“Who called him?”
“The lodge operator was requested to call the number by a Elka Meyer, one of the maids at the lodge.”
“And her story?”
“Frau Meyer claims her cousin, Bettina Meyer, simply wanted to call her boyfriend in Berlin – to let him know she was alright, where she was, and so forth.”
“Her boyfriend?”
“An Otto Huber – our Otto Huber.”
“And Bettina Meyer?”
“A secretary for one of our Reich Ministers… an undocumented secretary.”
“Undocumented secretary?” Undocumented meant one’s Nordic purity was not confirmed by the standards set forth by the state. “Which Reich Minister?”
“Joseph Goebbels.”
Chapter 15 – The Hunt
The Count turned to the Baron and took a step back from the polished oak wheel, and motioned to the wooden pegs he was just controlling.
“Son, would you steer for a while?”
Perhaps it was the sense of danger than had the Count referring to the younger von Hoogerwoerd as his son. The Baron had not heard the word ‘son’ from his father’s lips in more than thirty years.
“Certainly, father.” The younger von Hoogerwoerd spoke, still holding memory of his father as someone to be feared, a taskmaster who was never satisfied, a master of an empire who he could never live up to.
“I’ll going below deck to see how your mother is doing, shall I send up something?”
“Some coffee, please.”
The old man turned and started to the hatch mid-ships.
“Father?”
The Count turned his head and looked up at the son he was ashamed of for most of his life.
“Thank-you, Father. Thank-you for bringing me.”
The Count smile while nodding his head; then disappeared below.
Both father and son were unsafe in the Third Reich for entirely different reasons. They were two thousand kilometers apart when the Count received the warning from Herr Stöver. The Count managed to have both his son and wife meet him in La Spezia, Italy to escape by sea. His core group was already out of Germany on other business. Von Wohl just happened to be with the Baron when news ran through the von Hoogerwoerd family that Gestapo Berlin received orders to arrest all of them, their network and connected businesses.
The moonless May night covered their escape and offered protection from any search planes. Von Wohl approach from the front of the yacht Lord Nelson would be envious of.
“I heard you needed some coffee.”
“Yes, thank-you, Ludwig. How are mother and the others below?”
“Fine. Your mother and her relatives are all sleeping, the crew are still up playing that confounded card game.”
The Baron took a short sip of the hot beverage while maintaining the ship’s course.
“Baron, you never told me you has such a large family.”
“You never asked me about my family.”
Von Wohl thought for a moment and realized this was indeed true. Nearly all of their discussions over the past years had been over astrology, society or human behavior.
There was a long silence after the Baron’s last statement. The kind of silence that occurs even between good friends when an awkward moment arrives that neither have anything to say to one another after a truth had been revealed. Yet at the same time, both men wanted to, and in fact needed to, talk.
Within a matter of days their comfortable lives in Germany had been turned upside down. They were now being hunted by the very same country they grew up in, were educated in, and loved. Everyone on the boat only a few days before thought they were a part of Germany – but were no longer years before after Hitler declared the War Powers Decree. An immediate result after the Reichstag fire, nearly two thirds of German citizens would be eligible for punishment under this document. The other third the Nazis could come after whenever they decided.
The decision to come after the von Hoogerwoerd family was approved just before the coming invasion.
“Ludwig, you never told me whether it was General Hildebraudt, or his wife, that was the spy.” The Baron asked with his eyes still out to sea.
“I never did find out.”
“It wouldn’t surprise me if both of them were.”
Both men laughed.
“The Gestapo must have been listening to your phone conversations, how else could they have heard such a story?”
“Why would they listen to my phone? I’ve done nothing against the Reich or the old Republic.”
“There are many reasons they will listen o you; for fun, if you are getting to popular, if they are considering you for something, if they want something from you…”
“Fesel…!” Von Wohl blurted out. The word ‘considering’ was exactly what the director of Dark Fire was doing concerning von Wohl.
“Heinrich Fesel?” The Baron then thought for a moment, recalling von Wohl’s excitement after the premier of his play. “Yes, he was becoming interested in your services, wasn’t he? That little worm!”
“So, the Gestapo is listening and Frau Hildebraudt calls with evidence that her husband is a spy, and you get in trouble for not reporting it.”
Both men laugh again, which could be heard far across the quiet waters of the Mediterranean, but was not disturb those sleeping below in the luxurious cabins of the Count’s Norwegian built yacht.
“When did you learn they were after you? You weren’t involved, or…”
The Baron stopped mid-sentence and cocked his right ear to the sky. Silence. Von Wohl then heard the puttering of a plane’s propeller and looked in the direction of the sound. The airplane’s motor sounded as if it were on the northern horizon – coming towards them.
“Yes,” Goebbels said while looking at his wife, “she is my general.”
The Lieutenant clicked his heels. “Of course Herr Reich Minister, and thank-you again for inviting here today.”
“Well, you deserve to be here, to see this moment you helped create as well.” Goebbels said turning to the giant wall map. “All the generals say if today’s objectives are reached, Frenchie and the Brits won’t have a chance to break out of our trap.”
Bettina looked out of the corner of her eye at both Goebbels and saw how happy they were together. At first she felt confusion, then anger, then hate.
Her phone rang.
“Herr Reich Minister Goebbels’ office.”
“Bettina?”
Bettina recognized the soft voice on the other end immediately, yet ironically never met, or ever laid eyes on, the woman she had come to like over the phone.
“Ursula!”
“Is Herr Goebbels in?”
“Yes, let me—”
“No, No, that is not necessary. He is coming up. I just wanted to make sure the Minister is in, don’t let him leave.”
“I won’t.”
Click. Ursula hung up without saying good-bye, which was common. She was perhaps the only person in Germany who could hang up in such a way and not have one feel offended – she was that sweet over the phone. She was the head secretary for the entire Ministry building, and everyone knew she was busier than the Führer himself. If she was short, that meant that “He”, the Führer himself, was near by, and all understood one could not spend time on politeness or courtesy when Adolf Hitler was near you.
Bettina looked around the room. Goebbels was standing much closer to his wife, holding her hand and swinging it back and forth between them.