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"They'll throw me in some camp."
"And what good will that do?"
"I just can't lie down for this."
Volodya had to get Werner back on his side, but so far he had failed to get through. Werner had an answer for everything. He was a smart guy. That was why he was such a valuable spy.
"What about the others?" Volodya said.
"What others?"
"There must be thousands more handicapped adults and children. Are the Nazis going to kill them all?"
"Probably."
"You certainly won't be able to stop them, if you're in a prison camp."
For the first time, Werner did not have a comeback.
Volodya turned away from the water and surveyed the cemetery. A young man in a suit was kneeling at a small tombstone. Was he a tail? Volodya watched carefully. The man was shaking with sobs. He seemed genuine: counterintelligence agents were not good actors.
"Look at him," Volodya said to Werner.
"Why?"
"He's grieving. Which is what you're doing."
"So what?"
"Just watch."
After a minute the man got up, wiped his face with a handkerchief, and walked away.
Volodya said: "Now he's happy. That's what grieving is about. It doesn't achieve anything, it just makes you feel better."
"You think my asking questions is just to make me feel better."
Volodya turned and looked him in the eye. "I don't criticize you," he said. "You want to discover the truth, and shout it out loud. But think about it logically. The only way to end this is to bring down the regime. And the only way that's going to happen is if the Nazis are defeated by the Red Army."
"Maybe."
Werner was weakening, Volodya perceived with a surge of hope. "Maybe?" he said. "Who else is there? The British are on their knees, desperately trying to fight off the Luftwaffe. The Americans are not interested in European squabbles. Everyone else supports the Fascists." He put his hands on Werner's shoulders. "The Red Army is your only hope, my friend. If we lose, those Nazis will be murdering handicapped children--and Jews, and Communists, and homosexuals--for a thousand more blood-soaked years."
"Hell," said Werner. "You're right."
vii
Carla and her mother went to church on Sunday. Maud was distraught about Walter's arrest and desperate to find out where he had been taken. Of course the Gestapo refused to give out any information. But Pastor Ochs's church was a fashionable one, people came in from the wealthier suburbs to attend, and the congregation included some powerful men, one or two of whom might be able to make inquiries.
Carla bowed her head and prayed that her father might not be beaten or tortured. She did not really believe in prayer but she was desperate enough to try anything.
She was glad to see the Franck family, sitting a few rows in front. She studied the back of Werner's head. His hair curled a little at the neck, in contrast with most of the men, who were close-cropped. She had touched his neck and kissed his throat. He was adorable. He was easily the nicest boy who had ever kissed her. Every night before sleeping she relived that evening when they had driven to the Grunewald.
But she was not in love with him, she told herself.
Not yet.
When Pastor Ochs entered, she saw at once that he had been crushed. The change in him was horrifying. He walked slowly to the lectern, head bent and shoulders slumped, causing a few in the congregation to exchange concerned whispers. He recited the prayers without expression, then read the sermon from a book. Carla had been a nurse for two years now and she recognized in him the symptoms of depression. She guessed that he, too, had received a visit from the Gestapo.
