Chapter One: A Scandal in Bohemia
I think that someday I will write my memoirs. I’ve seen so much and written so little that if I were to die tomorrow, all of those intrigues I experienced would die with me, and never have the chance to be told. I was brooding on that subject one balmy spring evening, just before the office closed for the day. I snapped shut the locks on my briefcase and took a step towards the door, when my path was blocked ahead of me by my boss’s lanky frame.
“Are you going home straight away?” He asked, lighting a cigarette.
“I think so, I need as much sleep as I can right now.”
My relationship with my wife had become increasingly strained of late, and after a recent row, I’d moved in as a roommate with a bachelor coworker to give her the space she needed.
“Don’t worry about sleep. I don’t have any business planned for tomorrow anyway, and if you come along, I’ll buy you a drink.”
“Why so insistent, sir? I really must go home-”
“Come along, Walter. I want you to go.”
And there was something in his tone which implied that it was an order.
The rain drizzled down and ran in the gutter below our boots as we stood on the threshold of the Salon Kitty. I held the umbrella for Heydrich as he opened the door and walked into the foyer. The building was dimly lit on purpose, to conceal bugs along the walls and ceiling. It was then that he stopped me, and the real purpose for my invitation became clear.
“I have a hot date lined up, and I don’t want to be disturbed, understand? Come upstairs and guard the hallway. Don’t let anyone up higher than the third floor.” His hand dug into my arm.
“Of course sir, and I’ll turn off the tapes.”
“I sent someone to do it already. I don’t trust you after the last time.”
He walked up the narrow staircase, boots clanking on it’s creaky boards, until he was above the third landing and they faded into a room. After several indecisive minutes at the bar, I scurried after him silently, up and up, to the third landing. There I drank by myself and felt sorry, as the rain beat down in the roof. I hadn’t even a harlot to console myself with- I, Schellenberg, was doomed to be the third wheel.
I heard from behind me the sound of loud arguing. Shouts, cries, and muffled thuds drowned out by the music coming from the downstairs parlor. Well, Boss had a reputation for roughness, that in itself was no crime. I didn’t like the feeling I got from this encounter, but it wasn’t my job to enforce moral standards. I sat for several minutes more, trying not to hear the sounds of frenzied activity in the boudoir at the end of the hall.
Suddenly though, a crash of glass broke my reverie. I jumped up, and ran down the hall as fast as I could. I beat on the door.
“Sir, sir! Are you alright?”
An angry shout was my reply.
“Get in here, Walter! As soon as you can!”
I put a shoulder to the door, but to no avail. I kicked it as hard as I could, and though it groaned, it didn’t give. Behind me, Kaltenbrunner came up at full speed and crashed his mighty bulk against its hinges. At that, the door gave way and we both tumbled into the room. The rug was disheveled; the box window smashed and curtains torn. On one side of the room, Heydrich crouched in livid fury, clapped to the bedpost by his own handcuffs.
“Don’t stare at me, get her!” He shouted, indicating the rear window with a wave.
I leaned out, eyes peeled for movement. I saw the flash of high heels as his date fled. Though on the third floor, there was a low awning that enabled one to jump and make it to the ground successfully. I threw my legs out one at a time, then slid down. Kaltenbrunner followed after. On street level, we followed behind her in hot pursuit. Kaltenbrunner cleared long strides with ease and began to outpace me.
“Go back and help the boss!” He called over his shoulder. I stopped, and watched him trail the fleeing figure into the darkness.
Her jewelry jangled as she ran, keeping her from losing her pursuer even in the foggiest alleys. Desperation crept into her actions as she wove, back and forth, her petite frame losing ground against Kaltenbrunner. She looked down the distant railroad track, stopping to catch her breath as he grew ever closer. He could see her standing still before the track, and he ran harder than ever. Then, she jumped across, to the other side. Out from nowhere, a train came roaring by, stopping Kaltenbrunner in his tracks. The train had no lights or signal, rather, it took off through the dark like a ghost train. Hands and faces and arms stuck out from the slats on it’s sides, groping in vain at the damp air as it wound its way through the city at night, and on to the concentration camp in the distance. When it’s last car passed, he looked into the dark. Not a sound broke the silence. Discouraged, he turned and made his slow journey back to the Salon. He’d never find her now.
I walked over to where boss sat, and took out a pair of bolt cutters helpfully provided by the madam for dealing with just this problem.
“Wouldn’t believe how often it happens.” She said.
With a snip, I cut the chain free, and Heydrich stood up. There was a murderous look in his eye.
“Can- can I ask what this is all about?” I said tentatively. He turned and glared.
“Not tonight, it’s much too late. Come to the office first thing tomorrow.”
“No sir, I was going to take a tram.”
“Don’t, it’s undignified.” He said. “I will drop you.”
We walked out to the sleek black Mercedes. I climbed into the back.
“If Lina asks, I’ll tell her I was practicing with a new manacle design.” Heydrich said. He was regaining his dry sense of humor.
The bright lights of the city were obscured until we broke from the foggy haze of downtown and emerged on a hilltop overlooking the government buildings, the hub, the pulsing heart of the thousand-year Reich.
(Well, here’s the first installment of some historical fiction I’ve been planning for a long time. If you like it, then tell me about it! It encourages me to write more.)
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