To chapter 14 - 26

Chameleon Fever

Chapter 1-13

The Story of Oskar Danzig

Master of Disguises, Famous (Female) Impersonator

& Esteemed Leader of the Underground

(wip)

Shot

A lonely car wound its way through the countryside south of Hamelburg. The headlights were dimmed, conform the regulations. Behind the wheel sat a thirtyish young man with a brown fringe, his leather cap drawn down over his eyes. A faint smile played around his lips.

"If only you knew, Colonel Hogan," he chuckled quietly. "If only you knew how many times we have met without you realizing it was me in disguise. I´d just love to see your face when you find out!"

A slight sigh. It would have to wait. Till the war was over. How much longer? He had to get the information on those panzer divisions! Their immobilizing could mean a great advantage for the Allies; he had to get the information! He hoped, he really prayed that Colonel Hogan had managed to find out...

Another curve, and as the car turned into the bare winterwoods he felt a chill going down his spine. He tensed instantly. Danger?

There was no sign of it though. The woodland lay deserted – at least it appeared to be. If everything went according to plan, his ally slash enemy Colonel Hogan would be here. And perhaps some of his men as well.

Well, quick in, quick out then. They could have their revealing tea-party after the war.

Some twenty meters ahead of him a light flashed from among the trees. Gestapo, or...? No, it was Hogan´s sign. Quickly he answered by flashing his headlights; then he steered the car to the side of the road.

Cautiously, ready to run, he climbed out of the car. "Colonel Hogan?" He knew his English was terribly accented, even though his understanding of the language had improved tremendously since he had been assigned to the camp.

A few figures raised from the bushes. Blimey (a funny sounding curse he had picked up from the English prisoners), they were all here: the colonel, the little Frenchman, friendly young Carter, the young black sergeant, and that pain-in-the-neck Newkirk.

"Danzig!" Hogan approached him; he, too, came closer.

"I was expecting someone with high heels and a tight girdle," Hogan greeted him in a teasing tone.

Oskar Danzig held his eyes. "One does not wear one´s disguises when they are no longer disguises." Thank goodness, that came out pretty well, if he may say so himself. Those tongue-twisting English passwords sometimes took him hours of practice before he could somewhat master their pronunciation.

A slight nod from Hogan; the necessary recognition codes over with, he cut down to business immediately. He took out a folded piece of paper: "Here are the troop movements and locations of five panzer divisions."

Danzig looked up in surprise as he took the paper from him. "This is more than I expected! Good work! We are very grateful to all of you."

A quick smile from the American. "Good luck!"

A last nod, and Oskar Danzig turned back to the car.

At that moment the silent woods turned to hell. From across the road shouting was heard. In a flash, Danzig saw black uniforms appear, half a dozen or more. He didn´t wait to count them; with this information on him, there was but one thing to do: get the hell out of here!

He jumped behind the wheel and sped off before he had even closed the door properly.

More shouting. Orders being barked. Machineguns firing. A quick prayer that Hogan and his men would evade capture. And that those Gestapo guys wouldn´t hit his gas-tank or his tires. Another hundred meters or so, and he´d...

With a crash the rear windshield shattered to pieces, and he gasped as at that same moment a fiery punch hit his back. Had he been hit?

"Keep going!" he told himself. It wasn´t easy, but he forced himself to concentrate on the road. First he had to get to safety, then he could worry about being hit. The information he carried was far too important. And far too dangerous for him to fall into the hands of the Gestapo...

But man, it hurt. The fiery spot just under his right shoulder-blade burnt with even the slightest movement. He bit his lip in a desperate effort not to cry out. For there was the curve in the road; the curve that would save him for now: he would at least be out of range there. Just keep the car on the road...

He dug his teeth even deeper in his flesh. The curve coming up. The machine gun firing still flashed around him, occasionally hitting some part of the car with a sharp clang, but apparently never doing any real damage.

Groaning with the effort he turned the wheel. He wanted to close his eyes in agony, but he knew all too well that he couldn´t. But at least – at least he was out of range from those Gestapo-guns now...

He let go of a breath he hadn´t been aware that he´d been holding. It hissed through his clenched teeth as the slight movement of relaxing the muscles of his lungs mercilessly tore at the wound. Mein Gott, how it hurt... He had been hit before – plain fleshwounds, in his arm and his shoulder. But those times had been a walk in the park compared to this infernally burning pain. He wanted to cringe, to curl up, to just hold the spot and close his eyes till the pain would subside...

But he couldn´t. He had to focus on the road, on the car. On the information he was carrying. He wasn´t safe yet – as if he had been really safe for even a split second ever since this all started. He may be out of range from those Gestapo Lugers, but there was no guarantee that they wouldn´t come after him. Or that others wouldn´t stop him on the way. He had to go on, to get to some resemblance of safety. To get this information off to Düsseldorf, before it was too late. He could take the pain. He just had to.

"Concentrate on the road," he told himself over and over again. "Just concentrate on the road. You can do it. You´ve been hit before. Just concentrate on the road."

But cold sweat kept dripping from under his cap, impairing his vision since he didn´t dare to make the necessary movement to wipe it away.

Something tickly kept trickling down his back, too. Blood? His shirt was soaked anyway, either with blood or with sweat. Or both. He tasted blood in his mouth as well; he was probably biting his lip to shrapnel. But he had to, in order not to scream. Or worse: not to pass out. For he was feeling rather faint by now; it was just the adrenalin that kept him going. But every bump in the uneven track made him grumble with pain; every turn of the road was another attack on the torn flesh just below the shoulder-blade.

At least it seemed no one was coming after him; perhaps they didn´t have a car. Which meant they probably went after Hogan and his men. Bad enough in itself, but he couldn´t afford the luxury of worrying about them now. First he´d have to get himself and Hogan´s information to relative safety; then...

Thank God, there was the main road. In case they were pursuing him after all, the paved street would make it pretty much impossible to follow his tracks the way they could in the woods.

"Hold on, Karl," he told himself when he had regained his breath after the sharp turn onto the Flenzheimer Straße. "A few more kilometers and you´ll have made it."

Carefully he took a deep breath. No cars in sight. Time to... He braced himself for the hot flash of pain he was surely heading into. Then: easy on the brakes, a quick spin of the steering-wheel, and within moments the car headed back towards Hamelburg. Traces would be minimal, and if indeed they were after him, they´d probably – hopefully – continue towards Flenzheim instead. Now all he had to do was putting some unobtrusive speed into...

He couldn´t. He was still struggling for breath after that last maneuver, and bright coloured spots kept dancing in front of his eyes.

"Come on, you can do it!" he told himself through clenched teeth.

But there was no way he could speed the car home. His sight was dimmed somehow, and troubled by lightflashes and frantically dancing dots. And with the pain now throbbing through his entire chest, he couldn´t possibly concentrate on anything save for holding out. It would be suicide to drive quickly in this condition. And as long as there seemed to be no pursuit, he´d rather not die in a car-accident. Not when he´d been endangering his life for years in fighting the nazis. Not when the end was so near...

So, constantly grumbling and gritting his teeth, he slowly drove the car towards the abandoned farmhouse that the local underground had been using for a base these past months. And whenever the pain became really unbearable, on this rather well-kept road he could occasionally squeeze his eyes shut – if only for a moment.

And there – finally – was the treestump marking the turnoff. A little sigh of relief. There would be friends waiting here. Less than a kilometer to go. He could do it; he could!

He moaned openly with the effort of turning into the lane. Just a few more minutes, and he´d...

There was the house: an even darker shadow in the dark landscape. The threshing-floor, the barn...

He stopped the car and finally allowed his left hand to wipe his face. He made it. Home.

Slowly, very slowly, he managed to open the door. A growl at the sudden tearing flash of pain as he climbed out. Close the door, catch your breath... Unsteadily he staggered towards the door. Dimly he noticed it being opened. A blond woman peered out in the dark, whispering: "Who is there?"

He groaned in reply. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew there was a certain phrase – another one of those terrible tongue-twisters – he had to say in return. But his brain was so shattered by the now infernal pain that he could not possibly recall his line.

"Maryse," was all he remembered as he staggered closer. "Maryse, I´ve been..."

The last thing he noticed were her eyes growing wide in realization.

Then he fainted in her arms.

"Little Red Ridinghood calling Papa Bear. Come in, Papa Bear."

Slowly he opened his eyes. Where was he?

Papa Bear... Ridinghood... He tried to focus on the girl at the radio. She looked nice; yes, she could be Little Red Ridinghood. And that brown bulky form bending down over her, would that be the big bad wolf? Then he had to stop the ravenous beast, before it would eat the lovely little girl! He...!

He tried to get up, but with a gasp he sank back on the sofa. And as a wave of the forgotten throbbing pain seared through his body, he was still vaguely aware of the bulky bad wolf now bending down over him instead. The beast uttered some worried sounds; its voice sounded familiar. Had he ever met the big bad wolf?

His survival instinct got the better of the pain for a moment, and cautiously he peered through his eyelashes. Was he about to be eaten, or...?

A mental sigh of relief as he closed his eyes again. It wasn´t some big bad wolf. He was home... No, at the underground´s hide-out, and it was Karl bending down over him.

No, wait a minute... he was Karl.

Wasn´t he?

Home

But home... That was far away. Long ago. The little apartment in the labourer´s district of Viersen. In his memories, every inch of it was crowded with females: his mother, his sisters...

He had never known his father. The man had been an officer in the Kaiser´s army, and he had been killed in one of the first battles of the Great War. His mother got the news while praying for her husband to be able to come home for the birth of this little straggler. Which could be any day now. Upon receiving the distressing news she had gone straight into labour, and little Karl Jr. was born a semi-orphan.

At first, the blow had paralyzed his mother, and the task fell to his many sisters – he had eleven of them, ranging from the age of six to twenty-two at the time of his birth – to take care of the family´s newborn son and heir. And they all adored their little baby-brother. Of course, when his mother recovered, she took over the task of raising him, but she couldn´t quite put an end to her daughters´ fussing over him as well. So in fact he grew up with no less than twelve mothers and no father figure at all.

Had times been better, all their attention might easily have spoiled him rotten. But without a man´s income, the fatherless family was soon forced to scale down from the respectable middle-classes to the poorer living conditions of the labourer´s. His mother and many of his sisters had to take on jobs: as seamstresses, as maids, even as operatives in the nearby factory. As far back as he remembered, they were always out working for most of the day. And despite their long working hours, there had always been worry about money.

Times were dark. The Great War ended when he was four years old, but general poverty continued to haunt the once so rich and proud German nation. As it did their family. One by one, his sisters got married. But they had enough trouble to keep their own new families properly fed, without having to help their mother and younger siblings – even though they did whenever they could. So he, too, had started with odd jobs in the factory as soon as he had been old enough. It was actually kind of fun together with the other boys there.

But his mother refused to have him work there full-time, like most of his newfound friends. Instead, she insisted he´d go to school, to learn and to study; to hopefully resume the proper family-standing in society one day. And whenever he complained about the tediousness of school and studying, she always said she owed his dear father that much.

She knew all too well that referring to his father would silence her only son. She loved the boy so much... It was the last gift, the most beautiful gift she had gotten from her dear husband, and she simply wanted all the best for him. Even a really good school, though she could scarcely afford it. She dreamt about him attending the gymnasium as he should have had his father still been alive. Perhaps he´d continue with the military academy next, and follow in his father´s footsteps. Or perhaps he´d go on to university, and become a respected member of the upper scientific circles.

But as it often goes, young Karl had other plans for the future. Realizing as he grew into a teenager how dark and somber the world around him was, he set his cap for cheering up people. To make them laugh. To make them forget their troubles – if only for a little while. He seriously wanted to be a comedian.

He knew he could do it. He even knew he was pretty good at it. His imitations of other people were unequalled; were it his mother´s pouring tea, his sister´s applying make-up for a scarce date with her fiancé, the foreman´s bullying in the factory, or the teacher´s glare at a troublemaker, he could mimic them all.

He could watch one of his sisters preparing dinner, and then mimic all her moves, her gestures and facial expressions to perfection. But when he did it, the whole room would cry for laughing. He could mimic another sister´s greeting her fiancé, proudly parading for him before throwing herself in his arms. He could mimic the charity ladies striding through the alleys, mindful of the dirty neighbourhood they were visiting. He could mimic the drunken clowns coming home from the pub on Saturday nights. He could mimic the minister´s serene condescension when he was visiting the sick. To his classmates´ ultimate joy he could give a magnificent imitation of every teacher in the school. He could mimic his sisters doing their hair and getting dressed. He could mimic their occasional bitching and bickering. He could mimic the way they looked, listened, sat, stood, walked, moved, ran, ate, drank, slept, sighed, talked, cried, laughed, flirted, brushed their teeth... Yes. With eleven sisters, he had had ample opportunities to study the behaviour of especially the opposite sex – whether it had been done consciously or not.

At home his imitations were always good for a laugh – though the sister in question sometimes got plain mad with him. But his most avid admirer had been Peter, his friend from school. "Just give that guy a different hat and he is someone else," Peter used to say.

Peter. His comrade in pranks, his best friend ever since their first day at school.

Peter. The bet that had turned his life upside down.

Peter, you bastard... It was all your fault, you know that?

Peter, where are you?

---

Cool, carefully probing fingers touched his burning skin. He moaned. "Peter..."

"Mein Herr, I´m going to have to remove the bullet. It´s already half through the skin of your chest. The bullet probably grazed the lung as well. But my greatest worry now is how badly infected the wound is."

"We noticed," a clear female voice said. "We´ve already sent for penicilline."

"Penicilline? What is that?" the doctor´s voice asked sharply. Yes, the way he talked about his injuries, he was probably a doctor.

A short, awkward pause. "A kind of miracle drug that cleans up infections. Far quicker than sulfate. Our... our contacts know how to get hold of it. It can save lives."

"Aha." Another silence. "Well, call me when it arrives and I will see what I can do. In the meantime, try and keep his temperature down. Even if the bullet didn´t kill him, this infection and the fever still may. Well, let´s get on with it. Do you have water here? Clean water?"

Again the cool probing fingers. A moan welled up.

"Bitte, Herr Doktor, do what you can to save him...? We don´t want to lose our friend..."

We don´t want to lose our friend...

Peter.

Where are you, Peter?

Are the rumours true? Have you been killed? Peter!

"He´s ailing," a voice said from far away. "This could get really bad..."

---

Sacrifice

"Peter, you´re nuts!"

"No, I´m not. Why should the ladies have the opportunity of making money at having fun, and men should not? Here. Try this on." He placed a blond wig with long flowing hair on his friend´s head. "Perfect!"

But Karl pulled it off right away. "No way. I will not parade around as a woman in front of a public."

"You do it all the time! Since when do you suffer from stagefright?"

"Yes, at home! Or at school! But that´s different! I´ve never even played a woman in the school plays!"

"Then it´s about time you did. You´re magnificent at it, and you know it."

"Perhaps. But I will not go parading around as a sexy lady in a bar."

Peter – the tall, well-grown, broad shouldered Peter Zagarov – placed his hands on his skinny friend´s shoulders. "Look. You want to go to this all important football-game, don´t you? Our Viersen FV against FC Köln for the Landsmeisterschaft."

Karl nodded hesitantly. "It would be great if we could go."

"Exactly. But we don´t have the money to travel to Köln, and our parents are never going to give us the money either. So we have to find another way to raise the money for the train within two weeks."

"You mean you want me to raise that money," Karl corrected him sharply.

"I´ll come with you. As your agent, or your bodyguard or whatever. They´re never going to believe that I am a woman!"

"But to sort of sell myself as a slut..."

"Not a slut, a seductive dancer! Look," Peter sighed. "I´ll make you a deal. If you go out there and do your act, I´ll do your English homework for a month."

"Two months," Karl bargained – the languages were by far his weakest point. "And my Latin translations as well."

"Agreed."

"And if they recognize me..."

"They won´t."

"... you´ll do all my homework for a year!" Karl groaned. "Oh man, that would be embarrassing..."

"Don´t worry, they won´t recognize you. We´ll simply give you the works: make-up and everything."

xxx

That Saturday after school, Karl went home with Peter. He had told his mother he was going to sleep over, so she wouldn´t notice in case they´d get back awfully late. Neither of them had ever really been to a bar at night, so it was all a bit of a gamble.

Both Peter´s parents were engaged in theaterwork: his Russian father as a director, his mother as an actress. Which meant not only that they would be out of the house for the evening, but also that there was a huge chest in the house filled with what Peter called ´play-clothes´.

But first: "You´d better shave your legs," Peter pointed out.

Karl grimaced. "Yuk. Do I have to?"

"Ever seen a seductive lady with fluff on her legs?"

With that ordeal over (they had shaved off the beginning moustache on Karl´s upper lip as well of course) it was time to get dressed. Peter dug through the multitude of clothes and attributes in the chest, and came up with a gazy blouse, a frilly bra, a handbag, fake nylon boobs, a pair of white gloves, a wide ladies´ coat, a pair of black lace suspenders, a corset, and a shockingly short skirt.

"You brought your sister´s tights and high heels?"

"Yes..." Seeing the pile of shamefully sexy woman´s garments, Karl was getting more and more doubts about their escapade again.

"Well, go ahead. Get dressed."

Karl gulped. "I don´t know, Peter. I don´t think I can go through with this. It´s so... so..."

"You´re just shivering on the brink. Come on, I´ll give you a hand with the tacky stuff."

After pinning the wig with the long blond hair in place and a cooperative make-up session with Frau Zagarovna´s supplies, Peter whistled. "I wouldn´t mind having you for a girl-friend myself!" he said with clear admiration in his voice.

"Shut up." Karl studied himself in the large mirror. A tiny smile played around his painted lips. "It´s good, isn´t it?" he said with a touch of pride in his voice.

"It´s perfect!" Peter nodded at his friend´s reflection.

"Give me an arm," Peter hissed as they walked down the street. "Now remember: you´re my cousin Katinka Kordeva from Russia. Just throw in your Russian accent bit here and there and they´ll believe it."

His "Russian accent bit" meant talking German with rolling R´s and heavy L´s, plus a few words and phrases he had picked up from his friend over the years. He would never convince a Russian – Peter´s father always snickered – but the guys at school figured he sounded pretty Russian when he talked like that.

An appreciative whistle interrupted his train of thoughts. "Hey, Peter! You got yourself a nice little girlie there! Would you mind introducing us?"

Started, the couple turned around, and saw two of their classmates coming towards them.

"Keep cool," Peter whispered before greeting the boys: "Hi guys. How´s it going?"

"Fine." Both Thomas and Aschwin let their eyes stealthily wander over the pretty young lady at Peter´s side. Karl felt he was turning as red as a lobster under all Frau Zagarovna´s make-up.

But Peter had already continued the conversation. "Katinka, may I present two of my classmates: Aschwin Möller and Thomas Neumann. Thomas, Aschwin, this is my cousin, Katinka Kordeva, from Russia."

"Pleased to meet you," Thomas mumbled. He could hardly keep his eyes off her.

"Does she speak German?" Aschwin inquired eagerly.

Karl refound the use of his tongue. "Naturrllik," with a voice just a fraction higher than his own.

They kept talking for a few minutes, and "Katinka" was exuberant in her praise of "zis nice llittlle villllage". But when they finally parted, she sighed very unfemininely: "Boy am I glad they didn´t recognize me..."

Peter grinned. "See you can do it? If you can fool your own classmates, you can fool anyone. Now, come on, to the bar."

Confidently Peter opened the door, and a smother of smoke, stale beer and male voices sought its way out. Karl-Katinka hid behind his back, but as soon as they were inside, something clicked in his mind and with a sudden confidence Katinka stepped up beside him.

"A nice llitlle pllace, Peterr."

Peter grinned. "I told you you would like it."

Katinka looked around appreciatively, winking at some of the men staring at her long legs. She was the only woman in the room, and thus instantly monopolizing everyone´s attention.

"Come on." Peter guided her to the bar, where a bald, round bartender gazed at her with equal interest as his customers.

"Good day," Peter greeted him with perfect nonchalance. He sat down on a stool and ordered a beer. "What would you like, Katinka?"

"Orrange juice, pllease." Katinka, too, maneuvered herself onto one of those impractical high stools.

The bartender visibly shook himself and prepared the order. And when he placed the glasses in front of them – without taking his eyes off the pretty lady – Peter bent over to him and asked quietly: "Hey mate, my friend here would like to dance in revues. Would you mind if she´d try out her act on the guys here?"

A happy, expectant smile in Katinka´s direction. "Of course I don´t mind," the bartender replied. "I´m sure the men will enjoy a lady dancing for them."

"If you could organize some music then?"

"Sure. Johann! Music for the lady, bitte!"

Somewhere in a far corner someone started playing a piano. Assisted by her friend, Katinka slowly and seductively shrugged out of her coat, and then slid graciously off the stool. A few dance-steps, a little waving with the short skirt, an enigmatic smile and a lot of fluttering with her long eyelashes, and the men around her clapped and whistled appreciatively to encourage her to continue.

So she went around between the tables with swaying hips, stretching out an elegant arm here, and blowing an occasional handkiss there, all the time gazing into the men´s eyes with a slight smile that promised all kinds of naughty things. Within minutes she was helped up on a table, and with a couple of dozen men crowding around her, reaching out to touch this seductive dream, Katinka Kordeva went into her dance routine. The men whistled and cheered, and when she finally decided it was enough, practically every male in her audience reached in his pocket and slipped some money into her hands, her shoes, her waist-band, and one or two daring ones managed to slip a banknote into her shirt.

"Please continue!" was their general plea.

Katinka raised her eyebrows to two perfect little arches at her friend Peter at the bar. He nodded back, a contented smile playing around his lips. And Katinka Kordeva continued.

The bartender motioned Peter to come closer. "Do you think she could come again next week? It would sure drum up some extra business for me. I´m willing to pay her five marks a night if she´ll agree to come and dance here on a regular basis. She´s good!"

Peter swallowed. Five marks was a lot of money. But next week? They wouldn´t be able to go to the football-game in Köln if he´d agree to have Karl-Katinka dance here again next week! And wasn´t that what had them put on this show in the first place?

"I´m sorry; she already has an engagement for next weekend," he told the bartender. "But I´m sure she´d be delighted to come back Saturday a week. And I don´t think she´d object to perform here on a more regular basis either. After all, it´s a way of starting a career, isn´t it?" Karl would probably object, but even if he would, they´d still have reached their goal: raising the money to travel to Köln next weekend to cheer on Viersen FV to hopefully win its first national championship. And even if they would get on to him (Peter) about the beautiful dancing lady, he could always say Katinka had returned to Russia...

So he offered the bartender his hand. "Deal. I´ll talk with her tonight."

A handshake, and a five mark note unobtrusively changed hands. "For tonight," the bartender whispered. "Boy, she is really good..."

Katinka

"No way!" Karl told Peter when he heard about the arrangement. "I did it once for us to be able to go to the footballgame next week. But that´s it."

"But you were marvellous! Everybody said so!"

"I don´t care; it was nauseating. These men grabbing my hand, caressing my legs and my cheek... Did you see that one of them actually tried to kiss me! No way, I´m not performing for that kind of public again."

"But think about the money! You made nearly thirty marks in one evening!"

"Yeah, and how am I going to explain that at home?"

"Tell them you´ve got a job. A well-paid job."

A grunt. "Like what..."

"I don´t know. A waiter in some luxurious hotel? I heard the tips you get in the Royal Hotel in Mönchengladbach are as royal as the hotel itself."

"Right. And how would I come by a job in Mönchengladbach? Let alone the travel expenses..."

"The manager is a friend of my father´s. He might even get us a job there for real, if you´d prefer that. And with such wages, a train-ticket to Mönchengladbach is only a trifle."

"Anyhow, my mother would never agree to my working in Mönchengladbach. Not while I´m still in school."

"So: if you want to make some money, you´ll have to do it here in Viersen. But I can guarantee you won´t make thirty marks a night in any other job."

Karl hesitated.

"Think about it," Peter urged him on. "Your mother wants you to go to university, right?"

"Yes..."

"No offence, but with your family´s standard of living, how is she ever going to afford that?"

"I´d have to work my way through college. Many people do."

"Yes. Working your guts out for a few lousy marks. While you could easily make thirty marks in one night, simply by exploiting your talent. And I bet you could make even more in the city."

Karl was silent.

"So why not take the opportunity to work on your craft? To develop it to perfection before you show yourself to the larger public of the city?"

Karl still remained silent. And Peter read his friend perfectly. And waited.

Finally: a heavy sigh. "I´ll think about it."

And Peter smiled. He knew his friend had come round, even though he was too obstinate to admit it just yet. But in two weeks´ time, Katinka Kordeva would perform again. And probably every Saturday-night following.

And she did. Karl discovered he actually enjoyed going out there and trying out a new act; more so with the knowledge that he was still fooling those guys at the bar.

His fame had grown rapidly. Within a month, the pub was absolutely packed on Saturday-nights. Business boomed for the bar, and a drawing of a dancing Katinka now featured the menuboard outside. Karl couldn´t help grinning whenever he passed it as himself.

Business was going well for him, too. By now, he sometimes made as much as fifty marks a night. Which meant he could afford a trip to anonymous Mönchengladbach with Peter for the necessary but embarrassing task of getting Katinka her own shoes, nylons and make-up, as well as some more clothes. They were effectively stored in the chest with play-clothes at the Zagarov place, and Karl was relieved that he didn´t have to secretly "borrow" things anymore.

The money he made was put in his money-box – it was the least suspicious place he could think of – and he had told his mother Peter´s father let him do odd jobs backstage at the theatre on Saturday-nights. His mother knew how much her son loved the theatre, and although she preferred something more substantial, more sound for her son´s future, she didn´t mind him pursuing this kind of work for a hobby. Especially since he made a few marks with it as well.

Summer vacation came, which for Karl meant working at the factory. A 16-year-old made for a practically grown-up labourer, even though he was still delightfully cheap for his employer. So young Karl was stationed at the assembly-line, six awfully long days a week. Making as much money in two months as he would performing as Katinka Kordeva in less than two nights...

To make up for the mind-numbing days in the hot factory, he asked Peter to arrange for Katinka to perform several times a week during the summer. Herr Bauer, the barkeeper, was instantly delighted of course. He had asked for the expansion of the profitable lady´s work before, but so far her agent had always kept it at bay.

With the hideously boring slavery-job in the factory in the background, Karl really enjoyed playing Katinka at night. Okay, there was one part of the job he abhorred: when his admirers tried to fondle or even kiss him. In such cases it took all his willpower to resist the urge to give the insolent a good right hook. But the rest of the time he mostly had great fun. Especially the night when two of his teachers from school showed their face in the bar. Peter had quickly hidden in the crowd, but after the initial shock, Karl found an extraordinary pleasure in paying his masters more than average female attention, without them being aware that they were being fooled by one of their own students.

It was late that summer when fate showed its face again. This time in the shape of a person: a certain Herr Hoffenbach from Düsseldorf.

Katinka Kordeva had just had another successful night, when a well-dressed man came up to her and insisted on buying her a drink.

In itself, this was nothing peculiar. Ever since the first night, her admirers had stood in line to buy her a drink after her performance, with the sole purpose of having the attractive young lady´s full attention for a few minutes.

Herr Hoffenbach led her to a corner-table, and as Katinka with her natural grace sipped from her usual soft-drink, he said: "You have an exceptional talent, Fräulein. Have you ever considered broadening your public? Düsseldorf, Köln... Berlin perhaps?"

Katinka smiled. "You fllatterr me, sirr. But to worrk in ze city... zat would rrequirre farr morre prrofessionall skilllls zan mine. I am onlly a humblle amateurr rrealllly."

"But an exceptionally good one!" Herr Hoffenbach leaned back in his chair. "Look. I want to make you an offer. My talentscout told me about you, and he was so enthusiastic that I decided to come and check out your skills myself. And you didn´t disappoint me; rather the opposite. You are a very talented young lady, and with a little polishing here and there, I am sure you would sweep the stages all over the country. So what do you say about coming to Düsseldorf, taking lessons in acting and dancing during the day, and at night perform in the revues at the Festival Theatre? I can pay you five marks a day to begin with, but I´m sure – with your talent – you´d soon have your own show, easily making a hundred marks a night or more."

"What?" Karl put down his glass with a thump, nearly spilling out the rest of the liquid. His heart pounded in his chest. A hundred marks a day?

Suddenly Herr Hoffenbach leaned forward and peered at the astonished face across the table. "You´re no female at all, are you?" he observed quietly as he scrutinized every feature of Karl-Katinka´s face.

Karl cringed. This was it: he was found out... He felt his cheeks burn a fiery red, and sweat breaking out over his entire body.

Herr Hoffenbach laughed soundlessly. "This is amazing! In my work I´ve seen quite a few males trying to impersonate women. But no matter how hard they try, it´s so hideously obvious that they´re men. You, on the other hand, didn´t even raise the slightest suspicion with me! At least not until I dropped that bomb on you, thus throwing you totally off balance. My goodness, you´re a natural! A marvel!"

A tormented Karl-Katinka looked up, his fingers nervously folding a beer-spill. "Don´t tell anyone," he begged. "Please, don´t tell anyone. And I mean anyone. I don´t want my family to find out that I... that..."

"That you can do a perfect female," Herr Hoffenbach filled in with a broad smile.

"No. They know that. But I don´t want them to know that I do this in public. For money." He gulped. "My mother would kill me..."

Herr Hoffenbach nodded, and regarded him for a moment. "How old are you?" he suddenly asked.

"Sixteen. I´ll be seventeen next month."

"Work? School?"

"I´m going in for my final year at the gymnasium. And I work in the factory during the schoolbreaks and vacations."

"And your parents want you to finish your school of course." Herr Hoffenbach sighed. "Well, I can´t blame them. No matter what a pity it is for you to postpone developing your real talents. But I suppose one more year... You do this often? Performing at the bar?"

"Once a week usually. On Saturday-nights. And now during the summer-vacation I´ve been doing it several times a week."

"Do you think you can keep that up this year? With your final exams coming up?"

Karl-Katinka swallowed. "I hope so. At least the Saturday-nights. I´m trying to save money to go to university."

"What do you want to study?"

An apologetic shrug. "I don´t know yet. Physics perhaps. Or history. Or... I don´t know. I suppose I´ll have to serve in the army first anyway."

"Probably, yes." Herr Hoffenbach sighed again, and thought for a moment. "Look," he said in the end, "I understand you have other obligations for the upcoming years, but I would really like you to develop your impersonating skills as well. And that takes practice. A lot of practice. If you continue your performances here, continually trying to improve yourself, do you think you could convince your parents that you have found a well-paid job in a hotel in Düsseldorf for the duration of your Christmas vacation? I´ve been asked to put together an entertainment ensemble to perform at the Düsseldorf Metropolitan Hotel for the holidays. You´d be working with professionals day in, day out, and gather heaps of experience. I´d pay you seven marks a day, plus bed and board at the hotel, and of course any tips you get are yours to keep. What do you say?"

Karl-Katinka gulped. "It sounds great..." he struggled out.

Herr Hoffenbach nodded. "Mind you, it won´t be a picknick. Life in the entertainment business is hard. But if you keep working on your craft, with a little guidance we could make you the biggest star in all of Germany. And not as Katinka Kordeva, but as the greatest female impersonator in the history of mankind! You sure got the talent for it; a truly unique talent I may say. With hard work and dedication, I´m sure you´ll soon sweep all of Germany off its feet."

Karl-Katinka sat silent.

"Would you like to give it a try?"

A sudden smile. "I´ve always wanted to be an actor..."

A smile in return. "Good. Now one last detail: what is your name? Your real name?"

Karl-Katinka hesitated for a moment; then he said confidently: "To be honest, I´d rather not tell you. No offence, but what you don´t know, you can´t spill. Not even by accident. I´d prefer it if you´d know me by the name of... of... Oskar." He thought for a moment. "Oskar Danzig. Yes, that can be my stagename. Without my family ever being suspicious of it being me, unless I´d tell them myself."

Herr Hoffenbach smiled. "Allright. I´ll respect your wish for discretion. But you´re not Russian at all, are you?"

Karl-Katinka grinned. "No. Actually, I´m of Polish-Prussian descent." The guy may be offering him an interesting job and perhaps a grand future, but that didn´t mean he needed to know everything, did he?

Armylife

---

Voices. One clear, one grunting.

"What the hell is taking them so long?"

"Stay calm, Maryse. Don´t forget they´re in the prison camp. They cannot come and go exactly as they please - they have to at least pretend to follow the rules."

"But Papa Bear... I thought he could do anything!"

"Papa Bear is as human as you and me. And Oskar. He´s no miracle worker. And he said they had to get the stuff from England, right? So it´s bound to take at least several hours."

"That´s what they call ´military efficiency´, I suppose." The speaker sat down at his side and placed a cool hand on his forehead. "He´s really burning up, Karl. If only Papa Bear would hurry! That fever... I don´t want him to die! What the heck is taking him so long!"

---

The military, the rules...

After having passed his Abitur by the skin of his teeth, his mother was still so proud of her son, and so happy for him that she even consented for him to take on another waiter-job at the hotel in Düsseldorf where he had worked during the holidays.

It wasn´t merely the financial advantage that made her give in to her son´s wishes. Sure, his job at the hotel paid a lot better than his working at the assembly-line – just how much better was something only Karl himself knew.

But apart from her son clearly enjoying the work, the waiter-job had the additional advantage of being a white collar job. And that of course was considered far more suitable for a student-to-be than a blue collar job in the local factory.

And even though she would miss having her youngest around, it would be beneficial for him to start making his own way in the world. He would need that independence when he was to join the army in October.

Still, the only reason young Karl was looking forward to the military was the definite stop it would bring to his double life. He blamed the military for having his father killed, and since he himself had no intention of getting killed in battle, he intended to confine his obligatory time in the army to only those activities he could not possibly escape from.

The summer following his Abitur had been a bit of a disappointment to him. He had been working hard on his craft that year; so hard that he nearly failed his Abitur. He had developed his act as Katinka Kordeva to perfection, and spent a lot of time practising to impersonate other people (e.g. men) as well. Peter´s father had even thought him good enough to grant him ten minutes solo in a beneficial revue he had staged at Easter. It had been the highlight of the year for him to be able to perform in public with even his mother – ever so proud – watching him play.

But back in Düsseldorf they didn´t want to hear about his wishes to be an allround impersonator. ´Never change a winning team´, was their device, and Oskar Danzig´s female act was a sure winner. So Karl had to be Oskar Danzig playing Katinka - occasionally alternated with other female characters - all summer long.

It palled on him, but he had to admit their success was unequaled. Oskar Danzig was 1932´s summer sensation in Germany, and anyone who could but afford it travelled to Düsseldorf to see him. Several of the shows the ensemble put on evolved entirely around their star "Katinka", and Herr Hoffenbach had been right: Oskar Danzig made big money. Really big. So big that he decided to play it safe and deposit it in the safest bank-country in the world: Switzerland.

At the bank in Zürich however, they looked a bit odd at so young a man – merely a boy – with so much money. But once he had let the bankmanager swear under oath not to repeat what he was about to hear, Karl´s explanation made it all perfectly understandable. For by then, Oskar Danzig´s fame had reached even Switzerland.

To avoid his money becoming worthless in the two years he was obliged to serve in the military – one never knew what could happen to currencies in so dangerous a time as the Great Depression – the manager advised him to buy gold and store that in the bank´s safe, completely out of reach until he´d need it when he´d start his studies in the fall of 1934.

Karl readily agreed; he wouldn´t need the money as long as he was in the military anyway.

And after travelling back to Viersen to spend a few days with his mother and Reinke (the only one of his sisters still living at home), he was ready to join the Luftwaffe in Berlin. Ready to bury Oskar Danzig in oblivion, for he figured that in two years time, people would have forgotten all about Oskar Danzig and Katinka Kordeva.

And then he could always start afresh as Karl Langenscheidt, the allround impersonator. And no one would recognize him as the former female impersonator Oskar Danzig anymore.

He could plan all he wanted to. But as it goes, it was not meant to be.

He had only served in the military for a few months – and hated practically every minute of it – when he received a letter from his sister Reinke, with a cry for help.

He had known his mother´s health had been deteriorating lately, but apparently the doctor had now diagnosed her eternal coughing and severe breathing problems as the feared tb!

´Mother can´t work,´ Karl read, ´and I´m not allowed to work, afraid as they are that I might have caught it, too. But what are we to live on, dear Karl? We get two marks a week from the deacony now that Mother has taken ill, and everyone is pitching in as much as they can. But you know as well as I do that most of our brothers-in-law are on the dole, too, and they are hardly able to put bread on the table for their own families.

´Dr. Schlüter thinks Mother´s condition might improve if she could go and stay at a sanatorium. Preferably somewhere high up in the mountains, where the air is pure and clean. But how are we ever going to find the money to pay for such a place?

´I know your pay in the military is very small, Karl, and I know your duty to the Fatherland comes first right now. But I cannot resist asking: if you do have the opportunity on your weekends off, do you think you could try and get another job as a waiter in one of those grand hotels in Berlin? I don´t suppose finding a job in Berlin would be any easier than it is here, and I don´t even know if they´d let you, you being under arms etc. But if you could give it a try? Please? I don´t expect miracles, Karl. But that job you had in Düsseldorf last year paid so well, that I can´t help hoping you might be the one who can pull us all through this ordeal. It still wouldn´t allow us to send Mutti to a sanatorium, but at least it would help us pay for her medication...´

Slowly, private Karl Langenscheidt lowered the letter and stared out of the window. It was one of those grey, slushy winterdays in Berlin, but at this moment his thoughts were very far away from Germany´s capital.

"Bad news?" his bunkmate Theo Junkmann inquired.

Karl started. "What? Oh. Yes." He sighed. "My mother has come down with tb."

Theo nodded. "I´m sorry. That´s too bad. How is she doing?"

"Not too good, from what I understand. The doctor wants her to go to a sanatorium. But where are we going to get the money for something like that, if we can barely support ourselves?"

Theo was silent. Financial troubles of the kind were far too common nowadays to say something sensible that hadn´t already been said a million times.

"Do you think...?" Karl hesitated. "Do you think the sergeant would let me take on a job on the weekends?"

Theo shrugged. "I don´t see why not. Saturday noon till Sunday 9 p.m. is your own time. I don´t see how they could stop you from working during those hours if that´s what you want to do." Another shrug. "That is, if you could get a job of course..."

"I don´t think that would be the problem," Karl mumbled as he got up from his bunk and headed for the door.

He had only gotten some ten meters down the corridor towards the sergeant´s quarters when he was grabbed by the shoulder and jerked around by Theo Junkmann.

"What do you mean: ´that would not be the problem´?" the young guy demanded. "Are you telling me you can get a job – a paid job, no less! – any time you want to?"

Karl winced. Had he said too much already? "Sort of," he admitted half-heartedly, knowing full well his bunkmate wouldn´t leave it at that. "I can always try."

"Sort of!" Theo repeated. "Your connections must be extraordinary if you expect to get a paid job just like that! And not just any job, but a job that allows you to fit your work around the iron military schedule you have to live by here!"

Karl freed his shoulder and turned away. "Leave it, Theo."

"No, I won´t leave it!" Theo quickly moved in front of him, effectively blocking his path. "What kind of a job is that? I wouldn´t mind making a few extra marks either. You think they´d take me as well? On your recommendation?"

"Probably not. Now will you let me pass?"

"Not until you tell me what kind of a job you´re aiming at, and how come you´re so dead sure they would grant you the job, even with all the restrictions the military has on you."

Karl sighed and averted his eyes for a moment. He knew his bunkmate well enough by now to know that he would never let go until he had gotten a reasonable explanation. And face it: it was rather odd to be sure of being granted a job, with the unemployment-rates running as haywire as they did. Why did he have to let that slip in the first place! Otherwise he would have been able to explain things away, simply by saying he had been lucky!

"Allright," he sighed. "But I promise you one thing: you´ll regret it profoundly if you ever dare breathe a word of this to anyone! Inside or outside this camp!"

"Agreed." Theo eyed him somewhat suspiciously. "Why? Do you mean to tell me it´s... illegal?"

"No." Karl took a deep breath. "I´m just protecting my privacy, that´s all. I´m... I´m an actor." They´d have to torture him first if he were ever to admit in this environment that his main line of work so far had been impersonating women...

Still, Theo looked dumbfounded enough as it was. "An actor? You mean, you play in the theater?"

"Yes." That´s what he did, wasn´t it?

"And you expect to get a job here in Berlin right away?" Theo sounded rather incredulous now. "This city is full of actors! Are you that famous that...?"

Karl nodded confidently, finally sure he was on top of the conversation. "Back home I´m pretty famous, yes," he told his mate casually. "I´ve even had a few offers to come and play in Berlin. But I had to turn them down because of the military. I expect most of the ensembles that were interested in me this summer would still love to engage me, even if it´s only for the weekends. And if not: my Düsseldorf agent is an associate of a leading actor´s agency here in Berlin. I´m sure a simple recommendation from him would open up my way into the Berlin office as well."

Theo just stared at him. "Boy, you must be really famous," he whispered at last. "I´ve never met anyone more confident about his success." A hesitation. "So... who are you? I had never heard of the name Karl Langenscheidt before I met you here. So you must be using some kind of stagename, am I right?"

Karl smiled. "Yes, you are right. But I´m not going to tell you; you know more than enough as it is. Just make sure you don´t mention it to anyone, okay?" he reminded him. "I don´t need the whole camp drooling over their famous recruit. Or perhaps more likely: teasing and picking on him. This is to stay between you and me. Understood?"

Theo nodded. "Understood." Though he realized it might take a while for him to get used to this usually shy and rather timid bunkmate of his talking with such authority...

It went even better than Karl had hoped for. Apparently the few months rest hadn´t quite killed Oskar Danzig yet, and when it became known that the sensational female impersonator from Düsseldorf was in town, looking for a revue to participate in, the directors of the Berlin theaters were outbidding each other to engage him – if only for three shows a week.

Karl had given this development some careful thought. He did not really want to resuscitate Oskar Danzig and his ladies. But right now his personal pride and his future career were not the most important things to consider. He had to make money, as fast as he could and as much as he could. It would depend entirely on him whether his mother would have a chance to survive this horrible disease.

Many died of it; he was well aware of that fact.

But now it was up to him to make sure first, that she wouldn´t die of starvation, and second, that she would be able to get the medication she needed. And perhaps... perhaps even getting her to stay at a sanatorium, as Dr. Schlüter had suggested.

Oh, he could just kick himself for having all the money he had made before so tied up that he wouldn´t be able to touch it for nearly two years to come! It would have easily paid for a possible speedy recovery. And he couldn´t get to one pfennig of it!

So now it was up to Oskar Danzig to quickly raise loads of money. He was famous; he could do it.

Allround impersonator Karl Langenscheidt on the other hand had hardly even begun his career. It would take quite some time to build up Karl Langenscheidt´s fame, and with it a pay as excellent as Oskar Danzig´s. Time his mother didn´t have.

So he really had no choice but to revive the famous female impersonator Oskar Danzig – and continue his double life again.

Life regained much of its old sneaky adventurous character from the time he was performing at the bar in Viersen.

Private Langenscheidt would leave the barracks shortly after noon on Saturdays, dressed in civilian clothes, and with his hair under his cap combed back under a shiny layer of pomade. The difference in hairstyle already gave his face a totally different expression as soon as he´d take off his cap. The glasses he carried in his pocket and which he consequently placed on his nose as soon as he was out of sight from the barracks were enough to make him practically unrecognizable for anyone who didn´t pay extremely close attention to his face. As Peter used to say: "Just give that guy another hat and he is someone else." That chameleontic trait sure came in handy if you didn´t want anyone discovering the link between Luftwaffe private Karl Langenscheidt and the famous female impersonator Oskar Danzig...

He´d arrive at one of the major Berlin revue theaters around 12.30, and after getting changed to a lady, there would be some rehearsal on a particular part of the show. A matinee at 4 p.m., dinner, prime time performance at 8 p.m., and then change back to Oskar Danzig and catch some sleep in the cheap bed&breakfast hotel next door, where many of the theater´s flexible workforce had their domicile.

Most of the Sunday usually passed with the rehearsal of his new scenes and programs. Then there was another matinee, but after dinner he´d have to head back to the barracks in order to be in time for Sunday-night roll call.

It was a busy life; he hardly ever had a moment to himself. But the satisfaction he felt when – after no more than two months – he was financially able to send his mother to a sanatorium in the Bavarian Alps was indescribable. It was he, Karl Langenscheidt, who at the age of eighteen served as the family´s bread-winner.

His career as allround impersonator could wait. First he´d have to make sure his mother would get better.

Nuts

Suddenly he was aware of someone peering close at him. He looked up. "Peter!" It was his friend Peter waiting for him at the camp´s entrance!

"Karl! I was hoping you´d show up around this time!"

They stood happily thumping on each other´s shoulders for a moment; then Karl asked: "What are you doing here? Are you on leave? Boy, it must be what... a year since I last saw you! How´s life in the navy?"

Peter had a shrug. "Okay, I guess. I´ve been thrown out."

Karl stared at him. "Thrown out? Why? What did you do?"

Another shrug. "Nothing."

Karl gave him a steady frown. "If they´d throw people out for doing nothing, they would have kicked me out months ago. And you wanted to be in the navy. So what happened?"

A sigh. "Hitler happened, that´s all."

"Hitler?"

"He became Bundeskansler this winter, remember?"

"Yeah, I know who Hitler is allright. But what does he have to do with you being kicked out of the navy?"

"For heaven´s sake," Peter sounded exasperated now, "don´t you read your newspapers?"

Karl sniggered. "Not really. Too busy for that." He quickly filled him in on his mother´s condition and his own life this past half year. "Come to think of it, I have to get to work. You want to come along?"

Peter nodded silently, and off they strode together through the sunny streets of Berlin.

"So what´s Hitler got to do with it?" Karl asked as they had walked a fair bit in silence.

Peter shrugged. "Forget it. I didn´t realize... Boy, your mother´s a lot worse off. At least I still got good health."

A smile from Karl. "Don´t worry about that: she´s in good hands, getting excellent treatment. So what´s with you?" He pulled the glasses from his pocket and put them on.

Peter looked at the movement and snickered involuntarily. "Good thing you weren´t wearing those when you left the camp. I´d never have recognized you."

Karl grimaced amused. "Can´t have them trace the connection between Oskar and me now, can I? I´d be the laughing stock of the camp!"

Another silence.

"So tell me what happened. And you´d better start at the beginning, for other than Hitler being Bundeskansler now, I haven´t the foggiest what mischief the nut´s been up to lately."

Peter cast a quick glance over his shoulder. "You better watch your tongue, mate. It´s dangerous to speak one´s mind nowadays."

Karl chuckled. "Peter, you´re being paranoid. And you´re avoiding my question. Now tell me: what happened?"

"I´m not paranoid!" Peter protested.

"What happened?" Karl insisted.

A deflated sigh. "Hitler has been issuing decrees ordering boycots of Jews in several areas. They are not allowed to practise medicine or law anymore, or have a business. Or work in public service, or be in the army."

"He´s nuts," Karl declared from the bottom of his heart. "But what´s that got to do with you? You´re only half Russian."

Peter cast a sharp glance at his friend. "I am. But I´m also a thoroughbred Jew."

Karl´s jaw dropped. "You are?"

Peter shrugged. "My parents aren´t exactly religious, so there´s no way you can tell. But descent is all that matters for a man like Hitler."

It was Karl´s turn to remain silent. But in the end: "He´s nuts. He really is. So what are you going to do? Will they let you start medical school when they don´t want any Jewish doctors around?"

Peter shook his head. "I can´t get into any college or university. I´ll simply have to find some other kind of job while the guy is in power."

"Well, cheer up." Karl punched him playfully in the shoulder. "That can´t be much longer. As long as you and I have been on this planet, no German Bundeskansler has ever managed to stay in office for very long. And a total nut like this one...!"

"Karl, that ´total nut´ as you choose to call him has prohibited all political activity except his own party. He´s practically a dictator!"

"Oh!" That shut Karl up.

The weekend´s visit from his friend really opened up Karl´s eyes for what was going on in the world around him. He had been so engrossed in his own busy double life that he hadn´t bothered to notice the many changes in society.

But they were there, undoubtedly.

And their conversations in between rehearsals and performances those days drew his attention to many new regulations he deemed to be absolutely preposterous. And Peter knew what he was talking about: he found the consequences to his cost.

"We´ve got to stop him somehow," Karl declared.

Peter arched his eyebrows. "How? The republic is practically dead, and besides, we´re not even allowed to vote yet."

"Well, there must be some way."

"Yeah, commit a coup d´état. Or just kill him." Peter shrugged. "Good luck; all you´ll probably manage to do is get yourself killed in the process."

"Maybe. But someone´s got to stop that nut. Or would you like to live in a society with first class and second class citizens? With a government that´s out to make life impossible for certain people, just because they´re not fully German?"

"We already are living in a society like that," Peter pointed out. "And of course I´d rather see it otherwise. But you´d better be careful, too. Hitler isn´t too keen on homosexuals and the likes either."

Karl´s face darkened. "I´m not a homosexual."

"I know. But your being a female impersonator will make them suspect that you are."

Karl frowned, but made no reply. Would he really have to bend to that nut´s stupid ideas and quit his job as Oskar Danzig? He could of course start afresh as himself, as he always wanted. But that would mean starting from scratch. And just like earlier this year, he still couldn´t quite afford the kind of minimal pay a beginning actor usually got. His sister Reinke may have been cleared and back to work, and she may have moved in with one of the other sisters, but there was still his mother. His mother, whose necessary stay at the sanatorium depended solely on him making enough money to pay for it. And there was no way he could make that much money in a day and a half a week if he´d quit as Oskar Danzig.

He let out a sigh. "Well, at least nobody but you and my bankmanager in Switzerland know that Oskar and I are one and the same." He looked his friend sternly in the eye. "My bankmanager has promised under oath not to reveal that information to anyone. I hope you can keep your mouth shut as well."

Peter nodded. "Not a word. I promise."

Now that he knew, Karl noticed the evil everywhere. Shops that were closed and set fire to, signs prohibiting Jews to enter, the sickening Nazi propaganda, the new brutal police force...

It only enforced his determination that someone had to stop this nonsense, before it could get out of hand. Before people got hurt.

But how?

He didn´t know. Seeing Hitler´s new private police force at work, he realized Peter was probably right: trying to kill or just get rid of Hitler would most likely equal committing suicide. But with the republic functioning – or rather disfunctioning – as it did now, would there be any other way?

Once the people would stand up against Hitler, Karl realized it might come to a civil war or something ugly like that. With a lot of bloodshed. And that new police force was brutal; there was no other word for it.

But for Pete´s sake, something had to be done to stop that nut, or soon they´d all be living in hell! And hey, why couldn´t young Karl Langenscheidt be the hero who saved his country from that nut?

Actually, he had grand visions of himself aiming a gun at the nut during one of those long-winded shrieking speeches he had never bothered to listen to. One shot, and the nut would come tumbling down the stage. And people would cheer and he´d throw away the gun and be carried around on their shoulders.

Or perhaps he´d have to hide from the police, but then he´d simply sneak across the border, collect his money in Switzerland and be off to some faraway country where they´d never find him. But hey, that would be fun. And then at least Peter and all those other innocents would be able to live a normal life again.

Or perhaps he could find a few comrades, and they´d kidnap Hitler on his way home one day. Not for a ransom, but just to get him out of the way. They could hire a plane and force him to parachute down on some tiny little rock in the middle of the Atlantic. With no other human being around for thousands of miles. Let the nut try and rule over the seagulls!

He didn´t have a real plan yet, but since he was pretty sure Hitler´s removal would not occur without some form of violence, he decided he´d better be prepared. No matter what other people did or didn´t, he didn´t want to stand aside doing nothing while that crazy nut deliberately ruined people´s lives. And what better place to practise fighting techniques than the army?

So the – up till then – rather idle recruit Langenscheidt suddenly started to train his shooting skills with both the rifle and the revolver to absolute perfection, both right-handed and left-handed. For the first time in a year he became serious in the training of man-to-man fighting, and he also developed an avid interest in demolition – after all, blowing up the nut might be an option, too. On top of that, he wanted to learn everything possible about navigation as well. For actually he would prefer to avoid bloodshed and just get the nut out of the way by kidnapping him. But they´d have to be sure to drop the nut on the right island then, so that he couldn´t get his hands on other innocent people instead.

And so he kept as many options open as he could.

His senior officers commended him for his dedication; his fellow-soldiers were either full of admiration or sick of envy to see his skills improve so quickly.

But only Karl Langenscheidt knew he didn´t do this in order to – finally – become a good soldier. His only goal was to be ready to assist in eliminating that nut Hitler in one way or another, whenever the occasion should arise. Hitler, whose preposterous ideas only led to more and more ridiculous regulations for those who happened not to be part of the so called superior German master-race.

And with the confidence and the recklessness of the scarcely 19-year-old he was, he simply saw his mission as a good and brave deed. And even though it might be risky, as he developed the necessary skills to perfection he had no doubt whatsoever that he´d get away with it.

And perhaps, at a more subconscious level, it would be a way of proving to the world that Karl Langenscheidt was not some kind of sissy boy either.

Shock

---

Warning: this chapter contains some not so pleasant Holocaust references towards the end.

---

With a sigh private Langenscheidt fell down on his cot. Another day over. Only sixty-four to go.

Too many. But at least the end was in sight. In sixty-four days he would be allowed to quit the military altogether, and to take off that hated uniform, never, ever to put it on again. He´d have done his duty, so by then he´d finally be able to get on with his life.

He closed his eyes for a moment. These precious moments, these forty-five minutes before lights-out, were the only time he had had to himself for the past year and a half. He had never been too fond of the noise and the smoke of the recreation hall, but ever since he had gotten to work on the weekends he had avoided the place like the plague.

His fellow recruits apparently amused themselves splendidly by playing cards or billiards, and by typical male boast about one´s own sizes and abilities. And talk about women. But he preferred the peace and quiet of the dormitory, reading a book, or sometimes just thinking. Life was so hectic nowadays...

At first his bunkmates had teased him and laughed at him. And tried to coax him into joining them after all. But in time apparently the fun had gone out of it, and now they simply regarded him as an odd duck. And Langenscheidt didn´t mind – after all, with a job like his, he really was an odd duck in the overly masculine world of the military.

He opened his eyes and took the book he´d been reading lately from the nightstand. Shakespeare´s ´The Merchant of Venice´. In German of course; English had never been his forte. He leafed on to the second act, glanced at the page and then he closed his eyes and quietly recited the lines. He hardly ever needed to peek; he had always been good at memorizing texts.

It felt good to practise something more serious than Oskar Danzig´s flirting flimsiness. If his mother continued to mend as she had these past months, perhaps she would be able to leave the sanatorium before the year was over, and thus setting him mostly free from the task of providing for her. He probably would anyway – after all, he was the only one of her children with a job who didn´t have to worry about supporting a wife and children – but that would be a lark compared to the cost of her staying at the sanatorium in Bavaria. Which meant he would finally be free to bury Oskar Danzig for good and try and pursue a more serious acting career.

True: he had always wanted to be a comedian, and comedies was what the public wanted to see these days. But he felt he first needed some counterpoise for the flighty Danzig-character he had played for the past years. One season perhaps; then he could move on to what he saw as his calling in life: to make people laugh, and to make them forget their sorrows for a while.

Suddenly his divine solitude was shattered: a multitude of footsteps came running down the hallway, and Theo Junkmann and a few others barged into the room.

"Karl! Have you seen the bulletin-board?"

Before he could answer, Martin Lauke already spilled the news: "You´ve been promoted! To corporal!"

Karl merely raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Well, that´s nice." He returned his attention to his book, leaving his comrades standing at his bedside like deflated balloons.

"That´s all you have to say! ´That´s nice´?"

Karl shrugged. "Well, what else should I say? It´s not like I was dying to get a promotion."

Theo prodded him. "Maybe not, but... Most of us would jump a hole in the sky for such news. And you didn´t even move a muscle."

Another shrug was all he got in reply. And Lauke shook his head. "You really are weird, Langenscheidt..."

The next morning he found himself called to the sergeant´s office, together with seven of his fellow-recruits. One by one they were called up front to receive their corporal stripes, with a little speech of commendation.

Karl barely listened; he couldn´t quite share his comrades´ excitement. He found it merely ironic that they´d decided to honour him – Karl Langenscheidt – with a promotion, since he was one of the very very few in the camp who couldn´t care less about such things. But hey, he had long discovered that life was ironic. And him being promoted "on account of technical expertise" only added to his already impressive irony-record.

Just as Sgt. Zettler was about to dismiss them with a cordial congratulation and an exhortation to keep up the good work in accordance with their new rank, there was a knock on the door.

"Herein!"

One of the orderlies appeared. "A telegram for one of the men under your command, sir."

"Danke." Zettler took the envelope and waved away the orderly and his newly promoted recruits all in one gesture. "Dismissed everyone."

They all filed out of the room, but Langenscheidt was called back: "Here. It´s for you." An encouraging grin. "Perhaps your family´s congrats on your promotion?"

Karl had only a wry smile in return. A telegram? For him!

He had barely exited the room before he ripped open the envelope.

"Frau Langenscheidt died 28-7 – cardiac arrest – our condolances – Dr Weck"

Slowly he lowered the paper. He could scarcely fathom the impact of the words. Mutti dead! Just as she was finally on the mend from her tb, she died of... He glanced at the paper in his hand: cardiac arrest. Something with the heart apparently. The irony, the...

He realized his knees were trembling, and he leaned onto the wall for support. And read the bare message again: "Frau Langenscheidt died 28-7..." That was yesterday. He crumpled his new corporal stripes in a sudden flare of anger and thrusted them on the floor.

Suddenly the door to the office opened and Sgt. Zettler strode out. And came to a startled halt. "Langenscheidt? Was ist los: bad news?"

Karl merely thrusted the telegram in his hands. And Sgt. Zettler read. And looked up. "Your mother?"

He nodded brusquely.

A compassionate hand was placed on his shoulder. "Das tut mir wirklich leid. Come in for a moment."

He picked up the crumpled insignia from the floor and guided his new corporal back into the office. "Sit down." The sergeant poured him a Schnapps. And Karl, who was but a very moderate drinker, downed the glass in one gulp without as much as a smirk.

Sgt. Zettler sat down behind his desk and pulled out a form. "I suppose you´d want to attend the funeral?"

Karl nodded.

"I´ll give you a furlough of course. How long do you think you need to get there and back?"

He shrugged. "I don´t know. I probably have to go all the way to Bayern."

Eyebrows were raised. "Bayern? I thought you were from the Düsseldorf area."

A sigh. "Yes. But my mother had tb. She´s been in a sanatorium up in the Alps these past few years.

"Oh. I see. I´ll give you a week´s pass then. You may leave now; be back next Wednesday morning for roll call."

"Danke."

Zettler scribbled down something and handed him the note. "You better take your dress uniform. And try to find a few minutes to sew on those insignia. I'm sure your mother would have been proud to see you as a corporal."

Karl heaved a sigh. "I'm sure she would have."

Frau Langenscheidt was indeed to be buried in Bad Reichenhall, far, far away from her family. And only very few of them could afford to attend: apart from Karl, there were only two of his sisters, one of whom lived in relatively nearby München. And then there was their mother´s youngest brother: uncle Frank Geisler, who was a priest in a small town south of Düsseldorf, and who led the private memorial service with compassion.

Karl´s sisters had to return home again right away, but when uncle Frank learned that his nephew wasn´t due back in Berlin until Wednesday, he suggested they´d both stay an extra day and spend some time together. After all, he was Karl´s godfather, too, and the closest thing to a father the young man had ever known.

Karl readily agreed; he felt he could do with a break.

So after they´d seen Sibylla and Grethe to the omnibus, Karl and his uncle set off wandering the beautiful summer mountains around Bad Reichenhall. First they walked in companionable silence – they had always gotten along very well – but in the end uncle Frank inquired how things were in the Luftwaffe.

"Lousy," Karl sighed. "I'm counting the days till it´s over."

Uncle Frank chuckled. "You can´t be doing that lousy if you just got promoted."

"I'm not doing all that lousy," Karl clarified, "but I hate it nonetheless. Can´t wait to get out of it."

Uncle Frank nodded. "So what do you want to do when it´s over?"

A shrug. "I don´t know. Mother dreamt of me going to university. But..." Another shrug.

"But what?" uncle Frank inquired gently as his nephew made no effort to finish his sentence.

Another shrug. "I don´t know. It seems so pointless to apply: I don´t even know what I'd want to study."

Silence.

"I'd thought that perhaps during my years in the Luftwaffe I'd figure out what I'd want to study. But it´s been so busy that I´ve hardly had the time to think about it."

Uncle Frank nodded pensively. "Do you want to go to university, Karl?"

Yet another shrug. "I don´t know. Maybe."

A quizzical half smile. "Tell me: are you being honest now?"

Karl looked up and chuckled in embarrassment as he realized his uncle saw right through him. "To be honest: no. I don´t enjoy studying that much that I'd want to make a job out of it."

His uncle smiled. A sad smile. "I'm glad you could voice that thought, Karl. For you can´t live your life for your mother – no matter how tempting it may be to satisfy her wishes. Especially now that she´s just passed away."

Karl made no reply, and they walked on in silence for a while up the steep slope, until they reached a bald top and stood looking out over the green valley on the other side.

"So," uncle Frank said after he caught his breath, "if it´s neither the military or university, what would you like to do? Do you enjoy your job at the hotel?" He placed his hand on his still slender nephew´s shoulder, silently asking for his confidence. "I'd like to help you if I can, Karl," he added.

Karl looked at him. And gulped. "I don´t work at a hotel, uncle Frank. I never have," he confessed. His voice sounded strange to his own ears. Strange but calm.

And uncle Frank just waited for him to continue. Curious but patient.

"I´ve been lying for years," Karl quietly continued his confession. "I´ve always wanted to be an actor, and that´s what I´ve been doing during the weekends and vacations ever since I was sixteen. And I love it. But Mother wanted something more substantial for me; she regarded everything connected with the theater as a hobby. So I never told her – or anyone – and instead I said I was working at a fancy hotel..."

"I see." Uncle Frank´s eyes searched his face. "Do you feel bad for having lied to her all that time?"

Karl averted his eyes. "A little. I feel worse about never having gone to see her at the sanatorium though. Not even once, though if any of us had the means for it, it was me. It was just... I spent every spare moment at the theater, making more money."

"To pay for her necessary stay here," uncle Frank filled in.

Karl nodded. "But it should have been possible to use a few marks to go and visit her! I'm sure she would have loved that!"

"I'm sure she would have," uncle Frank agreed. "But I think she understood." He gave his nephew´s shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Anyway, there´s no need for you to be consumed by guilt. You did what you thought was best for her. In hindsight, we often wish we could have done things differently. But we can´t. So let it rest, Karl. Your mother was excessively proud of you for providing for her stay here. She expressed this more than once in her letters. So let that be your consolation – even if in hindsight you realize you might´ve been able to do more."

Karl had only a weak smile in return.

"Well, let´s get going," uncle Frank suggested. "Perhaps we can eat our lunch somewhere down there, and then we'll try and find our way back to Bad Reichenhall."

So they started their descent into the green valley. Uncle Frank inquired some more into Karl´s work as an actor, but when he found his nephew rather evasive in his answers, he let the subject rest and started to fill him in on his childhood acquaintances in Hamelburg. And so, engaged in friendly talk, they reached the bottom of the valley, and they were just looking for a good spot to devour their sandwiches, when...

"Halt! Stehen bleiben, you filthy Jews! And no talking!"

Uncle Frank froze; Karl looked startled about.

"Now take off those clothes. All of you. Now!"

The grating voice came from somewhere behind the bushes on their left, and was clearly not directed at them.

"What´s going on there?" Karl whispered under his breath.

His uncle shook his head. And watched as his nephew bent down and oh so carefully started to edge through the leafy bushes.

But then he came to his senses: "Karl, nein! Get back here!"

But young Karl didn´t listen.

"Schnell! Or I put some lead into you right away!" the grating voice barked.

For a moment uncle Frank hesitated; then he decided he´d best go after his nephew to at least stop him from doing something even more foolish.

He needn´t go far: he found his nephew lying down under one of the leafy bushes looking out over a grassy slope. And not twenty meters away from them, a group of at least a hundred women and children were awkwardly undressing themselves out in the open. Some ten SS soldiers stood watching them, leering, their machineguns ready to fire.

"What are they doing?" Karl whispered worriedly as he noticed his uncle crawling up to him.

Uncle Frank watched the scene for a moment. "They´re Jews allright. See those yellow patches on their clothes?"

"But why would they...?"

"Underwear as well!" the SS colonel in charge ordered with his cruelly grating voice.

A soft murmur went through the group; some of the children giggled. Giggled!

"Quiet!" the colonel roared, and instantly the silence was restored.

"I don´t think we should be here," uncle Frank murmured. But he couldn´t quite bring himself to crawl back to the path either.

And so uncle and nephew kept watch as the children and the ladies of all ages and sizes hesitantly removed their underclothes as well. One of the ladies carried such a heavy baby-belly that she needed another woman´s assistance to remove her underthings. And suddenly she moaned and writhed with pain, and wrapped her arms protectively around her belly.

"She´s about to have her baby," uncle Frank whispered tonelessly.

"Silence!" the colonel roared again, and he motioned one of his men to beat the moaning mother-to-be into obedience. One of the other women tried to interfere, but she got his so hard over the head that she fell down in a heap.

"We´ve got to do something," Karl hissed through his teeth. "I don´t know what they´re up to, but we´ve got to stop them!" He started to get up, but his uncle pulled him down with a thump.

"Don´t be stupid, Karl. There´s nothing we can do against armed SS soldiers."

"But...!"

"Be quiet!"

Boiling with indignation and anger Karl watched the soldiers herd the awkward group to the center of the grassy field.

"Halt!" the colonel ordered. "Now turn around everyone."

The women and children slowly turned to face him and his men; the pregnant lady was leaning on two other women now just to be able to stand up.

"Fire!"

Machineguns rattled, and the women and children fell by the handful. Cries were heard and choked, and in less than ten seconds the field was infernally quiet again. Only a soft gasp here and there reminded of the shooting of a moment ago, and the colonel motioned his men closer. "Finish this off," he ordered. "And don´t forget that little bastard that was about to be born."

Karl and his uncle lay paralyzed stiff for shock in the bushes. Short salvo´s still echoed around them, and the soldiers started to kick the lifeless bodies over the edge of some large ditch there. They laughed as the sound of human flesh falling on human flesh came to their ears. They laughed.

Karl buried his face in the sand and put his arms over his head. Uncle Frank saw the movement, and placed a hopefully comforting arm over his nephew´s back. The boy was shaking and trembling all over.

"What do we do with the clothes?" one of the soldiers asked.

"Oh... throw them in there. Then close the pit and we´re done for the day."

Uncle Frank watched shakily as the men picked up some shovels and filled up the mass grave. Then they took their guns together with the shovels and marched off.

"Good riddance," he heard the colonel smirk as the group passed right in front of them.

A few minutes later the motor of a heavy truck started. And as its sound slowly drifted off following the disappearing vehicle, an eerie silence settled on the field in front of them.

"Karl." Uncle Frank softly patted his nephew´s trembling shoulder. But his own voice trembled, too. "Karl, let´s pray for those poor people´s souls..."

Slowly, Karl lifted his head. He was absolutely livid, with eyes wide with shock. "Th... they just... they just killed them," he croaked. "They just killed them! Why!"

"Because they were Jews, I suppose." Uncle Frank´s voice was toneless with emotion.

Karl just stared. "Is that a reason to kill them off? Like bloody animals?"

His uncle took a heavy breath. "For Adolf Hitler, apparently yes." He hesitated. "I´ve heard rumours..." He didn´t continue, and Karl didn´t prompt him either; he was still struggling to fathom what he had witnessed a moment ago.

"Come on." Uncle Frank got up and worked his way back to the path. Karl simply followed him, too numb to think for himself. Until he suddenly felt his stomach turn, making him instantly throw up in the undergrowth.

Uncle Frank hurried back to him and supported him as his stomach emptied itself. "You´ll be okay; it´s just the shock," he reassured him quietly.

Still, Karl stood shaking on his legs, and he carefully lowered himself to the ground.

"You wait here; I´ll be just a minute," uncle Frank said. He handed his nephew the canteen with water they had brought, and then he quickly walked back the way they had come.

He returned but a few minutes later with two straight branches. "Do you happen to have a piece of string or something like that?" he asked his nephew.

Wordlessly Karl searched his pockets, and indeed produced a piece of string.

"Here. Hold this." Expertly his uncle bound the two branches together to form a wobbly cross. "Come on."

Without a word, they headed back to the field. Before stepping out of the bushes, uncle Frank spied around. But the grassy field lay deserted. "No need to place a guard with this grave, I suppose," he muttered under his breath as he walked through the long grass with his shocked nephew in his wake.

Karl bent down. Something glittered in the grass. It was a necklace, with a locket. With a picture in it.

"Look." He handed it to his uncle as they reached the slight mound in the middle of the field.

Uncle Frank nodded. "We can hang it on the cross." He pushed the make-shift wooden cross down in the loose earth of the mound. And hung the locket on top of it.

Silently they watched it sparkle in the sunlight. Uncle Frank folded his hands and began to recite the prayers he had said at his sister´s grave only the day before. They sounded even more heartfelt now than they had yesterday.

Finally, uncle and nephew crossed themselves, and slowly started to move away.

Hardly a word was exchanged between the two of them, either on their way back to the boarding-house, or the rest of that evening. But the next day, when their ways were about to part in Regensburg again, Karl suddenly stated with deadly determination: "I'm going to do something about it. I don´t know how, but I'm going to help those people get away. No one deserves to be treated like that. And I'm not going to stand aside and pretend nothing´s happening. I won´t!"

Uncle Frank regarded his nephew´s stubborn chin. The thin determined line of his mouth. The indignation and anger still burning hot in his eyes.

And he slowly nodded his agreement. "Good on you, my boy. Just..." He swallowed with difficulty. "Just... be careful, okay?"

Karl nodded and embraced his godfather.

"Very careful," the uncle whispered over his nephew´s shoulder.

Refugees

Yelling. Badgering. A hoarse laugh. A shriek of terror. More shouting. Crying. The breaking of glass.

Karl Langenscheidt stood still and listened. It came from that side-street up ahead. Quickly he walked on and peered around the house at the corner.

He bit his lip in frustration. There they were again: the Nazi bullies. It weren't always the same guys. But they were always in a group, terrorizing and abusing one. Or two. And once a young mother with three little children.

Cowards, the lot of them. But too many to take on – as he had learned by experience the first few times he'd witnessed scenes like this. He'd simply been beaten up for being a 'Jew lover', and then they had turned back to their original victims. It was no use interfering.

Instead, he did what he had sworn not to: he stood to the side and watched. It was still more than what most people did. If they didn't join in the 'fun', they usually went by quickly at the opposite side of the street. And with their head turned away. Pretending the scene wasn't there. Hoping it wasn't there.

A cry of distress brought his attention back to the unfortunate couple. Two elderly people. Held by two of the bully monsters, while the others had gone inside and were thrashing all their belongings out through the window. Furniture broke, glassware shattered all over the sidewalk. Clothes were flying everywhere.

The lady burst out in tears when a few photoframes joined the heap with a crash. She tried to move over to pick them up, but the guy holding her wouldn't budge. Suddenly however, he changed his mind, and still holding her tightly, he led her over to the photographs. But he wouldn't let her bend down to pick up the pictures of her loved ones. Instead, he put down his heel on them. Hard – crushing and damaging them as much as he could.

A powerless witness to the woman's distress, Karl dug his fingernails into his palms. Oh, how he wanted to interfere! Teach those guys a lesson!

But he could not. His tactics of lately in a situation like this had proven to be wise. Patience was the key. Jumping in would not only leave himself severely beaten up; it also would gain nothing for the poor souls he tried to help. Better wait till the bullies had gone, and then offer his help and services.

'Langenscheidt's Moving Services,' he thought with a sour smile. 'Helping you to move once you've been beaten out of your home.' And he turned, and quickly hurried home.

It was but ten minutes later – shortly after the nasty bullies had left – when the couple was trying to salvage whatever was left to salvage from their belongings, that they were addressed by a stranger.

"I saw what happened," the man with the blue hat and the long overcoat said as he stopped at the gate. He fingered his salt and peppar coloured beard.

The elderly man gave him a look like murder. "Then why didn't you stop them!"

Sadly, the stranger shook his head. "I am but one man. I am as powerless against them as you are."

The man averted his eyes. "Verzeihung, mein Herr. You are correct: it was not your business to stop them."

"But it is now," the stranger refuted calmly. "I witnessed a crime, yet I did nothing to stop it. But only because I have learned by experience that there is nothing I can do to stop a group acting like this. But there is something I can do to protect you afterwards. To prevent this from happening to you again. This – or worse."

The lady looked up from the ground where she was sifting through their shattered belongings. "Who are you, sir?"

A bitter smile. "A man who saw too much."

They looked at him, imploring him to continue.

The stranger swallowed. "Last summer, I was the accidental witness to the senseless mass murder of some hundred Jews. Women and children."

The woman let out a soft gasp.

"I could not stop it then – as little as I could stop this now," the man continued. "But that day I vowed that I was not going to stand by and pretend nothing is happening. Our present Bundeskansler is a madman, and there is little I can do to stop him from turning this country into a living hell. But what I can do is help the people he oppresses and brutalizes… and possibly tries to eradicate completely… to get to safety. Out of harm's way until the day the German people will stand up together and bring this madman's regime to an end."

They both kept their gaze on him – one with trepidation, the other probing.

"Get us to safety," the man said at last. "Safety where?"

"Across the border. Poland, Denmark… wherever you'd want to go. Anywhere there Hitler has no authority."

Silence, in which the couple solemnly looked at one another.

"Actually," the lady spoke up quietly at last, "We have discussed leaving the country when we heard the tales of what was happening. But in the end we decided not to go. The rumours, they… they just seemed too preposterous to be true."

"I agree," the stranger said in an equally quiet tone. "But they are true nonetheless."

Another long silence in which the man and the woman searched each other's face. Then the woman nodded, and the man turned to the stranger once more – this time with his eyes narrowed. "How do we know we can trust you? You might just be leading us into a Gestapo trap."

The stranger held out his hands. "Sir, there is nothing I can say, or do, or show you that would prove my wish to help you to be genuine. It's entirely a matter of trust. But if this would be a Gestapo trap, would it not be easier to simply arrest you here and now?"

There was a battle of stares, until suddenly the woman spoke up. "I believe him, Dittmar."

"And how would you know?" her husband scoffed.

"His eyes," she replied. "They betray that they have seen too much. Just like he said."

Apparently that settled it. "What do you want us to do?" the man asked as he turned back to the helpful stranger.

"Pack up everything you want to bring along. Where do you want to go?"

The woman looked at her husband. "To Warsaw. It's where our daughter lives."

"Good. There is a train leaving for Warsaw at ten past two this afternoon. Would that give you enough time to pack up your things and get to Berlin Central Station?"

The woman looked around at their scattered belongings in doubt, but her husband nodded curtly. "There is not much to salvage anyway. We will be there."

The stranger nodded. "Good. Then I will meet you at the station's main entrance no later than two o'clock. And we will pretend that I am your son Otto who is seeing you off."

"But what about the tickets? We…"

"Don't worry – I'll get you the tickets you need."

They both looked at him. "Mein Herr, you are too kind," the lady said.

He sadly shook his head. "I'm just trying to soothe my conscience. To make up for being too spineless to speak up when I watched those women and children being slaughtered..." His voice trailed off, and the elderly man watched him with an expression akin to compassion.

"They might have killed you, too, if you would have," he pointed out quietly. "And if they had, you would not be here now to help us get away."

The man nodded without a word. And the lady took his hands in hers. "Go in peace, my son. We will meet you at the railway station as arranged."

With a final look at them, the stranger took his leave, and walked down the street without looking back.

Everything had gone so smoothly. Too smoothly perhaps? But it had gone this smoothly the five previous times he'd helped Jews get away, too.

He'd already met them as they alighted from the aft compartment of the tram – the only one allowed for Jews to use. "Vater, Mutter! There you are! Come – let me give you a hand with those bags." He had embraced them both, and under pleasant chatter had he guided them to platform 5, where the train to Warsaw stood ready for departure. He had presented their tickets and his own platform ticket at the ticket controller under a steady stream of well-wishing, travel advice and things they had to tell 'Nora' from him.

He had located their compartment, handed them their tickets plus (under protest) five hundred mark to cover first expenses, got into the train with them, made sure they found their places and were seated comfortably – or at least as comfortably as one could get on the plain wooden benches designated to Jewish passengers – and lifted their bags onto the overhead luggage rack. A hug farewell to his 'mother', a solid handshake to his 'father', and with the best wishes for a safe journey had he climbed down to the platform. A little more affectionate and advising sign language back and forth from the platform, and when the whistle blew, the doors slammed shut and the train started huffing and puffing its way out of the station, he had waved until it disappeared out of sight around a curve.

But on his way back to the station square outside, he had suddenly felt eyes pricking in his back.

Imperceptibly, his back stiffened. But he forced himself to walk on as if nothing were the matter. It could be just his imagination, or...?

He stopped at the kiosk in the main hall, and feigned interest in a magazine about automobiles that allowed him to look back at where he had come from. Was anyone there paying any special attention to him? There were so many people milling about...

He reached for the magazine to leaf through it while he searched the crowd for possible bloodhounds on his trail. And jerked back when the keeper of the bookstall suddenly barked in his face, "Keep your hands off my merchandise, you filthy Jew!" That's right – he had momentarily forgotten that he was posing as a Jew – with yellow Judestar and all – in order to make the charade of seeing off his 'parents' convincing for whoever would be watching.

He held out his hands and stammered an apology, before quickly making his way out of the station.

But first he needed to know whether he was really being followed. So he casually leaned against the main tramstop shelter, while keeping an eagle-eye on the station's exit.

He didn't have to wait long. Six, seven people exited the building and simply went their way. But the next man stood still for a moment, his eyes sweeping the square as he folded the newspaper he'd apparently been reading. And there could be no mistaking the facts: when his eyes found the fake Jew Karl Langenscheidt, they halted for a moment, before flitting off to the left, and immediately the man began to walk over to the tramstop in brisk stride. He even had the audacity to come and stand beside him, opening his newspaper again and continuing on the feature article.

Karl studied him out of the corner of his eye. Fortyish, dark hair, brown hat, dark eyes, sharp, peaked face, brown leather overcoat. He didn't recall ever having met the man. Was he really following him, or...?

'Well, we'll find out soon enough, won't we,' he thought grimly, and took the first tram to stop at the tramstop.

Fortunately he remembered this time that he was supposed to be a Jew, and thus to take the aft compartment, and noticed his possible pursuer taking the wagon in front of that. And how he remained standing by the door, even though several seats were empty.

'Think!´ Karl told himself. 'Try and recall all those pulpdetectives you read as a boy. How did those guys rid themselves from evil pursuers? Only better be careful – this is not a story, so I can't take for granted that I'll automatically come out on top.'

He noticed how the man in question kept glancing in his direction every time the vehicle stopped to load and off-load passengers. So he decided to get off at Pankow Station, just to see what the man would do.

And what do you know: he got off, too.

At this point, young Karl was actually beginning to enjoy the adventure of it. Carefully avoiding to look at his adversary, he made a show of checking Saturday's timetable, and then left the building again, hopping onto the first tram to pass.

As did his pursuer.

Yes, there was no doubt that the man was indeed following him. What other reason could he possibly have to start reading the Berliner Zeitung at the Central Station, take a tramride to Pankow Station and continue reading his paper there, and then hop onto the same tram heading towards the city center as he had?

Luck was on his side when they stopped at the city center. The group of women getting off momentarily blocked him from his pursuer's view, and he quickly hid in the throng and got off. By the time his pursuer realized he was gone, the tram had already resumed its course.

Karl grinned. 1-0 for him. But he knew he had to act quickly. The next stop was only some hundred meters away, and if the guy was indeed interested in him, he'd be back here in mere minutes.

And the first thing to do was to get rid of his coat. Without the telltale Judestar, he'd have much more freedom to move around. So he purposely strode into the first side-street, and noticed a few large refuse bins near the rear exit of the department store.

Quickly, he stepped into the alley, pulled the horn-rimmed glasses from his coat pocket and put them on, took off both coat and hat and stuffed them in the first bin. True, it was a bit chilly with just his jacket, but he still had the scarf. And that's what any man who fancied himself the sporty type liked to wear these days: jacket and scarf. So it would do for now.

Casually, he ambled out into the street again, and chose the side entrance to the department store. For going around without headgear would certainly attract attention – he needed a cap or something, and he needed it fast!

Putting on an act of an absent-minded scientist, he accosted a sales-girl with a confused, overly detailed story about having left his cap on the train, and she graciously helped him pick a new one, and cut off the price-tag as well so he could wear it right away.

After profuse professions of gratitude, he headed for the main exit – only to discover that his nemesis had taken up a post at the doors, letting his eyes wander over the many clients in the store, as well as over the pedestrians outside.

Feigning an interest in the book department he was just passing through, he thought quickly. With glasses and cap, and without the coat, chances were pretty good that the guy wouldn't recognize him. But just to make sure he'd look natural, he'd better leave the store with a purchase. After all, women can indeed go shopping for hours without buying anything, but men tend to enter a store with a clear goal of buying this or that – and determined not to leave the story empty-handed.

So he wandered over to the crime section, reasoning that it wouldn't be a bad idea to refresh his theoretical skills in eluding a pursuer. And with two books and a bottle of aftershave, he then again walked toward the main exit – with a face clearly expressing his eager desire to get out of the place.

And the guy, who seemed to make an in-depth study of every male leaving the store, gave him the same obtrusive stare as he did everyone – and let him pass without a spark of recognition.

Once outside, Karl looked at his watch. And nearly jumped. It was twenty past three – he had to go on stage in forty minutes!

The Grand Festival Theatre wasn't far, but he still took off at a run. As the pronounced star of the ensemble, Oskar Danzig could certainly take a few liberties with the manager. But being late was definitely not one of them...

Julius

It was actually both by choice and out of necessity that Oskar Danzig was still alive.

Coming out of the army in October, Oskar had agreed to stay on for the fall season, but had insisted he would not perform during the holiday season that year. "Family business," he had claimed. And no matter how much they offered their star, he was not to be persuaded.

Instead, he registered with a rivalling acting agency under his own name, and involved himself in the carousel of auditions going on for the many Christmas plays planned for the holiday season. And it was thus that he discovered the kind of life the majority of the actors live.

Refusing to link the name 'Oskar Danzig' with his own, he had little to recommend himself but his participation in school plays. He couldn't blame the many directors he auditioned for to be skeptical – but it was utterly frustrating to find himself turned down over and over again. And more so with those directors he knew to have been begging on their knees for Oskar Danzig to come and perform with them. Sometimes he just wanted to scream at them. "You fools! I'm the Oskar Danzig you're all drooling about! If you like his acting so much, how come you don't like mine?"

Not that he did it of course. It'd be the quickest way of blowing all Karl Langenscheidt's chances for a normal, decent life one day. For Oskar Danzig was bound to fade away into oblivion once he'd quit performing for good. But Karl Langenscheidt had an entire life to live. As well as family members to consider – family members he was sure would be horrified if they'd ever learn about his double life as a famous female impersonator...

But in the end, the director of a small children's theater decided to give this promising rookie a chance, and hired him as the assistant bad guy in their Christmas play. It meant performing three shows a day (four on the holidays and in the weekends) for a salary that was barely enough to cover basic groceries, but unlike other beginning actors, Karl was fortunate enough to have a fat bank account to compensate for that.

The experience however was certainly worth it. Children proved to be an inspiring and grateful audience. And the young public having been invited to openly comment on what was going on at the stage made it all a very interactive adventure, thus honing his improvisation skills, for no two performances were the same. Sometimes you came backstage limp with laughter, while at other times you found yourself desperately squirming your way back to the basic plotline.

The extremely busy Christmas season was always followed by a rather slack month of January, when every ensemble was rehearsing for their spring season performance. As a newbie, he discovered it wasn't easy to get into existing ensembles, and despite the praise he had gotten for his role as assistant bad guy in the children's play, Karl found he was practically back to square one when it came to winning a part through auditions. True, the director of the children's theater had encouraged him to come and audition again any time, but for the spring season they were putting on a fairy-tale in classical ballet. And although Karl/Oskar may have a lot of experience in revue dancing, classical ballet was way out of his league.

From a financial point of view, he could have continued the aspiring actor's life of mostly striking out at auditions, occasionally interspersed with minor jobs, for several years. There was however one more factor to consider. And that factor was called Adolf Hitler.

Under the dictatorial regime of the nut (as Karl preferred to think of him), the German society had become increasingly grim. It was true that Hitler had succeeded in eliminating all unemployment – at least, if you believed the statistics. It was an open secret however that much of this achievement was due to the firing of Jews (who in Hitler's book didn't count as humans anyway, so their now massive unemployment was not included in the statistics), and replacing them with 'real' Germans who were more often than not neither fully qualified nor had the experience necessary for the job.

But Jews were not the only ones to be harassed, excluded and discriminated. Anyone deemed unfit by Hitler's sick philosophies to be part of the Aryan superrace risked a similar fate. And one of those 'unworthy' groups were the mentally retarded. Like his nephew Julius...

He was reminded of this when he returned to Viersen in January for Reinke's wedding – the last of his sisters to get married. With all his brothers-in-law finally holding down a job (thanks to Hitler's policy) it was a far more festive affair than any of the previous family weddings he recalled. Practically the entire Langenscheidt clan was present, leaving only the miss of their mother to dampen the spirits a bit. Karl had danced with his nieces (several of whom were but a few years his junior), cracked jokes with his nephews, discussed world politics with his in-laws and submitted himself to his sisters' fussing over their baby-brother's well-being. He carefully stuck to his previous claims about working at a fancy hotel, but he did allow himself to relate about his part in the Christmas play, making it sound as if it was his dramaclub that had put on the show.

And it was in this ambience that he learned about Julius – his sister Luise's youngest son, who was a Down's child – having been referred to a state institution for 'experimental treatment'. But Luise and her husband had refused. In the noise of the party she now admitted to Karl and two of her sisters that seeing to Julius's special needs was a burden indeed in addition to raising their six other children. "Still, we love him far too much to let him be treated as a guinea pig. Especially in a 'state' institution, knowing that the bloody state doesn't even regard him as a human being."

Trude and Sibylla nodded appalled, but Karl was already thinking in solutions. "Luise, why don't you take him abroad – away from Hitler's authority?"

A nervous laugh. "Have you lost your mind, Karl? I can't just leave Klaus and the children and go and live somewhere else!"

"Then you all go. At least until that nut's out of power." After all, this was along the same lines as helping Jews to get out of the country.

"But Klaus has got a good job now. And the children's schooling... Besides, where would you have us go?"

"Anywhere you want. Holland is the closest of course. Or Belgium, or France. Or Luxembourg – they even speak German there. As long as Julius is out of Hitler's reach."

Sibylla shook her head. "I think you're overreacting, Karl. Surely things aren't that bad that they'd just come and take him away without his parents' consent."

Karl slumped in his chair. "They're bound to if this keeps up much longer. I've heard of many people fleeing the country. The Zagarovs even moved to America."

"Zagarov? Wasn't that your friend Peter's family?" Trude inquired.

He nodded. "I thought I'd go and see them now that I'm in the area, to ask how Peter was faring. But the neighbours told me they'd moved away last year. To some place called Milwaukee. And all they could tell me about Peter was that he hadn't gone with them."

The talk moved on towards Trude's best friend who was also contemplating to move to the States, and Karl's eyes wandered off toward the end of the room, where his younger nephews and nieces were happily engaged in what looked like a police versus the bad guys game. Julius was among them, not quite understanding the rules, but his cousins gamely overlooked his goofs and helped him to participate to the best of his abilities.

Apart from Karl himself, and Grethe and her family who lived in München, they all lived in the Düsseldorf area, and consequently the children saw each other frequently for birthdays and holidays. They were as much playmates as they were cousins, and had totally accepted Julius as he was.

He had a bitter smile as he realized he might have to expand his Moving Services to just these kind of families as well. Even if it meant staying on as Oskar Danzig in order to keep the necessary funds flowing in.

As he became aware of Luise's eyes on him, he turned to her. "Just promise me you'll think about it, okay?" he pleaded quietly. "I can help. I don't want to see him hurt."

Ten days later he received word that little Julius had been forcibly removed from his family's care, and put in an institution in Kiel. Family visits were not encouraged (and that put it mildly).

After beating himself up for an hour or so for not having been more insistent with his sister, Karl became aware that his energy would be much wiser spent in trying to find a way to get Julius away from the Nazi pseudo doctors.

But he soon found that was far easier said than done.

Ideally, he'd march into the institution posing as an officer (preferably Gestapo – a simple party-pin was easier to come by than a full uniform) with falsified orders to collect for example five 'Unterkinder' for a special experiment in Berlin. Then he'd have them all lined up, pick out Julius and a few others, and personally take them to a safe place – possibly across the nearby Danish border right away.

There were however three major problems with this set-up. First of all he had no idea where to take the rescued children. He didn't know a single soul in the Kiel area, let alone in Denmark, and he couldn't very well drop the kids on just anybody's doorstep. With a bit of bad luck, they'd end up with a Nazi sympathizer and would be sent right back where they came from.

Secondly, he didn't have a clue as to what Gestapo orders looked like and included, making it impossible to produce believable fake ones.

And thirdly, he had seen enough of Hitler's Geheime Staatspolizei at work around town to know that a mission like this would be undertaken by at least two, but more likely three or even four men. And where was he going to find a few helpers he could trust?

For that was yet another curse of Hitler's glorious Third Reich: you couldn't trust anyone nowadays. There was no way to tell a friend from an enemy – your very own brother could turn out to be a party member and turn you in for a casual disapproving remark of the New Order.

Still, his brothers-in-law were the first ones he considered asking. Klaus himself was probably too closely involved – chances were that he wouldn't be able to hide his feelings upon seeing his son there. But with a little coaching, Renz and Benno, and possibly even Artur, might just make quite convincing Nazis.

But he dismissed the idea. This wasn't like the slipping through the meshes of the law he did when he was helping Jews to get out of Germany. No – if he'd manage to have a serious go at getting Julius out of that institution by posing as a Gestapo officer, it was likely to be regarded as a serious crime. He couldn't subject his brothers-in-law to such danger – they all had a family to take care of. And besides, he'd very much prefer to keep his relatives unaware of his attempts to thwart the Nazis. If only for his own safety.

No. If he was ever to undertake something as bold as this – and he was certain there was a reasonable chance for success – he was going to need allies. People who were equally aghast by what the Nazi regime was doing as he was. People he could trust.

And if there was one man left in all of Berlin whom he knew he could trust, it was the priest of his parish.

Since he had restarted his Oskar Danzig career back when he was in the army, Karl had not been the most regular churchgoer in town. Most regular masses conflicted with his working hours, but he still tried to catch at least one mass a month. It was sufficient, he knew, for Father Werner to know who he was, and to recognize him as a member of his small parish. So when he stayed behind in his pew the next day after the early morning mass, the reverend priest showed no surprise.

"What is it, my son?"

Karl looked up. "Can I talk to you, Father? In private? And I mean really in private?"

"Of course. Follow me." Father Werner led the way to a small reception room to the side, and closed the door behind his guest.

Karl glanced around. It was but a small room, with only a skylight high up in the sloping ceiling to allow the early morning sun to cast its rays on the white walls.

"Have a seat, my son," Father Werner said, and he sat himself at his desk. "What can I do for you?"

Karl sat down in one of the easy chairs without really relaxing. "I would like to ask your advice."

Father Werner nodded, and Karl went on relating about what had happened to his nephew this week. "My sister and her family are so worried for him. They have no faith in any 'experimental treatment' imposed by the Nazis, and more so knowing that a child with a handicap like Julius's isn't even regarded as a human being by that bunch."

Father Werner nodded his agreement. "They will have a lot to answer for when the day comes."

Karl sat up. "Exactly! But I don't want to wait for that – I want to try and get Julius out of there as soon as possible. But I can't do it on my own."

Father Werner raised his eyebrows. "Are you asking me to pull some strings with the party?"

"No – no, of course not. I've got a plan to go and fetch him myself. But I can't do it on my own – I need at least one person to come with me. And I need props, too. And... I thought, since you know so many people, and... and you've spoken out against the New Order several times in your sermons..." He began to flounder a bit, but Father Werner had already picked up on the gist of his request.

"You're here to ask if I could introduce you to some people who might be able and willing to help you to get your nephew out of that institution."

A sigh of relief. "Yes."

The priest sat in silence for a long time, with the young man watching him in anticipation. Finally, the older man spoke again. "And what exactly does this plan of yours entail?"

Karl looked somewhat uncomfortable. "I'd rather not tell you. It could imply your complicity in case it'd go wrong and they grab us. The less you know, the better."

A mild smile. "I'm glad you are able to face up to the danger of what you're planning, and I thank you for your consideration on my behalf. But son, if I'm to help you find someone to assist you in your plan, then I'll need to know at least the basics of what you intend to do. How else can I make a sensible recommendation as to whom you should talk?"

Karl thought this over, and found the argument logical. "Okay. Here's what I want to do." He briefly outlined his idea, and awaited the priest's verdict with some trepidation.

The question he got though was not quite one of the many things he had been deliberating about by himself these past days. "And what makes you think you can pull off to act as a nasty Gestapo officer? You don't exactly seem the type."

Taken aback, he answered, "Well... I'm an actor. A professional actor, I mean. An impersonator really."

Eyebrows shot up. "An impersonator?"

"Yes. Ever since I was a child, I could watch other people for a little while, and then mimic all their actions, their posture, their speech, their entire being – everything! And believe me: I only came out of the army a few months ago – I've had ample opportunities to study the comportment of nasty officers."

Father Werner watched him with incredulity, but then a small smile crept to the corners of his mouth. "That certainly is a talent with possibilities!" He chuckled. "But that's for another time to muse about. Let's see what you need for your plan to rescue your nephew first. One or two men to accompany you as aides – men who at the very least can keep a straight face no matter what happens, but preferably with some acting experience. And then some sort of a Gestapo outfit for all of you, as well as fake orders. Hm." He stroked his chin.

"And a safe place to take Julius and the others once we get them out of there," Karl added.

"Yes. But I may already have a solution for that."

Karl raised his eyebrows, and Father Werner explained, "I have a friend in Neustadt – not far from Kiel, and practically on your way back from Kiel to Berlin. He's the priest of the parish there, and a good friend of mine. I know he's been helping Jews to get out of the country, so I am fairly certain that he would be willing and able to help these children, too. He may even have contacts in Denmark."

Karl beamed. "That would be great!"

"I'll write him today," the priest promised. "And as for the uniforms: I know just the man. He's in the regular army, and he is responsible for the central uniform depot."

"And would he be willing to secretly lend us some?"

"Definitely. Or else I would not recommend him to you. He's doing the Bible reading in tomorrow's evening mass, so perhaps you could meet him afterwards?"

Karl blew his hair away from his forehead. "Difficult. I don't want to arouse too much suspicion by skipping more rehearsals. They're already bound to give me a hard time for the day we're going to Kiel. But perhaps... I should be able to get back here by nine tomorrow evening. Do you think you could ask him to wait?"

Father Werner nodded. "I suppose so. And by tomorrow I may also have someone to accompany you to Kiel."

Karl sighed. "Thank you, Father. You're solving a lot of my problems."

A chuckle. "Well, that's part of my job description, isn't it? To help people solve their problems."

Karl grinned. "I know. My godfather is a priest, too."

"Where?" Father Werner's interest was instantly peaked.

"In Hamelburg, near Düsseldorf."

Father Werner suddenly stood. "In Hamelburg, you say? That wouldn't happen to be Frank Geisler, would it?"

Karl nodded in surprise. "He's my uncle, yes. How do you know him?"

"Well, with the Roman Catholic church being rather minor in Germany, us priests tend to know all our colleagues in the country. But Frank Geisler... we were in the seminary together. But that was of course many years ago. Before you were even born, I guess." He shook his head. "So you're a nephew of Frank Geisler's..." He seemed to lose himself in memories for a moment, but he shook himself visibly and turned back to his visitor. "So I'll see you around nine tomorrow evening. Just come into the church – that's the least conspicuous."

"Alright." Karl got up to leave. "Oh, and one more thing, Father. Please don't tell these people my name. Or even what I look like. I'd prefer to keep my 'real' persona as inconspicuous as possible, so I'll show up in disguise and under another name tomorrow. In return, they are free not to give away anything about themselves either. The less we know of each other, the less we can betray."

Experiments

The following evening, he had entered the church with a full beard shot with grey. A few streaks of grey in his hair, as well as a few carefully placed wrinkles near his eyes gave him the look of a 40-year-old at least.

Still, though it would do for now, he wasn't quite content with the result. He had seen other actors age themselves with better results. And besides, he knew there were more possibilities of altering one's features. And if he were to transform himself into another character more often, it certainly would come in handy if he was aware of the possibilities. Perhaps he should take a course for professional make-up artists?

That is, if they'd get away with the rescue of Julius, of course.

Father Werner was busying himself at the altar. Karl walked up to the chancel, went down on one knee and crossed himself, and then said quietly, "It's me. Karl."

Father Werner peered at him, and had a barely visible shake of the head. "I wish I could say, 'I see'. But I don't." He nodded towards the side entrance. "In my office."

A nod of acknowledgement, and Karl went as directed. Through the side-door, down the whitewashed corridor, the first door on his right.

The heavy wooden door was closed. He could make out voices behind it, but the sound was severely muffled by the door, making it sound like a mere uneven murmur.

He raised his hand to knock. And froze. What on earth was he doing? Leading others – complete strangers – into danger for a boy they had no ties to...? If anything went wrong – if they'd get captured... it would be his responsibility. Was he really up to that – to take that responsibility for other people's lives? He may be a successful and celebrated actor (at least in certain circles), but he had no experience in leading a raid like this. Could a mere 20-year-old be expected to pull off this semi-criminal scheme? Was this not a first step on his descent into a real criminal future?

He took a deep breath, and forced his mind to focus on Julius. For whatever this may lead to, this time at least his intentions were not malicious or dishonourable. All he wanted was to rescue his nephew from a gross injustice. No one in their right mind would fault him for that. Even if the way to accomplish it may be called 'deceitful'. But then, so was his entire life...

Another deep breath for courage, then he knocked and opened the door at a man's, "Herein!"

He was immediately scrutinized by two pairs of eyes. The blue pair belonged to a friendly looking young man, not much older than he; the brown pair to a sturdy man of the age he currently pretended to be.

"Guten Abend," he managed to get out, and closed the door behind him.

"'Nabend," came the reply in stereo.

There was an awkward silence when Karl took the last empty chair, and during the following silent study they all mutually made of each other.

Until Karl got a hold of himself – You're the one in charge of this expedition! So for Pete's sake, take charge! – and neutrally expressed his gratitude for their coming. "May I ask what exactly Father Werner has told you?"

The older man answered. "That you want to try and get your retarded nephew out of some bizarre state institution by posing as Gestapo."

"Yes," the younger man joined in. "And if perhaps I could organize the uniforms you'd need." His face lit up in a smile, and Karl took an immediate liking to him as he continued, "Won't be a problem at all! Just tell me what you need."

He returned the smile. "Let me first explain the details, okay? But before we get to that..." He turned deadly serious. "I don't know you, and you don't know me. It's only because of our mutual trust in Father Werner that we are here together, discussing this. I want you to know that I have complete faith in his judgement of others; I hope the same goes for each of you when it comes to me. But no matter what, the things discussed here tonight should under no circumstances go beyond this room. May I have your word on that?"

"Of course." A curt nod from the older man, as the confirmation was echoed by the younger one.

"Good." A quick but tense smile. "Now here is what I have in mind..."

It was nearly a week however before they could put the plan in action. By bits and pieces, Olaf (as the younger man had introduced himself) had smuggled out two basic Gestapo outfits from the depot. He had even provided them with an example of authentic Gestapo orders that some officer had forgotten in his pocket. Eduard (as the older man had called himself) had taken those, promising that a friend of his would be able to produce believable fake orders with this prototype as an example.

Karl himself had – in disguise – taken up lodgings in a boarding-house for the time-being, under the name he used with his new allies. He was responsible for hiring a small truck and get enough petrol for the way to Kiel and back, as well as making sure that he was acquainted with the route they were to take. Including the detour past the parish hall in Neustadt.

Father Werner's friend had agreed to organize that Julius and the other children would be taken across the Fehmarn Belt to Denmark that same night. So if only Karl and Eduard could pull off their stunt, the children would soon be in safety.

The rest of his scarce spare time outside rehearsals – as well as considerable portions of the nights – Karl spent studying an illustrated guide to creative make-up he had picked up, and on trying out its techniques on his own face.

The results were absolutely breath-taking.

Sure, he had always known his face had that odd quality of being able to present a whole different personality, just by putting on another hat. And he sure had picked up the basics of theatre make-up by now, which had enabled him so far to enhance his natural chameleontic abilities.

But this...!

The book showed him how to alter each and every one of his features, each with at least a dozen variations. Together with tips on how to age and de-age your appearance, that made for an almost infinite number of possible combinations, and every time he checked the final result in the mirror, he could barely believe it was his own reflection looking back at him.

So when the day came – very early in the morning – that Eduard called at the address he'd been given, it was hardly surprising that he didn't recognize the man who answered the door.

Slightly taken aback at not seeing the man he had expected to see, he greeted the other cautiously. "Guten Morgen, mein Herr. I am truly sorry to have disturbed you – I must have gotten the ring signals mixed up. I am here to see Herr Beerbaum."

The door was opened wider, and the man gestured for him to enter. "I'm sure he's here. I'll take you up to his room. But I must say you are very early indeed, sir. Does he know you are coming?"

"Yes, he's expecting me." Eduard followed the man through the veritable maze of narrow corridors and stairs until they reached a half open door in what was presumably the attic of the building.

The man simply pushed the door open and entered. "Kommen Sie herein," he invited.

Eduard hesitated. "Um... I think there's been some mistake," he began.

The man grinned back at him. "No mistake. I am the Hans Beerbaum you were supposed to meet." And on seeing the entirely justified suspicion in Eduard's eyes, he added, "I'm a bit of a make-up artist – I work in the theatre. You didn't meet the real me in Father Werner's office either."

Eduard's eyes narrowed. "Recognition code?"

"'I hear there's a blizzard due this afternoon.' Reply, 'When did they transplant Berlin to Siberia?'"

Eduard relaxed visibly, and closed the door behind him. "I would never have recognized you."

Karl chuckled. "That's the idea, isn't it? And I thought we might want to make you a little unrecognizable, too, if you like."

"Sure." Eduard put down the small suitcase he'd brought, and let himself be guided to sit down on a low stool.

Karl studied his face for a few moments. "How about I make you look ten years younger? Perhaps with a nice impressive scar on your cheek?"

A good hour later the two strangers left the boarding-house and walked over to the communal parking lot around the corner. They were both dressed in the standard inconspicuous dark leather overcoat that had become a trademark of the Geheime Staatspolizei. An equally inconspicuous dark hat and a Gestapo-pin prominently displayed on their black tie completed the outfit Olaf had smuggled out to Eduard's place over the past few days.

Karl – or Hans Beerbaum as his companion knew him – carried the fake orders in his inside pocket. They looked genuine enough to his untrained eye, and he could only hope and pray that they were indeed convincing enough for anyone who inspected Gestapo orders on a regular basis...

It was a long trip from Berlin to Kiel – some three hundred kilometers as the crow flies. Eduard drove, and Hans made sure they took the correct route. They didn't speak much other than Hans's occasional directions – not even when they stopped by a wayside café in the outskirts of Kiel to avoid having to confront what lay ahead of them on a near empty stomach.

But when they got back to the car, and Eduard casually inquired after the name of the institution they were looking for, Karl suddenly realized they had a bit of a problem. He didn't know the name, nor did he have any idea where the place was located, other than it being in Kiel. And Kiel may not exactly be the size of Berlin or even Düsseldorf, it was still a fair-sized city. That could get awkward when they'd start asking people for directions...

Eduard shook his head. "Never embark on a mission without knowing where you're going," he chided his comrade. "But never mind that now. I'm sure we'll find it somehow."

They got back in the truck, and after some discussion decided to try and get the information from ordinary looking citizens first. The general fear of the Gestapo might just prevent them from asking any further questions or mentioning their encounter to anyone who shouldn't know about it.

So Eduard pulled up alongside a lady with a pram, and Karl addressed her in a friendly tone bordering on a menace. "Guten Tag, gnädige Frau. Could you please give us directions to the State Institution for Retarded Children?"

The woman's eyes widened in fear. "I'm sorry, sir. I've never heard of that place."

"Hm. Drive on, Schiff."

When the four enquiries following only produced similar results, Karl muttered to his companion, "This isn't getting us anywhere. I saw a sign for the central police station back there. Let's go and ask them."

Eduard raised his eyebrows at him. "Asking the police? Are you nuts?"

"No. But they're bound to know. Or would you rather drop in at the tourist information office with a question like this?"

Eduard made no reply, and resigned to doing what he was told. After all, it was Hans's mission – not his. And as long as the guy didn't get too over-the-top crazy in his ideas...

And shortly afterwards he pulled up at the kerb outside an impressive police station built of giant grey bricks.

"Come on," Karl admonished. "And remember, you're Gestapo now."

They swiftly took the steps up to the entrance, exchanged a silent Heil Hitler greeting with the guard at the top, and entered the building with an air as if they owned the place.

The hall was every bit as impressive as the outside – spacious, with marble floors and high ceilings, and dominated by a large reception desk.

An elderly Sergeant approached them as soon as they entered. "Guten Tag, meine Herren. How may I help you?"

A perfect Heil Hitler greeting from the visitors was deftly returned before the leader of the two explained, "We were sent here by Colonel Thon, Gestapo Berlin, to pick up some Unterkinder from the local institution for an experiment." He pulled the orders from his pocket and handed them to the Sergeant. "The Colonel wasn't sure of the name of the institution, but he's absolutely positive it is located right here in Kiel. He told us to ask for directions locally."

The Sergeant was still perusing the paper he had been given, and Karl felt the sweat prickling in his neck. Was something wrong with those orders?

"I see," the man said at last. "And what kind of institution is this?"

"An institution for experimental treatment of the mentally retarded," Karl replied stiffly. It was all he really knew... Eduard was right – he should have done more research into this. One wrong question and...

But a colleague of the Sergeant's came to his rescue. "He means the Richter Institute, Inko." He pulled out a map of the city and spread it out on the desk. "We're here," he pointed out to the visitors. "And the Institute is here – just outside town. Now if you go back to the main road, and follow the signs to Schleswig, you'll find a large manor hidden among a sudden patch of trees on your left – maybe five kilometers out of town. It has a sign up at the entrance to the driveway – Richter Institute. That's where you'll want to go."

An extra good look at the map, and... "Danke. I think we should be able to find it now." A quick smile, the orders back in his pocket, another Heil Hitler greeting, and a moment later they were back at the car.

"That went well – considering," Eduard commented. "You really need to be better prepared, you know. Having to ask directions like this is putting yourself at unnecessary risk."

"I know, I know." Karl sighed. "Next time I'll get into something like this, I'll make sure I'll know every little detail there is to know. Especially about how to get there!"

Eduard gave him a sidelong glance, but instead of continuing the subject, he said, "You got a closer look at that map than I did. Are you sure you can find the place now?"

"I think so. There's the main road. Turn left for Schleswig."

They drove on in silence again, first through the city of Kiel, then through the industrial area, and finally through a flat, cold landscape, until Karl suddenly sat up. "That clump of trees there – that could be it!"

Eduard decelerated once they came closer, and indeed, there was a sign at the driveway saying, 'Dr. Richter's State Institution for Experimental Research'.

Eduard swung the truck into the majestic driveway, and brought it to a halt in front of the steps leading up to the grand entrance. "Well, here we are," he muttered, and glanced at his companion as he got out of the truck.

And glanced again. If it didn't sound so utterly crazy, he could have sworn it was a different guy...!

He quickly followed him up the stairs, and took a good look at the other man as he let the heavy brass knocker come down at the door.

"What are you staring at," the suddenly emerged character snarled.

He stepped back in alarm. "I... You..."

"And stop bumbling, you fool! Even my dog shows more Gestapo attitude than you do!"

Eduard pulled himself together. Clearly, this was a part for which his companion was indeed well prepared. "Jawohl, Herr Major." And he saluted smartly.

"Paah!" The major turned his attention back to the door. "Now where are those imbeciles who run this place?" He let the knocker come down again. And again, and again, and...

The door was opened ajar, revealing a young man in a white doctor's frock. "Ja?"

"I need to speak to the person in charge of this place," the major snarled.

"Do you have an appointment?"

"Of course I don't have an appointment! The Gestapo doesn't need an appointment!" With a swift move he pushed the door open further and marched inside, with his aide in his wake. "Now who's in charge here – would that be this Dr. Richter?"

"Um..." Nervously, the young man closed the outside door behind him. "Yes. In charge. That would be Dr. Richter, Herr Leutnant."

"Herr Major, if you don't mind!" the Gestapo man corrected fiercely. "And go fetch this Dr. Richter of yours. Immediately!"

"Jawohl, Herr Major. Fetch Dr. Richter. Immediately!" The young man gallopped off. They heard his footsteps echoing on the stairs, and then resounding along a corridor above their heads.

And Eduard chuckled. "Whoa... that's what I call an impressive act, man!"

The major rounded on him in a flash. "What are you muttering about, Schiff? Shut up, you fool! I will tolerate none of your impertinence today!"

Eduard jumped automatically to attention. "Jawohl, Herr Major."

"Paah!" With his hands firmly clasped behind his back, the major started pacing the hall, and Eduard watched him from where he stood. It was almost inconceivable that this... this Gestapo monster was the same genial guy who had knelt in front of him this morning to alter his features. It was... eerie – yes, that was the word for it. As if he were possessed by some demon or other...

Once more the sound of footsteps on the stairs, and there was a self-important man, of elderly middle age, dressed in a white doctor's frock like his assistant. "I am Dr. Helmut Richter. What is it you want?"

The major stopped his infernal pacing and took in the man – slowly – from head to toe and back. "Ach so... You are Dr. Richter?" His voice carried the quality of a cat about to jump on its prey.

He walked up to the doctor and pulled out the fake orders Eduard's friend had prepared. "I am here on behalf of Colonel Thon, Gestapo Berlin, section four. I have orders to take five of the Unterkinder here to Berlin for a special experiment. Top secret."

The doctor raised an eyebrow, and accepted the paper the major held out to him. He unfolded it while keeping a furtive eye on the visitors, and quickly glanced through the contents. "I see." He looked up. "Well, of course you can have what I've got, but I'm afraid we've nearly run out of stock."

The major's eyes narrowed dangerously. "What do you mean – out of stock?"

"Well, you see..." The doctor handed back the orders and folded his arms over his chest in an obvious attempt to puff up his own importance. "Our experiments here have the goal of finding out which internal organs of the human body are mere leftover ballast from the evolution. We intend to find out which organs we can well do without. We take them out one by one, and monitor how the subjects adapt to the change. If no major problems occur, we take out another, and then another. Unfortunately, we are still in the early stages of our research, so many of our subjects cease to function relatively quickly – after only two or three experiments."

Karl was absolutely aghast, but he struggled to keep up his act. "So how many do you have left? How many 'experiments' did they go through?"

"The seven we have left are presently adjusting to the fourth experiment. However, the other twelve that participated in that same experiment yesterday have already ceased to function, and the condition of these remaining subjects is such that I do not expect them to keep functioning much longer either. But you're welcome to take them to Berlin. One never knows – they might just hold on long enough to serve your Colonel's purpose."

The major scowled, hoping to hide the torrent of his thoughts beneath his angry Gestapo façade. Only seven left. Seven! Of the how many? Was Julius among them? He had been a strong and healthy boy – how many of those horrid 'experiments' had he had to suffer through? Oh, the hideous things this guy had done... Those poor kids! It'd almost make him wish that Julius was long dead. But if they were all dying anyway, was there really any point in getting them out of here?

"Bring them here and put them in the truck. All of them." After all, even if Julius wasn't among them, these children deserved better than to die as inanimate 'subjects' in a laboratory.

"As you wish, Herr Major," the doctor agreed. "If you will wait here, I will have them ready in just a few minutes."

As soon as the doctor was out of sight, Eduard breathed, "Good God..."

Karl turned to face him – his nasty Gestapo persona totally gone. "I didn't know..." he choked out.

Eduard gulped. "How could we know... I... I had never thought..." He stopped himself, unable to speak the unspeakable. "What are you going to do with these last ones then? If they're dying, like the guy said..."

Karl took a shaky breath. "At least we can let them die as human beings. Instead of guinea pigs."

A grim nod. "You're right. Let's get them out of here."

They waited in silence until they heard shuffling on the stairs. And the doctor's impatient voice demanding those in his company to hurry up and stop dawdling.

Karl gathered up the scraps of his act and went to await the little troop at the bottom of the stairs. "So – these are your remaining subjects, Herr Doctor?"

"Indeed, Herr Major. But as you see, it's not much I can offer you."

The children were indeed pale as death itself. They all had the distinct characteristics of the Down's Syndrome, but with their heads shaved bald, and their eyes completely devoid of any expression, he couldn't begin to guess whether or not Julius was among them.

Karl repressed a shudder. The children were almost like zombies, so pale and apathic...

Dr. Richter herded the small group down the corridor, and outside to the back of the waiting truck. Eduard was there to lift them into the truck. But instead of seeking out the comfort of the benches and the blankets, the poor creatures simply collapsed right where he put them down. There was something so fatalistic over them... Were they even aware of their surroundings? Of what was happening to them?

"When is the next shipment due?" the major inquired with Dr. Richter.

"Next Tuesday," the doctor obligingly replied.

"Good. If this miserable bunch proves to be unsatisfactory for Colonel Thon's experiment, I will be back next week for a fresh batch."

A crisp Heil Hitler greeting, and the major climbed into the back of the truck, too. "Drive on, Schiff. I'll keep an eye on these things."

It was less than an hour's drive to Father Werner's friend in Neustadt. But it may well have been the longest hour in young Karl Langenscheidt's life.

His first self-appointed task was to make the children as comfortable as possible. They had brought some blankets to that end, and he carefully wrapped those around their limp, overalls-covered bodies. He tried to talk to them – to tell them that they were going to stay with a really nice man tonight, and that everything would be alright. There was no need to be afraid – they'd soon be home now. Perhaps if they could tell him their names, or maybe what town they came from?

If poor Julius was anything to go by, it was likely that most of these children would be able to answer such a question – most of them were older than Julius by the looks of it.

But no matter what he tried, the children remained completely unresponsive. They just stared off into the distance with those empty eyes, and neither words nor physical contact seemed to get through to them.

When they finally reached the modest parish hall in Neustadt, the elderly priest came out of the house and directed Eduard to bring the truck around to the shed behind the house. He closed the doors behind them, and once the paraffin lamp he carried was lit, Karl and Eduard alighted from the truck.

"I am glad you succeeded," was the first thing the priest said. "I am Father Kilius. How are the children?"

The two would-be Gestapomen exchanged a glance. "Not good," Karl replied with a sigh. "They're all dying. Those experiments..." He gulped – hard – before he could bring himself to briefly relate what they had learned.

Father Kilius crossed himself. "I had heard of these things happening, yes. But I just... I just couldn't believe it." He walked over to the back of the truck. "Let's get them more comfortable first. There are some old mattresses over there in the corner." He climbed into the truck and gently lifted up the nearest child.

And froze.

He listened for a breathing, felt for a pulse. But there was none.

He put the poor child down again, passed his hand over the staring eyes to close them, crossed himself, and folded the little hands over the small chest. "This one is already with God."

In powerless frustration, Karl spun around and punched the wall of the shed with enough force to bruise his knuckles.

But immediately, he felt Eduard's hand on his shoulder. "Take it easy now. Getting angry won't help these kids."

Karl turned back to him, his eyes both flashing with anger and brimming with tears. "Nothing can help them anymore! If only we hadn't waited so long! We should have gone right away – last week! And..."

"And got nowhere! We needed those uniforms, and we needed those orders. Without those, we would have accomplished absolutely nothing!"

"But if...!"

"No buts. We did what we could. But sometimes, that's simply not enough. All we can do is accept it, and try to do better next time. But getting angry about it is a waste of energy. We can't go back and change things. So cool it – now!" he added as he felt his companion's muscles tense to tear himself away.

But the guy just pulled himself free and stalked back to the truck to help Father Kilius offload the children.

And Eduard reflected that Hans Beerbaum – or whatever his name was – was probably a fair bit younger than the image he had presented to Olaf and himself so far. Of course, with his skills as a make-up artist... It certainly was a highly useful talent in this business. And the boy sure was both inventive and brave, and had his heart in the right place. He was just too rash and impulsive in his actions to be able to survive long in the threatening jungle of Nazi Germany. Still, with a little coaching...?

He joined the others in the gloomy task of offloading the children. Two more turned out to have died on the way – a third one blew out his last breath in the arms of Father Kilius.

How much longer would the remaining three still hold on? Long enough to make it to Denmark tonight, or...? But even if they did, would their chances of survival be any better?

As Eduard watched the good Father tuck in the blankets around the three survivors, he heard his young companion mutter between clenched teeth, "I want to go back there and blow up the whole place..."

Eduard looked at him. Rash and impulsive alright. "How? Did you bring any explosives?"

Karl shrugged, and for a moment they were both silent, and watched how Father Kilius crossed himself once more, and folded little white hands across an unmoving chest as if in prayer.

"I'll see to it that these children get a proper funeral," Father Kilius said quietly. "Do you guys know any names or anything?"

Both Eduard and Karl shook their head. And in a sudden flare of anger over the hideous atrocity committed to these kids, Eduard pulled his young comrade aside – out of earshot from the priest. "Blowing up the place we won't manage tonight," he muttered. "But there is something we can do."

Shortly before midnight, the entire Richter's State Institution for Experimental Research went up in flames. The strong stench of petrol clearly pointed towards deliberate arson, and indeed, two suspicious sets of footprints were found on the grounds.

But the culprits were never found.

And if Oskar Danzig could barely keep his eyes open at rehearsal the following day, surely that could be ascribed to mere coincidence...

Marya

The question was now: what should he tell Klaus and Luise?

And how? This wasn't the kind of news you could drop on parents by telephone, or even in writing. But it was two days to go from Berlin to Mönchengladbach and back, and with the show opening this weekend, not even Oskar Danzig himself could expect to be granted a two days' leave.

Unable to solve the dilemma, he went to seek Father Werner's advice. And got rather more than he bargained for.

"There you are! Your friend has been looking for you!"

Karl frowned. "My friend? Who?"

Father Werner chuckled. "I have no idea what you guys called each other. But I mean the one who accompanied you to Kiel."

"Oh!" Karl sighed. This could get complicated. "What did he want?"

"I don't know. He said he wanted to talk to you. He had been over at your place, but the landlady had told him you'd moved out. So he came to ask me instead."

Of course he'd moved out. He'd only taken up lodgings in that boarding house to prevent his unknown allies from finding out who he really was. And the only way to keep that up was...

"Where can I find him?"

"Café Brunn, in the Wasnerstraβe. He told me you could tell me a day and time, and he'd find a way to be there."

A sigh. "Alright – Tuesday morning, ten o'clock." He hesitated. "Is that place open that early, do you think?"

"I would think so. They serve a good breakfast there." Father Werner chuckled. "Believe me – I know. But with that settled, what can I do for you?"

Karl told him of his problem, and was relieved to learn there was a reasonable solution after all. "Why don't you tell another one of your relatives of your findings? Or at least the parts you want them to know. Someone who lives closer to Julius' parents, and can go and tell them in person?"

Relief washed over young Karl's face. "Of course – why didn't I think of that myself?"

Father Werner smiled. "Maybe because you were too closely involved. But how about your uncle – Frank Geisler? Does he live anywhere close to them? For it might be wise to ask someone who has some experience in counselling to take this news to Julius' parents. It certainly is not an easy message."

Karl took Father Werner's advice to heart, and drafted up a letter to his godfather with the inconspicuous story of 'being in the Kiel area' and having gone to visit Julius at the institute – only to uncover the house of horrors Eduard and he had found. 'I know it's not a pleasant task, but could you please go and tell Klaus and Luise? I'd do it myself, but with the demands of my work here, it'd be weeks before I can get away to Mönchengladbach to tell them in person. But I think they should know – although I'm not sure whether it would be a good idea to tell them all the details.'

He hesitated. Should he mention meeting Uncle Frank's old friend from the seminary, or...? But he decided not to. Better save that for a more pleasant occasion.

With that chapter more or less closed, he went to meet Eduard in the same disguise in which they had first made their acquaintance. The café was easily found, and Eduard was already there, enjoying a cup of coffee.

The two men shook hands, and Karl gestured to the barkeeper for another coffee.

"I was rather surprised at your 'Tuesday morning, ten o'clock'," Eduard opened their discourse. "But then I realized that working hours in the theatre probably are a bit unorthodox."

"I hope the time wasn't too inconvenient?" Karl inquired as he accepted his coffee.

"No, not at all. I'm a travelling salesman, so I'm not restricted to predefined breaks." He watched the other man stir his coffee. "I wanted to talk to you about last week," he continued when Karl put down his teaspoon.

Karl raised an eyebrow and quickly glanced around. "Here?" There were at least a dozen other customers in the room.

"It's okay. It's safe here," Eduard assured him.

"How do you know?"

"Because I do."

Karl gave him a more than skeptical look at that, and Eduard explained, "The proprietor of this place is a good friend of mine. He'd warn me immediately if an unknown customer were to come in."

Karl wasn't quite convinced that such would exclude every possibility of eavesdropping by the wrong people, but he decided that if he could trust Eduard to know what he was doing all the way out in Kiel, he had no reason to doubt the man's judgement in his hometown. "Alright. What's the problem?"

Eduard visibly relaxed. "Not a problem really. But with what we did last week, and a few things you said, I thought I'd sound you on whether or not you'd be willing to do things like that on a more regular basis."

Karl kept his face carefully neutral as Eduard searched it.

"It's quite okay if you just wanted to do it for your nephew," he continued. "And if you want to leave it at that, that's fine with me. Then we'll just finish our coffee and each go our own way."

Still no reaction. But underneath his pokerface, Karl's brain was working up a fever. Doing things like that on a more regular basis? Did he mean rescuing innocent people from the Nazis? Burn down such institutes of horror? Of course – even though he had worked alone so far in helping people to get away, it was highly unlikely that he was the only sound mind in Berlin to stand up against Hitler's sick measures. It was just that you had to be so secretive about these things that... But considering Eduard's friends – a guy who could produce believable fake Gestapo orders, and Olaf who could get hold of uniforms – how much more could they accomplish by working together?

He took a good breath. "I'm in. This isn't just about Julius."

Eduard had a grave smile. "It sure isn't."

They studied each other for a moment.

"So what do you do?" Karl asked at last.

Eduard's face turned into a hard mask. "Anything we can to obstruct the party and to stop their crimes."

Karl was visibly impressed by the man's intensity. Could it be that he had some personal grievances with the party as well?

But Eduard already continued. "There is one thing however that I want to make crystal clear: this is not a game," he said, emphasizing every word. "We're not playing cops and robbers – this is for real. Real people's lives are at stake here, as you've seen for yourself in Kiel last week. And that is including your own. For in defending other people's lives, you may very well lose your own. Is that clear?"

Karl's mouth was a grim line. "Believe me, I know. Even before Kiel, I was already 'a man who had seen too much'."

Another probing look. "Alright. I have faith in Father Werner's judgement, and from what I've seen from you so far, I'm prepared to have faith in you as well." A hand was proffered across the table. "Wilhelm Schattner is the name."

A split second decision was necessary. And so strong was his acquired reflex to shield his true identity from trouble that almost without thinking he reciprocated the handshake, introducing himself as...

"Oskar Danzig."

He immediately regretted it when he saw Schattner's eyes widen in surprise. "Oskar Danzig? You mean the Oskar Danzig?"

The moment had been too solemn to now say that he'd been kidding, hadn't it? And two make-up artists by the same name...?

So he nodded.

"Holy cow!" Schattner breathed, and he searched the other man's face. "I would never have thought..." His face closed as if he needed to adjust his thoughts. It didn't take particularly long. "My friend, you're a real godsend!"

Karl raised his eyebrows. "Why? Were you in need of a female impersonator?"

"Well, we never really considered that option, but if you'd be willing to do it, it would be the perfect solution!" He lowered his voice and continued, "There is this Gestapo colonel – his name is Pfitzmann. Alfred Pfitzmann. He's the one who pulls all the major strings in the Gestapo. A beast, really. Any despicable Gestapo raid, and you can be sure that he's behind it." He paused to let this sink in with his audience of one. "Now we've had this idea to try and learn of his plans before he puts them into action, so that we may help innocent people to get away in time. And we figure that should be possible with the help of a medium."

"A medium?"

"Yes. Or an astrologer or something like that. And preferably a female of course, since Pfitzmann is a bachelor – even though that's exactly why we've been hesitant leaving a real woman at his mercy. And of course most of these medium people are females."

Karl mulled that over. Never having been into the nonsense of astrology and mediums, he'd have to take Schattner's word on that for now. But it was no secret that the Führer was a great believer, and following his example, so were his bootlicking Nazi subordinates. The plan did seem sound indeed, except...

"It would only work a few times though. If his plans go awry every time he tells them to this medium, he'll soon figure out the connection, and that's the end of the medium."

"Of course. We'd have to be selective in what we'd take on, to make the set-up last as long as possible."

"And once he does figure out..."

"You'd have a much better chance defending yourself than a real woman would. And the room we could use for it has a secret passageway, so you should be able to escape as well. Which again would give you a much better chance anyway – you transform yourself back to a man, and they'll look right past you searching for a woman."

That was true. And the idea of impersonating a woman in order to thwart and fool the Nazis was actually quite appealing.

A grin appeared on his face. "Alright, I'll do it. As long as we can fit the medium's opening hours around my work schedule – which means it will mostly be mornings. And as long as you grant me some time to study up on the subject. For I don't know the first thing about that stuff, and it'd be kind of awkward if those dedicated believers find me blundering through their theories."

"Great." Schattner smiled. "So let's work out the details. For example, can you do any exotic accents?"

Two weeks later, a full page advertisement appeared on the back of the Berliner Zeitung, acquainting the city with the sensational abilities of a new Russian medium: the mysterious Marya. Accompanied by a picture of a very seductive woman, the public was informed that she was skilled not only in reading the stars in the sky, the lines in your hand and the bumps on your head, but also communicated freely with the spirits of the dead. Opening hours Mondays 3 p.m. – 9 p.m., Wednesdays and Fridays 10 a.m. – 1 p.m. above Fischer's Fish Shop in the Kartnerstraβe.

The trap was set...

Business turned out to be surprisingly good. Apparently lots of people felt the need to be reassured, for Marya was seldom without a customer for more than ten minutes in a row.

And her fame grew quickly. But Karl figured this was mainly due to people's transparency. For the majority of his customers it was glaringly obvious what they wanted to hear. And Karl took innocent delight in telling pleasant people something they wanted to hear, and predicting doom to those he took an instant dislike to. And Marya's fees were established according to the same standards.

Several weeks passed that way before the little spying-mirror at the entrance revealed that the mysterious Marya had finally caught the interest of some Nazi officer.

Quickly, Karl laid aside his book on Chinese astrology and went into the Marya mode. "Enter," she called with the deeper, carefully modulated voice he used for this creation.

With the flick of a switch, he unlocked the door and peered at the new visitor from under Marya's long eyelashes. It wasn't Pfitzmann (he had seen a few pictures of the guy), but a Gestapo officer nonetheless. Well, no harm in trying to thwart this guy's plans either, was there?

"Sit down," Marya told the man.

Nervously, he did as he was told, and Marya studied him in silence for a few minutes. It only made him more jumpy.

"Well," she drawled at last. "What can I do for you?"

A look of surprise crossed the man's face. "Don't you know?"

Marya spread out her hands. "I read stars, lines, bumps – not minds."

"Ach so... Yes. Forgive me, Fräulein."

"Marya," the lady corrected. "Everybody calls me Marya."

"Of course – Marya." He fell silent again.

"So, what is it you would like to know?"

"Um... well..." The guy floundered a bit. "It is a rather delicate question. A rather personal question, I should say."

A feline smile. "I can be as discreet as need be," Marya assured him.

He glanced at her. "Good – good. Well, um... what I wanted to ask was..." He cleared his throat. "You see, Fräul... Marya, I have always been single, and... and..."

"Yes?" Always let the client state his question himself, no matter how obvious his query seems to be.

"Well, I would like to know if... if there'd be any future... you know, happiness for me. A wife... a few children..."

Those were the easier questions. "Let me see your hand. No, the other." She studied the lines in its palm for a while, tracing the dominant ones with her little finger. Then she asked his exact birthdate, and went over to the big chart on the wall to examine that, too. Reasonably handsome guy, mid twenties, no clear streak of cruelty... Yeah, he should be alright.

So, "Congratulations!" she exclaimed, and turned back to her client with the air of a quizmaster announcing the winner. "You will be able to call yourself both 'husband' and 'father' within the next three years!" That should give him some leeway.

A bit too much leeway for the man's taste apparently. His face – at first beaming with delight – fell back to misery. "Three years...?"

Marya tilted her head. "Well, these things don't happen overnight, you know."

"Yes, I suppose that's true." A sigh of resignation. Then, "But you're absolutely sure that I will...?"

An enigmatic smile. "The stars don't lie."

"No – no, of course they don't." He seemed relieved by the realization, and a hesitant smile worked its way to the surface. "Then at least I can look forward to happiness to come." He got up, bowed and clicked his heels together. "Danke. Danke vielmals, Fräulein."

"Marya," the lady corrected. "And aren't you forgetting something?"

He looked puzzled as she came up to him and fingered the lapel of his overcoat. "What am I forgetting, Fr... Marya?"

Another seductive hand on his chest. "The stars work for free, mein Herr, but Marya needs some bread on the table."

He gulped uneasily. "Oh! Yes. Of course." He took out his wallet and hesitated over a ten mark note. "Would this be...?"

"Better make it twenty, to ensure the stars' favour for the upcoming three years."

"Of course." Two ten mark notes changed hands, and with another bow and click of the heels, the lovelorn Gestapoman went his way.

And Karl grinned. After all, one way of enticing this Pfitzmann to come here was to ingratiate Marya with other Nazi officers. No publicity as powerful as word of mouth. So if he told his Nazi clients pretty much what they wanted to hear (within reasonable boundaries, that is), there was a fair chance that one day, he would find this Colonel Pfitzmann on his doorstep, too.

For several days, his hours as Marya resumed their previous routine: mothers wanting to know about their children's future, men wanting to know about possible upcoming promotions, young lovers wanting to know if they were destined for one another, wives wanting to know about cheating husbands, fathers wanting to know about their daughters' secret boy-friends, young married women wanting to know about future babies, businessmen seeking assurance that their investments would pay off, young people wanting to be promised a good-looking and well-to-do future partner...

And it wasn't until the following week that another Gestapo officer made his way up the stairs to Marya's studio above Fischer's Fish Shop.

She let him in and asked-ordered him to sit down. "What can I do for you today?"

The man sighed. "I'm in a bit of a pickle, and I was hoping you might give me some advice on how to get out of it."

"Of course." Marya spread out her hands in an inviting gesture. "Tell me about your 'pickle', and then we shall see what the stars have to say on the matter."

"But you will keep this knowledge to yourself, won't you?" he insisted vehemently. "It is of the utmost importance that this does..."

She waved away his worries with the usual feline smile. "I assure you I can be as discreet as need be."

He narrowed his eyes – then nodded. And explained that he had witnessed his superior officer embezzle money from the party's funds. "A lot of money actually. Now tell me, Fräulein..."

"Marya," the lady interrupted. "Everybody calls me Marya."

"Verzeihung, Fräulein. Now tell me, Marya, should I denounce my superior officer, or not? Would it gain me the promotion that is so long overdue, or would it be professional suicide?"

"Let me see your hand." She took hold of his wrist and studied the lines of his hand with a grave mien. "Your lifeline is not particularly long," she commented.

The man paled. "What does that mean?"

A shrug. "Merely that you won't live till a hundred." She got up and walked over to the astrology chart on the wall. "And what is your birthdate?"

"January 19th."

"Ah – a late Capricorn. And the year?"

"1887."

"Good. Now let me see what the stars have in store for you." Eyes and fingers flew over the large chart with ever increasing speed. Until finally, the mysterious Marya pulled away with a small gasp.

"What? What is it?" the officer demanded.

"The stars – they are not favourable to you in this matter," Marya breathed.

"They are not? You mean I...?"

Sewing dissension in the ranks sure wouldn't help the party. "You'd better keep your nose out of this, and pretend nothing is the matter. Someone else will call this man on it in the foreseeable future. And exposing this man is a necessity for him to rise in the ranks in the way the stars predict. So in order to keep the flow of the future intact and ensure his promotion, you will have to keep quiet!"

A hesitation. "I do?"

Marya shrugged. "Unless you want to make your lifeline even shorter of course."

"No! No!" Panic crept into the man's voice. "I will do as you say – I promise! I will not denounce him – I won't!"

"Good." A purring smile. "For we really do not want to mess around with the future, do we?"

"No! Definitely not!" The man got up and buttoned up his overcoat. "Thank you so much for warning me, Fräulein."

"Marya," she corrected with emphasis, but he didn't hear her.

"Imagine if I'd gone ahead and exposed him... It would have been suicide! Literally!"

He reached for the door, but Marya was there before him. "Aren't you forgetting something, cutie pie?"

Slowly, the trickle of Gestapo and other Nazi clients grew, and occasionally, Karl was able to tip off Schattner on something the resistance group might want to deal with. They always tried to plan their actions now in a way that would allow their master of disguises to come and give each of its participants a complete make-over, and Karl quickly got to know all the members of the group.

There were about a dozen of them, he learned – including Olaf, Herr Fischer from the fish shop, and the proprietor of Café Brunn. Their ages ranged from his own to pensionable, and he was quite surprised to learn that even a few women were active participants in the resistance work – albeit in more supporting roles. The fake Gestapo orders for Kiel for example turned out to have been produced by Herr Fischer's wife.

In between these make-up jobs, Danzig's shows, Marya's sessions, his own helping Jews and handicapped people to get out of the country and the occasional nocturnal resistance raid in which he got to participate, Karl Langenscheidt had a pretty busy life.

But all that meant nothing to the two officers who swiftly took the stairs up to Marya's studio one Monday evening, ignoring the protests from other waiting customers and simply forced the lock and barged in on a session with an elderly housewife.

Marya was instantly on her feet. "What is the meaning of this? Get out and wait for your turn!" Her client hovered back against the wall, too petrified to speak. And Karl himself grabbed the back of Marya's chair to keep his hands from trembling. He wasn't aware of anything seriously sensitive or incriminating or really important that he'd recently passed on to Schattner, so why were these two officers here? Not Gestapo fortunately, but still...

One of the officers opened his mouth. "Fräulein, I have..."

"Marya!" Automatically, he sought comfort in the familiar charade.

The officer nodded. "Fräulein Marya, I..."

"Not Fräulein Marya – just Marya, understood? Now what are you doing here – interrupting my sessions, upsetting my clients?"

"Fräulein... I mean, Marya, I... we have orders to take you to..."

"I don't take orders from anyone – I'm not in the army!"

"But Fräulein... I mean Maria – Marya... We have orders from the..."

"I don't care about your orders. Now get out!"

The two men looked at each other. "Alright. If that's how she wants it?" And they stepped forward almost synchronically, closed their hands around Marya's upper arms and dragged the furiously clawing and kicking lady out of her studio.

The clients on the stairs – the few who hadn't fled yet – anxiously backed out of the way as the popular and successful Russian astrologer was hauled down the stairs. The outside door was kicked shut, car doors slammed and a motor was brought to life.

Within seconds, the roar faded in the distance.

Hitler!

Hiding fear behind indignation, Marya straightened herself and glared at the uniformed captor sitting next to her. "What is the meaning of this?"

He glanced at her. "Don't worry, Fräulein. You'll..."

"Marya!"

"Marya, yes. But don't worry. You'll be fine."

Marya rolled her eyes. "Now he tells me...! So where are we going?"

"You'll see."

"Thanks. You're a great help." Marya crossed her arms and her legs and petulantly turned to the window. Only to realize that the windows were blinded.

She let out a long-suffering sigh, while Karl tried to reason away his fear. They haven't even handcuffed me. No gun in sight. Seems they just want to take me somewhere – or rather, take Marya somewhere. To see someone? Must be a real big shot if he thinks this is an acceptable way of inviting people over for tea. The car certainly is luxurious enough. And surely they would have handcuffed me if they'd take me to the Gestapo for questioning or something?

The blind drive seemed to take ages. Once Karl had more or less calmed down his nerves, Marya began to try and draw out her captor again, if only to pass the time. But the guy just sat there next to her, as forthcoming as a statue, and Karl didn't quite dare to risk teasing the man into a more communicative mood.

But at last, the humming of the car tyres on tarmac was replaced by the scrunching sound of pebbles being planished. A driveway?

If so, it was a pretty long one, but in the end the car took a mild curve and came to a halt.

Karl tried his hardest to ignore how sweaty his hands were. Focusing on keeping up Marya's flippant character seemed to be the only way to stay on top of his nerves, so he clung to it in a fearful desperation he had never felt before.

What would await him outside the car?

Well, here was the answer: the car door was opened and a voice requested, "Aussteigen, bitte."

Warily, Karl got out with the usual grace of Marya. Immediately she was taken by the arm and led to a brightly lit entrance. The few moments in the twilight of the evening barely allowed him to register that he was in the country, entering a majestic ivy-covered country-house hidden among large trees.

And then he was inside. And caught himself gaping at the excessive riches displayed: thick woollen carpets, masterful paintings, lifelike sculptures, oakwood panels, velvet chairs, intricate alto-relievos, goldplate and goldpaint wherever possible – and all that lit by two kingsize crystal chandeliers.

He took a deep breath to compose himself and regain his Marya charade. (Fortunately, neither of his captors seemed to have noticed his unpardonable break of character...)

"So – where are we?" Marya demanded as she was taken into a small room.

"Just a moment, Fräulein."

"Marya!"

"Yes, yes – Marya." He turned her towards him. "If you'll excuse me, Fr... Marya?"

Marya threw her hands up in the air. "Why not? Seeing that you've already brought me this far without as much as a bye or a leave."

The man did not reply, and instead began to give their prisoner-guest a thorough body search.

As Marya wriggled under the man's hands pretending he was tickling her, Karl had to fight down another bolt of looming panic. What if they noticed his boobs were fake? Or the little appendage that marked the most obvious difference between men and women?

But whether it was Marya's distracting him, or the fact that one tends to see what one expects to find, the fake boobs passed inspection without further ado, and the man was simply not indecent enough to grope Marya's private parts. Good for him.

"Alright. Let's go," the other one said.

"Now wait a minute!" Marya protested. "You still haven't told me where we're going and what you want from me!"

"It will all be perfectly clear to you in a moment, Fräulein."

"It's Marya! And..."

They stopped in front of a set of ivory coloured double doors. Two guards saluted, and a lackey in powdered wig and pink livery opened the doors for them and announced pompously, "Mein Führer, the lady Marya for you."

Marya nearly tripped in astonishment as she was ushered into the room, with Karl not quite succeeding in catching his dropping jaw.

The Führer?

Indeed: the Führer. As large – or as small – as life, lounging on an overstuffed red velvet sofa with a glass of orange juice in his hand. "Ach so! Fräulein Marya! Kommen Sie herein." He sat up and eyed his guest with an expert eye.

Karl gulped down his instant loathing of the man as Marya struck a provocative pose and smiled her feline smile. "Guten Abend, Herr Führer. I must say this is a surprise." Boy, was it a surprise...

The Führer smiled. "The pleasure is all mine, I hope. Komm!" He patted the couch. "Setzen Sie sich hier neben mir."

It was like cuddling up to a smiling vulture. With the forthrighteousness so characteristic for a man who considers himself to be the leader of the world, Hitler put his arm around Marya's shoulders and peered into her eyes. "I have sent for you because I have heard of your reputation. And there are a few matters of some importance on which I'd like to consult your knowledge of the stars."

"Really? You flatter me." Marya traced the Führer's ear, while Karl furiously tried to assess his situation and possible scenarios veering off from this point.

First of all, here he was, practically lying in the arms of the Führer. If the man would become too bold, he'd either discover the truth about Marya, or he would have to rebuff the man's advances. Neither scenario was very promising for Karl Langenscheidt's life expectancy.

Secondly, clearly Marya's reputation as astrologer had reached the man, and he wanted advice on something. Well, if he'd let Karl-Marya live that long, he'd get it!

And the most frustrating of all: here he was in the scenario of his dreams, with that monstrosity of a Führer at his fingertips – and without even a ghost of a chance of getting him out of the way! He didn't carry any weapons, and even if he'd try to commit the act with a hairpin and his bare hands, he'd be hauled off before accomplishing anything, thanks to the two stoic guards in the corner of the room!

The only thing to do apparently was to play along, and try and keep the monster from getting too pushy with his female guest. Mixing Marya with Danzig's careful balance of flirtation and mysterious aloofness might just do the trick.

Herr Hitler seemed indeed to be thinking in that direction, for Marya's rather innocent opening moves were deftly reciprocated. And Karl had to repress an involuntary shudder. Sure – he had been working as a female impersonator long enough to have gotten over his instinctive disgust of a man fondling him. But there are men and there are men...

Better distract the guy and get to the point. "So – what were these matters of importance you wanted to see me about?"

"Why such a hurry, my dear?" A hand crept towards Marya's décolleté. "We can well get to know one another first, can't we?"

Oh brother... "But of course." She took the creeping fingers in her hand before they went too far. They were surprisingly cold, and he wondered fleetingly if perhaps the bloody Führer wasn't really human. That would certainly explain a few things...

She spread the fingers and examined them with interest. Short and stocky, with square, well-kept nails. Obviously manicured – ha!

But there came the other hand creeping towards the off-limits area. How was he going to...?

Quickly, she turned over the wrist she held. And puckered her lips in surprise. "My, your lifeline ends very abruptly, mein Herr."

Hitler shot upright in alarm and pulled back his hand to study it himself. "I'm going to get killed tomorrow – I knew I would! That Bunterberg, I shall...!"

"I didn't say it would end tomorrow." Marya leaned back and shook her hair out of her face with renewed confidence.

"Was?" Hitler's rant was brought up short.

"I merely observed that it would end abruptly. Whether that would happen tomorrow or in the twenty-first century is an entirely different matter."

The hand was shoved in front of her face again. "Then what does it mean?"

With a superior little smile, Marya took it and studied it – long and careful. "It ends abruptly, yes. But that doesn't automatically mean you'll be murdered. It might as well end with a stroke. Or a heart attack." The little man paled before her eyes. "All this means is that your death will be swift. You will not suffer the indignity of a lingering disease weakening and crippling you for years." She gauged his expression. "That is good news, is it not? The world will always remember you as the strong and forceful leader. Any great man would die to be remembered like that!"

"Ja. Ja natürlich." Hitler got a hold of himself again. "So what does it say about tomorrow?"

A raised eyebrow. "What's so special about tomorrow?"

"I have this meeting with my general staff. And I have a very bad feeling about it." He sighed a little. "My court astrologer keeps telling me everything will be alright. But I can't ignore this bad feeling, so I sent her away and sent for you. So tell me – what's going to happen tomorrow?"

Marya had a graceful shrug. "That is not something I can read from your hand or from the bumps on your head. Do you have your chart laid out somewhere?"

"Yes. Yes. But does my lifeline end tomorrow, or...?"

Marya gracefully stretched out her arm to invite back his hand. "No. I do not think so." Hey, if he was wrong, what trouble could a dead Hitler cause him? "Your lifeline is fairly long. So if there would be an attack on you tomorrow, you would certainly survive."

"And not be rendered a cripple for the rest of my life," the Führer stated with anxious confidence. "You just said so yourself – I would not suffer of some lingering disease."

"Nothing that will cause your death, no." Gee, this guy was tricky. Oh well, in the worst case scenario (that is, if he got out of this place alive in the first place), Marya could always disappear.

Hitler narrowed his eyes at her. "But you said...?"

"I said what I said." Marya got up. "Now where is this chart? I hope your court astrologer did a good job on it?"

"Oh, yes! Come. I will show you." The monster took her by the elbow – with Marya wearing high heels, he barely came to her chin – and led her to a door in the back of the room. It turned out to lead to an office, as excessively decorated as the rest of the mansion.

A nod to the two guards was enough to have them follow their leader and position themselves in the doorway, giving Karl the disconcerting sensation of being trapped.

But he had to keep his head now. Whatever it took to get out of this house alive.

And there was Hitler's personalized astrology chart, up on the wall facing the oversized mahogany desk. At a glance, Karl saw that it was drawn up to the letter of the textbook specifics. Good – that would prevent him from blundering all too blatantly.

"Here you are, Fräulein," Hitler gestured.

"Marya," the lady automatically corrected.

"Marya. Of course."

Slowly, Marya wandered over to the astrology chart. Playfully, she ran her finger over the desktop, the bookshelf, the top of the wall-panels... "Aha! Look!" She held a finger under Hitler's nose. "Dust! This place could do with a good scrub. Or did you sack your cleaning-lady as well?"

The Führer reddened a little. "I haven't got a cleaning-lady. It's a man who does the cleaning around here."

Marya rolled her eyes. "A man? What do men know about cleaning? All they can do is make things dirty!"

The Führer seemed to steam up a little at that, so with exaggerated flourish, Marya turned to the chart on the wall in order to deflect his wrath. "Let me see... Tomorrow." Her eyes and fingers followed the intricate patterns, faster and faster, until finally she pulled away.

"And?" Hitler prompted.

"Someone is definitely planning an attack on your life in the very near future," Marya confirmed.

"I knew it!" Hitler started pacing with his thumb in his buckle.

"But the damage this attack will do will not impair you in the least," Marya continued. (Hey, if he was wrong, Marya would simply cease to exist – literally.) "You will continue to govern the Thousand Year Reich for many years to come."

"I will?" The man stopped pacing, and a longing little smile adorned his features. "Will it be big? Will I govern the whole world? Perhaps I should invade Austria and Poland tomorrow, should I?"

Marya blinked. "That would not be wise," she said flatly. Who ever said anything about going to war again? Hadn't the German people suffered enough the last time around?

"It wouldn't? Are you sure? We do need the Lebensraum (1), you know," was the Führer's dismayed reaction.

"Yes, I'm sure it would not be wise." Marya went back to the chart and pointed out a few knots. "You see how these lines intersect? The Thousand Year Reich will be a success, but it is a very delicate balance. Very delicate. Act in haste, and it will just fall to pieces around you."

Hitler's face fell. "Then what do you suggest?"

Marya glanced at him. "Not me, Herr Führer. It's the stars that suggest."

"Yes, yes. So what do the stars suggest?"

Marya turned to him and crossed her arms. "To take it slowly. Make sure the foundation is strong before you start building and expanding the Reich. Remember the story of the three little pigs?"

Hitler's face was one big question mark.

"Those who built their houses quickly, with inferior materials like straw and wood," Marya explained, "Their houses didn't hold. But the house that was built with care and reason, and with the right materials – that house could withstand the storm."

Hitler took a moment to assimilate that. And sighed. "Pity. But I suppose the stars are right."

"Of course they are. How could they be wrong?" Marya put her hands on her hips and looked him over. "Anything else you wanted to know from the stars?"

The Führer started out of his reverie. "Was? Ja, actually there is." He began to pace again, back and forth, back and forth.

And Marya waited. And studied her nails. And waited. And glanced at the clock (it was just past 9.30 p.m.). And waited. And ran her finger over another bookshelf. And waited. And raised her eyebrow. And waited.

And finally, the Führer faced her again. "I'm sure you're aware of the severe problems those Jewish parasites are posing upon us."

Marya raised her other eyebrow. "And?"

"I've been trying to exterminate them, but it's going too slow. And it's too expensive and too cumbrous anyway."

Karl couldn't quite stop a shudder. Was the guy referring to that kind of massmurder he had accidentally been witness to last year?

But Hitler continued, "So I've come up with a more efficient solution: we could collect them in labour-camps. There they can be of some use – work for the good of the Third Reich until they drop. And that way, they'd even pretty much earn their own funeral." He looked at her expectantly. "What do you think? Will the general staff be in favour of this plan? Or do I have to prepare endless arguments to sell it to them? They can be so backward sometimes..."

Marya gave him a grave look, and slowly turned back to the chart on the wall. "Well, let's see what the stars have to say about it, shall we?"

The intricate game between eyes, fingers and lines repeated itself, until she shook her head and stepped back. "I am truly sorry, Herr Führer, but the stars do not look favourable upon this plan. Implementing it will be the death of the Thousand Year Reich before it even gets started."

"Was?" In three choleric steps, the monster stood next to his visitor. "Where do you see that?"

Karl fought down the urge to gulp. Were his astrology skills about to be exposed as a fraud, or...?

As usual, bluff was his only trumpcard. "It's all in this one fragile intersection. The Thousand Year Reich will be a success – but as I said, it is a very delicate balance. There are numerous factors that could throw in a wrench. Only if you proceed with the utmost care and deliberation will the balance stay intact."

"Hmpf." Hitler frowned dangerously and glared at the offending intersection. Marya regarded him in silence.

Suddenly a fist slammed on the table. "But I want those stinking Jews out of the way! Those bloodsuckers are a menace to society, and I want them out – now!"

Marya folded her arms. "Well, surely there must be other ways to accomplish that."

The Führer was brought up short. "How? I've been rounding them up and exterminating them for over a year, but they're like mosquitos – kill one, and ten others pop up to harass you! I tell you, they're demons!" He grabbed her by the upper arms. "How do I get rid of that vermin?"

Marya raised her eyebrows and untangled herself from him. "Please, Herr Führer, there is no need to get all emotional about it. Let's see what the stars advise you, okay?"

"Yes." Eagerly he peered at the complicated chart. "It really is of paramount importance that these beasts get out of the way. So tell me how to do it."

Marya studied the chart intently, while Karl furiously tried to come up with something that not only would appease the bloody Führer, but would save the Jews as well. He felt as if the fate of the entire Jewish population in Germany was suddenly placed in his hands. How had he ever ended up with that responsibility?

Maybe he should just keep it simple. "Here it is, in the way these lines split and come together again."

"Yes, yes! What does it mean?" Hitler's nose nearly touched the chart.

Slowly, Marya traced the line as she explained, "The Jews and the Third Reich will go separate ways for a while. The time is not ripe to eliminate them yet. So make them leave the glorious German Reich where there is no place for them." Better be a refugee than be dead... "Once the Thousand Year Reich begins to expand, they will know they have to move out of the way again. Until that great day when the Third Reich will comprise the whole Earth – that will be the day of reckoning for the Jews." At least it'd give them some respite – that is, if the Führer went along with this crazy scheme of course. And surely the other countries would never allow Hitler to conquer the whole world.

She glanced sideways at the man. His face was contorted in a thoughtful but displeased frown.

"You mean I'll have to let them go?" he pouted at last.

"That's what the stars say, yes." There, blame it on the stars... "But as you see, the two lines do converge again. You will have your way with them. Just be patient."

The Führer grunted. "I hate being patient."

Marya rolled her eyes. "Who doesn't? But if that's what the stars tell you..."

Another grunt, and Hitler stalked out of the room.

And Marya threw up her arms and followed him. "So what's next?" she inquired.

He glanced at her, his expression a pensive pout. "Nothing. Thank you for your insights. You have given me lots to think about, so I will not require your company any longer."

Karl tensed in fear as the Führer pulled a beautifully embroidered bell-chord by the door. Had he pushed his luck too far?

Instantly, the lackey appeared. "You rang, mein Führer?"

"Yes. Tell Polt and Quadflieg to take the lady home. I don't need her anymore tonight."

Karl let out a tiny little sigh of relief under the cover of the obsequious lackey in pink murmuring, "Jawohl, mein Führer."

The lackey gestured for Marya to follow him. And Karl did as he was told, but he couldn't resist the temptation of casting one last look back at the Führer. So close, and yet... The evil man sat brooding on the velvet couch, his chin resting in his hands. It seemed he had already forgotten about his visitor.

But then he was back in the luminous hall, and the ivory doors were pulled closed behind him without as much as a click.

"Wait here, please, Fräulein," the lackey told the lady.

Karl looked around as the lackey moved away. The bloody Führer was still within his reach – perhaps if he grabbed that ornamental sword there and burst back into the room...?

Quietly, he took a few steps down the hall towards the tempting sword on the wall.

But a cough from behind him froze him to the spot. Marya looked over her shoulder. Those two guards – of course, he'd seen them when he came in as well. Surely it couldn't be that easy to kill the Führer.

Marya's trademark feline smile and a little fluttering with the eyelashes did a lot to acquiesce the two men. "Just admiring the Führer's fabulous taste in decorating, boys," she purred, swinging her hips as she approached them.

One of the guards gulped, but the other stood his stern ground. "You are not allowed to move freely through this house, Fräulein. This is private property."

"And I am Marya, so don't call me 'Fräulein' again." She puckered her lips and blew a kiss at the blushing guard.

But suddenly, they all heard Hitler's voice from behind the ivory doors. It wasn't clear to whom he was speaking, but... "She's good, August. I mean really good. She doesn't just say amen to whatever I say, like Fräulein Adenauer did. No, she really tells me what the stars say, whether I like their advice or not! Oh, she's good...!"

Marya smiled. "Maybe you boys should come and see me, too, some time."

And there were the two officers that had dragged Marya over here this evening. "Fräulein? I mean, Marya? If you will come with us, please?"

Emboldened by the Führer's praise, Marya threw back her head. "I suppose I have no choice, do I? But you'd better take me straight back home, or I will personally file a complaint about you two with my good friend Adolf!"

The two men paled somewhat, and escorted her with all possible obligingness to the front door and outside.

Marya cast one last wink back at the two guards, and then tried to make out something in the dark as she crossed the few meters from the house to the car.

But there was really nothing to see. Coming from the brightly lit house, everything was pitchblack, though he did catch the rustle of trickling water nearby.

But there was the car, with its door wide open and its windows blinded, and any chance of getting some clues as to where Hitler's little palace was located was gone.

And after a long drive that was only enlightened by her relentless teasing of Polt and Quadflieg, an unscathed Marya was graciously dropped off in front of Fischer's Fish Shop in the Kartnerstraβe in Berlin, and was left to watch the luxurious black car take a left turn into the Königsallee.

And Karl heaved a sigh that seemed to originate all the way from his toes. "Thank God..."

Leader

Hitler never sent for Marya again. Who knows – perhaps he preferred to be played up to after all. But it was obvious that he was singing her praises wherever he went, for the number of generals and other big shots that came to seek Marya's advice suddenly skyrocketed.

Or... seek her advice probably doesn't express the situation adequately. No – many of these bigwigs were far too conscious of their status to be seen entering an upstairs apartment above a lowly fish shop off the Königsallee. No, instead they sent their aides to fetch the lady and bring her to their beautiful villas in Grünewald or in the country.

And this presented a bit of a problem for Karl. On Mondays he could go gallivanting around as much as he wanted to, but on Marya's other business days he had to be back by 3 p.m. in order not to mess up his other life as the actor Oskar Danzig. And some of those big shot generals simply refused to acknowledge that a lady may have other duties to perform besides entertaining the crème de la crème of the Third Reich.

For that's what her job turned into more and more: a little metaphysics, and a lot of accompanying big shots to dinners and parties. They certainly weren't loath of having a long-legged beauty on their arm, and even showered her with dresses, shoes, jewelry, fur coats and stoles to boost their own importance with their colleagues. And Marya's playful refusal to sleep with them – with any of them – only added to her allurements.

Step by step, by careful prodding and probing, Karl came to realize that with the Führer himself as her promotor, Marya could get away with practically anything – perhaps save for outright murder. And how many possibilities did that not open up?

He went to discuss the matter with Schattner one day over lunch in Café Brunn. And Schattner chuckled once the problem had been laid out for him. "And now you want my advice as to which job to quit?"

Karl sighed. "I wouldn't want to quit either of them actually. I need the theatre job to keep the funds coming in to help the Jews to get away. And after what I said to Hitler that time, that's even more urgent. But the information I gather in the company of those generals is astounding."

"Invaluable," Schattner agreed. "Your inside information has already enabled us to thwart some of their worst plans."

"Exactly. And seeing them more often would give me a better chance of playing them off against each other, too. Maybe even blackmail them with the info I gather." A sudden embarrassed grimace came over his face. "Listen to me – what am I turning into: a professional crook?"

Schattner shrugged – it looked oddly sad. "We're not exactly model citizens, no. But with the way things are, no one in their right mind would seriously fault us for what we do."

A few moments of silence ensued as they both mulled over their not so law-abiding activities.

"It's really up to you, Oskar," Schattner said at last. "Both things are important for our cause. So the question is merely whether or not you are able and willing to juggle them together. And whether the one poses a serious threat to the other – or to yourself. And no one knows those odds better than you do yourself."

Karl nodded. "I know. But it's good to talk it over sometimes." Another grimace. "But why is it that I only get to fight them as a lady?"

A smile. "Probably because they don't expect a lady to cross them, and that's what makes you so effective. And so dangerous for them."

Karl smirked, and rubbed his face in thought. "I think I'll quit working at the Festival Theatre then, and for the summer season go to one of the others that have been after me for years. In their eagerness, they're likely to go along with whatever terms I state. Even if I want to perform full time during the weekend and not at all during the week. Three days Danzig and four days Marya should make for a workable mix."

And so it was arranged. The Festival Theatre was not exactly happy about losing their prize show, but they found that Danzig was not to be persuaded. He had made up his mind, and after testing the waters with some of the other theatres that had a standing invitation out for him to come and perform with them, he chose the Spandauer Theatre for his venue during the summer.

And business boomed as Oskar Danzig discovered the art of 'divide and rule'. By switching venue every season, he kept all the interested parties on their toes, eager as they were to comply with the megastar's wishes in order to secure his services.

Occasionally, Karl was sorely tempted to request a change from the female impersonator's show as part of the bargain. But common sense always won out in the end. After all, the main reason he was doing this was to raise money to help Jews and handicapped get out of the country. Danzig's show was a sure guarantee for financial success, and any change of formula might endanger that. Never change a winning team – especially not when lives are dependent on its success...

Danzig's newly acquired skills in the strategy of 'divide and rule' came in handy for his role as Marya as well. With Schattner's advice in mind, Marya's character evolved more and more to be rather ignorant on typical male areas of interest (especially politics), and with innocent deviousness she bestowed her favours and attention then on this, then on that big shot.

Being men, of course they totally failed to see that they were being played off against each other. Instead, they accused one another of stealing the desirable lady away from them, and the jealousy and resentment resulting from this made it very difficult for them to work together for the good of the Third Reich.

With the top brass discussing all kinds of sensitive information in the presence of their 'innocent' status symbol, Karl learned an awful lot that was never meant to be overheard by layman's ears. So much in fact, that Schattner sometimes lamented about having to pick and choose from among the many opportunities Karl presented to him, in order to avoid casting suspicion on Marya.

Still, they managed to burn down hideous and dangerous research labs, raid and blow up several munition factories, burn down one of the first labour camps before it was taken into service (clearly the Führer had followed his own advice after all), destroy many registrar's offices, smoke out a secret Gestapo 'hotel', help dozens and dozens of people to get away before the Gestapo grabbed them, and I know not what.

Karl was a regular participant in these mostly nocturnal raids. Not only came his skills with explosives (1) in handy, he also claimed he needed some antidote for playing a woman practically 24/7. "Otherwise I'm going to wake up one morning in the full belief that I am a woman," he said.

So it happened on that fateful night in the winter of 1937 as well that he was part of their mission to destroy a laboratory for atomic research.

A few days before, Marya had been present at an animated discussion between her present plaything General von Scheffel, and Colonel Ochsenknecht and the visiting Professor Straub.

The professor had been regaling them in some detail with the surprising progress he had made lately in the development of a 'Wasserstoffbombe' (2), when Marya at a convenient pause in the wordflow in all innocence had inquired if the new bomb would give off dust ("Stoff") first, and then water. "That would be the most sensible, wouldn't it? Then the water can wash away the filthy dust right away," she commented, and took a small sip of her wine.

The three men had smiled at her typical feminine reasoning. "No, Fräulein," the professor had explained. "When we talk of Wasserstoff, there really is no dust involved. Wasserstoff is what water is made of."

Marya had raised her eyebrows in surprise. "Isn't water made of water then?" Suddenly she had sat up, her eyes glittering. "Oh, I see: this so-called bomb will be a giant waterballoon! Oh, they are so much fun! I've seen children play with them last summer. You're going to make everyone soaking wet!"

The professor had smiled thinly. "Not quite, Fräulein. This waterbomb is supposed to kill. Thousands, millions at a time."

"Oh!" Disappointed, Marya had leaned back and snuggled up to her General. "That must be very heavy water then." And she had winked mischievously at the good-looking Colonel Ochsenknecht across the room.

The discourse that evening had allowed Karl to deduce the approximate whereabouts of the professor's laboratory, and Schattner's further research had come up with its exact location.

And here they were: Schattner himself in a Wehrmacht uniform, and Karl (or rather: Oskar) and young Tobias Fischer all in black.

The night was cold and dark. A heavy cloud cover obscured any light from moon or stars as they parked their car a few streets away, and without a sound covered the distance to the enclosed laboratory.

The streets were dark and quiet. Out here in the country, streetlights were extinguished after 11 p.m., and not a single soul had anywhere to go at this hour of the night.

Quietly, the three men crept closer. A single guard walked his post – slowly back and forth in front of the gate. For the rest everything seemed to be deserted.

The three of them huddled down in the shadows by the fence, and watched the guard's calm stroll. Until Schattner suddenly jumped forward, agile as a cat, and in three inaudible steps reached the unsuspecting guard ambling away from him. An expert hit in the neck, and the guy sank down on the tarmac without a sound.

Karl and Tobias joined him as Schattner pulled the guy's papers from his pocket and stuffed them in his own. The keys went the same way, and within a few minutes, the hapless guard was securely tied up and gagged, and dragged over to the shadows where they had been lurking a minute ago.

Karl and Tobias stayed with him for a moment – just to see if the minimal commotion they had caused had alerted anyone.

But all remained quiet, and after a few minutes they saw Schattner try the guard's keys on the gate, and a moment later he gestured for them to come.

"Take care," was all Schattner whispered as the two young men in black sneaked in.

Immediately, Karl and Tobias sought the shadow from the trees to make their way to the building. They heard the soft click as Schattner pulled the gate shut again behind them. And before them lay the black outline of the cubic concrete building they were to enter. A veritable fortress it seemed.

Karl carried a small assortment of burglar's tools, but the passkey alone turned out to be enough.

Carefully, without a word, he inched open the door. All was dark and quiet inside, and they both slipped in.

Tobias pulled a tiny flashlight from his belt and examined the bolt on the inside of the door. "No problem," he mouthed, and carefully pushed the door shut.

They knew from Schattner that the building had no windows at all, so they could safely search their way by the light of Tobias's little flashlight.

The first door to the left – locked and all – led to a store room. In large cupboards, dozens of bottles full of a waterlike substance were lined up.

"Must be the heavy water," Karl whispered under his breath as Tobias let his little light dance over the bottles.

"Let's pour it down the drain," Tobias suggested.

Karl grinned, but shook his head and moved on to the next room: an actual chemical laboratory. That wasn't what they were looking for either – what they were looking for was the documentation.

Three more doors to go, and the next one certainly looked promising, as it led to an office. Bookshelves lined the walls, but they were all filled with books – not notes on the professor's recent research. The desk drawers however were all locked – that sure was promising. Karl wriggled with his tools to get them open. But the reward was as disappointing as it was funny: the drawers were full of cookies and candy and empty wraps.

He closed them again, and together they made for the last two doors. The one on the left turned out to be a small bathroom, but the one on the right was locked, too. Not that it gave Karl's passkey much trouble, and within a few seconds they stood in a dark room full of filing cabinets.

"This is it!" Tobias whispered in excitement.

Karl merely nodded in reply, and began to take the sticks of dynamite from the sack he carried. Without a word he began to place them at strategic places throughout the room, connected them two by two with a fuse, and with a final glance at Tobias he...

Suddenly the two black figures froze. Shouting outside, and out of nowhere a raw gunshot echoed in their ears. Two, three times.

"Quick!" Karl hissed, and began to light the fuses: one, two, three, four... and to the door he ran.

But Tobias kept the door carefully closed. "Someone's in the corridor," he mouthed. "Two or three – I can't tell."

Karl glanced back at the burning fuses. They did have a little time, but not much. And if they were found here...

Suddenly, Tobias pulled him along out into the now brightly lit corridor. Without a noise, they quickly made for the front door.

But luck wasn't with them tonight: the door of the office opened and...

The two young men dove into the toilet and waited with their heart in their throat for someone to start yelling about intruders. Or worse, to simply burst into the bathroom with a gun pointed at their chests.

Sweating profusely, they tried to hear what was going on outside their little cell. But the longer they stayed here... How much longer till the place would be blown to the sky?

Tobias opened the door at a crack and listened. And peered out as all he heard were muffled voices.

"Come," he motioned, and holding their breath, they tiptoed out into the brightly lit corridor again: two black ink spots on a white paper.

Without daring to breathe, they passed the office (the door was closed, but they could make out angry voices talking), past the laboratory, the storage room and... Tobias fumbled with the lock for a moment – how much time did they have left?

But then they were outside, Karl pulled the door almost shut to avoid the telltale click, and off they ran through the shadows to the fence.

Schattner was nowhere in sight to open the gate for them, but the two young men had no time to worry about that now – with the agility of youth they were over the nine foot fence in a minute and crouched down in the bushes not far from where they had left the unconscious guard before, in order to take in the situation.

It was difficult to make out anything in the pitchblack of the country night, but their immediate surroundings seemed deserted. They couldn't even pinpoint where they had left the unconscious guard.

"Do you think that was Schattner in the office?" a worried Tobias suddenly whispered. "That they took him inside?"

"Could be," was Karl's equally quiet reply. "But we... No, look!" He sprang to his feet, and keeping low with the bushes, he ran down the verge with Tobias at his heels.

And there, face down in the muddy grass, lay a well-known figure in Wehrmacht uniform. With three large, wet stains on his coat.

"Eduard!" Karl breathed. He fell down on his knees, and carefully rolled over his friend, mentor and leader.

Was he dead?

But just as Tobias knelt on the other side, the eyes of the shot man fluttered open and found his ally hovering over him. "Oskar," he breathed. "Oskar Danzig, did you... succeed?"

Karl nodded – his throat was too constricted to speak.

"We've got to get you to a doctor!" Tobias urged, and he already tried to lift up Schattner.

"No," the pale man said quietly. "No use. I'm dying... I know it." A laborious breath as blood welled up from his mouth, and yet for a moment the two young men could have sworn his eyes beamed. "Mirjam... my wife, my children... It's good. You two get to safety. I'll be okay."

"But...!" Karl started to protest. His eyes told him his friend was dying, but he couldn't just leave him here!

"No!" Schattner's hand sought his, and Karl grabbed it. Tight.

Another wheezing breath, and the dying man said, "It's just... the wrapping paper of me... The firemen can take care of that. You must go and..." A choked coughing fit brought up even more blood. "Leave me. You two get to safety," he croaked.

His eyes sought Karl's again. "Oskar... You take over for me, okay? Leading the fight against this evil."

Karl felt Tobias's eyes on him, too, and nodded. He was simply too choked up to utter a word.

Schattner seemed to relax a little at his acceptance of the task. "Good. Take care of everyone for me. And God go with you."

It was at that moment that all hell broke loose behind them. Explosions, and more explosions, as a pillar of fire suddenly leapt to the sky.

Schattner still whispered something as the two boys turned back to him after their initial reflex to look at the source of the noise. Oddly enough, the dying man's face showed an unmistakable smile.

But Karl felt how his friend's fingers had lost all strength in his hand. "He's gone," he croaked.

Tobias couldn't hear him over the thunderous fire, but he understood.

And Karl laid down the powerless hand, and passed his hand over the staring eyes the way he had seen Father Kilius do with those poor retarded children two years ago. That had been his first mission with Eduard – no, Wilhelm Schattner...

"Come." Tobias pulled him up. "We've got to get out of here before the fire brigade arrives." He was even cool enough to search Schattner's pockets for the car-key, before pulling his friend along, back to where Schattner had left the car earlier that evening.

Neither of them uttered another word until they reached the outskirts of Berlin again.

"I know it feels bad to leave him there, Oskar, but he was right," Tobias quietly pointed out. "There was nothing we could do, nothing any doctor could do – if he would have made it to a doctor at all. He knew it, and he told us himself to leave him and get to safety. At least we stayed with him until he died."

Karl sighed. "I know – I know. But it still feels awful to leave him there."

"I know." Tobias heaved a sigh, too, and they continued again in silence until they parked the car at the back of Café Brunn.

The agreed knocksignal soon opened the back door for them, and there was Josel, the café's proprietor, to lead the way inside. "How did it go?" was his first question as he put down his candle on the table – immediately followed by, "Where is Wilhelm?"

Karl and Tobias glanced at each other before Karl took a deep breath and reported that their leader was dead. Shot in the back.

"Oh my..." Josel quickly sat down. "What happened?"

Quietly, Karl related what they knew, and what they guessed must have happened outside while they were in the building.

"He was a good man. We're going to miss him," was all Josel said when Karl finished talking. But he got up, went out into the café and came back with a bottle of liquor and three glasses. They were quickly filled and handed out. "To our dear friend, Wilhelm Schattner. May he rest in peace."

The three men drank in silence.

"Who is going to tell his wife?" Karl inquired at last. He certainly hoped he didn't have to do that – new leader or not. He had never even met the lady; heck, he hadn't even known that Schattner was married...

But all he got from both Josel and Tobias were odd looks.

"What?" Uneasily, he looked from one to the other. "He said... Didn't he, Tobias?"

"Didn't you know?" Tobias asked quietly.

"No, perhaps he didn't," Josel realized. "Wilhelm certainly never talked about it, and you hadn't joined us yet when it happened."

Karl merely stared at him, silently imploring Josel to go on, while at the same time a sense of dread filled him.

A heavy sigh, and then Josel's quiet voice narrated in the semi darkness, "It happened a few years ago, when Hitler had been in power for only a year or so. Wilhelm came home from work one night, finding the place trashed, and his wife and three young children nowhere to be found. A neighbour told him they'd been taken away by the Gestapo, so Wilhelm went to the nearest Gestapo office to find out where they had been taken. And was told ice-cold that they had been taken somewhere out into the country, been shot, and buried in a massgrave together with a bunch of others. And the guy couldn't even tell him where, since they'd done five or six of those raids to different places that day."

The sloping field in the mountains of Bad Reichenhall, the machineguns rattling, gasps, cries, thumps as people – women, children – fell by the handfull...

Karl hid his face in his hands. "I've seen it," he brought out. "I've seen it – not here, but down in Bayern. It was... awful..." He bit down on his lip; his hands clenched into fists as the images he had pushed away deep, deep inside came rushing back to him. "Awful..." he repeated quietly.

Without a word, Josel filled up his glass again and pushed it back to him. "Here. Drink."

Karl downed the glass in one gulp, coughed a little, and stated more than he asked, "They were Jews then, weren't they."

"Wilhelm wasn't, but his wife – yes," Josel replied. "And therefore the children were considered Jewish as well, even though they had been raised as Christians – baptized and all."

For a long time the three men sat together in silence by the flickering light of the candle. But at long last, Josel got up and admonished them that they ought to go home. "Come and wash the soot off your face, and then straight home to bed. Try and get some sleep. Come by for lunch tomorrow, okay? Then we can discuss what to do next."

The blackboard outside Café Brunn informed the passers-by the next morning that today's lunch special was tomatosoup.

And promptly, the core group of Schattner's resistance unit showed up at the café around lunchtime, and was told there were still tables free on the first floor.

Tobias was present, too, for the occasion, and with a solemn handshake, Karl took the chair next to him.

As soon as the small group was complete, Josel stood and related briefly what Oskar and Tobias had told him about last night. The reactions varied from stoic to shocked. There were a few questions that Karl and Tobias answered to the best of their knowledge, and when Josel concluded with, "We have lost a very dear friend. May he rest in peace," everyone present bowed their head or mumbled a short prayer.

A few minutes of silence ensued, but in the end Volker, a young engineer, asked, "So what's going to happen now?"

"We keep fighting of course," Berthold Fischer from the fish shop grumbled. "Now more than ever, don't you think?"

"Yes, but..."

"But we've lost the mastermind behind everything we do," Josel filled in.

"Yes," Volker agreed. "Who's going to take over that responsibility?"

Karl suddenly felt Tobias's eyes on him. And not just Tobias's, but Berthold's and Kläre's as well – clearly he had told his parents. And Josel – Josel, too?

Apprehensively he leaned back, sagging in his chair, as if to physically try and remove himself from the center of attention he suddenly found himself in.

Of course he had promised Schattner to take over for him last night – how could he possibly have said no at such a moment? But to actually take on that responsibility – surely there would be others better equipped and more experienced than he was?

He heard Josel's voice as from far away. "Well, it may have been fate, but actually we discussed just that with Wilhelm no so very long ago. And I'm sure that those who were there will recall that according to Wilhelm, we had his ideal successor right here in our midst."

"Oskar Danzig," Dieter confirmed quietly.

Karl glanced up. He felt like a rabbit caught in the headlights. So it hadn't been just the spur of the moment that had made Schattner ask him... – no, apparently he had really thought that he...?

Next to him, Tobias said, "He even asked you to take over for him before he died, remember?"

"Yes, but..." If it hadn't been for Josel's kind eyes holding his, he probably would have bolted from the room at that moment.

"Oskar," Josel said in a gentle, almost compassionate tone. "I realize that you're rather young to take on such a responsibility. But if you'll allow me to explain why Wilhelm thought you'd be his perfect successor, perhaps you'd be willing to consider the situation." He paused, waiting for a reaction from the man he mainly addressed.

When he got none, he continued, "Oskar, with the kind of life you lead, some of the most important traits we need in a leader are simply second nature to you: the ability to foresee what is likely to happen, to keep track of every little detail under all circumstances, and to instantly improvise when things don't go according to plan. We all have our specialisms, that's true. And we all share the determination to stop the Nazis. But none of us has all the talents I just mentioned – the talents necessary to keep us safe in our battle. Wilhelm had them, yes. And he saw those same talents in you."

Berthold nodded. "Yes. That's exactly what he said. And I agree."

"Me too," Dieter added. "Oskar is young, yes. But we'll support him and back him up wherever we can. But we need his skills if we want to keep on fighting."

Karl's eyes flew from one to the other, his mind awhirl. The responsibility of planning missions and ultimately being responsible for their success or failure frightened him. It wasn't so much that he thought he couldn't do it – it was the idea of having to decide who to send into dangerous, possibly lethal situations, knowing there was a chance they might not make it back.

But how could he ignore this plea for help? For that's basically what it was: they needed him – Karl Langenscheidt – to keep them safe. Could he really refuse a request like that?

For what Josel had said about his talents was true. He had never really looked at it from that angle, but these things were indeed second nature to him in keeping his multiple double lives straight. And surely Schattner must know what he was talking about if he thought those traits vital for a resistance leader. In hindsight, it even put a totally different spin on some of the discussions they had had over the years. Almost as if Schattner had been probing him, testing him – or preparing him?

Then how could he turn down his friend and mentor's last request?

He looked up, and sought out Josel's eyes. A deep breath. "I'll do my best."

And with those words, he took his first step on the road that would lead him to become the highly esteemed underground leader as Colonel Hogan knew him.

To chapter 14 - 26

♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦

I don´t own Hogan´s Heroes; I just like to play with them.

Hogan´s Heroes is the property of CBS.

No money is being made by the publication of these stories on the internet.

The home of these stories is www.konarciq.net.

Downloading and printing of these stories for private use only.

For all other forms of publication and distribution is the clearly stated, written permission of the author required.

E-mail

♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦

Chameleon Fever (2)

chapter 14-26

Hogan´s Heroes fanfiction index

home