In Satan's Shadow (15 page)

CHAPTER 28

York went to the cemetery on Thursday morning. As he walked in the entrance, he passed an elderly man wearing a medal from the Great War, probably visiting an old comrade’s grave. York nodded with respect and then continued down the cobblestone lane, sheltered by trees, and greeted a woman with a baby carriage. There were a lot of baby carriages in Berlin, pushed by women whose husbands might not be coming home.

He was more alert than usual. The poster issued for Max made him wonder what else the Nazis knew. Maybe they were looking for him. Or they might know about the drop, or the quartet member who was selling information. Maybe they knew about Max’s other spy networks, too. Or they might not know anything at all.

He strolled past the lane where the drop was, feigning grief and trying to look like he had reason to be there. He went two lanes farther before turning, passing a mother holding a little girl by the hand and then an older woman, sad and alone. Walking down a row of tombs, markers, and mausoleums, he saw no one that wasn’t there to show their respect for the dead, people with sorrow etched in the wrinkles of their faces, loss and emptiness in their eyes. They made him think about Amanda. It must have been hard to lose a baby, especially after trying to conceive for ten years.

He rounded the last corner, a lane away from where the drop was. As he exited, turning towards the entrance, he saw Erika Jaeger on her way out, just as he had the week before. Maybe she did go to the drop on Saturday, but after her concert was over.

He stopped, wondering whether to follow her, ignore her, or approach her. Any of the options were dangerous, although in varying degrees. But he had learned through the years that doing nothing normally led to his greatest regrets.

“Miss Jaeger,” he called boldly. “May I speak to you for a minute?”

She froze, her back to him, and then turned slowly. Her face showed no sign of recognition, only fright. “Excuse me?” she asked, her voice quivering.

He motioned to a bench that was shaded by trees, flanked by shrubs. It was private. “I need to speak with you. Please, let’s sit down.”

She stared at him, her eyes were wide, her face flush. She stood rigid, rooted to the ground, unable, or unwilling to move.

“Come,” he said. “I won’t hurt you.”

She hesitated a moment more and then reluctantly came to the bench, sitting at the far end. “What do you want?”

“I have seen you in the cemetery before, Miss Jaeger. We may be here for the same reason.”

She looked at him quizzically, no doubt wondering how he knew her. “I don’t think that’s possible.”

“We are here the same day of the week.”

She shrugged, still guarded. “That may be true. I come every Thursday.”

“And Saturday, also?”

“Sometimes, although not often. But on Thursday, I work afternoons. So I come here in the morning.”

“I still think we have a common interest.”

“I’m not sure what it could be.” She searched his face, but found no clues. “Were you in the army?”

York was confused. Maybe she wasn’t there for the drop, or she was hiding that she was. “Yes, I was,” he replied cautiously.

“Did you know my husband Wilhelm?”

He felt a sickening feeling in his stomach. He was wrong. And now he could jeopardize the entire operation. As well as his life. “No, I didn’t know Wilhelm,” he answered softly.

She looked at him strangely, wondering what he wanted. “My husband Wilhelm was killed in the war. I come here to visit his grave.”

York turned away, thinking of a different path. It was too late to change direction. But he might be able to salvage something. Jaeger had access to valuable information, and he suspected she was doing something illegal, which is why she bought food on the black market. Maybe the threat of extortion would make her cooperate, assuming she wasn’t the Gestapo informant. He had to be careful, phrase each sentence with hints and innuendos. It was the only thing he could do. He didn’t have any facts.

“And you have my deepest sympathies,” he said delicately. “My thoughts and prayers are with you.”

“What do you need to talk to me about?”

“A business arrangement,” he said.

Her eyes narrowed. She was less afraid, more suspicious. Then she gasped. “Are you the Gestapo?”

“No, I’m not,” he said slowly, with just a hint of distaste. The fear in her eyes proved she wasn’t the Gestapo, and he knew why she was afraid of them. He had to use that fear to his advantage.

She was frustrated, confused, the fear waning. “I don’t see how we could have anything in common. Or any need to conduct business.”

“But I assure you we do.”

She was quiet for a moment, and then her eyes lit with alarm. “Are you an informant?”

“No, of course not.”

She looked at him skeptically. “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

He paused, letting the silence increase the tension. “Because I’m an Englishman.”

Her eyes widened and she stood abruptly, sensing danger, and started walking away.

“Miss Jaeger,” he called. “You know my secret. But I know your secret, too.”

She stopped and stood still, her back to him.

After a few tense seconds, she turned and walked back to the bench, sitting closer to him. She surveyed the landscape, showing caution, ensuring no one was watching. When convinced they were alone, she spoke. “What do you want?”

“Information,” he said softly. “Troop movements, supply shipments, weapons transfers. The logistics that fuel the war effort. In return, I will pay you handsomely.”

She was quiet, considering his offer. “And if I say no?”

“I can’t afford to take chances. I will either expose you or kill you. I’m not sure which.”

She was cornered, like a caged animal. But she stayed calm, calculating. “What if I call the authorities?”

“You won’t,” he said firmly, even though he wasn’t so sure.

She looked away, trying not to show her thoughts. “What if I don’t need money?”

He knew she was bluffing. Money buys food. And she bought food on the black market because she had extra mouths to feed. She was hiding people in her home. They were probably Jews.

“I know that you do,” he said. “So you can help the people you’re hiding.”

She gasped, and her eyes signaled surrender. She glanced at the neighboring walkways, making sure no one was coming. “Please, don’t tell anyone. Good people will die if you do.”

“I promise you I won’t,” he whispered, pleased he had guessed correctly. He paused, scanning the cemetery grounds, and then continued. “So it seems we have a business arrangement after all.”

“I don’t know what I can do. I can’t steal documents. I would get caught.”

“For now, remember what you hear and what you see, documents that cross your desk. I will find a way to use it.”

York knew she was anxious and afraid; she understood the risk. But he suspected she hated the Nazis. And those hidden in her home proved it.

“Let’s meet on this bench next Thursday at 10 a.m. That gives you some time to collect information.”

“And you will pay me?”

“Yes,” he said. “I will pay you well. In time I will do more.”

Her interest was piqued. “And what is that?”

“I will try to help those you have hidden.”

She didn’t want to acknowledge he was right. But she was definitely interested. “What is your name?”

“Michael.”

“Good day, Michael. I will see you next week.”

She rose from the bench and started to walk away, headed for the bicycle that was locked by the iron fence that bordered the cemetery.

“Erika,” he called as she walked away. He used her first name to show they were friends.

She stopped and turned, a questioning look on her face. “What is it?”

He studied her for a moment, slender and fragile yet brave enough to risk her life to save others. He admired her courage. And her talent. “I think you are a fabulous violin player. I absolutely adore your performances.”

Her mouth opened in surprise, but then broke into a smile. “Thank you,” she said, blushing, her appreciation evident. “Thank you very much.”

CHAPTER 29

York watched Erika Jaeger leave the cemetery, climb on her bicycle, and pedal down the boulevard. She talked to no one, even though there was a policeman and two older women standing near the entrance. He didn’t know what she would do when he could no longer see her, but he was sure she wouldn’t approach the authorities. She had as much to hide as he did.

He had assessed two of the string quartet, Amanda Hamilton and Erika Jaeger. Neither was the potential spy, although he had brought them into his network and would be obtaining information from both. He knew neither was the informant. That left Gerhard Faber and Albert Kaiser, one informant, one spy.

After a quick walk down the adjacent lanes, pausing to read a headstone or two and ensuring that no one was watching him, York went to the drop. He removed the finial on the iron post, surprised to find a piece of paper tucked inside, folded and creased into a small rectangle.

He looked around quickly, making sure he was alone, and shoved the message in his pocket. Shielding his movements with his body, he replaced the cap on the fence post. He then strolled to the bench he and Jaeger had shared, hidden among the trees and shrubs that defined the edge of the cemetery.

He sat down and waited for a moment, feigning interest in a bird that sat on a nearby branch. When no one approached, he furtively withdrew the paper from his pocket and translated the coded message.

WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN? I HAVE DRAWINGS FOR ARTILLERY SHELL THAT PIERCES TANK ARMOR. I WILL DELIVER ON SATURDAY. LEAVE MONEY.

York sat back smugly. The riddle was solved. The spy was Gerhard Faber, the one-eyed viola player who worked at the Ministry of Armaments. Assuming he was correct about Amanda and Erika, and York was certain he was, that left cello player Albert Kaiser as the informant, the grandfatherly man with the shock of white hair. The man Max went to observe just before the Gestapo issued the wanted poster.

York had never been comfortable with the drop at the cemetery, its location selected by Kent and a potential contributor to his demise. How did he know it wasn’t a trap? He had prepared his own location, even though it was temporary. He took a scrap of paper from his pocket and, using the code, scribbled the following:

PAYMENT IN ADVANCE TO SHOW GOOD FAITH. DROP LOCATION CHANGED. LEAVE PLANS IN REAR OF BERLIN THEATER ON KANTSTRASSE. FOURTH BLOCK ON GARDEN WALL IN PARKING LOT, BEHIND LINDEN TREE. LIFT CAP. BLOCK IS HOLLOW.

He returned to the drop, again made sure no one was watching, and removed the finial from the fencepost. He stuffed some Reichsmarks into the opening and replaced the cap. Then he turned and walked away, hurrying to the taxi he hoped was still waiting for him.

*

Friday morning was cloudy, with a slight drizzle that cleared just as York left his hotel. It was several long blocks to the café on Kantstrasse, near Savignyplatz, but he decided to walk. His leg was getting stronger, he could feel it, but he still exaggerated the limp to prove his cover.

He enjoyed the Berlin streets. The people were interesting, a collage of young and old, immigrant and resident, teacher and student. The outdoor cafes rivalled those in Paris, with lace iron tables and chairs. And the building designs were bold and dramatic, granite and sandstone, balconies and buttresses, strong and defiant, promising to last a thousand years even if the Third Reich did not.

The walk took him over thirty minutes, but he found it invigorating. Now he would find out if Max was safe, having eluded the Gestapo or not even aware that they were looking for him, or if he had vanished, just like Kent, his predecessor.

The café occupied a century-old building with an arched doorway. The windows displayed various dishes, from kreppels to fruit to bread. A dozen wrought iron tables were scattered about the pavement, where a teenage waitress wearing a white apron was wiping the last remnants of rain drops from those that weren’t occupied.

York glanced at the tables, saw no sign of Max, and walked inside. The café only had a few customers. An elderly couple near the entrance chatted with a waiter, and a group of teenagers sat in the back.

He went outside and chose a table where he could see the street and ordered a coffee and kreppels. He waited, scanning a newspaper, keeping a wary eye on the street, hoping to see Max’s familiar face.

The outdoor tables were nearly empty. The earlier rain, and the time of day, midway between breakfast and lunch, left most patrons grabbing a coffee or doughnut and continuing on their way. But a few still enjoyed the morning, sipping coffee and snacking, engaged in casual conversation.

An older man and a young boy sat on the other side of the café, a workman on break near the street, and two women against the café wall. York wasn’t concerned; they all seemed harmless.

He waited for fifteen minutes, pretending to read the paper but still baffled by who betrayed Max. He recalled their last discussion, remembering almost every word. Unless something drastically different had happened only Albert Kaiser, the man he now suspected of being the informant, could have turned him in. And York could not explain how.

A Berlin policeman peered in the café window, studying the pastries before walking inside. His green uniform was a bit baggy, his blond hair feathered with gray. Large black spectacles, looking out of place on his slender face, covered his blue eyes.

He emerged a few minutes later holding a plate with three or four Schmalzkuch and a cup of coffee. He paused, unable to decide whether to sit down or continue on his way. A moment later he walked up to York’s table and pointed to the empty chair.

York looked at him, annoyed, and motioned to the empty tables. “I’m waiting for someone,” he said.

The policeman glanced around, acted as if he were about to leave, then sat down abruptly. “How are you, Michael?”

York looked at him with surprise. “Max?”

“Yes,” he said quietly. “It’s one of my Berlin disguises. Don’t you love it? I was actually directing traffic the other day.”

“It’s a good one. I didn’t recognize you, and I’ve known you for years. Have you seen the posters?”

“Yes, I did, fortunately before it was too late. So I haven’t ventured out unless wearing my policeman’s uniform. I’m in a boarding house a few blocks away.”

“I used the classifieds, but I guess you didn’t see it.”

He frowned. “No, I’m sorry, but I didn’t even think to look.”

“Did Kaiser betray you?”

He looked surprised. “No, he couldn’t have. I watched his apartment for an afternoon, but he never left. He may have looked out his window and saw me. But why turn me in? He doesn’t know who I am.”

York was disappointed, his theory discounted. He searched for another explanation. “How about Kent? Maybe Kaiser saw you with him, and then saw you watching his apartment?”

Max thought for a moment. “I did meet Kent here in Berlin a few times. But it was always in a secluded location. I doubt Kaiser could have seen us. Maybe Kent betrayed me after he was captured?”

“But then how did they get your photograph?”

Max shrugged. “I have no idea.”

“Could it be an informant from one of your other networks?”

“No, I don’t think so. Most communication is through drops. I only meet two contacts in person. And I trust them both.”

“Maybe you were followed.”

“I could have been, last weekend, or maybe Friday. But by whom?”

York sighed. “I don’t know. I’m just trying to make sense of it all.”

“Maybe it was Kaiser,” Max said. “Although I’m not sure how.”

“So what do we do now?”

“I stay in disguise for a few weeks, maybe a month. By then the wanted posters will be gone and forgotten. If they aren’t already.”

York wasn’t convinced. “Just be careful with your other networks. Especially if you don’t think it was Kaiser.”

Max was silent, watching pedestrians walking down the street, the sun peeking from behind the clouds to promise a brighter day. “What progress have you made, old boy?”

York summarized the week and its successes: Amanda and her photos, especially the information about the Jews, the drop and Faber’s message, Jaeger’s secret and possible cooperation.

“If you give me the photographs, I’ll get them to Switzerland. I’m sure London will be interested in the Jews. Nasty business, isn’t it? And don’t bother sorting through them. Headquarters can do that. Get the negatives, too.”

“What do you make of Faber and his offer?”

“I’m not sure,” he said skeptically. “But be careful. I’m afraid if he doesn’t get what he wants he’ll switch from spy to informant. Maybe that’s what happened to Kent. So I think it was a good idea changing the drop.”

York was pensive. “That’s something I hadn’t thought of. The person offering information could also be the informant.”

“And I do think Faber could be both. But so could Jaeger.”

“I don’t think so,” York said. “She has too much to lose.”

“But you don’t know that. You assume it.”

“I think the food she bought on the black market proves she’s hiding someone.”

“Probably Jews,” Max said.

“Do you think we can get them out?”

“Yes, I think so. But it won’t be easy, so don’t make any offers yet. Just tell her you might be able to help.”

“What about Kaiser? Should we rule him out as the informant?”

“I think Faber playing both roles is more likely. But why don’t you approach Kaiser and see what you think? Just keep the conversation innocent; don’t do anything to make him suspicious.”

“I’ll make contact tomorrow.”

Max stood up and prepared to go. “We should meet more often. At least for the next few weeks. I’ll come to your hotel Monday about 10 a.m. You can tell me what happens with Kaiser then.”