"It doesn't seem possible that the chancellor of our country has resorted to cold-blooded murder," she said.
"Oh, he did that long before last night," the old man said. "And now we hear the Black Lily is number one on his list. That is why it is impossible to call Avrum just now. He is on the move. But I am sure he will be calling me in the next day or so. Can I give him a message?"
She shook her head and then explained why she had to go to Berlin.
"Before I left he told me I should always check with you before coming back. He said you would know if there was any danger."
"You have to do this? Go to Berlin right now?"
She nodded. "I must tell him about my decision. He knows about Francis but he has never met him. Also I have to close up my apartment, see some family. I am leaving for America in a few days. I must say my goodbyes."
"That can all be done for you."
"No, I cannot leave without explaining it to Avrum."
"So? Write him a letter."
"Do you think I am on the fugitive list? Is that why you are so concerned about my going back?"
He shook his head. "Not at all. I think we would know about it if you were on the list. But, because of your relationship, it may be a dangerous thing to do right now."
"I know you are thinking that if I am caught they will get information out of me," Jenny said. "Believe me, that is not possible, Uncle. Avrum told me nothing. All I did was help distribute folders and newspapers."
"A beheading offense, did you know that? They take news vendors of The Berlin Conscience to the basement of Stadelheim prison and behead them. Behead them! Can you believe such . . . barbarism? It hurts my heart to see this happening."
"Will you help me go home?" she asked, pressing the question.
He seemed to be delaying a decision.
"You must admit, it is a bit peculiar, helping someone get back into Germany," he said, almost as if bemused by the idea.
"Uncle . . . ?"
Old Eli shrugged and rolled his eyes. "Sometimes I think we Jews put too much on family."
"I'm not Jewish, Uncle. Avrum is my half brother. But we were brought up as brother and sister. I admire what he is doing. It scares me to death, but I admire him for it. The least I can do is explain why I am going away."
He wagged his hand as a sign of submission and nodded.
"Excuse me a minute," he said. He hefted himself from his chair and left the room. She sat quietly, listening to his muffled voice in another room. Fear started gnawing at her insides, a small thing to start with but a spark that could grow into an inferno. She tried to suppress it, but her mouth started to get dry and she could feel perspiration breaking out on the back of her neck. It was not herself she feared for, it was Avrum.
Old Eli came back in the room carrying a slip of paper.
"You will fly into Leipzig," he said, reading from his notes.
"Then you will be taken into Berlin by motorcar. It is only a two-hour drive, one hundred kilometers or so. You have a place to stay?"
"I moved into a new apartment before I left. The phone is not in my name. I think it will be safe there."
Old Eli pulled a chair over in front of her and sat down. He leaned forward as he spoke.
"But not for long," he warned. "If they learn you are in Berlin and they are indeed looking for you, then you must get out as fast as possible. When you are ready to leave you will come back the same way. Remember, from now on trust no one."
"Not even Avrum?"
"Of course Avrum. But avoid anybody not involved directly with the Lily. And do not look for Avrum, he will find you."
"I understand."
"There is only one flight a day from here to Leipzig. It leaves in two hours. You must use your real name because of the passport. We do not have time to get you a counterfeit. Anyway, they will only be checking the Berlin flights for fugitives."
"I don't think they would connect Avrum and me—different last names . . ."
"Dear Jenny, if they learn his identity, they will know you are his half sister very soon after."
"Hopefully they do not know who he is. He has evaded them for almost a year."
"Good luck does not last forever," Old Eli said.
She smiled and patted his knee. "Do not be so pessimistic," she said.
"Ha! We Jews are all pessimists, my dear," he said with a smile. "It is part of the diet. To be anything less would not be kosher."
A persistent ringing at the door of his suite awoke Keegan. Half asleep, he instinctively reached over to touch Jenny but she was not there. As he reached for his robe he noticed the time: 9:45 A.M. He jumped up. They were going to miss the plane.
"Jen?" he called out.
Then he saw the note propped up on the dresser. He snatched it up and read it as he walked through the living room to the door of the suite.
Darling Kee,
You were sleeping like a child and I hate good-byes. Am taking a taxi to the airport. I will call you tonight.
Five days, my darling, and then we will be together always. I love you in my heart.
Thank you for changing my life.
Jenny
He opened the door and Bert Rudman, as usual, burst into the room without being invited. He was waving the morning paper over his head and babbling. Keegan had never seen him quite as agitated.
"Where have you been? Why was the phone turned off? I've been trying to call you all night!" Rudman jabbered, running all the sentences together.
Keegan stared at him sleepily, then looked back at the note.
"Where's Jenny?" Rudman asked, looking around the suite.
"She left already," Keegan said, handing the slip of paper to the journalist.
"Left? For where?" Rudman asked as he read the note.
"Back to Berlin."
"And you let her go?!"
"Let her go? I don't own her. Besides, I'm picking her up Thursday and then we're off for London. What's the big deal?"
"You don't know what's going on?"
"Where?"
"In Germany! Where do you think, on Mars? Goddamn, Kee, the Nazis have gone berserk!"
He handed Keegan a copy of the morning edition of the Paris Gazette, reprinted from his Times story.
"Christ!" Keegan said when he'd finished reading Rudman's story. He looked up at his friend and his eyes revealed admiration. Admiration mixed with fear.
"I'm going back to Berlin on the afternoon plane for a follow-up."
"You're going to Berlin after writing this? They'll kill you, you silly bastard."
"I keep telling you . . ."
"I know, I know, they won't mess with the American press. Let me tell you something, if they'll knock off three thousand people in one night, your press pass ain't gonna mean bopkes. You're worried about Jenny and you're probably number one on their hit parade."
"That's very flattering."
"No, what it is is very true. Look, Dick Daring, I don't like funerals, okay? Particularly when my best friend is the guest of honor."
"I can take care of me. But you've got to get Jenny the hell out of there."
Room service arrived. Keegan signed the check and doctored his coffee. Rudman sat down heavily on the sofa, took a long pull at his drink and sighed.
"You taking the four o'clock plane?" Keegan asked.
"Yeah, four-ten."
Keegan sipped his coffee thoughtfully. A sudden jolt of fear stabbed his chest. Was she really in danger? he wondered. She wasn't political. But the whole country seemed to be going crazy. Maybe Bert was right. Maybe he better get Jenny out of there. Abruptly he snatched up the phone.
"I'll try to locate my plane," he said to Rudman. "We can fly over together."
A few minutes before noon the phone rang.
"Francis?" the familiar voice said. "It is Conrad."
"Conrad! Are you here in Paris?"
"No, I am in Berlin."
"Is it crazy over there?"
"Only
if you read the papers. Francis, I am calling you because Jennifer is in serious jeopardy."
"What do you mean?"
"I have heard through sources that the Gestapo plans to arrest her if she returns to Berlin."
"Where'd you hear that?"
"I can't tell you but believe me, it is most reliable. I am taking a great risk to even call you but I feel I contributed a little to your romance. You must be very careful."
"But why Jenny? She isn't . . ."
He stopped, remembering her explicit instructions. Don't give my address or phone number to anyone. And she had moved just before coming to Paris. Maybe she was mixed up in something.
"She's over there now, Conrad," Keegan said and checked the time. "She should be arriving home about now."
"Where does she live? I'll warn her."
Could he tell Conrad? He had taken a great risk just calling Keegan. Certainly he was safe. And yet she had said not to give the information to anyone.
"It's all right, Conrad, I'll call her. I'm sure she can find sanctuary somewhere until I can get over there and bring her out."
"Please, forget I made this call, understand?"
"What call? Listen, Conrad, thanks. I owe you a big one."
"You owe me nothing. It's the least I can do."
In Berlin, Conrad Weil cradled his phone and dropped heavily into a chair. His tall, elegant body seemed to collapse, like a punctured balloon. Across the room from him, Vierhaus sat with his chin resting on the handle of his cane. He smiled.
"There, see how easy that was, Conrad?" said Vierhaus. "What did you do? Nothing. Warned a friend. Did him a favor. And because of that generous gesture, the Fuhrer will permit your club to continue performing its . . . degenerate show every night—without harrassment."
In the years to come, Keegan would sometimes reflect on the little things that alter our lives forever. Snap decisions. Hasty moves. Something as simple as a phone call. On this day, Keegan immediately flashed the operator and gave her Jenny's Berlin number. It rang a dozen times while Keegan silently urged her to pick up. But there was no answer.
The fear began to mount.
Perhaps he should call Conrad back and ask his help, he thought as he hung up. He looked at his watch again. In two hours the plane would be there. By four o'clock he would be at her door. By five they could be on the way back to Paris. He would wait.
In the switchboard office, the operator who had placed the call for Keegan took off her headset. She handed the phone number to the tall businessman with the German accent.
Von Meister smiled his thanks and handed her two hundred-franc notes. Two hundred francs. Less than fifty dollars. Even in Paris life was cheap.
TWENTY-NINE
At Tempelhof Airport, Keegan was waved through customs. He had no luggage and several of the customs agents recognized him from his frequent trips in and out of Berlin. Rudman was not so lucky. They searched through his two suitcases item by item while a Gestapo agent stood nearby watching every move. Then Rudman was ushered into an office for further conversation.
It was five P.M. and Keegan was anxious to get to Jenny's apartment. He waited nervously in the large waiting room, watching through the glass-partitioned office as Rudman argued with the customs agents while the Gestapo agent leaned against the door, his hands buried in his pants pockets and his felt hat pulled low on his forehead. They were obvious, but that was the game. The mere presence of the secret police was a subtle threat. It was clear they knew who Rudman was and were purposely harassing him.
Keegan tried to call Jenny's apartment from a phone booth but there was still no answer.
Where was she?
Tremors rumbled through Keegan's stomach. He sent a note to Rudman telling him he would either call or meet him at Rudman's hotel before he returned to Paris.
The taxi was hardly out of the airport parking lot before Keegan realized he was being followed. A light blue Opel pulled away from the curb two cars behind the cab. He watched the car as they drove down the highway into the city. As they reached the center of the city Keegan ordered his driver to take several sudden turns, weaving aimlessly through the city. The Opel got caught by a light and fell three blocks behind.
"Turn here," Keegan ordered, and as the taxi made the turn, he handed the driver a handful of marks and jumped out. He hid in a doorway and watched the Opel wheel around the corner and swerve through the traffic after the cab.
He rode in two more taxis before he took to foot, walking down alleys and through stores until he was positive he had shaken his followers. Then he walked three blocks to the three-story apartment building where Jenny lived. He stood across the street for ten minutes more until he was positive he had shaken his tail.
It was an old stone Gothic apartment house but it did have an Old World charm. Gargoyles lurked ominously at the roof corners and there were stained glass windows on each floor over the entrance. Inside, the building was damp and gloomy. A wide staircase wound up through the core of the building. Tall ceilings added to the gloomy interior. The steps groaned with age as he climbed to the third floor. Door locks clicked and hinges creaked in his wake as he went up the steps to the third floor. He sensed eyes peering at him through the gloom as he reached each landing. As he reached the top floor, he turned quickly and looked back down the steps. He heard two or three doors click gently shut in the penumbral halls but he saw nothing.
Apartment 32A was the first door at the top of the stairs. He heard a creak down the hall and he turned sharply to see a woman peering through a door that was open a mere sliver. She closed it immediately.
Fear tapped Keegan on the shoulder.
The first thing he noticed was that the hall light was burned out. The long hallway was cloaked in dark shadows except for a narrow shaft of rainbow-colored sunlight that filtered through swirling dust from the single stained glass window at the far end.
The lock to Jenny's apartment was shattered, the jamb splintered, the door ajar an inch. His mouth went dry, a sudden jolt charged through his chest.
He swung the door open with the back of his hand. "Jenny?" he said softly.
No answer.
He entered the apartment cautiously.
"Jenny?"
Nothing.
He went down a short entrance hallway and then stopped.
The living room was a shambles. Cushions from sofas and chairs had been ripped open. Little balls of stuffing drifted and swirled idly in the wind from an open window. Drawers hung open with the contents spilled out on the floor.
"Jenny!"
He raced through the one-bedroom apartment, checking the kitchen, the small dining room and the bedroom. The destruction was thorough. In the bedroom, the mattress was thrown half off the bed and split open. Clothes dangled from half-open drawers and littered the floor of the closet.
The apartment was empty.
"Jenny!" he yelled, knowing there would be no answer.
Who had ransacked the apartment? And where was Jenny? If she was in hiding, how would she contact him? She didn't even know he was in Berlin.
He went back into the living room. He heard a sound behind him in the darkness of the apartment. Keegan walked slowly across the room, knelt down next to the desk and started to pick up some mail that was scattered on the floor. The floor creaked. He could feel the presence of someone else in the room. He turned slightly and as he did strong arms suddenly grabbed him around the throat in a choke hold.
Keegan slashed back and up with his elbow, buried its sharp point in the groin of his assailant. The man grunted with pain as Keegan stood and spun at the same time, throwing a hard, straight jab into the face of the man. As he did a second man jumped him, wrapping his arms around Keegan's waist, pinning his arms to his sides. A third man moved swiftly toward Keegan, who raised both legs and kicked him in the stomach, then slammed his head back into the face of the man who was holding him. The man screamed as his nose shattered. Keegan twisted out of his grip and t
hrew a hard uppercut to his jaw. The assailant spun away and fell over a coffee table.
Again Keegan was attacked from the back, powerful arms holding Keegan's arms in check. A thick cloth was thrust over his face. He choked as chloroform stung his eyes and nose. He tried to hold his breath but he was hit in the stomach and his wind rushed out. The cloth was jammed tighter as he gasped for breath. The room began to spin around. His arms lost their strength and his legs went numb. He was aware he was still struggling but the room seemed to shrink around him and grow darker. He fell backward into a void.
He awoke slowly, as if coming out of a long coma. The smell of chloroform was still on his skin. He was blindfolded and tied to a hard chair. He felt nauseous and he swallowed hard, took several deep breaths. The feeling of malaise slowly dissipated.
"Herr Keegan, I am going to untie your hands and remove the blindfold," a voice said. "There is a man across the room from me with a gun. If you try to leave the chair, he will kill you."
The blindfold was pulled off and his hands were untied. He squinted into a blazing spotlight.
"Jesus," Keegan groaned as he rubbed the feeling back into his wrists and hands and then shielded his eyes with one hand. A large man stood silhouetted in front of him, smoking a cigarette. Behind him, another outline, this one smaller and aiming a Luger at him.
"What do you want?" Keegan asked.
"What were you doing in Fräulein Gould's apartment?"
"Are you the police?"
There was a pause, then: "We are the state police. You are guilty of breaking into the apartment."
He studied the two shapes more closely. Both wore beards and had long, shaggy hair. They were dressed in work shirts and corduroy pants.
"Well, somebody obviously beat me to it," Keegan answered and an edge began to creep into his voice. "And while we're at it, where is Miss Gould?"
"I will ask the questions."
"Maybe you should check with her before you push this any farther."
"Perhaps you can tell us where she is?"