As he was mentally tallying the minutes remaining, Erich heard a familiar voice. “Erich, I’m so glad to see you.” It was Oskar. Erich had assumed that Oskar would be exempted from attendance at the concert so he could spend time with his family. Feeling the beginning of panic, Erich desperately wondered how he might get Oskar away. But Oskar himself provided the answer. “I need to talk to you about Marina. As soon as possible.”
Erich snapped to attention. “What is it? Is she ill?” If something was wrong with Marina, if she was somehow in danger, Erich would abandon this venture. Somehow, he would find a way to stop the acid.
“No, no, nothing like that. She is fine, putting the girls to bed right now, I believe.” Oskar adjusted his glasses slightly and looked over to where the Führer was sitting. “But the Führer said something this afternoon that has me worried. And then I found something in the house. I wonder if you know anything about it. I know she thinks highly of you, so she might have said something.” Erich was grateful that Oskar did not know the extent of his relationship with Marina. Although Edith had guessed the truth years ago, he was fairly certain she’d kept the secret from her husband. Nothing in Oskar’s demeanor or attitude toward him had changed in these past five years, as it certainly would have had he known.
Now Erich saw his opportunity to keep Oskar safe. “Oskar, if it concerns Marina, we cannot wait. Let’s leave together after the first movement. If anyone asks, you can say you need a smoke.”
Oskar patted his coat pocket to confirm that he had brought his pipe. Then he nodded. “All right. I’ll look for you after the first movement.” He went over and took a reserved seat in the front row. Erich looked at his watch. Ten minutes remained.
* * *
Captain Heinrich Rodemann didn’t enjoy music. It disrupted his focus. Especially music like this, attention-grabbing and clamorous, insistent upon being heard. This kind of music was dangerous to Captain Rodemann’s mission, which was to secure the Weber premises and ensure the safety of the Führer. Obviously, Berlin was going to make use of all the military resources available in the area to protect the Führer, and he himself was quite prepared, even eager, to lay down his life for the Supreme Commander. When the concert began, Rodemann took up position a short distance from the gazebo, on a small hill where he could survey the entire property and notice anomalous movements. His troops patrolled the estate in organized circuits around him, like electrons around a nucleus, Rodemann liked to think, drawing upon the little bit of chemistry that he had retained from Sister Monika’s ruler rapping his knuckles. In his afternoon briefing to the men, Rodemann had made it very clear that this commission was more serious than any they had undertaken so far, and that any breach in responsibility would have dire consequences. He had stressed the word dire by pausing and tapping his rifle on the ground. The look on his men’s faces was, he decided, one of unalloyed fear, and he had been pleased.
Of course, there were multiple layers of security around the Führer, but not all of them were impregnable, Captain Rodemann noticed. Those blond, purple-trimmed fellows, for example, the Erleuchtete. Twelve of them had marched in with the Führer, but eight had dispersed to other locations, and now only four remained, standing at the four corners of the gazebo. Rodemann knew the reputation of these men as well as anyone. He had watched their grand entrance in advance of the Führer this afternoon with fascination and envy. Fascination, because it was one of Rodemann’s many ambitions to catapult himself through superior performance to these elite ranks. Envy, because he coveted their uniforms; he knew he looked particularly handsome in purple.
Of the four Erleuchtete who now flanked the Führer, three of them were, in Rodemann’s opinion, listening to the music far too intently, with a kind of rapturous look on their faces. The Führer too seemed unduly transported, though of all the listeners, Rodemann supposed, the Supreme Commander was most entitled to be moved. Only one man appeared to be appropriately disengaged from the concert, the officer at the southwest corner of the gazebo. This officer had his back to Rodemann but kept shifting his gaze from his watch to the briefcase sitting next to him on the ground. The presence of a briefcase at an outdoor concert did not surprise Captain Rodemann. It was rumored that the Führer never took a break from official business, that he was always ready to sign a military order or issue a sovereign dispatch at a moment’s notice. No doubt the papers in that briefcase were top secret, and the officer in charge of them had been ordered to guard them with his life. Just as he was beginning to admire this officer’s single-mindedness of purpose, the man turned and Captain Rodemann saw his face. General Wolf. A mixture of anger and embarrassment made Rodemann direct his attention elsewhere. He looked out past the civilian audience to the estate entrance and was reassured to see two of his own men flanking the statues at the main driveway. With pride and satisfaction, he saw that they were standing at attention, as he had ordered them to do. By contrast, Rodemann noticed with disgust, the police retinue not under his command were haphazardly scattered around the lawn, clearly at ease. One of them was even smoking a cigarette! Rodemann determined to find out the man’s name and report him to his superior.
The orchestra fell silent. It must be the end of the first movement, Rodemann guessed, turning his attention back to the gazebo. An older gentleman sitting in the front row stood up and pulled out a pipe. Then he went off in the direction of the front gate to have a smoke. But his was not the only vacant spot near the gazebo. General Wolf too had disappeared, yet the briefcase that had stood next to him remained, unattended, sitting on the ground where Wolf had been a moment earlier. Most likely, Wolf had gone to use the facilities, but if so, why not carry the briefcase with him? Perhaps Wolf thought the environment safe enough to leave it alone for a time? If so, here was another example of how disgracefully the Führer was served by his subordinates. Had Rodemann been given charge of the valise, he would have guarded it properly. The Führer deserved no less.
It was an opportunity Captain Rodemann could not pass up: a top-secret briefcase abandoned by the high-level officer charged with protecting it, the very same officer who had ridiculed and embarrassed Rodemann in front of his men. If Rodemann were to go to the briefcase and pick it up, keep it under close watch until the Führer might need its contents, he would be doing his country and his Supreme Commander a critical service. And if, at some appropriate time, the Führer were to learn that Rodemann had stepped in to perform this service because General Wolf had failed him, and if he thereupon dismissed said general for inattention and laziness . . . Well, that would be the kind of divine justice that Captain Rodemann could appreciate.
He walked over to the gazebo just as the orchestra began the second movement. No one paid attention to him. He grabbed the handle of the briefcase, picked it up, and went back to the hill he had been standing on earlier. No need to be immediately visible to Wolf, wherever he might be. Let him wonder what had happened; the man deserved to sweat a little.
The briefcase was heavier than Rodemann had expected. He brought it up against his chest to give his biceps a rest. As he was imagining the look of dismay on Wolf’s face, as he saw himself being decorated with a medal of honor by the Führer himself, in front of the Brandenburg Gate of Berlin, with his mother looking on, tears of pride streaming down her face—just then, the acid inside the briefcase dissolved the final millimeter of copper wire that led to the blasting cap, setting off the plastic explosive. The gases exploded outward with such fury that they ripped torso from narrow hips, shattered thick skull, and scattered tiny bits and pieces of Captain Heinrich Rodemann all across the well-manicured lawn.
* * *
For Max Fuchs, it was now or never. While the music was starting up. He put his hands on Lara’s waist, pulled her forward, and kissed her just as the bomb exploded.
* * *
The crowd on the steamboat pier gasped, almost as one. Sabine Mecklen screamed. She was too stunned to notice Johann sink into the crowd and disappear.
>
* * *
Rosie jolted upright from her pillow. “What was that, Oma? What was that?” Startled, Edith dropped the book she had been reading and looked toward the window. For a moment, she didn’t answer. Marina stiffened. She stood up from the chair next to Rosie and Sofia’s bed, where she had been listening to Edith, and gently eased Rosie back down onto the mattress, smoothed the cotton blanket over her, and briefly rested her hand on her daughter’s chest. Next to Rosie, Sofia had burrowed under the covers, careful, however, to leave her right ear exposed so her grandmother’s voice could transport her into sleep. Marina stroked the top of Sofia’s head, the only part of the girl still visible.
“Sofia? Liebling?” Marina whispered.
“Leave her alone, Mutti, she’s trying to sleep,” Rosie said, squirming. “What was that big boom?”
Edith looked at Marina, who shrugged her shoulders. “It sounded like very loud thunder, didn’t it? Perhaps there is a storm coming, Rosie.” Edith bent down to pick the book up from the floor. “But just as it is the clouds’ job to deliver rain to the grass and the flowers so they can grow, it is your job now to lie back and listen, and then go to sleep so you can grow. Right?”
“Right, I’m going to grow taller than everybody,” Rosie insisted.
“It’s possible,” Edith said, smoothing down a page. “Now listen.”
Marina tiptoed out of the room and headed for the cellar.
* * *
Fritz Nagel had done an extraordinary job. The Volvo truck was in the barn with its hood open, and immediately Marina could see that this would work. Fritz had managed to reposition the engine and its many leads and wires to the right side of the engine bay, and he had installed a piece of sheet metal as a barrier between that and the remaining open space to the left. Covering the metal was a sheet of asbestos, to insulate the left bay from excessive heat—an indication, Marina realized, that Fritz had a better idea of what they were up to than they had given him credit for. A perfect space for the girls to hide. And now was the time to put it to the test. When Marina heard the explosion, she’d known immediately that this was the sign Johann had meant. She had no time to wonder what had caused it. She’d rushed to the cellar and hurried the Polish girls out of the house and up to the Nagel barn as quickly as possible. The streets were deserted, but she doubted they would remain so for long.
In the barn, Marina retrieved two heavy woolen blankets that she had hidden that morning and spread them out in the empty engine bay. She motioned the girls to come close. She picked up the younger one to give her a better view, but the older one was tall enough to peer in on her own. “This is where you will hide while my friend drives you to safety,” Marina explained. “It will be loud, and it may also get a bit warm, because the engine is right next to you, on the other side of this metal wall. But you will be safe here, so you mustn’t let the noise or heat worry you, all right? Perhaps you will even be able to sleep a bit. That would be good.” The girls stared into the maw of the bay.
The older one looked at her sister. “Dobra,” she said, nodding. To Marina’s surprise, she quickly hoisted herself up and climbed into the open space. She patted the blanket next to her. “Chodź, Pola,” she said, beckoning to the younger girl. “No chodź moja mała.” Pola hesitated and looked up at Marina for reassurance.
“Yes, go ahead,” Marina said. “It’s all right.” She kissed Pola on her forehead and lifted her up onto the blanket. The older girl wrapped her arms around her sister protectively. For a moment, Pola relaxed, even pulled a piece of the blanket up around her as if she was settling in, but then she gave a small shriek and looked all around.
“Daiya!” she whimpered. “Nadzia, Nadzia, gdzie jest Daiya?” She began to cry. Marina had no idea who or what Daiya was, but she knew the crying had to be quieted immediately. The older girl, Nadzia, understood this too, and began shushing her sister softly. She murmured something to the little girl, who buried her face in Nadzia’s chest and continued to sob, but her crying was now muffled. Nadzia kept up a low running monologue, then gradually shifted to a lullaby that she alternately sang and hummed while rocking Pola back and forth.
Marina stood mesmerized. For the second time that day, she was struck by how much these girls reminded her of her daughters. Would Lara comfort Rosie in such a way? She had never seen Lara exhibit maternal instincts—but then, why should she, at thirteen? There had always been someone else to look after Rosie and Sofia, and Lara too. And soon, she reminded herself, there would be someone to take care of these Polish girls as well. Johann would make sure of that before he left them, she knew. As if to confirm her thought, the pastor suddenly yanked the barn door open. He approached the truck with determined strides.
“Is everything ready here? Everything loaded?” Johann inspected the bed of the truck, which Fritz had loaded with crates of fresh tomatoes, cucumbers, young potatoes, and kohlrabi. Canisters of milk and cream from Fritz’s dairy operation stood wedged like sentinels between the boxed vegetables. Satisfied, Johann turned to the open engine hood. “And the girls?”
“They’re ready.” Marina saw Nadzia open her eyes wide upon Johann’s approach, then relax when she recognized the minister. He returned to the truck bed and beckoned Marina to come closer while he secured a heavy canvas tarp over the goods.
“There has been an attempt on the Führer’s life,” he whispered urgently, yanking at one of the ropes. “A bomb. At the Weber concert.”
Marina exhaled. She knew that what she’d heard must have been some sort of explosive. She had a thousand questions, but only one mattered. Her tongue felt thick. “And? Is he dead?”
“I don’t know,” Johann admitted, moving to the other side of the truck bed. “I was at the pier when it happened and ran all the way here. I can’t wait around to find out, I need to get these girls out while there’s still chaos and confusion.” He secured the last knot and moved to the side of the barn, where Fritz had stacked hay bales in an unused cow stall. Maneuvering his hand underneath the top bale, Johann smiled when his fingers felt the metal ridges of the key to the truck. “If I leave now, I should have no trouble.” He walked back to the open hood, took two small apples out of his pocket, and gave them both to Nadzia.
If the Führer had been killed, Marina thought, Johann was correct—he would have no trouble. But if the Führer had survived? She remembered his words at tea and grabbed Johann’s wrist. “Johann, listen, I have to tell you something. Something from this afternoon. I think . . . I think the Führer knows.”
“Knows?” He did not try to wrest his hand away from her. “Knows what?”
Marina let out a small cry. “I don’t know!” She recalled the predatory stare, the overwhelming sense of calamity that had pressed upon her. “But he knows something. He knows your name. He said he has gotten reports about you. He knows about your ‘activities,’ though I don’t know what he meant.” She stopped short, silencing her next words: And he knows about me. She didn’t want Johann to worry about her, because he had enough to worry about already. And she didn’t want to give life to this fearful possibility by uttering it aloud.
“What? What else?”
“Nothing else important.” Johann looked at her doubtfully, but Marina shifted her focus back to him. “What is important, Johann, is that you are in danger. If the Führer is still alive, if he’s survived this bomb, you’re not safe here anymore.”
Johann took in this information stoically, his face betraying no emotion as he considered its implications. Gently, he pried Marina’s fingers from his wrist. “Well, if what you say is true, it’s not just here. It’s not just Blumental. I must leave too.”
Marina felt tears welling up. “But where? Where will you go?”
Johann gently placed his hands on her shoulders. There was resolution in those hands, and belief. Marina knew that he was well acquainted with the brutalities inflicted by this regime and its war. At various points, she had questioned him about what he knew, but he
had always deflected her. “Believe me, it is better not to know,” he’d always said. “Better not to have the images in your head, because once they are there, you can never erase them.” He probably even knew what had happened to these girls’ family. Yet, despite everything he had seen and heard in this war, despite everything he suspected and everything he knew, he still had such faith in the world, in the innate goodness of humanity. That faith was attractive. It drew people. It had drawn her. For a long time, Marina had been envious of it, knowing that she would never feel that kind of trust in anything. But she could borrow that feeling from him, and she did now, absorbing his steadiness through his fingertips. His palms resting on her shoulders soothed her for the moment. The feeling wouldn’t last, she knew, but perhaps it would see her through until tomorrow.
He was looking at her. His gaze was calm, as always, calm and determined. Yet there was something else in his eyes, something that hesitated. Was he waiting for her to say something? When she did finally speak, her voice was a whisper. “Go.”
Johann nodded. He bent his head and kissed Marina on the cheek. Then he stepped over to the engine. “Now, my dear girls, are you ready? It is time to begin.”
Pola was asleep, but Nadzia looked at Johann and smiled shyly. Marina leaned into the engine bay and gave the older girl one last hug. She put her forefinger on her lips. “Badz´ cicho.” Nadzia nodded and lay down, curling her body around Pola’s. Marina tucked the blanket around them. Johann closed the hood. He stepped into the truck, started the engine, and pulled out of the barn. He did not look back.
* * *
For the second time in seventy-two hours, Hans Munter lay on the ground, not quite certain whether he was dead or alive. He was vaguely conscious of women shrieking and of voices barking out orders, but it was difficult to make out specific words because of the intense ringing in his ears. After lying still under the remnants of wooden chairs that covered him, wiggling his extremities to confirm they were still attached, he looked up.
The Good at Heart Page 27
