as a teenager. He recalled how the ruins told the story of a distant culture that seemed almost mythical. Now the idea of Berlin as a center of commerce and culture seemed as hard to imagine as the court of King Eumenes—whose altar he had stared at one Sunday afternoon, brought to life in Europe almost two millennia after it had been abandoned to the elements.
Lukas pulled him sharply into a ruined shop. Overwhelmed by the stench of the charred building, Johann watched as a pair of SS men hastened past, their faces dour and strained. Both gripped MP 40 submachine guns tightly and had folded the stocks for use at close range. Johann knew that standard practice in civilian areas was to carry them so that the barrel was facing into the air. Neither of them was following procedure any longer. Rule book be damned.
The Nero Decree Page 26
