“Entschuldigen Sie die St?rung.” Fengshan walked to him.
The man looked up. Surprise leaped in his gray eyes, and he rose and strode toward Fengshan. “Herr Consul General? How are you? It’s an honor to see you at the Headquarters. How may I be of assistance?”
The man was a low-ranking officer, an Untersturmführer, likely, judging by the medal on his uniform. His German was formal, and he looked to be in his early thirties, tall, with narrow shoulders and lush hair. His face appeared long, thin, his gray eyes piercing, and his smile oily, with a detectable quality of sleaziness. This was a man eager to climb the social ladder, Fengshan could tell. But the man had recognized him, which was a surprise. Perhaps his appearances at clubs, cultural events, and banquets had helped increase his visibility.
“Sir, my apologies for visiting without formal notice beforehand. I haven’t been here before. The Hotel Metropole is quite lovely. I hate to trouble you after the work hour. I am here for my wife. It seems there was a mix-up, and my wife was taken here. May I request, humbly, for her release?” Fengshan spoke in fluent German.
“Your wife, Herr Consul General?” The man smiled, almost obsequiously.
“Ah, she’s one of the few Asian women in this city, I reckon, but she was born in America. Would it be too much trouble to have you look into the matter?”
“No trouble at all, Herr Consul General. May I offer my apology? This mix-up is most unfortunate. I shall take care of this right away. May I have her name?” He went back to the counter.
“Grace Lee.” Grace had kept her family name after their marriage.
“I see. The file says she broke the law, sitting on a bench that was designated for Aryans.”
He was not aware of that law. “Is that so? My wife can’t read German.”
“An honest mistake then. My apologies again, Herr Consul General. I shall have her released right away.” The officer presented him with another oily smile, turned on his heels, and picked up a phone on a counter behind him.
A huge weight lifted off Fengshan’s shoulders. His concerns about his country’s reputation being tarnished by the arrest seemed to be overblown. Once he rescued Grace, they would leave the building as quietly as possible, and few people would hear of this incident. He turned to admire the lobby. The Nazis had chosen a good hotel for their headquarters. Working here was like taking a vacation in a resort, with the grand chandelier, the expensive paintings, the mosaic marble floor, and notes of piano music tinkling in the air.
A thud came from somewhere, reverberating in the lobby. It sounded as if something heavy had crashed against the walls, and a faint groan echoed. Fengshan frowned.
The rumor about the brutal methods that the Nazis used at the Headquarters might be true. Confined in the opulent rooms must be some of the government’s dissidents, the Communists, Schuschnigg’s supporters, outspoken union leaders, or perhaps some Zionist leaders. Fengshan remembered what he had read in the newspapers. Grace, he prayed, was not subject to any torture.
Fengshan turned to the officer. “Sir, which room is she in, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“Well, I have made proper arrangements for your wife’s release, Herr Consul General. She should be here momentarily.”
Fengshan frowned. The man had not answered his question.
“I assure you she’s well, Herr Consul General. The officers will never do any harm to your wife. We Germans value the friendship between our countries. We’ve met, Herr Consul General. Do you remember me? I gave you a list of friends in Vienna who might be of interest to you.”
Fengshan studied him carefully. Since his arrival in Vienna last year, he had attended clubs, socialized with people at banquets, and organized many cultural events, including the ones in the Vienna Police Academy before it was absorbed into the Geheime Staatspolizei. He never forgot people’s names or faces. His exceptional memory was a source of his pride. “You must forgive me. Your name has slipped my mind.”
“I’m Adolf Eichmann. I came to Vienna a few months ago. I was working in Berlin.”
The name didn’t ring a bell. “Berlin?”
“I was transferred here to solve the Jewish problem.”
Adolf Eichmann.
“Hotel Sacher Wien, Herr Consul General. We had a cocktail together, and we had a great conversation regarding your country’s superb aircraft.”
Fengshan felt the heat rising in his face. In a country where Asian men were a pitiful minority, it was easy to be misidentified. But still, it was a nightmare to be mistaken for the diplomat of an enemy country that had invaded China and murdered thousands of his countrymen. There was no mild rebuff to this oversight. Fengshan raised his voice a notch. “I hope those fighters will be destroyed soon, Herr Eichmann. The merciless Japanese have murdered enough innocent people in China. I am Dr. Ho Fengshan, the consul general of the consulate of the Republic of China.”
A flicker of surprise passed through Eichmann’s eyes, and then his face changed. It was a concerning change, for the sheen of his sleaziness slid off, laying bare the skin of distaste underneath. Fengshan was alarmed—this was a lizard of a man who was skillful at changing his color and adapting to scruples as he wished.
“Of course. My poor memory. You’re Dr. Ho, the Chinese consul general. Forgive me. Delighted to meet you, Herr Consul General. Look, here comes your wife.”
Fengshan turned around. In the red-carpeted hallway, next to a guard, the small figure of Grace appeared, faltering. Her eyes were wide, alert, and her face was bloodless, lips swollen, a smear of redness on her chin. There was a peculiar expression on her face—something akin to happiness, it seemed. He rushed to her and put his arms around her to support her entire body, which was almost weightless.
“I’ve got you. I’ve got you. Let’s go home.” He wiped off the blood on her chin and murmured in English. Out of courtesy, he gave Eichmann a nonchalant nod, even though he was burning with fury. How could it be legal to arrest a woman for sitting on a public bench? And what kind of regime would torment a defenseless woman who weighed less than one hundred pounds? The Germans—the Nazis—couldn’t be trusted.
Outside, he passed the Brownshirts and the policemen in black uniforms and settled Grace in the car. He rubbed her back, comforting her. If they had had privacy, he would have let go of the Chinese custom and kissed her.
“Let’s go home, Grace.” He asked Rudolf to start the engine. The sooner they left here, the better.
“Wait, my dear.” Grace’s voice was a whisper, but she looked rather poised, not devastated, fearful, or tearful, as he had thought.
“What’s the matter?”
“Lola Schnitzel, my dear. She’s still in the dungeon. Could you please ask for her release as well?”
Grace had a habit of addressing him in her American way. But he, a conservative Chinese man adhering to Confucian teaching, didn’t consider it appropriate to address his wife in endearments. “Who’s Lola Schnitzel?”
“The tutor you recommended.”
He remembered all the tutors he had urged his wife to hire. Lola Schnitzel—or was it Schnitzler?—was a student. “Did you interview her?”