Volk (28 page)

But that was only part of it. What was this feeling he felt for Quality? She was his friend's fiancée, and he had searched for her at his friend's behest. He had no business entertaining any other notion. He had a girlfriend of his own, who was smart and beautiful and who offered him anything he might desire.

“Thank thee, Ernst,” he murmured, remembering.

He shook his head. Perhaps he could not control the foolishness of his feeling, but he could discipline his actions. He would see that no one else ever suspected the nature of his wayward fancy.

He completed his tour of the camps, and returned to Berlin. He turned a reduced list of names over to Canaris, but his verbal report covered the situation: “As a mission, it was a waste of time. None of these are likely to be of use in the current situation.”

“It no longer matters,” the Admiral replied heavily. “There will be no settlement there.”

Ernst did not understand what Canaris meant, but thought it best not to inquire. As it turned out, there was plenty else to occupy his attention. He had to continue to correlate incoming Spanish information, because there was a growing fear that the British would invade Spain, seeking better access to France and Germany. They could use Gibraltar as a stepping stone. It was likely to prove to be sheer disaster, leaving that rock in British hands, but it was not up to Abwehr to second guess the decision of the
Führer
.

But the main effort was Operation Barbarosa, which related to the boundary Germany now had with Russia. German troops were going there in such number that it was evident that an invasion of Russia was planned. It had to be a surprise, for even the Communists could make trouble if forewarned. So Abwehr had to devise false orders for troop deployment, purposely leaked to diplomatic reports and even statements of Propaganda Minister Goebbels, to decoy the British and the Russians. “The British are not our real enemies,” Canaris confided. “They are Aryan like us, and perhaps will accept peace in due course. But the Communists are an abomination, and must be destroyed.”

So it was made to seem to the Russians that the troop concentrations along their border were merely a decoy to hide a planned invasion of England, and it was made to seem to the British that the troops were being used to counter the Russian military presence. False reports abounded: mysterious German tourists were watching bases in French Morocco. Sixty thousand German troops were moving quietly through Spain. Eight German divisions were being withdrawn from the Russian frontier for action in the west.

“It is disaster to open a second front,” the Admiral confided privately. “We must first defeat Britain, making her sue for peace. Then Spain will join us. Then, secure in the Atlantic and Mediterranean theaters, we can deal properly with the Communists. But we must do what we can to facilitate the
Führer
's wish. It is not my business to make policy.”

Early in April Germany invaded Yugoslavia and Greece. Suddenly Ernst understood what the Admiral had meant about that theater no longer mattering: because the plans for that invasion had already been set. So Canaris had thrown himself into Operation Barbarosa, which at least had some future.

A new plan was devised to foil a British invasion through the Spanish peninsula. It was code named Isabella. It was strictly a military operation, with little direct Abwehr activity, but Ernst nevertheless was sent on several reconnaissance missions as the plans evolved. During these he made sure to check on Quality, under the guise of searching out any information she might have on Spain. He talked to her in Spanish. When he was sure that there was no one else in earshot who understood that language, he was able to speak with greater candor.

“How are they treating you, truly?”

“Well,” she replied.

“You have lost weight.”

“Everyone has lost weight. There is not enough food to go around. But they give me more than the others, keeping me healthy.”

“And you share it with others, going hungry yourself,” he said with sudden insight.

She dropped her gaze. “I have to do what I can.”

He realized that she would starve herself, to help others. Conditions were worsening in all the camps, and brutality was becoming more commonplace. She had evidently escaped it so far, perhaps only because of his directive that she be saved, but that could not endure indefinitely.

Ernst dug into the deep pocket of his overcoat. He brought out a chunk of cheese left over from his hurried lunch while traveling. “Take this,” he said gruffly. “Eat it now, while I interrogate you.”

Meekly, she obeyed. It was the only way he could be sure that she did eat it, instead of giving it away. He had promised Lane to do what he could for her, and it was very little, but all he could manage at the moment.

On June 22 Germany invaded Russia. The Russians were caught completely by surprise, thanks to Abwehr's efforts, and suffered horrendous losses. This was perhaps the Admiral's greatest intelligence coup.

Meanwhile Krista was persistent. She was not satisfied with occasional dates; she wanted commitment. “Take me to your room for a night,” she urged him. “Let me show you exactly what I can do for you.”

He shook his head, smiling. “I would have no judgment at all, with you there. I am not ready to marry.”

“I have told you, you do not need to marry me.”

He waggled a finger warningly in her face. “I would need to, if you were with me for a night.”

She caught the finger between her teeth, pretending to bite. “You are like a rat, wary of the bait.”

“Very like a rat,” he agreed.

He managed to check on Quality at Gurs in August, and again in October. Each time she looked thinner, and the camp looked worse. She always had a positive attitude, but he distrusted that; she was trying to persuade him that things were better than they were. The little bits of food he gave here were pitifully inadequate; only if he could do it every day could he stabilize her. That was impossible.

“You are pensive,” Krista told him later in October. “Do you fear for the progress of the war?”

“I do,” he agreed. For he could see that the German initiative was slowing, and that boded no good. “The Allies are building an expanded runway on Gibraltar, which means they expect to use it to attack us, and Spain still refuses to join the Axis. The Russian resistance is stiffening, and our losses there are mounting; winter could be cruel indeed.”

“But there is something else on your mind.”

“Perhaps so.” He cursed his foolishness, but he could not rid himself of his brooding concern with a single prisoner he had promised to help.

“Is there something wrong with me?” Krista asked. “Have I given you offense, or is that shadow on my ancestry—”

“No!” he exclaimed. “There is nothing wrong with you, Krista! The more I know of you, the more I appreciate you. You are beautiful, smart and competent.”

“But you will not trust me with your secret,” she said.

“What secret?”

“The thing that is weighing on you, making you morose.”

He gazed at her. She was right: he could not tell her what was truly bothering him. Because all she would hear would be the words “other woman.” It wouldn't matter that the woman was his friend's fiancée whom he had promised to help, and that instead he was standing by to watch her slowly die.

“I wish I could marry you, and go with you to some secret garden, and forget everything else,” he said sincerely.

“Tiergarten,” she said brightly. “The park close by your hotel. We will go there now.”

He laughed, and part of his mood lifted. “And you will get me in a private place there, and show me what maddens me. It is your way of torturing me.”

“Exactly,” she said, inhaling.

•  •  •

Late in November Admiral Canaris visited Spain again, and Ernst drove down separately to join him. The Admiral truly loved Spain; only there did he seem happy. His mission was to sound out the Spanish government on Isabella. But it was becoming obvious that despite the Allied buildup at Gibraltar, they were not going to use the distraction of the Russian campaign to invade Spain. That meant that Isabella might prove to be unnecessary.

Canaris returned to Germany December first. That left Ernst to make another routine check on the camps, and return separately.

But before he reached Gurs, the Japanese bombed the American base at Pearl Harbor, in the Pacific Ocean. That meant that America would enter the war. It could be only a matter of days before it became formal, for Germany as well as Japan.

That meant that Quality Smith would no longer represent a neutral nation. She would represent an enemy nation. That would be the end of her preferential treatment—and surely the end of her life, from privation. Others were dying in the camps, as conditions worsened.

Distraught, he thought it through from every angle as he drove to France. It was a desperate situation, requiring a desperate measure. There was no guarantee of success, and perhaps he would only drag himself down too. But he had to try it.

Quality looked thinner than ever. She still wore her original clothing, but now it hung on her. Yet her face possessed a preternatural beauty, her eyes seeming huge, her lank brown hair smoothing the angles of her jaw.

“Japan bombed the American base on the Hawaiian Islands,” Ernst told her. “They destroyed American power in the Pacific. This may not be of importance to you, because you are a pacifist—”

“The poor people!” she exclaimed. “The lives lost.”

“America will rebuild. But it affects you in this way: you are an American, and Japan is allied to Germany. So very soon America will be at war with Germany, too.”

“And I will become an enemy national,” she said, comprehending the significance.

“I must get you out of here,” he said. “This is now imperative, and there can be no delay. It must be today. But I can think of only one way to do it.”

She shook her head. “There is no way. They will not release me.”

“SS officers have certain privileges. I dislike deception, but see no other mechanism. If I suggested that I wished to have you for—for my use, they would not stop me from taking you.”

She stared at him.

“I would not actually use you,” he said quickly. “I give you my word on that. I promised Lane to find you and to help you if I could. I wish I knew a better way. I fear for your continued detention here. I fear for your life. But still, you would have to agree to go. Others would have to be given the impression that it was so. Would you do that?”

She considered. Then she whispered, “Yes.”

She had agreed! He coughed to mask his astonishment. He had feared that she would elect to die. “Then I will see to it. But— you must not appear to be willing. Your agreement is for me, not for them. You must be resigned, perhaps in despair. You understand?”

She nodded.

Ernst dismissed her, then went to the commandant. “This American woman—I think she knows more than she has told. I wish to take her for more thorough interrogation. Release her to my custody.”

The man looked at him. “She is beautiful,” he remarked. “Or would be, when better fed.”

Ernst returned his gaze. “And what of it?”

“There must be higher authorization.”

This was the risky part. “Here is a code-name for Reinhard Heydrich. Contact him and say that Ernst Best is making a requisition.” He had given his true name, knowing that it was unknown here, but would be known to Heydrich.

The name of Heydrich evidently impressed the man. This was a most powerful contact. But Ernst could see the lingering doubt. Was it a bluff?

“I will wait,” Ernst said firmly.

The commandant left the office. If he did contact Heydrich's office, what would happen? Heydrich was at present in Czechoslovakia, and difficult to reach, so his home office would demur. Would the commandant pursue the matter further? Ernst was betting that he would not, for fear of making a powerful enemy unnecessarily. The man believed that Ernst was simply appropriating the most attractive prisoner before some other officer did; this kind of thing was known to happen. What was the harm in it? So probably he would not risk a challenge, and would not even enter the matter in the records. It would simply be one less prisoner to feed. One who might otherwise soon be dead anyway.

Sure enough, the commandant returned in less time than it would have taken to reach Czechoslovakia. “Take her,” he said.

“Have her brought to me and signed out,” Ernst said.

“That will not be necessary. Authorization has been given.”

So he was right: the man preferred no record. Quality would remain on the camp rolls, but would simply not be there. Soon enough she would be forgotten, or possibly her name would be put in place of another woman who died.

Ernst returned to the main camp. He saw Quality standing there, waiting. He strode toward her. “Come with me,” he said gruffly, taking her arm.

She tried to hold back, but he hauled her along. He brought her to his car and shoved her roughly in. He got in himself and started the motor. Quality hid her face as if terrified or ashamed. Possibly that was true. He was passed on out of the camp without challenge.

“There is bread under the seat,” he said, looking straight ahead. “Take it.”

She reached under and found it. “I thank thee, Ernst.”

“I will take you to my apartment in Berlin. Others will think what they will think. You must always appear afraid of me. But I tell you again: I mean to help you.”

“I am afraid
for
thee, Ernst,” she said. “This is a great risk for thee.”

“I promised Lane.” But it was more than that. He would have had to do it even if Lane had never existed. Quality was simply too good a person to allow to wither and perhaps die in such a camp, or to be brutalized or raped there.