Horst Mueller, eager to leave the building and his meeting with the General, maintained his casual gait. His chaotic thoughts mingled with the voices around him as he walked past the armed guards stationed just inside the main door of the Wehrmacht Headquarters on Bendlerstrage Street. The general’s instructions were clear. If Horst didn’t follow the Gestapo’s demands, his family would be killed.
His wonderful Anna and his son Peter were the most important people in his life. He would do anything to protect them, which included giving his life to keep them safe. His stomach began to heave, as he tried his best not to draw attention to himself. He smelled the cigarette smoke as he approached the outer perimeter and the last sentry. A man dressed in an SS uniform stood directly behind the guard’s hut, watching.
Looking straight ahead, Horst slowed his pace and breathed slowly as he inched behind the sudden crowd of people. He started to hurry, but common sense slowed him down. If he drew attention to himself he might be arrested and could easily disappear like so many others. After passing the black Iron Gate checkpoint, he briskly walked along the fencing which ran parallel to the gray stone building. When his legs almost gave out, he leaned against the fence. A guard moving toward him forced him to continue on. He turned left, at the corner, toward the back of the structure and moved behind a row of wooden crates at the entrance to the alley.
It took all of his willpower to maintain his self control as he hurried to the back of alley where he hoped he was hidden from view. His body unwillingly doubled over. He vomited until there was nothing left in his stomach, his muscles relaxed until the dry heaves began. The uncontrolled action made him gag repeatedly. Leaning on the smallest wooden crate, he kept from falling onto the wet pavement. Taking deep breaths, he mopped his damp forehead with the handkerchief he’d somehow managed to retrieve from his back pants pocket. Smelling the rotting garbage and his vomit started his stomach churning again. Swallowing many times, he forced himself not to gag. While he still had some energy to do so, he had to leave. If he lingered, someone might report seeing him.
Walking unsteadily closer to the street he placed one hand on the rough wooden crate directly in front of him, concentrating on the smell of the freshly cut wood. Stretching his other hand to the cold brick building for support he staggered back to the entrance. Taking a deep breath, he gathered what strength he had and wobbled across the street. Reaching the other side, he grabbed the closest lamppost to keep himself erect. His body was as cold as morning ice after a freezing rainstorm. After today his life would never be the same.
Any moment, soldiers or someone from the SS could arrest him. He would record his unwilling part in the Nazi plan to hide the great art treasures stolen during the war, by keeping a detailed journal. The world must know that he only cooperated to protect his family and the art treasures of the great masters.
He had to warn his closest friends, his Jewish neighbors. He shuddered to think if only half of what he’d overheard was true – all their very lives were in mortal danger.
I will be leaving for Argentina in early October. My Anna and son, Peter, will follow some time later. No reason for my lone departure other than, I believe, to make sure I cooperate fully. Many bad elements are prowling the streets of Berlin. I am worried for my family, yet I must leave. I don’t have a choice, at least, not one worth thinking about.
I mentioned being together for Christmas to the general, and by the look on his face I knew I had blundered in some way. I shall never forget his words to me.
“You and your family are either Christians or Germans. You can’t be both. These words are direct from the Fuhrer. Heil Hitler.”
Anna, Peter, and I must learn to be very careful in our conversations and actions. I have warned my Jewish friends next door about the Nazi’s plans to rid the world of anyone who is Jewish, no matter how small the connection.
There is much to do before my departure. Everything must either be crated or carefully packed - pictures, statues, and especially my tools. Many are irreplaceable. I need to order enough supplies to last for months, possibly years. It will be hard to get any art provisions from such a distance. I must not draw attention to myself in my new home. Rules, rules, each day the general adds more and more to my list.
I left for my noontime meal, and upon my return, I found a note in the center of my desk. I am not sure why I lock my door, because each time I return I know someone has entered while I was gone.
Tomorrow, I am to go to the Old Catholic church two blocks east of the Tempelhof Airport and enter the confessional at precisely eleven hundred hours. Per my instructions I destroyed the note, which burned nicely in my ashtray along with my discarded pipe tobacco. I am to tell no one, not even Anna, about this meeting. Our lives depend on it.
I grow more frightened as time goes on. Each and every day I receive a new threat. I must do this. I must not do that. When will it end?
Guards on every corner; my papers were checked twice before I had gone two blocks. I was early, so not to draw attention to myself, I went to tour the airport terminal. According to the Nazi propaganda it is supposed to be an architectural wonder. At the main entrance, another guard stopped me. I can go no further than the landscaped grounds, as I do not have the proper clearance. He points me in the right direction and I walked away as calmly as I could.
I try to settle my nerves by thinking of Peter and his joy of life. He is too young to begin to understand what is happening. To him, everything is a happy adventure.
I must have looked confident as I walked through the garden as no one stopped me. Then I noticed the time and had to hurry to keep my appointment. I wondered what would happen if I just left and went home. Everything is moving too fast for me.
I entered the church by the side door as instructed. While my eyes adjusted to semi-darkness, I gravitated toward the only light, which is near the front and to the side of the church altar. Out of the corner of my eye, flicking candlelight caught my attention. As I walk toward the rack of burning candles, I noticed the confessional standing off to the side. I tried to check the time, but the light was not bright enough to read my watch.
I walked into the confessional and quickly closed the door behind me. By now, my eyes had grown accustomed to the semi-darkened church and I could see the outline of a small rail on which to kneel. I push my foot against the kneeling bench trying to move it backward to give myself more room but found it bolted to the floor.
The little room smelled of body odor, food, and musty dampness, like an earthen basement. I sneezed twice. A door creaking open first caught my attention and a flicking light announced the arrival of someone on the other side of the confessional. I look directly into the screen which separates the two areas. I could see a shadow of someone moving about. The light flickered again. The silence raises the hair on my arms and I shivered. A chair scraping against the partition distracted me. I held my breath, not realizing I had done so, until the chair protests as someone sat heavily upon it. I breathe deeply and again sneezed.
“Horst Mueller,” a raspy voice whispered.
I jumped.
The man cleared his throat. “You are Horst Mueller, curator in the Art Restoration Department at the Berlin Museum?”
“Yes, Sir. I am.” I wet my lips. How I long for a drink of water.
“I consider you an honorable man, having met you on several occasions. I also consider you to be the best person for the job that you have been assigned by the high command.”
“Who are you?”
“Who I am is unimportant. What I am is one of your protectors. My organization will protect your family and you from the Nazi zealots who are raping our country and those countries being forcibly taken over by Germany.
“You will be receiving, working on, and caring for an art collection, which in the end will be worth millions of Marks when it is time to sell them. It will be your duty to catalog everything and restore all the works of art. It will not be an easy task, even for you.”
“Yes, Sir, so I have been informed by the general.” Pulling my handkerchief from my back pocket I wipe the sweat from my face.
“Hitler has taken on more than he can control. I believe in Germany, but I don’t give a damn about the Third Reich and Hitler’s goon squads. I and my fellow believers in justice and German peace have a plan which I hope you will become a part of.”
“Sir, I am not sure that I can do anything. My wife, son, and I will be killed if I don’t do what the Reich asks of me. That, Sir, has been made very clear to me. They have told me in graphic detail what happened to the museum director.
“He was a stupid man and tried to sell us out. He had to be stopped. He wanted, no, planned, to play both ends against the middle and he lost when the Nazis discovered his greed. You too, have a choice.”
“Do I? I will do what it takes to keep my family safe and alive. No more, no less. You have my word.”
“I understand, at this very minute you have no choice, but let me tell you of our plan. I believe you will be willing to be a part of it.”
I heard a tapping sound at the bottom of the confession screen. I looked closely and watched a little door open. A white piece of paper passed through the opening. I didn’t touch it, just sat looking at it.
“Written on the paper is a Swiss Bank Account number. Memorize it. The money is for you to use as needed to accomplish our goals. Over time, additional funds will be added. Only you will be able to stop future Reich organizations from causing death and destruction. We can’t stop the Third Reich. We have tried and failed. Germany will lose the war. Of that, there is no doubt. We can, with your help, stop the next generation of the Reich from ever having the means to rise to power again, but, only if you cooperate.”
“Sir, I don’t know what you expect me to do. I have no power. I either go to Argentina as commanded, or my family and I will be killed. It is that simple. I choose for my family to live. What you ask puts me in the middle of a situation that only seems impossible.”
“No, Horst, you will be guarded by the believers of the German Peace Party. We aren’t many, but have high government positions and gain more power every day. In time, our sons and daughters will join our noble cause. We will ensure no harms befalls you and your family. You will be warned of any danger and kept informed of the Reich’s plans. Take the time to read the letter. I must have your decision before you leave.”
“I can’t read the letter in the dark. I will open the door to get some light,” I said, moving my hand toward the doorknob.
“Do not open the door. Your life depends on staying where you are.”
My hand fell away from the door handle. My heart started pounding. My head fell forward. I again heard the door beneath the screen open. A flashlight appeared. I picked it up, turned it on, and quickly opened the letter.
Their plan was simple enough. Copy all the art and store the copies in a safe place until they can be exchanged for the originals, hoping in time the art would be restored to the original owners. Most importantly, the Reich wouldn’t be able to sell the originals and therefore wouldn’t be able to cause death and destruction to millions of people. The letter stated the goals of the group were to have a Germany at peace with the world. They want their country to become great once again for its citizens, not for a deranged leader. The instructions on how to obtain the money were listed following the account number.
I sat for a few seconds, which seemed like hours, before the little door again opened.
“Please slide the letter back to me. I must have your answer now. Will you help us and become part of our organization?”
“Yes, I will help you.” I slid the paper back through the little door, but not before I had written the account number on a piece of paper I had in my pocket. “But how do I get in touch with you?”
“You don’t. We will be watching you and will contact you from time to time. Be not afraid, Horst. Without us you and your family would be lost and without you, our cause would vanish. Together we will stop this death machine called the Third Reich.”
I heard his door open and stood to open mine. I wanted to meet this man face to face.
“Do not open your door for ten minutes. You will be shot if you do not follow my instructions.”
I sat half on the floor and half on the rail. I could no longer kneel. The pain from kneeling was radiating up to my hips. I stayed there for twenty minutes. I knew the exact time because I had forgotten to return the flashlight I had been holding in my hand. What had I just agreed to? I didn’t have a choice really, but this avenue might just allow me to make a difference. I can only hope I’m making the right decision for Anna and Peter. I will make my own plans, too. I have just learned to trust no one but myself.
I took my piece of paper and quickly wrote down the instructions. I would never remember them if I waited. I took off my right shoe and sock, folded my note and placed it the sole of my foot. I wrote everything in my own code so even if someone found the paper, none of it would make sense to anyone but me. Once I returned to work I would commit everything to memory. The paper felt bulky in my shoe, but I was afraid I would lose it if I put it in my pocket or the soldiers would find it if I was stopped or searched. I walked out of the confessional and returned to the museum.