Jan and the AK operatives dismantling the V-2 rocket were busy. Working on the highly technical and sophisticated device under constant fear of discovery was nerve-wracking, and everyone was exhausted. But a plan had begun to unfold. They were informed by the MI-6 contact in London that Allied forces were rooting the Germans out of southern Italy. Very soon it would be possible for a plane to take off from Italy and reach the southwestern part of Poland to retrieve the rocket components and take them to London.
So, the dismantled components were transported, piece-by-piece, hidden in wagons loaded with sacks of flour, bushels of potatoes and hollowed-out bales of hay. Through circuitous routes, transferred from one partisan to another, the rocket parts made their way two hundred kilometers southwest, from the Bug River to another remote farm, a half kilometer from an abandoned airstrip near the confluence of the rivers Dunajec and Vistula.
By the end of the first week of June, the precious cache had been painstakingly concealed in cellars and sheds on the secluded farm. The AK operatives brought in a long-range wireless and established a communication link through London to coordinate the flight.
It was late on a Sunday afternoon, and Jan busied himself in a small room on the second floor of the farmhouse packing his few belongings. His work done, he was determined to leave for Krakow to begin his search for Anna.
He had no firm plan, but he knew he had to act now. News had just reached them that the long-awaited Allied invasion had begun at Normandy, and Jan was certain that this was the turning point in the war. The Russians had launched an offensive in the east, and the noose around Germany’s neck was tightening. A desperate enemy in retreat would be certain to liquidate concentration camps. If Anna was in one of those camps…
He heard footsteps and turned to see Slomak standing in the doorway, holding a bottle of vodka and two small glasses. “Let’s go have a drink,” the AK operative said.
Jan followed the slender balding man out of the house and across the farmyard to a low, stone wall overlooking a freshly planted wheat field. The sun was low in the western sky, and a warm, gentle breeze drifted across the rolling plain.
Slomak filled the glasses, and they sat drinking in silence for several minutes.
“Tadeusz tells me that you’re not planning to return to London with the rocket parts,” Slomak said, peering at him through his thick glasses.
“No, Chmielewski will go,” Jan replied.
“He doesn’t speak English.”
“They’ll have interpreters.”
“Where are you going?” Slomak asked after a pause.
“Krakow, at first. After that I’m not sure.” Jan finished off the vodka and refilled his glass.
Slomak picked up the bottle and refilled his own glass. “A couple of months ago you asked me if I knew anything about the SS special action in Krakow back in ’39. What is it you wanted to know?”
It took Jan a moment to comprehend the surprise question. Why now, after all this time? He hesitated; it had been a long time since he had talked about any of this. “My wife was an associate professor at Jagiellonian University. Her father was also a professor there, a law professor. I believe they both were arrested by the SS.”
Slomak didn’t respond.
Jan continued. “The day you and I met in Krakow, later that same day, I went to our home looking for my wife. The SS had been there. Our apartment was a wreck and she was gone. Then I went to my father-in-law’s home. It was occupied by a German couple. I thought…” Jan poured another drink. This was harder than he imagined. “I thought you might know something—where they might have been taken, anything to help me get started.”
Slomak’s brow furrowed. “You said both your wife and your father-in-law were professors at Jagiellonian?”
“Yes, that’s right. She taught—”
“What is your father-in law’s name?” Slomak interrupted.
“Piekarski. Thaddeus Piekarski,” Jan replied, his heart pounding.
“And your wife’s name is…”
“Anna.”
Slomak stared at him for what seemed to Jan like an eternity. “My God,” he whispered. “You must be Jan Kopernik.” Still staring at him, Slomak shook his head. “I don’t think your wife was arrested.”
Jan was so startled at hearing his real name for the first time in months that he barely comprehended what Slomak had said. “I…don’t understand…she was…”
“I met your wife in Krakow,” Slomak said, “right after the arrests at the university. She got my name from the wife of one of your father-in-law’s colleagues.”
Jan felt like he would explode.
“Excuse me, Major Kopernik. I’ll get right to the point. I put your wife in contact with a man who was with the Italian diplomatic mission to Poland. He arranged for her to get a travel visa to Italy.”
Jan shook his head, trying to process what he had heard. “Travel visa? To Italy…I don’t…I…what the hell are you talking about?”
“The Italians were quite sympathetic to the plight of Poland for several months after the invasion. They secretly arranged travel visas for hundreds of Poles before the Germans shut down their mission.” Slomak paused then continued. “From Italy she could have gone anywhere in Europe. It was just an expedient way to get out of Poland.”
Jan ran a hand through his blond hair, glancing up at the sky. Was it possible? Then he recalled the mess at their apartment. “But our apartment, it had been ransacked. And I spoke with a neighbor who said she heard…” He paused. “Good God, could they have arrested her before she was able to leave?”
Slomak stood up and paced around in a circle rubbing his temples. “I’m trying to remember how…yes…that’s it. I spoke with the contact at the Italian mission; Di Stefano was his name. He told me he had given your wife three travel visas, for her, her friend, and her friend’s son. He said he had instructed them to leave immediately and not to tell anyone they were leaving. He was quite emphatic about that.” Slomak stopped pacing and turned to Jan. “Major, as I recall, that was just a day or two before you came to see me. Did the SS ransack other apartments in your building? Was anyone else missing?”
“Yes, all three apartments. I checked Mrs. Koslofski’s, the apartment just below ours. She was gone. The Grucas, their apartment is on the ground floor…ransacked…they were gone.” Jan stood up and walked a few paces along the crumbling stone wall then abruptly turned back. “Why would the SS have come to our home? Were they after Anna? Or Irene, our friend, she’s Jewish.”
Slomak hesitated. “It could have been either, Major. It’s true the Germans were arresting some Jews at that time, though not yet in large numbers. But the SS did make a concerted effort to track down the family members of those arrested at the university.”
“For what purpose? Which ones?”
Slomak sat down again on the stone wall. “Major, there were two reasons for the special action at the university that night. One was that it was part of the overall plan by the Nazis to rid Poland of its intelligentsia—their plan to turn the entire country into a mindless slave state. The other reason was the SS had learned that several Jagiellonian faculty members were involved with the Resistance.”
“Thaddeus?”
“We’re not sure. But we do know that your father-in-law was a close associate of a man who was.” Slomak hesitated again. “That’s all I can tell you, I’m sorry.”
“What happened to them, Thaddeus and the others they arrested?”
“They were taken to Germany, to a concentration camp called Sachsen-hausen.”
“What about Anna? Was she involved? Do you know if—”
“No, I have no reason to believe she would have been involved. It was very early in the Resistance movement. I don’t even know if your father-in-law was involved.” Slomak gripped Jan’s arm. “Major, I met with your wife on two occasions. I sensed the kind of person she is. I could feel her strength, her determination. I believe she made it out of Poland.�
�
Chapter 50
THE NEWS OF THE ALLIED INVASION at Normandy caused SS Hauptsturmfuhrer Koenig a great deal of anxiety. Two weeks ago he had received word that his long-awaited transfer back to Berlin had been approved. At last, a chance to get out of the drudgery of the occupied countries. An assignment with some status, a chance for advancement.
But now this goddamn invasion was on and everything could change. There were certain to be complications with his transfer. Then…there was the issue of the woman.
Koenig knew it was crazy, but he couldn’t help himself. He was completely captivated by the stunning redhead they had arrested. She despised him, of course, but he was confident he could overcome that with time. After all, it really wasn’t him she despised—it was the persona of the SS officer, the enemy, that she detested. Once she really got to know Dieter Koenig, the person, things would be different. He was confident it would work out just like it had with the others before her.
The first time he met her, when she slapped him in the face with the file, Koenig knew he had to have her. Her outburst had sexually aroused him and ever since he had fantasized about what she might be like with that passion sufficiently harnessed as only he could.
What was really annoying was that he had worked out all the details. He had figured out how he would transport her to Germany and where he would keep her. Even under pressure from that lowly Gestapo agent in Brussels, the swine Rolf Reinhardt, he had been able to make the proper arrangements. Reinhardt had gotten wind of the arrest and had been calling every day, demanding that Koenig send her back to Brussels for interrogation. Ever since the smug bastard broke up that Resistance ring in Belgium, he thought he could have whatever he wanted.
Koenig knew what that meant. He knew about Gestapo interrogations. They’d rape her, many times. Then they’d break her fingers…and her ankles. Then, when they’d gotten what they wanted—and they always did—they’d put her out of her misery.
He wasn’t going to let that happen, not to this intriguing woman. She was his, and he was going to take her to Germany. He had worked it all out.
But now everything was in turmoil. Koenig had never seen the chain of command as fouled up as it was at this moment. The Allied armies were swarming up the beaches at Normandy, and no one knew what to do. Rumors were flying all around. Rommel was in Germany visiting his wife. Hitler had been asleep, and no one had had the courage to wake him up. The panzer divisions were in position for a counterattack, but Jodl would not give the orders to release them because he didn’t believe the invasion was the real thing.
Koenig was caught in a quandary, and he hated it. He hated being indecisive. Technically, he had his orders, and he could proceed to Germany. But he also knew that a crisis loomed and, at any moment, all transfer orders would be rescinded. With the invasion on, he would almost certainly be ordered to the front, in Normandy. For one of the few times in his life he really didn’t know what to do.
He was still trying to decide, when there was a knock on the door. Koenig blinked and shook his head. “Komm!”
His aide, Oberscharfuhrer Strauss, stepped into the office holding a piece of paper in his hand. It was a copy of a teletype. “Your orders, Hauptsturmfuhrer.”
Goddamn it, Koenig thought. “Read them,” he said.
The aide looked down at the paper. “You are ordered to close down the jail immediately and dispose of all prisoners in the most expedient manner. You are then to proceed without delay to Caen and report to SS Standartenfuhrer Hermann, Twenty-first Panzer Division.”
Koenig slumped in his chair. One more day. One more goddamn day and he’d have been in Germany…with that gorgeous creature. Now it had all fallen apart. He closed his eyes and saw her face, once again imagining how it might have been.
Koenig heard Strauss shuffle his feet and clear his throat. Goddamn it, it was over. He shook his head and stood up. He had to put this out of his mind. There would be others, another time. There always were. “All right, how many prisoners are there at the moment?”
“Einundzwanzig, sir. Twenty, plus the one woman.”
“And what are our options for ‘expedient disposal’?”
Oberscharfuhrer Strauss cleared his throat before answering. “Well, sir, I suppose we could arrange a firing squad.”
“Oh shit, in a small town like this? Christ, there’d be an uproar, and we don’t have time to transport them out to the woods and do it quietly. There’s got to be a better way.”
Strauss was silent for a moment then nodded. “Sir, I think there might be another way. I received a dispatch about an hour ago. There’s a train coming through here bound for Paris.”
“A train for Paris? So what? How does that help us? We can’t—”
“Excuse me for interrupting, sir; this is one of the ‘special trains.’ It’s heading for Drancy.”
Koenig stared at him. Ordinarily he wouldn’t give it a second thought. It was perfect. They could stop the train and throw the unlucky bastards on board, and that would be that. It would be fast and clean, and no one would know the difference. He knew all about the “special trains,” boxcars loaded with Jews like so many cattle. He knew all about Drancy too, a “collection station,” as his superiors called it, where they would stockpile Jews until they could be hauled off to “the east.”
Koenig thought about it. Personally, he didn’t care one way or the other about Jews. But the thought of pushing that beautiful redheaded woman into one of those vermin-filled boxcars almost made him sick. He turned away and stared out the window. Christ, what a mess. He had been so close…and she was so…
Strauss interrupted his thoughts. “Excuse me, sir. We have very little time. The train is due in here in less than half an hour and if we want to stop it I’ll have to call the station chief.”
Koenig whirled around. “Ja, ja, natürlich. I understand. Get to it. Put them on that train.”
“All of them sir? Even the…”
“Ja, all of them. Now get going, I’ve got to get packed.”
Chapter 51
WILLY BOEYNANTS WAS FRUSTRATED. He had contacted everyone he could think of, trying to find out what might have happened to Anna, but had precious little to go on. All he had discovered was that she was on another mission.
When he received the call from the proprietor of the Leopold Café, about a teenager asking for Rene Leffard, he had gone there at once. He recognized Justyn immediately, though the boy had grown considerably since he had last seen him. Justyn was frantic with worry about Anna, and for good reason, Boeynants thought. The Gestapo had to be looking for her, and when she returned to Warempage she’d certainly be arrested.
Boeynants had another problem. He was a fugitive himself, making it difficult to get information. He managed to make contact with his colleague at the Interior Department and learned that Rik Trooz had been arrested and had apparently given up some information that put the Gestapo on the trail of a woman agent leading a British aviator out of the country.
Some further digging led Boeynants to a woman in Brussels named “Claudia” who confirmed that a redheaded woman using the name “Jeanne Laurent” had picked up a British aviator at her home and left the next day. But she had no information about their destination.
At least Justyn was safe and in good health, Boeynants thought. That was something, considering what the lad had been through. Auguste and his wife, Elise, had immediately insisted that Justyn stay with them and fawned over him like grandparents, pledging to keep his secret until Anna returned. All that Boeynants could hope for now was that Anna’s resourcefulness and strong will would keep her safe.
On this evening, however, those worries had to be set aside as Boeynants and Auguste attended a meeting of the special Resistance group operating in Antwerp’s port. The meeting took place in the cellar of a four-story brick building on the street fronting the Kattendijkdok dock. The busy Café Brig on the building’s ground floor provided sufficient cover for the comings and
goings of the members of the clandestine group.
Boeynants took a seat next to Auguste and looked around. There were about twenty men in the musty, dimly lit cellar. The group’s leaders sat at a wooden table at the front of the room. Boeynants recognized the short, slight man wearing a green beret. It was Antoine.
Boeynants thought back to when Auguste first introduced him to Antoine, almost two months ago, the day after the Leffards’ arrest. The White Brigade leader had made an instant impression on him. He was a merchant naval officer who had been active in the Resistance since the outbreak of the war. Over the last two years he had quietly established an organization among workers in the port, all of them familiar with operations at the massive facility. It was this organization, Antoine had told him, that would defend the port when the time came.
Antoine stood up and conversation in the room ceased. “Bonsoir, Soldiers of the White Brigade. I appreciate all of you taking the risk to come here tonight on such short notice,” he said. “We’ll keep this brief.” He paused and looked at each man in the room. His dark eyes were intense. “I’m sure all of you are aware that l’invasion is underway. According to the reports we’ve received, the fighting is intense, but in all of the landing areas, the Allies have established beachheads and are holding.”
A murmur spread through the group, and several men clasped hands with the men next to them.
Antoine continued. “Breaking out of côte de Normandie will be a monumental struggle and, while it seems that the Germans were caught by surprise, we know they’ll regroup and mount a powerful resistance. Now, here in Antwerp, our job begins in earnest.”
Everyone was silent and all eyes were on him.
Antoine glanced at a paper he was holding. “In what was probably a coincidence of timing, a German general named Christoph Graf Stolberg arrived in Antwerp the day before l’invasion. General Stolberg is assuming command of the German forces defending Antwerp and will be followed shortly by members of his 136th Divisional Staff. We expect they will immediately begin shoring up their defenses around the city and the port.”
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