The Traitor's Emblem

by Juan Gomez-jurado

Terrified, Paul tried to find something to say.

  “You think it’s necessary to wake our friend Adolf for such a trivial matter?”

  “It won’t take a minute, sir,” said the official. He was already holding the telephone.

  60

  We’re done for, thought Paul.

  A bead of sweat formed on his forehead, ran down over his eyebrows, and slipped into the socket of his good eye. Paul blinked discreetly, but more drops were already forming. It was very hot in the guardroom, especially where Paul was standing, directly below the bulb that lit the entrance. Jürgen’s cap, which was tight on him, was not helping.

  They mustn’t see that I’m nervous.

  “Herr Eichmann?”

  Faber’s strident voice echoed around the room. He was one of those people who spoke louder when he was on the telephone to make it easier for the cables to carry his voice.

  “I’m sorry to trouble you at this time. I have Baron von Schroeder here; he’s come to collect the prisoner who . . .”

  The pauses in the conversation were a relief to Paul’s ears but a torture for his nerves, and he would have given anything to hear the other side. “Right. Yes, indeed. Yes, I understand.”

  At that moment the official looked up at Paul, his face very solemn. Paul held his gaze as a new drop of sweat traced the path of the first.

  “Yes, sir. Understood. I’ll do that.”

  He hung up slowly.

  “Herr Baron?”

  “What’s going on?”

  “Would you mind waiting here for a moment? I’ll be right back.”

  “Very well, but make it quick!”

  Faber went back out the door that led to the common room. Through the glass Paul saw him approach one of the soldiers, who in turn went over to his colleagues.

  They’ve found us out. They’ve found Jürgen’s body and now they’re going to arrest us. The only reason they haven’t attacked yet is because they want to take us alive. Well, that’s not going to happen.

  Paul was completely terrified. Paradoxically the pain in his head had lessened, doubtless because of the rivers of adrenaline racing through his veins. More than anything, he was conscious of the touch of his hand against Alys’s skin. She hadn’t looked up since she came in. At the far end of the room, the soldier who had brought her was waiting, impatiently tapping the floor.

  If they come for us, the last thing I’ll do will be to kiss her.

  The official came back in, now accompanied by two other soldiers. Paul turned to face them, forcing Alys to do the same.

  “Herr Baron?”

  “Yes?”

  “I’ve spoken to Herr Eichmann and he’s given me some surprising news. I had to share it with the other soldiers. These men want to talk to you.”

  The two who had come from the common room stepped forward.

  “Please, allow me to shake your hand, sir, on behalf of the whole company.”

  “Permission granted, Corporal,” Paul managed to say, astonished.

  “It’s an honor to meet an authentic Old Fighter, sir,” said the soldier, pointing to the small medal on Paul’s chest. An eagle in flight, its wings spread, holding a laurel wreath. The Blood Order.

  Paul, who hadn’t the vaguest idea what the medal signified, merely nodded and shook hands with the soldiers and the official.

  “Was that when you lost your eye, sir?” Faber asked him with a smile.

  An alarm bell rang in Paul’s head. This could be a trap. But he had no idea what the soldier was getting at, nor how to reply.

  What the hell would Jürgen tell people? Would he say it was an accident during a silly fight in his youth, or would he pretend his injury was something it wasn’t?

  The soldiers and the official watched him, hanging on his words.

  “My whole life has been dedicated to the Führer, gentlemen. And my body too.”

  “So you were injured during the coup of ’23?” Faber pressed him.

  He knew Jürgen had lost his eye before that, and he wouldn’t have dared tell such an obvious lie. So the answer was no. But what explanation would he have given?

  “I fear not, gentlemen. It was a hunting accident.”

  The soldiers seemed a little disappointed, but the official was still smiling.

  So perhaps it wasn’t a trap after all, thought Paul, relieved.

  “So, are we done with the social niceties, Herr Faber?”

  “Actually no, sir. Herr Eichmann told me to give you this,” he said, holding out a small box. “It’s the news I was talking about.”

  Paul took the box from the official’s hand and opened it. Inside was a typed sheet and something wrapped in brown paper.

  My dear friend,

  Congratulations on your excellent performance. I feel you have more than completed the task I charged you with. Very shortly, we will begin to act on the evidence you have gathered. I also have the honor of conveying to you the personal gratitude of the Führer. He asked me about you, and when I told him you already wore the Blood Order and the party’s gold insignia on your chest, he wondered what special honor we could grant you. We talked for a few minutes and then the Führer came up with this brilliant joke. He’s a man with a fine sense of humor, so much so he had this made by his personal jeweler.

  Come to Berlin as soon as you can. I have great plans for you.

  Cordially yours,

  Reinhard Heydrich

  Understanding nothing of what he had just read, Paul unwrapped the object. It was a gold emblem of a two-headed eagle on a Teutonic cross diamond. The proportions weren’t right, and the materials a deliberate and insulting parody, but all the same Paul recognized the symbol immediately.

  It was the emblem of a thirty-second-degree Mason.

  Jürgen, what have you done?

  “Gentlemen,” said Faber, gesturing toward him, “a round of applause for Baron von Schroeder, a man who, according to Herr Eichmann, has completed a task so important to the Reich that the Führer himself had a unique decoration created specially for him.”

  The soldiers applauded while a confused Paul made his way outside with the prisoner. Faber accompanied them, opening the door for him. He put something in Paul’s hand.

  “The keys to the handcuffs, sir.”

  “Thank you, Faber.”

  “It’s been an honor, sir.”

  As the car neared the exit, Manfred turned around slightly, his face drenched in sweat.

  “What the hell took you so long?”

  “Later, Manfred. Not till we’re out of here,” whispered Paul.

  His hand searched for Alys’s, and she squeezed him back in silence. They remained like that until they had gotten through the gates.

  “Alys,” he said at last, taking her chin, “you can relax. It’s only us.”

  Finally she looked up. She was covered in bruises.

  “I knew it was you the moment you grabbed my arm. Oh, Paul, I’ve been so afraid,” she said, resting her head on his chest.

  “Are you all right?” said Manfred.

  “Yes,” she replied weakly.

  “Did that bastard do anything to you?” her brother asked. Paul hadn’t told him that Jürgen had boasted of having raped Alys brutally.

  She hesitated a few moments before answering, and when she did, she avoided Paul’s gaze.

  “No.”

  No one will ever know, Alys, thought Paul. And I’ll never let you find out that I know.

  “That’s just as well. In any case, you’ll be pleased to know that Paul killed the son of a bitch. You don’t know how far this man has gone to get you out of there.”

  Alys looked at Paul, and suddenly she understood what the plan had entailed and just how much he had sacrificed. She raised her hands, still cuffed, and lifted off the patch.

  “Paul!” she cried, holding back a sob. She put her arms around him.

  “Hush . . . don’t say a thing.”

  Alys fell silent. And then the sirens started h
owling.

  61

  “What the hell is going on here?” Manfred asked.

  He had fifty feet to go before he reached the camp’s exit when a siren went off. Paul looked through the back window of the car and saw several soldiers running away from the guardhouse they’d just left. Somehow they’d figured out that he was an imposter and rushed to close the exit’s heavy metal door.

  “Step on it! Get there before he closes it!” Paul yelled at Manfred, who instantly bit down hard and tightened his grip on the steering wheel as he slammed the gas pedal. The car shot forward like a bullet and the guard dove aside just as the car barreled through the metal door with a mighty crash. Manfred’s forehead bounced off the steering wheel, but he managed to keep the car under control.

  The guard by the gate drew his pistol and opened fire. The back window shattered into a million pieces.

  “Whatever you do, don’t head toward Munich, Manfred! Stay off the main road!” Paul yelled as he shielded Alys from the flying glass. “Take the detour we saw on the way up.”

  “Are you nuts?” Manfred said. He’d crouched low in his seat and could barely see where he was going. “We have no idea where that road leads! And what about—”

  “We can’t risk them catching us,” Paul said, interrupting him.

  Manfred nodded and swerved hard at the detour, heading down a dirt road that disappeared into the darkness. Paul pulled his brother’s Luger out of the holster. It seemed like a lifetime had gone by since he’d taken it from the stable. He checked the magazine: it had only eight rounds. If they were being followed, this wouldn’t get them far.

  Just then, a pair of headlights broke the darkness behind them and they heard the crack of a pistol and the rat-tat-tat of a machine gun. Two cars were following them, and although neither was as fast as the Mercedes, their drivers knew this terrain. Paul knew it wouldn’t be long before they caught up. And the last sound they’d hear would be deafening

  “Damn it! Manfred, we’ve got to get them off our tail!”

  “How are we supposed to do that? I don’t even know where we’re going.”

  Paul had to think fast. He turned to Alys, who was still huddled in her seat.

  “Alys, listen to me.”

  She nervously looked up at him and Paul could see fear in her eyes, but also determination. She tried to smile, and Paul felt a pang of love and pain for all that she’d been through.

  “Do you know how to use one of these?” he said, holding up the Luger.

  Alys shook her head. “I need you to take it and pull the trigger when I tell you to. The safety is off. Be careful.”

  “Now what?” Manfred yelled.

  “Now you step on the gas and we try to lose them. If you see a path, a road, a horse trail—whatever—take it. I’ve got an idea.”

  Manfred nodded and leaned on the pedal as the car growled, devouring potholes as it flew along the bumpy road. More gunfire broke out, and the rearview mirror shattered as several other bullets lodged themselves into the trunk. Finally, up ahead, they found what they were looking for.

  “Look over there! The road goes up a hill, then there’s a fork to the left. When I say so, kill the lights and duck down that path.”

  Manfred nodded and sat up in the driver’s seat, ready to swerve as Paul turned toward the backseat.

  “Now, Alys! Shoot twice!”

  Alys sat up and the wind blew her hair into her face, making it hard for her to see. She held the pistol with both hands and pointed at the lights chasing them. She pulled the trigger twice and felt the strange sensation of power and satisfaction: payback. Surprised by the gunfire, their pursuers jerked off to the side of the road, momentarily distracted.

  “Now, Manfred!”

  He flipped off the lights and yanked the steering wheel, directing the car toward the dark abyss. Then he shifted into neutral and headed down the new road, which was little more than a path into the woods.

  The three of them held their breath and crouched down in their seats as their pursuers whizzed by at full throttle, unaware that their fugitives had escaped.

  “I think we lost them!” Manfred said, flexing his hands, sore from gripping the wheel so tightly over the pitted road. His nose was dripping blood, though it didn’t look broken.

  “Okay, let’s get back on the main road before they realize what happened.”

  After it was clear that they had successfully lost their pursuers, Manfred headed toward the barn where Julian was waiting. As he approached their destination, he swerved off the road and parked beside it. Paul took advantage of the moment to remove Alys’s handcuffs.

  “Let’s go and fetch him together. He’ll get such a surprise.”

  “Fetch who?” she asked.

  “Our son, Alys. He’s hiding behind the hut.”

  “Julian? You brought Julian here? Are you both crazy?” she shouted.

  “We didn’t have a choice,” Paul protested. “The last few hours have been terrible.”

  She didn’t hear him, because she was already getting out of the car and running toward the hut.

  “Julian! Julian, darling, it’s Mama! Where are you?”

  Paul and Manfred rushed after her, afraid that she would fall and hurt herself. They bumped into Alys in the corner of the hut. She had stopped in her tracks, terrified, her eyes wide.

  “What’s going on, Alys?” said Paul.

  “What’s going on, my friend,” said a voice from the gloom, “is that the three of you will really have to behave yourselves if you know what’s good for this little fellow.”

  Paul stifled a cry of rage as a figure took a few steps toward the light of the headlights, coming just close enough so that they could recognize him and see what he was doing.

  It was Sebastian Keller. And he was pointing a gun at Julian’s head.

  62

  “Mama!” cried Julian, utterly terrified. The old bookseller had his left arm around the boy’s neck; the other hand was pointing the gun. Paul looked for his brother’s gun in vain. The holster was empty; Alys had left it in the car. “I’m sorry, he surprised me. Then he saw the suitcase and took out the gun . . .”

  “Julian, darling,” said Alys calmly. “Don’t worry about that now. I—”

  “Silence, everyone!” shouted Keller. “This is a private matter between me and Paul.”

  “You heard what he said,” said Paul.

  He tried to nudge Alys and Manfred out of Keller’s line of fire, but the bookseller stopped him, squeezing Julian’s neck even tighter.

  “Stay where you are, Paul. It would be better for the boy if you stood behind Fräulein Tannenbaum.”

  “You’re a rat, Keller. Only a cowardly rat would hide behind a defenseless child.”

  The bookseller began to step backward, burying himself in the shadows once more until they could only hear his voice.

  “I’m sorry, Paul. Believe me, I am sorry. But I don’t want to end up like Clovis and your brother.”

  “But how . . .”

  “How did I know? I’ve been following you since you walked into my bookshop three days ago. And the last twenty-four hours have been very informative. But I’m tired now and I’d like to get some sleep, so just give me what I’m asking for and I’ll release your son.”

  “Who the hell is this lunatic, Paul?” said Manfred.

  “The man who killed my father.”

  The surprise was clear in Keller’s voice.

  “Well, now . . . so you aren’t as naïve as you seem.”

  Paul stepped forward, positioning himself between Alys and Manfred.

  “When I read the note from my mother, she said he was with her brother-in-law, Nagel, and a third person, ‘a friend.’ That’s when I realized you’ve been manipulating me from the very beginning.”

  “That night, your father called me to intercede on his behalf with certain powerful people. He wanted the murder he had committed in the colonies and his desertion to disappear. It was compl
icated, though your uncle and I might have been able to make it happen. In exchange he offered us ten percent of the stones. Ten percent!”

  “So you killed him.”

  “It was an accident. We were having an argument. He drew the gun, I threw myself at him . . . What does it matter?”

  “Except it did matter, didn’t it, Keller?”

  “We expected to find the treasure map in his papers, but there was no map. We knew he’d sent an envelope to your mother, and we thought she’d kept it, that one day . . . but years passed and it never came to light.”

  “Because he never sent her any map, Keller.”

  Then Paul understood. The last piece of the jigsaw fell into place.

  “Have you found it, Paul? Don’t lie to me; I can read you like a book.”

  Paul looked around before answering. The situation couldn’t have been any worse. Keller had Julian, and the three of them were unarmed. With the car headlights trained on them, they would make perfect target practice for the man hidden in the shadows. And even if Paul decided to attack and Keller turned the gun away from the boy’s head, he would have a perfect shot at Paul’s body.

  I have to distract him. But how?

  The only thing that occurred to him was to tell Keller the truth.

  “My father didn’t give you an envelope for me, did he?”

  Keller guffawed scornfully.

  “Paul, your father was one of the biggest bastards I’ve ever laid eyes on. He was a philanderer, a liar, and a coward, though he was fun to be with too. We had some good times together, but the only person Hans ever worried about was himself. I made up the story about the envelope just to get you going, to see if you could stir things up a bit after all these years. When you retrieved the Mauser, Paul, you retrieved the gun that killed your father. Which, in case you haven’t noticed, is the same gun I’m pointing at Julian’s head.”

  “And all this time . . .”

  “Yes, all this time I’ve been waiting to get my hands on the prize. I’m fifty-nine, Paul. I’ve got another ten good years ahead of me, with any luck. And I’m sure that a trunk full of diamonds will liven up my retirement. So tell me where the map is, because I know you know.”