The truck, unimpaired by the snow as it was well above the surface of the road, made good progress back to the Grunewald house.
‘Park round the corner,’ said Dennis. ‘I don’t want it right outside the house until we load up. Someone may see it and ask questions later.’
The pair entered the house quietly. It was empty except for the sleeping child upstairs in front of the electric fire. She stirred in her sleep as Dennis checked on her. Fritz stared at her doubtfully, obviously thinking that this could all be a very bad idea.
‘Have you drugged her? You may have poisoned her, you crazy man,’ he said.
‘Don’t worry, Fritz, she’s all right,’ Dennis said. ‘Let’s start getting things packed up.’
The two men started to wrap the smaller artefacts in old newspapers. Dennis tore up sheets and wrapped them around the paintings. In crates that he had collected earlier they packed the smaller items. Clocks, statuettes ornaments, lamps and vases were wrapped and carefully arranged in layers. One by one they stacked the boxes on the landing and then carried them down to the hall. Dennis listened nervously for sounds of anyone returning, getting increasingly jumpy as each moment passed.
‘We’ll have to be quick now,’ he said. ‘Bring the truck round and we’ll get it all in there.’
Opening the front door they found that it was now quite dark and snow was falling heavily. There was no-one in the freezing street. Fritz brought the truck to the front door and they filled it with the crates of packed treasure. Delicate pieces of antique furniture, swathed in blankets and sheets, were the last to be placed inside.
‘That’s everything. Time to go, Fritz,’ said Dennis. ‘You know where to take it, don’t you?’
‘Ja. I will see you tomorrow; where we agreed. You had better be there. I will find you if you’re not, you know.’
‘Don’t worry. I’ll be there.’
Fritz jumped into the driver’s cab and drove away. Just as he rounded the corner an American jeep coming the other way passed him. Irma and her friends were coming home. Dennis saw them, turned and hurried into the house. He climbed the stairs rapidly and had only just reached the sanctuary of his room when the front door opened.
How bare his room looked with everything gone. Just the bare necessities remained; all luxury had been peeled away. He felt bereft, all his wonderful things, so carefully collected over the last months, gone. He knew that he would soon be reunited with them, but meanwhile he had things to do and plan. Somehow he had to get the child out of the house without anyone seeing him. Irma was home, but where was Isabel?
Dennis stared into the glowing bars of the electric fire, gnawing at his fingernails. He tugged at his thin beard and glanced at Penny, sleeping peacefully in the other armchair. She looked like a slumbering cherub, but her cheeks seemed rather red.
Dennis stood and examined Penny more closely. She was very hot. He had not taken off the overcoat and hat or the mufflers she was wearing when he brought her into the flat. Gently, trying not to wake her, he pulled off the gloves. They were connected by a cord of ribbon through the arms of the coat. He pulled away the two scarves; a small child’s scarf and a much longer, bright blue one. He slipped the coat from her shoulders and arranged it around her. He did not move the child off the coat as he knew that if she woke she might make enough noise to alert Irma. There, she would be cooler in a minute. Perhaps he should turn off the fire too. No, not a good idea, it was so cold outside that the temperature in the room would drop rapidly without it.
He slumped into his chair again and tried to get his thoughts in order. Everything had happened so fast that he hadn’t formulated a proper plan. At least Fritz was taking care of the loot. He hoped he could trust the slimy rat. But he didn’t think Fritz would let him down with the knowledge that there was more bounty to come. He was a greedy little sod.
He had to get the child out of the flat or he would be found out. There were bound to be police around soon, either the Polizei or the Military Police. That meant carrying her, sleeping, out into the snow and taking her somewhere safer.
Perhaps he should take her to Fritz’s hovel until the morning and then – well he’d have to take her to the country, away from the city. His cottage in the Hartz Mountains would be perfect. Hidden away, down by the lake near the woods, no-one would find him there; no-one knew he owned it. But he’d have to tell them something, give them some instructions, or they wouldn’t know where to take the ransom and collect the child. He didn’t want them to know that he was responsible for snatching Penny if he could possibly help it. How could he arrange that?
Dennis sank deeper into thought until the heat from the fire lulled him into a stupor. He woke with a start, afraid that hours had passed, but his watch told him that he had only napped for a few minutes. He had to do something, now, before Isabel came back. More than likely she’d have that spook John Marriott with her, pushing his nose into everything.
First he’d have to write a letter of some sort to tell them what to do. He started to scribble a draft on a piece of rough paper. No, he couldn’t write it by hand, they’d be bound to recognise his handwriting, so he dragged out his old Olivetti portable and began to compose a ransom note. His typing was pretty accurate after years in an office where the typists went home on the dot of 5.30.
Would there be time for them to get to the Hartz by tomorrow? No, he wouldn’t be there himself by then probably, the weather being as it was. The day after then, sometime in the afternoon. Maybe he’d not say definitely, just say something vague about a rendezvous being arranged within three days. They’d have to come to a meeting in the forest, not too near the cottage; someone local might know he used it. There was that place where two streams met on their way towards the lake; that would do, but he needn’t tell them that till later or they might set up an ambush. His head was spinning with confusion.
He wrote a list of the drugs and other things he required as ransom. Fritz’ instructions had been comprehensive. He doubled the quantities he had first thought of; might as well be hung for a sheep as for a lamb.
He tapped away at the typewriter, his confidence growing. Yes, this should work. They needn’t know it was him and if they did guess, he would blame Fritz and say that he had rescued Penny from the old villain. Everyone knew Fritz was a crook and a leading light with the black market gangs. A lot of ruthless thugs, they would think nothing of kidnapping a child, he thought.
Dennis pulled the typed letter from the machine and found an envelope for it. He typed Isabel’s name and address on the front so that they’d think the postman had delivered it, inserted the letter and sealed it, well satisfied with his plan so far.
He stood up and stretched. Now what? Time to get the kid out of the building. He leaned over the chair and dressed Penny in her warm clothes again and turned off the fire. She stirred slightly, so he fed her another of the sleeping pills and put the rest in his coat pocket for later. He went into the bedroom and took the old service revolver that he had acquired from the bedside table. A rucksack was filled with the few items of food he had left from his rations and a flask of strong coffee. A couple of bars of Cadbury’s Dairy Milk chocolate completed his hoard. He hoped the coffee would keep warm; he would need it to help keep him awake.
Returning to the sitting room, he wrapped Penny in the rug again and prepared to leave. First he had to check that there was no-one downstairs. He went to the landing and peered over the banisters. No sign of Irma; she must be in her room. He stole down the stairs and placed the ransom note on the floor, under one corner of the blue rug. They would think it had been delivered earlier in the day. He supposed someone would find it quite quickly.
He climbed the stairs again and picked up the sleeping child. Even swaddled in the blanket she was not heavy. He lifted her on to his shoulder and left the room. He had to be quick; he couldn’t be seen or everything would be over. Holding his breath he crept down the stairs, opened the front door, praying the panels would
n’t rattle, and stepped out into the snow. He didn’t breathe until he reached the corner, not able to relax until he knew he was out of sight of the house. Then he hurried towards Fritz’s cabin for the second time that evening, the weight of the child on his shoulder increasing with every step.
But Dennis had been careless. Upstairs in his sitting room the bright blue scarf lay on the floor beside the armchair.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Fritz drove the truck with Dennis’s collected treasure away into the white streets. He knew the location of the building in which he was supposed to stow Dennis’s loot, but he wasn’t going there. With a tank full of fuel he thought he’d take the opportunity to visit some friends who might be interested in these new developments.
Extraordinary, he thought. What was that idiot thinking, kidnapping a child? Did he seriously think he could get away with it? I’m pretty greedy myself, he acknowledged, but nothing like that, the man is verückt. He’d be lucky if he hadn’t killed the child, overdosing her with sleeping pills. She looked all right at the moment, but if he carried on giving them to her it must have a bad effect. Still, it was none of his business; let the mad Englishman do as he liked.
Fritz negotiated the snow-covered streets out to the suburbs close to the Wannsee. He parked outside the house with the damaged roof. At last someone had been up and rearranged the tarpaulin so that the snow had not filled the loft. It seemed that the occupants were either out or gone to bed because it took some time before someone opened the door; finally he was inside.
The burly Serbian, Lujic, who ran one of the biggest black market rings in Berlin, roared with laughter when he heard of Dennis’s antics.
‘These British,’ he said. ‘So high and mighty, but so venal too. Well, this is very interesting. You say you have this truck full of valuables outside?’
‘Yes,’ said Fritz. ‘All packed up and ready to be shipped to England.’
‘We’ll see about that,’ said the Serbian. ‘Where did you say he is taking this child?’
‘To the Hartz. He’s got a summer cottage there.’
The Serbian’s eyes narrowed. ‘So that’s where this drug ransom is going to be delivered?’
‘That’s what he told me. He didn’t want to stay in Berlin. Frightened of British Intelligence, I think.’
‘Yes, he’s probably right to be. Is that man John Marriott involved in this?’
‘He’s a friend of the parents, I believe.’
‘Good, good. I have a few scores to settle with the clever Captain Marriott. Too much interference. He pretends to be my friend, but I know he just wants to sabotage my business. I can’t allow that. Come, Fritz Keller, we have work to do.’
The Serbian called some of his men from upstairs and reluctantly at first, as they were groggy with sleep, they unloaded the cache. Fritz stood by nervously as they man-handled the more delicate antiques into the house.
‘He has done very well,’ said the Serbian, examining some of the finer pieces. ‘I can find a good home for these. We have a trip to Switzerland scheduled for next week. These can go in that consignment. You’ve done well, Fritz. Don’t worry; you’ll get your share of the proceeds.’
Fritz’s back stooped with weariness. He’d been involved in the packing and transporting of these goods twice today and had had enough. He sat on the front step of the house sucking on a cigarette until the unloading was complete. The Serbian sat beside him.
‘What should I do now?’ Fritz asked, fighting back one of his rasping coughs.
‘Just carry out the rest of the plan as agreed with Mr Masters. He thinks you’ve put the goods in his storage, does he not?’
‘Yes,’ said Fritz.
‘So, you go back to your lodging with the truck, pick him up, with this child he’s taken and drive to the Hartz as agreed. We will follow later. Don’t worry, Fritz, we will get the ransom for ourselves. No stupid civilian idiot can stop us and if we have any more interference from the British military, we know how to deal with them.’ He slapped Fritz on the back. ‘Off with you. I’ll see you soon, my friend.’ His loud insincere laugh guffawed from his deep chest. ‘Good luck.’
Within minutes Fritz had climbed back into the empty truck and was on his way back to his hovel.
Dennis peered out anxiously into the darkness. Behind him Penny slept soundly on Fritz’s unsavoury bed. Her thumb had found its way into her mouth and she looked like one of those Botticelli cherubs, round-cheeked and content.
Dennis heard boots approaching. He pulled the cardboard door inwards so less light fell onto the snow, reflecting out like a beacon on the whiteness.
‘Fritz, is that you?’ he whispered as loudly as he dared.
‘Of course, dummkopf,’ said Fritz from the darkness. ‘Who else were you expecting? Close the door. Do you want the curfew patrol to come round? That would spoil your little plan, if they saw the kid. Get inside for God’s sake.’
He stumbled in, pushing Dennis aside.
‘Great! Now where are we going to sleep? If I don’t get some rest soon I’m not going to be fit to drive to the Hartz tomorrow.’ He sat on the edge of the cot and pushed Penny over. She stirred in her sleep.
‘For God’s sake don’t wake her up,’ said Dennis. ‘There’ll be hell to pay if she starts making a fuss. Kids can make an unbelievable amount of noise when they want to.’ He soothed the child whilst moving her to the side nearest the wall.
‘There’s room for you to sleep there now, just try not to kick her in the night or she’ll wake up.’
‘And you, Herr Dennis? Where will you sleep?’
‘I’ll sleep on the floor or here in the chair. I’d better keep watch. Don’t worry about me.’
‘Fair enough, old boy.’ Fritz turned his back to Dennis and curled up on the bed, pulling a blanket around his shoulders. ‘Good night.’ It soon became clear that he was asleep. For Dennis this relief came less easily.
The next morning they started on an uneventful journey to the Hartz Mountains. Dennis had drugged Penny again and she slept. I can’t keep doing this, he thought. I’ll have to let her wake up soon; at least she’ll be pretty groggy for a while. I’ll have to tell her some story about where we’re going and why. He searched his brain for an inventive reason, probably involving cats and dogs or fairies or some such thing to convince her. He knew so little about children; perhaps she would be overcome with fright and become hysterical.
When they arrived at Bad Hartzburg Dennis took over the driving for the last few kilometres. Snow had been falling gently but steadily for the past hour.
‘I don’t want to drive up to the cottage,’ he said. ‘The tyre tracks will give us away. We’ll get as close as we can, to the edge of the forest, and I’ll carry the child from there. The snow will soon cover my footprints. You can park the truck in the village. Try not to look too obvious, and join me later on foot.’
Fritz was fine with this and, having been told the directions to Dennis’s cottage he left him on the edge of the forest and watched as he disappeared into the trees with Penny’s tiny form draped over his shoulder. Verückter Englander, he thought as he climbed back into the truck; he really seemed to think this would work.
Dennis couldn’t see where he was going through the forest as the gloom cast by the covered trees made his route obscure. He staggered on, avoiding exposed roots and thick undergrowth, his burden heavier on his shoulder with every step. Eventually he could see the glimmer of the lake in the distance; his destination was near. Penny began to stir, but he didn’t want to give her another sleeping pill and hoped he would reach his sanctuary before she was fully awake. Somehow he’d have to think of a plausible story to keep her calm.
His arms became cramped and he stopped for a moment and, laying the child on the cold ground still wrapped in the blanket, he sat on a fallen log to catch his breath. The blanket fell away and Penny kicked her legs. Dennis watched as she rolled over and groaned and fidgeted. He was anxious that she didn�
�t wake, so he gently wrapped her again and soothed her back into sleep. He didn’t notice the small object that dropped on to the ground from her coat pocket.
Dennis started to walk more briskly now, taking care not to trip. A fall at this stage would be disastrous. Soon he was out in the open and on the downward slope towards his cottage only a couple of hundred metres away across clear, smooth snow. He almost tumbled into a deep drift on the way down, but reached the cottage, slightly out of breath, within a few minutes. He set Penny down on a rustic bench on the veranda whilst he fetched the key from its hiding place in the outhouse.
Inside the cottage his breath formed a fog in the freezing air and he spent several anxious minutes persuading the fuel in the wood-burning stove to light. Even when it was burning with a rich glow it took a while before any heat penetrated the simple room. In the meantime he placed Penny, still wrapped in the blanket, on to the wooden settle close to the fire. He went into the tiny kitchen to see what provisions were there. He always left some necessities here in case he needed to use the bolt-hole in an emergency. Tea and coffee, a little sugar, a few biscuits and tins of meat, milk, vegetables and fish lined the shelves in the small larder. Combined with the things he’s brought from his apartment in the rucksack on his back, they would have enough for a day or two. He hoped Fritz remembered to buy bread as he had asked; then they’d have enough for a feast.
Eventually Fritz joined him. He glanced at the roaring fire in the stove, which had warmed the interior to a cosy glow.
‘You’ll have to put that out for a start,’ he growled. ‘You can see the smoke for miles around. None of the other cottages are occupied; they’ll know you’re in this one straight away.’
War's Last Dance Page 24
