Final Mission: Zion - A World War 2 Thriller

by Chuck Driskell

  “You’ve come this far, Thomas. If you feel you cannot be effective, get help. But if you believe you can still do it, then do so, and move swiftly.”

  Thomas clicked the locket shut, wiping the moisture from his face as he donned his wide-brimmed fedora. He decided to leave his truck parked where it was, walking back across the bridge and into the old city. Most of the shops were closed, leaving only hotels and restaurants open for business. It was time to perform the most basic of police techniques. Thomas was going to go door-to-door, inquiring about Americans in Innsbruck.

  Since Thomas was a good Lutheran, and with today being Sunday, he prayed he would catch a break.

  ~~~

  It was a heartrending gathering. Peter and Gabi Heinz sat on the couch, their wailing now reduced to soft crying as both leaned forward, their heads cradled by their hands. Their other hands, Peter’s right and Gabi’s left, were joined. Both Neil and Madeline had tried to console them, but Gabi had politely pushed them away. Neil understood. Sometimes grief makes a person want to be alone with their thoughts. Schatze, however, had been welcomed into the fold. She sat between them, licking their clasped hands every few moments. Occasionally one of the Heinz siblings would pet her, appreciative of her concern.

  With his Colt visible in his waistband, Neil held the curtain back, staring up the driveway and down the hill. He sipped from a heavy mug of coffee, his voice a whisper to Madeline. “We have to leave here. Ten more minutes, tops.”

  “The man who saw you and Peter, he’s from where?”

  “He’s from Velden. He saw me in the airplane that I later crashed at their farm,” he said, motioning to Gabi and Peter, his chuckle devoid of humor. “I’d just shot the man who flew me into Germany, in self-defense. He’d shot me a few moments before. And that’s when the old man arrived, just as I was leaving.”

  “How do you know he’s a policeman?”

  “I don’t know for sure, but that’s what Peter told me. The old man is the one who claims he discovered their mother.”

  Madeline drank from her cup and looked away. “What makes you think he isn’t the one who killed her?”

  “Because he wrote a note for—”

  “He wasn’t the one who killed Mama,” Peter said, cutting Neil off. Madeline and Neil exchanged glances. They had no idea they were speaking loud enough to be heard.

  Peter stood. “He came to the farm once before, looking for you…when you hid in the barn cellar.”

  “He was one of the ones that evening down in the field,” Neil said nodding, putting the pieces together. “The one who the veterinarian led up to the farm before he tried to bribe your mother.”

  Gabi nodded, wiping her tears. “He seemed like a nice old man who was just doing his job.”

  Something struck Neil. He raised his hand to summon silence. His mind went to the glimpse he’d had of Preston Lord, standing in front of the grand Tyroler Inn. Neil, nor his team, knew much about Lord. On the occasions when forced to meet with him, Neil always felt there was an icy disconnect deep inside him. The kind of numb, psychopathic detachment that makes a person seem less than human.

  If Lord had picked up the trail in London, then followed Neil to Germany under a diplomatic cover, he would have probably learned of the investigation into the murder of a pilot in Velden. A pilot who lived in England. He would have learned that Willi Kruger’s Hornet Moth had originated near London. Lord would have calculated the airplane’s range and determined that it would have run out of fuel somewhere in southern Bavaria. He would have located the investigator on the Kruger case, presumably the old man Neil and Peter had just seen, and he would have heard about a veterinarian in a town called Hausham who had claimed to know something, which he most certainly did.

  Lord, if Neil was surmising correctly, wouldn’t have done things by-the-book, like his German counterparts, and a weak man like the veterinarian would have spilled everything he knew after only a few seconds of painful torture. So, Neil thought, seeing it clearly now, Lord would have found out about the Heinz farm, rushed there, tortured Hildie Heinz for information and, like he probably did the veterinarian, killed her to cover his tracks. Then Preston Lord, in his typical arrogant fashion, breezed into Innsbruck, thinking his tail was clear as he promptly checked into the finest hotel in town.

  Sonofabitch!

  Peter pushed something into Neil’s hand. It was the note from Thomas Lundren to the Hausham constable. Neil read it quietly, his lips parting a fraction as he took in the high points: According to Hildie, the American man who had assaulted her had been working with a German policeman—a constable. So was the policeman they’d just seen, Lundren, the one Lord was working with? Or was there another cop involved and, if so, where was he? Besides, if Lundren authored the note, why would he rat on himself?

  Neil focused on Peter. “Peter, you are certain the old man…Lundren…was trying to help?”

  Peter used the back of his arm to wipe his eyes. “I know I’m not grown yet, but this is one time you should all listen to me. He told me about Mama…” A shiver went through him. “He stood there and hugged me after he told me.” Peter squeezed his eyes shut and lowered his head.

  Neil nodded, staring again at the note. He walked to the far side of the room.

  “What is it?” Madeline asked.

  “One second,” he whispered as his mind’s fog began to burn away.

  It wouldn’t be hard for Lord to learn about Neil—or Dieter Dremel. Neil had been in two restaurants, the butcher shop, and had spoken to a number of people since his arrival. His accent, while much better than before, still stood out. People commented on it often. His multi-colored eyes didn’t help either. Someone would identify him, probably connecting him with the Horch, and maybe even the mountain cabin.

  Neil thought about Standartenführer Anton Aying, Jakey’s killer. He knew about this residence and he knew all about the wealthy Dieter Dremel.

  Lord was a pro and was almost certainly here under diplomatic immunity. And Lord would surely find Anton Aying—the two twisted individuals would be attracted by a magnetic pull.

  “We’ve got a few hours at the most,” Neil said, grabbing everyone’s attention with his hard-edged tone.

  “How do you know that?” Madeline asked, seemingly bewildered with Neil’s swings of temperament.

  “I just do.” He turned to Gabi. “I’m sorry about your mother—so sorry—but you need to get your things. We need to get out of here, and fast.”

  “But we can’t just—”

  “Now!”

  He rushed into the bedroom. As the others hurried around the house, grabbing the bare essentials, Neil stopped what he was doing. He jerked open the bedside table, removing the documents he had hidden behind the drawer. Nestled with the passports and credentials was the letter from Jakey. Neil put the identifications in his jacket before opening the letter, staring at it.

  “Talk to me, Jakey,” he said, staring at the letter again…

  July 2, ‘38

  Barkie-Boy:

  Do you still get mad when I call you that? Probably the last time you’ll hear it, especially if you’re reading this letter. But, as you and I know so well, the sun also rises again.

  I need a giant favor. And after what you’ve been through, you’re just the man. I need you to go to the city I’ve been working in and move a few hundred children to safety. They’re well hidden but they will run out of food and supplies 75 days from the date I write this.

  If this important envelope made it to you in S-F, it means my job isn’t done. It means I bought the farm. The whys and wherefores of the mission will be explained to you. Will you do it? I need you Pale Horse. We need you. These are innocent people: women and children. And after all you’ve been through, I thought you might like the distraction.

  You must liberate them to the transport ship by September 15th. Not before and not after. It’s too dangerous to have them out in the open. All you need to do is find secure transport
from→

  The lack of the second page had at first been frustrating. But, as Kraabe had informed him, there had never been a second page. Jakey probably knew there was a chance the envelope might be intercepted. And if it was, he wouldn’t want to give away the children’s location. So what exactly was Jakey trying to convey? Neil read the note again, word by word—c’mon Jakey!—scrutinizing it for clues.

  “We’re ready,” Madeline said, breathless as she leaned into the doorway.

  “Stand guard by the door and wait. I need quiet.”

  “I thought we had to hurry?” she snapped.

  “I’m sorry. Just take this and stand guard by the door,” he said, handing her his Colt.

  She took the pistol and slammed the bedroom door shut.

  Neil studied the note, reading each sentence forward and backward. While he found no hidden phrases when read backward, he noticed an inefficiency about the letter. Every single sentence in the letter had a purpose, except the one at the end of the first paragraph:

  But, as you and I know so well, the sun also rises again.

  Neil gnawed on a fingernail, unable to make any sense of it. He kept reading.

  If this important envelope made it to you in S-F, it means my job isn’t done.

  And what was it about that line that didn’t seem right?

  This was a letter.

  It was only held by the envelope. Why would the damned envelope be important?

  Neil picked up the tattered envelope, flipping it over as he stared at the cracked remnants of the wax seal. The glued-down folds of the envelope displayed the slightly askew cuts made by a pair of scissors. The envelope was handmade. Neil remembered during his time as a boy when many envelopes had been made by hand, but not anymore. Whoever had made it had done a fine job, because only a close inspection would have revealed it as having been handmade. But this one was—Neil was certain of it.

  He opened the envelope, holding it to the scant light of the bedroom. Of course it was empty. He hurried across the room, yanking the curtain backward as he lifted the envelope into the gray light of the window.

  There was writing inside!

  Neil sprinted from the bedroom, not hearing the loud inquisitions from the two women. After yanking the top drawer from the cabinet, ignoring the loud crash and scattering of silverware, he found the pair of scissors he was looking for and carefully cut the envelope open. Gabi, Madeline, and Peter gathered around the narrow bar of the kitchen counter as Neil flattened the cross-shaped paper on the countertop. In the center of the paper, written faintly in lead pencil, was a sequence of numbers.

  Madeline traced her finger under the numerals. “Groupings of numbers. What do they mean?”

  Neil studied them for a moment, finally straightening, staring at Madeline. “It means Jakey is still talking to us.” He put his arm around Madeline, giving her a quick hug before he carefully refolded the envelope and placed it in his jacket.

  At Neil’s urging, they all loaded into the Horch, leaving the cottage for the final time.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

  Neil had halfway expected roadblocks on the downhill drive to Doctor Kraabe’s valley home. Perhaps even formations of Panzer tanks, their 75-millimeter barrels ready to blow the Horch all the way back to the Zwickau factory where it had been manufactured. But there was no resistance, other than a gentle rain. Regardless, he took a circuitous route and, upon arriving at the mansion, he jockeyed the Horch around the two Kraabe cars to the very back of the home so it wouldn’t be visible from the street.

  The four passengers, with Schatze leading the way, burst into the Kraabe household. Madeline explained to the doctor all that had happened, hurriedly introducing Peter and Gabi and telling him about the murder of their mother. Doctor Kraabe took them into the sitting room, calming everyone and, with his trademark compassion, asking the Heinz siblings to relay their accounts of what had happened.

  Neil, meanwhile, dashed through the kitchen, past the hidden doors, and down into Jakey’s former room. He pulled the wine rack door shut behind him, welcoming the chilly solitude of the subterranean room. Once he’d unfolded the envelope’s remains, Neil studied the sequence again, afterward allowing his eyes to take in every book in the room. The numbers appeared to be a simple book code. Neil and Jakey had used such a code to communicate on a number of occasions. Unless another person had the book—and it had to be of the exact same printing and edition—the numbers of the code were completely useless.

  There were probably a hundred books in the small space, their collective mass dampening all sounds like a foot-thick layer of insulation. If he had the time, which he didn’t, Neil would spot-check every single book, trying the code until he found the one that worked.

  Assuming the correct book was even here.

  After perusing the titles, Neil slid two books off the shelf next to the bed. One was a picture book titled Paris. Neil remembered exactly when Jakey had purchased it, on the Olympic as they sailed from New York to England. That was the summer he and Jakey had spent their holiday in Paris, carousing, drinking, enjoying the other’s company and letting off much-needed steam from their war experience.

  The other book, A Farewell to Arms by Ernest Hemingway, was one Neil had purchased that summer in Paris. After he was finished with it, Jakey had read it and obviously kept it. Neil remembered the dusty American bookstore on the Rue du Rivoli. He and Jakey had purchased a number of books there, reading in the adjacent brasserie, lazing around with a glass of—

  Wait! An alarm sounded in Neil’s head.

  Paris. Hemingway.

  Neil lifted the note, his eyes moving to the sentence that didn’t belong.

  But, as you and I know so well, the sun also rises again.

  The Sun Also Rises! It was a book by Ernest Hemingway, perhaps the one they had discussed the most that summer. Hemingway, like Jakey and Neil, was a war veteran, and many of his remembrances synced perfectly with theirs, like a keystone.

  The clue had been as plain as day the entire time but, in a forest-for-the-trees blindness, Neil had never even noticed it. He began to study the title of every haphazardly stacked book, frantically searching for the code novel. He knocked over shelves, looked under the bed, checked every crack and crevice. There were no other Hemingway books.

  Neil rushed back upstairs, finding everyone seated in the sunroom. Peter was resting against Gabi as she stroked his hair. Schatze had her paws in Madeline’s lap. Doctor Kraabe was leaning against a bookcase, lecturing the group about something.

  “Yes?” Kraabe asked, frowning at Neil’s boisterous entry.

  Neil jabbed a finger at Madeline. “I need one of Jakey’s books. The Sun Also Rises by Ernest Hemingway. That’s the key to the code.”

  She stood, a look of concern coming over her face. “They’re all down there. Didn’t you see it?”

  “Damn it!” Neil yelled. “I looked at every single book three times. It’s not there. Where else could it be?”

  Doctor Kraabe ambled to his library, coming back with a handsome, black-bound copy of the novel. Neil took it. It was in German. He nearly rejected it, but then realized that the code would have worked just as well in a German book. All it did was reference a page number, and then a letter. You simply counted the letters from the top left until you found the correct one. He asked everyone to stay put, rushing into the study where he began to work the code.

  The first letter was represented by the number 12-32. Neil flipped to page 12, carefully counting to the thirty-second letter. F. He scribbled it down. The next letter would probably need to be a vowel, or an L, or an R. The following letter in the code directed him to 50-90. Neil went to page fifty, taking his time as he counted to the ninetieth letter. It was a Q. He cursed. Perhaps he had counted too fast. He repeated the process.

  Q again.

  Neil flung the book across the room, spewing curse words. Doctor Kraabe appeared, Madeline in tow.

  “That’s not the damned
book! It would be Jakey’s own. I know how he thought,” Neil said, his frustration boiling over. “He wouldn’t have used your book.”

  Doctor Kraabe donned his spectacles, opening his hand for the envelope. With an exasperated breath, Neil handed it to him. “Perhaps you’re not doing it properly,” the doctor mused.

  Neil closed his eyes, doing his best not to lash out. He explained the way the code worked, silently reminding himself that there was no harm in the doctor trying. “Try it backward. Maybe he flipped the page and letters on me. We used to do that kind of thing sometimes.”

  Neil glanced at Madeline. “While he’s doing that…” He grabbed Madeline’s hand and rushed her downstairs into the hidden room. Books lay everywhere on the floor. He gestured around. “Madeline, think carefully. Where might Jakey have hidden the book?”

  Her chocolate eyes flickered before widening. “The note, and the code, was for you.”

  “So?”

  “So, he would have hidden the book somewhere where you would know to find it.”

  Agreeing with her logic, Neil sat on the bed. He removed the note from his pocket, looking for any other clues in the text. He found none. The stairs creaked and Doctor Kraabe appeared in the doorway, hunching over due to the low height. Gabi and Peter appeared behind him, followed by Schatze who padded into the room and hopped right on the bed. Kraabe handed Neil the cross-shaped envelope, shaking his head.

  “Thanks for trying,” Neil mumbled. Everyone was silent as Neil began to rummage through the books. He lifted A Farewell to Arms. Perhaps Jakey had only been trying to tip him off as to the author. Taking his time, Neil tried the code, regular and inverse, shaking his head each time. The only sound from the assemblage was a dejected group exhalation each time the code didn’t work.