Page 28 of The Last Safe Place

Later, as they lay in bed, Selma broached the subject again. “It won’t be easy to start all over again at our age.”

“I know.” He put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her toward him. “But we have each other – and our friends Anton and Gerda.”

“At least that’s a comfort.” She snuggled up to him. “Where will we even emigrate to?”

It was the question he’d rather not discuss, since he wasn’t entirely happy with the plan himself, and still hoped to change it. “First to Switzerland.”

“I thought they weren’t taking in refugees?”

“They aren’t, as a rule. R has indicated that the Abwehr will obtain transit visas for us.”

Selma sat up as if stung by a wasp and stared down at him. “What are you hiding from me, Eberhard? Transit to where?”

He had never been able to lie to Selma. “It’s not decided yet. Somewhere in South America.”

“South America?” Selma sank back onto the mattress and said nothing for a while before whispering, “We don’t speak Spanish. And the wild animals, the jungle. Do they even have electricity there? And running water?”

“Please, darling, calm down. They have the same facilities as here. People live there too, after all.”

“Natives, who hunt with bows and arrows, wear loincloths and eat locusts!”

He involuntarily chuckled at the idea of himself and Selma as natives in the Amazon jungle. “There are people like that, yes. But we would live in a city. Maybe in Buenos Aires, or Santiago de Chile. Who knows, we could sign up for a tango class? Would you like that?”

Half mollified already, Selma replied, “But first, we’ll be in Switzerland, won’t we?”

“Yes.” Travel options, first by land to ports in Spain or Portugal, then by ship across the ocean, were severely limited. He imagined they would likely have to hold out a long time in Switzerland – which wasn’t a bad place to stay, certainly when compared to Nazi Germany.

Eberhard switched off the bedside lamp, and was just falling asleep when a soft voice squeaked, “What do agents do, exactly?”

“They collect information and pass it on to their client.”

“Spies?”

Eberhard could see nothing in the total blackout, though he felt Selma bolting upright again. He grabbed her arm and pulled her toward him. “It would only be a ruse. We won’t actually be working for the Abwehr, just pretending.”

“This is too much for me.”

“Sleep on it. The world will look much better tomorrow.”

15

Knut tugged his hair in despair. Operation Seven, as his department had named the rescue mission, had seven names on the list: Eberhard, Selma and Johanna Lange, Anton and Gerda Seifert, Leonore Vogel and Michaela Kronberg.

As supposed agents in the service of the Abwehr, they should travel via Switzerland to South America to collect and report war-critical information. He had repeatedly assured Eberhard Lange, the spokesman for the seven, that their activities as agents was merely a ruse to receive the necessary permits.

But the Gestapo was blocking them. Again. Kriminalassistent Becker was digging in. He wouldn’t let anyone slip through his net. This included a refusal to grant any further suspension of deportation orders, or issue exit permits under any circumstances. Time and time again, Knut had returned empty-handed from a meeting in Prinz-Albrecht-Strasse because Becker refused to make any concessions whatsoever.

There was a knock at the door, and Eberhard Lange stepped in.

“You’ve come at exactly the right time. Please, sit down.” Knut watched for a few seconds as the man struggled to take offhis coat with one hand, before his brain finally kicked in and he stood up to help him. “Excuse me, my mind is elsewhere.”

“Have I come at an inconvenient moment? Should I return another time?” asked Eberhard in his usual polite manner.

“Not at all. I’ve just received another refusal from the Gestapo. This whole business is becoming tricky.”

Eberhard nodded and sat down, keeping his briefcase on his lap.

“Even after Admiral Canaris intervened personally with Himmler, the lower ranks are insisting on going strictly by the book and will only take action on written request.” Knut was so frustrated, he was blurting out internal information he wouldn’t normally have told an outsider. However, Herr Lange was not any outsider. This affected him directly, and he deserved to know.