Eva turned her eyes away from Mitch and back to the road. The traffic was heavy for a Saturday morning.
“What is it?” he asked her.
“I know you find me very direct.” She said.
“And so you are going to be again … go ahead,” he said.
“You look so different with your hair blond. Your face looks more angular, your eyes really stand out, and I think you look a bit sinister,” she said.
“I scared myself this morning,” he agreed. “But that was just from the dark circles under my eyes from lack of sleep,” he said. “Sinister is good isn’t it?”
“You look like you don’t want to be messed with. Why aren’t you sleeping?” she asked.
“I am, I was just joking.”
“But you don’t sleep. I know because you send me emails very late and very early and you look like you need to eat and take a week off,” Eva declared.
“Great, thanks. You on the other hand look healthy and glowing,” he said.
“Thank you, Mitchell.” She smiled. “Are you still taking the pills?”
“If I need them,” he said.
“Why do you need them? Are you in pain?”
“Did John call you and give you a set of questions to ask?” He turned side-on to face her.
“No.”
“Don’t go all Florence Nightingale on me okay? We’re on a job.”
“I know her, she was a nurse who saved a lot of people just by recognizing the need for fresh air, sunshine and sanitary measures in the hospitals during World War I. We read about her at school,” Eva said.
“Here in Germany?” Mitch sounded surprised.
“No. I went to school here, and in England and in the USA for a while. That’s how I could apply to become a legat for the US on German soil. Dad was an architect but my mother was a diplomat.” She put the car indicator on and turned off, following a line of other cars. “I bet they are all going to the convention too,” she said.
“You have an interesting family,” Mitch said.
“What did your parents do?” Eva asked.
Mitch looked out the window. “My mother was a teacher and Dad was an idiot.”
Eva laughed.
Mitch changed the subject. “What is it with Nuremberg that attracts the Nazis?” he asked as he sat looking uncomfortable in the passenger seat of Eva’s Volkswagen Golf. She turned as the Navigator told her to take the second exit at the roundabout.
“Its position in the center of Germany,” Eva shrugged, “and its history. The Nazi Party chose it I believe because of Nuremberg's relevance to the Holy Roman Empire. It was sort of the unofficial capital, courts used to meet at Nuremberg Castle. Then the Nazis used Nuremberg as the location for their rallies and there was a lot of military production here. The saddest part is that so many of the old historic buildings were destroyed in WWII. Devastating.” She shook her head.
“I wouldn’t have picked you for a history buff and lover of architecture,” Mitch said.
“I might look very modern or as they say, hip, Mitchell, but I’m a classic at heart. As I said, my father was an architect and many of my school holidays were spent roaming around Germany admiring buildings. Nuremberg really distresses him.”
“I can imagine,” Mitch said. “I thought neo-Nazi groups were banned in Germany?”
“Our Office for the Protection of the Constitution has banned several right-wing groups in the last few years,” Eva said, “and the Office is often criticized for not being more vigilant. Let’s just say the problem has not gone away.”
Mitch’s phone rang and John’s name came up on the screen. He answered it, spoke for a minute and hung up.
“John said our NAO candidate for Presidency, Ulric Adler, left the country last night on a flight for Germany. He arrived in Berlin this morning.”
“You think that he is coming to the convention?” Eva asked.
“I think yes,” Mitch imitated her. He sat thinking through the consequences and Eva did not interrupt him.
Eva drove into the convention center parking lot and pulled up beside a Mercedes C-Class. She cut the ignition.
“Nice,” she said, admiring it.
“Yeah, but I like the Audi better.”
They stared out of the front windscreen and studied the area. There were wall-to-wall cars covering the oval and parking lot of the major stadium; the same stadium that usually housed all the big concert bands that came to the city.
“Ready?” Eva asked.
“As ready as I’ll ever be as a blond in a room full of people speaking German,” Mitch shrugged.
“I’ll try and translate when I can,” she said.
“No, don’t do anything to draw attention to us,” Mitch warned. “I’m happy just to observe while you listen. We can swap notes later.”
“Understood,” she answered, checking herself in the car rear view mirror.
“You look fine. Do I look all right?” Mitch teased.
Eva laughed. “Like the perfect specimen of Aryan manhood.” She winked at him.
They alighted and Eva locked the car. They were parked a good half a mile from the exhibition center and the area was full of cars and buses.
“I don’t believe this.” Mitch lowered his voice.
“You think the number of cars here is frightening; I can’t imagine what we are going to see inside,” she agreed.
They casually walked in. Eva linked her arm through Mitch’s and they joined the flow of people entering the venue. Security guards stood at the door but they didn’t stop anyone or check identifications. Eva and Mitch confidently walked in with a look that said they belonged. They followed the group through the hallway and into the huge indoor stadium area.
Mitch’s heart raced. The entire room was crowded with the freakiest sight he had ever seen—wall to wall blond men and women. He had to control his expression to look comfortable and at home when his insides were screaming ‘get out’. From every pillar in the room hung huge swastika banners; and on the far wall was a projected larger than life image of Adolf Hitler. A stage had been set up in the round so that every person in the hall could see the stage and the person who would be speaking.
Eva freed her arm from Mitch’s and instead took his hand. She turned to smile at him and he reciprocated, faking confidence that he wasn’t feeling.
Okay for her, at least she can understand what they’re saying. He nodded a greeting to a few people who addressed him and Eva answered on his behalf. She explained, touching her throat as a signal to Mitch, that he had a cold already but he finished his voice off shouting at a football game last night. The other couples laughed. Mitch made a point of trying to clear his throat and she shook her head and rolled her eyes.
Mitch looked around. Thank God it is cold and I can get away with the scarf and sore throat. He had to admit he was truly freaked out. This was like nothing he had ever seen. Suddenly a stain of German music rang out and everyone turned to the stage. Shouts of Heil Hitler arose and the room erupted into applause. Eva joined in and Mitch followed suit. If Mitch was surprised before, now he was flabbergasted. The man introduced as the CEO of the German NAO, Sebastian Graf, walked on stage flanked by a tall security guard, and following him with more security posted around, was German politician, Leon Voigt. Mitch heard Eva inhale sharply.
He’s obviously important. Mitch made a note to ask her who Leon Voigt was. A moment later he worked it out, as the man beside him came into view—American independent Presidential candidate, Ulric Adler. These two men were to be the future leaders; one of Germany, one of the United States. Mitch scanned the stage area for Julian Schmid and found him in the wing area with a clipboard, standing next to what appeared to be a stage manager.
The crowds were invited to sit, or at least that’s what Mitch assumed when Eva led him to a chair and everyone began to take a seat. As the orator spoke, Mitch avoided making eye contact with Julian Schmid who would have done well to pick him as a blond in a crowd after only a brief encounter before knocking him out—but still it was not worth the risk, Mitch reasoned. He subtly studied everyone in the stage area and worked his way back. Frightening he thought, absolutely, positively alarming.
As the speakers each took turns, Mitch followed Eva’s lead—standing, clapping and sitting in turn. After ninety minutes the speakers finished and convention-goers rose and began to mingle. Drinks and food came out on trays and people lined up to meet the speakers. Eva grabbed them both a drink from a passing waiter and Mitch flashed his cigarettes at her. She nodded and they headed outside.
Making sure there was no one in earshot, Mitch lit their cigarettes.
“Do you smoke?” Eva asked.
“Nope, you?”
“Never.”
“Right, well that’ll be convincing.” He held the cigarette. “We’ve got to get backstage. When they come off, I need to know what happens next—where they are staying and what they are doing. Will Adler just return now to the US or is there a bigger plan while he’s here?”
“You’re serious?” Eva studied his face.
“Of course, we can’t miss this opportunity.”
“You don’t speak German, but you want to somehow sneak past guards and thousands of cheering neo-Nazis to hide in their meeting room and hear what they say next?” she clarified.
Mitch nodded. “They’ll be speaking English, or they’ll have a translator there; Adler has little or no German.”
“How do you know?” Eva asked.
“Because I know, I’m a spy,” he rolled his eyes. “I’ve checked it out!”
Eva laughed. “Okay, point taken. Sorry.”
Mitch grinned and shook his head. “Our Hate Crime Investigation Team has been watching him for months and I get their reports. He’s American-born, but has German ancestors. He studied German in high school, but didn’t get good marks and his German is as good as my high school Spanish and French—trust me, you wouldn’t want to rely on that.”
A couple came out, passed by and greeted them. Eva replied and Mitch nodded. They moved on.
“Can we get backstage now? They might have some files we can go through,” Mitch said, looking through the doors at the worked-up crowd.
“You’re insane,” she said.
“There are caterers backstage, they’re all in black with those aprons on…but Julian Schmid is a little too close to the stage too for my liking.”
“You think he’ll recognize you as a blond?” Eva asked.
“Maybe not. There’s got to be a sizeable industrial kitchen here for the caterers; let’s find it and see if we can lift a tray and a few aprons.”
“Then what?” Eva asked.
“Not big on being impulsive hey?” he asked her. “Then we’ll grab some bottles of water and soda to deliver, head backstage, see if we can find their main meeting area—where they’ve dumped bags and briefcases—check out the security there and where to hide while we deliver the drinks and work out the next step from there.”
“And if anyone speaks to you?” Eva asked.
“I’ve got a sore throat, so you’ll have to stick close and answer for me. Got your phone?”
“Yes.” She withdrew it from her pocket.
“Can you look up the website for the venue, see if they have a function room layout?”
Eva called up the convention center. “Rooms and spaces,” she said, opening the tab. “Here we go…at the back of the main convention space, where the function is now, is the industrial kitchen. On the next level up are meeting rooms and on the top level is the Sky Room which is subdivided as need-be for your size function,” she read.
“Let’s go.” Mitch started walking outside the convention center to the back of the venue where catering staff and waiters were lingering and smoking. Eva raced to catch up.