Stalin was not just back.

He was stronger than ever.

(xi)

Who would have the courage to make a public protest about what was going on at Akelberg? Carla and Frieda had seen it with their own eyes, and they had Ilse König as a witness, but now they needed an advocate. There were no elected representatives any more: all Reichstag deputies were Nazis. There were no real journalists, either; just scribbling sycophants. The judges were all Nazi appointees subservient to the government. Carla had never before realized how much she had been protected by politicians, newspapermen and lawyers. Without them, she saw now, the government could do anything it liked, even kill people.

Who could they turn to? Frieda’s admirer Heinrich von Kessel had a friend who was a Catholic priest. ‘Peter was the cleverest boy in my class,’ he told them. ‘But he wasn’t the most popular. A bit upright and stiff-necked. I think he’ll listen to us, though.’

Carla thought it was worth a try. Her Protestant pastor had been sympathetic, until the Gestapo terrified him into silence. Perhaps the same would happen again. But she did not know what else to do.

Heinrich took Carla, Frieda and Ilse to Peter’s church in Schöneberg early on a Sunday morning in July. Heinrich was handsome in a black suit; the girls all wore their nurses’ uniforms, symbols of trustworthiness. They entered by a side door and went to a small, dusty room with a few old chairs and a large wardrobe. They found Father Peter alone, praying. He must have heard them come in, but he remained on his knees for a minute before getting up and turning to greet them.

Peter was tall and thin, with regular features and a neat haircut. He was twenty-seven, Carla calculated, if he was Heinrich’s contemporary. He frowned at them, not troubling to conceal his irritation at being disturbed. ‘I am preparing myself for Mass,’ he said severely. ‘I am pleased to see you in church, Heinrich, but you must leave me now. I will see you afterwards.’

‘This is a spiritual emergency, Peter,’ said Heinrich. ‘Sit down, we have something important to tell you.’

‘It could hardly be more important than Mass.’

‘Yes, it could, Peter, believe me. In five minutes’ time you will agree.’

‘Very well.’

‘This is my girlfriend, Frieda Franck.’

Carla was surprised. Was Frieda his girlfriend now?

Frieda said: ‘I had a younger brother who was born with spina bifida. Earlier this year he was transferred to a hospital at Akelberg in Bavaria for special treatment. Shortly afterwards we got a letter saying he had died of appendicitis.’

She turned to Carla, who took up the tale. ‘My maid had a son born brain-damaged. He, too, was transferred to Akelberg. The maid got an identical letter on the same day.’

Peter spread his hands in a so-what gesture. ‘I have heard this kind of thing before. It’s anti-government propaganda. The Church does not interfere in politics.’