38
The Brown House
THE TROOPERS GUARDING THE Brown House traveled in groups of two.
They would emerge from the entrance in their fur-lined coats and walk the perimeter before returning to the main entrance.
The lap around the building took roughly fifteen minutes.
Every ten minutes, a fresh pair would exit the main door and conduct their patrol.
So at any one time, there were four guards circling the grounds.
Across the street in the Konigsplatz, Thomas Bauer stood on the steps among the Doric columns of the Propylaea—a memorial erected in honor of King Otto of Greece, a son of King Ludwig I of Bavaria—monitoring the guards through his binoculars.
He was dressed in black from his knit stocking cap to his sweater to his pants and shoes.
“This is a suicide mission,” said Gerlich, standing next to him.
“Too risky,” Helldorff agreed. “We should abort.”
“Get in positions,” said Bauer. He picked up his old, cracked leather overnight bag and wrapped his arms through the long handles, wearing it like a backpack. He walked slowly through the Konigsplatz toward the trees that lined his side of Arcisstra?e.
A pair of guards soon emerged around the corner from the front of the Brown House.
One of them told some joke and the other one laughed, expelling frozen breath into the air.
They walked along the perimeter, moving in and out of the faint illumination from the streetlamps, a shadowy pair with rifles slung over their shoulders, flashlights dangling in their hands, passing the service entrance and continuing until they disappeared around the corner.
Now.
Bauer split through the foliage and crossed Arcisstra?e.
He hit the fence in full stride, grabbing on to the top, swinging his left leg over and then his right, but his hand slipped and lost its grip, the top more slippery than he’d expected.
Instead of an easy drop, Bauer twisted through the air and landed hard on his right shoulder, his head banging against the hard earth.
The ground felt like it was spinning. Stunned, dazed, a wave of nausea passing through him, ignoring the shooting pain in his shoulder, he raised his head and listened. He was all in now, no turning back, no matter how injured. And he didn’t have long.
Bent low, recalling his days in the infantry, Bauer rushed to the service door.
He reached into his pocket for the skeleton key.
The simple move brought agonizing pain in his shoulder, the pain shrieking between his ears.
But he got out the key, inserted it in the lock, pulled open the heavy door, and closed it behind him.
He was inside the Brown House.