They shared a meaningful look. Was this Müller’s way of separating them? But he was armed, and they were not. There was no need to divide them. He could shoot them where they stood, if he was so inclined, and receive congratulations for it the next morning. But he hadn’t, and she was desperate to understand why.
Müller led the way down the stairs, Vogt’s torso heaved onto his back and shoulders. Audrey staggered awkwardly behind, holding Vogt’s feet. Ilse followed in their wake, a grotesque processional of pallbearers. By the time they reached the front door, Audrey was in a cold sweat.
Müller poked his head outside, paused, then proceeded onto the dark stoop. Audrey assumed the coast must be clear. It was late, and the side street was normally quiet. Snow was still falling as they dumped Vogt’s body on the pavement several feet away from the flagstone path up to the house. They looked around once more to check whether they had been noticed, then scurried back inside. Audrey bolted the door behind them, wondering whether she was locking the threat inside or out.
Müller strode into the sitting room and flopped into one of the wing chairs. Ilse was standing awkwardly by the sideboard, a drink in each hand. Audrey went to her, and they waited for Müller to speak.
“Come on,” he said, gesturing to the divan. “I’m not going to hurt you. Have I not proved that? All is not as it seems in this house. You have some explaining to do. As do I.”
Audrey and Ilse exchanged a glance, then Ilse handed Müller a glass, from which he drank immediately, and the other to Audrey, who merely held it in her hand. It smelled like Schwartzhog liqueur. Ilse didn’t drink alcohol. They both took a seat on the divan, where they had so often sat before, and waited. Müller spoke first.
“Tell me again how he was killed,” he said.
Audrey met his eyes across the coffee table. “He was attacking me. I tried to fight him off, but I couldn’t. I even took the letter opener from the telephone room up to my bedroom. You know. Just in case. After what you said. But I couldn’t get to it. Ilse came down from the attic and hit him with the brass lamp from the dresser.”
“I didn’t mean to kill him,” Ilse said again.
She was having difficulty making eye contact with Müller, and Audrey could hardly blame her. This was the first time she had seen him. He was still in his uniform from the office, the swastika and eagle badge encircling his arm like a pack of wolves. His shoes shone, reflecting the gold flames from the fire. He was a Nazi. Living in her home, sitting next to a Christmas tree. Yet he did not care that Ilse was a Jew.
“I regret that I was not here,” Müller said. “I have tried to arrive home before him, or with him, to ensure…” He took another swig of his drink. He drank fast, as though eager to be rid of it. “I am sorry, Fräulein.”
Audrey didn’t know what to say.
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. “How long have you both been hiding here?”
Ilse squeezed Audrey’s knee, signalling to her to speak for them. Audrey explained what had happened at Hertie’s. “Then you arrived the next day.”
“And who are you, Fräulein James? What are you doing here?” he asked.
Audrey told him how she grew up in the house across the street, about her studies at the konservatorium. “I was planning on returning to England after my graduation.”
“But you aren’t?” Müller asked.
“Well, no,” Audrey said. “I need to stay with Ilse now. Her passport is invalid.” She caught the anger creeping into her voice, tamped it. “She can’t come with me. So I’m staying here.”
“And I need to wait for my mother and brother to return,” Ilse said.
Müller glanced at her but said nothing.
Audrey was a flutter of nerves. “We still don’t understand. Why do you not care about Vogt? About Ilse being here?”
Müller rose suddenly and refilled his glass at the sideboard before returning to his chair. He surveyed them both, then pulled off his hat and raked a hand through his hair. “I am part of a resistance cell in Berlin. So was Vogt. We are working against Hitler from inside the secret service and military ranks.”
The silence that descended on the room was so dense, Audrey felt as though her ears had been filled with cotton padding. Ilse clutched her elbow, and Audrey was reminded of the time she’d stood up to the bullies down the street, when the third had approached from behind. Somehow, this too felt like a trick. A Nazi resister?
“You do not believe me,” Müller said.
Audrey’s mind was reeling. “So… these poker games you’ve been having here—”
“Strategy meetings, yes. Very astute, Fräulein,” Müller said with half a smile.
“All those men are in it?”
“Ludwig, Vogt, and Claus all work for the military or SS in some capacity. I’ve known Aldous for years, since our school days, and he is particularly useful to us as a forger and middleman. He has some contacts in the other cells.” Müller tilted his head at Audrey. “I thought you suspected us, you know. I thought you were spying. You had Claus and Ludwig quite concerned for a while there. That’s why I didn’t want to hire you in the first place. The last thing we needed was an unknown pair of eyes on us.”
Audrey scoffed. “I thought you lot suspected me of not being… exactly what I told you.”
“And you aren’t, are you?”
“But why didn’t you tell me?” she pressed. “That night in the kitchen?”
“What night in the kitchen?” Ilse asked.
Müller relayed the conversation that had transpired when he caught Audrey creeping down to check the post. Oddly, he seemed to be rather enjoying this exchange.
Audrey was still trying to absorb it all. She leaned forward on the couch, still thigh to thigh with Ilse. “But how did you come to be part of a resistance in the very heart of the Nazi regime? I hardly believe you.”
Müller nodded. “There aren’t many of us. But there are enough to try to effect some kind of change. There are a few other cells that we know of, aside from ours. I work in the Abwehr division of the SS. The counterintelligence office. My job is to locate and eliminate resistance cells just like ours.”
Audrey and Ilse studied him with a mixture of disbelief and intrigue.
“Most of the officers who resist simply feel Hitler has gone too far,” Müller continued, “become megalomaniacal in his rule. Many believe in the superiority of the German people and state, but that diplomacy is a far more reasonable method for asserting our rights in Europe. On the current path, Hitler will pull Europe into another war, and we cannot let that happen.”
Audrey thought of the millions of soldiers and civilians slaughtered, and felt her skin crawl. Everyone had said it would never happen again. The war to end war, they had called it.
Müller went on. “Others, like Vogt, just like a good fight.”
“You’re not sorry he’s dead, are you?” Audrey asked.
