Chapter 33
Lizzie boarded the tram and sat at the other end from Mother Clara, but her eyes strayed to her occasionally.
It was jarring to see her without her habit, dressed in civilian clothes.
They could not afford to be caught together on this outing, as Mother Clara explained to Lizzie when she arrived at the convent that morning.
November had merged into December as the busy days flew by in her strange new life as a war widow.
Snow flurried past the tram window as they rumbled through the overcast Berlin streets.
Lizzie pulled her scarf closer around her neck to block the chill that whistled down the aisle.
It was mid-morning, and the worst of the morning bustle was over, and the tram wasn’t packed.
Lizzie discreetly studied her fellow travellers, keeping her eyes firmly off the Franciscan sister who fascinated her.
An old woman hunched in her seat, her eyelids heavy with weariness, closing intermittently until the tram jerked her awake.
Her face was so deeply lined it reminded Lizzie of a parchment map.
She wondered if the old woman’s demeanour told the story of her life.
If so, it must have been one of disappointment.
She looked as if all the fight had been drained out of her, and she was ready for the end.
A sudden foreboding shook Lizzie, and she shifted in her seat and reminded herself not to indulge her doom-ridden cycle of thoughts.
They were on their way to meet an important forger. Lizzie was excited to be on the move, but she was also aware just how dangerous it was for them to meet with a Jewish fugitive. Every sinew of her body was primed for a potential fight.
When Lizzie discussed the meeting with Hannah, she explained they called Jews who had gone into hiding U-boats.
‘They are just below the surface, you see. My contacts tell me there are still quite a few who didn’t make it out in time or refused to leave and evaded capture.
They have gone underground and are still hiding in Berlin.
Be careful. If he’s on the radar of the Berlin Gestapo, they will be actively searching for him. ’
‘What a brave individual. Mother Clara told me he is highly skilled as a watchmaker, but his family’s business was Aryanised, and he dedicated himself to forging documents to get as many Jews out as possible. He forged the documents for Liesel to enter the orphanage.’
‘The mother superior is playing a dangerous game,’ Hannah warned as they continued their walk through the Tiergarten.
‘I hope she knows what she’s doing. Hunting U-boats is said to be one of Eichmann's favourite pastimes, and add to that this watchmaker is a renowned forger; the Kripo will be looking for him too. The bastards don’t take it well when our people make fools of them, and forging documents is a political offence and a criminal one.
My bet is they’ll have a lot of manpower on this. ’
‘I’ll be extra careful,’ Lizzie reassured her. ‘As careful as you were revisiting your old apartment and not telling me so I could give you backup!’
Hannah released a rueful laugh. ‘You make a good point.’
They took another fast turn around the park, and Lizzie asked Hannah what her understanding was of the family’s situation, who were in hiding at the convent.
‘They must be a Mischehe family, which means they have a mixed marriage. One parent will be Jewish and the other Christian, which means the children are classed as first-degree mixed race. They didn’t have to wear a yellow star and were more protected than the rest of us, but if they’re trying to get away, their time is running out as the Aryan net tightens.
They won’t stop until they kill everyone with a drop of Jewish blood.
According to their racial purity laws, the marriage is contaminated, so the child is in danger too. ’
Mother Clara referred to the forger in whispered awe as the watchmaker. She didn’t share his real name, and Lizzie didn’t ask. Names could get people killed, and she understood that better than most.
Lizzie’s steel knitting needles were still in her raincoat pocket, and she could feel their comforting form inside the lining. There had been no need to use one, but she always kept them with her.
The tram slowed, and Mother Clara stood and made her way to the door.
Lizzie followed at a distance, and they alighted separately as if they didn’t know each other.
The sister hurried down the street, and Lizzie walked after her at a slower pace, the snow floating on the icy air like a Christmas scene.
At this rate, Lizzie wouldn’t be home for Christmas, and she wondered what it would be like to spend the festive period in Berlin.
The thought of not seeing her family or Jack made her sad.
The mission was a success so far, with several pieces of intelligence on the manufacture of the new German lethal weapons making their way across the border to Switzerland.
Lizzie could only hope Val and Jack had received the information and could act on it.
There was no way for her to contact Jack, and she missed the tenuous link they usually shared on her missions in France when she could send and receive messages from Raven intermittently via radio.
Mother Clara turned off the road, and Lizzie hung back, slowing her steps even more, looking around her as she walked.
They were in a neighbourhood she hadn’t visited before, called Wedding.
The snow was pretty, but the area was gloomy and oppressive, stark in contrast to elegant Charlottenburg.
Six-storey tenement buildings lined the cobbled street, and the tram lines sliced through the centre.
Lizzie almost slipped and grasped the edge of a soot-blackened brick to stop herself from falling on the icy road.
Heavy coal smoke hung like a blanket over the district, and as Lizzie took tentative steps, she noticed rubble and gaps in the terraces from bomb damage.
Children stood in a yard watching the snow fall as if mesmerised, and an old woman, much like the one she had studied on the tram, passed her, head bowed and hands deep in her pockets out of the punishing cold.
Lizzie glanced at her watch. Mother Clara had told her to give her a few minutes to enter and then to follow.
Lizzie checked the area, her spycraft now instinctual, and she paused at the end of the road, gazing in a dreary shop window before darting down the alleyway towards the address she had memorised.
She found herself in an ugly, rectangular courtyard outside a tenement entrance.
There was no colour at this time of year, and it made the scene even grimmer with its ugly dustbins and bare branches.
A white coating of snow covered the paving, and Lizzie almost skated inside.
After a few twists and turns, she arrived outside the door and executed her coded knock.
A pair of unfamiliar eyes appeared in the crack in the doorway.
A petite woman in her fifties ushered her inside and locked the door behind her.
‘This way,’ she said, and led Lizzie through the small, cluttered living room full of ornaments, lamps, and framed photos on every surface. Lizzie smelt some kind of stew in the air and despite the clutter she sensed the home was one of sanctuary and she could see why the forger was holed up there.
After following the woman down a set of stone steps, she watched her unlock a door which creaked open to her touch and revealed a damp, ill-lit basement.
The first image Lizzie had of the watchmaker would be engraved on her memory forever.
He was a thin, earnest man with spectacles, sitting at a table in the corner of the room.
There was only a narrow window at the top of the basement, which Lizzie guessed must be at street level.
The U-boat was literally underground, and as he raised his eyes to hers, she saw they were wary.
Lizzie reassured him immediately. ‘Thank you for meeting with me like this. I have heard about your amazing work and am in awe.’
The watchmaker stood and shook Lizzie’s hand and gestured for her to sit next to Mother Clara on a sofa to one side of the small table. The woman closed the door behind her, and Lizzie heard the lock click.
Mother Clara spoke first. ‘I brought my friend with me this time because it is she who will arrange the travel side of things, and I realised it was critical I connect you. If anything were to happen to me, that way you can continue with our plan.’
After several whispered conversations with Mother Clara in her office at the convent, Lizzie had agreed to arrange the travel for the family.
‘How are they?’ asked the watchmaker, his tired eyes showing his grave concern.
Mother Clara replied, ‘They are well, but it’s not safe for them to stay on. We have regular inspections, and it’s hard enough to protect the children without keeping a Jewish family out of sight. If they are discovered, I don’t need to tell you what will happen to the orphanage.’
‘When is the next inspection?’ he asked.
‘They never say in advance. Catching us unawares is part of their strategy. They just turn up and inspect the children, their papers, and the premises too.’
‘We don’t have long, then. Tell me what papers you need, and I will get to work immediately.’
Another reason for Lizzie to accompany Mother Clara was to explain the details of the courier route she planned to use to get the family out of the country.
Lizzie cleared her throat. ‘They will need watertight Aryan identities with cards, passports and travel permits.’
The forger nodded and asked a few questions.
‘One other thing,’ Lizzie said. ‘Please also prepare identity papers for an additional seven-year-old girl.’
Mother Clara and the forger stared at Lizzie.
‘But they have only one daughter,’ he said.
‘I know,’ Lizzie said, ‘But there’s another little girl at the orphanage who is in terrible danger if we don’t get her to safety.’
‘Mother Clara whispered, ‘Liesel?’
‘Yes, I have considered all the options, of which there are not very many. In the best scenario, a German family adopts her, believing her to be Aryan, and she will be raised to despise her own heritage. At worst, she will be exposed. If I figured out that she’s Jewish, someone else might just as quickly. ’
‘Whilst it’s an admirable sentiment, another child will complicate matters. It will be difficult enough to get one Jewish child across the border, but to add another. Well …’ The forger removed his spectacles and spun them in his hand as he contemplated Lizzie’s instruction.
An image of Liesel’s sweet, innocent face rose in Lizzie’s mind, and she replied, ‘You organise the identities and I’ll worry about the rest.’
The watchmaker appraised her and then, with a barely perceptible nod, he agreed to fulfil her request. ‘Now I know why you wished to meet me in person,’ he added, his lips forming a wry smile. ‘You are a true mensch, Fr?ulein.’
Lizzie didn’t understand the meaning of the word, but she smiled and listened carefully to his instructions about when to return for the papers.
Back on the snow-covered street, she didn’t glance at Mother Clara as she caught a different tram and returned to the boarding house.
She would begin to prepare Liesel for her new life tomorrow. The thought of the little girl having to leave her friends and the kind sisters who cared for her at the orphanage brought fresh tears to Lizzie’s eyes, but she had resolved to get the child out of Germany whilst she had the chance.
It wouldn’t make parting from her any easier, though.