Henryka’s map was beginning to change.
Cairo had been the first news to come through, at 1430 hours. The message Brigitte decrypted—letter by penciled letter—was simple:
Reichskommissar Strohm arrested. National Socialist forces surrendered. Republic of Egypt declared. More to follow.
The other operatives whooped and roared when Brigitte read them the news. Kasper smiled so hard his left cheek dimpled. Johann raised an imaginary glass. Cheers! Reinhard used another imaginary glass to clink it. Henryka took a marker to her operations map—its deep indigo ink blotting out Egypt’s borders.
One Reichskommissariat down. One and two half-continents’ worth to go.
More reports trickled in, creating a web of battle lines all across Henryka’s map in the form of thin yarn, held in place by thumbtacks. Riots were springing up across London and Dublin. Rome was burning. Violence had not yet broken out in Germania because the revolution there wore a uniform. Many of the mutinous generals had guided their regiments to key points throughout the city without trouble. Reiniger and his portion of the army had marched down the Avenue of Splendors all the way to the Volkshalle, where they were making quick, quiet arrests. Göring had already been apprehended, control of the Luftwaffe air force seized along with him. (According to the report, he’d been sitting in his office, smoking a celebratory cigar at the news of his “promotion.”) Goebbels was still in Tokyo, which left just Bormann and Himmler unaccounted for.
The crimson tide was turning. Bit by bit, the red was ebbing away.
Adele was kicking the door again. The sound of her foot against steel provided a metronome for the map room’s work. THUD, THUD. Receive a transmission. THUD. Key the letters into the Enigma machine. THUD. Write down the decoded message. THUD. Type out notes. THUD, THUD. Relay the news to General Reiniger about the victory in Egypt. THUD.
Occasionally, Adele added words to her solo: “All of you are going to pay for this!” Henryka drowned out her cries with the clatter of typewriter keys, wondering if the girl ever got tired. She was mulishly stubborn. Almost as much as Yael.
This thought reminded Henryka that they still hadn’t heard from the girl. There’d been nothing in Yael’s mission protocol stating she had to report, and getting a message through on the run was almost impossible. Henryka looked up at Japan’s dark gray smattering of islands on the map.
Was she still in Tokyo? Surely by now she’d gotten out.…
“Henryka.” There was a strangeness in Kasper’s voice that made her look at him. His dimple was gone. The radio’s handset hung limp in his hands.
Brigitte’s pencil had dropped to the floor, but she made no move to pick it up. Reinhard and Johann wore shattered-glass stares. All four operatives were looking over Henryka’s shoulders, in the direction of the television.
When Henryka turned around, she saw why.
The Reichssender was back on the air. Adolf Hitler sat in front of the camera. Alive and, by all appearances, very well.
This was what he had to say: “My fellow countrymen. Our great empire of peace and purity is under attack. Earlier this evening, many of you witnessed a desperate attempt on my life. Victor Wolfe, in her feeble, feminine state of mind, was brainwashed into believing the world would be a better place without me in it. The hand of Providence has, once again, protected me against those who would seek to destroy our way of life. Despite their best efforts, I am not dead.
“But the danger has not passed. I call now upon the people of the Reich to remember the oath you swore to your Führer. Remember this great world we have built and do not let the pure blood of your fathers be shed in vain.”
“Scheisse,” Kasper whispered.
Henryka’s swear was far louder, far worse.
The THUDs inside the closet faltered, died. Henryka would’ve bet ten thousand Reichsmarks that Adele’s ear was pressed to the door, listening to the Führer’s impossibly alive voice as he raged on.
“Our retaliation will be swift and without mercy. We must take blood for the blood that was taken. For the bullet that was shot in Tokyo, thousands more will hail down on traitors to the Fatherland. Resistance will be crushed without hesitation.…”
Henryka’s arms seemed to move of their own accord as they shot out, fingers joining with the Olympia Robust’s keys, shoving past them. The typewriter went crashing off her desk, clattering to the concrete floor in a pile of broken metal and inky ribbon. The document Henryka had been working on was spattered with stray keys. The greatest victory—The Führer Adolf Hitler is dead—and the smallest—Cairo declared a republic—undone with FJKÖÄ ZUIO QWER, the most random of letters.
Valkyrie the Second’s history in the making stopped here.