Chapter 9
The very next morning, Bernd made his way to the Gestapo headquarters in Prinz-Albrecht-Strasse. He asked for Kriminalassistent Becker, who worked in the Department for Jewish Affairs.
They had met several times before in the course of their duties. Bernd couldn’t stand the fanatical Nazi and had to brace himself each time to avoid letting it show. Their dislike was mutual, since Becker was aware of, or at least suspected, Bernd’s critical stance toward the Nazi regime.
Unfortunately, this didn’t make a good starting point for his plan to have the Seiferts’ deportation rescinded. But if he bypassed Becker and approached his supervisor directly, it would only cause further difficulties in the future.
“What can I do for you today, Lieutenant?” Becker asked with exaggerated politeness.
“Thank you for taking the time to see me, Herr Kriminalassistent. Indeed, I have a matter I wish to discuss.” Bernd had spent the journey carefully preparing his words. “It’s about the imminent deportation of Herr and Frau Seifert.”
Becker interrupted him. “Personal friends of yours?”
“No, not at all. I’m here as a representative of the Abwehr. Anton Seifert is a licensed consultant. Our department urgently needs his services to handle certain administrative matters concerning Jewish subjects. I’m sure you know that in such cases we aren’t permitted to use Aryan lawyers.”
“Then just use a different one, there are enough of them about.”
“Herr Seifert—”
“Jew Seifert,” Becker interrupted.
“—was selected by us on the basis of his professional qualifications and is familiar with the Abwehr’s procedures.
It’s in the interest of the Reich to use his services.
Due to other urgent obligations, we don’t currently have the resources to train new consultants to handle the official files that I am certain we will be receiving with greater regularity in the near future. ”
Becker grunted sullenly.
“Furthermore,” Bernd paused just in time to prevent the word Herr tumbling from his lips again.
Since he couldn’t bring himself to say ‘Jew Seifert’ in such a derogatory fashion, he opted for simply using the man’s surname.
“Seifert is a highly decorated Great War veteran, with war-wounded status. For these reasons alone, his deportation should be postponed.”
Becker’s eyes flashed, as he grumbled, “What the hell. Sooner or later, we’ll come for them all.
” He fished a list from a drawer, crossed out the names Anton and Gerda Seifert, and handed Bernd a confirmation that the Jew Seifert was temporarily exempt from evacuation, as the Gestapo euphemistically called deportation to ghettos in German-controlled Poland.
“Anything else?”
“No, that was all. Thank you very much for your cooperation and have a nice day, Herr Kriminalassistent.” Bernd grabbed the confirmation and left the office. It had gone surprisingly smoothly. Based on his previous experience with Becker, he had expected more resistance.
All the same, Becker’s throwaway “Sooner or later, we’ll come for them all,” gnawed at his mind. The same thing could – and would – happen again at any time.
Arriving back at the Bendlerblock, he decided to report to his boss, but Dohnanyi was away on business for several days.
He made a written report and then went to the canteen, where he spotted Knut.
The two were extremely careful to make their relationship appear purely professional to everyone around them, and avoided being seen with each other too often.
But today Knut asked, “Would you like to eat with me?”
“I’d love to. I have a problem with the Gestapo, and I’d like to hear your opinion.” They sat down at a table where some colleagues from his department had almost finished eating. He introduced Knut: “This is Lieutenant Hesse. He was recently transferred to Oster’s department.”
When the others had left, Knut asked quietly, “What’s your problem with the Gestapo?”
For some time, a bitter feud had been raging between the two organizations over jurisdiction and responsibilities, fought out at the highest level between Müller, Heydrich and Canaris.
As a result, the lower ranks constantly made life difficult for each other.
Critics of the regime, like Bernd, had particularly frequent clashes with Gestapo officers.
“I had an interview with Kriminalassistent Becker this morning about rescinding the scheduled deportation of a Jew.” The clatter of dishes in the room was loud enough to drown out any conversation at normal volume, however Bernd lowered his voice as a precaution and deliberately didn’t mention a name.
“Did he agree?”
“Astonishingly, with very little grumbling, after I made it clear to him that the man in question is of great importance to our work. However, I have an inkling that this is going to happen again – both to him and to others in a similar situation.”
Knut tilted his head. “That would present an opportunity to act on what we discussed recently, wouldn’t it?”
Bernd bit his lower lip while he studied the slice of meat on his plate. “I did mention to my contact that he shouldn’t hesitate to involve me, if anyone is in need.”
The smile on Knut’s face sent a wave of love through Bernd’s body. His hand twitched to touch his friend, however at the last moment he caught himself. Under no circumstances could they be found out.
“I’m wondering if there’s a way to get these people out of the country,” Bernd mused, remembering several instances where Hans Oster’s department had obtained exit permits for endangered Jews.
“But that’s prohibited now.” Knut frowned.
Bernd’s soul ached for him, knowing he remembered the traumatic experience his sister Edith and her husband Julius had suffered when they were turned away at the border.
“Hmm. Yes. Unless…” Bernd broke off. “What was the exact wording of the law?”
Knut shrugged and remained silent to allow Bernd to think in peace.
“The emigration of Jews from Germany is prohibited without exception for the duration of the war. But an internal communication from Gestapo chief Müller, published a few days later, states that wealthy Jews can buy their way out in individual cases, and if there’s a positive interest for the Reich. ”
Knut’s eyes widened. “So that means we just have to prove it’s in the Reich’s interest?”
“Right. But how?”
“An agent.” Knut skewered a piece of meat on his fork and chewed with relish. The officers’ cafeteria in the Bendlerblock served superb food. “That would be a convincing reason why the person in question needs to leave the country.”
“The Gestapo will wonder why a Jew, of all people, is required to fulfil such a role,” Bernd pointed out.
“That’s easy to explain: a Jew is above suspicion. No one out there would suspect he is in fact a spy for the German Reich. Because honestly, what Jew still sympathizes with the regime?”
Bernd thought for a while before replying. “Which is precisely the problem. What Jew would agree to work for us as an agent?”
Knut ran one hand through his hair before diving into his dessert. “In return for safe passage abroad? Who wouldn’t?”
“To then defect at the first opportunity and hand over vital information to the local authorities? Possibly even agree to work as a double agent?” Bernd was too much the Abwehr employee to discount such possibilities.
“It would cause immense damage: not only to our country if crucial war secrets were betrayed, but most of all to the reputation of our group within the Abwehr.”
“True.” A wink from Knut was enough to indicate he understood that Bernd meant the resistance group within the Abwehr, which had to remain beyond the slightest suspicion.
“What if their activities as agent were purely for show? That would kill two birds with one stone. Firstly, the people concerned wouldn’t have reservations about working for us and secondly, they can’t reveal any secrets to an enemy. The whole thing would be a fabrication.”
“That’s brilliant. I’ll suggest it to Dohnanyi as soon as he gets back.” He was so pleased with such a truly ingenious idea, he wanted to jump up and hug Knut.
Alas, that wasn’t an option. So he contented himself with saying, “We’ll celebrate in style this evening.”
Knut’s delighted expression was reward enough for him. Finally, they were moving forward.