On the afternoon of September 28, Erich Edgar Schulze receives a telegram from his brother in Berlin. It includes a telephone number along with the request to call at once, “because bad news regarding son.”
The next morning at seven o’clock E.E. arrives at Potsdamer Bahnhof in Berlin, takes a room at the Hotel Fürstenhof on Potsdamer Platz, and sets out for the Air Ministry. After asking for Harro’s office he is sent to one of the upper floors: “But the rooms are empty,” he later notes. The deserted spaces within the huge building issue an eerie quality as he walks past. Harro’s division, the attaché group, has been transferred elsewhere, and Colonel Bartz, his superior, is in the hospital—so Erich Edgar is told by an officer who has stayed behind to complete the transition. Harro was ordered to a different post, he claims—but never got there.
His colleagues in the RLM had been informed that all further inquiries into this matter must cease. They suspected, however, says the transition officer, that Harro was in Gestapo custody. When Erich Edgar then announces that he is going to appeal to Admiral Canaris, the head of Military Intelligence and one of his old comrades from his navy days, the officer encourages him.
Erich Edgar calls the intelligence division of the Wehrmacht high command immediately, only to hear that Canaris is traveling. His deputy, however, Colonel von Bentivegni, is willing to meet Harro’s father at two o’clock that very afternoon at Military Intelligence headquarters at Tirpitz-ufer 80.
Erich Edgar sets out in pouring rain. Bentivegni, who greets the highly cultivated field officer and nephew of Grand Admiral Tirpitz courteously, proves to be well informed. He candidly informs Erich Edgar that his son is being held at the Reich Main Security Office, and orders a car to take the father to Prinz-Albrecht-Strasse.
The head of the special commission, Senior Councillor Panzinger, receives E.E. at two-thirty P.M. in room 306 of Gestapo headquarters. “In consideration of your reputation as an officer of outstanding merit, we are prepared to make an exception and provide you with information,” says Panzinger, proper and polite: “Your son’s case is a serious one, indeed likely a hopeless one. In order to tell you more, I would like to call the man directly responsible for the investigation, Kriminalrat Kopkow.” When Kopkow joins them, Erich Edgar is struck by how young the officer looks, how stiff, with his “piercing eyes,” as he jots down later that evening.
“Your son has engaged in communist activity,” says Panzinger. “Can you, who must surely know him well, explain to us how that could be possible?”
Erich Edgar thinks for a moment. “Harro grew up in a time of political upheaval, when young people were not able to rely on the leadership of the state and all belief in authority was shaken after the unfortunate end of the World War,” he answers in his usual didactic way. “To a boy with such an agile mind, the guiding influence of the home was not able to provide a full counterweight.” Then, he continues, in spring of 1933 came the order banning the Gegner, and with it Harro’s arrest. Maybe those days had left their mark on him.
“Your son deserved the lesson he got back then!” Kopkow sharply interjects.
“Your son has admitted that for years he has been working with every means at his disposal against the Führer and the National Socialist government, primarily through all manner of incendiary texts that he wrote and distributed himself,” says Panzinger. Now he comes to speak about something that is causing him concern. Namely that Harro claims to have smuggled highly important information abroad, to Sweden, around sixty classified documents, their content partly military, partly political, including accounts of atrocities. Panzinger tells E.E. that Harro has provided a list of these documents. They were still in Sweden in a safe place and had not yet been handed over or published, but Harro claims he had only to “press a button” and they would be delivered to the enemy. This would mean treason. The gravest crime of all, punishable by death.
When the surprised Erich Edgar answers that he doesn’t know anything about it and can’t imagine Harro doing such a thing, Panzinger offers to let him meet with his son the next day at five o’clock in the afternoon. Then they could talk about these stolen papers.
Back at the Fürstenhof, Erich Edgar picks up a pencil and writes down what happened during the last couple of hours. “Despite the deep distress that afflicted me as I write I have endeavored to reproduce exactly all my impressions and everything that was said.” His hope is that these notes “will later help to shed light on what is now obscure.”
That evening Erich Edgar is invited to dinner at the Engelsings’ villa in Grunewald where Harro and Libertas once danced the night away on his thirtieth birthday, on the day World War II began. Dr. Hartenstein, the director of the Schering plant, is also a guest. He is friends with the attorney Count Goltz, whom he believes to be the best man for the case. But Erich Edgar doesn’t think a normal defense is possible, not when the Gestapo has accused someone of treason.
The next afternoon Harro’s father appears punctually on Prinz-Albrecht-Strasse. Again he is received by Panzinger and Kopkow, who now tell him that Harro intends to make sure that the controversial materials get to the British government in the event that he and his friends receive a death sentence. “Please ask your son if these documents really are in Sweden. We assume that he will tell you the truth. And please try to convince him to undo this treasonous act by providing a means of recovering the papers and bringing them back to Germany.”
“I wish to speak to my son immediately and for him to tell me himself what he has been accused of and what he feels himself to be guilty of,” says Erich Edgar in his quiet but firm manner.
“Then please go with Kriminalrat Kopkow. He will take you to him.”
Kopkow leaves the office with Harro’s father. He calls the elevator and they ride to the top floor. There he leads him into a room that seems little used. In the corner is an empty desk, on the long side of the wall a couch, two plain armchairs, a small table. Erich Edgar is left alone for two minutes. Suddenly another door opens and Harro comes inside, accompanied by Kopkow and Strübing, who introduces himself with the words “I am your son’s minder.” With a slow, somewhat heavy gait, as if he were unused to walking, Harro steps toward his father. He stands up straight, with both hands behind his back; at first Erich Edgar assumes his son is in handcuffs, but he isn’t. Harro wears a gray civilian suit and a blue shirt. His face is ashen and gaunt. His already prominent features show even more starkly than before. Otherwise he seems well kempt, he is clean-shaven and his hair is combed, almost as if he had made himself presentable for this meeting. There are deep shadows under his bright blue eyes. He gives his father a warm and deep look and takes him by the hand. They sit in the two chairs. Erich Edgar moves close to Harro and reaches for his hands again. They hold each other tightly for several moments and look at each other without a word.
The officers sit in the corner by the desk and observe. Erich Edgar turns his chair so that the policemen can’t see his face, which is overcome with emotion. “The reason I’ve come so late,” he says to Harro, “is that I only learned of your arrest two days ago. I’ve come as your father, to help you and to intercede on your behalf. To hear how I can best do this and why you are in jail in the first place.”
“It is impossible and hopeless to try to help me in any way,” Harro answers calmly. “For years I have fought against the current regime wherever I could.” The touch of the hands is like a silent, intense dialogue, taking place alongside the other. “I have acted in full knowledge of the danger,” Harro continues, “and am now resolved to bear the consequences. For tactical reasons I have sometimes had to resort to methods and means that from the usual outlook were not always perfect.” He takes his hands from his father’s, holds them clasped above his knees, and stares straight ahead, unmoving, in order to better concentrate on his words, which Strübing is taking down. “Landesverrat [treason against the land, the country] I have not committed.”
On hearing these words the two officers whisper something to each other. When Erich Edgar turns to them they shake their heads as if to say that they are of a different opinion.
“Is it true then,” Erich Edgar asks his son, “that you had important documents, political secrets and the like, smuggled to Sweden to protect yourself?”
“Yes.”
“Can you name the location of the documents and make a statement as to whether you would cooperate in getting them back?”
“I cannot and will not do this.”
“Not even if I ask you to?”
“No, not even then. It would mean betraying my friends. These papers are the only thing protecting them. I’m not thinking of myself. I know it’s over for me, and I am ready to stand by what I’ve done. But even still I wouldn’t give up the documents; they are of the utmost political and military importance. Their publication would mean more for Hitler and the German government than just a lost battle. The consequences would be incalculable.”
“I won’t press you, and I won’t try to make you do something against your convictions and against your conscience,” says Erich Edgar. Up to now he has been able to maintain his outward composure, but he can feel his strength leaving him. “You have a hard road ahead. I don’t want to make it any more difficult for you.”
Harro and Erich Edgar stand up. In the presence of the two officers they struggle not to let their emotion show. Harro moves close to his father, looks at him, firm and proud. His eyes are teary. One tear, that much he allows. Erich Edgar can only say, “I had other hopes for you . . . I have always loved you.”
“I know,” Harro answers softly.
Erich Edgar holds both hands out to him. Harro grasps them tightly. His father goes to the door, turns around again, and nods to his son. Harro stands stiff and straight, like a proud Prussian officer, between the two slouching agents of the Geheime Staatspolizei.