Excerpt from article 'Nazi Diva: The Woman Who Entertained the Third Reich' in The Daily Herald, 10 August 1946:
Little is known of Alice Moser's early life before she hit the stages of Austria and Germany, aside from the fact that she lived in the United States for a period of time. It seems that her time in the States turned her against Western ideals of democracy and freedom, as she became a staunch supporter of the Nazi Regime in her later life. As a songstress she wielded startling political power, as she spent night after night in the company of the topmost German policymakers during the war years.
12 June 1946
Vienna
Dear Peggy,
Hope you're well. I heard there was some trouble in New York the past few months - something about Howard Stark being on the run from the law? He's a friend of yours, isn't he? And I'll pretend I don't know about that mission in Russia last month.
On to me - as you know, I've been investigating Otto Klein's death. I believe his body must have been cremated, since I cannot match any recorded burials with his body. I have attached a copy of three photographs I found in the Reich Central Security Department Archives in Berlin (It was not easy getting in there, and many records have been destroyed, but that is another story).
As you can see, the photographs are of the crime scene in Mr Klein's Berlin apartment. I approached a criminal investigator in Britain, and with his consultation I can confirm that Mr Klein could not have committed suicide. There are signs of a struggle on his knuckles, and my consulting investigator says that there is not enough blood in the photographs for the fatal shot to have occurred in that room.
This is much as we expected. To the wider German public Mr Klein is a high-flying producer who ended his own life when the war began to turn and his main performer went missing. But as we know, even if Mr Klein did fire the shot that ended his life, it would have been for far more sinister reasons. I am yet to uncover where Mr Klein was murdered.
In other news, while in Berlin I managed to gain access to Alice's apartment. It has since been rented out to a new tenant, but they are none the wiser to my visit. Alice's belongings have been removed - I suspect either German authorities or the tenancy agency disposed of her things (it seems this is common for leases which defaulted at the end of the war). After some searching, though, I found several documents and photographs (these were not in plain view. I pulled up floorboards, checked in the ceiling, and found a few arbitrary plumbing pipes which turned out to be full of papers). I have attached everything I found, which as you will see mostly regards intelligence gathered on or around January of 1945. I'm not certain any of it will be much use now, but I figured Alice wanted it to end up with the SSR anyway.
I'm now in Vienna again. Thank you, again, for helping me find my way here in the first place. Hugo and Vano are helping me to find everyone who might have known Alice's true identity, as I trust you are also doing on your end. Many of them are eager to tell their stories now that the war is over, but have agreed to keep Alice's name out of it. Under your advice, they will say they don't know the name of their rescuer. I'm surprised by how many people either did not recognise Alice anyway, or were rescued by her alias 'Al'. Even a year and a half after she has gone missing, Alice has covered her tracks well.
I sometimes wonder how many stories she's a part of, known only as a faceless, nameless hero.
My work, as always, continues to turn up plenty of information about larger Nazi sins. Thank you for your referral to the lawyer involved in the Nuremberg trials, I have turned plenty of useful information over to him. I found two Gestapo commanders hiding in plain sight in Berlin when I last visited, and I have leads on three more in Austria. I've been turning over all my evidence from the Reich Central Security Department archives and my interviews. I've decided to keep a journal of everything I learn, to keep track.
It's hard to move freely now that Germany has been split up, and even more difficult to get access to the records and archives I want to, but with the SSR's resources and some stubbornness I'm getting by.
Since arriving in Vienna I've been staying in Alice's mansion. It's fallen into disrepair somewhat, though it mostly escaped the bombing. Alice didn't leave a will, and she's not officially dead, so no one quite knows what to do with it. I've found more intelligence documents hidden in the house, which I have also attached, but she hadn't spent as much time here in the last year of the war.
I think you should get the SSR to buy this mansion, when it eventually becomes available. Alice had no love for the place, but since I've been staying here I've also been offering board to others who've returned to Vienna after being stolen away, and it's become somewhat of a hub. We're technically squatting, I suppose, but we learned how to live quietly during the war. I would like to stop hiding. I think we should make this place a home for the displaced and the lost, a place for people to get back on their feet. Right in the heart of Vienna, where they belong.
I know the SSR might not go for it. But I'm asking anyway.
I will keep you updated on my investigation. So far I've pinned down the disappearance to a two week window. Still no witnesses.
Yours truly,
Jilí
1 July 1946
New York
Dear Jilí,
I hadn't expected you to progress so quickly (I can already feel you glaring at me), excellent work. I'm alright, there was a bit of a scuffle in New York but all is well now and Stark is on the right side of the law again. I'm currently staying at a residence provided by Howard, with a dear friend of mine. Thank you for the photographs and records you sent through.
And I'm afraid I must insist you tell me how you found out about that mission. I suspect one of the Howling Commandos (what a ridiculous name) told you, which they really shouldn't have. However did you meet them in the first place? I suppose you interviewed them.
Thank you for investigating Otto's death. He was a friend of mine, and shared a close bond with Alice. It brings me no joy to hear that our suspicions about his death have been confirmed, but I'm glad we know at least a little more. Keep following up, and let me know if you come up against any obstacles. Hopefully with my, Phillips', and Stark's resources we can get you through the door. Be careful.
As you know, Alice's niece was born in March - I have visited them twice since then and the young Alice is as healthy and bright as you could hope for. Tom himself is doing well, though he always has lots of questions that I'm rarely able to answer. He's been working at the Brooklyn docks, as well as at the family tailor shop (which I'm sure Alice mentioned to you). His wife Ruth runs the tailor shop now. I think Tom has been having some trouble in the neighborhood related to his sister, but he doesn't confide in me much about that side of things.
I met with Colonel Phillips recently. He took a leave of absence after the war, a well deserved one in my opinion. I think our losses in 1945 hit him harder than he is willing to admit. But he seemed restless when I visited. I may try to involve him in some upcoming projects.
And now for your last request, regarding Alice's mansion. I spoke to my superiors in the SSR, and though they've come to respect me a little more, they flat out refused. Funds are tight now since we don't have a lot of military funding.
Luckily I also happen to know one of the wealthiest men on the planet. He said yes.
We may have to wait a while for the legal and financial things to settle, but if it is within our power, Stark Industries will be purchasing Alice's mansion. Quietly, of course. But I completely support your idea for the place, and I know Alice would have as well.
Stay safe.
Best of luck,
Peggy
Letter to the Editor in the Berliner Morgenpost [Berlin Morning Newspaper], 10 February 1947, p. 3 [Translated]:
To the Editor:
Regarding your recent article about the Siren, I'll tell you what I tell anyone I hear exclaiming 'I loved her music, whatever happened to her?' I should think it's obvious: she must have been killed by a jealous lover. You hardly saw her in the papers during the war without one man or another on her arm. She was with SS-Hauptsturmführer Kurt Ohlendorf for a while, and we know the Nazis got jealous with their girlfriends. The Siren was known for stringing high-powered men along. Are we really surprised that one of them snapped? Given all that she did in the war, I'm really not shedding any tears over it.
I'm surprised there are still any questions about it, other than where her body is.
William Schneider
Köpenick, East Berlin
Internal memo within Allied Kommandatura (governing body of Berlin post WWII) records division, 15 March 1947:
Wilhelm,
We had that Kreisky woman in again today, and this time she's got special dispensation from some western agency. I think we'll have to let her look at the files she's been asking for. My contact in the War Office said that she's also been allowed to interview prisoners before their executions. I'm concerned that next time she'll come back with a letter from Churchill or Stalin.
Reinhold.
June, 1947
"Hello?"
"Hello, this is Peggy Carter speaking-"
"Oh good, hello Peggy! Listen, it cost probably more than it's worth to set up this long distance call, and I don't have long-"
"Jilí?"
"Oh, yes, it's me. Look, I'm not sure if this is anything, but I've just come back from the law enforcement records room, and I noticed something. I've been going through Gestapo files for January 1945, and I've been looking at officer lists for weeks now. But then I moved on to February, and it looks like there was a change around of employees. This is pretty normal, so I didn't think much of it, but I thought I'd check just in case and… anyway, long story short, there are four Gestapo officers who were reported on duty in Berlin in January who were also reported dead on the Eastern front. In January. Peggy? Are you there?"
"Yes, I'm here, I'm just… what exactly are you saying?"
"I'm saying it's almost impossible for those four officers to have been transferred like that and been killed in the same month. Statistically and organisationally, it doesn't make sense. So I know it's a reach, but I'm wondering if it could be something to do with…"
"This isn't a secure line."
"I know, but you know what I'm saying?"
"I think I do. It's tangential, but… strange. Why would this have been covered up, though?"
"That's where I get stuck, too. If these officers died in Berlin, why lie? Maybe because they didn't want to name a perpetrator?"
"Hm."
"Anyway, I wanted to pass that on. I'm following up on it. There's rumors of another Gestapo records stash in East Berlin, but the Soviets are giving me grief at every turn. For now I'm digging into the Propaganda Department, their stuff is in West Berlin."
"Excellent work. I've been hoping to come over to help you, but things have gone absolutely bonkers here. Are you well?"
"I'm grand. You should see my hair, it's almost all grown back now. And Hugo wrote me the other day to say that the sale of the mansion went through, thank goodness. Yourself?"
"I'm well. I'm moving to Los Angeles next month, heaven help me."
"Enjoy the sun. Over here the weather is - oh, hell, Peggy, I'd better hang up. These criminals will end up charging me an arm and a leg-"
"Go, go! I'll write you soon."
"Alright, Auf Wiedersehen!"
Article 'No Investigation into Missing Nazi Songstress, Kommandatura Says' in The Guardian, 15 October 1947, p. 10:
The Berlin governing body Allied Kommandatura today confirmed that no investigation has been opened into the disappearance of Nazi songstress Alice Moser, whose stage name was "The Siren". The singer has been missing since early 1945, and most in power and on the streets hold the assumption that she passed away around the time of her disappearance.
The spokesperson for the Allied Kommandatura stated that the disappearance occurred under Nazi control, making records scarce. It's unclear if the Gestapo or the Ordnungspolizei (uniformed police force) ever investigated.
Some in the country have criticised the Allied Kommandatura for their lack of action, some stating that Moser deserves justice despite her affiliations, some concerned that any number of currently-imprisoned Nazi leaders may be responsible.
A Berliner, who declined to be named, accused the Allied Kommandatura of a cover-up because "it's likely that the Siren was killed by a Soviet spy, you see, to demoralize the Nazis at the end of the war. Since half of Berlin is controlled by the Soviets now it's obvious why they don't want an investigation."
The Siren originally hailed from Vienna, but authorities in Austria declined to comment.
Letter to the Editor in Le Monde Newspaper, 1 January 1948 [Translated]:
To the Editor,
Frankly, I'm surprised you chose to publish the recent article titled 'Attendees at the Siren's last concert before her disappearance speak up against Nazism'. I see no need for further publicising pro-Nazi artists even if they are missing, and I care less for what their paying audiences have to say. As far as I'm concerned, the only good Nazi is a dead one.
Marlow Couture
Paris
October, 1948
When Peggy saw Jilí waiting for her on the park bench in the heart of Berlin, her mouth curved into a smile.
"Hello there!" she called, and Jilí's head snapped around like she expected an attack. But the look in her eyes was warm, and she rose to greet Peggy with two quick pecks to her cheeks.
Peggy and Jilí had seen each other in person occasionally over the last two years - a few times they'd met up in London, or after Peggy's occasional assignments in Europe, to discuss the investigation. Peggy could not have wished for a more determined investigator than Jilí Kreisky.
"Hello, Jilí," Peggy murmured, holding her at arm's length to look her over. Jilí's hair had grown long and thick, since she was apparently opposed to cutting it at all now, and was bound up in an elegant braid. She looked well-fed, if still a little lean, and she'd long since lost the yellow pallor in her skin. Her eyes were sharp and dark. "You're alright?"
"I'm good as new," Jilí waved her off. "And I know you're alright, I can tell just by looking at you."
Peggy smiled. She'd been worried about Jilí burning out ever since she'd met her, but she'd come to realize that Jilí could keep up her intense, breakneck pace seemingly indefinitely. She'd based herself out of Vienna, despite saying she'd never move back, and though the investigation into Alice's disappearance hadn't moved very quickly, Jilí had become somewhat a chronicler of Nazi sins.
Jilí had proved herself very good at finding people, and convincing them to give up their secrets. She'd worked with archivists, researchers, law enforcement, and politicians. She had a knack for finding Nazi commanders hoping to hide in plain sight.
Jilí jerked her head. "Shall we? I've been waiting ages."
"I do apologise," Peggy said with a smile. They set off down the main street, blending into the foot traffic. Berlin looked like most other cities these days, on the face of it: still a little pockmarked and crumbled from the war, but pulling itself back together. But in June the Soviets had cut the western sector of the city off from electricity, food, and other resources, causing uproar. The US and Britain were running relief operations regularly now, but tensions were still high.
Peggy wouldn't have known this from walking down the street, though. Men wore suits and work uniforms, women wore dresses and stockings, everyone focused on their destination.
"You got into the city alright?" Jilí asked.
"Oh, yes. I had to get special permission from the SSR to even travel here, but as a foreign agent of sorts I'm not in much danger. You?"
Jilí shrugged. "No one in the east or west likes me all that much, but I can get around."
"How is Vienna going? You said Hugo got married?"
Jilí gave a rare smile, which softened her usually stern expression. "He did. They got married at the Steinkauz Haus, bless them. We were all there."
Peggy smiled at the mention of Alice's old mansion. Jilí's initial vision for the place had been realized: last year they had officially opened it as a centre for victims of the Holocaust, offering accommodation for the truly desperate and resources, legal support, and advocacy for all others. It had come as a surprise to Peggy, however, when the ground floor was turned into a jazz bar run by Hugo.
Those in the area who remembered the place as belonging to the Siren and her uncle were a little surprised at the radical shift, but merely assumed it had fallen into the hands of new owners.
The name Steinkauz, Peggy had learned, was Alice's original codename from her work in Vienna. Little Owl.
The Steinkauz had lived on in the stories people told about the war in Vienna. Only a very select few knew who the name belonged to.
"Pass on my congratulations," Peggy said softly.
"I will. Now before we get there, you'll have to suffer more small talk. How's your man?"
Peggy's face instinctively smoothed over, to hide her blush. "Daniel," she said, eyeing Jilí. Jilí knew his name, she just liked to tease. "He's… it's…" she let out a breath. "Well, Jilí, I like him very much."
"Is that British for 'we're madly and love and I want to have his children'?" Jilí asked with a smirk.
Peggy mock-scowled, even though she was smiling. "You are terrible. Just as bad as Angie." Jilí laughed, and Peggy thought she'd push her luck: "Have you ever thought about…" she made a gesture. "Dipping your toes back in the water?"
Jilí eyed her, but she didn't seem angry. "I don't know. Sometimes I think I'm being silly, avoiding all thoughts of romance when others who lost their husbands and wives in the war are moving on, but…" she sighed. "Franz was killed almost ten years ago now. It feels like a lifetime ago, and yet like only yesterday." She shook her head. "He didn't even live to see the start of the war."
"You're not being silly," Peggy said softly. "There's no right amount of time to feel comfortable with looking for love again, and in my frank opinion, I don't think there's any such thing as 'moving on'." She eyed Jilí. She well knew by now that Jilí was the sort of person who needed to do something in the face of grief, or risk being sucked under. "I didn't know your husband, Jilí, but I know he must have understood you very well. I'm sure he'd want nothing but happiness for you, no matter what form that takes."
Jilí ducked her head, avoiding Peggy's gaze, but Peggy knew she was mulling over her words. "Thank you," she said eventually. She rolled her shoulders back, and drew a deep breath. "That's the records building."
Peggy looked up to see a nondescript brick building on the street corner ahead of them. "Oh. Good."
They entered, gave their names at the front desk (the secretary gave Jilí the stink eye, but said nothing), and then sat down to wait while their requested files were prepared.
Alone again, Jilí turned to Peggy. "So, I tracked down that complaint on file with the Propaganda Department."
"By the secretary?" Peggy asked. Jilí had found the complaint weeks ago, misfiled in a jumble of random paperwork snatched up by the Soviets upon occupying the Propaganda Department headquarters. The complaint was brief, accusing the Siren of misleading Propaganda Department officials as to her whereabouts while on tour, and theorizing potential financial fraud. It had been signed by an Inge Richter.
"That's the one. It was tricky to track down Richter," Jilí said. "She was in the SS-Gefolge - the women's division, and she was the main secretary for the Propaganda Department. I was hoping to interview her, but she died in the bombing before Berlin was occupied by the Red Army."
"Damn," Peggy bit out. Jilí had interviewed other Propaganda Department employees, but they'd only been able to comment on Alice's work as a performer. The complaint had hinted at something more, but now… "Another dead end."
"Yes," Jilí said grimly. "I'm still trying to track down various officials who were in Berlin in early 1945, but it's always this way: they're dead, or ran away to avoid punishment, or I find them and they're useless. I suppose I wouldn't know if they really wanted to hide something from me."
"You can be pretty persuasive," Peggy noted.
Jilí opened her mouth to reply, but then the secretary from before poked her head into the sitting room. "Your files are ready now."
"Thank you," Peggy said, then met Jilí's eye. "Hopefully this bears some fruit."
"Don't get your hopes up."
They stood and followed the secretary into a reading room, where a stack of manila-bound files sat waiting for them on a hardwood table. There were no windows, only a single hanging yellow bulb. Peggy sighed. They'd spent weeks and weeks petitioning to see these files and the Kommandatura had only agreed once Peggy had assured that she would be there in person as a representative of the SSR. These files had only just emerged out of a previously-undiscovered Gestapo records stash in a city basement.
Jilí cracked her knuckles. "Let's get started."
It took them four hours to go through all the files. They'd requested everything they could possibly look at and that the Kommandatura would let them see, which turned out to be quite a bit of work. Most of it was surprisingly dry: officer registers, bureaucratic memos about uniform conformity, resource requests and day-to-day paperwork. Peggy moved slower than Jilí since her German wasn't as fluent, and occasionally she found herself looking over at Jilí's rigid, determined face as she scanned documents and took notes on the paper she'd brought with her.
But Peggy found it, in the end.
She'd been flipping through her stack of paper, most of which was payslips and identification papers for individual officers, when two words caught her eye:
DIE SIRENE
She quickly tugged the small slip of paper free. It was creased as if it had been folded up to fit in a pocket. The German words were typewritten. "Jilí," she whispered urgently, and the dark-haired woman looked over.
"It's a typewritten order," Peggy murmured, her eyes flicking over it. It was a standard form, like others she'd seen. "Like that other pile of mission orders, but this must have slipped out." She cleared her throat and read: "Detain the Siren (Alice Moser), alive, for questioning."
"That's it?" Jilí exclaimed, grabbing for the paper. She scanned it closely. "It's not dated." She turned it over, examining each mark and fold.
Peggy had leaned forward, her hands pressed together as if praying, her brow furrowed. "They gave these order forms to Gestapo officers when they sent them on assignments. If we can only find one, it's likely the others were purposefully destroyed. They didn't want anyone to know they'd been looking for the Siren."
"Maybe they captured her," Jilí said, looking up from the paper. "They clearly wanted to, so maybe they succeeded. This isn't exactly definitive proof, but this is a clear sign that the Gestapo might have had something to do with her disappearance."
"What would they have done with her?"
Jilí ground her jaw. "I've been looking into all their prisons and secret hidey holes. There's still a lot I don't know, but… I feel like I would have found something. Most prisoners were released at the end of the war." She fell silent, and Peggy knew they were both thinking: but what about all those others who died without a trace?
"Perhaps she got away?" Jilí went on. "She could have found out they were looking for her and escaped." But then she frowned. "But why not reach out to her network? Why not emerge after the war?"
Peggy shook her head. "I've asked myself those questions hundreds of times." She took the paper again and looked over it. "Surely it's clear now that the Nazis were hiding something. They had this order sent out, but then no wanted posters? No national calls to find the Siren?"
"It's like we said, maybe they didn't want to admit that they had a spy so deep in their midst," Jilí frowned.
Peggy reached up and massaged her temples. "I don't understand," she eventually sighed. "It's like everyone's been looking for her - the Nazis and us. But we can't find her."
Jili shook her head slowly, as the excitement of their discovery faded into silence.
"People don't vanish into thin air," Jilí eventually said, with a hint of her old determination in her voice. She took the order form and slipped it into her pocket, ignoring Peggy's raised eyebrows. "We're going to find her."
January, 1949
At a bar in Brooklyn, a man in a suit drinking alone pointed at a newspaper lying open on the bartop. The corner of the page bore a single picture of a woman in a white dress, beside an article titled Four Years Since Nazi Songstress Disappeared.
"Y'know," said the man to the tired bartender, his speech slightly slurred. "She used to live here-"
"What's past is past," said the bartender. He flicked the newspaper closed. "Hardly anyone remembers her anyway. That was years and years ago."
Excerpt from New York Public Radio broadcast, February 5 1949:
"Thousands gathered today in South Brooklyn for the unveiling of a statue commemorating Captain Steve Rogers, also known as Captain America, on the fourth anniversary of his death. Mayer O'Dwyer gave a speech recognizing Captain America's sacrifice and conviction. The life-size bronze statue depicts the Captain with his iconic shield, and a plaque beneath it describes his war service and Brooklyn heritage."
Excerpt from article 'Rotten Fruit: How Should We Approach Nazi Art?' in The Washington Post, 4 April 1949:
… one striking case of art put out by the Nazis is the music of the Siren (known as Die Sirene in Germany). The Siren came to fame before the war, with her records even making their way across the ocean to the US. But after the invasion of Poland the Siren became a Nazi icon: her undeniably beautiful, haunting voice could be heard singing Nazi propaganda songs (alongside other, more neutral works) for the length of the war, right up until her disappearance in 1945. She openly spoke in support of the Nazi regime, and performed for the troops occupying Europe.
And yet, her music still remains popular due to her remarkable skill as a performer. So we must ask ourselves: how can we enjoy the Siren's music, while acknowledging her Nazi roots? Do we do away with only the blatant propaganda, or must we scrap every song she ever performed? These are questions that many of us face in this post-war world.
October, 1949
When Peggy next met with Jilí, she came to her practically a new woman. She'd gone through an outfit change: her attire sharper, more professional - she was done with blending in as a secretary. She held her head higher, and the glint in her eyes was sharper. There was also the engagement ring on her finger, which was of course the first thing Jilí commented on when she walked up to her in the cafe in London.
"Congratulations!" she smiled, grabbing Peggy's hand to get a look at the diamond. "I hope you more than like that fellow by now-"
"I do, thank you," Peggy mock-glared at her, then kissed her on the cheek. They took their seats. "You're invited of course, provided you can make it over to the States next year."
Jilí's face flickered with doubt, but then she smiled. "I'll do my best." Peggy merely returned the smile. She didn't think Jilí had taken a holiday since the end of the war. And it wasn't just Alice's investigation anymore. From Peggy's count, Jilí had about seven separate projects going on, from tracking down war criminals, to running Steinkauz Haus, to reconnecting displaced families, to searching for other missing victims of the war; Jilí had established herself as a fierce investigator and an avid researcher. And she was still a civilian.
Jilí propped her elbows on the table. "So what did you want to see me about? What's so urgent that you had to come all the way over to London?"
But at that moment the waitress came to take their orders, so Peggy's response was delayed. She waited a few moments after the woman left, and then leaned forward. "I've been busy, Jilí. I've left the SSR-"
"What!" Jilí leaned in as well. "Why? What will you do?"
"Well, to be quite honest the SSR was outdated. I helped them set up some new facilities this year, but with the current leadership I don't see them going far." Peggy laced her fingers together. "So I'm forming a new division with Howard and Colonel Phillips."
Jilí looked skeptical. "Okay…"
"We've called it the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division," Peggy went on. Jilí made a face. "We tried to start it up back in '46, but Howard got in a bit of trouble with the law, and I had projects running. Some of the Howling Commandos have agreed to come over with us, but most of them are living the civilian life these days. You know Morita's in the running to become a mayor? Anyway, we're hoping to start up officially next year, though we've already got several projects on the ground."
Jilí opened and closed her mouth. "And you can just… start up a whole new agency like that? I don't even… what will you do?"
"What we've always done. Counter-terrorism, intelligence… national and global security. We're not doing this out of any bid for power or fortune - you and I know better than most the kinds of hidden dangers that are out there. This new division will be uniquely skilled to monitor and protect against those threats."
"Well," Jilí said. She sat back in her seat. "Congratulations, Peggy. I can't think of anyone better than you to run something like that. Just keep that Stark fellow in line, he seems wild."
"Oh I will," Peggy smiled. "So, what do you say?"
"What do I say to…?" Their coffees arrived, and yet again Peggy had to pause before answering Jilí's question.
Over her steaming mug, Peggy looked Jilí in the eye. "What do you say to joining us?"
Jilí's jaw dropped. "Peggy, I'm not-"
"Your only assignment would be the ones you're already on," Peggy amended. "But we would be able to give you better protection and resources as an agent. And, if you feel you have the time, there are always things that need doing in Eastern Europe, where you have an established foothold."
Jilí had forgotten about her coffee. "I'm not an agent though, I mean - I've never even officially had a job-"
"I've watched you solve mysteries and find unique solutions in a war-torn continent for years, Jilí. When Stark, Phillips and I sat down to discuss potential agents, you were top of my list."
Jilí's mouth snapped shut.
"Think about it," Peggy said more softly. She sipped her coffee.
She hadn't reached the bottom of the mug before Jilí looked up. "I'll do it."
Peggy fought off a smile. "You're sure?"
Jilí's jaw was set. "I'm sure." She looked down, spotted her coffee, and drained it. When she met Peggys' eyes again her expression was softer. "Thank you, Agent Carter."
Peggy smiled. "It's Director Carter now. But you're welcome." She held out her hand. "Agent Kreisky."
Jilí shook her hand with a grin. "Does this mean I get a gun?"
"I happen to know that you already have one. It's in your bag. You'll also be getting a partner."
Jilí's grin dropped. "Peggy."
"You could do with a helping hand, and I can personally assure-"
"Please tell me it isn't a man."
"It's a man."
Jilí threw her arms up. "I deal with enough men telling me where I should be and what I should be doing anyway, Peggy, why assign one to follow me around?"
Peggy fought a smile. She knew that feeling all too well. "I've hand picked him, Jilí, and you needn't worry. His name is James Garcia, and I worked with him in the SSR. He will let you take the lead. I wouldn't assign you anyone I thought would slow you down."
Jilí squinted suspiciously at her. "You're sure?"
Peggy nodded. "I'm sure." She finished her coffee, then leaned back in her chair. "I briefed him on Alice's case as well."
"Fine," said Jilí, but her tone was still suspicious. Peggy knew how she felt - Alice was still so wrapped in secrets that Peggy felt protective at the very mention of her name. It felt important to remember her, to keep searching for her, especially since her name had become mud after the end of the war. Peggy knew that Jilí especially had been questioned and ridiculed whenever it came up that she was searching for information about the missing singer. Neither of them could remember and honor their friend beyond the privacy of their own minds.
Peggy mostly tried to avoid Alice's public image; the crude comics of her as a blonde, vapid bimbo, the articles about her complicity, even the way people said her name: snarling, dismissive, the same tone they used for women like Eva Braun and Magda Goebbels. Alice was a subject of fascination and derision for the public, and Peggy had had to remove herself from it to keep her friend - or the memory of her friend - safe.
They hadn't found much more after that single Gestapo order to take the Siren in for questioning. Peggy hated living with so many unknowns.
Howard was still looking for Steve with determination to rival even Jilí's. In some ways, Steve's loss felt similar to Alice's. Everyone knew his name, and everyone had an opinion about him. But Peggy had a memory of a thoughtful, polite young man who'd whispered a last confession to her over a staticky radio before he died. She wanted to keep that young man safe, too.
Project Odyssey was still highly classified, just like Project Rebirth. Lives were still at risk - Jilí's included. One day, Peggy promised herself, as she'd promised Tom. Dear Tom, almost twenty one and with a three year old daughter, who carried his sister with him in silence. One day.
Peggy drew in a long breath, realising that a heavy melancholy had settled over both her and Jilí. She cleared her throat. "Well then. Let's head to somewhere more private, so we can discuss your assignments."
Jilí nodded, and a tentative smile crossed her face. "I'd like that."
Article 'Academy of Music and the Performing Arts alumni record vandalized' in the Kronen Zeitung [Crown Newspaper], 2 June 1950:
The Austrian Imperial Academy of Music and the Performing Arts in Vienna today reported that their alumni record display was graffitied late last night. It appears the culprits stayed in the Academy after closing and painted in red over the names of alumni who were former Nazis.
Among the names graffitied over is that of Alice Moser, better known as the Siren, who graduated from the Academy in 1939 with first-class honors and went on to achieve world-wide fame as a Nazi propaganda performer.
The Academy, which became a Reich University during the war, has faced criticism for several years for the display and for reinstating 16 teachers who were removed in 1945 for their Nazi affiliations, but only reinstating 5 teachers dismissed in 1938 on racial grounds.
1952
The night had grown late. Peggy knew she ought to head home, since it wasn't exactly a short drive back from Camp Lehigh and Daniel would be waiting for her, but she found herself at the back of the quiet main room, arms folded across her chest, staring at the wall.
Not any old wall, though. This one had a display on it.
She, Howard, and Phillips had been very involved in the design of their Camp Lehigh base. From building it in a misplaced munitions bunker, to the secret elevator, it had all been pretty much their idea. And it had since become the main hub of operations. They'd grown a lot as an organisation since they'd finally all sat down together and decided to get started. They already had hundreds of employees, many of them agents, and they had quickly absorbed the lagging SSR and its resources and facilities.
Peggy had also had to make difficult decisions. While they had brought on some of the best minds, including Doctor Hank Pym, they had also become a part of Operation Paperclip, taking on several German scientists who'd fought in the war. Including Arnim Zola.
That had been their biggest argument so far as cofounders. She, Howard, and Phillips all yelling at each other about that man, whom Barnes had died to capture. The man who'd tortured and killed and developed horrific weapons.
They'd taken him on, though. Peggy's skin crawled whenever he was in the same room as her, with those droopy yet intelligent eyes magnified by glasses. She avoided him where she could. She still remembered Alice's intelligence brief on his character. Never trust him.
Peggy shook herself, turning her thoughts instead to the parts of S.H.I.E.L.D. she was proud of: like Jilí, who hadn't set foot on American soil and who had still become one of their best agents. She was currently on an assignment in Brussels with her partner Garcia. They'd fought a lot at first (not that they confessed that to Peggy - she'd been able to tell), but she was pretty sure they were getting along now. They made a hell of a team, at any rate. Garcia had put together an exhaustive list of every Nazi officer, agent, general or soldier that Alice had ever been known to have had contact with, which made Jilí's job of hunting them all down a lot easier. And they'd been a part of some of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s most crucial missions in the rapidly-intensifying climate of Europe.
Eyeing the wall before her, Peggy let out a sigh. She wondered what Tom would think of all this - she'd kept her work with S.H.I.E.L.D. deliberately separate from him, as he had enough to worry about, though she gave him all updates about Jilí's investigation. Tom had shipped out last year to serve in the Korean war. Peggy didn't think Alice would have ever wanted to see her brother become a soldier, but she supposed that was part of growing up - you made decisions your family wouldn't necessarily approve of. Peggy kept an eye on him from afar, and checked in on his family: the young Alice, six now, and her infant brother Matthew.
"You'd be proud of him," she said into the silence. She instantly felt a little foolish - she was alone, but Howard was downstairs somewhere in the labs, and she wasn't one for talking to ghosts anyway. But something about tonight had made her pause.
On the wall before her hung a wide silver display. It read: THE WALL OF VALOR.
Below it were thirty seven icons, most with names beneath them. Thirty five bore the SSR eagle symbol, and the other two bore the newer S.H.I.E.L.D. symbol. On the left side of the board were the words "In honor of the members of S.H.I.E.L.D. who gave their lives in the service of humanity," and on the right was "Wars may be fought with weapons, but are won or lost by men - Gen. George S Patton." Phillips couldn't resist his Patton quotes.
Peggy knew who every symbol on this display belonged to - even the ones without names on them. Doctor Erskine was the very first one, and he had Sergeant Barnes beside him. On Barnes's right read: Captain Steve G Rogers. And on his right… a single, unnamed SSR symbol.
This wasn't uncommon: S.H.I.E.L.D. was a secretive agency, and there were several classified fallen agents. Peggy knew, with a heavy heart, that more would join those already on the Wall of Valor.
And yet with the whole display in front of her, Peggy's eyes kept sliding back to that unnamed place.
She glanced around her, making sure that the atrium was really empty, and then looked back to the symbol. "One day," she told it, "I'll put your name up there, Alice. I promise."
Excerpt from 'The Women of Nazi Germany' by Louis Graf (1955), p. 12:
The regime was highly paternal, centred around its male figureheads like Hitler and Himmler. The ideal Nazi woman was a housewife; dutiful, hardworking, and removed from politics. Those women who rose to prominence in the Reich were few and far between, but made a lasting mark. Magda Goebbels (wife of Joseph Goebbels) was known as the 'First Lady of the Reich', Leni Reifenstahl was one of the lead filmmakers of the German propaganda machine, and performers like the Siren (Alice Moser) also produced vast works of propaganda material.
No woman had political power, but in the years following the war we must ask ourselves, as a society: how do we hold these women responsible for their choices?
Excerpt from article 'Nazi Songs Banned in many US States,' in The Boston Globe, 15 June 1956:
… The new law covers many songs exclusively written for the Nazi regime, as well as older folk songs that have come to be associated with the Nazis. Among the songs banned are many written and performed by Nazi propagandists like Alice Moser and Herms Niel.
In announcing the ban, the chairman announced "We do not need to be subjected to music that goes against everything heroes like Captain America fought and died for in the war. We ought to utterly reject those works and the people behind them."
Excerpt from article 'UN Leaders respond to calls to denounce Nazi supporters'in The Times, 12 January 1958:
… increasing calls for the international body to re-examine and denounce Nazi criminals and those who supported and encouraged the regime, in response to increasing numbers of Nazis being released from prison
… one case used as an example by the critics is that of Alice Moser, who performed pro-Nazi songs for German soldiers, was part of Nazi high society, and who has become a figure of intrigue and derision since her disappearance in 1945. Petitioners have called for those such as Moser to face formal condemnation from the United Nations.
… Responding to the increasing pressure, a spokesman for the UN spoke out on Friday, stating "Of course the United Nations as a body condemns Nazi sympathisers, we were formed to prevent such an international tragedy ever occuring again. But to be quite frank, with the current tensions in Europe, a dead singer should be the last of our worries."
1959
"Peggy, dear, come in!"
Peggy smiled at the dark haired woman standing in the doorway before her, with one hand resting over a curved stomach. "Jilí," she said warmly. "You look wonderful."
"Well James tells me that all the time, but it's good to hear it from an unbiased source," Jilí said with a glint in her eye as she stepped aside to let Peggy into her home. "You look tired, but that's to be expected when you're the only sensible one running a secret intelligence agency."
Peggy smiled to herself as she followed Jilí inside. Jilí had been living in this Vienna apartment just down the road from the Steinkauz Haus for almost ten years now, and as Peggy strode inside and took it in she had to smile at how it seemed to be absolutely full to the brim with things and people.
As it turned out, Jilí and her fellow S.H.I.E.L.D. agent James Garcia had gotten along famously after their initial teething troubles. So famously, in fact, that after a few years of hesitation they had finally tied the knot in 1955. Jilí had refused to change her last name, which James had completely understood, and to Peggy's surprise they had begun belting out children.
As she followed Jilí into the living room Peggy spotted each of their three sons, all dark-haired, mischievous youngsters running or toddling about Jilí's feet. Peggy admired Jilí's ease with them - she weaved and smiled and chided like a dance. Jilí had worked through all three pregnancies and gone right back to work soon after each birth, on her investigations and other assignments.
A moment later James bustled into the room, his wide, friendly face alight. "Director Carter!" His west-coast accent seemed a little out of place after all the German Peggy had been exposed to since arriving, and Jilí's Romani-Austrian burr. Even the children spoke in a fluid bilingual mix.
James gave her a quick salute. Army manners never really died. "Let me just get these troublemakers out of your way."
"Wonderful to see you James," Peggy returned the smile. James bustled past, scooping up boys, swooped in to kiss Jilí on the cheek, then carried his armful of children out of the living room and upstairs. Their noise gradually faded, leaving Peggy and Jilí alone.
Jilí huffed a laugh. "Thank you for signing off on the reduced hours for him, by the way." She pulled a key out of her pocket, unlocked a drawer in the corner of the room, grabbed a stack of paperwork and set it on the main table. "It's made wrangling the boys much easier."
"Of course," Peggy nodded. "Stark and Phillips were surprised that it wasn't you asking for reduced hours, but I understand it."
Jilí shot her a sharp smile, reminding Peggy suddenly of the first time they'd met. Jilí looked like a different woman now, bordering on middle age with thick, healthy dark hair, and color in her skin. She seemed tired, but there was happiness in the lines around her eyes.
"Well," Jilí said as she eased herself into a chair, "You first assigned James to me as my assistant-"
"- as your equal partner," Peggy cut in with a smile.
"So we both decided that I couldn't reduce my workload. Not with… you know, everything."
"I do know," Peggy said in a softened tone. She nodded at Jilí's stomach. "Though you may have to reduce your hours again soon."
Jilí looked down at her hand on the swell of her abdomen, and her lips pressed together. "Yes, actually… that's what I wanted to talk to you about."
Peggy folded her fingers together. It had been a long journey to Vienna - sure, she planned to oversee a few other ongoing missions while she was here in Europe, the Cold War was causing all sorts of problems, but she'd mainly come for this: Jilí's request to meet in person. There weren't many people she'd drop her many responsibilities as Director for, but Jilí was one of them. "Of course," she murmured. "What did you want to speak to me about?"
Jilí drummed her fingers on the stack of papers she'd set down. "These are my current documents for the Homer investigation," she began. Peggy flicked an eye over the five-inch high stack. "Not everything, of course, just everything that I'm working on right now. And…" Jilí sighed, and that tiredness fell back over her expression. "I've always had a stack of paper like this, right from the beginning. There's always a paper trail to follow. Always a lead, a potential witness, a hidden stash of records. But since that Gestapo order, I haven't…" Jilí swallowed. "I haven't found anything really actionable. Sure, I've found Nazi criminals and uncovered hidden crimes and found other missing people, but when it comes to Alice… everything promising turns out to be nothing. I've grown quite used to disappointment."
Peggy's brows came together, but she didn't speak. She sensed that Jilí needed to get this out.
"I've been thinking about Alice recently," Jilí went on. She set her hand on her stomach again and looked around the room. "Not the Alice who disappeared in January 1945, but the Alice I knew in life. My friend. She thought I'd died, but if she thought there was a chance I was alive she would have hunted just as hard for me as I have been for her." Jilí's lips tugged up. "Hell, even though I was dead, she fought a war for me."
Peggy smiled a small, sad smile.
"But…" Jilí let out a breath. "Alice wanted me to live. Even after Franz died," a flicker of grief crossed her face, "she tried to remind me of the joy I'd had for life. Even while we were hiding from Nazis and protecting people, she wanted me to have a life."
Peggy nodded, smiling softly. She'd been expecting this for ten years now. "Go with James to America, Jilí." She knew this was something the young family had been discussing for a while. Vienna was Jilí's home, but she couldn't grow here. They needed space, support, a fresh start. And Peggy knew exactly what was holding them back. "You're right, Alice would have wanted you to be happy."
Jilí stared at Peggy for a few moments, round eyed. And then, to Peggy's alarm, tears spilled down her cheeks. Jilí looked away, weeping, swiping at her cheeks and drawing in a shaking breath. "I feel like I'm giving up on her."
Peggy leaned forward, holding a hand open on the table. Jilí laid her hand on Peggy's, still avoiding eye contact. "Jilí," she said evenly. "You have searched longer and harder than anyone I've ever known. This has been over a decade of your life. You began your search after surviving a concentration camp." Jilí drew in another shaky breath. "You have had three children, and you're about to have a fourth. You deserve to rest. Be with your children and your husband."
Jilí squeezed her eyes shut. Peggy's heart ached. She had been trying to find a way to live with not knowing since 1945. It felt unfair that they didn't have an answer, and Peggy couldn't help but think that she'd failed her friend. It had taken a lot of work, and support, to begin to forgive herself. Jilí had dedicated her life to this.
Peggy rested her other hand over Jilí's. "We're not closing the investigation. We have other agents here in Europe, and I can assign this" - Peggy nodded at the stack of paper - "to them. Let's let the young ones have a go, shall we?"
Jilí's eyes opened reproachfully, and Peggy smiled.
"Do you remember I told you what Alice used to say to the people she saved?" Peggy asked.
Jilí's mouth trembled. "Get home safe, and live well."
"Exactly, Jilí," Peggy murmured. Her heart ached and she wanted to cry, too: for Jilí, for Alice, for Steve, for Barnes. For the unfairness of it all. For the way she wished Alice could be here to convince her friend: It's alright. "If you do that, then you're not giving up on Alice."
Article 'Das Geheimnis der Sirene' [The Mystery of the Siren] by Hans Schruben (1965) [Translated]:
I am sure you know the story. The Siren, world-famous opera and popular singer, darling of the Nazis. Alice Moser, a young Austrian aspiring singer who became an icon of the Third Reich. What is strange about this story we all know, however, is that it does not have an ending. At least not one that leaves the storytellers in many of us satisfied.
When my editor asked me to write a piece on the twentieth anniversary of the Siren's disappearance I foresaw a week's project, a few interviews, a commentary about entertainment under Nazism and the dangers of war. But, much like hearing the song of a siren, once I began listening I could not help but throw myself into the depths.
My investigation began with the Siren's disappearance. After long tours in occupied Europe, Moser returned to a life of excess and fame in Berlin in the latter days of the war, performing in local halls for the social elite. In January of 1945 she went missing not with a bang, but with a fizzle.
Moser was never officially reported missing, perhaps because she had no family to speak of (her pro-Nazi uncle died in 1941), and her employer (award-winning producer Otto Klein) had committed suicide around the time of her disappearance. There were no missing posters bearing her name, no city-wide search. For a woman loved by so many, when it came time, there was no one to search for her.
This is not to say she wasn't missed. There was widespread disappointment upon hearing of her cancelled performances, and the Propaganda Department, once a well-honed, creative machine of the Reich, was never the same without her iconic voice and stage presence. Many in the public expressed questions about where she had gone.
But in 1945, it wasn't unusual for people to go missing; either because they had predicted the inevitable outcome of the war and fled, or for more sinister reasons.
While I investigated the Siren's disappearance, I began to have questions of my own: not about where she had gone that January, but about her wider role in the war - about her character. As a star of the Propaganda Department she had a definitive image: the beautiful, talented, popular songstress, a jewel at parties of the elite and a symbol of Nazi ethnic pride. We know, however, that often these advertised images do not hold up to reality.
The Siren was often interviewed and photographed, so she remains a constant presence throughout the war. But it seems she also valued her privacy. She went on several solo vacations at the expense of her production company, and did not appear to take on any man as a partner for very long. Her longest-lasting affair partner, SS-Hauptsturmführer Kurt Ohlendorf (who was later convicted in the Nuremberg Trials) told a reporter in 1953 that she was 'the one who got away'.
The best way to assess Alice Moser's character is through her actions. Notably, at the outbreak of the war, she chose to stay in Vienna. Many artists and intellectuals fled Austria once war was declared in Europe, seeking safer shores in Britain or beyond, in the States. Certainly, it's possible that the Siren may have had friends in America who could have helped her set up a new life.
But the Siren did not leave. Perhaps, since she did not have family who would be put in danger by the outbreak of the war, she did not feel the need to flee; her uncle Josef Huber was a titan in music industry, politics, and society, who had reason to celebrate Nazi domination rather than fear it.
Perhaps, in the outbreak of war, the Siren saw an opportunity.
After a short hiatus following the death of her uncle in 1941, the Siren truly came into her own. As the war stretched on, she displayed greater and greater commitment to the Reich. She took several tours through occupied Europe and Northern Africa, performing hundreds of concerts for battle-weary Nazi soldiers. She even starred in a propaganda film, 'Love and Victory on the Front' (the film has not been screened since the war).
Moser did not go untouched by the war itself: she was caught in the bombings of Hamburg and Berlin, suffering minor injuries in the latter; the Nazi Captain Sauer was assassinated while attending one of her performances in Warsaw; and she was evacuated out of Algeria when the Allies invaded North Africa in Operation Torch.
As I trawled through archival footage and read transcripts of her interviews, I asked myself: did the Siren truly believe in the Nazi dream? She certainly said she did, so perhaps I ought to take her at her word. I found myself wondering, though, if Alice Moser simply used the rise of Nazism to achieve fame and fortune for herself.
Whatever Moser's reason, she certainly did achieve fame and fortune - though perhaps not the lasting kind she may have wished for. The Siren lives on in memory as the Nazi diva, the corrupt and heartless starlet willing to compromise her humanity for the spotlight.
The Siren herself remains a mystery, but she left behind a greater mystery than her own character: what happened to her? This is a question which has occupied the thoughts of generations in Germany and beyond. A young woman disappearing at the height of the second world war, in the context of glittering Nazi social life and highly powered, dangerous men, to a soundtrack of soulful, crooning records. No wonder the story fascinated so many.
There are hundreds of theories: a jealous lover, a Russian spy, the Nazis themselves. Some point to her producer Otto Klein, stating that he must have killed her then himself. Klein left no suicide note, so we cannot know what was in his mind. Others suppose that the Siren fled Germany and is living under an assumed name in another country: Poland, Japan, even America. Some claim that the Allies abducted Moser for questioning and that she died in their custody.
After months of research, and much annoyance from my editor, I am confident of one thing: I do not have the answers. The case of Alice Moser is a twisting wormhole of lost records, lying Nazis, and conflicting stories. I believe I am not the only searcher, though: records I requested have been stolen, and witnesses I spoke to told me they'd been interviewed before. I have attempted to track down these fellow searchers, to no avail.
What researchers who look into the Siren must accept at some point, is that there are stories we do not know. Perhaps someone knows the truth and is hiding it, or perhaps all the facts are not in the same place yet. But until then, we must accept life without all the answers.
Like the beautiful and dangerous creatures of mythology for whom she was named, the Siren will live on in legend and stories, a subject of fascination and fear.
The Mystery of the Siren will remain just as it is: a mystery.
You may recognize that parts of this last article appeared earlier in the story (specifically the end of Chapter Eleven, and the start of Chapter Thirty Three). Hope you're all safe and happy x
Reviews
AceCookie: Because I can! I hope you enjoyed this chapter :)
Guest: Sorry to lay it on thick with the sad! But it was wonderful to bring Tom and Jilí back into the story, and hopefully you enjoyed this chapter :)
Justareader: Sorry to make you cry! But sounds like they were kinda happy tears. Hope you liked this chapter too!
GuestPrime: The plot does indeed thicken! We are still in the past but as you've seen this chapter, the pace is moving a lot quicker. And we'll see how long Alice's work remains classified ;) Alice was the performer 'the Siren' when Jilí died, but she'd only really been starting out on her spy journey. She was mostly just hiding people, not ferrying information back to the Allies. Hope you enjoyed this week!
Teaanddoctorwho: I mean, there might be some hope crushing ;)
CaptainLoki: I'm so excited to show you!