The Darkest Hour Page 20

  Sabine trudged back to her workstation, when Frau Klausen met her halfway with a tired smile saying, “All done. I believe Elise has two more to assemble and then we’ll finally be done.”

  She nodded and sighed. If Elise would work more instead of talking a mile a minute, she’d have finished a long time ago. Minutes later, the gong sounded to announce they had reached their quota and could all go home.

  Thank God!

  Sabine rushed from the factory, her mood foul and her temper on a hair-trigger. To make things worse, a gusty wind whipped snowflakes into her face, making her hunch her shoulders and wrap her headscarf tighter around her neck and shoulders.

  How she wished to be somewhere else. In Spain, for example. That country hadn’t joined the war and according to newspaper articles, it never snowed over there. Nor did the people have to endure rations, Ersatzkaffee, and constant air raids.

  Despite the ugly weather she made it home in record time, only to find Lily coming out of the door at the very moment Sabine passed by her house. Ducking her head, she made for her own front door, pretending not to notice the other woman. But Lily stepped out onto the street and blocked Sabine’s path.

  “Hello, Sabine. How was your day?”

  Sabine stopped and looked up at Lily, clad in a flashy evening gown glittering in golden tones beneath a dark brown sable coat. The ensemble probably cost more than Werner earned in a year. The conceited woman brandished the long cigarette holder as if she were some famous actress right off the silver screen. “I’ve had a very long, very tiring day.”

  Lily shrugged her shoulders, taking a drag off the cigarette before blowing the smoke out and giving Sabine a look devoid of any sympathy. “You haven’t given me an answer to what we discussed…”

  “I just told you I’m tired. It’s cold and I want to go inside.” Sabine gestured toward the front door of her home for emphasis. “I don’t want to stand outside in the dark talking to you.”

  “Which is the very reason why you need to come onboard with me. Don’t you see it? You wouldn’t be so tired. You wouldn’t have to work such long hours at the factory. You might not have to work at the factory at all.”

  Sabine gave a harsh laugh. “But you want me to work at the factory so that I can spy on my unsuspecting coworkers. If I worked fewer hours or quit, that would be defeating the purpose. Wouldn’t it?” Sabine couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of her voice.

  “Well, you’d have to get the information on Frau Klausen before they’d let you quit. But then…well, there are plenty of other places you could be useful for the Reich.”

  “Like you?” Sabine felt the frustration snake up her spine. She’d rather stop working at the damned factory sooner than later, but not when it involved shady work for Lily’s secret employer.

  “Yes. There are always—”

  Sabine cut her off with a cutting motion of her hand. “Lily, I’m not a tart like you. I won’t sell my body to get information for the Nazis so that they can twist it all around and ruin someone else’s life.”

  The high-pitched gasp and the indignant expression on Lily’s face promised retribution, but Sabine’s empathy had long since evaporated. The entire dammed-up discontent of her grueling day burst out of her. “And, since you’re so eager to hear my answer, here it is: No. I will not work as a spy. Never.” She pushed her way past Lily, heated spots burning on her cheeks, and stormed into her home.

  She slammed the door shut, threw the bolt, and leaned against the door, her breath coming in ragged spurts. Unshed tears stung her eyes and threatened to overflow. Werner found her like this a few minutes later.

  “Sabine? What’s happened?” he asked in the soft voice that would usually calm her down and give her reassurance. Not today.

  She pushed off the door and shook her head, shedding her coat, headscarf, and gloves. Without speaking a further word, she headed for the kitchen and put the kettle on the stove.

  Only then did she dare to look at him, a queasy feeling snaking into her soul. “I really blew it with Lily,” she said and recounted her exact words to him.

  Werner’s face remained set in stone, a clear indication he was more than a bit worried. When she finished her story, he said solemnly, “I agree. Calling the woman a tart was probably not your wisest course of action. Maybe you should go over and apologize to her? Blame it on the vile day you had at work?”

  “No. No. She is a slut – or worse. I shouldn’t have called her out on her immoral behavior, but I’m not apologizing to that woman.”

  He was quiet for a moment and then held out his hand to her. “I have an idea. Why don’t you change into your housedress and I’ll make tea for us? After dinner I’ll rub your back until you forget all about the hard day? How does that sound?”

  Sabine pulled the whistling kettle from the burner and gave Werner a soft smile. “You are so good to me, even when I don’t deserve it. I’ll think about apologizing.”

  Werner kissed her on the forehead and then shooed her toward the bedroom. “Go.”

  Sabine hugged him before she walked upstairs to change into her robe. A hot tea and an early night sounded like the perfect remedy for the awful day she’d had.

  Chapter 7

  Several days later

  Sabine arrived home from work, expecting to find Werner home, but the house was empty. Since he sometimes got delayed during a patrol, she put his dinner into the oven to keep warm and ate alone.

  She switched on the radio to her favorite music program, the Wunschkonzert, where listeners could phone the radio station and ask for a song to be played. A load of laundry to iron and fold by her side, she sang to the popular tunes and her mood improved.

  About halfway in to the program the mother of a son missing in action asked for the song Ich weiß es wird einmal ein Wunder geschehen – “I Know One Day a Miracle Will Happen” by Zarah Leander.

  Couldn’t we all use a miracle? Sabine thought, suddenly swept up in nostalgia. She ironed Werner’s uniform shirts and hung them neatly in the closet. After finishing the entire basket of laundry, it was past eleven p.m., but there was still no sign of Werner.

  She decided to call the fire station and inquire about his unusual delay. “Hello, I’m Frau Mahler and I was wondering if you’d know where my husband Werner Mahler was?”

  The voice on the other end of the line interrupted her: “He’s not here.”

  “Would you know where he is? His shift ended five hours ago and he’s still not home.”

  “Ma’am, I’m sorry but I don’t have any information. All I know is that he’s not on duty anymore. Goodnight.”

  Sabine stared at the phone, her worry increasing tenfold. “Werner, where are you?” she asked the empty room, doing her best to keep her tears from falling.

  Past midnight, she went to bed, but sleep proved elusive as she jumped at every little noise, wishing and praying for her husband to walk through the front door. She must have fallen asleep at some time, because the alarm tore her out of her dreams. Only half-awake she rolled over to his side of the bed – empty. Her eyes popped open in shock and she scanned the room for any evidence of his presence. Nothing.

  She rushed downstairs, but the house was empty. No hat and no coat, except hers, hung on the rack beside the front door. Her heart as icy as her naked feet on the cold linoleum floor, she dressed in a hurry, forgoing the usual artwork of putting her hair into rolls. Skipping breakfast, Sabine grabbed her purse to visit the fire station before reporting for work.

  The receptionist cast her eyes downward, pretending to be busy with something, the moment Sabine stepped in front of her desk.

  “Good morning, Fräulein Schulz,” Sabine said.

  “How can I help you?” the woman answered, still not looking her in the eyes.

  Sabine’s stomach did a double dip. The few times she’d met Fräulein Schulz before, she’d always been helpful and friendly. Taking a deep breath, she asked, “My husband Werner Mahler didn’t come home las
t night. Any chance you would know his whereabouts?”

  “I’m sorry. He’s not here,” Fräulein Schulz said, ducking her head and intently studying her fingernails.

  Sabine wanted to grab her by the throat and shake her until she said something. Anything. What happened to my Werner? And why won’t you tell me? she wanted to scream.

  A man waiting in the queue behind her said, “Lady, there’s more of us waiting.” She stepped aside, letting the next person bring forward their concern. With nothing else to do, she walked toward the exit, her shoulders hunched forward, until she saw a colleague of her husband. “Hello, Ernst.”

  He waved at her with a serious face and shook her hand, saying in a soft voice, “Don’t ask questions. Let it go.”

  She gasped at his words, unable to respond to him.

  “Save yourself and don’t ever return here again,” he whispered before he quickly left the room, leaving Sabine stupefied.

  Don’t ask questions? Let it go? We’re talking about my husband, not some random stranger! Sabine feared her knees would give out, and she mustered the little energy she had left to straighten her back and walk out of that damned fire station as if nothing had happened, when indeed, her entire life was collapsing around her.

  Werner had disappeared, and those people knew more than they let on. She loved him. How could she forget about him? Abandon him? He wouldn’t abandon her. Tears of frustration filled her eyes.

  Just as she walked down the stairs in front of the building, someone grabbed her elbow and propelled her onto the sidewalk.

  “Don’t talk yet,” he whispered, keeping up a vigorous pace.

  She glanced at the man walking beside her and recognized Werner’s superior. Her pulse ratcheted up to a hammering staccato, but somehow she managed to keep her face straight and her mouth closed until they’d rounded the next corner into a small alleyway. “I don’t understand what’s going on.”

  The officer gave her a sympathetic look, saying, “The Gestapo came yesterday and took Werner away.”

  Sabine gasped and covered her mouth to hold back the cry that wanted to escape. Tears pooled in her eyes and she shook her head. “Why?”

  “The why usually doesn’t matter. I’m urging you not to do anything stupid. There’s nothing you can do to help him, but you can save yourself. Consider leaving town for a while. Werner would want you to be fine.…”

  “I can’t do that. There must be some mistake. Can’t anyone talk to them?”

  “No one is going to interfere with the Gestapo. Go to work and do everything as you normally would. Don’t go asking questions.” With that said, he stepped out of the alleyway and disappeared back inside the station.

  Sabine waited a few minutes, trying to contain the anger building inside. How could they all stand by and look away? He’d worked with these very people for so many years, some he even called friends, and they were all willing to abandon him in a heartbeat?

  She allowed her rage to fuel her walk as she headed off for the factory. Arriving at the gates, she glanced at her wristwatch. Late again. She had only four minutes to change and sneak into her workstation before her shift began.

  In her hurry to arrive on time, she hadn’t noticed the ominous man blocking the entrance to the factory until she almost bumped into him.

  Chapter 8

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t see you there,” she said with an apologetic smile.

  “Sabine Mahler?”

  “Yes. Why?” Sabine answered, wariness in her gaze and tension filling her limbs.

  The man pointed toward a black vehicle parked at the curb. “Gestapo. You must come with me.”

  Violent fear rushed through her body, making it impossible to follow his order. Out of habit, she raised a hand to control whether her elegant hairdo had become undone, even whilst her knees shook. Usually, large ring curls rolled back from her face, forming an elegance rivaling that shown by the actresses that graced the silver screen. A bevy of pin curls kept the rest of her hair secured at the base of her neck, adding to the sophistication of the hairstyle. The perfect rolls and pinup curls in her honey-blonde hair had become her one extravagance amidst the depression of living in war-torn Berlin.

  But her hand found only a tight bun at the nape of her neck. She barely noticed it. None of her former preoccupations mattered right now. She’d discarded her own rules and poked her head into things that were better left alone. And now the spirits she’d conjured up by visiting the firestation wouldn’t be banished again.

  “Frau Mahler? You need an extra invitation?” the Gestapo officer said with a movement of his right hand to his hip.

  “N…n…no. I’m coming.” Sabine somehow managed to order her legs to move toward the black vehicle. No manual existed outlining how to behave when the Gestapo extended an invitation to follow them. But she assumed her best chance to stay in one piece was to cooperate fully with whatever this man wanted.

  He opened the back door of the vehicle and commanded, “Get in.”

  Sabine climbed inside, fear grabbing at her heart when he followed and sat beside her.

  “Headquarters,” he told the driver and within seconds, the vehicle sped down the street. Bicycles swerved in haste when they heard the vehicle approaching them and Sabine imagined seeing the fear on the faces of passersby.

  She inched as far away from the man sitting with her as the confinement of the backseat allowed. For a fleeting moment, she even considered jumping out of the moving automobile.

  But that would defy the purpose. She’d visited the firestation not because she wanted to get involved in politics, but because her beloved husband had disappeared. She clasped her hands together in her lap in the vain effort to control the tremble in her limbs. Her breathing ragged, she started to count to fifty and then again.

  The man at her side seemed to have noticed her distress, although he must have been used to causing anguish all round, and said, “My boss only wants to talk to you. For now.”

  Sabine swallowed. Hard. His soothing statement hadn’t assured her one bit. On the contrary, it felt like a concealed threat. Going back to counting, her mind raced faster than the vehicle speeding down Berlin’s ruined streets. She tried to convince herself that there was no reason to panic. Not yet, anyway.

  Maybe the rumors weren’t true? Maybe the Gestapo weren’t the thugs everyone painted them as. Sabine almost choked at her musings.

  The Gestapo instilled terror into every German citizen, and with good reason. Werner had recounted numerous horror stories about the atrocities they committed on innocent and unsuspecting people. And now her beloved husband was in the hands of these depraved monsters. She had to be strong.

  For him.

  She kept her hands tightly woven together as they drove through the city, but her entire body trembled, giving away the ferocity of her terror. The driver finally stopped and Sabine looked outside the window, straight at the huge grey building with the beautiful ornaments over the windows and the pompous entrance.

  The exterior beauty of the building stood in stark contrast to the terror it evoked in everyone who didn’t work there. Prinz-Albrecht-Strasse 8. Gestapo headquarters. Sabine was too young to remember, but the magnificent building had been an arts and crafts school before 1933 – a use much more suitable to its splendor.

  “Get out,” the Gestapo officer said.

  Her heart thumping against her chest, Sabine made an effort to leave the vehicle without stumbling from nerves. She managed to follow him with tiny steps, her head held high, a smile plastered on her face to try and fool any passersby that her arrival was nothing unusual and not a lamb’s being led to the slaughter.

  The huge wooden door opened and the magnificence of the entrance hall took her breath away. Under different circumstances she would have relished the shining beauty of the marbled floor, the high ceilings decorated with artful stucco and the broad wooden stairs, polished by decades of use.

  Passing through long hallways
with closed doors, the officer led her up several stairways into the attic. With each step Sabine’s stomach tied into a tighter knot, until she struggled to draw breath. She raised her hand to touch her carefully done rolls, just to remind herself that she was still well and alive – for now. But she found only a messy bun, the embodiment of her current predicament.

  The attic showed no trace of splendor or magnificence. It was a dimly illuminated place with closed metal doors and an eerie silence that seemed full of the shadows of tortured souls. Sabine didn’t consider herself superstitious, but right there and then, she sensed the presence of angry energy.

  Her hand fell from her head to her heart, as she heard a bone-chilling shriek coming from behind one of the doors. She’d rather not know the source of the agony and tightened her lips to mask her expression, while secretly cursing her foolishness in investigating her husband’s disappearance.

  The officer opened a door and shoved her inside a small room that held nothing more than a table and two chairs. A single bare lightbulb hung directly above her head, illuminating the windowless room with harsh and unforgiving light.

  “Sit,” he said and disappeared, locking the door after him.

  Sabine felt an icy chill crawling up her spine as she took a seat and stared at the grey walls covered with stains. Bloodstains.

  She checked her wristwatch. Her superior would be livid because she hadn’t arrived for the shift. Should she tell this to the Gestapo? In case anyone ever arrived to talk to her.

  After checking her watch about one hundred times, less than thirty minutes had passed. Her left leg did an annoying wriggling and she couldn’t stop it. What was worse, her left eyelid started twitching, too. Two more minutes passed and no sound or person entered the room. Would they leave her to rot in here?

  She already imagined how her parched corpse would be hauled outside a few days from now. Another minute passed. The waiting grated on her nerves, making her an anxious wreck. She resorted to counting again. Slow, measured breathing and counting. One – Two – Seven hundred sixty-five – Four thousand two hundred eighty-one –