Maisie was silent, gathering her thoughts. Then she spoke as if to the dark night before her.
“Perhaps fear had begun to get the better of me, but in the moment, I know I remained on the ground because I felt I had not finished. So yes, you’re right there. In truth, I think I wanted to confront Hans Berger—I wanted to face him. I wanted him to know that I had seen through his shiny veneer into the evil essence inside, and what it represents on a broader scale, here in Germany and beyond its borders. I didn’t know I’d pull back from climbing aboard the aircraft until the last moment—but there was something there inside me—as if I wanted to bear witness to Berger’s response when I challenged him. Idealistic, I know—but after witnessing his brand of savage evil at the airfield, I would never have crossed him. I’m not brave enough or stupid enough for that kind of showdown.” She paused. “A showdown? That’s what they call it in the cowboy pictures where you’re from, isn’t it?” She waited for Scott to say something in reply, but he was silent. “I just watched him kill two men—one of them brutally, stopping air from entering his lungs until he suffocated. The same way he killed Luther Gramm.”
“Because of Elaine,” said Scott.
“Yes, because of Elaine. But the question is, was it because he wanted to stop the flow of information from Gramm to Elaine and then on to you—if he knew about you, specifically, that is? He couldn’t kill Elaine—well, he could, but the murder of the daughter of a wealthy, influential industrialist would be a problem even for the SS at this point. Or did Berger kill Gramm because he was Elaine’s lover? Perhaps Berger loved her from afar, and could not bear seeing another man with her. He wouldn’t be the first man drawn to her light.”
“You know what I think?” said Scott. “I think you could make yourself crazy, working it all out. Berger’s a crazy killer, a calm, cool murderer, and he found himself in the right place to get a thing called job satisfaction. That’s all we need to know about him.”
Maisie pinched the top of her nose. “I always need to know more, Mr. Scott. It’s the way I work, just in case I come across a person of the same ilk again. I want to know what makes the boy into a man like that.” She took a breath, about to speak, and then stopped.
“What?” said Scott.
“I was thinking about his actions—and those of the guards at Dachau. They remind me of something I was taught by an old friend. He was my teacher—I’ve told you about him. I’ve been thinking of him a lot lately.” She looked out of the window, into the darkness, seeing only shadows where her reflection met the outline of trees and hedges. “He told me, during a particularly troubling . . . assignment, let’s say . . . that everyone has a capacity for evil. And we’ve all seen it, and done it, even if we think we haven’t—there’s the slight in conversation that wounds another person, the words we know will cause pain to a loved one but we utter them anyway, and the unkindness that could have been avoided. But then there are people in another league, if you will, people who are capable of so much more, who harbor an evil so deep it scars all our souls. That kind of darkness can lie dormant, as if in a barren desert, but then . . . but then circumstances change to allow their evil to become truly, truly terrible, a boiling storm that encompasses all in its wake.” She pressed her hand to her eyes and fought to stop her voice cracking. “And though I knew what I was walking into, it seems that in coming here I fear that I have seen the tip of an iceberg, a mountain of opportunity for evil to envelop the people not only in this country but far beyond her borders.” She paused again. “It’s one thing to know—in a conversation, let’s say—that something is happening. But it’s another to see it, to be close to it, and feel helpless to change it.”
After a long pause, Scott replied, his voice low, his tone modulated, as if he had chosen honesty over his usual easy wit. “Ma’am, though my ways are different from yours—and believe me, I’m looking at your guys all the way to see how it’s done—it’s why I’m doing what I’m doing. It’s why I fought in the war.” He shook his head. “Dirty work, but someone has to do it.”
“Mr. Scott—Mark—we’ve said too much to each other already. You know too much about me, and I believe I know too much about you. But you can help me. I have to leave very soon, and it cannot be by train—that much is clear, for the same reasons I wanted Elaine and Mr. Donat to fly. There are too many opportunities to be intercepted. I must get my case from my room at the hotel. You’re pretty good at breaking into hotel rooms. Could you get it for me?”
“Piece of cake,” said Scott.
Maisie laughed.
“What?”