Chapter 18
Bernd sat at his desk, tugging at his hair. Nothing had worked. Neither changing the contact person for meetings with the Gestapo, nor Major General Oster’s intervention with Müller, the head of the Gestapo, not even a personal conversation between Admiral Canaris and Heinrich Himmler himself.
Time and again, Knut had visited Kriminalassistent Becker to obtain the required exit permits for their purported agents – without success. He had carried papers to and fro, asked, begged, and threatened, yet nothing had helped. He was beginning to get worried.
Even the instructor’s final certificate at the Quenzgut, stating the agents had been excellent students and were well-versed in every conceivable intelligence technique had been of no use.
Robert had unreservedly recommended all four for deployment, making special mention of Nellie’s quick mind and inventiveness.
Dohnanyi hurried in. “Urgent meeting in ten minutes.”
Bernd raised his head in surprise, as there was nothing in his diary. “Problems?”
“Operation Pastorius hasn’t gone as well as expected.” Bernd’s superior stifled a grin.
Bernd had always felt the operation was doomed from the start. His boss’s reaction confirmed Bernd’s suspicion that not only had the top brass in the Abwehr been aware of the fact, they had actively intended it to fail. For Bernd, it was the only plausible explanation.
The eight agents were loyal Nazis who had expressed their allegiance during previous stays in the USA.
They had been given the task of destroying factories, railway lines, dams and other infrastructure critical to the American war effort on American soil.
The aim was to severely hamper munitions production as well as sowing panic among the population.
Clearly, things hadn’t gone to plan. Bernd and Knut had discussed the operation, and both believed that Canaris had expected, perhaps even facilitated, the mission’s failure, in a sense sabotaging his own efforts as a way of resisting the regime. Bernd couldn’t help but admire the man’s courage.
“I’ll be right there.” Bernd snapped his report book shut and locked it in his desk drawer.
As he strode to the coat rack to fetch his uniform jacket, Dohnanyi asked, “How is Operation Seven progressing?”
“Unfortunately, I have no progress to report.” A feeling of inadequacy crept over Bernd.
“My colleague, Lieutenant Hesse, has been to the Gestapo several times, most recently with a recommendation from the Quenzgut supporting our agents. Kriminalassistent Becker acknowledged the recommendations, nodded and said, ‘This doesn’t change the fact that these subjects are Jews, and Jews are not permitted to leave the German Reich’. ”
“That doesn’t sound very encouraging.”
Bernd buttoned his jacket, frustrated by his lack of success. “I’m at my wit’s end. If we don’t get some kind of miracle soon, we’ll have to cancel Operation Seven, for good or ill.”
Dohnanyi tilted his head from side to side. “Giving up is not an option. We are dealing with people’s lives. Lives which may not continue for much longer. If nothing else occurs to you, then pray for a miracle.”
“Yes, sir.” Bernd had years ago lost any love for the religion that labelled him and his kind as depraved creatures, but he had not yet given up hope that a kind and accepting God existed, whose people merely misinterpreted his teaching.
“Very well, let’s go to that emergency meeting. I’m curious to see how Krenze intends to talk his way out of this one.”
Together they walked through the long corridors, encountering more and more Abwehr employees moving in the same direction. It looked very much like the entire Foreign Office was aware that reports from American radio stations had been intercepted on the night of June the twenty-ninth.
When Bernd entered the meeting room, there were already a dozen Abwehr officers sat down, including Knut.
He stared fixedly at his superior, to avoid the temptation of exchanging a wink with Knut.
The more intense their love became, the more diligently they maintained distance from one another in public, particularly after the near-discovery with Krenze.
Working at an intelligence agency, where sensing conspiracies around every corner was every employee’s profession, they had to be doubly on their guard.
Krenze rose to speak. “You have probably heard that all eight Pastorius agents were arrested shortly after being set down by U-Boat on the American East Coast.”
A murmur went through the crowd. Bernd watched his colleagues’ faces closely. Some displayed open and gloating schadenfreude, others appeared honestly dismayed.
“The radio messages we intercepted are not very informative. However, it can be assumed that none of the agents had the opportunity to carry out any sabotage activities before they were caught by the American Federal Police.”
It sounded to Bernd as though someone had informed the Americans about the agents being dropped on the East Coast. A joyful shiver ran down his spine.
This meant a few more grains of sand in the otherwise well-oiled machinery of the Abwehr’s espionage activities.
Deliberately curtailing their own activities, thus preventing damage to the enemy were yet more means of shortening this war.
Over the next few hours, every detail of the course of Operation Pastorius was discussed, while Krenze went to great effort to clear himself of all responsibility and attribute the arrest of his agents to unfortunate circumstances.
Finally the meeting ended and Bernd returned in relief to his office to resume work. When he arrived, an order was waiting on his desk. He picked up the note and swore. “Dammit!”
This was the last thing he wanted, but orders were orders.
He ended his workday earlier than usual and drove home.
Once there, an excellent idea occurred to him, how he might be able to squeeze something positive out of this otherwise distasteful mission.
He packed a suitcase before saying farewell to his parents for a few days, then took the S-Bahn to Knut’s apartment.
As he arrived, the nosy neighbor was leaving the building, carrying a shopping basket on her arm. He waited for her to turn the corner before entering the building and climbing the stairs up to Knut’s apartment.
“Bernd. Come in.” A grin spread across Knut’s face as he spotted the suitcase in Bernd’s hand. “Are you moving in?”
“That’s a tempting idea, and I did actually hope to store a few items of clothing with you.” The glow on Knut’s face warmed his heart. “However, I have to get to the airport at some ungodly hour of tomorrow morning, and…”
“… and you thought that if you had to get up early, I shouldn’t be allowed to sleep in either?” Knut’s teasing remark didn’t hide his enthusiasm over the unexpected visit.
“That, and because it’s much more practical to drive to the airport from here than from Grunewald.”
“I see your point.” Remarkably, Knut managed to keep a straight face, since Bernd’s parents’ villa was much closer to Rangsdorf airport than Knut’s apartment was.
Later, while they sat in the living room listening to a music show on the radio, Knut asked, “Where are they sending you?”
“Wolf’s Lair.”
“To the Führer?” Of Hitler’s various military headquarters, the Wolf’s Lair in East Prussia was the one he used most frequently.
“Admiral Canaris has been summoned there for tomorrow morning. It’s about Operation Pastorius.” Bernd had very little desire to face Hitler, who was probably seething with fury at the mission’s disastrous outcome. “You can’t imagine how much I’m looking forward to it.”
“Perhaps you’ll get lucky and he’ll cancel.” Hitler was well known for cancelling carefully planned meetings at short notice, postponing them or even devoting them to a completely different topic.
“Or I’ll be stuck there for the next few days.”
“Why are you accompanying the admiral, instead of Krenze? Pastorius was his responsibility.”
Bernd shrugged. “What do I know? Though I imagine it’s less about getting a factual report on the operation and more about finding a scapegoat. You know Krenze, he’s got a knack for wriggling out of awkward situations.”
Knut was silent while the radio played music requests from listeners. After a while, he said, “Maybe we can use this fiasco for our own ends.”
“How on earth should we do that?” Bernd frowned.
“At the very least, it strengthens the position of Operation Seven. Since the arrest of the Pastorius agents, we urgently need replacements.”
“Except our seven are due to go to South America, not the USA.”
“You don’t have to mention that explicitly, if you’re not asked about it.”
“Not a bad idea,” Bernd agreed. “If the opportunity arises, I’ll also bring up that the Gestapo is refusing to issue exit permits to our much-needed agents.”
“You see? Something good might come of it after all. Now let’s talk about something else.” Knut leaned in to kiss him. A warm tingle spread through Bernd’s body.
“I wish we could move in together. This feels like our last safe place.” Bernd mused.
“Don’t dream of impossible things.” Knut’s voice sounded defeated.
“Who knows what will happen? I for my part strongly believe there will be a better future after the war.”
“Better definitely, because we won’t have to deal with the crazy Führer anymore.” Knut leaned back, staring into the void for a while, before he added, “Do you think our situation will change, though?”
Bernd had asked himself the same question many times over. Usually he didn’t allow himself to dream of life together with Knut in the open as partners. “Hard to say. Every one of the Allies has laws against homosexuality, except for France.”
“Until the Vichy Government implemented that new law just a couple months ago.”
“Right, I forgot.” Bernd scratched his head. “We need to be more careful. I think your nosy neighbor suspects something. She seems to shoot out of nowhere every time I come to visit.”