It had been only three days since she received his instructions, yet it seemed like weeks. Emma had gone over his words countless times about where to meet his contact, feeling as if she’d missed something but sure that she hadn’t. Maria had been in touch with Alina to see if Nash’s condition had improved enough to clarify what he’d said. But, earlier that morning, Maria had relayed the update: Nash was unconscious again. Emma didn’t react, choosing to focus on what she could control.
Everyone was at different landmarks, as instructed by Kurt, scanning the crowds for any sign of a red hat. The boy had decided the day before which of the garden’s most popular monuments and feeding areas were most likely to have been referenced by Nash.
The crowds around Emma were very different from the ones she remembered—smaller, scattered, and full of gray people, grimacing, eyes looking up at the slightest sound overhead, seemingly afflicted by a collective nervous tic.
The surroundings had changed even more than the people themselves. While Emma had caught glimpses of the countryside during the nighttime drive from Leer, she’d found herself gawking by daylight as the nation’s capital began the weekend. A filmy, malodorous layer of smoke hung over Berlin, signaling the city’s distress.
Underneath the smoke lay shattered buildings, yawning street craters, camouflage nets over parts of the main plazas and boulevards, a litter of dead dogs, horses, and human remains—and three million Berliners trying to live another day and take advantage of a break in the bombing to reclaim their city and some of its small joys.
Kurt and his team, all on bicycles he’d acquired through trades for foodstuffs he’d stolen, had now spent an hour staking out the Victory monument, the Beethoven-Haydn-Mozart Memorial, and the statues of the writer Johann von Goethe, the Prussian queen Louise, and the philosopher Gotthold Lessing. Meanwhile, as the leader of this assignment, he continued to cycle by other sites that were potential but less likely meeting places, while coordinating everything over his own hidden radio.
Emma didn’t recall the Tiergarten’s being so big: five hundred acres, according to Peter. But she had accurately remembered its tree-canopied walkways, winding paths, mystical mists, sinuous streams, and lily-covered ponds. Located south of the River Spree, bordered by the Reichstag and dozens of boarded-up embassies, the garden’s warren of hidden passages, though scarred by war, still made it an ideal place for lovers, statesmen, and others seeking to lose themselves in talk or in someone’s arms.
“Okay, Kurt, I have someone,” Ursula reported from the composers’ memorial. “Older man, dark trench coat, reddish brimmed hat just sat down on a bench here. Appears to be reading a newspaper, but he’s not. Eyes are darting back and forth looking for someone. I’d say this could be our contact.”
“Time to fly, Emma,” came the simple command from Kurt.
Emma mounted her bike, with its worn leather seat. In addition to her gray cap, she wore dark trousers and a black jacket she’d borrowed from Maria to help her blend in with the colorless crowds. Her gun was stashed inside her jacket. She was ready for whatever lay ahead. She pushed down on the right pedal and began to coast.
“Excuse me, Fräulein!” a male voice shouted from behind her. She turned to see a tall soldier moving toward her on foot, almost jogging. Her heart leaped. “Could you light my cigarette?” he asked.
She could see the cigarette. But was he trying to find a match, flirt, or question her?
She couldn’t risk finding out.
Smiling, she kept pedaling, shouting over her shoulder, “I don’t smoke and you shouldn’t, either. Already too much smoke in the air!” He stopped and turned to ask another passerby. Her muscles relaxed for a few moments—before the next update came in.
“Sorry, team,” Ursula said. “This Red Hat appears to have found the person he’s meeting. She’s at least half his age, wearing tattered black stockings, a low-cut dress, and let’s just say I think she’s working this weekend.”
Emma glanced at her watch: 10:29. We’re going to miss the real Red Hat. Her brain launched into overdrive, searching every corner of her memory for new information or different ways to interpret what she already knew.
Suddenly, something occurred to her. Something she hadn’t considered before.
Gottfried came on the radio now, speaking calmly but forcefully. “Emma, we’re almost out of time. Any other clues that might be helpful?”
Emma hesitated before speaking, still processing her thoughts. “Nash told me to meet his contact at ‘the beasts in the garden.’ I figured that, given his frail condition, he’d jumbled his words and was just telling me to go to the Tiergarten, since the direct translation from German is ‘garden of the beasts.’ But what if he meant for me to find the literal beasts in the Tiergarten?”
“There are dozens of animal statues here,” Kurt replied, “though I suppose some of them are more beastly than others.”
Maria intervened. “But we all know there’s only one king of the beasts—”
“The lion statue—of course!” Kurt cried. “Emma, I pointed that statue out to you earlier, when we were scouting. Remember?”
“Yes—a large male, a lioness, and a couple of cubs, right? I’m quite far away.” She’d already swiveled around and begun pedaling toward the northeast corner of the garden.
“I’m right near it and on my way,” Kurt said. “Everyone else, check other animal statues in your area and report back if you see our Red Hat.”
—
Kurt peeked out from behind a large bush. “Someone with a red hat is sitting on the bench,” he reported. Emma grinned. Her only backup plan had been to wait another month, as the Nazis moved closer to their objective. “But there’s something you should know,” he added.
“What is it, Kurt?” she said breathlessly.
“If this is Nash’s contact, Red Hat isn’t a man,” he announced.
“Our Red Hat is a woman?” Emma had assumed that a man would be the recipient of the kind of high-level information they were after. But she knew from personal experience that Nash connected easily with women . . . especially younger ones. “How old?” she asked, trying to sound indifferent.
“Can’t tell,” Kurt answered, “but she sure looks impatient. She’s stopped feeding the pigeons. Just checked her watch again.”
“I’m almost there,” Emma said, legs churning.
“Hurry,” Kurt said. “She stood up and looks ready to leave.”
“Keep her there!” Emma shouted.
“Do you think it’s easy for a kid who looks twelve to go up to a high-level contact in wartime and demand that she stay put?”
She smiled. “One way or another, don’t let her leave.”
Emma had arrived at a fork in the path, unsure which way to go, trees and thick bushes all around her.
Damn!
The sound of metal hitting stone screeched through her headpiece and to her right at the same time. She heard Kurt cry out. She slipped the bulky rucksack off her back as planned, detaching its wires with a simple tug, and launched the bag with its antenna into the bushes before pedaling like mad toward the sound. She soon emerged into a clearing.
She could see the lions and, below them, a woman in dark sunglasses, wearing a red hat, kneeling by an overturned bicycle. Kurt lay on the ground like a turtle, the red rucksack containing his radio barely intact underneath him. He’d run his bike into the lion statue. His knee was bleeding, and he’d cut his cheek.
Emma dismounted her bike. Kurt saw her approaching and perked up. He thanked the startled stranger, hopped on his bike, and disappeared into the woods.
Red Hat shook her head, smiled briefly, and began to walk away from the statue.
“That boy reminds me of a man I know,” Emma said, speaking loudly enough to catch the attention of the departing Red Hat. “The man I have in mind also had an accident. He
couldn’t be here today because of it.”
Red Hat swiveled around and stared. “And is this friend of yours alive?” she asked with concern from several yards away.
“Alive but unresponsive.” Red Hat’s face went slack. “Someone tried to stop him from coming here last month. Shot him four times. He asked me to come instead, and told me to meet a person wearing a red hat, feeding pigeons at the beasts in the garden,” Emma said, glancing over at the statue of the four lions behind them.
“I’m sorry about your friend,” Red Hat said, her voice suddenly quieter, her body less composed than it had been. She moved closer. “And did he give you anything to share with whoever he was meeting?” The woman tightened the dark scarf under her hat around her head.
She was overdressed for the weather, wearing a charcoal-gray coat that brushed her ankles and a red felt hat with a black fur trim, pulled low over her forehead. It was impossible for Emma to know what she really looked like or even how old she was. She didn’t sound very old, but her skin looked worn, and she moved slowly, methodically. Her eyes remained indistinguishable behind the black lenses, keeping Emma at a distance.
“I did have a gold trinket,” Emma said, “but, most inconveniently, I was forced to hand it over to the Gestapo. I do, however, have something else to share.”
“And that is?”
“Let’s just say I’ve been informed of the common goal of my friend and Red Hat, and I’ve been trained by him in how to best pursue that goal.”
Emma braced herself. The woman suppressed a laugh. “No offense intended, but I have trouble believing a woman as youthful as you could match the skill of your accomplished friend,” she said, her gaze fixed on Emma. They were about the same height, both several inches taller than the average woman.
Emma nodded. “Few, indeed, have that level of skill. But that doesn’t mean I can’t help this Red Hat achieve their goal—as I intend to do.”
The smile disappeared from Red Hat’s face. She hesitated, and took several slow breaths.
“What is your friend’s name, middle names included?” she asked.
Emma had days to go over any questions that might be used to test her, but this wasn’t one she’d prepared for. Her mind backtracked to the night she’d lain on her bed at the castle reading Alina’s information about Nash. She closed her eyes and imagined looking at his full name again. It came to her.
“Everett Reginald Nash. Only one middle name as far as I know.”
“Good,” the woman said. “And when was he born?”
“July 25, 1891.”
“What family connections does Everett have to Germany?”
“His mother was Austrian-German. His father was once posted at the embassy here.”
“His favorite author was—”
“Arthur Conan Doyle.”
Red Hat smiled. “This is a good start. I’ll have other questions.” She signaled that they should return to the bench. “You know, I’d run out of bird feed, and patience. I was about to go.”
“I’m very glad you didn’t,” Emma said.
“I’m Paula.” The woman extended a gloved hand.
Chapter 25
Saturday, September 30, 1944
10:50 a.m—The Tiergarten, Berlin, Germany
Paula and Emma sat side by side on the bench. “Now that I’ve answered a few questions, may I ask some of my own?” Emma began.
“You cannot ask me anything about who I am, how I know what I know, or why I’m doing this. And I will only tell you enough to point you in the right direction.”
“I’ll do my best not to cross those lines, Paula. You’re going to be my guide here, and you’re also Everett’s friend.”
“Go ahead, then. Ask your questions,” Paula said, her large sunglasses masking her emotions. The glasses certainly weren’t necessary—the sun remained hidden by the haze of smoke that had settled over the city.
“Let’s start with how you know Everett Nash so well.”
Paula looked up, clasping her black gloves together, what little Emma could see of her face lighting up for the first time. “We met through a common acquaintance at a dinner party and have known each other for more than a decade,” she said. “I trust Everett completely. I contacted him in early July to say that I needed to meet here in Berlin as soon as possible to discuss a matter of the utmost urgency.”
“Germany’s weapon plans?”
“Yes.”
“And why did you need Everett to help you, instead of taking action yourself?”
“If you fully understood my situation, you would know that we’re all watched closely. I cannot risk acting directly, nor can I trust that anyone around me would see this particular issue as I do. Most importantly, though, I don’t have Everett’s negotiation expertise. The situation is too complex—there is too much at stake for me to act alone.”
Emma swallowed hard. “Understood,” she said. Emma could feel Paula’s hidden eyes on her.
Paula leaned forward. “You do have the negotiation skills I need through your own background and training under Everett, correct?”
“I can help you,” Emma answered, saying nothing more.
—
As soon as they disappeared into the anonymity of the woods behind the lion statue, Paula became noticeably more animated and open toward Emma.
Emma fielded a dozen queries regarding Nash’s injuries, the care he’d received at Leeds Castle, and the men who’d tried to kill him. She was surprised to see tears running down Paula’s face.
Paula pulled out a hankie, dabbing at her makeup. She sighed and sniffed. “We obviously have a mole inside the British government who is reporting back to Germany. The bastards.”
“Would the führer have been informed that Everett was being targeted?” Emma asked. How high up the chain of command did the decision to kill Everett go?
“I doubt it,” Paula said carefully. “The führer runs a very decentralized command structure for the most part. He gives his senior reports broad objectives and the power to execute on their own. They don’t bother him with details unless he specifically asks. Of course, if you don’t come through as expected there are consequences.”
Emma said nothing about Buckley. If Nash’s guess was right, she didn’t want Paula, or any of the Nazis connected to Paula, to know that his cover had been compromised. If Buckley continued to think he was safe, Emma might still be able to make him pay. She would wait, at least until she got to know Paula better and she’d learned more about Buckley through Lady Baillie’s inquiries.
Paula looked at her watch. “I shouldn’t be long. Tell me what else you need to know.”
“How far along is the development of this disintegration bomb?” Emma asked.
“It’s complete.”
Emma caught her breath. “So they’re certain it works?”
“Confident, not certain,” Paula said. “You still have time. They believe it will work, but the first test is October 12th—less than two weeks from now.”
“Where?”
“Germany’s northern coast, a place called Rügen Island, a few hours from here by rail. In the summertime, it’s a resort area for the rich and famous. In the fall, it’s all but abandoned.”
“And who oversees this weapon’s development and testing?”
“Hans Kammler. He’s a commander at the SS—the Nazi Party’s paramilitary arm—with a background in civil engineering,” she said. “Very competent, though I’m told he makes the führer nervous because his impulsiveness can lead him to act without consulting his superiors.”
Paula explained that work on the bomb had accelerated with the outbreak of war in 1939. But, once it looked as if Germany would win handily, these nuclear pursuits were deemed less critical. In late 1941, though, everything changed—again. Hitler had attacked Russia, resulting in G
erman losses on all fronts. It became clear that the war might last much longer. There was now time, and a desperate need, to complete a bomb that could tilt the war back in Germany’s favor.
“The führer grew frustrated with Germany’s nuclear project, known as the Uranverein, and its dozens of leading scientists—including Kurt Diebner and Werner Heisenberg, the Nobel Prize winner. Their progress was too slow for his liking,” Paula said. “So he turned to Kammler to oversee a clandestine, parallel project, secretly funneling any helpful knowledge and resources from the Uranverein to Kammler’s own handpicked team.”
“How has Kammler succeeded where the others failed?”
“He’s open to new approaches, highly focused—and ferocious. If you think the huge male lion on the statue where we met looks like a beast, Kammler is worse. Anyone who gets in his way is torn to pieces by him or his SS troops. He demands loyalty from everyone in his pride. I’m truly sorry, Emma, but this is the man you must stop.”
Emma was reeling inside, but she wasn’t going to let Paula know. She calmed herself, breathing deeply and thinking about Nash, her mind scanning his earliest lessons.
“Paula, let’s leave Kammler aside for the time being. About this pride of lions—who, exactly, is doing his dirty work building these bombs and planning their delivery?”
“Three scientists, all exceptional,” Paula began. At that moment, a bird swooped down on them, just over their heads, its vibrant blue wings disappearing into the treetops. Paula gasped. With almost girlish delight, she laughed and chased after it.
“Where are you going?” Emma called, also laughing now, hurrying to catch up. Emma found Paula standing amid the trees looking up into the branches, leaning sideways to try and see the bird again.
“Eine Friedensschwalbe is what we call it, and it’s one of the most serene and rare birds in Germany,” Paula whispered. “Mothers here tell bedtime stories about how its peaceful nature and melodic singing ended hundreds of wars across history. Its magical influence affected all those who were fighting: armed warriors would throw down their weapons and begin weeping, even hugging those they had just been trying to kill. A feast was then held to celebrate the peace and pay tribute to the bird that made it possible.”
Weapons of Peace Page 22
