The Swiss Courier Page 5

  She’d been in his office enough times to appreciate its view overlooking the Rhine and Basel’s north bank, but she had to admit she appreciated the man behind the desk even more.

  If it hadn’t been for Dieter saving her . . . a chill traveled down her shoulders at the thought. She owed her life to him.

  Dieter stood to greet Gabi, casting a handsome smile. “Please take a seat, Fräulein Mueller. How are you feeling?”

  Gabi instinctively rubbed her left shoulder, still tender. “Sore, but I’ll be fine,” she said in an upbeat tone, hoping Dieter focused on her smile rather than any nonverbal cues revealing that she was still shook up. Instead, she hoped to project an eagerness for a second mission even as she battled apprehension.

  “I’m concerned about your welfare. You got roughed up a bit—”

  “Nothing a good night’s sleep couldn’t fix. Really, I’m fine.”

  Gabi settled into a wooden chair, clasping her hands on her lap, and ignored the stares of the women in the typing pool who worked just on the other side of the partition window.

  Instead, she focused on the view outside. From her vantage point, she could see that the Mittlere Brücke—one of Basel’s three bridges that spanned the Rhine—was sparsely populated with foot traffic. Morning light reflected off the puddles from last night’s rain and the sparkling reflections of booted footsteps disrupting it.

  “Well, looks like we’ll have a nice summer day outside,” Dieter remarked, as if he was reading her thoughts. “Folks are getting a head start on our National Independence Day. You have plans for the First of August?”

  “I’m taking the train tomorrow to the mountains to see my brothers. Andreas and Willy are guarding the American pilots interned in Davos. They complain there isn’t much to do—just sitting around and learning American slang—so I thought I would surprise them.”

  “Good for you. I’m sure your brothers will enjoy a visit from their beautiful sister.” Dieter’s crisp blue eyes held her gaze.

  She looked into her lap, not sure if she heard right. Was he calling her beautiful?

  “Actually, they’re mostly looking forward to seeing what goodies I bring from home. My mother’s chocolate torte is the best.”

  “I’m sure you’re wonderful around the kitchen as well. A lady of many talents.” Baumann was clearly flirting.

  Gabi tried not to imagine what it would be like to date someone such as him. Even though she judged him to be in his late twenties, just a few years older than she, he seemed so sophisticated, so . . . Gabi pursed her lips, refusing to let her mind go there. Time to cut to the chase.

  “This is all very flattering, Herr Baumann, but I’m sure you didn’t call me into your office to discuss my baking abilities.”

  “You’re correct—Gabi. May I use your given name?”

  “That would be fine, but I’m more comfortable with calling you Herr Baumann.”

  “Very well.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “I called you in today to relay a message from Mr. Dulles, who is back in Bern. He told me to tell you ‘Good job.’” Dieter used the English expression. “It was amazing the way you cracked open that safe. And the information you found is one more piece of the puzzle in our struggle against our common enemies. Mr. Dulles said you can expect to be called upon again.”

  Gabi felt her lips form a slight smile. She looked away, her heartbeat quickening from a mix of excitement and anxiousness. Not that the translation work wasn’t interesting, but undercover work . . . well, she could really make a difference.

  An awkward silence filled the air.

  “Fräulein Mueller—Gabi—I was wondering if we could discuss your new role in a more informal setting, one without prying eyes.” Dieter tilted his head toward the translation pool. Gabi glanced at a dozen women, each with their heads down, clacking away on their typewriters. One or two glanced Gabi’s way, then quickly resumed her typing chores.

  “Yes, I suppose . . .”

  “Perhaps after work we could have a coffee. I promise not to take too much of your time.”

  Gabi nibbled on her lower lip and felt a slight tightening in her shoulders. His request seemed out of the ordinary, but then again, undercover work demanded such peculiar encounters, right? Perhaps this was one of those odd rendezvous.

  A thought stirred. She let out a sigh as Eric’s face filled her thoughts. “I just remembered. I’m meeting someone after work.”

  Baumann arched an eyebrow.

  “He’s just a friend. A good friend, I can assure you. He attends the church my father pastors.”

  “Oh, I see. I suppose we’ll have to meet another time.” Dieter’s voice hinted of disappointment. As if turning a page, he continued, “Well, this can wait. Shall we meet after the First of August celebration?”

  Gabi sensed there was no way she could say no. “That will be fine.” She smiled. “In fact, I look forward to it, Herr Baumann.”

  Gestapo Regional Headquarters

  Heidelberg, Germany

  2:15 p.m.

  Bruno Kassler hated long lunch meetings, especially with obliging officials from the Heidelberg Gemeinde eager to stay in the Gestapo’s good graces. City Hall bootlickers, every last one of them. He entered his office with a stomach leaden from too much Ruladen and Spätzle and set his gabardine hat with the National Socialist insignia on a wooden clothes tree. Before tackling a slug of new paperwork, he straightened the SS bolts on the lapels of his black dress uniform, knowing that with one glance of the Knights Cross with an Oak Leaf cluster on his left breast, any good German would recognize the high status of his position.

  In just three years, steady promotions moved him from a lowly commander in Section A, investigating sabotage and assassination attempts, all the way to SS Brigadeführer, the most important—and fear-inspiring—post in the region. No wonder local politicos wanted to have lunch with him.

  Although he was only twenty-eight years of age, men and women far older treated him with the respect his rank deserved. And for enemies of the Reich, a Luger held pointblank between insouciant eyes had a way of turning a smirk into a plea for mercy. And what of pulling the trigger? He had done it so many times he’d lost count.

  The discovery—his discovery—of a Jew working on sensitive military research in his hometown portended all sorts of opportunities. How best to turn this to his maximum advantage?

  He’d rounded up the last of the Jews in the Heidelberg region more than a year ago. Now, at least, he had something to focus his attention on. The cowardly attempt on the Führer’s life netted a couple dozen arrests in his jurisdiction, but Kassler knew those troublemakers had no connection to Stauffenberg’s plotters. They’d pleaded innocence in a rain of tears, right up to the moment ten-gauge piano wire was cinched around their cowardly throats at the courtyard gallows.

  Now, a grosser Fisch was swimming in his pond. How best to reel him in? What made the most sense for his future with party leaders?

  Kassler picked up the thin file marked Engel, Joseph. Nothing since Engel’s adoption indicated he was even remotely connected with the loathsome Jewish race. No records of him belonging to a synagogue or joining a Zionist organization. His academic career had been exemplary. Single, with few close friends.

  He’s in love with equations. Kassler snorted. Engel, a physics wizard, exempt from being handed a rifle and told to go fight the Russians.

  Kassler considered what a contact in Berlin had told him yesterday: Heisenberg’s weapons project was cloaked in secrecy because the scientists were developing a bomb that could level a city the size of London.

  A single explosive could do that?

  If so, the Third Reich would renew its march toward global conquest. The military setbacks of the last two years would be just that—setbacks. None of the battlefield defeats would matter, and soon the German Volk and the conquered lands would join together to provide Lebensraum, “living space” for the growth of the Aryan population.

  But
what about Joseph Engel?

  The Jews were the source of evil in the world, political subversives who controlled world banking and international commerce. Maybe they had placed Engel there to make sure that Germany didn’t succeed in building an atomic bomb.

  Yet, to act unilaterally in a matter of national strategic importance might not benefit him if things went wrong. No, it would be better to bring Himmler into the mix—as cover. The Reichsführer had a way of becoming your worst nightmare when failure occurred, and Kassler could not take that chance.

  He seized the phone’s handset. “Becker? Come immediately. I have a letter to dictate.”

  7

  Basel, Switzerland

  5:05 p.m.

  A warm wind rippled across the Rhine and caressed Gabi’s face as she strolled down the busy sidewalk. It was just a short walk from the OSS offices to the Globus, Basel’s largest department store, where she was due to meet Eric.

  Though pedestrians clogged the walkways, Gabi realized she’d been plodding several blocks without paying one bit of attention to the lively streets. Her mother could have passed by and Gabi wouldn’t have known it. Instead, her mind was on Dieter’s words.

  Beautiful . . . he’d called her beautiful.

  Gabi touched a hand to her face, hoping her flushed cheeks weren’t too obvious. She could always blame her rosiness on her walk and the excitement of seeing Eric, yet Gabi doubted he would be fooled. He had a way of reading her gaze.

  And she knew him just as well. In fact, as certain as William Tell split the apple perched on his son’s head with a crossbow, Gabi was sure that Eric would be waiting for her at the Globus. The dairy farmer was as punctual as the Basel-Zurich Intercity train that departed at the top of the hour. And about as unpolished as a second-class rail car.

  Gabi mildly rebuked herself, then chuckled. Actually, she liked Eric Hofstadler, who milked Braunvieh cows at dawn and stirred Emmentaler cheese in a copper vat the rest of the day. She didn’t love him—much to her parents’ chagrin—but she did admire the way he treated her like a lady. Eric had a chivalrous, salt-of-the-earth quality she found endearing. When she looked into his gentle blue eyes, honesty and compassion were captured in his gaze.

  And more than that, love was captured there too. Not that she didn’t already know that. Over the last year or so, Eric had made his feelings quite clear.

  Gabi turned the corner and stood on her toes, looking for him among the dozens of shoppers rushing through the double-door entrance, including working women hurrying to pick up the last loaves of bread and other staples from the basement grocery.

  There he was—Eric’s red hair and ruddy complexion were unmistakable. The crimson flannel shirt was another giveaway, as well as the brown britches. He looked like a dairyman lost in the Big City, a hayseed among the sophisticated Basel burghers. At least Eric wasn’t wearing his slop boots or sandals with socks. And even though he was good about washing up, she hoped he didn’t bring the faint smell of the fresh manure with him.

  When their eyes met, he flashed a smile and held up a fresh bouquet of long-stemmed white lilies accented with green bells of molucella picked from the fields of the family farm.

  Gabi held her cloth hat with her left hand and skipped toward her friend. “For me?” She accepted the floral arrangement from his hand. “How sweet of you.” Instead of offering a customary bisou on each cheek, she wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders and drew him close.

  Eric stiffened slightly, as if startled by her unexpected affection, then quickly relaxed in her grasp, pulling her closer. “And to what do I owe this pleasure?” His words tickled her ear.

  Her meeting with Dieter Baumann filtered through her mind. Gabi pushed out lingering romantic thoughts. How horrible to allow her peaked emotions to get the best of her. She gently stepped away and offered Eric a sweet smile. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because it’s a holiday tomorrow.”

  “Speaking of holidays, I have something for you.” Eric reached into a rear pocket. He moved his hands for a moment, as if passing something between them, and then stretched out both arms with fists closed. “Which hand?”

  Gabi liked playing games. She also liked surprises. “Let’s see . . . I’ll take the left.”

  Eric opened his left palm skyward and exposed two cardboard train tickets.

  “Eric, did you plan an adventure for us, really?” She shook her head. “I’m so sorry, but I was already going to see my brothers tomorrow in the mountains.”

  “I know. These are a pair of Basel-Davos round-trip tickets. When your mom told me that you were going to spend the First of August on a train all day, off to see your brothers, I bought these so you’d have some company. I can’t think of anyone who would want to spend the holiday alone.”

  Gabi felt warmth spread through her chest. “Mother must have told you about my trip when you dropped off some butter at the house.” The whiff of the lilies and molucella in her hand rose to her nose. She had to admit that the aroma intoxicated her, and she felt her affections for Eric matching those she felt for Dieter earlier that day. If Eric only realized what the scent did to her. She was sure she’d have them on her doorstep every day.

  “Yes. Your mother spilled the news two days ago, but joining you was my idea. I hope it’s all right. I haven’t taken a day off all summer since it’s our busy season on the farm, but Papi approved. After all, we only get to celebrate Switzerland’s independence one day a year.”

  Gabi didn’t have to consider his offer for long. She enjoyed Eric’s company. He could carry a conversation well and laughed easily. And the scent of the freshly picked flowers made the idea all the more agreeable.

  “Of course, it’s all right. We’ll have a fun time.” She took the tickets from his hand and tucked them into her purse, realizing that having a male seatmate on a long train ride into the mountains also had other benefits. Eric could be her protector—not from the enemy—but rather from all the young soldiers who were trying to find favor with the young ladies.

  “I’ll be thankful for your company. Are you sure it’s okay? Will the cows survive without you?”

  “Okay? Whenever I can spend time with you, I’m happy. Papi will make do just fine.” Eric placed his right hand lightly on the small of her back. “Let’s walk over to the Mittlere Brücke, shall we?”

  The downtown sidewalk teemed with pedestrians. People getting off work were hurrying home to open their first bottle of Neuchâtel white wine to start the holiday off right. As they reached the bridge, the crowds thinned, and Eric guided her along the Mittlere Brücke.

  “This is a beautiful evening for a stroll, but my bus is that way.” Gabi pointed behind her.

  “I know, but we can wait for the next one. There are some things I wanted to talk to you about.”

  A sense of alarm rose in Gabi’s throat. She didn’t like the way that sounded, and more than anything, she didn’t want to break Eric’s heart. Wasn’t friendship enough—close friendship? “Is it about—?”

  “About us? Yes, in a way. We’ve been spending more time with each other over the last several months, and I thought you ought to know how I feel about you.”

  “I think I have a good idea.” Gabi good-naturedly folded her arms across her chest and stepped away from his touch. “They didn’t give me a job with the OSS for nothing—”

  “Gabi, don’t say things like that. I think it’s wonderful that you’re working for the Americans, but please, you can’t speak of such things.”

  “I was just teasing. You sound like my father. It’s no big deal, really. It’s not like I’m sharing secrets or anything.”

  They had walked about 100 meters on the bridge and were only a fourth of the way across the Rhine. Eric suddenly stopped and faced her directly.

  “Listen, I know I may seem a simpleton to you. Some people think all I do is milk my father’s cows and muck out stinky horse stalls. But that’s the life God has given me right now. It’s what I do. I know my
days on a farm aren’t as exciting as yours in the city, but we have a lot in common, including our trust in Christ. This war business will be over someday, and when that happens, I want us to be . . . together.”

  Gabi leaned against the stone wall overlooking the water. She rested her arms on the top of the wall and placidly tilted her head in the twilight breeze. She took a long look at Eric. Yes, beneath that red flannel shirt beat a heart of gold. Attentive. A hard worker. Surely a good provider. And he’d learned a few things about how to romance a girl.

  She lifted the bright bouquet to her face again and inhaled the aromatic scent of summer. Maybe Eric was the one God had planned for her. Unless . . .

  As quickly as the image of Dieter’s charmed smile surfaced in her mind, Gabi pushed it from her thoughts. He was handsome, and she had to admit she was intrigued by his undercover work, but there was more hidden about Dieter than known. And with Eric nothing was hidden. Eric’s heart was laid bare. Given to her alone.

  While a part of her heart believed now was not the time to get serious, she didn’t feel the Lord telling her to shut the door in Eric’s face. Lord, give me wisdom here . . .

  Gabi glanced up at Eric, peering at the whorls of pure white, trumpet-shaped flowers. She blew out a slow breath, hoping he could hear her heart beyond her words. “Maybe we will be together someday. It’s just that right now . . . it’s hard with all the uncertainty in the world. Who knows what the next six months, or a year, will bring?”

  “Of course.” Eric’s gaze caught and held hers. “I just wanted you to know that I’m very fond of you.” He sighed. “It’s important to say it. You know, life can be so short.” His eyes clouded over as if a memory filled his thoughts.

  “And I’m fond of you.” Gabi meant every word of her declaration. Guys didn’t come much sweeter than Eric Hofstadler. She could see herself with him—she just couldn’t imagine herself tethered to his family farm. Yanking on cow’s teats for half the morning wasn’t something she wanted to do the rest of her life.