June 1917, Essen, Germany
Julian slowly extended his weight farther onto an oak branch. While growing up, he had never suspected his propensity for tree climbing would one day lead to some of his most successful moments of spy craft, but the tree on whose branches he was currently perched grew perfectly over the one-story building he was trying to sneak into. Krupp’s Essen testing range spread out before him, silver in the moonlight. Written results of the tests performed there were stored in the building below.
He lowered himself to the roof and crawled toward the vent. He waited until the guards below finished their patrol before he removed the vent cover and lowered his rope. Then he dropped into the room, a long, closed-off chamber with no direct outside access. He lit a candle. Little had changed since his first visit two weeks before: crates were stacked along the walls, and shells were lined up in neat rows. But for years Krupp had tested shells at a rate not unlike that of a battery on the Western Front, so there were different boxes on this visit. A scattering of shells and shell parts lay along a central countertop. He noted the types but expected the real information harvest to come from the reports the scientists wrote.
He blew out the candle and left the storeroom. The scientists and engineers who worked there all had offices with windows. One by one, Julian searched them, hoping to find out which new munitions were successful and whether the Paris Gun was truly capable of firing a one-hundred-kilogram shell more than one hundred thirty kilometers. On his last visit, he’d come when the moon had been only a sliver, expecting the darkness to mask his entry. It had, but the curtains were too thin to hide candlelight from the guards, so the lack of moonlight had meant he was unable to read anything in the offices. Tonight, he carefully pulled the curtains back so the moon could illuminate the copious collection of documents.
He found reports of failed modifications, unreliable powder, and faulty barrels. But he also found reports that indicated the Paris Gun was moving ahead. He wrote down its range and accuracy. His scraps of paper would be proof of espionage should he be caught, but he couldn’t remember everything without them. As he left each room, he placed the curtains exactly as he’d found them and left the reports and notes stacked in their same order and position.
When he had examined every office, he returned to the storeroom and climbed up through the vent. Then he listened. The noises of the night—crickets and an occasional nocturnal bird—greeted him. Julian was ravenous. He had eaten with the Kallweit family before leaving with the excuse that he had friends to meet, but the meal had been small and served hours ago. It had also been one of Franz’s wartime favorites, so Julian had given the boy part of his own portion.
Julian crept to the edge of the building above the front door. He could smell one of the guard’s cigarettes.
“It’s your turn to check the perimeter,” a voice from below said. Julian tensed at the sudden words. Though spoken quietly, the sound of another human after hours inside the empty building seemed loud.
“All right. As soon as I finish this.”
Julian waited until the guard finished both his cigarette and his patrol. Then he reached for the tree branch and climbed down the oak. When he passed the gate, he allowed himself a sigh of relief.
The eastern horizon was turning gray as he reached the Sauer estate. He still had his report to write and his notes to destroy, so he would get no sleep that night. No sleep until another long shift at the factory had ended. Julian stifled a yawn as he crept in through the back door, taking care not to make any noise. He didn’t want Sauer or Dorothea to suspect he’d been out all night.
When the cover letter and report were written and the notes were burning, Julian ruffled the blankets on his bed so it would look like he’d slept. He didn’t think anyone came into his room, but he couldn’t risk letting his guard down. He ran a hand along the feather pillow but resisted the urge to sleep. It was time to head to the factory.
* * *
Julian was exhausted by the time he finished his shift, posted his report to the letter box in Düsseldorf, and returned to the Sauer home. He was hungry too, but that was normal. Sleep was his top priority, but he stopped as he walked past Sauer’s study.
“Out all night, no doubt up to no good. I’m not sure I want that type of influence around Franz,” Dorothea said.
“You enjoy the extra rations he brings in and the work he does around the house.”
“Yes, but what if it becomes a habit?”
Sauer’s deep chuckle crept into the hall. “Once is hardly a habit. And he’s a young man, Dorothea. Perfectly ordinary if he occasionally gets so drunk that he doesn’t make it home or decides to spend the evening with a woman.”
“That’s not the type of behavior I want Franz emulating.”
“And what do you think Kurt and Willi are doing during their breaks from fighting?”
“I raised my boys to avoid such unseemly behavior!” Dorothea’s voice was so loud Julian worried Franz would come investigate and find the Frenchman lingering in the hallway.
“If you aren’t worried about Kurt and Willi, I don’t think you should be worried about Franz. I’m heading to Berlin tomorrow. I’ll be gone a week. If you’re still concerned when I get back, we can discuss this further. But perhaps you’re assuming the worst. Just because you saw him coming in at dawn doesn’t mean he was up to mischief.”
Julian left before he was discovered. Perhaps he could think of some excuse for being out all night, something that didn’t involve espionage or drinking or carousing with loose women, but just then he was too tired to come up with anything. It was strange to feel shame for something he hadn’t done, but he could live with a tarnished reputation as long as no one knew where he had really been the night before.