Prisoner of Night and Fog (36 page)

What were they waiting for? She could hardly bear the tension. Daniel was somewhere out there, perhaps already beaten and bloodied. While she sat here and did nothing.

Trembling, she got to her feet. “I demand you take me to Daniel.”

Reinhard’s pale eyes flickered over her face. As usual, his face held nothing but a calm blankness. “Very well. We’ve probably given Kurt enough time to get here.”

“What—”

“Aren’t you ever quiet?” he snapped and grabbed her arm, yanking her outside into the warm September evening. Uncertain what was happening, Gretchen stood beside him at the curb while traffic streamed past, the usual motley collection of private automobiles and horse-drawn carts and streetcars. A Daimler coasted to a stop in front of them. Kurt sat behind the driver’s wheel. There was no sign of Daniel. Terror curled inside of Gretchen. What had they done to him?

“Ready to see your Jew?” Reinhard laughed, shoving Gretchen forward.

She opened the car door. The back seat was empty.

The realization hit her like an ocean wave: They didn’t have Daniel. They had tricked her.

She started to whirl on her brother, but he pushed her so hard that she fell across the back seats. Gasping, she scrambled upright, but he had already climbed in after her and slammed the door shut. The car shot away from the curb. Horns blared behind them as Kurt maneuvered into a lane.

Frantically, Gretchen looked out the window. The large stone buildings of the Leopoldstrasse rose all around them. They were heading south. Back into the city’s heart. The car turned left, then right, merging onto the Königinstrasse.

“You’d better have a good reason for summoning me,” Kurt said, glancing back at Reinhard.

Her brother smiled faintly. “I have the best reason of all. We’re going Jew hunting.”

41

AS THEY DROVE SOUTH ALONG THE
Königinstrasse, Gretchen watched the familiar sights rise up and pass away: the stretch of red brick row houses with thatch roofs, the silent stone-faced boardinghouse, the square of pavement where she had skipped rope as a little girl, the places she had known so well and that fear had rendered unreal.

Daniel’s name drummed in her head. Probably he was still at work, or preparing to leave and have a quick supper before heading to the Odeonsplatz to cover the Communist demonstration. He might not have heard yet about Geli’s death. For him, it was still an ordinary day. Determination made her sit straighter. She would do everything in her power to keep him safe. She would never tell Reinhard and Kurt where to find him.

They drove on, pushing farther south, their progress slow. Late on a Saturday afternoon, the wide boulevard was choked with cars, pushcarts, bicycles, and horse-drawn wagons. As the automobile bucked to a sudden stop, Gretchen tensed, eyeing the car door and wondering if she dared to fling herself outside and cry for help.

“No you don’t,” Reinhard said.

“Please,” she said. Perhaps she could find the right words to appeal to him. “Don’t you understand? Uncle Dolf killed our father.”

Reinhard blinked, his lids lowering and rising over his lake-still eyes. “Was that why he was so upset with you? What a stupid thing for you to say to him. Now you’ve ruined all my chances for advancement.”

He lunged toward her across the seat—his fist connecting so hard with her head that she was thrown against the door. A thousand stars blazed into brilliance and then faded into tiny pinpricks in her mind.

Nausea crested in her mouth, gagging her. Dimly, behind her, she sensed someone fiddling with the car door handle. Before she could sit up, the door was wrenched open, its hinges squealing in protest. She tumbled backward toward the pavement.

Arms caught her around the waist. She turned her head. Kurt. So close, she saw the dusting of freckles across his nose and the smooth flesh of his chin, unmarked by stubble.

“Go.” He set her onto her feet, giving her a small push. Around them, car horns honked and small children darted along the pavement, shrieking with laughter. So close and yet a separate world.

“Where are you ta—” she tried to ask, but Kurt wrapped his arm around her neck and pulled her near. A black curtain fell over her eyes.

“Reinhard’s going after the Jew himself.” Kurt spoke in her ear, so low she could scarcely hear him above her jagged breaths. “His newspaper office isn’t too far from here. Within an hour, we’ll be together again at the location your brother and I have agreed upon. But if you and I aren’t there when they arrive, your brother will slit the Jew’s throat from ear to ear. Is that understood?”

His grip was so tight she couldn’t nod. This was her fault; she had brought Daniel into danger. She had failed him so badly.

Kurt squeezed harder, muttering that he needed an answer. She managed a wheezing “Yes” and he loosened his hold. Gray patches filled her vision. She heard the car’s engine thrum into life behind them, and the slow purr as the car glided into traffic, carrying Reinhard away. She blinked several times, the grayness receding.

“Good,” Kurt said, and began walking. There was nothing she could do but follow him. Hopelessness washed over her as she broke into a jog to keep up.

He brought them to the Englischer Garten. A flattish expanse of grass, dotted with chestnuts and weeping willows, unfurled on either side of the path. She didn’t know this section of the park well, and wasn’t sure where they were going.

They kept walking, past housewives in kerchiefs carrying shopping bags and mothers pushing prams and workers returning home. No one noticed them. Gretchen wanted to scream at each person they passed,
Help me! Stop him!
But her silence meant Daniel’s life.

Up ahead, a lake gleamed pink in the fading afternoon sunlight. They stopped near the water’s edge, and Gretchen risked a glance at Kurt, but his grim expression told her nothing.

She didn’t know where she had expected they would end up—an abandoned building, an empty auto garage, a desolate stretch of forest—but it wasn’t the shore of the Kleinhesseloher See.

The lake had three miniature islands. Right now they were quiet, private, far from curious gazes. During summer, the lake would be dotted with pleasure craft and rowboats, but now the cool breeze shivered the surface. Only geese and ducks paddled across the water. She shuddered. It was an ideal place to conceal a body.

“Now we wait,” Kurt said. “We’ll row to the Königinsel together.” He gestured to a stone monument behind them. “Sit there. It shouldn’t be long now.”

Slowly, she sat down, resting her back against the flat stone. Why couldn’t she figure out what to do? Her mind was dulled by fear. Again, she clutched her pocketbook, so she had something tangible to hold on to and wouldn’t fly apart. Through the leather, she felt a long, hard shape. The bread knife! She had absentmindedly taken it with her this morning.

She peeked at Kurt. He had sat down a few feet away, keeping his eyes trained on her, his hands on the dagger clipped to his belt. She might be able to attack him before he retrieved his weapon. One sickening slice and Kurt would be gone. But Reinhard and Daniel would see them across the flat stretch of grass; even from a distance, they would see Kurt’s crumpled form on the ground, and Reinhard wouldn’t hesitate to act. One arc of his arm and Daniel would be dead.

No, she couldn’t risk it. So she watched and waited.

The minute hand on her wristwatch ticked slowly. Each of its motions felt like an hour. A few boys ran past, whooping, chasing a rubber ball. Quarter past six now. Gretchen shifted uneasily, the stone monument pressing like ice into her back. The sun was starting to slide down the sky in a wash of pink and orange.

Half past. A group of men walked by, talking in booming voices, probably going to the beer garden at the Chinese Tower. Gretchen listened to their footsteps fade, charting their progress in her mind until she couldn’t hear them anymore. Somewhere, a woman started laughing and whispering that they mustn’t, not out here in the open like this, until her murmurs, too, slipped away. Gretchen and Kurt were alone again.

It was nearly seven. For two hours they had sat and waited here. She could scarcely believe Kurt was waiting so long, until she looked at his nervous hands, patting the knife sheath clipped to his belt, and she understood: He knew how to follow orders, but not how to think on his own. The unexpected paralyzed him.

The air felt sharp and cool, tinged with the smoky bite of autumn. The sky was washed in red and orange, turning the lake to flame. In the east, the sun hovered on the horizon. A few more moments and it would tip below the surface, a giant, blazing ball extinguished by night.

A few more moments and she would run.

She had to confront the truth: For whatever reason, Daniel and Reinhard weren’t coming. Although there were dozens of possible explanations, she refused to consider a single one. Daniel was still alive. That single shining thought she must cling to with both hands.

Trying to steady herself, she closed her eyes. But Geli’s image loomed against her lids: stretched across the floor, her dress stained with rusty blood.
Geli
. For a second, the pain was so immediate and so raw, she couldn’t breathe. But there was nothing she could do for Geli now; all she could concentrate on was her own survival.

She opened her eyes. In the thickening darkness, a man walked along the shore. The sunset’s red light flooded his face. Her lungs seized up. God, it couldn’t be—but it was, she recognized his lumbering walk and the heavy belly straining his SA uniform’s shirt. Ernst Röhm.

She could scarcely breathe as he drew nearer. Beneath his cap’s brim, Röhm’s eyes were small and dark like stones.

“Fräulein Müller,” he said, “I regret to inform you that your brother has been in an accident.”

Her mouth opened and shut. She didn’t trust herself to say a single word.
Daniel
—

Röhm’s gaze flickered to her companion. “I’m afraid he’s smashed up your automobile, Jaeger. But that’s what you get for handing over your keys to a fellow who can’t drive.” He laughed—a harsh, rasping sound.

“That’s all right.” Kurt spoke calmly, but his eyes darted around the lake, across the water and along the shoreline and then back over the fields. He looked afraid. Gretchen’s fingers curled, the nails cutting into her palms. If
he
was frightened, then what lay before her?

Both men looked at her; they were waiting for her to say something. She had to clear her throat twice before she could speak. “What’s happened to him?”

“Müller refused to go to the hospital.” Röhm walked closer. The scents of oil and leather and tobacco smoke wafted over her. “When I got word that one of my best men had been injured, I went to see him at home.”

Röhm watched her steadily now, and she had to concentrate on breathing gently, in and out, and forcing her eyes to stay on his, so he wouldn’t see how frightened she was.

“He was raving by the time I arrived,” Röhm continued. “Shouting about a Jew that he needed to hunt down and punish for his sister’s blood sin.” Röhm brought his face so near she could smell his breath, flavored with beer and sauerkraut. “Now, why would he say that?”

Relief arrowed through her: Reinhard had gotten into an accident before he’d reached the newspaper office. Daniel was still safe. Now she would withstand anything.

The pocketbook lay heavy on her lap. Even if she opened it and got the knife out before either of the men attacked her, how could she defend herself against them both?

“No idea? No inkling at all why your brother would say such a disgusting thing about his own sister?” He clucked his tongue when she shook her head. “Strange. But it doesn’t matter. Your brother, in his feverish ramblings, mentioned several items of interest, among them your current location. I am pleased to see I arrived before he did.”

She started. Wasn’t Reinhard still at the boardinghouse, tending to his wounds?

“I was most annoyed when your brother excused himself to use the lavatory and never returned, as though he suspected something,” Röhm went on. He hooked his thumbs into the belt straining around his portly torso. Next to his hand hung a sheath for a knife. She saw the carved handle and swallowed hard.

She gripped her pocketbook. The clasp bit into her hand. If only she could twist it open without Röhm noticing. . . .

He hauled her upright. Beside her, Kurt scrambled to his feet. “We’ll find him together,” Röhm said. “I have my orders from the Führer.” He held her by the arms. Even in the reddish light, she saw the thick gouges shrapnel had left in his cheeks. She tried not to shiver. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of her fear.

He released her so suddenly that she fell back a step, and he turned toward Kurt. “Jaeger, how much of this untidy mess did Müller pull you into?”

“Very little, SA-Stabschef Röhm.”

“Good.” Röhm patted Kurt on the shoulder as if pleased. Gretchen caught the gleam of something in his hand, and before she had registered what it was, Röhm had dragged the knife across Kurt’s throat and jumped aside to avoid the blood spraying out. Stunned, Gretchen staggered back, choking on the bile coursing up her throat. “Now it will stay that way.”