“‘Recently, a link in our network has broken. We lost one of our couriers. We can’t be sure what happened to him, but we don’t think that the Nazis have discovered the network.’
“‘And you want me to take his place?’ I said, excitedly. ‘You want me to deliver his reports?’
“Jan nodded. ‘We need to reestablish the network. We need to get those notes to England. David is too well known and too well observed to go out into the town. He rarely leaves this building. David will give you Ares’s handwritten reports. We need you to take those notes and deliver them to our contact.’
“‘But I’m a Jew. I have an armband and papers that identify me as Lena Sarah Scheinman—Jüdin. I am bound by curfew and prohibited from leaving the ghetto.’
“David and Jan looked at each other and shrugged their shoulders. ‘Okay,’ they said. ‘We understand.’ They rose from their chairs and thanked me for coming. ‘Please tell no one of our discussion.’
“‘Wait. You’re dismissing me?’
“They nodded. ‘With no hard feelings.’
“‘You misread me. I only meant to say that if I’m stopped and I show them my identity card, they’ll shoot me. But, I’ll do it. How and when do I make the delivery? Do I go in the middle of the night? When do you want me to start? Oh, and will you give me a poison capsule to take if I’m caught? I don’t want those bastards torturing me.’
“They laughed heartily and David said, ‘I told you we had the right woman.’ He put his arms around me. ‘No poison, Lena. You won’t get caught.’ Then he took a bottle of wine out of his closet and set it on the table with sausage and cheese. ‘We celebrate our new comrade!’”
EIGHTEEN
CATHERINE SIDLED SLOWLY INTO the passenger seat and grimaced a bit as she bent forward. When settled, she let out a long sigh.
“What’s the matter? Are you okay? Is something wrong?”
“I wish you’d quit asking me all the time if something’s wrong, Liam. Every time I grunt you want to rush me to the doctor. Pregnant women grimace, grunt, sigh, grumble and bitch. It’s our Constitutional right. Leave me alone.”
“It’s something more. My Catherine radar picked up a troubled sigh.”
Catherine grinned. “You know me too well. It’s about Lena. I’m probably being overcautious, but yesterday’s conversation keeps playing out in my mind and it disturbs me.”
“Was it particularly terrifying?”
Catherine shook her head. “No. Actually, it was uplifting. Of course, hearing the details of her travail is horrifying, but yesterday she described a scene where she was recruited into a situation, all of which I find highly improbable. Isn’t that terrible—that doubts are creeping into my mind?”
“You’ve always had a keen lawyer’s intuition. What perked up your antennae?”
“The coming attractions, the parts of her story that I’m anticipating she’ll tell me tomorrow. I don’t think it can be true—at least the part that puts her in the middle of it. I want to believe her, but I think to myself, how is it possible that what’s she’s telling me all really happened to this one girl?”
“You think she’s exaggerating? Maybe she’s confused?”
Catherine shook her head. “Not confused. But I’ve heard that people who suffer from dementia, even in the initial stages, sometimes believe that the stories they read or hear about other people actually happened to them. Her own doctor told me that was a common symptom.”
“He told you that she…”
“No, no. He was just describing symptoms of dementia in general.”
“And you believe Lena shows signs of dementia?”
Catherine turned to face Liam. “No, I don’t, but I’m not a doctor. I’m not competent to do a mental-status exam. What if parts of her story really belong to someone else?”
“Well, what if they do?”
“This most recent discourse…”
“Oh, I get it. There’s a possibility that Karolina’s children might just be a story she heard and not something she experienced?”
“I hate to think that. But maybe. It’s certainly possible. Maybe there’s some truth in Arthur’s allegations. Oh God, I hope not, Liam.”
“What harm is there in listening to Lena’s tale? Hearing her out? What’s the downside? Is it too much strain on your practice? Does she take too much time? Do you need to curtail your sessions?”
“No. Things are slow at the office right now. I can certainly find the time. The downside is my emotional investment. I just fear a grand disappointment at the end of the road. For both her and me.”
“What is it about this most recent episode that triggers these doubts?”
“She’s about to tell me that she embarked upon an espionage career to deliver secret notes from a spy inside Auschwitz, code-named Ares. And if that isn’t bizarre enough, she says that the spy was a Polish war hero who voluntarily had himself thrown into Auschwitz so he could organize a resistance and tell the world about what was happening inside the concentration camp.”
“It couldn’t happen?”
“To Lena Scheinman, a person unknown to any historical accounts?”
“I admit it’s questionable, but that’s just it. Question her. Hell, you’re the best cross-examiner I know. What is it you say: cross-examination is the crucible of truth?”
“It’s not just my angst about Lena’s involvement, it’s about buying into the spy story itself. That she smuggled out reports of the gas chambers to the Allies? I mean there’s that whole debate—why didn’t we bomb Auschwitz or the rail lines when we had the chance? Why didn’t we do something to stop the slaughter? As a survivor, I’m sure it’s something she’s rightfully pondered all of her life.”
Liam nodded. “My understanding, admittedly based on minimal exposure, was that America didn’t know that mass exterminations were happening until late in the war, maybe 1944 or 1945. I recall a picture of a shocked General Eisenhower at a Buchenwald sub-camp demanding that his aides take photographs and films proving to future disbelievers that the death camp really existed.”
“Right. And now Lena embarks upon a story of a Polish hero who intentionally has himself committed to Auschwitz and smuggles out diaries of the mass exterminations to Churchill and Roosevelt. Not in 1944 or 1945, but relatively early in the war. And armed with that knowledge, the Allies didn’t do a damn thing to stop the genocide? For years? And Lena Scheinman’s right in the middle of the mix? She’s the Mata Hari who delivers the reports? Doesn’t that send up credibility alerts?”
“Cat, you have the tools…”
“I know, I know, cross-examination is the crucible of truth. But do me a favor. Conduct some of your world-famous investigative research. See if you come across anyone like this Ares person.”
“Done.”
Liam slowed the car and pulled into the parking lot for Northwestern Memorial Hospital. “Let’s see if those ultrasound photographers can get a good eight-by-ten glossy of the world’s most beautiful baby-to-be.”
“Liam, there’s something else,” she said, getting out of the car.
“Seriously?”
She nodded. “I’ve been having some pains. When I talk to the doctor, I don’t want you freaking.”
“Pains? What kind of pains? Where are the pains? Damn, Cat, why didn’t you say something? When did you start having pains?”
“A few days ago. I’m sure it’s nothing. They’re very minor. They come and then they go away. I figured since we’re going to the doctor anyway, I’d wait to tell him.”
“Why would you wait? Where are these pains?”
“I think we’ll let the doctor do the diagnosis. And there’s something else.”
“Something else? Something else??”
“I need more maternity clothes. We have to shop.”
NINETEEN
“YOU LOOK UNCOMFORTABLE TODAY,” Lena said to Catherine.
“A little back pain. Headache. Doctor says it could be a bladd
er infection. He’s going to keep a close watch on it. Thanks for asking.” She took her notes out of her file. “Last time, we were talking about your meeting with David and Jan. They told you about a secret Polish soldier who knew there were mass executions happening at Auschwitz years before anyone else in the world and he voluntarily had the Germans arrest him and send him there so that he could report it all.”
Lena looked askance at Catherine. “Well, that’s not exactly what I said. You obviously have some hesitations.”
“Lena, I’m sure you’re not purposefully fabricating any part of your story…”
“I’m not fabricating it purposefully or in any other way. It’s true. I’m not senile. I can see it like it was yesterday.”
“I’m sorry,” Catherine said. “I don’t mean to doubt you…”
“Yes, you do.”
“I certainly didn’t intend to offend you, Lena. Please don’t get defensive. Your story is a lot for me to digest. Especially when it runs contrary to what I know.”
Lena raised her eyebrows. “Exactly what do you know?”
“That the Allied leaders didn’t know about the Auschwitz exterminations. It’s hard for me to grasp your story that they received reports from inside the camp and then did nothing.”
“And that’s what you know?”
Catherine nodded. “You said you were Ben Solomon’s biggest fan. Well, you weren’t the only one. During our sessions, I studied with him. He taught and I learned. Probably the first time in my life that I was impelled to know historical subject matters. Ben showed me pictures of President Eisenhower at the Buchenwald death camp.”
“Ohrdruf,” Lena countered. “Ohrdruf was a Buchenwald sub-camp.”
“In 1945 Eisenhower found naked bodies piled one on another in wooden sheds. He found thousands of starving prisoners looking like stick figures, enough that it made him sick. He never knew about it. He called upon Joseph Pulitzer and other journalists to record the scene. Pulitzer at first didn’t even want to come, thinking that such a tale was preposterous. But after he arrived, he thought the reports were understated. No one knew, Lena.”
“Yes, they did.”
“Ben told me that General Patton was so incensed by what he saw that he ordered his military policemen to travel to the nearby town of Weimar and return with the townsfolk to show them what their leaders had done. The MPs brought back two thousand people and made them look. Many fainted. Three days later, Edward R. Murrow went on the air and broadcast from Buchenwald, and he described the horrific scene.”
Catherine reached behind her and pulled a book off the shelf. She thumbed to a page and said, “Let me read this to you. Murrow said, ‘I pray you to believe what I have said about Buchenwald. I have reported what I saw and heard, but only part of it. For most of it, I have no words. If I have offended you…’”
Lena broke in and spoke in a whisper, “‘If I have offended you by this rather mild account of Buchenwald, I am not in the least sorry.’”
“Yes,” Catherine said with a catch in her throat. “That’s a chilling statement by one of the world’s most respected reporters and someone who was certainly up to speed on what the world knew. Everyone was shocked. No one knew the extent of the Nazi genocide. And now you tell me that leaders of the free world knew all about the Final Solution, all about the crematoriums, all about the genocide and did nothing? I’m sorry, but it’s a little incredible to me that a single Polish soldier volunteered to be incarcerated in Auschwitz and smuggled out reports to Churchill and Roosevelt, and they could have done something, they could have bombed the crematoria or the railroad lines, but they kept it quiet, not even telling Eisenhower…”
“She’s right, Catherine,” said Liam, walking into the conference room. “Lena’s right. His name was Witold Pilecki.” Liam took a seat, spread a group of papers on the table and pointed to the name. “It’s spelled this way but pronounced Vee-told Piletsky. You asked me to do the research.”
Lena hung her head. “Thank you.”
Catherine was stunned. “You found the name of the spy?”
Liam nodded. “There was more than one. But I think the one Lena is talking about is Witold Pilecki. A true Polish hero. In World War I, as a teenager, he fought for the Austro-Hungarian army. He was awarded the Cross of Valor, not once, but twice. Between the wars he went to officer training school and was a second lieutenant in the Polish army when World War II started. In November 1939, when the Poles were overrun, Witold and his commanding officer formed the Polish Secret Army, the TAP. The Polish underground knew that a huge prison camp was built at Auschwitz and that tens of thousands of Poles were being interned. Using the alias Tomasz Serafinski, Pilecki volunteered to get arrested and sent to Auschwitz in order to organize a resistance unit and smuggle out information. Sometime in 1940…”
“September nineteenth,” Lena said.
Liam nodded and smiled. “Exactly. During a Nazi street roundup in Warsaw, Pilecki said good-bye to his two little children and his wife, merged into the group, got himself captured and transported to Auschwitz. Starting in 1941, his Auschwitz underground, called the ZOW, smuggled out detailed reports along a Polish network to the Polish Army in Exile. For a while, they even had a radio. It was Witold’s hope, even though he was a prisoner, that the Allies would bomb Auschwitz.”
“How did he get notes out of Auschwitz?” Catherine said.
“From time to time, prisoners escaped, believe it or not,” Lena said. “There was a time in 1942 when three Polish prisoners overcame their guards, stole their uniforms and walked right out the front gate. I met one of them in David’s office. Another time, a report was smuggled out in Nazi uniforms that were being taken into town to be laundered. The ZOW found different ways of smuggling out his reports.”
Liam smiled and continued. “Finally, in 1943, the Nazis started to uncover the identities of the resistance leaders. One by one, members were executed. One night in April 1943, Witold managed to unlatch the back door of the bakery where he was working. He and a couple other inmates took off into the night and escaped. He made his way back to Warsaw and worked with the underground trying to get the Allies to bomb or capture Auschwitz, all to no avail.”
Catherine looked astonished. “So Witold survived the war?”
“You think that’s all? I’m not done. During the 1944 Warsaw Uprising, Witold commanded a unit. After a few weeks, when the uprising finally failed, Witold was captured by the Germans and sent to a POW camp. There he spent the last months of the war. In July 1945, he was liberated and went to Italy.”
Catherine shook her head. “I guess he finally deserved to sit back, have a glass of Chianti and a bowl of pasta.”
Liam laughed. “Think again. He returned to Poland. As you know, after the war, Poland was a puppet of the Soviet Union behind the Iron Curtain. Witold joined the Polish underground and gathered evidence of Soviet torture and atrocities carried out against Polish citizens. In 1947, he was arrested by the Communists and accused of espionage. After a make-believe trial, Witold was executed. His last words were ‘Long live free Poland.’ The Communists kept the information secret until 1989. He’s a hero in Poland, Cat. He was awarded its highest award posthumously—the Order of the White Eagle—in 2006.”
Catherine stood, walked over and hugged Lena tightly. “I’m so sorry to have doubted you. You were actually part of Witold’s network?”
She shrugged. “I never met him. I knew him only as Ares.”
“Tell me how you got involved.”
“After my initial meeting with David and Jan, I went back to my usual routine, if that’s what you’d call it. I would sew at the Shop during the day, stand in line for food with my ration card, try to mend my worn clothing, and sleep as best I could. Other than the occasional ribbing from Karolina there was no follow-up to my dinner with David.”
“Ribbing?” Liam said.
“Not your business,” Catherine said.
Lena laughed and turned to
Liam. “I spent the evening at David’s apartment. My meeting with David and Jan was late, and I was instructed to tell Karolina that David and I had had an evening assignation. So Karolina jumped to the obvious conclusion and teased me.”
Catherine pointed at Liam. “Until you’ve read my notes, you’d do well to listen and hold your questions.”
“A thousand pardons.”
Lena smiled and continued. “For several days, I wasn’t called upon to do anything. Every so often, David would casually pass by my station, pretend to inspect my work, chitchat a bit and tell me to be patient.
“Daily life in the ghetto continued to deteriorate in 1942. Disease and sickness was rampant, especially among children and the elderly. But again, keep in mind that disease and disintegration were tools of the Final Solution and much cheaper than poison gas. Stronger young men were taken out and requisitioned for labor details. Sometimes just for the day, but more and more frequently, they did not return at all. Karolina maintained her relationship with Siegfried and continued to bring home provisions for us. As a result, we were healthier than most. It’s very likely that without Karolina’s food, I wouldn’t have survived either.
“In late February of 1942, David stopped at my station, leaned over and whispered, ‘At the end of your shift, come upstairs. Jan is here.’”
“Were you worried that you’d get caught in David’s apartment? It was also the Shop’s office, wasn’t it?”
“Maybe a little. There were Nazis everywhere. Most of them were young, noncommissioned draftees, but they wore the uniform and peered distrustingly at all the girls. They had a snake’s eyes, and their heads swiveled from side to side like an owl, as they hungrily looked for any infraction of their insane rules. Mainly, they were hoping to catch someone with contraband—illegal possessions, like fruit, cheese, or anything that could be used on the black market—maybe pieces of jewelry or money. Nazi eyes were everywhere, and I had concerns that I’d be discovered going up to David’s room, but I trusted David and I would take risks for him.
“That evening, during the chaos of shift change—five hundred in, five hundred out—I managed to slip into the stairway and up to David’s office. Jan was there in his usual dark gray outfit, sitting on the bed, smoking a cigarette. ‘Are you ready to jump into the fire?’ he asked.
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