Fatherland

someone made a joke about 'going East,' every time you heard a mother tell her children to behave or they'd go up the chimney. We knew when we moved into their houses, when we took over their property, their jobs. We knew but we didn't have the facts." He pointed to the notes with his left hand. "Those put flesh on the bones. Put bones where there was just clear air."
    "I meant: I didn't know that Buhler, Stuckart and Luther were involved in this. I didn't know about Globus . . ."
    "Sure. You just thought you were investigating an art robbery."
    "It's true! It's true!" repeated Krebs. "Wednesday morning—can you remember back that far?—I was investigating corruption at the Deutsche Arbeitsfront: the sale of labor permits. Then, out of the blue, I am summoned to see the Reichsführer, one to one,. He tells me retired civil servants have been discovered in a colossal art fraud. The potential embarrassment for the Party is huge. Obergruppenführer Globocnik is in charge. I am to go at once to Schwanenwerder and take my orders from him."
    "Why you?"
    "Why not? The Reichsführer knows of my interest in art. We have spoken of these matters. My job was simply to catalog the treasures."
    "But you must have realized that Globus killed Buhler and Stuckart?"
    "Of course. I'm not an idiot. I know Globus's reputation as well as you. But Globus was acting on Heydrich's orders, and if Heydrich had decided to let him loose, to spare the Party a public scandal—who was I to object?"
    "Who were you to object?" repeated March.
    "Let's be clear, March. Are you saying their deaths had nothing to do with the fraud?"
    "Nothing. The fraud was a coincidence that became a useful cover story, that's all."
    "But it made sense. It explained why Globus was acting as state executioner, and why he was desperate to head off an investigation by the Kripo. On Wednesday night I was still cataloging the pictures on Schwanenwerder when he called in a rage—about you. Said you'd been officially taken off the case, but you'd broken into Stuckart's apartment. I was to go and bring you in, which I did. And I tell you: if Globus had had his way, that would have been the end of you right there, but Nebe wouldn't have it. Then, on Friday night, we found what we thought was Luther's body in the railway yard, and that seemed to be the end of it."
    "When did you discover the corpse wasn't Luther's?"
    "Around six on Saturday morning. Globus telephoned me at home. He said he had information Luther was still alive and was planning to meet the American journalist at nine."
    "He knew this," asserted March, "because of a tipoff from the American Embassy."
    Krebs snorted. "What sort of crap is that? He knew because of a wire tap."
    "That can't be—"
    "Why can't it? See for yourself." Krebs opened one of his folders and extracted a single sheet of flimsy brown paper. "It was rushed over from the wire tappers in Charlottenburg in the middle of the night."
    March read:

    Forschungsamt      Top Secret State Document
    G745,275
    2351 hours
    Male:      You say: What do I want? What do you think I want? Asylum in your country.
    Female: Tell me where you are.
    Male:      I can pay.
    Female:   [Interrupts.]
    Male:      I have information. Certain facts.
    Female: Tell me where you are. I'll come and get you. Well go to the embassy.
    Male:      Too soon. Not yet.
    Female:   When?
    Male:      Tomorrow morning. Listen to me. Nine o'clock. The Great Hall. Central steps. Have you got that?
    Once more he could hear her voice; smell her; touch her.
    In a recess of his mind, something stirred.
    He slid the paper back across the table to Krebs, who returned it to the folder and resumed, "What happened next, you know. Globus had Luther shot the instant he appeared—and, let me be honest, that shocked me. To do such a thing in a public place ... I thought: this man is mad. Of course, I didn't know then quite why he was so anxious that Luther shouldn't be taken alive." He stopped abruptly, as if he had forgotten where he was, the role he was supposed to be playing. He finished quickly, "We searched the body and found nothing. Then we came after you."
    March's hand had started to throb again. He looked down and saw crimson spots soaking through the white bandage.
    "What time is it?"
    "Five forty-seven."
    She had been gone almost eleven hours.
    God, his hand . . . The specks of red were spreading, touching; forming archipelagoes of blood.
    "There were four of