16
Suite VIII-White on the fifth and uppermost floor of the Great North Hall consisted of a bedroom, a sitting room, a dressing room, a bathroom, a dining room, a kitchen and a library. The furniture and carpeting had come by air from Sloane’s, the drapery and the wallpaper from Schumacher. Neiman-Marcus had designed and shipped the bathroom. All the windows were steel-grilled.
The closet in the dressing room contained five sizes of lingerie flown in from Bonwit Teller and Henri Bendel, and four sizes of hosiery from Marshall Field’s.
Hilka slid on white panties and a white half slip.
“Not this?” the maid asked, holding out a brassiere.
Hilka studied the undergarment hesitantly. “No,” she finally concluded. “I think not. I’ve lost too much weight. I have no need for it.”
“Miss Tolan, your figure is excellent. Your breasts are high and full. Turn around and look for yourself.”
“No.”
“Then trust my word and take the bra.”
“No. I am not used to it any more. It would itch.”
“So will a blouse or sweater.”
“No.”
“Then what about stockings?”
“No. My legs are too skinny for stockings.”
“Your legs are lovely. Any woman in America would be envious of legs like yours. Please, judge for yourself. Turn around and look in the mirror.”
“No—I do not look into mirrors.”
“Then how will you be able to put on your makeup?”
Hilka studied the large selection of unopened bottles and boxes on the dressing table. “I only need lipstick. I can put it on by touch.”
“And your hair? Can you do your hair without looking in a mirror?”
“Could—could you do it for me? And cut it in the back, please?”
The closets were filled with dresses, suits, skirts, blouses, sweaters, coats and shoes from Bergdorf Goodman and Hattie Carnegie. They came in four sizes. Even so, the smallest beige turtleneck was slightly baggy and the plaid skirt had to be taken in by the maid.
The maid unlocked the entrance door, paused and gave a final touch to Hilka’s hair.
“Am I—am I at all pretty?”
“Very pretty,” the maid told her, pressing the buzzer. “Just like Jean Arthur.”
A WAC with a gold-and-black armband guided her up two flights of marble stairs, through an electrically opened sliding door and out onto a steel catwalk. A vast modern printing complex was spread out below. At one end, workmen in yellow overalls scurried about unpacking new equipment, making final tests and adjustments. At the other, two dozen blue-coated linotypists were already busy at their machines.
The metal walkway led past room after room of glass-enclosed offices. All were fully equipped. All were fully staffed by men and women in blue jackets. No one looked up as Hilka and her guide walked by.
The two women entered the last door. A fragile elderly man with a goatee, wearing a smartly tailored long blue dust coat, was waiting.
“Vetter?” Hilka uttered in disbelief. “Martin Vetter?”
“Welcome, little Hilka—but I see you are not so little any more.”
“Was ist—”
“No, no, Hilka,” Vetter counseled gently, “English. You must acquaint yourself with the rules. If you wear blue—and you will be wearing blue—it means that you are German, but you must speak English. They listen in with devices to make sure.”
“I thought you were dead.”
“I am. You will find this establishment rich in ghosts—German ghosts. But enough of that. Sit down, sit down! Let me look at you.”
Hilka settled on the deep-blue satin couch as Vetter pressed a button on the desk. A man appeared from the next room with a tray of coffee, rolls, cream, sugar, butter and jam.
“Now tell me, where were you? Where did they bring you from?”
“Oranienburg.”
“I do not know of Oranienburg. Is it a camp?”
“Yes.”
“And the Americans freed you?”
“A man freed me. I am not sure if he is American. He brought me here.”
“Just one man?”
“That’s all I saw. He stopped the car I was in. He knocked me unconscious. Then he gave me something to make me stay asleep. When I awoke he was in the airplane beside me.”
“Did he put you to sleep with a needle? In the arm?”
“I think so. My arm was sore.”
“And this man, was he thin and tall? About six feet? Did he have violet eyes?”
“His eyes were violet. He was thin and tall.”
“You don’t know his name, by any chance?”
“No, he avoided answering that.”
“Excellent. Excellent.” Vetter nodded, bit into a sweet roll and ate quietly. He sipped his coffee. “They sent Spangler for you, and that is excellent. You see, Hilka, the social strata here are most usually determined by the degree of difficulty the Americans went to in procuring you. Konrad Lottman had to be more or less abducted from Mexico. He certainly didn’t come of his own volition. It took time and money. That makes him important. Thomas Hutch and Reinhard Teller were requisitioned, with considerable resistance, from South America.”
“Hutch? Who would want anything to do with Hutch?”
“He is German, isn’t he? In exile? A well-known German!”
“‘Infamous’ would describe it better.”
“Infamy is a relative concept, particularly here. Do you remember Nebel? Oswald Nebel?”
“The mayor who—”
“Who fled to Canada and was soon back to his old proclivities? My old antagonist? Yes, the same Nebel. Well, it is a well-known secret that the Americans went to extreme measures in convincing the Canadians to release him. Thus Herr Nebel enjoys more than his share of prestige in our present environment. But you and I, Hilka, are the most exclusive of the elite. We were brought back by Spangler. The only two, so far. We stand above Nebel. Spangler does not like the Americans, and I don’t think they like dealing with him—so you can see how very important we must be. They have you on the fifth floor, no doubt—in the Great North Hall? You must have either Suite Seven or Eight on the fifth floor.”
“I’m in Eight.”
“Good, good. That means we have only one suite to wait for, Number Seven.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Neither do any of us. Not that the Americans are intentionally deceptive, they simply limit the amount of knowledge allowed us. Certain things are obvious—the printing press and the radio studio. But something else is going on. Something dealing with whatever it is they are building on the first three floors of the main house.” Vetter paused. “Tell me, Hilka, what news of your father?”
“He is dead, for all I know—or care.”
“Now, now, we mustn’t—”
“Mustn’t what? Speak the truth? Why were any of us arrested if not because of him? You dealt with him. You fought him for years. Why must we be polite at this stage?”
“Certainly your father and I disagreed, but he was honorable in his—”
“He was despicable, and you know it. There was little difference between Himmler and him.”
“I would have preferred your father to succeed rather than Herr Himmler.”
“And I prefer to drop the subject.” Hilka put down her cup and glanced about the modern office. “What do they have you doing here?”
“I am ostensibly the publisher.”
“Publisher?”
“Of a newspaper. The German Popular Gazette.”
“But what do you know about newspapers?”
“Nothing. There’s no need to. They tell me what to do. They supply the important stories.”
“And me? What do the Americans expect of me?”
“Why, you are to be one of my editors. You are to be responsible for all matters relating to German women within the Reich. In addition you will have your own little chitchat column. This is your office we’re sitting in. You’ve been assigned a staff of three. In between your newspaper assignments, you’ll be expected to make radio transcriptions upstairs at the German Popular Gazette of the Air.”
“I know nothing of this type of work.”
“Then, to quote our benefactor, Colonel Kittermaster, what an opportunity to learn!”
“What kind of newspaper? What kind of radio program? What is their purpose?”
“While Major Chumley was running things, that was rather easy to answer. We had thirty-five issues ready for distribution. In fact, if you look out that window you’ll see the three warehouses where they are stored. But that was yesterday. Now Colonel Kittermaster has taken over personally. New equipment has been moved in and our purposes are somewhat obscure. You will find, my dear, that when Colonel Kittermaster is directly involved, purposes are always somewhat obscure. So there you have it.”
Vetter reached into the desk, brought out a sheet of paper and handed it to Hilka. “This is about as much as I know about the good colonel’s policy, for the moment.”
Hilka glanced down.
Printer’s Sample
For Translation
(Note: German Popular Gazette will always
appear in 75% type size.)
Composed and Approved by: L. B. Kittermaster
Type size |
|
75% |
ATTENTION ATTENTION ATTENTION ATTENTION ATTENTION |
100% |
TRUE PATRIOTS OF GERMANY: TAKE HEART! |
100% |
TRUE PATRIOTS OF GERMANY: YOU ARE NO LONGER ALONE! |
100% |
TRUE PATRIOTS OF GERMANY: FREEDOM IS AT HAND! |
75% |
TRUE PATRIOTS OF GERMANY: |
50% |
On this day is born the GERMAN POPULAR GAZETTE. |
75% |
TRUE PATRIOTS OF GERMANY: |
50% |
The GERMAN POPULAR GAZETTE is a weekly newspaper written and published by loyal and patriotic Germans in exile for their freedom-loving brothers trapped under the boot heel of the insane tyrant Hitler and his Nazi horde. |
75% |
TRUE PATRIOTS OF GERMANY: |
50% |
10,000,000 copies of the GERMAN POPULAR GAZETTE will be printed and air-dropped throughout your enslaved country each and every week. |
75% |
TRUE PATRIOTS OF GERMANY: |
50% |
For the first time in 10 years the lies of Goebbels will be exposed and the truth told. Here are some of the revelations to be covered: |
100% |
HITLER’S RECENT ATTEMPT AT SUICIDE |
75% |
TRUE PATRIOTS OF GERMANY: |
50% |
Watch for the first issue of the GERMAN POPULAR GAZETTE. Stay tuned to your short-wave radio sets—bands 078 and 081—for the first broadcasts of the GERMAN POPULAR GAZETTE OF THE AIR. |