Eagle Scout Picture (eBook)

Chapter 2: The Picture

25 February 1941—Berlin’s Adlon Hotel

In the morning, Zelly emerged from the comfortable bed and barefooted through the plush carpet to open the drapes. The sunlight brought a groan from Vinny, but Zelly relished the astounding view—Pariser Platz, named to commemorate the Prussian defeat of Napoleon. To the left was the Brandenburg Gate, topped by four horses pulling a chariot containing Victoria, the Roman goddess of victory. An iron cross and imperial eagle rested on her staff. As part of his training, he’d read several history books.

Below the window, Berlin teemed with life—vibrant, dominant, and luxurious. Any enormous city might captivate a farm boy, but he’d been to Houston, Washington D.C., Baltimore, Belfast, Naples, and Rome. In those places, he’d never felt so touched, like he belonged or was at home.

A strange sensation coursed through his body. Muscles primed, back straightened, and shoulders squared as Vinny approached. He raised his arm and clicked his heels. “Heil Hitler.”

“God, you gave me the shivers,” Vinny said. “Tag along for my appointment at the embassy?”

“I’m expected at HJ headquarters afterward.”

Dressed in a suit and winter uniform, they breakfasted in the lobby restaurant. Zelly examined pictures of dignitaries at parties and official occasions, decorating their booth’s wall. He recognized one—Otto von Bismarck and President Ulysses S. Grant, shaking hands at the entrance to some grand palace.

“Order two coffees,” Vinny said.

When the server arrived, Zelly held up his thumb and index finger, the correct gesture. “Zwei Kaffee, bitte.” Two fingers, as in America, would be a deadly mistake.

People at other tables gossiped about the war, so Zelly eavesdropped on a conversation.

A lady’s white-gloved hand lifted her teacup. She said, “Last evening, we viewed Mein Leben für Irland and the newsreel was exciting. The footage showed a U-boat sinking a British vessel named Beachy.”

Zelly gasped, spurting coffee up his nose, as he recalled the ship was in the convoy that ferried them to Gibraltar.

With breakfast finished, they passed through Brandenburg Gate and walked Hermann Göring Strasse beside the famous Tiergarten. The park resembled a country estate inside the bustling city. Snow-filled footpaths led between barren stands of linden and maple trees.

Since the Italians were constructing a new embassy, Vinny took them to the older structure. In the lobby, a receptionist’s long, luscious legs caught Zelly’s attention as Vinny presented his letter of introduction.

“I’m Ambra.” She handed Vinny a packet, and he kissed her hand. “First, find an apartment, and I recommend Kreuzberg.” She unfolded a map, marking two circles a block off Friedrichstrasse. “These are within walking distance and close to trains.”

They took the U-Bahn to Kochstrasse station and walked two blocks to a corner where they found two five-story stone and brick buildings with ‘To let’ signs. Both structures had round turret-like corners, like medieval castles.

At the first location, the superintendent’s wife offered a three-bedroom penthouse. Fancy classical furniture filled the flat, and pictures decorated the walls. In an enormous family portrait, the guys wore Jewish skullcaps.

“What occurred to the previous occupants?” Zelly asked.

“They left after their Kaiserdamm antique shop closed some years ago.” Her hands quivered, like leaving was common.

Zelly ascribed it to the November progrom that Bob and Carl called Kristallnacht—the inspiration for his fictitious story of acquiring the scar. “They took nothing with them?”

Her expression was incredulous. “They owned the entire building, so what could they take?”

Vinny frowned. “I only need one bedroom.”

“But for an Italian diplomat, the price is negotiable.”

Zelly tugged Vinny’s sleeve. “Nazis stole these places.”

At the second apartment, an old lady had the key. They followed her to a third-floor flat with a sitting room in the round turret. A compact kitchen and private bath were on one side, with a sleeping room and tiny closet on the other. Furnishings included an upright piano in the circular room and a sway-backed double bed. Sheets covered everything like someone would return.

“Is the renter coming back?” Zelly asked.

“The single man studied music and played wonderful songs. Do you play?”

Since she dodged the question, he repeated it.

Her hands flitted about like the previous landlord’s. “Gestapo took him.”

“Jewish?” he asked.

“Communist.”

When Vinny asked for the price, the rent was 100 Reichsmarks less than his housing allowance, and he grinned at the savings.

As he tendered the money, her face brightened to a smile. “Give me a couple of days to clean and air it.”

“My turn to report,” Zelly said.

They followed the map to Hitler Youth headquarters. The eight-story building had red, white, and black bunting hanging from the top terrace to the cantilevered second floor. As they walked in, lobby speakers played youthful voices singing Fahnenlied, the HJ banner anthem. Zelly’s heart fluttered with excitement at the song. He’d first heard it during training in San Antonio and loved it.

“I’m Scharführer Frederich Zellner from Wittenberg, Bann 356, returning from an exchange.”

The BDM lady took his achievement book and letter from Italy before checking a clipboard. “Leader Koch wants to see you. Please wait.”

Forty or fifty DJ boys, who are the younger branch of Hitler Youth, burst in. Their shouts at having visited Horst Wessel’s grave in St. Nicholas’s Cemetery echoed through the lobby. As Zelly waited, he shuffled through old magazines on a literature rack. One caught his eye—the March 1938 issue of Hilf Mit!

That’s my picture featured on the cover! My Scoutmaster took it for my Eagle Scout Court of Honor program when I was fifteen.

How did it end up printed in a Nazi magazine two years ago?

They said they’d been watching you.

For how long?

The chaos provided a moment, so he stuck the page in Vinny’s face.

Vinny’s eyes grew with surprise. “That’s you!”

“Look, right now, I’m expecting some explanations.” He folded the newsprint and stuffed it in his trousers under his shirt.

The Army lied, and so did Vinny. This mission didn’t happen as they said.

How could you be so stupid? Believing everything the butcher, baker, and candlestick maker said.

As the DJ boys collected grave-site pilgrimage stamps, Zelly’s anger boiled. When they left, peace came to the lobby but didn’t calm him.

I wanted freedom and adventure—no milking cows and baling hay.

And they used it against you, playing you like a fiddle.

What can I believe?

You shouldn’t trust anything.

The lady called Zelly’s name and guided him to Koch’s office. After stepping inside, he saluted. “Heil Hitler.”

Koch offered a handshake. “Welcome back, and a late happy birthday. If you had spent those two years in Germany, your rank would be higher.”

“Sir, the SS is what matters now.”

He opened the achievement book to the pages documenting promotion and scribbled and stamped. Next, he placed two silver bars in the fold. “Congratulations, Herr Oberscharführer.”

“Thank you.”

He punched holes in the letter from Italy and added it on the brads in Zelly’s file. “This is quite a commendation. It says the Bannführer asked you to spy on your host.”

Zelly nodded. “I lockpicked his diplomatic pouch.”

“You’ll thrive in the SS.”

With the meeting concluded, they took a train to Kaiserhof and chose a corner coffee shop. As they sat at a table for two, Zelly pulled out Hilf Mit! and shoved it between Vinny and his cup.

“How’s life, cover boy?” Vinny joked.

“Finding this made it beyond disturbing.” He browsed it, discovering stories about Madagascar and lions and essay contests. “I can’t tell the truth from all the lies.”

“In spy work, they blend, don’t they? And you’re mastering the recipe.”

Zelly pounded his fist on the picture. “I was only fifteen. Have you researched me for years?”

“Not me. I was building background in the Foreign Ministry at Rome.”

Zelly’s stare was hard. “That was a plural you—you, the butcher, baker, or candlestick maker?”

“Nice metaphors from the nursery rhyme.” Vinny chuckled. “First time I’ve heard you use it.”

Vinny’s laughter pushed Zelly beyond his ability to cope. Gripping Vinny’s wrist, he pulled him across the table until the Roman nose touched his. A flicker of fear crossed Vinny’s eyes. “Answer my fucking question. Did they think I wouldn’t discover this?” Rolling the booklet, he thrust it like a sword against Vinny’s chest. “This was going on longer than I’ve been told or even guessed.”

Vinny dropped his chin and fixated on his coffee cup, but Zelly perceived the truth in his eyes.

Upon their return to the Adlon, the desk clerk waved to...