"I am curious about something, Herman. Does it bother you? Turning up other Jews this way?"
Adler did not have to think, he shook his head immediately.
"It's the law," he said. "I think I am lucky to have the opportunity."
For an instant, Vierhaus's eyes glittered and his eyebrows rose with surprise. "I must say, that is a most practical point of view," he said slowly. He looked back at the papers. "You are a jeweler by trade, yes?"
"Yes. I had my own shop."
"Was it nationalized?"
"Yes."
"And your home?"
"Yes."
"You live at 65 Konigsplatz now. Is that a flat?"
"Yes, Herr Professor. One room and a small kitchen."
"No family, I see."
"My son was killed on the Western Front in 1916. My wife died three years ago."
"Yes, a heart attack, I see."
"Ja. She never really got over our son Ira's death."
"And you also have a heart problem?"
"Minor. I had a small attack a year or so ago. I have my pills just in case. I am quite fit."
"Good. We wouldn't want to lose you. You understand, Herman, there are people in the party who disagree with this department's mixed-blood policy. They feel only full-blooded Jews should be involved in repatriation and emigration. Bureaucrats, mostly. They are slow to come around, bureaucrats thrive on the status quo. That will change with time, of course. In the meantime, the Führer has given me the responsibility of starting this experiment. But you do understand the confidential nature of this work, don't you, Adler? You don't even discuss it with other SS personnel."
"I understand, Herr Professor."
"Personally I think four generations is far enough to go back. Eventually the numbers will be overwhelming. So, Adler, there will always be plenty of work for you."
"Thank you, sir."
"Perhaps I might even have you elevated to Aryan status. It is done, you know, in cases of special merit. You cannot vote or marry an Aryan woman, but those are minor things. If your success keeps up we can make arrangements for you to move to something a little bigger, more comfortable, maybe get you another shop, eh, even throw a little party business your way?"
Adler closed his eyes. He had heard that the Germans sometimes destigmatized Jews but this was the first official confirmation that it was possible. My God, he thought, to have my own shop again, a decent house, to have the ‘J' removed from my ID. To have a sense of freedom again. It was too much to hope for.
"That would be most generous, Herr Professor," Adler said, his voice trembling. His heart began beating faster.
"I offer you another challenge, Herman," Vierhaus said, standing and walking around the desk. "Herr Himmler would like to bring back some rather influential Jews who have . . . left Germany. These are people who, for many reasons, we would like to have back here. Traitors. Troublemakers in other countries. They are scattered everywhere."
He waved his hand flamboyantly.
"Italy, France, Egypt, Greece, America. Any leads you might get for us would be an even bigger feather in your cap. You would not only earn my gratitude, but Reichsführer Himmler's as well. I can provide you with a list of names. You keep your ears open, hmm?"
"I will get on it right away, Herr Professor."
Vierhaus patted the Jew on the shoulder.
"Would you like a cigarette?" He took out the package and shook a cigarette loose. "They are French. Gauloises."
"Oh, thank you, sir," Adler said, taking it with a shaky hand. When it was lit, Adler opened the briefcase and took out a sheaf of documents.
"I have something here, I think you will be very excited by this . . ."
He laid them very precisely on the desk in front of him. Almost as an afterthought, he then put the case on the floor beside the chair.
"These are family records," Adler said. "Birth certificates, some interviews with family members, friends. This man Oskar Braun has a bank near Coburg. Very successful." He shuffled through the papers and stopped at a chart. "I tracked back four generations, four, Herr Professor," Adler said proudly, holding up four fingers. "His maternal grandfather was a Jew. Joshua Feldstein. He was a cantor in the synagogue and he actually started the bank. I have a list of all the descendants, including nephews and cousins. Forty-six in all."
"Yes, yes, that's quite ingenious. The Schutzstaffel will take care of Herr Braun. But," Vierhaus said, picking a note from the folder, "it says you have information for my ears alone. What is that about?"
"Yes, Herr Professor. It is regarding the memorandum you sent around about a month ago."
"Adler, I write a dozen memoranda a day."
"This one concerned the Black Lily."
Vierhaus looked up sharply.
"You have information about the Black Lily?" he said, making no attempt to conceal his sudden interest.
Adler nodded.
"Well . . . ?" Vierhaus wiggled his fingers toward Adler as if to coax the information out of him.
Adler shuffled through more papers. "Ah," he said. "Here we are. Uh, you know about the connection with Reinhardt and . . ."
"Yes, yes, we know all that," Vierhaus said slowly, taking off his glasses and placing them on the desk. His eyes narrowed to luminous slits, but his voice never changed. If anything, it became more controlled. He ground his cigarette out in the ashtray. "We arrested Reinhardt, that is past history. I need names, jeweler, names!"
"I have names for you, sir," Adler stammered fearfully. "And charts."
He fumbled nervously through his papers and as he did, Vierhaus suddenly and radically changed his mood. This was what he called a "neutral interrogation." Nonadversarial. But he used the same methods he would have used in less friendly encounters, employing subtle changes in temperament combined with equal doses of cruelty and generosity, designed to keep his prey off balance and intimidated. Methods he had learned from the master of the technique, Adolf Hitler. The difference was that Vierhaus, unlike his volatile and psychotic boss, was a study in serpentine control.
"Would you like a cup of coffee?" he asked abruptly, with a smile. "It is imported from South America, an excellent brew."
"Oh, that would be very kind," Adler said, taking out a handkerchief and wiping his face. He had been reduced to ersatz coffee months ago. He couldn't specifically remember the last time he had a cup of real coffee.
Vierhaus got up and went to a corner of the room and turned on a floor lamp. A pot of coffee simmered on a hot plate.
"Cream?" he asked.
"Yes sir." Cream. Real cream.
Adler sipped the coffee with his eyes closed, savoring every drop.
"Now, tell me what you know about the Black Lily."
"Herr Reinhardt was a frequent visitor at the home of a Jewish teacher named Isaac Sternfeld. Sternfeld taught political science at the university here until he was sent to Dachau."
"Is he a Communist?"
"Nein, a Social Democrat radically opposed to the Führer and the Nazi party. Before the Führer became chancellor, a group of students who were also frequent guests at Sternfeld's started a pamphlet called Die Fackel. It was aimed mainly at students, a kind of college humor . . . uh, satire thing with a bit of a sting to it. Then after Herr Hitler . . ."
"The Führer," Vierhaus corrected.
"Yes, the Führer, after the Führer became chancellor it became more pointed. That is when Reinhardt became involved, writing occasionally for it and editing it. Sternfeld was the advisor and it was printed by Oscar Probst."
"The Berlin Conscience, " Vierhaus said.
"Ja. When the . . . uh . . ."
"Repatriation?"
"Ja . . . repatriation . . . of the Jews began the students formed the Black Lily to help get Jews out of Germany."
"Where did they get that name?" Vierhaus asked out of curiosity.
"There is no such thing as a black lily, Herr Professor. They meant it to be a phantom organization, jus
t like the flower."
"Schoolboy antics," Vierhaus said, waving him off. "What else?"
"They moved money into Swiss banks, arranged forged passports, transportation, everything."
"Students?" Vierhaus said with astonishment.
Adler nodded.
"Students are doing this?!" Vierhaus said, shaking his head. He could imagine Hitler's reaction to that bit of news.
"But very dedicated students," said Adler.
"Politicized by Reinhardt and this Sternfeld person, hmm?"
Adler continued to nod.
"The editor of Die Fackel was a Jewish boy named Avrum Wolffson. He is now twenty-five years old. His best friends are Werner Gebhart and Joachim Weber. It is my understanding that Wolffson is the head of the Black Lily. Gebhart handles the movement of Jews out of the country, and Weber handles money, the paperwork, passports, false ID's, such things."
Vierhaus stroked his chin as he listened to Adler. Other things were becoming clear to him.
"So, now I think I know what happened to Otto Schiff and Tol Nathan. These students probably ran them out of the country. And they probably forced Simon Kefar to hang himself."
"Simon Kefar worked for you, too?"
"You didn't know that? Schiff, Nathan, Kefar, all very effective Judenhascher like yourself. You knew them?"
"I knew Kefar casually. The others only by name."
Vierhaus stroked his chin for a moment or two longer.
"How do they finance all this?" he asked finally.
"With contributions from rich Jews and sympathizers here and abroad."
"This Wolffson and a couple of students created all this intrigue?" Vierhaus said, still unable to accept Adler's theory.
"Actually I think it was Sternfeld who organized it anticipating the . . . repatriation. But Wolffson was a brilliant student, very pragmatic the way I understand it."
"How do you know all this?"
Adler stared at him for several seconds. "Joachim Weber is my nephew," he said. "The boy and I have never been close but I talk to my sister—his mother—frequently."
"How many people are involved with this bunch?"
Adler shook his head. "Dozens, I assume. In Berlin, Munich, Linz, Paris, Zurich."
"All Jews?"
"No. They are both Jews and Gentiles."
"How did this get so far out of hand!" Vierhaus said almost to himself. The Führer would be outraged. "And where do we find this Wolffson?"
"That is the problem, Herr Professor, nobody knows. There are no lists of the members, it is not a military-type organization. It is like the flower, it seems not to exist. It is like a train that runs whenever necessary. Nobody has seen Wolffson in months. But I believe he must be in Berlin. And I have this."
He handed Vierhaus a sheet of typing paper. There were two columns of names and addresses on it.
"These are forty-eight people who are related to Wolffson. That includes three generations up to fourth cousins and nephews. I have similar lists on Weber and Gebhart in the folder."
Vierhaus was impressed. "That is a remarkable report, Adler." He turned back to the list of names and ran his forefinger down each one. "You did this in a month?"
"Three weeks actually."
"Remarkable indeed. The Gestapo has been investigating this for months with no success."
"They are not Jews," Adler said, almost in a whisper.
"Very true, Herman. It takes one to catch one, eh?" He smiled at Adler, who began to relax. The jeweler wiped sweat off the back of his neck. "If you can find him, sir, I think I can produce enough proof to . . ."
"I do not care about proof," Vierhaus said, waving his hand as he scanned the list. "Give me names and addresses and I will get confessions from these schoolboys. I don't need proof."
Vierhaus started to say something else and then stopped. His finger was poised over one of the names.
"This is his sister? Jennifer Gould?"
"Half-sister, Herr Professor. Her mother married the Jew, Wolffson. She is a Catholic, I believe."
"You have no address on her?"
"Nein. She moved about three months ago and dropped out of sight."
"Hmm," said Vierhaus. "We seem to have an epidemic of vanishing . . ."
Vierhaus looked up suddenly, his eyes squinting into a dark corner of the room, and then he slapped his hands together. Adler was startled by the sharp sound in the quiet room.
"I know where she is!" Vierhaus said. He pulled open a desk drawer and clawed through file folders. He pulled one out. Inside were copies of the weekly reports of military spies in half a dozen major European cities, including von Meister in Paris. Vierhaus licked his thumb and flipped through the pages, then stopped. "Yes, of course. Keegan!"
Vierhaus leaned back and smiled, proud of himself not only for reading these dull reports every week but for remembering the brief reference to Keegan and the Gould woman.
"She's a singer," he sneered. "She sings American nigger jazz. And she is a friend of that American liar, Rudman." He looked at Adler and smiled. "Perhaps she knows where Wolffson is. Perhaps she is the Kettenglied to the Black Lily. And she is in Paris."
Adler scurried down the street toward a small delicatessen with his satchel still clutched to his chest. It had started to rain, a persistent mist that slowly collected on hair, skin and clothing. He hunched his shoulders up. He needed to take a pill. His heart was racing with excitement. A shop, he thought. And a decent place to live, possibly even an Aryan ID card. It was all very dizzying.
As he passed a sedan parked at the curb, a hoarse voice said from behind him: "Herman Adler." He started to turn but as he did two muscular arms encircled his, clamping them to his sides. The satchel fell to the ground.
Adler opened his mouth to speak but before he could get the words out a wad of cotton was jammed against his nose. He smelled the stinging-sweet odor of chloroform a moment before he passed out. As two men shoved him into the car, a small bottle of pills fell out of Adler's vest pocket and rolled into the gutter.
Vierhaus had a few minutes before he had to leave for his dinner appointment. He leaned back in his chair. He had to move cautiously for the time being, particularly in working with Himmler. A great many Germans were sympathetic to the Jews, particularly the officials and bureaucrats in the provinces. Hitler did not want to jeopardize his power over them. At this point the Führer needed everyone's support. Vierhaus's work with mixed bloods and renegades could not become general knowledge, not for a while at least. But there were many who knew and believed in the purification work. Theodor Eicke was one of them.
He snatched up the phone and placed a call to the brutish ex-brownshirt, now a member of the SS and manager of the camp at Dachau. Eicke was known for his inflexible harshness. As a member of the SA he had once beaten a Jew to death with his bare hands. At Dachau he had killed a prisoner with a shovel. Eicke was a man Vierhaus could deal with.
"Teddy, it is Willie Vierhaus," he said when Eicke's harsh voice answered.
"Willie! How are things in Berlin?"
"Excellent. Everything goes very well. And with you?"
"Oh, fine. This is a lovely town."
"And the camp?"
"Running well."
"No troubles?"
"Nein. The Jews give us very little trouble, it's the political prisoners who are a problem. But we have it under control. Our only problem is crowding."
"The new camp at Sachsenhausen will be ready in the spring, that should give you some relief. And they are planning others at Bergen-Belsen and Buchenwald."
"Ja, very good."
"And Anna? How is she?"
"She complains occasionally. We have had an escape attempt or two and always at night. The wire always gets them but it is quite annoying. The static from the wires wakes her up."
"Get heavier shutters," Vierhaus suggested.
"Ja, ja, " Eicke said and laughed.
"Listen Teddy, I have a favor to ask. You have a pris
oner there called Sternfeld."
"The teacher?"
"Ja. He may have information about a group which calls itself the Black Lily. The Führer is most anxious to get all the information he can about this organization. I thought perhaps you might employ some of your more persuasive methods on this Sternfeld."
"I am sorry, Willie. You are a little late."
"Late?"
"Sternfeld is dead. About a month ago."
"What happened to him?"
"He was allergic to hard work," Eicke said with a chuckle. "But pneumonia actually did him in."
"Damn!"
"Sorry," Eicke said. "Do we have anyone else here who might have information?"
"I don't know," Vierhaus said. His disappointment was obvious in his tone. "I will look into it."
"Well, Willie, if you find we do just give me a ring," Eicke's gruff voice answered. "We could make the Brandenburg Gate sing the ‘Horst Wessel' if we had to—but we have no luck at all with corpses." And he laughed.
Vierhaus leaned back in his chair and finished his coffee. He had to break the Black Lily and unless Adler came up with new information, Vierhaus had only one lead left. Jennifer Gould.
TWENTY-FIVE
Adler awoke with a splitting headache. He was lying on a cot in a dark room. He sat up slowly, his feet groping under him for the floor. Then he saw his satchel, sitting beside the bed. The top was flared open and the satchel was empty. A light suddenly burst on. It was about thirty feet away, a spotlight aimed straight at him. A man sat silhouetted on a chair in front of it.
"Who are you?" Adler demanded, squinting into the light. "Why are you doing this to me? I have nothing . . ."
The silhouetted man's arm moved. There was a flare of light as he threw something toward Adler. The file folders from his satchel smacked the floor and slid to his feet, the contents splayed out around them.
"You are wrong, Herr Adler," the silhouetted man said in a flat monotone that sounded as if he were purposely disguising it. "You do have something. What is this, work in progress?"