Maisie nodded. “I have my luggage packed and ready here, Mr. Leslie.”
“All right, then. We’re off.” He picked up the small case and extended his hand toward the door. “Shall we? Let’s get this over and done with.”
The second unexpected deviation from the plan was the presence of Mark Scott. As Maisie and Gilbert Leslie stepped out into the crisp, bright morning, Scott was standing to the side of the entrance, chatting to a porter. Both men were laughing, perhaps at a joke told by Scott, and though the American showed no interest in Maisie, he held out his hand to clasp that of the porter, said a few words, and offered a wave as he stepped into a waiting taxi. Leslie had shown no sign of recognizing Scott as he held open the door of a black consular vehicle for Maisie, but after he’d joined her, slammed the door, and tapped the glass partition between themselves and their driver, he looked over his shoulder out the back window and cursed.
“Those Yanks don’t know when to leave well enough alone!” he said, almost under his breath, though Maisie heard every word.
For her part, she chose not to acknowledge Leslie’s comment. As far as she was concerned, a little attention from Scott might mean the difference between success and failure. He was another person on her side—she hoped.
Once again Maisie showed her identification papers to the guard outside the Nazi headquarters, and once again she was escorted into the cold entrance hall and up the staircase flanked by dark wooden banisters. She almost feared to place her hand on the rail, imagining that another hand would clamp down upon hers and keep her from leaving this building. The very air seemed oppressive.
She was ushered into the same room as before to meet the SS officer who had interviewed her during her previous visit. The conversation was conducted in English. Maisie gave no indication that she understood anything the officer and his underling said to each other in German, but from their words, she knew they would not allow her to take Leon Donat from Dachau that day.
“Now, Miss Donat. Let me see. Yes, the paperwork is in order. Good. Yes.” The man flapped pages back and forth, as if to unsettle her.
“That’s wonderful,” said Maisie, smiling. “I am so very anxious to see my father.”
“Of course. But there are procedures to go through.” He waved his hand, as if such procedures were like a fly to be swatted away.
“Procedures? May I inquire as to the nature of these procedures?”
The man seemed to glare for a second, and then smiled—a broad smile, a fake smile, a smile that Maisie thought she might see in a children’s book, on the face of a Fagin or a Magwitch. Even the devil himself.
“Those procedures are not your business, Fr?ulein Donat. Now, I am a busy man.” He pushed back his chair. “Especially today. Yes, it is a busy time.” He gave another sudden, unsettling smile.
Maisie came to her feet. “I would like your confirmation again that everything is in order. Am I assured my father will be released to me?” She looked from the officer to the man she assumed was his junior.
“You may return tomorrow morning, at the same time. You will have your father’s release papers then. Now, as I said, I am a busy man. It is likely you will see another officer tomorrow, as I am honored to be joining the Führer on an important journey.” A split second elapsed before he raised his arm in salute. “Heil Hitler!”
The junior officer repeated the salute, shouting, “Heil Hitler!”
Maisie felt the bile rise in her throat as she closed her eyes and lifted her hand only as far as she needed to effect a response. “Heil Hitler,” she said, without raising her voice. And in that moment, the deeper sense of cold that had enveloped her from the moment she entered the building almost overwhelmed her. She clenched her stomach to stop shivering, and a fingernail scratch of pain across her neck began to torment her. It was as if the very air in the room had changed, and she fought to retain her bearing in front of the German officers.
She lowered her hand and nodded, but the men remained at attention. Only when she turned did she realize that Adolf Hitler had entered the room and was walking toward the desk. He waved a hand as if to dismiss her and began speaking to the officer in a clipped, staccato tone. Maisie did not linger. Another official, stationed by the door, had beckoned to her, and she left the room with as much speed as she could without appearing respectful.
Leslie was waiting outside. “Did you get the release?”