It felt like an eternity, but it was an instant that she stared, uncomprehending. Hagen had been shot. She stood frozen to the spot, her eyes wide in fear.
"…is clear that it is the British, the Jews and the Roosevelt Administration that are the three most important groups driving us to war."
Viersing began to lecture Hagen. Even over the volume of the PA system and the crowd, she could hear every word.
"You and all your gang are race traitors and deserve to be exterminated with the Bolsheviks and the Jews."
Johanna was both horrified and baffled. What did he mean by Hagen's 'gang' and why were they traitors?
Again, she heard the sound of Viersing's gun. Two quick coughs.
Hagen's legs buckled and he fell to the floor.
Two ragged holes had appeared in Hagen's pants, right at the knees.
"…the destruction of Hitler, even if it could be accomplished through using American resources would probably result in enhancing the still greater menace of Stalin."
Viersing launched into another tirade as Hagen lay on the floor, grimacing in pain. A vein bulged in the center of Viersing's forehead, but his voice was drowned out by the crowd, cheering Lindbergh's every line.
Johanna kept as still as possible, hoping that Viersing would not notice her in her hiding place. She flattened herself against the wall, her heart pounding.
She silently willed Hagen to get up and fight Viersing, to knock his gun away and beat him. But this was not to be.
Again, the metallic cough of Viersing's gun sounded, barely audible above the noise of the rally. Johanna lost count of the shots – her eyes were focused on Viersing's face. He was calm and almost looked bored.
Johanna glanced down at Hagen on the floor. Now there were red, ragged holes all over his body. Viersing was shooting him in both arms, both thighs and feet. Another shot to the stomach and yet another to each shoulder. He was delighting in torturing Hagen, each shot designed to cause excruciating pain, but not death. Johanna clamped her hands over her mouth in horror at the bloody-minded sadism of it.
It just didn't make any sense, this hatred that Hagen and Viersing had for each other. Simple bureaucratic rivalry couldn't explain it. Even in the bizarre world of the Nazis, could any turf war arouse this kind of visceral savagery?
Johanna knew it was only a matter of time before Hagen would die. Either from his wounds or from Viersing finally administering the coup de grace.
"We must either keep out of European wars entirely, or stay in European affairs permanently."
Just as the crowd let out another roar in response, the expression on Viersing's face changed. He looked confused for a split second and then fell over backward, a small red spot in the middle of his forehead. He slumped dead onto the floor, his legs splayed.
Johanna rushed over to Hagen. His still smoking pistol was hanging from his right hand. Somehow in his pain he had managed to pull the trigger.
Hagen's eyes rolled from side to side and blood bubbles burst from his lips with every shallow breath. Johanna was sure he was about to die. All of her contempt for Hagen as a Nazi officer melted away in that moment and she felt pity for him. With all the talk of war and her own enthusiasm for joining the war in Europe, this was her first exposure to death up close, and it rattled her. Hagen ceased to be one of Hitler's minions and became a young man meeting his end too soon.
She didn't know what to do, so she wiped away the blood that was seeping from his lips and looked into his eyes. He was trying to speak. Johanna lowered her head and put her ear to his mouth.
She could feel his lips moving against her ear, but his whispering was no match for the noise of the rally. Lindbergh's distorted voice drowned out Hagen's words.
Johanna looked him in the eye again and shook her head to tell him she hadn't heard.
Hagen dragged his shattered left arm to his chest. He tried to thrust his hand inside his jacket, but it flopped around, useless.
Johanna reached into Hagen's inside jacket pocket, trying to help him. She felt a folded piece of paper, and pulled it out.
"Is this what you want to give me?" she asked. The crowd noise carried her voice away, so she asked again, this time with an exaggerated mouthing of the words so he could read her lips.
Hagen nodded weakly.
"OK," she mouthed, putting the paper in her pocket.
Hagen's lips began to move again.
"Don't try to talk," she said, shaking her head.
He didn't stop. Now he lifted his arm, grimacing in pain and pulled her closer.
Again, he whispered into her ear, but Johanna couldn't make it out.
He took a deep breath, and coughed up blood. He managed to make himself heard.
"I'm sorry."
Johanna felt her eyes well up and she shook her head.
"No, you have nothing to apologize for. You succeeded, you prevented Lindbergh's assassination. See? You can still hear his voice, can't you? He's still on stage. He's safe. You saved him."
"Not yet he didn't."
The voice came from the darkness behind Johanna. As she turned her head toward the sound, confusion overtook her when she recognized the voice.
Her brother stood behind her with a grin, holding Viersing's gun.
Freddy held the pistol on Johanna, kneeling down to rummage through Viersing's coat pockets. He pulled out two magazines, dropped one from the gun and slid a fresh one in.
Freddy snapped the slide, reloading. He cocked his head and grinned at Johanna.
"Freddy, what the hell are you doing?" she asked. Suddenly, the whole world was off-kilter.
Freddy exploded.
"I told you, it's Friedrich!" he spat. He had such an ugly look on his face that Johanna thought he looked transformed.
"You never listen, never! Always the star you were, and I have to pay the price. I stay home and work at the deli. I suffer at the hands of the Jews and their boycotts. I watch from afar as the New Germany claims her rightful place among the great empires of the world. Without me! Well, now's my chance to complete Viersing's mission and go to Germany as a hero of the Reich!"
Johanna felt the tears stream down her cheeks. All the stress of the last weeks and months, the sudden shock of Viersing's violence toward Hagen and now her brother's depravity was more than she could take. She began to sob.
"Get out of here and I won't be forced to administer justice for your aiding a race-traitor," Freddy commanded, waving his gun toward the door.
Johanna was too stunned to move. She stayed where she was, the tears uncontrollable.
Freddy leapt from his spot and put the barrel of the gun right in Johanna's face.
"Help me with the bodies if you're just going to stand there blubbering."
Freddy stuck the gun in his waistband and walked around to Hagen.
Johanna looked at him, hoping for some sign that he was still alive, but he was still, his eyes unseeing. Even though she was now free of him, she felt a twinge of regret for his death.
Freddy grabbed Hagen's arms and pointed for Johanna to grab his legs.
They dragged him behind a stack of wooden crates next to the two FBI agents. Johanna looked down at their faces and saw they were frozen in surprise. She suppressed a shiver and helped her brother drag Viersing's body over to the others.
Standing behind the crates, Freddy gave Johanna another ugly look and began to speak.
Before he could get a word out, they heard Lindbergh thank the audience for their attention and bid them goodnight.
The cheers grew louder yet again, and sustained for what seemed like minutes.
Freddy pulled Viersing's gun from his belt and positioned himself behind the crates.
Johanna knew that Lindbergh would appear any moment and that she had to stop her brother. But how?
She slid behind Freddy to where he couldn't see her, his attention focused on the edge of the stage where Lindbergh was due to appear. She bent over Hagen's body and felt around on t
he floor for his gun, keeping her eyes on her brother.
Lindbergh appeared at stage left, still smiling and waving at the crowd, his entourage surrounding him.
Freddy closed one eye and braced his shooting arm on a crate. He put his finger on the trigger and began to trace an arc, following Lindbergh's movements. The policemen and bodyguards were swiveling their heads as they walked, surveying the backstage area. Johanna knew they hadn't seen her or Freddy.
As Lindbergh passed in front of them, she saw her brother tense up and begin to squeeze the trigger.
When she fired Hagen's gun, it felt as if it was going to jump out of her hand.
In the split second that it had taken Johanna to pull the trigger, she wondered if it had exploded, the shock was so great. She had never before fired a gun and she wasn't prepared for the jolt that traveled up her arm into her shoulder.
Freddy's free hand reached over his shoulder, pawing at the wound in his back. He twisted around with a hideous snarl on his face and fell to the floor.
Johanna saw Lindbergh's smile disappear as his head turned in her direction, but the crowd was still cheering and a band had struck up 'Marching Through Georgia.' She was sure the sound of her gunshot had been lost in the noise. As quickly as it had gone, Lindbergh's smile reappeared and he continued on his way.
Wexler waited ten minutes after Lindbergh had left the stage before getting impatient. Back at his original post on the upper tier of seats, he watched as Senator Burton Wheeler from Montana took the podium.
"You, and you," he ordered, pointing to two agents standing beside him. "Go down there and check on those other two. Did they see Lindbergh make contact with the Nazi spies, or what?"
The two men left, leaving Wexler alone. He picked up his binoculars and resumed watching the crowd.
Five minutes later, the two agents came running, their eyes wide.
Backstage, Wexler stood with his hands on his hips, looking down at the five bodies. A circle of FBI agents had gathered and their flashlights illuminated the grisly scene.
Blood spattered the stack of wooden crates and spent shell casings rolled around like marbles. Wexler rubbed his eyes and tried to make sense of the situation.
"What in the hell happened here?" he asked, running his fingers through his hair.
No one answered.
"We have two dead FBI agents," he continued, pointing. "That's Viersing…that's the mystery man with Johanna Falck…I don't know who the hell that is. Has anyone seen Johanna Falck?"
They all shook their heads.
"Jesus H. Christ," Wexler swore. "Could she have done all this?"
Another agent joined the group and looked at the corpses. He cursed when he saw the dead FBI men. He looked at the other bodies and made a face.
"That's Friedrich Falck," he stated.
Wexler started.
"Did you say Falck?"
"Yeah," the agent replied. "Friedrich Falck. He's one of the last Bundist diehards. Was, I mean. No one ever had anything on him beyond goose-stepping around Manhattan and yelling in front of synagogues."
Wexler shook his head and sighed.
"I haven't the faintest goddamned idea what the hell happened here tonight."
The other agents looked at each other, not knowing what to say.
"All right," Wexler said after a moment. "I want all available agents to search for Johanna Falck. You two, go to NYPD and don't tell them more than you need to. Tell them she is presumed armed and dangerous and is wanted for the murder of two FBI agents."
39
Johanna kept her head down and tried her best to be inconspicuous as she rushed out of MadisonSquareGarden. The overflow crowd flooded the sidewalks and the street, listening to the rally being piped through loudspeakers.
Her hands were slick with Hagen's blood and she had then jammed deep into the pockets of her overcoat. She still held the car keys in her left hand and had Hagen's pistol in a tight grip with her right. She could feel the slide locked open from when she had fired it. She didn't know anything about guns, but it felt jammed.
She hurried away from the mass of people in the streets, making her way back to the car.
Her brother was dead, and she had killed him. She suppressed a sob. Freddy's face, a mask of shock and rage at the moment she had pulled the trigger, flashed over and over in her mind.
Johanna reached the car and fumbled with the keys in the lock. She stood close to the door, hoping no one would see the blood on her hands.
Once inside, the tears came and would not stop.
Memories of Freddy came rushing into her mind. All those Saturday mornings when he would beg her to play with him. The time he had dunked his head in a pickle barrel on a dare and been chased out of the deli by their belt-wielding father. The image of Freddy's happy, boyish face she had known dissolved into the stranger he had turned into.
She wiped her eyes with her sleeve and tried to regain her composure.
Think. What do I do now?
Johanna sat there for a moment before it dawned on her. There was nothing she had to do now. Her ordeal was over. She had become so wrapped up in Hagen's plan that she had begun to think of his mission as her own. But of course it was not. She had but to turn herself in and it would all be over. Either to the police or to COI, it didn't really matter, did it?
She decided on the COI. There would be less confusion, no dealing with the faked espionage charges from the summer. It would only be a matter of time before the bodies were discovered backstage at the Garden. If they made the connection to her, she could be wanted for murder.
It had to be COI. Even if they thought the worst of her, she could trust the Dalys to help her. She wondered what they must be thinking. Did they know she was back in the US? Had the FBI told them, or did they still think she was missing somewhere in Germany? She found the ignition key and started the engine.
The car.
It had all the evidence she needed. The shortwave radio built into the dashboard. And Hagen's cases were still in the trunk. There had to be plenty of evidence in them – code books, names, notes, something. She just needed to bring this car in, tell her story and this would all end.
She would call the Dalys and drive down to Washington. First, she had to get out of the city.
Johanna pulled out into traffic. She drew the kerchief lower on her head as she passed the police barricades on 8th Avenue. Her heart pounded until she was safely out to the West Side Highway.
Driving across the George Washington Bridge, she had a realization. If the ultimate aim of Hagen's mission was for her to function as a witness to some American authority, proving that the Germans wanted to avoid war with the US, was that mission now in jeopardy?
Lindbergh's assassination had been foiled, at least for now. But who was supposed to know that German military intelligence had acted against their own SS in the plot? Wasn't that the key of Hagen's entire operation? That he had to prove to some American authority that the Nazis wanted to avoid war with the US? The whole thing seemed pointless to Johanna. War between the US and Germany was a foregone conclusion. Could some good come of knowing that there was some attempt to avoid it on the part of the Nazis? She knew Roosevelt would never negotiate with Hitler, but what if it became known that Hitler wanted peace? Would that change anything?
She drove past the swamps of New Jersey, looking for an out of the way payphone so she could call the Dalys.
Another thought struck her. Shouldn't she wait until she had figured this whole mess out before calling anyone, even the Dalys? She still didn't know who the intended recipient was for Hagen's 'proof.' She ought to try to solve this puzzle before telling anyone about it, shouldn't she?
Maybe some answers were waiting inside Hagen's three suitcases.
Johanna spotted a motel up the road. A red neon light blinked 'Vacancy' in the office window. She pulled into the gravel parking lot.
She looked down at her hands. The blood had dried to a brown stain on h
er skin. She rubbed her hands together, but that accomplished nothing. She looked around for something that would wash it off. Outside, she could see several potholes in the lot, some filled with rain water. She got out and dipped her hands into one. Washing the blood off, she held her hands in the light spilling from the glass office door. That would have to do.
Johanna took a step toward the office, and then stopped. She didn't have any money. She needed a room for few hours if not the night, and she had no way to pay for it.
The suitcases. Maybe there was some money in there.
Fifth Column Page 24
