White Rose Black Forest(63)

“Heil Hitler,” Berkel said through the scarf over the lower half of his face.

“Heil Hitler,” she replied. She noticed her hand trembling and pulled it back down to hide it in her pocket.

“Aren’t you going to invite me in, Franka?” he said, taking his scarf off.

“Of course, Herr Berkel, please come in.”

He brushed past her and wiped his feet on the doormat before taking off his black trench coat. He handed it to her without looking, though he must have seen the coat hooks just inches from his face. He was wearing the full uniform of the Gestapo, complete with medals for outstanding service in defense of the Reich. She hung up his coat. He had already gone into the living room and was looking around the old place as she caught up with him.

“Amazing,” he said, shaking his head. “How long has it been, eight years? The place hasn’t changed, except for the lack of pictures on the wall.”

“It could be eight years.”

“A lot of memories.” He took off his black hat.

“Yes, indeed,” was all she could manage.

“So aren’t you going to offer me a cup of coffee?”

“Of course, how rude of me.”

He followed her into the kitchen and stood against the frame of the door.

“It was quite a surprise to hear that you were still here. You led me to believe that you’d be going back to Munich before Christmas.”

Franka placed the kettle on the stove before turning to get a mug from the cupboard.

“Yes, I had a change of plans. The snow was so thick. I couldn’t get the car out. I decided to stay another few weeks.”

“I see the car is free now. And the roads have been open for several days.”

She turned to him, almost able to feel his eyes piercing through her.

“Yes, it’s high time I left. I’ve been lazy, I suppose.”

John stilled his breathing, keeping his hand over his chest in an attempt to soften the beating of his heart. The jumbled sounds from the kitchen were identifiable as a conversation, but it was impossible to make out more than a few words. His hand was on the bag, reaching in for a pistol. The feel of cold metal told him that he’d found it.

“It must have been lonely up here all this time,” Berkel continued. “You were always such a sociable girl.”

“I needed some time to myself after what happened to my father. The cabin is the perfect place to get away.”

“Indeed,” he said, nodding. He watched her for a few seconds, letting her pour the scalding hot water into the mugs. Steam wafted through cold air. “Thank you, Franka,” he said as she handed him the mug. “Can we go back into the living room? We have so much catching up to do.”

“Of course,” she said. It almost hurt to smile.

He led her back to the living room, taking the fireside seat John had been sitting in minutes before. His book, All Quiet on the Western Front, lay facedown on the table beside Berkel. It would be enough to land her in jail for several nights. Berkel took a sip from his coffee cup before placing it down beside the old, scuffed paperback. Franka sat opposite him and tried to keep her eyes off the book. Berkel rested back in the rocking chair, his fingers locked together in front of his stomach. His hat was on his lap.

“Yes, so many memories here. We had some good times, though, didn’t we?”

Franka nodded, her head feeling like it was held in place by steel wires.

“We were so young then,” he continued. “It hardly even seems real. They say youth is wasted on the young, but I’m not sure I agree with that. What do you think?”

“I regret many of the decisions I made in the folly of my youth. I think I can see where that saying comes from.”

“I don’t think I agree with that sentiment anymore. I mean, there are always cases of young people doing stupid things, but in my job you come to realize that you don’t have to be young to act idiotically. I see it every day. Just last week I interrogated a man, a father of five in his forties, who got drunk and started shouting out to all around him that the führer was never going to stop until every last one of them was dead. He called the führer a liar, and a scoundrel—even a murderer. Can you believe someone would do that?”

“It is hard to fathom how anyone could think such a thing.”

“Thankfully there was a plethora of people willing to do the right thing. I must have had ten separate eyewitness accounts. It was heartening to know how many loyal Germans were present, and how heavily good people outnumber the bad apples among us.” He took another sip of coffee and placed his hat on the table where his mug had been. “One of my younger recruits crushed the man’s fingers between two metal bars and pulled out his fingernails. The man confessed quickly. I think my man did it to gain a measure of revenge for saying that about the führer. We take such matters personally.”

Franka pressed her hands down on her thighs to still their shaking. “It’s an important role.”

“Very much so. We’re the only power that stands between the Reich and her enemies in the fatherland. The war within our own country started long before the one against the Allied forces, and we’re winning it day by day.”

Franka wanted to say something, but her lips weren’t moving. The words wouldn’t come.