Fifth Column

by Christopher Remy

  She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from reacting. What an ass. I was wrong, he's not even an accountant, he's a petty bureaucrat.

  Wexler seemed disappointed that she wasn't rising to the bait. He folded his hands on the table and began to lecture as if to a child, looking over Johanna's head at the wall behind her as he spoke.

  "Yes, well. The Bund. Most of their membership has either been deported, arrested or just dropped out. All that's left are the real die-hards. That doesn't mean that the threat from them has passed, however. Most of the Nazi spies we have rounded up – the Harbor Spy Gang and the Duquesne ring this year and the Rumrich ring back in '38 – were connected in some ways with the Bund. We suspect that the spies and subversives that are still in the country, when we catch them, will prove to have similar ties.

  "The Bundists are undoubtedly taking their orders from Berlin. This is evidenced by their leader's trip to see Hitler during the Olympics as well as the various members that have gone back to Germany since being found out. We're not looking at the Bund quite as closely as in past years, since most members left after Hitler invaded Poland. They couldn't stand the heat anymore and didn't want the additional scrutiny of the Bund to interfere with their espionage and subversive activities.

  "An idiot named Gerhard Kunze is their Führer now that the old one, Fritz Kuhn, is in Sing Sing where he belongs. Their headquarters are on East 85th Street, but it's just Kunze and his lackeys plus a couple of secretaries there. Mostly, what's left of the Bund meet at the various beer halls and restaurants of Yorkville.

  "They used to have a sizeable uniformed division, the OD, that got dressed up in their Nazi uniforms and marched all over the place, but they're pretty much gone now. NYPD has arrested a bunch over the years for painting swastikas on synagogues and beating up Jews on the street. They were a nuisance, these Storm Troopers, but it's the ones who don't go parading around the city that we're concerned with. We've arrested hundreds of Nazi spies, but there are probably at least that number still here, many hiding out in Yorkville.

  "So, if you come across anyone you think is a spy, don't do anything. Just call me, I'll take care of it. All, right?"

  Johanna nodded.

  Wexler took a conspicuous look at his watch. "Well, I've got to be going here in a minute. So tell me, why did you leave the cushy world of college life for this?"

  What do you care? "I thought I told you. I wanted to do my part in the war effort. My advisor recruited me to work for the State Department in intelligence."

  "Yes, I know. It just seems odd to me that they would want to send someone with no experience in undercover work and no experience in intelligence to go spy on the Nazis. A German, no less."

  Ah, so that's it, she realized.

  She pointed at the papers in front of Wexler. "As you probably know from your file there, I am, in fact, an American not a German. I immigrated when I was six." She paused. "Besides, isn't 'Wexler' German, too?"

  He looked back down at the file and shuffled the pages, avoiding her gaze. "Yes, Wexler is German, but the first Wexlers that came to America fought in the Civil War."

  For a moment she felt like she had scored a point in this verbal sparring match. "Do you have any other questions?"

  "No, no more questions," he said, looking up with a superior grin. "I'll be keeping an eye on you." He paused. "You and your brother, that is."

  Johanna chafed at the inference. "What's that about my brother?"

  Wexler chuckled. "Come on, what do you think we are, a bunch of fools? This is the FBI! Of course we know your brother is a Bundist. We've got a file on him as thick as a phonebook. Lucky for him we haven't caught him at anything more serious than goose-stepping around in that uniform of his." At this point he leaned forward and pointed his finger in Johanna's face. "And that's important for you to remember, we haven't caught him yet. If it turns out that he's a spy or a subversive and you are in any way protecting him or aiding him, Cordell Hull and all the lawyers at the State Department won't be able to save you."

  With that, he gathered his papers and left.

  Johanna sat by herself for a moment, shaking her head. Well, that was a complete waste of time. Not only did I get accused of being connected to Nazi spies, but that "briefing" was nothing that I couldn't have found for myself in back issues of The New York Times.

  She left the FBI office and retraced her steps down hallways and stairwells. Walking out the front door of the colonnaded US Courthouse into Foley Square, she blinked in the bright sunlight. As much as she chafed at Wexler's tone and his line of questioning, she had to admit that he was right on a few key points. She was inexperienced and it was a crazy idea to send someone with no undercover or intelligence experience into the Bund and then to Nazi Germany. As much as she was worried about doing a good job and not getting caught, Wexler had simply irritated her to the point that she felt forced into putting on a show of confidence.

  As she walked up Centre Street looking over her shoulder for a cab to hail, Johanna put Wexler and the FBI out of her head and tried to concentrate on her next steps. Her brother was obviously the best entry into the Bund. She decided to talk to him about it as soon as possible. The key would be to act curious and ignorant of the Bund and Nazis. She only hoped that her acting skills were up to the challenge.

  12

  Back at Falck's Delicatessen, Friedrich was standing beside the door, leaning against the wall and smoking a cigarette. There was a slight breeze, just enough to make the July heat bearable, that tugged at the hem of Friedrich's stained white apron. The sidewalks were busy with young mothers shopping, old men strolling and businessmen in a hurry. Johanna dodged the busy traffic to cross the street.

  She walked up to her brother, grateful for her good luck in finding him alone.

  "Hi, Freddy," she said in the friendliest tone she could muster.

  "I told you, it's Friedrich," he replied, looking away.

  "Right, sorry. It just takes some getting used to." She moved aside to let a young woman with two children in tow open the deli door.

  "Well, get used to it. I don't see what's so hard about calling me by my real name."

  She decided to take a different tack. Casual friendliness was clearly going nowhere. Get right to the point, Johanna.

  "So, that was quite a scene at dinner last night. What is it about the Bund that gets Vati so riled up?"

  He looked at her out of the corner of his eye. "What do you mean? You know about the Bund, don't you?"

  OK, now we're getting somewhere.

  She clasped her hands behind her and leaned up against the wall next to him. A man with an overflowing briefcase under his arm tipped his hat to her, two fingers on the brim of his gray fedora. She smiled and turned to her brother.

  "Sure, I know they're a German social organization and that they've been involved with politics somewhat, but that's about it. What would make Vati so mad?"

  Friedrich flicked his cigarette butt into the gutter and turned towards Johanna.

  "'Involved in politics somewhat?' You really don't know?"

  She affected a puzzled look. "Know what?"

  He thrust his hands into his trouser pockets and laughed.

  "About Hitler and National Socialism, that's what!"

  "Well, sure. I know about Hitler and I've read about the war some, if that's what you mean."

  Friedrich shook his head in disbelief, rubbing his chin. Johanna saw his scar and remembered when he had tripped going up the stoop, opening up a cut just under his chin. He was five and she was eight. Johanna had fainted when she had walked downstairs and seen the blood spilled all over the steps.

  "What the hell kind of a German history professor are you? You don't even know about the most important man in German history! Haven't you been there?"

  "Yes, but I studied history, not politics. My dissertation was about…historical aspects of German society."

  He laughed again, the same humorless, jagged laugh that had c
hilled her the night before.

  "You've spent time in the New Germany, seen all of Hitler's great works, but you don't know anything about the Nazis. OK. What do you want to know?"

  "Everything, I guess. What is it the Bund stands for that would make people so mad?"

  "First of all, 'people' aren't mad about anything the Bund says or does, it's Jews and those who allow themselves to be fooled by Jews that are mad. All we do is stand up for the Aryan, the rightful master of the world, who is under attack by international Jewry and Communists, which are essentially the same thing. Hitler has launched a war of self-defense against the Jews and Communists, and of course they don't like that their time of ruling over us is over. That's all."

  He pulled another cigarette out of his shirt pocket and lit it.

  "As for Vati, why he falls for Jewish propaganda is beyond me. They boycotted the deli and now he bows down and asks for more."

  Johanna did her best to appear sympathetic. Pretending to be ignorant of the Bund and the Nazis wasn't so hard after all. What was taxing her acting abilities was hiding her sadness for what her brother had become.

  "Some people think that we're un-American or something. They just don't see that what Hitler is doing for Europe needs to be done here. FDR is just another tool of Jews and Bolsheviks and they all need to be dealt with just like their European counterparts. We're American patriots, not traitors or spies."

  He took a long pull on his cigarette and exhaled in a quick blast of smoke.

  "Did you know that I wanted to move to Germany?" he asked, ogling a young woman walking by. She seemed lost in her thoughts, but when she noticed his stare she quickened her pace.

  Johanna didn't have to pretend to be shocked.

  "No, I didn't. When was this?"

  "A few years ago. You know about the volksdeutsche repatriation program?"

  She did. It was administered by the Volksdeutsche Mittelstelle, an organization with close ties to the German Foreign Institute. She decided it was better to profess ignorance.

  "No, what's that?"

  "It's where the German government paid for ethnic Germans living all over the world to emigrate and rejoin the Reich Germans in the Fatherland. I had filled out all the necessary paperwork and gotten the right approvals, but Vati wouldn't let me go."

  Again, she donned her most sympathetic look. While her brother was talking, she noticed an older woman shuffling down the sidewalk. She had white hair piled into a bun and was pulling a wire grocery cart with several impatient people behind waiting for an opening to pass. She turned to Johanna and gave a brief angry look; it took her a moment to realize it was meant for Friedrich. She searched her brother for any sign that he had seen the woman but he didn't skip a beat, his gaze fixed on the pavement in front of him. Does she know him? Is he recognized on the street because of his Bund association?

  "What do you mean, he wouldn't let you go? You're an adult, can't you do as you please?" she asked, recovering her composure.

  He kept his head down and puffed on his cigarette. "It was during the Jewish boycott. He had to fire Helmut Frank – remember him from church? He was Vati's last employee, and he needed both Mutti and me to work or the deli would go under. I told him I didn't care, I wanted to be a part of Hitler's revolution, but Mutti begged me to stay. She cried and carried on, so I stayed. Stupidest thing I ever did."

  Johanna had a hard time imagining this new Friedrich softening over his mother's tears. She was growing tired of listening to him, and wanted to tell him he was a soft-headed fool and a stupid bigot. She hoped it wouldn't take long to get into the Bund's good graces and go off to Germany. There she would be surrounded by sixty million Nazis just like her brother, but at least none of them would be a formerly sweet, quiet boy who would beg her to play board games on rainy Saturdays.

  She stepped away from the wall and wiped the dust from her hands. "So, I'd be interested in learning more about the Bund. Are there meetings or something where I could come and learn more?"

  For the first time since she had been back, he seemed genuinely happy and nodded vigorously.

  "Absolutely! We can have dinner with some friends of mine. We can tell you all about it and answer any questions. Maybe this weekend."

  Johanna didn't want to endure one more day of this than she had to.

  "How about lunch? I don't have to be at the university until tomorrow. Is it too short notice, or can you arrange it for today? I'd really like to meet these friends of yours. I…I think you have some interesting ideas. But listen, don't tell the folks, OK?"

  Walking the four blocks to Café Zeppelin with Friedrich, Johanna began to worry that things were going too easy for her. Friedrich was not the least bit suspicious about her sudden interest in the Bund or her desire to meet with them right away. He had simply gone upstairs to make some phone calls and came back down a few minutes later, telling her it had all been arranged.

  She had to prepare for the possibility that his friends would not be so easily fooled. After all, if what Wexler had told her was true, they were under constant surveillance and might be wary of a newly interested outsider, assuming them to be government informers. She hoped that being Friedrich's sister would be enough to assuage their concerns. That hinged, of course, on her brother's being a trusted member whose loyalties were unquestioned. After listening to his ranting, she suspected that was probably the case.

  As much as she hated the idea, she was prepared to play the giggling idiot, smiling whenever difficult questions were asked and playing dumb. It wasn't like she cared about their opinion of her. She expected that the picture of an empty-headed blonde with no knowledge of politics was one that Friedrich's fellow Bundists were ready to believe. Even if he had already told them about her PhD.

  Neither of them said a word on the walk over, Johanna deep in thought and Friedrich chain smoking. While she wanted to be well-prepared for this lunch, she was equally intent on not engaging her brother in conversation any more than necessary. Standing on the corner waiting for the light to change, Johanna saw the café across the street on York Avenue. Its huge white storefront with "Café Zeppelin" in jaunty script angled up the front made it stand out among the bland brick buildings up and down the street.

  The café was a popular spot in Yorkville, serving German beer and traditional fare. Even though Johanna had never wanted to eat their food, the sounds that came pouring out of its windows and doors had always made her feel like she was missing something. The first time she could remember being impatient to grow up was when she was walking home after an afternoon of sledding in Carl Schurz Park. As she was passing the café, a couple had walked out a side door followed by a blast of music and laughter that faded as the door swung shut. To her twelve-year-old mind they looked glamorous and happy, both in fur coats and arms tightly wrapped around one another as they stumbled down the street. Whatever was happening in there, she had thought, it was something she couldn't wait to be a part of.

  The reality was much less than she had hoped. Compared to the late-night crowds she remembered, lunch was a tame affair. As they walked in, Johanna saw only two tables occupied among more than twenty. Looking around she noticed that the spare interior was not the sparkling ballroom she had imagined on that January evening. The boards of the rough wooden floor curled upwards at the edges, catching her heel as she entered. A well-worn bar shaped like a horseshoe jutted out into the middle of the dark room, with a solitary bartender standing idle behind it. Various photographs of the old country hung at different angles on the walls.

  At a table next to a curtained window a large-bellied man in a white suit was deep in conversation with a much younger woman. What little light came in sparkled off the man's many pieces of gold jewelry – rings, cufflinks, wristwatch, tie clip, and lapel pin. Tiny reflected gold flashes lit up the plump face of his companion as she paid rapt, wide-eyed attention to him. Friedrich appeared to know the man and walked over to his table. Johanna waited by the door and was una
ble to hear what they were saying. They seemed to be greeting each other in a very business-like manner, Friedrich inclining his head in a curt bow as they shook hands.

  A signet ring flashed on the man's little finger as his hand went up to smooth pomaded black hair and then down to adjust a red rose in his lapel. He did this several times as they spoke. Johanna looked over at the other occupied table and saw three men all looking at her. She assumed they were the Bundists. Whatever she was expecting them to look like – Hitler mustaches, swastika armbands and jodhpurs— Friedrich's friends did not live up to the picture in her mind. Her first reaction was that none of them looked like they belonged together.

  One seemed like he was Friedrich's age or younger and was painfully thin with severe acne covering his face and neck. In the middle of the group was a man who looked like he was in his fifties and was perhaps a schoolteacher or a clerk. He wore an ill-fitting suit whose jacket couldn't seem to close over his paunch and he had a ragged mustache that covered his upper lip. The third Bundist was actually quite handsome, she thought, possibly in his thirties and with an athletic build. His prematurely graying hair was close-cropped on the sides and he wore a yellow short-sleeved shirt that showed off his thick arms.