“To find me, to return it?”
“No. He mentioned a man named Lazarus. Said that he should be gotten out as well.”
Lydia nodded, her face carefully blank.
“What was the real name of the man who died? He wouldn’t tell me.”
“Eckhart. We were lovers. We were to be married. My father did not approve.”
“Why did Eckhart have to flee the country?”
“He is—was—part of a group who are trying to change things. I am part of that same group. And the others.” She gestured at the shadowy figures. “They alerted me that someone was trying to find me. We have to be careful; the Gestapo are not averse to using women to track us down. We resist the ruling party. They want to crush us for it.”
“Resist how?”
“There are some of my people who want to try and seek out an accommodation with the state.” Lydia shook her head. “They are fools. As the noose tightens around our necks, it tightens around theirs, too. They’re just too stupid to realize it.”
“But not you?”
“We resist. We fight back.”
“How can you? The Nazis are so powerful.”
“What choice do we have?”
“Get out, like Eckhart did.”
“Tell me, are you a spy? I know Eckhart was working with the British.”
“I’m an American.”
“But are you a spy?”
“I suppose so.” She paused, watching for Lydia’s reaction. “Now there’s a little secret in exchange for yours.”
That brought a smile to the girl’s face for the first time. “You are playing a dangerous game. You have no idea what the state is capable of if they catch you.”
“They’ll send me to Dachau?”
Lydia stared at her. “How do you know of that?”
“I’ve heard of it. It sounds horrific.”
“It is. It’s one of a series of camps the SS set up after Hitler was elected. The state refers to them euphemistically as protective custody. We may all wind up there, if they don’t gun us down first. Tell me, though, what are you doing here? Why did you need to find me? To return a photograph?”
“I’m here because of Lazarus.”
“What of him?”
“Do you know him?”
“He is my father. They have him in a camp not far from here.”
“What did your father do? Was he a politician opposed to the Nazis?”
“My father is Dr. Tomei Lazarus Frick. Everyone calls him by his middle name. He is a scientist. A brilliant man—theoretical physics.”
“Ah, yes. Your fiancé mentioned that.”
“He was working at the Berlin university when Hitler came to power. Lost his position almost overnight. Good friends and colleagues, all refused to speak up for him. He started making speeches, working with the Jewish organizations. One by one, these organizations have been obliterated, and the Nazis came for my father a year ago. Dragged him from our home. I haven’t seen him since.”
“All attempts to find out what has happened to him are met with blank stares or, worse, threats. We only know the camp he’s in. We received a letter, not in his handwriting, telling us everything was fine, that he was getting a better understanding of what it means to be a good German. That’s when I started to resist, joined the movement.” She paused. “You’ve done your duty to Eckhart, Miss...”
“Endeavours. Aubrey Endeavours.”
“You shouldn’t have told me that.”
Aubrey shrugged.
“You can go now,” Lydia said. “One of my friends will drive you to a tram that will take you back to your hotel. Just tell him where you are staying.”
“No, wait—please. I made a promise to Eckhart when he was dying. He said that Lazarus must be set free. Maybe I can help.”
“I don’t see how you can help. None of us can do anything for him. He’s as good as dead.”
“That’s a hell of a way to speak about your own father.”
“It’s our reality. This is my world now.” She waved her hands around at the darkness. “Here, I am safe, like a rat. At least for the time being. Go back to America, Miss Endeavours. Tell them what you saw in Berlin. Not that anyone will give a damn.”
15
Richard Fuchs was propping up the short zinc bar in the hotel’s lobby. He was sipping steaming tea out of a silver podstakannik cup holder.
“That looks perfect. I wouldn’t mind one,” Aubrey said. “How long have you been here?”
“Two cups of tea.”
“Don’t you want anything stronger?”
“No, not me, I’m afraid. I don’t take it well. It’s genetic.” He looked around the lobby. “This is a charming hotel. I come here often. Shall we get a bite to eat? I know an equally charming restaurant nearby.”
Aubrey didn’t respond. She was distracted by the sleek shape of Count von Villiez’s Mercedes Benz pulling up in front of the hotel. Fuchs turned to see what had caught her eye just as Helmut entered the hotel. The count studied the lobby; his long grey trench coat was thrown over his shoulder like a cape. His chin thrust out at a commanding attitude. He spied Aubrey at the bar and waved a leather-gloved hand at her.
“I’ve been trumped again,” Fuchs muttered.
“Count von Villiez, so nice to see you again,” Aubrey said. “This is my friend Richard Fuchs.”
“How do you do?” the count said, as though just realizing someone else was at the bar. Aubrey felt a twinge of irritation. She had no time for men who put on airs. Relax, Aubrey, she told herself. It’s just a game men play.
“Your Excellency, we have never been formally introduced, but…”
“But you know me?”
“I work for the Berliner Morgenpost.”
“Oh.” The count chuckled, not quite nervously, but not in amusement either. He turned to Aubrey. “My dear, you’re drinking with the enemy. Well, at least he was the enemy until his newspaper developed the proper attitude.”
“What’s he mean, Richard?” Aubrey stared at Fuchs in puzzlement.
“We ran a series of articles about the count’s business dealings a few years back, when we still had such freedom.” He looked back at the count. “Your Grace, I hope
