He followed her into the kitchen and stood against the frame of the door.
“It was quite a surprise to hear that you were still here. You led me to believe that you’d be going back to Munich before Christmas.”
Franka placed the kettle on the stove before turning to get a mug from the cupboard.
“Yes, I had a change of plans. The snow was so thick. I couldn’t get the car out. I decided to stay another few weeks.”
“I see the car is free now. And the roads have been open for several days.”
She turned to him, almost able to feel his eyes piercing through her.
“Yes, it’s high time I left. I’ve been lazy, I suppose.”
John stilled his breathing, keeping his hand over his chest in an attempt to soften the beating of his heart. The jumbled sounds from the kitchen were identifiable as a conversation, but it was impossible to make out more than a few words. His hand was on the bag, reaching in for a pistol. The feel of cold metal told him that he’d found it.
“It must have been lonely up here all this time,” Berkel continued. “You were always such a sociable girl.”
“I needed some time to myself after what happened to my father. The cabin is the perfect place to get away.”
“Indeed,” he said, nodding. He watched her for a few seconds, letting her pour the scalding hot water into the mugs. Steam wafted through cold air. “Thank you, Franka,” he said as she handed him the mug. “Can we go back into the living room? We have so much catching up to do.”
“Of course,” she said. It almost hurt to smile.
He led her back to the living room, taking the fireside seat John had been sitting in minutes before. His book, All Quiet on the Western Front, lay facedown on the table beside Berkel. It would be enough to land her in jail for several nights. Berkel took a sip from his coffee cup before placing it down beside the old, scuffed paperback. Franka sat opposite him and tried to keep her eyes off the book. Berkel rested back in the rocking chair, his fingers locked together in front of his stomach. His hat was on his lap.
“Yes, so many memories here. We had some good times, though, didn’t we?”
Franka nodded, her head feeling like it was held in place by steel wires.
“We were so young then,” he continued. “It hardly even seems real. They say youth is wasted on the young, but I’m not sure I agree with that. What do you think?”
“I regret many of the decisions I made in the folly of my youth. I think I can see where that saying comes from.”
“I don’t think I agree with that sentiment anymore. I mean, there are always cases of young people doing stupid things, but in my job you come to realize that you don’t have to be young to act idiotically. I see it every day. Just last week I interrogated a man, a father of five in his forties, who got drunk and started shouting out to all around him that the führer was never going to stop until every last one of them was dead. He called the führer a liar, and a scoundrel—even a murderer. Can you believe someone would do that?”
“It is hard to fathom how anyone could think such a thing.”
“Thankfully there was a plethora of people willing to do the right thing. I must have had ten separate eyewitness accounts. It was heartening to know how many loyal Germans were present, and how heavily good people outnumber the bad apples among us.” He took another sip of coffee and placed his hat on the table where his mug had been. “One of my younger recruits crushed the man’s fingers between two metal bars and pulled out his fingernails. The man confessed quickly. I think my man did it to gain a measure of revenge for saying that about the führer. We take such matters personally.”
Franka pressed her hands down on her thighs to still their shaking. “It’s an important role.”
“Very much so. We’re the only power that stands between the Reich and her enemies in the fatherland. The war within our own country started long before the one against the Allied forces, and we’re winning it day by day.”
Franka wanted to say something, but her lips weren’t moving. The words wouldn’t come.
“Yes, we’ve become quite different people, you and I, haven’t we?” he asked.
“Have we?”
“Oh, I think we have. We were so similar once.”
I recognized the evil. You embraced it, became it.
“But now,” he continued, “many people would say that you represent the very ills that I’m trying to eradicate from the Reich. Some might say that you represent the worst of our society.”
Franka fought the fear threatening to overtake her. This man had absolute power over her. He could drag her from this place and throw her into a cell, and no one would ever be told. He could kill her on a whim, and no one would question his motives. There was no legal process here, no higher power. The National Socialists had made Daniel Berkel a god, and he would exercise his power how he saw fit.
“I’d like to think that the Reich still has a place for people such as me who made mistakes. I’ve served my time—”
“I didn’t say that I felt that way, Franka,” he said, laughing to himself. “Oh, you always were such a silly girl. It’s unsurprising that you were so easily led astray.”
“I was confused. It was hard to be sure what was right or wrong after my brother died.”
“Yes, I did hear about that,” he said, staring down into the fire. The flames lit his eyes as he brought them back to hers. “An unfortunate, yet necessary business.”
“Necessary?” She felt her true feelings spike inside her. The mention of Fredi was kerosene to the flame of resentment flickering within her, and she fought to keep her rage from exploding.
“Of course,” he said. “The führer himself was first to point out that it would be more merciful to end the suffering of the incurably ill, the handicapped, and the idiots. The useless eaters who took food from the mouths of the brave soldiers fighting for our collective futures needed to be eliminated. It was merely common sense, and a vital part of the policy of racial hygiene that is returning our country to its rightful place among the greatest in the world.”
“Excuse me, Herr Berkel,” she said. She got up and went to the bathroom. She stood with her back to the closed door, letting the tears come, her body shaking. She had to get through this. This wasn’t just about her anymore. Paranoid thoughts about the man who’d offered her the cigarette in Stuttgart flooded her mind. Did Berkel know about the microfilm somehow? Were more Gestapo men coming? Was Berkel toying with her before he took her in?
No, he can’t know. He doesn’t know anything. It’s up to you to deal with this.
Franka reached for a towel and wiped away the tears. She looked at herself in the mirror. The hatred surging through her would cloud her judgment. She tried to shove it aside. He was still sitting by the fire as she came back out. His eyes seemed stuck to her as she moved to her place opposite him once more.
“To what do I owe this pleasure, Herr Berkel, particularly at this time of night?”
“We defenders of the Reich work all hours. Insurgency never sleeps. And please, call me Daniel. We have so much history together. We’ll forever be part of one another’s lives.”
It felt like cockroaches were under her skin.
“Okay, Daniel. What can I help you with on this winter’s night?”
“This isn’t a social call, though I wish I had time for such things. Are you alone here, Franka?”
“Of course. Well, apart from you, but yes, I’m alone.”
“And you’ve been alone the entire time you’ve been up here?”
“Yes.”
Berkel reached for the cup of coffee and took another sip.
“So who were the crutches for?”