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Franck was the elder son of a radio manufacturer who had been an important early supporter of the Nazis. The manufacturer himself, Ludwig Franck, had initially made furious demands for information about the death of his disabled younger son, but had quickly fallen silent after a threat to close his factories. Young Werner, a fast-rising officer in the Air Ministry, had persisted in asking troubling questions, trying to involve his influential boss, General Dorn.
The Air Ministry, said to be the largest office building in Europe, was an ultramodern edifice occupying an entire block of Wilhelm Strasse, just around the corner from Gestapo headquarters in Prinz Albrecht Strasse. Macke walked there.
In his SS uniform he was able to ignore the guards. At the reception desk he barked: "Take me to Lieutenant Werner Franck immediately."
The receptionist took him up in an elevator and along a corridor to an open door leading into a small office. The young man at the desk did not at first look up from the papers in front of him. Observing him, Macke guessed he was about twenty-two years old. Why was he not with a front-line unit, bombing England? The father had probably pulled strings, Macke thought resentfully. Werner looked like a son of privilege: tailored uniform, gold rings, and overlong hair that was distinctly unmilitary. Macke despised him already.
Werner wrote a note with a pencil, then looked up. The amiable expression on his face died quickly when he saw the SS uniform, and Macke noted with interest a flash of fear. The boy immediately tried to cover up with a show of bonhomie, standing up deferentially and smiling a welcome, but Macke was not fooled.
"Good afternoon, Inspector," said Werner. "Please be seated."
"Heil Hitler," said Macke.
"Heil Hitler. How can I help you?"
"Sit down and shut up, you foolish boy," Macke spat.
Werner struggled to hide his fear. "My goodness, what can I have done to incur such wrath?"
"Don't presume to question me. Speak when you're spoken to."
"As you wish."
"From this moment on you will ask no further questions about your brother, Axel."
Macke was surprised to see a momentary look of relief pass over Werner's face. That was puzzling. Had he been afraid of something else, something more frightening than the simple order to stop asking questions about his brother? Could Werner be involved in other subversive activities?
Probably not, Macke thought on reflection. Most likely Werner was relieved he was not being arrested and taken to the basement in Prinz Albrecht Strasse.
Werner was not yet completely cowed. He summoned the nerve to say: "Why should I not ask how my brother died?"
"I told you not to question me. Be aware that you are being treated gently only because your father has been a valued friend of the Nazi Party. Were it not for that, you would be in my office." That was a threat everyone understood.
"I'm grateful for your forbearance," Werner said, struggling to retain a shred of dignity. "But I want to know who killed my brother, and why."
"You will learn no more, regardless of what you do. But any further inquiries will be regarded as treason."
"I hardly need to make further inquiries, after this visit from you. It is now clear that my worst suspicions were right."
"I require you to drop your seditious campaign immediately."
Werner stared defiantly back but said nothing.
Macke said: "If you do not, General Dorn will be informed that there are questions about your loyalty." Werner could be in no doubt about what that meant. He would lose his cozy job here in Berlin and be dispatched to a barracks on an airstrip in northern France.
Werner looked less defiant, more thoughtful.
Macke stood up. He had spent enough time here. "Apparently General Dorn finds you a capable and intelligent assistant," he said. "If you do the right thing, you may continue in that role." He left the room.
He felt edgy and dissatisfied. He was not sure he had succeeded in crushing Werner's will. He had sensed a bedrock defiance that remained untouched.
He turned his mind to Pastor Ochs. A different approach would be required for him. Macke returned to Gestapo headquarters and collected a small team: Reinhold Wagner, Klaus Richter, and Gunther Schneider. They took a black Mercedes 260D, the Gestapo's favorite car, unobtrusive because many Berlin taxis were the same model and color. In the early days, the Gestapo had been encouraged to make themselves visible and let the public see the brutal way they dealt with opposition. However, the terrorization of the German people had been accomplished long ago, and open violence was no longer necessary. Nowadays the Gestapo acted discreetly, always with a cloak of legality.
They drove to Ochs's house next to the large Protestant church in Mitte, the central district. In the same way that Werner might think he was protected by his father, so Ochs probably imagined his church made him safe. He was about to learn otherwise.
Macke rang the bell; in the old days they would have kicked the door down, just for effect.
A maid opened the door, and he walked into a broad, well-lit hallway with polished floorboards and heavy rugs. The other three followed him in. "Where is your master?" Macke said pleasantly to the maid.
