There was nothing else to do, so he spent his entire day reading newspapers in German and listening to the radio.
The conflicts between the countries intensified. The German newspaper declared that Germany would torpedo enemy British merchant ships they encountered on the sea; all British ships, which had aided the transfer of British soldiers, would now be regarded as warships. The British radio avowed that the government supported the merchant ships and armed them with weapons. A few radio channels also broadcast the French people’s displeasure at the Daladier administration. If this continued to escalate, Fengshan predicted a revolt against the president was on the horizon. But to his disappointment, there didn’t appear to be a strong voice or the emergence of a pivotal force to counter the growing power of Hitler.
The phone rang.
Fengshan put down the pair of long metal tongs he was using to stir the fire—the logs in the fireplace wouldn’t ignite. In his hurry, his tongs knocked on the fender and overturned it, spilling a tray of soot and ash. Frau Maxa was the one who took care of the fire. Had she been here, she would know what the problem was. Maybe the chimney was leaking.
Fengshan answered the phone. It was Ambassador Chen, who called to inquire about the annual evaluation process.
Yes, it was ready and would be mailed soon, Fengshan replied. It was likely that the ambassador’s evaluation of him was ready, too, but Fengshan held his tongue. He didn’t know what conclusion Counselor Ding had reached in his investigation—if the conclusion were unfavorable, then he would earn a demerit that would tarnish his entire diplomatic career.
He wasn’t an optimistic man, but he hoped that his superior, despite his personal feelings, would still give an accurate description of his job performance. After all, it was at his suggestion that his country was able to receive the twenty-five-million-dollar loan.
“I reckon you’re concerned about my evaluation of your job performance, Fengshan, and I shall be frank with you. I’m drafting it at the moment. Would you care to explain your relationship with a female fugitive?”
“A female fugitive?”
Grace, in her wheelchair, appeared at the door. She looked sluggish, her long hair draping across her face, her lips purple. She had been wearing two coats, covered with two blankets, but was still cold. Slowly, inch by inch, she wheeled toward the unlit fireplace.
“A Viennese Jewess. She has a scar on her face. She smuggled two hundred Jews across the border, and the German police are searching for her,” the ambassador said.
He hadn’t known this.
“It was reported that she came to your apartment and had interactions with you.”
As a diplomat, he knew this too well: inappropriate involvement with a woman, any acts of malfeasance, or any appearance of impropriety reflected poorly on his career and portrayed him in a negative light. And to be involved with a fugitive wanted by the Gestapo was a grave accusation indeed. His entire body tensed. “She’s Grace’s friend.”
“May I have a word with your wife?”
“Of course.” He held the phone up and beckoned Grace over. She looked puzzled, pulling the blankets tight around her, and slowly, she inched forward to the receiver. The thought that he should warn her about the grave consequences of this conversation crossed his mind.
“Greetings, Ambassador Chen,” she said in English, shivering, holding the receiver with her small hand.
Their conversation was brief, and Grace responded with a terse Yes or No a few times and then hung up. “The ambassador wanted to know if you were having a relationship with Lola.”
One wrong word from Grace and his reputation would be tarnished. “It’s for the annual job evaluation, Grace.”
“I told him that Lola was my friend.”
Thank you, he wanted to say, but she was already wheeling back to their bedroom.
Did she know her friend was a fugitive? Did she know Miss Schnitzler was in danger? He didn’t have a chance to ask.
Two days later, while he was again trying to start the fire in the fireplace, Miss Schnitzler returned, carrying a black bag, snow dusting her hat and coat. Her green eyes looked intense, her lips pursed. If what the ambassador said was true, he would like to help her.
“It’s good to see you, Miss Schnitzler. How can I help you?” Then, realizing she couldn’t hear, he jotted his question on a notebook from the desk.
Miss Schnitzler glanced at his note and walked to the fireplace, lit a match, and threw it under the logs. A spark leaped. Smoke smoldered. Expertly, she stirred with the tongs until a steady blaze of fire burned.
“Oh, this is wonderful. You started the fire!” he said.
“May I speak to Grace?” she said in her loud voice.
Of course, she’ll be happy to see you. But she’s asleep at the moment. Would you mind waiting for a while? he wrote.
She nodded, and then, looking around in her vigilant manner, she wrote, May I borrow twenty reichsmarks from you? I’ll pay you back one day.
She did not need the money for a meal, he could tell. With the Gestapo searching for her, he hoped she was putting the money to good use. Are you buying a boat ticket to Shanghai?
Nein, she wrote. I need some clothes.
Fengshan fetched his wallet from the desk. Had his superior known that he was giving a Jewish fugitive money, this would certainly ensure a demerit. The situation is quite dangerous for you. Are you planning to go to Shanghai?
Not yet.
Then where are you going?
To the Hotel Sacher.
He frowned. All Jews had been banned from entering the hotel since the Anschluss.
Miss Schnitzler took the money and began to scribble. He’s in Vienna.
Who?
Eichmann.
He was not aware of that. A Spanish newspaper had been talking about Eichmann’s promotion in Prague and his purchase of a home for his wife, which had previously been owned by a well-known Spanish artist. It hadn’t mentioned Eichmann’s return to Vienna.
He’s now reporting to Himmler directly. He’s been given the job of eliminating the Jews in the entire protectorate.
Fengshan shivered. That was unthinkable.
She wrote, He’s staying at the Hotel Sacher with his mistress.
It was a fashionable thing, Captain Heine had said, for elite Nazi officers to keep mistresses.
She took another piece of paper. Room 1004.
How do you know this?
I must go now. She put down her pen and went to their bedroom.
“I’ve come to say goodbye, Grace.” There came her booming voice.
Grace said something, her voice sleepy, weak. Then a long silence.
Fengshan scrutinized the words in the notebook. He would like to ask how Miss Schnitzler learned so much about Eichmann and why she would go to the hotel when the Gestapo officers hunted for her. He was moving toward the bedroom when Miss Schnitzler appeared at the doorway with her bag. She raised her hand and wiped at her eyes.
Something fell out of her bag. A black object. She hastened to pick it up and stuff it back in her bag. It was smoky in the room with the fire, but he was certain what he had glimpsed: a revolver.
Before he could ask, she was at the door. “Goodbye, Herr Consul General.”
The door closed behind her.
Fengshan sprang into their bedroom. “Grace! What did Miss Schnitzler tell you? What is she planning to do?”