“Will you come with me for a moment?” he asked.
“Where?” she asked, bewildered, glancing past him up and down the hallway to make sure he was alone.
“Up to the roof. I have to tell you something important.”
“But it’s raining. Why don’t you come in and tell me here?”
“Because we can’t risk being overheard.”
“But—” She glanced over her shoulder toward their son’s bedroom. “Ule’s asleep. I can’t leave him alone.”
“He’ll be fine. He won’t even know you’re gone.”
“It’s not safe. If there’s an air raid—”
“Greta, please.” His voice was strained. “Put on your coat and come with me.”
Mystified, she pulled on her coat and galoshes, grabbing an umbrella for good measure. “Can we make this quick?” she asked as she stepped into the hall and he locked the door behind them. He did not reply. Taking her hand, he led her upstairs, shoved open the rooftop door, and pulled her outside into the storm.
“What’s going on?” Greta asked, shivering as drops of rain trickled down her collar and ran down her back before she could duck beneath the umbrella.
“You’re not going to like this, but Arvid insisted I tell you.” Adam pulled up the collar of his coat, stalling for time. “Moscow has been in touch with us through their intelligence outpost in Brussels.”
“Finally! Isn’t this good news?”
“Apparently our radio messages haven’t been getting through to Moscow.” He shifted his weight, tense and agitated. “They’ve asked Brussels to help them reestablish contact, so one of their men is driving to Berlin to meet with us. He was specifically told to seek out you and me.”
“Arvid was right to insist you tell me,” said Greta, exasperated. “What would I have done if some stranger showed up at our door claiming to be a friendly Soviet agent?”
“I would hope you’d shut the door in his face if he didn’t offer the proper code name. His is Kent.”
“Good to know.” The strain of keeping her teeth from chattering gave her voice an edge. “Now may we please get out of this rain?”
“Not yet. I don’t think you understand.”
Greta studied him, taking in his grim frown, his barely contained anger. “Maybe you should try again.”
“Kent was told to contact you and me, Adam Kuckhoff and his wife. The message included our address and telephone number. Moscow urged Kent to have me arrange a meeting with Arvid and Harro. If for some reason Kent is unable to reach me, he’s instructed to contact Libertas, the wife of Harro Schulze-Boysen, at the address and phone number provided. If that too fails, he should try Elizabeth Schumacher in Marquardt near Potsdam.”
“You’re telling me,” said Greta slowly, sickened, her voice nearly drowned out by the rainstorm, “that Moscow put our names, addresses, and phone numbers in a message that they radioed to Brussels, a message that could have been intercepted by any Reich station in Europe?”
Adam nodded.
“Dear God.” She pressed a hand to her chest, heart thudding. “That’s not possible. Are they insane or just incredibly stupid?”
“Greta, please. It’s not as bad as it sounds.”
“Really? I’m delighted to hear that, because it sounds like we’re finished!”
“We don’t know that the Germans intercepted the message,” he said in a soothing tone that did nothing to quell her fears. “If they didn’t, we have nothing to worry about. If they did, the message was in code. The Germans don’t know our key word and it would be next to impossible for them to guess it at random. They also don’t know what key book we’re using, and without that, they have almost no chance of deciphering the message.”
“Next to impossible,” Greta echoed bitterly. “Almost no chance.”
“Greta, darling, you’re right. I won’t deny it. It’s not entirely out of the realm of possibility that the Germans could break the code, but the odds that they will are infinitesimal.”
She took a deep, steadying breath. Arvid and John Sieg had said as much months earlier when Erdberg had given them the radio and a copy ofDer Kurier aus Spanien.
“One thing more,” said Adam. “They got our address wrong—Wilhelmstrasse 18 instead of Wilhelmshöherstrasse.”
