by Tricia Goyer
Kassler stepped away from his chair as he contemplated the question. He pulled a book from the shelf and pretended to be transfixed by its title: Physics Today by Niels Bohr.
Kassler knew his movements were a signal to the esteemed professor that he controlled the space they were occupying. He also hoped the professor knew that no matter how many friends Heisenberg had in high places, they would never trump his superiors in Berlin. If he read Heisenberg’s face correctly, the professor believed the Gestapo had abducted Engel. Kassler would do nothing to dispel the image of an all-knowing, all-powerful secret police network.
“You are correct about your colleague’s arrest, but I’m not at liberty to go into the details. Rather, the reason for my visit is to ask you several questions about Doktor Engel. I expect your full cooperation.”
“I’m listening.” Heisenberg reached inside a desk drawer for a pipe, which he tamped with tobacco. “Although if you hold him in your care, I’m not sure why you wouldn’t ask him yourself.”
Kassler narrowed his gaze, yet he refused to give an answer. Instead, he continued with his predetermined questions.
“Doktor Heisenberg, has Joseph Engel ever said anything that would make you doubt his loyalty to our Führer and the great mission he has given our country on behalf of National Socialism?”
“Major, not only has Doktor Engel been faithful to the Fatherland, but he has done more to advance our research in the last six months than any of the physicists enlisted in our military research.”
Kassler tilted his head in interest. “Military research?”
“Yes, and unless I have official notification that I can discuss our project with you, I’m afraid that’s all I’m at liberty to say.”
Kassler ignored Heisenberg’s comment. He didn’t need an explanation. He already knew what the esteemed physicist and his minions were working on—some sort of Wunderwaffe.
“What can you tell me about Engel’s interests away from his work? Married? Girlfriends?”
“Doktor Engel is single, and like the rest of us, married to our important work. He lives with another scientist, and I have no idea about his personal habits. That sort of information doesn’t interest me. His mind is what interests me, sir. His mind.”
“Is there anything else you can tell me? Let me remind you that your cooperation could prove to be useful to your own personal safety.” Kassler let the mild threat hang in the air.
Heisenberg rubbed his forehead for a moment, as if attempting to rub out the worry lines. “Well, he is quite religious.” Kassler straightened his posture. “Please explain, Doktor Heisenberg.” Then Kassler even offered what he hoped was a warming smile.
“I know the family. They are lifelong Lutherans. Doktor Engel regularly attends services at Trinity Lutheran. He’s the only one working for me who goes to church on Sundays—or at least most Sundays.”
Kassler chuckled. “He must be the youngest person there. Everyone knows religion isn’t embraced by the young these days. Is it because his mother goes to the same church?” The Gestapo chief couldn’t imagine why any young, virile man would want to be in the company of a bunch of crabby old ladies on a Sunday morning.
“I’ve never met his parents. They don’t live in Heidelberg. I think they’re in Berlin, but that should be something easy for the Gestapo to find out.” Heisenberg shifted in his seat, clearly uncomfortable. “Religion and politics—those are topics rarely discussed within these halls. If you want my opinion, and I believe you do, I would say Doktor Engel is a pious young man. On occasion, he spoke of his Lutheran upbringing by his parents, whom he seems to respect very much. I believe going to church is something he’s done all his life, and in these uncertain times—”
Kassler stopped him right there. “Uncertain times? Do you question the wisdom of the course that our beloved Führer has set before us? Divine Providence will usher the Glorious Reich into a position of global supremacy for a thousand years, will it not?”
“Sturmbannführer Kassler, excuse my doubt. It’s just that you hear so many rumors,” Heisenberg said. “But I, for one minute, do not question the path set before us by our Führer. In fact, I’ve often wondered if our work will be the deciding factor in the struggle between National Socialism and the enemies who seek to destroy us. I’m just sorry that I’m not at liberty to say more . . .” Heisenberg adjusted his tweed jacket and shrugged.
Kassler nodded, then he shifted the topic back to Joseph Engel. “Anything else you can tell me? Does he have any likes or dislikes? Anything unusual?”
“Yes, I do remember something.” Heisenberg struck a match and touched the flame to shreds of tobacco in his briarwood pipe. “He doesn’t like to eat ham—even the delicious smoked Schwarzwälder Schinken from Bavaria. In fact, I’ve never seen him eat any sort of pork, including bratwurst.”
Kassler cocked an eyebrow in surprise. “Did you ever ask him why?”
“No, but at last year’s Oktoberfest, a group of us ordered the usual steins of Paulaner lager and enough bratwurst, fried potatoes, grilled onions, and sauerkraut to feed a battalion. When the food arrived, Engel stuck with the potatoes and onions. We all noticed he didn’t touch the bratwurst.”
A thin smile came to Kassler’s lips. It was another confirmation.
Now to find Engel. The next twenty-four hours would be critical, but he still had a few trees he could shake.
17
Basel, Switzerland
10:01 a.m.
Gabi suppressed a yawn as she fixed her eyes on the words she was supposed to be translating. Getting nowhere, she urged herself to focus. Perhaps the late-night train ride was the reason for her scattered thoughts this morning. Or her tossing and turning after trundling off to bed. Her father had been snoring loudly when Eric dropped her off near midnight, but that wasn’t what kept her awake.
In truth, her mind mixed the memories of the ride home with Eric. With the clattering of typewriter keys around her, Gabi’s mind took her back to the dimness of the train car as they sat side by side. The moonlight dancing through the window. The way Eric had protectively wrapped his arm around her shoulders during the journey. The combination had provided a dizzying effect.
She and Eric had talked of family, and country, and had shared simple dreams—like enjoying wildflowers on high mountain peaks once the war was over. Being with him seemed right in a way. Yet while one part of her appreciated the security of Eric’s simple care, especially during times of war, the other part of her wanted something more. To experience life and to be challenged. To test herself—to test her heart—before settling into a relationship based on comfort and a farmer’s simple dreams.
“Gabi, Herr Baumann would like to see you.” Frau Schaffner, her supervisor, interrupted Gabi’s thoughts, punctuating the remark with an icy smile.
Gabi ignored the frosty directive and gathered up her work, which, from what she’d managed to translate so far, involved troop movements along the Eastern Front. Even a military novice like herself could tell that the vaunted German Army was in retreat.
“I’ll be right back, Frau Schaffner.” Gabi locked her desk.
She couldn’t help but notice that her heartbeat quickened just slightly as she neared Dieter’s office. She also took note of the envious gazes of the others in the typing pool as they watched her quickened steps.
Enough, Gabi Mueller, she told herself. Dreaming of a thoughtful, devoted boyfriend was one thing, but Dieter was her boss. And that was that.
The last thing she needed was all the drama that would be wrapped around getting involved with the head of the OSS Basel office—drama from her co-workers, her parents, and most likely Eric too, who not only cared for her but also seemed wary of her work for the Americans.
She smoothed her skirt as she stepped into Dieter’s corner office.
He offered her a grin and then held up his left hand. “I’ll be right with you, Fräulein Mueller. Just let me complete this sentence.” Dieter scribbled
another line, then set his ink pen back into its white marble stand.
“Excuse me, but I just got off the phone with Frau Taylor. I wanted to make a note for myself before I lost my train of thought. Although this doesn’t guarantee I won’t misplace this note too—just like the memo I’ve been searching for half the morning.” Dieter chuckled as he swept his hand over various piles of files stacked on his desk.
Gabi squinted her eyes, trying to keep on task. “Frau Taylor? I’m sure I haven’t made her acquaintance.”
Dieter nodded. “No, of course you haven’t.”
Perhaps it was the sunlight streaming through the window, or maybe the weariness of her own gaze, but he looked especially chipper this morning. His bright eyes and slight smile made him even more handsome, if that was possible. The truth was, Eric could never match her boss in the looks department.
“Perhaps an explanation is in order. Frau Taylor is the personal assistant to Mr. Dulles in Bern. She said that she needed a top-secret message translated right away.” Dieter cocked an eyebrow and leaned forward. “She asked specifically for you.”
“Me?” Gabi’s right hand covered her heart. “But . . . are you sure? I’ve never heard of Frau Taylor.”
“Apparently, you’ve gained favor with the Americans, seemingly overnight. They heard about your first mission . . . you made an impression. The message should arrive by courier in the next hour or so.” Dieter looked down at his notes. “Yes, Frau Taylor gave me specific instructions. You are to translate the message at your desk with the courier seated in your vicinity. When you are finished, the courier will return by train to Bern.”
“Isn’t this unusual? I mean, doesn’t Mr. Dulles have his own translators in Bern?”
“Well, on rare occasions, Bern has asked our bureau to translate messages or intercepts.”
Gabi thought back to the last time such a thing had happened. The raw material had arrived via the Kleinschmidt teletype machine in the secure back room—and never handheld by courier. Still, what did she know? She wasn’t here to question those who obviously knew more than she did about the workings of the OSS.
“But you’re right. I, too, was surprised. Although I shouldn’t be. Sometimes it’s difficult to tell what the Americans are up to. It seems I can never figure them out.” Dieter drummed his fingers on his desk, and she noted the tightening of his jaw. Just that quick he was all business once again.
Gabi pursed her lips, telling herself not to let his offhand comment bother her, even though she detected a “we versus them” edge to his tone of voice. Apparently, he had forgotten that she was half red-white-and-blue.
“The Americans?” she said nonchalantly.
“Excuse me, Miss Mueller. I meant no insult. That was frustration speaking. Yesterday wasn’t an easy day. While you were playing tourist in the Alps, I had to drag myself to Bern to meet with the Amis. War doesn’t take a holiday, remember?”
Next time just go ahead and share your true feelings— and hold nothing back. Gabi smirked. “I understand, Herr Baumann. We live in tumultuous times.”
“Your graciousness is noted,” Dieter said. “Now let me turn to another point of discussion. Remember how I asked you a couple of days ago if you were available to discuss your evolving role with this organization?”
Gabi leaned forward. “Yes, of course.”
“Then how about lunch? After you finish your translation work, of course.” He leaned back in his chair and threaded his fingers behind his head. “The courier will be here by 11 o’clock. Frau Taylor said it’s just a couple of paragraphs, so it shouldn’t take you long to type out the appropriate translation.”
“Today? Lunch today?”
“Why not? You have to eat, don’t you?”
She brushed her hair back from her shoulder, wishing she’d paid more attention to her appearance. Wishing she’d worn something other than the simple blue dress sewn by her mother.
“It’s just a lunch between two colleagues. We’ll keep it casual. Let’s meet at the restaurant at the Globus department store. You know it? And don’t worry about how you’re dressed.” Dieter’s eyes quickly swept across her ensemble. “You look fine. Actually, better than fine.”
Her cheeks reddened, realizing he’d read her thoughts but not sure how to accept his offhand remark.
“The restaurant at the Globus, of course.” Gabi fumbled with her hands. “You’re talking about the restaurant on the penthouse floor with a nice view of the Rhine.”
“Exactly.” He rose and led her to the door. “But let’s keep this between you and me. I don’t want Frau Schaffner getting wind of our meeting. She’d frown at such interaction within the office. Shall we say 12:30 p.m.?”
Gabi placed her hand on the door handle and glanced through the interior window into the translation pool, again noting the various looks from the others. “So you want me to meet you there?”
Dieter thought for a moment. “In this circumstance, prudence dictates that we walk there separately.” He leaned his lips close to her ear. “We wouldn’t want anyone to suspect anything, would we?”
On the Outskirts of Heidelberg
10:19 a.m.
Joseph breathed in slowly and exhaled. The air was thick, and he tried not to let the tightness of his tomblike surroundings overwhelm him—or the worries that seemed to press on every side, equally constricting.
Even though he still didn’t know who his captors were, or what their motives might be, a peace had come over him since they seemed to be looking after his best interests. After all, if they’d wanted to harm him—to kill him—they could have accomplished that deed by now. Instead, they’d treated him kindly. Or as kindly as one could under these circumstances.
And the peace that had settled deep in his chest seemed to be the same peace Joseph felt when he prayed with his friends from church. Maybe it was God’s peace or the peace he felt when he tried looking for the good in people despite the pain of the war. Either way, he had an inner urging that they were transporting him somewhere for his own good.
It also helped his thoughts settle after he’d overheard the two men who transported him mention that his roommate had been bound up good. That meant Jäger was alive. Surely if they’d spared his friend, they’d spare him too.
The truck jostled its way through cobblestone streets and through occasional stretches of smooth macadam riddled with potholes.
“How long have we been traveling?” Joseph mumbled from the dark tomb.
“At least an hour,” Wilhelm said. “Emil knows these roads well. He must be taking the circuitous route.”
Joseph heard the truck downshift once, twice, and then a third time. “We’re coming to a stop,” he whispered in the dark. He focused on the noises from beyond the tomb of hay—the slamming of a truck door. Followed by footsteps.
“Willi, can you hear me?” It was Emil, their driver. “How are you doing?”
“No problems here.” Wilhelm feigned cheerfulness. “Just a little dark and itchy, right, Herr Engel?”
“I’ve been more comfortable,” Joseph mumbled. He tried to adjust, and he attempted to peek through a small opening that offered a faint ray of daylight seeping through the hay bales, but his effort did no good.
“Is everything okay out there?” Wilhelm asked.
“Yes and no,” Emil replied. “We parked in the church plaza as ordered. Several hundred meters away we can see the roadblock leading to Leimen.”
From the rise and fall of Emil’s voice and the slight movement of the hay around him, Joseph figured the man was pretending to check the load—tightening the ropes, making adjustments, retying loose knots.
“Two trucks are blocking the road,” Emil’s muffled voice continued. “We were told this is where the roadblock would be for all traffic flowing south out of Heidelberg. Looks like our information was correct. Still, I don’t like it. Wehrmacht soldiers are stopping each vehicle—even horse-drawn wagons. From the looks of things, they’re tu
rning everything upside down, giving it a good shake.”
Joseph could tell Emil tried to share the information as nonchalantly as possible. No doubt he’d been schooled at keeping calm during stressful situations, but Joseph also knew they were in big trouble. To continue on would mean their sure discovery. And if they turned around, they’d most likely be followed. Fleeing, in fact, would simply delay the inevitable.
Dear God . . . Joseph wasn’t sure if it was a plea or a prayer.
“So what do we do?” Joseph found himself asking.
“Our instructions were to park next to this church and wait. Hans is making a phone call to get some advice about passing through the checkpoint. Uh-oh—looks like trouble’s coming our way. A couple of soldaten on a three-wheeler.”
Joseph’s ears caught the faint staccato sound of a motorcycle engine whining in the distance. “They’ve found us.” Panic rose in Joseph’s throat.
“Shush,” Wilhelm whispered. “Emil and Hans know what they’re doing. They’re prepared to shoot if they have to. Just pray that . . . we won’t be discovered.”
“If they start firing, we’ll be shot ourselves. Every soldier in this area will be after us—”
“Quiet. They’re almost here.” Wilhelm quit talking as the humming motorcycle engine drew closer.
Emil balled his fists to his side as he watched the three-wheeled motorcycle, with a passenger sidecar, careen into the cobblestone plaza and bear down on their parked truck in a cloud of dust.
Hans sidled up to Emil after making the phone call. “I don’t like this,” he piped out of the side of his mouth. “They are making a beeline right for us.”
Emil’s eyes remained on the motorcycle sidecar. “They’ll be here any second. Quick—any news?”
“The message from the Americans is that nothing has changed. We are to continue waiting here until the appointed time.”
“God help us.” Emil continued to feign a look of disinterest, then turned around to eye his load. “Let’s look busy.”
