The Berlin Escape

by Warren Court

  “And…?”

  “We cannot show ourselves to the commandant of the camp. We will be arrested.”

  “And I won’t?” Aubrey said, suddenly realizing what Lydia was asking.

  “Doubtful.”

  “Not a lot of reassurance there. Why will you be arrested? Because you’re Jews?”

  “No, because we are political. The Gestapo has issued orders for our arrest. We are enemies of the state. You said when we first met that you wanted to help. Now we need you.”

  Aubrey sighed. “I’m leaving in two hours.”

  “If no one is there to assist my father, to sign for him, it is likely he will be incarcerated again.”

  “Where is he? Dachau?”

  “No, much closer than that – Lichtenburg. It is where Berliners are sent.”

  “When is he being released?” What are you doing, Aubrey?

  “First thing tomorrow morning. There is a train to France at noon. I’m sure you can be on it.”

  “Where am I taking Lazarus?”

  “Not far. To his farm. We will provide you with an automobile. The process is quite simple. You show identification, sign for the prisoner, and he is released to you.”

  “They won’t mind a foreigner signing for him?”

  “I think they will just be glad to get rid of him.”

  “Very well.”

  Spontaneously, Lydia leaned forward and kissed Aubrey on the cheek. “Thank you, Aubrey. Thank you.”

  They had been driving in circles, but now they swung back towards Aubrey’s hotel. They let her off on a darkened street three blocks from the Adlon. Aubrey made plans to meet them at that same spot tomorrow morning at seven. They would be at the prison by eight, and she could be back in the city on her way to the train station by eleven. She made a mental note to cancel her train ticket for tonight and move it to tomorrow afternoon. One more night in Berlin, she told herself.

  She walked along the darkened side street in the direction of her hotel. A car was idling up ahead of her, its exhaust blooming out. The shops were closed, their doorways dark and gloomy. From one of them she heard a snort and as she passed, she saw a figure hunched up in the darkness. She looked back at the car, saw the plate now. Just as a hint of recognition came to her, along with the realization that she had seen it very recently, a hand shot out of the darkened doorway. The man pulled her violently into the little alcove and clamped another hand over her mouth before she could scream.

  “Silence, Fraulein,” he hissed. The door opened and the figure pulled her inside. He was strong. She lashed out with her foot and caught his kneecap, but he didn’t budge.

  “Aubrey, it’s me,” the man said. He removed his hand from her mouth and she stared at him, dazed. He flicked a lighter and brought it up to his face.

  “Hewitt!” she exclaimed.

  “Aubrey Endeavours,” he said, smiling. “Look at you, alive and well.”

  Before she could stop herself, she grabbed Hewitt and hugged him. Then she slapped him hard on the chest.

  “You scared the devil out of me. I thought I was done for. Thought those goons had their hands on me again.”

  “I heard about your time with the authorities, Aubrey. SD, was it? Nasty bunch. So…” He gave her a piercing look. “Why have you disobeyed your orders? You should have been back in France two days ago.”

  “It’s complicated, Hewitt.” Her eyes grew accustomed to the darkness and she saw they were in a furniture store. He must have picked the lock. “How did you know I was going to walk down this street?”

  “I’ve been following you ever since you left your hotel. You looked like you were going out with a purpose.”

  “Seems like everyone is following me.”

  “I told you they would. I saw you get in that car.”

  “I didn’t see you.”

  “I didn’t want you to. What the devil is going on?”

  “I went to the exhibition. I made contact with your Agent Starlight. Why didn’t you tell me he was an officer in the SD?”

  “I didn’t know. I’ve never met him.

  “But you told me—”

  “That I didn’t want you travelling into Germany with that information in your head. That was our prerogative, Aubrey. He’s our asset. Starlight is an unknown to us, but his product is genuine.”

  “You used me to suss him out. What was so important he had to break cover? And to an amateur?”

  “Did you get the package?”

  “No. We were interrupted, by the Count von Villiez.”

  “The Count von Villiez?”

  “Yes, Helmut. I was at his house here in Berlin, in Wannsee. He was having a reception for Hermann Goering.”

  “You met Goering? Oh dear. What was that like?”

  “Yes, I was an honoured guest. He knew me, knew of my flying.”

  Hewitt stood back and raised his eyebrows. He was genuinely impressed.

  “Anyway, I met Goering. Big deal. Big fatso with a twinkle in his eye. And after that, I made contact with your agent, Starlight. Great code name, by the way. Although I could think of a few better ones. He was about to hand me something when the count walked into the room. The exchange never happened. And the next time I saw this Starlight, he tried to kill me in the basement of Gestapo headquarters. Helmut saved me.”

  “Aubrey, I am truly sorry. I had no idea.”

  “I’m not sure I believe you.”

  “Where have you been the last two days?”

  “With the count, at his ski lodge in Berchtesgaden. It’s south of here, in the Alps.”

  “I know where it is.”

  “We saw Hitler.”

  “Come off it.”

  “No, seriously. Through a telescope. At least I think it was him. Just a little figure walking slowly along a mountain path. Anyway, I spent two nights with the count as his guest, and then he drove me back. Don’t think I’ll be seeing him again.”

  “We need to get you out of here, tonight.”

  “I’ve missed the eleven PM train.”

  “I have a car; we’ll drive to the border.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Why the devil not? You’re in too deep here, running around with counts and Nazis.”

  “No, it’s nothing like that.” She paused, unsure how much to tell him. “I gave my word.”

  “This is ridiculous. You’re coming with me.” He grabbed her again and tugged her to the front door of the store. She pulled away.

  “No way. I’m not going, not yet. There’s something I have to do.”

  “What could it possibly be?”

  “Not telling. I don’t think you have a need to know.”

  “This is no time to get cute, Aubrey. You’re in more danger than you realize.”

  “Oh, I realize it. I’ve been to hell and back, and it’s not boiling hot. Quite the contrary, actually. It’s damp and cold, and the devil wears a black uniform.”

  “That’s not the only one he wears. Aubrey, there’s something you don’t know. This Count von Villiez is second in command of the Abwehr. He reports directly to Admiral Canaris.”

  “What’s that?”

  “The Abwehr? It’s Germany’s secret intelligence service. Aubrey, Count Helmut von Villiez is head of counter-intelligence. He is Hitler’s number one spy catcher.”

  Aubrey swallowed hard. Thoughts of the past few days swarmed through her head.

  “Is there a chance he is just manipulating you?” Hewitt asked.

  “To what end?”

  “What are you caught up in?”

  “Lazarus is being released tomorrow.”

  “That German scientist you asked me about.”

  “I’ve been asked to go sign for him. His daughter can’t. She’ll be….”

  “Arrested. Oh, Aubrey.” He shook his head. “You’re going to wind up back in the basement of Prinz-Albrecht-Strasse if you’re not careful.”

  “Or worse.”

  He gave her a lon
g look, and then appeared to have made up his mind. “I’ll be at the Berlin Savoy for another night. Do what you have to do, and then let’s get the hell out of here.”

  “I will. I promise.”

  26

  Aubrey stifled a yawn as she manoeuvred the German automobile out into the countryside. She had not slept. Upon returning to her hotel, she had managed to get her train reservation moved to the late morning train. Then she had straightened the room as best she could. She’d even shoved the stuffing back into the mattress and covered over the large rip with the sheet and blankets. She’d considered sewing up the mattress with the kit she always carried, but she did not have enough thread. Besides, no matter what kind of repair job she did, the maid who changed the sheets after she vacated the room was going to see the damage. There was no hiding the brutality of the act; they had meant to terrorize her.

  She carried her bags downstairs and had the concierge check them into the valet room, but she was adamant that she wanted to keep the hotel room until she left for the train at eleven. She told the morning manager that she would want to freshen up before her departure but in reality, she just didn’t want any hassles about the room. A letter to the hotel could always be sent after she was safe and sound in the States. She would pay for the damages.

  Ernst pulled up to the curb precisely at seven the next morning, into the exact spot where she’d been dropped off the night before. Hewitt Purnsley was nowhere in sight, but of course being invisible was his specialty.

  She sat next to Ernst in the front seat, but they hardly spoke until he pulled to the side of a country road when they were well clear of Berlin. Lydia was there, flanked by two comrades, their hands menacingly stuffed into their pockets, their eyes scanning the surrounding countryside.

  Lydia and Ernst went over the map to the Lichtenburg concentration camp. It was only five miles away and dead easy to find. Aubrey could manage it. They showed her the rendezvous spot, a farm that Lazarus owned. Aubrey repeated the instructions to Lydia to assure her she knew them by heart, and then Lydia took the map away. They would rendezvous with her at the farm, and then Ernst would drive her back to the city in time to meet her train. She highly doubted it; it was almost nine, and she still had to go to the prison, pick up Lazarus and drop him off. But she was already committed.

  She got behind the wheel of the car and headed down the road. In a few minutes, there was a sign to Lichtenburg Castle, just as Lydia said there would be, and she made the turn. The castle now housed the camp; the stone buildings of the old fortification rose up above the landscape. Pockets of mist and fog hung low in the surrounding fields. Several army trucks passed her going in. She had to swerve into the ditch of the narrow road to let them pass. The backs of the trucks were covered in canvas tarps; she could not tell if they contained soldiers or more prisoners.

  There was a checkpoint, manned by soldiers with submachine guns slung over their shoulders. The camp was encompassed by a tall fence topped with rows of barbed wire that stretched out in either direction.

  She drove up to the checkpoint, where her identification was examined. She had prepared some German statements with Lydia and recited them reasonably well. The first guard, a corporal, was not interested in who she was or whom she was there to retrieve. She wondered why he’d even bothered checking her passport.

  The next checkpoint was a half mile up the road. There was another fence, too; this one was taller, the barbed wire more menacing. The guards here were more agitated and watched her carefully as she parked the car in one of the spots provided. There was a group of army trucks and other vehicles nearby. She could hear dogs barking, and saw that several of the guards on the other side of the fence were patrolling with large German shepherds straining at leashes.

  Aubrey approached the main hut; the eyes of a dozen uniformed men were on her. She tried to walk confidently, head held up, but the dourness of the place, the symbolism of absolute oppression, tugged at her confidence. Even though she wasn’t a prisoner, the facility was having the desired effect. It was already breaking her spirit.

  “Buck up, Endeavours,” she muttered to herself as she entered the hut.

  There were two men inside, clad in the black uniforms of the SS in contrast to the field grey of the SS troopers. They were in mid-conversation and stopped when she approached, annoyed at the intrusion. Again, Aubrey said her spiel about how she was here to pick up Dr. Frick.

  One of the SS men snickered at the word ‘doctor,’ while the other grabbed her passport from her.

  “What is your connection to the prisoner?”

  “He is a distant relative. His wife in the States wanted me to come and collect him, seeing as I was in town for the air exhibition at Adlershof Airfield. Personal guest of Count Helmut von Villiez.” The officer handed her passport back.

  “Sign here.”

  Aubrey signed and wrote her passport number down, next to the name Tomiel Lazarus Frick. They had dropped the “Dr.” Of course they had; it meant nothing to them.

  “You will go through the main gate here, and one of the guards will escort you,” the officer said. “You will be searched in the presentation hut. The prisoner will be released to you, and you will leave immediately. You are not to speak to any other prisoners. You are not to hand anything to anyone or take anything. Is this understood?”

  “I understand.”

  The SS man barked a command; his sharp voice shattered the air in the small hut. A sergeant came bursting into the room and came to attention.

  “Ja wohl, mein Untersturmführer.”

  The officer explained to the sergeant what he was to do, and then motioned to Aubrey to follow him.

  The main gate was slid open. The sound of dogs became louder and more intense; they sensed an intruder. The gate was slammed behind them, and another one that led into the camp itself was opened. She was led to a long wooden hut. Her purse was placed on a table and another soldier went through it. Thankfully, she’d left the .45 tucked under the driver’s seat of the car. If they searched that while she was in here and found it, it would be curtains.

  Then she was frisked, police style, and then ordered to sit while they brought the prisoner out. Eventually, a door at the far end of the presentation hut opened and through it stepped what Aubrey thought was a walking corpse. The man was positively grey. His unform was grey, his hair was a powdery grey, not white, and his skin was sallow and sunken and lacked elasticity. Lazarus removed the thin cap from his head, his eyes fixed on the floorboards. The soldier who’d searched Aubrey gave him a thorough going-over then shoved him towards her.

  He was elderly, but Aubrey could not guess his age; this place had added years onto it. The shove almost sent the old man to the floor, but she could see a steely determination in his eyes. He was getting out of here on his own two feet. He was going to have that one small victory.

  Aubrey said nothing. The sergeant showed the two of them through the gates again. Lazarus waited outside while Aubrey was shown back into the first hut, where she signed that she had received the prisoner. Then she and Lazarus walked to the car and climbed in.

  The temptation to put the pedal to the floor was strong, but she resisted it. She drove away slowly, pulling over again as an army truck, now coming the other way, roared past.

  When they were well away from the camp, Lazarus finally spoke. He spoke excellent English and started slowly at first, asking her name, who she was. Then he got around to asking how she was mixed up in the affair. She did not go into the details. Didn’t explain that she had first heard of him from the mouth of a dying man in a field in Belgium.

  Lazarus’s words dried up, as if he had no more energy to speak. Instead, he leaned his head against the window and watched the countryside roll by. They drove in silence for forty-five minutes, Aubrey going over the directions to the farm in her head. If Lazarus recognized that she was taking him home, he did not reveal it. He made only one other sound, a deep, wracking cough, and she scra
mbled in her purse for a handkerchief. He had none of his own.

  27

  Aubrey brought the car to a stop in front of the farmhouse. It was obviously deserted; the windows were broken, the wooden steps were worn, and paint was peeling off the sides of the house. No one had lived here for a long time, perhaps since before the Great War. She wondered if she’d gotten lost. Lazarus certainly didn’t seem to show any recognition.

  “You know this place?”

  He shook his head.