Around eleven that morning, after dropping off a load, Jacob stopped for a moment and stepped in the back door of the kitchen, hoping to take the chill off. His heart nearly stopped as he heard two guards walking down the hall. They weren’t sneaking up on him. They were laughing and slapping each other on the back, making a terrible racket. Jacob quickly ducked into a broom closet and closed the door, praying to a God he wasn’t sure he really believed in that neither guard had seen him. For whatever reason, they stopped in the hallway, not far from the closet door.
“Don’t worry, Jürgen,” one of the men boomed. “Soon we’re going to have plenty of Hungarian salami to eat. It won’t be long now!”
“Ja,” the other replied. “I’ve heard stories about those Hungarian women. They’re so beautiful in those skirts. And I hear they are very, well, you know . . .”
“You’re a pig, Jürgen; you know that? A real swine. They’re all going to be kikes. You really want to get caught with a kike?”
“But I just thought—”
“You’re an idiot. If Von Strassen catches you with a Jew girl, they will ship you to the front. Is that what you want?”
“Of course not.”
“Then knock it off about the women. I’m talking about the food, you fool! They’ll be bringing us trainloads of fresh food, straight from Budapest. Meats and cheeses and chocolates and all kinds of delectables. My mouth is watering just thinking about it!”
“Mine, too!” Jürgen said. “I can’t wait. How soon can they get here?”
They walked off, laughing and talking and speculating about that last question. Jacob just stood in the closet, motionless, holding his breath. Finally he exhaled. After a few minutes had passed, hearing no one else around, he cracked open the door, saw that the coast was clear, and raced back to the bakery.
All the way he found himself mulling over what the Nazi guards had said to each other. Their vulgarity he discounted. He had become used to that by now. But these comments about trainloads of Hungarian salami arriving soon bothered him deeply. When he got back, he pulled Stefan aside near the back door.
“Have you heard anything about large groups of Hungarians coming here soon?”
“No,” Stefan said. “Why?”
“No reason,” Jacob said.
Later he asked the other Czechs. They hadn’t heard anything either. But Jacob couldn’t shake the feeling that he had stumbled onto something big. The more he thought about it, it occurred to him that he had not met a single Hungarian prisoner at Auschwitz or Birkenau since he had arrived. He had met Poles and Frenchmen and Russians and Romanians and Belgians and plenty of Germans, of course, and people from all over Europe, but not a single Hungarian.
Jacob decided he could not wait any longer. He had to speak to Luc. No soldiers had come into the bakery for most of the morning. Jacob had expected the place to be packed with soldiers trying to stay out of the miserable weather. But apparently there had been an all-night New Year’s Eve party, and many of the men had gotten rip-roaring drunk. Most were sleeping in or finding a reason to stay back in their barracks. Perhaps the situation would change as the day went by, but for now, work was slowing a bit and the bakery was empty of all but the team.
“Herr Kapo, do you have a moment?” Jacob asked as politely as he could.
“Please, Jacob, call me Luc.”
“Very well,” Jacob said. “Could we step into the back room? I’d be grateful for a private word with you.”
“Of course,” Luc said, glancing around to make sure they were alone and then leading the way to the back room and closing the door behind them. “Actually, I’ve been hoping to find time to talk with you too. It’s always so busy and so noisy in here, and there are so many soldiers. But today I was thinking this might be a good day. I guess you were thinking the same thing.”
Jacob quickly tried to organize his thoughts. There was so much he wanted to talk about, and he couldn’t be sure how much time he would have. A few seconds? A few minutes, maybe? What he needed was a few hours. Jean-Luc Leclerc was a mystery. He’d obviously been handpicked and trained by Leszek. He was close to Abby. He was linked to Otto and Abe. And Jacob sensed he might, in fact, be the key to his freedom.
“Do you know anything about trains full of Hungarian Jews headed our way?” he asked.
“I don’t think so,” Luc replied. “Why do you ask?”
Jacob briefly recounted the comments he had just overheard from the two guards. “Could that be why Hoess and Liebehenschel have embarked on such a building spree—because the next wave of Jews is on the way, coming from Hungary?” Jacob asked.
In November, Rudolf Hoess had been replaced by Arthur Liebehenschel as commandant of the Auschwitz-Birkenau camps. Jacob didn’t know why, nor did he care. But lately he’d heard rumors that Hoess might be coming back, tasked with overseeing the massive building projects under way at Auschwitz-II. Now Jacob wondered whether the imminent arrival of thousands of Jews from Hungary had something to do with Hoess’s return.
Luc said he didn’t know, and Jacob could see that he didn’t yet understand the implications of such a notion.
“Look—thus far, the Hungarian Jewish community has been spared being rounded up and shipped to the Nazi death camps,” Jacob explained. “Why? Because the regime in Budapest is made up of fascists. They’re part of the Axis powers. Their forces helped invade Yugoslavia. They helped the Nazis invade Russia. But what if Berlin’s calculus is changing? What if Hitler is about to round up and kill every Jew in Europe, regardless of where they live? What if the Jews of Hungary are next?”
Luc now realized the stakes, and he looked stricken.
“I’ll start asking around,” he promised.
“Discreetly,” Jacob insisted.
“Of course.”
Jacob shifted gears. “I need to make contact with Otto and Abe,” he said bluntly. “Abby told me they would contact me as soon as I got here. I came here to help them. But it’s been months, and they’ve made no contact. They’ve been captured, or they’ve died, or they’ve got cold feet, or they’ve abandoned me. I just need to know which. You know full well what they were intending. Now I’m intending the same thing, and I can’t wait any longer. I know you know them. Abby connected you. So talk to me.”
Jacob was surprised by the directness in his own voice. He had intended to ask a series of questions, but they had all come out as declarative statements.
Rather than seeming put off by Jacob’s sudden and unexpected show of assertiveness, Luc seemed to warm to it. “I’m sorry,” he replied. “That was my fault.”
“What do you mean?”
“I was supposed to tell you what was happening much earlier,” Luc explained. “I wanted to. But there were complications.”
“What kind of complications?”
Luc paused for a moment and listened for the sound of anyone approaching. Convinced they had a bit more time alone, he lowered his voice and began to talk.
“We have a man who works in Hoess’s office,” he explained. “He told us you were being watched.”
“Me?” Jacob asked with surprise. “Whatever for?”
“Apparently Hoess and Von Strassen were convinced you were in league with Leszek and Abby’s brother, Max. They’ve been monitoring you closely for months. They’ve been hoping you would mess up, drop your guard, and lead them to another operative in the underground. That’s why Otto and Abe haven’t been able to make contact. That’s why I’ve been so distant for so many weeks. I was supposed to whisper something to you or slip you a note—something to let you know you hadn’t been forgotten. But the truth is . . .”
“What?”
“The truth is I got nervous,” Luc confessed. “I could see you growing more and more discouraged. But I was scared that if I said something to you, I might get caught as well. Max’s death . . . it had an effect on me. It shouldn’t have, I know. I’m ashamed of myself. You deserved better. But anyway, that’s the truth. I�
��m deeply sorry. You deserved more from me.”
Jacob didn’t know what to say. He was stunned by the confession. Yet rather than be angry, he found himself grateful at the man’s candor. Jacob, too, knew what it meant to be frightened. How could they not be frightened in this place? At least this Leclerc guy was honest, and Jacob respected him for that.
“Abby told me much about your heroism in the Resistance in Belgium,” Luc continued.
“How?” Jacob replied. “I never said anything to her.”
“Leszek told her and Max, and she told me,” Luc said. “Actually, you’ve made quite an impression on Miss Abby there. She brightens at the very mention of your name.”
“My name?” Jacob said.
“Abby is a member of the Resistance too, you know,” Luc said. “She may turn out to be one of the most effective operatives Leszek ever recruited. She’s a true believer in God’s plan. That’s where she gets her passion. And I think that’s why she’s so interested in you. You’re a true believer too.”
“In freedom, maybe,” Jacob said. “Not in God.”
“That’s unfortunate,” Luc said. “We should talk about that sometime. But, okay, you’re a true believer in freedom. You’ve taken great risks to set people free. Abby sees it. So does the leadership of the underground. That’s why they’re drawn to you. That’s why they think you can help them. Honestly, they’re worried Hoess and Von Strassen will discover who you really are. They got close after Leszek escaped. But they fumbled their investigation. They got distracted by Max, and Max tried to steer them away from you. That’s why they’ve been watching you so closely, Von Strassen especially. That’s the bad news.”
“So is there any good news?”
“Actually, there is. Our source in Hoess’s office contacted us two days after Christmas. He said they arrested three people in the Canada command back in Auschwitz whom they claim were members of the underground, recruited by Leszek.”
“Were they?”
“No. But they were hanged two nights ago. And now our source says they’ve given up on you. They concluded you were telling the truth during your interrogation last year, that you were too new and hadn’t been involved. The written report indicates that you probably would have been recruited into the underground if there had been more time before Leszek escaped, but that neither he nor Max knew you well enough to trust you. The bottom line is that Hoess and Von Strassen think you don’t know anything. They’ve watched you for months. You haven’t led them anywhere. No one has made contact with you. And they don’t suspect me. So they’ve closed the file.”
Jacob took a deep breath. “That is good news.”
“Yes, I thought you’d like that.”
“So when do I see Otto and Abe?” Jacob asked.
“Actually, I just received a coded message from Otto this morning,” Luc replied. “He and Abe want to wait a few more weeks, just to make 100 percent sure that you’re not being watched and that we’re not being fed disinformation. When they’re convinced everything is okay, they’ll make contact. But don’t worry. They’re not going to make their break until winter is over anyway.”
“And what am I supposed to do in the meantime?” Jacob pressed.
“The same thing as me—work hard, keep your head down, and don’t do anything stupid, like get caught.”
59
JANUARY 15, 1944
WASHINGTON, D.C.
“Did you see the memo?” Barrett asked Secretary Hull.
“What memo?”
The two men were flying back to Washington from London. Hull had a fever. His doctors had told him he needed to sleep. But Barrett insisted it was urgent.
“The memo from Treasury,” Barrett replied.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“It’s a scorcher.”
“What does it say?”
“It blasts the State Department for not doing enough to rescue European Jews.”
“You’re joking.”
“I’m not. Morgenthau wants the president to set up a government commission to rescue Jews from Hitler,” Barrett said. Treasury Secretary Henry Morgenthau was the only Jewish man in the cabinet.
“By doing what?”
“Evacuating Jews from Europe, establishing safe havens, providing humanitarian relief supplies to Jews in the concentration camps . . . There’s a whole list of recommendations.”
“It’ll never happen,” the secretary of state said. “The president has more important things to do.”
But Hull was wrong. On January 22, 1944, President Roosevelt signed Executive Order 9417, establishing the War Refugee Board. Secretary Hull was required to cable all U.S. diplomats throughout Europe, instructing them to comply with the order’s guidelines. Hull, in turn, directed Barrett to make it happen.
“How high a priority is this, boss?” Barrett asked.
Hull rolled his eyes. “Just make the president happy, and then get back to work.”
60
JANUARY 25, 1944
AUSCHWITZ-BIRKENAU CONCENTRATION CAMP
Luc motioned for Jacob to step into the back.
The workday had ended. The Czechs had left the bakery to return to their barracks. The gong for roll call would sound at any moment. But obliging his kapo, Jacob waited in the storage area where they kept many of their supplies and began stacking new sacks of flour that had just been delivered. When Luc stepped in, he closed the door and rolled a small orange across the worktable in the center of the room.
Jacob caught it, stared at it for a few seconds, savoring its smell, and then slipped it into his jacket pocket. “What’s this for?” he asked, genuinely perplexed.
“You and I are going to be working very closely together in the months ahead. We should get to know each other.”
“So you’re an orange farmer?” Jacob said with raised eyebrows and a bit more of a sarcastic edge than he had actually intended.
“Hardly,” Luc replied. “Actually, I’m a carpenter by training.”
Jacob wondered if he looked as surprised as he felt. “I thought you were a pastor,” he said.
Now Luc looked surprised. “Who told you that?”
“Abby. She speaks very highly of you, as well.”
“Does she now?”
“Should I be worried?” Jacob asked.
“Hardly,” Luc said. “I’m happily married. I’ve got two daughters. And I’m not Jewish. Abby’s all yours.”
Jacob liked the sound of that, though he wasn’t ready to admit it.
Luc joined Jacob stacking sacks of flour so they would both look busy if someone came upon them.
“Anyway, yes, you’re right. My father, who was a farmer—though not an orange farmer—wanted me to be a carpenter, and since one of my uncles was a carpenter, he undertook to make me his apprentice. But I guess God had other plans. He called me to be a pastor—an assistant pastor, really. Actually a very poorly paid assistant pastor, if the truth be told.”
“Where?” Jacob asked, picking up a sack of flour and placing it on top of the neat stack Luc was building.
“A little town in the south of France, Le Chambon. Have you heard of it?”
“Sorry, I have not.”
“It’s a beautiful place,” Luc said. “You should come and visit us there sometime—you and Abby, maybe.” He smiled.
Jacob changed the subject. “You sound like a good Christian.”
Luc shrugged. “I’ve tried to be.”
Jacob stopped his work and looked Luc in the eyes. “Then what are you doing here?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean Abby says you’ve been rescuing Jews, giving them a place to stay, feeding them, putting their kids in your schools, giving the men jobs. What for? Why take such risks?”
“How could we not?” Luc asked. “My Savior tells me to love my neighbors. The Jews are my neighbors. It’s not complicated.”
“Did you really help five thousand Jews escape the
Nazis?”
“I’m not sure it’s that many,” Luc said, not taking a break.
“But it’s true that’s what you’ve been doing?”
“Not just me,” Luc demurred. “It’s a whole town.”
“A whole town in France is rescuing Jews?”
“We did what we could.”
“But you’re the leader?”
“No, I serve under two other pastors.”
“But you’re the one they arrested,” Jacob pressed.
“The Gestapo arrested them, too.”
“Are they here?” Jacob asked. “Can I meet them?”
“Well, no,” Luc said. “By God’s grace, they were released.”
“But not you?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“You’d have to ask the Gestapo.”
“But I’m asking you.”
“I don’t know.”
“Because you’re the leader,” Jacob said. “You’re the point man. That’s why you’re here.”
“Maybe.”
“So really, why did you do it?”
“I told you—I’m a Christian, a pastor. I’m a shepherd. My job is to lay my life down for my flock.”
“But the Jews aren’t your flock.”
“They are God’s chosen people. So are you. God loves you, and so do I.”
“But you’re a Gentile,” Jacob said. “Look at you. You’re blond-haired, blue-eyed. You could pass for an Aryan, for crying out loud. Why not just blend in? Why not pretend you’re one of them, at least until the war is over?”
“Who, the Nazis?”
“Of course.”
“I could never be a Nazi.”
“Why not?”
“Because they hate the Jews,” Luc said. “And I could never hate a Jew.”
The Auschwitz Escape Page 23
