“Of course, Herr Professor.”
Vierhaus had learned that the more one did, the more Hitler demanded. First it had been the intelligence unit, then the Black Lily and now this Genealogy Pro gran-1. He was determined to make the experiment work. While Himmler and Heydrich were busy with the major problem of dealing with the Jews, Vierhaus was quietly performing his own service with mixed- blood subjects, half, quarter, and one-eighth Jews. It was difficult to ferret them out. Adler had turned out to be an invaluable ally in this project.
“I see we share a mutual interest in opera,” he said without looking up. He was not in the slightest interested in Adler’s love of opera; he simply wanted the Jew to know that the SS knew everything about him.
“Yes, it is my first love. When my wife was alive we would take all our holidays in Italy. We went to La Scala every night.”
“How nice. Well, as I was saying, yours is a most impressive record.”
“Thank you,” Adler answered, his head bobbing nervously.
“What is it now, twelve, thirteen families?”
“Fifteen, sir,” Adler said modestly.
“Hmm. Are any of the Jews in your c’3mmunity aware that you are doing this work?”
“No, no, Professor,” Adler said with a look of alarm, “nobody would speak to me.”
“Of course.”
“That is why I come at night to make my reports.”
Vierhaus peered intently at Adler again. He was fifty-four years old, a short man, chunky although not fat, with dimpled hands and soft eyes. His graying black hair was receding and his face was lined and chalky. He was wearing a blue serge suit worn shiny at the elbows and his shirt collar was frayed. A thin line of sweat glistened on his upper lip. Neat but tawdry, thought Vierhaus. Grateful—no, indebted—for the smallest favors.
“I am curious about something, Herman. Does it bother you? Turning up other Jews this way?”
Adler did not have to think, he shook his head immediately.
“It’s the law,” he said. “I think I am lucky to have the opportunity.”
For an instant, Vierhaus’s eyes glittered and his eyebrows rose with surprise. “I must say, that is a most practical point of view,” he said slowly. He looked back at the papers. “You are a jeweler by trade, yes?”
“Yes. I had my own shop.”
“Was it nationalized?”
“Yes.”
“And your home?”
“Yes.”
“You live at 65 Konigsplatz now. Is that a flat?”
“Yes, Herr Professor. One room and a small kitchen.”
“No family, I see.”
“My son was killed on the Western Front in 1916. My wife died three years ago.”
“Yes, a heart attack, I see.”
“Ja. She never really got over our son Ira’s death.”
“And you also have a heart problem?”
“Minor. I had a small attack a year or so ago. I have my pills just in case. I am quite fit.”
“Good. We wouldn’t want to lose you. You understand, Herman, there are people in the party who disagree with this department’s mixed-blood policy. They feel only full-blooded Jews should be involved in repatriation and emigration. Bureaucrats, mostly. They are slow to come around, bureaucrats thrive on the status quo. That will change with time, of course. In the meantime, the Führer has given me the responsibility of starting this experiment. But you do understand the confidential nature of this work, don’t you, Adler? You don’t even discuss it with other SS personnel.”
“I understand, Herr Professor.”
“Personally I think four generations is far enough to go back. Eventually the numbers will be overwhelming. So, Adler, there will always be plenty of work for you.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Perhaps I might even have you elevated to Aryan status. It is done, you know, in cases of special merit. You cannot vote or marry an Aryan woman, but those are minor things. If your success keeps up we can make arrangements for you to move to something a little bigger, more comfortable, maybe get you another shop, eh, even throw a little party business your way?”
Adler closed his eyes. He had heard that the Germans sometimes destigmatized Jews but this was the first official confirmation that it was possible. My God, he thought, to have my own shop again, a decent house, to have the ‘J’ removed from my ID. To have a sense of freedom again. It was too much to hope for.
“That would be most generous, Herr Professor,” Adler said, his voice trembling. His heart began beating faster.
“I offer you another challenge, Herman,” Vierhaus said, standing and walking around the desk. “Herr Himmler would like to bring back some rather influential Jews who have. . . left Germany. These are people who, for many reasons, we would like to have back here. Traitors. Troublemakers in other countries. They are scattered everywhere.”
He waved his hand flamboyantly.’
“Italy, France, Egypt, Greece, America. Any leads you might get for us would be an even bigger feather in your cap. You would not only earn my gratitude, but Reichsfuhrer Himmler’s as well. I can provide you with a list of names. You keep your ears open, hmm?”
“I will get on it right away, Herr Professor.”
Vierhaus patted the Jew on the shoulder,
“Would you like a cigarette?” He took out the package and
shook a cigarette loose. “They are French. Gauloises.”
“Oh, thank you, sir,” Adler said, taking it with a shaky hand. When it was lit, Adler opened the briefcase and took out a sheaf of documents.
“I have something here, I think you will be very excited by this.
He laid them very precisely on the desk in front of him. Almost as an afterthought, he then put the case on the floor beside the chair.
“These are family records,” Adler said. “Birth certificates, some interviews with family members, friends. This man Oskar Braun has a bank near Coburg. Very successful.” He shuffled through the papers and stopped at a chart. “I tracked back four generations, four, Herr Professor,” Adler said proudly, holding up four fingers. “His maternal grandfather was a Jew Joshua Feldstein. He was a cantor in the synagogue and he actually started the bank. I have a list of all the descendants, including nephews and cousins. Forty-six in all.”
“Yes, yes, that’s quite ingenious. The Schutzstaffel will take care of Herr Braun. But,” Vierhaus said, picking a note from the folder, “it says you have information for my ears alone. What is that about?”
“Yes, Herr Professor. It is regarding the memorandum you sent around about a month ago.”
“Adler, I write a dozen memoranda a day.”
“This one concerned the Black Lily.”
Vierhaus looked up sharply.
“You have information about the Black Lily?” he said, making no attempt to conceal his sudden interest.
Adler nodded.
“Well ...?“ Vierhaus wiggled his fingers toward Adler as if to coax the information out of him.
Adler shuffled through more papers. “Ah,” he said. “Here we are. Uh, you know about the connection with Reinhardt and..
“Yes, yes, we know all that,” Vierhaus said slowly, taking off his glasses and placing them on the desk. His eyes narrowed to luminous slits, but his voice never changed. If anything, it became more controlled. He ground his cigarette out in the ashtray. “We arrested Reinhardt, that is past history. I need names, jeweler, names!”