done for. No doubt they were detectives hired by her father, who would make up a story in order to detain her or take her back to the family home. Legally she was not yet an adult-there were still eleven months to go before she turned twenty-one-so she would be completely at her father’s mercy.
She crossed the street without stopping to look. A bicycle brushed past her, and the boy riding it lost control and fell to the ground, obstructing Alys’s pursuers.
“You crazy or what?” shouted the lad, holding his injured knees.
Alys looked back again and saw that the two men had managed to cross the road, taking advantage of a break in the traffic. They were less than ten meters away, and quickly gaining ground.
Not far to the trolley now.
She cursed her shoes, which had wooden soles that made her skid slightly on the wet pavement. The bag where she kept her camera knocked against her hips, and she clung to the strap, which she wore diagonally across her chest.
It was obvious that she wasn’t going to make it unless she could come up with something quickly. She could sense her pursuers right behind her.
It can’t happen. Not when I’m so close.
At that moment a group of uniformed schoolboys came around the corner in front of her, led by a master who was accompanying them to the trolley stop. The boys, twenty or so of them all lined up together, cut her off from the road.
Alys managed to push through and reach the other side of the group, just in time. The trolley rolled along its tracks, sounding its bell as it approached.
Reaching out, Alys grabbed hold of the bar and stepped onto the front of the trolley. The driver reduced his speed slightly as she did so. When she was safely aboard the packed vehicle, Alys turned around to look at the street.
Her pursuers were nowhere to be seen.
With a sigh of relief, Alys paid and clung to the bar with trembling hands, quite oblivious to the two figures in hats and raincoats who at that moment were boarding the back of the trolley.
Paul was waiting for her on the Rosenheimerstrasse, close to the Ludwigsbrucke. When he saw her get off the trolley he went to give her a kiss, but he stopped when he saw the concern on her face.
“What’s wrong?”
Alys closed her eyes and sank into Paul’s strong arms. In the safety of his embrace, she did not spot her two pursuers getting off the trolley and entering a nearby cafe.
“I went to get my brother’s letter, like I do every Thursday, but I was followed. I won’t be able to use that method of contact anymore.”
“That’s terrible! Are you all right?”
Alys hesitated before answering. Should she tell him everything?
It would be so easy to tell him. Just open my mouth and let those two words out. So easy… and so impossible.
“Yes, I suppose so. I lost them before I got on the trolley.”
“All right, then… but I think you ought to cancel tonight,” said Paul.
“I can’t, it’s my first commission.”
After months of persistence, she had finally come to the attention of the head of photography at the Munich Allgemeine newspaper. He had told her to go that evening to the Burgerbraukeller, a beer hall, fewer than thirty steps from where they were now. The state commissioner of Bavaria, Gustav Ritter von Kahr, would be giving a speech in half an hour. For Alys, the chance to stop spending her nights enslaved in the club and begin making a living from the thing she most enjoyed, photography, was a dream come true.
“But after what’s happened… don’t you want to just go to your apartment?” Paul asked.
“Do you realize how important tonight is to me? I’ve been waiting months for an opportunity like this!”
“Calm down, Alys. You’re making a scene.”
“Don’t tell me to calm down! You’re the one who needs to calm down!”
“Please, Alys. You’re exaggerating,” said Paul.
“Exaggerating! That’s just what I needed to hear,” she snorted, turning and walking off toward the beer hall.
“Wait! Weren’t we going to have a coffee first?”
“Have one yourself!”
“Don’t you at least want me to go with you? These political meetings can be dangerous: people get drunk and sometimes arguments break out.”
The moment these words left his mouth, Paul knew he’d put his foot right in it. He wished he could catch them in flight and swallow them back down, but it was too late.
“I don’t need you to protect me, Paul,” replied Alys icily.
“I’m sorry, Alys, I didn’t mean-”
“Good evening, Paul,” she said, joining the crowd of laughing people going inside.
Paul was left alone in the middle of the crowded street, wanting to strangle someone, to scream, to kick the ground and cry.
It was seven in the evening.
38
The hardest thing had been to slip into the boardinghouse unnoticed.
The landlady was hanging around the entrance like a bloodhound with her overall and broom. Jurgen had had to wait a couple of hours, wandering around the neighborhood and watching the entrance to the building surreptitiously. He couldn’t risk doing so brazenly, as he had to be sure he wouldn’t be recognized later. In the bustling street it was unlikely that anyone would pay much attention to a man in a black overcoat and hat walking with a newspaper under his arm.
He’d hidden his cudgel in the folded paper and, fearful that it might fall, squeezed it so hard against his armpit that the next day he would have a considerable bruise. Under his civilian clothes he was wearing the brown uniform of the SA, which would certainly have attracted too much attention in an area that was as full of Jews as this one. His cap was in his pocket and he’d left his boots at the barracks, choosing a pair of sturdy shoes instead.
Finally, after going past many times, he managed to find a breach in the line of defense. The landlady left her broom leaning against the wall and disappeared through a small inner door, perhaps to prepare dinner. Jurgen made the most of this gap to slip into the house and trot up the stairs to the top floor. Having passed various landings and corridors, he found himself outside Ilse Reiner’s door.
He knocked.
If she’s not here, everything will be easier, thought Jurgen, anxious to complete the task as soon as possible and cross over to the east bank of the Isar, where the members of the Stosstrupp had been told to meet two hours earlier. It was a historic day and here he was, wasting his time in some intrigue he couldn’t have cared less about.
If at least I’d been able to fight Paul… that would have been different.
A smile lit up his face. At the same moment, his aunt opened the door and looked straight into his eyes. Perhaps she read betrayal and murder in them; perhaps she was simply afraid of Jurgen’s presence. But whatever the reason, she reacted by trying to slam the door shut.
Jurgen was quick. He managed to get his left hand there just in time. The doorjamb hit his knuckles hard and he stifled a cry of pain, but he had succeeded. However hard Ilse pushed, her fragile body was powerless against Jurgen’s brutal strength. He leaned his great weight against the door, and both his aunt and the chain protecting her were dispatched onto the floor.
“If you scream I’ll kill you, old woman,” said Jurgen, his voice low and serious as he closed the door behind him.
