bring him here.”
There had to be a way out of this place. Gretchen scanned the small office: the rubbish-covered floor, the overturned desks, the window overlooking the busy street. She raced to the window and tried to force it open, but it had been painted shut. She and Gerlich were trapped.
The doorknob started to turn. She watched it, mesmerized, unable to move.
The door was flung open so hard that it banged into the wall. Amann stood in the entryway, his blue eyes fixed on Gerlich. Behind him, several SA fellows loomed like a brown wall.
Amann glanced at her. “Who’s this?”
She fumbled for her false papers in her purse. Please, please let him not look at her too closely. “My name is Gisela Schröder—”
He snatched the papers from her and scanned them. “They seem to be in order. Perhaps we ought to take her along, too, though. Only our enemies would come here.”
God, no . She knew what would happen if they forced her to accompany them. Sooner or later, one of Reinhard’s old comrades would recognize her. She wouldn’t last long after that—a bullet to the back of the head, if they were feeling lenient; hours of torture, if they weren’t. Blood drained from her face.
She raised her gaze to meet Amann’s, praying her expression looked calm. With one hand, she smoothed the collar of her coat, reaching inside with her index finger and snagging it on her necklace. Quickly, she pulled it out, so the swastika charm lay, gold and gleaming, against the gray wool of her coat.
“This isn’t where I meant to come.” She sounded breathless even to her own ears. “I had the wrong address.”
Amann glanced at her necklace. “A foolish mistake to make today, Fräulein.” He waved a hand dismissively. “She’s one of us,” he said to his SA subordinates. “Let her go.”
Gretchen snatched up her suitcase with shaking hands. “Thank you.” She looked at Gerlich. What about him? She hated the thought of leaving him behind. I’m sorry , she tried to say with her eyes, but he merely shook his head, mouthing, Go .
The SA men separated a little, leaving a hole between their bodies for her to sneak through. As she darted between them, she smelled the sweaty linen of their uniforms, mixed with the staleness of cigarette smoke. Under her blouse, a thin line of perspiration slid down her spine. Hitler’s old birthday present had saved her life. But Amann might still remember her. She ran across the lobby—another second and he might yell at his men to go after her—
From the office, she heard screams of pain and the sickening smack of fists meeting flesh. Gerlich . Her heart lurched, but she couldn’t go back.
She dashed toward the front door, hitting it with the flat of her hand so it heaved open. She plowed down the steps into the crowded street, startling a flock of pigeons fighting over crumbs on the sidewalk.
The birds’ harsh cries echoed as they flew into the snow-white sky, but Gretchen barely heard them, concentrating on the street ahead. More businessmen in suits and housewives in woolen coats; no familiar tall, lean figure in a fedora. Daniel might be somewhere in the city, though, perhaps only feet away. Maybe his former colleagues knew where to find him. Or maybe—her heart clenched—maybe their offices were being attacked, too.
A streetcar trundled to a stop at the corner and she ran to get onboard before it continued on its route. She sank into a seat at the back, keeping her head down, praying nobody would look at her. The Post office was a quick ride away. Perhaps the SA were already on their way to the newspaper’s building; they seemed to be going after their old enemies today.
She had to get there before they did.
6
THE STREETCAR LET HER OFF TWO BLOCKS AWAY from the newspaper office. The muscles in her legs screamed to run , but she managed to walk, eyes scanning the avenue, searching for a potential threat. Snow was falling softly now, the flakes hitting the back of her
There had to be a way out of this place. Gretchen scanned the small office: the rubbish-covered floor, the overturned desks, the window overlooking the busy street. She raced to the window and tried to force it open, but it had been painted shut. She and Gerlich were trapped.
The doorknob started to turn. She watched it, mesmerized, unable to move.
The door was flung open so hard that it banged into the wall. Amann stood in the entryway, his blue eyes fixed on Gerlich. Behind him, several SA fellows loomed like a brown wall.
Amann glanced at her. “Who’s this?”
She fumbled for her false papers in her purse. Please, please let him not look at her too closely. “My name is Gisela Schröder—”
He snatched the papers from her and scanned them. “They seem to be in order. Perhaps we ought to take her along, too, though. Only our enemies would come here.”
God, no . She knew what would happen if they forced her to accompany them. Sooner or later, one of Reinhard’s old comrades would recognize her. She wouldn’t last long after that—a bullet to the back of the head, if they were feeling lenient; hours of torture, if they weren’t. Blood drained from her face.
She raised her gaze to meet Amann’s, praying her expression looked calm. With one hand, she smoothed the collar of her coat, reaching inside with her index finger and snagging it on her necklace. Quickly, she pulled it out, so the swastika charm lay, gold and gleaming, against the gray wool of her coat.
“This isn’t where I meant to come.” She sounded breathless even to her own ears. “I had the wrong address.”
Amann glanced at her necklace. “A foolish mistake to make today, Fräulein.” He waved a hand dismissively. “She’s one of us,” he said to his SA subordinates. “Let her go.”
Gretchen snatched up her suitcase with shaking hands. “Thank you.” She looked at Gerlich. What about him? She hated the thought of leaving him behind. I’m sorry , she tried to say with her eyes, but he merely shook his head, mouthing, Go .
The SA men separated a little, leaving a hole between their bodies for her to sneak through. As she darted between them, she smelled the sweaty linen of their uniforms, mixed with the staleness of cigarette smoke. Under her blouse, a thin line of perspiration slid down her spine. Hitler’s old birthday present had saved her life. But Amann might still remember her. She ran across the lobby—another second and he might yell at his men to go after her—
From the office, she heard screams of pain and the sickening smack of fists meeting flesh. Gerlich . Her heart lurched, but she couldn’t go back.
She dashed toward the front door, hitting it with the flat of her hand so it heaved open. She plowed down the steps into the crowded street, startling a flock of pigeons fighting over crumbs on the sidewalk.
The birds’ harsh cries echoed as they flew into the snow-white sky, but Gretchen barely heard them, concentrating on the street ahead. More businessmen in suits and housewives in woolen coats; no familiar tall, lean figure in a fedora. Daniel might be somewhere in the city, though, perhaps only feet away. Maybe his former colleagues knew where to find him. Or maybe—her heart clenched—maybe their offices were being attacked, too.
A streetcar trundled to a stop at the corner and she ran to get onboard before it continued on its route. She sank into a seat at the back, keeping her head down, praying nobody would look at her. The Post office was a quick ride away. Perhaps the SA were already on their way to the newspaper’s building; they seemed to be going after their old enemies today.
She had to get there before they did.
6
THE STREETCAR LET HER OFF TWO BLOCKS AWAY from the newspaper office. The muscles in her legs screamed to run , but she managed to walk, eyes scanning the avenue, searching for a potential threat. Snow was falling softly now, the flakes hitting the back of her
Similar Books
