"Lane, I know nothing of this. She--I would not want her to be hurt. When we traveled together, it was compatible. It is easy to see why you love her. Had my mission in Spain had anything to do with her disappearance, I would have known. I must conjecture that either the Spanish authorities arrested her--"

 

"They tell us they did not."

 

"They will say what they choose to say. But surely they had no reason. She meant no harm to them."

 

"So what is the other prospect?"

 

Ernst sighed. "That she somehow fell afoul of--criminals, perhaps. There are many desperate people in Spain."

 

"But she knew enough to stay clear of them."

 

"Yes. She was competent." Ernst did not like the thought of Quality being killed by criminals much better than Lane did. He cast about for something else. "Or--the Quakers had connections in France. If she went there--"

 

"Would the Vichy have arrested her?"

 

"Things are confused in France. It is possible. Yet they should have released her when they saw her papers."

 

"Suppose it was the Germans?"

 

"They might hold her as hostage. Because she was working with the British, and we are at war."

 

Lane grinned mirthlessly. "Don't I know it! Can you find out about her?"

 

"Yes. I should be able to, if she is in any Vichy or German list. But I do not know whether I could do anything to help her. If she is in a camp--they can be very strict."

 

"You could surely do more than I could!"

 

Ernst laughed, but not with humor. "I might suggest to the commandant of the camp that she is of interest to certain parties, and must be kept healthy. But that would not get her free. At least it would help until a prisoner exchange could be arranged. But prospects for any such thing are bleak."

 

"You will do what you can."

 

"I will do what I can."

 

"Now I am glad we met. You know it would be no betrayal of your side to help her. She's a pacifist."

 

"No betrayal," Ernst agreed.

 

"If you learn anything, maybe you could have news sent to the Spanish authorities."

 

"I will try."

 

"Then my effort here has not been for nothing, thanks to the incredible coincidence of meeting you."

 

"Coincidence? I think not. It was Quality who brought us together-even in her absence."

 

"Must be. But I'm glad it happened, Ernst. I never expected to see you again, when the war got going. Is there anything I can do for you, in return for looking out for Quality?"

 

"There is one thing. My people believe that I was in pursuit of a spy. I must make a report. Can you tell me of the defenses of Gibraltar?"

 

Lane paused, considering. "That question tells me your mission here."

 

"I am afraid it does. But if I do not get the answer to my question, from the spy, they may choose not to let you return."

 

Lane laughed. "I know how it is. Okay, Ernst, I don't think it will materially compromise our security to tell you what you already know. Gibraltar is practically invulnerable to any attack short of a major invasion. You could beat it down by shelling it from artillery based in Spain, or by continuously bombing it. But you'd take heavy losses in planes. I'm a fighter pilot, and I looked at their ack-ack. I'd never want to go up against it. I honestly believe that unless you can base your artillery in Spain, you don't have a chance. Not by land, certainly; you know the isthmus is mined. So is the harbor. So my advice to you is give it up. Don't even try to take it."

 

"Can you give specifics?"

 

"Yeah, sure. They'll only prove my point." He went on to do so.

 

"I think my people will be satisfied," Ernst said. "They will know that I could have come by those details only by interrogating one who had seen the defenses directly."

 

"For sure."

 

"Then let us return to La Linea. I believe our business is done. I will follow your car, and will advise my people to let you proceed unmolested. We prefer that the British not suspect that we are observing them."

 

"They already suspect. But they hardly care."

 

"With reason, I think." Ernst stepped back.

 

Lane relaxed. He offered his hand. Ernst took it. Then they got in their cars and Ernst drew his out of the way, letting Lane pass.

 

***

 

Ernst's report was no comfort to the Abwehr. "Nothing short of a massive assault will take it. We don't have the resources. There are no weaknesses I could find."

 

"What about Jorge? If we smuggled soldiers--"

 

"He wouldn't do it. If he did, we could smuggle only two at a time. They could not do enough damage to make a difference."

 

However, Ernst did make sketches and write out discriptions of the defenses in fair detail. He had succeeded in defining the enemy emplacements. The problem was that this only confirmed that the notion of taking Gibraltar by assault was foolish. He suspected that his report would not be forwarded to Admiral Canaris.

 

Meanwhile, when he was free, he drove again to Barcelona and questioned the proprietor of the house where the Quaker office had been. "We suspect that one of them did not depart with the others."

 

"They all left," he was assured. "None are here now."

 

"Did any trucks go to France?"

 

"There was one, but it did not return."

 

That was all they knew. But it opened an avenue. Quality could have driven to France, and been caught there! But there was nothing more he could do until he returned to Germany and reviewed the lists of detainees. It was galling to have to wait, but he was on assignment in Spain and had to remain there.

 

In December Admiral Canaris returned to Spain to meet with General Franco. Ernst accompanied him to Madrid. The Admiral's mission was unsuccessful: Spain was "unable" to join the war, or even to give a date for entry into the war, because of the current economic and military situation. "The Führer will be annoyed," Canaris muttered. "I am here on his direct order. But if we can take Gibraltar, that may make up for it. We can still secure the Mediterranean theater."

 

Ernst wanted to tell him that Gibraltar was hopeless, but the man was already so depressed that he remained silent.

 

So the consideration of Felix continued. Despite Ernst's firsthand report of the layout of the defenses, they wanted more pictures. In order to conceal their real intent, they took them by a local brothel, with some of the girls posing in the foreground.

 

That was a mistake. The authorities in Germany got the idea that the Abwehr personnel were playing with harlots instead of doing their work, and demanded that it stop. Project Felix was canceled.

 

But later in the month it was revived, as a possible diversion to relieve the hard-pressed Italians in Greece. It didn't matter; it remained hopeless.

 

Felix was canceled again, resurrected again, and finally canceled for good, and the Abwehr units were reassigned. But before that, Ernst was recalled to Germany. It was a relief. Now at last he would have the chance to check on Quality--if she were a prisoner of the Vichy. He hoped she was, because otherwise there was no hope for her.

 

***

 

Ernst returned to Berlin. It was the Christmas season, and though the Nazis frowned on Christianity, they had no objection to festivities. So Ernst had a week's leave to visit home. He could not return directly to Wiesbaden, because of his cover, but he found a way to manage it indirectly.

 

The first thing he did was look up Krista, whom he had not seen in almost six months. She was getting holiday leave too. She remained almost startlingly beautiful, and her interest in him was undiminished. But Berlin was crowded, and there was no sufficiently private place for her to demonstrate her interest in her normal fashion. So their first date was quite open and chaste.

 

"Do you think your family would object if I accompanied you, to meet them?" he inquired.

 

Her eyes lighted. She understood his situation, and saw opportunity. "They do know I have been seeing someone in Berlin. I think they might appreciate learning more about him. But it may be difficult to get train tickets, this late; tickets have been sold out for weeks."

 

"I believe I could requisition a car for a few days."

 

Those were magic words. "Then we must do it!"

 

They did it. She understood that when they arrived in Wiesbaden they would separate, each returning home alone, to avoid awkward questions both political and personal, and that when they met again there he would be Ernst Best. She was good at secrets.

 

As they drove toward Frankfurt, she turned to him. "We could stop anywhere along the way, for anything." Her meaning was clear.

 

Ernst was sorely tempted. But he resisted. "I want it to be right between us--completely right."

 

"But you must let me tempt you, in case it is already right. You must play fair, Ernst."

 

He had to smile. When they came to an intersection with a minor road, her turned off, and turned off again, finding a deserted section in a wooded region. He stopped the car.

 

Krista slid over to embrace him. She kissed him. Then she opened her shirt to him. "Touch me, and tell me it is not right."

 

"I fear that would be too much temptation."

 

She loosened her bra and drew it out of the way. "If you wait too long, someone will come and see me, and then you will have much explaining to do."

 

She was daring him to gamble on delay! And she was right: he could not afford to have anyone see her this way, and he did need to demonstrate that he could hold his course despite her.

 

He reached out and took her full breasts in his hands. The whole world seemed to fade out, except for that rapturous contact. His desire for her intensified to the point of seeming madness.

 

Then he heard something. Was it the approach of a distant car? He slid his hands around and up, catching the straps of her bra on his fingers. He drew it down to cover her breasts, and then closed her shirt over the whole.

 

The sound faded. It was a car, but not coming this way. But the false alarm had enabled him to do what he should.

 

She sighed. "You have not changed. I think it is your constancy I love most about you, though it frustrates me horribly. When you do commit, I will know it will never change."

 

He nodded. He rather thought he would indeed commit, when he was free of this mission. Krista was ideal for an SS officer.

 

The rest of the visit home was uneventful. Four days later they returned to Berlin. Did Krista know how close she had come to overwhelming his resistance? Perhaps she did, and was satisfied merely to inflame his passion without actually doing anything forbidden.

 

***

 

Meanwhile, in Berlin, the Abwehr was involved in plans for the next campaign: the relief of the Italian effort in Yugoslavia and Greece. As Ernst had anticipated, the Italians were messing up the job and needed to be bailed out. The Admiral had worked out an armistice proposal which had gained Hitler's support, but the Greek Premier opposed it.

 

"It is essential that Germany not be drawn into this action," Canaris insisted. He seemed almost desperate. That was odd, because it was obvious that German forces, if committed, could quickly reduce both Greece and Yugoslavia. It would have been better if it had been possible to take Gibraltar from the British, thus protecting that flank, but that would not stop land action.

 

Then Ernst had a bright idea. "Haven't a number of foreign personnel been interned in French camps? Refugees from the International Brigade may be of any nationality. They could be interviewed by military intelligence to determine whether they possess information or contacts of potential value to Reich concerns in other areas. If we can ascertain whether any are of Greek or Yugoslavian derivation--"

 

Canaris paused. "Any lead we can get is worthwhile. If by chance there are any with family members in important positions in Greece who might be blacmailed, that would be better yet. But it would take time to do this, and I have no personnel free." Then he did a doubletake, looking at Ernst. "Except for you. Do it. Requisition a list of interred foreigners, and go to see them. See about translators who know the languages. If any camp directors balk, refer them to me."

 

That was exactly what Ernst wanted. He would check every name, and if there were any Greeks or Slavs he could certainly do his utmost to get their information. But he would also check for one particular name: an American.

 

Soon the lists arrived, because it seemed that Hitler himself wanted Canaris to succeed in his effort. Ernst wondered what was so important about that region, that Germany had to remain clear of it? This was unlike previous campaigns.

 

Ernst pored over the names, noting prospects. It was not enough to check foreign names, for a name was no certain indication of origin. He had to catch the familiar names that might nevertheless have foreign connections. Also, some might have given false name to conceal their origins. He would have to actually see them and hear them speak to be sure. It was a big job he had gotten for himself!

 

Then he checked Gurs, a camp along the Spanish border. the name leaped out at him. Quality Smith, American! She was there! He had found her!

 

But Ernst did not allow anyone else to know his excitement. He completed his review of the lists, and prepared to travel to the camps. He had to do this in such a way that his interest would not cause any possible additional trouble for Quality. For despite his excitement about this confirmation, which was evidence that she was at least alive, he knew that her situation was in other respects dire. She must have been arrested for some reason. He would have to discover what that was, without tipping his hand.

 

***

 

He interviewed the internees at Gurs in rigorous order: first those suspected of having any Greek or Yugoslav connection, then those of other nationalities. He had to use translators for the various languages. The results were disappointing, in terms of his official mission, but he was establishing his credits so that no one would catch on to his personal mission. One of the last was the American, deliberately, as a wrap-up of what remained.

 

They brought her in, clad in her worn and soiled shirt and skirt. There was no money for uniforms for internees, so armbands distinguished them. Her hair fell partly across her face, not from any artful device but because she evidently lacked pins to hold it in place. She was completely unremarkable--yet his heart leaped.

 

He did not give her a chance to betray their prior acquaintance. He spoke brusquely in English. "Your name is--" He paused to peer at his list of names. "Smith. Of Britain?"

 

Her surprise could have been taken for fear of the interrogator. She had never seen him in uniform before. "I am Quality Smith, of America."

 

"We are not at war with America. You were caught spying for Britain?"

 

"I was caught trying to smuggle a man from France into Spain."

 

He frowned. "A Jew?" he asked sharply.

 

"Yes."

 

He glanced at the camp commandant. "See how openly she confesses it! Americans are notoriously naive about this matter. She probably did not even think she was doing wrong." Then he fired the question directly at Quality. "Is it wrong to harbor a Jew?"

 

"No."

 

He turned again to the commandant. "It is a mistake to aggravate a noncombatant nation unnecessarily. It would be better to repatriate this one. Notify the American ambassador of her presence here, and advise him that we will deliver her there for a nominal fee to cover our costs in boarding her for this time. In the interim, she should be kept in good health, so that the Americans will have no claim against us."

 

He watched as she was led away. He had done all he could to safeguard her. He doubted that she would be released, but he had accomplished two things: he had verified that she was alive and in health, and he had let her know that he would help her. To whatever extent he could.

 

What he had not anticipated was the strength of his personal reaction to the sight of her. He had addressed her with calculated indifference, but he had wanted to take her in his arms and comfort her. The emotion was different, in subtle and unsubtle ways, from what he had felt when touching Krista's breasts, but as strong.

 

In fact, he realized now that Quality was the major reason he had resisted Krista's allure. It was sheer foolishness and mischief in every respect, but his heart was drawn to her. He had to help her, though he dreaded the price of it.

 

 

Chapter 9

Gibralter

 

Lane arrived at the Rock of Gibraltar in October 1940. Because the proprietors were sensitive to any interference by outsiders, he was listed as a temporarily inactive airman sent for recuperation. He would not be allowed to fly, and would not offer any criticism of existing facilities or policies. He would serve in whatever capacity to which it was convenient to assign him, and when he completed his recovery he would return to England to rejoin his unit. In short, he was represented as exactly what he was: a disabled airman who needed to be parked somewhere away from his unit until he was able to resume full activity. That way he could not interfere with the efficiency of his unit, or endanger his fellow airmen by being too eager to get back into the air.

 

The fact that Gibraltar was right next to Spain was officially irrelevant. No one here knew Lane's personal motive for being here. No one except Bader, who would not tell. Lane smiled, thinking of that. Bader had done him an enormous favor, and earned his lifetime loyalty thereby. But Bader had also succeeded in making him take the inactive time required, willingly. Bader had put it all together. That was his genius.

 

Gibraltar was impressive from the air. It was geologically a "bill," or projection from land, the opposite of a fjord or inlet. Lane, unused to being a passenger instead of a pilot, nevetheless appreciated the chance to gaze at it with his whole attention. The thing was like a sleeping two-humped camel, its head down out of sight. The higher hump was to the north, to his surprise; he had somehow thought the rock rose to its southernmost extremity, then plunged into the sea. That was far from the case; the rise was nearly vertical at the north, just below the isthmus that connected it to the mainland, and tapered down to the sea at the south. The east side was too steep for use, but the west had roads and buildings all along its gentler slope. Several great moles reached out from the west to enclose the harbor. They served as the port for Force H, the British naval group consisting of the battle cruiser Hood, the battleships Resolution and Valiant, the aircraft carrier Ark Royal, several other cruisers, and fleet destroyers. The Eighth Submarine Flotilla was also here. The fighter planes served to protect these assorted ships. Lane had reviewed it all, and now was seeing it come to life.

 

Had he likened the peninsula to a sleeping camel? No, as the angle of approach shifted he saw the sharp ridges at its top, and the slanted water catchments on the eastern slope. The ridge was after all highest at the southern part, before commencing its slant. The Rock was more like a great ship, a monstrous three-mile-long battleship, no, a carrier ship, with its superstructure off to one side to make space for the landing decks. And that was what it was, essentially: a mighty dreadnought neither battleship nor carrier, but a colossal attack ship docked for the moment at the continent, about to set off for some unimaginable voyage. If he had to be out of his airplane and on a ship, this was the ship to be on.

 

Historically, he had learned, Gibraltar had been reckoned as one of the Pillars of Hercules, the great rocks guarding the entrance to the Mediterranean Sea. The other Pillar was the Spanish Ceuta on the North African coast. The ancient Phoenician mariners were said to have crowned the rocks with silver columns to mark the limits of safe navigation. In the eighth century A.D. the Moslems had fortified Gibraltar after invading Spain. In the fourteenth century it was captured by the Castilians, but soon regained by the Moors, who held it for more than another century. It finally passed into the hands of the British early in the eighteenth century, who had held it against all comers. Now they had deepened theharbor and built a new airfield on it, making it more formidable than ever. Spain had wanted possession of the Rock for centuries, but was unlikely to get it.

 

So today the British held Gibraltar, Malta and Cyprus, and effectively controlled the Mediterranean Sea from end to end. The center of British strategy was Malta, but Gibraltar was a staging area for the convoys to that island, and its carrier-based Hurricanes protected those convoys. Oh, to be in one of those Hurricanes! But if Gibraltar were ever wrested from the British, the others would follow, and the Axis would control the region. That was why it was so important to defend the Rock; the ultimate security of the region might well depend on it.

 

They circled around and came down on the landing strip on the northern isthmus. It looked pitifully short; he would recommend that it be lengthened if they want to do any serious flying from it.

 

They drove into the town on the west slope, where Lane reported to the residence of the governor. "Here you are, sir," the driver said, pulling up at the south edge of town. "The Convent."

 

"There must be some misunderstanding," Lane said. "I can't go to a convent!"

 

The man laughed. "That's the Government House! It's always been called the Convent, because that's what it was when it started."

 

So it turned out to be. Lane found the necessary office within, registered, and was then taken to a temporary residence elsewhere in town.

 

He gazed out toward the west. The water of the bay was dark, but there were lights along the moles and along the mainland farther away. There were also small craft moving about with searchlights playing across the water. It was pretty, but he was sure they weren't doing it for fun. What were they looking for?

 

Then he heard muffled explosions, as if fireworks were being detonated under the water. This merely increased the mystery. They were definitely up to something.

 

In the morning he returned to the Convent to inquire about his assignment. He assumed that he would be put on a work detail or something similar; it might not be fun, but it would be useful. He had no special illusions about the fate of a grounded airman, and expected to be treated as something of an outcast. He had in effect asked for it, by transferring away from his home unit.

 

All he got was a bland assurance that something would be found; he would be notified in due course. As the days passed and no notification came, he realized that he was in bureaucratic limbo.

 

"What's going on here?" he asked a bunkmate. "Don't tell me there are no junk details on Gibraltar!"

 

"The minds of adminstrative officials are inscrutible in their stupidity," the man said. "But my guess is that they're distracted by the chariots."

 

"The what?"

 

"It's an Italian horror. We didn't even know what was going on, until one of them washed up on the beach. A chariot is a torpedo ridden by two men in diving suits. It's got a large explosive warhead that they can detach and fix to the target ship. Then the crew rides the torpedo away before the timer blows it. Nobody's supposed to know they've been there, until it's too late. Except that one of them got stuck in silt under the harbor; it blew, and we knew something was up, and got on it and captured the men and learned all about it."

 

Lane did not have to inquire why the Italians had given the information. Geneva conventions were honored by both sides in word rather than deed. What was called torture when the enemy did it was called interrogation when the home team did it. It was better simply to answer the questions and come away with one's health.

 

"So that's why the night motor launches, and searchlights, and the small explosions," Lane said. "To get rid of the chariots. Those small charges are just enough to kill any personnel that might be down there."

 

"You got it. They're laying barbed wire on the bottom, too, and adding torpedo nets. It's hell down there."

 

Lane believed it. The appearance of the nocturnal bay was lovely, but the reality was ugly. The war was being fought here out of sight, but was as serious as it was elsewhere.

 

He settled in to the routine. There was nothing for him to do, so he applied for a passport to visit Spain and meanwhile explored the Rock. Could it really hold out against a real attack?

 

The defenses were even more formidable than he had thought. The walls of the Rock were hollowed out, forming galleries at various levels. In those embrasures were heavy cannon and antiaircraft guns. Any frontal assault would be tremendously costly, if it succeeded at all.

 

On the second day Lane walked the road that circled the peninsula, searching for any possible weakness in the defenses. He had already concluded that there was none, but he had the foolish notion that he might make himself useful by spotting something that had so far been missed. He enjoyed traversing the tunnels that took over when the slope was too steep to support the road.

 

One morning there was a solid fog, making everything clammy. "What is this, England?" Lane demanded humorously.

 

"It's the Levanter Cloud," one of the workers told him.

 

"The what?"

 

"The east wind, called the Levanter, prevails. It sweeps across the warm Mediterranean. The warm air strikes the rock and rises up the east face to maybe fifteen hundred feet, where it cools and forms a cloud. It's worst in summer, up to September, but it can happen anytime. Sometimes it shrouds us and spreads right across to the mainland. When it's really heavy its like living in a Turkish bath. We say the rock is wearing its hat. Sometimes it generates gusting winds, and we get little waterspouts."

 

Lane's irritation with the fog was replaced by intrigue. This was a more interesting place than he had thought. This was just as well, because without a regular job to do, and without many of the amenities of civilian life, boredom was a more immediate threat than the Axis. There were no women to speak of here; they had been moved out because of concern that the rock would come under siege. The men from the naval vessels that constantly stopped here were loud in their objection to this aspect. They expected to avail themselves of the pleasures of the female flesh, as they routinely did in every port, and could not. That meant considerable discontent, which found its own expression. Fights were frequent, and drinking and gambling were heavy.

 

Lane climbed the heights. It wasn't as if he could fancy himself the first man there, because Rock Gun was the name of the highest point, with its gun emplacement: twin 9.2 inchers. On the other peak were the ruins of the old Moorish castle, surely no match for that artillery. So there had been plenty of action at these heights. Still, it gave him a certain feeling of freedom and accomplishment, and the view was good.

 

The Greeks had believed that this was the end of the world. At least that was the implication of Homer's description in the Iliad: "Styx in her glorious house, roofed over with long rocks, propped up to heaven all around with silver pillars." St. Michael's Cave, here, contained a large underground freshwater lake, ice cold and black, surrounded by stalactites and stalagmites. Water dripped from the rocks of the Rock, freshened by its passage through the stone. Surely word of this had reached the Greeks, perhaps by way of the Phoenicians, and it had become part of their lore. Today that internally dripping water was less romantic; aluminum Nissen huts and other prefabricated shelters were erected inside the tunnels and caverns so that the occupants did not get "rained" on.

 

The history of the Rock extended farther back than that, however. The first Neanderthal skull was discovered on Gibraltar. It was female, and as the luck of the gender would have it, was dismissed as not a serious find. They assumed that it was merely a deformed modern skull. Nine years later there was another discovery of the species at Neander in the Rhine Valley near Dusseldorf, in Germany, and so it was named for this. Thus Gibraltar Woman missed her opportunity for fame. With the women gone from the Rock now, it was easy to suppose that it was because of that neglect: the first woman was annoyed.

 

The first woman. Actually the Neantherthals were not necessarily the ancestors of modern man; they might more properly be considered close cousins. But the thought of a woman, even a grotesque Neanderthal one (but who could say for sure? Maybe she was cute) reminded him of his private reason for being here. It was because of a woman.

 

Where was Quality Smith now? Her letters had stopped, and that surely meant trouble. She would have written to him if it were humanly possible. He had to find out what had happened to her.

 

But it was evident that the Spanish government was not rushing to issue him a passport. He had been warned that the bureaucracy of such nations was horrendous. It might take months, or it might be never. So what was he going to do?

 

He asked around, unofficially, and found out. It was possible to visit the mainland. Twice a week knowledgeable and nervy and desperate seamen bought rides with a local smuggler named Jorge. Their interest was the brothels of La Linea, but the trader hardly cared what they did as long as they paid him well enough.

 

Jorge was a Spanish given name, a common one, the equivalent of the English George but pronounced more like Hor-hee. Lane went to meet the man, understanding that news of any of this must never reach the British officers. The officers surely knew all about it, but did not interfere as long as things were handled discreetly. Fortunately Jorge spoke enough English so that they could communicate.

 

They bargained, and finally agreed on a price. It was of course exorbitant, and it would leave his wallet thin, but considering the value of such a trip, it was worth it. He would pay half to take him safely out, and half to bring him safely back. The trader's greed would keep him honest; this was a good additional business for him.

 

He was ready on Jorge's next trading night, dressed in Spanish peasant clothing. "More dirt," Jorge said, rubbing some in. "You are the lowliest of workers, paid as little as I can get away with."

 

They approached the boat. "I will get out and take my money and empty boxes to my friend," Jorge said. He meant his contact in the smuggling trade. "You will be my assistant. You will carry for me. Then I will send you back to watch the boat, but in the dark you will go where you wish, and I will speak to you as I leave for my own house, as if you are there. In four days I will be here again, and call to you to stay with the boat; then you will go to it. But if you do not come, I will not wait; I will pretend you are there, so no one suspects. This is all I can do."

 

"If I am not there, it will be my own fault," Lane agreed.

 

"Now the money."

 

"Now half the money." Lane gave the man the sheaf of bills. "My companion will meet us when we return in three days, and he will have the other half. If I am not with you, he will not pay you." Lane was of course not going to carry the money with him; it had to be secure against betrayal.

 

The man nodded. It was fair.

 

They got into the craft, which was a stand-up rowboat. Jorge showed Lane how to do it, and they took turns rowing. There was a dim lantern hung on the bow, so that no one would mistake the craft for anything else. This excursion might be unofficial, but it was not secret; the guns of the British were not kind to secrets near their shore.

 

"Now be properly servile," he said as they approached the Spanish shore. "They must not suspect otherwise."

 

Then, as Lane rowed diligently, the trader started exclaiming. "No, no, dolt, that way! Keep it moving! Must I do everything myself? Have you never rowed a boat before?"

 

Lane smiled in the dark. He would have been angry, were he anything other than a servant--or a spy. It was the perfect camouflage.

 

They came to land, and a dark figure hauled them in. "You bring a friend, this time, Jorge," he remarked.

 

"No, I bring a British spy!" Jorge retorted. "What do you think?"

 

The man laughed. "Well, don't let him steal my treasures!"

 

Jorge loaded Lane with boxes and led him to the house. The light inside was dim. He set them down on the table. Now Jorge would settle with his supplier for the value of the goods he had moved, and make a deal for more for the next trip. "Go back and watch the boat," Jorge snapped at Lane. "I will call you when I want you."

 

Meekly, Lane obeyed. He left the house and walked toward the shore. No one went with him; it was all a pose in case any Spanish authorities were near. When he was reasonably sure he was unobserved, he strode away from the boat and lost himself among the bushes near the shore.

 

He waited, and in due course the trader emerged from the house. He walked to the boat. "Push off, idiot!" he cried. "Do you think we have all night?" And it did seem as if there was a separate figure there with him. Jorge's voice continued as the boat moved away, giving insulting instructions to his assistant. The man had done his job--if he hadn't secretly betrayed Lane to the Spanish.

 

No one came out searching. It seemed to be all right. Lane moved out cautiously. When he found a more secure place, he opened the pack he had carried in the form of a large belly and took out the Spanish civilian worker's suit. Spain was still suffering from the ravages of its civil war; there were many men looking for work. He would be just one more of them.

 

First he had to rent a car. Jorge had told him where to go for black market business of any type. He went there, and got a battered but sound car. He familiarized himself with its controls, and set off. With luck he might make Barcelona in a day, and with further luck be able to run down the address of the Quaker center there. Then if he could find someone who spoke English, who knew Quality--

 

He closed his minds to all the luck he might need. He simply had to find out. Quality was his fiancee!

 

But it was a hellish drive, because of the delays. Why couldn't the Spaniards keep up their roads better! He kept having to reverse and backtrack to avoid untenable routes. Meanwhile the night was passing.

 

Then it got worse: on one of his backtracks, he saw another car parked sidewise across the road, blocking it. Someone was after him! But who could know he was here? Even Jorge the Smuggler hadn't known where he was going. So it was more likely some kind of highway robber, hoping to clean him out.

 

Lane came to a stop, turned out his lights, drew his pistol, checked it, and tucked it under his jacket where it wouldn't show. He did not want to have to use it, but he had no intention of being robbed or killed. Had something like this happened to Quality? She had been doing a lot of driving, her letters said.

 

He got out and approached the figure standing by the other car. The man saw him in the early light and called out a query in Spanish.

 

"I don't speak Spanish," Lane responded in English. He put his hand inside his shirt, grasping the pistol. If there were any threatening gesture--

 

"Lane!" the man exclaimed. Lane was astounded. He knew that voice. It was Ernst Best!

 

Amazed, they embraced. Then they talked, getting things straight. As it turned out, this was a stroke of luck for each of them, because Ernst needed to make a report to his superiors on the defenses of Gibraltar, and Lane needed someone he could trust to check on Quality. So they made a deal of sorts, and separated friends. Lane was relieved. Quality and Ernst had not gotten along well together, but Ernst did know her, and would do his best for her.

 

***

 

When Jorge set off again, Lane was there. He got on the boat without event, and helped row the boat back.

 

They were met at the other landing. Jorge was paid the other half of his fare, and was well satisfied.

 

Time passed. Lane's passport never did come through, though that no longer mattered. Neither did his transfer back to England. Apparently his orders had gotten lost in the shuffle of the war, and so he remained where he was. Finally he went to the Convent on his own and asked to be assigned to something useful for the duration.

 

"It shall be taken under advisement," the clerk informed him. And of course nothing happened. Lane had to be content with doing a lot of reading at the library. He also gave the newspapers thorough perusal. He learned a tremendous amount about the history of Gibraltar and the current progress of the war, as well as getting quite sharp on the daily crossword puzzles.

 

In January 1941 the German 10th Air Corps was transferred from Norway to Sicily. Lane knew that meant trouble for Malta, because it was close to Sicily and the German pilots were highly experienced in naval warfare. They were going to try to take out that island stronghold, and stood a fair chance of doing it. Lane had a lot of respect for air power, but wasn't sure the British forces of the Mediterranean theater had enough respect for it, yet. They thought they could just shoot down any plane that came over. They were apt to receive a hard education.

 

In February, before the German airmen were fully established in Sicily, Force H left Gibraltar. It looked like another convoy operation, but Lane hoped it was going to make a pre-emptive attack on the Sicilian installations. Instead it avoided the Italian battle fleet, which tried to intercept it, and attacked the north Italian city of Genoa. The battleship bombarded the city with fifteen inch shells. It blasted aircraft factories, marshaling yards, and port installations, while the carrier Ark Royal loosed its aircraft along the shore, and mined the entrances to several ports. The operation was a huge success, and there was a tremendous ovation as Force H returned to Gibraltar.

 

Almost immediately after that, Force H moved out again, this time into the Atlantic to harass the German fleet. Then it settled down to work to keep the supply convoys coming. Lane wished he could have a fighter plane aboard the carrier, but he remained grounded and ignored.

 

The battle of Malta commenced. A hundred and fifty German bombers attempted to blast the island into rubble, while force H struggled to keep the defenders supplied. Now they had respect for air power! German bombers and Italian torpedo planes came at it, but the Ark Royal's fighters broke up the attack formations in much the way Bader's fighters had done in England.

 

On April 6, Germany invaded Yugoslavia and Greece. Suddenly it was getting even hotter in the Mediterranean. But Force H fought its way through, and the supplies were delivered. Malta survived.

 

On May 14 General The Viscount Gort assumed the Governorship of Gibraltar. He had been the commander of the British Expeditionary Forces in France, and he stressed the need for full wartime preparedness.

 

Lane seized his chance. He reported to the Convent again, demanding one minute with the General. "I served in France," he said. "I saw what lack of preparation cost us. Then I served in England, with Bader. I have experience! If I can't fly, at least let me do something useful."

 

Gort nodded. "We can use you, Airman." The interview was over.

 

This time there was follow-through. Lane was assigned to the group studying the situation of the northern runway. "This thing is way too short," he said. "Sure, your planes can use it now. But it's a different matter when they have to scramble in a hurry. You need more parking space to the sides, and efficient access, so that you can get full squadrons up without delay. The Germans can come without much warning, and then every second will count. The fighters have to get out fast!"

 

They agreed, and General Gort was advised. At last Lane was feeling useful again. He had told Ernst that the Rock was virtually impregnable, but this was one of its chief weaknesses: inadequate facilities for fast scrambling. Now he was doing something about it.

 

Meanwhile, the war continued. Force H went out again, to the Atlantic, and took on the great German battleship Bismarck. A torpedo from one of the carrier's planes finally jammed the German ship's steering gear, crippling it so that it could be dispatched May 26.

 

In June Germany invaded Russia. Lane and the others were amazed. It had seemed that the thrust was to be against England. Germany had signed a pact with the Communists! Why was it taking on a new enemy when it didn't have to? Adolf Hitler seemed to have shot himself in the foot!

 

In October General Gort received authorization to extend and pave the runway. The project turned out to be far more extensive than Lane had hoped. They extended the runway out west into the bay. This required a tremendous amount of fill material. Some of it came from rock tunneled from the interior, but most of it was taken from the slopes of the North Face. There was quarry blasting, and powerful hoses were used to bring down the sand, gravel and rock.

 

The work continued for a year, and the runway kept lengthening. Finally it was just over fifteen hundred yards long, and a hundred and fifty feet wide, with extensive parking areas on either side. Lane had urged better space for aircraft, but this was phenomenal. What was the general up to?

 

Meanwhile the German aircraft disappeared from the Mediterranean theater. There was no mystery here: they were being used in the invasion of Russia. Force H no longer had any difficulty reinforcing and supplying Malta. But when winter stalled the offensive in Russia, the German planes and submarines returned to the Mediterranean. This time the siege was to be worse than before.

 

The German General Rommel was moving in Africa, driving for the Suez Canal in Egypt. It seemed that Hitler was determined to destroy British power in the Mediterranean, so that Rommel could complete his mission without British harassment. Now the fury of a competent campaign manifested, in contrast to the Italians' somewhat fumbling efforts. On November 13 a German submarine sank the Ark Royal as Force H was returning to Gibraltar from a patrol. Suddenly the folk of the Rock felt the full consequence of war.

 

On December 11 Germany declared war on the United States of America. Lane had been in this war all along; now he knew that all his countrymen were in it too. He hoped that Quality was not in further trouble because of it; if she had been taken by the Germans, she would now be an enemy prisoner. But he tried not to think about Quality, because there was only pain and emptiness there. It was getting harder to convince himself that she remained alive. Had he not been confined to a place of no women, his constancy might have been tested.

 

The opening of the Pacific theater was similarly grim. The Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor, inflicting devastating losses and effectively destroying American sea power there. In February 1942 the British lost Singapore, and then Burma. There seemed to be no good news anywhere.

 

But it was the Second Battle of Malta that concerned the personnel of Gibraltar. General Gort was transferred to the command of Malta. Force H left to escort the force that seized Madagascar in a preventive action so that the Japanese could not establish themselves there. Force W came to the Rock instead, and it included the American carrier USS Wasp, equipped with spitfires. It was like a taste of home, for Lane.

 

Several convoys fought their way through to Malta during the spring and summer of 1942. That was the appropriate description: fought. The Germans were doing their best to close off that sea, and inflicted heavy losses on the merchant ships and their escorts. In one case, the American tanker Ohio finally made it through--crewed by British sailors, held up by a destroyer lashed to either side, the sole survivor of that convoy.

 

But now America was mobilizing her considerable resources, and her presence was being increasingly felt. The Allied counteroffensive was developing. The plan was first to attack the soft underbelly of Europe through the Mediterranean. North Africa would be occupied, and used as a springboard to drive Italy out of the war. But before the American forces entered the Mediterranean, they wanted to be sure that Gibraltar, the guardian of the Straits, was secure. That remained the linchpin; had the Germans been able to take out Gibraltar, none of this would have been possible, and the German situation would have been virtually impregnable.

 

Gibraltar was also to provide air cover for the invasion fleets. Now the reason for the huge expansion of the runway became clear: Gibraltar was to be the base for Operation Torch, the invasion of North Africa. It would provide air cover for the troopships, as well as being the major port for the fleets. Nearly four hundred aircraft of various types were crammed into the dispersal areas around the Gibraltar runway. Fighters had been shipped in crates and were assembled on the airfield. One hundred sixty eight American pilots came to be housed in the RAF messes at North Front. Lane felt a curious ambivalence: he was American, but he had flown for the R.A.F., so did not really identify with his countrymen. But he was able to help orient them, because he knew the American slang and could cut through misunderstandings.

 

Meanwhile it seemed that the Allies were watching Spain somewhat apprehensively. Lane knew why, thanks to his background research done during his extended idleness. Spain was officially neutral, but leaned toward the Axis, and Spain could cut off the Strait at any time. They did not want to give Spain any pretext to enter the war. They knew that the Germans would be urging General Franco to do just that, cutting the Allied line and attacking Gibraltar. Spain had once had a great empire, and Spanish Morocco was the last remnant of it; if Franco thought that was threatened, he might indeed act. So the Allies did several things to discourage this: they made the Americans the major partners in the effort, because America had no territorial ambitions here; they encouraged a more generous flow of food and commodities to Spain through the Allied blockade; they attempted no occupation of Spanish territory; and they proceeded without seeming hesitation with overwhelming force. Lane knew that these were signals General Franco understood, and he did elect to remain neutral. Still, it was nervous business.

 

But there was one more concern. Intelligence had learned that Hitler did have a plan for marching through Spain, called Ilona. If Franco allowed that, then the Nazis themselves would control the Strait, and Gibraltar would be under immediate siege. So they tricked the Nazis by making it seem that the buildup at Gibraltar was for another major effort to relieve Malta. Also, Franco had agreed to enter the war only if Rommel reached the Suez Canal, which would virtually assure the axis victory in the Mediterranean. But Rommel had not reached it, so Spain did not allow the Germans to march through Spanish territory. Since the Germans did not want to invade Spain--why antagonize a friend?--they let it go. That was to make all the difference.

 

Force H returned. Then in November America's General Eisenhower arrived and took over command of the Rock. On the following days the landing on the Algerian coast proceeded. The counteroffensive had begun, and Gibraltar was its key. Lane, his records seemingly lost in the bureaucratic morass, remained in the war after all.

 

But what had happened to Quality? Had Ernst found her, and if so, what had he been able to do to help her? This concern almost nullified Lane's satisfaction with the progress of the war.

 

 

Chapter 10

Tiergarten

 

Ernst's feelings were mixed as he moved on to the next camp. He had found Quality, and she was well, and now she knew that her situation was not hopeless. But how was he going to get her out of Gurs? She was a foreign national who had committed a crime by the standard of the Reich. He had spoken of repatriation, but he doubted that would come to pass. The Reich hardly cared what distant America thought, and any captives were more likely to be used as hostages than guests. So about all he had accomplished was to make her treatment better. That was a short term expedient.

 

But that was only part of it. What was this feeling he felt for Quality? She was his friend's fiancee, and he had searched for her at his friend's behest. He had no business entertaining any other notion. He had a girlfriend of his own, who was smart and beautiful and who offered him anything he might desire.

 

"Thank thee, Ernst," he murmured, remembering.

 

He shook his head. Perhaps he could not control the foolishness of his feeling, but he could discipline his actions. He would see that no one else ever suspected the nature of his wayward fancy.

 

He completed his tour of the camps, and returned to Berlin. He turned a reduced list of names over to Canaris, but his verbal report covered the situation: "As a mission, it was a waste of time. None of these are likely to be of use in the current situation."

 

"It no longer matters," the Admiral replied heavily. "There will be no settlement there."

 

Ernst did not understand what Canaris meant, but thought it best not to inquire. As it turned out, there was plenty else to occupy his attention. He had to continue to correlate incoming Spanish information, because there was a growing fear that the British would invade Spain, seeking better access to France and Germany. They could use Gibraltar as a stepping stone. It was likely to prove to be sheer disaster, leaving that rock in British hands, but it was not up to Abwehr to second guess the decision of the Führer.

 

But the main effort was Operation Barbarosa, which related to the boundary Germany now had with Russia. German troops were going there in such number that it was evident that an invasion of Russia was planned. It had to be a surprise, for even the Communists could make trouble if forewarned. So Abwehr had to devise false orders for troop deployment, purposely leaked to diplomatic reports and even statements of Propaganda Minister Goebbels, to decoy the British and the Russians. "The British are not our real enemies," Canaris confided. "They are Aryan like us, and perhaps will accept peace in due course. But the Communists are an abomination, and must be destroyed."

 

So it was made to seem to the Russians that the troop concentrations along their border were merely a decoy to hide a planned invasion of England, and it was made to seem to the British that the troops were being used to counter the Russian military presence. False reports abounded: mysterious German tourists were watching bases in French Morocco. Sixty thousand German troops were moving quietly through Spain. Eight German divisions were being withdrawn from the Russian frontier for action in the west.

 

"It is disaster to open a second front," the Admiral confided privately. "We must first defeat Britain, making her sue for peace. Then Spain will join us. Then, secure in the Atlantic and Mediterranean theaters, we can deal properly with the Communists. But we must do what we can to facilitate the Führer's wish. It is not my business to make policy."

 

Early in April Germany invaded Yugoslavia and Greece. Suddenly Ernst understood what the Admiral had meant about that theater no longer mattering: because the plans for that invasion had already been set. So Canaris had thrown himself into Operation Barbarosa, which at least had some future.

 

A new plan was devised to foil a British invasion through the Spanish peninsula. It was code named Isabella. It was strictly a military operation, with little direct Abwehr activity, but Ernst nevertheless was sent on several reconnaissance missions as the plans evolved. During these he made sure to check on Quality, under the guise of searching out any information she might have on Spain. He talked to her in Spanish. When he was sure that there was no one else in earshot who understood that language, he was able to speak with greater candor.

 

"How are they treating you, truly?"

 

"Well," she replied.

 

"You have lost weight."

 

"Everyone has lost weight. There is not enough food to go around. But they give me more than the others, keeping me healthy."

 

"And you share it with others, going hungry yourself," he said with sudden insight.

 

She dropped her gaze. "I have to do what I can."

 

He realized that she would starve herself, to help others. Conditions were worsening in all the camps, and brutality was becoming more commonplace. She had evidently escaped it so far, perhaps only because of his directive that she be saved, but that could not endure indefinitely.

 

Ernst dug into the deep pocket of his overcoat. He brought out a chunk of cheese left over from his hurried lunch while traveling. "Take this," he said gruffly. "Eat it now, while I interrogate you."

 

Meekly, she obeyed. It was the only way he could be sure that she did eat it, instead of giving it away. He had promised Lane to do what he could for her, and it was very little, but all he could manage at the moment.

 

On June 22 Germany invaded Russia. The Russians were caught completely by surprise, thanks to Abwehr's efforts, and suffered horrendous losses. This was perhaps the Admiral's greatest intelligence coup.

 

Meanwhile Krista was persistent. She was not satisfied with occasional dates; she wanted commitment. "Take me to your room for a night," she urged him. "Let me show you exactly what I can do for you."

 

He shook his head, smiling. "I would have no judgment at all, with you there. I am not ready to marry."

 

"I have told you, you do not need to marry me."

 

He waggled a finger warningly in her face. "I would need to, if you were with me for a night."

 

She caught the finger between her teeth, pretending to bite. "You are like a rat, wary of the bait."

 

"Very like a rat," he agreed.

 

He managed to check on Quality at Gurs in August, and again in October. Each time she looked thinner, and the camp looked worse. She always had a positive attitude, but he distrusted that; she was trying to persuade him that things were better than they were. The little bits of food he gave here were pitifully inadequate; only if he could do it every day could he stabilize her. That was impossible.

 

"You are pensive," Krista told him later in October. "Do you fear for the progress of the war?"

 

"I do," he agreed. For he could see that the German initiative was slowing, and that boded no good. "The Allies are building an expanded runway on Gibraltar, which means they expect to use it to attack us, and Spain still refuses to join the Axis. The Russian resistance is stiffening, and our losses there are mounting; winter could be cruel indeed."

 

"But there is something else on your mind."

 

"Perhaps so." He cursed his foolishness, but he could not rid himself of his brooding concern with a single prisoner he had promised to help.

 

"Is there something wrong with me?" Krista asked. "Have I given you offense, or is that shadow on my ancestry--"

 

"No!" he exclaimed. "There is nothing wrong with you, Krista! The more I know of you, the more I appreciate you. You are beautiful, smart and competent."

 

"But you will not trust me with your secret," she said.

 

"What secret?"

 

"The thing that is weighing on you, making you morose."

 

He gazed at her. She was right: he could not tell her what was truly bothering him. Because all she would hear would be the words "other woman." It wouldn't matter that the woman was his friend's fiancee whom he had promised to help, and that instead he was standing by to watch her slowly die.

 

"I wish I could marry you, and go with you to some secret garden, and forget everything else," he said sincerely.

 

"Tiergarten," she said brightly. "The park close by your hotel. We will go there now."

 

He laughed, and part of his mood lifted. "And you will get me in a private place there, and show me what maddens me. It is your way of torturing me."

 

"Exactly," she said, inhaling.

 

***

 

Late in November Admiral Canaris visited Spain again, and Ernst drove down separately to join him. The Admiral truly loved Spain; only there did he seem happy. His mission was to sound out the Spanish government on Isabella. But it was becoming obvious that despite the Allied buildup at Gibraltar, they were not going to use the distraction of the Russian campaign to invade Spain. That meant that Isabella might prove to be unnecessary.

 

Canaris returned to Germany December first. That left Ernst to make another routine check on the camps, and return separately.

 

But before he reached Gurs, the Japanese bombed the American base at Pearl Harbor, in the Pacific ocean. That meant that America would enter the war. It could be only a matter of days before it became formal, for Germany as well as Japan.

 

That meant that Quality Smith would no longer represent a neutral nation. She would represent an enemy nation. That would be the end of her preferential treatment--and surely the end of her life, from privation. Others were dying in the camps, as conditions worsened.

 

Distraught, he thought it through from every angle as he drove to France. It was a desperate situation, requiring a desperate measure. There was no guarantee of success, and perhaps he would only drag himself down too. But he had to try it.

 

Quality looked thinner then ever. She still wore her original clothing, but now it hung on her. Yet her face possessed a preternatural beauty, her eyes seeming huge, her lank brown hair smoothing the angles of her jaw.

 

"Japan bombed the American base on the Hawaiian Islands," Ernst told her. "They destroyed American power in the Pacific. This may not be of importance to you, because you are a pacifist--"

 

"The poor people!" she exclaimed. "The lives lost."

 

"America will rebuild. But it affects you in this way: you are an American, and Japan is allied to Germany. So very soon America will be at war with Germany, too."

 

"And I will become an enemy national," she said, comprehending the significance.

 

"I must get you out of here," he said. "This is now imperative, and there can be no delay. It must be today. But I can think of only one way to do it."

 

She shook her head. "There is no way. They will not release me."

 

"SS officers have certain privileges. I dislike deception, but see no other mechanism. If I suggested that I wished to have you for--for my use, they would not stop me from taking you."

 

She stared at him.

 

"I would not actually use you," he said quickly. "I give you my word on that. I promised Lane to find you and to help you if I could. I wish I knew a better way. I fear for your continued detention here. I fear for your life. But still, you would have to agree to go. Others would have to be given the impression that it was so. Would you do that?"

 

She considered. Then she whispered, "Yes."

 

She had agreed! He coughed to mask his astonishment. He had feared that she would elect to die. "Then I will see to it. But--you must not appear to be willing. Your agreement is for me, not for them. You must be resigned, perhaps in despair. You understand?"

 

She nodded.

 

Ernst dismissed her, then went to the commandant. "This American woman--I think she knows more than she has told. I wish to take her for more thorough interrogation. Release her to my custody."

 

The man looked at him. "She is beautiful," he remarked. "Or would be, when better fed."

 

Ernst returned his gaze. "And what of it?"

 

"There must be higher authorization."

 

This was the risky part. "Here is a code-name for Reinhard Heydrich. Contact him and say that Ernst Best is making a requisition." He had given his true name, knowing that it was unknown here, but would be known to Heydrich.

 

The name of Heydrich evidently impressed the man. This was a most powerful contact. But Ernst could see the lingering doubt. Was it a bluff?

 

"I will wait," Ernst said firmly.

 

The commandant left the office. If he did contact Heydrich's office, what would happen? Heydrich was at present in Czechoslovakia, and difficult to reach, so his home office would demur. Would the commandant pursue the matter further? Ernst was betting that he would not, for fear of making a powerful enemy unnecessarily. The man believed that Ernst was simply appropriating the most attractive prisoner before some other officer did; this kind of thing was known to happen. What was the harm in it? So probably he would not risk a challenge, and would not even enter the matter in the records. It would simply be one less prisoner to feed. One who might otherwese soon be dead anyway.

 

Sure enough, the commandant returned in less time than it would have taken to reach Czechoslovakia. "Take her," he said.

 

"Have her brought to me and signed out," Ernst said.

 

"That will not be necessary. Authorization has been given."

 

So he was right: the man preferred no record. Quality would remain on the camp rolls, but would simply not be there. Soon enough she would be forgotten, or possibly her name would be put in place of another woman who died.

 

Ernst returned to the main camp. He saw Quality standing there, waiting. He strode toward her. "Come with me," he said gruffly, taking her arm.

 

She tried to hold back, but he hauled her along. He brought her to his car and shoved her roughly in. He got in himself and started the motor. Quality hid her face as if terrified or ashamed. Possibly that was true. He was passed on out of the camp without challenge.

 

"There is bread under the seat," he said, looking straight ahead. "Take it."

 

She reached under and found it. "I think thee, Ernst."

 

"I will take you to my apartment in Berlin. Others will think what they will think. You must always appear afraid of me. But I tell you again: I mean to help you."

 

"I am afraid for thee, Ernst," she said. "This is a great risk for thee."

 

"I promised Lane." But it was more than that. He would have had to do it even if Lane had never existed. Quality was simply too good a person to allow to wither and perhaps die in such a camp, or to be brutalized or raped there.

 

He drove her to Germany. It was a two day journey, with a night in Paris. The hotel there had a bath adjoining the room, and he was glad for that, because Quality stank of the camp and her own forced lack of hygiene. On the way they talked, as they had in Spain, and he kept her supplied with food. Freed of the environment of the camp, she was willing to eat, and she did so voraciously. That was part of the reason he maintained the dialogue: to distract her, so that she would not feel guilty for eating, and stop.

 

"We can talk freely here," he told her. "But not in my apartment. Anyone might overhear, and if it became known that I am trying to save you for an American airman, it could be very bad for us both. You must seem to be a captive woman, chosen for her appearance, afraid to try to flee. Since you do not speak German, the pretense should be feasible. If anyone can hear, I will treat you with contempt, a creature of no value. You will have to do menial tasks, and after the hopelessness of your situation is apparent, you will do shopping for me. If I can arrange temporary papers for you."

 

"I understand," she said quietly.

 

"My apartment is not large, but there is an alcove where you can have privacy. I will give you my bed, as before, and--"

 

"No."

 

He glanced at her, surprised. "It is the best I can do."

 

"No, thee must not give me privacy," she said. "Thee would not do that for a kept woman. Neither would thee put her in thy bed, with thee elsewhere. She would share thy bed."

 

"But--"

 

"I trust thee, Ernst."

 

He was silent, knowing that she was right. The role had to be correctly played, or it would be obvious that it was a role. But how was he to share his bed with her, when already she intrigued him in a manner he needed to expunge?

 

They drove rapidly north through France. Ernst's Abwehr authority eliminated challenges, and there were no delays. Even so, it was late by the time they approached Paris.

 

"Will thee have to report to the SS headquarters here?" Quality asked.

 

"It is not necessary. Surely you do not wish to put in an appearance there!"

 

"Surely I do not," she agreed wanly. "They might recognize me. I was there to arrange for food for the Jews being transportod to Spain. They took my money, but the Jews wound up in Gurs and similar camps."

 

"Spain would not admit them," he agreed. "I am sorry your trip was for nothing."

 

"It cost me more than money," she said. "That was when I was arrested. Perhaps it is God's punishment."

 

"I thought Quakers did not believe in that sort of thing. In a retributive God."

 

"We do not define our beliefs in that way. I thought I did not believe that, but I did sin."

 

"Sin?"

 

"I told a lie. It was not the first time."

 

"To help a man escape death," he said, catching on.

 

"Yes. But still a lie. A sin. I have meditated much on that. I have learned the consequence of it."

 

"I think I would disagree with you on much else, but I appreciate your problem. I am doing something similar by taking you from that camp. I would not do it were I not afraid that there is no acceptable alternative."

 

"Yes. Thee understands."

 

They were silent as he threaded his way through Paris to reach the hotel where his room was reserved. "You understand the way this will appear," he reminded her.

 

"Thee has a prisoner, nominally for questioning, actuallyfor entertainment."

 

"Yes. Another lie we share."

 

"Is it, Ernst?"

 

"A half lie. I did claim you for questioning, letting them believe otherwise."

 

"Is it otherwise?"

 

He was taken aback. "You said you trusted me."

 

"I do, Ernst."

 

"Then I do not understand."

 

She smiled. "Perhaps I am teasing thee. I meant that possibly thee does find my company entertaining. Thee said thee enjoyed it before, in Spain."

 

He relaxed. "That is true. But knowing that for you this is necessity rather than pleasure, I did not think of it that way."

 

"It is both, Ernst."

 

He did not answer, again. Her words had touched him deeply, but he feared misreading their implication. She could not know that his feeling for her was verging on the forbidden. She was his friend's fiancee.

 

He took her to his room without ceremony or apology. Officers did sometimes take women to their rooms, and it was not wise to question them about this.

 

There was no need for a meal; they had been eating fairly steadily while driving. Ernst locked the door, then guided her to the bathroom. She made a little squeak of delight when she saw the fancy tub.

 

"Wash yourself, woman," he said gruffly in German. "But do not waste water. There is a war on."

 

She did not speak German. This was his reminder that they could not trust the seeming privacy of the room. "Ja," she said. That much German everyone knew.

 

Ernst turned on the radio fairly loud and tuned in the news to help cover the sounds of her bathing. He tried not to picture her naked. It was no business of his. He had taken her from the camp to safeguard her health and life, and he intended to safeguard her dignity too. She must never know his illicit fancy.

 

In due course she emerged, wrapped in a towel. She went to the bed and got in.

 

Ernst turned off the radio and went to use the bathroom. There were her clothes, washed and hung up to dry as well as they could. He realized that he would have to get her new ones; hers were so worn as to be on the verge of uselessness.

 

He stripped and washed at the sink. Then, in underclothing, he returned to the room. He saw her towel folded beside the bed. She was well over to the side, leaving space for him. He remembered what she had said about sharing the bed. That applied in Paris as well as in Berlin.

 

He got in and turned out the light. He would ignore her proximity as well as he could.

 

But in the darkness her hand come across. Her cool fingers touched his shoulder. They squeezed it, lightly, once, and retreated. It was her way of thanking him, since it was not safe for her to speak.

 

He closed his eyes and willed himself to sleep.

 

***

 

Ernst woke before dawn. He got up, used the bathroom, and dressed. He felt Quality's clothes: they remained damp. She would have to don them anyway. At least she and they were now clean; the smell was gone.

 

She remained asleep. He knew she was recovering from the privation of the camp. She would need more sleep and food. But now he had to rouse her, for they had a long day's drive to Berlin.

 

"Woman, wake," he said gruffly in German.

 

Her eyes opened. They were blank for a moment as her mouth tightened in apprehension. Then she oriented, and smiled up at him. She flung back the blanket and sat up before he could turn his back. He saw her small breasts against her gaunt ribs. She had lost more weight than he had realized. He should have taken her out of Gur before this.

 

He faced away as she got out and walked around the bed to the bathroom. In a very short time she emerged, wearing her damp clothing.

 

He had donned his overcoat in the interim. Now, afraid of the effect the outdoor chill of the morning would have on her, he took it off and put it around her shoulders.

 

She shook her head no, but he insisted. What good would it be to save her from the camp, if she died of chill? The coat fell to her ankles, protecting all of her body.

 

He led her out of the room and down to the lobby, where he checked out. The clerk ignored her. They went on out to the car. He started the motor, then turned on the heater. "Eat," he said in English, digging out the remnant of bread and cheese from the prior day.

 

"Thee is circumspect in commenting on my appearance."

 

"No self-respecting SS officer would settle for an emaciated woman. Not in Berlin."

 

She nodded. "I had not thought of that. I will try to achieve the required plumpness." She ate with a will, and later in the day slept in the seat.

 

He stole a glance at her. It was probably his imagination, but she seemed to look better already.

 

They reached Berlin late at night. He took her to his room, and she stripped immediately and got into the bed. He was tired from the long drive, and did the same. Again her hand touched his shoulder; then he slept.

 

It got cold in the night, and the hotel was not sufficiently heated. Ernst was used to it, and his thick blankets normally were enough. But be became aware of Quality shivering. She was lean and weak, and needed more.

 

He got out in the darkness and found his overcoat. He spread it over her, then got back in himself. But still she shivered. Could she have some illness? What more could he do? Insulation did not help enough; she needed heat.

 

"Please--may I?" she whispered. "In the camp, we protected each other from the cold."

 

"Ja." He hoped he understood her correctly.

 

She moved over toward him, then lay against him, as close as she could get, her arm and leg half across his body, her head beside his. He put his arms around her, drawing her in, and drew the covers in close. She was so light and thin! Then he lay quite still.

 

Her body was cool, but gradually it warmed. "Thank thee," she whispered, and slept.

 

He found to his surprise that he could relax. He was doing his best to safeguard her, and had found the way to secure her from the cold. He was well fed and healthy, and had body heat to spare. He was sharing it with her. In this situation he had no sexual inclination; his fear in that respect had proved to be groundless. She was not an object of sex appeal, at this time, but of pity.

 

***

 

In the morning he disengaged and tucked the blankets closely about her. Then he did calisthenics, unkinking his arms and warming up. It was a regular morning ritual, and he saw no reason to change it; those in the neighboring rooms were used to this morning noise. No need to alert them to any change in his situation; soon enough they would realize that he had a woman in his room.

 

When he finished, Quality was awake. She lay huddled in the blankets, watching him. Embarrassed, he quickly dressed.

 

Then he recovered his overcoat. He made a gesture of eating: he had to go out to purchase food. He brought out his key and gestured as of locking the door: he would lock her in. She nodded. She understood that she could not go out alone.

 

He went to a store he knew, and bought bread, cheese, milk, lettuce and as an afterthought, chocolate. The proprietor lifted an eyebrow but did not comment. An SS man could indulge himself if he chose.

 

He also bought a newspaper--and discovered that Germany had declared war on the united States of America the day before. He had gotten Quality out of the camp just in time.

 

Ernst brought the food to his room. Quality had dressed, then wrapped herself again in a blanket. Her eyes were big under the impromptu hood the blanket formed. He showed her the chocolate. "Eat," he murmured. "It will make you warm." He ate only sparingly himself, saving the food for her, because he could eat elsewhere.

 

Then he left for the Abwehr, locking her in again. This was the way it would have to be. This set the pattern for the following days. He found books printed in French and English and brought them to her. Several were by Nietzsche; he doubted that she wanted more of that, but there was no great assortment cheaply available in those languages. She welcomed each new book, and evidently read it. She had little else to do during the days he was at work.

 

The first evening when he returned he found her sitting by the window, gazing out. He set down his groceries and books and came to stand close behind her. "That is Tiergarten," he said in a low voice, in Spanish. "The 'Animal Garden.' A popular park. I chose this room because of that view."

 

"Tiergarten," she repeated. "I thank thee, Ernst, for that view. It cheers me."

 

"Eat," he said gruffly in German. "I must go out again."

 

In an hour he returned with assorted items of clothing for her. He knew the fit would be imperfect, but he couldn't leave her in her inadequate original garments. One of the items was a nightgown, so that she would not have to sleep naked again, and would have what slight additional warmth it provided. She made a pleased exclamation when she saw it, and that night she wore it. Now she seemed ethereal rather than thin, and angelically attractive. He did not dare compliment her appearance, for fear his sincerity would betray his feeling.

 

The days passed, and she began to recover her flesh, but Ernst knew it would be months before she was restored to full health. In the interim, there were other problems. Once a week the hotel's cleaning woman came through; she had a passkey, and he could not keep her out. So he dealt with the potential problem forthrightly: he went to the manager.

 

"I have a woman in my room. I rescued her from a camp. She does not speak German. I want her left alone, and I do not want word of her presence spread. There may be additional expense to the hotel because of her occupancy. I hope this will cover it." He proffered a suitable amount.

 

"There will be no problem," the man said, pocketing the money.

 

"And I would like to have a second key. Here is the deposit on it."

 

He got the key. Then he gave it to Quality. She was no longer a prisoner, physically, though without papers this made little difference.

 

Another problem was Krista. The Christmas season was coming up, and though the official Nazi line frowned on the religious aspect, the celebration was allowed. Krista would have time off, and so would he, and she expected to share it with him. She hoped to come to his room, if not for a night, at least for a few hours. That would be extremely awkward.

 

"Who is Krista?" Quality inquired when he tried to explain why he would be absent much of the time.

 

"My female friend. She would like to marry me."

 

"I wish you well."

 

He found himself uncertain. She had not said "thee." Then he realized that she meant the plural. "She is a fine young woman. Any man should be well satisfied to marry her."

 

"Surely so." She seemed almost amused.

 

It remained awkward. "But to explain your presence here--I do not think she would understand."

 

"Thee must bring her here, Ernst, and I will explain."

 

"She might feel obliged to report you. She is I fear a better Nazi than I am." He looked around the room. "She would also note that we use one bed."

 

She smiled. "This, too, I will explain. I do not wish to interfere in thy life, Ernst."

 

She had already done so, if she but knew. At night, when he held her for warmth, feeling her flannel nightgown against him, and her slender body, he imagined that she was his fiancee, and he felt guilty. Yet that fancy brought him delight, and he could not abolish it. If Krista saw Quality, she would immediately divine the truth in his heart, regardless of Quality's innocent explanation. But he could not say that without betraying the trust he had assumed for Lane. "I think it best that we not chance it."

 

She looked down. "Thee knows best, Ernst."

 

It was no easier with Krista. "This is the holiday season," she pointed out as they sat at a table in a restaurant. "The time for joy and license, yet you remain withdrawn. Let me take you somewhere where I can make you truly relax."

 

"I fear that is beyond your power."

 

"But you must give me a trial. Perhaps I will surprise you." She moved her leg so that her knee touched his. When he glanced down, he saw that she had hiked up her skirt so that he alone could see her leg above the knee. It was a fine leg, and the shadow into which it rose was indeed alluring. Her body had lost none of its appeal for him. But until he came to terms with his illicit feeling for Quality, he could not afford to take any part of what Krista offered.

 

Ernst wished he could get out of this. "It is not that you are in any way inadequate. It is that I know of nothing that can ease my situation."

 

"If only you would tell me!" she exclaimed, frustrated.

 

"If only I could."

 

"Last year we went home together. Why not--"

 

"This year I can not."

 

She gazed at him in a calculated manner. He feared her next question. But she did not ask it. "You must tell me when you can, Ernst." She did not broach the subject again. But he was not reassured.

 

Then in January he had a surprising and unwelcome visit at his room. It was Dohnanyi, the civilian associate of General Oster, who was notoriously anti-Hitler. Ernst had traveled with him, and found the man compatible and useful, but the last thing ne needed now was the political complication that further association with him would bring. Worse, he could not hide Quality's presence.

 

Quality sat in a corner, facing the man without speaking. She was in one of the dresses Ernst had bought for her, and already it hung less loosely on her as she regained weight. She had done some sewing on it, and fashioned a kind of sash that helped conceal her slenderness, and her bosom was filling out again. She could have been taken for German.

 

"So you are keeping a woman now," Dohnanyi remarked, eying Quality in a manner Ernst did not like.

 

"That has no relevance to my work," Ernst said shortly in German.

 

"But I understood that you had a regular girl."

 

"I prefer not to discuss the matter."

 

Dohnanyi laughed. "You are a more ambitious man than I took you for! A girlfriend and a mistress both."

 

"What is your business with me?" Ernst asked evenly.

 

Dohnanyi got serious. "Surely it is apparent to you that Hitler is a madman. First Poland, then France--had he stopped there, perhaps it would have been all right. But then Russia, and now America. These are not pygmies! They will overwhelm us, unless we renounce this folly while we yet can. While we still have our strength."

 

"Our troops are at the verge of Moscow, and America is far away," Ernst retorted, noting how Quality picked up on the word "America." But privately he feared exactly what the man suggested: that Germany had assumed too great a burden, and was extended on too many fronts.

 

"If we depose Hitler and make peace now, we can spare ourselves much agony," Dohnanyi said. "But we need internal support before we can challenge Hitler."

 

"You won't get it here!" Ernst retorted angrily. "Hitler is a great man. He has made Germany great." He brought out his silver swastika on its chain. "I value this symbol of what he has made of Germany. Now go away, and we shall pretend you never came here."

 

Dohnanyi departed without further argument. Ernst locked the door behind him. What had possessed the man to come here like this, spouting treason? Ernst had never given him any encouragement.

 

"What was it about?" Quality asked quietly.

 

He changed to English, lowering his voice. "He wants to overthrow the Führer! He seeks to convert me to his cause. But I am loyal. He knows that. I don't know why he came here."

 

"Perhaps to verify my presence," she suggested.

 

Ernst nodded. "And now he has a hold against me. If I report him for treason, he will report you. I must be silent."

 

She shook her head sadly. "I did not wish to complicate thy life, Ernst."

 

He put his arm around her shoulders. "I would not have it otherwise." Then, realizing what he had done, he withdrew. "I meant that I must do what I must do, and you are not to blame."

 

She did not look at him. "Thee sleeps embracing me, but thee will not touch me by day?"

 

He laughed, without force. "At night there is reason. By day, it is a presumption."

 

"A presumption of what?"

 

"A presumption that what others think is true."

 

"And is it false?"

 

She had questioned him in a similarly oblique manner during their drive to Berlin, a month before. Again, it made him nervous, because his attraction to her had not abated. It was essential that he reassure her, so that she would not come to fear his intent. "If I ever touch you in a way you do not wish, there will surely be compelling reason for it," he said carefully. "I deeply regret holding you prisoner here, and would free you if I could."

 

"I am perhaps prisoner," she agreed. "But I would not care to take my freedom from thee."

 

"Not in the middle of Berlin!" he agreed. "But I hope the time will come when it is possible." Then he would marry Krista, and try to forget.

 

***

 

The next week the trouble was abruptly worse. There was another peremptory knock on the door, and when Ernst opened it, there was Major Stummel of the Central section, the legal department. He was young and friendly, but deadly. His report could destroy Ernst's standing in the Abwehr, or exonerate him from suspicion. "I was in the area, and thought I would pay a call," Stummel said politely. "Have you time?"

 

Ernst could hardly decline, knowing the significance of such a seemingly coincidental visit. "By all means, come in."

 

The man entered. "Freulein," he said, spying Quality.

 

She nodded, not knowing what to expect.

 

They sat down. "I see you have a view of the Tiergarten," he remarked. "That is nice."

 

Ernst agreed. They exchanged other pleasantries. Then Stummel began to zero in on his business. "It is such a pleasure to work with the able officers of the Abwehr. Colonel Lahousen is a fine soldier, though his loyalty may be primarily military rather than political."

 

"I have worked closely with Lahousen," Ernst countered. "I regard him as a fine and loyal soldier in every sense."

 

"And of course Admiral Canaris is a brilliant espionage officer, but perhaps not as fine an administrator or manager. Perhaps he allows himself to be unduly swayed by underlings of dubious quality."

 

"Such as General Oster," Ernst agreed. Now he was on safe ground. "A strutting peacock, a man so consumed with his own opinions that he questions the decisions of the Führer and speaks treason carelessly. The only reason he has not been court-martialed is that his incompetence safeguards his rashness. And his friends: Dohnanyi, that sly lawyer who knows nothing of discipline and cares nothing for the Volk, a scheming weasel who embodies everything that national socialism stands against."

 

"Yes, there are rumors of Jewish ancestry and black market activities." Then Stummel remarked with seeming innocence: "I noticed that you talked to Dohnanyi. I believe you have worked with the man before--or do I misremember?"

 

Of course his memory was perfect. "I did travel with him last year. He was a pleasant conversationalist, but I did not take him seriously."

 

"I believe he visited here recently. To review old times?"

 

"I do not wish to speak ill of an associate," Ernst said tightly.

 

"Ill? In what manner?"

 

"He remains extreme in his politics. I had to ask him to leave."

 

"Ah, you do not subscribe to his notions?"

 

"I thought I had made that clear," Ernst said wryly.

 

Stummel smiled. "Ah, you did; I apologize for forgetting." But Ernst knew that the man had not forgotten; he had phrased his question again, verifying that Ernst's answer remained constant. His gaze flicked about the room, touching as if coincidentally again on Quality. "Forgive me if I am once more forgetful, but I had understood you are not married, Captain Osterecht."

 

"I am not," Ernst agreed.

 

"But I see here with you a most attractive young woman. Is she your cousin, perhaps, come for a visit?"

 

Treacherous water! "I do have her with me. She is not my cousin. I do not care to discuss her situation."

 

"Of course not," Stummel said with deceptive ease. "I understand that more than one officer prefers, shall we say, the comforts of home to those of the street." He was implying that Quality was a prostitute.

 

Ernst knew that he should let that implication stand. Keeping a woman was an indiscretion, but an understandable one, and there was a general policy of silence in such matters. But he was unable to allow this particular lie about Quality to stand. Dohnanyi's assumption that she was his mistress had been bad enough, and probably should have been countered so as to avoid any chance of blackmail. "No. She is not that kind of woman."

 

"No? I would not for a moment imply that such an attractive person could be an agent of the treasonable faction, sent to corrupt a good man. Yet such things have been known."

 

Ernst felt a terrible chill. Stummel was springing his trap, suggesting that Quality was evidence of corruption. "I have no such relationship with her!"

 

"She is nothing to you? Then perhaps we could take her off your hands, so that she will not remain a burden."

 

There was the threat. How was he to abate it? He could claim neither prostitution nor indifference, yet to suggest that she was important to him was a worse trap. They would use her mercilessly to bend him to their will, and he would have no independence.

 

"She does not speak German," he said carefully. "I took her from a camp, not wishing to let such an attractive creature go to waste. What she may be to me in the future is a private matter. I prefer to have no publicity."

 

Stummel stood and approached Quality. "I must say that she does not look like a Jew; were she such, it would be unfortunate."

 

"She is no Jew," Ernst said. Would Stummel never give over?

 

"Then surely you will have no objection if I check for a tattoo," Stummel said. His hand shot out, catching Quality's arm.

 

Quality mistook the nature of Stummel's intention. She thought he had rape or removal in mind, and Ernst could not clarify it for her without revealing the closeness of their association. "No!" she cried, jerking away.

 

Now Stummel showed his nature. "So she is willful. This is no fit companion for an officer." He stepped toward her again, determined to break her to his will--or to make Ernst betray his true feeling for her. It was a two-edged trap, skillfully set up. Either Quality would become worthless, subject to being taken and thrown in prison or perhaps turned over to other officers for their use. Or she would be revealed as Ernst's lover, a perfect hold against him, with the implication that he was being corrupted.

 

Ernst acted instantly. "Silence, woman!" he shouted, striding across the room. He caught her by the shoulder himself and spun her around. Her sleeve tore, baring her arm, showing that there was no guilty tattoo. Then he struck her with his open hand across the face. He felt her nose give way under the force of his blow. He winced, inwardly; he had intended to strike her on the side of the face, relatively harmlessly.

 

She made a stifled scream and stumbled back, the blood flowing from her nose. She fell to the floor, sobbing. But Ernst paid no overt heed. "Never talk back to an SS officer!" he shouted. He took another step toward her, lifting his foot. She cringed away from him, whimpering, her blood dripping on the floor.

 

Making an exclamation of disgust, he spun about to face Stummel. "My apologies for this scene," he said curtly. "The woman has not yet quite learned her place. That will be corrected, I assure you."

 

"So I see," Stummel said, stepping back. He was evidently satisfied: the woman was not a Jew or other condemned person, and obviously was here for Ernst's convenience, not his love. "I shall leave you to it." He turned away with distaste, and departed.

 

Ernst listened until he was sure the man was not only away from the room but out of the building. Only then did he dare to Quality.

 

She, too, had remained where she was, holding her nose to stop the bleeding. Her hair was disheveled, and a bruise was forming around her left eye. There were tears on her cheeks, and blood and tears on her chin.

 

"Oh my love," he murmured, the horror welling up. He had exonerated Quality and himself from suspicion, but at what price? "What have I done!"

 

Afraid to approach her, he hurried to the bathroom and got a towel. He soaked an end in water and brought it out to her. "I am so sorry," he said. "How can I explain?"

 

She took the towel and dabbed at her face. There was less blood than there had seemed to be, and her nose had stopped bleeding. Her face was quickly clean, but her eye was starting to swell. "There is no need to explain, Ernst."

 

He put out a hand to help her up, not quite touching her. She took it and got to her feet. "Yet I must try," he said as she steadied. "I would not--I would never--you are to me so--" But that was what he must not say.

 

She lifted a dry corner of the towel and dabbed at his face. "Thee has explained."

 

He realized that his face was wet with his own tears. "He would have taken you--" he said lamely.

 

She dropped the towel, put her hands to the sides of his head, and drew his face in to hers. "There must be truth between us, Ernst. We have lived a lie too long."

 

"The truth is not proper," he said.

 

She brought his face the rest of the way down to hers, and kissed him on the mouth.

 

His arms went around her body. He embraced her with infinite gentleness. Truth, at last.

 

She drew back slightly. "I love thee, Ernst."

 

"But it may not be!" he protested.

 

She merely looked at him.

 

"It is true," he said. "I love you, Quality. But you are not mine to love. Lane--"

 

"I have had time to think," she said, in a kindly but considerable understatement. "I have realized that my feeling for Lane has diminished, and my feeling for thee has increased. I know now that I am not a perfect match for Lane, or even a suitable one. I fear I am not ideal for thee, either, but my heart has spoken. So also, I think, has thine."

 

"But I had resolved never to speak of it!"

 

"I saw thee struggling throughout. But I wished to avoid imposing on thee beyond the minimum, until I realized that I could no longer avoid it."

 

The world seemed to have faded out around them. There was only himself with his arms around Quality, her face close to his. "Yet surely when I struck you and hurt you--"

 

"To save me from disaster. Thee told me before that thee would never touch me in a way I did not wish, unless there were compelling reason for it. I believed thee. I knew the charade was necessary."

 

"Charade!" he cried, looking at her swollen eye.

 

"Thee had to pretend that I was nothing to thee. Violence is not my way, and I think not thy way either, but perhaps it was required in this instance."

 

"I fear it was. I hope it never is again. But how could you conclude from this that I love you?"

 

"Why, thee said so, Ernst. Thee said 'Oh my love, what have I done.' I knew thee meant it."

 

He was astonished. "I said that? I did not realize."

 

She smiled faintly. "Thee was evidently distracted at the time."

 

He shook his head. "You are more poised than I at this moment. But I must not keep you standing. You must lie down and recover, and I shall get you medicine--"

 

"No, Ernst. I do not feel discomfort at the moment. I will lie down, if thee will lie with me."

 

He shook his head ruefully. "I think your phrasing is unfortunate. The vernacular of your language--"

 

"I am familiar with it. This is the meaning I intend."

 

"But I never thought of you in such manner!"

 

"I am sure of my love and desire for thee, Ernst. Is thee?"

 

How perfectly she had framed it! He yielded, and went with her to the bed. He let her undress herself and him, still afraid to presume too much. Her body remained thin, but she had recovered considerably in the past month. Then they lay together, in the Biblical sense, and it was such a perfect union that it seemed impossible that it could ever have seemed otherwise. He found that the passion he had suppressed before had become overwhelming. His concept of her had changed dramatically. Now it seemed wholly fitting that he be inside her as well as around her.

 

"If I may ask," he said as they lay still embraced in the ebbing of passion but not the ebbing of love.

 

"Anything, Ernst."

 

"When, for you--?"

 

"When I first employed plain talk with thee."

 

He was astounded. "But that was in America! We argued there! We did not get along."

 

"It was not love, then," she agreed. "But it was the dawning of respect, which I do not give lightly. It was the first step. When we met again in Spain it was the second step. I suspect I could have retreated, then, for I did not expect to see thee thereafter. But when thee came for me in France, I took the third step, and could no longer retreat."

 

"But I came at Lane's behest!"

 

"And tried thy best to honor it. I respected that, and would not have held thee. But thee helped me more than perhaps thee realizes."

 

"A little food at the camp, and more here."

 

"Thee gave me hope at the camp. I loved thee then, and it buoyed me so that I could survive."

 

Now her somewhat confusing references were coming clear. She had questioned his intentions while saying that she trusted him. She had known of his growing feeling for her, and had shared it, but had given him time to work it out independently.

 

"Thee knew me better than I knew myself," he said, emulating her plain speech in English. There was a certain additional pleasure in that, for it seemed to bring him even closer to her.

 

"No, Ernst. I merely was in a better position than thee to realize the changing of my feeling. I did not have to fight myself as thee did."

 

"Perhaps thee did not fight because thee is a pacifist."

 

She laughed, and kissed him. "Perhaps one day thee will be one too."

 

After a time they got up and cleaned the blood from the floor and rinsed out the towel. Then they ate and returned to bed. They clasped each other much as on previous nights, but now neither tried to hide the love that went with the embrace. The appearance of their clasped bodies had hardly changed, and neither had the reality of their hearts, yet a new world had opened for them.

 

 

Chapter 11

Nietzsche

 

In the morning Quality woke before Ernst and got quietly out of bed. She went to the bathroom and gazed at her face in the mirror. Her nose was swollen and her eye was black, but those things would pass. Her experience in Gurs had prepared her for this; Ernst did not know that she had been struck before. She had been caught giving some of her food to a woman who was being deprived because she had objected to the amatory suggestion of a guard. Quality had learned from observation how to react. Absolute fear and subservience was the way to survive, and since the proprietors did have power, it was no deceit to acknowledge it. The situation with the interrogating officer had been similar; he had had to be appeased, and Ernst had done what he had to. She had even turned her head so that his hand struck the center of her face instead of the side as he had intended, because she had known that no token slap would do.

 

And in the aftermath of that episode, horrified by the damage he had done without intending, Ernst had finally spoken his heart. Oh my love! It had come unconsciously, and been blanked from his own awareness, but not hers. She had tried not to be seductive, and to uphold the appropriate standards of decorum, but had seen that he was interested despite his honorable resolve. At night she had imagined that he was holding her for love rather than warmth, and almost it had seemed it was true. With her returning health had come renewed interest in romantic companionship, and with her solidifying love for Ernst had come the desire to possess him. She had wanted to tell him, and to offer him whatever he might want with her. But she knew that he made no commitment lightly, and that his code was such that the woman he indulged himself with would be the one he intended to marry. That had been too much to ask of him, when he could have a licit marriage and good life with his girlfriend Krista.

 

Until those words had shown the pointlessness of further pretense. Ernst had lost his fight to remain true to Krista, which relationship it seemed had never been wholehearted on his part. Quality had been freed to declare her own love. She had done so, and had proceeded to the denouement of which she had dreamed: the complete realization of his love. What a joy the night had been, despite her pain of the face.

 

But now it was the morning after. Had she done right? She wasn't sure. The intrusion of the SS officer, the threat to her limited security here, the necessary brutality, and Ernst's revelation of his love had been in the end exhilarating, and she had done what her heightened emotion urged. She did not regret their night of love at all, for herself, but was in doubt about its appropriateness for him. She had now denied him his chance for a normal German life.

 

She completed her business in the bathroom, and returned to the main room to dress. Ernst was stirring. He opened his eyes and looked at her.

 

"Ach, your face!" he said. "I should never have done that!" He considered briefly. "And then, in your confusion, I--how could I have--"

 

She moved to him, and cut him off with a kiss. "I did it, Ernst," she reminded him. "I asked thee to be with me, because I love thee and desire thee."

 

"I, too, with you," he said. "But still, to take advantage--"

 

And he felt guilty for his desire! She abandoned her own second thoughts. "I seduced thee last night. If thee argues, I shall do it again."

 

"I must argue, because you are captive, and--"

 

She kissed him a second time, putting fervor into it. She felt gay and reckless, glorying in her newfound freedom of expression. "I gave thee fair warning!" She drew back enough to draw off her nightgown. Then she lay against him, on top, spreading her legs to fall down outside his. It was fun being wanton. All her dreams were coming true.

 

"Oh Quality, Quality, how I love thee!" he whispered, hugging her. Then his passion met hers, and they were in the throes of it, without the hesitation of the night.

 

"I love thee, I love thee!" she breathed as it took them. "Now at last I can tell thee!"

 

"If I had known before--" he gasped.

 

"Pay attention to thy business," she said teasingly.

 

"I am! My business is loving thee."

 

She cut off further dialogue with more kisses. Every time he tried to talk, she kissed him again. Finally he gave up, and simply accepted her love.

 

However, he insisted on one thing. "I must marry thee, but I have no ring to give thee. I beg thee to accept instead, as a token of this union, my most precious possession."

 

"I need no token," she protested.

 

"But I need for you to have it. It will protect thee from harm." And he brought out his swastika, silver on a silver chain.

 

Quality had severely mixed feelings. To her, the swastika was an abomination, standing for everything that was evil. Yet she loved Ernst, and had to accept his gift.

 

She decided that the silver artifact was in this case not a symbol of Nazism, but of Ernst's love. As such, it was appropriate for her to wear. She put the chain over her head and let the swastika fall to her bosom. "I thank thee, Ernst. I will wear it always."

 

"I wish I could marry thee now. But--"

 

"It is the way of Friends to marry by declaring themselves before a Meeting, which is a gathering of Friends. We have perhaps a Meeting of two. We can imagine a silent Meeting to hear our vows."

 

He was uncertain. "I do not know the form of such a ceremony."

 

"The form is as simple as we wish. I take thee, Ernst Best, to be my husband, and I will be with thee as long as we both shall live."

 

"I take thee, Quality Smith, to be my wife, and I will be with thee as long as we both shall live."

 

She kissed him. "Normally it is a longer ceremony, but it will do."

 

"It will do," he echoed.

 

But it was morning, and he had to go to work. His work consisted of assorted technical investigations and reports for Admiral Canaris, who ran Abwehr. But there was something else, about which he did not tell her, yet she knew. Something he had to do which he did not like. Their love had been realized, but the rest of the world remained grim. She was still a virtual prisoner in his room, and he was bound by his duty. No one knew what would come of all this, so they could only enjoy the moment.

 

Meanwhile she continued to recover, gaining weight and strength. She suspected that love had as much to do with it as food, but she abetted it by doing whatever exercises she could manage without making too much noise. She adjusted her clothing to fit her better, and brushed her hair out, encouraging it to grow. She spent much time reading, and gazed out into the pleasant park.

 

Her face healed. She was almost sorry to see it happen, because she associated her black eye with Ernst's love. But she knew he had no joy in that, so for his sake she was glad to recover her beauty.

 

Toward the end of January Ernst brought an older officer home with him. Quality could tell by his manner that Ernst was not at ease, but had not been able to avoid this. The other man was tall and impressive, and evidently of very high status. Quality was immediately afraid of him.

 

The man's small restless eyes immediately focused on her. She knew Ernst had had to tell him about her, and was helpless to prevent what this man might do. But the man did not seem hostile, merely interested. He spoke rapidly in German. Quality had been learning German, slowly, but this was way too much for her. She caught only the word "Fräulein," meaning a young woman.

 

Ernst responded, introducing her. "This is Quality Smith, who speaks no German." Because he spoke carefully, for her benefit, she could understand. "Quality, this is Reinhard Heydrich."

 

Quality felt a shiver of apprehension. She knew that name! He was the feared head of the Nazi intelligence network. Stories about him had been rife in Spain and in Gurs. He was said to be a predatory animal, capable of acting swiftly and ruthlessly, called by some the blond beast and by others Mister Suspicion, and by others a criminal of the stature of the devil himself. He was the Third Reich's evil god of death, the man with the iron heart. He was also a pathological womanizer. Of all the people she did not want to encounter, Heydrich was close to the top of the list.

 

"I see you know of me," Heydrich said in English. "Come now, I am not as bad as all that."

 

"I did not speak of you to her," Ernst said, alarmed. "I told her nothing."

 

Heydrich ignored him. He concentrated on Quality, to her discomfort, seeming to take in every aspect of her. "And you wear the swastika! That is good; it will protect you, as it protected him." He paused. "The bruise," he said sharply. "Who hit you?"

 

She felt mesmerized. She knew that even had she been one to lie, it would have been useless to try to fool this man. She wished that the last vestige of the bruise had faded, or that she had thought to cover it up with powder. "Ernst hit me. Before he gave me the swastika."

 

Heydrich turned a sharp glance on Ernst. "This is not the conduct of an officer of the SS! I forbid it! You must treat this pretty young woman with the utmost courtesy at all times. Can you remember that without a memo?"

 

"Ja," Ernst said, abashed.

 

"After all, in love and in revenge woman is more barbarous than man. You do not wish her to seek your downfall." He glanced again at Quality. "Do you not agree, Liebling?"

 

"Nietzsche had no respect for women," she replied.

 

His brow lifted. "You recognize my quote from Nietzsche? Why do you condemn him?"

 

"I don't condemn him. I just don't regard him as any authority on women. He said that man thinks woman is profound, because he can never fathom her depths, but that she is not even shallow. If he had ever come to know a woman who wasn't syphilitic, he would have had a better opinion."

 

Ernst turned his face away, perhaps horrified by her impertinence to his superior, but Quality had already realized that Heydrich respected mind more than subservience. If he had come to take her back to an awful camp, at least he would know she had a mind.

 

Heydrich smiled. "Now I see why Ernst selected you. And what do you think of Wagner?"

 

"The composer? I love his work, but I have not heard a lot of it."

 

"You must listen to more. The Führer approves." His eyes flicked around the room again. Then he switched back to his staccato German, addressing Ernst, who answered reluctantly. Their dialogue continued.

 

Quality, evidently dismissed, retreated to a corner and sat, waiting for the conclusion. What was Heydrich's purpose here? Was he going to take her away, or was she incidental? She had the unmistakable impression that his interest in her was not casual. That chilled her, but she knew she was helpless.

 

Then, abruptly, Heydrich was departing. "We shall meet again, Liebling, when we have more time for Nietzsche." He was gone.

 

Quality felt the tension draining from her. "What does he want?" she demanded.

 

"He wants the truth about Admiral Canaris," he said heavily. "And I have given it to him."

 

"But I thought thee worked for Canaris."

 

"I do. But my real job is with Heydrich. I fear I have gotten Canaris in trouble."

 

"Trouble? How?"

 

"I have learned that Canaris is employing a full Jewish agent in Tangier."

 

"Heydrich hates Jews?"

 

"No, he helped a Jewish fencing instructor to emigrate to America. He was proficient in fencing, so has respect for it. He simply regards Jews as faceless objects that must be removed from Germany, as Hitler wills. But the fact that Canaris is using Jews in his operation means that Canaris is suspect. I believe he is loyal, but this counts against him."

 

"Thee is a spy for Heydrich, against Canaris?"

 

"Yes. I wish I were not."

 

"So Heydrich is not going to take me away?"

 

"Oh, no, Quality! He doesn't care about you."

 

"Yes he does. But I don't know how."

 

"I fear I do know. I hope I am wrong."

 

"Then what is it, Ernst? Can I avoid it?"

 

"It is his way to blackmail his most important subordinates. He believes he can not trust any man completely unless he knows something about that man that must not be revealed. Now he has that hold on me. Perhaps I should feel privileged, that I am important enough to him to rate this treatment." He smiled without pleasure.

 

"What hold?" she asked, perplexed.

 

"I prefer not to say." He was obviously distressed.

 

"Thee must tell me, Ernst, if it concerns me."

 

He closed his eyes in pain. "It is my love for you. I must obey him absolutely, because if I do not, he will destroy you, and therefore me."

 

"Oh, my," she said, horrified.

 

"I think he knew all along. He was the one who sent me to Barcelona to investigate the Quaker relief effort there. He knew of you from my personnel record. He has an uncanny memory for key details. He must have known I would try to protect you, once I knew you were in Spain. I invoked his name when I took you from Gurs. I thought they did not check, but now I suspect they did, and he gave you clearance to go with me. It is the way he works."

 

"But he could not know we would fall in love!" she protested.

 

"It is exactly the kind of thing he does know. He is a genius in the manipulation of people and power. He wanted this hold on me, and now he has it."

 

"Oh, Ernst!" she cried, chagrined. "What have I done to thee!"

 

"No, my love, no, I would not have it otherwise! I wish only that he had not known."

 

"There must be truth," she said, pained. "If it is to thy commander I owe my rescue from Gurs, and my stay with thee, and the love we share, then I must thank him, though his motive be unkind. I owe him my life and love."

 

"Can good come of an ill motive?" Ernst inquired bleakly.

 

"It can, and ill can come of a good motive. We do not comprehend the ways of God."

 

"Certainly I do not!"

 

She smiled, cheering him, understanding his confusion. He had never professed the kind of faith she had, yet he was as good a man as any who had faith.

 

Still she was sorry that her presence placed him in this peril. She knew that there was intrigue among German officers, with each striving to get ahead at the expense of others, and she was chagrined to be the mechanism by which Ernst had become vulnerable.

 

A few days later there was a peremptory knock on the door. It was during the day, while Ernst was at work. She did not answer, as was her policy; Ernst had stressed that no one who lacked a key should be admitted during his absence.

 

"Liebling! It is Reinhard."

 

Quality suffered a siege of panic. That was Heydrich, Ernst's terrible superior! What could have brought him here?

 

"Do not fear," Heydrich called. "I have brought you something. Open the door."

 

She could not deny this man, for his anger could cost Ernst terribly. With dread, she unlocked the door.

 

The Nazi officer stood there holding a box. He was in civilian clothing, as he had been before, which meant he was not advertising his presence here. He stepped into the room. He carried the box to the table and set it down. "Lock the door again, Liebling," he said without looking at her.

 

Quality's hands were shaking as she did so. It was obvious that the man had timed his appearance for Ernst's absence. What dreadful thing did he have in mind? She knew she was helpless to prevent it, because he could readily arrange to have her killed.

 

Heydrich brought out a knife as he turned to face her. Quality felt a thrill of horror. He was going to kill her right here, if she even screamed!

 

"Fräulein, what do you expect of me?" Heydrich asked, looking surprised.

 

Pleading would be useless; this was a completely cynical man. She could save only her dignity, for what little it was worth. So she gave him a direct answer. "I expect you to rape me, and to kill me if I protest."

 

He laughed. "You misjudge me, Liebling. I am merely opening the box." He proceeded to use the knife to cut the string and cardboard. "While it is true that I like women, I do not impose on those committed to other men, and I am distressed that you suppose I would deplore your being hit by Ernst while intending violence on you myself. I assure you that this is not my way. Certainly not when a lovely woman is protected by her swastika."

 

She was not completely reassured. "Then what is your intent?"

 

"Only to charm you." He had the box open, and put away the knife.

 

"I am not to be charmed into what I do not wish to do."

 

He glanced at her again, smiling. "Then you have nothing to fear from me."

 

"But Ernst has!" she said boldly.

 

"Ah, he has told you of my way."

 

"It's a terrible way!"

 

"It is a practical way. It obviates deceit. In my profession this is necessary. Now I can truly trust Ernst, and so there will never be any problem. As Nietzsche says, what is good is all that heightens the feeling of power."

 

"And what is bad is all the proceeds from weakness," she agreed. "Therefore I am bad."

 

He laughed again. "I am not so sure of that, Liebling. You have the power of your faith. It shines through you, making you the envy of all women. I am a connoisseur in such matters. Now take away the box as I lift it out."

 

Hesitantly she took hold of the box, and pulled it free of what he held. She set it down, then looked at the thing on the table. "A Victrola!" she exclaimed, surprised.

 

"And a record," he agreed. "Wagner. Power is good, and music is power, and Richard Wagner is the true prince of music. You appreciate Wagner, therefore you are also good."

 

"This is for me?" she asked, stunned.

 

"And for Ernst, while the two of you are here. Have no fear: Adolf Hitler endorses Wagner. You may listen with impunity." He brought out a record. "Only his shorter pieces are here, I regret. The Ring is too much for a mere machine."

 

"But why?" Quality asked.

 

"I do not wish you to know me only by hearsay, which is not kind. I prefer you to know me for what I am."

 

"But what do you care about my opinion? I am nothing."

 

"Ernst has good taste. He has given up a remarkably beautiful, obliging, and well pedigreed woman, for you. I suspect you are a woman among women, when you show your nature. I shall fathom that nature."

 

She focused on one part of what he said. "He gave up Krista?" Somehow she had not thought of this, of the insistent girlfriend she had displaced.

 

"He is an honorable man. When he loved you, he broke with her. She was most annoyed."

 

"He said nothing to me about this!" Yet of course Ernst would have done it.

 

"And he said nothing to her about you. He merely told her that he felt it was better that they no longer associate. She remains suspicious of his motive."

 

"I never intended this!" Quality cried, though another part of her recognized it as inevitable. How could she have married Ernst, even symbolically, and expected him to continue dating another woman? Such deceit might be required for appearances, but not when that woman loved him.

 

Heydrich was watching her, as if he could read her thoughts in the manner of ripples across her surface. "You love him, of course."

 

"Yes. But--"

 

"As Nietzsche clarifies, love is a disguised desire for possession. The will to power."

 

"But I would not think of--"

 

"And humility is protective coloration for the will to power."

 

"No! I do not want to harm anyone."

 

"The strong woman defines her own morality."

 

Everything he said was quoted from Nietzsche. She gave him a direct stare. "Distrust all in whom the impulse to punish is powerful," she said, quoting another maxim of Nietzsche.

 

He laughed. "Ah! She fights back at last! She is not quite the pacifist she pretends!"

 

"There is no virtue in silence; all unuttered truths become poisonous." That was more Nietzsche. "Punishment tames man, but does not make him better." But Heydrich was right; he had made her oppose him, to fight fire with fire. She was indeed not truly pacifist, in words, and had never been so. She realized that now.

 

"Now listen to your music. I will see you again, if you are amenable." Heydrich walked to the door and waited until she came to use her key to let him out. He departed without ceremony.

 

She locked the door behind him, feeling weak. She had never anticipated such a visit! Yet the man seemed sincere. He did have her in his power, and knew it, yet he had chosen to bring her a gift instead of shame.

 

She told Ernst of the visit, when he came back. "He is an educated and sensitive man," he said. "But also a will like steel. He is letting us know how completely we are in his power."

 

"But the music is nice," she said. There were several records, and the pieces were indeed pretty, with the power to move the heart and spirit.

 

In February came disaster for Ernst's nominal superior, Admiral Canaris. Ernst tersely explained to her what had happened: Himmler had received the word that Ernst had relayed to Heydrich about the Jew Canaris employed in Tangier. Himmler had gone to Hitler and accused Canaris of favoring Jews. Hitler, outraged, had summoned Keitel, who was the Chief-of-Staff of the German armed Forces, and ordered him to dismiss Canaris. Keitel had done so. Canaris was replaced by a Vice-Admiral within Abwehr. Thus had Ernst effectively served Heydrich, to the Admiral's cost. But he was saddened and disgusted. "It is true, there is a Jew--but he is an effective operative, working loyally for Germany. Canaris is merely trying to do the best job he can, using the best people. He is not disloyal or incompetent, and he does not deserve to be so callously cast aside."

 

In the following days Canaris fought back. He went to Keitel, who refused to intercede on his behalf. Finally he went directly to Hitler, and in that interview was able to get himself reinstated. But the experience nearly destroyed him.

 

"He is despondent and morose," Ernst reported as the situation unfolded. "He no longer pays attention to detail. He seeks solace in Roman Catholic mysticism. He visits Spanish churches. He speaks of retiring and buying a coffee shop in some little Spanish town."

 

"But that is a nice dream," Quality said. "Spain is a nice country, when it isn't torn by war."

 

"Unfortunately a dream isn't enough, right now. Heydrich is using the Admiral's weakness to coerce concessions from him. If only I had not served Heydrich so well!"

 

Quality was silent, knowing that Ernst had no choice. She was the price of his loyalty to Heydrich, whatever else he might wish politically.

 

However, the other officers of Abwehr acted quickly to repair the damage done to their power base. Ernst had no part in it, to their frustration, but they drafted a counterproposal which retracted nearly all of the Admiral's concessions.

 

Late in February Heydrich appeared once more at the room. Quality let him in, concerned about what might be on his mind. "Have no fear, Liebling," he said as he entered. "I admit I am furious because of the Admiral's bad faith, and I refuse to associate with him. But no fault attaches to Ernst, or to you. Let us relax." He opened what Quality had taken to be a small suitcase and brought out a violin. "I will play Wagner's 'Ride of the Valkyries,' and we shall forget the sordid things of this bleak world."

 

Amazed, Quality watched and listened as Heydrich did just that. He played his violin with exquisite skill, producing the most moving rendition of "Ride" Quality could remember hearing. This despite having only his single instrument for a piece intended for an orchestra. Quality saw with further surprise that his eyes were closed, and that tears flowed from them. He was truly feeling the music.

 

He finished the brief piece, and took down the violin. "Oh, please play more!" Quality begged. "It is so lovely."

 

"How can I refuse?" he inquired, smiling sadly. "There is such greatness in Wagner, it is an honor merely to echo it in whatever way we can."

 

He played for an hour, and Quality was entranced. "You said you would charm me," she said as he finally put away the instrument. "You have succeeded."

 

He nodded, then departed, leaving her bemused. This savagely practical man, who held her hostage against Ernst's possible independence, who schemed to topple competing officers, yet had such a wonderful side. How could she assimilate this?

 

Of course she told Ernst, later. "Heydrich is a remarkable man," he agreed. "He was a champion athlete, and proficient in fencing and horsemanship. But he is also a power-hungry cynic, and I wish we were far from him."

 

Quality agreed, yet she could not forget the beauty of the man's violin playing. Surely such a man could not be wholly evil.

 

In March Heydrich came again. "Come, Liebling, it is a nice day out," he said. "Walk with me in the park. In happier days I rode horseback there with Admiral Canaris."

 

"But I can't go outside!" she protested. "I have no papers!" For Ernst had been unable to arrange this.

 

"I think you can, Liebling. Here is a pass for you." He handed her a bit of paper.

 

Amazed, she accepted it. It was indeed an identification for Frau Smith that would probably give her freedom of the streets. "But why?" she asked.

 

"A bird is better free than in the cage. Ernst trusts you; can I do less?"

 

So it was that she left the room and the hotel for the first time in three months. They walked through the Tiergarten in the brisk but pleasant air, and they discussed Nietzsche. She had read and reread all the books Ernst had been able to bring her, in the long hours of her confinement, and struggled with the concepts, and her familiarity enabled her to hold her own in this dialogue.

 

"But do you not agree that mankind is led by the nose with morality?" he asked. "That this is merely the arrogance of the elect, posing as modesty? That Christianity is a fateful kind of megalomania, laying claim to the concepts of God, Truth, Light, Spirit, Love, Wisdom and Life itself?"

 

"I am a Christian, a Quaker Christian," she replied. "I lay claim to no such things, only my wish to be guided by my inner light. However imperfect I may be, the end is noble."

 

"You have read Nietzsche, yet you still believe in religion, in God?"

 

"Reading Nietzsche is like walking barefoot through the pitfalls of Hell," she confessed. "But with care and humility they can be navigated. One must at least try."

 

"And what of the Übermensch, the Overman? Is he not Godlike? Are we not right to cultivate him?"

 

"You interpret the Overman as a racially pure Nordic," she retorted. "That is not what Nietzsche said. It is hardness of the will, not of the flesh, that distinguishes the ideal man. By Nietzsche's definition, a strong-willed and consistent Jew is as much an Overman as any Nazi."

 

"Ach, the Führer must not hear you!" But he did not seem upset by the comparison. Rather, he was delighting in the discussion.

 

Heydrich returned her safely to her room, and departed, once more having been a perfect gentleman.

 

Ernst shook his head when she told him. "It seems that he wants your respect, nothing else. But that pass--I don't know how that was possible, but he has given you your freedom. If there were a way to take you out of Germany--"

 

"I would not go without thee, Ernst."

 

***

 

In May Admiral Canaris joined Heydrich at his new base in Prague. All of the intelligence operations were being gathered together under that umbrella. Heydrich's power was still increasing. Then early in June he was assassinated.

 

Quality received the news with shock. "But how could he be dead? He was too clever for that!"

 

"He was a top target," Ernst said. "The allies wanted very much to be rid of him."

 

"Perhaps he had his evil side, but I shall grieve for him," she said Indeed, she felt the tears. "He was always kind to me."

 

"Yet his death has freed you as a hostage. No other man has that hold on me. Indeed, now I can forget that aspect of my career, and work truly for Admiral Canaris!"

 

"I am pleased for thee." Yet she knew that every time she listened to a record on the Victrola she would think of Heydrich, and whenever she went outside, protected by the papers he had arranged. Whatever the man's motive, he had done her incalculable good. Whatever his evil, he deserved that measure of her respect.

 

Indeed, it was a time of relief for them both. Ernst continued with his work, which sometimes took him to Spain and elsewhere, but the pass Heydrich had given Quality remained magical in its authority, and she was now able to go out and shop on her own. The hotel personnel knew her and accepted her. She was learning German, and developing facility in conversing with others.

 

When Ernst was home, they made love often. They listened to records on the Victrola; Ernst bought more when he found them, including other pieces by Richard Wagner. There was an emotional intensity to Wagner's music that made it an excellent background for sexual expression.

 

When Ernst was away, for a day or for several days, Quality read. She was no longer restricted to English or French books; a few were in Spanish, and she was practicing on German ones too, with the help of a dictionary. She was alone much of the time, but she did not feel lonely; rather she felt that she was in a period of learning, as she prepared to be a part of German society. For she knew that her future lay with Ernst, and therefore Germany, whatever the outcome of the war.

 

The war itself now seemed far away. They shut it out, not speaking of it. Their world was the room, and the park, and the few stores in range. They did not read the newspaper. In this they seemed to be like other Berliners, who for their own reasons preferred to ignore the world beyond Germany.

 

They celebrated the Christmas season together, quietly. Ernst brought her a gift of a pretty wool sweater, the best he could afford. They spoke of their dreams for "after": a nice cottage in some mountain glade, with a forest nearby, where wild animals could be seen. They drew outlines of floor plans for such a structure, and looked at a map to find a suitable location. Perhaps by a mountain lake, where they could watch the water birds. It was idyllic. If it was unrealistic, they did not care; it was their shared fantasy.

 

In January came the new year, 1943, and disaster. A man with an ironically similar given name, Dr. Ernst Kaltenbrunner, replaced Heydrich as head of the broad network of intelligence services known as RHSA. Quality never met this man, but she felt his impact immediately. Kaltenbrunner was heir to Heydrich's most private information, including the fact that Ernst Best was an SS operative who had infiltrated the Abwehr. He did not know about Quality, so did not have that special hold on Ernst, but what he did know was enough.

 

For Kaltenbrunner did not like Heydrich. In fact, he had nothing but contempt and hatred for rear echelon intellectuals, and despised anyone associated with them. He could not do anything to the dead man, but he could still make the living ones suffer. Ernst was one of these.

 

"He is transferring me to an assignment guaranteed to get me dirty," Ernst said morosely. "He doesn't need any more reports on the Admiral. I am to work with the Einsatzgruppen --the SS forces charged with racial operations."

 

Quality felt a chill as of death. She had heard about that organization, the worst of the SS. There was even a battalion composed entirely of convicted criminals. "Oh, Ernst!"

 

"I am to leave the Abwehr tomorrow. They are not revealing my true mission there, because they do not want to admit that they have been spying on their own organizations. So there is another pretext. Lieutenant Osterecht will disappear from those records, and I will revert to my true identity. But I will not be in Berlin."

 

"I will wait for thy return," she said, with grim humor. She could do nothing else. "Perhaps I should give thee back thy charmed swastika."

 

"No. You must be protected more than me."

 

She did not argue. She valued the swastika as the token of his love, and it did indeed seem to be protecting her. Heydrich had noticed it immediately, and thereafter treated her with courtesy and kindness.

 

They made hasty arrangements. Ernst used the rest of his money to pay for the room ahead and to provide her with enough for groceries. "I will come back whenever I can," he promised.

 

"I know thee will." Neither spoke of the horror lurking behind the assignment: he might be killed on that ugly front.

 

***

 

Quality pretended to herself that Ernst's absence was temporary, and that in another day or two she would hear his familiar step in the hall. She did not like deception, even of herself, but it was necessary for her emotional survival.

 

Then there was an unfamiliar knock. Quality's presence here was no longer secret; the hotel staff and the members of Abwehr knew of her. But none of them had told the SS authorities, being loyal to a friend though they had guessed the reason for his departure. Who, then, could this be?

 

She opened the door. There stood a robustly attractive young woman. "So it is true!" the woman exclaimed angrily in German. "A kept woman!"

 

Was this a moralistic neighbor? "Who are you?" Quality asked in German.

 

"I am Krista."

 

Astonished, Quality backed away, tacitly inviting her in. Krista was the girlfriend Ernst had broken with a year ago. Actually, it had been incomplete; he had tried to, but reported that Krista had refused to disengage completely without better reason. So they had maintained a "just friends" relationship, with no promise of marriage, and Ernst had had meals with her every month or so. Krista had seemed to accept this change, and she was good company, he had said. He hoped she was in the process of finding another boyfriend.

 

Now it was clear that Krista had by no means given up on Ernst. She had merely bided her time, waiting for whatever problem he had to pass. Now he was gone, and she was checking out his room--and verifying her suspicion.

 

"I am sorry," Quality said carefully in German. "I did not mean to hurt your life."

 

Krista studied her closely. Her eyes fixed on Quality's bosom. "Ach, the game is lost," she murmured.

 

Quality glanced down. There lay Ernst's swastika. Krista evidently understood its significance. "He gave it to me in lieu of a ring," she explained.

 

Krista shook her head. "I came prepared to hate you. But I see he loves you, and I cannot hate what he loves. How did it come about?"

 

"We met in America. I was the fiancée of his friend there. I went to work in Spain, but was--" Here she did not know the German word, so had to say it in English. "Arrested."

 

"Verhaften," Krista said. Then, in English: "I know some English, if you speak slow."

 

Quality elected to piece it out in German. "Arrested in Vichy France. He tried to help me, for the sake of his friend, but when America joined the war, he had to take me out of the camp. We were together, here, and it happened."

 

"You must be a remarkable woman, to win his love. He has such discipline he cannot be tempted unless he wills it."

 

"He slept embracing me naked, to keep me warm, and did not touch me," Quality agreed.

 

"Ja, that is Ernst!" Krista shook her head. "I will keep your secret. I would not hurt Ernst in any way, though I have lost him." She turned to go.

 

"Krista--must we be enemies? I am without him too, now, for I fear he will not--not return." She felt the sudden tears in her eyes.

 

"How can we be otherwise?" Krista asked. She walked to the door.

 

Quality followed her. "Please, I have injured you without ever wanting to. If there is any possible way for me to make amends--"

 

"Where is there another man like Ernst?" Krista asked sharply. There were tears in her eyes too.

 

Quality was unable to answer. She watched Krista depart, then locked the door after her. Then she went to the bed, flung herself down on it, and wept.

 

***

 

But two days later Krista returned. Her eyes were somewhat swollen despite a careful job of makeup. Quality knew her own were the same. "I accept what must be," Krista said. "I fear it was destined; your gray eyes match his. I am a practical woman. But it is not easy to give up a dream."

 

Quality welcomed her. "I am not German," she said. "I am a prisoner Ernst has been protecting. If anything happens, I will be gone. Then--"

 

"I would not do that!"

 

"Of course not. I mean that there are many ways in which my future is uncertain. Any member of the hotel staff could turn me in. Then I will be out of the picture. So you have not necessarily lost Ernst."

 

Krista shook her head. "I have lost him. If you were gone, he would not return to me. He would morn you."

 

Quality could not argue the case. "Let me share some food with you. I do not have much variety, but there is bread and jam."

 

"It will do."

 

Quality fixed it, and they each had a slice.

 

"Now we have eaten together," Krista said. "We can not be enemies."

 

"I never wished to be."

 

"Ernst was never truly mine. I threw myself at him, I tried to seduce him, because I wanted a secure situation. It was not love, it was opportunity. He understood that. He is more romantic. He wanted love. This is what you gave him."

 

"Yes."

 

"I am as I am. There is a shadow on my ancestry. First I must secure my position. Then love can come. I would have loved him after we married. But I could not risk love before it."

 

"But you said you tried to seduce him."

 

"Sex is not love. If there had been sex, he would have married me, and then there could have been love. But with you, the love came first."

 

"Yes. There just seemed to be something between us."

 

"It is goodness between you. I saw it in him, and I see it in you. You are both beautiful inside as well as outside."

 

"I make no claim to that! My soul is sullied."

 

"Surely only because you were forced to choose between evils." Krista shrugged. "But you loved another man before Ernst."

 

"Yes. Lane Dowling, an American. A fine man. I dread our next meeting, if it occurs."

 

"You have had no contact with Herr Dowling, so he does not know you have left him."

 

"He does not know," Quality agreed sadly. "I have wronged him, too. Yet as with you and Ernst, I now see that wer were not quite right for each other."

 

"You would not love an inferior man."

 

"I don't know how you mean that. I am not concerned with pedigree or status, but with personality. Lane was special. But Ernst--"

 

"Herr Dowling--what does he care about ancestry?"