by Vic Robbie
The doctor ignored the remark. ‘Have you been able to move around today?’
‘Oh, yes,’ the patient said, waving his right arm around the room. ’I am sticking to this punishing fitness regime you set me. Let me see. Six steps from the bed to this chair and six steps back to the bed. Done that twice, so I am fit for anything. Send me to the Eastern front.’
As the patient’s face contorted with anger, he turned away. ‘No after effects?’
’How often have you asked me that?’
Graukwitz responded with a wintry smile. ‘I take that to be a no then.’
When he had landed in Argentina, he was near death, and the doctor gave him six months at the most. Escaping Germany was arduous enough for the fittest of men using the ratlines through Italy and then the long passage in a steamship from Genoa. He had suffered an acute myocardial infarction followed soon afterwards by a stroke that had semi-paralysed his left side. It surprised Graukwitz that he’d lived so long and he knew the patient could die at any time. The doctor’s own value to Müller lasted only as long as his patient’s life.
‘Why do you think you are a prisoner?’ He opened the patient’s shirt and placed the cold metal of a stethoscope on his chest, making him flinch.
The patient lifted his right hand and pointed. ‘The windows are barred, the door locked. Even if I could make it outside, they would bring me back.’
‘That is for your safety.’
‘Scheisse! I think Müller wants to keep me here as his prisoner. He is determined I stay alive for the next stage of his grand plan.’
‘You are guarded against those who wish you harm.’
As the doctor fussed around him, he switched off and stared at the trees waving in a slight breeze. So near, yet so far away. What he would give for five minutes in the fresh air, even if he had to travel by wheelchair. He had argued with Müller but knew the reasons for his imprisonment and to an extent agreed. His illness had made him a spectator rather than a player. And the frustration that plans were being acted on without his input angered him. He didn’t know how many knew. How could they when he was cut off from the world?
From his talks with Müller, he realised the Gestapo chief could keep a secret. But soon Müller must reveal his hand, or there would be no point to his prolonged existence. He likened it to a secretive collector keeping an old master under lock and key when no one knew it existed. For the moment, he was still of use to Müller although in his incapacitated state his frailties were anathema to the party’s ideals. The boy was the key. Once Müller had him, there was no reason to live. Perhaps then Graukwitz might let him die.
In another two hours he expected a visit from Müller who would bring him up to date but tell him only what he wanted him to know. The fear that Müller might stop visiting prevented him from demanding more.
‘Strange,’ he said, quieter now, ‘when you are young the ticking of a clock is reassuring. But when you are my age, every tick takes you a second closer to death.’
‘Do not be pessimistic.’ Graukwitz winced and bit his tongue.
‘Why? Have you found a cure for death, Herr Doctor?’
‘That is not what I meant,’ Graukwitz stammered.
‘So I am on the mend?’ He pushed away the doctor’s hand.
‘I am sorry, there is nothing we can do to change your condition. We are doing our best to keep you comfortable.’
He nodded as if hearing it for the first time and grabbed the doctor’s wrist with surprising strength. ‘You could put me out of my misery.’
‘I cannot…’
‘Why?’
‘I do not–’
‘So, my life is in Müller’s hands.’
Eager to leave the room as soon as possible, Graukwitz tried to close the case with one hand.
‘Tell me.’ His left eye was watering. ‘How long do I have?’
‘Months, maybe less. It is not an exact science.’
He released the wrist and looked at the wall, calculating. ‘If I am to be of use to Müller, if he still wants to rid the world of vermin, he must move soon.’
For a moment, the doctor hesitated and sucked in his breath.
‘He must do it before it is too late,’ he said and slammed his right hand down on his thigh. ‘Get that hurensohn here now.’
25
New York
Every part of him hurt. Ben ached like an escapee from a medieval torture chamber, and Alena and Natalie insisted he go to hospital, but he refused. He needed to be there when Freddie reappeared. An ambulance had taken him to the hotel, and a bellboy transported him by luggage trolley to the room. Although he suggested they continue looking, he wasn’t confident they would find him. The Nazis would not be the only danger the boy faced. And he felt guilty for not helping in the search.
Nothing broken. No wounds needing stitching. But his head throbbed as if Gene Krupa was using his skull as a drum. No, not that bad. More like a sledgehammer pounding on it. Perhaps he had concussion. Stabbing pains flashed through his body, and any movement almost paralysed him.
The thought of Freddie alone on the streets of New York filled him with trepidation as he had no knowledge of city life and its many evils. Maybe they had not gotten to him, but the alternative was as worrying. If Natalie’s Jewish contacts were still offering a haven, he believed they should now accept. It might be the only chance of getting them out of harm’s way.
There might be one other option. With difficulty, he struggled into a sitting position where he could pick up the telephone and placed an out-of-town call. If in luck, and the person on the other end agreed, it could buy them time.
As he replaced the receiver, he heard a knock. ‘Come in,’ he shouted. ‘It’s open.’
Natalie entered, panic crowding her face. And Alena followed, looking as though she had surrendered.
‘Freddie?’
Natalie’s look gave him his answer, and she waited for his reaction as he got to his feet, wincing in pain.
‘Gone.’ Alena made the sound of a wounded animal, and he wanted to reach out to her. ‘Nazis have got him; I’m sure of that.’ She tried to light a cigarette but failed and threw it on the floor in frustration. ‘He’s gone, we searched everywhere.’ She rubbed a hand across her face before slumping on the bed. Her head dropped, and her shoulders shook. ‘What will I do? What can I do?’ She wrung her hands as if dry-washing the dirt from them.
He sat beside her with Natalie on the other side, and Alena lifted her head, her vision blurred by tears. ‘I’ll never see him again.’
Putting an arm around her, he tried to calm her.
‘It’s over,’ she insisted and bent forward so that hair curtained her face. ‘They’ve won. I always knew they would.’
Natalie held her hand. ‘Don’t give up hope. He may have wandered off and will come back soon.’ She now regretted being with them as Alena’s grief weakened her plans for Freddie. If she had killed the boy, she would have been free to live the rest of her life in anonymity. If the Nazis picked him up, Solomon would terminate their agreement, and she would need to move fast to escape the attentions of the American security services.
‘Natalie’s probably right,’ he said and offered his most reassuring smile. ‘You know boys. All an adventure.’ He stared at her, wondering whether the words made any sense. ‘He’s gone exploring.’ But he believed none of it, and neither did Natalie.
For a moment, Alena stopped crying and looked up before tears washed away the hope, and she gripped the bedclothes so tight her knuckles turned white.
‘Natalie, please stay with Alena. I’ve got an idea where he might be.’
Once outside in the corridor, he collapsed against a wall. Every step, every movement hurt, and it felt as if someone were prising his rib cage apart.
He had no idea of Freddie’s whereabouts, but he must do something. And it might delay the moment when Alena came to accept her son was lost forever. He’d retrace his steps to Central Park hoping
to find Freddie wandering around looking for them. If only he could put himself into a ten-year-old boy’s mind.
Making it to the elevator in a series of painful lunges, he let a crowded one go as the occupants might think him drunk. The high-pitched ping heralded the next, which was empty, and he stumbled in and leant against the side.
Typical of any New York hotel off Times Square, the lobby bustled with people coming and going. Bellboys in maroon uniforms and pillbox caps pushed luggage trolleys. Elevators regularly discharged more guests. Others loitered, waiting for friends or for their day to start.
And then he saw him.
26
Somehow he handled the pain, returning to the room with more ease than it had taken to get down to the lobby. Alena and Natalie were deep in conversation and looked surprised as if sharing a guilty secret.
Before he could speak, Alena blurted out: ‘When Freddie returns, we have to leave here.’ As if to encompass the whole of Manhattan, she spread out her arms. ‘I knew it would be too dangerous. I’ve been talking to Natalie about her contacts. The offer sounds genuine, and we should accept. It’s all we’ve got.’ Willing him to agree, she got up and walked over to him,
‘You’re back quickly,’ Natalie said. ‘Has something happened? Any news of Freddie?’
He glanced at his feet, trying not to meet her gaze. ‘Afraid not.’
‘What then?’ Alena asked.
‘I’ve just seen one of the Nazis.’
They could pounce at any moment.
To his surprise, Alena seemed relieved. ‘If they’re here, that means they don’t have Freddie.’
‘That’s a possibility, cheri,’ Natalie agreed.
Realising what that meant, Alena put a hand to her mouth. ‘But if Freddie returns, they’ll be waiting for him. He’ll walk straight into a trap. We must go and wait for him.’
Natalie touched her shoulder. ‘He’ll probably be back soon. Let me contact Solomon so we can get things moving.’
He and Alena looked at each other in agreement. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘But it needs to happen immediately; otherwise, I’ve other plans.’ Hope flared in Alena’s eyes before fading like a dud firework. ‘We’ll give you two hours. If we don’t hear from you, we’re out of here.’ He still doubted Natalie’s motives and would leave New York without her. The fewer who knew their next step, the better. ‘In the meantime, Alena and I will look for Freddie.’
A few minutes after Natalie left there was a light knock, and Alena grabbed his hand with a mixture of fear and anticipation. He put a finger to his lips and led her into the bathroom, closing the door behind her.
‘Come in,’ he called.
The lobby was becoming increasingly crowded as the day wore on. Klein realised it would be impossible to conduct an effective surveillance operation with so many people on the move. Keeping tabs on them was difficult. The hotel had several exits. They could slip out unseen, and it would be easier for Freddie to move about unnoticed. It had taken only minutes to charm the room numbers out of an attractive receptionist, but this was not the time to confront the target. They could take the boy by force, but getting him out of a hotel off Times Square would be problematic. He would give Natalie more time. If she wavered or attempted to double-cross him, they would intervene.
Natalie emerged from an elevator and looked around before striding across the lobby. She knew she would be seen.
He was sitting to the side on a comfortable sofa, and he put down his New York Times. Although she glanced in his direction, she showed no sign of recognising him. He signalled one of his men.
She sought a payphone and entered the kiosk. The call was soon picked up, and she appeared to have an intense conversation before slamming down the phone. She pulled the door open, glancing back and forth, then headed for an exit.
He nodded to his man who put on his hat and set off in pursuit.
Guilt twisted an unsure Freddie’s pale face as he entered the room. Relieved he’d returned unharmed, Ben smiled.
‘Maman? Where’s maman?’ The boy stared, seeking his mother.
‘Don’t worry.’ He gave him a reassuring hug. ‘She’s here.’
Alena was listening behind the bathroom door, and she appeared with a mixture of relief, anger and love chasing across her face. Freddie ran into her embrace, and they remained that way for several seconds, not talking before she bent and kissed the top of his head.
‘Where were you?’ There was a hint of annoyance in her voice.
‘Exploring,’ he replied, knowing his answer would upset her, and his lips pursed as he tried to hide his relief.
‘How could you when people want to harm us?’ She cried and hugged harder, determined not to let him escape again. ‘How could you do this?’
Then she pushed him away but kept a hold of him at arm’s length, and her eyes checked him from top to bottom. ‘Let me look at you.’ She softened. ‘Are you okay?’
‘I’m fine, maman,’ the boy gave her his most appealing smile as if it were a joke.
‘You’ve been away a long time. I’ve been worried sick about you.’
‘There was a big lake, and I rowed a boat across it.’
‘On your own? They shouldn’t have–’
‘Wasn’t alone.’
‘What do you mean?’ Her eyes dimmed with doubt.
‘A lady…’
‘What lady?’
‘I talked to a lady.’
Alena flashed an anxious look. ‘Haven’t I told you often enough never to speak to strangers.’
‘Wasn’t strange.’ His chin jutted out in defiance. ‘She was kind.’
‘Was she German?’
Freddie looked confused. ‘No. French, maybe, but she spoke in a funny way.’
‘What did she do?’
‘She helped me… and she bought me an ice cream.’ He smiled, remembering it.
‘How?’
‘To get back.’
‘To the hotel?’
‘Yes, she knew it.’
They exchanged puzzled looks. If the woman was a Nazi, she had the chance to take him. Freddie thought her French, but perhaps she pretended to be because Alena was and most of the time conversed with him in that language.
Freddie interrupted them. ‘Maman, I’m hungry.’ And she phoned the desk and arranged for food to be sent up to her room for him.
His injuries were weakening him, and he stretched out on the bed. Battling to stay awake, he drifted in and out of sleep, awakening when movement reminded him of the pain.
Alena must have left the door ajar because he didn’t hear someone slip into the room.
Sensing a presence, he opened an eye as she lay beside him. ‘Please, just hold me,’ she whispered.
27
The four-storey, red brick building on Lexington on Upper East Side was squeezed between more substantial edifices as if it were a wedge preventing them collapsing. The address on Solomon’s business card could have been his townhouse or the headquarters of a society, or an exclusive club where successful gentlemen hid away from the real world. A convenient bolthole while visiting New York. As she approached the sturdy wooden door, she noticed a light in the window illuminating the ceiling of a room to the right of the entrance.
She had spotted Klein in the hotel lobby and wondered if he still required her to kidnap Freddie. They wouldn’t trust her and would put a tail on her. She entered a store and went straight to a restroom on the second floor. She had been there before and knew of another exit out of view of her follower. Once confident she had given him the slip, she took the stairs to the ground.
Solomon wasn’t the kind of man to change his mind, far less have it changed for him, but she would try. If she could persuade him to allow her to take Freddie to a place where the Nazis would never find him, he might let the boy live. And still keep the American agents off her back. Freddie’s disappearance had flicked a switch in her head, and she now doubted she could kill him. If she used all her powers
of persuasion on Solomon, she could win him over, and the thought gave her a warm glow.
She glanced about, searching for the tail. Satisfied she was alone, she ran up the front steps. There was neither a bell nor a knocker, so she raised a fist and rapped hard. The force of the blow caused the door to swing open, making her step backwards. Perhaps Solomon’s goons had left it ajar although she was surprised they were absent because they went everywhere with him. She pushed it and, not hearing any sounds, stepped in. Expecting a challenge at any moment, she paused in the hallway. None came. Just silence. Aromas of cedar oil and cigar smoke drifted in the atmosphere, and the cigar dominated.
‘Hello,’ she called out, and her voice broke. ‘Mr Solomon?’ She heard something like a sigh or did she imagine it?
‘Mr Solomon, are you here?’ she shouted. ‘It’s Natalie.’
There was no response. She glanced at the stairs disappearing up into darkness and walked on, conscious that her footsteps were clacking on the parquet floor. ‘Hello, is there anyone here?’
Although in here it seemed as if time had stopped, the street noise reminded her the world was still turning. And, at that moment, a clock chimed somewhere, a mechanical, musical sound.
Off the main hall and to her right a heavy wooden door led to a small library with two leather armchairs gathered around a cold fireplace. Leather-bound volumes lined the walls from floor to ceiling. At the far end, an old book lay open on a reading stand on a large oak table. Feeling like an intruder, she returned to the hallway. Before opening another closed door, she listened for voices, but only the hum of traffic and the occasional raised voice on the street intruded. She gripped the doorknob but couldn’t turn it. Her hands were sweating even though it wasn’t hot. She wiped her hands on her skirt and used both for purchase.
