The Rift

by H Schmidt

  Billy looked at his brother, Erika, and the children. He wanted to say something but he couldn’t. Seeing Friederich had made it easier now, still, the sight of his young nephew, his two nieces. All those years he had wondered.

  Amidst the shouts and giggles, he blurted out, “Where is…” and he was speechless again.

  It was Friederich who spoke through the silence. “She passed away last summer, Billy.

  It was the Spanish flu.”

  Billy put his hands in his pockets to keep them from shaking.

  “She knew, Billy. She knew that I had found you. I wrote her a long letter about you. It made her very happy.”

  It was Billy who saved the moment. “Erika, I feel as if I have known you for months.”

  “Please forgive the way I look, Willie,” she blushed. “I mean, Billy.” “You look absolutely beautiful, Erika.”

  Erika smiled. “You are a better liar than your brother, Billy.”

  “I have some pictures of me when I was your age, Tomas. I feel like I am looking into a mirror twelve years ago.”

  “Were you as skinny as Tomas, Uncle?” Anna spoke and everyone laughed. “I’m afraid so. Mother ...” The five people all looked at him, smiling as if they hadn’t noticed, waiting for him to finish the story. “Mother always tried to get me to eat. She was always worried how skinny I was.”

  Billy reached in his pocket. He pulled out a pocket knife he had since he was a boy Tomas’s age. “Tomas, I decided this when I first saw your picture, so your mom and dad can’t say no. A boy your age can find a hundred things to do with a pocket knife.”

  “Now Anna and Katryn, where I lived before I came here we were snowed in all the time. The White Sea outside of Archangel freezes in November, and you don’t see water until the spring. Well, I had a lot of time on my hands so I made these for the two of you.” Billy pulled out a seal and a bear he had carved when they were snowed in.

  “Mother, look, they are made of ivory.” Anna had run over to her mother, who was still wiping her tears with her apron, smiling all the while.

  “And Erika, this is for you. If you look too close, you might find a blemish here and there, but I hope you like it.”

  It was a cross carved out of ivory, held by a silk ribbon he had managed to buy from one of the girls at Archangel. Erika had started to cry again. Unable to stay away any longer, she rushed over to Billy and gave him a very wet kiss on the cheek.

  He felt the pendant he had carved for his mother. “If you don’t mind, Friederich, I would like to see my mother’s grave.”

  There was less than an hour to dark. “Of course, it is only a few moments away.”

  It was dark when they returned. They had all gathered in a small room made from one of the stalls. Straw from the stone floors had been removed. In its place, a worn rug found in the cellar after the fire.

  “At night, we must share the light from the lantern, so we all stay in here until we go to bed.” Erika had served them supper. They drank peppermint tea that night with their meal. Erika had prepared turnips mixed with a single potato. Thin slices of a smoked pork shoulder had been mixed with the turnips and potatoes. She had boiled the dandelions the girls had collected. There was no bread.

  Billy looked at Erika. She looked happy. Friederich seemed more relaxed and happier than he was when he last saw him. The children were in good spirits.

  “It must have been difficult when they burned Marburg.”

  Erika spoke quickly, wanting to share something with Billy. “When it first happened, I felt the despair and helplessness at losing our home. But with all of us healthy, spared the Spanish flu so far, Friederich home, and working together, I have never been happier.”

  Billy could see everyone was tired. The girls were starting to yawn. He watched Tomas’s eyelids begin to droop. “It has been a long day. I wonder if you might show me where I can get some rest.”

  Friederich smiled at his brother. “We have lots of room, Billy. We have some blankets across the walkway. I will go with you.” He picked up a candle that sat on the table and lit it.

  “Friederich, I came to see my family, but I am here because I offered to do something for someone while I was here.”

  Friederich had blown out the candle, and they stood outside the stables. Friederich could not see his brother’s face as he talked. Billy told him the story of the gold. “I need you to help me.”

  “How can I help?” Friederich did not understand how he could help. He had severed his ties with the German government, which had little power in any event.

  “You understand Germany. You can do things I cannot.” Friederich smiled at his little brother. “I will do what I can.”

  “Friederich, I told you the reason I came was to see the family. There is another reason.” He could not see his brother as he spoke but he could sense his nearness. He hesitated, afraid of the answer. “I want the family to come with me to America.”

  Friederich had never considered leaving Germany. He never suspected his brother would ask him to come to America. He spoke quickly. “Germany is our home, Billy. Because it is difficult now is not a reason to leave your country.”

  “The cab driver who brought me here told me you will hang for killing his brother and the others who burned down Marburg, if the Soviets win. He says the district administrator has reported you to Berlin for stealing from a train to Konigsberg.”

  Friederich was silent.

  “I have been in touch with my father in Denver. I asked him to take an option on a ranch on the La Plata River in Colorado. I remember the land. There is grass, plenty of water, room to grow grain. We could raise horses. Maybe even bring some of the stock from Prussia over.”

  Billy never mentioned that getting the von Mecklenburgs into the United States depended on him getting the gold. He had decided that he would find a way, even if he failed.

  ---

  The Meyersohn Bank was among those who had dealt with the czar’s government and continued to cultivate the Bolsheviks. When the Russian ambassador, Ioffe, came to Berlin, one of his first appointments was with Jacob Meyers. Ioffe had decided that contacts with German banks were needed for Lenin’s plans to overthrow the German government. Meyersohn was determined to collect the money owed it and to develop new business in Russia. Meyers and Ioffe made a good pair. Meyers thought Ioffe useful, Ioffe thought Meyers a fool.

  The arrangement that the Bolsheviks had made in 1916 was a simple one. They would see to it that the gold was gotten into Germany. Meyers would store it in Meyersohn’s vaults, and the bank would receive a storage fee. The bank would be responsible for shipping the gold at Ioffe’s direction. The ambassador was content to leave the gold where it was. Shipping it to Russia was too dan– gerous.

  Ioffe had arrived at the embassy on Unter Den Linden early, as usual. He was in good spirits. Monday morning, he had a full week ahead. As he walked to the embassy, he thought about Germany. The Freikorps had received surprising support from the people early in the year. Despite the bitterness caused by the peace treaty, he could see the shelves in the shops beginning to fill up again, people going back to work, a sense that Germany was beginning to focus on the future. That will change, he thought, as the burden of the reparation payments begin to hit their pocketbooks. The revolution is not over.

  He always started his day by reading the Berlin Times. He was interested in the developments in Bavaria. What happened there, he knew, would have a lot to do with the rest of Germany. As he started to read, the headline caught his eye: POLICE INVESTIGATING MISSING GOLD. Far down into the story was a quote from an unknown source that had contacted the police: “An important bank is holding the gold for the Reds.”

  The story went on to say that the police had not taken the caller seriously, since it would be unlikely that a bank could hold so much gold without the government being aware of it. The ambassador had been thinking for some time that the gold needed to be moved from Germany. He rang the bell.

&n
bsp; The door opened immediately and an older, stooped man with thinning hair and thick glasses stood before the ambassador, his hands clasped in front of him. “Yes, mein herr.”

  “I would like to be on the night train to Zurich.” He looked at the clerk. “No one is to know, Herr Rovsky. Book it under the name of Brenner. Karl Brenner.” Mikhail Ioffe smiled to himself. He enjoyed traveling as someone else. He thought of his violin. “Perhaps, I will travel as a musician.”

  The door opened again. The clerk shuffled in again. “There is a Jacob Meyers to see you. He said you would want to talk to him.”

  ---

  Friederich was sitting with Billy in the small room they had rented. “It was not easy getting that story on the front page. I told the police commander that one of my old contacts had told me about the gold. I had to pay for the leak from the police department to the Times.” Friederich described the rest of what he had done. “This morning I called Herr Meyer, identifying myself as a bank examiner with the new German government. I told him I would be in with a team to inspect his bank Friday.”

  “I saw Herr Meyer enter the embassy this morning. It must have been after you talked to him.”

  “I talked to him at eight o’clock.” “He was at the embassy at half past.”

  “Do you think that is what sent the Russian ambassador to Switzerland?”

  “Whether the newspaper article was enough to send him to Switzerland, we will never know. Certainly, Meyer’s visit added a sense of urgency.”

  “They have three days to move the gold. Most likely at night.”

  ---

  He had been tense since his return from Zurich. Arrangements had taken almost a full day, and the trip consumed another. They had less than twenty-four hours before the bank examiner was scheduled to visit the bank. Last night, he had reviewed the plans to move the gold with Meyer. The embassy staff and its contacts in Berlin would be busy throughout the day obtaining the lorries, drivers, and security guards for the shipment. Five tons of gold would have to be moved over very dangerous roads, through numerous checkpoints which had to be cleared in advance, and finally over the border into Switzerland.

  Ioffe wiped the sweat from his forehead, trying to formulate an explanation to Lenin as to why the gold had been allowed to stay in Germany for so long, and why it was still in one bank. He was irritated, in the midst of the crisis he faced, to see a telegram from Moscow.

  A week ago he had received a cable advising him that the American lieutenant was in Germany. He had not responded, considering it unnecessary. He had received a second telegram this morning asking him for the whereabouts and activities of the American.

  Why he thought, are those fools bothering me with this?

  Ioffe and Meyer paced nervously as the men carried the crates up the stairs. Outside, they could see men scurrying about the lorries, some of the lorries still moving into position, their loud motors roaring, brakes screeching, doors banging. They had begun moving the crates at one o’clock. The streets in the business district were deserted except for the five lorries and the crowd of men.

  The lorries had been loaded with crates of clothing. Quickly unloading a row of crates, the workers placed ten crates from the bank in each lorry, then covered them with the crates of clothing. By two o’clock, they had finished. Both men felt relieved. They still had to get the lorries across the Swiss border, but the Swiss banks had assured them that there would be no problems entering Switzerland. Ioffe had to rely on his own contacts to take care of things on the German side. In addition to the lorries, a motorcar would lead the caravan, one would follow. The men in the cars carried machine guns. There was a machine gun in each lorry. Eighteen men would make the trip. The man Ioffe had selected to command the caravan approached Ioffe for final instructions.

  “Stay on the main roads. Do not hurry. There is no reason to expect any trouble. Have you instructed the men not to form a caravan but to regroup along the way?”

  “Yes, mein herr.”

  Ioffe was looking at the lead car when he heard running feet. No shouting. Then he saw them coming from the top of the street in the direction the caravan was pointed. He watched the doors of the first motorcar begin to open when the firing began. The windows of the car exploded. He saw one man fall out of the motorcar; the rest lay still inside. He turned to see the same scene on the rear motorcar. Not standing to see any more, he dashed into the bank, and yelled at Meyers to lock the door.

  Friederich had led the attack against the first car. In less than a minute, it was over. He watched as his men rushed from the alley across from the bank, to cover each of the lorries. Behind him, he saw that Billy and his men had destroyed the motorcar to the rear. As the men in the lorries hit the street, another lorry appeared, its brakes screeching as it stopped beside the middle lorry. Quickly, Ioffe’s men were loaded onto the lorry. Two men had jumped into each of the lorries which carried the gold, their engines running. Billy quickly ran the length of the caravan to see if they were ready to move. Signaling to Friederich, he watched his brother direct the lorries around the shattered motorcar and move away. The lorry with the prisoners followed. Another motorcar appeared; Friederich and Billy jumped in. In less than five minutes from the time Ioffe had talked to the commander of the caravan, all that remained were the two motorcars filled with dead and dying men.

  Fifteen minutes away, the lorries were driven into a warehouse that had been emptied after the armistice. Used to store supplies for the front; it contained twelve lorries and stacks of crates marked electric motors. As the lorries from the bank were driven inside, they were directed to park back-to-back with the lorries already inside.

  Fifty Wehrmacht veterans, some still in uniform, moved quickly to switch the bullion to the new lorries. Lids of empty crates marked electric motors were removed and bullion was placed in the crates, the amount equal to the weight of the heavy motors. The repacked crates were then coded and placed among the crates with the motors. As each lorry was loaded, it started off alone, armed guards inside but unescorted, headed for Hamburg, where their cargo would be placed in the hold of the USS Upshur. When the final lorry was loaded for its trip north, the lorry with its prisoners was taken south. An hour from Berlin, the men and the lorry were to be abandoned. As the last lorry departed, Friederich and Billy stood in the center of the warehouse.

  “It’s over, Billy. By noon, the gold should be aboard ship. I will ride up to see that everything is in order, then return to Marburg.” Friederich looked at his brother and smiled. “Did it ever occur to you, Billy, to take one of those crates?” “I thought about it. But I don’t want somebody else’s money. I would rather make my own.”

  “I have never had to worry about money, Billy. It is a new experience.”

  Billy looked at his brother. It was worth a try. “Would you like to stand in knee-high grass, listening to a cold stream bubbling over rocks, Friederich? Take off your shoes, and put your feet in that freezing water. Hot sun beating down on your back.”

  “What are you talking about, Billy?” “Colorado, Freddie, Colorado.”

  “Do you think they will go, Sir Gustav?” “I hope so, Sir Rupert, I sure do.”

  “That is a strange way of speaking, Sir Gustav.”

  “I saw it written at the bottom of the screen in one of William S. Hart’s movies.”

  “When did you go to the cinema without me?”

  “In Berlin. You went off on your own to the library. I went to see a William S. Hart movie. It was called a western. I bet Colorado is like that.”

  “Remember when we traveled east, Sir Gustav. We didn’t know what was out there. That was why we did it. I suppose if we lived on the water like the English, we would have gone west.”

  ---

  “Damned if he didn’t do it. The sonofagun did it.” The Old Man liked to call the general at least once a day. This time, the general called him with the news. “What do you think, General? Should we keep our promise? You’re right.
No reason not to, least that I can think of right now. Hell, bringing in a few more foreigners can’t hurt. He’s got that Russian gal waitin’ for him in Stockholm. Someone told me she’s a real knockout. Still, why is he marryin’ a Russian, of all people? Course, he ain’t a real American, either. You’re right about that. Wasn’t for people like young Billy, we wouldn’t amount to much. I know, it sounds like I’m always knockin’ on the boy. Truth is, I’m old, and he’s young. You’ll take care of it, then? When he gets back, maybe we can have another little talk. Damn Mexicans are actin’ up again. Yeah, thanks General. Say hello to the missus.”

  He hung up the phone, poured another whiskey neat, and sat in his chair. He could see the Potomac. The azaleas and dogwoods were in full bloom. He thought about the Russians. You just can’t trust the bastards. He smiled when he thought about little Billy stealing the gold right from under their noses.

  ---

  The Berlin Times covered the story of the murders. The police were investigating the possibility that the Freikorps were involved. At least five of the dead men were members of the Spartacists, whose leader, Rosa Luxembourg, had been killed by the Freikorps at the beginning of the year. They had determined that the men had been surprised, since no shots had been fired by the dead men. There were machine guns found in each car.

  Three days later the ambassador read the report on his desk. He agreed with the conclusion in the report. The investigators had found that the story in the Times that had tricked him was planted by Friederich von Mecklenburg. The colonel had left the army and had returned home. Local officials had notified Berlin that von Mecklenburg headed a militia group which six weeks ago had executed members of the Konigsberg Soviet. He was also suspected of engineering a train robbery over a month ago. The final piece of information startled him. The colonel had been taken prisoner over a year ago by the Soviet government. He read the report’s account of the escape and the brother. He thought about the cable that was still on his desk, awaiting a response. Ashen faced, he rushed into the restroom. Hearing the wretching, his secretary shook her head. Another night on the town, she decided.