convinced we must abandon our isolationism, and I’ve written to Army Chief of Staff Douglas MacArthur to tell him so.”
“I hope he’ll listen.”
“I hope so too, but I have grave doubts.” Her father heaved a sigh and patted her hand. “I’m afraid I must resign myself to the delicate work of watching and carefully doing nothing.”
Martha knew her father was hardly “doing nothing.” In addition to continuously briefing Washington about the irrefutable signs of impending conflict and advocating for Americans who ran afoul of the Reich, he also helped persecuted Jews, in the limited fashion his office permitted. Mildred frequently asked him to facilitate a Jewish friend’s visa application or emigration to a more hospitable European nation, but one afternoon she approached Martha with a more unusual request. A Jewish journalist, the brother of one of her students, had been arrested more than three months before for violating the Editors Law and was being held in KZ Oranienburg. He had not been able to obtain legal counsel, and his family’s anxious pleas for visiting rights had been rejected.
“Has he been convicted of anything?” Martha asked.
“He hasn’t even been granted a trial,” said Mildred. “Do you think you could ask your father to intercede on his behalf? His sister is one of my favorite students and a dear friend. You’ve met her—Sara Weitz.”
Martha searched her memory and conjured up the image of a petite, dark-haired, pretty young woman, with expressive hazel eyes, luminous skin, and light brown hair. “Sure, I remember. She seemed like a sweet girl, smart too. I liked her.”
“Then will you help?”
“If Sara’s brother was an American, I’m sure my father would pull out all the stops,” she said, hesitant. “But since Natan is a German citizen, I don’t think the embassy can intervene.”
Mildred’s face fell. “I see.”
“Not to worry,” said Martha. “Even if the embassy can’t get involved, I know someone else who might, as a special favor to me.”
As soon as Mildred left, Martha phoned the offices of the Regierungspräsident of Cologne, 580 kilometers west of Berlin in the Rhineland. Her call was put through to newly appointed administrative president Rudolf Diels so quickly that she briefly indulged in the flattering notion that her name was on a short list of intimate friends for whom his secretaries had been instructed to interrupt all other work. When Martha asked Rudolf to come to Berlin to see her as soon as possible, he agreed to meet her the next day.
Rudolf had once been chief of the Gestapo, but he had been removed from office in April after his superiors decided he was not ruthless enough to suppress the SA. Two months later, he narrowly escaped losing his life in Hitler’s bloody purge after Reichstag president Hermann Göring, a close friend, had warned him that enemies were conspiring against him. Rudolf had fled to Switzerland, where he remained for several weeks until passions cooled. Upon his return to Germany, he served briefly as deputy police president of Berlin until he was appointed Regierungspräsident of Cologne. Though he had been knocked down a few rungs in the Nazi hierarchy, he remained very powerful, for he possessed influential friends, a vast intelligence network, and files of incriminating evidence on his political enemies, entrusted to an associate in Zurich who had orders to publish if Rudolf met with foul play.
The following evening, Martha arrived at the rooftop club of the Eden Hotel to find Rudolf waiting for her at their favorite table. Most of the other tables were occupied by businessmen in expensive suits, Nazis in full regalia, and ladies in gorgeous dresses and sparkling jewelry. Couples danced as Oskar Joost’s orchestra played a lively fox-trot, drowning out the fine patter of rain on the adjustable glass roof overhead.
Martha saw the maître d’ at Rudolf’s side, bending deferentially to better hear his confidential instructions, but he was otherwise alone. Although none of the guests openly stared, Rudolf nonetheless commanded the room, as if a dark energy radiated out from him, evoking tension and wariness in those within its range. Crossing the room to join him, Martha felt anew the pull of his charisma and the dark beauty of his scarred face. Once she had sat on his lap and kissed his scars, one by one, as he wryly explained how he had earned them fighting duels years before, when he was a hotheaded student proving his manhood to other, equally hotheaded schoolmates.
Rudolf rose with sinuous grace, kissed her hand, and guided her