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“Don’t make light.”

She rose up on her toes and kissed him softly. “Don’t lose your sense of humor, Fritz,” she whispered. “Don’t become so possessed with that man that you lose everything else about you. You’re not eating. You’re not sleeping. Even when you’re here, you’re not. You walk around mumbling this or that about him.”

“I just can’t sit back and watch our nation be deluded by this charlatan, Soph. They think he’s giving them something to believe in. He’s not. The only thing he believes in, besides his hatred of the Jews and the Communists, is that he should hold absolute power. I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t try to do everything in my power to stop him.”

He looked at her, saw the concern in her expression.

“You know who you married, Sophie.”

“Yes, I am well aware of the man I married. Just promise me you’ll be careful, Fritz.” She tapped his nose with her finger. “That tiger you’re poking may one day be let out of his cage.”

22

Vacant flat

Ludwigstraße

IN THE BEDROOM OF an empty, otherwise dark flat illuminated only by the flashlight he held in his left hand, Fritz Gerlich put the finishing touches on his lengthy diatribe—per Sophie’s characterization—about Adolf Hitler. His lower back screamed at him for huddling over the card table for hours on end, writing by hand, the rickety table rocking to and fro as he furiously scribbled out his final draft. His wrist ached from poising the flashlight steady all this time. But there was no electricity in this flat, and he dared not draw attention to himself—if not for self-protection, so as not to betray his friend, the landlord of this building who lent him this vacant flat to complete his article incognito.

The flat, generally reserved for students at the University of Munich, reminded Gerlich of his time there, nearly thirty years ago now, when he studied natural sciences before switching to history. So young and eager and idealistic he was, drafting his dissertation on Henry VI and formulating political theories, debating and pondering philosophy with his fellow students over pints and cigarettes at the Augustinerkeller. How uncomplicated life felt then; how uncomplicated it truly was in hindsight.

He put down his pen and picked up the rosary, the cluster of three beads. “Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee,” he began in a whisper.

He heard a banging below him, the front entrance of the apartment building. A door opening and closing. Then footfalls on the stairs.

Gerlich picked up the six-shooter lying by his notes on the card table and walked gingerly toward the bedroom door. Bauer had given both his guns back to him. The flat was tiny, of course; from his vantage point, he could see past the stove to the front door. He moved forward slightly to improve his position, though the cheap floorboards groaned with every step.

Through a thumping heartbeat echoing between his ears, he saw the knob on the front door turn.

Gerlich dropped to one knee and aimed his gun, which he supposed was what one did when preparing to fire. He’d never actually used a firearm. His arms shook. He was doubtful of his aim and of his vision, which was bad enough to deny him entry into the Imperial Army during the war. But perhaps simply firing the gun would be enough to scare away—

“Hey. Don’t shoot.” Inspector Thomas Bauer raised his hands in mock surrender. “In fact, I think we’d both feel better if you lowered that gun. Does it even work?”

Gerlich carefully placed the gun on the floor and leaned back with relief against the wall. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

“I hope not. If that’s how you greet all your guests, you won’t have many friends.”

Gerlich pushed himself to his feet, shook out his nerves, and headed into the bedroom, his makeshift office. “I don’t have many friends,” he said. “Only colleagues. My wife is the social one.”

“You don’t drink and you don’t socialize.” Bauer followed him into the room. “What do you do for fun?”

“I pray the rosary. I attend Mass. I read the Bible.”

“We have different ideas of fun.” Bauer nodded toward the rosary atop the card table. “You’re for real with that, huh? Catholic.”

“I was a Calvinist, but really an agnostic. I didn’t believe. Now I do. It changed my life, Bauer. It may not be ‘fun’ in the sense that you mean, but I feel a fulfillment, a purpose I never have before. I’ve never been happier. I’ve never felt richer. I’ve never felt more alive.”

“Yeah, okay.” Bauer nodded. “I can respect that.”

“What about you?”

“Lutheran.” Bauer waved a hand. “But I don’t go to church. My wife is Jewish. She takes the kids with her to temple. I haven’t been inside a house of worship since I got back from combat. After the things I saw—well, anyway.” He looked away. “I didn’t come here to talk about religion. Let me see the article.”

“This is unbelievable. This is damning.” Bauer, sitting on the floor—there was only one chair—finished reading the partially typed, partially handwritten long-form piece. “This is all true?”

“I confirmed every word.”

“This girl, Mimi Reiter, was only sixteen when Hitler propositioned her? Her father had just died? And he made her call him Wolf?”