The Darkest Hour

by Roberta Kagan

  A heavy silence fell over the room. Several men shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Müller cleared his throat; Eichmann stole a quick probing glance at Heydrich, expecting a fit of rage to follow.

  The latter remained perfectly calm, only his narrowed eyes turned into hard granite. “I don’t need your approval, Dr. Freisler. Only your promise to align the policies of the Ministry of Justice with the policies of the RSHA. As long as you do that, you can disapprove of me all you want. The disapproval stopped bothering me after a certain night in 1934.”

  Kritzinger shot a warning glance in Freisler’s direction. Just keep your mouth shut, why don’t you?! They say Heydrich shot the Chief of the SA, Ernst Röhm, personally, that night, despite him being Heydrich’s son’s godfather and only because he was stupid enough to get into his face with his SA’s superiority, much like you’re doing now. Calm the fuck down and don’t piss him off, if you know what’s good for you.

  Apparently, Dr. Freisler recalled the Night of the Long Knives, as well. “The policies of the Ministry of Justice will be aligned in accordance with the policies of the RSHA on the Jewish question. You have my word.”

  “Thank you, doctor. That’s all I needed to hear.” Reinhard even smiled in his most charming way, as Freisler turned away, disgusted with himself and everyone present. “Anyone else have any objections?”

  Silence. Thought so.

  “Thank you for your time, gentlemen. And now, why don’t we return to the dining room and raise a toast to this day – the day, when we changed the world from the way everyone knew it.”

  Chapter 4

  Protectorate, February 1942

  Jan waited breathlessly as two uniformed Germans perused his papers with envious thoroughness. Jozef didn’t seem bothered in the slightest and even smiled apologetically at the Germans. Yes, we are both sick, sir. Yes, an ulcer in my duodenum. Yes, hurts like a bitch. Yes, him too. An inflamed gallbladder. We’re both on our way to the doctor. Hopefully, he has good news for us; we both can’t wait to return to work!

  It was almost a routine by now. With the new Reich Protector came new laws and one of these such laws clearly stated that one had better have a good excuse for loitering in the streets for no apparent reason when one should be working for the glory of the Reich. Jan’s and Jozef’s papers were in perfect order, stamped by the same doctor who had treated Jozef’s foot once they arrived in Prague. Needless to say, the doctor was a faithful member of the Czech Resistance as well.

  Jan still couldn’t believe that they’d made it this far after landing straight in the field near the graveyard where they would have been buried very soon, or at least as Jan thought, that fateful night. They quickly buried their parachutes in the snowdrift, stumbled in the dark, leaving traces in the deep snow, making their way to – hell, he wasn’t even sure where they were heading since they didn’t have the faintest idea where they landed in the first place. There was an abandoned quarry though, a piece of chocolate for each, some meat-extract tablets from their backpacks; two pistols with four magazines and twenty-four cartridges, and two cyanide capsules as insurance. Jan refused to close his eyes until the dawn started to break, leaping to his feet at every sound and aiming his gun at the dusty twilight outside.

  There was also a local gamekeeper, who entered their hideout in the morning with a polite cough and a gentle “hello”; there were gamekeeper’s friends from the Resistance who just as gently explained to the two SOE agents that they were near Prague and not Pilsen, but they shouldn’t worry about their Pilsen contacts now being useless, for they knew just the right people in Prague who would provide them with shelter and all the needed assistance.

  Then there was a train station – a Gothic, dark-stoned building with two towers; two backpacks with SOE-provided weapons, pocket knives, some Czech currency, false identity papers, and hopes that they wouldn’t be searched. And then there was a Baroque dream of Prague, the headless horseman in Liliova street, the trams with headlights that look like lanterns, the wet snow lining the glistening cobbles, the Moravec family that took them in without any questions asked and then there was the Moravec's neighbor from across the staircase, with her eyes the color of honey and hair the color of gold, with whom Jan fell in love the moment he saw her – Anna.

  “You ready?” Jozef’s voice brought Jan back to reality.

  The Germans were already gone; the blizzard receded and turned into a damp mist. The cobblestoned street was empty.

  “Yes.”

  The man was tall and collected, with graying hair and a look of an English aristocrat about him – Heydrich’s Czech butler. A personal friend of Václav Morávek, the last one of the Three Kings – chiefs of the Czech Resistance. The first King was shot; the second – tortured to death in one of Heydrich’s Gestapo cellars. Morávek got away with a severed finger on his hand while escaping the same fate.

  The butler didn’t introduce himself and outright refused to meet again after this very first encounter.

  “Too dangerous. Give me the address of someone you’d trust with your life, and I’ll be delivering the information there on my own schedule.”

  Jozef jotted something down, handed it to the butler. Jan stole a quick glance at it and saw a name, Libena Fafek. He wondered if it was the same Libena who met them at the train station in Prague and took them to the doctor. Jan thought that Jozef was looking at her in a certain way; he was right then.

  “Tell us about him,” Jozef inquired blankly, not wasting any time on pointless pleasantries.

  The butler took a long drag on his cigarette. “What do you want to know?”

  “You live with him under the same roof. What is he like?”

  The butler was silent for a moment. After a pause, he started speaking, his words slowly gathering conviction. “He works a lot. Spends a great deal of time in his study, even on weekends. He’s secretive. Always closes the door when he makes a call no one should be listening to. Keeps all his papers in a safe; his desk is always empty when the maid goes in to clean it. He likes to ride his horse. Enjoys his violin and plays it very well. Tries to spend as much time as he can with his children on weekends. He adores his little daughter, Silke.” A subtle smile warmed his face. “I was surprised, to be honest. I didn’t think he was capable of any human sentiments. But yes, he adores his little girl. Whatever was left of a human in him, is thanks to her.”

  It was strange hearing such an odd conclusion, whatever is left of a human. Maybe that was the reason why their British handlers gave such an appropriate name to the operation – Anthropoid – “human-like,” but not a human after all. Jan stopped toying with a box of matches he was holding and lifted his eyes at the butler. “What is his schedule like?”

  “Oh, he’s obsessively punctual. You can check your watch by him. Comes and goes at the same exact time every day, almost always alone, hardly ever with an escort.”

  “That’s very careless of him,” Jozef noted.

  “Not careless,” the butler corrected him. “Arrogant. He likes to think that after beheading almost the entire Czech Resistance in a few short months, he can ride around the city not only without an escort but in an open car, as well. It’s almost as though he dares someone to attempt something. But don’t underestimate him. If you make one mistake and one mistake only, he’ll see to it personally that you won’t see the light of the day for the rest of your very few and very painful hours.” He paused and added, “Morávek says, it was him who shot one of the Kings after the latter refused to speak. Unlike some bureaucrats of his kind, he’s very much capable of killing. His hand won’t waver, don’t even count on that.”

  “Does he have any weaknesses?” Jan asked.

  A resolute shake of the head was his reply. “No.”

  “A mistress in the city he likes to visit?” Jozef pressed.

  “No. Whatever he does, he does in Berlin or Paris when he goes there. He even made a speech recently before his SS men to that effect; ‘do whatever you
like within the four walls of your own home or the officers’ mess but make sure no Czech sees you do it. We must give them an example of self-control and order. The Slavs must know that we are the masters here and we have no weaknesses,’ and everything else to that effect. He’s quite fond of making speeches lately; I must tell you. Bores his subordinates with them to no end. He already imagines himself the master of the whole occupied East, no less. He even bought a globe, to match the one that stands in the Führer’s Reich Chancellery, he bragged. I wonder if that’s where he’s aiming eventually.”

  “The Chancellery?” Jan raised his brow.

  “No. In the Führer’s place,” the butler replied calmly. “He was drinking one evening with two of his comrades and quite explicitly told them that he ‘wouldn’t think twice about finishing the old man off if he gives him any shit.’ Pardon the language, I was merely quoting.”

  Jozef whistled. “What happened to the famous SS loyalty and following the Führer unto death?”

  “Reinhard Heydrich has loyalty to one man only and that man is Reinhard Heydrich.” The butler checked his wristwatch and rose from the bench. “My break is over. I must go back. It was a pleasure knowing you young fellows. I wish you the best of luck. Do not try to contact me, please; I have a family here in Prague. If you need anything, ask through Libena.”

  “Thank you for your help.” Jozef shook the man’s hand firmly.

  The butler only nodded stiffly and quickly disappeared into the whitewashed February day.

  Suburbs between Panenské Brežany and Hradčany

  * * *

  Anna’s laughter, so carefree and wonderfully melodic, made Jan’s breath catch in his throat, choking him up with the romantic joy of having her so near. With her lithe, graceful frame perched on the frame of his bicycle – her bicycle, actually, which she had generously offered him since he needed it more than she did – she held onto his hands as he was pedaling unmercifully fast down the cobbled street. Past the church and its scornful stone gargoyles following their progress with their bulging eyes, past the university closed down for an indefinite time due to the new policy of Germanization, past the post office and the statue of some king – Jan still didn’t know Prague too well, to the very outskirts of the city and onto the wide road leading up to the very lair of the Blond Beast.

  “Be careful; there’s a very sharp curve further down the road, in Holešovice Street!”

  He only laughed in response to Anna’s warning, too sure of himself; too diligent in his desire to impress her; too in love with those fine gilded threads of her hair flying into his face with every new gust of wind, caressing his cheeks like the softest cloud of radiant dust dripping with sunlight…

  “Jan!”

  He tried to stop as soon as he realized that the turn – almost a hairpin – was indeed far too sharp for him to skillfully glide into it at the speed that he was going and on an icy road at that. Jan swerved around a man, who cursed him out and narrowly escaped the seemingly inevitable collision with the tram, the shrill sound of its bell adding to the man’s cursing. Catching his breath on the sidewalk, he held Anna tight in his embrace, his bright eyes fixed on her with a nearly awed expression, tragically apologetic and wonderfully blue.

  “Are you all right?”

  “I am, but you did give me some fright!” She play-swatted him on his arm as her raspberry lips curved into a smile despite her resolute desire to keep a stern face. “I told you there was a sharp turn there!”

  “I thought you were exaggerating,” he admitted, embarrassed and adorably flushed.

  “No.” Anna moved the stray lock away from his forehead. “My uncle owns a car and he has to move at walking speed while taking this bend when he drives to the countryside. Too busy here – a bus stop, tram lines, people running across the street all the time. If you ride too fast, you can easily kill someone by accident. Or kill yourself, if you crash into a tram. The turn is deadly.”

  “Deadly, you say,” Jan muttered, looking around with a strangely agitated look about him.

  “Why, yes. But now you know better and hopefully won’t do any such crazy stunts anymore.”

  “This is the place,” Jan whispered excitedly, his eyes gleaming. “It’s perfect.”

  The following morning, using a bus stop as an excuse to loiter on the street, Jan and Jozef smoked in silence, subtly observing the road, the turn, the trams’ comings and goings and the people hurrying to work. Jan didn’t know why he even brought the gun with him – just in case, he thought to himself. Anna confirmed that Heydrich’s driver took this exact road – he had to; it’s the only road that leads to his residence – but she wasn’t sure about the timeframe.

  “The butler said, Heydrich’s an early bird,” Jozef remarked as though reading Jan’s preoccupied mind. “Maybe, if we’re lucky…”

  After the church bell across the street from the alchemist’s shop struck nine, Jozef started glancing at his watch with more concern. The working crowd, so conveniently whirling and shifting around them before, had dissolved into the bright opalescent day, leaving the two men alone and exposed in the middle of the deserted street. A Czech police patrol, curiously resembling English Bobbies in their round helmets, passed by, thoroughly pretending not to notice the suspicious couple. Jan voiced the idea of going home. Jozef argued that they should wait for five more minutes, stubborn as ever.

  “Our police may be cutting us some slack but we certainly don’t need any more Germans checking our documents,” Jan pleaded with him, gently pulling on his sleeve. “They will start recognizing us soon, with the rate at which they have been inspecting our papers lately.”

  “Wait just a few more moments. He’ll be here; I can feel it.”

  “Jozef, let’s go!”

  “You go if you like. I need to see him.”

  “Why today?”

  “I need to see him,” Jozef only repeated with an obstinate look which Jan loathed at times.

  And then it glided towards them; triangle, bright-red flags first, a small silver Mercedes sign, long black body polished to an onyx perfection, and the glass blinding them with the reflection of the sunbeams. Jozef’s hand froze within a centimeter of his lips, the forgotten cigarette’s tip slowly turning into ash as he stared, wide-eyed, with his mouth slightly ajar. Next to him, leaden with fear, Jan held his breath against his will, his hand clasped tightly around the gun concealed in his pocket. The car crawled unhurriedly; the driver raised his gloved hand to shield his eyes from the sun and slowed even more as an elderly couple appeared on the road. The man next to him, his face half hidden with the rich fur collar of his overcoat and his eyes covered with the shadow of the visor of his cap, motioned for the driver to halt. Let them through. I’m feeling generous today.

  Jan stared at him without blinking. Reich Protector Heydrich was within a few steps of him, his arm resting leisurely on the edge of the door. Jan’s hand on top of the gun began to tremble. Heydrich turned his head to him, a faint, mocking smile playing on his lips as he slid his glance lazily over Jan’s frozen frame and fixed his gaze on Jan’s pocket.

  He knew; Jan could swear.

  Their eyes met. With beads of sweat racing along his back despite the cold temperatures outside, Jan slowly moved his hand out of his pocket – shamefully empty and still faintly trembling – and raised it in the Nazi salute. Heydrich’s mouth curled in exquisite, cruel disdain. He turned away, arrogant and full of contempt for the Czech. Disappointed, flashed in Jan’s mind.

  The black Mercedes was long gone when Jozef murmured quietly next to him, “I should have brought a gun with me today. I had the most profound conviction that I’d see him. And the car was just standing there; did you see it? If only I had a gun on me!”

  Jan swallowed with difficulty, red with shame.

  “I liked that joke you pulled, with the salute.” Jozef had already seized Jan’s arm and was walking him along the tram tracks, laughing, completely oblivious to the latter’s dist
ressed state. “Very befitting, ha-ha!”

  Jan’s smile came out more like a grimace. He was trying his best not to break down.

  Chapter 5

  Prague, March 1942

  Reinhard traced his fingers on top of the soot-smeared frame of the Soviet tank, carefully concealing a hunter’s triumph in his gaze. The beast, brought to Prague from the Eastern front, was good and dead. It would never bare its teeth anymore and that’s precisely how Reinhard preferred such Eastern beasts.

  “What crude work,” he muttered, reaching into his pocket to extract a perfectly white handkerchief to wipe the invisible Soviet dirt off his hand.

  Karl Frank, his loyal deputy who always followed him like a dark shadow, promptly inclined his head in agreement. “As with everything in the Soviet Union, Herr Obergruppenführer.”

  “Exactly.” Reinhard slowly circled the brightly-lit hall with his gaze. “And that’s precisely why we went through all these pains with this exhibition. I want to show not only the German people but my Czechs as well, what Das Sowjet Paradies really is, so that they appreciate more the luck they have, living under the protection of the Reich and not like those Eastern animals in the Soviet Union. Paradise indeed.”

  “This exhibition was a brilliant idea, Herr Obergruppenführer,” Frank agreed emphatically. “Did I hear it correctly that Minister Goebbels himself expressed his desire to display all this in Germany as well?”

  With a twitch of a conceited grin, Reinhard bit on his lip to prevent himself from smiling openly. “You did hear it right. I thought of sending him a bill for doing his work for him. Propaganda is supposed to be his domain and here I am, doing yet another office’s job. As if I didn’t have enough on my plate already.”