spoke to seemed to know anything, at least nothing anyone had been prepared to reveal under his cautious questioning. Quinn had his Amt III ID to protect him, and every German’s natural reticence to draw attention by asking questions, but such safeguards would only go so far. If he asked too many people too many questions, someone was likely to start poking around to see where his authorization came from.
He knocked again on Denlinger’s door. After a few moments it opened a crack, and Denlinger’s gaunt, sallow face peered out suspiciously at him. After seeing that it was Quinn, he shut the door, and there was the sound of the chain being unfastened. Quinn couldn’t help but be mildly amused at the caution. What would Denlinger do if he had opened the door to find the Gestapo waiting for him? Shut it tight and not let them in?
The door swung open, all the way this time, and Denlinger stepped aside to give Quinn just enough room to enter. He stepped through the doorway, but Denlinger, shutting the door behind him, stepped quickly in front of him to bar his way any further. Quinn understood the gesture: the German did not want him in his flat, but neither did he want him out in the hall in public view while he told him as much.
“I’ve already asked around,” Denlinger said. Quinn was not sure whether to read the hushed tone of his voice as conspiratorial or simply sullen. “No one here knows anything about Garner.”
You’re not wanted here. Leave
.
Quinn nodded, deliberately taking the words at face value. The flat was tiny and cramped. Quinn could see the gathered Resistance members over Denlinger’s shoulder looking suspiciously at him. “I see. That is unfortunate. Well then, I’ll just be needing to speak briefly with your associates, and then I’ll be on my way.” He held up his hand as Denlinger opened his mouth to object. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, Herr Denlinger. Of course not. But I still need to speak with people from your cell who have had contact with Garner, even if they don’t know his current whereabouts.” He smiled. “Don’t worry, I don’t want to disrupt. After you have finished your other business, of course.”
Denlinger glanced uncertainly over his shoulder, to see if anyone else would come to his aid. The motion confirmed the opinion Quinn had formed when he first met the German student this afternoon: a coward, an intellectual who fancied himself a revolutionary. He would attend these meetings, tell people that he alreadyknew agreed with him about the need for change, but he would never take action, never put himself in harm’s way.
No one else spoke, and reluctantly Denlinger stepped back out of his way. “We were just about to start, Herr Kaufholz,” he said, and paused, waiting for Quinn to ask his questions now, before the meeting started. Quinn simply waited, patiently staring at the Resistance leader. Denlinger shifted uncomfortably.
At last the young man said, “Go ahead. What is it you wanted to ask?”
“Nonsense, Herr Denlinger,” Quinn said. “Please, I wouldn’t want to delay your meeting any more than I already have. I can ask my questions after you’re finished.”
Denlinger looked around at the others in the room again, but still no one came to his aid. Reluctantly, he stepped across the room and resumed his seat, then began talking to the group, now obstinately ignoring Quinn. Quinn understood his reservations; being part of a Resistance cell, even one that just met and talked like this, had always been dangerous in Nazi Germany, but it must have gotten considerably more so since the student riots in Prague a few summers ago had brought a wave of government repression.
Quinn hung back in the shadows by the door, studying the room. It was sparsely furnished, almost bare. There were eight others besides Denlinger, five men and three women, some of them still watching him suspiciously, some now giving their attention to the meeting. None
He knocked again on Denlinger’s door. After a few moments it opened a crack, and Denlinger’s gaunt, sallow face peered out suspiciously at him. After seeing that it was Quinn, he shut the door, and there was the sound of the chain being unfastened. Quinn couldn’t help but be mildly amused at the caution. What would Denlinger do if he had opened the door to find the Gestapo waiting for him? Shut it tight and not let them in?
The door swung open, all the way this time, and Denlinger stepped aside to give Quinn just enough room to enter. He stepped through the doorway, but Denlinger, shutting the door behind him, stepped quickly in front of him to bar his way any further. Quinn understood the gesture: the German did not want him in his flat, but neither did he want him out in the hall in public view while he told him as much.
“I’ve already asked around,” Denlinger said. Quinn was not sure whether to read the hushed tone of his voice as conspiratorial or simply sullen. “No one here knows anything about Garner.”
You’re not wanted here. Leave
.
Quinn nodded, deliberately taking the words at face value. The flat was tiny and cramped. Quinn could see the gathered Resistance members over Denlinger’s shoulder looking suspiciously at him. “I see. That is unfortunate. Well then, I’ll just be needing to speak briefly with your associates, and then I’ll be on my way.” He held up his hand as Denlinger opened his mouth to object. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, Herr Denlinger. Of course not. But I still need to speak with people from your cell who have had contact with Garner, even if they don’t know his current whereabouts.” He smiled. “Don’t worry, I don’t want to disrupt. After you have finished your other business, of course.”
Denlinger glanced uncertainly over his shoulder, to see if anyone else would come to his aid. The motion confirmed the opinion Quinn had formed when he first met the German student this afternoon: a coward, an intellectual who fancied himself a revolutionary. He would attend these meetings, tell people that he alreadyknew agreed with him about the need for change, but he would never take action, never put himself in harm’s way.
No one else spoke, and reluctantly Denlinger stepped back out of his way. “We were just about to start, Herr Kaufholz,” he said, and paused, waiting for Quinn to ask his questions now, before the meeting started. Quinn simply waited, patiently staring at the Resistance leader. Denlinger shifted uncomfortably.
At last the young man said, “Go ahead. What is it you wanted to ask?”
“Nonsense, Herr Denlinger,” Quinn said. “Please, I wouldn’t want to delay your meeting any more than I already have. I can ask my questions after you’re finished.”
Denlinger looked around at the others in the room again, but still no one came to his aid. Reluctantly, he stepped across the room and resumed his seat, then began talking to the group, now obstinately ignoring Quinn. Quinn understood his reservations; being part of a Resistance cell, even one that just met and talked like this, had always been dangerous in Nazi Germany, but it must have gotten considerably more so since the student riots in Prague a few summers ago had brought a wave of government repression.
Quinn hung back in the shadows by the door, studying the room. It was sparsely furnished, almost bare. There were eight others besides Denlinger, five men and three women, some of them still watching him suspiciously, some now giving their attention to the meeting. None
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