“Oh, I think I was that girl,” Alice reassured her.
Now Frau Wagner grasped her hand. “Yes, you must have been.” She gave a tight little smile. “My memory is not what it used to be. But I know that when you put on the horned helmet and wings, I’ll say, ‘That is Brünnhilde, chooser of the slain.’ The most important of the Valkyries. Ready to wear your wings, dearie?” Alice nodded and smiled. “Then it’s off to Valhalla!” She giggled. Then her face went blank again as she turned to Alice. “But now what is your name again?”
“Ute Schnaubel.” Alice thought, Ute Schnaubel, Rasa spy, defender of the British Empire. Ready to perish in battle rather than look upon the outrage of our nation by the likes of you and your Führer. And for that I shall fight with blood, toil, sweat, and tears against this monstrous tyranny. Mr. Churchill’s words flowed through Alice and heated her blood. But no one would ever know what was surging through Alice’s mind, for she had the calmest, sweetest expression on her face—one of complete innocence and submission. Yet at this moment Alice Winfield was potentially deadlier than any poisons the tasters might detect.
Twenty-Four
To Trap a Wolf
“May I help, Frau Bender?” Alice asked as she entered the kitchen. She had been in the Wolf’s Lair three days now. She was intent on making herself useful, so she often volunteered for small tasks in the kitchen beyond her regular jobs of serving tea, participating in the evening entertainments from the Ring cycle, and gathering flowers from the few beds planted between zones one and two. It turned out that Alice had a knack for flower arrangements.
“Oh yes, be a dear,” said the cook. “I’m a bit late with this second sandwich platter. More in attendance than we expected. Can you take it across to the conference room?”
“Certainly,” Alice replied.
“Such a dear you are. What’s your name again?”
“Ute.”
“Yes, Ute, take that platter over there.”
A high voice piped up. “The ones with the toothpicks are for the Führer.”
“I already sent those over, Fräulein Wolk.”
Fräulein Wolk was a young, pretty woman who was one of perhaps a dozen of Hitler’s tasters.
“Here’s the platter, dear,” Frau Bender said as she placed a sprig of parsley for decoration. Alice took it and walked across the courtyard to the conference room.
No one acknowledged her as she entered. Hitler was at the head of the table and seemed to stare right through her as she set the platter down on the heavy oak table. But the Führer was there. That was important. The previous attempts had been aborted because he had not been in attendance as the conspirators thought he would be.
Now Alice’s only task was to confirm his presence. As she walked across the courtyard with the platter, she knew she was being watched. She had not seen him yet. But now as she exited the conference room, she saw the figure she had hoped to see crossing the courtyard. It was 12:05, and the countdown now began. Wotan was here!
He was carrying the briefcase in the only hand he had. The empty sleeve of the missing arm blew in the wind. Erect, proud, and determined, he was the very image of a high-ranking, celebrated officer of the German army. He was accompanied by his own personal assistant, Lieutenant Werner von Haeften. Alice and the colonel passed within five feet of each other. She gave a nod and a slight cough, as instructed, to confirm that the Führer was in attendance. Alice saw the briefcase that he clutched with the remaining fingers of his single arm.
She returned to the kitchens and helped Frau Bender arrange berries in the shape of a swastika on the four cream cakes that would be brought in for dessert. This was a favorite dessert of the Führer’s, and he loved the swastika on any dessert. The cake that the Führer was to be served had already had a slice taken by the taster, then reinserted and refrosted to cover the incisions. What if she could somehow lace a few of the berries on top of that slice with cyanide? So much easier than a bomb, and much less devastation.
She glanced at the clock and peered out the kitchen window. She saw that Wotan and his aide were now leaving the conference room. As planned, he had said he needed to freshen up. How long would it take for Wotan to put in the time pencil? Three minutes, five minutes, ten? He seemed so calm as he strode across the courtyard.
It took four minutes. He returned still clutching the briefcase.
“What’s so interesting out the window?” Fräulein Wolk asked.
“Oh, nothing, just daydreaming. Lovely day. Clear blue skies.” Alice sighed.
“You’re missing a sweetheart at the front.”
Alice blushed furiously. “Nooooo! Don’t be ridiculous. I’m just thirteen. Not old enough to have a sweetheart, let alone one at the front.”
She next saw a secretary from the communications room bustling across the courtyard. The call had come in! But she had to turn away from the window and just wait. Wotan and his aide should be leaving the conference room—without the briefcase. She fiddled with the berries on the cake, stared into the strawberry heart of the swastika.
“Oh, Ute, dear.” Frau Bender called out. “I forgot to send over the Führer’s digestive tablets. He takes them after the meal but before dessert. Would you be a dear and take them across to the center?” Alice felt her stomach drop. What could she do? The bomb would be going off in less than a minute and a half. The sweet paper had stated that four minutes after the call came in for Wotan, the bomb would explode. According to plan, Wotan had already left this innermost zone. A car was waiting. She would be blown to bits if she walked over there now.
“Ute? Did you hear me?”
“Yes, Frau Bender. I . . . I . . .” Should she walk fast or slow? Try to get there before the explosion and get back, or walk very slowly and hope she could miss being in the conference room when the bomb actually detonated?
“You what?” demanded Frau Bender.
“I am not feeling that well. I think I might need a digestive myself. I might throw up.”
“Oh, nonsense. A big healthy girl like you!” She shoved the tablet bottle into Alice’s hand. “Now on your way. Be quick about it.”
Alice bent over and clutched her stomach. She walked slowly out the door. “Get on with it now!” Frau Bender called out through an open window in the kitchen as Alice stepped into the courtyard. She bent over more and made gagging noises.
In a split second, they were eclipsed by a thunderous clap. Shock waves seized the air. She was cast to the ground. A great cloud of soot erupted, filling the courtyard. Everything was shaking. In the kitchen, copper pots clanged to the floor. People stampeded from the conference center. Screams filled the air. A charred map of Russia floated out through what had been a window in the conference room and landed at Alice’s feet, where she was curled up on the paving stones of the courtyard. She thought she glimpsed Hitler, supported by his high commander Wilhelm Keitel, leaning against a fragmented wall of the center.
He lives! Like a second explosion, the two words erupted in Alice’s mind. She peeked out from where she lay on the ground and saw that there was a cut on the Führer’s forehead, with blood leaking down over his stunned dark eyes. He appeared confused and momentarily deaf, as Keitel was screaming something in his ear. His pant leg was torn and bloody, but Adolf Hitler was standing. The Starling was still flying.