“The fact that they’re dead doesn’t make them heroes any more than you are. Don’t you think they would have chosen life if they could have? What good would have come of your death? What would one more death have achieved?”
“I should have confessed to the truth of what I did, and what I knew. I played the ‘stupid blonde.’ I acted out the role of the ‘idiotic girl.’”
“You did what you needed to do to survive. I would have done exactly the same thing in your place. You were brave, you were smart, and now you’re alive. And because of you, so am I. You are blond, and you are a woman, but you’re as far from stupid, or cowardly, as anyone I’ve ever met.”
His kind words did nothing to halt the tears, which came harder and faster and dripped off the end of her chin. He used his crutches to struggle out of his seat and get to her.
“You might be the bravest person I’ve ever known, Franka Gerber.”
“I left him,” she said.
“What?” John said.
Her words were as faint as ash on the wind.
“It’s my fault he died. I left him. My father couldn’t care for him alone.”
“Oh no. That’s not true.” John could feel the warmth of her on his skin.
“I should never have gone. It’s my fault Fredi died. If I’d stayed in Freiburg, we could have taken care of him together. He would never have been in that home, and they would never have gotten their claws on him. He’d still be alive.”
“It’s not your fault Fredi died. The Nazis murdered him.”
“Why did I have to go to Munich? Why did I leave him?”
“You wanted a new start. You were twenty-two.”
“You say that but—”
“Fredi’s death isn’t your fault. Who’s to say that they wouldn’t have come to your house for him? There was nothing you could have done about it. There was no way you could have known.”
“He would never have died.”
“You have an opportunity to strike back at the heart of the regime that murdered your brother and your boyfriend. They don’t realize how important this nuclear program is. We have to stop it before they find out. According to Hahn, they’re ahead of us. If we let the Nazis develop their program first, they might never pay for murdering Fredi and so many others.”
“It’s too late. The damage is done.”
“It’s never too late, not while you’ve got breath in your lungs and life within you. The Nazis have left a trail of millions of victims throughout Europe. You’ve been gifted the chance to fight for justice on their behalf.”
“Or revenge?”
“Either,” he said. “Both. There are many different combinations of reasons for what we do. Revenge is one of them. I need to know if you’re in this a hundred percent, Franka. Any less and you’re endangering both our lives. Are you with me?”
“I am. One hundred percent.”
Chapter 11
Franka was awake before the dawn, and she watched as the dark of night submitted to the dull gray of an overcast morning. She waited an hour to climb out of bed, wincing as the cold of the cabin bit at her face. It was a two-hour train ride to Stuttgart from Freiburg. The roads were still impassable, her car little more than a reminder of how she got up here and how she might leave. Hot coffee warmed her. She checked the food supplies for John, though she already knew exactly how much food they had. She checked again. His voice came through his door, and, with steaming mug of coffee in hand, she went to him. He was sitting up in the bed.
“You can do this. You’re just meeting someone in Stuttgart.”
They talked about the journey for a few minutes before she went to the bathroom to wash up. He was in the kitchen as she emerged, her hair stinging her scalp in the cold air. They sat and ate breakfast together. John went over everything again, even though she had it all memorized. She was packed and ready to go fifteen minutes later, and he propelled himself to the door to shake her hand as they said their goodbyes.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said.
She tried to show the best side of herself, to hide the anxiety that seemed to be eroding her from the inside out, but she saw the uneasy look in his eyes.
Franka didn’t move as the train pulled into the Stuttgart Hauptbahnhof station. Her mind was blank, as devoid of color as the snow that fell in the mountains. The soldier sitting opposite her offered to help with her bag. She clutched it tight and declined with a polite word. He tipped his hat to her and stood to get off the train. She forced herself out of her seat, aware of how pale she must have looked. She hadn’t eaten, hadn’t moved since she’d boarded. Her hands were shaking. She stuck them in her coat pockets and stood up. Franka followed as the rest of the passengers shuffled off the train and onto the platform. The train was on time. The clock on the wall read 3:15. There would be more than enough time to find a hotel before she went to meet Hahn. Several uniformed Gestapo men stopped members of the crowd to check for papers. They left her alone—seemingly more focused on men of military-serving age. They were looking for deserters.
The air was cold as she stepped out of the station. It was a cloudy, misty day. A line of massive Nazi flags flew on fifty-foot-high poles, barely visible through the murk. An enormous portrait of Hitler stood ten feet tall at the entrance to the station. Franka stuck her arm out for a taxi.
She forced herself to eat something after checking into her hotel and made her way down toward the Schlossplatz, the large square in the middle of the city where Hahn would be for those precious ten minutes. She ambled through the baroque gardens of the plaza to the statue of the Roman goddess Concordia jutting out of the center, almost a hundred feet into the sky. Bombing had scarred the buildings around the square, which faded into one another in the poor visibility. Some were under construction once more. Some were not. A massive Nazi flag billowed in the air, and several off-duty soldiers sauntered past. Her entire body stiffened at their glances. There seemed to be enemies everywhere, and she could feel the eyes of every passerby attach to her like leeches to skin. She took a seat on a park bench overlooking the square, wishing she smoked—to calm her nerves if nothing else. She resisted the urge to look at her wristwatch. A man across the square stopped, seemed to look at her, and then continued on. The seconds drew out like days.
And then she saw him. A man in his fifties in a beige trench coat made his way across the square and sat down on a park bench thirty yards from her. He was wearing a hat, but he had the gray mustache that John had described. He raised a newspaper in front of his face, just as John had said he would. Should she go straight to him? She looked over each shoulder, trying to make it look like she was expecting someone. A man in his thirties sat down beside her, glancing over.
“Beautiful place, isn’t it?” he said, and Franka’s heart froze.
“Yes,” she replied, barely getting the words out.
She didn’t bring her eyes to look at him, though she knew he was looking at her. She looked at her wrist, and then at the man in the beige trench coat. Hahn would be gone in eight minutes. Who was this man beside her? The sweet aroma of cigarette smoke filled her nostrils.
“Would you like one?” the man said.
He was holding the cigarette pack out to her. She shook her head. His smile betrayed crooked front teeth, and he had a deep scar down his cheek. His gray eyes were unreadable.
“I don’t smoke,” she said.
“Nasty habit. The führer himself has spoken out against it.” He took a deep drag.
“I’ve never partaken myself. If you’ll excuse me.”
She stood up and ambled away without another word. The man in the beige coat was still reading his newspaper and didn’t react as she sat down beside him. The man who’d offered a cigarette glanced at them.
“Fine weather for this time of year,” she said. “It’s a treat for the children.”
Hahn whirled his head around upon hearing her words. It took him a couple of seconds to regain his composure. He had an umbrella by his side, just as John said he would.