Chapter 88: Troubles
In the midst of the tumultuous Spanish Civil War, far away in Berlin, a shadowy figure slipped into a wealthy district under the cloak of night. He ascended the stairs of an elegant apartment building and knocked on the door of a particular residence. The door was opened by a man dressed in luxurious pajamas, his hand resting casually on the frame, a conspicuous six-pointed star ring adorning his finger.
"Sir, whom are you seeking?" he inquired, eyeing the visitor skeptically.
"Mr. Feynman sent me," the visitor replied nonchalantly.
"Please, come in!" Upon hearing a familiar name, the host relaxed his posture and ushered the guest inside. Once they were comfortably seated in the living room, the host's curiosity got the better of him. "Mr. Feynman sent you at this late hour? Is there something amiss?"
"That's correct," the visitor began, casually picking up a picture frame from a high cabinet. "Mr. Feynman mentioned that you owe him $50,000."
"Your daughter? She's quite pretty," he added, glancing at the photograph in the frame.
"Thank you. She is my angel," the host replied, his face lighting up with pride, though his expression soon shifted to one of concern. "Indeed, I owe Mr. Feynman the sum of $50,000, but it was agreed that I would repay it next month. Why the urgency now?"
"Mr. Feynman would like the payment immediately," the visitor stated firmly, setting down his leather suitcase on the coffee table.
"I don't have that amount on hand at the moment; I only have about $30,000 here," the host explained apologetically. "If you need to take it now, that's all I can provide."
The visitor pondered for a moment before nodding in agreement. "That will suffice for now. I'll return for the rest later."
After a brief pause, the visitor's brow furrowed in impatience. "Well? What are you waiting for? Fetch the money so I can be on my way."
"Sir, I need to verify my loan agreement with Mr. Feynman," the host said, his voice tinged with embarrassment. "You understand, $30,000 is not a trivial amount."
Suddenly realizing the oversight, the visitor reached into his jacket's inner pocket and produced a contract. As he did so, his coat opened slightly, revealing an SS uniform beneath. The host, taken aback, quickly scanned the contract he had signed and nodded. He then walked over to a safe hidden behind a potted plant, spun the combination lock, and retrieved the cash.
However, as he turned to hand over the money, he found himself staring down the barrel of a pistol held by the visitor.
"God! You can take the money, just don't be rash!" the host pleaded, terror-stricken.
"Place the money in the suitcase. I'm taking it with me," the visitor demanded harshly.
"Okay! Okay! Don't do anything hasty! I'll do as you say," the host stammered, hastily stuffing the cash into the suitcase. Despite its size, which suggested it could hold much more, the visitor had other plans.
"I came for the money, but I'll also be taking your life," he sneered, the corner of his mouth curling up maliciously as the host backed away.
"You shoot, you won't escape! This is a Jewish quarter!" the host cried out, desperation in his voice.
Just then, the sound of footsteps announced the arrival of the hostess, who emerged from the bedroom only to witness the horrifying scene unfold before her.
"Ah! Help!" she screamed instinctively.
"Bang!" The host clutched his chest as he fell into a growing pool of blood.
"No!" the hostess shrieked, but her plea was in vain.
"Bang!" Another shot rang out, and she too collapsed.
The assailant then hurried to the room where the host's daughter was still rubbing her eyes, confused by the commotion. With regretful shakes of his head, he fired two shots at her before turning back to ensure the hostess was no longer a threat. After confirming their deaths, he kicked the lifeless body of the hostess, grabbed the suitcase, and dashed out the door.
Outside, the corridor was filled with neighbors who had poked their heads out in alarm. They witnessed an SS officer, suitcase in hand and pistol still smoking, sprinting down the stairs.
"Murderer!" someone shouted, shattering the night's silence as lights flickered on throughout the building. The Jewish residents, already living under the shadow of Nazi threats, now found themselves united by this brutal act.
An hour later, the police arrived, sluggish and yawning, only to be met by the indignation and anger of the surrounding Jewish community.
"They claim they saw an SS officer commit the murders. They fear we're too biased to stay," one officer relayed to his superior, concern etching his face.
"What's the situation at the scene?" the senior officer asked, his brow furrowed in concentration.
"Five shots fired. We'll need the forensics report on the pistol," another officer reported, noting the opened safe and the missing money.
"Call the SS duty room. Ask what's going on tonight," the senior officer instructed, a hint of anxiety in his voice. He knew the implications of involving the SS could complicate matters further.
"Sir!" another officer rushed up, breathless. "The SS is here! They've received a report of someone impersonating an SS officer to commit these attacks!"
The scene quickly escalated as they approached the alley where about thirty SS soldiers were already stationed, rifles aimed at the unarmed Jewish residents. The atmosphere was tense, the soldiers' faces unreadable, unaffected by the palpable fear and defiance emanating from the crowd.
As the police officer approached, he caught sight of General Reinhardt Heidrich, a high-ranking SS officer and a close confidant of the head of state, surrounded by other officers. Sweat beaded on the police officer's forehead as he nervously greeted the general.
"Long live the head of state!" he saluted hastily, trying to mask his anxiety.
"The murderer escaped?" Heidrich asked, toying with his leather gloves—a cherished gift from the head of state.
"Your Excellency, he was gone by the time we arrived. Witnesses reported he was dressed in an SS uniform," the police officer explained cautiously, hoping to avoid inciting the general's ire.
"That's a disguise! There was a similar incident yesterday in the 7th block. It's a deliberate tactic, targeting Jewish neighborhoods to stir up trouble," Heidrich concluded with a sneer, dismissing the police officer's concerns as he turned to issue orders to his men.
As Heidrich and his entourage departed, the tension in the alley momentarily eased, but the residents remained fearful, knowing the danger was far from over.
The following morning, in the opulent palace of the head of state, Akado was furiously pacing as he threw a newspaper onto the sofa. His anger was palpable, his frustration aimed at the Junker nobles who dared to challenge his authority.
"Akado! Calm down. You have an important banquet with Miss Mercedes tonight. Don't let this upset you," Anna soothed, trying to distract him from his rage.
Pointing at the newspaper, Akado vented, "Look at this! The Nazi Party questioning my policies right after their electoral win! And those Junker nobles siding with Hitler—it's infuriating!"
"Remember, we still control Germany. Don't let a small setback rattle you," Anna reassured him, her words laced with affection as she gently kissed him, hoping to ease his temper.
Sighing, Akado nodded, his mood slightly lifted by Anna's presence. "Inform Reinhardt. Tell him to catch the murderer quickly. We can't afford to lose the trust of the people, especially not the Jews," he instructed, his voice a mix of determination and concern as Anna nodded and left to carry out his orders.
As the door closed behind her, Akado sat back, his thoughts heavy with the weight of leadership and the continuous challenges that lay ahead.
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