Shining Through (58 page)

Konrad Friedrichs sat in the front with the driver, a man in an army uniform who was so tall his hat touched the roof of the car. Friedrichs twisted around to speak to me. “I will be putting you on the train, Lina. The conductor knows he will be taking care of a very important officer and his lady. He understands the general’s disability and will not embarrass him.”

“What disability?”

“He is mute.” I turned and stared at Edward. I couldn’t tell if he had arranged this chat in German or whether his mind was someplace else and he wasn’t listening. Herr Friedrichs continued: “When he came under fire in Russia last year, they shot him in the chest; the bullet lodged in his throat. If they ask questions, you will, of course, answer for him. He is General Manfred Steinhardt, First SS Panzer Corps. He replaced Dietrich and Peiper. Dietrich’s now with the Sixth, and he is a close friend of General Steinhardt—”

“Isn’t a general too high a rank? Won’t they be suspicious?”

“They may, but there was no time to create papers for a colonel. He was quite insistent—perhaps that is too mild a word—about getting to you; you were in mortal danger, he was going in to get you, and that was that. I had the interpreter tell him that he could not manage alone, not knowing the language.

I would accompany him.”

I didn’t know what to say, but I figured Herr Friedrichs could live without a speech. “Thank you.”

“You are welcome. Now I will see you onto the train. Then I will say goodbye.”

“Where are you going?”

“I am going to stay here.”

“Are you crazy? Herr Friedrichs, you’re the one person in Berlin they want more than me. You’ve got to come with us, or—”

He held up his hand. Then, almost kindly, he asked, “Don’t you long for your America?”

“Yes. I long for it.”

“Then you will understand that I cannot endure being 432 / SUSAN ISAACS

away from my country. I will stay. Your gentleman here has arranged sanctuary for me. I will do what I can to help others here to get rid of the pestilence and, later, to help begin anew. But if I die…I would rather go down in flames in Germany, for Germany, than live anyplace else.”

As we got to the train, an army officer saluted Edward. He saluted back and then handed over our papers and train tickets; we would not get them back until we reached the Swiss border.

They would have sixteen hours to examine our papers, to discover us.

The officer opened my passport, looked at the photograph, then at me. “I know,” I told him. “I’ve lost some weight. All of us in Berlin have.”

He looked back down at the travel documents. “You are going to the clinic in Basel?” I nodded. He glanced down at me; the clinic must be a popular one. Official Nazi policy did not discourage illegitimate children; the more Aryans to carry guns, the better. But apparently, upper-echelon officers, married officers, were allowed to make sure their mistresses kept their trim figures.

The way the officer had said “the clinic” had a nasty, knowing edge.

Konrad Friedrichs, standing behind us, inched forward. He gave the officer a “watch out” look. With reason. Edward looked displeased; he glared at the officer. It worked as well in Germany as it did in the United States. The officer turned pale, then quickly stepped back, allowing us to board the train. Edward took my arm. For the first time, I noticed he was wearing a white silk scarf around his neck, tucked into his general’s uniform. A scarf to hide his mute, injured throat.

“Goodbye, General. Miss Hintze,” Herr Friedrichs said. He inclined his head, and then simply walked off, to disappear into Berlin.

Edward helped me up the stairs onto the train. On the door was an official SS notice, with the death’s head insignia. It said:

“Reserved. Do not enter.” We entered. It was for us. He closed the door behind us.

SHINING THROUGH / 433

The sleeper was large, but it was hard to see what it looked like. The blinds were drawn, and there was only one dim light on. I sat down on a couch. It was a hard, scratchy velvet.

Edward sat beside me and put his mouth to my ear. “How are you?”

“Okay,” I whispered.

“In a lot of pain?” I nodded. “I have some morphine with me, but if you can hold off, I’d like to wait until we’re under way.

They may have questions, and you’ll have to answer…and I have to take my signal from the way you behave.” He was businesslike. Professional.

“I can wait.”

We sat in silence, listening to the activity outside on the platform. Then, without saying anything, he put his arm behind me and eased me down, so I was stretched out, my head in his lap.

“It will look good for the conductor and give you a chance to rest.”

“Thank you.”

“Every once in a while, say something to me in German. ‘Are you all right, darling?’ ‘Can I get you anything?’ That sort of thing.” I nodded and closed my eyes. A minute later, he started to stroke my hair. “I gave you a damned good haircut, Ingeborg.”

I kept my eyes closed. He turned my face toward him. I looked up. “Linda, I’m sorry.”

“Really? What for?”

“For the way I behaved before.”

“Actually, it felt like Old Home Week.”

“I was never that rough on you in Washington.”

“Want to bet?” He knew what I meant. Suddenly, he became absorbed in studying the medals on his uniform. “You know, you can be the coldest, most heartless…Sometimes, when I was working for you…Oh, never mind. It wasn’t that often.”

“I’m sorry for all those times.”

The train jolted, then started to move. No toots, no whistles.

It just eased out of the station, through the city.

“Would you like me to help you off with your jacket, 434 / SUSAN ISAACS

darling?” I asked, out loud, in German. Then I whispered. “Are you saying you’re sorry because you think we won’t make it?”

“Shhh. Relax.”

“What are our chances? Twenty-eighty? Sixty-forty?”

“I’d say about fifty-fifty. That’s being objective. Subjectively, I wouldn’t have come in if I didn’t think I had a good chance of getting you out.”

“Or just getting me before the Gestapo did.”

“If that was all I could get, I would have settled for it.” The train picked up speed and we rushed through the countryside.

“Linda.”

“What?”

“It’s been eighteen months of hell for me. Ever since I came back and found out you’d gone in, I’ve been…Quick! Say something in German!”

“I love it when you do that to my hair,” I said. As I was saying it, there was a knock on the door. I tried to grab Edward’s hand, to squeeze it; I was so scared. But he just shook his head and put his hand on my shoulder. Possessively. “Come in,” I called out.

The door opened, and there was a conductor in a white jacket.

He bowed. “General! Miss. I am Martin. I am at your service.”

I lifted my head from Edward’s lap, sat up slowly and curled up against him. He gave me an icy look that said, This is inappropriate behavior. I expect more from my mistress! I pulled away.

I lowered my head, ashamed. The conductor took it all in.

“General Steinhardt would like some brandy or aquavit,” I said. “And some tea for me.”

“Will you be going to the dining car, Miss? Or may I bring you something? Bread, perhaps some cheese or cold cuts?”

I looked at Edward, expectantly. So he nodded. “Some bread and cheese. The general is tired. He does not wish to be disturbed again.” Martin clicked his heels and closed the door.

SHINING THROUGH / 435

“What was that all about?” Edward whispered.

“You don’t wish to go to the dining car. He’s bringing some stuff in for you. You don’t wish to be disturbed.”

“Speak German again!”

“Should I have ordered coffee, darling?”

We sat silent for twenty minutes, until Martin returned with a tray on a cart and set it before us on the couch. After he left, Edward reached into his pocket and came out with two white pills; I poured some water and took one. “I’ll tell you if I need the other one. I don’t want to get too fuzzy.”

“All right.”

“Edward…”

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry I did what I did. Sneaking behind your back to Norman Weekes the minute you left the country.”

“Are you really sorry?”

“I’m sorry about what I did to you.” I took a slice of cheese and made a sandwich. “How mad were you?”

“Very. And terrified. I’d read the reports on the RAF attacks on Berlin and—” His voice broke off. He ignored the brandy but took a piece of cheese. “There wasn’t one damned day that I didn’t…fear for your life. Even after the intelligence you were getting started coming out. Especially then. I knew you were in that house all the time.”

“I was a cook. Did you know that?”

“Yes. Were you a good cook?”

“Of course I was a good cook, but that creep had no taste buds.” I took some more bread and cheese. “Ed.”

“What?”

“I just want to tell you…I don’t think there was ever a day I didn’t think about you. Whenever I got scared, and
that
was almost all the time, or whenever I didn’t know what to do, and
that
was almost all the time too, I’d ask myself, What would the great Edward Leland do?”

“If the great Edward Leland were living in Horst Drescher’s house, stealing state secrets, being bombed every night, I think…I know he wouldn’t have made it.”

436 / SUSAN ISAACS

“Sure you would have.”

He took my hand for a minute. “I’m glad you thought about me, Linda.”

The train sped on.

I thought I was being professional, alert, but I woke up later and my head was in his lap again. “How long did I sleep?”

“About three quarters of an hour.”

“Could I have the other pill?”

He leaned over, got some water and gave it to me. “How bad is it?” I tried to sit up by myself. I needed his help.

“Bad.”

“Do you want a shot of brandy?”

“No, thanks.” I touched the silk sleeve. At least it was dry.

“I’m not bleeding.”

“That’s good. I wish I could do something more for you.”

“Ed. What if we make it out and they have to amputate my arm?”

“Stop it!”

“Rolf, my contact, only had one arm. You should have seen him clean fish. But who’s going to want a one-armed typist?”

He smiled, then sat back. “Are you planning to go back to work?”

“Can you think of another way to earn a living?”

“Well, you’re a wife.” I didn’t say anything. “You haven’t asked me about John.”

“I guess that’s because I’m not really interested in John.”

“He’s your husband.”

“Not for much longer. Death or divorce, whichever comes first.”

“Linda…”

“Ed, in all those months in Berlin, when I was holed up in bomb shelters waiting to die, I thought about him, oh, maybe two or three times. But never: Oh, my dear beloved, how I yearn for you. Not even: Gee, I wish John was here to hold my hand.”

I peeked through the blinds. It was dark out-SHINING THROUGH / 437

side. “He didn’t love me. You know that. And I didn’t love him.”

“You gave a fine imitation of it.”

“Well, I loved what he was. His intelligence, his looks, his classiness. I thought: Here is what I should love. So I loved it.

It was like I was reaching out for something beyond me, something better. But he wasn’t better.”

“He’s waiting for you in London.”

“He went with you to London?”

“Yes.”

“How come?”

“He knew…we all knew your life was on the line. You’re our hero, you know. Heroine.”

“They must be hard up for heroes.”

“You know what you did. Living there all that time. And finally, giving up your chance to live so you could get the Grayson report to us. They confronted him, you know. He tried to commit suicide, but they caught him in time. Now he’s feeding false information to the German agent—just slightly false, so everything he says becomes suspect and the Germans will decide he’s a plant. Linda, what you did was so important, and so brave.”

“But I didn’t do it out of bravery. I did it because I was stuck there, in Berlin, and it was my job. What else could I have done?

Run? Where could I run to?”

“That’s pretty much what happened to me in the last war. I was crawling on my belly, they started shooting, and I kept crawling. Where could I run to?”

“But you
are
a hero. You’ve gone in again and again, knowing how dangerous—”

“So did you.”

About an hour later, I said, “I feel giddy. Not silly. I mean, the pills. I’m having a lot of pain, and I feel it, but it’s like my mind is somewhere else, looking down at the pain. I had that same feeling when I was in the hospital, when I lost the baby.”

Edward looked as if he wanted to say something, but then he just nodded. “You know, John never came right out 438 / SUSAN ISAACS

and said he didn’t want it. He said it would have been inconvenient. We’d have to move. Good old honorable John.”

“Don’t be so hard on him.”

“Why not?”

“Because he does the best he can with very little.”

“He’s not much of a man, is he?”

“Linda, my guess is that if we make it to Bern—that’s where we’re headed, actually, not Basel—you’ll recuperate for a week or so and take the first plane out to London, back to him. So let’s stop the discussion right where it is. It’s gone too far already.”

“I don’t want him.”

“Whatever you say.”

“Well, I say that if he wants me now, it’s because I’m the Sweetheart of OSS. All of a sudden I’m a hero. He can take me to dinner parties and not cringe over my accent. And you know what else I say? I say, if he was a man who wanted his wife, he’d have come and gotten me. He’s fluent in German, for God’s sake. But he left it to you.”

A timid knock. Martin. “Forgive the intrusion. Shall I make up the bed, General? I don’t wish to disturb you again, but…”

I looked at Edward, as if asking what I should do, and then I told Martin to go ahead.

When he left, I asked Edward, “When do we get to the border?”

“About ten tomorrow morning. Go to sleep.”

“I can’t.”

“Go to sleep.”