His Majesty's Hope(64)
“Fine? Your paperwork will be under intense scrutiny. Intense. SOE does a decent enough job, but I’m not sure that what you have could stand up to it. What will you do then? They’ll hang you, you know—won’t even bother with the guillotine or a bullet. But not before the Gestapo will have tortured you, and you’ve told them everything you know. About everyone you know!”
“First of all, Herr Oberg is under the assumption that I’ve already been through the background check. And, I have a cyanide capsule. Not that I have any intention of using it.” She pinned on her hat and tugged on her gloves.
“It’s far too dangerous for a woman,” Gottlieb raged. “And not only are you risking your own life but you’re risking mine as well. Even if we’ve ‘broken things off,’ I’m still the one who brought you to Berlin. I’ll be under a microscope. My entire group will be under intense scrutiny.”
“I know, and for that I am sorry, truly.” Maggie knew too well what a terrible risk Gottlieb had taken to pose as her boyfriend, to have her in his flat. “But there’s a war on, you know—as we say at home.” The two, face-to-face, were silent for a moment. “Would you do it?” she asked, softly. “If you had the chance?”
“That’s not a fair question!” Gottlieb spluttered.
Maggie was losing patience. “Of course it’s a fair question!” She grabbed her bag and headed for the door. “And that’s why I have to do it!”
“No,” Gottlieb said. “What I would do is use my head. I would follow orders. What you are doing is grossly irresponsible. The rules apply to everyone.”
“One thing I learned from SOE is that rules are meant to be broken.”
“SOE? ‘Churchill’s gangsters’ is more like it. I’d thought more highly of you.”
“We’re taught to think on our feet, to press our advantages.”
“Which might get us both killed!”
“Now, look,” Maggie snapped. “Blindly following orders is what brought your country into this nightmare in the first place.” She reached the door, then turned and took a breath, meeting his furious gaze resolutely. “I’m afraid this is goodbye—for now.” She extended her hand.
But Gottlieb refused to take it. “I hope you’ll be back, Schatzi,” he said, shaking his head as she stepped through the door. “I’ll pray for you.”
Maggie arrived at Herr Oberg’s summer villa in Wannsee by train that afternoon, carrying her suitcase. It was a lovely stone house, set on the lake, protected by tall iron gates.
She trudged to the servants’ entrance and rang the bell. She was met by the housekeeper, Frau Berta Graf, who had gray-blond hair and a bulbous nose red with rosacea. “We’ve been expecting you, Fräulein Hoffman,” she said, as she led Maggie through the kitchen and then the house.
“It’s beautiful,” Maggie exclaimed. It wasn’t to her taste, but she wanted to make conversation.
“Oh, Herr Oberg has only recently acquired this house. It belonged to a Jewish department store owner and his family.”
“What happened to them?” Maggie asked, dreading the answer.
“Oh, they emigrated. And they’d left all the original furnishings—isn’t it lovely? All of the antlers are Herr Oberg’s, though. He’s quite the hunter and outdoorsman, you know.”
Maggie found out a great deal from the voluble Frau Graf. That Herr Oberg was married to his work and rarely came home at all. That his seventeen-year-old son, Lutz, had done extremely well in the Hitler Youth, and was now studying at the National Political Academy. And that Oberg’s daughter, Alexandra, was, well, having some problems adjusting to life without her mother.
“What kinds of problems?” Maggie asked, as they made their way to the top floor, where she was shown to a tiny room with a sloped ceiling and a round window. It was furnished simply, with a twin bed and a worn rug. A framed portrait of Hitler was displayed on a lace doily on the dresser, next to a candlestick in a green glass holder and a box of matches.
“Oh, you know—young girls. Hormones, boyfriends, and the like. She’s just been unhappy—you certainly have your work cut out for you …” Frau Graf clapped a hand over her mouth. “I’ve done it again! I’ve said too much. You must excuse me, Fräulein …”
“Of course,” Maggie said, reassuringly. “I heard nothing.”
“The candle and matches are in case of a power outage—they’re more frequent here these days, with the bombing. And you’ll be taking dinner in the kitchen with the rest of the staff. I will see you at six.”