White Rose Black Forest(56)

The word “weapon” jarred her, and the questions multiplied, but she remained on task, remembering John’s words. “Is there no way you can stop the progress?”

“I’m part of a team. If I were to make some kind of deliberate mistake, then the rest of the team would notice. I could be thrown off the project, and in that case, your people would have no one inside. I couldn’t do that—it would harm my reputation, and besides, your masters want me to continue with my progress as far as I can before they steal it for themselves. They don’t believe that the Nazi leadership is going to back us to the necessary extent we’d need to finish the job. They think the war will be over by the time we get to the stage of having something we could actually use.”

“Are they correct?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. It’s difficult to say. It’s a dangerous game they’re playing.”

“Could the work continue without you?”

“Yes, but I am the spearhead and the driving force behind it. I am also the public face. Without me, people like Himmler will lose interest, and the project will be overlooked in favor of the jet-engine development Hitler believes can turn the tide of the war. Our project is one of many claiming to be the savior of Germany. It’s just that I happen to know the true potential of what we’re doing. It’s been difficult to get others to realize it too. This meeting with Himmler could make or break our project.”

It was hard to tell whether he was anti-Nazi or not. She was beginning to get the impression that if they didn’t steal him away, he would see the project out to its resolution in Germany, and the Nazis would be able to make use of the potential of this weapon he’d mentioned. Perhaps he only wanted to make use of the Americans’ superior facilities and funding. Perhaps the project itself was all that counted, and scientific discovery was all that mattered to him, not to what ends that science would be used. A man with no loyalties other than his work was a dangerous one.

They walked in silence for a few minutes, passing from the Schlossplatz into the streets beyond. Imposing stone buildings surrounded them, and the evening began to set in. Streetlights flicked on, some broken, some working.

“So what’s your plan from here?”

“We want you to sit tight for two weeks and then make your way to Freiburg.”

“And then you will take my wife and me to America so that I can continue my work?”

“What age is your wife, Dr. Hahn?”

“Fifty-three.”

“Bringing another person along, particularly a woman in her fifties, is going to make getting across the border to Switzerland all the more difficult. I’m sure a brilliant man like you can appreciate that.”

“That’s the only way I’ll go.”

Franka tried to imagine what John might say. Perhaps John might get them across one by one, taking the wife first and coming back for Hahn. It was remote, but it might be possible.

“Have you any way of bringing the work with you?”

“I’ve made microfilm of blueprints and plans. Bringing it along shouldn’t be a problem.”

“And where is this microfilm?”

“Stashed safely.”

She was just about to ask him to elaborate when the shrill sound of the air-raid sirens pierced the air.

Franka could see the fear in his eyes. “An air raid,” he said. “We’ve got to get to a shelter.”

“How long do we have before the bombs begin?”

“It’s hard to say with the valley we’re built into, and the foggy conditions. The planes could be right on top of us. Are you coming with me?”

“I’ve nowhere else to go.”

People began running, and mothers dragged children along by the arm.

“There’s a shelter a few minutes’ walk away,” Hahn said. A shrill whistle cut him off, and a loud explosion rocked the street behind them. A storefront several hundred yards away exploded, showering the street with rubble and debris. A burglar alarm sounded. The sirens still howled. People scattered. Franka looked back and saw bodies on the asphalt. Hahn grabbed at her wrist as the whistle of bombs came again. A hundred people or more were running down the street now. It was impossible to know how far away the bomb shelter was. She couldn’t see it, could only see the scattered figures of people running. Hahn was slow. She was almost dragging him as another bomb struck, landing a hundred feet behind them. A man was flung into the side of a building as if swatted to the side by some giant hand, his corpse falling in an untidy heap. Another bomb, and then another, collided with the houses on either side of the street. Glass and debris sprayed out. Franka turned around and saw a man running behind her, his entire body consumed in yellow flames. He fell. People sprinted past, the sound of screaming left in their wake. Blind panic. Another bomb fell, and the building just in front of them exploded into the street, showering their path ahead with dust and rubble. There were dead all over the road in front and behind. And still the whistling of bombs filled her ears. Hahn slowed.

“How far are we from the shelter?” she screamed.

“Half a mile perhaps. Usually, there is more warning. The clouds.”

Another explosion rocked the air around them, and Franka could see that the street they’d just run down was now a trail of fire. Several bodies lay burning like torches in the dimming light. The sky above was blackening. The planes were invisible. She saw a bomb, caught sight of the flare of black before it hit the ground, obliterating a grocer’s shop, scattering glass and wooden boxes of vegetables like confetti. Another bomb fell, and the mutilated body of an old woman skidded to the asphalt a few feet in front of them. Her clothes were burned away, her skin charred black underneath, her jaw sheared off. Franka ran around her as another bomb exploded behind them. She lost Hahn for a few seconds in the haze of smoke and then picked him out about fifty feet to her left. She made for him just as another bomb hit, scattering debris. Dozens of people were lying broken all around her, screaming. Dozens more ran on. Franka stopped, rubbing at her eyes. She lost Hahn again, scanned the ground for him.