He wasn’t using her—she volunteered. She was grateful for the chance to affect the outcome of the war against the regime that had destroyed her family and the country she loved. What were these feelings of guilt within him, then? Why did he feel like he’d sent her alone into the lion’s den? He had told her how difficult Hahn was known to be. John was sure she could work it out for herself. She only needed to make contact, after all.
Lunchtime came, and John was still by the fire, his book untouched on the table beside him. The sun was shining outside, and he could hear the dripping of the snow as the long melt began. He shifted the blanket he’d spread over his chest, reached for the radio, and flicked it on. The royal-tinted accent of the BBC newsreader fluttered over the airwaves. John had met many Englishmen. Few of them sounded like that. The newsreader read through a list of bombing raids from the night before. John’s blood froze when he mentioned the raid on Stuttgart.
“RAF bomber command conducted a stunning raid on the industrial stronghold of Stuttgart yesterday. Sources claim it’s the biggest on that city of the war so far.”
The raid had been small in comparison with the massive sorties that destroyed much of Hamburg and Cologne, but had been hailed as a major success. How many had died? He had sent her into the jaws of the Allied beast. Grisly thoughts consumed him. The newsreader moved on, giving little importance to the words that still echoed through John’s mind.
“There’s a war on, goddamn it,” he said to no one. “She knew the risks.”
He trained his eyes on the cuckoo clock in the hallway. It struck one. The minutes drew out like months until it was almost five. Darkness was descending when the door finally opened. John couldn’t see her as she dropped her skis in the hallway. He didn’t call out. Franka appeared at the end of the hallway. A large white bandage adorned her forehead. She dropped her bag and shuffled inside.
John stifled the instinct to express his relief upon seeing her. “Did you see him?” he asked.
“I saw him,” she said. She made her way into the kitchen, emerging seconds later with a cup of water. “The bombers came when I was with him. The entire city seemed to erupt into flames.”
“Are you hurt?”
She reached up and touched the bandage on her head. “It’s just a scratch. I was one of the lucky ones. Hundreds were killed. Thousands maybe. Hahn died on the street.”
“What? Are you sure?”
“I saw him. He died in front of me.”
Barely able to hold her head up, she flopped down in a chair opposite him.
John tried to pull his thoughts together. Hahn was dead. That meant his work for the Nazis was too. But what if somehow the Nazi path toward nuclear fission continued unabated? Without Hahn’s knowledge, the scientists in America might not catch up until it was too late. John’s superiors would never be satisfied without Hahn’s knowledge at their disposal. It took him a few seconds to regain enough composure to speak again.
“You aren’t hurt?”
She shook her head.
“What happened? How long did you see him for?”
“Just a few minutes. It turns out he was more of a mercenary than a dissident. He seemed more eager to get the work finished than to use it against the Nazis. He didn’t appear to care so much who finished it. He was convinced that the Americans would give him the funding and facilities he needed.”
“And so we would have,” John said. “I heard about the attack. I’m relieved you’re alive. What happened?”
Franka went through everything from when she’d met Hahn to the moment he died.
“What happened to the microfilm?” John said.
“Give me just a minute,” Franka said. She went into the bathroom and returned seconds later with the plastic container. Her face was stern, rigid.
He tried to get up, fumbling for his crutches. She went to him, and he slid back into his seat.
“You got it.”
“I went to his apartment after he died.”
He reached for the tiny container in her hand. She curled her fingers around it.
“He told me what his project was about,” she said.
John sat back in the chair. The flickering light of the fire danced across the gentle lines in her face.
“I told you everything I know. It’s not my job to ask questions.”
“He was developing a bomb that could level an entire city. Hahn was developing the most deadly weapon in the history of the world.” Her fist closed around the microfilm.
“I didn’t know it was a bomb. I just knew it was a technology that could change the war. It’s up to us now to get this film back to the Allies before the Nazis realize what they have on their hands. If they develop that bomb before we do . . . Can you imagine what they would do with it? They wouldn’t hesitate to use it. Millions of innocent people would die.”
“Millions of innocents are dying. I saw it with my own eyes. I witnessed what the Allied bombing raids are doing to the German people.”
“This war is the Nazis’ doing.” He saw her move toward the fire. “Don’t do that, Franka.”
“You sound like a child arguing over who started it. This isn’t some schoolyard brawl. Thousands of people are being slaughtered every day.”
“What you have in your hand could go a long way toward ending that slaughter. The technology will be developed. Hundreds of the best minds in America are working on it every day. What you have in your hand could help them develop that bomb faster. It could end this senseless war.”
“Or it could murder millions more.”
“That’s not for us to decide.”
“Yet we are the ones who have that decision to make. I have it in my hand, so I am the one.”
“Think before you do anything rash. Destroying that microfilm won’t stop the research. Nothing will.”
“At least I won’t be contributing to the possible deaths of millions of innocent people.”
“This is a race, between the Allies and the Nazis. What if the Nazis develop that bomb first? Do you think they’d hesitate to use it? On London, or Moscow, or Paris?”
“Who’s to say the Allies won’t use it? I’ve seen the destruction they’ve brought to Germany.”
“We don’t have a choice about whether the bomb is made—just who we help win the race to make it. Who do you want to win that race—the Allies or the Nazis?”
She uncoiled her fingers from around the microfilm and handed it to John.
“I know what you must be feeling.”
“How? How exactly are you able to reach inside me?”
“I know this isn’t straightforward, but it’s not our place to make these decisions. We have to trust in our allegiances. You’re doing the right thing.”
“By helping with the creation of the most destructive bomb in human history? You’ll excuse me if I don’t see the sense in that.”
“It is ironic, I’ll certainly say that, but having a threat like this could force the Nazis to see that the war is unwinnable.”
“You think that the threat of killing German civilians is going to bring the Nazis to heel? The Nazis care as much for the citizenry of this country as you might for something you dug out of your ear. They’ve used the people of this country for their own means since their inception. No threat against the people is going to end this, only the destruction of the Nazis themselves.”
John placed the case of microfilm on the table beside him. He picked up his coffee, long since cold, and took a swig anyway.
“Thank you for what you did,” he finally said. “Not just for the war effort, but for me too.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’ll need to get this film across the border into Switzerland.”
He looked down at his legs, encased in plaster of paris, jutting out in front of him.
“Your breaks are progressing well. We can probably take the casts off in another two weeks or so.”
“There’s no way we can expedite the process?”
“Not if you want your legs to work, no. I’m a nurse, not a miracle worker.”
“I disagree, Franka. I think you are a miracle worker.”