‘If you’re worried, perhaps you should contact the police?’
‘The police?’ smiled the politician. ‘You really don’t understand — ’
‘Then maybe you’d better explain, Mr Briscoe.’
‘First of all, she wasn’t travelling under her own name.’
‘A false passport?’ It was a strange beginning.
‘For all practical purposes, yes.’
‘Why?’
The question went unanswered. ‘We have found out where she’s staying. Adam tried phoning the hotel. She hasn’t checked out, but they haven’t seen her since the morning after she arrived. She’s disappeared.’
‘I see. But if she’s missing, then surely the police — ’
‘She’s a Jew, Mr Gillespie,’ interrupted Adam Rosen, irritated, almost angry.
‘She’s an Irish citizen. Besides, Danzig’s not Germany.’
‘Not yet.’ Robert Briscoe shrugged. ‘Not quite yet.’
There were several long seconds of silence. Stefan’s tone was harder. It was his turn to show irritation.
‘Are you going to tell me what’s going on, or not?’
Briscoe nodded.
‘Do you know what the Haganah is?’ He put his cup down. There was a change of mood. He was more brusque.
Stefan shook his head.
‘The nearest thing would be the Volunteers here, under the British. It’s a Jewish self-defence force in Palestine. When the Arabs started attacking Jews about ten years ago it became clear the British weren’t going to do much about it. It wasn’t just that they didn’t want to take on the Arabs. There are people in the Mandate administration giving arms to the Arabs at the same time as they’re preventing the Jews getting any. The Haganah was formed to defend homes and farms, that was all, to begin with but it couldn’t really stay like that. It all changed one day in 1929. When sixty Jews were killed in Hebron.’
Stefan remembered. He’d read about it and forgotten about it. There was a lot of slaughter everywhere after all.
‘That was five years ago. Maybe the Mandate Police didn’t know it would be a massacre on that scale, but they knew enough to keep out of the way. While people were having their heads hacked off, they were nowhere to be seen. Of course, the Mandate Police aren’t exactly the British bobby on the beat. It collects up all sorts, including a few friends we know of old, Black and Tans who needed a job when they were kicked out of Ireland. The Empire’s always got dirty work for that sort somewhere. It’s got dirtier for everyone in Palestine now, Jews and Arabs. There’s a feeling that something bloody is on the way again. That means the Haganah has to be better armed. You know Hannah quite well. Perhaps you know who Benny Jacobson is?’
‘I know he’s Hannah’s fiance.’
‘He’s a Haganah commander too. And she’s a Haganah courier. She’s been collecting money in Europe for the last three months, to buy weapons.’
Stefan felt as if the months that had passed since he saw Hannah were shrinking away in front of him. What Briscoe had said surprised him, yet it made sense of her finally. It made sense of the moments when she was talking to him about Palestine and then, quite suddenly, she remembered to stop. Now he understood why it was so complicated for her. He also understood why she was at risk.
‘And who knows that? Who knows what she’s been doing?’
‘The Mandate Police must have a pretty good idea. That means British Special Branch too. If the British Consul and the British police get involved in Danzig, if Hannah’s arrested, I’ve no idea what sort of information they’d pass on if it suited them. I wouldn’t trust what they’d do, out of spite or sheer bloody stupidity.’
‘Danzig’s still a long way from Palestine, Mr Briscoe.’
‘It’s not a long way from Berlin. The SS and the Gestapo have people in Danzig. They wouldn’t care very much about her embarrassing a priest, but they care about other things. Hannah knows a lot of names. The Nazis like names, long lists of names. Long lists of Jewish names are even better.’
‘She must know that.’
‘As you said, Danzig isn’t Germany. I imagine she felt the same.’
‘She doesn’t know as much as she thinks.’ It was Hannah’s father who spoke again. There was almost a smile. Whatever else Hannah was, she was his daughter. He was remembering her as that now, strong-willed and wilful.
‘You speak good German, Mr Gillespie,’ continued Robert Briscoe.
‘Yes.’ He already knew why they were there.
‘Will you go and find her?’
‘I wouldn’t know where to start, Mr Briscoe.’
‘You’re a policeman.’
‘I’m not at the moment.’
‘I think you’re the policeman Hannah needs. Someone who’s not connected to her, someone who’s not Jewish, someone she cares about — ’
The politician smiled. He already knew Stefan cared about Hannah too.
‘I would pay you well of course, Mr Gillespie,’ said Adam Rosen.
‘It’s not a question of money, Mr Rosen.’
‘Hannah trusts you. Find her and bring her back, please.’
‘It could take me three or four days to get there.’
There was silence. In that silence, his decision was made. If it hadn’t been for him Hannah wouldn’t be in Danzig. She wouldn’t be in danger. She was there because the Gardai had failed her, most of all because he had failed her.
Robert Briscoe took an envelope from his pocket.
‘There’s a government charter to Croydon Aerodrome tomorrow morning. I can get you on it.’ He handed Stefan a plane ticket. Stefan looked, not quite sure what it was. ‘That’s for the midday Deutsche Luft Hansa from Croydon to Berlin. The Berlin-Danzig flight leaves at 7:20 in the evening. You’ll be there by 10:30 tomorrow night. You already have a room at Hannah’s hotel.’
Clearly the TD hadn’t considered the idea that Stefan wouldn’t go. But if the look on Briscoe’s face was all about what had to be done, Adam Rosen’s face was full of his fears for his daughter. And Stefan understood that too.
‘Please find her and get her out as soon as you can, Mr Gillespie.’
There was a long wait at Tempelhof for the flight to Danzig. Stefan had walked round and round the airport for over an hour now. The swastikas that lined the walls and hung from the high ceilings were occasionally interspersed with the flag of the Olympic Games. Everywhere there were photographs of the stadiums that were going up in Berlin for the following year, and everywhere there was the message that the Games were Germany’s opportunity to show its great miracle to the world. He couldn’t walk for more than five minutes without a brown- uniformed arm thrusting a tin at him and demanding money. It was twelve years since Stefan had been in Germany with his mother and father. They didn’t go now. The last family contacts were fading away and there was very little left except a few Christmas cards and the occasional black-bordered letter that told of a death. News of births and weddings had stopped altogether; as the family ways were finally parting, it was only death that was worth the price of the stamp.
He thought about the cousins he had walked the Bavarian mountains with, so long ago it seemed. Some of them would be wearing Nazi uniforms now; their children would be rattling those Nazi Party tins. He ate a meal he didn’t really want and drank two Berliner Weisse beers. After two more he told the next Nazi who thrust a tin at him what he could do with it, not to mention the loose change inside. So it was no bad thing that the Junkers 52 that would be flying him to Danzig was on the tarmac, ready for boarding. The angry Nazi youth had returned with several of his comrades-in-armbands. And they were looking for him.
