At the brownstone, Willi and Trudi were packing. Their valises were open, and they threw in whatever they would need for their upcoming journey. It would be a cold one on the open sea. An eight-day crossing of the Atlantic. By tomorrow morning they would be on the 8 A.M. train bound for Montreal, with new names and forged documents; two days hidden in a safe house there, and then they would board a Portuguese freighter bound for Lisbon. After that, in a neutral port, they would board a diplomatic flight bound for Berlin.
It would be new to them. They had lived in the United States for twelve years. Since 1928. Before that, three years in the Graubünden province in Switzerland. When they were first recruited by General Canaris himself of the Abwehr on a visit back to their homeland in ’36, they had no idea how their loyalties would be tested. In a way, Willi felt like an American now. They had many friends here they would miss. But in the end, when the war was won on the Continent and America sued for peace on the second front and gave up the fight, they could come back.
No, Willi understood, as he sadly picked up the silver frame of the two of them visiting Niagara Falls, after tonight we can never come back. Their friends who were a part of their life here they would be forced to leave behind. It was always understood that might be the eventuality from the very beginning. A cost of war. The cost of commitment to their homeland. The cost of what they were doing, he knew. Trudi had always been the more committed.
“This…?” He showed the photo at the falls to Trudi. They packed up all their important memories. Ones they had carried from home. That and their clothes. That was all they were taking.
The rest they would leave behind.
“Yes, I loved that weekend, Willi. Of course,” Trudi agreed, and wrapped the filigreed frame in a protective cloth. “You remember, we had the best strudel with apple butter at that inn nearby.”
“The couple who owned it hailed from Wutzburger, I believe, if I recall,” he said.
“No, Morlbach, Willi,” she corrected him. “Outside Munich, if you recall.”
“Ah, yes, you are right.” Willi nodded, corrected. “As always, dear.”
Trudi smiled.
The brewery building had been sold and put in a trust for their grandchildren in Chicago. The radio transmitter had been dismantled and smashed into a dozen pieces and tossed into a refuse bin at a construction site. Over the past week, all their papers, documents, messages, anything that might tie them to their secret life had been burned and destroyed.
By tomorrow there would be no trace. No trace of the work they did once the door was closed. Only the kindly old couple who had suddenly disappeared. A mystery worthy of a novel. It would be Mossman they’d be thinking of, looking into. And once it was clear that was all a smoke screen and the questions came back to them, they’d be long gone, back in Berlin likely, and their adopted country would be reeling from its wounds. They filled their valises, folding their sport jackets and dresses carefully, smoothing out the wrinkles, until they looked at each other, satisfied they were done.
“Will you miss it?” Willi asked, sitting on the bedspread. “We have enjoyed our time here.”
“Yes, we have,” Trudi agreed. “But now it is our turn to do our duty. What we want for ourselves no longer matters compared to the good of the fatherland. You understand that, don’t you, dear?”
“Yes, of course, I know, but—”
“There is no but, Willi,” she said sternly. “I know you sometimes see it that way, but the path we have chosen is clear. History demands it. Do not waver, my husband. Much will be asked of us tonight.”
Willi nodded, placing his palms on his knees. “I just think, all those people … Innocent people, Trudi. Like our little Emma. In some ways, it is a heinous thing we are doing, I think sometimes … Duty or not, they are still people. As are we.”
“And look at the thousands of our own sons and brothers who will die if America enters the war. They cannot wage a two-pronged fight. The Führer tells us that. You will see, they will submit. And then you will be proud of the work here. So do not think so much on it.” She came over and sat beside him. “Just do your duty, my husband. I know you are troubled, but you must be strong. Thousands and thousands will die in this war. In the end, no one will miss them.”
He nodded.
“Our little Emma too, if it comes to that.”
“Yes, you always say the perfect things, my dear,” he sighed, “to bolster me when I grow a little weak.”
“They are the right things, my darling.” She ran her knuckles along his cheek. “Because they are true.”
“Look…” He picked up a picture book of Havana. They had traveled there once to promote their beer. The beaches there were the nicest they had ever seen. “What do you say?” he asked her, holding it over his valise. “There is room.”
“By all means,” Trudi said, smiling. “Whatever makes you happy, liebchen. No memory is too small not to take it with us.”
He gave her a kiss on the cheek, this woman who had been by his side for close to forty years, who strengthened him and always saw things clearly for what they were. He stood up and flattened his case. He was done. All there was to take. All there was to take of their lives.
They would live new ones now back at home, as heroes.
“Just tell me something, dear,” Willi said. Trudi was folding the filigreed tablecloth that had been a treasure of her mother’s back in Freiberg.
“Yes?”
“Just tell me she will live. I need to hear it. Assure me of that one thing, Trudi. I know you feel for her as much as I do. I will be fine tonight. I will do what is needed of me. I just need to know that one thing.”
“She will live if her father performs his duty,” Trudi said. He had hoped for a trace of warmth from her but there was only harshness in her voice. Ice. “Otherwise, we will do ours, Willi. We will all do ours. Margaret will not waver.”
“Yes, darling.” He took a breath, nodded wistfully. Willi closed the valise and secured the clasps. “You are right as always.” He put the closed valise on the floor. “I see it now.”