Page 44 of The Last Safe Place
Then he left the room. Michaela stared fearfully at the blank sheet of paper before picking up the pen and writing down her daughters’ details. She had just finished when Herr Lange returned.
He gave her an encouraging look. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it. Call me in the morning, I might know more by then.”
“Your line is dead,” Michaela reminded him.
“Ah, yes.” He suddenly looked exhausted. After a glance at the diary on his desk, he said, “Return tomorrow evening at 6 p.m. Hopefully, I’ll be able to tell you more then. Until then, not a word to anyone.”
“Thank you.” New hope flickered in Michaela’s heart. “I had planned to visit my sister-in-law tomorrow to discuss what to do next.”
“Wait until we know more.” He gave her his left hand. “Would you be so good as to tell the gentleman in the waiting room to come in?”
“Of course. Thank you once again.”
At the next public telephone, she briefly talked to Carola to let her know that something urgent had come up and she’d be back in touch. Then she made her way to her patients.
There were few of them left, now that so many were being deported. Occasionally, even arriving to see patients with whom she’d made an appointment only the day before, she found herself standing at a locked door. Sometimes a Gestapo seal hung on the door, leaving no doubt about the fate of the residents. In other cases, she was informed by neighbors that the person had been picked up along with their family.
Each time, an ice-cold shiver ran down Michaela’s back, until by the end of the day, she felt like she was a solid block of ice. Even when the patient was at home, she couldn’t offer much help. Her huge medical bag was becoming lighter every day and her emergency supply of drugs like morphine was steadily shrinking. These days her medical repertoire consisted mostly of comforting words and a few herbs to brew. She no longer had bandages and had to ask the families to tear strips of fabric from sheets or tablecloths.
The situation was bleak indeed.
22
AUGUST 1942
After a seemingly endless train journey, Knut finally arrived in Bern. He travelled in civilian clothes, under the code name Hellwig, to meet with the chief of the Swiss Immigration Police. Aware of the gravity of his responsibility, Knut gnawed anxiously at his lower lip as he checked in at the hotel.
“Gruezi, Herr Hellwig, enjoy your stay.” Outwardly, the young receptionist looked just like the women in German hotels, yet she seemed to radiate a rare contentment Knut hadn’t seen in years.
“Thank you very much.”
“You are in room 212. The page will carry your case up,” she said cheerfully.
Knut’s thoughts whirled as he involuntarily grasped his case tighter. He was reluctant to put the case into the hands of strangers, but there was no way around it if he didn’t want to appear eccentric. “Thank you.”
“Shall I show you the room?”
“Thank you, that won’t be necessary.”
On opening the door to his room, he was delighted with the comfort that awaited him. The room itself was spartan – the Abwehr didn’t have an unlimited budget for official trips andSwitzerland was expensive – but the sheet on the bed was fresh and a brilliant white. In the corner stood a small round table with a chair. On the table was a vase of brightly colored summer flowers and a bowl with a rare delicacy: a neatly wrapped chocolate with “Lindt and Sprüngli” printed on the wrapper. Knut couldn’t hold back a smile as he brushed his fingers reverently over the chocolate, a luxury that hadn’t been available in the German Reich for a long time.
Shortly after, a knock came at the door and a page, barely twenty years old, handed him his case with a cheerful smile. For Knut, the moment was like having scales fall from his eyes, as he realized what had seemed so different about the receptionist. It was the contented cheerfulness of a nation not at war.
He handed the page a tip and bolted the door as soon as he was alone. To be honest, he was incredibly nervous. Much depended on his meeting tomorrow with the chief of the Swiss Immigration Police: without Swiss consent to taking in the Seven – at least temporarily – the entire operation would fail.
The next morning, Knut got up early and made his way to the agreed meeting point, where the chief of the Swiss Immigration Police was waiting.
“Good morning, Herr Hellwig.”
“Thank you for finding the time to see me, Herr Steiner,” Knut replied.
“May I offer you a coffee?”
Knut nodded in delight. He had prepared himself for a less good-humored meeting. They chatted a little about the weather until the secretary showed up with two cups of real coffee. Once she had closed the door behind her, Herr Steiner asked, “Herr Hellwig, what brings you here?”
Knut’s contact, Hans Bernd Gisevius had arranged the meeting and hinted at the reason, but had refrained from mentioning the Abwehr’s involvement.
“It’s a humanitarian mission.” Knut leaned back and studied the expression on the face of the man opposite him, trying to guess his thoughts. But he remained impassive. “My clients are interested in bringing a group of people and their families to safety.”