10

Wednesday, June 2

Once the telephones were installed, Grüber arranged for Herman to remain to service the telephonic system and perform minor electrical work, and he had a small workshop in the basement of the chancellery building.

“Herman Ott?” the man standing below him asked.

Herman looked down from the top of the ladder, a fresh light bulb in his hand. “Ja,” he answered. “Can I help you, sir?”

Herman knew the office this gentleman came from and could only think of one reason he would want to speak with him. Stay calm, he told himself. Play dumb and look for your chance. Men like these, men with soft hands and clean clothes, tended to look down on workers like Herman. It would be easy to convince this spy hunter he wasn’t too bright.

The man pulled out a badge. “I am Herr Schmidt. You need to come with me. Now. My superior wishes to speak with you.”

Herman was certain if he entered their office, he would lose control of his fate. “Of course, mein Herr. Just a moment, so that I do not leave the entire basement in darkness.” Herman replaced the bulb and then clambered down the ladder. “I need to put the lights back on and store my tools unless you need me to take them along. Then I am free to accompany you.”

Herman collapsed the ladder and ambled to the small workshop in the corner of the vast basement. After he hung the ladder up, he reached for the light switch with his left hand, while pulling a wrench out of his overalls with his right.

Schmidt didn’t notice this sleight of hand in the dark, and when Herman threw the switch, the agent was blinded by the sudden flash of light and didn’t see the wrench flying toward his head until it was too late, when he returned to darkness.

When Schmidt came to some thirty minutes later, Weber was standing over him. He reached down to help his subordinate stand. “Don’t explain,” Weber said. “I came to see what the delay was. Our electrician’s actions tell me we are on the right trail. I’m sorry about your headache, Schmidt, but you just extracted a most convincing confession. Time to summon reinforcements, I think. Let’s go to the office where you can lie down. I’ll take it from here.”

Soon a net of men with soft hands and clean shirts were closing in on the small gun shop on Invaliden Strasse and the small apartments above.

Herman sped home. His heart felt as heavy as Herr Vogel’s anvil, making it hard for him to breathe.

Astrid was surprised to find Herman home at this hour but knew it could only mean trouble. “What’s wrong, Herman? What are you doing here?”

“We must leave, Astrid. Now! The police are after me. I helped Herr Grüber with a project and have been found out. If they catch me, it will mean prison.”

She paled at this. “But where will we go? Immanuel is just an infant. I can’t be running down back alleys with him in my arms. Please, speak to Father before you do anything rash!”

“I should talk to him anyway. Pack your things and be prepared to leave in five minutes.”

Herman found the gunsmith carefully reassembling a fowling piece when Herman rushed in. Seeing no customers in the shop, Herman bolted the door behind him and pulled down the CLOSED sign.

Herr Vogel froze when Herman locked the door. “What’s this, Herman? What’s happened?”

“The police are after me, Father. The work I did for Herr Grüber has been discovered. I must leave now and take Astrid with me!”

Herr Vogel grabbed a rag to wipe his hands. “I understand why you must go, Herman. But why Astrid and the child? The authorities will question her, of course. They’ll also question me, for that matter, but she wasn’t involved. She and the child will be safer here with us, and you’ll move faster and draw less notice without them.”

That brought Herman up short. Herr Vogel was right. It would be painful, but he should leave his family behind. Imprisoning them would do the authorities no good, and if Astrid fled with him and they were caught, it would make her look like an accomplice.

He took a deep breath, his chest feeling even heavier. “You’re right, Father. I know you and Frau Vogel will care for them until we can be together again.”

Herr Vogel placed his hand on Herman’s shoulder. “You need to go, now!” Reaching beneath the counter, he brought out a cash box and thrust a thick handful of notes into his son-in-law’s hands. “Don’t tell me where you’re going, and don’t write me. The police will be sure to read my mail. Quickly tell Astrid good-bye, then go to Herr Grüber for help, and don’t come back!”

“Herr Grüber?”

“He got you into this. He will help you out, if only to protect himself. He can always claim he knew nothing of your actions, as long as you are not around to contradict him. One more thing . . .”

Herr Vogel rushed to the back room and returned with the air rifle in its case. “If the police find this here, it might raise suspicion. Take it with you, I beg you!”

Herman looked at the case, and his shoulders began to ache. The rifle together with its case weighed ten kilos, but he could not deny his father-in-law. Besides, it would make him look like an innocent tradesman, so he slung the carry strap over his shoulder, embraced the older man, and went to say his farewells.

Astrid was still pale but she was ready, a single suitcase in her hand and Immanuel in her other arm, resting on her hip. Herman took the suitcase from her and embraced her, then looked deep into her eyes. “You are both staying here. The police will not harm you. There would be no benefit to them in arresting you, and keeping you and our son here will allow them to use you as bait to draw me back.”

Astrid looked into his cool gray eyes and saw pure love, and his belief he was doing his best to protect her and their child. “How long will you be gone?” she asked, as tears slid down her face. “How long until we can be with you again?”

“I can never return, Astrid. But when things settle down, I’ll send for you. I’ve made a new life for myself once before. For our family, I can do it again.”

“Promise, Herman. Promise that we’ll be together again.”

“I promise. Not because I want you to believe it, but because I believe it. We were meant to be together. We will be.”

He peered out the window. It would take bureaucrats longer than usual to assemble a police squad, but he couldn’t count on their inefficiency much longer. He embraced Astrid once more and touched his young son’s face. In this parting touch he tried to convey all his love for the boy, then he fled.

Herman banged loudly at the door and was glad to see Herr Grüber answer it himself. Grüber flinched when he saw Herman standing nervously on his front doorstep with a case at his feet. “Herman, what is this? What’s happened?”

“The telephone was discovered, Herr Grüber, and I had to dodge a policeman to escape the chancellery building. You must help me!”

Grüber and Herman exchanged glances. Or else wasn’t spoken, but the sentiment was understood. The wealthy man sighed, “Come in.” He popped his head out the door, looked around, then once the door was closed said, “You must leave the country immediately! It’s best your wife not know where you’re going, just in case.”

“She understands. I am ready to go wherever you advise straight from here. I told her I can never return, but will send for her once it’s safe.”

“That may be a year or more, but let’s get you away and deal with that later. Come. The police will suspect me, and if your house is the first place they go, since I am your employer, mine will doubtless be the second.”

Herr Grüber led Herman to his study, where he tore a sheet of paper from a notebook. He scribbled down an address then unlocked a drawer in his desk. After withdrawing a large purse, he thrust it and the note into Herman’s hands. “Memorize this name and address, then destroy it and flee the city. Avoid trains. I recommend you make your way south to Switzerland before heading to the safe house. Tell the person named here that I sent you, and that his debt is due. Now go! The police could be here any moment.”

Herman had a sense he had been here before. Once again, he was being sent far away to escape prison, or worse. He boarded a streetcar for the southern edge of the city before he glanced down at the address: An antiquities shop in London.

The police were quite thorough, and destructive. Little Immanuel cried as bookshelves were thrown over and furnishings rummaged through.

Astrid glared. “I doubt you’ll find anyone hiding in our armoire, mein Herr. I know nothing of my husband’s dealings at work. Look as you will, but please do not break things. Some of these items have been in our family for generations!”

“Your husband did not work alone, Frau Ott,” Herr Weber sneered as he oversaw the destruction. “Anything you can tell us of his compatriots would lessen his punishment.”

“He’s a good man and wouldn’t harm anyone!”

“Perhaps he hasn’t spilled any blood, but my associate with a headache would disagree that the man is harmless. But it doesn’t matter, as he has enabled others to do harm. For me it is the same.” Looking at the bookshelf, he said, “You have several books by this woman, Harkness. Why?”

“I love her books! She writes of the common people. I dream of being a writer someday, and she is the author I’d like to emulate. I’m surprised you haven’t heard of her.”

Weber shrugged. “I hadn’t heard of her writing, but by odd coincidence I recently met her.”

“What! She is here in Berlin?”

“Not much longer, but it was she in fact who led us to your husband.”

Astrid’s face blanched as the spy’s words soaked in.

“No. No, I can’t believe she would do such a thing.”

“Oh, she was paid well for her efforts, never fear. Probably better than what she gets for writing socialist fairy tales.”

Immanuel must have sensed his mother’s distress, for he began wailing, and comforting him allowed Astrid to turn her thoughts away from Weber’s revelation. It is always painful to see one’s heroes as human. It was unbearable to think that Margaret Harkness had separated her family.

“Aha!” the man cried, holding up Astrid’s red leather journal. “What’s this?”

“My private journal. It’s where I write my reflections and exercises in descriptions. There’s nothing of interest to you, please leave it alone.”

He opened the journal and Astrid colored as the stranger ran his thick fingers through her most private thoughts. He smirked. “I’ll find this interesting reading back at the office. Congratulations, now you’re an author.”

“You can’t do that! It has nothing to do with you.”

“You have nothing to say in this matter, and if it weren’t for your brat, I’d take you in as well. The coward fled without you, let’s see if he cares to come back for you.”

Herr Weber and his plate-breaking colleagues left soon after, and Astrid was alone with her thoughts among the wreckage. Her parents were taken to the police station to help an artist compose a sketch of Herman for circulation. Astrid knew her mother would be as accurate as possible, for she blamed her husband and Herman equally for their current situation and wanted to protect her daughter and grandson from the authorities. As far as she was concerned, the men deserved to suffer for their stupidity. Herr Vogel was now banished to the loft above the shop, where Herman had slept when he first arrived.

Astrid was overwhelmed at how suddenly her life had changed. She was staring at her scattered collection of Harkness novels and considering whether to burn them when Herr Grüber knocked on the door. When she saw him, she nearly slammed the door in his face. “What are you doing here? Haven’t you done enough damage already?”

Grüber shrugged. “You didn’t think badly of me when I tripled his salary. May I come in, or shall the entire neighborhood witness our conversation?”

She backed away, allowing him in, and failed to notice him sliding the bolt into place behind his back. “But you said there was no risk involved. That he wouldn’t harm anyone!”

“And I have kept my word, Frau Ott. His hands are clean.”

Astrid paused. “But yours are not.”

“True. I need to know what the police said to you just now.”

“You were watching us?”

He smiled. “Of course. I cannot help you if I do not know what’s going on.”

Astrid collapsed onto the nearest chair as she told Grüber of her conversation with Weber, her parents’ visit to the police station, the confiscation of her private journal, and her sense of betrayal by her favorite author.

“I don’t think things could possibly be any worse,” she said, her eyes downcast. Then she looked up at her uninvited guest. “But, you! Nothing touches you. You have ruined my life, and yet you just walk away.” She stood and leveled her finger at him. “I think the police might go easier on Herman if they knew who was behind it all.”

Grüber saw the rope lying atop a crate of rifles. “I think things will get better soon. Have faith.”

“Why would you think that?” Astrid demanded.

Ten minutes later Grüber walked out the back door, wiping his hands with his handkerchief as he strode away.

Inside, little Immanuel was crying again as his mother swung gently above him.