He didn’t blame the director for making sure his notebooks stayed in the lab. As things had become more politically tense in Germany, the government had started classifying all research. In fact, his work had been considered so critical to national defense in the case of an upcoming war, he’d been forced to sign a confidentiality agreement. Which he’d adhered to. So much so, that he hadn’t even mentioned it or his work to the police yesterday while being interrogated.
He took one final look around, to the desk and worktable where he’d done some of his best work the last few years, then glanced through the window to the adjacent lab. Sadness swept through him at his loss. He would no longer have access to the research equipment and fruitful cooperation he and his colleagues had shared.
He turned away, focusing his attention back on the framed picture of his mother, Ingrid, and a coffee mug she’d given him for his birthday. He opened his briefcase and placed both items inside.
As his glance fell to an open notebook on his desk that featured the same chaotic order as his desk at home, he traced a finger over the formulas on the open page, his heart growing weary.
For the last several months, Q had been working tirelessly on new methods to analyze organic arsenic compounds. While methods for detecting other chemical weapons, including chlorine, phosgene, and mustard gas were in existence, none had been fully developed to detect arsenic compounds.
Prior to the Royal Air Force of Great Britain intervening in the Russian Civil War in 1919, the detection method had been unnecessary. Not anymore. The chemical lewisite, an organic arsenic compound, was not only a lung irritant but also a vesicant, causing blisters to form on those exposed to it.
Since the compound was both odorless and colorless, the only indication of exposure occurred when it was already too late, and those affected began to feel the stinging pain on their skin, in their respiratory tract, or in their eyes. Being able to detect this potential chemical weapon was a critical improvement in the defense of Germans against chemical warfare.
Q had been on the verge of making a breakthrough discovery, but now it would be up to his co-workers to find the last piece of the puzzle. One of them stepped into the lab and Q reached for one of his notebooks. He just had to make sure his latest discoveries wouldn’t be forgotten.
He turned to the gatekeeper. “Just let me give my notes to my colleague and I’ll be ready to leave.”
Herr Schmidt looked slightly hesitant about allowing this, but before he could say a word, Q sauntered into the lab. “Arnold, my latest notes are in there. They’ll be helpful in finding the detection method.”
His colleague jumped at the words, apparently not aware that Q had entered the lab. “I…you…thanks.” He took the notebook in a hurry and appeared to want to back out of the laboratory. Q’s heart broke a little bit more. Why did everyone treat him like a leper?
“Wait. I believe we’ve ruled out the possibility of using water as the method of detection. While using a pH indicator to detect the formation of hydrochloric acid is plausible, the resulting secondary reaction is only slightly less dangerous.”
“I have to go.”
Q’s shoulders sagged as he watched the man he’d so closely work with for years flee as if retreating from a monster. Dejected, he returned to his office and left, not allowing himself to look back as Herr Schmidt escorted him to the front gate. There he shook the guard’s hand. “Thank you.”
“Doctor Quedlin, I’m so sorry this is happening to you.”
“Take care,” Q said and headed off down the street. Since all his personal belongings had fit inside his briefcase, he didn’t bother to go home. He would enjoy the unexpected day off, he decided, maybe visit a café. He took the suburban train, to Berlin Friedrichstrasse, and from there made his way to the main thoroughfare where people liked to congregate and socialize, Unter den Linden.
He chose a vacant table at a small café and ordered a coffee while he contemplated his next move. Many people passed by on this morning in October, a few very well off society ladies, but also a large number of poor people. Beggars. Most of them coming and going to one of the labor bureaus in the hope of securing some sort of meager employment, even if just for this one day.
The longer he sat there, the angrier he became. First, I’m accused of a crime I haven’t committed, and then I’m fired for the same crime I haven’t committed. What kind of world am I living in? Since when is an accusation all it takes to stigmatize a person?
Q was a scientist right to his bone, always had been. He throve on facts. Numbers. Formulas. But there were no facts involved at his layoff. Just empty accusations and fear. He brought the cup to his lips, inhaling the sweet yet bitter aroma of his coffee before he took another sip. The hot liquid filled his mouth, bringing a sense of warmth and comfort.
It was time to stop commiserating and start analyzing his options. To be truthful, he hadn’t been happy at his job for quite some time. Not since his work had been classified as “important to the war.” Maybe Director Hoffmann had done him a favor by firing him? At least now he was free to pursue his true passion – inventions for the good of humanity, not in the service of a government preparing to go to war.
War was horrible. He’d been a teenager during the last war, too young to understand, but old enough to wear the scars on his soul. He hated what it did to people and the destruction it left behind. He hated what the mere threat of another war was doing to people now. And he hated the capriciousness that seemed to rule the decisions nowadays. Like getting fired on an untenable accusation.
Still, he couldn’t get rid of the nagging feeling in his gut that things in Germany were going to become much worse.
Chapter 6
One week after his first visit to the police station, Q awoke to a pounding on his door and voices demanding he open it up.
He scrubbed the sleep from his eyes and opened the door to see the same policemen standing there. “Doctor Quedlin, you must come with us now.”
“What’s this about? We’ve already been–”
“Now.” They stepped forward as if to grab him.
Still sleepy, he said, “Let me get dressed and put on shoes first.”
“Very well. Make it quick,” the older officer said.
Q nodded and retreated to his bedroom, where he quickly donned his clothing and his shoes. He also grabbed a jacket as the weather had turned cold and blustery, and November mornings could be very chilly.
“Come along,” one of the officers said, turning to leave.
Q followed them to the waiting black DKW2 police car and then into the station, where he didn’t believe his eyes. Klara Haller, a former colleague, paced the hallway, taking quick puffs on her cigarette. Her pacing increased when she saw him, but she butted out her cigarette in an ashtray and followed in their course as the two policemen ushered him into the interrogation room.
Still without a clue as to why she was here, or why he was here for that matter, he took a calming breath and decided to wait and listen.
“Why haven’t you arrested him? He’s a dissenter and a traitor,” Klara said in a high-pitched voice.
“Fräulein, if you could just–”
“This man has been working against the German government and must be stopped.”
“Please stick to the facts. Now, would you please tell Doctor Quedlin what you told us?”
Klara struggled to get control of her emotions, then gave Q a scathing look. “He’s been talking about Russia and how perfect the ideas of communism are.”
“You’ve heard him say such things?”
She nodded. “He spoke of some Russians he once worked with.”
“When was this?” the older officer asked, making notes on the paper in front of him.
“I don’t remember,” she said, lifting her chin.
“Did you see him talking to these Russians?”
“Well…no, but he likes the idea of communism. Ask him.” She pointed a finger at Q.
<
br /> The officers turned their attention to Q, the older one asking, “Is Fräulein Haller correct? Do you sympathize with the Communist Party?”
Being a member of the Communist Party wasn’t illegal, but in the opinions of these police officers, it was apparently akin to being an industrial spy. Q shook his head and carefully chose his words. “I’m a scientist, not a politician. I’ve never engaged in any sort of political activity, not even while I was at university.”
“So you deny being a Communist?”
“Don’t you think inventions and progress should benefit all people? Not just a few rich elite factions?” Q faked a calmness he didn’t feel.
“What’s he talking about?” Klara demanded to know.
Q had seen the flicker of doubt in the eyes of the policemen and knew he could win them over if he tailored his arguments to agree with their set of attitudes, even if only in part. He decided to appeal to their sense of justice, but even more so to their need of safety for themselves and their families.
“Remember that article you found in my apartment last week?” He waited until the police officers nodded. “That gas mask was intended to be affordable to everyone. Wouldn’t it be better if any citizen, including the police and their families, had a gas mask available to them and not just military, high ranking government officials, and rich people? Wouldn’t you feel better knowing your families were protected while you were at work?”
Klara glared as the police officers nodded, accepting Q’s argument, and she interrupted with a high-pitched voice. “Don’t let him fool you. He has connections to the Communist Party.”
The officers looked torn for a moment. The Communist Party was not something anyone readily admitted to, not when faced with the local authorities. They were seen as radicals and troublemakers.
“Fräulein Haller, do you have proof of these associations?” the younger policeman asked, and Q mentally congratulated himself. Finally, the discussion had been steered back on grounds based on hard facts, not nebulous suspicions.
Klara looked uncertain for a moment and then shook her head. “No.”
Confidence surged in Q, and he instinctively puffed out his chest. “I think my colleague may have misunderstood some of my comments. I may have mentioned Russia in a conversation about some new advancement or invention that had been brought to my attention, but no more so than I have mentioned America or England.”
The older officer looked at Klara. “Is that true?”
She scowled at Q and slowly nodded, “I guess. But he belongs–”
The officer held up his hand. “Doctor Quedlin, which political party do you belong to?”
Q shook his head. “None of them. I’ve never joined a political party.”
The police officers had reached their level of tolerance for Klara’s accusations. “Fräulein Haller, it seems you have no facts to back up your claims that Doctor Quedlin is a sympathizer with the Communists.”
Then he turned toward Q and asked, “Doctor Quedlin, under what context would you have discussed America or England?”
Q smiled as a wave of relief coursed through his veins. “Four years ago, in the final stages of finishing my PhD thesis, I was privileged to spend six weeks visiting England. While I took some time for vacation, I was also allowed to attend a scientific conference in the field of organic chemistry. The attendees were renowned scientists from many countries, but I especially liked the British and American colleagues. They have some of the most advanced methodologies in the world, and it was a pleasure to exchange new approaches to research and minor breakthroughs with them.”
“So you returned home after six weeks?”
“No, officer. I was also privileged to attend the 1928 Summer Olympics in Amsterdam while travelling, where I cheered for the German athletes to win medals for our Fatherland. In fact, I witnessed Ingrid Mayer win the female floret, and Georg Lammers gain the bronze medal in the 100-meter sprints. Both were sublime moments of national pride. If you wish to see my official accreditation, I can present it to you later today.”
The officers shook their heads. “That won’t be necessary.”
The younger officer spoke up. “Doctor Quedlin, can you explain why one of your colleagues had reported you saying, and I quote, ‘Everything that has to do with the Nazis is ridiculous.’ It was also reported that, on more than one occasion, you made fun of them.”
Q frowned, and a queasy feeling settled in his stomach; the conversation was steering into dangerous territory. He made a mental note to be more careful in the future and never openly ridicule the Nazis again. Apparently, in these days, it was better to duck his head and keep his mouth shut – just like everyone else.
Thinking feverishly, he once again stated, “I may have said this, trying to be funny. Apparently it wasn’t a good joke. And what do I know of politics? I’m a scientist. Everyone in this room,” he looked from one officer to the other, before he continued, “is surely better prepared to judge whether the Nazis are a veritable party or not.”
His heart beat in his throat, and he prayed they wouldn’t delve deeper into the Nazi issue. This might have the potential to get him into serious trouble.
Thankfully, the police officers seemed to get tired of the fruitless conversation. “Fräulein Haller, this man is no threat to the German Nation or a Communist Party sympathizer. Be more careful in your accusations from now on.” The officer gave her a warning glare before turning to Q. “You’re free to go.”
On the way back to the exit, the policeman lowered his voice and spoke to Q. “This gas mask you’ve been working on? Is it already being sold?”
Q had to swallow down a chuckle and answered in the most serious voice he was capable of. “Officer, Auer-Gesellschaft has not put it on the market yet, and unfortunately, I was released from the company after the interrogation last week.”
When he saw the man’s disappointed face, he was reminded that policemen were only fellow humans following their orders. Since they hadn’t been rough or mean with him, he added, “I believe if you ask Director Hoffmann for a prototype of the gas mask to conclude your investigation, you’ll receive one.”
He bid his goodbyes and followed Klara Haller from the building. Once out on the street, he grabbed her arm and turned her to face him. “Why did you do that?”
Klara gave him a disbelieving look, pulling her arm from his grasp. “You of all people should know!”
Puzzled, he observed her for a moment and then shook his head. “So, this is your revenge? To get me arrested for high treason?”
He felt his voice rise and strove for calm. Klara had fallen for him since she joined the company a year ago and had pursued him relentlessly. She was a beautiful woman, but nothing about her attracted him. So he’d turned her down many times, declining her invitations to dinner or the moving pictures, and requests to be his date at company socials.
She shuffled awkwardly and mumbled, “I was just doing my civilian duty to keep my eyes open.”
He shook his head and left her standing without a further word. Women like her were one of the reasons he was still a bachelor at the age of twenty-nine. That and the fact that he just hadn’t met a woman he was interested in. His first love was science and women were only a distraction. No woman alive would appreciate him spending yet another night in his lab because he was so close to finding the missing link. He could do without the headaches having a girlfriend brought with it.
Q walked down the sidewalk, pondering on the economic and political climate in Germany. Things are going to get a lot worse. His country was in trouble, and if something didn’t change, it was headed directly into doom.
On the walk home, a growing urgency to do something arose in his mind. But he couldn’t even begin to fathom what that would be. What could a single scientist do to save his country from war and destruction? To save it from itself?
Chapter 7
Hilde and her girlfriends entered the theater foyer. Thanks to Hilde’s ste
p-father, Robert Klein, they’d secured tickets for the highly coveted opening night of the opera The Marriage of Figaro by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. They patiently waited their turn at the concession counter, wanting to purchase a soda before the performance began.
“Look at those fellows over there,” Erika pointed out in a whisper.
Gertrud and Hilde dutifully turned their heads. “Where?”
“The fellows lounging against the wall.”
The three girls looked at the men, and Gertrud mused, “They look like they’re seated in one of the private theater boxes.” Even before she’d finished speaking, three women, dressed in the latest fashion gowns and adorned with expensive jewelry, exited the bathroom and looped their arms with the men.
“Look at their clothes.” Gertrud sighed. “I’d love to be able to dress like that.”
“Why don’t you?” Hilde asked.
Gertrud looked at her long, mid-calf length navy blue skirt and sighed. “Apart from not being able to afford a designer gown, my mother would kill me before allowing me to leave the house showing even a tiny bit of cleavage.”
Erika nodded. “My parents would dress me in a sack if they could.” She pointed to where her skirt ended and her silk stockings began. “My father doesn’t like men being able to see my ankles. He says it’s not ladylike.”
Hilde laughed and glanced down at her own clothing. An elegant yet comfortable and warm pants suit. “You girls and your sheer stockings. I don’t know why you insist on wearing them during winter. You’re always getting runs in them and going to the seamstress to get them repaired.”
“That’s because they’re expensive.”
“And cold. Not only do I not have to spend my money on getting my stockings fixed, but my legs stay warm. It’s much more practical in this weather.”
Unrelenting: Love and Resistance in Pre-War Germany Page 3
