“No, no!’ Shouted Coco.
“Must you, really?” Sighed the blonde.
“Oh, can’t they wait…?”
“Ladies, would you respect me if I should treat you this way with your appointments?”
The ladies saw his point and refrained from trying to keep him.
“One more…” A female voice from several tables back stated.
Von Wohl looked at the table where the voice originated. “All right ladies, all right, again I will bow to your wishes… but only while I am putting on my coat.”
The ladies again prepared themselves while von Wohl got up and fumbled with his coat and scarf.
“This is called the Minister & Taxi Driver… have you…?”
The ladies immediately showed they had not heard this one either.
“A minister dies and is waiting in line at the Pearly Gates. Ahead of him is a man who is dressed in sunglasses, and ugly shirt, a horrible leather jacket, and torn pants. Saint Peter addressed the man, ‘Who are you, so that I may know to admit you into the Kingdom of Heaven?’ The man replies, ‘I’m Johann Berg, taxi driver from the great city of Berlin.’
Saint Peter consults his list. He smiles and says to the taxi driver, ‘Take this robe make of silk and this staff make of gold and welcome, you may enter the Kingdom of Heaven.’ The minister is next and he stands erect and booms out before Saint Peter can speak: ‘I am Joseph Schnieder, pastor of Saint Mary’s church in Berlin for the last forty-three years!’ Saint Peter consults his list and then says to the minister, ‘Take this cotton robe and wooden staff and welcome, you may enter the Kingdom of Heaven.’
“The minster thought for a moment, then said, ‘Excuse me, that man was only a taxi driver and probably lived a life full of sin, while I have devoted my entire life to the church and the teachings of our Savior. How can this be that he should receive a robe of silk and staff of gold while my robe is of cotton and the staff of wood?’
‘Herr Schnieder,’ Saint Peter began, ‘up here we judge purely by results… while you preached the people slept, however, while he drove, the people prayed.”
The entire restaurant burst into applause. The joke was a double-edged sword expressing the politically correct Nazi line concerning ridiculing the church at any opportunity, as well as accurately describing the experience most anyone had being driven by a taxi in Berlin.
Having said the punch line, von Wohl turned and left, waving his hand to all in the room like an actor that was thanking his audience for their love and appreciation. This evening was one of the best public performances in his life, and was enjoying every moment of it.
Ironically, this high watermark moment of being entertaining would be von Wohl’s last, for in a few weeks he would be forced to leave Berlin – and Germany – for good.
“May I see the other ones?”
The lieutenant handed over the other cheaply bound books.
“Yes, these look good as well… looks exactly like the ones published in France.”
“Can it be traced to being produced here in Germany?” Asked the captain who was standing by the window of the ballroom-sized printing facility.
The man seated at his desk with the books in his hand looked at the addresses on the back of both books, then up at the lieutenant. The lieutenant took a deep breath.
“No, sir! Our company in Switzerland will produce everything, the paper has already been sent.”
The captain was satisfied. “Thank-you, Lieutenant.” He motioned that would be all.
“Heil Hitler!”
The captain said nothing, but causally raised his right hand in a Nazi salute. Then he went back to writing all the addresses in France the books would be shipped to.
Best Payne sat alone in his new cell. He could hear the traffic and other sounds of the city though three tiny openings on top of the wall opposite the door. They were too high to reach, and even if he were able get up to that height, the slots were barely large enough for him to slide his hand through – up to his wrist at most.
A door slammed down the hall.
He listened for footsteps, but when none came he returned to his thoughts. He had no idea what day or month this was since he lost all sense of time – and several other senses as well – while under the care of Schellenberg and the Painted Man, whose name he never heard mentioned.
Since being transferred to this new location – which he correctly guessed as being Berlin -he did manage to keep track of how long he had been there: One week and two days.
During these nine days he recalled every conversation and experience he had since being captured, which he knew was on April 14, 1940. So for certain it must me May of 1940, or was he in the other places long enough for it to be June or July?
Shouldn’t think about the future. He thought to himself.
Just after the war started a German submarine had somehow slipped into the main British naval base at Scapa Flow and sank several ships before making a successful escape. A deep embarrassment not only for Captain Best Payne of the Royal Navy, but for his father the admiral as well. The German navy had also beat the Royal fleet to occupying Denmark and Norway, and there was even feelings as to whether or not a British ship could stand up to the rumored German super-battle ship the Bismarck.
Things were not looking good for the British – or the British navy – when he was captured. At the moment things were not looking very good for him, either. His thoughts went back to he and his partner while they were in Venlo before crossing the German border.
“Have you met this Baron Harals Keun von Hoogerwoerd guy before?” The Sargent did not know where to put the pauses in the extremely long Dutch title and name.
“No, I’ve only seen his photograph, but I’ll guess we’ll see him soon enough.”
“He must be somebody if he can get this kind of information across the border.”
“Let’s hope he can get us across the other way just as easy.”
“Well, Holland and Germany are still neutral.”
“Yea, but Fleming told me they’re seeing signs things are getting strained.”
Payne took a look at the report in the Sargent’s hand. He had already read the complete document twice, but took a third look as would a poker player who already knows his hand.
“Do you think Holland will enter the war?”
“No.”
“But this Dutch general, Hoeranervort, says he expects trouble if the Nazis move west.”
“That’s his job to expect trouble.”
“And you don’t?”
“From Herr Hitler, yes. From Holland, no – they will do everything to keep out of this.”
A door slammed at the end of the hall again. This time footsteps, several sets of footsteps, could be heard echoing down the hallway and stopped right in front of his door.
Payne rose and took a deep breath as he heard the keys jangling and snapping the door’s lock. The door swung open and the two guards remained outside.
“Raus!” One of them shouted.
Payne walked out and was immediately pushed to the left, which was his instruction to walk in this direction. The guards marched with him, but remained behind. This arrangement became difficult, since Captain Best had no idea where they were taking him. When they came upon another corridor junction, Payne’s choice was never the correct one. Even if he stopped before an intersection in order to see which way the guards were going to turn, he was still grabbed, jostled, and then pushed in the directions the guards wanted to go. Realizing he was in a lose-lose situation, he simply made a joke of the situation and would prompt the guards with his hands before each hallway intersection.