“I’m going up,” Ilse said. “Get a decent sleep before Daniel wakes up. Three in the morning, like clockwork, it seems. Good night.”
Ilse’s footsteps retreated upstairs, and Friedrich and Audrey sat a while longer, each lost in their own thoughts.
Friedrich broke the silence. “Do you want a drink, Audrey?”
“God, yes.”
He returned with a pair of overfilled glasses, though in light of the conversation, Audrey welcomed the generous pour. He sat down again and took a sip, then held the glass up to the firelight, examining it.
“Do you know the history of this drink, Schwartzhog? The legend behind it?” he asked.
Audrey shook her head and drank deeply of the familiar, spicy liqueur.
“Back in the sixteenth century, a German noble family was attacked one night by envious rivals. But a black boar on the property started to squeal, and the family woke, fought off the attackers, and survived. They put the black boar on their crest to honour it for saving them from a terrible fate, and named their liquor after it.”
Audrey gazed into the syrupy depths of her glass, mulling over Friedrich’s tale. “Is that really true?”
“So they say.”
She ran her finger around the edge of the glass. “And did the boar survive?”
Friedrich looked puzzled. “What?”
“Did the boar survive?” she repeated. “It squealed enough to wake the family, so I assume it was heard by the attackers too.”
Friedrich’s mouth twisted into a contemplative pucker. “I’ve never thought about that, to be honest. It’s just a legend. You think it died, then?”
Audrey took another sip. “Yes,” she said quietly. “I think it died. It might have died a hero, but it died a hero with a slit throat.”
Friedrich watched her for a moment, then set his glass down on the table between them. “As much as I hate to say it, that reminds me… I have something for you.” He pulled a small brown paper bag from inside his jacket and opened it to reveal two black coat buttons. He handed her one. “This is a cyanide capsule. Made to look like a coat button. It is a last resort, a safety catch.”
“Friedrich,” Audrey said, feeling sick. “I don’t want this.” She made to hand it back to him, but he pulled away.
“You may not think you do right now, but if you are arrested, it is almost a certainty that you will be subjected to torture so they can find out what you know of the Red Orchestra and our resistance efforts. I assure you, a quick death by poisoning is a far better fate than anything the SS can dream up for you. I need you to trust me on that.”
Audrey studied his face, more serious than she had ever seen it. What had he witnessed, or heard of, in his professional life? “I can’t—”
“Sew it into the inside of your pocket, or hide it in the sole of your shoe,” he said. “When you are searched, it looks like an extra button. But when you decide you want it, rip it out and crush it between your teeth. Do not think twice, or you’ll hesitate, and those seconds could mean the difference between a quick or a drawn-out death.”
Staring down at the pill-button, Audrey felt more out of her depth than ever. This all felt like a dream sometimes, a story from someone else’s life. She was just a pianist. Not much more than a girl. When had she become a spy, an assassin?
Her eyes welled with emotion and she took another large gulp of the liquor. “Friedrich,” she said, and she was grateful to the Schwartzhog for depressing her nerves. “If I don’t make it out of this alive, I need you to promise me you’ll take care of her.”
They looked at each other, perhaps seeing one another fully for the first time.
“I will,” he said.
“She cares for you too. She feels safe with you.” It was an effort to say it, but she did anyway. “That’s something I haven’t been able to give her. Being a woman…” She trailed off, angry at all of it. That women needed men for protection. That they lived in a world that was designed and run and ruined by men. That Ilse wanted a man instead of her. She was lightheaded now, but it made it easier to say what she must. “Love her like she’s the best thing to ever happen to you. Because she will be. That is a certainty.”
“I will,” he said.
Audrey felt the smooth button clenched in her hand. “Promise me.”
“I promise. I will take care of her, and love her. For the both of us.”
She downed the rest of her drink and bade Friedrich good night, then retrieved her grey coat from the hall closet. Upstairs, she built a small fire in the grate and fetched her sewing kit from the dresser, selecting an ash-coloured thread. She held it up in the firelight to measure before snipping it off and feeding it, with a shaky hand, through the needle head. She tied a knot and began to work, thinking of Ilse and Friedrich and murdering Adolf Hitler, all the while wondering why she bothered to find a matching thread to sew her death into the pocket of her coat.
Chapter 25
Audrey
BERLIN, GERMANY | APRIL 1939
I guess this is it, then.” Friedrich exhaled a long stream of nerves, his breath visible in the cold air.
The morning of the assassination attempt had dawned with a plunge in temperature and a dusting of snow, and Audrey and Friedrich sat together in the automobile he had hired under a false name, going over their mental checklist. It was early, barely light out, but their journey would take about four hours. They would pick up Claus on their way out of town near an abandoned warehouse that would render no witnesses. Ludwig was driving alone to avoid the others being seen in his car prior to the attack, and would wait in his vehicle near the Opera House to reconvene with them once the mission was complete. Aldous had taken the train to Hanover alone the week before, for reconnaissance and to map out the area, and Audrey was pleased when he confirmed her recollections of the Opera House and its neighbourhood.
Friedrich looked at Audrey from under the rim of his cap. She had never seen him so unsettled, though she could hardly blame him. This was the riskiest, most intense day of any of their lives. But she felt composed. She was ready for this. So much had been building toward it, they’d all put so much on the line. She’d tolerated Weber’s revolting advances and gropes for the scrap of critical information that had led to this day, and a balloon of hope buoyed her. This might be the end of it. They might make it out alive. Germany might wake to a new and brighter future the next day where Ruth, Ephraim, and Ilse were free.
Audrey had said her goodbye to Ilse upstairs before they came down for breakfast. They held each other, and Ilse had cried, but Audrey kept her emotions in check. She’d already said everything she needed to say. Being Ilse’s best and longest friend would be enough, because it had to be. She would love what they were and had been, and let go of what she wanted them to be. And, Audrey thought, an optimistic mindset tilting toward success was essential for what they were about to do. Tears would not help.
As they pulled away from the curb, she looked back at the Kaplans’ house. The past few months, the house had been a small haven, a private island in the middle of the red and black sea. This might be the last time she would see it, the place that had been her home in practice for three years, and in spirit far longer than that.
The first day she crossed the street to meet Ilse flashed before her, Sophie’s admonishments echoing in her mind. With a surge of determination, she pushed it all down and forced herself to look away.
The car was freezing, and she stuck her gloved hands into her coat pockets. “When are they going to put some kind of heating system in these damn things?” she mused.
