Chapter 52

The March 5 election was upon us. We worked feverishly to achieve our goal of gaining the two-thirds majority. Hermann Göring summoned two dozen of the wealthiest industrialists to his new home, the official residence of the president of the Reichstag. There, Hitler spoke for ninety minutes, telling them everything they wanted to hear. He reminded them that the Nazi party needed complete control to finally defeat Communism. He praised the importance of private property, promised to protect their businesses, guaranteed that the unions would be kept in their place, and assured them that law and order would be restored to the streets.

After Hitler left, the appeal was made: we asked for three million Reichsmarks. We collected what we really needed: just under 2.1 million Reichsmarks.

*

Göring’s role in the party continued to increase as we prepared for the election. Given charge of police operations, his first step was to replace the police heads throughout Germany with party men. He then ordered the police not to interfere with SA actions against Bolsheviks. As the campaign gathered velocity, in February, he ordered raids on Communist offices throughout the country. One raid hit the jackpot: the complete list of Communist members in Germany. When I learned this, I went to his office to verify Weiss’s information. As expected, Weiss was correct. Oksana’s name was on the list.

On February 22, Göring issued a decree that created fifty thousand auxiliary police—Hilfspolizei, made up of predominantly SA and SS men—to “augment” the police in Germany.

Friday night, February 24, two days after Göring’s decree went into effect, I was alone in my apartment reading the English newspaper predictions of the imminent demise of the Adolf Hitler’s chancellorship when the phone rang. I lifted up the receiver.

“I want to say goodbye.”

I recognized the voice. “Where are you going, Bernhard?”

“To my sister’s house. It’s not safe for me here anymore.”

“You’re the greatest forensic policeman in all of Europe. They would not dare . . .”

“They’ve already thrown me out of office, arrested me, and stripped me of my benefits. What makes you think they would stop at that?” hissed Weiss.

“How can I help?”

“I arranged for an apartment in Prague months ago. That’s where I sent my family.”

“Can’t you join them?”

“I can’t. Men still loyal to me on the force found out I’m on a list that forbids emigration. I would be stopped at the border. I have to go into hiding until there’s an opportunity to escape.”

“Be careful, Bernhard.”

“You be careful, Friedrich.”

“Bernhard, if you need help when it’s time to leave—call me.” It pained me to say goodbye.

“Thank you, my friend.”

The line went dead.

*

On the night of February 27, six days before the election, I decided to visit Kitty Schmidt. It had been too long since I had seen her.

“This is a surprise,” Kitty said when she saw me at the door. “You know we’re closed on Mondays.” Then she looked over her shoulder. “Except for one special customer.”

“I’m here to say hello, not to be with any of the girls.”

“From what I hear, being with one of my girls might just be what you need.”

Kitty never did hold back saying what was on her mind. I shrugged. “I wanted to see a friendly face. Your friendly face. Is that a crime?”

“It’s lonely even when you are surrounded by people, isn’t it?” she asked.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

We sat at the bar. She poured two scotches. “I didn’t mean to ruffle your feathers. It’s just that you’re a confidant to the Führer. That makes you vulnerable to gossip. You have to be careful where you go and who you’re seen with.”

“I’ve learned to manage.” I couldn’t fathom what was bothering her. “What I want to know is how are you doing?”

“Do you mean me and Max, or something else?”

“Talk about Max. You. Anything you want.”

“Max and I are good. We care for each other. But now, more than ever, we can’t be too public with our relationship.” She stopped. “Max . . . he . . . I’m sure you know, Friedrich.”

“Know what?”

Kitty turned away before answering and then said, “How much you hurt Max the night you brought that girl—what was her name . . .”

“Trude Mohr.”

“That’s right. Trude Mohr. How could I forget? Well, Max was very upset at how Trude Mohr treated him and how you stood there and said nothing. Worse yet, you couldn’t leave the club fast enough. Was she that good in bed?”

Now I understood why she seemed a bit aloof. “The reason I rushed away was to gather her things and throw her out! I’ve never seen her since.”

Hearing this, Kitty threw her arms around me. “My dear, I’m so glad! Max thinks of you as the son he never had. In his heart he knew you wouldn’t let her get away with insulting him like that. Even so, he needs to hear what happened from you.”

I hoisted the glass. “To Max. I’m on my way to see him as soon as I finish this drink!”

But I didn’t get there. All thoughts of Max and Kitty vanished the moment I took a few steps out the front door of Pension Schmidt. In the distance, an orange hue lit up the sky. It was in the vicinity of Platz der Republik now renamed Königsplatz. I ran toward it. When I got to the edge of the park, I froze: the massive Reichstag was in flames. Smoke filled the skies.

I showed my identity card at a barrier and rushed to where Hitler stood next to Goebbels and Göring. Wolf strode up and down in his raincoat, ranting and shouting, “It’s the Communists!” He bellowed their name over and over. He grabbed my arm. “This is the beginning of their revolution.”

Papen, who had been dining with Hindenburg, pushed his way through the crowd. When he reached us, Hitler shouted over the din, “This is the work of the Communists. We will crush this deadly pestilence with an iron fist!”

The morning of February 28, 1933

During the course of the night, the Reichstag’s glass ceiling shattered and the whoosh of oxygen turned the blaze into an inferno. The fire was out of control. The building was lost. By dawn, the SS and the police arrested hundreds of Communists.

In the morning, Hitler convened an emergency cabinet meeting to deal with the Communist “Revolution.” In those early hours after the attack on the Reichstag, we all believed that this was the signal for their uprising.

A young Dutchman named Marinus van der Lubbe was caught at the scene setting fires. He immediately confessed not to just setting the fires but also to being a dedicated Communist. Notwithstanding van der Lubbe, it was reasonable to believe—at that early time—that the arson was part of a larger conspiracy rather than an isolated terrorist attack. What was also clear is that Hitler used this fire as the fulcrum to suppress all personal freedom in Germany on the eve of the election.

And he did so quite legally, under Article 48(2) of the Weimar Constitution.

I was present when Frick and our old friend, Franz Gürtner, the minister of Justice, drafted what came to be known as the Reichstag Fire Decree.

By Authority of Article 48(2) of the German Constitution . . .

Article I

Sections 114, 115, 117, 118, 123, 124 and 153 of the Constitution of the German Reich are suspended until further notice. Therefore, restrictions on personal liberty, on the right of free expression of opinion, including freedom of the press, on the right to assembly and the right of association and violations of the privacy of postal, telegraphic, and telephonic communications, warrants for house searches, orders for confiscations, as well as restrictions on property, are also permissible beyond legal limits otherwise proscribed.

Hitler as chancellor, Frick as minister of Interior, and Franz Gürtner as minister of Justice were quick to sign. A messenger was dispatched to obtain the final signature: Hindenburg’s. With his signature in place, all civil rights guaranteed by the Constitution in Germany came to an end. It was supposed to be a “temporary” measure.

How did I feel at that moment? With the ashes of our magnificent parliament building still smoldering, I did not believe that one man alone was capable of bringing the building down without help. It also seemed unreasonable to believe he cooked this act up by himself, as he claimed. Logic pointed to a conspiracy. To look at Marinus van der Lubbe was to see a heavy-lidded foreigner, a Communist who spouted the rights of workers, and a man who spoke broken German. It made sense, then, with our government under attack, that it was necessary to suspend civil liberties until order was restored.

*

The day after the fire was hectic. I decided to retire early, but soon after I entered my flat the telephone rang. The voice was unfamiliar.

“Goebbels just ordered the arrest of Bernhard Weiss.”

“Who is this?”

“We met for a brief moment when I gave you a message about a certain ballerina.”

I hung up without another word and reached for the card Weiss gave me at our last meeting.