Chapter Four
Vergnugeninsel, Saltzburg, Germany
March 28th, 1943, 9:42 p.m.
Schultz was rather pleased with himself for once. He prided himself upon his accomplishments and the fulfillment of small tasks from a day to day basis. If he could do all of them on his list for the day, he felt adequate. One of the things, he knew, that made a good civil servant was the drive to gather as much information as needed first before acting and resolving the situation. As much as he loved to climb up over those colossal, ivy camouflaged walls and sneak about the grounds, reconnaissance work in the city was also a thrill. You had to use your wits and be extremely careful about name dropping or your questions. To arouse suspicion no matter whom you were talking to could be deadly, which is why he never spoke to any of his informants inside a building.
The walls always have ears and leaks, he reasoned, when prompted by his colleagues and associates. They always joked with him that he was neurotic and overtly cautious. But now that the Americans have intelligence just like us, it is all the more reason to be careful. Never underestimate an enemy, or else you could get a leg bitten off. Watch out for that American as if he were an alligator. One minute, he looks even-tempered, and the next, he ambushes you because you were not prepared, he once told a trainee in his Sicherheitsdienst program. Always be on edge and remember to keep your wits about you.
Trainees and members of the Sicherheitsdienst that had less than two years' experience were forbidden from drinking, even while off duty. They were constantly monitored by primitive urine and breath tests. If an agent were even in question of consummation, he was suspended for a week without pay until the accusations were cleared. Schultz never touched alcohol himself; he felt it weakened the body as well as the mind, and he preferred to be alert at all times. As much as his associates joked about his abstinence from the drug, they also respected his decision. War was a difficult time, but it could not be conquered by the influence of too much to drink.
He had landed himself a job as a freelance photographer for the Saltzburg Herald, and he was fortunately given a tiny corner dark room next to Granger's office. As he processed his already used rolls of film, he listened to the activities that went on next door during the day. Granger was gone for the entire morning, and he had returned back from lunch with a woman. She seemed very pleasant and engaging; they talked idly for half an hour first over coffee and then onto the matter for which he had brought her back to work.
It occurred to Schultz that Granger was a womanizer; he knew precisely what a woman wanted to hear and could practically pull anything he wanted from her with little resistance. But this woman, Joy Kennedy, was her name, did not give in so easily. She returned some of his witty remarks with some sharp bites of her own to subtly close matters that were not open for discussion. The interview was very general; she apparently worked for a government official as a secretary and to her surprise, Granger asked her what she thought of the war. This information, he assured her, was strictly off of the record.
That too, she tried to dismiss, but he did eventually break her. She informed him that although she could not think of openly betraying the Third Reich, she believed that Austria should not belong to Germany. Nor should Hitler be trying to conquer the world like some sort of Alexander the Great. Germany's culture should stay in Germany and not be forced onto anyone else. Austria had its own separate heritage until now; she would prefer that it stay that way. Granger told her that she was talking like an American and asked her if she was.
Kennedy admitted that she had been born to an American father and an Austrian mother--during the Great War. She had been taught English, but German was her native language and what she favored over using English. She was proud of her country's culture and would one day like to go work in the capital, Vienna, if the war would be over and Austria be separated from Germany. Kennedy was also disgusted with the way that the Gestapo treated her countrymen "like stray dogs and cats". She asked him what his role was as a newspaper correspondent, to which he gave her the usual cover story.
Schultz knew there was more; and maybe, although some of the noise he was making prevented him from hearing all of the conversations, she was Fritz Kolbe's secretary. Perhaps she was the messenger between the two. Women could be excellent spies; sometimes even better than men at times, he thought.
He told himself that were the circumstances different, she was the kind of woman that he would find himself deeply attracted to. Yes, he used women, too, when he had to, but if he could avoid doing so, he did. They were fragile creatures, and no matter where their loyalties resided, Schultz detested dishonoring them. He was brought up by his own parents that a woman was to be treated as if she were a piece of glass. Extreme care went into her creation; and extreme care was needed when she was handled. Admire her and keep her close; do not leave her to the outside elements to be ruined or soiled, his father had told him once when he was a teenager.
As he stepped out of the dark room for some coffee, he almost ran into her. After succinct apologies were made on behalf of both parties, he got his first real chance to gaze at her--and nearly stopped breathing. Her hair was a phenomenally bright auburn and a pair of malleable slate eyes gave him the once over. Not only was she a passionate and intellectually sound woman but also what he heard the Americans describe once "a real knockout". Now he definitely would not be able to stop thinking about her, and he suddenly became smitten. He wanted to introduce himself, to invite her over for coffee, to discuss history, to let that intoxicating perfume drift directly into his nostrils as he...-
But Schultz sailed back into reality as she asked him for the purse back that she'd dropped. Thankfully, he had too much to plan for during the day to let her invade his thoughts again. As he thought of her now and stared at his club soda at his table, Schultz almost wished he had ordered a gin and tonic. It would only be drunk to get up the nerve to ask her for a dance, but he knew better. That's all would take--just one drink--and he could get nailed. Oh certainly, Granger had no idea of who Schultz was yet, but Schultz was determined to make his presence never known.
The two of them were out there on the floor dancing now to an American big band hit "Chattanooga Choo Choo" as done by the Glenn Miller Orchestra. It was a medium swing, and the dance floor was packed with couples gently swaying to the beat. Schultz was not adamantly against this American jazz music; he rather liked it, but understood why so many of his colleagues worked so hard to keep the youth from listening to it. Jazz itself had been around since the 1920s, but it only hit the German markets a few years ago and was a big smash. The music encouraged pleasure and a loose lifestyle. To entertain a carefree lifestyle was to invite trouble in. The Americans were always looking for trouble--why not let them keep their music, too?
Yet in his earlier days in the Gestapo, with Max Wielen as a captain and Schultz himself being only a sergeant, he found himself having to lead raids into clubs just like this one, demanding that all the music be stopped and the kids go home. Wielen had ordered the raids, and what could Schultz do except obey the orders? Some of the youths did rise up in protest, and his fellow officers went too far with their nightsticks. He did stop them sometimes, but other times, he was too late, and the officers had beaten the youths into comas. Schultz frowned upon such violence unless it was warranted--those were rare instances. He had later had words with the offending policemen afterwards, but they often fell upon deaf ears.
Schultz found himself gawking again at Kennedy; her hair was pinned up in the back with a butterfly clip and the jade dress on her took his breath away. The music changed into a much slower song--another American song named "Cheek to Cheek". And that's what Granger and Kennedy practically were doing. He had his arms so tight around her that she was forced to be so close, Schultz told himself.
She rested her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes. The interaction between the two of them was driving Schultz mad with jealousy; he couldn't take much more before he'd either throw the glass halfway across the room or try to cut in.
Thankfully, she whispered something in his ear and drew away from him. Granger made his way across the dance floor, and just as he was going to make his way into the booth adjacent to Schultz's, a waiter bumped into him and spilled the drinks all over Granger's white tuxedo. Granger gave the man a dirty look and as he was apologized to several times, he helped the waiter pick up the broken glass with an understanding smile. Their conversation was short, but Schultz had a feeling that Granger just charmed himself into a free bottle of champagne and anything else he wanted for the night.
By the time Kennedy came back, the same server was holding up a list, probably of house champagnes, and Granger selected one. "What was that all about, Donald?" she prodded.
"Granger. Please. I hate to sound so formal, but, I detest the name Donald. And I despise the nickname "Donnie", too, because it makes me sound like a Sicilian gangster," he corrected her. "How about you?"
"I don't suppose that there are too many female criminals out there named Joy, but you can call me whatever makes you feel the most comfortable, Granger," she answered.
"Good. I mean, it's only natural for two people that work together to feel comfortable, right?" When she didn't respond to his question, he looked own at his place setting and set the napkin into his lap. "What do you want out of life, Kennedy?"
"The same thing most people do--to settle down eventually, own a home, and have children. Maybe even grandchildren."
"Not everyone's like that. There are those of us that like to keep running about doing wild things," he grinned devilishly at her, and Schultz wished that he could see her expressions instead of his. He could move to a different table--no--he told himself to forget about her and focus on their plans.
"I could tell that about you. Fritz told me that you are a wanderer."
"What did he mean by that?" Granger chuckled.
"Well, for one thing, he never meets you at the same restaurant or cafe twice. You're always choosing a different place to meet. I keep waiting to hear him tell me that he's going to Istanbul for a rendezvous with you or something like that."
"I might just spice it up one day and ask him to come to the university library. But, enough about Fritz. He's not my date at the table tonight." Their wine steward came back with a freshly opened bottle of Moet resting in an ice bucket and poured the two flutes on the table to the brim of the champagne. "And are you sure about settling down? Something tells me that you want to get out of Saltzburg and visit other places. Am I right, Kennedy?"
"I did say the word 'eventually', didn't I? Where'd you get the champagne?"
"I'm something of an influential person in the newspaper world. I do quite a few favors for some people, and they return them to me as needed."
"And what kind of a situation did you help out with our poor waiter? Is there some kind of an unspoken vow between Americans that if one person does a favor for another, the latter must complete his end of the bargain, or else die a horrible, unnatural death?" Kennedy wondered and lost no time in bringing the beverage up to her lips.
"Well, first off, the server wasn't American. And secondly, no...the latter will not die a horrible, unnatural death. It's just that they know that they'll have no one attending their funeral. What kind of a world would it be if no one did any favors for anyone else?"
"A just one."
"What?" he chortled in disbelief and joined her drinking.
"If no one exchanged favors, there would be no impartiality. Think about it logically for a moment, Granger."
"I'm not the type of a person to sit down and analyze a situation--I just usually go with the moment. Makes life too boring," Granger shrugged and smiled again. "But you, something tells me that you're not too satisfied with just being a secretary."
"You're right about that," she confessed and ran her fingers around the ridges of the champagne glass. "And I don't like being thought of in the same way."
"You mean that people treat you like you're a simpleton?"
"Essentially, yes. I don't know what it's like in America, but in Germany, it's very difficult for a woman to receive a job outside of teaching or low administrative duties," Kennedy shook her head.
"To tell you the truth, it's not terribly far from that. But, there are more and more women working in journalism. I don't mean as secretaries to some editors or those big cheesed publishers, either. Some still use pseudonyms, but...at this point in history, I suppose that's as far as we're going to go."
"And what do you think?"
"Me? Well, every woman has a different place. Some women are better at being mothers and wives, some are very swell actresses, you know in the movies, and there are women just like you that do a pretty damn good job at work."
"Where do you see America in ten years from now?"
"That's a hard question to answer, Kennedy. No one can predict-"
"Go with the moment, then." Her retort was not meant to insult him, and as he eyed her carefully, he realized that it was meant for edification.
"I see the war over. I see our industries booming again, and thankfully not producing weapons. Maybe some huge changes in our entertainment and technological industries. I don't really want to say too much more."
"Why's that? Because you could be wrong?"
"I don't want to become too optimistic when there are so many variables in the equation."
"Well, yes, that's what happens with time. What kind of changes do you see in the entertainment world?"
"I went the World's Fair in '38. There was a fella who had this thing called a television on display there."
"Fritz was talking about one of those the other day. He says that Hitler wants to ban them from Germany because they would interfere with the Aryan purification process."
"I'm sure that's not the only reason why," Granger mumbled.
"I'm sorry, I didn't catch that," Kennedy pried. Granger's eyes were elsewhere, and for a fleeting moment, Schultz almost thought that they made contact with his. He tried to bury his face into his hand, but he was caught off-guard by a man that sashed up to the microphone in front of the orchestra.
"Wilkommen, mein Herrs und Mesdames. For your dancing and listening pleasure this evening, the Verngnugenisel presents Frauline Rachel Kander," he announced and stepped away as a brunette with aquamarine eyes approached the front of the bandstand.
"Good evening," she recognized the audience after a large amount of applause.
"Granger," Kennedy startled both the man she was speaking to and Schultz. Only Schultz's head snapped back just slightly faster than Granger's.
"Oh...sorry, Kennedy." The orchestra played a short introduction to the piece "You Made Me Love You", and as soon as the woman opened her mouth to sing, he completely ignored her. "Hearing that makes me think of home. Since your father was American, did you know that that makes you an American citizen?"
Schultz nearly choked on the water he had just consumed.
"What're you trying to say?" The fingers that had been tracing the flute ceased their actions and flew over to unroll her serviette.
"I'm trying to give you some reassurance," Granger leaned forward and lowered his voice's pitch as well as volume.
"For what? Because I'm 'doing the right thing'? I'm following orders."
"As am I. Ultimately, you do have a choice."
"Sure, a choice. A choice of whether to work or not," she snapped bitterly, and as she moved to put the napkin into her lap, the silverware banged noisily into the plates.
"Was that how he explained it?"
"In a matter of speaking, yes. Unless I cooperate with you, that is."
"I can't tell your employer how to run his office, Kennedy. It was only a suggestion," he shrugged and his fingers nervously drummed on the tabletop.
"He certainly took it seriously."
"How much did he tell you?"
"Just what I am to do: meet with you and deliver them."
"I hear contempt in your voice."
"What would you do...if you were asked...to be part of a conspiracy to betray your own country?"
"First of all, Hitler...the Third Reich, Himmler, Goebbels...they're all corrupt. Secondly, as you put it earlier today, Austria should be separate of Germany. Doing this service could do it. Or did I misconstrue that?" Her anxiousness was increasing at a mile a minute, and he poured her some more champagne.
"You're using the conditional tense, there," Kennedy replied and lifted the glass to her lips. Half of it was gone before she timidly returned it to the table.
"Only because I knew that I'd be lying to you if I told you that big of a promise. Now I don't know you very well yet, but you probably wouldn't believe me, would you?"
"Good guess," she nodded.
"I can't tell you everything yet."
"Because you don't trust me or because it goes against your orders?"
"At this point, both. And though this situation may not be the pinnacle of this war, it is still a very delicate matter," Granger commented. "If you love Austria, you're doing the right thing."
"I've never done anything like this before. Can't Fritz just give them to you during one of your interviews and be done with it all?"
"Not according to Fritz. He wants the letters to get to Paris, and he's not sending you only to cower away and crawl into a hole. Kolbe must stay in Saltzburg for appearances; officials of the Third Reich would become very suspicious if the Minister of Foreign Defense 'went on holiday to occupied France'. He's got too high of a profile to be able to go anywhere and stay alive."
"Are you really a journalist?" she eyed him dubiously and pushed away her glass of champagne. Schultz could tell that she was now consuming less and less alcohol--smart woman. She doesn't want to be taken advantage of mentally or physically.
"I have a hand in some other matters, but yes, I am."
"You're going to have to do better than that. I have to be able to trust you if I'm to be traveling with you to Paris. You said that trust is important, right, between two people that will be working together?"
She was using more of his words against him. Schultz laughed to himself inwardly. This woman was not to be trifled with--she would indeed make an excellent agent of espionage. Too bad that he did not get to her first; he could have used her against this American agent.
"You're right, it is. I'll be as forthcoming with you as I can right now...-"
"What do you mean right now? If I'm supposed to entrust you with my life, wouldn't you expect that-"
"I meant right now, in this particular setting," Granger bit his lip impatiently. "I'll tell you more when the circumstances are more appropriate."
The song ended, and another began. Granger noticed that she seemed to be tensing up; the alcohol was probably not aiding him as much as he'd hoped. So he set his glass back down, stood, and offered her his hand. "Join me?"
"I'm warning you, if this is some kind of trick..."
"You weren't complaining half an hour ago about it. And on this dance floor, are you kidding? I don't think there's that much room for me to try anything."
She hesitated, but he jerked her up onto her feet and away from the table.
"If you doubt my intentions, there's always the good old one, two punch," he jibed and wiggled an eyebrow.
"How much of 'anything' are we talking about here?"
"I'll be the perfect gentleman. Scout's honor." Granger held up two fingers and smoothly interlaced his fingers with hers as they journeyed onto the dance floor once more. Schultz wasn't precisely sure of what the honor of a scout meant; he usually thought of his own profession when it came to scouts. That could be an equivocal phrase, as a matter of fact. There were some agents who pretended to be Americans and other members of the Allies, but he would definitely recognize his own work. He began the Sicherheitsdienst; there were now two branches of the organization. One was for counterintelligence and the other for reconnaissance. There were some touches he spun upon his 'counterintelligence actors and actresses', and as he learned more and more about American culture, he inserted them into the program. Schultz also behooved his agents to watch their enemies to learn, too. Experience was the best teacher, but sometimes it was best to watch the experiences of others, not just to go through them.
Kennedy and Granger were on the dance floor for another few songs before he had to excuse himself. Another man gladly took Kennedy's hand and filled in while Granger was gone. Schultz pretended to be interested in the singer while he kept his peripheral vision on Granger, who was composing a note on a slip of paper, and then he disappeared into the back of the nightclub.
Minutes later, Granger reappeared and took Kennedy into his arms once more for one last dance. They were so close together that Schultz thought that they had melded into one body--his jealousy could only go so far. He picked up the wooden stirrer from his water and bit down onto it so hard that it broke in his incisors. Thankfully, the song did not drag on for that much longer, and Granger escorted Kennedy to the front of the club to retrieve her coat.
Schultz arose and situated himself into the opposite seat so he could watch them; Kennedy departed after Granger slipped her the note he'd previously scribed and kissed her hand in one deft motion. He had not managed to break her yet, but Schultz could tell that Kennedy was now more a bit more pliable than before. There was an amount of trust built up between the two as well as sexual tension, and Schultz hoped that there was more physical attraction. When emotions were involved, it was a lot easier to divide two unlike minds with separate psychology.
Granger then returned to the floor and let his eyes scan over the crowd; thirty seconds later, he pinpointed his target and made his way over to a woman with shoulder length jet black hair and a strapless dress. She had been dancing with someone else, but the other man acquiesced far too easily to Granger. Schultz had had enough of being left on the outside; now it was time to camouflage himself and gather information. He sprang up from the table with a renewed energy, strolled up to the singer, who had just taken a break, and offered her his hand with few charming compliments on her talent.
He assured her as they began that she needn't break into conversation if she needed to save her voice for the night, and for a song or two, they danced without a word. Every time they came near Granger and this woman, he observed that Granger was also wrapped around her, too. How typical, he reasoned. But their embrace did not seem quite as sincere as his had been just with Kennedy. They were chattering on in whispers and in rapid English; he cursed himself silently. He should be more familiar with the language--he could speak it properly, of course, but Americans did not always utilize proper grammar. Slang terms often came into play and were his worst foes; even when Schultz learned them, he did not use the expressions.
Schultz had had enough "entertainment" for one night and walked outside. Although he had worn a black tuxedo for the evening, he had on an informal trench coat to cover it. The Gestapo agent rid his coat of the Nazi insignia pins from his lapel, pocketed them, and turned up the collar. The best way for him to blend into this new situation was to tolerate the cold as long as he could. He propped himself up against the adjacent building's wall and kept his head buried as much as possible into his knees whilst keeping surveillance on the people exiting the nightclub.
Roughly an hour later, Granger staggered out by himself. The raven haired woman was nowhere near him, and Schultz now wondered if Granger had just had a meeting with his superior on that dance floor.
Drunk? Would he be that stupid? Schultz pondered and watched him try to hail a taxi. A cab pulled up to the club only to be usurped by three people quicker than he, and Schultz hurried over to one that was half a block away. "Steigen sie vom auto aus," he commanded the driver and showed the man his identification. "Jetzt."
"Dis ist mein auto."
"Schutzhaft," Schultz seethed, and the cabbie gasped. He immediately did as he was ordered and was about to begin a German refrain of pleas, but he was silenced. "Schwige."
Schultz shifted gears and headed straight for Granger. He stumbled into the car and tapped him on the back. "8141 Georg," he slurred. Minutes later, Schultz arrived at the address and kept his eyes peeled in the rear view mirror as Granger tumbled out of the vehicle. "Thanks, buddy," Granger smiled, flung out an armful of marks, and made his way slowly but surely into the apartment edifice.