Everyone was outraged by what she had learned, and the experiments with gas sparked an intense discussion. In the end, however, Arvid reluctantly said, “This is good reporting, Greta, but we cannot publish it.”
“The Nazis are committing mass murder of civilians,” she protested. “We must get the word out.”
“It’s impossible.” He sighed, removed his glasses, and rubbed his eyes. “Very few people have access to this information. It would be too easy for the Gestapo to trace this report back to you or to Adam, and then to us. Distributing this report would expose us immediately.”
Greta tried to persuade him, but his mind was made up, and his resolve influenced the others. Silently fuming, she acquiesced, and when Mildred urged her to add her report to Libertas’s atrocities archive, she pretended to be satisfied with that. She was absolutely certain that if Harro or Günther had presented such incriminating information and had asked for the group to publish it, Arvid would have consented.
For several days thereafter, she privately brooded over the matter—until August 23, when the German armed forces launched a massive bombing campaign against Stalingrad. More than one thousand tons of bombs were dropped, nearly thirty thousand prisoners were captured, and, according to military estimates, more than forty thousand people were killed in the city. German high command expressed optimism that Stalingrad would fall within a few days. Studying Adam’s maps, Greta agonized over what it would mean for the resistance if the Soviet Union were defeated before the end of summer.
And yet somehow Stalingrad defied the onslaught.
The city still had not surrendered more than a week later, on August 31, as Greta prepared to welcome Adam home for a brief visit in honor of his birthday. She had planned a small party, just Greta and Ule, Adam’s mother, and his first two wives, the sisters Marie and Gertrud. What a strange gathering it would seem to an outsider, she reflected as she finished preparing the meal. If only Armin-Gerd had been able to get a furlough, the family would have been complete.
When Adam finally arrived home, they all hurried to the door to meet him. Weary from his journey, he gladly returned their embraces, sweeping Ule up in his arms, kissing him and growling like a bear until Ule shrieked with laughter. But while everyone made merry, Greta perceived the tension in the lines around his eyes, the strain in his voice.
After their guests departed and they put Ule to bed, Greta took Adam’s hand and led him to the sofa, where he lay down, groaned wearily, and rested his head upon her lap. Stroking his hair, Greta allowed him a few moments to gather his thoughts before she asked him what was wrong.
“Harro disappeared from his office today.”
Greta’s heart plummeted. “What do you mean, disappeared?”
“I phoned him at his Potsdam office today and was told that he was out. So I called Libertas at her office, and she was acting rather high-strung, even for her. She said that earlier today, his secretary told her that Harro had been ordered to report to his superior officer at once, something about an urgent courier mission to the front. Harro promptly hurried off, leaving his hat, his gloves, and his insignia on his desk. He never returned for them.”
“Wouldn’t he need them on his mission—the hat and the insignia, at least?”
“One would think.”
“That’s very strange,” said Greta, apprehensive. “Why don’t I call Libertas now at home and see if she’s heard anything more?”
When Adam agreed, she rang Libertas’s Charlottenburg residence and spoke with her housekeeper, who reported that Frau Schulze-Boysen was at dinner and was unable to come to the phone. Greta said she would call back tomorrow and hung up.
“She’s home and safe,” Greta said as she resumed her place on the sofa. “And she’s apparently not too upset to entertain dinner guests.”
“It’s probably nothing,” murmured Adam, already half asleep.
The next day, Greta waited until midmorning and called Libertas at her office, only to be told that she was on a film site all day and unreachable by phone. In the afternoon, Adam went out to meet Arvid and Günther about resistance matters, and when he returned, he reported that Günther had seen Harro two days before at Wannsee for a sailing party. He had seemed perfectly at ease, not at all as if he suspected the Gestapo was breathing down his neck. Arvid urged them to remain calm and watchful, and to carry on at work and home as if nothing was amiss. It was entirely likely that Harro had indeed been sent off on an important mission for the Luftwaffe, and that his secretary had been mistaken about Harro’s forgotten belongings, worrying Libertas unnecessarily.
Greta agreed that the simplest, least sinister explanation was probably the correct one, and yet she felt a rising sense of unease. She wished Adam could extend his visit home, but he was expected at the Kulturfilm office in Prague, and if he suddenly canceled, it would alert anyone who might be observing them.
“Call me as soon as you hear from Libertas,” Adam urged as she folded his clothes and set them on the bed for him to pack into his suitcase.
“I will.” She inhaled deeply, steadying her nerves. Libertas could be capricious and impulsive, but she knew Greta and Adam were worried about Harro’s sudden departure from his office. Although it was reassuring to know that Libertas was hosting dinner parties and working at film shoots, which she would not have done if she were terrified for her husband, it was inexplicably thoughtless of her not to return their messages. “You must call me if you hear from Harro.”
“Agreed.” He took a carefully folded shirt from her hands, dropped it into his suitcase, and took her in his arms. “I wish I didn’t have to go, but this job is important.”
“I know.” They needed the money, and if he dropped out, Kulturfilm would never give him another assignment, no matter how many strings Libertas pulled.
“Do you know what I’ve been thinking of all morning?” Adam said, stroking her hair. “Hamburg, the Internationaler Theaterkongresse, and the beautiful, clever French girl I fell in love with there.”
Greta smiled. “I had forgotten that you thought I was French.”
He kissed her. “I want to go back there with you. When this film is done, we’ll leave Ule with my mother and spend a holiday in Hamburg revisiting all our favorite places.”
“I do have very fond memories of that hotel.”
“As do I.” He kissed her again, long and full. “Let’s do it. Let’s just take a few days to pretend we’re an ordinary couple in love enjoying a holiday.”
She shook her head at him, amused. “Very well. It’s a date.”
