Perfect Payback, page 7
Dealing with Gestapo and the Military Intelligence had first been a nuisance. Now I was getting a little concerned by their attention. As a patriot, I loved my country, but I would never support a racist Nazi Party. I didn’t think that was what they wanted to hear. “Do I have a choice?”
“No.” The smaller man methodically shook his head. The way his teeth gleamed through his crooked smile reminded me of a badger.
Large Nose stepped back to give me room to come into the hall.
Reluctantly, I stepped out and locked my door. “Who’s asking these questions and where?”
“Otto Hoermann.” He gestured toward the elevator. “Gestapo office. Here in the Bauer Hotel. It’s on the—”
“Second floor.” Hoermann. The man with the bad body odor in Baron’s office. I could have done without another meeting with him.
When I hesitated, the two Abwher officers each grabbed one of my upper arms and marched me to the elevator. “I told you it was not a choice.” The smaller one had a short-man complex.
Most of my annoyance turned to tension, then progressed to a mound of anger. What did Hoermann want? I had nothing of interest for him. So what made him think I did? I wondered if working for Daimler had been a good idea. This wasn’t what I’d expected. I just wanted to go to work every day and do the job I was trained to do.
On the second floor, a deep cigarette cough came from the Gestapo room. The same cough I’d heard in Baron’s office.
The agents opened the door and led me inside.
My gaze went straight to the once-cluttered desk of Heinrich Adler. Today, it appeared clean and strangely unoccupied and gave me the same angry feeling I’d had each time Adler had looked at Anna in a provocative, ogling way. He’d been an uncouth brute.
That raspy cough pulled my gaze to the back of the room. Just like last time, the stench of stale cigarette smoke and burnt coffee mixed with food turned my stomach.
The small man gave me a push toward Hoermann.
“He doesn’t like waiting.” Definitely an obnoxious swine.
Hoermann’s short, bulky frame, oily black hair, and thick-blocked mustache were exactly the same as I’d remembered.
As I moved closer, the smell of sweat combined with the smoke and coffee almost made me gag.
“Ah, Herr Pepperman.” He stood from behind the metal desk, and the chair seemed to moan as if relieved from the loss of his bulk. “How good to see you again. Please, have a seat.”
His phony pretense only heightened my tension. There was no telling what these fanatics would try to pin on me. I pulled a flimsy wooden chair away from the desk and sat down hard. “What’s this all about, Hoermann?” I tried to sound as if I didn’t care, but I don’t think it worked.
He popped the last button on his suit jacket, releasing a bulge of jammed-up belly fat and sat. “Only a few questions. This is Saturday, and I know you want to enjoy your day off. You told me in Stuttgart that you have relatives in America. Is that correct?”
“Yes.” I rested my elbows on the chair arms and interlocked my fingers, mostly to keep them from shaking.
“What do you know about those relatives?” He made it sound like he knew more than I did.
Why did I feel that no matter what I said, he wouldn’t be appeased? I drew in a deep breath and exhaled. “My father’s brother Wilhelm and Wilhelm’s son Patrick came to Germany to see me box in the Olympics. That was the first time I’d ever met them.” I stuck with the truth. I had nothing to hide. But Hoermann’s stare still made me feel as if I did.
“Do you know what Wilhelm does for a living?” He went very still in his chair, like a tiger ready to pounce.
“He’s a businessman. An accountant in Washington, DC.” Again, the truth.
“An accountant for the federal government?”
I sensed he was baiting me, leading me somewhere I didn’t want to go. I gripped the arms of my chair. “I don’t know.” Tension leaked out in my voice in the form of irritation.
Hoermann finally moved. Everything about him—his crossed arms, his soft persuading tone, his piercing eyes—showed he enjoyed his role of power. “Are you upset with my questions, Herr Pepperman?”
I’d already given myself away, so I couldn’t lie. “Yes, I’m upset.” But I could deflect. “Your henchmen drag me in here on the weekend. You ask me about relatives I barely know. You don’t even offer me a cup of coffee.” Not that I’d drink that sludge. “Of course, I’m upset. What’s your point?”
Hoermann pounded on the desk—a short, staccato sound—so hard his knuckles went white. “My point, sir?” He paused dramatically as if he were on stage and flashed me a hideous smile. “My point is… that your Uncle Wilhelm is a spy.”
His heavy emphasis on the word spy sent chills through my core. Hoermann might as well have taken a dagger and carved out my heart. Calling Uncle Wilhelm a spy was like calling a saint a sinner. Pure nonsense.
Hoermann leaned back in his chair and briefly put his hand over his mouth. “Herr Pepperman, things are a little tense. Would you mind taking a walk with me outside to clear the air?”
The invitation was unusual, and I sensed him pulling back a bit. I had no idea why, but anything I could do to get these people to leave me alone was worth a try. “I have to get my coat.”
Hoermann lifted his arm and sniffed his armpit. “Bromhidrosis.” He looked at me, obvious sadness in his eyes.
I stood. “Excuse me?”
“Overactive sweat glands.” He walked to the coat rack, his steps arduous and painful to watch. He looked at the two men who had met me at my door and gave a flippant motion with his hand. “Thank you. I won’t need you the rest of the day. You are dismissed.”
I hurried to my room, grabbed my coat, and met Hoermann in the lobby. As we walked outside, the sun broke through the low-hanging clouds, slowing down the snowstorm.
Maintenance men shoveled the sidewalks while the north wind snapped at my neck, and I wished I’d brought my scarf.
Hoermann’s hat was pulled down almost covering his ears, and his long overcoat scraped the ground. He looked like a stuffed bear dressed in clothes. He shifted weight from one foot to the other trying to stay warm. “Let’s go to the south side of the hotel to get out of the wind. I have some things to say, and I want no one to hear.”
The short walk gave some relief from the freezing winter blast.
Hoermann tightened the scarf around his neck and looked both ways. “May I call you Hans?”
“Of course.”
“We’ve known about your Uncle Wilhelm for some time. I was shocked when we spotted you with him at the Olympics. Because of your education and your job at Daimler-Benz, the military intelligence considered you a possible spy as well.”
“Me, a spy? That’s insane. I—”
Hoermann cut me off with a raised hand. “Do not worry. I’ve thoroughly vetted you. I know about your amateur boxing, your family in Hamburg. I even know where you spent last night.”
Verdammt. These people knew everything about my life for the past six months.
Hoermann placed a calming hand on my shoulder. “I don’t believe you are involved in espionage against our country. But the Gestapo is not sure. Foreign intelligence is somehow getting information on Germany’s fighter plane development.” He paused and looked long and hard at me.
Where was this conversation going? What was he up to?
Hoermann cupped his hands over his mouth and blew. “I’ve convinced my superiors of your loyalty to the Fatherland and received permission for you to help us find out who’s leaking information to our enemies. Would you be willing to help us?”
Chapter 17
der 24. Januar 1937
Augsburg, Germany
Yesterday’s conversation with Hoermann blitzed my jumbled mind. My loyalty to Germany is undeniable. I want to help my country. Yet I despise their growing hatred of the Jews. The night in Braunschweig last October when the Jewish shopkeeper was bullied highlights their bigotry. I want no part of anyone affiliated with the Nazis.
Is there a way to accept Hoermann’s offer without sacrificing my principles? He had called himself a patriot, not a true member of the Party. But those are just words. If I agree to help, can I trust him? If I refuse to help, what will happen to me? And what about the Gestapo? They still think I had something to do with Heinrich Adler’s death…
Three short taps came from the other side of my door.
Who could be visiting on a Sunday afternoon? I put my journal in the bedside table drawer, slipped on my shirt, and went to see.
Anna, another lady, and Ernst Fischer from work were standing there with smiles plastered on their faces.
My heavy heart lightened. Anna’s face kicked my pulse into overdrive, and I smiled at her.
“Well, aren’t you going to ask us in?” she said.
I hastily buttoned my shirt and stepped back. “Of course.”
Anna walked into the room, then turned back toward the woman. “Hans, this is my friend, Heidi Gennette Graf. We live in the same complex.”
A little bit shorter than Anna, Heidi was just as beautiful with soft, brown eyes and a warm smile.
“And you know Ernst,” Anna said.
Ernst took Heidi’s hand and gently moved her inside.
Puzzled, I scratched my temple. They were a couple? Ernst and Heidi didn’t seem to match, what with her beauty and his… well… slumped shoulders, thinning hair, and thick glasses.
Anna placed a friendly hand on Ernst’s shoulder. “Ernst has been a friend of mine for several years. I didn’t know you worked with him until today when he came by to see Heidi.”
Anna had wanted to see me today. At least I hoped so. That made me happy.
“Come with us to a kaffee shop near the hotel.” She tugged on my arm.
Yesterday’s storm had completely moved on. The sidewalk was wet but clean of snow, and the sun reflected off a window across the street.
Krause’s Kaffee Haus was a popular place for the working class in this area. Several times I’d been there for their blueberry kaffee cake.
I opened the door.
Anna stepped in first. She motioned to the waiter to seat us near the window. “Four kaffees with rum and sugar topped with whipped cream.”
“No kaffee for me,” I said as we followed the man. “Just kaffee cake.”
“The same for me.” Ernst sheepishly raised his hand and ducked his chin as though he didn’t want to offend Anna. “Just cake.”
Anna arched her eyebrows. “Well,” she said, “let’s all have kaffee cake and no kaffee.”
The waiter fumbled to get his pad and pen out of his pocket, either flustered by the changes or more likely by Anna. “We have apple or blueberry.”
“Blueberry with vanilla ice cream for me.” I pulled a chair from the table and seated Anna to my right.
Everyone else ordered as Ernst seated Heidi next to me and took his chair at the square, glossy, oak table.
The paneled walls in the restaurant, decorated with medieval family crests and flickering lamps, created an ambiance that felt more like a fine restaurant. The decor was a bit much for a kaffee house.
Heidi moved her purse from her lap to the floor. “Hans, Ernst said you are a mechanical engineer. That’s impressive. Can you tell me what you do?”
“I help build and design aircraft engines.”
“Ah.” Her eyes shimmered and her tone lifted. “Ernst builds the airplane, and you build the engines.”
I nodded. “That’s about it.”
The waiter set the cake in front of me. The smell took me back to my childhood and the blueberry muffins my grandmother always had waiting for me after school. I took a bite. Still not as good as Grandma’s. Probably because there wasn’t any cinnamon streusel on the top or hot butter cascading down the sides to pool on the plate.
Anna asked Ernst a question, but I wasn’t paying attention.
Heidi adjusted her skirt. “The dynamics of the internal combustion engine and how the ignition and the combustion of the fuel occur are fascinating.”
I sat back in my chair. “Yes, fascinating is a good way to describe it.” I didn’t want to get into a protracted discussion about the intricacies of the secret BF 109. I changed the subject. “What do you do for a living?”
She scooted her chair closer to the table. “I’m an English translator for the Augsburg newspaper.”
She deciphered English and had some proficiency in mechanical engineering. That was a little odd. “I didn’t realize newspapers needed English translators.”
“The Augsburg newspaper receives teletyped articles from New York and London daily,” Heidi said. “I translate the news into German, then pass the information to government officials.”
My chest tightened until it felt like I’d been strapped to a table, the same feeling I’d had yesterday when talking to Hoermann. Who in the government wanted to know what was going on in America and England? And why?
Chapter 18
der 25. Januar 1937
Augsburg, Germany
I am dreading today, not because of my job, but because I agreed to meet Hoermann tonight at seven. Even if I were not hesitant about helping the Abwehr Military Intelligence uncover leaks within the aircraft industry, how would I do it? I am not trained in espionage. And trusting Hoermann means putting my life in jeopardy…
Outside the Bauer, the streetlights cast an eerie glow, and howling wind whipped snowflakes into a frenzy. Waiting in the lobby, I caught my own reflection in the large glass window. My anxious eyes told the truth. Spying was not in my blood.
A black Mercedes drove by. Hoermann’s pumpkin-shaped head topped with a black hat gave him away as the driver. He turned the corner and disappeared.
Apprehensive about the storm that had started midafternoon, I jammed both hands into the pockets of my coat and pushed through the revolving door with my shoulder. A blast of bitter cold wind slammed against my chest. Maybe an omen warning me to turn around and go back inside? I joined Hoermann at the side of the building as we had planned.
Ignoring the tight burn building in my chest, I concentrated on the screeching windshield wipers as they struggled to clear the heavy snow off the front window. As I opened the passenger side door, a glob of snow fell off the roof onto the seat. I brushed it off and slid in.
Hoermann pulled the glove off his right hand and greeted me with a handshake.
His strong grip and the cold weather caused a familiar ache in my knuckle, and I flexed my fingers. Unlike spying, boxing was up front and clear cut, the task simple—outsmart and defeat the man in front of you.
“Guten tag, Herr Pepperman. Thank you for meeting me tonight.” His friendly tone took some of the burn out of my chest. “This weather.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry to bring you out into this miserable mess.”
I scrunched my shoulders. “It’s Januar in Bavaria. What can we expect?”
Hoermann checked the traffic and pulled back onto the street. The heater and fan were on full blast, his body odor exacerbated by both.
I unbuttoned my coat, wanting to pinch my nostrils. “Could you lower the temperature and turn down the fan?”
“Of course.” He adjusted the controls. “I’ll get right to the point. Have you had enough time to consider helping protect our government from foreign entities?”
“I’ve been thinking about your offer all weekend.” My stomach felt like I’d been gut punched. “I want to protect my country, but I don’t feel qualified. I have no training in this field.”
Hoermann slowed down to stop at a traffic light, his expression as even as the way he braked the car. “All I’d like for you to do is be on alert. If someone asks about your job and the questions appear to be too technical, be suspicious.”
The light changed, and he pulled through the intersection. “The intelligence service wants you to be our eyes and ears.”
If that were true, why was the knot in my stomach growing big enough to meet the burn in my chest? I looked at him, shaking my head. “Is that all? That sounds too simple.”
Hoermann sniffed, rubbed his nose, and looked straight ahead. “If we suspect someone ourselves, we’ll ask you to get to know him and find out as much as you can.”
“And what if his comrades suspect me?”
Hoermann glanced at me with a look that froze my heart. “They will torture and kill you.”
His straightforward words rattled in my skull. It’s not that I hadn’t suspected such treatment but hearing him say it made it all too real. I blew out a breath and turned toward him. “That’s more than just being your eyes and ears. You’re asking me to be—and take all the risks of—a counterintelligence agent.” I wiped a jittery hand across my mouth and cleared my throat.
He nodded.
“So why would I put my life on the line for a group of fanatical politicians I hate?” I couldn’t keep the venom out of my tone.
“The same reason I do. For the love of my country.” Hoermann drove back to the side of the Bauer Hotel and stopped the car. “I know this is hard for you, but a lot is at stake.”
“If I agree to help, will you and the military intelligence have my back? I won’t do this unless you support me one hundred percent.”
“You can trust me. I’ll support you with every resource we have.” There was a sincere quality in Hoermann’s face I hadn’t seen before.
I felt I could trust him. But deep down, I knew my life would be expendable if I got caught.
“Will you help us?” he asked again.
How had I even gotten into this situation? Angry at myself for accepting his offer and angry at him for asking, I gave a reluctant nod. Buttoning my coat, I stepped from the car.
