Between the lines

[Maka]

Jake had changed into a conservative suit and dark tie, drawing a raincoat over the tight muscles of his body. He looked like a bronzed, bright-eyed, athletic college senior on his way to the spring dance. The mind's eye half-instinctively filled in the blanks -the proud parents at home, the powerful, sleek convertible waiting in the driveway, the shelf full of medals, the gorgeous girl on his arm. None of it fit with the city or the time -but the gorgeous girl at least was there, waiting outside Jake's door.

Alice looked more breathtaking desirable than ever in her charcoal-grey dress. The colours of her outfit were sombre, but that only lent emphasis to the glorious youth and beauty of her features, the radiance of her shy smile. She looked like an angel who had descended into a dark place.

Jake lent her his arm with a mock-formal bow.

"M'lady."


The Blue Angel was a few streets away, at the heart of a tangled warren of backstreets on the eastern side of the river. It was a cellar bar, marked only by the blinking blue neon sign of an winged form, plunging like a diver towards the earth.

"Everyone comes here," Jake confided as he strode towards the stairs. "It's in a bit of a territorial black spot between the Russian and the American sectors, so it's a good place to meet contacts."

Down below, the low-roofed cellar was thick and hot with trails of weaving, curling blue smoke. GIs jostled with Russian soldiers, exchanging cold stares and occasionally muttered curse words in English and Russian. Provocatively dressed girls sat, conspicuously alone, at tables by themselves -clearly prostitutes awaiting clientele. In the shadows between the pillars, furtive men slipped from table to table, suitcase in hand.

"Black marketeers," whispered Jake to Alice. "Cigarettes, perfume, razor blades, cognac -you name it."

A curious change had come over Jake ever since they set foot on the streets, and it was all the more marked now. Despite his all-American looks, he somehow seemed to belong in Berlin. He wore the ruined city like a coat. The intrigues and mysteries of Berlin, even the degradation and squalor -they seemed to satisfy him in some obscure way, to excite and seduce him.

Heads had turned as the pair descended the stairs. Alice's exquisite body and delicate good looks drew an array of longing, hungry stares and muffled curses.

One man was sitting alone at the bar, levelly regarding a tumbler of smokey Scotch. He turned with the others.

He was a lean man in his early thirties, with dark hair and piercing grey eyes. His body could have been sculpted from stone and his face completed the illusion -it was handsome but all hard, enigmatic and unyielding angles. Weariness and cynicim had been stamped on to it. Only the eyes gave something more than that away. They were eyes that were still looking for something. They were fierce and intelligent and restless. If Jake was the archetypal college athlete, this man was something from some older order of things -a knight errant in tarnished armour.

He gave both Jake and Alice a hard, unreadable look then returned his attention to the empty stage bordering the bar.

"Well," said Jake. "You wanted him, you've got him. That there sourpuss is Lieutenant Martin J. Calloway of Her Majesty's Armed Forces."

 

[Sweet_Denna]

The walk along the river Spree was pleasant, and again Alice felt thankful for having met such a perfect gentleman as Jake to help her around Berlin. His presence was reassuring, and his good mood was contagious. Every now and then he pointed out a landmark site – or the place where it had formerly been – to her. “You seem to know Berlin like the inside of your hand, Jake”, she said admiringly. “I could not have asked for a better guide!”

When they arrived at the club, Alice saw that the grey dress had been a very smart choice, and still she was very conscious about the stares and whispers. She moved a bit closer to Jake, and grabbed his arm just a little bit tighter.

Jake had said that the Blue Angel was a good place to meet contacts and potential informants, and Alice could immediately see why. It had an air of secrecy and possibility, slightly shady and yet classy enough for anyone to walk in and feel comfortable. It was then that Jake pointed out the man sitting by himself at the bar as Lieutenant Calloway, the detective who now worked for the British Military Police.

From the way Jake had talked about him earlier, Alice had expected an older, and certainly a less attractive man. Her eyes met his for the briefest of seconds before he turned away. To Alice it looked as if Jake’s dislike of Sergeant Calloway was very much mutual, even if his face did not betray a single emotion. “He doesn’t seem very pleased to see you again, Jake”, she whispered, and with a teasing smile she added: “I hope that he will still talk to me after having seen me by your side.”

They chose a table not too far from the still empty stage, and Alice wondered if the Blue Angel had been able to keep up a regular evening programme. She would not have minded a bit of music.

“Let me get the first round”, she told Jake, putting a hand on his arm. “After all you have done for me the least I can do is buy you a drink.” She put her coat over the backrest of a wobbly wooden chair and smiled at him. “And it would give me a pretext to introduce myself to the charming lieutenant without having to involve you.”

Under normal circumstances, Alice would have preferred to be formally introduced to the British detective, but the situation could hardly be called normal.

Lost in thought, she saw an American GI trade his wristwatch for a set of razorblades and what seemed like a series of blurry photographs, while a skinny blonde girl in a tattered flapper dress sat on his knee. Another soldier, a Frenchman by the look of his uniform, had his hand on her thigh, but neither of the three seemed to mind the arrangement. She watched as the blonde girl plucked the cigarette from the GI’s lips to take a long drag, only to blow the smoke in the French soldier’s face flirtatiously, and tried to decide if this was peace-making, or retaliation, or a bit of both.

Two Russian guys were counting rifle bullets standing in as poker chips, and when one of them caught her eye, he grinned, and flicked his tongue over his thumb in an obscene and highly suggestive gesture. Alice turned away, blushing, while both of them started laughing. A man holding a greasy brown suitcase walked up to her, and whispered: “Perfume, mein Fräulein? Lipstick? Something to please the boys?” She shook her head. “Nein, danke.” Unflustered, the wandering salesman went along to the next potential customer.

Alice wondered how a city like this would ever be able to find normalcy again.

She wandered over to the bar, and it suddenly occurred to her that she had not asked Jake what he wanted to drink. Her eyes wandered across the dusty bottles lined up in the back, while a bored-looking bar keeper made his way over to her. “Wat darfs denn sein, Fräulein?” he asked in the drawling accent of a real Berliner, and Alice looked up at him: “Zwei Scotch, bitte.” The bar keeper raised an eyebrow. Unsmiling, he asked: “Amerikanerin, wa?” She nodded, slightly embarrassed that her own accent was that obvious. “Come to see the city? A bit of sight-seeing in Berlin?” The slightly aggressive undertone in his voice was unmistakable, but Alice remained calm. “I am afraid not. I am here to look for someone.”

The bar keeper placed two tumblers of bronze-coloured scotch in front of her and smirked in the direction of Lieutenant Calloway. “Ah, well, aren’t we all? Viel Glück, Fräulein.”

Now or never. Alice did not care much for convoluted introductions and she did not have much talent for flirtatious first lines. And why bother? Calloway had seen her walk into the bar with Jake.

“Lieutenant Calloway?“ She smiled reluctantly. “Excuse me for bothering you like this, but a...” she hesitated. “…a mutual friend told me about you. I might be in need of your help.” Alice suddenly wondered what lines the prostitutes in the bar used to pick up customers, and could not help but blush. Holding out a hand, she added: “My name is Alice McGregor, I am a private detective from New York.”

 

[Maka]

Calloway turned. His face was expressionless as he looked over Alice's lovely, piquant face, intermittently lit by the Blue Angel's dim overhead lights. He took her hand. His hand was calloused, steady and hard.

"How do you do, Miss McGregor?"

His accent was clipped, upper class English, his tone unsympathetic but not condescending or dismissive. Calloway had shown no surprise at the stated profession of the slender young beauty before him.

"And what brings you to Berlin? I see you've already made friends."

He indicated Jake with a motion of his head. Jake winked at him. Calloway rolled his eyes and returned his gaze to Alice. His gaze was piercing and frank in a way that the other stares Alice was recieving were not. Calloway's eyes were trained on Alice's face while other Blue Angel clientele greedily took in the swell of her cleavage underneath her dress's neckline, the curve of her tightly rounded rear end or the sensuous curves of her slim hips, and yet the contact was more intense.

 

[Sweet_Denna]

Alice looked over her shoulder and saw Jake grinning in their direction. “Yes, I met Jake on the plane here, only today. He helped me find a place to stay…” She turned back to face Calloway again. “And he told me about you.”

She appreciated his serious manner. As far as she remembered, this was the first time that a man did not crack a joke or showed any surprise when she told them what line of work she was in. Alice wondered if he was being British about it, or if he was actually able to take a young, female colleague seriously. For a moment she considered the possibility of slightly bending the truth as to her mission in Berlin, thinking that it would be unwise to tell a complete stranger about the Polish composer, but decided against it. If he was a British military police officer, he would have little interest in obstructing her investigation.

“I am here to look for someone”, she said in a low voice to avoid the bar keeper eavesdropping. “A Polish composer and musician who vanished four years ago in Berlin.” She paused, aware of how ridiculous this would possibly sound in the lieutenant’s ears. “His name is Jozef Berkowicz, he was…he is Jewish. His family have recently received news of him, or somebody with his name, renting a room in Zehlendorf, so they have asked me to find out more.” She pulled one of the tumblers closer to her, but did not raise it. “I know it seems a bit odd that I ask you, and in a place like this, but I have to start somewhere.” The ice cubes in her glass jingled softly as she slightly lifted the scotch. “Jake told me that you were a detective, and that you worked in Krakow sometimes. I thought that you might have heard something, or that you might be able to point me in the direction of someone who did.”

Alice took a deep breath and smiled apologetically. Seen the clientele in the Blue Angel, Calloway had probably heard stranger propositions than hers before. And then, remembering something, she added, leaning closer to his ear: “Oh, and I did not tell Jake about this. Seen as he is a journalist. The Berkowicz family has asked me to keep this story out of the press for the time being.”

Raising the tumbler to her lips, she took a sip from her scotch, curious if Calloway would be able to help her, or if he would simply laugh at her and send her back to her American friend.

 

[Maka]

Calloway looked at Alice, standing very close to him in the crowded bar, tilting his head to one side.

"Jozef Berkowicz," he repeated. "Do you enjoy music, Miss McGregor? Even in his early work, he showed the kind of discipline and sensitivity that most composers only pick up over an entire career."

He set his glass down very precisely on the table. Calloway's every movement seemed to be controlled, modulated, as though his hard body were perfectly subordinated to his will. He looked at Alice for a long time, seeming to weigh her in his mind.

"If I were you," he said at last, "I'd return to New York as soon as possible."

He called to the barman.

"Klaus. Anything Miss McGregor and her companion require is on me for the rest of the night."

Klaus bowed his head. "Jawohl, Herr Calloway."

This seemed to be the end of the conversation, Calloway returning his attention to the Scotch in front of him. But just as Alice turned to go, he lifted his head again.

"But if you are a lover of music, you might want to stay for the evening's entertainment. She does sing beautifully."


As Alice returned to Jake, a performer, a woman dressed in a simple black dress, moved out on to the empty stage. She was not announced or introduced but a hush quickly fell over the raucous night club. A trembling spotlight illuminated the singer's sad, beautiful face as she adjusted the microphone. It was Lieselotte Junker.

Lieselotte spoke in English, a husky, German-accented drawl.

"Thank you. And welcome to new friends... and old."

She looked at Calloway as she said this, giving him a sad and tired smile. Calloway raised his glass to her in an understated, sympathetic toast, then looked directly at Alice, his expression unreadable.

 

[Sweet_Denna]

Alice frowned at Lieutenant Calloway’s comments, but said nothing. Fantastic. Yet another man explaining to her what she should and should not do. While she was well used to it, somehow she was also disappointed. Her first impression of the British detective did not fit this rather cool rebuff of her plea for help. It seemed very clear that he knew more than he led on to believe, but for some reason he did not want to share his knowledge with her. Had she said something to insult him? But no, chances were that Calloway was simply an arrogant, self-satisfied prick. Jake was certainly right to think that Lieutenant Calloway was an arrogant oddball, and a rather unpleasant character. Drawing a deep breath, she forced a smile.

“Well, thank you for your well-meaning advice, Lieutenant. It was a pleasure meeting you.” The tone of her voice was unmistakably dismissive. She took hold of her glass and prepared to return to Jake, when he addressed her again. Alice did not know what to reply, and just nodded.

Walking over to Jake, she rolled her eyes to indicate that her attempt at melting the British detective’s heart had failed, and she was just about to make a comment on her encounter with Calloway when a hush fell over the nightclub. Intrigued, Alice turned around to see what – or rather who - everyone was staring at. “Impossible!” Alice almost dropped the glass she was carrying. She had only whispered the word, but a man wearing a worn-out uniform at a table next to her frowned and put a finger to his lips, signalling her to be quiet.

She joined Jake at their table. The beautiful woman now adjusting the microphone on the small, grubby stage was without any doubt the actress Lieselotte Junker. Had Jake not known that she was a regular performer here? Had he wanted to surprise her? She looked at him, but did not speak, for fear that she would yet again shatter the almost reverent silence that had spread though the Blue Angel.

Just then, she met the dark gaze of the British detective at the bar. Was this a hint? A threat? Miss Junker clearly knew Lieutenant Calloway, and Alice wondered in what circumstances they might have met, but for some reason she could not help but think that she was much closer to Jozef Berkowicz than ever before.

She leant in to Jake. “It’s her, isn’t it? Have you seen her here before?” Alice felt the excitement of closing in on her first real lead. The performer would definitely be able to tell her more about the Polish composer.

 

[Maka]

"My young love said to me,
My mother won't mind
And my father won't slight you
For your lack of kine."

The choice was a curious one, an Irish folksong for this dark, defeated German city, but Lieselotte's husky voice made it sound somehow intimate and thrilling.

Jake smiled at Alice. The excitement in her eyes was dazzling, infectious. She seemed to shine in the dark confines of the Blue Angel.

"I'd heard a rumour, is all. You were asking about her and ol' Calloway -I thought we might be lucky enough to see both in one night."

"And she laid her hand on me
And this she did say:
It will not be long, love,
Till our wedding day."

There was a heartbreaking, imploring note to Lieselotte's voice as the song continued and what might have been a tear sparkling at the very edge of her eye. The entire room was hushed. A brass-haired, busty whore whom Alice had previously seen rewarding a GI for a drink with a glimpse of her breast, listened with obvious emotion.

"And then she made her way homeward,
With one star awake,
As the swan in the evening
Moved over the lake."

Jake leaned forward to whisper in Alice's ear, her closeness more heady and intoxicating than the blackmarket Scotch in their glasses.

"What joy of friend Calloway, by the way? I can't imagine you got very much out of that one."

Lieselotte seemed to be looking directly at Alice as she sung the last verse. Her mesmerizing, glittering dark gaze held that of the detective.

"Last night she came to me,
My dead love came in.
So softly she came
That her feet made no din.
As she laid her hand on me,
And this she did say:
It will not be long, love,
'Til our wedding day."

There was a soft ripple of applause as she finished, still looking at Alice.

 

[Sweet_Denna]

Alice was surprised that Lieselotte Junker would choose an Irish song for her performance in the Blue Angel. Then again, the overwhelming majority of the night club’s patron would not have understood any of the songs that might have been performed on the same stage before: Tucholsky maybe, or Kurt Weill.

The singer had a husky, beautiful voice. The young detective found herself mesmerised. “Lucky indeed”, Alice whispered back, her eyes on Junker. “Though I do hope that Fräulein Junker will prove a little more accessible than the British lieutenant.”

What a sad song. She could see one of the British soldiers discreetly wipe his eyes, obviously very moved by the words. Alice wondered about the rumours Jake and Chris had told him about in the car. If Lieselotte Junker had indeed gone to bed with the Nazis, how was it possible that she was still performing, and performing in a location like the Blue Angel? How had she managed to rehabilitate herself in the eyes of these men?

She lifted the glass of Scotch to her lips, enjoying the sharp burn of the golden-brown liquor. When Alice put the glass back on the table, her hand brushed against Jake’s and she looked at him, smiling. Would the scotch be even better if she would taste it on his lips? Alice felt the blood rising in her cheeks and she turned her head back to the German actress. Clearly the heady atmosphere in the Blue Angel was contagious, somehow intoxicating. “Nothing from Calloway”, she said distractedly. “I think you are right about him. We definitely did not take to each other.” She looked for the British detective still sitting at the bar, but he had turned back to watch the stage. “It seems like he and Lieselotte Junker know each other quite well?”

But if Jake did answer her question, she did not hear it as the German performer’s gaze now directly fell on her. Alice stood very still, unable to look away. It seemed as if she was singing only for her now, as if every other person sitting in the nightclub had vanished. The words of the song drifted through the smoke of the nightclub. It appeared that Lieselotte Junker knew who she was, and why she was here, but was that possible?

When the song ended, and applause had faded, Alice wanted to walk over to the stage, but decided that she needed to wait and see if Lieselotte Junker was done with her performance. She also did not want to be seen talking to her that obviously. So she held the singer’s gaze, hoping that she would make the first move.

 

[Maka]

Jake watched in obvious fascination as Alice sipped her whisky. His hand bushed against hers and her face coloured prettily. She looked stunning -her young, nubile and slender body sheathed in her tight-fitting grey dress, outlining its soft, callipygian curves. Her lovely face was lit up with her irresistible combination of intelligence, shy hope and excitement, with just a hint of repressed, naughty mischief and desire giving a little spice to those sparkling brown eyes.

Jake moved closer, touched her bare shoulder gently, and whispered in her ear.

"Yeah, Calloway's just like that. Now that you've met him, it's probably best to give him a wide berth in future. He's trouble, that guy. Most likely, he'll just disappear again in a few days anyway."

Jake took another sip of whisky.

"Yeah, he and Lieselotte seem tight. I don't know what the deal is there."

As Alice approached the stage, she was able to get a clearer look at the singer on stage. Lieselotte Junker was a magnificent, slender young beauty, queenly in her straightbacked, commanding posture. Her skin was creamy, clear ivory and her dress's swooping neckline showed off large, firm breasts to full advantage. But her most arresting feature was her eyes -deep dark pools -eyes that seemed filled with sorrow and pain, eyes that seemed devilishly knowing and angelically wise all at once. It was easy to picture how they must have once flashed on the Weimar cinema screen.

As Alice came closer to the stage, Lieselotte made eye contact and nodded discreetly to a door behind the stage. Slipping inside, Alice found a backroom that had been converted into a makeshift dressing room, with one large, cracked mirror hanging on the wall opposite the door, and a couple of slatted folding chairs on a scuffed concrete floor.

There was a burst of applause from behind the door, thn it swung open and the actress entered her dressing room, pulling her elbow-length gloves off with an understated, strangely sensuous movement. She lifted an expectant eyebrow at the detective.

 

[Sweet_Denna]

Alice felt strangely intimidated by the German actress. Despite everything that she must have been through, despite the rumours and her dubious reputation, Lieselotte Junker had a commanding, self-confident air about her. The young detective smiled, and held out her hand.

“Guten Abend, Fräulein Junker”, she said. „I hope you don’t mind that I am so audacious, but I really need to speak to you.” Alice paused, weighing the most tactful ways to introduce the topic of her unannounced visit backstage.

“This song was very beautiful”, she continued. “And very sad.” Deciding that it would be best to simply address her query, she added: “Forgive me, I have forgotten to introduce myself: my name is Alice McGregor. I am a private detective from the US…from New York.” Another pause. The beautiful actress’ eyes seemed to bear into hers, and she had to look away. “I am here to look for someone you might have known. His name is Jozef Berkowicz. I was wondering if you might help me find him.”

She took a deep breath. Hopefully Lieselotte Junker would spare her the embarrassment of throwing her out of her dressing room after this rather clumsy entry.

 

[Maka]

Lieselotte took Alice's hand in hers. Her touch was cool. She leaned forward to kiss the beautiful young detective on the cheek, her lips seeming to linger for just a moment. Her eyes were smoky and veiled.

"I see," she said at the end of Alice's speech. "Of course, I remember Jozef. We were young and innocent. Please, take a seat."

Lieselotte drew up the remaining folding chair and sat, her head cocked to one side, watching Alice very closely. Her eyes trace the lovely, delicate curves of the detective's face, the night black curls of her hair, her shining eyes.

"You look less like the private eye, like Humphrey Bogart," she said at last, her voice low and husky. "And more like the beautiful girl Bogart has to save."

There was mischevious amusement in her eyes, eclipsing but not erasing the sorrow. "I have no doubt that stands you in good stead when it comes to your trade. Men always underestimate beautiful women."

She stretched like a supple, lazy cat, her firm ivory breasts pressing against the fabric of her dress.

"No doubt you've heard the stories about me?"

 

[Sweet_Denna]

Alice felt herself blush. For some reason she had anticipated for Lieselotte Junker to be annoyed, stand-offish, maybe even genuinely angry at her inquisitiveness in the face of a complete stranger, but it turned out that the artist was not any of these things. The young detective also could not help but notice the heady sensuality that seemed to surround Lieselotte Junker, the elegance and grace of her every movement, the erotic power in her gaze alone. It was not hard to imagine that men had fallen under her spell. For a moment, Alice wondered if the bitter Lieutenant had bedded the beautiful singer, and she had to admit that the thought - imagining them together - was rather tantalising. Clearly, she would have to slow down on the Scotch.

“You flatter me, Fräulein Junker”, Alice finally replied. “But I do admit that simply being a woman often leads men to underestimate me. It does help sometimes.” She thought of Calloway and frowned. “But it can just as often be an obstacle to doing my job.”

Now that Lieselotte had mentioned the composer, Alice was impatient to hear more about their relationship. But she also knew that hasty bluntness sometimes threatened to shut down a good lead entirely.

“I have heard certain rumours”, Alice said softly, reluctantly. “About your love affair with a German officer.” She smiled. “Are they true?”

 

[Maka]

"Baltasar von Radd," said Lieselotte, tapping a slender finger to full, ripe lips. The gesture was provocative, a movie-star's patented 'thoughtful yet moody' look, but there was a glimpse of something else in those dark eyes, of pain and fear startling in its intensity. She looked Alice over again, her eyes dwelling on Alice's intent expression, moving down as though to catalogue firmly rounded breasts and a tight, slim waist above shapely legs.

"He would have liked you. He liked beautiful women very much and he could be very charming. The worst men often can be. Whereas Jozef... mein Gott, no! A moodier, more self-absorbed man never lived. He was quite intolerable, though every bit as brilliant as they say. More so. Do you smoke, Miss McGregor?"

Offering Alice one, Lieselotte took and lit a cigarette. She seemed to take a sensuous delight in the action itself, imbuing the motion with a kind of erotic charge, a suggestiveness that took the form of sidelong glances under lowered lashes, of pouting, pursed lips and fluttering hand-gestures.

"Baltasar was brilliant too, of course. Hitler put him in charge of the rocket program and he knew more about it than anyone else in the whole regime. He was a very cruel man."

For a moment, Lieselotte's elegantly suggestive persona disappeared and her eyes became haunted and sad.

"Let me tell you a story about Baltasar von Radd. In the early days of the war, when I took up with him, I knew that he didn't love me, or anyone, but I thought that he would protect me as long as I could please him. And I had friends from the Weimar days that needed protection as well -Jews, Communists... homosexuals. Baltasar let me give them shelter, he let it be known that they and I were all under his authority."

Lieselotte inhaled the smoke from her cigarette.

"We knew we had to get out, and we knew Baltasar would never let me leave the country. So we made our plans. We found people we thought we could trust, bribed guards on an airfield. We were going to fly to Britain... "

She looked at Alice.

"He let us get to the airfield. He even let us board the plane -that's where he was waiting. He'd been watching us all the time. We'd been dealing with his spies. He sent my friends to the camp, he brought me home. That was when I knew that Baltasar would indeed protect me as long as I pleased him -but sometimes he was best pleased by hurting me."

 

[Sweet_Denna]

“Yes, thank you.” Alice took the cigarette and leant forward for Lieselotte to light it, aware of the performer’s intent gaze. It caused a strange arousal in the young detective, and for a brief second, she held Lieselotte Junker’s gaze, almost as if trying to challenge her.

Baltasar von Radd. Alice nodded. She recalled having seen his photograph in the papers. A handsome man, certainly, in a cold, cruel kind of way. She tried to remember what had become of him. Had he survived the war to the end?

Alice held her breath at Lieselotte’s tale.

“That’s….horrible”, she whispered as she concluded it. “How awful.”

She tried to imagine what it must have been like to follow this man back home after this, to endure his touch, to pleasure him, after he had sent all of her friends to a certain and inhumane death. The cigarette in her hand trembled slightly. The beautiful actress must have known then, too, that she was never safe, not even despite the gruesome bargain that she had struck with the officer. That von Radd might just decide to crush her, to send her away, like he had all the others. Alice felt ill. What had it been like to sleep with the man who held death at his fingertips like a willing marionette?

“Was he mad at you?”

She blushed. The question sounded naïve. In her mind’s eye, she pictured a triumphant, towering von Radd, making Lieselotte feel the whole extent of her humiliating and terrifying defeat. A true sadist he must have been, revelling in the pain of someone so utterly at his mercy.

How far had von Radd pushed her? Had she ever tried to rebel, to fight back? Had she never, maybe at night, been tempted to take the officer’s gun and put an end to his life? Part of her want to despise Lieselotte for ever having agreed to sell herself to a murderer, but Alice also wondered if she would have acted differently, would she have had to make a similar choice: after all, where did morality end and survival begin? The young detective felt a pang of anger against Jake and his friend Chris. It seemed cruel to judge her, to dismiss her loyalties off-hand. Did they have any idea what Lieselotte Junker had been through?

She took another drag from her cigarette. “What happened afterwards?” Alice was locked to Lieselotte’s dark gaze. “And where is von Radd now?”

The other question, the one that she did not dare ponder, remained unasked. Had Jozef been amongst those friends on the plane?

 

[Maka]

Alice steadily held Lieselotte's gaze as the actress lit her cigarette, almost seeming to dare the other woman to look away. Lieselotte did not and the burning intensity of the moment stretched out, seemed almost about to seethe and bubble over. Lieselotte projected an air of sophistication, world-weariness, sadness and yet underneath it all a smouldering, barely restrained sexuality. She watched almost hungrily as Alice's ripe lips came together in a sensual pout to expel a jet of smoke.

"He was... cruel to me afterwards," was all she said, but the words and her eyes spoke volumes.

"I saw less of him as the war started to go against the Axis. Hitler and his inner circle thought that Baltasar might be their best chance of winning the war -that his research into nuclear physics might give them some weapon like the atom bomb. He was given his choice of slave labour from the camps in Poland. He kept me under guard in his Berlin townhouse -his plaything waiting for him. He liked to play... games with me."

Lieselotte's eyes were bleak and far away.

"Then, he just disappeared, just as the Red Army advanced into Poland. He'd been on one of his trips to Poland at the time. I wish that I could believe he was dead, that he'd been killed by the Russians, but I know better."

Lieselotte looks at Alice.

"Please understand, Miss McGregor. I will never be able to sleep peacefully until Baltasar von Radd has been brought to justice."

 

[Sweet_Denna]

Alice inhaled deeply, her eyes fixed on the beautiful actress. Games. Cruel games. She did not want to imagine what that might have entailed. How terrifying must it have been to be at such a man’s mercy, to have to obey to his every whim, his every wish, no matter how painful, or how humiliating? What else but obedience did Lieselotte Junker have to bargain with in this gamble, in which nothing less than her life had been at stake?

“I…I am sorry to hear that”, she whispered.

When Lieselotte told her about von Radd’s disappearance, Alice frowned.

“How can you be so sure that he is not dead?” She paused, trying to remember. A prominent officer like Baltasar von Radd would have had a hard time of simply slipping away unnoticed. But then again she could not recall confirmed reports of his death either. He had not been at Nuremberg. None of the newspaper articles that she had combed through, looking for clues on Jozef Berkowicz’ itinerary, had mentioned his name.

She took a last, long drag from her cigarette. Thinking out loud, she said, more to herself than to Lieselotte Junker: “How can it be that the most famous, most talented and most deadly Nazi nuclear physicist simply vanished, without anybody asking any more questions about it?” Because that was it, really: not that he seemed to be gone, but that nobody wondered where he might be.

Alice shook her head, smiling sadly. She had not been employed to look for the Nazi officer, however.

She lightly touched Lieselotte’s wrist. “I sincerely hope that you will find the satisfaction of certainty. I often find that there is nothing more healing.”

Clearing her throat, she continued. “But tell me about Jozef…when did you last see him?”

 

[Maka]

Lieselotte shook her head.

"I am sure he is not dead. But why is nobody asking questions, mm? Why do the war correspondents never talk of Baltasar von Radd?"

She shrugged, her firm, creamy breasts jiggling inside the tight black confines of her dress. Her eyes, though, seemed to hint at some secret knowledge of her own. Alice recieved the strong impression that there was something the filmstar was not telling her.

"You are the detective, Miss McGregor. Perhaps you can tell me. As for Jozef... our affair fell apart at much the same time as the country. For months afterwards, I would not speak to him. And then, as the times grew darker, I became concerned. I regretted the foolish things I'd said to him, I came to treasure the memory of the things about him that used to make me so angry. I searched for him... but could not find him. That was a time when many Jews were disappearing from this country, Miss McGregor. The lucky ones to America..."

She sighs, letting out a jet of smoke through full, soft lips then stubbing out her cigarette.

"I made discreet inquiries, but I had to be careful. Baltasar could have protected Jozef, but if he'd had any inkling how dear Jozef was to me, he would have had killed him. Not out of jealousy, not quite -just to enjoy hurting me. Sometimes, he'd mention Jozef, hint that he knew where he was, but I was never sure of the truth."

Lieselotte looks at Alice. Once again, those brilliant dark eyes are shocking, mesmerising. They seem like midnight wells filled with sorrow and secrets.

"If Jozef is still alive, do not be surprised if you find him elusive. Thoe of us who lived through Germany's darkest days survived however we could. We did things we do not wish to be reminded of. He may no longer wish to be Jozef Berkowicz, and he may not wish people to find him. But if you do find him..."

Lieselotte's hands suddenly clasp Alice's face. With surprising strength, she brings the detective's lips to her own in a deep, electric and passionate kiss. Her lips are soft and warm.

"Give him this," she finishes with a secret smile.

 

[Sweet_Denna]

Alice pondered this, looking intently at the beautiful German actress. This was the thing that bothered her the most: the complete silence around von Radd’s alleged disappearance. She should probably ask Jake – he was a journalist after all, a war correspondent, he should have answers to these questions, or be able to point her to someone who did.

She also had the very strong feeling that Lieselotte Junker was not entirely upfront with her. Maybe it was the way she flicked the ash from her cigarette, or a strange glimmer in the dark pools of her eyes. Alice had been in this job long enough to detect jealously-kept secrets, even if she was unable to lure out the nature of it. Again, the haunted look of the performer made her shiver. So even now, with von Radd – if he was still alive – being the one hunted and outcast, the idea of his presence still scared her. What had he done to her?

“When was the last time that von Radd mentioned Jozef Berkowicz to you?” Alice lowered her gaze. She did not enjoy the dark shimmer in Lieselotte’s eyes each time that she mentioned the Nazi officer’s name.

But it seemed like the actress, too, did not think it impossible that the Polish composer was still alive. Despite her uncertainty, this was a relief.

“I think he might be alive.” A smile lightened up her delicate face. “This is the reason I am here, and I am intent on finding him. Maybe you’ll get another chance to tell him the things you could not before…”

But before she could finish the sentence, the gorgeous actress leant in, gently holding her cheeks. Alice did not resist. Somehow, she had anticipated this, maybe longed for it even. “I…” But Lieselotte’s full lips met hers in a passionate, deep kiss.

The young detective closed her eyes with a sigh, submitting to the intense feeling of pleasure rising from her fingertips, rushing to her core.

When Lieselotte broke the kiss, she had to catch her breath. “I…I will…,” she stammered. “I promise.”

Before she got up, she turned around. “How will I find you again?” She smiled. “If I need to?”

 

[Maka]

As the kiss broke, even Lieselotte's face was a little flushed and her eyes burned hot. She leaned back with a slow, sensual languor, and lit another cigarette, watching Alice beneath heavy-lidded eyes.

"The last time Baltasar mentioned Jozef? It's hard to say. So much of that time seems to blur into one long, dark night... Before he left for Poland, he used to ask me if I had any message for Jozef, that perhaps he'd see him in Krakow. There was that double-meaning. Jozef was from Krakow, but Auschwitz was nearby. He wanted me to wonder, to fret, and to fear... "

Lieselotte was still watching Alice, her lips still a little pouted, as though fresh from their hot, sweet kiss.

"If you... want me again," there was a coquettish yet coolly knowing emphasis the word 'want', "Calloway will know where I am. I move around a great deal, you see. But Calloway will always know where to find me."


Emerging back into the bar area, Alice once again appeared like a beautiful, brilliant angel but now one who had tasted a little hint of the sinful pleasures of the world. There was a fading crimson flush to her cheeks and a thoughtful, dreamy smile on her lips.

Jake rose to his feet, his head cocked to one side.

"Any luck?"

 

[Sweet_Denna]

Alice nodded, but said nothing. It seemed increasingly clear that Baltasar von Radd held the key to Jozef Berkowicz, or at least to someone who would be able to tell her more about his movements before he vanished. And if Lieselotte’s instincts did not betray her – fear was a powerful drug, after all – the Nazi officer was still alive, possibly hiding somewhere. Alice realised that the thought of having to look for him frightened her.

Then Lieselotte’s words tore her from her thoughts. Alice blushed deeply.

Again she wondered what kind of relationship the beautiful German actress and the British officer entertained, but she also knew that now was not the right moment to ask this. But she made a mental note to find out more the next time.

“I am sure that I will…want you again soon, Fräulein Junker,” Alice said with a shy smile. “It was truly a pleasure to meet you.” With that, she left the small dressing room to join her American friend in the bar.

She touched her lips, lost in thought, and smiled. The memory of Lieselotte’s kiss still lingered, sending small electric shocks through her nervous system, making her knees shiver with desire. Lieselotte was not the first woman she had kissed – or loved – and the American detective suddenly realised with certainty that she would see the actress again, that she had to.

When she spotted Jake, Alice nodded and smiled. “I think it would be fair to say that yes, I was lucky.” Reaching for her glass of scotch, she added: “And I think that you and Chris are wrong about Lieselotte Junker. She has been through a lot, you know.” A momentary shadow fell over her delicate face.

She took a sip from her glass, and smiled again. “But there is something I need to ask you, since you are the well-informed hack: what happened to officer Baltasar von Radd? Why is nobody looking for him? Is he dead? But that hasn’t been confirmed either, has it?”

 

[Maka]

"If you say so," Jake said amiably in response to Alice's remark about Lieselotte. He knocked back his Scotch in one swift movement. "I guess most people went through a lot during the war years."

He watched Alice sip from her own glass, watched with almost predatory intensity the little shiver that ran through her petite body as the mouthful of golden whiskey hit her system. The city was already beginning to change her in the smallest and subtlest of ways, the way it had changed Jake. This ruinious city brought out the animal in men and women. The chance to satiate desires, at the expense of any taboo, was not to be repressed or put off for tomorrow. Tomorrow might never come. That intoxicating life and lust was all around them. Jake slowly extended his hand and touched Alice's slim wrist.

His eyes narrowed at her mention of von Rad.

"Von Rad, huh? Didn't realise Lieselotte was still holding a torch. Well, I really shouldn't say this..."

Jake smiled.

"Then again, you did say I could bend the rules with you... von Rad's dead, Alice. Shot dead by Polish partisans during the Warsaw Uprising. It's been confirmed by high command but they're playing it very softly. The fact is that Warsaw's a mess right now, and occupied by the Commies to boot. Our guys don't really want to mess around over there getting witness statements, and the Russkies ain't saying shit. By all accounts, there are things that happened in Poland on their watch that they're pretty tight-mouthed about."

 

[Sweet_Denna]

For some reason, Alice did not just want to let Jake’s dismissal of Lieselotte go. Maybe it was the way he had smiled, clearly or maybe it was the lingering, bittersweet taste of her kiss that made the young detective feel rather protective of the German actress.

“No, I really think that you misjudge her.” With one finger she started to draw circles onto the used wood of the table. “The Nazi lover that you mentioned earlier…I think he was in fact her prison guard.” She frowned, her gaze fixed on a dark stain before her. “Her torturer.”

But it was impossible to really be mad at Jake, the handsome, all American war reporter. Alice’s face lit up as he touched her wrist in an obvious attempt to make peace. Looking up, she gave him a pouty smile, and left her hand where it was. “But I guess it always depends from which angle you look at something….”

From the corner of her eyes, she tried to catch a glimpse of Calloway. The British lieutenant was still sitting at the bar, alone. Alice wondered what he knew about von Radd. Jake’s words drew her attention back to him.

She tilted her head and looked at Jake as he explained what he knew about the Nazi officer. “Have they actually seen his body?” How could he be so sure about the nuclear physicist’s death? “I mean, how did he die? Did high command tell you that, too?” Alice was aware of her slightly sharper tone and was immediately sorry for it. But if Benjamin von Radd really was history, the one person who definitely had a right to know was Lieselotte Junker.

“You see, Lieselotte is pretty convinced that he is still alive. In fact, she is completely terrified by the thought. If you can prove that von Radd really kicked the bucket, I could tell her that. She deserves some kind of peace of mind.”

Slowly shoving the empty glass of scotch away from her, she sighed. “Oh dear, I think I am a it drunk…but since Calloway is inviting, I think we should get two more.” Smiling again, she turned her hand upwards, so that her fingers now brushed against Jake’s wrist. “Don’t you think?”

 

[Maka]

"But I guess it always depends from which angle you look at something… "

"Well, that's certainly true," said Jake. He looked longingly at Alice's slender hand, the pulse febrile under his fingers. "I don't know how it was between von Radd and Fraulein Junker. Maybe he was this Bluebeard character she paints him as now and more. All I know is, Lieselotte Junker's politics seem to spin with the wind. Before the war, she was a Communist sympathizer. During the war, she was shacked up with Baltasar von Radd and on his arm at all the Fuhrer's intimate little get-togethers. Now I guess she's telling you that he was force-feeding her all that champagne and caviar...?"

He sighed in mock despair.

"But look at me, with the hardboiled act! 'Don't trust no dames!'", doing a passable impression of James Cagney. "Journalists are such assholes at the best of times, and this city only makes us worse. I can see that she made an impression on you, Alice, and I trust your judgement. I guess everyone has their own version of what went down here."

He frowned at her question about von Radd.

"You know I can't go into too much detail. I shouldn't even really have told you but...", he grinned, "You're irresistible. The fact is we have people kinda.. keeping an eye out behind the Russian lines. They're most definitely not supposed to be there, and we don't want the Soviets knowing about them. Telling someone like Lieselotte, someone with some old connections to the USSR... well, it's a big risk just to put her mind at rest. A year, a couple of years, it'll be fairly clear to her that the bastard ain't coming home, anyway."

Jake grinned at Alice's confession that she was a little drunk.

"I don't know where you've been all my life, Alice, but I damn sure don't want you going back there. Two Scotches, courtesy of the grumpiest man in England, coming right up."

Jake got to the bar and signalled for the barman. Recieving a nod from Calloway, the barman slid two fresh whiskeys across the counter. Jake smiled at Calloway and lifted the glasses in an insouciant gesture of gratitude. Calloway looked straight at him expressionlessly, then returned his gaze to his glass.

"I sometimes get the damnedest feeling that guy doesn't like me," Jake said as he returned to their table.

 

[Sweet_Denna]

Listening to Jake’s explanation, Alice laughed. “Well, if they told a press vulture like you, they cannot be terribly concerned about the sensitivity of this information.” She tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear sighed. “But fine. If you think it is too dangerous…my lips are sealed. I just really think that anyone, no matter how integer, deserves certainty.”

Her cheeks coloured at his compliment. “Well, I have no intention to. At least not until I find what I am looking for.” As she watched him amble over to the bar she could not help but smile. Jake. That horrid airplane had been good for something after all.

Lost in thought, Alice traced the dark circles left by their glasses with her finger. She looked at Calloway, who had his back turned towards her. What did he know about von Radd and his alleged death in Poland? If he was with the military police, he would have access to sources and information that a hack like Jake could only dream of. Too bad, really, that Calloway was such a miserable bastard.

Alice took in his lean form, the dark hair, his shoulders. Again she wondered about the nature of the relationship between beautiful Lieselotte and the British officer, and again she caught herself fantasizing about watching them together, as lovers. The young detective shook her head to get rid of the surprisingly persistent image of Calloway pinning the moaning actress against a wall, one hand beneath her dress. Alice felt her throat go dry. What was wrong with her? Was this what Berlin did to those who were trying to take a glimpse into its troubled soul?

When Jake returned to their table, she blushed, as if he had caught her in some indecent act. Luckily, he did not seem to notice.

Alice took the glass he offered and toasted to him. “Well, journalists are assholes in the best of times, are they not?” she said, mocking his earlier confession. “Who can blame him?”

She took a sip of her scotch and realised – not without concern – that the amber liquid did not burn her throat as much as before. Pleasant warmth spread through her insides. Berlin, Berlin…what are you doing to me? Putting the glass down on the table, she looked at Jake again.

“So, how come you know so much about the spies working behind enemy lines? If I was in command of such an operation, the last person I would want to confide in would be a war reporter.” Alice tilted her head slightly. “Or do you have aces up your sleeve that you have not yet told me about?” She caught a drop of scotch rolling down the side of her ice cold glass with her finger, before bringing it up to her lips to lick it off with a small flick of her tongue. “Tell me: How do you convince people to give you what you want, Jake?”

 

[Maka]

Jake watched with evident appreciation as Alice delicately licked the drop of whisky from her slender fingertip. The gesture was at once ladylike and yet wildly erotic, the little pink tongue darting out between those rosy, fresh lips and slowly and deliberately moistening her finger. A Russian soldier, walking by, registered the movement and nearly walked into a chair.

Jake grinned. Hitching his chair up, he moved it round the table so he was sitting next to Alice. He brushed aside a curl of dark hair to whisper theatrically in her ear, taking his time, feeling the soft smooth hair run through his fingers, letting his breath tickle her ear.

"Well, the truth is... I have a contact at Potsdam. A WAC -real nice girl from the Midwest, name of Irma."

He moved even closer. Despite his happy-go-lucky grin, his physical presence had a raw, bruising and wolfish intensity to it.

"Irma's sick of Germany and appreciates a guy who'll treat her like a lady, so she sometimes... y'know, lets some juicy gossip slip. In a distracted moment."