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“But do you have to take this on all by yourself? Tom against the world?”

Bauer threw up his hands. “I have two choices. Fight for my country or leave. Do you want to leave Munich? Do you want to leave Germany?”

Amalie deflated, her eyes downcast. “Of course I don’t want to leave. But are you so sure it’s as bad as you’re painting it, Tom? I know Hitler’s a wretched person, but he’s one man. He’s not the entire government. A lot of people are opposed to the National Socialists—President von Hindenburg among them. He beat Hitler handily in the election. Can’t we trust that our process will work? Can’t we trust that more people will continue to vote against the Nazis than for them—”

“I don’t trust him,” said Bauer. “If he gets hold of the levers of power, he’ll never let go. He’ll figure out something. Our votes won’t matter anymore. You think this guy wants a democracy?”

Amalie nestled her head against his shoulder. “My brave soldier,” she whispered. “I know you’re trying to do what’s right. But if you’re wrong—”

“I’ve never wanted to be wrong so badly,” he said. “But I’m not. I need you to believe in me, Am. I can’t do this without you.”

“Hey.” She touched his face, turned his cheek so they were nose to nose. “I always believe in you, Thomas Bauer. And I always will. But you have to keep your promise to me, too. Every night.”

“I will.” He pressed his lips softly against hers. “I’ll always come home.”

56

Der Gerade Weg office

Färbergraben 12

THOMAS BAUER SPENT HIS day off with his family, kicking a ball with the kids in the morning, later visiting the Altstadt neighborhood, where they had lunch at the Hofbräuhaus and went to a cinema that was still showing the animated picture Die Abenteuer des Prinzen Achmed.

Bauer left his family at five o’clock with the promise to shortly return. He walked to the intersection of Färbergraben and Hofstatt, where a news periodical known as Der Gerade Weg—the Straight Path—had recently begun operation.

It was the brainchild of Fritz Gerlich, who had tired of publishers and editors succumbing to the pressure of the Nazis. Gerlich finally wanted to say whatever he believed was worth saying, and Der Gerade Weg had already begun to stick its thorn firmly into Hitler’s side. With the combination of scathing editorials warning of the dangers of the Nazis and mocking satire (not least of which suggested that Hitler was of Mongol blood, turning his racism against him), Der Gerade Weg routinely spawned angry responses from pro-Nazi publications and threats of lawsuits and violence from the National Socialists.

When Bauer entered, he found a smattering of journalists seated at tables, handwriting or pecking away at typewriters. Gerlich, as ever with his bow tie and thick spectacles, stood by a large desk, huddling over copy for the next edition of his newspaper. Next to him was today’s edition, which prominently featured a cartoon of Adolf Hitler as a baby, dressed in an infant’s one-piece with a pacifier dangling from his mouth, above the words OBERSÄUGLING HITLER (“Hitler, the exalted infant”).

“Jesus, Fritzie, how long do you expect to pull this off before they send someone after you?”

Gerlich’s head rose from the draft article he was editing, blinking his eyes. “I’ve answered that question many times,” he said. Gerlich had been saying since January that he would be among the first hanged if the Nazis ever gained power. From someone else, Bauer might have thought of that as self-righteous boasting. But he had come to know Gerlich and his ever-deepening commitment to the Catholic faith well enough to recognize him as someone truly willing to martyr himself for a cause he believed in.

“Follow me, Bauer,” he said, as he walked to his office in the back of the pressroom.

Inside Gerlich’s office sat Erich von der Haas, the medical student, who patted the top of an antique clock that rested on a glass table beside him. “Here you go,” he said. The clock looked both old and valuable, roughly six inches high, made of rosewood and gilded bronze.

“A clock?” said Bauer.

“Not just a clock.” Von der Haas got to his feet. “An Italian clock from the 1700s. A replica of one owned by Frederick the Great. You said he likes Frederick the Great?”

“Yeah. He has a fucking portrait of the guy in his office at the Brown House.”

“Okay, so he’ll like this. Look.” Von der Haas turned the clock around, where an opening in the rosewood panels at the back exposed a black apparatus with a winding mechanism. “This is how you wind it, right?”

“Right,” said Bauer.

“Yeah, well, I embedded a tiny capacitive membrane connected to a quarter-inch wavelength antenna inside this thing.”

Bauer looked at Gerlich, who shrugged and said, “I don’t know what that means, either.”

“It acts as a passive cavity resonator,” said von der Haas.

“Oh, thanks,” said Bauer. “That clears it all up for me.”

Von der Haas shook his head. “It’s basically a tiny microphone,” he said. “It activates when a radio signal hits it.”

Bauer peered down at the clock. “And this works?”