“I have much to tell you,” Kurt offered in a stage whisper.
“Never mind that,” the American hissed. “You’re here to listen. Keep your face to the front.”
As arrogant as ever, but his German was still excellent. If Kurt hadn’t known better, he would have guessed Icarus was from the Rhineland.
“You came across around the middle of May, right?”
“Yes,” Kurt answered.
“So you’ve had nearly four months to get acclimated. How well acquainted are you with some of the more recent arrivals from Germany?”
Was this a veiled reference to Erich Stuckart? Kurt didn’t think so. He had met few Germans other than Erich, but it sounded like Icarus was hoping for the opposite, so he played along.
“Pretty well. I’ve met quite a few.”
“I need everything you can get from them on the current state of play in the border areas of Germany. Some of your own knowledge is probably still operative, too. Rail connections, travel logistics, what sort of papers and documents are necessary for what kind of people, or for different professions. The kinds of food coupons you’d be likely to carry. Are you getting this?”
“Yes. Should I be writing it down?”
“Hell, no. Unless you want to be arrested. But I want you to retain it, all of it.”
“Okay. Travel logistics. Especially in the border areas.”
“For both civilians and off-duty military. And also for guest workers with mobility, if anyone knows. What roads are still open, what trains are still running. Anything you can get.”
Kurt was thrilled. Everything Icarus wanted fit perfectly in the scenario for an infiltration scheme, which was exactly what Göllner was proposing, and Kurt had his own version in mind. The man’s urgency suggested the Americans were in a hurry.
“Okay,” Kurt whispered.
He heard Icarus sliding toward the end of the pew.
“Wait!” Kurt hissed.
Icarus stopped, but didn’t slide back. Then he spoke.
“The answer to your question is no, I can’t pay you, and no, I can’t guarantee you or anyone else a spot on the ‘white’ list, and no, you can’t see the boss.”
“That wasn’t what I wanted. I was going to offer you something better—a firsthand source of everything you’re seeking. A Gestapo man in Munich.”
The cathedral was so quiet he could hear Icarus breathing, mulling it over. Kurt decided to add a further enticement.
“This Gestapo man stands ready to help any infiltrator get established inside Germany. He was recently reassigned from Berlin, so he has the seniority and the security connections to make it work.”
Icarus inched back down the pew.
“And you know this how?”
“I won’t tell you that. My source will only let me reveal it to Mr. Dul—”
“Shut up! Never say his name. Meeting him is out of the question. He’s not in the country right now, anyway.”
Probably in liberated France, Kurt guessed.
“Then I will wait.”
He figured Icarus was staring a hole in his back, trying to gauge his stubbornness. For once Kurt had the upper hand.
“Okay,” Icarus hissed. “I’ll set it up when he’s back. But only one meet.”
“One is enough. When?”
“I’ll let you know. But probably the first week in October.”
“That’s almost a month.”
“If your news can’t wait, then tell me now.”
“No. But I’ll need a day’s notice, so I can have the freshest information possible.”
“I’ll be in touch the day before, then.”
“Good. I’ll be waiting.”
And I’ll be planning, too, Kurt thought. Planning and scheming in a way that he never had before. He would do this not only for his family and the future, but also for Liesl and the past. Because experience had taught him a painful lesson: You won only when you made the stakes personal. From here on out, that was how he would play it, no matter who paid the price.
NEARLY FOUR WEEKS LATER: Another note under the door. Another summons to the Münster—same time, same pew. Icarus again in his battered jacket, prayerfully relaying the news from on high.
“Tomorrow night, ten o’clock. Meet me at the gazebo in the park around the corner. It will be after blackout, so I’ll flick my lighter and you’ll follow. Stay twenty yards back and listen out for the flatfoots. But watch me carefully. It’s not a direct route, and you could end up lost in somebody’s tomato patch. Got it?”
“Yes.”
“Will you have everything you promised?”
“Of course.”
“You’d better. Both our asses are on the line.”
Icarus slid down the pew, stood, and strolled away.
Kurt walked to Erich’s for final preparations. To his dismay, Schlang was also there.
“I have been in touch with our friend Göllner for the latest,” Schlang said. “Railway timetables, necessary documents, everything the Americans have asked for. Study these notes, then burn them. If you’re stopped on the bridge, drop them in the river.”
He handed Kurt a brown envelope. The three of them then went over the tentative script for Kurt’s meeting with Dulles. Schlang made Kurt recite his planned spiel several times before the other two were satisfied. But Kurt already had his own ad-libs in mind.
The plan as Schlang envisioned it was for Göllner to help the Americans establish an infiltrator in Munich. Göllner would then use the Americans’ help to sneak into Switzerland. Once he was in Bern, Göllner’s middleman would be Erich, which would allow the Stuckarts to get their foot in the door with the Americans, with Schlang riding their coattails. Kurt was supposed to buttress the case for both Erich and Schlang by revealing afterward to Dulles that the whole scheme had been their idea. Kurt’s reward for helping out would be Göllner’s silence. Everyone would hold their tongues about his role in the White Rose disaster, and Göllner would ensure that all Gestapo documents related to the matter were destroyed.
But Kurt had no intention of tailoring his actions to their needs. Schlang and Stuckart were merely a means to an end. Nor did he trust Göllner to hold up his end of the deal. Kurt, who still had his own contacts in Germany thanks to the family business, had only two objectives: to use the American mission to discredit and silence Göllner before the man made it out of Germany and to convince Dulles that he had done his best to help, no matter how the mission turned out. Any failure would have to be engineered to reflect poorly on someone else—preferably Göllner, although Schlang or even Erich Stuckart would suffice.
The next day arrived with a blast of crisp autumn breezes. Leaves swirled through the parks. A half-moon lit the way as Kurt arrived for his rendezvous, his overcoat buttoned to the neck. He peered toward the dark shape of the gazebo. A light flickered with a chirp, and he paused to let Icarus set the pace. No one seemed to be following.
They proceeded to a promenade along the edge of the park. Far below, the Aare sparkled faintly. You could hear the water rushing through the floodgates. Icarus turned onto a walkway that headed downward on stone steps. Kurt barely saw him cut right onto a poorly graded path along the steep hillside. Moments later he was pushing through brambles as bare branches snapped at his face. He could no longer see Icarus, and had to follow by sound.
They emerged into a terraced garden, its arbors covered with grapevines that had shed most of their leaves. Icarus appeared fifteen feet ahead as a moving shadow. Kurt heard the creak of a rusty hinge, then the thunk of wood against metal. He came to a heavy door built into a stone wall at the rear of a private garden. He pushed it open and emerged into a moonlit glade.