The Serpent's Egg

by JJ Toner

  A bus drew up, and a group of holidaymakers got out and sat at another table. Max got up and joined them. They all looked seriously dehydrated.

  “Where are you from?” he asked a red-faced man.

  “We’re from Freiburg.”

  “You’re on vacation?”

  “We’re on our way home after two weeks in Offenbach. That’s our bus over there.”

  “I’m going south myself. My home is in Switzerland.”

  “You don’t sound Swiss.”

  “I missed the Zurich Express. Would you have room on your bus for an extra passenger?”

  The bus driver had several objections, but the red-faced man persisted and Max climbed onto the bus.

  #

  Max sat with his new red-faced friend, who told him of a municipal bus service from Freiburg to Basel. Max should have no trouble making the connection.

  They arrived in Freiburg a half-hour later. Max’s companion pointed out the municipal bus depot and the bus that would take Max to Switzerland. They shook hands like brothers and Max thanked him. He bought a ticket for the municipal bus and joined the queue of people waiting to board.

  A uniformed Schupo stood by the door checking the passengers’ identity cards. When it was Max’s turn, he handed his card to the policeman.

  The policeman ran a cursory eye over the card and handed it back. “Have a good journey, Herr Noack.”

  “Thank you,” replied Max.

  The policeman reached for his pistol and Max ran. He ducked into a maze of narrow streets. Police whistles echoed off the buildings making it impossible to tell where they were coming from. He ran, twisting and turning, doubling back when he saw police patrols.

  They cornered him in a narrow laneway, put him in handcuffs and marched him to a waiting car. They opened the door and pushed him onto the back seat beside another prisoner.

  “Edmund, what are you doing here?”

  Edmund responded with a sheepish grin, but said nothing.

  “Just tell me the others are safe.”

  “They are safe. They must be in Switzerland by now.”

  #

  Kommissar Ludwig Vogel of the Offenburg Kripo greeted Neumann with a broad smile. “We have Noack safely under lock and key. We caught him attempting to board a bus at Freiburg.” He handed over Max’s false papers and the contents of his pockets – two half packs of cigarettes and some money.

  Neumann examined the identity card. “Splendid work, Kommissar. We need to put an immediate alert out for Frau Marten.”

  “We did that as soon as we captured Noack, but she had crossed into Switzerland. I’m sorry. However, I have a surprise for you. It’s by way of a bonus.”

  Neumann frowned. “I don’t like surprises, Kommissar.”

  “We apprehended another subversive on the Zurich Express, a known Communist called ‘Edmund the Hammer.’ He has been on our books for some time.”

  “I’m not interested in subversives. You can hand him over to the Gestapo. My only interest is in capturing the killer of a religious pastor. Have you notified the Gestapo?”

  “Berlin have a man on the way. I’m under strict instructions to hold these two until he arrives.”

  Neumann’s frown deepened. “I’d like a chance to interrogate Noack before those thugs get their hands on him. Their methods leave a lot to be desired. I would have no use for a confession that’s beaten out of a suspect.”

  Chapter 97

  June 1940

  A young uniformed Orpo stood by the door. The expression on his face suggested he would love an excuse to whip out his pistol and empty it into his prisoner. But Max was going nowhere. His legs were shackled together, his wrists handcuffed, the handcuffs padlocked to an iron ring welded to the top of a steel table. His papers, his money and the two cigarette packs sat out of reach on the table.

  Max tested the table. It was firmly bolted to the floor, as was the chair he was sitting on. He thought about asking for something to drink, but it seemed unlikely that they would release his arms having gone to all that trouble to restrain them.

  The door opened and two men entered. He recognized one of them, the Oberassistent from Berlin. The other was a stranger. They sat at the table facing Max.

  “My name is Neumann, Kommissar Neumann. You may remember Oberassistent Fischer, here. He interviewed you in Berlin...”

  “In January,” said Fischer.

  Neumann picked Max’s false identity card from the table. “Do you deny that your real name is Max-Christian Noack?”

  Max shook his head.

  “Using a false name is a very serious offense. The country is at war, so you will be tried as an enemy agent. This false identity card alone is sufficient for a judge to sentence you to death.”

  Max said nothing.

  “We would like to help you. We are investigating a murder. I believe you may be able to shed some light on the case. And if you can, I will do what I can to help you.”

  “I know nothing about a murder.”

  “We found your cigarette lighter at the scene, and we have linked you to the victim.”

  Max looked shocked. “You think I killed someone?”

  “We know you murdered Pastor Salvatore Vigo and buried him in the cemetery behind Holy Cross Church. But I’m certain you had accomplices. I need their names.”

  “This is nonsense. I know Father Vigo. He officiated at my wedding. He is a friend. Why would I murder him?”

  “We don’t have much time, Noack, tell me who helped you with the murder and I’ll talk to the Gestapo on your behalf.”

  At the mention of the Gestapo something began to crawl up Max’s spine. “I’m sorry, Kommissar, but you have the wrong man.”

  Neumann held up a hand and listed the evidence on his fingers. “We have your fingerprints on the cigarette lighter found at the cemetery, we know the priest conducted your marriage, and we know that you forged your Marriage Authorization.”

  Fischer interjected, “Is that why you killed him?”

  Neumann said, “There was also the matter of the extortion of 500 Reichsmarks by the Gestapo man, Framzl. As I understand it, Framzl agreed to sign your Marriage Authorization in exchange for the money. You then forged his signature…”

  “…and got a Reich stamp from somewhere…” said Fischer.

  “This enraged Framzl. He went back to the priest and berated him, maybe he threatened him…”

  “And the registrar…”

  “After that, I can only suppose the priest came back to you. He was angry. A fight broke out. You snapped his neck. Then you and your friends drove him to the Holy Cross Church and buried him there. So who helped you? Who drove the car?”

  “Was it the Communist, Edmund the Hammer?” said Fischer. “Were you hoping to escape to Switzerland together?”

  #

  The door swung open. A third policeman stuck his head round the door. “The Gestapo man is here.”

  Max’s heart sank. His tongue sought out his empty tooth cavity. If only he hadn’t thrown away the cyanide capsule!

  The Gestapo man will break every bone in my body, and I will give them every name that I know. The whole resistance network will fall.

  “Last chance,” said Kommissar Neumann. “Tell me who helped you with the murder of the priest and I’ll ask the Gestapo to go easy on you.”

  Max knew the Kommissar couldn’t keep to his side of that bargain. His situation was hopeless.

  The door swung open again and the blond Jürgen Traut strode in dressed in his gray Gestapo uniform. He snarled at the two Kripo men. “Leave us. I will interrogate the prisoner myself.”

  Neumann stood his ground. “Herr Noack has information that could help to solve the case of the murdered pastor. I will sit in on the interrogation.”

  Jürgen roared at him, “Get out of here, both of you, and close the door.”

  Neumann and Fischer left the room.

  The Gestapo man sat down opposite Max. He picked up the
identity card. “Herr Dieter Marten, a salesman from Belgium. How inventive.” He swept the money from the table and tucked it and the identity card into his left breast pocket. Then he picked up the two cigarette packs. “A heavy smoker, I see. But you have no matches, and we have your lighter in Berlin.” He grinned. “I know these packs contain encrypted information intended for the Soviets. What can you tell me about that?”

  Max made no reply. He tried a look of shocked surprise.

  “No matter.” He slipped the two packs into his right breast pocket. “I’m sure our counterintelligence men will decipher the messages when we get back to Berlin.

  Now tell me, at what point did you decide to renege on our agreement?”

  “What agreement?”

  “You joined the Red Orchestra to act as Framzl’s eyes and ears. We agreed that you would work with me to bring the Communist subversives to justice…”

  “I never believed that Framzl or you would stick to your side of that bargain.”

  “Why were you attempting to leave the country?”

  “The Kripo wanted to charge me with the death of Father Vigo.”

  “You are innocent of that killing, of course.”

  “Yes.”

  “Of course. I know you never killed anyone, Max-Christian. You wouldn’t have the guts. Forgery and lies are your level.” He stood up. “You thought you were so clever, didn’t you? You thought you could outwit that dummkopf, Jürgen Traut. Well, let me tell you, I won that contest. I took Anna when you were away on one of your subversive trips.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What do you think I mean? I took her. I screwed her. Twice. In your bed. What’s so difficult to understand?”

  A wave of anger and revulsion energized Max. He tried to get to his feet but the shackles made that impossible. “You’re lying!”

  “Am I? You’ll have to ask your lovely wife the next time you see her. Oh, but I forgot, you won’t be seeing her again – ever – will you?”

  Finally, Jürgen balled his fist and delivered a crushing blow to the side of Max’s head.

  Chapter 98

  June 1940

  Jürgen bundled Edmund and Max, both handcuffed, into the back of his car and his driver set out to the north. Max caught a glimpse of the driver. It was Walter Lehmann! Max’s heart lifted. Could Lehmann be here to rescue him? After 5 km the driver turned the car into a forest and switched off the engine.

  “What are you doing, man?” said Jürgen.

  Walter Lehmann pulled out his gun and shot Jürgen in the head at point blank range. Blood spattered on the car window and windshield. Lehmann got out, opened the passenger door and pulled Jürgen’s body from the car. Then he helped Max and Edmund out and removed their handcuffs.

  Edmund was confused. “What’s happening? You don’t mean to shoot us here?”

  “I’m letting you go. Max will explain. Now hit me and take the car. Make it look convincing.”

  Edmund didn’t need a second invitation. He hammered a fist into Lehmann’s midriff followed by another blow to the head. Lehmann fell, unconscious. Max searched Jürgen’s pockets and found the two cigarette packs, his identity card and money. Then he got into the driver’s seat and started the engine. Edmund tucked Lehmann’s Luger into his belt and got into the back.

  “Leave the gun,” said Max.

  “We might need it.”

  “We won’t. Throw it away.”

  Edmund wound down the window and threw the gun away. “Tell me what just happened.”

  “The Gestapo driver is a friend.”

  “A friend.”

  “He knew my father at the Somme.”

  Edmund chewed over that information.

  “My father saved his life.”

  “And we were lucky the Gestapo chose him as the driver?”

  Max shook his head. “Luck had nothing to do with it.”

  #

  Max drove south. They passed through Offenburg without incident and on to Freiburg. There were no buses in the Freiburg bus station, but a small group of people stood around. Obviously, a bus was expected.

  Outside Freiburg Max passed a sign that read Basel 70 km. After 10 km a bus passed them on its way north. Another two km down the road, he spotted a group of people standing at a bus stop, obviously waiting for the southbound bus. He drove on around a bend before leaving the road.

  “We get out here, Edmund.”

  “Why? We’re nowhere near the border.”

  “What chance would we have of crossing the border in a Gestapo car covered in blood and brains?”

  “Oh, I see, so…”

  “There’s a bus stop back there, people waiting for a southbound bus. We’ll join them.”

  #

  The bus arrived 20 minutes later. Max and Edmund climbed aboard behind the group of locals. Max paid for two tickets to Basel and they sat together near the back of the bus.

  The bus carried them across the border into Switzerland without further incident. Edmund had Swiss papers. Max’s cover of a Belgian underwear salesman got him through the checks of the guards on both sides of the border. It helped that the alert for Max had been cancelled as the police all thought he was on his way to Berlin under escort by the Gestapo.

  #

  At Basel railway station Max and Edmund boarded a train bound for Zurich.

  “You don’t need to come any further with me,” Max said. “Thank you for your help.”

  Edmund laughed. “You’ll not get rid of me that easily. I have business in Zurich.”

  Basel to Zurich was a 90-minute journey through magnificent scenery, with snow-capped mountains in the far-off distance.

  They arrived at the Storchen Hotel at 4:00 pm. Max asked for Frau Marten. The receptionist told him his wife and child were in room 103.

  Edmund finally shook hands with Max. “This is where we part company, my friend.”

  Max was happy to see the big man leave the hotel. He’d been hanging around like a bad smell since they’d crossed the border. Max made his way up the stairs to room 103. He knocked on the door.

  “Who is it?” Anna’s voice.

  “Room service.”

  She opened the door and threw herself into his arms. When they surfaced, Max looked around the suite. They had four luxury rooms. The living area had a balcony overlooking the river. Max opened the bedroom door and found a sleeping Sophie clinging to her doll.

  #

  The next afternoon, while Anna and Sophie went shopping for clothes, Max treated himself to a well-earned beer in the hotel bar.

  A stranger sat beside him at the counter and introduced himself as ‘Stephan.’

  “Where were you born?” said Max.

  “Windhoek, German South-West Africa,” replied the stranger. “My real name is Hans Bokker. If you need anything while you’re in Switzerland, I’ll be happy to help. You can contact me here at the hotel.”

  Max handed him the two cigarette packs. “One of these carries an important message for the Soviets. Our friends in Berlin want the message transmitted as quickly as possible. Also, the next time you contact Berlin, tell them that Bruno is their traitor. He tried to stop me from delivering the message.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “We left him tied up in a hotel in Erfurt. I expect he’ll have difficulty explaining himself to the local police.”

  #

  When Anna and Sophie returned from their shopping trip, Sophie was exhausted. Anna put her to bed.

  Max closed the bedroom door quietly. “Are you hungry?”

  “Famished.”

  “We could grab a quick meal in the restaurant.”

  “Should we leave Sophie?”

  “She’ll be fine. We won’t take too long.”

  They took the stairs to the first floor, found the restaurant and ordered. While they waited for their food to arrive, they exchanged stories. Anna’s journey had been tiring, but uneventful. His story took her through a rollerco
aster of emotions, shock, fear, surprise, and relief.

  They had finished the first course, and the waiter was placing their main course on the table, when the air was split by a piercing scream.

  Anna gasped. “Sophie!”

  Max leapt to his feet and ran up the stairs. Sophie was standing in the corridor. “Aschenputtel! The man stole my doll.”

  Chapter 99

  June 1940

  “Which way did he go?”

  Sophie pointed behind her and Max ran. At the end of the corridor he found a service staircase. He charged down that. At the bottom he came to an exit door. He crashed through the door onto a short pier. At the end of the pier sat a red motorboat with Edmund the Hammer on board, fiddling with the engine. He looked up nervously at Max and pulled the starter cord. The engine failed to start. Max charged down the pier. He was no more than three meters from the boat when Edmund’s motor started. The boat sped away down the river belching black smoke. Max ran back into the hotel and out to the taxi rank at the front of the hotel.

  He jumped into a taxi. “There’s a motorboat on the river heading south. Follow him. I’ll give you 30 Reichsmarks if you catch up to him.”

  “Make that 50,” said the taxi man.

  “Fifty it is.”

  The taxi driver set off at speed down the side of the river, weaving around slow-moving traffic. They passed two bridges. Then the river opened up into a wide lake and they cleared the worst of the traffic. Max caught sight of the motorboat, a red dot in the distance.

  “There he is!” Max cried. “We’re never going to catch him. Can’t you go any faster?”

  “We’ll catch him, don’t worry, sir. Sit back and enjoy the ride.” The taxi accelerated, throwing Max back into his seat.

  Meter by meter they gained on the red boat until Max could make out the figure of Edmund in the wheelhouse.