The Girl from Berlin, #1 Page 16

  That was the code phrase for today. Every time I would come it was different, and I had to learn it by heart. If a single adjective was dropped by mistake, the whole deal would be off. The owner of the house nodded at me and replied with his code phrase.

  “Good morning, Frau. Unfortunately, we’re out of Belgian lace. But my wife has a handmade one that looks just like Belgian. Would you like to take a look?”

  After hearing him repeating it just the way Heinrich told me he should, I nodded in satisfaction and stepped inside, after which the man quickly locked the door behind my back.

  “Follow me.” He didn’t actually have to say that. I already knew where we were going, right through the kitchen door and down to the basement, where he would give me what I came for.

  “There are four of them.” The man, whose name I still didn’t know just like he didn’t know mine (again, according to the instructions), took out one of the bricks in the wall and from a secret box inside took out four passports which he handed to me. “Husband, wife, and two children.”

  “I thought it was supposed to be just two?” I quickly took my coat off and unfastened a lining on my fox collar. I took the passports from the man’s hands who seemed to be happy to get rid of them (as always) and carefully placed them inside the collar, right under the second lining.

  “Yeah… they thought that the children were gone. They thought that soldiers took them with the rest. But the kids outsmarted those Nazi bastards and hid under the steps. So now it’s the four of them. Sorry about the inconvenience.”

  “It’s fine.” I put the first lining back on and straightened out the collar, making sure that it looked absolutely flawless. “The more the better. Just next time let my connection know in advance; it’s difficult to stuff four passports under this thing, they can move and start looking suspicious. I would have brought a bag with a double bottom if I’d known.”

  “Sorry again, Frau.”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  Before leaving the man’s house I once again checked my coat in a tiny hallway mirror. After it passed my thorough inspection, I walked outside and headed back to the bus stop.

  I almost sneaked back onto the wide street where the bus stop was, but at the last moment the two “leather coats” – the Gestapo as I guessed – turned from around the house and walked toward me, and there was no possible way to escape meeting them. At first a cold needle of fear pierced my mind: had someone tipped them off? But whatever it was, I kept walking, head high, hoping deep inside they were just patrolling the streets.

  They were, as it turned out just minutes later, but the sight of a beautiful and very well-dressed young woman in such a, let’s put it mildly, “humble” area of Berlin, immediately raised their suspicion. They slowed down their walk and waited for me to reach them. Since the side street between the two houses was very narrow, they knew I had nowhere to go. I flashed them a smile and (still hoping that they would let me pass without asking any questions) said, “Excuse me, officers.”

  They didn’t move and looked me up and down once again.

  “Good morning, Fräulein.” One of them finally smiled back.

  “It’s Frau. Frau Friedmann.”

  “I beg your pardon, Frau Friedmann. May we see your papers, if it’s not too much trouble?”

  Nobody tipped them off, I knew by that single phrase. Nothing to be afraid of.

  “Absolutely no trouble, officers.” I reached into my purse and produced both my passport and Aryan certificate. It wasn’t my first check, and I knew by now that sometimes they asked for it. I guess it was my last name that was always confusing them: if it had only one ‘N’ at the end instead of two, it would already be a Jewish version of a German surname. Some Jewish people used this little spelling trick to their advantage, and added a second ‘N’ to avoid deportation or even worse – a camp. But nobody so far was able to falsify an Aryan certificate.

  They thoroughly checked both documents I handed them, while I patiently stood next to them humming a popular song. Finally, the one who was talking to me before, lifted his eyes from the passport to me.

  “What are you doing in this area, Frau Friedmann? You live quite far, and it’s not too safe here.”

  I had answers for every possible question he could ask me; Heinrich and I played out every scenario we could ever imagine, and I was more than prepared.

  “Ugh, you don’t even know the half of it, Sir! Last week when I came here I almost got my wallet stolen right from my purse, can you imagine? But I have no choice, this is the closest market to my house where they sell tripe. My husband and I, we just got this gorgeous German Shepherd puppy as a wedding present, and he loves tripe! But you see, at the market next to our house they don’t sell tripe, only good cuts of meat. And even though my husband occupies a very well paid position at SD, I still wouldn’t feed that little teething ball of fur with filet mignon, shoot me, but I won’t, no matter what a gorgeous dog he is!”

  The well prepared and even better acted out monologue, masterfully finished by flirty laughter, immediately changed the Gestapo officers’ whole attitude.

  “That would be one very lucky dog!” They laughed along with me. I playfully rolled my eyes and batted, my heavily coated with mascara, lashes at them. “He is one very lucky dog! Spoiled to no end! I mean, who else’s master would risk their life to put the food on his plate every day? And look at me, I almost got arrested because of that little brat!”

  “Well, no one would arrest you, Frau Friedmann.” They were already apologizing, handing me back my papers without even checking the contents of my purse, let alone searching me. I’m getting really good at this, I thought. “We’re just doing our job. Sorry again for the inconvenience.”

  “Oh, please, don’t apologize, officers!” I flashed them another charming smile. “I understand and always gladly comply. You, guarding our streets, that’s what makes Germany safe.”

  After those last words they both proudly straightened even more and saluted me goodbye. Now I could make my way home safe and sound and get ready to finish the “operation.”

  Two months earlier.

  * * *

  We were eating dinner when Heinrich suddenly said, “We need to get a dog.”

  I almost thought I misheard him.

  “What is it, dear?”

  “I said, we need to get a dog. That would be your excuse to go by my informant’s house. He lives in the former Jewish area, so you can imagine what a hole it is. But they have a market there, where you can go and buy bones for the dog. Our market doesn’t sell them. That’ll be a perfect explanation. The only thing is, you’ll have to go in the morning, you can’t walk around there after dusk, it’s very, very unsafe. And the Gestapo patrol it all the time too…” Heinrich nodded, as if agreeing to himself. “Yes, we’ll definitely have to get a dog.”

  I was already used to agreeing with my husband whenever it concerned our underground work. He certainly knew better and had years of experience behind him, so I just smiled. “Dog it is, dear. What kind of dog do you think we should get?”

  He raised his eyes from his plate to meet mine and winked at me.

  “A German Shepherd, of course. What kind of a picture perfect Nazi family are we without a picture perfect Nazi dog?”

  I couldn’t help but laugh. There was only one “but.”

  “I don’t know if I’ll be able to control it. It’s a very powerful breed, and I’m a very tiny girl.”

  “You’ll do just fine. If you were able to handle both Reinhard and Kaltenbrunner, I’m sure you can manage a little puppy.”

  I was going to interject here that I wasn’t so sure that I “handled” the situation with the both above mentioned too well, but just shrugged. “They are not dogs. They’re men.”

  “So we’ll get a male puppy then.”

  He always jokes around. I love him even more for that. He makes everything seem so easy and safe, as if we aren’t risking our lives every
day. And meanwhile his latest present for me, a beautiful Catholic praying cross, with beads that I wore on my wrist, at least every time I was leaving for Heinrich’s “business,” contained a tiny white capsule, just like the one he showed me during our first lunch together.

  I know that Heinrich was contemplating a lot before giving it to me, but finally the cool-headed spy took over the hot-hearted husband in him, and with a deep sigh and a heavy heart he instructed me about the possible use of the capsule.

  “If someone catches you with the evidence and takes you to jail, there won’t be a way out. Even I won’t be able to help you. If you’re already in the interrogation room, just take it right away, before they take the cross off you or handcuff you to the chair, and they always do during the interrogation. Understand? The sooner you do it, the better. They won’t let you out alive anyway, but this way at least they won’t be able to torture you before they kill you.”

  He looked me straight in the eye, in the hope that his words might scare me and I would change my mind about becoming one of his “connections.” But I wasn’t scared. Without hesitation I took the black onyx cross from his hand and wrapped it around my wrist.

  “Don’t worry about me, Heinrich. I understand all the risk and there wasn’t a second when I doubted my decision.”

  He sighed. “Some agents were afraid to take a pill. And then big operations failed, and many people died.”

  I shook my head and reassured him once again, “I’ll take it.”

  “Don’t swallow it though. If you swallow it, they make you vomit and then you’re really done for. You have to bite on it, crush it in your mouth. Then you’ll die within seconds.”

  I nodded again. We both got silent for a moment. It was not every day that I discussed with my husband ways to bite on a cyanide capsule. But again, not every Jew is married to a Nazi, even a half-fake one. I chose my own fate. I had only one question that was bothering my typically girlish mind.

  “Heinrich… will I feel any pain?”

  He gave me a confused look. I guess he’d never concerned himself with that. “No. You won’t feel anything.”

  “Good. That’s all I wanted to hear. Now what do I have to say to your man?”

  Berlin, April 1939

  * * *

  I finished packing lunch for Heinrich while Rolf, our four months old puppy, hilarious in his growing state with disproportionally long paws and ears bigger than his head, was enjoying his fresh bone. At first I felt a little resentment toward the dog when Heinrich first brought him in, but in just a couple of weeks Rolf became so attached to me (since I was the one walking, feeding, and playing with him), that I couldn’t imagine entering the house without him jumping all over me, wagging his tail and almost shivering from happiness that his “mama” is finally back. Heinrich was right after all, I smirked to myself, I did manage a little puppy just fine.

  Hanz was already waiting for me outside in Heinrich’s car. On days when I wasn’t at the company and could bring him lunch myself instead of Magda sending it with Hanz, Heinrich’s loyal driver would always pick me up at 11:30 sharp. The most difficult part was to get through the checking post at the entrance of Heinrich’s office building at 8 Prinz-Albrechtstrasse, which was considered a high security establishment and therefore all the visitors were subject to search.

  My husband trained me very well. We were rehearsing it again and again, until he would be completely satisfied with my performance. Now, confidently walking in the tightest skirt I owned toward the SS guards and already smiling at them in the flirtiest way possible, I could only silently chuckle at my very first attempts to do the same with my husband during our improvised scenario. He couldn’t even try to conceal his laughter when I tried to act how he wanted me to act: and that was, as he called it, a typical Parisian girl who has at least four different lovers on both sides of the Champs-Élysées. The problem was that I’d never been to Paris and had no idea what those almost mythical, to me, Parisian girls looked or acted like.

  “No. No, no, no, no, no.” He shook his head once again. “I don’t believe you. You walk like a Catholic school girl, not a foxy Parisian.”

  “Well, I’m sorry, ‘Herr-Expert-in-Foxy-French-Girls,’ I don’t even understand what you want me to do!”

  “You act all the time on stage, it’s the same thing. Very simple. Just smile. No, not like a good Jewish girl, show me all your beautiful teeth, like the Americans do in the movies. That’s better. Not so fake though. Relax. Good.” My first approving nod. “Now walk to me. No, that’s not a foxy walk. We’re going to buy you some new clothes. And shoes. The higher the heels, the better.”

  Today I was wearing those very shoes that made my legs at least ten inches longer. I walked up to the two familiar guards and winked at the one who was supposed to check my papers, even though they knew who I was and where I was going.

  “Hello, boys! Thank God, today my favorite officers are working, lucky me. Last time that old fat pervert almost wanted to do a detailed personal search on me. I mean, do I look like I can hide a bomb under this skirt?”

  Both SS guards laughed along and hardly looked inside my purse. They were both very young and probably by now had a crush on me after all the shameless flirting I did with them throughout the past two months. There was more chance now that the Führer would establish a democratic republic instead of the Reich, than that these two would start checking my clothes.

  “You wouldn’t blame him if you saw his wife, Frau Friedmann.”

  I giggled, gave the smiling officers a little wave and cat-walked along the corridor to the elevator. I knew they were watching me and I was always putting on a show for them.

  “What a lucky man Standartenführer Friedmann is!” I heard one say to his buddy as I was walking away. “I would kill to have a wife like that!”

  I silently applauded myself.

  Heinrich’s adjutant Mark greeted me by getting up and saluting me and immediately dialed my husband’s number. After this formality he opened the door to Heinrich’s office and after asking if we needed coffee or something else, closed it behind me. My gorgeous, in his black uniform, husband got up from his table and walked to greet his wife with a very long and very passionate kiss.

  “How was the market today, sweetheart?” He whispered into my ear. He told me to never say anything compromising even in his personal office, since SD had a nasty habit of installing microphones in random offices just to “keep the personnel in check.”

  “It was fine, dear. Rolf was very happy with his bones.” I took off my coat and quickly got all the four passports out of the wide fox collar – another one of Heinrich’s ingenious ideas. He unlocked his safe, took out one of the stamps and without a sound stamped all four of them, after which he safely placed them on the bottom of the bread bag I brought for him. All in all, it took us less than half a minute, but already tomorrow yet another family would be safely crossing the border of Switzerland with no questions asked, just because of an SD passing stamp on the front page.

  “The Gestapo stopped me, though. They wanted to check my papers.”

  “They did?”

  Heinrich frowned for a second, but I dismissed all his concern with a wave of my hand.

  “They were just wondering what a well-dressed woman was doing there, that’s all.”

  “They didn’t want to search you, did they?”

  “I bet they did, but after I told them who my husband was, they decided against it.” I caught myself thinking I’d gotten so used to playing a “foxy Parisian” role, I’d started flirting even with my own husband. Not that he didn’t like it.

  “They better keep their hands to themselves. All this belongs to me and only me.” He put his hands on my waist, squeezed it tight, and pulled me toward him. I threw my hands on his shoulders and whispered, almost touching his lips with mine, “Why don’t you put a little tag on me then? Something like ‘SD Standartenführer Friedmann’s private property. Do not touch under
the risk of the death penalty?”’

  He smiled and took my right hand in his. “I already have that tag on you. Right here, on the fourth finger of your hand. It even has my name on it.”

  It did. All SS wedding rings were engraved on the inner circle: Reichsführer Himmler loved branding everything related to his “child” – the SS.

  “Not good. You’re scaring away all my potential lovers.”

  “If you keep talking like that to your husband, you’ll get some of that baton over there.” He squinted his eyes at me playfully menacingly, and nodded in the direction of the little coffee table where he kept his baton and leather gloves.

  “You wouldn’t dare!” I slightly smacked him on the chest and crossed my arms. Your move, Herr Standartenführer!

  He shrugged and walked to the table. I was watching him with a skeptical look on my face. I loved this little game, and so did he. Heinrich picked up the baton from the table, intentionally slowly inspected it, and suddenly smacked its end on his open palm. The sound came out very loud, but I just rolled my eyes at him, showing that I wasn’t impressed. He smirked and slowly walked behind my back, still playing with his baton. I stood on the same spot without even turning around. I was trying not to smile too obviously, but I knew I was going to win this one. He put the flat end of the baton on my neck and traced it down my spine, sending shivers all over my body. I closed my eyes at the sensation of the firm metal against my skin covered only by a very thin silk top.

  And then, all of a sudden, he hit me! Right on my behind and rather strongly. I turned around right away and gasped in shock.

  “You! You just smacked my butt with that stick!”

  He was dying of laughter.

  “I sure did! Didn’t see that coming, did you?”

  “I’m going to kill you!”

  I tried to grab the baton from my bastard husband’s hand, but he, still laughing, easily caught my hand and in a quick move drew it behind my back. My right hand followed the left in a second.