Chapter 14
The irony of a Jew living in an attic in Hitler’s Third Reich in Berlin did not escape Hannah, although she didn’t mention it. What would be the point? She doubted it would have occurred to Lizzie, no matter how fierce she was in fighting the Nazis.
Hannah had worked with Jack and the SOE since the beginning, before Lizzie was recruited, and although they were sympathetic to the plight of her people, their focus as directed from London was to help win the war, not save Jews being hunted by the regime.
Fortunately for Hannah, their war goals aligned.
In the Lavender Network in the south of France, a region until recently under Vichy rule, she and Lev had worked tirelessly for Allied liberation, but also to smuggle those in danger over the Pyrenees to safety.
Many were Jews, others were downed airmen, some were desperate souls of various ethnicities, and homosexuals who would be sent to the death camps along with the Jews if they were discovered in one of the roundups.
Hannah stepped off the S-Bahn at Potsdamer Platz, which was a short walk from the Air Ministry. Her thoughts plagued her as she walked towards the government quarter known as the Mitte district.
If you weren't a Jew, it was impossible to grasp just how desperate the situation had become for the most persecuted minority in history.
The danger was not confined to Europe. In Muslim-ruled countries across the Middle East, Iraq and Egypt among them, governments had rushed to align with Hitler.
Jews who had lived for centuries as second-class citizens, or dhimmis, now found their property confiscated under laws mirroring Nazi statutes and were attacked and murdered in pogroms.
Before the war, Hannah didn’t know Jews had lived in other Middle Eastern countries for millennia, not only in Eretz Israel. She had family in Jerusalem, whom she had never met, whose roots traced back to ancient Israel.
She remembered her father promising her that one day they would join them in the Jewish homeland, and they would finally see Jerusalem with their own eyes and pray at the Western Wall—the last remnant of the Second Jewish Temple, and the closest Jews were permitted to come to the holiest site in Judaism.
Every synagogue in the world faced Jerusalem in prayer, and one day they too would stand on that holy ground.
Why her father hadn’t got them out of Germany like many of their friends whilst he still could, haunted Hannah in her darkest moments.
She tried not to think that now they would never see Jerusalem together, but the thoughts were inescapable.
She wrestled her thoughts away from her parents, but it was more difficult since arriving in Berlin.
Every street, park, and landmark held some memory of her family, her childhood, and her youth.
She reached Wilhelmstrasse 81-97 and looked up at the massive government building. Hermann Goring had commissioned it when she still lived in the city, and even the thought of Hitler’s vile deputy made her queasy.
This was no time to let anger dictate her feelings.
She must draw on her hatred and desire for revenge to pull her through what would be the most difficult mission of her life.
She’d somehow infiltrated Nazi HQ in Paris, but this was even more ambitious.
When she discussed it with Lev in Toulouse, he said it took some guts for a Berlin-born Jew to return to the city and take up an enviable post at the Reich Air Ministry.
Lizzie said it was precisely the brazenness of the move that would be her best defence. She knew from her undercover interactions with high-ranking Nazis that they were usually so arrogant they wouldn’t even imagine such a thing.
Hannah inhaled the fresh winter air, straightened her hat, and approached the door. This was it.
Lizzie had given her a tight hug in the attic room, after they had eaten breakfast, surrounded by a handful of lodgers. ‘Good luck and take care. If anyone suspects you, just get out of there. We’ll find another way to contact the source.’
Hannah had nodded, but knew there was no room for failure. This was a once in a lifetime chance to extract vital intelligence from the Air Ministry with the help of their source, and she could not afford to blow it.
An armed soldier stepped forward to inspect her identity card and ask the purpose of her visit to the prestigious building. Hannah recited her cover story carefully in crisp German, all the while vengeance burning in her heart.
She smiled and said in a polite tone. ‘I am to begin work at 8 a.m. as a typist. I mustn’t be late.’
The soldier looked her up and down and then stepped aside.
It was almost too easy, and the elation of passing the first barrier buoyed her steps as she approached the reception area.
Her work permit and precious letter of appointment, engineered through a contact of a contact, were scrutinized, and after more minutes ticked by, bringing the time perilously close to 8 a.m. the receptionist rose and escorted her across the large hall.
They walked up a flight of stairs and through a door where she told Hannah to take a seat. Someone would come for her soon.
Hannah waited and saw that the meticulous organisation the Germans were so famous for was still in place, and a dangerous thought crossed her mind.
It was said that the Nazis kept records of all their operations throughout the war.
Lev told her they were so proud of their system to rid the world of the Jews and others they deemed undesirable that they recorded every detail.
Was it possible she might find the answers she had sought for so long about the fate of her parents and siblings?
After hearing many chilling stories of Jewish families being exterminated like insects, she had warned herself repeatedly not to cling to the hope that she would find them after the war.
But still it persisted, a flame that wouldn’t be extinguished. She told herself that those records were unlikely to be held at the Air Ministry.
‘Frau Weber. This way, please.’ A woman whom Hannah estimated to be in her late forties appeared at her side and steered her through several doors until they entered a noisy typing pool.
There was a loud clack-clacking sound, and several pairs of curious eyes darted over her and then quickly returned to their typewriters.
Curiosity could get you killed in Berlin. Everyone knew that.
The woman showed Hannah to a small table with a typewriter that already had a piece of blank paper in it, and neatly stacked office equipment to one side. She showed her where to hang her coat and beckoned her to sit at the table.
‘This is your first assignment, so we can assess your skills. Type this letter as quickly as you can. Then bring it to me over there.’ She pointed to a large desk in the corner of the room.
Hannah took the letter and thanked the woman.
‘There is no room for error, so make sure it’s accurate,’ she said. ‘The department head won’t stand for it. Make sure it’s 100% correct if you want a chance at keeping this position.’
Hannah remembered the supervisor’s sort from previous interactions with Reich administrative employees. The power went to their heads, and they thought it was their job to keep the staff under their thumb. She wasn’t intimidated although she realised, she probably should be.
The truth was Hannah thrived on doing the impossible, and any task that would keep her treacherous thoughts away from thinking about Henry was a welcome respite.
She refused to believe Henry was gone and had decided not to even entertain the possibility. Hannah couldn’t lose him. He must be in a prisoner-of-war camp.
What was there to live for if he was dead too?