White Rose Black Forest(65)

“I didn’t want to mention him, because of our past together. I didn’t want to make our discourse uncomfortable.”

“I am an agent of the Gestapo. Do you think I put my personal feelings in the way of my investigations?”

“Of course not, but—”

“I must say I’m disappointed in you, Franka, but then I have been for the longest time, ever since you turned away from the word of the führer to embrace liberal thought.”

“I always thought so much of you, Daniel. We just weren’t right for one another.”

“Because you were better than me? Well, who’s better now? You know what I’ve done to people who lied to me? You know what I could do to you, here and now?”

“Of course, Daniel, but I’ve served my time. I’ve learned my lesson. Have you a picture of your wife and children? I’d love to see a photo of them.”

He stood up, lurching toward her. “How dare you mention them, you filthy whore! How dare you mention them with that disgusting mouth!”

Franka stood up and backed away from him, terror overtaking her. “Daniel, please . . .”

“It’s just you and me here. No one else for miles around.” He inched toward her, and she away from him, but the wall was only two feet behind, barring her escape.

“Look into your heart. You’re a good man. An excellent father, dedicated to his country, as well as his children. I’m a German woman. Don’t do this.”

“You’re a useless little slut, only good for one thing, and that’s being on your back. You were the sweetest piece I ever tasted.”

The walls of the cabin seemed to be closing in around her, and her vision dimmed. Her father’s old pistol lay in the cabinet by the front door, but that seemed like miles away. Franka screamed as he lunged at her, grabbed her by both arms, and dug his fingers into her biceps like talons into prey.

“Oh, you’ll make quite the concubine. Perhaps I’ll let you stay up here, and come and visit every few days. Otherwise, I’ll take you down to the cells and lock you up and let anyone who wants to have a go. I’ll leave that up to you.”

He came close, and she turned her face, almost vomiting as he ran his tongue up the side of her cheek. She tried to knee him and connected with his thigh as she managed to shrug him off.

“You’ll have to kill me first.”

“That can be arranged.”

She broke away across the room, but he caught her by the arms and dragged her toward her bedroom, the bedroom her parents had slept in during that warm summer of 1934. She struggled against him, kicking and scratching, drawing blood on his cheek. He forced the door open and threw her down on the bed, the door slamming shut behind them.

“Oh yes, you fight. It’s always better that way.”

Franka screamed again as he pinned her to the bed and tore her dress, exposing her underwear. She tried to scratch at him again, and he slapped her hard across the face. She lay dazed on the bed before him as he began to undo the notches on his belt. The bedroom door crashed open, and John barged in, a crutch in one hand, the glint of his pistol in the other. Berkel turned around and grabbed at the gun just as John threw a punch with his other hand and connected above his left eye. The crutch fell to the floor. The pistol roared as Berkel lunged for it again, the bullet flying through the back wall. John leaned against the doorframe as Berkel struggled against him. Berkel kicked the casts on John’s legs and wrenched John’s hand away. John fell back through the open door into the living room. The gun spilled onto the floor as Berkel reached for his own, which was holstered to his waist. Franka jumped onto his back, his body toppling to the floor under her weight. John went for the Gestapo agent’s throat and dug his thumbs into his windpipe, but Berkel rolled away. John lunged at him again, but the agent was too fast and rose to his feet, reaching for his gun once more.

“This is your boyfriend, then, is it, Franka?” He laughed as he unbuttoned his holster.

John clawed for his weapon where it lay three feet away, but Berkel already had his gun pointed at him and opened his mouth to say something as his finger tightened on the trigger.

Berkel’s chest exploded. The gun fell out of his hand as he turned, a pathetic, perplexed look on his face. Franka was standing behind him, her father’s gun smoking in her hand.

“He’s not my boyfriend, Daniel. He’s an Allied spy, and you were right. I always knew exactly what I was doing.”

“You filthy . . .” Franka pulled the trigger before he could finish the last sentence that would ever come from his lips. The bullet struck him in the chest, just below his line of medals. He fell to his knees and then backward onto the floor.

“You bastard,” Franka sobbed. “You insufferable bastard.”

Berkel’s blood was spreading across the floor in an almost-perfect circle of crimson. His eyes were still open, glaring up at the ceiling.

“Franka? Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

John raised himself to his feet, using the wall to get to her. She hadn’t moved, still had the gun pointed at where Berkel had been standing. John took the gun from her. He placed it down and took her in his arms.

“The Gestapo is going to come for us,” she said as she wrapped her arms around him. “Now they’ll know you’re here. We’ll never get out of Germany alive. You’ll never get the film back to the Allies.”