“So he never even mentioned Ryan to Hallinger?”
“That would explain why no one’s out looking for Lemmon. It makes good sense. But all that changes if your contact him. If there’s the slightest hint your boyfriend knows what happened out there, he also becomes a target to be dealt with. He’s a reporter, after all, and the Nazis sure as hell don’t want this kind of publicity as they consolidate their strength with more moderate types.”
“So you and Brandt are saying I just disappear without telling Ryan where I’ve gone?”
“Far better for him if he knows nothing.”
She looked down at her clenched hands. “That so cruel, leaving him totally in the dark.” She shook her head in disbelief.
“Not as cruel as signing his death warrant. Hallinger wants us rubbed out and now before you can tell anyone what you know. He won’t rest till he puts us both in the ground.” Karl glanced around. “May I?” He gestured to the cigarette box and matches.
“Be my guest.” Toni offered her gilded lighter, clearly unconcerned that the ashtray overflowed with evidence of those consumed in the preceding night.
He blew a stream of smoke and turned to Isabel. “Brandt suggests hiding out for a few days to buy him time to come up with a sure escape route.”
Toni gave Isabel’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Remember, you’re both welcome here.”
“Most grateful,” he said, “but we’d be trapped should they get on to us. I checked out your fire escape. The courtyard down below appears to have only one exit, so it’s too big a gamble. And I won’t put you at risk, either.”
“Then I know the perfect place.” Toni gave a bright smile. “The Toppkeller has upper rooms for private tête-à-têtes. The cops never bother us there thanks to ‘contributions’ to their widows and orphans fund, and some of the girls share special favors with the bulls, too. You’ll be safe from prying eyes, and a phone closet in the hall will keep you in touch. I’ll get you the number and a key. What do you think?”
Isabel had visited the club numerous times, although never the rooms designed for private assignations. The specialty clientele at Toppkeller was mostly attractive Garçonnes, young types like Toni who wore French male fashions. She did her best to live up to their motto, “For Friendship, Love and Sexual Enlightenment,” as Isabel could personally attest. After further discussion, they accepted the offer. It seemed unlikely Hallinger’s goons and corrupt cops would search for the fugitives in such a notorious cabaret.
Karl phoned Brandt with their decision, then volunteered to slip out to the nearest shops for food and drink. Toni insisted on his wearing a fake mustache from her stage kit and a suitable fedora and overcoat. They waited out the remainder of the day at the flat with Toni napping for a few hours. She was excited and concerned, but anxious to help any way she could. Once dusk faded to black they made their way on foot to Toppkeller.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Berlin, Germany
December 1941
“So I was meant to spot you on the Alex and track you here?”
“It took a couple of tries, darling, until it dawned on me that the red hat and scarf might catch your eye.”
“Well, it certainly worked. I’m here and listening, but sure as hell don’t understand why. The minute you mentioned Brandt I knew you’d taken me for a ride. So what’s the name of the game and how do I fit in? Why not approach me directly?”
“Brandt recognized you from that Gestapo flyer but had no idea if you were still around. He thought you’d have made yourself scarce after that bank thing. Then one of his snitches, a forger, brought in your photo and new identity for his weekly update, and Brandt took things from there.”
“So why’s Brandt so interested in the two of us?”
“He was the one who brought me back to Germany six months ago and got me the job at Sachsenhausen. For years he’s carried the guilt for all I’ve been through, so he’s determined to set things right. And now we’re under pressure to move forward with something important, but first he wants to see if you’re up for it, have the skills required, and can be trusted with the secret.”
Curiosity gripped him. “So what’s your report so far?”
“Well, you obviously know your covert tracking. I never spotted you once, but his guy was waiting for you to make it to Oranienburg.”
Ryan thought for a moment. “The station cop with the toothache?”
“You got it.”
“He appeared too lax for a real control.”
“And the fact you’re sitting here tonight shows you know your stuff. Brandt thinks you’re a spy.” She looked into his eyes. “Is he right?”
Ryan ignored the question. “So what other skills must I display to meet his standards?”
“Impersonating a German, but I can attest to your acting skills from the old days so no worries there.”
“And who am I to be?”
She shook her head. “Only Brandt can give the go-ahead. It’s his show, and there’s too much at stake.”
“For whom?”
“For me.” She quickly glanced away. “And others, as well.”
“Well if I’m to be involved, the least you can do is tell me everything that happened back then.”
“Well, now you know about Karl.”
“You fell for him, didn’t you?”
She appeared relieved he’d caught on. “You must understand how much that night changed me. You and I had a good thing, Ryan, always fun and exciting.” She touched his cheek. “And you were wonderful in bed, of course, but we never found that spark. Neither of us was ready for that.” She spoke more quickly now, anxious to get it all out. “Karl was different. Though I saw his concern in that cursed beerhall, when push came to shove I still hit him with that brick. I wanted him dead. The other guy, too. But the more time we spent together later, the more I knew it felt right, and not just something physical. More than that, much more. And not simply because he saved my life, either. We just belonged together from the start.”
“Couldn’t you have left a message with the von Haldheims when you disappeared without a trace? Brandt led me to believe you were dead, your body left to rot in the river?”
“It wasn’t just Brandt. I was in on that, too. I wanted so much to tell you. It hurt so much keeping silent, because I had real feelings for you. Real friendship.” She squeezed his hand. “I still do, and that’s what makes this all so painful. In those first days you turned the city upside-down, knocking at every door to find me. For me we’d been a fling, but then I saw how devoted you were.” She wouldn’t look at him. “Brandt’s men quickly spotted the Nazi on your tail once you showed up at my landlady’s. Every step you took, one of those bastards was right there behind you, and one of Brandt’s men was one step back. When you searched for Doro and Jürgen in Wedding, their comrades knew better than to say anything, even had they known where we were hiding, and both my friends were already dead anyway, don’t you see?”
“The Nazis wanted me to lead them to you, so you had the inspector throw me off the trail with that newspaper clipping.” He hesitated, his suspicions clicking into place. “The woman in the river—that was Doro?”
She nodded, biting her lower lip at the memory, then finally spoke: “We knew you couldn’t find me, but had to put an end to your search before they added you to their kill list. You were still out there raising questions and we wanted Hallinger to move on.”
“And the Daily News? Were they in on your deception?”
“As much in the dark as you. I couldn’t even let my father in Chicago know.” She looked up at him. “No, that’s not exactly true. I could have sent him a cable or even called. But you know what? I didn’t want him gloating over my failure. He would never have let up with the ridicule for botching the assignment I’d set for myself.”
“Does he now know?”
“He does…he did.” Her eyes dropped to her lap and her voice thickened. “He’s gone now, but I was home
for a number of years by then and he learned what I’d been through. In the end I think he realized just how strong he’d made me.” She wiped her eyes with her fingertips. “But he never really admitted it, even so. He was a hard-hitting man. That same toughness and lack of understanding drove my mother to an early grave, and it hardened me, too, and not necessarily in a good way. But he deserved the truth rather than thinking what you believed—that I was dead.” Her eyes glistened and she accepted his handkerchief. “One more haunting regret, along with Doro’s death, thanks to me.”
“Didn’t I deserve that same truth? Why not let me know you were alive once the pressure was off?”
“Brandt tracked down your address in Marburg and I wrote to the history department, but it came back with a handwritten note that you’d completed your doctorate and returned to the States, and I decided to let that sleeping dog lie.”
“Well, this hound is now wide awake and demands to know more.”
“I see you haven’t really changed.” She patted the top of his head before heading off to the kitchen for a bottle and two small glasses. He accepted the Cointreau. With France under the Nazi thumb, French luxury brands were available to anyone with enough money or a connection.
Ryan took a sip, welcoming the warmth of the liqueur. “So what made this Karl so special?”
“Thrown together in that sordid room above the club we shared everything: meals and stories and personal histories. I soon realized I’d found the man I hadn’t known I was looking for—committed to some valiant cause, accepting of me as a fully capable person as well as a woman, a man willing to sacrifice everything for me, even kill for me.”
“Ten years ago I didn’t know I had that in me. Now I do. Time and events change a person.”
“Confronting danger really wasn’t your strength back then, was it? Your heart was open and sweet and you had a naïve sense of adventure. We were children playing at a game. In reality, we played with a fire that almost destroyed us.”
“Then why single me out that night we met? I was just one more American guy, not your usual conquest, shall we say…not that I’ve ever regretted that you did.”
“I never told you?” She hesitated. “No, of course not. I kept such things to myself. Well, it’s time you knew—I was sleeping with a professor at the time, but when I saw you in all your bored, charming handsomeness at that university function, I knew I had to have you instead. It’s just the way I was then—taking charge, using all the wiles and wits at my disposal, proving to myself I was as daring as any man at finding new lovers.”
Taken aback by her candor, Ryan suddenly felt close to her again. “I am sorry I didn’t show more courage, wasn’t there when you needed me.”
“Don’t feel bad—I was just as naïve, perhaps more so, since I ignored the dangers. Only in true commitment to a cause did I find a place to achieve something real, and in the process I learned to love.”
“Your Karl.”
She nodded. “Karl Wittenberg. Originally Weissberg. His father was a Jew.”
He sat back, considering the implications, the risks involved. A Jew undercover in a Nazi cell? What chutzpah! The man was fearless! He had spotted the wedding band on her left hand. “So what’s with ‘I. Friedrich,’ the name downstairs on the bell?”
“Ah, yes,” she said, rising from the couch. “There’s more to this story, of course. Can you hear the rest now? It’s getting late and curfew is coming.”
“Screw the curfew. Just try to kick me out now.”
“Then first some cheese and crackers to go with the Cointreau—and you’d better prepare yourself for another hour. The story gets stranger.” She was already at the door to the kitchen when she added: “And far sadder.”
She returned to kiss him on the forehead and then returned to the kitchen. Ryan remained on the couch, absorbing all he’d just heard, searching in vain for holes in her story, gaps in the narrative. He thought of her smiling at the SS officers earlier that day, her flirtatious banter while boarding the bus for Sachsenhausen. She was right about how young and immature he’d been back in ’31. It did not seem the affront he might first have imagined, learning she had abandoned him for a man better suited to her mental and emotional needs. At the time he was in no position to make any commitment, even had he wanted to.
She returned with a tray of cheese and crackers and picked up the tale.
❖
Berlin, Germany
February - March 1931
A well-known lesbian spot in Berlin West, Toppkeller was unimpressive—even seedy—by daylight. From scuffed parquet flooring to dark wainscoting to petite tables decked with white linen and delicate flower vases, the look was faded and passé. Garlands of paper herons swooped down from the beamed ceiling and odd wall murals—strange erotic nature scenes fronted by cutouts of familiar entertainers—added a whimsical if kitschy touch to the establishment. But come evening, the place began to hop and continued swinging through the night hours, drawing everyone from lesbian cross-dressers to professional working girls of any persuasion. Straight men could find everything from conventional encounters to bondage under the whips of a Domina. The stage hosted a four-piece brass band, lively cabaret shows thick with innuendo, and boisterous contests for the prettiest calves or breasts. At midnight a tongue-in-cheek Black Mass was celebrated. Whatever one’s pleasure, Toppkeller delivered, drawing famous stage and screen artists, singers and dancers, and the whole panoply of sex workers to satisfy local and tourist alike.
Weeks passed in the close quarters above the club. Brandt reported that Hallinger was still offering sizable bribes for any word on the fugitives’ whereabouts. From ticket sellers at transportation centers to police controls, many were on the lookout for the couple sought for the brutal murder of “innocent SA men.” Any premature attempt to leave the city would be extremely risky. Brandt said a powerful friend could get them out by private vehicle, but he was in southern Spain to escape the winter cold and wouldn’t return until the following month. Equally troubling, Brandt knew Ryan was still rattling cages as he tried to find out what had become of her, so finally—and at Isabel’s insistence—Brandt paid him a visit to discourage any further inquiries. Afterwards Brandt reported things had gone well.
Meanwhile, their days were filled with tedious waiting. Toni brought additional clothing, a radio and the latest magazines, and became the nightly courier for food and necessities. Each slipped out after dark, alone and in disguise, for exercise and a break from the boredom, but they kept such excursions short. Their nights were filled with the sounds of boisterous partying in the lounge below and rutting in the adjoining rooms. Nothing helped to muffle the cacophony of giggles and grunts, moans and cries, thumps on the walls and low laughter.
They shared details of their past lives and future dreams and discovered a remarkable connection. She told of her early years under the thumb of a harsh and demanding father, of her college studies and journalistic endeavors as she made a name for herself. He spoke of the early death of his parents and of growing up in the home of his uncle. He described his childhood on the streets of the city, his apprenticeship and journeyman experience learning the trade of a printer, and his discovery of democratic ideas and ideals. A minor run-in with the law—he didn’t go into detail—brought him into Brandt’s office and the opportunity to volunteer for an undercover role within the Nazi cell. Despite the occasional moments of friction—expected when sharing such close quarters—they shared much in common and grew closer by the day.
At last she’d thrown caution to the wind and invited him to join her beneath the comforter. She sensed their weeks together without physical contact had been hard on him, as well. “You’re sure about this?” he asked. She drew him to her with a kiss leaving no reason to doubt the sincerity of her offer. It had felt right—his arms around her, his tongue a quick learner once she’d shown him the ropes, a hungry if inexperienced bedmate. In that sleazy setting there was nowhere she would rather b
e. And afterwards, lying in the crook of his arm, her fingers toying with the dark hair of his chest, she already wanted more of this man. Together they would take on the world, and as equals.
Very early one morning Isabel heard the incessant ring of the hall phone and answered the detective’s call. A female floater had been sighted in the Spree, long in the water and decomposing badly. Brandt had put out word on behalf of Isabel to be informed should this occur. A Water Police patrol boat was already dispatched to bring it in. “Probably what we’ve been expecting,” he reported.
“I want to be there.” Isabel knew she owed Doro that much. Her friend had suffered miserably and died because of her. The least she could do was witness the recovery, to be present for her, to confess in spirit her guilt and sorrow so as to never again take a friend’s safety lightly. Never again betray someone who placed trust in her.
Brandt conceded but remained dubious, as he explained over the phone: “Some boys spotted the body on their way to school. The water officers will bring the remains to shore, but we take things from there. Cover yourself well and be downstairs in ten minutes. I’ll make a call and slow things down till we get there. You can certainly watch from a distance but you may regret this later. It’s never a pretty sight.” She had. It left her hollow, the ache of guilt and loss so painful she thought she would burst.
With each additional day in hiding, concerns grew that someone might give them up. Service personnel talked, and there was no telling when word might reach some Nazi or reactionary cop out to earn points with the likes of Hallinger. It might be the man who delivered the booze each morning and haul away the empties, coming up to gather ‘dead soldiers’ from the landing. Any residual liquor was conserved for his personal consumption. A few mornings before he had surprised her on the way to the hall bathroom and she hadn’t liked his staring look, so she was on her guard. Also suspect were the two women who tidied up the club each afternoon, including the upstairs rooms. When hearing any daytime activity out on the landing, Karl crouched on the fire escape and watched for a surprise entry by their enemies. He longed for a pistol but would use his knife if push came to shove.
Echoes of Silence Page 16
