118
THOMAS BAUER MOVED TOWARD the crowd gathering around Eva Braun. “Fr?ulein Braun, hello again,” he said, forcing his hand to her.
“Ah, Henrik!” she said, taking his hand. “It is Henrik, yes?”
“It is, yes,” said Bauer. “Henrik Becker.”
“I never forget a handsome face.” She winked at him.
Apparently you do, he thought, considering you met me back in 1933, albeit in disguise as a Photoplay reporter.
“You’re from OKH, yes?” she asked. “The supply office? Yet every time I come up, you’re here.”
“We are, yes.” Bauer put a hand on his heart. “And fervent loyalists of the Führer. We wish to be here until the end.”
“We?”
“Me and my friend Alfred, Alfred Otto,” said Bauer, as von der Haas walked up. “I was just telling Fr?ulein Braun, Alfred, how much you and I admire the Führer.”
“First of all,” she said, playfully backhanding his arm, “could we dispense with the ‘Fr?ulein Braun’? It’s Eva. It’s Eva to everyone.”
“Well, Eva,” said von der Haas, “we consider it an honor of a lifetime to be even this close to his greatness.”
“I’m certain he would appreciate that.”
Positioned as he was, Bauer could see past Braun to the farther end of the conference room. He saw a man pass, wearing a hat and trench coat. Then another. Officers attempting to flee, he realized. No doubt trying the U-Bahn subway tunnels, a perilous journey but just about the only option left.
“Is it true, Eva,” said von der Haas, “that the Führer has brought his portrait of Frederick the Great down to his private office here?”
“Yes, it’s true!”
“I am such a fan!” said von der Haas. “My two personal heroes, the Führer and Frederick the Great!”
“Really? Would you like to see the portrait?”
A third man, likewise dressed in civilian clothes, followed the other two men. Bauer looked into the dark eyes and steel jaw of the man’s face and dropped his glass of brandy.
No.
But yes. It was the head of the Gestapo.
“Oh, look what you did, Henrik!” said Eva. “My dress!”
“My apologies. Excuse me a minute.” Bauer brushed past Eva and started after the men. They were moving quickly and had a head start, but once Bauer got clear of the crowd, he raced toward the stairwell and pushed open the heavy door into the frigid air.
The men had already turned and were headed, he assumed, toward the Kaiserhof subway station. Bauer needed a bit of distance from the chancellery grounds. But he didn’t have much time.
Finally, he called out, “Müller!”
The man looked back, without stopping. “What is it?” he hissed, trying to stay incognito.
Bauer improvised. “The… the Führer has a message!”
“What?” That made him stop. “What is it? Quickly.”
Bauer, in his brown OKH uniform, caught up to the man he once called his boss.
“Chief Müller,” he said. “The Führer asked me to extend a personal message of thanks to you for covering his murder of his niece Geli in Munich back in 1931. He realizes that none of his later achievements would have been possible if he’d been arrested for murder, as he should have been. ”
Müller’s eyes narrowed.
“Think of all the millions of innocent people who would still be alive today if it weren’t for you.
Think of the millions murdered because of their religion, all the civilians and soldiers killed throughout Europe, all the widows and orphans and mass destruction—all because you decided not to uphold the oath you swore as chief of the police. He’s really grateful!”
Bauer removed the sidearm from his holster as he locked eyes with Müller.
“Bauer?” Müller spit out, his eyes widening. “Is that—”
The chief reached into the pocket of his trench coat, but Bauer seized his arm. “If anything besides your hand comes out of that pocket, Chief, I put a bullet in your stomach.” He shoved his sidearm into Müller’s gut. “And you bleed out in front of the Soviet Army.”
Müller removed his hand and held it up. With his free hand, Bauer reached into the chief’s pocket and took his firearm.
“You did pretty well for yourself, didn’t you, Chief? Promoted all the way to the head of the Gestapo? Craven loyalty pays off.”
“So… what now, Bauer?” said Müller.
“I’m not going to kill you. That’s the difference between me and people like you and your despicable fascist friends. I don’t kill defenseless people.”
He removed his gun from Müller’s gut. Then he fired a single round, popping a smoking hole in Müller’s leather boot.
Müller shrieked in pain and fell to the pavement, clutching his foot.
“Sometimes I maim them, though,” said Bauer. “Best of luck with your escape.”