Chapter 24 Audrey 
BERLIN, GERMANY | MARCH 1939
Friedrich!” Audrey called the moment she crossed the threshold of the house. Then she realized it was nearly eleven o’clock. Daniel and Ilse would have been asleep for hours now, maybe Friedrich, too, but this news could not wait. She felt a surge of exhilaration that—finally—she could deliver something of value. She kicked off her shoes. “Friedrich,” she said again, quieter this time as she rushed down the hall. “Are you down here?”
Footsteps sounded and then he appeared, concern on his face. “What is it?” he demanded, taking in her windswept hair and bright eyes. “You’re so late, is everything all—”
“Yes,” she said, breathless. “I have news. Come. Sit.”
He followed her into the sitting room, though neither sat down. She still wore her coat.
“Weber took me for drinks, but it was Gerta Roth who did all the talking.”
“What?”
“She was drunk, and told me all about how she and Ernst hardly have time together, but that they’re going to be in Hanover weekend after next, starting Friday.” She grinned. “Hitler will be speaking at the Staatsoper Opera House on the Saturday. I couldn’t get the time without drawing suspicion, but I think—”
“It is enough,” Friedrich said, his expression clearing. “They will release more in the news the day before. But with date and location, we can plan. This is brilliant, Audrey. Brilliant!” He moved to embrace her, then rather awkwardly clapped her on the shoulder instead. “Well done. Well done.”
Audrey basked in the praise for a moment before the elation fell away. “There’s more. The opportunity is not without complications.” She pinched her lips. “He’s speaking to an assembly of the Hitler Youth.”
Friedrich’s shoulders slumped. “Goddamnit. Are you serious?”
“Yes. I think we need to talk to the others.”
Friedrich looked to the ceiling, then back down at her. “Yes. Yes, we do.”
“It’s late though.”
He glanced at the mantel clock. “I know. But we need to discuss this immediately. I’ll go telephone them.”
Audrey and Friedrich spent the better part of an hour working through the possibilities until Ludwig, Claus, and Aldous arrived.
Audrey peered out the window, checking that their late visit hadn’t drawn attention, but the street was deserted. She twitched the curtains closed, then nodded at Friedrich.
“We’ll get straight to the point,” he said. “Hitler will be giving a speech Saturday after next, in Hanover. At the Opera House.”
All three of them froze for a fleeting moment, then Ludwig let out a low “Yes!” Claus looked excited, Aldous impassive.
“How did you learn this?” Claus asked.
Friedrich smiled at Audrey. “Audrey can explain.”
Ludwig crossed his arms over his chest as Audrey recounted what had happened that evening, hesitating when she relayed the news about the event being a gathering of the Hitler Youth. The charge of excitement hanging over the room dissipated like smoke in a cold wind.
“Children?” Claus asked. His eyes pierced Friedrich’s, and Audrey knew they were in for a fight. “We can’t attack him with children in the line of fire, Fred. Come on now.”
“Why not?” Ludwig challenged him.
“Do we seriously need to have that conversation?” Claus rolled his stalky shoulders back, and Audrey remembered he had a family. “We’re not doing this.”
“Why not?”
“Because they’re children, Thurman,” Claus said.
“We could try to make sure we aim for him when he’s not near them,” Friedrich said. “Audrey—”
“We may not get another chance like this,” Ludwig interrupted. “We’ve had a valuable leak, and we need to use it. There’ve been a slew of attempts, and the bastard keeps evading death. We have a responsibility to act!”
“We have a responsibility to not kill kids, Lud.” Claus shook his head in disbelief. “Listen to yourself.”
Friedrich raised his voice. “Gentlemen!”
“What do you care?” Ludwig fired at Claus.
“I’m not in the business of killing children, you prick.”
“Do you know how many children the Reich has already sent to their deaths?” Audrey challenged him.
Claus’s nostrils flared.
“She has a point,” Aldous piped up. “But I do think we need to consider—”
“Consider what? This is madness,” Claus snapped. “We’re not doing it. I can’t build a bomb that won’t have collateral damage. It just cannot be done.”
“Other people are going to die, Claus,” Ludwig shouted, and Audrey winced, hoped to God he wouldn’t wake Daniel. “Unless you want to try to snipe him. But I’ll remind you that we’ve been over that option before. None of us is a precise enough shot to guarantee it, and the shooter is certainly going to be killed by Hitler’s security team. Pointing a gun at the Führer’s fucking head is pretty obvious. Planting a timed bomb in advance and walking away—less so.”
“What do you propose we do, Fred?” Aldous asked, turning from Ludwig. “Did you have a plan in mind?”
Claus scoffed. “You all just want—”
“Yes, we do.” Audrey cut across Claus, but shot him a conciliatory look. “I think there might be a way to do this that would drastically decrease the likelihood of collateral injury to the children.”
The room was silent, skeptical. Then Aldous spoke.
“Let’s hear it.”
“I know the Staatsoper Opera House in Hanover,” she said. “I saw performances there when I was younger. I remember the layout and the area around it reasonably well. It’s in an old quarter of the city, so I doubt much has changed in a decade.” The men looked at her, listening, and she ploughed on. “As Ludwig says, shooting him isn’t a viable option. What we need is some distance on the kill, to keep ourselves and any potential bystanders safe. I propose we avoid trying to reach him at the pulpit or anywhere else on the actual premises where the children are likely to be,” she said, gaining confidence with her plan as she spoke. “I say we target his motorcar. It’ll be parked on the street outside, either in front or behind the building. From what I remember of the Opera House, they’ll probably park the car behind the theatre, as opposed to the front, which would be too exposed. The car will still be surrounded by security, of course, but if we can place a bomb underneath the vehicle at some point during the speech, it will go off after he’s left in the car.”
Aldous was nodding. “This could work,” he said.
Ludwig muttered something affirmative and poured himself a drink. Claus met eyes with Audrey, uncertain, but no longer angry.
“That means the likely casualties would only extend to his driver and body men,” Friedrich added. “Perhaps a few people on the street, or in a neighbouring vehicle, if they happen to have the misfortune of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, but that’s negligible. The number of lives we would be saving after the fact are incalculable. This is worth the risk, worth the sacrifice.” He glared around the room. “And you all know it.”
Audrey felt a stirring of guilt at using Gerta Roth’s information to plan an assassination involving her husband. But this was bigger than any one man. As Friedrich had said, this was bigger than all of them.
“I agree,” Ludwig said. “We should proceed.”
The fact that he’d only agreed once Friedrich had given her proposal his support set Audrey’s teeth on edge, but she let the slight go with an exhale.
“How precise can you make your timer on the explosive device?” Friedrich asked Claus.
He thought for a moment. “Pretty damn precise. I’m good. How long would we need, do you think?”
Friedrich considered it. “We have no way of knowing where Hitler is headed once in the motorcar. But the timer would need to be at least, what, two or three minutes perhaps, from when he enters the vehicle to when it’s clear of the theatre. Add in the time in between planting it, to Hitler actually entering the vehicle…” He cocked his head. “I’d wager maybe twenty minutes?”
“How do we plant the explosive, Claus?” Aldous asked.
“I’d have to do it myself,” Claus said. “The rest of you needn’t put yourselves in any real danger, don’t fret. But we would need some kind of diversion so I could attach it to the underside of his car.”
Audrey didn’t skip a beat. “I can do that. Of course.”
“We would need fake identification to pass for security personnel or some such.”
Aldous nodded. “I just need a sample. You all know I can’t be of any help on-site, with this,” he said, tapping the handle of his cane. “I’m not exactly quick on my feet, nor inconspicuous.”
“If Audrey can draw security away from the motorcar, Claus and I could offer to stay with the vehicle whilst they go investigate,” Friedrich offered.
“That works,” Claus agreed. “Can’t see why anyone would object if we’re in uniform. We can give false names if we need to.”
“Then you can plant the device?” Friedrich asked him.
“Yes.”
“How long would you need to actually plant it?” Audrey asked.
“Maybe five minutes.”
“And then what?” Aldous said.
Claus sighed. “We plant it and, well… get the living hell out of there. Lud, can you be ready and waiting with our car?”
Ludwig nodded curtly.
“But would they notice if Hitler’s car is unattended when they finally get back to it?” Aldous asked. “Would that send up a red flag?”
Ludwig shrugged gruffly. “If Audrey can create enough of a diversion, it’s possible his security might be too distracted to notice. Difficult to say. But there’s usually more security on arrival than on departure, once they’ve already determined the location is clear.”
“But I think we would have to risk that anyway,” Claus said. “We don’t want to be anywhere near that fucking car when the device goes off.”
“We can discuss risk and likelihood until the hair on my ass turns grey,” Ludwig boomed. “Every man is here because he knows this must be done. We accepted the risk at our first meeting. The fact remains this is a real chance to eliminate him.”
“With any luck, it’s the only chance we will need,” Friedrich said.
A heavy silence befell the group as the prospect of murdering Hitler, and the subsequent fallout, descended on them. After several long moments, Aldous leaned on his cane and pushed himself up.
“Well,” he said, “let’s get to it, then. We’ve got work to do if we’re going to bring down the damn Reich two weeks from now. The pawns need to be in place before we try to take the king.”
The following evening after Daniel was asleep, Audrey, Ilse, and Friedrich gathered in the sitting room. The fire crackled in the grate, warming them for what was sure to be a chilling conversation.
As Friedrich and Audrey filled Ilse in on the plan, she sat silently.
“I know none of us wants to think about the worst possible outcome with this venture,” Friedrich said, his hands clasped between his knees, dark eyes on Ilse. “But we need to discuss it.”
Ilse’s nostrils flared. “You mean what happens to me and Daniel if you both get killed? Or arrested?”
Audrey reached for Ilse’s hand, pressing through that invisible barrier to the woman she had loved, in one way or another, for so long.
“Neither Friedrich nor I will be near the bomb,” she said. “The plan is for us to be long gone before the detonation takes place. We will do everything we can to return safely, Ilse. I promise.”
“It sounds terribly unsafe,” Ilse said. “Mad, even.”
Friedrich nodded. “I know. But Audrey is right. We’ve planned this so that we will be as far away from the risk of harm as we possibly can. And Ilse… no matter what happens here, if we succeed, the risk will always have been worth it. Surely you must see that. You and I, together, must accept this risk. For the sake of our people. For Daniel’s future, and the future of every Jewish child. It is for them that we do this.”
Ilse’s eyes welled with tears as Audrey’s heart ached from the outskirts.
You and I, together.
Friedrich ran his fingers through his hair. “There are four possible outcomes here,” he said, all business. “The first possibility is that we fail but survive. In that case, Audrey and I return home and continue as we are. The second and third possibilities are that we fail and die, or succeed and die.” His voice was rougher now, as though he’d wrapped it in jute cloth. “If we succeed, the death of Adolf Hitler won’t necessarily mean immediate freedom for Jews. We cannot know the precise impact his demise will have, though obviously we hope it will be substantial, enough to trigger, or at least hasten, the fall of the Reich. But you would need to lie low, risk nothing unnecessarily. There would be no small amount of shame or suspicion attached to the widow of a dead traitor. If we fail,” Friedrich continued, “I think you need to seriously reconsider Audrey’s suggestion to flee to her aunt in England. I will speak to Aldous in advance of this operation, but I know he would help you.”
Audrey stared at a spot on the sage green paisley-patterned rug at her feet. Hearing Friedrich so frankly describe the aftermath of their deaths was arresting.
“And the fourth outcome?” Ilse asked quietly.
Friedrich forced a small smile. “We succeed and survive. We move forward here, together, in what will hopefully be a peaceful new Germany.”
“Im yirtsé hashém,” Ilse said. God willing.
Friedrich shifted in his chair. “Our marriage certificate has been filed with the registrar’s office, so if I die, all my wealth passes to you. If the worst does happen, I would appreciate it if you could send a certain sum to my mother. I will leave her details with you. Please keep them protected. I would prefer you memorize them, then destroy them.”
Ilse brushed away a tear. “Of course. Of course, I will.”
A cloak of despondency settled on Audrey. How little would it matter if she, not Friedrich, perished in the attempt? If she died and Friedrich lived, he would return home to Ilse. They might even have a real future together, if her feelings for him continued to grow from the seedling clearly taking hold in her heart. Audrey bore jealousy for Friedrich, certainly, but she could not deny that with his machinations in place, regardless of what happened to Audrey now, Ilse’s future might be secured, and she simultaneously appreciated and resented him for it.
They all stared into the flames. There wasn’t much more to say.
“I’m going up,” Ilse said. “Get a decent sleep before Daniel wakes up. Three in the morning, like clockwork, it seems. Good night.”
Ilse’s footsteps retreated upstairs, and Friedrich and Audrey sat a while longer, each lost in their own thoughts.
Friedrich broke the silence. “Do you want a drink, Audrey?”
“God, yes.”
He returned with a pair of overfilled glasses, though in light of the conversation, Audrey welcomed the generous pour. He sat down again and took a sip, then held the glass up to the firelight, examining it.
“Do you know the history of this drink, Schwartzhog? The legend behind it?” he asked.
Audrey shook her head and drank deeply of the familiar, spicy liqueur.
“Back in the sixteenth century, a German noble family was attacked one night by envious rivals. But a black boar on the property started to squeal, and the family woke, fought off the attackers, and survived. They put the black boar on their crest to honour it for saving them from a terrible fate, and named their liquor after it.”
Audrey gazed into the syrupy depths of her glass, mulling over Friedrich’s tale. “Is that really true?”
“So they say.”
She ran her finger around the edge of the glass. “And did the boar survive?”
Friedrich looked puzzled. “What?”
“Did the boar survive?” she repeated. “It squealed enough to wake the family, so I assume it was heard by the attackers too.”
Friedrich’s mouth twisted into a contemplative pucker. “I’ve never thought about that, to be honest. It’s just a legend. You think it died, then?”
Audrey took another sip. “Yes,” she said quietly. “I think it died. It might have died a hero, but it died a hero with a slit throat.”
Friedrich watched her for a moment, then set his glass down on the table between them. “As much as I hate to say it, that reminds me… I have something for you.” He pulled a small brown paper bag from inside his jacket and opened it to reveal two black coat buttons. He handed her one. “This is a cyanide capsule. Made to look like a coat button. It is a last resort, a safety catch.”
“Friedrich,” Audrey said, feeling sick. “I don’t want this.” She made to hand it back to him, but he pulled away.
“You may not think you do right now, but if you are arrested, it is almost a certainty that you will be subjected to torture so they can find out what you know of the Red Orchestra and our resistance efforts. I assure you, a quick death by poisoning is a far better fate than anything the SS can dream up for you. I need you to trust me on that.”
Audrey studied his face, more serious than she had ever seen it. What had he witnessed, or heard of, in his professional life? “I can’t—”
“Sew it into the inside of your pocket, or hide it in the sole of your shoe,” he said. “When you are searched, it looks like an extra button. But when you decide you want it, rip it out and crush it between your teeth. Do not think twice, or you’ll hesitate, and those seconds could mean the difference between a quick or a drawn-out death.”
Staring down at the pill-button, Audrey felt more out of her depth than ever. This all felt like a dream sometimes, a story from someone else’s life. She was just a pianist. Not much more than a girl. When had she become a spy, an assassin?
Her eyes welled with emotion and she took another large gulp of the liquor. “Friedrich,” she said, and she was grateful to the Schwartzhog for depressing her nerves. “If I don’t make it out of this alive, I need you to promise me you’ll take care of her.”
They looked at each other, perhaps seeing one another fully for the first time.
“I will,” he said.
“She cares for you too. She feels safe with you.” It was an effort to say it, but she did anyway. “That’s something I haven’t been able to give her. Being a woman…” She trailed off, angry at all of it. That women needed men for protection. That they lived in a world that was designed and run and ruined by men. That Ilse wanted a man instead of her. She was lightheaded now, but it made it easier to say what she must. “Love her like she’s the best thing to ever happen to you. Because she will be. That is a certainty.”
“I will,” he said.
Audrey felt the smooth button clenched in her hand. “Promise me.”
“I promise. I will take care of her, and love her. For the both of us.”
She downed the rest of her drink and bade Friedrich good night, then retrieved her grey coat from the hall closet. Upstairs, she built a small fire in the grate and fetched her sewing kit from the dresser, selecting an ash-coloured thread. She held it up in the firelight to measure before snipping it off and feeding it, with a shaky hand, through the needle head. She tied a knot and began to work, thinking of Ilse and Friedrich and murdering Adolf Hitler, all the while wondering why she bothered to find a matching thread to sew her death into the pocket of her coat.