Nuremberg Trials, 1946
The pencil scratched the notepad in time with the drum of the woman's fingers on the desk. After a moment the pencil rested and the owner interlaced his fingers, finally looking up at the woman sitting across from him. "Ms. Denker, is it?"
"That's right."
"Why'd you come here today?"
"To do my duty."
"Your duty?" The man looked at his notes, pulling a file over the table. "According to this, you worked as a spy for the Nazi party since 1919."
"Technically it wasn't the Nazi party then."
"And, let me guess," The man spread his hands, "You just got sucked in and couldn't find your way out?"
"That's right."
"Ms. Denker." The other man shook his head, "We've got a hundred other people, just like you, with their stories to tell about why they beat people to death as brown shirts or why they wore the Nazi patch but, frankly, I don't care. I don't care what you've got to tell me because you're just another disgusting traitor trying to avoid the jail time she deserves."
He stood, gathering his things, "Good day to you."
"Mr. Spratt!" Denker reached across the table, seizing Spratt's coat sleeve, pulling him back toward the table despite the indignation covering the man's face. "I've got something those other hundred boys out there don't have."
"A lack of decency?" Spratt tore his arm away, stepping out of reach. "I should have them take you just for assaulting an officer of this court."
"I have information about Mr. Green."
Spratt paused, his hand hovering just above the door handle. "Mr. Green? The Chief of Police for Berlin?"
"That's right." Denker rubbed her hands together, "I can give you the testimony you need to prove what you've only been supposing since you started these trials last October."
"And what's that?"
"Information."
"Be more specific Ms. Denker or I go to see another man about what he can do for me and this court in these trials."
"I've got dates, meeting locations, and names for the Nazi officers and SS officials who worked with Mr. Green before and during the war." Denker tapped the table, "I've got proof that he used his position as Chief of Police after the war to silence all those who knew about what he did."
"Then how do you know anything about it?" Spratt retook his seat, "It seems rather convenient you could hand me Mr. Green on a platter without blinking."
"Well," Denker dry-washed his hands, refusing to meet Spratt's face. "I knew because I worked for the Nazi party as a spy as well. Not as high up as he did but high enough that I knew the lengths he had to go to so he could avoid detection and what they did to help him."
Spratt sucked his cheeks in a moment before withdrawing his pencil and notepad again, "Then you'd better start at the beginning Ms. Denker. And leave nothing out. This isn't the time to get nervous about your involvement."
Denker took a breath, "It all started when the German Army sent the Fuhrer to investigate the German Worker's Party."
September 1919
The general entered the dining room, giving his hat to his orderly, and shaking hands with the man in a suit before joining him at the table. "It's been too long my friend."
"Yes, far too long."
"They tell me your wife welcomed two children instead of one."
"It would seem my house couldn't be more blessed."
"Given the way our country is going, Mr. Bricker, it would seem two mouths to feed are more dangerous than one."
Bricker chuckled, "General Crowborough I believe that two more workers to help the country rise to its feet and seize its noble heritage is a boon and a blessing, not a bane."
"Well, if you're so excited about it," Crowborough raised a glass, "We'll toast to it."
The man at the table just behind them stood up, slipping past their table. And he would have moved unnoticed if he had not accidently brushed Bricker's arm. Bricker turned toward him, scowling at almost spilling his drink, but turned back to the table instead of confronting the departing figure.
As he did his eyes caught the abandoned briefcase. He opened his mouth to speak as the briefcase exploded. The table went flying, sending Bricker and Crowborough forward to smash into dining wear, chairs, and other tables.
Bricker recovered first, widening his jaw to try and pop his ears. He noted Crowborough, still as the grave, and crawled to his side. Pulling the other man into his lap Bricker called to him, barely hearing his own voice over the ringing in his ears. But when Crowborough moaned Bricker exulted a moment before going to lift the other man to his feet.
Gunshots rang out, leading Bricker to duck down slightly. He saw the guards besieged by a man with a black cloth over the lower half of his face and a hat low over his eyes. Bricker pulled at Crowborough, depending on the soldiers running toward the gunman to protect them, and dragged the other man through the destruction back toward a rear room.
Yells and howls of pain assaulted Bricker's ears but he kept his movement steady. He made it through the doorway, dropping Crowborough to the floor, and shut the door. His heart thundered in his chest, his ears still rang, and his hands shook as he maneuvered his eye to the keyhole to see the soldiers falling to the gunman.
Closer and closer he came to the door, stalking like a predator not to be deterred. But he missed a soldier in the corner and, with a shot so loud Bricker jumped on the other side of the door, the man went down. His gun clicked empty so he threw it at the soldier. It proved enough of a distraction that he could leap through the window, lost quickly to the hustle and bustle of the crowd outside.
The next few hours all ran together. Soldiers hurried the general away and Bricker's own valet took him back to his home. The doctor came and went but all Bricker cared to hear was news of the General.
Finally his valet returned, accompanied by another soldier, and Bricker sat on the edge of his seat to hear them. "Is he alright?"
"He was shaken and his ears are still ringing but you saved his life." The soldier saluted Bricker, snapping his boots together. "You are to be congratulated sir and know that the General was not the only one to notice your bravery today."
Bricker almost fell to the floor in relief and self-praise at that. It took him looking at the soldier's face to realize that was not the end of the conversation. "Is there, more?"
"The General's staff have been very thorough with their interrogations as to the identity of the bomber and the shooter. He was injured but the police lost the blood trail. As such we're still in pursuit."
"Good, good, the man should be caught and tried. Executed if there's any justice to the courts."
"Yes," The soldier shifted his jaw from side to side a moment. "In the course of our interrogations we've become aware that there must've been a security breach of some kind. How else would anyone know that you were meeting the General at that café today?"
"Are you…" Bricker took a deep breath, the blood pumping in his veins so loudly he was sure the soldier could hear it. "Are you accusing me of trying to kill one of my oldest friends?"
"No, sir, I wouldn't do you the disservice. We're wondering if perhaps someone in your household overheard you discussing plans. Perhaps took it upon themselves to make some kind of gesture in a direction that is not shared by yourself or your family."
"I can assure you, Captain, that there was no breach from this house." Bricker stood, holding the table next to him to keep steady. "We're all loyal patriots here."
"As I suspected but I must be thorough." The soldier saluted again, clicking his heels together. "Good night sir. I wish you a swift recovery."
Bricker nodded until the man left and then turned down the hallway. He walked to the back kitchen, pulling open the door to see a woman gathering bloodied bandages into a bowl. She covered it as she turned to him, dragging at her cigarette before blowing a rush of smoke toward the ceiling.
"Something on your mind dear? Dinner's not for another hour."
"Did you tell anyone I was meeting with General Crowborough today?" Bricker hissed at her, closing the door behind him and inspecting the corners to make sure they were alone.
"Maybe." She shrugged, taking another drag on her cigarette before putting it out in the bowl with the bandages. They caught, flames licking over them to turn evidence of whatever it was to ash. "But that really depends on why you want to know."
"I almost died."
"Would that be such a shame?" She sneered at him, "Given how you'd lick Crowborough's boots if he told you too."
"He's the key to getting my factory the business it needs to keep this house. To keep our daughters well fed and eventually schooled."
"They'd grow up with more dignity if you actually had a spine." She sat down, using a fork to push down the burning bandages, making sure it all burned. "And yes, I did say something about it to some friends of mine. It would appear they weren't exactly up to the task."
Something rattled in the pantry and Bricker grabbed the door handle. He threw it open and saw the man who had brushed his arm in the café. The black cloth dangling from his neck and his hand at the bandages on his side betrayed him as the shooter from the cafe.
Bricker gaped at the man before turning to his wife. "What's he doing here Vera?"
"Healing, as much as he can." She gathered the ashes, dumping them in the sink to wash them down the drain. "I'll be moving him tonight so you needn't worry about anyone finding him here."
"What've you done?"
Vera left the bowl in the sink, "What I thought was right. Perhaps you should try it sometime."
Bricker stumbled from the kitchen, putting a hand to the wall to steady himself. In a moment his back straightened and he returned to the parlor. He grabbed the phone, ringing the operator, and spoke in a low voice.
"Yes, General Crowborough's barracks please. Tell him this is Simon Bricker and I've got news about the location of our attacker. Inform them it's urgent."
The call ended quickly, Bricker darting looks over his shoulder while keeping his voice low. All his movements were furtive and when he heard the cars coming around he got to his feet. He walked outside, gaping at the sight of his wife and the nurse both taking a daughter before climbing into the cars.
"Where are you going?"
"The girls are coughing very badly. I don't want to risk them getting ill so I'm taking them to the doctor." Vera settled into the backseat of one car and Bricker noted the masked man posing as the driver of the other car.
"Why take both cars?"
"If he can only see one at a time I don't want to force the nurse to wait. She'll take the first one back home so they can sleep in their own beds." Vera smiled at him, reaching forward a hand to run over his cheek but Bricker just shivered at it. "We'll be out late so don't wait up."
Bricker watched the cars drive away, kneading his hands.
As it happened, the story Bricker told his daughter and anyone who asked, ruffians attacked both cars looking to rob the occupants. Unfortunately they had no mercy for the nurse or his wife, shooting both of them. His oldest daughter died as a result of the attack and the exposure while his youngest was lucky to fully recover.
What really happened was Bricker's men attacked the cars. The masked driver led them on a chase, giving the nurse enough time to run with the child and escape before he was shot down. He lost a finger that night before they caught him, dragging him away to the prison where he stayed three days before escaping.
Vera was not so lucky. The valet reached into the car, pulling the child free, and stepped back. He checked the child before handing it to another man and drawing a gun.
She snorted, "I always knew you were just as spineless as him. Do you even see yourself? Ready to shoot an unarmed woman. What kind of man are you Sampson?"
"Just close your eyes ma'am and it'll be over in a moment."
"I won't close my eyes for you." She straightened, holding herself high. "If you can't do it with me looking at you then you'd-"
The gunshot rang out in the night.
Two Days Later
He shivered and sobbed, his eyes blinded by the fabric they knotted tightly to the back of his head that throbbed and dug into his skin. A gunshot close by deafened him and he jumped. Another, even closer, and he barely discerned the sound of another body hitting the stone floor where he knelt on sore knees.
Someone crouched in front of him and he reached out, grabbing them with his bandaged hand and clutching tightly to the offered grip. He cried, tears soaking the blindfold and running snot down his nose. At this point he was far from caring about his appearance or dignity. He just wanted to live.
"Will you tell us everything you know?"
"Yes," He whimpered, resting his forehead on the shoulder of his interrogator. "Please don't make me endure it again."
"No, you'll endure something much worse." The blindfold came off and he blinked in the harsh light bleeding through the high windows of the basement. He jumped to the side, trying to escape the dead bodies beside him, but his interrogator held him in place. "You're going to work for us. Tomorrow you'll escape from here, a hero to your cause, and then you'll report to the square to leave a white 'X' on the fountain side facing the north. Come back two hours after that to receive your instructions."
"What?"
"The price of your freedom, Mr. Green, is that you work for us now." The man patted Green's cheek. "You'll get used to it."
"What if I say no?"
"Do you want to die?" Green shook his head so violently back and forth he gave himself neck pain. "Good. Then repeat the instructions."
"I escape here. I go back to them. When I can get free I draw an 'X' on the fountain in the square, on the north facing side, and then return in two hours for further instructions."
"Good boy. See, you've already got the hang of it." The man smiled, "We're going to do great things together Mr. Green. You'll see. Great things for the Weimar Republic and for the party that'll replace it."