Dan Fesperman - The Arms Maker of Berlin

Göllner sighed. This would be interesting, but potentially tricky. He picked up the phone and dialed the number for his boss.

THE DOOR SHUT as the obsequious little clerk from downstairs departed. Kurt poured himself a glass of water and took stock. The windowless room was chilly, so he kept his coat on. Framed photos of Hitler and Kaltenbrunner, the new boss here, faced him from the opposite wall. He wondered how long they had waited before taking down Heydrich’s picture after the assassination in Prague the year before. He drummed a finger on the table, then stopped, thinking someone might be listening at the door. He didn’t want to let them know how nervous he was. Despite the chill he had begun to sweat, so he took off his coat and folded it across the back of another chair. At least they had let him take a pee.

After about fifteen minutes, the door opened. Kurt rose instinctively, just as he had been taught to do when one of his elders entered a room. The man was surprisingly young, and didn’t cut a particularly impressive figure. In fact, what he mostly looked like was a dull drone, a cop, someone to whom you might report a bike theft or a vandalized window. The man paused in the doorway, as if also taking stock. Then he entered, followed by a stenographer. The two of them sat down across the table, side by side.

“I am Sturmbandführer Martin Göllner. Before we begin, I have been instructed to ask for some identification. As I am sure you can understand, it isn’t every day that someone walks in claiming to be the son of Reinhard Bauer.”

Kurt obliged him, and watched the man read. He didn’t seem to be in a hurry. Kurt had a feeling this would take a while, and a knot that had already formed in his stomach did a slow tumble and turned into a cramp. He bent at the waist and emitted a sigh.

“Very well,” Göllner said, handing back his papers. “We may begin.”

Kurt had given a lot of thought to what to say first. His father’s recent lessons on how to do business had come to mind. He must take the initiative, set the tone. No matter how threatened he felt, he figured he could maintain some leverage as long as he didn’t give up his choicest information too easily. He also needed to make it seem that he had more backing and clout than he really did. So he started out boldly.

“I am here on behalf of my family. I wish to offer important information concerning state security and morale, but only in return for certain assurances that my family’s patriotic role in the war effort will be allowed to continue. I also want assurances that those closest to me will not be harmed, although I am quite willing to be punished for my own indiscretions.”

He hadn’t planned on adding the part about punishment, but somehow in his momentum the words spilled out. Perhaps he was already ashamed of what he was doing. If Göllner was impressed, he did a good job of hiding it. He merely glanced at the stenographer to make sure she was getting everything. Then he answered in a monotone.

“All of that is quite interesting, Mr. Bauer. What is it you wish to tell us?”

“First I must have your assurances.”

Göllner was clearly not pleased to be answered in this manner. He frowned and jotted something in a small notebook while the stenographer kept her pencil poised in the air.

“Very well. But tell me first, does your father know you have come here?”

“I am here with his blessing.”

“So he is aware at this very moment that you are here? Answer carefully.”

“No. He is not.”

Göllner again wrote in his notebook. A drop of sweat slid down Kurt’s back.

Kurt spent the next few minutes outlining his family’s current state of affairs. He mentioned his brother’s war service as well. He took special pains when describing the canceled marriage and the background check by the Racial Office.

“I wish to make it clear that, up to now, no one in my family ever knew that this particular ancestor had been a member of such an undesirable faith,” he said.

He noted a shift in Göllner’s expression, perhaps even a hint of relish, and he worried that he might have done something wrong. Had he been able to read the man’s mind, he would have realized that Martin Göllner was sighing inwardly in relief that this boy was seeking “assurances” on such a trivial matter. These SS ancestry checks were a huge pain in the ass, not to mention a colossal waste of manpower. Although marriages were sometimes halted as a result, nothing further ever came of them, especially not when the so-called taint had occurred so long ago. But it was just as well that Bauer didn’t know that. Once again, it was a case of the Gestapo’s reputation preceding it, its presumed thoroughness in enforcing every little matter. All this fretting by the Bauers was foolish, unless of course some ranking minister-Stuckart, for example-took a personal interest in seeing that the family was punished. But that, too, seemed unlikely when you considered that the Bauers were supplying every Panzer division.

Göllner let the boy prattle on. He could then act like he was doing the family a big favor. He wouldn’t even need clearance from a higher-up to offer a “deal.”

“There is also the matter of a certain young lady who must be protected in all these proceedings,” Kurt continued. “She is not a member of my family, although I like to believe there is a chance that she may be fairly soon. She has been the victim of overzealous friends, one in particular, and as a result she has been goaded into participating in reckless behavior. If you take steps to prevent this friend from further influencing her, then I am sure she will respond quite reasonably.”

“Look, Mr. Bauer. I can’t guarantee that she won’t be punished, not until I hear what it is she has done. But in any investigation there is always the possibility for leniency. So why don’t we proceed on that assumption, and also on the assumption that no harm will come to your family or its business interests. That way you have already accomplished half of what you came here for. But now you must begin offering me something in return, unless you would prefer this to become a very lengthy and awkward process, in which your father and no doubt many other persons above me would have to become closely involved. Understood?”

“Yes, understood.”

Kurt poured himself more water, swallowing twice to wet his lips.

“And, of course, you must also understand that whether or not I can live up to these terms depends greatly on what it is you give me. Its quality and quantity. Both matter. Details, meaning names first and foremost, are of vital importance. Certainly you must see that my generosity can extend only as far as yours?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Very well, then. Begin.”

Göllner nodded to the stenographer, who flipped back a page of her notebook. Then he lit a cigarette, inhaled slowly, and sagged back comfortably in his chair.

Kurt began. And, as requested, he was very generous indeed.

Berlin — March 20, 1943

The Gestapo officers announced their arrival at the birthday party of Dieter Büssler with a prim knock at the door, as if already apologizing for bringing arrest warrants instead of gifts.

Their decorum was oddly appropriate, because in a sense they were invited guests. Kurt Bauer had tipped them off to the party’s details. No need to smash windows or batter down a door when you could catch the entire membership of the local White Rose gathered at a punch bowl.

Kurt had worked out the logistics for the raid with Martin Göllner during a four-hour conversation, a chat that proceeded more like contract negotiations between rival lawyers than an interrogation. At the time Kurt had been relieved by the air of civility. Later he wondered if it hadn’t placed him at even more of a disadvantage, because in the end he was no match for Göllner in the subtle art of give-and-take.