White Rose Black Forest(32)

“Franka, I love you. You’re so beautiful. You’re the best big sister.”

“We need to talk to you about something,” she managed.

Thomas knelt beside her.

“You’ve been getting sick more and more lately,” she said, “and Daddy doesn’t have the time that he needs to look after you anymore.”

“I’m so sorry, Daddy.”

“Oh no, don’t be sorry, Fredi, never. It’s not your fault. You’re the best boy in the world—the best son a father could ever have. We’re so lucky to have you, our own angel on this earth.”

“You love the nurses, don’t you?” Franka said.

“Oh yes, they’re so nice.”

“And you know that I’m going to be a nurse, just like they are?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve been offered a fantastic opportunity—a job in a hospital in Munich. You know Munich, where Mummy was from?”

“Yes, I remember the lollipops we bought there.”

Thomas laughed. “Yes, when we visited two years ago. We bought lollipops and ate them as we sat in the park.”

“Well, I’m going to work there.”

“It’s far on the train.”

“Yes, it is—too far from here. I’m going to have to find somewhere to live there.”

“You’ll be the best nurse in the whole hospital. You’re going to help so many people.”

“I hope so.” It was hard to get the words out.

Thomas spoke up. “The nurses and doctors in our hospital want you to come and live with them, in a special house, where they can take better care of you.”

“Daddy can’t look after you alone anymore.”

“Will you visit?” Fredi asked. “You’re not going to leave me there?”

“Oh no. Never. I’ll come every day, and Franka as often as she can, whenever she’s home.”

“Nothing’s going to change,” Franka said. “We’ll still love you just as much as we always have. We’re still going to be together. We’ll all live together again soon, and forever.”

Franka thought about those words many times after she said them. Fredi accepted them, as he accepted anything she said, with a smile and an open heart. But time and circumstance made her a liar, and that was the last thing she ever wanted to be, especially to him. Fredi moved into the home the week after. They left him with the nurses and walked away empty and alone. Franka moved to Munich on the third of September, the day Britain and France declared war on Germany. By the time she arrived at the platform in Munich, her father’s prophecy had come true, and the mad berserker fury of the ancient warriors was unleashed on Europe once more.





Chapter 7

The hurricane of agony had reduced to a gale-force wind. It was still the first thing he felt when his eyes opened with the coming of the morning. He reached across for the bottle of aspirin, popping a couple of tiny white pills into his mouth before downing them with water so cold that he was amazed it didn’t have a layer of ice across the top of it. He wondered about the bottle. Was it some kind of Nazi truth serum? It hardly mattered. Submission to her was the only option. He needed her. There was no other way.

The snow painted a spiderweb of ice on the windowpane. The door was open, but there was no noise from the living room. He thought to call out, to ask how she was, or to inquire about the fire, but he didn’t. He brought the covers back over his face until only his eyes were exposed. He thought back to the story she’d told him the night before, and the haunted look in her eyes as she told it. If she was Gestapo, she was one hell of an actress. He brought a hand to his face and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. The decision to tell her the truth would have to come soon. His legs still rendered him immobile. He’d be stuck here as long as the snow took to clear, and that could be weeks. What could he do while he was laid out in bed? He was miles away from his target. He was useless and possibly being prepared for torture and a grisly death.

He reached back under his pillow, feeling for the cold metal of the gun. She had saved his life. No matter what else, that much was true. Killing her would be tantamount to murder. But what was murder in war? He had killed men, had seen the look of terror in their eyes as they realized that they were about to draw their last breath. It was easy to dismiss what he’d done, to lose the sense that he’d ended their lives, to veil his actions in the fog of war, but he thought about those men often. Most days. They were enemies. They would have killed him. The only reason they hadn’t was that he was faster, stronger, better. He thought of the man he’d killed when his pistol had jammed, the feel of warm blood running over his fists as he plunged the knife into the man’s chest. He remembered the noise as he pulled the knife out. He knew that there would be no escape from that horror. Not now. Not ever.

Sounds from the living room jarred him back into the present—logs being stacked in the fireplace, the popping and cracking of the unseasoned wood struggling to ignite. What if she was who she said she was? But what were the chances of being found by someone who’d been immune to Hitler’s mass hypnosis?

There had been no allowance for nuance in his training. The Nazis were to be wiped out. His mission was paramount, and anything or anyone who stood in his way was to be eliminated. Nothing was more important. Not him, and certainly not Franka Gerber. He thought of her face and the earnest beauty of her eyes. He couldn’t let her charms sway him. He had to remain strong. He heard the footsteps coming to the door.