White Rose Black Forest(55)

And then she saw him. A man in his fifties in a beige trench coat made his way across the square and sat down on a park bench thirty yards from her. He was wearing a hat, but he had the gray mustache that John had described. He raised a newspaper in front of his face, just as John had said he would. Should she go straight to him? She looked over each shoulder, trying to make it look like she was expecting someone. A man in his thirties sat down beside her, glancing over.

“Beautiful place, isn’t it?” he said, and Franka’s heart froze.

“Yes,” she replied, barely getting the words out.

She didn’t bring her eyes to look at him, though she knew he was looking at her. She looked at her wrist, and then at the man in the beige trench coat. Hahn would be gone in eight minutes. Who was this man beside her? The sweet aroma of cigarette smoke filled her nostrils.

“Would you like one?” the man said.

He was holding the cigarette pack out to her. She shook her head. His smile betrayed crooked front teeth, and he had a deep scar down his cheek. His gray eyes were unreadable.

“I don’t smoke,” she said.

“Nasty habit. The führer himself has spoken out against it.” He took a deep drag.

“I’ve never partaken myself. If you’ll excuse me.”

She stood up and ambled away without another word. The man in the beige coat was still reading his newspaper and didn’t react as she sat down beside him. The man who’d offered a cigarette glanced at them.

“Fine weather for this time of year,” she said. “It’s a treat for the children.”

Hahn whirled his head around upon hearing her words. It took him a couple of seconds to regain his composure. He had an umbrella by his side, just as John said he would.

“Fine weather for ice-skating, not for the farmers trying to feed our brave soldiers on the front.”

His words were practiced, deliberate. They were the code words. He turned the page, keeping the newspaper in front of his face.

She knew she had to speak next but eyed the man smoking the cigarette. He was looking but averted his eyes as he noticed her peering back at him. A soldier in SS uniform walked past them.

“Is it safe to speak here?”

“Perhaps not,” he said, but didn’t move. “You’re not quite whom I was expecting.”

“There was a problem with the original operative. He wasn’t able to make it.” Hahn turned to her as she continued. “He’s alive and well. He had some issues, however, and won’t be able to travel for a few weeks.”

She stared out in front as she spoke, aware that though his newspaper was in front of him, he was looking around it at her.

“I’m going to get up,” he said. “I’ll wait for you at the corner of the street over there. Come in five minutes, and we can walk together.”

He folded up his newspaper and tucked it under his arm as he stood. She tried not to check her watch more than a couple of times. The man who’d offered her a cigarette was talking to someone else on the bench now, seemingly oblivious. As soon as she’d counted out the five minutes, she made her way over to Hahn, who greeted her with a handshake.

“You know who I am, but I don’t know you. What do I call you?”

“Franka. I’m German.”

“Do you speak for our Allied friends? Can you make promises on their behalf?”

“Yes, I can.” John had assured her of that much.

“You say that your man cannot travel. What exactly is the problem?”

“He has two broken legs. He’s recovering in a cabin near Freiburg.”

Hahn waited until they passed a soldier and his girlfriend walking arm in arm.

“That could be a problem. There’s been a change of plan.”

“What change of plan would that be?”

“I want to get my wife out with me.”

“I thought you were divorced, with a daughter living in exile in Switzerland?”

“Heidi is in Zurich, yes, but I can’t in good conscience leave my wife behind. The bombing has stepped up in recent weeks. It seems that the Allies have absolute rule over the skies of Germany now. Thousands are being slaughtered, and God help us all if the Soviets come. I can’t leave her to face that fate alone.”

“I’ll see what we can work out.”

Hahn stopped. “If she doesn’t come, I don’t either.”

Franka tried to picture John hobbling on legs barely healed and trying to lead a couple in their fifties through the frozen forest to Switzerland. It didn’t seem plausible.

“I’ll talk to our friend about it. I have a number of questions for you too.”

Franka looked around. No one stood within earshot. They walked on.

“I trust you’ve organized the house I demanded. I want a house on the beach, and two cars, one German and one American.” Hahn smiled to himself. “I want to be the leader of the team I’m working with, and I want control of the study.”

“Everything has been taken care of,” Franka said. “How is your work progressing?”

“We’re drawing closer to a breakthrough.”

“What about the Nazi leadership? Are they beginning to pay attention?”

“I had a letter from Himmler last week, praising me on the progress that we’ve made. The rumor is that he wants to make us his pet project. He’s going to use our findings to curry favor with Hitler. He’s in the process of scheduling a visit. If Himmler can get Hitler’s approval, then we’ll get all the funding we require, and we’ll be able to develop our weapon.”