The Enemy Within

by Michael Dean

  ‘Sounds fine to me,’ Robert said.

  ‘Me too,’ said Joel.

  Everybody else fell into line, nodding and murmuring agreement.

  ‘We’ll knock you out some false ID papers,’ Robert said. ‘With an address half-way between here and Rotterdam. And we’ll train you in a cover story.’

  Tinie nodded. There was a touch of colour in her cheeks. She touched Manny’s arm, lightly.

  ‘Can I go, too?’ Manny’s voice sounded strange in his own ears.

  ‘You?’ Robert’s voice was edged with contempt.

  Manny looked him in the eye. ‘It’s not enough to make contact with someone at the docks, is it? We can’t keep going backwards and forwards. We need to come back here with a half-way decent plan. I can draw a diagram of the docks. After I’ve spoken to our contact, I can put forward a plan.’

  ‘Do we need a diagram of the docks?’ Joel said to Robert.

  Robert shrugged. ‘It would be useful. We’d be there at night. Won’t be able to see a bloody thing.’ He thought for a moment. ‘I'm sure we’ll find workers who will help, but we can’t expect them to do more than give us information. We’re going to have to steal any explosives ourselves. The more we know about the docks, the better. Manny’s right.’

  Manny basked in his father’s approval, shooting Tinie a look.

  ‘But Manny’s wanted,’ Joel said, ‘same as me.’

  Robert shrugged. ‘Obviously, he’ll use his false ID. We’ll maybe change his occupation to doctor, to give him a better reason to be travelling. He might actually be safer away from here.’ Robert paused. ‘Mind you, if he is caught, he’ll be tortured. That will be the end of this place, and the end of us.’ He looked at them all, sitting on the cement floor, in a cell of a room, stinking of petrol. ‘Do you want to take that chance?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Ben Bril.

  ‘If any one of us is caught, it would be the same,’ Lard Zilverberg said. ‘Not just Manny. Let him go to Rotterdam.’

  ‘If Manny wants to do it, we’re behind him,’ Gerrit Romijn said, as ever speaking for his group, as well as himself. .

  ‘All right,’ Robert said. ‘You’re on, Manny. But before you get too excited,’ Robert nodded at Tinie. ‘you can’t possibly go together. Public transport’s far too risky. You both go by bicycle. Separately. ’

  ‘Sure!’ Manny said, nodding. ‘We’ll cycle there separately, meet up in Schiedam.’

  Robert nodded. ‘OK.’

  *

  Tinie and Manny cycled slowly along, side by side. The by-way meandered parallel to the main Amsterdam-Rotterdam road. He had set off ahead of her, but stopped and waited for her, at a pre-arranged spot, less than half-a-mile from the knokploeg hideout.

  He had planned a mazy route to Rotterdam, avoiding the main roads. The sun was shining, with just occasional wisps of fragile white cloud. Tinie had brought as much food as she could carry. It was in a basket, at the front of her bicycle.

  She had put on weight, in her happiness. Whenever Manny told her how lovely she was, she occasionally dared, if not to believe it, to believe that at least he thought so – which was all that mattered to her.

  ‘I don’t want this to end,’ he said, as they cycled along, as slowly as possible, their shoulders almost touching.

  ‘Neither do I.’ She gave him a shy, toothy smile, turning her face into the wind, so it ruffled her short dark-blonde hair.

  The endless narrow road was flanked by evenly-spaced plane trees. Manny thought it looked like a Hobbema painting – The Avenue at Middelharnis.

  They stopped behind a hedge, lay the bicycles down, kissed and made love. He was becoming an intuitive lover, understanding what she felt, wanting her pleasure before his own. It had never occurred to him to use a sheath, and she had decided not to ask him to. They lay in each other’s arms, afterwards, smiling, laughing, dozing, talking, all at the same time.

  After a long while she stood up. She took a threadbare tablecloth from the basket. On it, she carefully arranged slices of niew Gouda cheese, good ham with fat on it, bread, milk, sausage, some tomatoes. There was a bottle of water and a single flower. It was a white carnation, Prince Bernhard’s flower, one of the emblems of Dutch defiance.

  He looked at her, blazing with love, as she made the food as wonderful as she could. She was doing her best for him, creating something for them to share. Nobody had done this for him before, nobody had cared enough. Nobody thought he was worth it. Nobody.

  There were tears in his eyes. Understanding, she broke off from her creation and stroked his head.

  ‘It’s for you, because I love you,’ she said.

  As they ate, they snuggled down into companionship. Tinie could have done this with silence, but Manny always needed to talk, so she did, too. They discussed where they would like to go on holiday.

  Tinie sat with her knees pulled up to her breasts, her arms wrapped round her knees, pulling the skirt of her nurse’s outfit taut. ‘As I’m a girl from Batavia Straat, I’d like to visit Batavia,’ she said. ‘Maybe see the whole of the Dutch East Indies. End up splashing in the surf, somewhere hot.’

  ‘Did Hirschfeld tell you about the Dutch East Indies?’ Manny said, sharply. He knew his uncle had worked for a bank out there – he often talked of it.

  She looked stunned. The colour bled from her face; she stopped with food half-way to her mouth.

  Manny hit himself on the forehead. ‘Oh, I’m a fool! I’m a fool! Why do I always do that? Why do I always say the wrong thing? I’m cursed.’

  ‘It’s alright,’ she said, pulling herself together.

  ‘No, it isn’t.’

  He did not get the expected hug and consolation.

  ‘You know …,’ she said, in a quiet, confident voice he hadn’t heard from her before. ‘ …now, since we’ve been together, I believe Hirschfeld hasn’t touched me. Not deep down, where it matters. I believe that, as long as you believe it, too.’

  ‘Of course I do!’ He sensed she didn’t want him to touch her right now. ‘I love you. I will always love you. I have always loved you, even when we were children. If you’ll have me, I want to marry you, as soon as I possibly can.’

  ‘I’d love to marry you, Manny. I just hope we …’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I hope we have a life to live. Together. That’s all.’

  *

  Late in the afternoon, when they hoped Ben Bril’s cousin would have returned from work, they rang the bell of his flat. Ben had got a message through that a nurse and a doctor would be coming on a house call. So Arie Allegro was not completely surprised to find a uniformed nurse, and companion, on his doorstep.

  The welcome was warm. Allegro was a swarthy, rangy man, taller and slimmer than Ben, but with the same air of toughness. He waved them to a vinyl covered sofa and made coffee.

  ‘How’s Ben?’ he called through, from the kitchen

  ‘Fighting fit,’ Manny shouted back. .

  ‘Good,’ Allegro said. ‘I’m glad he’s fighting. We all need to fight.’

  Manny made no reply. The Rotterdammers were more than entitled to their own special anger. When their undefended city had been bombed by the Luftwaffe, hundreds had been killed, hundreds wounded, hundreds more made homeless. Over coffee and home-made cake, made by Allegro’s wife, who put in a shy appearance, Manny outlined the reason for their visit.

  As he spoke, the plan sounded more far-fetched than it had in the knokploeg’s hideout, in Amsterdam. But Allegro, nodding keenly, did not pour scorn on the idea. He said he knew several men working at the docks, who would be happy to help. He would go and see people right now, he said. Meanwhile, his wife would make up beds for them on the sofa and on the floor.

  Tinie blushingly, but firmly, explained that only one bed would be necessary.

  ‘That’s nice!’ mevrouw Allegro said. ‘How long have you been married?’

  ‘Two years now,’ Manny said. ‘But it seems like only yesterday.’ He turned t
o Tinie.

  ‘Doesn’t it, darling?’

  Both the Allegros burst out laughing.

  ‘Are we as obvious as that?’ said Tinie, now red to the roots of her cropped blonde hair.

  ‘Love is always obvious,’ mevrouw Allegro said. ‘What’s that English saying? All the world loves a lover.’

  Later that evening, a tough-looking fitter from Schiedam docks was introduced to them as Johnny. Johnny was carrying a parcel wrapped in brown paper, and wasted no time on small talk. He said that when refitting had started, all the Prinz Eugen’s armaments and ammunition had been stripped out, and put in a temporary store. The guard on what was little more than a complex of emergency huts was light, just as the Amsterdam KP had hoped.

  He, Johnny, had been in there that day, checking the state of the Prinz Eugen’s boilers, which were also stored in the complex, as were its turbines. As luck would have it, he had told the bosses there was more work to do on the boilers tomorrow. So, as Johnny put it, ‘You’re in, if you want to be.’

  Manny nodded, trying to stop himself feeling excited. ‘What ordnance is being stored?’ he asked.

  ‘There’s no explosive on the docks,’ Johnny said. ‘But the Prinz Eugen carries depth charges. And she also has two limpet mines. Do you know them? They’re new weapons. You can drop them onto a sub. But they can be put on the hull of a ship and they stick. I think you want one of them.’

  ‘Yes, so do I.’

  ‘I can get you in, tomorrow,’ Johnny said. ‘I brought you some overalls.’ He nodded at the brown paper parcel. ‘They might be a bit big.’

  ‘I can take them in, overnight,’ Tinie said.

  Johnny stood. ‘Allegro, here, can take you to a side gate where we can let you in, without a check. Don’t carry any papers at all. Once you’re in, I’ll show you where the limpet mines are.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Manny said. He stood and held out a hand, which was enfolded in Johnny’s huge calloused paw.

  ‘You don’t have to thank me,’ Johnny said. ‘Our place was in the centre of Rotterdam. I live in a corner of a comrade’s room, now. And I won’t be seeing my mother or my sister again.’

  ‘He’s a communist,’ Arie Allegro said, when Johnny had gone. ‘So are all the others who will look after you tomorrow. They hate the Moffen as much as we do.’

  *

  A horse-drawn milk cart collected him from outside the Allegros’ building early in the morning. Manny, in blue overalls, hid himself among the churns on the back. As they approached a gate in the perimeter fence to the Schiedam docks, it opened. A blue-overalled figure closed it behind them, then disappeared. As the gate shut behind them, Manny glimpsed two black-uniformed SD sentries, armed with rifles, patrolling the perimeter.

  The cart stopped outside the back of the canteen; Manny dropped to the ground.

  Another overalled figure was waiting for him, his face smudged with oil. ‘I’m from Johnny,’ he said. ‘Where do you want to go first?’

  ‘Round the perimeter,’ Manny said. ‘Then work in to where the ordnance is kept.’

  The worker nodded and they strode along together. The Prinz Eugen, propped up in dry-dock, towered over the dockyard. They could hear the screaming of machine drills, backed by thudding hammering, as the refit proceeded.

  The canteen was breezeblock, the workshops corrugated iron, but most other buildings were shaky-looking sheds which looked as if they had been thrown up only long enough to serve their purpose. While they were walking, Manny saw one or two unarmed SD walking about, presumably off duty, but no guards.

  ‘This is where the ordnance is. Wait here.’ The worker walked off. The large ramshackle shed was unguarded, but heavily padlocked, with its windows barred.

  Johnny appeared. Without a word, he unlocked the padlock and they went in.

  ‘Just a minute,’ Manny said. In the gloom of the cool, dark shed, he pulled sketch paper from under his overalls, a pencil from his pocket, and rapidly sketched an elevation of Schiedam docks, showing the buildings he had seen.

  ‘If they catch you with that, we’re dead,’ Johnny said.

  Manny nodded. ‘I know. But I can’t keep it all in my head until we get back.’ He looked round the shed. The cruiser’s guns had been dismantled and stored for the refit.

  ‘SK guns and flak guns,’ Johnny said, nodding at them. ‘There’s no ammunition here. It’s been taken away.’

  Manny nodded. He peered round, then stopped to clean his spectacles on a handkerchief. He saw a stack of torpedoes.

  ‘They’ve been disarmed,’ Johnny said, following his gaze.

  Manny had a cold feeling, wondering if this was all for nothing.

  ‘The depth charges and limpet mines are over there.’ Johnny nodded at a corner of the shed. ‘They can’t de-activate them without a lot of trouble. They’re live.’

  Manny looked at the limpet mines. He took in the cylindrical body, the two bung-like protuberances, top and bottom, the two metal wings each consisting of three bars. He was reminded of the Torah, the scroll of the law, half opened-out so that day’s portion of the service can be read.

  ‘We haven’t got all day,’ Johnny said.

  ‘Sorry.’ Manny pulled out another piece of sketch paper. He drew the limpet mine, to scale, resting the paper on the card at the back of the sketch pad.

  Outside, Johnny locked the padlock, which he had left hanging by its hasp, and took Manny’s arm, pulling him away from the shed. He left him by the side of the dry-dock, with a muttered ‘Wait there.’

  Within seconds, another figure had appeared, saying ‘Follow me,’ as he walked by. He was led back to the waiting cart, now piled with empty milk churns. Again, Manny hid in the back. The carter took him back to the Allegro place.

  12

  When Hirschfeld was arrested by van Tonningen, on Jonas Daniel Mayer Plein, and bundled into a car, he feared he would be taken to NSB headquarters, or even directly to the Orange Hotel, in Scheveningen. He puffed out his cheeks in relief when he saw they were heading for Rauter’s office, in the old Colonial Building.

  Even then, he feared he may be taken straight to a cell by his WA guards. But he was shown to an ante-room he had not seen before, on the ground floor. Van Tonningen ordered him to sit down, then left without another word. The WA guards remained, silent, standing by the door. They let him wait there for over two hours.

  When he was finally escorted to Rauter’s office, he found the Obergruppenführer looking tired. His face was grey, his huge frame crumpled. Van Tonningen was sitting next to him. Rauter sighed, tilted his chair back, and looked back out through the huge window over Mauritskade, as if wishing he were elsewhere. He dismissed the WA guard, but did not ask Hirschfeld to sit down.

  ‘Doesn’t look good, does it, Hirschfeld?’ he said, eventually. ‘You turning a rabbi back on the way to the Assembly Point; aiding and abetting Jews to flout our orders – which, by the way, they did in some numbers. The turnout for the deportations on a voluntary basis was minimal. Himmler won’t like it. What have you got to say for yourself?’

  ‘May I sit down?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Sitting across the massive expanse of Rauter’s desk from the Obergruppenführer, Hirschfeld glanced at van Tonningen. His dark eyes were shiny with triumph; he clearly believed his hour had come. Hirschfeld blinked, then lost control of the blinking, his eyelids fluttering furiously.

  ‘Herr Rauter, you were kind enough to give me discretion to create a list, which bears my name, of Jews in key economic positions, whose withdrawal at the present time …’

  ‘Withdrawal!’ Van Tonningen sneered.

  ‘ … whose withdrawal at the present time would not be conducive to Germany’s wider interests.’

  ‘You mean the Reich’s wider interests,’ van Tonningen spat out.

  Hirschfeld ignored him. ‘I did indeed happen to see one or two …’

  ‘One or two? Or was it three? Come on, Hirschfeld, you are supposed to be an ec
onomist. Is that how you handle figures?’

  ‘Shut up, van Tonningen. Let him finish.’

  Van Tonningen shot Rauter a furious look. But he did shut up.

  ‘I believe there were two,’ Hirschfeld said, addressing Rauter only. ‘Neither of whom was a rabbi.’ He snickered, as he realised that was true. Abraham Katz was a cantor, not a rabbi. ‘In fact, one of them is a vital member of the financial staff, in the Verschure Fabriek, which you will recall is currently re-tooling to make torpedoes for U-boats. The other has a key role purchasing wool at Du Croo en Brauns. To lose either would significantly affect production, and thus the war effort.’

  Rauter nodded, wearily. ‘Van Tonningen?’

  The NSBer stared at Hirschfeld. ‘Hirschfeld,’ he said, ominously quietly. ‘It was mid-morning, on a work day. What were you doing there?’

  ‘Making sure nobody on the Hirschfeld List appeared for voluntary deportation in error.’

  Van Tonningen laughed. ‘Names of the two Jews you warned off and sent home. Now, Hirschfeld! Now!’ Van Tonningen seized a blank piece of paper from Rauter’s desk and waved it at Hirschfeld.

  ‘Very well. But I would be obliged if you would address me in a tone befitting that of a colleague, which is what I am. There is no reason for this rudeness, van Tonningen.’

  ‘I’ll see you in a KZ, Hirschfeld. I swear I will. And when they whip your Jew arse, I’ll ask them, ever so politely, if I can join in. Now give me the names of the Jews you warned, or I’ll have you arrested on my own authority.’

  Rauter shot him a warning look. Van Tonningen had used the visit to Wewelsburg to establish his own, independent, line of communication to Himmler, which was what Himmler had intended when he invited him. Rauter didn’t like it; but then Rauter wasn’t meant to.

  Hirschfeld hoped that van Tonningen had just overplayed his hand. He fished his fountain pen from the inside pocket of his jacket, and wrote the names of two men and their positions, in the two factories he had just named. He had seen neither of them for weeks. He caught himself hoping they had volunteered for deportation, which would make checking his story considerably more difficult.