Page 23 of The Last Safe Place

“No, but it explains a lot.”

“I believe he couldn’t provide the proof of Aryan ancestry required by the Civil Service Act because his maternal grandfather’s religious affiliation was unclear. He was exempted from disclosing his ancestry at the time because he was classified as a front-line combatant.”

Bernd frowned. “I didn’t know he served.”

“He didn’t, he was just a volunteer technical assistant, which is why the whole thing surprised me so much. He must have had advocates in important positions for this to be possible at all. Be that as it may, Hitler declared him an honorary Aryan in 1936. Maybe that’s why he’s so eager to help other Jews.”

Bernd nodded. “Who knows? The reason isn’t important. He doesn’t let obstacles get in his way. He’s incredibly tenacious.”

“Yes, I’ve noticed that.” Knut grinned.

After dinner, they sat down on the sofa in the small, cozy living room. Bernd uncorked the bottle of red wine he had brought from his parents’ well-stocked wine cellar, while Knut put a record on the gramophone. The sounds of a Mozart serenade drifted through the room.

“Life could be so beautiful,” he muttered after they had toasted.

“Life is beautiful,” Bernd corrected him, placing his free hand on Knut’s thigh.

“Apart from the war, the Nazis, the plight of the Jews, the Allied bombs?—”

“Ssh.” Bernd put a finger to his lips. “Don’t wish for it. If I had the choice, I wouldn’t mind a night in bed instead of in the air-raid shelter.”

Knut groaned. “Especially with our Frau Blockwart poking her nose in the business of the other residents again.”

“You really scared her last week with your answer.”

“Yes, that was satisfying.” Knut smirked at the memory and recalled his words: “Frau Stenzel, if I tell you what my colleague and I are working on, I will have to take you into immediate protective custody.”

“Hopefully that silenced her gossiping tongue for a while,” Bernd shuddered. “She should work for the Gestapo.”

“She probably does, as an informant.”

“Very possibly. They must have an entire stack of denunciations from Frau Stenzel.”

“Which brings us back to Frau Kronberg.” An idea was forming at the back of Knut’s mind, which he couldn’t yet quite express.

“What does she have to do with it?”

“I think…” Knut fell silent, because he needed a moment to collect his thoughts.

Bernd was familiar with his thought processes and waited patiently, refilling the wine glasses.

“… sooner or later the Gestapo will get tired of these suspensions and send these people a second deportation notice. At which point there will be nothing our department can do.”

“Someone higher ranking would have to intervene – Oster, or the admiral himself.”

“But can they afford to, politically? What kind of impression does it make if Canaris turns up on the Gestapo’s doorstepto save a random Jew from deportation? Nobody can be that important that the boss has to intervene personally.”

“That’s also true.” Bernd twirled his moustache. This time it was Knut’s turn to wait patiently while Bernd sipped at his wine glass and put his thoughts in order. “These people – Frau Kronberg, the Seiferts, Herr Lange and his wife – the only place they are safe is in another country.” Bernd was talking himself into an outright rage.

“I’m sorry to curb your enthusiasm, but emigration is prohibited for Jews, remember?” Knut’s heart contracted in pain. His sister had experienced it first-hand, literally centimeters from the Swiss border.

“Not if there’s a positive interest for the Reich.”

“And what exactly do a doctor and a lawyer have that is in the national interest?”

“Nothing.” Bernd’s shoulders drooped for a moment.

“Exactly. What became of the idea to use them as agents?” asked Knut. “Then a genuine interest would exist, and we could apply for emigration permits for them.”