The two agents nearly tripped over each other in haste to follow the SS officer down the corridor.
CHAPTER THREE
The cafeteria in the Frankfurt Hauptbahnhof bustled with hungry travelers despite the mid-afternoon hour. A cold draft entered the buffet with every new client, and something warm for lunch suited Horst. He had waited until Pabst left to try the thick soup. Now Klaus was returning with a phone update from Berlin, so Horst pushed aside his meal, a frankfurter floating in lentils, a bread roll tucked beside the bowl: traditional fraternity house fare shared in honor of their Wachonian brotherhood.
“They arrive on the next express. We’ve two agents keeping an eye on them. The mother managed to get out of Marburg and meet up with them in Kassel, but she refused to board the train.”
“Detained?”
“A tragedy—all very sad. Becker’s surveillance team boarded to follow the targets, so another team came to pick her up. They found the body in the women’s room, a suicide.” He used the large spoon to cut off a chunk of sausage and placed it in his mouth. “Drug overdose. Her husband must have left her with a way out.” He chewed.
“Such a pity. And speaking of Herr Professor Doktor Breitling, how’s he doing?”
“En route to Dachau; said to be docile and uncommunicative.”
“No surprise there. Must be a shock after a life of ease at the university.”
“Well, now he’s in with the vermin.”
Horst glanced up at the canteen wall clock, its minute hand seemingly stalled in its track. “What about a Bunker where we can clean up this mess?”
“Locals have a safe house, secure, known only to the top brass here, and reserved for those special interrogation cases where discretion is the key,” Klaus said.
“And certainly useful for illicit rendezvous.”
Klaus laughed. “A warehouse office, just beyond the rail yard. Appears perfect for our needs.”
“Anything else?”
“One more item…totally unrelated, of course.” His eyes gleamed with self-satisfaction. “Sad story out of Königsberg: one of our own agents met with an unfortunate accident. Hit-and-run, fatal, no witnesses.”
Horst pushed back his bowl and lit a cigarette. “So much tragedy these days, it’s a wonder anything gets done.” He checked his watch against the buffet clock. Once again.
Ryan left the Gestapo agents waiting in the rear compartment he had briefly occupied earlier and proceeded up the corridor. Few were traveling first-class on this day of upheaval, and Erika had found the cabin nearest the front vestibule free of other passengers. It was a relief to see the boy sleeping, his head in his mother’s lap. Better he was well rested—no telling what was coming next.
Ryan kept his voice low. “Consider yourself now officially ‘detained’ by a powerful Gestapo officer, at your service.” He tapped the Party pin, gave her a mock bow of introduction with a click of his heels and his most reassuring smile. The stage-fright was long gone, and he was alert and buoyed by his success. The role-playing had reminded him of the “passing for a German” game played with Isabel so many years back, and it occurred to him that—once again—it was life-threatening.
“The agents? You fooled the agents?” Astonishment and disbelief in her voice. Erika appeared wan, her eyes reddened, the tears now dry. He wanted to comfort her, but there was no time.
“Awaiting my orders, and so far, so good. Just pray that Leo doesn’t start introducing his mother’s ‘good friend.’”
She smiled weakly and caressed the sleeping boy’s brow, straightening a stray lock of hair.
“Here’s the plan,” he said, showing full confidence for her sake. “We’ll get off now with the help of our cooperative Gestapo surveillance team. Leave the bags—only necessities in pockets or handbag. The rest we replace in France.” He looked at Leo. “But bring the bear, he’s good company.” The train began its deceleration for Marburg. “Okay, wake him now, and hope he isn’t in a talkative mood.”
This time, the Kassel agents were watching for the SS officer and rose to attention as he approached the cabin. Both men looked haggard, their exhausting night finally taking its toll. Ryan’s voice carried once again the commanding Prussian tone. “I need a vehicle as quickly as possible, my schedule’s tight.”
Sepp got the first word in. “Shall we ring the local office for a car?”
“Forget protocol. Just requisition whatever you can—a taxi will do—and make it fast. Also, clear out any agents at the station so we’re not slowed down by explanations. If they have questions, you’re both under my authority. I’ll be on your heels with the detainees.” He turned to leave. “So that’s it, now get moving.” As the train rolled to a halt, Ewald swung open the heavy door and the two agents shouldered their way through the platform crowd. Sepp immediately spotted a team from the local office and assured them all was under control: the older woman detained in Kassel, a high-ranking Gestapo officer now in charge of the operation. The locals headed to the canteen for a beer.
Luck was with the Kassel team. A black diesel idled in the front drop-off zone, behind the wheel a uniformed SS driver. His eyes were glued to a leggy brunette at the taxi stand who had just returned his smile. Sepp tapped on the glass and the young driver rolled down the window, put out over having his fantasy disrupted.
“What do you want?” The surly question barely out of his mouth, he wished it back. The Gestapo badge thrust in his face was hardly necessary. This wasn’t one to mess with.
“This car, and it happens now!” Sepp already had the driver’s door half open.
“Go see my lieutenant. He’s inside for a coffee, and he won’t like your taking his vehicle.”
No one could miss the menace in Sepp’s tone. “This is state business, and we’re requisitioning whether you and your lieutenant like it or not.” He pointed to the station entry. “Any moment you’ll see a field-grade SS officer coming through those doors, and it won’t be pretty. Do I make myself clear?”
The cowed driver nodded in acknowledgement, his fingers tensing on the wheel.
“Now get the hell out and go inform your asshole lieutenant,” he yanked the door fully open, “and the key stays.”
With a final glance toward the shapely brunette, the intimidated corporal disappeared into the crowd, passing Ryan without taking notice. Erika and Leo walked a pace behind the American, acting suitably subdued. Ryan spotted the agents beside the black Mercedes and pushed through to the curb. “Well done, Kreisler. I assume that was the driver?”
“He’s letting his lieutenant know we’re commandeering the vehicle. He’s SS.”
“Comrade-in-arms, so to speak, that should speed things up.” Ryan reached for the rear door and told Erika to get in, his instructions polite but forceful. Leo looked up nervously before climbing beside his mother, unsettled by Herr Lemmon’s stern looks and talk.
“Fischer, the lady left her valise on the train. Get back out there and see if it’s still to be had. And you, Kreisler, go hurry up this lieutenant. Make clear I’ve a schedule to keep.” The two made their way back through the throng.
The standard-issue Mercedes 260D was equipped with police radio, and the diesel was idling and ready to go. “How about a little trip?” asked Ryan, adjusting the rearview mirror and finally showing Leo his smile. The boy nodded in agreement, obviously relieved at his sudden change in demeanor.
Ryan swung the car out of the loading zone and headed first south, then turned west. He remembered these back roads well from his student days, when he had bicycled across this peaceful Hessian countryside from village to village, reveling in its beauty and gracious people.
chapter four
Ewald Fischer exited the station without the valise. The express had long since departed for Frankfurt along with any misplaced suitcase. Sepp appeared with an irate SS lieutenant at his side, the young driver tagging meekly behind as he scanned the bus stop for the now missing brunette.
The Merc
edes was gone, and the furious lieutenant turned his outrage on the agents. He and Sepp nearly came to blows, in each other’s face with profanity and spittle flying, until Ewald managed to pull his partner back from the confrontation. The passing crowd and station vendors, realizing they had been gawking, turned attention back to business at hand. The crimson-faced lieutenant scowled at his driver and headed for the public phones.
“Forget that asshole, Sepp. Come on, we can do a number on his skull later. For now, let’s give headquarters the word that the detainees are in good hands.” They crossed the square to a café and ordered sandwiches and beer. The long night and trying day had put them on edge. Ewald volunteered to make the call while Sepp sought to unwind. He got Kassel headquarters on the line quickly and anticipated orders to return home for some rest. Instead he was told to wait for confirmation of new instructions from Berlin. Leaving the local number for a call-back, he joined Kreisler at a front table. It didn’t take long, and the new orders were a disappointment: remain in place and wait for further direction. They grumbled as they scarfed down the last of the sandwiches, then ordered more beer and stared at each other in silence.
Sepp always saw a weasel in his partner—the pointed nose, shallow cheeks, and small, dark eyes. In the pale light from the café window Ewald’s sharp features appeared especially feral. And that afternoon the stubble beneath those eyes was noticeably thicker than elsewhere. Sepp stared more closely and it dawned on him—his partner now relied on eyeglasses when shaving, and missed the spots hidden by the frames. Sepp rubbed his own tired face with his hands, and used a toothpick to scrape his coated teeth, then rose from the table.
“I’ll be next door at the barbershop,” he said, “I need a shave.”
The locomotive stood at rest, panting after its long haul. Under the vast canopy of the Frankfurt station impatient passengers handed down luggage through the open windows as baggage handlers scrambled to clear the way for boarding travelers. Police and SA stood at control points, reviewing documents and eyeing those travelers they found suspicious. Some had hoped to pass through unnoticed and failed. A small, dejected group stood off to the side, isolated under Storm Trooper guard.
“They lost them,” Klaus reported dutifully as he caught up with his mentor.
Horst stopped pacing alongside the sweating engine, suddenly aware of the gnawing at his gut and incipient twitch in his cheek. The train had pulled in with neither the fugitives nor the Kassel agents on board, and Klaus had just phoned Berlin. “Lost them?” Horst was incredulous.
“Your American presented himself as a Gestapo officer and took our agents for a ride. Those Kassel idiots even appropriated an SS car for his use, and nothing’s been seen of the targets since.”
“And how the hell did he pull that off?”
“Party pin and warrant disc—Frau von Kredow’s contribution, perhaps?”
“The Jew-bitch thinks she’s clever.” Horst’s mask remained rigid. “I’ll show her clever once she’s in my hands again.” He ran his fingers through his hair and replaced his hat. “As for those Kassel incompetents, their heads are mine.”
“Sounds like Brenner’s on top of things: all-points bulletin, men at the main train terminals, telegrams to local and regional police stations and SS units. The civilian watch is alerted in the back road locales. Shouldn’t be that difficult to spot them—SS staff cars are pretty rare in those rural areas, and the American’s obviously not stupid, so he’ll avoid main roads and the Autobahn.” Klaus put away his notepad. “I’m told we also have people in direct pursuit by car, and military units are on watch.
“We can’t have her mouthing off.”
“All reports handled through Berlin, to be relayed directly to us, and still ‘detain and isolate.’ No interrogation absent your direct orders.”
“The way these locals botch things, we’ll probably hear Goebbels broadcast this fiasco as some spontaneous anti-Semitic action tonight.”
“Nothing more to do for the moment,” Klaus suggested.
“There’s always more. They’ll obviously head for Belgium or France, perhaps via Luxembourg. And east makes no sense at all. Switzerland’s not out of the question, but those Kassel idiots probably told them we were waiting in Frankfurt, so I doubt they’ll head south. Check the visa offices at the Berlin consulates, and put all border stations on watch. Now hand me your atlas.”
Pabst drew a well-worn Baedeker from his briefcase, thumbed to the region west of Marburg, and gave Horst the map book. “Cover the stations at Siegen, Koblenz, Wiesbaden and Cologne.” Horst’s finger danced across the map. “Mannheim, too, in case they double back south. That Scheisskopf will quickly realize the car’s a magnet and ditch it long before they make a border. Another train’s definitely their best bet.”
Horst surveyed the platform crowd as Klaus hurried away. What a perfect day for all this—Jewish filth everywhere, all trying to get out. She blends right in.
The roads through the Westerwald wound over hills covered in beech and down through well-groomed farmland. Rural villages spotted the landscape, their picturesque charm little changed through centuries of peace, famine, war and plague. Church steeples sprouted above the gray slate roofs, and courtyards steamed with man-high manure piles surrounded by pecking chickens. Farm wagons sat empty, their harvest loads already hoisted into the racks above the stables attached to the farmhouses, and smoke rose from countless chimneys.
Ryan knew they had a limited window to put kilometers behind them. The Mercedes would be the ideal escape vehicle were it not so recognizable on the road. The engine was reliable and the police radio a godsend. Erika monitored the frequencies from the front seat and tracked their pursuers’ progress. Leo slept curled between them with his bear as a pillow.
The road atlas from the glove box proved invaluable once they moved beyond familiar biking distance from Marburg. They changed direction on the bumpy back roads with every new update squawking over the radio. Koblenz on the Rhine seemed their best bet to catch a new express south. At first opportunity he would call René to enlist his friend’s help. With their description surely now widespread, crossing any border as tourists was no longer an option. All the fearsome reach and power of the Gestapo was on their tail.
The glove compartment hid an even better find, a Walther P38 automatic with full clip. “Show me how it works,” Erika said, “if I have to face him again, it’s on my terms.” He acknowledged her determination with a grim smile. As he drove, Ryan walked her through its loading and use. She tried to stash the pistol in her handbag, but found no room among the toiletries, money, jewelry, and identification papers.
“Better in your coat pocket. Close at hand, and you might need to pass it to me in a pinch.”
She handed Ryan a stack of the currency. “Just in case we’re separated,” she said.
“That’s not going to happen, but it might come in handy for a bribe.” As he slid the money into his jacket pocket he realized the strenuous day was taking a toll on his shirt, and wished for a freshly laundered one. Erika put the pistol away before once again seeking a more comfortable seating position. Ryan read the pain on her face. He was amazed by her ability to hold things together after a brutal assault and the separation from her parents. “You still doing okay?” he asked.
“Exhausted on every level, but okay.” She forced her shoulders to relax. Another radio report crackled: a police unit in pursuit, heading for Limburg.
“I can’t begin to imagine what you’re going through.” Ryan stared ahead at the winding road, watching for any slow-moving wagon or a road block. “You don’t have to talk about it, but whatever you need, just let me know, and I’ll find it for you.”
She squeezed his arm. “Thank you, my dear American man. It’s been worth it all to get away from him…with you.”
Moments passed. When she spoke again, the words were barely audible: “They couldn’t leave each other, you know. The Gestapo came for my father this morning. Horst
won’t let him live.” Another long pause. “My mother knew she couldn’t go on without him.” She drew in a long breath. “It’s what they wanted, it’s for the best.” Then her breathing came in soft, wet sobs that tore at his heart.
He forced his jaw to relax. This was the time for clear thinking, not rage. He felt for the tobacco pouch, reassured himself of the hidden film cartridge.
chapter five
“We have trouble.” Ryan spoke French to René, conscious of the observant innkeeper. The sour-faced woman idled at the counter within easy earshot of the telephone. He knew she was eavesdropping, indulging her curiosity.
His confidence had weakened with each new kilometer put behind them in the stolen sedan. The narrow roads and the unending zigzag across the countryside were taking a toll on their nerves. Every blind curve ahead, every tight path through a confining village seemed ideal for a dreaded road block. There would be no easy escape from armed men lying in wait. Weidenbach near Limburg was such a hamlet. Wisps of smoke rose from the chimneys, and light glowed from a few of the windows. A sign posted on a stone wall at the village limits reminded everyone passing through that Jews were unwelcome. Fewer than twenty structures huddled together, gradually surrendering to centuries of gravity and recent decades of poverty and neglect.
Ryan had driven down the narrow street slowly, noting a decrepit Gasthaus. Evening was fast approaching, and the warm light behind the curtains was inviting. The outside air had turned frigid, and he lowered his window to fight the drowsiness. They both needed a break, a moment to relax. Blurred silhouettes in the windows of the inn suggested few guests for the dinner hour. In front of the hostel sat a farm truck and against the wall near the entrance leaned a forlorn bicycle. There was no sign of police.
Ryan pulled off the road once they passed the last of the buildings and disabled the dome light. “You and Leo get in back, stay down low as possible and cover yourself with your coats. Anyone looks, they’ll think I’m traveling alone.” The rearview mirror reflected only deepening gloom behind them, nothing moving in the dark street.
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