White Rose Black Forest(59)

He wasn’t using her—she volunteered. She was grateful for the chance to affect the outcome of the war against the regime that had destroyed her family and the country she loved. What were these feelings of guilt within him, then? Why did he feel like he’d sent her alone into the lion’s den? He had told her how difficult Hahn was known to be. John was sure she could work it out for herself. She only needed to make contact, after all.

Lunchtime came, and John was still by the fire, his book untouched on the table beside him. The sun was shining outside, and he could hear the dripping of the snow as the long melt began. He shifted the blanket he’d spread over his chest, reached for the radio, and flicked it on. The royal-tinted accent of the BBC newsreader fluttered over the airwaves. John had met many Englishmen. Few of them sounded like that. The newsreader read through a list of bombing raids from the night before. John’s blood froze when he mentioned the raid on Stuttgart.

“RAF bomber command conducted a stunning raid on the industrial stronghold of Stuttgart yesterday. Sources claim it’s the biggest on that city of the war so far.”

The raid had been small in comparison with the massive sorties that destroyed much of Hamburg and Cologne, but had been hailed as a major success. How many had died? He had sent her into the jaws of the Allied beast. Grisly thoughts consumed him. The newsreader moved on, giving little importance to the words that still echoed through John’s mind.

“There’s a war on, goddamn it,” he said to no one. “She knew the risks.”

He trained his eyes on the cuckoo clock in the hallway. It struck one. The minutes drew out like months until it was almost five. Darkness was descending when the door finally opened. John couldn’t see her as she dropped her skis in the hallway. He didn’t call out. Franka appeared at the end of the hallway. A large white bandage adorned her forehead. She dropped her bag and shuffled inside.

John stifled the instinct to express his relief upon seeing her. “Did you see him?” he asked.

“I saw him,” she said. She made her way into the kitchen, emerging seconds later with a cup of water. “The bombers came when I was with him. The entire city seemed to erupt into flames.”

“Are you hurt?”

She reached up and touched the bandage on her head. “It’s just a scratch. I was one of the lucky ones. Hundreds were killed. Thousands maybe. Hahn died on the street.”

“What? Are you sure?”

“I saw him. He died in front of me.”

Barely able to hold her head up, she flopped down in a chair opposite him.

John tried to pull his thoughts together. Hahn was dead. That meant his work for the Nazis was too. But what if somehow the Nazi path toward nuclear fission continued unabated? Without Hahn’s knowledge, the scientists in America might not catch up until it was too late. John’s superiors would never be satisfied without Hahn’s knowledge at their disposal. It took him a few seconds to regain enough composure to speak again.

“You aren’t hurt?”

She shook her head.

“What happened? How long did you see him for?”

“Just a few minutes. It turns out he was more of a mercenary than a dissident. He seemed more eager to get the work finished than to use it against the Nazis. He didn’t appear to care so much who finished it. He was convinced that the Americans would give him the funding and facilities he needed.”

“And so we would have,” John said. “I heard about the attack. I’m relieved you’re alive. What happened?”

Franka went through everything from when she’d met Hahn to the moment he died.

“What happened to the microfilm?” John said.

“Give me just a minute,” Franka said. She went into the bathroom and returned seconds later with the plastic container. Her face was stern, rigid.

He tried to get up, fumbling for his crutches. She went to him, and he slid back into his seat.

“You got it.”

“I went to his apartment after he died.”

He reached for the tiny container in her hand. She curled her fingers around it.

“He told me what his project was about,” she said.

John sat back in the chair. The flickering light of the fire danced across the gentle lines in her face.

“I told you everything I know. It’s not my job to ask questions.”

“He was developing a bomb that could level an entire city. Hahn was developing the most deadly weapon in the history of the world.” Her fist closed around the microfilm.

“I didn’t know it was a bomb. I just knew it was a technology that could change the war. It’s up to us now to get this film back to the Allies before the Nazis realize what they have on their hands. If they develop that bomb before we do . . . Can you imagine what they would do with it? They wouldn’t hesitate to use it. Millions of innocent people would die.”

“Millions of innocents are dying. I saw it with my own eyes. I witnessed what the Allied bombing raids are doing to the German people.”

“This war is the Nazis’ doing.” He saw her move toward the fire. “Don’t do that, Franka.”

“You sound like a child arguing over who started it. This isn’t some schoolyard brawl. Thousands of people are being slaughtered every day.”

“What you have in your hand could go a long way toward ending that slaughter. The technology will be developed. Hundreds of the best minds in America are working on it every day. What you have in your hand could help them develop that bomb faster. It could end this senseless war.”