The Librarian Spy(70)

The man sighed in irritation at a question he apparently considered idiotic.

“When they come, you make sure they register here.” His expression was stern. “They come every month, or we will go to them.”

Ava smiled sweetly in the face of his bald threat. “I wouldn’t dream of doing otherwise.”

The only other place she could think to probe about for ideas or information she had somehow overlooked was the JDC. As she hopped on the tram, her mind worked through everyone she had ever met in DC and how they might offer some aid. She hadn’t been one for making scores of close friends. She didn’t have many acquaintances as it was. And certainly, none that were in positions to provide backing in a situation like this.

She’d learned that early on when trying to find a way for Lamant to get his transit visa to America.

The tram deposited her at her stop, and she walked the rest of the way toward the familiar white building, enjoying the heat of the sun on that crisp January day. Children chased one another about in a game of tag while their parents held cups of coffee and tea, engaged in their dismal low-toned conversations. The faces changed from time to time, but the situations were always the same. Adults waiting for the little ones to be distracted before whispering their fears to one another.

What if a visa didn’t arrive in time and the PVDE came for them? What if a boat ticket couldn’t be obtained and they had to start the process over again? What if the money ran out? What if Germany attacked Portugal and they had nowhere to go?

The worst of it was that there were no answers for any of those questions. There doubtless wasn’t an answer for Ava either, but she wouldn’t give up without getting advice from the person most likely to know all the loopholes in the crazy, shifting visa system in Portugal.

Ethan tossed the towel he’d been wiping a table with over his shoulder. “Ava, how did you know to come?”

She chuckled, good-naturedly. “Because you always need extra hands.”

He shook his head without humor, and that was when she noticed his eyes were red rimmed.

“Ava...” Her name tore from him in a ragged, wounded way that sent a warning charging through her.

“What is it?”

He blinked and a tear dropped to his cheek. He swiped it away. “It’s Otto.”

“Otto?” Her blood went cold. “What’s happened?”

“Ava...he...”

She stared at Ethan, her heart gripped with fear. “He what?”

“He took his own life.”

Everything around her froze in that moment. She remained still, stunned, her mind grappling with the enormity of such news.

“Why?” she whispered as the questions rushed forward. “When? How?”

Ethan pinched his forefinger and thumb over his eyes and sniffed. “He was found this morning, an empty bottle of morphine tablets by his bed with a note.”

Morphine tablets. Sadly, it had become a common way for a life to be ended, a bitter swallow followed by a blanket of dreamless sleep from which one never woke.

Otto was a man who fought for his success, for a chance at life. What could possibly make a man so determined give up after all this time?

“Why?” she asked. “Did the note say why?”

“He was denied an American visa again,” Ethan said slowly. “He’d already tried twice before, waiting out the six months in between rejections to attempt it again. I think after the third time...”

“If he had told me, perhaps I could have—”

Ethan shook his head. “His parents were German. There was nothing you could have done.”

Pain crumpled in Ava’s chest with the truth of Ethan’s words. There was truly nothing she—or anyone else—could have done for him. He had been failed by a system that was inherently broken.

“He left something for you,” Ethan said gently. “A moment, please.” He disappeared into his office, leaving Ava standing where she stood, her body numb.

She gazed across the room, seeing nothing. How could she when her thoughts were overflowing? She had intended to see Otto once she’d spoken with Ethan, to bask in the familiar sweet scent of his pipe and tell him about the mother and child who would soon be arriving in Lisbon. To seek his counsel.

How had she not seen the depth of his misery? How had he hidden such desperation from her?

The room blurred.

“Ava.” Ethan put his warm hand on her shoulder.

She looked at him, her throat aching with an emotion that wouldn’t let her speak.

He extended a packet of papers toward her. Combat showed at the top. She shook her head vehemently. She would not have his last act be retrieving newspapers for her. He was so much greater than that.

“It is not only these.” Ethan sifted through the stack, finding first the well-worn letter from Petra, then a second envelope with Ava’s name written in short, neat print across the front.

“What is that?”

Ethan handed her the small pile, the envelope thick with what felt like several sheets of paper. “I believe...” He cleared his throat. “I believe it’s Otto’s story and he wanted you to have it.”



EIGHTEEN


Elaine


The Citro?n sluiced through an onslaught of rain with Elaine tensely sitting on the hard leather rear seat with the officer and the young Nazi in the front. They spoke in German, which she could not understand, but she did recognize a single word that made her blood go cold: Montluc.