“I suppose that’s Moscow’s idea of technical training.” Greta drew closer as he turned the pages, glancing between the manual and the device built into the suitcase. It was a transmitter-receiver, and according to the book’s diagrams and instructions, it had a range of up to six hundred miles and a battery that lasted two hours between recharges. That was, of course, when the radio functioned. As Adam established after clearing away some unidentifiable shards of broken glass, this one did not.
They waited for Erdberg to inform them how to return the radio, but when he did not contact them, Greta consulted Arvid, who arranged for her to hide it in a shed in Spandau until Edberg could retrieve it. Greta’s apprehensions lifted the moment the incriminating suitcase was out of her home, but a few days later when Adam told her the device had been repaired, she summoned up her courage and volunteered to collect it. The second handoff went flawlessly. Suitcase in hand, Greta took a circuitous route to the Schumachers’ flat, delivered the radio to Kurt, and went home, almost giddy from relief.
That night, Adam kissed her tenderly and praised her for handling her part of the operation so well, and he assured her that her services would not be required for the second radio. Hans Coppi, the passionate young Communist who had agreed to take charge of it, would receive it directly from Erdberg. “This was a dangerous job, darling, but well worth the risk,” Adam said. “These radios are going to be more essential than we realized.”
“Because of the invasion?”
“Yes, and because soon the Soviets will be our group’s only foreign contact. Donald Heath is leaving Berlin. The U.S. State Department is transferring him to Santiago, Chile.”
“What?” Greta exclaimed. “That’s insane. He’s the Americans’ best and most informed analyst of the Reich in Germany. Why would they send him to South America when his expertise is badly needed here?”
Adam had no answer, and neither did Arvid or Mildred. Mildred took the Heath family’s departure especially hard, for she and Louise Heath had become dear friends. Greta’s heart went out to Mildred. With each American acquaintance who left Berlin, her homeland surely seemed more distant yet.
With the loss of their only remaining contact within the United States government, the Soviets seemed to be the group’s last hope. When Adam told Greta that Kurt Schumacher and Hans Coppi were working steadily to establish radio contact with Moscow, she was glad that she had not let fear keep her from doing her part.
In early June, even as Arvid and Harro were gathering reams of evidence that Operation Barbarossa would launch within the month, the group suffered another setback—Schumacher was drafted into the Wehrmacht. Not only would he be forced to fight for the regime he despised, not only had they lost their radio operator, but they must persist in their work knowing that their success could cause their comrade’s death. Nor was he the only friend whose life their work put in jeopardy. Arvid’s younger brother Falk had been drafted by the Wehrmacht and was stationed in Chemnitz in Saxony, directly in line of a potential Soviet counteroffensive.
In the second week of June, Adam brought Greta another assignment. Harro knew the orders for the German attack upon the Soviet Union, the railroads that would be struck crippling blows, the plan for the advance, town by town. “It’s too dangerous to put this down on paper,” he said. “If a single page fell into the wrong hands, the Gestapo would know that the resistance has infiltrated the highest levels of the military. I need you to memorize the names of these Russian villages and repeat the list to certain comrades, until they too have it by heart.”
Greta agreed. All her years as a diligent student had prepared her well for precisely this sort of task. But try though she might, the names of the towns would not stay fixed in her brain. She thought of the German military massing in the east, of the innocent people, women and children, who had no idea that a vast army was poised to strike and that their villages were in its sights.
After she had struggled for hours to memorize the information, a knock on the door startled her out of the fog of toil. Pulling the curtain over the map of the Soviet Union Adam had hung on the wall, she went to answer, only to find Adam welcoming Libertas Schulze-Boysen inside.
“Adam thought you might need a study partner,” she said brightly, “and since thanks to Goebbels I’m currently unemployed, I volunteered.”
Greta managed a rueful smile. The Reich had been so outraged byThe Mortal StormandEscapethat the minister of propaganda had ordered the studio’s Berlin office closed and had banned all MGM films throughout the Reich. Fortunately, Libertas did not need a steady paycheck.
“Things aren’t going well,” Greta admitted.
“Not to worry.” Libertas took a small brown paper sack from her purse and gave it a little shake. “This will fuel our success.”
As Libertas opened the sack, Greta detected a faint rich, nutty aroma. “Coffee,” she marveled, bending closer and inhaling deeply. “Real coffee. How? There hasn’t been real coffee in Berlin in over a year.”
“Not so. You only need to know where to look and whom to ask. Shall I make us some?”
She did not need to ask twice. Soon Greta was savoring her first delicious cup of coffee in ages, studying the map with Libertas, steadily fixing the endangered Russian towns’ names in her memory. Fueled by caffeine and urgency, she stayed up hours after her encouraging tutor left for the night, but eventually dropped wearily into bed beside Adam. After a few hours’ sleep, she rose the next morning, indulged in another precious cup of coffee, and recited the list perfectly, every last Russian syllable of it.
She took Ule in hand and spent the day calling on the designated members of their circle, repeating the towns’ names until each contact knew them by heart. Although the spring days were lengthening, it was nearly twilight by the time she returned home, just in time to place the blackout curtains, but too late to put together anything but a hasty meal of bread, cheese, and some slicedMettwurstfor supper.
Greta had just finished tidying the kitchen when Libertas again knocked on their door. “How did it go today?” she asked Greta, tilting her pretty blond head and regarding her expectantly.
“Better than I expected,” admitted Greta, wiping her hands on her apron. “Messages delivered and received with no mishaps, no misunderstandings.”
“You can’t ask for better than that. Even so—” Libertas smiled mischievously and took a bottle of cognac from her purse. “I thought you might want a little something to settle your nerves.”
“Libertas, you angel,” exclaimed Greta. “Have you been raiding your grandfather’s castle?”
“Very droll, darling. Are you as thirsty as you are witty?”
“I’ll get three glasses,” said Adam, bounding out of his chair.
“No you won’t,” Libertas declared, offering him her most charming smile, which was irresistible. “You’ll fetch ustwoglasses, and then you’ll sit right back down in that chair and study your lines or whatever it was you were doing while Greta—who has already hadquitea day—was cleaning up after serving you a good meal.”
Greta expected Adam to glower and sulk, but to her amusement, he shrugged, abashed, and retrieved two glasses from the kitchen.
“It’s such a lovely night,” said Libertas, turning to Greta. “Shall we drink outside?”
“It won’t be so lovely if the RAF comes,” said Adam.
