Page 30 of The Last Safe Place

They remained wrapped in each other’s arms until the scratching of the door sent a violent shiver down Knut’s spine and he jumped backward, knocking over a chair and sending it sliding across the smooth linoleum floor.

Lieutenant Krenze, who worked in the department dealing with the training of future agents, stood in the door, an aghast expression on his face. “What on earth is happening here?”

Knut was too shaken to answer. Images of Bernd and him taken to a concentration camp for their crime of loving each other unreeled in his mind. Bernd though, recovered his composure on the spot.

“Lieutenant Krenze, you’re just the person we needed. I was trying to show Lieutenant Hesse how to extricate yourself from an attacker’s grip, but it didn’t work out as intended.”

Krenze rolled his eyes. “I don’t have time for your tomfoolery. If you want to learn agent techniques, apply for a training week at Quenzgut.”

“As you know we’re planning to send some of our new agents there, perhaps it would be a good idea to freshen up our training as well.”

“Certainly.” Krenze pointedly gazed at the overturned chair. “You dumbasses wouldn’t last a minute in a covert operation.” Then he seemed to remember why he’d come in the first place and handed Knut several sheets of paper. “You need to fill these out for each of your agents, before they can be accepted to Quenzgut.”

“Thank you, I will.”

“May I ask you some details about your operation?” Bernd attached himself to Krenze, leading him out of Knut’s office.

Once the door closed behind them, Knut picked up the overturned chair and sank onto it as his knees gave out beneath him.We must be more careful. That was way too close.

16

MAY 1942

After Leonore had been accepted onto Operation Seven, she’d received papers from the Abwehr stating she wasn’t to be deported.

In case of an emergency, she could produce the document. She had also memorized the telephone number of the Foreign Office, where she could ask for urgent help if the Gestapo or SS were suspicious of her papers. She had then returned to her rented room. After the few months of living in Herr Balsen’s office, the room seemed smaller, dirtier and more oppressive than before. At least spring had arrived and the broken coal stove was no longer a hardship.

With a light heart, she packed a suitcase for the upcoming trip to Brandenburg. She didn’t care that they hadn’t told her the exact location, as long as she was getting out of Berlin. She was looking forward to agent training, even imagining herself as the main character in a spy thriller in which she single-handedly murdered Hitler, ended the war and saved the world.

Her friends would turn green with envy. It was a shame she mustn’t tell them anything about her adventure. Herr Lange had impressed upon her the importance of not telling a soul, not even her best friend Birgit, of her imminent escape fromGermany, disguised as an Abwehr agent. They couldn’t afford to endanger the operation or its organizers.

Leonore was acutely aware that a wrong word at the wrong time to the wrong person might put everyone at risk. Regardless, she still found herself telling Birgit in great detail – at least, in her mind’s eye – of the adventure that lay ahead of her. Unfortunately, the tale would have to wait until after the war. Even once she arrived safely in Switzerland or, even more exciting, in South America, she would have to maintain absolute silence.

In preparation for her new life, she had used a pretext to borrow an ancient, tattered Spanish textbook from a friend’s mother and was practicing diligently every day. She had already mastered basic greetings.

Buenos días, mi nombre es Leonore Vogel. Soy una periodista.¿Cómo estás? Muy bien.

She could hardly wait for the operation to finally be set in motion, and to meet her fellow travelers.

Her training as an agent was only the first step toward a glorious future. Soon she would be standing on the deck of a huge ocean liner heading for South America. She didn’t intend to waste her time on the ship – on the contrary, it would be her opportunity to lay the foundation for her later journalistic work by interviewing her fellow passengers. Certainly many of them would have an exciting tale to tell, which she could turn into a column for an emigrants’ magazine.

All she needed was a meaningful, concise and memorable title. Leonore wrinkled her nose in thought, when there was a knock at the door of her room. As she opened, a woman in her early forties was standing there. Her dark hair was pinned up in a bun, and she wore a simple black dress. The combination would have made her look stern, if it hadn’t been for her kind blue eyes.

She introduced herself in a soft voice, “I’m Michaela Kronberg.”

“Leonore Vogel. You can’t imagine how excited I am.” Leonore shook the woman’s hand. “Would you like to come in? I’ll be ready in a minute.”

“Thank you.” Frau Kronberg stepped into the shabby room and looked around.

“Sorry, it’s not exactly comfortable here,” Leonore apologized, suddenly ashamed of her miserable lodgings.

“I’ve seen worse.” She tilted her head. “It’s not like we get to choose where we live.”

“That’s very true.” Leonore liked the woman already. Looking at the oversized medical bag in Frau Kronberg’s hand, she asked, “Is that your suitcase?”

“Yes. I take my medical bag everywhere with me, and with the best will in the world, I can’t carry two items of luggage.”

“You’re a doctor?” No sooner had she asked the question, than she scolded herself for it, since the answer was obvious.