“I think I’d like to take a nap before supper,” she said, clasping her hands at her waist. “The train ride wasn’t particularly pleasant.”
“Of course,” I said. “I’m going to go put in a few hours at the office, if you have everything you need.”
“I’ll be fine,” she said, the corners of her mouth forcing themselves up into a thin smile.
There were clouds of worry in the sky of her eyes, and it tormented me for the duration of my ride to the DVL. I wasn’t expected that day, so Louisa had taken up the plane I’d been working on. It was just as well, as I needed a few more hours with the schematics for the landing gear. The systems in place weren’t bad, but a smoother landing would take less of a toll on the aircraft and lead to fewer repairs. Difficult as she was, Louisa was a gifted pilot, and a fifteen-minute conversation with her after her flight would be as valuable as a full-day diagnostic.
“Flugkapitän Schiller Gräfin von Oberndorff, Herr Gerhardt wishes to see you in his office,” Peter said as he knocked on the jamb of my open office door. His expression looked serious. Summons from the head of our department were rare and usually not pleasant.
“Have a seat, Flugkapitän.” Herr Gerhardt didn’t word it as a request. He gestured to the spartan wooden chair that sat opposite his desk. He was the orderly sort who would be able to tell if a pen were a few centimeters off kilter before he crossed the threshold to his office. So long as I wasn’t charged with tidying it, I much preferred Harald’s merry chaos with his endless stacks of papers to mark, research notes, and heaven knew what all. My own work area fell somewhere between the two. “I trust your tests are going well?”
“Not badly at all, sir,” I replied, knitting my fingers to keep them from betraying any sign of nerves.
“Good,” he said. He removed his wire-rimmed glasses and rubbed his eyes, which looked red with fatigue. I cocked my head and waited for him to continue. If he’d wanted a status report on my progress with the landing systems, he would have come to my office to see my schematics and calculations. “I’ve been notified by my superiors that some of your paperwork isn’t quite in order. I’m sorry to trouble you with such things, but they do insist on keeping a tidy ship.”
“Of course,” I said. “But what paperwork could they possibly need? I’ve always made sure all my files were up to date with my credentials.”
“It’s to do with your ancestry. It seems there isn’t any proper documentation on your father’s side to ensure your lineage is—”
“Is what, sir?”
“‘Pure’ is the word they use. Aryan,” he supplied. “They don’t want anyone working on sensitive projects who isn’t loyal to the fatherland, you understand.”
I nodded. I worked in defense and had access to sensitive information that enemies of Germany would dearly love to have. We’d all been quizzed and given forms to complete ad nauseam, and I had been expecting more of this since I transferred to Berlin. I squared my shoulders and forced them to drop a couple of centimeters, back to their normal, relaxed position. I would have him believe this was of no more concern to me than him asking after the health of my mother or the condition of the roads. “I’m afraid quite a few records were lost before my father moved to Berchtesgaden as a boy. I’ve been told there was a terrible fire in the town where he grew up and there wasn’t much to be done. The lack of records caused my father more than a few headaches in his life, I assure you.” The lie was a well-rehearsed one. It was the story Metta and Oskar knew from Mama and Papa, and I further embroidered it with Harald’s coaching. He’d once suggested that I consider leaving my work aside until the tide changed in the political climate and fewer questions would be asked. It would have been the safer course of action, I was certain, but to give up my work would be to forgo myself. I’d be like the shepherd dog driven mad with boredom when he’s separated from his flock.
“That is unfortunate, but I will see what can be done. As scrupulous as the regime is, they can’t expect you to produce records that don’t exist. I imagine they’ll need a statement from you attesting to all of this.” He spoke as though the missing records were a trivial inconvenience, but the furrow in his brow told me otherwise.
I smiled as I left him to his paperwork and returned to my own office, determined not to let a soul see how shaken I was. At some point, I feared, the lies would cease to suffice, and the truth would come to light. My freedom, if not my life, would be the cost.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
UNDER THE SUN, IN THE MIST
BETH
May 1, 2007
San Diego, California
The espresso shop on the edge of campus was as quaint and smug as a college hangout could hope to be. I took my scone and tall Americano with an extra shot from the barista while Gwen accepted her frothy mocha-cappuccino-extra-foam concoction, and we claimed a table under the trees outdoors.
“Why don’t you just order ice cream and get it over with? I swear you’re secretly eleven years old posing as an adult.”
“It’s why the world loves me. Everyone is drawn to my youthful exuberance. Like so many flowers straining to reach the sun.”
“Or mosquitoes drawn to a bug zapper. Whichever metaphor you prefer.”
“Jerk. I shouldn’t even tell you why I dragged you here. Aside from getting you out into the sunlight. You have the complexion of a bottle of Elmer’s glue.”
“Gawd, what would I do without friends like you to keep my spirits up,” I said, removing the lid from the paper cup to release the steam.
“I know a great guy for you, Beth,” she said, ignoring me. “Tall, handsome, and doesn’t work for UCSD. I showed him your picture, and he’d love to grab dinner on Friday.”
“Gwen, you’re the best, but really, I’m happy being single for now.” I slowly twirled the plastic lid on the table with my finger.
“You like staying home every night and falling asleep in front of the TV at nine fifteen?” She sat back in her chair and gave me an exasperated look.
“Oh, young Padawan, don’t you think that’s 87 percent of married life? I’m just sticking with what I know. The only difference is that now I don’t have to agonize for an hour with anyone about what to have for dinner. I just mull it over by myself until I’m too hungry to do anything but pour a bowl of cereal.”
“That’s really sad, Beth,” she said, shaking her head before taking a sip of her coffee-adjacent confection.
“Yeah, yeah . . . give marriage two years and you’ll see I’m right. And when you come to that conclusion on your own, I’ll be sitting at home watching Food Network and waiting for your heartfelt apology.”
“And that’s what worries me,” she said, her tone now serious. “Promise me you’ll get out. Do something other than work, sleep, and watch food porn?”
“Now you know that’s not fair. I went to Ross and bought three new work dresses yesterday,” I said, folding my arms over my chest.
“Alert the press. We have a party girl on our hands,” she chided. “Seriously. Get out of the house. Have some fun.”