It was late evening, just before the spring of 1939. Time Magazine had recently declared Adolf Hitler as its man of the year for 1938, on January 2 of the new year. I was in Berlin, about to board a train on the west side of the city, heading east; I had some meetings near the Polish border. Once on the train, I took a seat in a compartment with two benches facing each other. I sat down on the right side, with my back toward the front of the train; I was alone in the compartment. Words spoken loudly in German were everywhere, muffled by the confines of the small enclosed room I was in. A moment later the wheels of the train began rolling noisily, while outside my window the dark air looked thick, filled with steam, smoke and fog, as the lights of the station quickly disappeared into the night. The train was soon moving fast, rumbling and crackling along the tracks, the train compartment swaying gently side to side. German trains are noted for speed and efficiency. I turned out the ceiling light; there was a switch on the wall, near the window. The lights of Berlin rushed past me in a blur as I sat in the dimly lit compartment, thinking.
Several critical decisions that involved me would be made within a few hours, with or without either my approval or my input. I was merely a player, even if a key player, on a stage much larger than imaginable, spanning continents and crossing multiple time zones. For only a brief few seconds I smiled, wondering if history would even remember me or any of the roles I played. I wasn’t a Churchill, a Montgomery or a Roosevelt, most certainly not a Kaiser or a Hitler, even less a Stalin or a Mussolini. Yet I had my place on this stage of life, as invisible as I might be to most; I had my lines I’d learned and practiced, ready to recite on cue.
Some minutes later the train slowed to a stop, as a porter moved through the hallway announcing the arrival in German, I didn’t really listen. Lights came on in the hallway which illuminated my compartment through the door window. It was light enough, I didn’t bother turning the compartment light back on. Pulling a book out of my briefcase, I leaned back in my seat, stretching out my legs, and began to read Mein Kampf, not for the first time.
Suddenly the door of the compartment slid open at the hands of a young porter, he looked to be little more than a boy of about sixteen. A tall, thin and stylishly dressed younger woman walked in to take a seat directly across from me, without speaking. I immediately pulled in my outstretched legs and tucked them under my knees, while I tried not to look closely at her, though I was compelled to, she was stunning. Wearing a beautiful dark blue suit with a white puffy blouse, dark stockings and black stiletto heels, the woman looked exquisite. I couldn’t quite see her face as she had a pointed hat pulled low over her eyes.
The moments of silence were awkward, though she didn’t seem the least uncomfortable as she settled into her seat, putting a small suitcase on the bench seat next to her, then folded her hands onto her lap.
As the train began moving again, the running lights in the hall dimmed and I broke the quiet that gripped the compartment. “Heil Hitler, Fraulein.”
“Guten Abend.” She replied coldly, precisely, as though it was a line she had rehearsed to exhaustion.
I glanced out the window, unsure of what to say next, or even if I should speak. I felt like a poor traveling companion, even though I was dressed in an expensive, nicely pressed suit with immaculately polished shoes. I took my hat off and set it on the seat next to my briefcase.
“You are American. How odd that you salute Herr Hitler.”
“You’re not German? Your accent is perfect.”
“It doesn’t matter, accents can be acquired. Traveling far?”
“Not far. You?”
She sighed, as though she was tired. “Not far enough. Do you mind if I smoke?”
It suddenly occurred to me that we were still sitting in mostly darkness. “Of course not, perhaps I might join you. Would you like me to turn the light on? I didn’t need it when I first boarded, then I started to read just as you joined me here in the compartment. Oh, excuse me, I’m assuming you speak fluent English.”
The woman laughed slightly. “What would you do now if I didn’t speak English? Repeat the whole thing in fractured German with a feigned accent?”
“I don’t know, I hadn’t thought that far ahead.”
“You may also smoke if you wish, I do not need the light on, there is plenty coming in through the window, and yes, among six other languages, I do speak English. Interesting choice of books for an American. Are you a fan of Herr Hitler?”
“No, I’m a consummate reader, any book is a good book as far as I’m concerned, I like to be informed. You know, our American magazine, Time, voted Adolf Hitler as man of the year for 1938. I thought it would do me well to know a bit more about the man.”
“You’re a journalist then.”
“Perhaps, of sorts, I can’t deny I put my hand to writing here and there.”
“Among other things?”
“Among other things.”
The woman removed her hat, setting it on her bench, beside her small suitcase. She had a beautiful, youthful face framed with lovely blond hair stylishly coifed. I tried hard not to stare, I don’t know if I was successful or not.
“I suppose since we’re sharing the train, we might as well introduce ourselves. I’m Gertrude Steinmacher.”
“How do you do? I’m enchanted to meet you, or should I say, enchante’, assuming French is one of your many language skills. I’m Harry Schilling, from New York.”
“I know who you are, Herr Schilling. And you’re not from New York, you’ve only lived there. You are from Los Angeles, California, and before that, Billings, Montana.”
My eyebrows went up. “How do you know all that?”
The woman laughed again. “I read too, Herr Schilling. I saw your photograph in the newspaper, in der Zeitung, and I recognized you when you removed your hat.”
“Wow, even in the dark?”
“Even in the dark.”
“So is it Fraulein or Frau Steinmacher?”
“That depends. Do you have a preference?”
It was my turn to laugh, completely aware she was playing games with me and thoroughly enjoying herself. I was enjoying myself as well. “If I was a single man, I’d probably prefer you as a Fraulein, perhaps also to protect my reputation. However, I’m guessing a woman as beautiful as you must have a husband somewhere, who is very protective of you, so you can be assured I will mind my manners and behave myself, Frau Steinmacher.”
“You’re smart, Herr Schilling, I will give you that. I guess I’d say I’m both. I was married, I no longer am. I still go by Frau Steinmacher for professional reasons, though I am a single woman.”
“I’m sorry, divorced?”
“No, widowed.”
I swallowed hard. “I’m sorry, that must have been tough at such a young age.”
She sighed again. “A lot of things are tough, Herr Schilling, we get over it, don’t we?”
Frau Steinmacher pulled a cigarette out of her purse. I took one out of my coat pocket myself, then I offered her a light before I lit my own. She leaned forward, pointing her long cigarette toward my lighter. “Thank you, Herr Schilling. For a newspaper reporter, you are very polite. I appreciate politeness, we Germans are a very formal culture, though I suppose you know that.”
“Ja, I do. I’ve been here for over three years now myself, haven’t quite mastered the language on the level you have with English, though I understand more than I can speak. All of my work is in English, anyway, so that doesn’t give me much chance to practice what little I know.”
Frau Steinmacher blew smoke gently between slightly pursed lips, then tapped her cigarette onto the ashtray near the window. I wasn’t trying to watch her closely, except there was little else of interest to look at. She crossed her legs and shifted herself slightly toward the compartment window, staring outside. “Do you attend many parties, Herr Schilling? Reporters like to circulate around, meet people, listen to rumors and gossip. Perhaps we’ve met before somewhere?”
“No, I’ve only been to a couple, mostly co-workers, that sort of thing. And I seriously doubt we’ve met before, I hardly think I ever could have forgotten you.”
Frau Steinmacher laughed again as she looked at me, her eyes barely showing beneath her hat. “That’s a compliment. Not a very good one, but I’ll take it.” She blew smoke sideways out of her mouth toward the window. As I watched her, my mind spoke secretly, “Great Scot, she is gorgeous.”
“We Germans like to party too, you know, good food, excellent wines, stimulating company. You really should get out more and broaden your horizons, Herr Schilling. It might contribute healthily to your writing.”
“I take it you’ve read some of my stuff, it must not have impressed you.”
“I didn’t say that. It was merely a suggestion, you Americans are extremely sensitive people. Even if you spoke perfect German with a perfect accent, I would immediately know you are American, you care too much what others think, and you take every constructive comment as a criticism. You pity people who don’t deserve it, then you show no mercy to those whose ideologies differ from yours. How am I doing so far, Herr Schilling?”
“I don’t know, other than your manner is pretty consistent, cold yet intriguing at the same time.”
“Perhaps warmth is not what you’re looking for, Harry.”
She used my first name, I was a little surprised that she dropped the usual formality. “I like that you used my name, may I reciprocate? Do you go by Gertrude?”
“You may, but Gertude only when I’m working. My friends call me Trudy. I think that is more of an American nickname than German, though I like it.”
“Trudy, it fits you. It’s fun. I imagine you’re a lot of fun when someone gets to know you.”
Trudy laughed once again. “You assume many things, including what I might consider fun, Harry.”
“Ok, I’ll bite. What do you consider fun, Trudy?”
Trudy took a deep breath, tossing her head back, showing her long, white neck that was graced with a gold chain. “Oh, I don’t know, Harry. Long baths, walks in the moonlight, concerts of Bach and Mozart, the occasional opera, dinners at expensive restaurants where the waiters are rude, lots of things.”
“The restaurant sounds more French than German.”
“The French do not have a monopoly on snobbery, Harry. In fact, I rather like to think most great things about the French they acquired from the Germanic peoples. Have you ever considered that, Harry?”
“I really haven’t. I just assume people are people, no matter where you go. You’d find all of it in America.”
“Oh yes, I did, I’ve been there nine times. No real surprises, and you’re not the first American to flirt with me on a train.”
“I’m sorry, I was trying to be polite, I wasn’t trying to flirt.”
“Don’t underestimate yourself, Harry. I like it when handsome men flirt with me. I didn’t have to speak to you to begin with. I could have pretended to be Polish and not understand a word you said. We all play games, don’t we? Masking what we really want?”
“What is it we really want, Trudy?”
“To be noticed, to be acknowledged, to matter, to be real to someone. Honestly, Harry, doesn’t flirting give us the feeling that somehow we are more important than we really are to a total stranger? It’s a nice feeling, no matter how long it lasts.”
“I suppose. I hadn’t really thought about it that way.”
“And what do you do for fun, Harry? Tall glasses of wine beside your typewriter?”
“You make me sound awfully dull. I’m not one of those guys who never sees the light of day, just spending all my time tapping out words one after the other, smoking and drinking the whole time, then sleeping it all off while the sun shines. No, I like the outdoors, exploring, seeing things. I might be kind of a loner, you know the word, ‘introvert’? I like people, don’t get me wrong, but too many at one time isn’t my preference. That’s why I don’t go to a lot of parties, they bore me. I’d rather talk to someone like you all evening than spend hours chatting about nothing.”
Trudy smiled, then put her cigarette out in the ashtray. I soon followed with mine. “Harry, you’re a man.”
“Thanks for noticing.”
“Not at all. So, as a man, do you think flirting with a stranger reveals who you really are? Or who you pretend to be?”
“Hmm, interesting question. I suppose that depends. Some guys go in for being tough and upfront, when they are really shy and backwards most of the time. I’m not one of those, I think I come across pretty close to who I really am. Can’t say I’ve thought a lot about it, though. I don’t really go by the script, I play the scene as it unfolds.”
“That’s good, that’s very good, Harry. And how is this scene unfolding?”
“I’d say it’s going nicely. I’m in a comfortable, heated train compartment traveling to the eastern edge of Germany with a beautiful woman and enjoying great conversation. There’s been no awkward silences where neither of us has anything to say.”
“That’s true. How about we talk about something more intelligent, something say, scientific or political. What do you think of your magazine’s man of the year, Herr Adolf Hitler, our Chancellor?”
“You move fast, I like that, it’s exciting, straight to the point. I don’t think anything, really, I don’t write about politics. He’s got some innovative ideas, economic goals, made some changes. Seems popular with the people, can’t argue that. Let’s just say my interests lie in things a little less visible.”
“Like what?”
“Oh, I don’t know, say how has the average German farmer fared since the end of The Great War? Who are the people rebuilding after so much destruction? How have German mothers coped with the losses of sons, husbands, brothers, even fathers, in a war that left this country desolated?”
Trudy sighed. “You find that exciting?”
“I do. The world is peopled with the average man and woman, they are the ones who turn the machines of progress, that makes things happen, that provide the resources to build, or destroy. They follow commands, without benefit of questioning how sane or rational those commands are. Those are the people I write about, the invisible ones whose names would otherwise never be remembered.”
“Oh Harry, you’re one of those. Men who think they can make a difference somehow, I find that tedious and sad. There are really only two kinds of humanity, you know that don’t you, Harry? Those who control, and those who are controlled.”
I nodded my head. “And where do you fit into those two categories, Trudy?”
“Isn’t that rather obvious? Do I look like a farmer’s wife or a factory worker?”
“No Ma’am, you don’t. But that doesn’t mean you aren’t being controlled by someone, somewhere.”
Trudy laughed again. “Well, how about you? Who controls you? Your editor? Your publisher? Your government? Do your morals and ethics control you? Who pays you to be who you are, to do what you do, wouldn’t you say they control you?”
“You ask good questions, you should consider being a reporter or a writer.”
“No, Harry, every one of you is controlled, you don’t write what you feel, report what you see, or care about the truth. Whoever pays you decides what is truth.”
“Is that so? Interesting, I’ve never known this. All this time I thought I was writing out of my above average intelligence.”
“Think beyond it, Harry. You write about what has happened; the other side makes the things happen that you write about. Everything you see, that you experience, that you discover, is all controlled so you will write exactly what those who control everything want the people to believe. You’re a prisoner of your own above average intelligence, Harry.”
“You speak as if you know things.”
“Knowing things is as valuable commodity, Harry. Having something to sell is how people like you and me have survived for thousands of years. I simply choose what it is that I will sell, and what it is that I won’t.”
“Then you must be looking for a buyer. No use selling something nobody wants.”
“Oh, the want is there, Harry, and the need. You sell your version of events and situations, knowing people will read what they want to know. You sensationalize it, build it up, tweak it, present it from a chosen perspective or view, making it as interesting as you can, so, guess what, your readers will buy it. All the while it may be nothing more interesting than two old farmers comparing their goats. Why not try a different angle, Harry? Try asking the goats how they feel about their farmers.”
I took a deep breath. I could still smell her cigarette; it smelled better than mine. I wondered what brand it was, it mixed well with her perfume.
“Is ‘goat’ one of the six or more languages you speak?”
Trudy laughed harder this time. “Speaking someone’s language isn’t difficult, Harry. Mostly, you just say what they want to hear, after that, they think you are a genius. Try it, trust me, it works, Harry.”
She says my name a lot, it’s starting to sound redundant, almost silly, yet somehow every time she says it, I like hearing it. She’s smart, whatever game she’s playing, she’s done it before and she’s good at it.
The train slowed for another stop. Lights of the station soon came into view, shining through the window into our compartment. Trudy was even more beautiful in this light, more alluring now than when I first saw her. I tried not to stare as Trudy remained motionless, her head sideways, looking out the window.”
“I hope you’re not getting off here?”
“Oh no, not here. I’m not there yet.”
“Where is it you said you are going?”
“I didn’t say. Where are you traveling to, Harry?”
“Another ways, a few more stops, I think. A colleague is meeting me, we’re working on a story together, near the eastern border of Germany.”
“I see. Story about what, Harry?”
“Interactions between German and Polish farmers.”
Trudy laughed again. “Really Harry, you could be more creative than that as a writer; it’s not as if I am dumb enough to believe that. What secrets are you hiding in your briefcase?”
“No secrets, Trudy. I write human interest stuff, things that relate to the common people. I leave the politics, the war mongering, and the high society stuff to people who are more qualified.”
“If you say so, Harry, I don’t have the energy to argue with you.”
The compartment door slid open as a young German man stepped in, he looked like a college student with how he was dressed and conducted himself. Trudy recognized him immediately and smiled. “Franz!” Franz leaned over to kiss Trudy on both cheeks, then sat down a short distance from her on the bench.
“Frau Steinmacher, wie geht es Ihnen?”
“We’re speaking English in this car, Franz. Let me introduce you to my new friend, Herr Schilling.”
I nodded at Franz as he slightly nodded back at me, without smiling, then he raised his right arm. “Heil Hitler, Herr Schilling. Frau, why are you speaking English? What if you’re heard?”
“Relax, Franz. Herr Schilling goes by Harry, that’s his first name, and he calls me Trudy. Isn’t that clever?”
Franz didn’t answer but seemed to be watching me closely.
“How are you, Franz? You seem to speak English nearly as well as Frau Steinmacher here. You’re a student?”
Franz’ face brightened just a little. “Ja, at the university in Berlin.”
“Nice, are you from Berlin?”
“Nein, Heidelberg.”
Franz seemed to speak in very short sentences. “What brought you to Berlin?”
“The university, of course. Und Sie? What do you do, Herr Schilling?” Franz almost sounded sarcastic when he said my name, like he knew something I didn’t.
“I’m a writer, actually. I write about common things, people, their lives, the average things.”
“Oh ja. People like me, I presume.”
“I don’t know, I don’t know much about you. Are you the average university student?”
“Perhaps, to some. Frau Steinmacher believes I am above average.”
Franz looked at Trudy and laughed. She ignored him, glancing at me and then looking back out the window, her body angled away from Franz.
“So what do you study, Franz?”
“English.” Then he laughed harder this time, like it was a great joke.
“Anything else? I doubt you spend all your time learning English.”
“I study everything, Herr Schilling. Everything and everyone. I’m what you might call a student of life, I heard an American say that one time. You are American, are you not, Herr Schilling?”
Franz said my name a lot, similar to how Trudy did. It was a little unnerving after a while. “I am. We all have to be from some place, don’t we?”
Franz nodded. “Perhaps it’s not so important to know where we are from, only rather where we are going, don’t you think so Herr Schilling?”
“Depends on where you’re going, I suppose.”
“Oh ja. Und where are you going, Herr Schilling?”
“East, toward the border, to meet with farmers. I’m writing an essay on the cooperation and friendship between German and Polish farmers.”
Franz’ expression told me he could barely be less interested.
“So Franz, just curious, with your education, do you have any political aspirations?”
“Very funny, Herr Schilling. Everyone in Germany has political aspirations, if they don’t, they are suicidal.”
“What do you mean?”
“You have to choose who your friends are and which side you are on, before you no longer have a choice. Is that honest enough for you, Herr Schilling?”
“I don’t know, I don’t have a lot of friends, never felt the need for them. I’m more of an observer, a reporter, than I am a participant.”
“I think that is a professional way of hiding yourself, do you not think so, Herr Schilling?”
Trudy turned her face toward me. “Harry, it’s time for me to reveal myself a bit more. I am a teacher at the university in Berlin. Franz is one of my students. He likes to argue, he gets carried away sometimes, but deep inside he’s a very nice young man.”
“He’s a bit protective of you for a student, isn’t he? He acts more like your lover.”
“We all play many parts, don’t we Harry? I’m especially fond of Franz, and I think he likes me too, but we’re both too busy for any nonsense. The university most certainly would not approve.”
Franz said nothing, while I wasn’t fooled. I recognized what I’d seen pass between them when their eyes met. She was much more to him than his university professor.”
“So, what do you teach? At the university, I mean.”
Trudy smiled. “English studies, language, literature, customs, history, all of it.”
“That sounds more like spy school than university courses.”
Trudy laughed, she did that a lot. I wondered if it was me or if she was just easily amused.
The train rolled up to another stop. Franz stood up to stand in front of the door so no one could see inside through the window. He kept his eyes on me, I was starting to get nervous. Trudy noticed it on my face, I was smart enough to see that I hid little from her, and I was beginning to suspect she knew more about me than I had imagined possible. As the train started moving again, I was disappointed no one else had come in to join us in the compartment; I had a growing conviction I was outnumbered. I was equally certain Franz had maneuvered himself at the door to prevent anything to my advantage from happening.
“Relax Harry, I believe the next stop is yours, isn’t it? Not much longer now, about forty-five minutes I think. Sit back, enjoy the ride. We’re friends now, aren’t we? Franz doesn’t say much but he really is a very special young man, you two should talk.”
Franz looked at Trudy with nothing less than disgust on his face. He either did not like her or he despised me, I gathered I had been wrong earlier when I thought I saw affection pass between them.
“I’d like to take a walk, stretch my legs a little, visit the loo, if you don’t mind.”
Trudy held up her hand. “Oh, but I do mind, Harry, very much so. We’re just about to have a party here, and you’re the guest of honor. You flirted so beautifully with me earlier, I’m disappointed you stopped. Franz wouldn’t mind, would you Franz? After all, you’re a man yourself, you understand.”
Franz stared at me. He was quite handsome in his face, I hadn’t noticed it earlier in the dim light. “So Franz, is English one of your studies at the university?”
“That, among other barbarians.”
“Ouch, is that a criticism of my culture?”
“No, an honest observation, in your pursuit of life, liberty and happiness.”
“You clearly don’t appreciate Americans or the United States, I take it.”
“You’re so quick to jump to conclusions, Herr Schilling. Frau Steinmacher doesn’t approve of such behavior. I don’t appreciate anyone, Schilling, I just do my job.”
“I see, well, what exactly is your job, then?”
“To protect Frau Steinmacher. I’m, what you would call, her bodyguard.”
“And why would she need a bodyguard, on a train, with an American newspaper man?”
Trudy spoke up. “Thirty minutes, Franz. You see, as you have no doubt already suspected, Herr Schilling, I know who you are and also where you are going. You are no more a newspaper reporter than I am, and you’re not on your way to study German and Polish farming interaction. I am indeed what you are, Harry, we’re the same; I’m a spy, and ever since I sat down on this seat, in this compartment, I have had a gun pointed at your head underneath my wrap, on my lap, with my hand on the trigger. I am a perfect shot, Harry, I never miss. You see, Franz and I are here to make sure you never make it to your meeting. In fact, you’re never getting off this train, alive that is. See, I like what I do, I didn’t want to take you totally by surprise. I want you to know what to expect, so you’ll always remember me, wherever you go after this life. It was fun flirting with you, and we enjoyed ourselves, didn’t we? Would you like a Schnapps as a farewell gesture? I have some in my little bag here. Franz, would you pour Herr Schilling a Schnapps, please?”
“No thank you, Frau Steinmacher, among your other aliases. I prefer to die sober and ready to meet my Maker. You see, I also knew who you are from the beginning. You’re right about so many things, yet wrong about other details, important ones. I am not on my way to meet with a colleague on the Polish border. I am here to kill you, it’s as simple as that. It would appear that we have been toying with each other from the beginning.”
Trudy had been smiling but now her face was in a cold stare. “That is impossible, you are lying. You had no idea who I am, and now you’re stalling and playing games. Don’t move your hands, Herr Schilling, I can shoot you at any moment, it’s just not the precise time yet. If you know nothing else, you have to know that we Germans are a very precise people, we do things on time.”
“I do know that, and I’m happy to oblige. You may wait to kill me until the precise time in your schedule, Frau Steinmacher.”
Frau Steinmacher relaxed again. “I think I prefer it when you call me Trudy, and I’ll keep calling you Harry, is that all right? After all, I do rather like you, very much in fact, perhaps in another place and time, under different circumstances, I have no doubts we could have become very good friends. I could easily fall in love with you, Harry.”
“And I you, Trudy.”
Franz spoke up. “What are you two doing, are you insane? What is the matter with you? For a man about to die, you’re an idiot. Frau Steinmacher, I will have to report this.”
Trudy looked at Franz and laughed. “Where is your gun, Franz? You must have something on you to speak so boldly to me, I am your superior after all.”
“Nein, Frau Steinmacher, whatever game you are playing with the American, it’s over. I will kill you both.”
Suddenly Trudy pulled out her handgun, it was tiny, she pointed it at Franz. Pulling the trigger, it only clicked. She pulled the trigger again and again, the gun wasn’t loaded. Franz laughed as he pulled a revolver, a German Luger, out of his pants. “You silly, silly woman, I suspected as much, I took the bullets out before you came into the compartment. You’re a traitor, you’ve proven that to me for the final time.”
My heart was pounding, while I was trying to watch both Trudy and Franz. Franz stood by the door, waving the Luger back and forth between me and Trudy, his eyes moving quickly.
“Herr Schilling, perhaps you would oblige me by moving to sit next to Frau Steinmacher? And please keep your hands where I may see them, always, I don’t want any surprises. If you have a gun, I suggest you hand it to me now, slowly and carefully.”
“I don’t have a gun on me, Franz, it’s in my briefcase. You can look if you want. Let’s be reasonable here, we’re not at war, there’s no reason for a young man like yourself to do something so foolish.”
I didn’t move, though Franz acted as though I was going to move across the compartment to sit next to Trudy. “We’re all born to be fools, aren’t we Herr Schilling? Isn’t that what your Shakespeare wrote? ‘The world’s a stage, and all are actors.’ Would you say you are a spy? Or are you merely acting as a spy?”
“Shakespeare was English, not American. And you quoted him rather poorly, though I recognized it.”
“No difference to me, I prefer German writers.”
“Franz, there’s no need for this. If you murder two people, how’ll you ever get off this train? It has police in every car. How will you ever prove that a beautiful university professor and an American writer were any threat to Germany? You pull that trigger, Franz, and you’re a dead man.”
“Most amusing, Herr Schilling. Now kindly move to the other bench, beside Frau Steinmacher, I won’t be nearly as polite the next request.”
Trudy moved her arm, gaining Franz’ attention. “Franz, none of this is necessary. You’re misunderstanding everything. Sit down, let’s talk.”
I leapt to my feet, flying toward Franz to tackle him. The Luger flew from his hands, landing on the floor. Trudy grabbed it, pointing it at both of us. Franz was screaming in German for help. He was strong, it took all my strength to try and wrestle him down.
The sliding door to the compartment opened as two men dressed in suits and long overcoats stepped inside. One of them, the younger one, pointed a gun into Franz’s ribs, at which he immediately raised his hands. “Sit down, Herr Holtz.” He then proceeded to put handcuffs on Franz. In all of this, I forgot Trudy still held Franz’ gun.
“Scotland Yard, at your service, Harry.” The older man spoke with a smile. Trudy handed the gun to him, moving as though she felt defeated.
Franz looked around at all of us. “What just happened here? Who are all you people?”
The older man from Scotland Yard smiled at Franz. “Well, it’s quite simple really, just a wee bit of tea and crumpets. You see, we’ve been watching you, knowing you were planning to assassinate Mr. Schilling here, we share him, you see, with the Americans. Sort of a law-abiding double agent, if you catch on. You were outside this compartment listening to their conversation the entire time, ever since Frau Steinmacher boarded the train in Berlin. What you didn’t know is that we were watching you. Precisely on cue, you know how precisely you Germans like to time things, you entered the compartment thinking you were backing up Frau Steinmacher. But you see, while we were watching you, you gave us our cue. We rather like doing things on time ourselves, don’t you see? You were the prize we were after, not Frau Steinmacher, we only allowed you to think so, and now, here we are, we’ve got you both. How about that for your German precision, Herr Holtz? Anyway, just a lot of hikkety pikkety at this point, we’ve got a car waiting for you and you’ll be saying goodbye to Deutschland, Herr Holtz. Tomorrow night you will sleep in London. Oh, not very comfortably, mind you, we don’t put any frills into our cells. With bread and water, don’t expect any Yorkshire pudding, sorry to disappoint.”
The younger man from Scotland Yard grabbed Franz and forcibly pushed him from the compartment, I would assume to another place they had waiting on the train. The older man muttered, “Damn kid is trying to start a war.”
Trudy looked at me with soft pleading in her eyes. “You didn’t really think I was going to kill you, did you Harry? You understand I had to put on a show for Franz? The truth is, Harry, well, I think I fell in love with you, somewhere between Berlin and now.”
I grabbed Trudy into my arms as our lips met, we kissed passionately. The older Scotland Yard man said, “Krikey, I better leave and let you two have the room to yourselves.”
I smiled, looking into Trudy’s eyes. “Meet me in Berlin? After my appointments on the border?”
“Of course, you know I will. Same place?”
“Same place, at our apartment, Mrs. Schilling.”
“Of course, our very own apartment, Mr. Schilling. With our two cats, our maid, and our typewriter.”