But she knew she wouldn’t feel safe until she was back home, praying her mother returned safely.
“They arrested Gudrun?”
“It looks that way,” Leopold said. “I didn’t get a good view from my vantage point, but they were arresting and cuffing just about everyone on the streets. I’m pretty sure I saw Gudrun being manhandled into a police van. The factories are sealed off and isolated.”
“Write down a list of names,” Horst ordered. The telephone lines might be down – some bright spark in the RSHA had turned the civilian network off – but the computer network had barely been hampered. There was no way the state could cripple it without rendering it useless to themselves, as well as the Valkyries. “Make sure you only list the students you know were taken into the vans.”
He thought fast. Gudrun had said she was going down to the factories, along with hundreds of other students, so it was likely she’d been arrested. He didn’t think any other Valkyries had joined the protest – Leopold had found a place to watch, rather than go all the way into the sealed zone – yet there was no way to know for sure. It was unlikely Gudrun would be given any special treatment, once she reached the processing centre, but being strip-searched would be so outside her previous experience that it might break her. And if she provided a list of names to the SS, Horst and the other Valkyries would have bare hours to live.
It would be simple enough to run, he knew. He’d been trained in escape and evasion; he could make it to the American Embassy, if he tried, or head south to Switzerland. Or head west to Vichy France. It wouldn’t be too hard to steal a fishing boat and flee to Britain. And yet, leaving now would mean abandoning all his hopes and dreams – and Gudrun. He didn’t want to leave her in the Reich’s clutches.
Particularly as she might have kept her mouth shut, he thought. Gudrun might not have endured the worst of the Hitler Youth, but the BDM matrons had been thoroughly unpleasant, if not outright sadists. She knows to say nothing and hope.
“Here,” Leopold said. “These are the students I know were arrested.”
Horst glanced at the list. It was shorter than he’d expected, but in all the confusion a great many students would have been arrested or injured without anyone noticing. The police would have refrained from using lethal weapons, he was sure, yet tear gas alone could be nasty if the protesters were unprepared for its use. He’d have to make sure the next message that went out on the computer network included instructions for dealing with it.
“Put it on the net,” he ordered. Sven took the list and hastily tapped it into the computer, then uploaded it. God alone knew how many people it would reach – the regime could turn off the power in most of Berlin, simply by pushing a switch – but they had to try. “And see who you can send to their homes. Tell them that their children have been arrested.”
“I can ask someone from downstairs,” Leopold said, after a moment. “But that might be too revealing.”
“Be careful,” Horst advised. Whatever happened in the days and weeks that would come, a line had been crossed. “And watch your back.”
There was a knock on the door. Horst swore inwardly as Sven hastily blanked the screen, then brought up a computer game he’d written himself. He’d told Horst that he had high hopes of selling millions of copies; Horst, privately, suspected it would be pointless to try until there were more than a handful of computers in civilian hands. Pushing the thought aside, he leaned over Sven’s shoulder as the door opened – he’d rigged the doorknob to be harder to open quickly – and pretended to watch the game.
“Horst,” a gruff voice said. “There’s a telephone call for you.”
Horst had to fight to keep his expression under control. He’d never thought highly of Krabbe – the would-be spy was suitable for nothing more than cannon fodder – but this was a new low. The telephone lines were down and everyone knew it. Krabbe might just have blown his cover in one stupid moment. And even if there was a telephone line that was isolated from the rest of the landlines, which was technically possible, some of the students would still wonder.
He could have said there was a message for me and it would be less revealing, he thought, straightening up. Something would have to be done about Krabbe. Horst’s handler would probably be annoyed if he beat the idiot to within an inch of his life, but a careful report might see the stupid bastard reassigned to mine-clearing duty in Germany East. And now I have to come up with a cover story.
“I’m coming,” he said. It was rare for parents to ring the university – and if they did, it was almost always an emergency. He glanced back at Sven, hoping the computer expert wasn’t paying close attention. “I’ll see you later.”
Somehow, he resisted the temptation to punch Krabbe as soon as they left the computer lab and headed down the stairs. There were only a handful of students within earshot, but fighting in the corridors would be enough to get them both expelled – or, if their superiors intervened, raise yet more questions about why they hadn’t been expelled. Horst silently wrote the report in his head, then decided it would be better not to write it. Krabbe was an idiot, but an idiot would be safer than someone competent. Unless, of course, he was a decoy…
“You’re wanted at the main office,” Krabbe said, as soon as they were alone. “Take one of the cars from the accommodation block and drive there.”
“And get arrested by the police, no doubt,” Horst sneered. What had happened to the sterilisation camps? People like Krabbe shouldn’t be allowed to breed. “None of our cars have any special plates to keep the police from flagging them down.”
He shook his head. Being close to Krabbe was killing his brain cells. “I’ll walk,” he said, firmly. “And you can go back to the apartment block and stay there.”
Gritting his teeth, he hurried towards the gates. It could be a trap, he knew; his superiors might have reasoned out his role in the whole affair and called him in for interrogation. But Krabbe didn’t seem to be trying to follow him. If Horst had wanted to arrest someone on suspicion, he would have made sure the suspect didn’t have a chance to saunter off into the backstreets and escape. A public arrest would be easy enough – and, he was sure, it would arouse no comment. Unless that was what he was meant to think.
It makes no sense, he reassured himself, firmly. They wouldn’t ask me to visit if they knew what I’d been doing, they’d grab me before I could escape. And so… whatever they want me for, I’m not in trouble myself.
Hoping to hell he was right, he headed onwards through nearly-deserted streets.
The sound of the riot – or protest march, or whatever the hell it was – quietened alarmingly, much to Herman’s relief, as the military police took over the sealed zone and marched the hundreds of prisoners away to an uncertain destination. Herman was relieved just to see the back of some of the prisoners, particularly the ones who just would not shut up about how important they were and how the policemen would be shovelling shit in Germany East tomorrow if they didn’t release their prisoners immediately. Let the military police handle the assholes, Herman told himself, and take whatever punishment was due.
“We’re to head back to the muster point,” Caius said. The radio network had been having hiccups. Some idiot back at the station, according to rumour, had scrambled all the channels for some silly reason. “The military police are to take over the barricades.”