A Gypsy in Berlin
Page 10
“Thomas, before he left he whispered a message for you. He said you would understand.”
“What did he say?”
“Night and Fog.” She was crying now. “Three words, what do they mean?”
“Gather up the children and go. Don’t wait at home.”
“But I can’t leave without him.”
“You must pray for him with all your heart, Sigrid. That, and going away, is how you can help Rutger right now. You must do that for him. And Sigrid—’’
“Yes, Thomas?”
“I never called. You haven’t spoken to me in days.”
He replaced the receiver and left the café.
Chapter 24
SHIFTING INTO NEUTRAL, Thomas allowed the BMW to coast quietly past the Friedenskirche before switching off the ignition. Caravans still occupied their appointed places in the field; however, nobody was outside. He ran up to Ingrid’s wagon and rapped on the door. No answer so he twisted the doorknob and looked into the darkened interior. He was met by the scent of wood shavings and varnish, a pot of stew simmering on the stove. Closing the door, he descended the steps and entered the clearing beyond the Gypsy encampment.
She was walking toward him from the direction of the Chinese Tea House, a burgundy shawl over her shoulders. Dark, lovely and graceful, he thought, my beautiful Ingrid. Not even the wound in her leg seemed an impediment to her stately movements. Then she saw him and waved and they met with an embrace of genuine affection.
“Grab some things, whatever you need for a few days,” he said breathlessly. “We’re going on a short trip.”
“Tomorrow is Christmas Eve.”
“We’d best be on the road.”
“I was granted permission to visit my father!”
He held her hands, stared at her. “Who granted that and when?”
“A police inspector called, maybe half an hour ago. Is something wrong?”
“What does your woman’s intuition tell you?”
“Like I’ve just received a miracle for Christmas.” She was smiling. “It is an answer to prayer.”
“What was the policeman’s name?”
She pulled a hand free, placed it under her chin and thought for a moment. “Weiss, an Inspector Weiss from Gypsy Affairs. That’s what he said.”
“I’m sorry.” Holding onto her right hand, he tugged her across the field to the wagon.
“Don’t apologize—’’
“He lied. It’s a trap.”
“I can’t see my father?”
“Weiss is working for the Gestapo. He wants to trick you into going to Sachsenhausen. Once there, they will arrest you.”
“Thomas, you’re scaring me.”
“You know more than you’ve let on, Ingrid.” He pushed her up the steps into the wagon. “We’ve no time to waste. The police will be here soon.”
She stuffed clothes into a large cloth bag. “Where are we going?”
He turned off the stove, escorted her out of the wagon and shut the door. “Where is your aunt?”
“In town, reading palms at a Christmas fair. All of my family are there, selling and trading until nightfall.”
In the car, Thomas fired up the motor, checked his mirrors and pulled away from the curb. He couldn’t shake his nervousness until they were clear of Potsdam. He turned southward and increased speed.
“Where are we traveling to?” Ingrid asked again.
“Dresden.”
“I know people there.”
“Will they shelter us?”
“They are Gypsies. We stick together.”
He chanced a quick look at her. She appeared remarkably composed under the circumstances. “You don’t mind leaving on such short notice?”
“I am Gypsy.” From the bag, she took a hair brush and ran the bristles through her thick hair. “The life of the itinerant, that’s the life for me.”
Chapter 25
HALFWAY TO DRESDEN, the Spreewald spread out darkly before them, a forested swamp formed by the River Spree as it broke up into several channels in the lowlands south of the capital. Ash, poplar and alders grew thickly in this land of slow-moving water, the higher ground accessible mainly by punts—flatbottom boats—that were poled by members of a tribe of Slavs known as the Wends. Some of their young women passed by the parked BMW on narrow, winter-hardened dirt paths. They wore elaborate lace-and-cloth hats that matched their lace aprons and offered local delicacies for sale: stewed eels, cucumbers, and cherry pie. Thomas bought a pie.
“Wouldn’t it be faster if you took the autobahn?” Ingrid asked.
“The side roads are safer. It’s only about 125 miles altogether.”
She climbed out of the passenger seat, wrapped a heavy shawl around her shoulders. “This hole in the fender,” she gasped, “it was not caused by an accident.”
“No, not an accident.” Thomas set aside his half-eaten pie and got out of the car. He rested his arms on the roof. “General Heydrich’s people are very determined. And they have guns.”
“They shot at you?”
“Frankly, I don’t give us much of a chance...not against the best hunters and killers in the Reich. Sure you want to stay with me?”
She ran a finger around the bullet hole. “I didn’t imagine it would come to this.”
“Well, it has.”
“Does your ex-wife know about the damage to her car?”
“It’s just a car.”
“She has a right to know.”
He sighed. “She can’t know anything now.”
“You’re not making sense, Thomas.”
“She’s dead.”
“Dead?”
Thomas nodded.
“I just saw her Sunday night,” Ingrid countered.
“She was poisoned,” he said flatly. “Killed in her own lab.”
“But she was a doctor.”
“Doctors die, too.”
“That’s not what I meant. Physicians saves lives. Her life was worth so much.”
“Another person associated with me...dead,” he said absently.
“Don’t think that way!” She banged on the hood with a fist. “The real connection is her work on the River Spree murder victims. It wasn’t your fault.”
Thomas turned away from the car, kicked a stone into the brackish water of the swamp.
“Why Dresden?”
“They don’t want me to find it.”
Her dark eyes flashed. “Find what, Thomas?”
He went around the front of the car, snugged up the shawl on her shoulders. “The diary of the Fuehrer’s first mistress, Geli Raubal. I covered the story as a young crime reporter in Munich in 1931. Now it has come back to haunt me. I thought I was going to find the book for the head of the SD. But a member of Heydrich’s hit squad shot at me. Damnit, someone’s trying to stop me.” He touched the hole in the metal. “Helga Schmitt is his top henchwoman. She took Johanna’s life just like she snuffed out the lives of those men by the river. You saw her, you were there. Even if you didn’t witness the murders, she spotted you and she won’t let you live to talk about it.”
Ingrid seemed to shrink. In the distance there was the cry of some strange bird, then a splash in the stagnant water. A low ground fog slithered up the bank and wound around their ankles.
“Frau Schmitt is with the SD and so is my main contact with Heydrich, a man named Brandt. He was with Helga at the hospital’s institute when she tried to kill me. Who can we turn to? The Gestapo, like Inspector Weiss, are after us too.” He omitted any mention of Ulbricht and the encounter with the Reichsfuehrer. He figured that she was spooked enough already. “A couple of hours ago, my friend Rutger Beck of the Kriminalpolizei was taken in for questioning.”
“Inspector Beck has been arrested?” she said incredulously.
“The only plan I’ve come up with is to obtain the diary—assuming it still exists—and try to cut a deal.” He cupped the back of her head with a hand. “Without it, we don’t have any levera
ge.”
She met his stare with newfound courage. “So tell me, what is in the capital of Saxony for us?”
“Geli’s mother, Angela. My former advisor at the university told me that she’d married a professor of architecture and moved to Dresden.”
“Maybe she has it.”
He took out the pack of Pall Mall’s, lit one. “Surely she would know if the diary were in her possession.”
“Not necessarily. Mothers don’t know everything about their daughters.” Ingrid reached up and adjusted the slant of his fedora. “Some personal effects might’ve been stored without attention to their significance.”
“We’re not expected,” he said, and opened the car door for her. “I hope she will agree to talk with us.”
The wind had picked up and cold December air swirled through the watery forest. Barely visible through gaps in the trees, black clouds had formed over the mountains to the south along the Czech-German border.
He dropped onto the driver’s seat and slammed his door. “Back on the road.”
“How much longer?”
“By late afternoon we’ll be in the most beautiful city in Germany.”
“Dresden, the nation’s city of culture,” she intoned,” a place for romance.”
Thomas stole a glance at her. “Spoken like a Gypsy.”
END OF PART 2, THE Berlin Trilogy. Part 3 is The Christmas Trade.