Final Mission: Zion - A World War 2 Thriller

by Chuck Driskell

  The bathtub was halfway full. Neil checked the water temperature and increased the heat. He removed his two sets of clothes from his bag, placing them on the bed. After rummaging around in the bathroom, he finally located a bar of gritty soap in the cabinet, which he placed beside the tub with a washcloth and a towel. When the tub was nearly full, he turned off the water, stripped his clothes and climbed in. The water was lukewarm but heating rapidly.

  Sheer bliss.

  Neil moaned as he finally acknowledged the pain and soreness from the pink, raised scars on his side. He had made certain to walk normally, and not favor his side, because he remembered from his Army days how an uneven gait could wind up causing more problems, especially with one’s hips and back. But, in forcing himself to walk normally, he had tortured the freshly repaired wounds, making them feel as if they might burst open at any moment. And now, with the heat of the water, his skin expanded, stretching the stitches to their limit and making his wounds ache more.

  Closing his eyes, he forced himself to lie back as the flame heaters went to work on the water. Schatze padded into the room, still licking her chops from the stew delicacy and the full bowl of water she had just ingested. She perked her ears upon seeing Neil nearly submerged. He opened one eye, telling her to lie down, which she did. In another minute, she was asleep and snoring. Neil slowed his mind to a crawl, knowing he needed rest before he could move into action, and he might as well start to convalesce at this very moment.

  The bath water was finally scalding hot. He turned off the heat before sitting straight up in the water and scrubbing himself with the soap and washcloth. Neil dunked his head then soaped his shaggy hair and face, using the washcloth to vigorously scour every square inch of his body. When he felt like he was finally clean, he pulled the chain and allowed the water to drain completely. Again, he turned the water on full force, along with the heater, and repeated the process, two more times. He did it until the water was as clear as glass, when he was finally able to pronounce himself unsoiled. Neil was a fastidiously neat man and, since he had jumped from the Queen Mary, he’d not had one chance to properly clean himself. As soon as the final cycle was full, he rested in the hot water, turning his head to see Schatze still sleeping on the floor. She appeared to be dreaming, whimpering and making a running motion.

  Poor dog, Neil thought. Probably wonders what the hell she got herself into.

  He retrieved his trimmers and carefully snipped the stitches on his head, removing them between pinched fingernails. He repeated this process with the larger thread on his body, wincing as he yanked each one out, a few of them clinging to tiny chunks of flesh. Finished, Neil leaned back, rubbing the healing wounds and feeling good to have finally removed the painful sutures.

  Then Neil’s mind turned back to his mission. He didn’t know how to go about finding Jakey’s allies, but it would be his first order of business. The forger had told Neil they were awaiting his arrival. Neil assumed they would be Jewish, meaning they were most likely in hiding. Judging by the papers he’d read when he’d been with the Heinz family, a conflict with Czechoslovakia was looming. If that kicked off, life in Austria would probably take a major turn to wartime frugality—and possibly further action against the Jewish population.

  Most importantly, Neil had seven days until the September 15th deadline. Seven days to arrange transport and get the children away from the Reich.

  First he’d need to find a way to hide the dead SS and the motorcycle. After that, rest be damned, Neil needed to get a lay of the land and make hasty plans to exchange his diamonds. He needed to create a normal image for himself—starting with a good haircut—after which he’d begin to search for Jakey’s contacts, in the event they didn’t find him first. Rubbing his beard, Neil wondered if the SS officer he’d seen would recognize him once he was properly groomed and wearing suitable attire.

  He thought about the SS officer and his woman heading into the restaurant, about the way the man had dubiously eyed him. He would have to study the way the locals dressed, and of course the—

  Neil heard a scraping noise, as did Schatze.

  The dog appeared bewildered for a moment before she stood and growled, the hairs between her shoulder blades bristling like a porcupine’s. Before he could react, she bolted from the bedroom.

  Shit.

  The Colt was on the bed and here he was lazing in the tub, naked in more ways than one. How many hundreds of lessons had he learned from the Shoshone Indians, as well as in nearly every block of defense training during his time in the Army, that stated, “Always be ready. Never let your guard down. And expect the unexpected.”

  Clichés, but for a very good reason.

  He listened as he stood, hearing nothing. As he stepped from the heated water, he was surprised to see Schatze pad back into the bedroom, tail wagging, bringing with her a girl in a long coat, her head wrapped in a kerchief. Neil stood there, dripping wet, staring at the girl, his mouth falling open dumbly. He almost spoke English, but thanks to nearly four weeks of practice, he stammered his words in German.

  “Who are you?”

  The girl’s enormous brown eyes moved up and down, pausing once, wide-eyed, before she looked at his face in a type of hopeful curiosity. “Are you…Dieter Dremel?” she asked.

  Neil grabbed the towel, wrapping it around his midsection before he croaked, “Ja.”

  Her face broke into a wide smile, which she quickly tempered. “I am Madeline,” she whispered. “Thank God you’re finally here! We’ve only got one more week.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  NEIL STEPPED FROM THE TUB while Madeline turned around. He tightened the towel around himself and walked into the bedroom. Madeline turned to him and focused on the bright pink scars at Neil’s side.

  “Were you hurt? Is that why you’re so late?” she asked. Her eyes moved to the base of the tub, to the scattering of snipped stitches.

  While flummoxed by his contact’s unannounced arrival, Neil managed a polite smile, his German recovering. “It’s Madeline, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “Madeline, would you mind if I get dressed before we speak? When I’m dressed, I’d like to learn a bit more about you before I tell you all that happened.”

  “Of course,” she replied, eyes averted. “I have coffee in the kitchen. Shall I make a pot?”

  “Please.”

  Madeline walked from the room with Schatze in tow. “You’ll find a closet full of clothes in the wardrobe,” she said from the other room. “The doctor guessed your sizes based on all he’d heard.”

  “All the doctor has heard?” Neil whispered, confused.

  He let the towel fall away as he leaned against the bed, feeling faint. The overheated water combined with the rush of fear, as well as his weariness from the trip and all that had happened, made his world spin.

  Taking great gasps of air, and recalling his personal charge before he “visited” the veterinarian a few nights ago, Neil vowed to eradicate the amateur slip-ups from here forward. He shut the door. It only took Neil a moment to decide to trust the young woman named Madeline. What other motivation might she have?

  He hurriedly dressed in a surprisingly well-fitting shirt and slacks. Back in the bathroom, he eyed his beard and long hair, trying to remember what he looked like when properly groomed. With a subtle change to his hair color and new clothes, Neil felt he could avoid any association with the tramp who’d staggered through town only a few hours ago.

  That tramp had killed an SS. Police would be on the lookout.

  Once Neil had brushed his teeth, he grabbed his cigarettes and walked into the cabin’s main room. A percolator on the gas stove filled the house with the aroma of strong coffee. Madeline knelt in front of the fireplace, putting the finishing touches on an unlit stack of logs that would soon become a fire. Neil looked her over.

  Without the concealment of the long coat she had worn, Neil realized she was tiny. She wore a patterned dress and ankle-height
lace-up shoes with thick wool socks spilling over the tops. The outfit might have been fashionable twenty years ago. Her raven hair was pulled tightly to the back of her head, woven and held into place by pins. She turned to him.

  “The coffee is on. I hope you don’t mind that I’m making a fire. It’s only September but it gets quite cold in the evenings here.”

  “Thank you,” Neil answered, returning her smile. He handed the lighter to her and watched as she lit the paper she had stuffed under the kindling.

  Madeline studied his lighter for a moment. She blinked rapidly and handed it back. “What a…a…sw-sweet dog,” she said, tripping on her words. She rubbed Schatze behind the ears and wiped a tear away with her other hand.

  Neil frowned at Madeline for a moment before looking down at Schatze. “I’m afraid I can’t take credit for her manners. She was obviously someone’s pet. She took up with me on the walk from Germany and simply wouldn’t turn back.”

  “Walk?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You walked from Germany?”

  “I did.” Neil gave her the briefest of explanations, promising to tell her the details later.

  “Well, you have a car, now,” she said. “A very nice car.”

  “Out in the garage?”

  “Yes.”

  Madeline poured coffee for them both and they sat at the small kitchen table, with Schatze lying beneath them, touching both of their feet. Neil lit a cigarette and pushed the pack to Madeline. She declined. He could see why Jakey might have been involved with her. She was older than he had first thought. Her lack of size somehow made her seem juvenile, but now, studying her face, he guessed she was around thirty years of age. If she decided to fix her hair and dress up, Neil predicted she would be a stunner.

  “Tell me about Jakey,” he said, exhaling his smoke away from her.

  Her expressive brown eyes flickered and cut away, just as they had earlier. She tightened her lips over her teeth, obviously struggling. “Not just yet. I’m not ready.”

  “My lighter?” Neil asked, sliding it on the table. “Similar to Jakey’s? Is that what got to you?”

  “Please,” she said in a strained voice. “Not now.”

  “I understand,” he answered, looking around the cabin. “Do you live here?”

  “I stay here occasionally. I usually live down in town, with a doctor and his family. They’re sympathetic to the cause.”

  “Jewish?”

  Madeline shook her head.

  Neil dragged on his cigarette. “They’re not Jewish?”

  “Let me give you a quick lesson. I’m Jewish, by birth. But I don’t practice the Jewish faith. Make sense?”

  “Yes.”

  “But to the Nazis, I’m still just a despicable Jew. Like me, there are other Jews still here in Austria. Some do practice the Jewish faith, but now only in secret. And according to the Reich’s outrageous Nürnberger laws, there are several degrees of Jews. I’m actually what they classify as a Mischling…a half-breed. Regardless,” she finished with a weary smile, “in the end, to them, I’m still just a Jew.”

  “Sounds extremely harsh. I’m guessing there’s persecution behind all this classification.”

  She laughed a laugh that was devoid of humor. “You could certainly make that assumption. The last year has been hell on earth. Even Austrians risk vicious persecution associating with Jews.” She reset herself. “But there are sympathizers—good people—like the doctor and his family. Then, there are the apathetic, which is where most of the locals lie. I can’t say I blame them—they have their own problems without creating more by running to the defense of others.” The corners of her mouth ticked downward. “And then there are persecutors. Locally, the persecutors are chiefly Nazi.”

  “Today, when I first walked through town, I saw a man…an SS officer. He stared at me, maybe because he thought I was a vagrant.”

  “And?”

  “Well, I kept on going. A bit later, when I neared the turnoff to come up here, another SS appeared on a motorcycle. He was coming from town, slowly, as if he were looking for someone.”

  “Oh, no,” she said, hand over her mouth. “They’re already on to you?”

  He made a calming motion with his hands. “I’m not so sure they are, per se.”

  “What happened?”

  Neil eyed her. “Do you really want to hear this?”

  “Remember who my beau was? I think I can handle it.”

  Chuckling despite the situation, Neil said, “Well…the SS who was looking for someone…he’s now growing cold in the catch basin down by the river.”

  This time both hands flew over her mouth. “You killed him?”

  “It was that or die.”

  “Did anyone see?”

  He shook his head, touching the back of her hand. “No one saw. I brought the motorcycle here.”

  “There’s a Schutzstaffel motorcycle here?” she asked, incredulous.

  “And a sidecar. Schatze loved riding in it.”

  “What about the body?”

  “I need to move it tonight. And the motorcycle.”

  “Could we make it look like he died somewhere else?”

  “I’ve been thinking about that,” Neil said, crushing out the tiny nub of a cigarette. “I think it would be best if I somehow dispose of both the body and motorcycle so they’re not found.”

  “And how do you do that?”

  “I’m working on it.”

  There was a gulf in the conversation. Finally, she said, “You killed an SS soldier.”

  “I did.”

  A grin formed on her face as she poured more coffee. Neil lit another cigarette and the two sat there in silence, thinking independently.

  ~~~

  Standartenführer Anton Aying had finished his sumptuous meal and was ready to bed his married date and be done with her. She’d aggravated him more by the minute. As she droned on about the intricacies of navigating Munich society, Aying snapped his fingers to the waiter.

  “Yes, sir?” the waiter asked.

  “Bring the bill and get my driver in here.”

  The driver arrived in less than a minute. Aying told him to bend down so he could whisper to him. “Have you been approached by the SS Hauptscharführer I sent looking for the hobo?”

  The driver shook his head.

  “Have you seen the Hauptscharführer?”

  “I saw him leave on the motorcycle, but I haven’t seen him since.”

  “How long has it been?”

  The driver produced his pocket watch. “Nearly three hours, sir.”

  Aying rubbed his chin, recalling how drunk the man had been. “Get his name for me. I’ll speak to his commander tomorrow.”

  “I will, sir. There are some soldiers in the bar next door who probably know his name. If you’ll recall, he’s the one who brutalized that homo artist until—”

  “I remember. Just make it fast because we’re leaving soon.”

  “Yes, sir,” the driver replied, disappearing.

  Aying massaged his nose, thinking about the Hauptscharführer. He was probably passed out in a ditch. “Dumb drunk bastard.”

  “Excuse me?” his date asked.

  “Are you ready?” he snapped.

  “To go dancing?”

  “No dancing tonight, Liebling.” Aying tapped his watch. “We’ve got to get right down to business and then I’ll have my driver take you home.”

  “Up to the chalet? But I thought I was staying down here in town with you tonight.”

  “Change of plans.” He lit a cigarette and shrugged. “You can go home now, if you like.”

  The woman pouted. “You said I could stay with you.”

  “Something’s come up.” He took her hand, moving it to his leg, sliding it upward. “Well? Do you want to go home, or do you at least want to stop by my place for a drink?”

  She eyed him sullenly. “You better have champagne.”

  “Diamant Bleu cuvée, my dear.�
�

  She stared at him blankly.

  “Trust me, darling, you might know about the inbreeds in Munich’s ruling class, but I know champagnes. And Diamant Bleu is among the best.”

  “You’re not being very nice tonight,” she remarked. “I sense a trace of hatefulness.”

  “See if you say that twenty minutes from now.” Aying led her from the restaurant. Despite his reassurance to her, he vowed to seek tonight’s pleasure only for himself.

  He also reminded himself to furtively reveal this fling to the woman’s husband. What did Aying care, anyway? It’s not as if her industrialist husband could do anything about it. He’d be left to take his anger out on her, and her alone.

  Content that he would soon lose himself in 7 seconds of bliss, Aying settled into the back seat of the Mercedes and guided his date’s head to his lap.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  NEIL HAD DOWNED A FULL POT OF COFFEE TO KEEP HIMSELF AWAKE. Despite the sleep he desperately craved, the body of the SS and his motorcycle had to disappear. The motorcycle had come first, simply because Neil didn’t want to dispose of the corpse until after most people were asleep. After finding a well-stocked toolbox in the detached garage, it had taken Neil several hours to break the BMW into smaller, more manageable parts. As a nighttime chill had descended on Innsbruck, Neil loaded the trunk of his new car with pieces from the BMW. He and Madeline made two trips down the base of the mountain, dumping the petroleum-free metal components into a deep portion of the Sill, well downstream. An exhausted and breathless Neil buried several pieces downhill from the garage, including the engine block and the fuel tank. Satisfied with the shallow grave, Neil covered the area with pine straw, sweeping a light over the surface. He was confident it wouldn’t be found.