Night Angels(73)

He had not expected such an insolent request from this man. “With respect, the activity of the consulate is important for my country and must not be interrupted unless by order of my superiors. The visa seekers do not block the street; if I may clarify, they wait in an orderly queue, and they do not engage in boisterous or disruptive activities that threaten the safety of the residents.”

“Herr Consul General, are you deliberately ignoring the complaint of the good Germans?” The man’s voice was laced with threat.

The Devil’s Deputy—he recalled Mr. Rosenburg’s words, and he could only imagine the fear and devastation that paralyzed the helpless men when they faced his gun in the dungeon. “I’m only fulfilling my duty as the consul general of the consulate of the Republic of China.”

Eichmann’s eyes narrowed, and he put a cigarette in his mouth, dug out a gold-plated cigarette lighter, and lit it. In the corner of his lips appeared a calculating sneer. “Herr Consul General, given our friendship, I feel obliged to inform you that your duty has come in conflict with the plan of our Führer. All Jews in Vienna are now banned from leaving. They must stay. They will live here, work here, and die here. It is my new mission, and I don’t expect any challenges.”

Fengshan felt his heart ablaze with the wildfire of rage. “I beg you to enlighten me. For months, I had the impression that your government encouraged the Jews to leave the country, and they’re following the order to go through every legal step. Why this reversal?”

“I don’t believe I owe you an explanation. This is our country’s policy. It’s adjusting as we speak, but if you really wish to know, I have received permission from my superior to operate some camps in Doppl and Sandhof. The Jews are excellent labor and cheap. They’ll be trained for the technical and agricultural jobs in those camps and contribute to our country’s success. To let them leave is a waste of resources.”

Fengshan suppressed the urge to punch the man’s face. “Allow me to reiterate, the main function of a consulate is to issue visas, and the order I received is to grant visas to every single person who applies. It is my duty, and my privilege, to carry out the order. May I walk you out?”

The man’s gray eyes looked frozen. “How long have you been in Vienna, Herr Consul General?”

“Almost two years.”

“I certainly hope you’ve enjoyed your life in Vienna so far.”

“I have enjoyed the hospitality of many Viennese, and if I may add, China and Germany have also enjoyed decades of friendship. I think your car is waiting outside.” He walked to the consulate’s entrance and extended his hand, urging the man to exit.

But Eichmann remained where he was. “Who’s the owner of the consulate?”

“Herr Goodman is my landlord.”

There appeared that sickening, sly smile again. “Hendrich Goodman? That Jew? Where is that coward? I’d like to speak to him.”

“I believe he lives in Switzerland.”

“Hiding in Switzerland. Of course. Or he would be sent to a camp already. But he has left this building behind.” The Nazi rogue looked as though he was enjoying the funniest joke.

Fengshan’s heart skipped a few beats. What Eichmann didn’t say was known to every Jew, and to him too: that the property of the Jews now belonged to the government. “You must forgive me. Herr Goodman and the consulate have signed a lease for ten years. This is our fourth year. It’s a contract between a state and an individual, bound by legal terms.”

Eichmann was smiling his oily smile again. “I beg to differ. This is Germany, and we have the right to revise the law and terminate a contract if we wish. As one of your old friends, I’d like to offer your consulate one last chance. Cease issuing visas. Take the Closed sign out and tell the ragtag and bobtail to disperse. Or it is assumed that the consulate will no longer be in existence.”

The sanctuary of the consulate was only honored and protected by a decent state, which Germany had ceased to be. Should he bargain for more time so he could report the threat to the ambassador? There would be no rescue from Berlin after that vindictive investigation, he knew.

Or he could take a tactful approach—the approach his superior would prefer: bow out and stop the visa process.

Fengshan turned around to look at the men in shirts and hats, holding application forms, who were lined up outside the consulate. Their heads turned to Eichmann; they flinched, their eyes glancing away with trepidation. No one spoke. The boisterous crowd that had threatened the safety of the good Germans? It was a lie. These visa seekers were so concerned with propriety and obedience to the law that they could hardly step on others’ toes.

Fengshan looked at them: a gaunt face, a wrinkled face, a face with a bruise, a face with hungry eyes, a face that was someone’s brother, someone’s parent, someone’s son. They had come to him, their last resort, for salvation; how could he deny them?

“This way, Herr Eichmann.”

Eichmann stiffened, stepped outside, and walked to his black Mercedes parked near a bench. He shouted at two of his henchmen near the car, and in unison, the two men opened the car door and carried out two long black rifles. Eichmann grabbed a rifle and marched toward the applicants.

“The illegal gathering on the street is disruptive to the residents’ peace. I hereby order you all to disperse or face the consequences.” Eichmann held his rifle.