The Girl from Berlin, #1

by Ellie Midwood

  “Be careful with him, Annalise. He’s not a man you want to be friends with.”

  I shrugged.

  “I’ve already heard it many times, Norbert.”

  “More reason to listen to it then.”

  “I don’t know about that. I don’t really believe all the rumors about him. He’s been nothing but a perfect gentleman so far.”

  Norbert narrowed his eyes at me. “I personally heard that ‘perfect gentleman’ of yours give an order to execute all the not suitable for work Polish Jews in the ghetto, which included older citizens over sixty-five, children under eight, disabled ones, and pregnant women. His words. I was standing several feet away.”

  I closed my eyes and rubbed them with my hand.

  “Believe me, Norbert, I’ve heard a lot of things. I’m just saying that it’s hard for me to believe that he can be… I don’t know. Evil.”

  “Well, he is. And not just evil, but cold, calculated, and heartless evil, which is the worst kind of all.”

  “Then why would he save me from the Gestapo jail if he’s so evil?”

  “When did they take you to the Gestapo jail?? And why?”

  “A year and a half ago. It was nothing major, so I didn’t tell anybody because I didn’t want Papa to have a heart attack. Gruppenführer Kaltenbrunner was my second interrogator, and the one who actually took time to listen to me and help me out, after the first one was ready to send me right to Dachau. So I’m sorry, but I don’t want to hear anything bad about the man who basically saved my life.” And not once, I thought, remembering how I miraculously escaped the same Gestapo with the help of Gruppenführer Kaltenbrunner in Poland not that long ago.

  Norbert just kept frowning at me without saying a word.

  “Don’t give me that accusing look, Norbert. I don’t mean to say that Gruppenführer Kaltenbrunner is such a nice guy, I’m just saying that it’s hard for me to believe all the stories about him. It’s like all of you are talking about somebody else. Like he has an evil twin brother or something.”

  Norbert finally cracked a little smile.

  “An evil twin brother?”

  “Or maybe he’s like that doctor from the story ‘Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.’ You know, the one who drinks the potion and turns from a kind, respectable professor into a monstrous, sadistic killer? Only the modern version, Dr. Kaltenbrunner and Mr. Gestapo guy.”

  Norbert laughed.

  “Well, in that case, baby sister, make sure he doesn’t drink anything in front of you.”

  I was finishing my third cup of coffee already. The waiter took care of my shopping bags and wraps after I spent half of the day, and probably half of Heinrich’s monthly salary, shopping for dresses, hats, shoes and bags, and was now taking a well-deserved break after the “hard job” of being a high-ranking officer’s wife. At least that’s exactly how it was supposed to look for everybody around. In reality I kept wandering around the city for hours, making sure that I wasn’t followed.

  After I found a nice little café with an open view of the whole plaza and ordered a little snack, I could finally make arrangements for a car to pick me up and drive me back to my hotel. Heinrich told me that the car should be there in half an hour. The driver was his new radio operator, and I had to deliver him a message, just words, which again didn’t make any sense at all. I was hoping that the new radio guy had a good memory because he would only have about fifteen minutes to learn it by heart.

  “Madame? Your chauffeur is here.” An impeccably polite waiter bowed his head at me. “Take your time and finish your coffee s’il vous plait, just letting you know that your car awaits whenever you’re ready.”

  “Merci, Monsieur. I’m actually finished. Could you please tell the driver to take care of my bags?”

  “I’ve already taken care of that, Madame.”

  “Merci beaucoup then.” I smiled at the waiter and put another bill on top of his already generous tip, a well-deserved one.

  “Tout le plaisir etait pour moi, Madame.”

  All the pleasure was mine, Frau. Why wasn’t I born in France?

  I sighed and walked to the car, my driver already holding a door open for me, his head in a driver’s hat bowed down. I was hoping that he spoke at least some German because my French was that of a tourist; however, taking into consideration the fact that he had been sent to France from the States made it a very slim possibility.

  “Bonjour, Monsieur.”

  Trying to figure out if I was right or wrong, I greeted him first as soon as he pulled out of the parking spot.

  “Good afternoon, Frau Friedmann.” Perfect German, no accent whatsoever! “It certainly is nice to see you. Again.”

  Again? I couldn’t see his face from the back seat, but the voice sounded just too familiar. Still I couldn’t quite place him.

  “Do I know you?”

  “Yes, you do. I just hope you haven’t forgotten me yet.”

  He turned to me, smiling. I couldn’t believe my eyes.

  “Adam!”

  “Hello, Annalise.”

  The American Intelligence Service got their hands on a young German immigrant as soon as he crossed their border. They didn’t approach just everybody, but a young man with no family with him and a strong negative opinion of his former government was definitely worth a shot. He didn’t even have a place to go and didn’t know anybody in the new city, so he didn’t hesitate long when they offered him a deal: we give you a new citizenship, identity, place to live, take care of your expenses, and you work for us, fair and square. They mentioned that he might have to go back to Europe one day, depending on the circumstances, and join one of the underground organizations controlled by or associated with the US Secret Service or the British MI-6. Americans weren’t greedy, they gladly shared their agents if the British reciprocated.

  They taught him how to operate a radio, basic coding and decoding techniques, self-defense, shooting, and ways to conceal his identity when needed. They did a good job, I for one didn’t even recognize him close up. I could only shake my head after he told me his story, very shortly, because we didn’t have much time: Adam still had to memorize the message I had for him. They trained him well at this also, as he got it perfectly right at only the second attempt.

  “We had special classes for memory training,” Adam explained to me, smiling. “And overall, it was a very interesting experience, I have to tell you.”

  “You were supposed to become a new ballet star in New York. What are you doing here, playing spy games?”

  “I must admit, I couldn’t wait to ask you the same question as soon as they told me who I’d be working for. I didn’t believe my eyes when they showed me your file.”

  “I have a file?”

  I was genuinely surprised to hear that. I certainly didn’t consider myself that big of a fish to have a file in their system.

  “Yes. With a number and a code name.”

  “What’s my code name?”

  “Juliette.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re Romeo.” I laughed.

  “No. Your husband is Romeo.”

  “Well, our American friends certainly do have a sense of humor. But you still haven’t answered my question. What are you doing here? Don’t you realize how dangerous it is? You were lucky you could get out the first time, but what happens if they catch you?”

  “What if they catch you?”

  I dangled my cross in the air with a cyanide capsule sealed in it.

  “Don’t worry about me. I got myself covered.”

  “I’m not sure how the praying will help you.”

  It looked like the Americans didn’t instruct him on this matter. I guess poison, as a means of self-protection, was a purely Reich thing.

  “I have a pill in it that will kill me instantly if I happen to fail, silly.”

  He turned his head to me, his eyes wide open.

  “What? Where did you get it?”

  “Mind the road, please. It would be a shame
if we were both to die in a car accident and not at the hands of the Gestapo.” I got so used to such a possibility that I could joke about it as if it wasn’t serious at all. “Heinrich gave it to me.”

  “Is he insane?! Why would he put you in such danger?”

  “On the contrary, Adam, he only did it to protect me. I won’t stand a chance if they happen to interrogate me. And they will execute me anyway for high treason, but before they can get any information that can harm our other agents, I’ll take it to protect myself and the others.”

  “Please, don’t do that. You promised me that you’d take care of yourself when I was leaving. I only left because you promised me that you’d be safe. And look at you now! Walking around with poison on your wrist.”

  I wanted to say that the poison on my wrist was the least of my problems, but decided against it. Adam didn’t need to know what else I’d been doing. The less you say, the better, Heinrich taught me. What two know about, everybody knows about. You can’t trust anyone, and not because you think they might betray you, but simply because they can fall into the wrong hands, and those hands will most definitely make them speak. Heinrich was the only one who knew absolutely everything about me, and I decided to keep it that way.

  “We’re almost here. You’ll have to stop talking now.” I warned Adam, partly because I saw a couple of officers standing by the parked car and partly because I wanted to change the subject. “My husband will contact you when we need to meet again."

  He just nodded and said nothing. I felt guilty for some reason.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Paris, June 1940

  * * *

  I was taking my earrings off in front of the vintage mirror. Everything at the Hotel Ritz was vintage, almost royal-like. Heinrich told me that Hitler wanted to destroy Paris first, but after he saw it he changed his mind. Instead, he told his favorite architect and friend, Albert Speer, about his plans how to destroy the French capital, not with bombs, but with superior architecture.

  “When we are finished in Berlin, Paris will only be a shadow.”

  I was almost surprised to hear that. Even more surprised when the Führer refused to hold a victory parade in the heart of France. One of his astonished generals even asked “Why?”

  To that the leader of the Reich simply answered, “You can’t do that to the cultural people.”

  It almost looked as if he wasn’t an insane, hateful sociopath, as I’d always thought of him; he could definitely rationalize his actions and that thought scared me. An insane evil is always easy to explain and accept; a calculated one, the one that knows what it’s doing and why, is the one that terrifies the most.

  “I really like that dress on you.” I caught Heinrich’s eyes on me through the reflection. “You look very… French.”

  “Un peux de Chanel et je suis une Parisiene vraie, Monsieur.”

  “Parlez-vous le Francias, Madame? Quelle surprise! And yes, Chanel definitely makes you look like a real Parisian.”

  “I’m learning.” I winked at him. “I thought it might be useful in the future. And you have no idea what it cost me to get this dress after she closed all her stores before the war.”

  “Well, I must say you couldn’t make a better investment.” He walked up to me and put his hands on my waist. “What else did you buy?”

  I grinned when he started unbuttoning my dress, kissing my neck and shoulders.

  “French underwear. All silk and lace. It’s so provocative that the Führer prohibited German women to wear it. I knew I had to buy it right away.”

  “Are you wearing it now?”

  “Yes. Would you like to see it?”

  “I can’t wait.”

  I closed my eyes when he slid his hands under the dress, caressing my breasts under the thin material, pressing himself hard to my back.

  “Just try to control yourself and don’t rip it off me this time, please, it’s really expensive.”

  “I’ll try my best, but not promising anything.”

  I turned my face to him to meet his warm, hungry lips. Once again I gave myself to the only German I’ve ever loved.

  The same little black dress already got me in trouble just a few hours ago. Right after the peace treaty was officially signed between the Reich and the occupied France, all the high-ranking officers decided that if they didn’t get their parade, they at least deserved a decent party, and didn’t spare any money on it. It wasn’t their money after all, but the money of the defeated nations, and therefore easy for them to spend.

  Against my pleadings, Heinrich still dragged me to the unofficial celebration, where I was among only very few other German wives escorting their husbands. Most of the pretty girls hanging on the German officers’ arms were the French girls. I couldn’t even talk to them since they, almost all, didn’t speak any German, but again, they didn’t really need to. So I got stuck by my husband’s side, forced to listen to all the political debates he had with his military brethren.

  As a woman I wasn’t really welcome to participate in their conversations, so I just tried to keep my mood up by constantly refilling my glass of champagne. It didn’t help when Heinrich’s SD Chief, Gruppenführer Reinhard Heydrich decided to make a speech on his favorite topic: the Jewish problem. About ten minutes into his passionate monologue I realized that I needed something stronger than champagne and quickly made an escape to a bar, my disappearance going unnoticed.

  I was staring at my cognac on the rocks, wondering what to top it with in order for it not to taste so disgusting, when a familiar voice immediately brought a smile to my face.

  “I see you’re having as much fun as I am, Frau Friedmann. Is it your fourth or fifth?”

  “Only second, Herr Gruppenführer. And unfortunately, it’s still not enough to make me drunk enough to stop hearing that annoying voice in the other room.”

  “No alcohol in the world will ever be enough for that headache of a man, my darling. Trust me, I know what I’m talking about.”

  Gruppenführer Kaltenbrunner sat on a bar stool next to me and motioned a bartender to get him a drink.

  “You know what, my friend? Make it two. This lady over here desperately needs a fresh one. And two shots of whiskey too. Make sure it’s Jack, not that French crap that you serve to those idiots who don’t know better.”

  He threw a couple of bills on the table and turned to me, smiling.

  “So Frau Friedmann. How was your shopping?”

  “Much more entertaining than that party over there.”

  “It’s not a party. It’s an NSDAP meeting, only with alcohol and French girls.”

  “By the way, where is your French girl, Herr Gruppenführer?” I playfully squinted my eyes at him.

  “I prefer German girls.”

  “Oh, the Aryan ones?”

  “Not necessarily. The mischlinge will do too, if they’re cute.”

  I knew that he was playing with me, so I just rolled my eyes laughing. “You’re disgusting, Herr Gruppenführer!”

  “I’ve heard that before.”

  Dr. Kaltenbrunner moved a shot of whiskey to me. “Cheers to the Aryan girls.”

  “And to the disgusting generals.”

  I was glad that he was keeping me company. I loved his sense of humor, sometimes borderline inappropriate, sometimes too sarcastic, especially when it came to certain people we both knew and didn’t like, Gruppenführer Heydrich is just one example.

  I heard it before from Heinrich that there was a lot of bad blood between the two generals, even though no one knew how the whole feud between them had started. Heinrich’s theory was that they just plain didn’t like each other from the first time they met, always smug Heydrich despising Kaltenbrunner’s “second degree Aryan origin” (that’s what the “real” Aryans from Germany considered their Austrian neighbors) and also his Austrian accent, sometimes making it hard for the Hochdeutsch speaking Heydrich to understand him. Dr. Kaltenbrunner in his turn was constantly putting more oil on
the fire of the rumors that Heydrich had some Jewish blood in him, explaining Heydrich’s stuffiness and perfectionism by the desire to cover the fact of his origin by becoming the most merciless Nazi in the Reich.

  Even now Gruppenführer Kaltenbrunner was laughing, while telling me that five minutes in the same room with Heydrich almost made him take his gun out and put an end to the Chief of SD’s “miserable existence.” However, that would definitely mean his own following execution, and that’s why he found himself at the same bar as I did.

  Dr. Kaltenbrunner was making sure that my glass was always full and the smile never left my face, and I couldn’t be more grateful to him for saving my evening. The more I was getting to know him, the more curious I was about how this man could be so charming and intelligent (he was talking about the war and politics too, especially when I asked his opinion on certain matters, but somehow managed not to sound boring about it), and possibly also have a very dark side that both Heinrich and Norbert were talking about. I just couldn’t put two and two together with him.

  “Why are you looking at me like that, Frau Friedmann?”

  I didn’t notice that, lost in my thoughts, I was staring at him for the past minute.

  “I’m sorry, I just… was wondering.”

  “About what?”

  About how you torture people in the Gestapo interrogation rooms, rape women and give orders about the mass executions of the innocent people, I wanted to say. No, it can’t be. Impossible. Not him. I even shook my head, dismissing all the suspicions put in my mind by both my husband and brother, and instead did something that I would never dare to do if I was sober: I stretched my hand to his face and gently traced the contours of the scars on his cheek.

  “How did you get these, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  He didn’t move away from my hand, on the contrary, he leaned even closer to me until his face was right next to mine and whispered into my ear, “I’ll tell you, if you swear not to tell anyone. It’s a big secret.”