“Herr Consul General, what may I offer you, coffee or cognac?” Captain Heine pulled a Bohemian bentwood chair beside him, and Fengshan sat down.
“Kleiner Brauner,” Fengshan said to the waiter in an immaculate suit with a bow tie. Kleiner Brauner was a small black coffee with some milk, and by all means a fine drink, although Fengshan, having grown up in China, still preferred his green tea.
Heine opted for Fiaker, coffee with rum and whipped cream. “Allow me to say this, Herr Consul General: I was delighted to hear from you. How’s Mr. Rosenburg doing?”
It occurred to him that the captain always asked about Mr. Rosenburg. “I’ve issued him and his family visas so they can depart Germany.”
“I certainly didn’t expect that Mr. Rosenburg would immigrate to China.”
“It was the last resort.”
Heine raised his glass of cognac in a gesture that could only be seen as one of celebration. “Vienna has failed him. This is the time for clowns and cretins, unfortunately.”
Fengshan observed the captain’s face. If he could be optimistic, this would be a positive conversation. “Captain, I know you’re a police officer, it’s your duty to follow orders, and you certainly do not need to defend your loyalty, but it seems the veil of politics has blinded many people. I can hardly recognize the lovely Vienna before the Anschluss, and it’s disheartening to see the Viennese torment other Viennese. Would you care to enlighten me?”
“All I can say is, Herr Consul General, there’s so much about the Viennese that you don’t know.” The captain smiled his charming smile, his hand brushing over his impeccably groomed hair.
“Please accept my sincerest apologies.”
“There are three types of men in the Federal Gendarmerie. People who are like me, people on the administrative side, and criminals, yes. Would you believe it, one of the men I had put in prison for a felony is now under my command.”
Captain Heine came from a family of military men in Austria, Fengshan remembered. His father had been an Obersturmmann of the cavalry, and his grandfather had been another military figure in the Austro-Hungarian Empire. Captain Heine had exuded a good sense of discipline, fairness, and tradition—the Viennese concepts of “quiet, order, and security”—before the Anschluss, anyway.
The waiter set a tray with two glasses of water, two cups of coffee, a saucer with sugar cubes, and two spoons on their table. Fengshan picked up his coffee cup. “How are you getting along with them?”
The captain laughed, turning to the side, winking at one of the women looking in his direction.
He almost spilled his coffee. The man was a lost cause!
“Captain?”
“Well, yesterday, two high-ranking gendarmes from the Federal Gendarmerie were detained for disciplinary reasons. One was ordered for forced labor in Styria. He was a war veteran, twice wounded.” Heine downed his glass of cognac.
Fengshan watched him intently. “In China, we have a phrase, ‘Shu Da Zhao Feng.’ Big trees attract gusts.”
The captain was shaking his head. “Good cognac. You should try it.”
Fengshan suppressed the urge to sigh. He had intended to ask the captain about Adolf Eichmann and his celebratory party; this conversation seemed to be going nowhere. “It has been a pleasure meeting you. I regret I must take my leave.”
“But, Herr Consul General, why in such a hurry? I have some information I thought you might be interested in. It’s about Adolf Eichmann.”
Fengshan sat upright. “Eichmann?”
“He mentioned you in a club and made some comments about you and China.”
This didn’t bode well. If Ambassador Chen heard that a German officer, even one of low rank, had vilified his country because of him, his opinion about him would change. “What kind of comments?”
“I shall not repeat his words here, but it seems he included you on a blacklist of some sort, citing your request of release for a Jewess at the Headquarters.”
“Well, it’s rather complicated. Back in May, when Grace was arrested, her tutor, a Jewess, was arrested as well.”
“And then you’ve provided visas to Mr. Rosenburg’s family.”
“It was only a handful of visas,” he protested.
“You’ve stopped issuing visas to the Viennese since then?”
He smiled. He didn’t intend to explain the visas he had issued to Dr. L?wenherz’s friends. Now that Ambassador Chen had relented, there was no reason not to open the door of his consulate wide.
“Eichmann is now the Obersturmführer, the chief of the Central Office for Jewish Emigration. All Jews with visas who leave Vienna must seek his approval and receive exit permits from him. He has ascended to be the Czar of the Jews.”
“Is this a genuine title?”
“It might be someday, considering the circumstances. I confess that Eichmann’s ascendance has taken everyone by surprise. He claimed he could oust a great number of Jews with this new agency, and he would expedite their expulsion. The Central Office was his idea. He’ll notice every visa approved by your consulate.” The captain leaned over the news rack behind him. There was the daily newspaper V?lkischer Beobachter; near it was the popular political and entertainment magazine for women, Das Kleine Frauenblatt, and the sickening Der Stürmer, which the patrons inside the café were reading. The liberal newspapers, such as Wiener Zeitung and Neue Freie Presse, had disappeared from the shelves. Captain Heine pulled out a stack and placed it on the table. A black-and-white portrait of Adolf Eichmann, with a thin face and a sleazy smile, stared back at him.
The coffee felt terrible in Fengshan’s stomach. “I have his invitation to attend his celebration party.”
The captain’s smooth smile disappeared. “The party should be nothing short of a spectacle, but whatever happens, I will be there. Now please excuse me; I have other matters to attend to. But, Herr Consul General, you might wish to learn more about the man’s background.”
This was indeed a positive conversation—at least he was able to make the distinction between a friend and a foe. “What can you tell me?”
“Perhaps you might wish to speak to the family of Adolf B?hm, a learned man, an author of two volumes that describe the history of the Zionist movement.”
“What happened to B?hm?”
“He’s under psychiatric care.”
“Do you mean B?hm had a nervous breakdown?”
“What I mean is it’s not an honor to be on Eichmann’s blacklist.”
“But, Captain Heine, here’s the conundrum: the chief officer of the Central Office for Jewish Emigration wants the Viennese Jews out of the country, and my country’s visas provide exactly an outlet they need. Why would the officer antagonize the consulate when we’re assisting him in his goal?”
“This, I reckon, is complicated.”
“I don’t mean to be ungrateful for your explanation, Captain Heine, but I doubt the chief officer of an emigration center wields influence over the foreign diplomats.”
“I’m afraid the American consul general should be the one to answer your questions.”
“Mr. Wiley?”