Page 36 of Beehive

I kept my lips clamped tight.

“The Keeper is said to embody the enduring spirit of the Jewish people. He represents the importance of knowledge and the intersection of Jewish heritage and the broader narrative of European history.”

“Right.”

Bider finally glanced up, his eyes poking above the spectacles barely clinging to the tip of his nose. “Herr Lang, the Keeper is a treasure, some might say a national treasure.”

“Jews would say that.”

Bider paused.

His lips pursed, then he returned his gaze to the wood. “Yes, they would.”

A crash sounded beyond a door opposite the one we entered, causing both Bider and me to startle. He glanced up and shook his head. “We have apes working in the back. I swear, we will have nothing to display when they are done. Worse than the bombs, they are.”

Shouts in German painted with heavy Russian accents punctuated his words and reminded me of the search underway throughout the sector.

“Herr Bider, I fear I cannot keep such a treasure safe and would like to loan it to the museum. Is that possible?” I asked, hoping to conclude our conversation and resume my escape.

Bider’s face brightened. “Of course, my dear friend. Of course. Would it be all right if we displayed it? This piece is far too important and valuable to hide in the storeroom with our man-apes.”

“It would be my honor.”

“Very well.” Bider winced as though setting the statue down caused him pain. “I will write up a receipt should you wish to reclaim the piece. Wait here a moment, will you?”

“Of course.” I smiled again and sipped my tea as the man waddled to the far end of the room and out the door.

When the door opened again, I caught a quick glimpse of a Soviet uniform and the butt of a rifle. Bider’s near-squeal was silenced by one of the soldiers barking at him. The only words I caught were, “Nazi” and “disguise.”

The time for paperwork and receipts had passed.

I left my mug beside Bider’s, gave the rabbi one last glance, and shot through the door. Weaving between the sarcophagi, I raced as quietly as I could through the gallery toward the exits that led to the street.

1. Kulturhistorisches Museum Viktoria is a fictional museum created for this story. Most of Berlin’s historically significant galleries were badly damaged or completely destroyed during the war. Looting by occupying soldiers also stripped many collections bare.

13

Heinrich

Ishould never have stayed so long.

Paranoia had whispered in my ear that someone might recognize me. I doubted anyone knew the true value of the statue I had entrusted to the museum’s collection; still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that Bider’s questions about my “unorthodox” donation had been more than idle curiosity.

Had I just handed the Russians everything I was trying to protect?

Or had MGB agents spotted me entering the museum?

That was a more likely explanation.

I peered around the back of the museum to watch a black GAZ-67 military jeep screech to a halt at the museum’s front entrance.

Then another.

Men wearing stark uniforms and the unmistakable red armbands of the NKVD, the Soviet People’s Commissariat for Internal Affairs, poured out. Every network I kept in touch with believed Stalin was shutting down that particular agency,to be replaced with leadership more loyal to the State—and to him personally. To seethemhere, on German soil, was beyond unexpected.

Someone in Moscow was seriously upset.

Two more cars arrived, and a handful of overly muscled men in casual clothes leaped out. The MGB had also arrived.

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