Night Angels(3)

Nothing she said made sense to me, but I was relieved, and I could tell German was a perfect language for her. And it was quite admirable to see her speak in that clear voice, with dignity, without wringing her hands. She appeared to be fully capable of sorting things out on her own. She could have been one of those confident diplomats’ wives I met in the ballrooms.

But I must have been daydreaming again, for there was a splutter of German and Lola’s pained cry, and next, I saw a convulsion of arms and beige coats, the ruffling of Lola’s skirt, and then her twisted frame huddled inside the police car, her head against the seat.

Startled, I stood up. The streaks of sunlight blurred my vision, and the gust that had whipped the lindens was picking up once more. Somehow a sharp pain stabbed my back, and I pitched forward, nearly tripping. What was happening, I wondered, and turned around—the dark barrel of a pistol was aimed at me.

I gasped, tumbling into the car, my feet tangled in my long dress, my head crashing against my unfortunate tutor’s shoulder.

“Are you all right, Miss Lee?” She held me steady. She had lost her hat, and so had I.

My mind was blank. Hard as I tried, not a single word came out of my mouth. But really. Nothing would make me talk again, not the overpowering smell of cigarettes and sweat, not the growling policemen in front of me, not even my verbose tutor.

And my ears hurt—there was another ear-shattering screech, followed by the angry revving of the car, sputtering, and then, without warning, all the stately Baroque buildings, the prancing equestrian statues, and the pointed spires of Gothic churches rapidly receded. The bench where Lola and I had sat was diminishing, then out of sight.

It was then I realized the unthinkable. “Where are we going?”

The girl who promised to teach me German lowered her head and held two pendants, a six-pointed gold star pendant and a cross, which I had not noticed before, to her chest. Then she turned to me, her green eyes flooded with guilt. “I don’t know, Miss Lee.”

My entire body trembled. I had gotten myself arrested. Now, this would undoubtedly get Fengshan’s attention. How could I explain myself?





CHAPTER 2


FENGSHAN


Dr. Ho Fengshan put down the phone, his heart pounding. For once, he was not pondering the conversation with his superior, or his country’s devastating defeats by the Japanese, or his speaking event at a German club. With steady steps that revealed not a trace of his anxiety, he walked out of his office, passed through the hallway graced with paintings of Austrian royalty, nodded at the few staff at the gilded desks in the lobby, and headed toward the elevator, which led to the bedroom he shared with his wife on the third floor.

He was thirty-six years old, with a broad forehead, wide, intelligent eyes, faint eyebrows, and a posture straight like a pen. Clad in a three-piece suit, a tie, and a pair of black wing-tip shoes, he looked modern, Western from head to toe. Fluent in three foreign languages, German, English, and Spanish, well versed in Western civilization, and thoroughly educated in Chinese culture, Dr. Ho Fengshan was a distinctive fixture among the gruff Russians, the bulky Germans, the aloof American officials, and the fastidious English diplomats who were more inclined to conversing with him on topics of philosophy than to listening to the dire need of his country.

He approached the waiting area near the elevator, raised his hand at several Chinese men seated on a row of golden upholstered Baroque-style chairs, and greeted them in Chinese. He knew them well: the peddlers who had been caught selling food on the street without a license, the leather-purse makers who had illegally arrived in Austria by climbing over the mountains in Hungary, and the two students in gray robes who studied at a university in Vienna. They had all come here to apply for new passports that were required by the Austrian authorities. A motley crew, they appeared, incongruous on the large, ornate armchairs, but they were his people, whose needs were his job, and the consulate under his leadership was their protector.

In front of the elevator, Fengshan pressed the button to go up; the voice of Hauptsturmführer Heine, a captain of the police force in the first district in Vienna, echoed in his mind. On the phone, the captain had said his wife had been arrested and detained in the Hotel Metropole, the Nazi Headquarters. She had been charged with breaking the law—sitting on a park bench designated for Aryans.

Fengshan’s first reaction had been disbelief—this must be a mistake. His American wife, Grace Lee, a delicate woman with a soft voice and a shy smile, was frustratingly introverted, forgetful, and, admittedly, growing increasingly erratic and withdrawn with their every move. At twenty-five, she was petite, with the small hands of a child, wearing size five shoes, still a dreamer, still the immature girl she had been when he had first met her four years ago. But she was hardly a meddlesome woman who would get herself arrested.

The timing of Grace’s arrest, if it were true, couldn’t be worse. Since Austria had lost its statehood due to the Anschluss, Fengshan had found himself suddenly straddling unexpected political trenches. The Chinese legation’s diplomatic status was dissolved, the chargé d’affaires of the legation was reassigned, and Fengshan was ordered to take the position as the consul general and establish the consulate of the Republic of China in Austria, now known as Ostmark, a province in Greater Germany.

A similar fate had befallen all other foreign legations in Vienna, which were now forced to operate as consulates, and their ambassadors as consul generals. Several legations were also abolished. The ever-powerful British had closed the doors of their embassy at Metternichgasse 6, and the French, following suit, were busy packing and shipping the expensive silverware back to Paris.