He took out his small lantern and lit it, then began to examine the plants and the tiny brass labels beside each of them.

Crown of thorns, a reminder of our Savior, read one. Hebrew herb garden. The sacred olive tree of Israel…

It was exactly as he had thought—all the plants in this area were from Palestine!

The baron was a greater fool than he had ever imagined! To leave the incriminating words out there for anyone to see!

He sat down on the bench he had occupied earlier in the day. This was far bigger than just their being Christians and connected with the Bonhoeffer fellow.

This obsessive interest in what they called the Holy Land opened the whole scheme to plain view. The Dortmanns’ interest was in Jews as well! They were probably involved with the very network Korsch was so determined to penetrate!

There could be no doubt: They were Jewish sympathizers!

Suddenly Gustav remembered the tiny brass plaque he had noticed earlier on the back of this bench itself. He hadn’t wanted to look at all these clues too closely for fear of giving away to Sabina what he knew.

He jumped from the bench and turned around.

There it was, old and greening from the weather. He held his lantern down close to it, squinted in the mingled bright and darkness, and read the words: To my dear Marion, may this small garden from the land of your people be always a reminder of the paths and byways walked by our Lord himself. From your husband, Heinrich von Dortmann.

Gustav read the words a second time—the land of your people… your people… your people!

Suddenly the thought exploded in his mind.

It wasn’t merely that these people were Christians, nor that they possessed an unhealthy interest in the land of Palestine, nor even that they had connections with the Jewish network.

Gustav’s mind reeled with the discovery!

The baron’s wife was herself a Jew!

A few minutes later, as Gustav made his way in feverish haste back down the northern slope of the knoll toward his own house, a silent file of new arrivals wearily climbed the narrow circular staircase out of the underground room at the end of the dirt corridor, up toward the rooms that Heidi, Marion, and Sabina had earlier prepared for them.

86 Somewhere in Poland

86

Somewhere in Poland

The dark corner of the tavern in a seamy section of the Polish city of Poznan suited to perfection the purpose of their clandestine appointment. Two tall glasses of dark beer, half-consumed, sat on the table in front of the two men.

“You said you had information so important it must be delivered in person,” said Korsch.

“For one who has been on the trail of Christians and Jews for many years, yes, I consider it of great value.” Gustav smiled knowingly. He was young, but he had already learned the ways of the Gestapo well.