“Will I see you again?”
“You thought you’d seen a ghost a few days back,” Isabel squeezed his hand, “and you know what the French call a ghost?”
“Un fantôme.”
“I was thinking ‘revenant.’ She brought his fingers to her lips and kissed them. “The one who comes back. Who knows with the two of us, right?” She gave a wistful smile. “You be safe.”
“I’ll keep an eye out for the two of you. Go meet Karl in Switzerland and find happiness.” He opened her door. “You both deserve it.”
“Thank you for being there for me, Ryan.” She got in and rolled down the window. “One final thing, darling.” She took something from her handbag. “Please see Karl gets this so he knows how to find me.” Ryan slid the envelope into his pocket. On her signal, the driver pulled from the curb. She turned to look back and waved once before rolling up the window.
He had no time to consider what her future might bring. The day ahead would be demanding. Perhaps he should have accepted some of Heinz’s Pervitin, but he needed his wits about him. That ass Ellington would soon see the value in personal initiative and diligence, and COI would surely be pleased to share proof of this forgery enterprise with the Brits.
❖
At nine sharp the Mercedes rolled to a halt at the high gate on Delbrückstrasse. Manicured gardens shielded the impressive stone mansion housing Operation Andreas. The shutters on nearby houses remained closed in this upscale neighborhood west of downtown. Neighbors would know that any operation so closely guarded by the SS was off limits to prying eyes. Rumor had it the facility had been used for some time as an SS training school and forgery operation. The guard checked papers, saluted smartly, and waved them through. Heinz pulled the Mercedes up to the portico and switched off the engine, then hurried around to hold the door for Ryan and his sham aide-de-camp Gerhardt.
Shop foreman Ehrlich, clearly anxious to make a good impression, pushed past the SS man at the door and rushed down to greet his new boss. “A hearty welcome, Lieutenant Colonel Hallinger! We are so fortunate to have your leadership here at the facility.” His words couldn’t come fast enough. “Allow me to introduce myself,” he snapped his heels together, “Print Shop Foreman Gustav Ehrlich, at your service.” He was clearly suppressing the urge to salute despite his lack of military rank.
Ryan took a moment to observe the building and gardens before acknowledging the introduction. “Show me what we’ve got, Ehrlich.” He strode up to the entrance with Gerhardt on his right, the foreman tagging along to his left. “The Reichsführer-SS tells me previous directors have really mucked things up.”
“All too true, Herr Obersturmbannführer, all too true. But you’ll find I run a tight ship, given what I have to work with. Under your leadership and guidance we’ll turn production around in a flash.”
Ryan returned the salute from the door sentry as they entered the shop rooms. Parquet flooring and wainscoted walls betrayed the house’s origins as a private residence for some wealthy family. He kept his greatcoat buttoned, his leather gloves tucked in the belt. A dozen workers stood at attention to either side of the long work tables. Ryan was surprised to see many men of an age and fitness suitable for combat duty. Surely this enterprise ranked high on Himmler’s list of priorities. “Put the men back to work,” Ryan ordered. “Allows me to better understand the process and why it’s broken down.”
“Of course, sir.” Ehrlich dismissed the men back to their work stations. The sorting and cutting resumed, chemicals sloshed and water ran at the rinse basin, and presses began their steady rise and fall.
“Now take me through the procedures step by step.”
Ehrlich began at a high table. Two men on stools bent over magnifying glasses as they inscribed fine lines into copper panels affixed to wooden blocks. Ryan recognized Karl by his cauliflower ear and the blue-and-gray stripes of a prisoner’s uniform showing beneath his smock. Isabel’s husband was a handsome-enough fellow despite a sallow complexion from years of imprisonment and poor nourishment. He focused on the metal plate before him and avoided eye contact. Ryan gave Karl a sour look before approaching the second engraver, who moved aside quickly to give the new commandant opportunity to examine the detail of his work. “I take it this is where most errors occur, most delays in production?”
As the civilian engraver began to respond, Ehrlich interrupted: “Sometimes, sir. But we seldom have problems with the blocks themselves. Most difficulties arise in the cutting and handling of the finished notes. We’ve also had hitches with the quality of the rag paper and how the finished product shows under ultraviolet light.”
“Who’s assuring the serial numbers conform to Bank of England issues?”
“Professor Langer handles that. We’ve exported a few notes via diplomatic pouch and had our people pass them at unsuspecting banks. No problems arose, so we seem to be doing fine with the alphanumerics. The professor will be in around noon to introduce himself. Anxious to meet you, of course, as we all have been.”
Ryan nodded, knowing full well his crew would be long gone before Langer came around. He glanced at his watch. “Let’s see the rest of the operation.”
“Yes, sir. Right this way, sir.”
They entered an open work area with clattering presses flanked by stenciling and numbering machines. An adjacent station smelled strongly of some solvent used for cleaning the finished plates, its large washbasin flanked by a sign warning “Flammable, Smoking Forbidden!” Ehrlich explained the procedures for the sorting area where he himself cast his critical eye on the banknotes before giving final approval.
At each stop Ryan showed the appropriate interest and impatience. In the rear of the building he viewed a photographic laboratory, a washroom and a WC with several toilet stools. At the end of a hall was a tight, windowless space beneath the stairs with a cot, a tiny mirror and an open cupboard holding personal items. A single lightbulb with pull string hung from the underside of a tread. They passed a few additional closets for cleaning supplies. On a door sealed with hasp and lock someone had affixed a sign reading “Bank of England.” Ryan gave the foreman a quizzical look. “For the finished product awaiting distribution,” Ehrlich explained. Across the aisle was the foreman’s personal office.
Ryan’s expression darkened. “That’ll do for now. I’ve the general idea. We’ll address specifics later. Let’s get back to the engravers, where I spotted something very troubling.” Ryan led the way to the high stools at a fast clip, Ehrlich on his heels trying to catch up. He gave Karl another thorough up-and-down, then targeted the foreman with his piercing look. “This worker is clearly a felon, a traitor or a Jew—perhaps all three.”
“Yes, sir.” Ehrlich’s jaw twitched.
Without prelude, Ryan jerked back the collar of Karl’s smock to reveal the cloth badge on his prison uniform. Karl kept his eyes down. “Well, perhaps you can explain to me, Foreman Ehrlich,” Ryan abruptly slammed his palm on the work table and his voice rose in anger, “why we are using such vermin if a purebred and loyal German can do this same work!” He pointed to the civilian engraver at the second station. “This fellow, for example!”
Ehrlich, perspiration on his brow, pivoted to Karl and shouted: “On your feet!” The order was so zealous that men the length of the shop looked up briefly. Karl stood to attention beside his stool. Ehrlich stumbled over his words as he cringed under Ryan’s gaze: “Allow me to explain, sir…”
“No,” Ryan raised his hand, “I’ll hear it directly from the Jew.” Ehrlich stepped back with head bowed. “So what exactly do we have here?” he demanded of the engraver. “Identify yourself, prisoner, and tell us what crimes earned you this cushy life?”
“Karl Wittenberg, sir. Prisoner 29501. Sachsenhausen.”
“Well, Prisoner 29501, what the devil’s wrong with that ear? Did some Aryan girl reject your filthy advances with a right hook?”
“Yes, sir, something like that.”
Ryan spotted the flicker
of recognition in Karl’s eyes. “And your crime or crimes?”
“Running a print shop, sir. In Munich, some years back. And for being a half-Jew.”
Ryan turned to Ehrlich with raised eyebrows. “Really, Ehrlich? Have we not enough forgers and counterfeiters who are neither degenerates nor half-breeds?”
“Yes, sir, you see, sir—“
“I do indeed see,” he broke in, returning his attention to Karl, “and what exactly did you print that landed you in Sachsenhausen?”
Karl hesitated a split second before replying: “Only the truth, sir.”
Ryan struck him across the face with his folded gloves. Pivoting to Ehrlich, he demanded: “You permit such impertinence, and from a Jew no less?”
“Never, and he pays for it on the spot!” Ehrlich motioned an SS guard forward. “The prisoner will spend the day on his haunches, understood? Beat him should he get up or fall.” The nearby printers focused on their work, avoiding all eye contact.
“No!” Ryan barked. “Not good enough! I shall personally show this cockroach how we whip laborers into shape at Mauthausen, verstanden?”
“As ordered,” Ehrlich said, nearly completing a salute before withdrawing his hand. “But may I suggest sparing his eyes and his hands, Lieutenant Colonel. For the moment we can’t afford to lose his skills if we wish to keep on schedule.”
Ryan addressed the guard directly: “Hold the Jew in the washroom. He’s not to leave your sight but he may sit. He’ll need his strength for when I personally teach him respect for his betters.” The guard saluted and shoved Karl toward the rear of the shop. “Now,” Ryan said, tucking his gloves back in his belt, “I believe I’ve seen enough to understand why this whole operation has gone to shit.”
Ehrlich wiped his brow. “What do you mean, sir?”
“I mean to make major changes around here, starting with this incompetent crew you’ve assembled. Your operation has had abundant time to get it right yet it still fails, and Reichsführer-SS Himmler is fed up with delays.” Ryan signaled Heinz and an SS guard to his side. “Clear this place out, on the double. Every last one of them.”
Ehrlich saw a threat. “But sir, the others are all civilians. Wittenberg is our only Jew.”
“I don’t care. Who knows what other traitor undermines the mission and reveals our secrets?” He glowered at Ehrlich. “I want them all out! And now! I shall examine all personnel records and take a closer look at your failures. For the moment, we shut this circus down until I sort this all out, then I’ll personally interview each and every worker and determine his fate.”
“But, sir—”
“Your fate, as well, Herr Ehrlich. You have a problem with my orders?”
“Not at all, Herr Obersturmbannführer. Whatever you wish, sir.” He stepped away to join the guard and Heinz as they spread the word through the shop. The presses came to a standstill. The workers dropped everything in place and headed for the door. In the antechamber the men hung up their smocks, donned overcoats and hats, and headed toward the exit. They only began to whisper amongst themselves once they reached the garden path to the gate. The shop was eerily silent after the steady beat of presses at work. Gerhardt stood by, awaiting Ryan’s cue.
“Ehrlich,” Ryan said, “show me the ‘Bank of England.’”
“Right this way, sir.” The foreman led him to the storage room and unlocked the door. Boxes rose to shoulder height. Ryan removed a lid and fingered the currency, carefully aged and worn and—to his eye—indistinguishable from the genuine article. “These are ready for distribution?”
“Pretty much the best so far. All but an expert would find them impeccable, but we store the very finest banknotes in a safe to serve as production standards.”
“Quite a bounty should they fall into criminal hands. How are the plates secured when you shut down for the night?”
“This way, sir.” Ehrlich unlocked the door to his office. Gerhardt tagged along. Two desks and a row of glass-fronted bookcases lined the west wall. Ryan scanned the titles, most dealing with currency and mathematics and many in English. “The books belong to Professor Langer. We share the office.”
A massive safe hugged the opposite wall. “Open it up,” Ryan said. Ehrlich worked the large dial, his fingers betraying his nerves, and the handle refused to budge. He cleared the tumblers and reentered the combination, this time holding his ear to the mechanism to catch the distinctive clicks. The handle surrendered with a solid thump and the door swung open to reveal bundles of banknotes bound with ribbon and a wooden box holding metal plates affixed to wooden blocks.
Ehrlich turned to gauge Ryan’s reaction. The butt of Gerhardt’s pistol dropped the foreman to the floorboards. “He’ll be out for a while. Shall I finish him off? He’s quite annoying.”
“No, just stick to the plan and be sure he stays put. There’s sure to be cord around here somewhere.” Ryan held one of the large twenty-pound plates in his hand and ran a finger over the fine texture of the engraving while Gerhardt stepped out into the hallway.
Heinz appeared outside the office to confer with his partner. Moments later, Gerhardt stepped back in with some cord in his hand. “Three guards out of commission, the last still watching your Jew in the washroom.”
Ryan signaled Heinz to join them. “Take care of the last guard now and bring our engraver here. It’s time to tell him he’s free.”
Heinz smiled as he downed another Pervitin. “Consider it done.” With a nod to his partner, he left the office.
“We’ll take a finished plate and a few of these perfect twenty-pound notes, then get the hell out of here.” Ryan set the engraving block atop the safe.
“Well, not exactly.” Gerhardt’s voice sounded odd and Ryan turned to see what troubled him. “Orders have changed,” he checked his watch, “direct from The Boss.”
“What do you mean they’ve ‘changed?’”
“Heinz just phoned in with a progress report. Herr Kessler confirmed our truck should arrive any minute now.”
“Our truck?” Ryan fought to keep his temper in check. “The plan was for a car!”
“We’re to clean this place out from top to bottom, including paper and ink if there’s room. The Boss doesn’t want to miss a bet when there’s good money to be made.” He laughed at his joke.
“My God, Gerhardt, this puts us all at phenomenal risk! Does Brandt know about this nonsense?”
“According to The Boss, the inspector is on board and plans to join us once we clear the city.”
“Why on earth would he come with us?”
“Beats me, but you can ask in person soon enough.” He compared his watch to the wall clock. “An hour or so from now if we’re on schedule.”
A bewildered Karl appeared in the doorway. “What’s going on here? This fellow,” he looked at Heinz, “says you can explain.”
He held out a hand. “My name is Ryan. I’m an old acquaintance of your wife.”
Amazement spread across his face. “Isabel’s here? She’s well?” He vigorously pumped Ryan’s hand. “Can I see her?”
“In a day or two, but in Switzerland.”
“You’re busting me out?”
“Both you and all your expert handiwork here.” He pointed to the open safe. Sheer joy spread across Karl’s face and his eyes glistened. Ryan couldn’t resist a smile of his own. What a revelation for a man who had spent eight years not knowing if he’d see wife or freedom again! “And while we’re at it, allow me to apologize for that slap. Had to look authentic, you know?”
“Felt authentic, too.” Karl brought a hand to his reddened cheek and grinned. “As soon as you mentioned my ear I knew you were the one I was ‘being patient’ for. Ryan Lemmon, right? Isabel once told me you weren’t bold enough for all the trouble she got you into, but I think she read you wrong.”
“No, she had me pegged.” Brakes squealed out back and Heinz and Gerhardt hurried out. “Sorry, Karl. No time to chat. We’re on the clock. The guards are down f
or the moment, so go swap out those pajamas for an SS uniform.”
“After all such uniforms have put me through these past eight years, I may have to hold my nose, but believe me, the discomfort will be well worth it.”
Kessler’s men propped open a back door, bringing chill air into the rooms. An Opel Blitz with covered cargo bed waited at the loading ramp, its canvas flaps already wide open to receive the loot. A driver, Uwe by name, joined Kessler’s team to bring out boxes by hand truck. In less than thirty minutes the “Bank of England” was cleared of currency and they went to work carting printing supplies. Ryan and Karl pitched in, each rolling out a final stack of cartons while Kessler’s men finished packing the hold. Finally, they emptied the contents of the foreman’s safe into two large canvas satchels and carried them out. Uwe wished them luck and left on foot through the garden.
Heinz would drive and Gerhardt ride upfront in the two-seater cab. Ryan and Karl made room for themselves and the satchels in the tight space remaining at the rear. As Karl rearranged a few boxes, Ryan entered the shop for one last time and returned with a couple of wool military blankets and a flashlight. While Heinz cinched down the flaps, Ryan and Karl encased themselves in scratchy wool and made backrests of the overstuffed satchels.
“Don’t worry,” Heinz said as he prepared to shut them in, “once Brandt joins us there’ll be room to spare.”
Despite the assurances, Ryan worried. The plan was already in a state of flux. Stripping the loot and plates would surely ring alarm bells all the way up to the Führer himself. And Brandt’s sudden disappearance from Kripo headquarters could tie him to the enterprise, as well. What other surprises awaited them on the road to Switzerland?
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
En Route from Berlin
December 1941
The hours passed miserably on the hard flooring of the cargo bed. Communicating with the cab was impossible, so Ryan and Karl suffered with no concept of their progress. At the first stop they sat motionless for almost an hour, not daring to lift the canvas to check on the delay. The second sounded like a service station. Shortly afterwards, the muffled voices of a police checkpoint filled them with dread as they waited to see if someone would untie the flap. Instead, muted laughter preceded a couple of thumps on the side panel and they rolled out again. Clearly Kessler’s “SS men” had passed muster.
Echoes of Silence Page 22
