Weapons of Peace

by Johnston, Peter D. ;

  They talked for several minutes about the auction and the painting by Dettmann, which the führer had placed above his private desk as soon as they arrived home. Then Emma got around to the question she’d been dying to ask.

  “So, Eva, why did you once tell me that Eva Braun is a ‘harebrained’ blonde?”

  Eva smiled. “Well, that’s obvious, isn’t it? I wanted to make sure you couldn’t easily guess who I was. After all, how many people would speak in such a negative way about themselves? It’s also in keeping with how people perceive me, and that’s exactly how Adolf and I decided long ago that I should be viewed. It was the only way we could be together.”

  “Why is that?” Emma asked.

  Eva removed her sunglasses, revealing her blue eyes. “If any senior Nazis truly believed I could think for myself and hold opinions on anything of significance that might sway the führer one way or another, I’d be seen as a threat. Under the auspices of party interests, they’d find a way to separate us, likely an ‘accident.’ It’s been done before with other young women.”

  Emma was surprised to hear that Hitler himself was vulnerable, unable to control everything around him. “So no one else knows that your being harebrained is just an act?”

  “My employer does—and my parents and sisters, of course,” she said with a giggle. “They all know that I put on an act. But I can’t say that I’m never harebrained in private!”

  Eva explained that her father was a schoolteacher who had made sure that his three girls knew everything he knew about the world. But, outside of her direct family, she and Hitler never talked about anything serious while others were around, even their servants. That’s how much they loved each other, she told Emma, and they’d loved each other ever since they met in 1929 at the Hoffmann Photography Studio in Munich—where she continued to work, shuttling back and forth from Berlin as needed.

  “I was seventeen, Adolf was forty,” Eva said, chuckling at the age difference. Emma nodded with a smile; the divide between her and Nash was even greater.

  Eva said she’d apprenticed under Heinrich Hoffmann, the Nazi Party’s official photographer. As her skills improved and her relationship with Hitler deepened, she was able to capture images of him and the places they visited in both stills and movies, everyone believing that she was merely Hoffmann’s employee. Otherwise, she couldn’t have been seen publicly with the führer because of his propaganda man, Goebbels. It was Goebbels who insisted that Hitler appear chaste, supposedly making him more attractive to the nation’s women, both single and married.

  Emma’s mind raced backward. “Were you the one who captured the images of the death camps, the same horrific pictures I used to convince Wolf that he should join our efforts?”

  For the first time, Eva seemed to hesitate, her face unreadable. “No comment.”

  “Regardless of who took the pictures, Eva—if you love the führer so much, why would you do anything to undermine him and his bomb? As much as I believe that you’re doing the right thing, it’s hard to fathom why you’d do this.”

  Eva said nothing, but sat looking up at the sky and the increasingly heavy clouds. She quickly shifted her gaze to the statue’s lions, three of which were free of snow while one of the two cubs lay buried under a crisp white blanket. Emma began to wonder if she’d gone too far. She hadn’t meant to be so blunt.

  Eva finally spoke. “I’m sorry. I still can’t share my motivations with you, not quite yet. I can tell you that I love the führer with all my heart, and that I wouldn’t hesitate to die for him to show my devotion. But I also know that he is flawed, like all of us. I can only ask that you not judge me—until you know more. Some of your assumptions about me are probably correct; others are not.”

  “Which of my assumptions are wrong?” Emma asked, testing her.

  “All in good time,” Eva said gently.

  —

  They sat at their table, no one happy even though it was Christmas.

  Emma had been gone more than an hour, giving them the first chance they’d had to put their thoughts together and speak openly. They had slept most of the previous two days, recovering from the auction and its lead-up. After several pots of pungent improvised tea, everyone was fully alert.

  “There are six of us here including Maria, but she doesn’t want to vote,” Gunter said. “A majority of three will rule. Before we vote on such an important matter, I want to go over this one last time.”

  Gunter reviewed the facts: “Emma volunteered to kill Hitler. When everything fell into place as planned, and at the very moment that she could have helped change the course of history, justifying all the heart-wrenching losses we’ve incurred . . . including Gottfried’s death . . . she was unable to push the detonator. She apologized,” he said, “but she offered no explanation. Even Maria can’t guess at one. All of us have seen Emma succeed under pressure, but this time she failed us—when it mattered most.” Gunter paused. “Those voting to have Emma leave, raise your hands.”

  Ursula put her hand up immediately. Gunter and Manfred followed. The decision had been made. Kurt and Peter raised their hands as well.

  “This is dreadful!” Maria said, slamming her hands on the table as she stood up. “How could she do this to us?”

  She shoved her chair backward. It clattered to the floor. She disappeared down the corridor, cursing.

  The others sat staring at one another.

  —

  “So how do you know Everett?” Emma asked, large snowflakes falling around them. They continued to talk on the bench, their solitude interrupted only by the odd passerby.

  Eva seemed surprised by the question. “Through the führer, of course.” She looked confused. “I thought you would have known about Everett’s connection to Adolf.”

  “I was only aware they once knew each other as young men,” Emma said.

  Eva nodded. “They met in 1921, at a gathering in Paris that brought together emerging young leaders and thinkers to discuss the aftermath of the war. Everett, as a rising American star, spoke on the opening day, making the case that if Germany’s economy stayed weak its people would remain desperate. That would make them prone to extreme influences that could easily lead to a second war to try and get back what they’d just lost.”

  Nash argued that the Treaty of Versailles should have been negotiated in a different order, Eva said, starting with Germany and ending with the victors—the goal being a timely and realistic deal. Instead, the conquerers first negotiated among themselves to divide the spoils of war, imposing their results a year later on surprised Germans, who felt that they’d already punished their warmongering leader by establishing a democracy. Nash believed that Germany needed help, not vengeance, rewarding its recent good behaviors and discouraging any bad behaviors through tougher enforcement clauses if Germany ever tried to rearm or rebuild its military.

  “Most people strongly disagreed with Everett,” Eva said. “They insisted that a weak Germany made for a safer world. But Adolf—who’d managed to sneak out of Munich and into these meetings as an observer—found his ideas inspirational. He approached Everett to tell him so and invited him for a drink.”

  The snowfall had picked up, painting Emma and Eva white, as Emma listened intently.

  “Every evening for two weeks, they drank together and talked into the early-morning hours,” Eva said. “They both had Austrian-German roots. Everett quickly came to respect Adolf’s intellect and passion, and thought he might just be the right person to fix Germany. He shared everything he knew to help Adolf.”

  Emma sat quietly, listening, astounded. Surely her savvy mentor must have known his new acquaintance wasn’t to be fully trusted? She couldn’t contain herself. “Why would Everett share so much of his time and advice helping Adolf Hitler?”

  “Everett and I fell into the same trap early on,” Eva confessed. “When I first met Adolf in
1929, I didn’t realize who he was, either.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Like me, Everett met Adi Wolf—not Adolf Hitler,” Eva said. “In the 1920s, Adolf’s reputation was just taking root, mainly in Munich in the earliest years. He would only become widely known—and recognized—after 1930. Until then, he often traveled as Adi Wolf. As Adi, he didn’t have to worry about being harassed if by chance people had heard of him.”

  “So when did the truth come out?”

  “Well, I discovered Adi’s real identity after three dates,” Eva said with a grin. “I should have known sooner, but I was young and never expected that a man of such importance would be interested in me. I finally found out who was courting me through my boss, Herr Hoffmann. I was over the moon with excitement.”

  “No doubt,” Emma said, keeping her face still to avoid grimacing. “And Everett?”

  “After Paris, he returned to Washington. He and Adi corresponded as much as possible. Everett told me that he tried to find out more about his new friend—but remember, the world was still in chaos and communication was very unreliable. Eventually, Everett stumbled across Adi’s true identity. He felt deceived. Adolf tried to explain. He said that he still planned to rebuild Germany—which would help all of Europe.”

  “How on earth did their relationship last?”

  “Everett got over his initial anger,” Eva said, brushing white powder from her coat. “He still liked Adolf. But, as he watched Adolf’s evolving beliefs and plans unfold from afar, he became increasingly concerned about how his own insights and advice were being applied. He later told me that he was determined to ‘fix the mistake’ he’d made. He apparently thought that he could influence Adolf for the better by continuing their relationship.”

  “When did you meet Everett, then?” Emma asked, feeling some relief. Her mentor wouldn’t necessarily distinguish between having made a mistake and knowingly abetting a criminal dictator—but the difference mattered to her.

  “In early 1932,” Eva said. “Everett was here on business. He met Adolf for dinner. They hadn’t seen each other in years. I joined them afterward and found him absolutely charming. Over the course of several hours, we formed an unexpected but lasting bond. He actually convinced me to triple my prices for my images of Adolf! Five years later, I’d become financially independent by following his advice. But the evening didn’t end so well for them.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I left, but they kept drinking—something Adolf rarely does anymore. Adolf told Everett some of his plans for the Jews and for violating Versailles. I think he assumed that Everett would agree with him, given their joint heritage. They argued. Adolf was very upset. They never spoke again.”

  “So the first time you met Everett was the last time he and the führer saw each other?”

  Eva nodded, glancing sideways. With the fresh snow, all the lions were now covered in white, except the single cub, which had somehow managed to peek out, keeping his head clear of the cold cover. “I stayed in touch with Everett. Even though we often disagreed or simply chose to avoid certain topics, I always found his perspectives useful. I tried to reconcile him and Adolf over the years, to no avail. But there was contact between them at one point.”

  “How so?”

  “Adolf had a personal courier deliver a package to Everett, in Washington, in June of 1939. It was a gift thanking him for his contributions to Germany. Everett sent me a private note afterward. He felt that the führer was thumbing his nose at him. But I don’t believe that was the intent. Despite Everett’s concerns, he did keep the gift.”

  “How do you know that?” Emma asked.

  “Why, you told me,” Eva said, touching Emma’s knee as if to remind her. “That gold coin Everett gave you—that was the gift he received from the führer.”

  —

  “I don’t care if it’s Christmas! This is the final time I’m going to ask you to pack up your toys.” Dieter got the response he wanted—a look of fear from his son, who went silent, then sullen, for at least a minute before summoning up his courage.

  “Why do we have to move, Vater? You told me that we could stay here forever after our last move,” Axel said.

  “We’ll be back soon,” Dieter snapped.

  “How soon?”

  Dieter grimaced. His son asked too many questions—and talked too much. Dieter paused, reflecting. Perhaps, given these weaknesses, he should be telling the boy more at this point.

  “Axel, remember you asked last month if we lived in a detective story? Well, you might have been onto something, because you know that man you said followed you home?”

  “Yes,” the boy replied, his light-blue eyes growing wide.

  “Well, I looked into what you told me, and it turns out he wasn’t just following you. He was following me, too, and then he began digging into things that are none of his business. I think he’s a bad man.”

  “What does he want from us?”

  “I don’t want to find out,” Dieter said, running a hand over his shaved head. “That’s why we need to move right away.”

  “Fine, Vater,” Axel said, deciding not to risk further angering his father. “Where will we go?” he asked with resignation, getting to his feet and beginning to pick up after himself.

  “Not far, and if I have my way we’ll be back here in our home within weeks, a few months at most.” Dieter limped over to his son and crouched down to ensure that he had his attention. “If anyone you don’t know ever tries to take you somewhere, do not go with them. If they ask you questions about where we live, our last name, why we moved here, how I hurt myself, my banking, our secret hiding places, or where you were born, do not answer them. Run to the nearest adult and get help. Do you understand? Have I made myself clear?”

  “Yes,” Axel said, happy anytime his father paid attention to him without a belt in his hand. The boy’s back still hurt from the last time he’d done something wrong.

  —

  It was almost dark by the time Emma arrived back at headquarters. She shivered as she walked through the door, the hallway feeling almost as cold as the outdoors, since the resisters had finally begun to succumb to the same fuel shortages that afflicted other Berliners.

  She made her way into the main room, where everyone was preparing dinner. She could tell that something wasn’t right. No one looked at her, and they all kept their bodies turned away. Things had been strained since the auction, but her being treated in this manner was entirely inconsistent with the group’s attitude of being able to have their differences while still rallying together as one.

  Unless I’m no longer one of them.

  Emma had considered telling Maria why she didn’t activate the detonator, but it wouldn’t have been fair to Maria to have to keep Emma’s secret from the others. And, besides, Eva’s anonymity was part of their agreement. Emma had been tempted, though—as her cousin, Maria was the one most likely to understand why she couldn’t kill Eva Braun that night.

  Emma had almost lied to the group in the Mercedes on the way home from the auction, practicing the words in her head as her silence filled the car. The detonator didn’t work. . . . Hitler refused to stand with his painting. . . . My contact was there by his side—if I’d killed her, we wouldn’t be able to stop Hitler’s bomb. . . .

  These were lies—two flagrant and one much smaller that was close to the truth, but a lie nonetheless. Emma didn’t want to mislead this incredible group whose trust she’d worked so hard to gain. But by saying nothing she’d also lost their trust. The truth was complicated. If she’d been able to tell it, Ursula would have learned that she’d been right from the start—Emma was conflicted. Perhaps too conflicted to have earned a place among them. But Emma was proud of this truth: she loved her son above all else.

  The group ate, with very few words exchanged. As Emma rose to clear her pla
te, Gunter put a hand on her arm. “Emma, can we have a private chat in your room? The others will clean up.”

  She knew exactly what was coming. Gunter and the group really had no choice. Even she would have voted to expel herself as a point of principle. She was thankful, though, that they’d waited until the end of Christmas to tell her. She nodded and followed him down the hall.

  But she didn’t want to leave, at least not on their abrupt terms. She needed them, and they still needed her. Points of principle aside, her interests and theirs remained intertwined. Nash had taught her that although principles reflected interests, when in doubt, interests would carry the day. She trusted that would occur here.

  As they walked into her room and Gunter closed the door behind them, she chose to speak first. “Gunter, I have some news.”

  “And what’s that?” he asked, clearly taken aback, since he was quite sure he’d requested this meeting. They sat down on her bed.

  Emma took his hand. “I spoke with my contact today and made one last request. I asked if she could help me get a normal job—you know, up there on the surface,” Emma said, smiling.

  “A job?” he said, a look of genuine surprise on his face.

  “Yes.” She patted his long, thin hand. “All things considered, I think it’s best. Paula is quite sure she’ll be able to arrange an interview for me, and I’ll likely be able to start sometime during the first week of the new year.”

  “Working for whom?” he wanted to know, warming up to the idea and relieved not to have to deliver his own news. Gunter had hated the idea of severing all ties and throwing Emma out on the street. He’d grown fond of her—and they needed her. Hitler’s bomb still had to be stopped, even though for him it could never take priority over Hitler’s death.