The Hunt

At Tempelhof Airport, Keegan was waved through customs. He had no luggage and several of the customs agents recognized him from his frequent trips in and out of Berlin. Rudman was not so lucky. They searched through his two suitcases item by item while a Gestapo agent stood nearby watching every move. Then Rudman was ushered into an office for further conversation.

It was five P.M. and Keegan was anxious to get to Jenny’s apartment. He waited nervously in the large waiting room, watching through the glass-partitioned office as Rudman argued with the customs agents while the Gestapo agent leaned against the door, his hands buried in his pants pockets and his felt hat pulled low on his forehead. They were obvious, but that was the game. The mere presence of the secret police was a subtle threat. It was clear they knew who Rudman was and were purposely harassing him.

Keegan tried to call Jenny’s apartment from a phone booth but there was still no answer.

Where was she?

Tremors rumbled through Keegan’s stomach. He sent a note to Rudman telling him he would either call or meet him at Rudman’s hotel before he returned to Paris.

The taxi was hardly out of the airport parking lot before Keegan realized he was being followed. A light blue Opel pulled away from the curb two cars behind the cab. He watched the car as they drove down the highway into the city. As they reached the center of the city Keegan ordered his driver to take several sudden turns, weaving aimlessly through the city. The Opel got caught by a light and fell three blocks behind.

“Turn here,” Keegan ordered, and as the taxi made the turn, he handed the driver a handful of marks and jumped out. He hid in a doorway and watched the Opel wheel around the corner and swerve through the traffic after the cab.

He rode in two more taxis before he took to foot, walking down alleys and through stores until he was positive he had shaken his followers. Then he walked three blocks to the three story apartment building where jenny lived. He stood across the street for ten minutes more until he was positive he had shaken his tail.

It was an old stone Gothic apartment house but it did have an Old World charm. Gargoyles lurked ominously at the roof corners and there were stained glass windows on each floor over the entrance. Inside, the building was damp and gloomy. A wide staircase wound up through the core of the building. Tall ceilings added to the gloomy interior. The steps groaned with age as he climbed to the third floor. Door locks clicked and hinges creaked in his wake as he went up the steps to the third floor. He sensed eyes peering at him through the gloom as he reached each landing. As he reached the top floor, he turned quickly and looked back down the steps. He heard two or three doors click gently shut in the penumbral halls but he saw nothing.

Apartment 32A was the first door at the top of the stairs. He heard a creak down the hail and he turned sharply to see a woman peering through a door that was open a mere sliver. She closed it immediately.

Fear tapped Keegan on the shoulder.

The first thing he noticed was that the hall light was burned out. The long hallway was cloaked in dark shadows except for a narrow shaft of rainbow-colored sunlight that filtered through swirling dust from the single stained glass window at the far end.

The lock to Jenny’s apartment was shattered, the jamb splintered, the door ajar an inch. His mouth went dry, a sudden jolt charged through his chest.

He swung the door open with the back of his hand. “Jenny?” he said softly.

No answer.

He entered the apartment cautiously.

“Jenny?”

Nothing.

He went down a short entrance hallway and then stopped.

The living room was a shambles. Cushions from sofas and chairs had been ripped open. Little balls of stuffing drifted and swirled idly in the wind from an open window. Drawers hung open with the contents spilled out on the floor.

‘Jenny!”

He raced through the one-bedroom apartment, checking the kitchen, the small dining room and the bedroom. The destruction was thorough. In the bedroom, the mattress was thrown half off the bed and split open. Clothes dangled from half-open drawers and littered the floor of the closet.

The apartment was empty.

‘jenny!” he yelled, knowing there would be no answer.

Who had ransacked the apartment? And where was Jenny? If she was in hiding, how would she contact him? She didn’t even know he was in Berlin.

He went back into the living room. He heard a sound behind him in the darkness of the apartment. Keegan walked slowly across the room, knelt down next to the desk and started to pick up some mail that was scattered on the floor. The floor creaked. He could feel the presence of someone else in the room. He turned slightly and as he did strong arms suddenly grabbed him around the throat in a choke hold.

Keegan slashed back and up with his elbow, buried its sharp point in the groin of his assailant. The man grunted with pain as Keegan stood and spun at the same time, throwing a hard, straight jab into the face of the man. As he did a second man jumped him, wrapping his arms around Keegan’s waist, pinning his arms to his sides. A third man moved swiftly toward Keegan, who raised both legs and kicked him in the stomach, then slammed his head back into the face of the man who was holding him. The man screamed as his nose shattered. Keegan twisted out of his grip and threw a hard uppercut to his jaw. The assailant spun away and fell over a coffee table.

Again Keegan was attacked from the back, powerful arms holding Keegan’s arms in check. A thick cloth was thrust over his face. He choked as chloroform stung his eyes and nose. He tried to hold his breath but he was hit in the stomach and his wind rushed out. The cloth was jammed tighter as he gasped for breath. The room began to spin around. His arms lost their strength and his legs went numb. He was aware he was still struggling but the room seemed to shrink around him and grow darker. He fell backward into a void.

He awoke slowly, as if coming out of a long coma. The smell of chloroform was still on his skin. He was blindfolded and tied to a hard chair. He felt nauseous and he swallowed hard, took several deep breaths. The feeling of malaise slowly dissipated.

“Herr Keegan, I am going to untie your hands and remove the blindfold,” a voice said. “There is a man across the room from me with a gun. If you try to leave the chair, he will kill you.”

The blindfold was pulled off and his hands were untied. He squinted into a blazing spotlight.

‘Jesus,” Keegan groaned as he rubbed the feeling back into his wrists and hands and then shielded his eyes with one hand.

A large man stood silhouetted in front of him, smoking a cigarette. Behind him, another outline, this one smaller and aiming a Luger at him.

“What do you want?” Keegan asked.

“What were you doing in Fräulein Gould’s apartment?”

“Are you the police?”

There was a pause, then: “We are the state police. You are guilty of breaking into the apartment.”

He studied the two shapes more closely. Both wore beards and had long, shaggy hair. They were dressed in work shirts and corduroy pants.

“Well, somebody obviously beat me to it,” Keegan answered and an edge began to creep into his voice. “And while we’re at it, where is Miss Gould?”

“I will ask the questions.”

“Maybe you should check with her before you push this any farther.”

“Perhaps you can tell us where she is?”

A tremor of dread rippled through Keegan. Was this some kind of ruse? If they were the Gestapo, where was Jenny and what were they doing in her apartment? And where was he and why were they grilling him?

Something didn’t play right.

“You came into Tempelhof tonight on your private plane, Mr. Keegan. You walked right through customs.”

“So?”

“No customs inspection?”

“I didn’t have any luggage. Besides, I go in and out of Berlin all the time. They all know me.”

“So they let you through and followed you to her flat.”

“No way. Somebody started to follow me but I dumped them.” He stopped and looked at his two abductors for a moment and smiled. “Of course. It was you guys. You’re the ones I dumped. And since I dodged you and you showed up at her place anyway, you knew where she lived. Hell, you were after me. Why?”

“I will ask the questions, you just talk.”

“Okay. Want me to tell you what I don’t think?” Keegan said.

“So? What don’t you think, Herr Keegan?”

Keegan again held a hand up so it blocked the harsh light and looked back and forth between his captors.

“I don’t think you’re Gestapo. You don’t look like Gestapo, you don’t act like Gestapo, you sure as hell don’t dress like them. Your hair’s too long and you wear beards. And if you were Gestapo, you wouldn’t be asking me about customs. Besides, if you were Gestapo we’d be down in one of those dingy state buildings and I’d probably have electrodes attached to my testicles. Isn’t that the way they do it?”

“You are very perceptive, Herr Keegan. But we knew that. What else don’t you think?”

“Well, if you aren’t Gestapo then my guess is you’re probably just the opposite. What are you, some kind of vigilantes? Guerrillas? And what am I doing here? And what were you doing ransacking Jenny Gould’s apartment?”

“We were not responsible for that.”

“Then who was? The Gestapo?”

“You’re very clever, Mr. Keegan, the question now is, where do you stand?”

“About what?”

“About Vierhaus. How close is your relationship with Vierhaus?”

“Vierhaus! I don’t have a relationship with Vierhaus. I’ve seen him at a couple of parties and I got stuck in a steam bath with him once. And what the hell business is that of yours anyway? Who the hell are you?”

“Vierhaus is the head of an organization called Die Sechs Füchse,” the bearded man said. “You didn’t know that?”

“The Six Foxes?” he said.

“It is a special intelligence group, completely separate from the SS. He is head of this group and he reports only to Hitler.”

“You telling me that Vierhaus is some kind of superspy?”

The big, bearded man nodded slowly. “He is perhaps more dangerous than Himmler or even Heydrich. Everyone knows what they are up to but Herr Doktor is a question mark. We know he advises Hitler so we know he has influence. We also know he has a soul as black as my beard.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because it is my business to know it, Herr Keegan.”

“Well, just what the hell is your business, anyhow? And what’s all this got to do with me? I’m not a German.”

“You claim to be in love with a German.”

Keegan’s temper exploded. Where was Jenny and who were these jokers and what was all this wind about Vierhaus and superspies and the Gestapo? He jumped up suddenly, sending the chair spinning off behind him. It clattered against the wall. The man with the gun got edgy and held it at arm’s length pointed straight at Keegan’s head.

“That’s none of your goddamn business!” Keegan snarled, walking up to him until the muzzle was an inch from his forehead. “And I’m tired of you waving that thing in my face. Either put it away or use it,” he said flatly.

“Don’t be foolish, American.”

“I think you’re all bluff. You didn’t bring me here to waltz, you brought me here because you want something. Now why don’t you just get to it and stop waving that piece around.”

“Don’t make light of the .

“Hey, why the hell am I here?” Keegan demanded. He moved forward until the muzzle of the pistol was touching his forehead. “There, you can’t miss. Now, either you pull that trigger or tell me what the hell you want. I told you I don’t know anything about Vierhaus. And how do you know about my relationship with Jenny. . . and what the hell business is it of yours anyway?”

The bearded man stared at him for several seconds. He reached out and lowered the arm of the man with the gun.

“My name is Avrum Wolffson,” he said finally. “Jenny is my half-sister.”

“Your sister!” Keegan said with shock. He stared at Wolffson for several seconds, then said, “Well, she ought to get after you for playing with guns.”

“Do you make a joke of everything?”

“Why not? Life’s a joke. And the older you get the funnier it gets. Look, I came over here to get my fiancée and take her back to Paris. I get here, her apartment is a mess. She’s gone. I get a face full of chloroform, I wake up in a warehouse someplace with hot lights and guns in my face and you guys giving me the third degree, now you tell me you’re her brother? What the hell is going on?”

“I had to make sure you were not connected with Vierhaus.”

“Why? Because of Jenny? Is this some kind of bizarre family tradition, to try and scare the hell out of her suitors? I’m in love with your sister. I’ve asked her to marry me. I mean, why would I do such a thing?”

“I don’t know, but you and I were the only ones who knew where she lived. Somebody got to her place and she’s gone. And I didn’t tell anybody, so that leaves you.”

Keegan was getting angrier but he controlled himself.

“I didn’t tell a soul,” he said.

The big question now was, why was anybody after Jenny? Why?

“Why do they want her?” Keegan asked.

“You really do not know, eh?”

“If I knew would I ask you?”

“Perhaps. If you were trying to convince us you are not involved.”

“You’re very paranoid.”

“Yes, it keeps us alive.”

Wolffson lit another cigarette. He held the tip of it up and blew a stream of smoke across the end of the cigarette, watching it glow, giving himself more time to make his decision.

“Come on, Wolffson, why would the Gestapo be dogging me?”

“The light is on her. She is the target.”

“What do you mean, the target?”

“I mean the Gestapo is onto her. She has been betrayed and we think your friend Vierhaus is the one who is after her.”

“Betrayed? By who? And for what?”

“Some miserable Judenopferer turned her up.”

“A what?”

“A Judenopferer is a Jew who hunts other Jews. The word literally means ‘Jew sacrificer.’ They spend hours going over court records, looking for the most remote Jewish connection, they listen to rumors, infiltrate families

“You still haven’t told me why.”

“To get to me.”

Keegan sighed. “Okay, I’ll play. Why do they want you?”

“Have you ever heard of an organization called the Black Lily?”

“No . . . Wait a minute. I did hear that expression once. At the American embassy.”

“The night you refused to help Reinhardt?”

Keegan did not answer for a long time. He felt his pockets for his cigarettes and matches and lit a cigarette and then slowly started to nod.

“That’s right,” he said. “The night I turned my back on Reinhardt.” He rubbed his eyes. “Look, Wolffson, I know a lot of things now I didn’t know then. But I don’t know what the Black Lily is. And can we do without the hot lights? I’m getting a headache.”

Wolffson turned around and made a motion with his hand. The heavy light went out and a small table lamp was turned on in its place. A third man was sitting at a table nearby. The room appeared to be a one-room flat. It was small and contained a bed and dresser, a table and two chairs, a stuffed easy chair and a floor lamp. Black cloth was taped over the windows. In a corner there was a small table that held a hot plate with a coffee pot simmering on it.

The man at the table was unarmed and his nose was flattened and bruised. He was clean shaven, had a conventional haircut and wore wire-rimmed glasses. The shorter man with the gun had a bandage taped to his jaw, which was badly bruised and swollen. He was burly, his muscular arms straining rolled-up sleeves, and had fierce, angry eyes, the demeanor of a man holding himself in check but about to explode. A thick black beard added to his ominous presence. The tall man’s left eye had begun to swell. He, too, was in excellent physical condition but his look was intense rather than mad and his beard was more scholarly than menacing. He was calm and totally in command.

None of them could have been more than twenty-five or twenty-six years old.

Well, thought Keegan, looking at the bandages and bruises, I got in a few licks anyway.

“One gun?” he said. “You have one lousy gun?”

“We are on the run, have been for months. But it is now more intense. You know what it means in German, Freiheit?”

Keegan thought for a moment. He wasn’t familiar with it. He shook his head.

“It would be in English something like ... freedom. We don’t blow things up. We don’t kill people. We distribute pamphlets and try to help people who are in trouble with the government. Jews, Germans, gypsies, no matter. If they become targets and we know about it, we try to get them out of the country.”

“In America, back in the slave days, we called it the Underground Railroad.”

“Ja, to help Negroes escape to Philadelphia.”

Keegan chuckled. “Right,” he said. “So what got them so hot on you all of a sudden?”

“We also keep the German people informed of what is really going on here, so they can never say they did not know what was happening. They can never lie about it, they will have to say, ‘Yes, we knew and we turned away our eyes.’ That is what The Berlin Conscience is for. Anyway, a man died a few days ago. A Jew named Herman Adler. He was a Judenopferer. He was also Joachim Weber’s uncle.” He nodded toward the young man at the table.

“Your uncle turned other Jews in to the SS?”

Joachim nodded and looked down at the table. “He betrayed me and Avrum,” he said, and nodded toward the young man with the gun, the silent one. “And Werner Gebhart there.”

“My God.”

“Adler was one of the best they had,” said Wolffson. “He was responsible for the arrest of dozens of people. Jews, Gentiles, Gypsies. We tried to reason with Herman, offered to get him out of the country. But he was arrogant about it. There was some yelling, some anger, and then he had a heart attack. Just like that he was dead. We felt sorry for Herman. He was scared. He was doing the only thing he could do to stay alive.”

“He betrayed too many of us,” Joachim, the nephew, said bitterly. “Our grief over him was brief.”

“Then the thought occurred to me that perhaps we could make an example of him, a lesson to other hunters,” said Wolffson. “So we wrote a story about what he—and the other Judenopferers are doing. I realize now it was a stupid thing to do. It merely goaded the wolf. The Gestapo has become obsessed with destroying the Black Lily ever since.”

“And Jenny?”

“Also Adler. He made the Kettenglied—the connection. But we did not know it at the time.”

“God, why didn’t she tell me? Maybe I could have.

His voice trailed off as the horror of the situation began to sink in.

“She was protecting us,” Weber said. “The less people know, the better.”

“I should have guessed. She was so secretive about her new apartment. Didn’t want anyone to know her address or phone number.”

The fierce-eyed one with the gun, Weber, said nothing. He simply glared at Keegan.

“The last time she moved it was because she got one of our pamphlets in the mail,” said Wolffson. “She knew it was a trick, we would not mail anything to her.”

“I don’t understand,” Keegan said.

“It’s one of the things the Gestapo does,” said Wolffson. “Germans are required to report anything of a subversive nature. So they send one of our pamphlets to everyone on a particular street and if these people don’t report getting it, they are accused of a subversive act.”

“So she moved?”

Wolffson nodded. “And the only way the Gestapo could have gotten her address is by following you or me—or getting her phone number, which was not in her name.”

Keegan stared in silence, thinking about what Wolffson had just said. I didn’t even give the phone number to Bert or to Weil, thought Keegan. It couldn’t have been me.

“You and I were the only ones who knew where she was, Keegan.”

Keegan was getting angrier but he controlled himself. “I told you before, I didn’t tell a soul.”

“Did you telephone her from your hotel?” Wolffson asked.

“What the hell He stopped. Was it possible that they had tapped his phone n Paris, got her number and tracked her down? My God, was he responsible?

“Did you?” Wolffson asked.

“I tried to call her. There was no answer.”

“The Nazis are all over Paris. And I don’t think there is a hotel operator in the entire city that cannot be bribed. All they needed was her phone number to get her address.”

“Jesus.” Keegan paced back and forth for a few moments. He lit one cigarette off another.

“She contacted the Lily in Paris. They flew her to Leipzig and drove her into Berlin,” Wolffson said. “So Vierhaus had lost her. He was desperate.”

It all began to come together for Keegan.

“And had Conrad Weil call me, knowing I would call her. He was in on it. My old friend, Conrad. I should have suspected something was up when he called me. Conrad bends with the wind, he told me so himself. And von Meister was there waiting for me to take the bait.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry, truly sorry. But what does Jenny have to do with all this?”

“Nothing, really. I am sure Vierhaus thinks she can give me up but she cannot. She doesn’t even know about this place. She delivered The Berlin Conscience, distributed some leaflets, that’s all. But they think she knows where I am and I am the one they want. Me, Gebhart here and Joachim. We are the leaders of the Black Lily.”

“How did you get involved in this?”

“The newspaper was started by our professors at the university. Sternfeld, Reinhardt and Eli Loehrman. Now Reinhardt and Sternfeld are dead. Only Old Eli is safe. He is in Paris with his son. He is the one who arranged to get Jenny back here.”

“And you boys picked up the banner, eh?”

‘Ja, I suppose you could put it that way. But now the Black Lily is very important. So important that Hitler has put a price on our heads and the Black Lily is the main target of the SS.”

Somewhere in another room a phone rang. Joachim got up from the table and went to answer it.

“Three college boys and one gun and you’ve set the entire Gestapo on its ear?” Keegan said to Wolffson.

“Not just three college boys anymore,” Wolffson said. “There are over two hundred of us in the network. We have connections in Switzerland, France, England, even Egypt and America. So far we have been very lucky. But some of our people

have not been so lucky. You know what happens if they catch us?”

“1 can imagine.”

“1 do not think so,” said Wolffson. “We are taken to Stadelheim Prison and tortured. And then we are beheaded.”

“What!”

‘Ja, Herr Keegan. Beheaded. And most of them are students.”

Weber returned and called Wolffson to the door. There was a whispered exchange, then they walked back into the room. Wolffson looked stricken. The veins around his jaw had hardened into blue ridges.

“The Gestapo arrested Jenny,” Wolffson said in a harsh voice that quivered with emotion. “She has been at Stadelheim prison for five hours. I don’t know that she is still alive.”

Keegan fell back in his chair, ashen.

“You may as well face it, Keegan, they will be very hard on her,” Weber said. “They will assume she knows much more than she does.”

“And we just sit around and let it happen?” Keegan said. “We don’t do anything?”

“There is nothing we can do at this point,” Wolffson said.

Keegan panicked.

“We’ve got to get her out. Get bail, get lawyers! I’ll call the embassy, maybe they can help.”

But hell, what could the embassy do? And why would they help him? He understood now how Wally must have felt the night he was trying to get Reinhardt out. There was one big difference. The Gestapo already had Jenny.

“It will do no good,” said Wolffson.

“If we can just get her out on bail,” Keegan pleaded. “I’ll take her to New York, she couldn’t be safer anywhere else.”

Gebhart suddenly spoke up for the first time, his voice trembling with suppressed rage. “Damn it, man,” he said, “get it into your head. It’s too late!”

“There is no such thing as bail,” said Weber. “There will be no trial.”

The shock began to wear off and Keegan slowly realized how desperate her predicament was. What they ‘re saying, he thought, is that she’s gone!

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “Don’t even say that.”

Dear Jenny, he thought, is this what you get for loving me? Why did this happen? Was it some kind of cruel joke? Crazy things raced through his mind. God, I may never see her again! I can’t even say good-bye. Jesus Christ! What’s happening here?

“What’s happening here!” he cried aloud, his fists clenched in front of him. Tears flooded his eyes and he tried to fight them back. “It’s unacceptable, unacceptable. There’s got to be somebody we can bribe, somebody we can blackmail, threaten

They stared at him with sadness but little pity.

“Now you know vot it iss like for us every day of der year,” Gebhart said bitterly. “Every day they take somebody avay. Friends, lovers, children. Sometimes whole families simply disappear off the street.”

“Understand, Keegan, we know your frustration,” Wolffson said quietly. “My hatred and anger consume me. I wanted to be a zoologist—work with animals. Look at me. Running all the time. Helping one out of perhaps every fifty or one hundred who get on the list. Throwing pamphlets around the city to people who don’t care.”

“Then why do you do it?”

“We cannot just surrender our lives without doing something,” Weber said.

“I want to kill Vierhaus,” Keegan blurted. “I want to kill that son of a bitch slowly. I want him to plead . . . no beg beg, for mercy. I want to hang him up by his heels and pour honey all over that miserable hump on his back and then let the rats eat their way through it right into his miserable black heart.”

He slammed his fist into the wall and then, exhausted, sat down on the edge of the bed.

“I am sorry, Keegan,” Wolffson said. “But we also love her.

She’s my sister, not just my half-sister, my sister in my heart, you understand? Werner has loved her since they were born, they grew up together, same street. Joachim went to school with them, all the way through college. We share your agony. We understand what is happening inside you. But there is nothing we can do.”

Keegan did understand the awesome frustration of the tragedy. Jenny was just one of hundreds, thousands, who had been lost in these camps. And these people were becoming immune to the pain because of the enormity and futility of the problem.

“I can’t relate to all that,” said Keegan fiercely, pacing the room. “I can’t relate to thousands of people, I can only relate to her, that’s all the tragedy I can handle right now. Right now I hate the world. I hate you for telling me it’s hopeless.”

“I think the time has come to get rid of all Judenopferers, teach them they must stop betraying their own,” Weber said.

Wolffson flicked an ash off his cigarette and shrugged. “And become just like them?”

“Why not?” said Keegan. “For the first time I understand the meaning . . . the true meaning . . . of an eye for an eye.”

“Listen to me,” Wolffson said. “Please, it is important. What we are doing, it is very delicate, a very fragile thing. A very dangerous thing. But it is important. Even to save one life is important, more important than killing.”

“But not hers, right?”

Gebhart stood very close to him, his eyes also misty, his fists also clenched. “Don’t you get it, Ire, vunce the Gestapo has dem it iss over. No matter who it iss, even your own mother or father, it iss over. Ye are not an army, ye are students and teachers and old men mit no training. Ve cannot take on the SS and the Gestapo. Ve must help those who half not been caught.”

“We understand how you feel,” said Wolffson. “Please understand our frustration is just as agonizing.”

And suddenly Keegan realized how sorry he was feeling for himself. These three men were family, lifelong friends, silent lovers. His anguish was no deeper than theirs.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I was being bloody selfish.”

“It is all right,” Wolffson said. “We know all the feelings.” He stopped for a moment, then said, “Keegan, you must leave Berlin and the sooner the better.”

“I won’t leave, not without her,” Keegan answered.

“Don’t you understand, man, if you go on the list, they will torture you too. You know too much about us.”

“I don’t know anything they don’t know already.”

“You know about our Paris connection,” Weber snapped, moving very close to him. “How we got Jenny over here, how big the network is. As long as you are in Germany, you are a danger to us.”

“Or Wolffson said thoughtfully.

“Or what?” Keegan asked.

“Or you could go to Vierhaus. Pretend you know nothing. Tell him Jenny is missing and ask for his help.”

“Ask for his help! I want to kill the little freak.”

“Exactly what he would expect, so if you can keep calm you will convince him you know nothing,” Wolffson said. “He may give up some information we can use.”

“You want me to spy for you?”

“For me, for Jenny, for you.”

Keegan settled down again. Maybe the kid was right, maybe he could beat Vierhaus at his own game. It was certainly worth a try.

“All right,” he said, “what can I do?”

“Go back to your hotel

“I don’t have a hotel, I was planning to take Jenny out of here tonight.”

“You usually stay at the Ritz, correct? Go there and check in. Call Vierhaus. Tell him you came back to get Jenny and she is missing. Her apartment is torn up. That’s all you know. It will throw him off, convince him you know nothing.”

“That’s a long shot. That’s about a two hundred-to-one job.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Keegan said. “What else?”

“If we should learn they are after you for any reason, we will call,” Wolffson said. “The message will be, ‘This is the tailor, your suit is ready.’ If you get that message leave immediately. Avoid being followed, of course. Go to the city zoo, the Tiergarten. There is a phone booth near the carousel. Wait there and we will call you. So you will know it is us, when you answer we will ask if you picked up your suit yet. Your answer will be, ‘No, they did not fix the torn pocket.’ Then we will give you instructions.,,

“Come on, all this is conjecture and

“Keegan, we’ve been at this for a long time. Believe me, it is not conjecture. If it happens, do not even think, move. Get out of the hotel and to the zoo.”

A silence fell over the room. Cigarettes were lit. Wolffson got a cup of coffee. Gebhart sat in a chair and cracked his knuckles, slowly, one at a time.

“Okay,” Keegan said finally. “I’ll give it a shot. What do you really think they’re doing to her?”

“They will torture her. Even if they know she knows nothing, Hitler wants revenge against the Black Lily. They know she is a Kettenglied. They’ll do anything to find out what she knows. Thankfully it is not much.”

“What’s the best we can hope for?”

“That she can convince the Gestapo she knows nothing,” Wolffson answered. “And that they let her die quickly.”

“If she survives?” Keegan kept his voice steady.

“If she stays alive? Dachau,” said Wolffson.

“What’s Dachau?”

“A little town about thirty kilometers from Munich,” said Wolffson. “They have built a camp there, an enormous prison stockade for political enemies. It is like a Russian slave camp.”

“How long will she be in for? How much time will she get?”

“It doesn’t work that way,” Weber said.

“There is no sentence,” Gebhart said in a low voice. “She will be there forever. Dachau is a forever place.”