Enemy of the Tzar

by Lester S. Taube

  Hanna almost fainted. Zelek, watching her closely, held her up and motioned for a chair. Yuri brought one over, and she sat down. “Where is he?” she asked in a racked voice. “Is he still alive?”

  Zedoff shrugged. “I don’t know where he was exiled or whether he is alive. I do know that he was sent to a hard labor gulag.”

  Hanna let out a muffled cry. Nobody lasted five years in such a camp. No wonder beloved Stephen had never contacted her. She sat broken for a long minute, and then she sighed. “The children?” she said.

  “Your brother will know better than me. We just gave orders for them to be sent to foster homes.”

  “One sister died,” said Hanna. “One is missing.”

  Zedoff shrugged again. He had nothing more to lose. “There is one possible way to find out what happened to her. If you release me, I will swear on my mother’s grave to use every resource of the OGPU to find out.”

  Hanna looked across at Zelek. Slowly he shook his head. “They won’t do it,” he said softly. “She means nothing to them.” Hanna nodded her head in agreement. “Is there anything more you want to ask him?”

  Hanna shook her head, her heart broken.

  “Please go outside, sister,” he said.

  She stood up. “I want to do it,” she said, her lips quivering.

  “No, sister. This is not something to take with you for the rest of your life.”

  The tears suddenly came. “What do you think I have been carrying in my mind all these years?” she cried. She held out her hand. “I want to do it,” she repeated.

  Zelek eyed her closely, and then he took his revolver from his holster and cocked the weapon.

  She placed it to Zedoff’s head. He looked up at her. “I forgive you, Hanna Barlak.”

  “Roast in hell,” she said harshly. Then she pulled the trigger.

  Outside, the four climbed back into the carriage. “How will you dispose of everything,” asked Hanna, still unable to breathe properly.

  “Herr Liebknecht’s people will take care of it. I am to contact that woman who stayed with him.”

  “What time will my train leave for Germany?”

  “There is one in about six hours. I have taken a room for you in Smolensk. You can stay there until it is time.”

  Hanna reached into her purse and drew out a large roll of money. “I want you to take this.”

  He pressed her hand. “You have sent so much to me over the years that I am a wealthy man. I don’t need that.”

  “Give some to Vladimar and Yuri. Then buy Sophia and Israel the best gifts you can find.” The two soldiers turned smiling faces at them and nodded in agreement.

  Zelek laughed. “I can tell you that if these jailbirds buy too much vodka and whisper little stories, some of this money will purchase a knife to slit their throats.”

  The carriage stopped in front of a hotel that still contained some of its grandeur. At once the doorman signaled a boy to get Hanna’s baggage. Zelek stepped out and helped Hanna down. She placed her arms around him and kissed his lips.

  “I love you, little brother.”

  “And I love you, sister.”

  “You and I, we must keep searching for Reba and Stephen.”

  “Yes. Of course.”

  “I will send money. Much money.”

  “I will use it to search in every city and village that I can.”

  “Goodbye, Comrade Lieutenant Barlak.”

  “Goodbye, Comrade Capitalist.”

  CHAPTER 45

  1933

  THE THIRD REICH

  The voice blared from the radio. “Ten! Nine! Eight! Seven! Six! Five! Four! Three! Two! One! Happy New year, everybody!” A blast of music and shouting drowned his voice.

  Fergl raised a glass of champagne and saluted his guests.

  Jules turned to Hanna, and they touched glasses. “Long life, Hanna, and Happy New Year.”

  “Long life, my dear.”

  They sipped their glasses and kissed. It was a short kiss, for soon they were caught up in the midst of old friends, exchanging kisses, shaking hands, wishing each other good luck. Paul came over and grabbed Hanna from behind, spinning her about and bussing her soundly.

  After a bit, she pushed him away. “Let me breathe,” she laughed.

  “Breathe next year, Tante Hanna. I’m going to kiss you until then.”

  Fergl pulled him aside. “Get in line, you gigolo.” He exchanged a kiss with Hanna.

  Hanna looked about the room. “Where have all the years gone, Friedrich?” she asked.

  “The way of dreams,” said Jules, coming up with fresh glasses of champagne for both.

  “Nineteen thirty-three,” mused Fergl. “I’ll wager this will be a year we won’t forget.”

  “It can’t be worse than the last one,” said Jules. “What a depression.”

  “Cheer up, Jules,” said Fergl. “Just think what it was like ten years ago. A wheelbarrow of money for a loaf of bread. And look at Hanna. So rich that she doesn’t have to be friends with us any longer.”

  Hanna laughed, but it was true–she was very wealthy. After six years of litigation against the Stuttgart Zentral Bank, beset by deliberate delays by the bank’s attorneys, about a year ago she had received a call from Grunwald, her former account officer, who had asked for a meeting. When he entered her office, she saw that his face was pale and his eyes were worried.

  He greeted her formally, took a seat, and then leaned forward. “Frau Präsident,” he said stiffly. “My bank has asked me to discuss this suit you have filed. As you know, we were compelled to make all credits callable by the very nature of the financial situation at that time. There was no intention to harm your company. On the contrary, the Stuttgart Zentral Bank and your company have enjoyed a long and happy association. Am I not correct, Frau Präsident?”

  “Continue,” said Hanna, curtly, declining to comment.

  Grunwald rubbed his walrus mustache nervously. “Our attorneys feel that they can convince the court that our action was crucial to the safety of the bank, but that further litigation will be costly to us both. My Direktor General has authorized me to discuss a settlement with you. As a gesture of good will, Gnädige Frau Präsident.”

  “How much?” asked Hanna, still curtly.

  Grunwald bowed his head agreeably. “We thought that two hundred thousand marks would be an amiable settlement.”

  Hanna did not change expression. Without a word, she rose from behind her desk and left the office. Grunwald looked round as she went out, surprised at her abrupt departure.

  A few minutes later, one of the secretaries came in. “Herr Grunwald,” she said without preamble. “The Frau Präsident has another meeting. She wishes you to leave now.”

  Grunwald’s face grew crimson at the obvious insult. He jumped to his feet, pulled his hat back on his head, and stiffly walked out.

  A week or so later, her attorney phoned. He had received a message from the principal attorney of the bank, offering a settlement of four hundred thousand marks.

  “Do not bother replying,” said Hanna.

  He chuckled. “I did not plan to. I just wanted to hear you say it.”

  Two weeks later, she received a call from the secretary of the Director General of the bank, asking if she would be good enough to stop by to see him at her convenience. She hung up the phone without comment.

  The next day, she had another call, which she accepted at once. “Hello, my little cabbage head,” came a familiar voice.

  She laughed. “Edmund, you are flirting again.” She and the head of the French Rothschields had become great friends over the years.

  “Were I five years younger,” he groaned.

  “You were always five years younger. You were fifty when we met. Now you are forty-five.”

  He chuckled with amusement. There was something about her–well – that made you want to be her closest friend. He even ignored the fact that she had made a huge profit for his company to date, and ove
rlooking such a matter was the death knell for a banker. “We will speak of such stories at another time. I understand that Stuttgart Zentral has been in touch.”

  “How did you learn of that?” she asked surprised.

  “We bankers are osmotic, especially when offers are concerned.” His laugh was one of sheer enjoyment. “I heard you were most cooperative.”

  She chuckled. “Most.”

  “I thought I would share a little rumor. Johann Eichendorff of BAK has received a number of harsh words from our friend, Krupp. It appears that your leaking of stories about BAK’s greed to the press has struck a tender nerve. Since Krupp no longer has the government dancing to his tune, he must seek a more altruistic image. Bravo!”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Eichendorff will be calling soon. Do you plan to push this into court, or are you amenable to a worthwhile settlement?”

  “I am a businesswoman, Edmund.”

  His laugh became louder. “That sounds ominous. Have you a price in mind?”

  “Yes.”

  “Would you share it?”

  “Twice my worth.”

  He whistled, and then there was silence on the phone. She pictured him pulling at his goatee, as he often did when thinking deeply. “Look, mon petit chou,” he finally said. “If that is your target, I would like to offer a suggestion.”

  “Anytime.”

  “Your attorney is a fine young fellow, smart, loyal, and capable. But I think this case is deep water for him. I have a man in Frankfurt, Felix von Kaltenberger. This is his specialty. Look him over.”

  “I will call the moment we are through.”

  “He will charge you to pry into every nook and cranny.”

  “I have already done so. Since this case began, I have been using a detective agency I have known for years. They have come up with a file cabinet full of information which is quite revealing.”

  “Good! I know I should never have permitted you to leave Cannes when we first met.”

  As predicted by Rothschild, the call from Eichendorff came a few days later. Hanna refused to accept it. Then a week after Felix von Kaltenberger entered the case as her attorney of record, Eichendorff phoned twice again, his requests to speak to her becoming more desperate. She continued to ignore him.

  The case went to court that summer. Von Kaltenberger, a large, wide man with unruly hair, had rubbed his hands in pleasure at the facts garnered by Wuerst’s investigators. “First class,” he had chortled. “Absolutely first class.”

  Hanna and seven of the owners of companies which had been acquired by her, testified that Stuttgart Zentral Bank had abruptly cut off their credit without cause, and that, within a few days, they had received calls from Eichendorff or his officers to buy them out or to face ruin. In addition, half a dozen owners of companies who had accepted BAK’s offer gave evidence that they had been forced out at a pittance of their value. All had been clients of the same bank. Then von Kaltenberger brought in men from Dusseldorf and Hamburg, who had gone through the very same thing with a bank in each of those cities. All had been taken over by BAK.

  “This is a deliberate scheme of greed by Bremen Aktien Konzern,” thundered von Kaltenberger, “abetted totally by three equally greedy banks. We do not attack this avarice of Herrn Krupp and his minions,” he said, as objections rang out from the defense table. “What we do attack,” he shouted over the commotion, “is faith in a bank. How can any businessman trust his financial information to an institution which will intrigue and conspire with unscrupulous pirates to bring him to financial ruin? The plaintiff has suffered grievous mental and financial damage because of this plot.” He held aloft a contract. “I offer to this court evidence that the plaintiff was forced to give up thirty percent of her company to fend off this back-stabbing attack by the Stuttgart Zentral Bank, a company that she spent years to build up, years of working by hand in dim light, sewing day and night. Had this unscrupulous bank, one who had sworn trust to its clients, not created such a situation, the plaintiff’s present situation would be far, far better.”

  From the beginning of the court action, Eichendorff had been sitting in the rear with the observers, his face white and strained.

  On the third morning, von Kaltenberger leaned closer to Hanna. “I have a message from Monsieur Rothschild,” he said in a low voice. “Eichendorff has been discharged in great anger by Krupp. The revelations of the past two days have been plastered in all the newspapers, and Krupp has disclaimed all responsibility.”

  Hanna twisted in her chair. Eichendorff was no longer in the audience. She nodded with satisfaction.

  When the verdict was announced, all in the court gave a cry of disbelief.

  Hanna was awarded twelve million marks, now stable at four to the U.S. dollar. Von Kaltenberger grinned across the table. “Well, Frau Präsident. I suppose that will help make you one of the wealthiest women in Germany. Congratulations.”

  That evening, Hanna sent Edmund Rothschild one hundred of the finest silk shirts, all tailored to perfection.

  Hanna looked again at her friends. Fergl was seventy-five-years old, his hair sparse, his back bent. He had retired two years ago, but Hanna had kept him on her Board of Directors and had used him now and then as a troubleshooter. He had quit a month after Martha died. Although his health was poor, his mind was as sharp as ever. Jules, in his mid-fifties, was still as straight and muscular as when they first met, but his hair had turned totally gray in the past year. His remaining eye, bad enough before the war, had slowly deteriorated to the point where he used a magnifying glass or had Hanna read the papers to him. He had settled on a trim mustache, but often misaligned it, and growled under his breath when one of the household remarked about it and set it straight. Hanna herself was forty-seven, still a trim, alert-eyed woman of health and vigor, with the youthful beauty that character protects.

  Paul at twenty-six was seated at the piano, tinkling out his university song to a few of his friends. He was taller now, a centimeter or two more than his father. His sandy hair had darkened; his long, boyish hands had grown longer.

  Fergl came over to the piano. “Well, Doktor. What are your plans now? The feet, the belly, or the head?”

  Paul stopped playing. “I don’t know, Uncle Friedrich. I would like to take my internship in the Royal Hospital in London.”

  Jules’ face appeared over their shoulders. “What’s this I hear about England?”

  Hanna came up beside him. “He told you a dozen times. He wants to intern in England.”

  “I heard that. But why England?” complained Jules. “Aren’t there any sick people in Germany?”

  Hanna would not be put off. “It is because England…..”

  Jules interrupted. “Has the best studies of the heart.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Look at that, Uncle Freddy,” went on Jules. “We scarcely see him for eight years, and the moment he graduates, he can’t wait to run off.”

  “It’s just across a channel, Papi,” said Paul.

  Fergl took a schnapps from a serving girl and sipped at it. “Maybe it’s not such a bad idea. With that meshuggener about to take power, it would be better if everybody left Germany.”

  “Hitler?” asked Jules.

  Fergl shook his head wonderingly. “No, my grandmother. Of course, I mean that crazy man.”

  Jules made a motion of disconcert with his hand. “He’s got a long way to go before Präsident von Hindenburg offers him the chancellorship.”

  “Long way, my eye,” growled Fergl. “He’ll be in by a month.”

  “I don’t think so,” replied Jules. “But whatever comes, Hitler will settle down sooner or later. It’s one thing to scratch and claw to gain power, but if he gets the chancellorship, he’ll fall in line, like all the others.”

  “Where have you been the past five years, Jules?” retorted Fergl. “Those brownshirts of his won’t fall in line until they loot all of Germany.”

  “We’ve go
t an army, you know,” said Jules. “They are prancing at the bit to straighten them up.”

  Hanna shook her head. “Elfriede, my general manager, married a sergeant in the police a few years ago. He says the force is full of Nazi supporters. And he suspects the army is the same.” She tugged at Jules’ arm and led him off to one side. “Let Paul go to England, Jules. Until we see how things work out.”

  Jules eyed her carefully. “You must really be concerned. We’ll both miss him terribly.”

  “Of course we will. But he can visit us occasionally, and we can take trips there. It is not the end of the world.”

  Jules sighed. “Very well. If you say so, so be it.”

  During the next two years, they met often with Paul. Hanna and Jules had journeyed there twice, Paul had visited once, and Hanna had gone by herself three times. She liked London immensely, and Paul took great pride in escorting her about his hospital to meet his colleagues and show her some of the vast strides being made in the treatment of heart diseases.

  When the end of the year grew close, Jules decided to hold the usual party.

  Fergl was now too weak to host one, but he promised to come. Paul was concluding his internship and wrote that he would like to bring a friend along. It created near sensation in the household. He had not hinted about dating a girl, and to bring one all the way from England was serious indeed. Jules was tempted to phone to get the latest news, but Hanna cautioned him to wait. Her own curiosity was consuming her own thoughts, night and day.

  They met the two at the railroad station; the afternoon was cold and crisp after a heavy snow the day before. Hanna took one quick look, saw that she was beautiful and tall and slim, and that most important, she was in love with Paul, and on pins and needles at how she would be received. Hanna stepped forward and enfolded the girl in her arms, kissing her warmly on both cheeks.

  Her name was Gabrielle Weber, Jewish on her father’s side, and she was a chemist. She spoke only a smattering of German, but Paul laughed and said she was now taking lessons and would be letter perfect in a year. She had seven brothers and sisters, and her father, who was also a chemist, had to step fast and light to meet his bills. Hanna fell in love with her at once, but Jules pursed his lips and complained in a private talk with Hanna.