Echoes of Silence

by Patrick W O'Bryon

  “The guy ignored your memo—” Heinz grinned at his cleverness, “he went for his rod.”

  “So now we have a problem.”

  “Best laid plans, right?”

  “When does the swing shift come to relieve poor Herbert?”

  “I asked before I wished him ‘nighty-night.’ The new guy comes at two.”

  “Herbert knows only that some stranger roughed him up and left him drugged. The airport police will assume a saboteur and search the airfield and buildings, including the passenger terminal. The missing sedan and driver shouldn’t draw attention till word comes from Sachsenhausen, and even then it’ll take hours to locate the flight crew and find out their man actually arrived tonight.”

  Hallinger finally found his voice and growled out a protest. “Do you bucket-headed idiots have any idea whom you’re dealing with here? I’ll have your heads on a platter!”

  Heinz’s pistol abruptly swept across his jaw. The colonel staggered back, bleeding from the corner of his mouth as his tongue probed for damage to his teeth.

  “So any ideas on disposing of that body? We sure as hell can’t leave it here.”

  They’d been dropped off an hour earlier by another of Kessler’s men and approached the gate on foot. The intent was to leave with the colonel and trussed driver in the trunk of the Mercedes and Ryan in the back seat. No one anticipated Hallinger’s bringing along an aide.

  “I saw concrete pipe out beyond the fence when we snuck in,” Gerhardt said. “Looks like they just put in a culvert or something. I’ll find room for the stiff.” He was already out the door.

  Ryan ordered Hallinger to undress and tossed him a pile of civilian clothes. Hatred shown in his eyes, but he did as told. While Heinz watched over their captive with drawn pistol, Ryan tried on the colonel’s gray trousers, loose in the waist, the inseam almost perfect. The glowering colonel, his damaged jaw already swelling, shivered as he made do with the replacement wear. Ryan donned the SS tunic, which fit adequately. The high- peaked hat with death-head emblem sat too high on his head, so he slit the inner band with his knife to give it more play, then sat on the stool to pull on the tall black boots. Heinz handed him the colonel’s commandeered holster and belt. “It’s show time,” Ryan said, strapping on the weapon and taking to his feet in the confident posture of the Reich’s paramilitary elite.

  Ryan scanned the register on the guard’s clipboard. He noted no further arrivals or departures scheduled for that evening. He pocketed the sheet and rehung the clipboard beside the door.

  Gerhardt entered, fresh from entombing the dead aide. “How’d it go?” Ryan asked.

  “Fit like a glove.” A roll of gray clothing was tucked beneath his arm. “Didn’t want to waste a good uniform,” he explained with a smile. “The trousers were shot, but the rest might come in handy down the line.”

  Ryan acknowledged the logic with a nod. “So tie up our colonel here and ditch his luggage where you hid the aide. The swing shift can free our buddy Herbert when we’re long gone.”

  “Sir, if I may—” Gerhardt stepped forward, “their baggage likely contains some valuable items. The Boss would want us to secure the contents, not chuck them. Waste not, want not, right?”

  Ryan gave it a moment’s thought. “Very well, the bags remain in the trunk and the driver joins them, and our lieutenant colonel rides in the rear with me. But I’ll be damned if I’m going to sit back there with fresh brain tissue smeared across the window.”

  “At your service, sir.” Heinz hefted a janitor’s bucket and cleaning supplies from the corner of the shack and headed out to do some clean-up.

  Ryan wondered what else could go awry in the coming hours. These days, he preferred working alone.

  ❖

  Both the reliability of motor vehicles and recent Wehrmacht demands for equine power in the field had shrunk Berlin’s horse and mule population. Many stables in residential neighborhoods had gradually converted to other uses. Such was the case for a neglected building in the Bremergasse belonging to Kessler. From the street it appeared abandoned, but the interior told a different story. Several bays housed crated merchandise “liberated” by his criminal enterprises and awaiting resale or distribution. The blue-on-black SS diesel now occupied the center aisle. Kessler’s men had parked themselves in the back seat to smoke cigarettes and enjoy the rush of methamphetamine. The popular drug Pervitin promised increased energy and enhanced stamina, so much so that the Wehrmacht was giving it to both pilots and ground troops alike. Ryan had politely declined the white pills, assuring his accomplices that his enthusiasm for the coming robbery would carry him through just fine.

  The long night was finally dragging to an end. The window panes had gone opaque from years of neglect, but he could still see the black of night surrendering to pewter skies and the promise of more snow. Ryan counted the minutes as he leaned on the door frame of the former stable master’s office. He knew that the sedan would soon be reported missing along with the SS driver now stretched out on the floor behind him. Heinz was as adept with hypodermic needle as with pistol, a veritable pharmacist and problem solver in one. The rusted coal stove was no match for a bitter early December cold. Ryan raised his collar and stomped his feet as he awaited Isabel’s arrival. She was due any minute.

  Hallinger, bound to a wooden chair at wrists and ankles, stared vacantly. His civilian garb offered little protection against the chill, and the gag over his injured mouth spared the captors further threats and rantings. Isabel had set the rules for his treatment, specifically ordering he not be seriously injured or drugged. She wanted him fully alert.

  She had spent the previous afternoon out at Sachsenhausen, arranging the fiction of a day’s delay in the colonel’s arrival while assuring the airport pick-up stayed on schedule. Before arrival at the stables she would have arranged her hair to match the photo in the American passport and be ready to catch the next flight to Zürich after interrogating Hallinger. Once word of the print shop caper spread, suspicious Gestapo investigators might notice the sudden disappearance of “I. Friedrich,” but by then she would be in Switzerland awaiting reunion with Karl.

  Shortly before seven Isabel finally entered the stable. Heinz, buzzing from his latest methamphetamine hit, welcomed her as a long-lost co-conspirator despite having only met the previous morning. Gerhardt was also feeling euphoric and chattier than usual, but Isabel had no patience for small talk. She had waited far too long for this moment. “Where are you holding our bucket of filth?”

  “All trussed up and awaiting your pleasure, Frau Friedrich.” Heinz made an exaggerated bow as he gestured toward Ryan and the office. “Please follow me.”

  Ryan spotted nervousness in her eyes. He placed a hand on her shoulder as she reached the doorway: “You up for this, Izz?”

  “I’ve waited ten years to close this book, Ryan. No one can do it for me.”

  “Understood.” He stepped aside, revealing Hallinger dozing fitfully against his bonds.

  “Get that one out of here,” she commanded in a subdued voice, pointing to the sedated sergeant beneath the workbench. “Boss” Kessler had specified that her orders were to be obeyed to the letter, so his minions deposited the SS driver on a pile of moldering straw out near the sedan. They returned and faux-saluted Isabel, requesting further instructions.

  “I’ll take it from here,” she said, her voice stronger now. She seized Hallinger by his close-cropped hair and pulled his head back. He opened his eyes, groggy and momentarily uncomprehending, and she slipped down the gag, leaving it loose around his neck.

  “Who the hell are you, lady?”

  “Take a closer look, Arschloch. You’ll remember.” She pushed back her hair to reveal her face in the dim light. “Think back to ’31.” Her smile could have etched glass. “Coming back to you yet?”

  He dropped his gaze to her chest. “With tits like those, I’m about to blow my wad. Let me guess—I gave you a good fucking and you’ve missed me ever since?”


  Ryan’s fist landed hard. Hallinger bent forward, coughing, struggling for breath. “Treat the lady with respect,” Ryan hissed, “or the next one guarantees you never fuck again!”

  Isabel restrained Ryan’s arm as he readied to make good on his promise. “I’ve got this, darling—alone.”

  Hallinger’s breath came in shallow gasps. She tapped him lightly on the damaged jaw. “Now, let’s get back to my question, Lieutenant Colonel. Think carefully now—it’s 1931. Your Party holds a meeting in Wedding, your buddy Goebbels at the podium.” She could see him dredging through memories and offered more clues: “Two uninvited guests. You had them detained, much as you are right now, all trussed up nice and tight, then came back to admire the handiwork of your ass-licker Veidtner?”

  His eyes abruptly lit up. “The two dykes? That was you?” He shook his head as the revelation set in. “Of course it was. So that’s what this is all about. You and your little friend fucked over two of my men. Cost me a fortune trying to track you down.”

  “And you—you piece of shit—you destroyed three of my friends in the process!”

  “Gatecrashers can’t complain if they don’t enjoy the party, right?”

  Ryan stepped forward, fists clenched, but she held up her hand to block him. “Well this one is lodging a complaint in person.” She signaled Kessler’s men. “You two, untie this bastard!”

  “You’re sure about that, lady?” Heinz’s pupils showed black, dilated by the drug.

  “Can you handle him if he tries something stupid?”

  “Damn right, and with pleasure.” Heinz pointed to the pistol in his belt and giggled.

  “Then set him free, hands and feet, but no rough stuff without my say-so.”

  Heinz cut the cords while big Gerhardt stood behind the captive with an arm around his neck. The Nazi rubbed his sore wrists and gingerly felt along his bruised jaw. “You bastards broke a tooth last night.”

  Gerhardt released his hold. Heinz held his pistol to the back of the colonel’s head. “I’ll break more than that if you give me trouble.”

  The prisoner’s sudden torrent of words betrayed his growing apprehension: “That unfortunate business with Veidtner was all his work, you know. The man was a crude sort—an animal, really. Brutality his stock in trade, no finesse. Surely a lady wouldn’t resort to his tactics.” He stumbled on through her silence, desperation finally surfacing. “We’ve outgrown all that as a nation, that rough stuff. Necessary back then, you know, to win over the country. We’re a new Germany now. Unified. Civilized. No longer need unsophisticated measures, right?” She stared until he felt forced to speak again. “So how do I make it all up to you?”

  Isabel gave a bitter laugh. “Make it all up to me? You’ll learn soon enough.” She approached the workbench, taking stock of old bridles, bits, and wagon traces. She manipulated heavy, long-handled pincers, then rummaged through a wooden box of curry combs, nail pullers and hoof scrapers. She appeared deep in thought, allowing his anxiety to grow. Abruptly, she turned to Ryan: “Perhaps you should leave for this next part, darling. You say you’ve done rough stuff before, but you needn’t be part of what comes next.”

  “No way.”

  “Then step back. Wouldn’t want to spoil that nice getup of yours.” He’d momentarily forgotten the SS uniform. She took a coil of rope off the wall and brought it to Gerhardt. “Can you fashion a noose for me?”

  “Consider it done.”

  “As for you, Obersturmbannführer, you will now strip naked.”

  Hallinger looked around for support and found none. “It’s so damn cold in here!”

  “Every stitch, unless you want my men to do it for you.” Her smile was brittle. “Don’t worry about privates, colonel. “Your man Veidtner didn’t hesitate to expose mine on your orders.” With trembling hands he did as instructed. “Shoes and socks, too.” His body shook in the drafty room; his hands shielded his groin. Isabel gave Gerhardt’s rope skills a nod of approval. “Throw it over that beam up there.” On the third attempt it cleared the rafter.

  Heinz’s pistol had never left the captive. “Should we string him up?”

  “Yes.”

  “Please, no!” Hallinger raised his hands in submission, his voice shaking. “I can get you whatever you want—how about money? More money than you can imagine, it’s all yours! Gold, too. Diamonds, even. I have ways. And nothing happens to you and your friends. This all goes away if it ends now. Just let me out of here and all’s forgotten, forgiven!”

  Gerhardt started to loop the noose over the head of the cringing captive.

  “No,” Isabel said. “He’s not getting off that easy. Around those skinny ankles, and bind the wrists again.”

  The Nazi trembled, but no longer from just the cold. Fear and fury had finally taken the upper hand. “You’ll never get away with this, you know!” Gerhardt tightened the bonds while Heinz pressed the automatic to the base of his skull.

  She turned her back on Hallinger and gave Ryan an enigmatic smile. “Take him up,” she ordered over her shoulder.

  Gerhardt yanked on the rope and Hallinger landed on the litter-strewn floor. He began to ascend in erratic tugs. Heinz put away his pistol and helped hoist until the head of the enraged man was at her eye level. She directed the men’s attention to a run of hooks above the bench. “Now tie it off, nice and tight.”

  Malice distorted Hallinger’s swollen face. As she stepped into range, he spat. Ryan lunged forward, fists clenched, but Isabel ordered him back. “Mine alone, remember?” She retrieved his shirt from the floor and wiped her cheek. At her direction, Heinz gagged him again. “I’d hoped to hear more talk of bribes, more protests at the unfairness of it all, but since you can’t behave civilly in your new ‘civilized Germany’ you will suffer in silence.” She took a step back, considering her words. “My friend Doro had no chance to protest the terror that took her life, and you work inmates to death at Mauthausen, delighting in new ways to prolong their suffering. So why should you fare any better? Perhaps you’ll even enjoy your own suffering?”

  Isabel took a baling hook from the bench. “Lower him a bit, gentlemen. I believe it’s time I did something with his cock and balls.” Hallinger wrenched from side to side, fighting the hold of the ropes, his face crimson from fury and gravity’s pull. “He’ll have no use for them where he’s headed,” she turned to address herself to Ryan, “and personally, I find them offensive, dangling there so weakly on such a proud officer of the Reich.”

  Ryan stepped closer and gently lifted her chin, encouraging her to meet his eyes. “You sure about all this, Izz? Will you be any happier looking back?”

  Her jaw began to tremble and she dropped the hook to the floor. With her head pressed to his chest, she released the tears. He held her close until the weeping subsided, then she pulled back and her grief came forth in words: “These Nazi assholes are so damned rotten, stinking up the world and everything good in it! Doro had a right to happiness, to enjoy her youth and life with poor Jürgen.” She pinched her eyes shut, tears flowing anew. “My unborn baby had a right to sunlight and laughter, Ryan! But these fucking bastards steal everything, ruin everything, rip families to shreds, and then they dare to claim they’re a ‘master race.” She cleared the tears away with her hands and turned away from him. “But you’re right, my dear friend. I can’t see this through, not as I imagined for so long. I really never thought this time would come, and now that it’s actually here, I fail myself. I don’t have what it takes to be as despicable as they are, to make someone suffer so long and so horribly.”

  She straightened her shoulders and addressed Kessler’s men: “You two may leave us now.”

  “You’re sure, Frau Friedrich?” Heinz looked dubious, disappointed.

  She nodded. “We’ll be fine.”

  “Very well, then—as you wish.” He left the office and Gerhardt followed with a last glance back.

  “And now what?” Ryan said. “Shall I cut him down?”
>
  “No.” Isabel exhaled in resignation. “I’ll do the cutting.” She reached for the fallen hook and swung it with both hands, burying the point deep in Hallinger’s neck and twisting with all her might. She released it and stepped back. Stunned by the sudden move, Ryan barely caught the hiss of her words: “Für Doro und mein Baby!” Retching into his gag, Hallinger jerked about, a fish on a line, blood splattering the floor below. She pivoted toward the door, ignoring the blood on her hands. Her jaw was clenched, her smile frozen.

  Ryan struggled to contain his revulsion. Death for the suspended man would come soon enough and he would not help the process along. He put his arm around her shoulders to guide her from the office and closed the door behind them.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Berlin, Germany

  December 1941

  He still heard the gurgle of the man’s torn throat, still smelled the iron and salt of blood and the sweat of fear. Her act had left him deeply troubled, but the bastard surely deserved his fate for all the horrors he’d called down upon her, for all the lives he’d destroyed in the camps. Ryan had clearly misunderstood her. She had questioned her ability to extend the torture but not her resolve to finish him off.

  Would she ever recover her old self again, or had the Isabel of earlier days fallen victim to events in that cursed factory and Munich alley? To kill under duress or in self-defense was one thing. To kill defending liberty was another. But to take life so coldly and consciously smacked of evil, no matter how justified. Or perhaps he just kidded himself, his Presbyterian upbringing nagging at his gut. Was he simply trying to diminish his own guilt over lives he had taken?

  She had not spoken as he led her to the basin to wash the blood from her hands. She’d said nothing as they walked out to the waiting Daimler, another Kessler minion behind the wheel. At the idling car she finally broke her silence, stating simply: “Done is done.”