Page 21 of All We Thought We Knew
“It was Mrs. Kozlowski, wasn’t it?” He glanced between the three men facing him. “She is the one who gave you these false reports.”
“Why would she do that if it wasn’t true?” asked Mr. New Jersey, confirming Gunther’s suspicions.
Without warning, guilt—not his own but that of his countrymen—bore down on Gunther. He closed his eyes to the shame that came with his heritage.
“Because she is Polish, and I am German.”
The simple statement held a repulsive truth. Great injustices had been suffered by the people of Poland at the hands of Germany. It didn’t matter that the acts were carried out by those under the leadership of Hitler, or that German citizens like he and his mother abhorred what was happening. All people like Mrs. Kozlowski knew was that tens of thousands of Poles were killed, injured, or displaced when Germany and Russia invaded their country in 1939. The horror of the brutal murder of so many innocent people shocked the world. Gunther didn’t know Mrs. Kozlowski’s story—was she one of the many refugees who’d escaped, and did she still have family there?—but he was certain of one thing.
He couldn’t blame her for what she’d done.
“Are you calling the old woman a liar?”
Gunther met the man’s hard gaze. If he wanted to survive this, he was going to have to fight for his life just as surely as a soldieron a battlefield. “I’m saying she is incorrect. Since I arrived in America, all my time has gone to furthering my education in the medical field. If you contact my professor, Dr. Sonnenberg, he will confirm this. He will tell you of my hope to become an American citizen, like himself. We’ve spoken of it many times.”
The men exchanged whispers before the man in the center dug through a stack of folders and pulled one out. Upon opening it, the other two men leaned in, and more whispers ensued. Finally the lead questioner met Gunther’s anxious gaze.
“Dr. Heinrich Sonnenberg?”
“Yes,” Gunther said, the tiniest ray of light entering his dark world. If anyone could help him, it would be his mentor. Despite his German beginnings, the older man had taught at Columbia’s medical school since 1927 and was over the operating theater at the hospital. It was there Gunther had planned to do his internship next semester. “Dr. Sonnenberg has known me since I arrived in America.”
The man’s gaze narrowed on Gunther. “I find it interesting that you would willingly connect yourself to Dr. Sonnenberg.”
His ominous tone gave Gunther pause. “He is a man of integrity. I am honored that he has taken an interest in helping me achieve my dream of becoming a doctor.”
The man continued his study of Gunther. After a time, he leaned his elbows on the table, tenting his fingers. “I’m going to tell you a story, Mr. Schneider. One that, I believe, you are familiar with. However, the ending may surprise you.”
Gunther’s heart thudded. He didn’t know what the man was up to but suffice it to say it didn’t sound good.
“Dr. Heinrich Sonnenberg came to our beautiful country at the end of the Great War. He quickly achieved success as a doctor after he set up his practice in a neighborhood swarming with German aliens. His practice grew considerably over the years, and he hobnobbed with wealthy and important German men, including theambassador to Germany when the man was in New York. Soon he was teaching at Columbia and working at the hospital.”
Gunther licked his dry lips. “He has been blessed.”
The man smirked. “Blessedisn’t the word I’d choose.Positionedis more fitting.” At Gunther’s look of puzzlement, he continued. “Who would ever suspect a man in such a prominent position of espionage?”
The room tilted with the loaded word.
Gunther stared, open-mouthed, trying to comprehend the absurd insinuation. “That is even more preposterous than your belief that I am a spy. Dr. Sonnenberg loves America. There is no one more loyal to the idea of liberty and freedom than he. No, I will not believe such lies.”
“Would you like to see some of the evidence we have against him?”
“Yes,” Gunther boldly declared. “I know there isn’t any, just as there is none against me.”
The man on the end, who’d been quiet through the proceedings, approached Gunther, papers in hand.
“This is a list of known German spies living in the United States who frequented Dr. Sonnenberg’s office.”
Gunther took the list. He recognized a half dozen names of men he’d met at dinner parties at the doctor’s home. His mind spun, searching for an explanation. “This does not prove anything. Dr. Sonnenberg saw many patients. Even if you are correct that these men are German spies, their association with Dr. Sonnenberg does not mean he is one of them.”
“Then there’s this.”
The man handed a telegram to Gunther, written in German, dated December8, 1941. Dr. Sonnenberg’s name and home address were at the top.
Destroy all files. Abort assignment. No further contact. Stop.
It wasn’t signed.
While the brief missive could suggest involvement in something illicit, Gunther refused to believe his advisor was a spy. “This could simply be about private medical records. Dr. Sonnenberg is a good man. He’s Jewish. He would not be involved in anything that helped the Nazis.”
