Shadow Of The Wolf

by Michael Parker

  Schafer dropped into a chair and leaned forward, his elbows resting on his thighs. "The reason I brought you on this mission, Jochen, is because you have a first class way of clearing through my dross. It proves my choice of first officer is an admirable one. So, what do you suggest?"

  "I think psychology is the answer," Brenneke replied. "The threat of summary execution is a powerful argument. Tell them you will shoot one person each day until you learn the truth. Take one out, bring them here. If they hear a volley of shots in the schoolroom, they will believe they have heard the execution of one of their number: you will have carried out your threat."

  Schafer nodded as he considered Brenneke’s proposal. "I take your point, Jochen, but I will wait before making up my mind." He grimaced. "I couldn't burn their homes anyway; I might burn those damn papers."

  "That's curious sir, isn't it?" Brenneke said. "It would have been far simpler for these people to have told us that Ziegel had been caught, and turned over to the authorities with the papers. Because they didn't makes me believe they knew about Ziegel, but not the papers."

  Schafer studied the end of his polished boot. "My contention all along, but how do we link the two?"

  "By finding his murderer. That person must know the truth."

  Schafer stood up. "We're going round in bloody circles." He tugged the corners of his jacket, pulling it taut. "We can only assume that Ziegel concealed the papers before he was caught." He thought back to the conversation he had with Ziegel in the submarine and glanced at Brenneke. "He told me there was someone on this island he could call on for help." He finished adjusting his tunic. "It has to be a woman, a lover."

  Brenneke arched his eyebrows. "Unless Ziegel preferred little boys."

  Schafer flashed a startled look at Brenneke. "Of course: the photographs." He frowned heavily and then suddenly snapped his fingers. "Dammit, why was I not more observant?" He picked up his cap and pulled it down over his head. "Right, Jochen, back to the cottage." Brenneke followed him out of the cabin. They called two men out of the cramped mess to escort them and hurried down the gangway of the Nordcaper

  Schafer had the bit between his teeth now. He walked quickly, at times breaking into a run. He had forgotten the threat posed by Billy Lucas, although he never doubted his own ability to cope with it. And the direction he was taking gave little cover for any attack the boy might premeditate.

  He burst into Maura's cottage with Brenneke hard on his heels, and went straight into Billy's room. Without hesitation he pulled one of the photographs off the wall and looked at it triumphantly. Then he turned it over and nodded his complete satisfaction.

  "It's here, all around him: his whaling friends, his childhood. Look, here." He pulled another picture off the wall. "Ziegel again."

  Brenneke studied the one he held in his hand. The boy Lucas, about fourteen years of age, was grinning at the camera. He had his arms slung around two men. He turned the picture over and read the words written on the back in childlike handwriting. 'Me, Manny and Kurt'. Manny Ziegel; the young boy's pal.

  "Oh my goodness," Schafer exclaimed reaching over the small bed. "Look at this, Jochen." He plucked another photograph from among the dozens that covered the wall. It was of a young Billy at about ten years of age. He was standing with an impish grin on his face in front of his mother and Manfred Ziegel.

  "There was someone he could contact for sanctuary. Those were his words." Schafer's excitement was infectious and Brenneke found himself grinning with pleasure.

  "It will prove they have been lying, sir. They will have to tell us."

  "And the executions, Jochen?" Schafer asked expectantly, but knowing the answer.

  "I think they might be justified now," Brenneke admitted albeit reluctantly. "They have tried to conceal their knowledge of him, which suggests a conspiracy."

  "Suggests a conspiracy?" Schafer repeated. "They murdered an officer of the Third Reich damn them. And damn their collusion, they have to be punished."

  Lieutenant Ziegel had been cold-bloodedly murdered, which gave Schafer the right to punish the executioner, although it was only the right of an enemy over his captives. Brenneke was as convinced as his superior. "I think we should begin with the woman."

  Schafer disagreed. "No, we need that woman as protection while we search. We still do not have the papers. Once we find them we can turn her over to Kretschmer if necessary, but there is something else we must consider."

  "What is that?" Brenneke asked.

  "There is a certain atmosphere between her and the islanders. If she had been Ziegel's mistress it is unlikely she would have murdered him. It had to be one of the others. That is why there is that division. And if they murdered him, then it is likely she does not know who the murderer is; she could only point a finger at them all. Interrogating her would get us no further forward."

  "And if we allowed Kretschmer to interrogate her again, it is unlikely that she would survive, am I right, Hauptsturmführer?"

  Schafer agreed. "That's why we must keep her alive, so we can continue to search for the papers."

  *

  Billy thought of the old adage about curiosity killing the cat as he made up his mind to risk exposure in order to contact the islanders. He would be taking a massive gamble, but he had become increasingly aware of the lack of movement round the schoolhouse and he wondered just how effective the guard really was.

  He approached the school from the north, carefully watching for signs of Schafer's men. Each cottage offered sanctuary and yet posed a possible threat. Each one had to be studied meticulously from a secure hiding place before he could slip into its safe cover. It meant slow progress, and as anxious as he was to get to the schoolhouse, he knew he needed extreme caution.

  The sun had almost reached its zenith by the time Billy reached the cottage facing the school. He slipped inside and looked across the street at the forlorn and seemingly lifeless building. It was built of local stone and although it looked tremendously strong and enduring, there was a kind of sadness about it.

  The high windows offered no chance of entry from the outside but he knew there was a low window at the rear which might give him access into the small washroom. He ventured out of the cottage and glanced back and forth along the street, looking into the shadows and lifeless windows until he was convinced that he was entirely alone. Then, holding the Schmeisser ready for instant action, he ran across to the front door of the old, stone building. There was a padlock and chain around the door handles. He tapped gently on the door, not wanting to make too much noise in case the sound carried to one of the Germans. For all Billy knew, they could be in a nearby cottage.

  One of the small children heard the sound first. She clutched her doll to her chest and went up to the door. When she was satisfied she turned round and called out.

  "Mummy, there's someone knocking on the door."

  Her small voice cut through the low level of noise in the room and brought a hush to the place. They could all hear it then; tap, tap, tap, rattling on the big door. They exchanged glances in a bland, curious way as though their immediate neighbour had some knowledge of this new phenomenon that had sought to intrude on their miserable lives. Reevel stood up, his face screwed into a deep frown. His eyes were fixed firmly on the door.

  "What on earth is it?" he asked dreamily. "Who do we know out there?" His question and ingenuous manner were knocked aside by Ailie as she suddenly burst into life and rushed past him. She practically fell on the door, tearing at it hopelessly in her efforts to pull it open. She knew who it was, which only added to the frustration she felt in not being able to tell him she knew. She spun round and opened her eyes wide in an appeal for help, weaving patterns with her hands until Callum said: "Billy Lucas? Out there?"

  There was pandemonium then. Or pandemonium of a sort: they all wanted to get to the door and speak to Billy. His sudden appearance at the schoolhouse was a straw at which they could all clutch. It was some immeasurable link with sanity and fr
eedom.

  Reevel pushed through them and pressed close to the door. "Who's there?" he asked tentatively.

  "It's Billy Lucas," came the reply. "Who's that?"

  Reevel felt a sob gathering in his chest. His entire body reacted as an acute sensation of relief welled over him. "Oh my God, young Billy. It's Reevel Anderson. What are you doing out there?"

  "Never mind that. Is there no guard in there?"

  Reevel shook his head unnecessarily. "No, aren't they outside?"

  "No, they must have been pulled off," Billy told him. "Tell me, how long have the Germans been here?"

  "Couple of days. They are looking for someone."

  "Manny Ziegel. I know." Billy looked up and down the street. He was sitting with his back to the door so that he had to turn his head sideways to speak. The Schmeisser lay across his lap and his finger was hooked round the trigger guard. "Listen Reevel, I can't stay out here too long. Can you open the window round back?"

  "No, it's impossible. They nailed it down."

  Billy swore softly. "You'll have to find a way of opening it. Do it without breaking it, if you can. I'll come back after dark." He made a move to get up, but stopped. "Is Ailie there?" he asked.

  "Aye, she's here." Reevel moved aside to let Ailie come through. She knelt beside the door and tapped on it several times.

  Billy put his fingertips to his mouth. He plucked them away quickly, making a kissing sound. "That's for you, my lovely."

  Ailie felt her cheeks reddening and she felt conscious of their eyes on her back. She glanced over her shoulder as Callum smiled. She felt tears gathering behind her eyes. She so desperately wanted to say something to Billy that for the first time in many, many months she really tried hard, but the words would not come. She rattled lightly on the door and returned the kiss. But Billy did not hear. He had gone and there was no longer a soul or sound in that dreary little street.

  Reevel organised a watch to be kept from the windows while he and Doctor Kristen tackled the problem of freeing the small window without damaging it, or making it too obvious if Schafer made a chance inspection. They were still working on the problem when they heard the watchers scrambling down from the windows to herald the approach of Schafer.

  The padlock and chain rattled and the door swung open. Schafer stepped in, grim-faced. He was followed by Kretschmer and two storm troopers. He assumed his usual position at the end of the room and balanced his hands on his hips.

  "This morning I discovered the truth that Lieutenant Ziegel was murdered. I have conclusive evidence that he was known to you all personally. It is therefore my duty as a German officer to punish his killer. Before I embark on that unpleasant course I will give you the opportunity to discuss the following proposition: confess your knowledge of this officer and explain, to my satisfaction, how he died. After that you will give us every assistance in locating the documents Lieutenant Ziegel had with him when he arrived on this island. Those documents are the property of the Third Reich and it is vital that we find them and return them to Germany. Success in this will redeem you from the alternative consequences. I will return in one hour from now. If you have not agreed to cooperate I will take one of you from this place for execution. I will continue to do this at intervals of twelve hours."

  He pulled one of Billy's photographs from his pocket showing young Billy with Manfred Ziegel. He handed it to a stunned Reevel Anderson. "You have one hour in which to decide. That is all." He turned and walked out of the school without another word.

  The time passed with pitiless inevitability. Nobody really believed Schafer would carry out his threat, but it was a naïve show of bravado. They were all too far away from the war to understand it cruelty and bestiality. But nevertheless, despite their naiveté, each one feared the moment when the German was to return because of the nerve-bending chance his hand would reach forward and take one of them out for execution.

  "How do we know he isn't bluffing?" someone asked.

  "We have to be strong, lass," Reevel told her. "Whether he is bluffing or not, we mustn’t show weakness. They would exploit that."

  "But some of us could die," she cried, clutching her child closely.

  "We could all die, make no mistake about that," he warned her grimly. "They don't want the truth, they want those papers."

  "And when they realise we cannot tell them," the woman argued, "what they want to know, they will punish us all for Manny's death."

  "We have to rely on Billy now," Reevel answered, ignoring her fears. "He's our only chance."

  "We could make a run for it." This was Callum. He eased himself up from the floor, rubbing at his weary bones. "When they come through the door we could rush them. Some of us might get killed but most of us could get out and hide up on Blue Whale Mountain."

  "And how far do you think you would get old man?" Marker Mace asked him. "Or me for that matter?"

  "Aye, and the children," someone said. "Who looks after them?"

  "We're wasting time talking about it," Reevel argued. "There are armed men out there and we are nought but old men, women and children." He looked at Marker. "And the strongest one among us is lame. No, it's like I have already said; we have to rely on Billy."

  Doctor Kristen looked over at Callum. "Seems fate is determined to bequeath our destiny to the Lucas family."

  "If it hadn't been for the damn woman," Callum said bitterly, "the Germans wouldn't be here now."

  "That's not fair," Marker rebuked him quickly. "She didn't invite Ziegel."

  Callum waved a gnarled finger at him. "It's only because you are sweet on the woman that you are defending her."

  Marker was piqued at the remark and felt a flush of anger in his cheeks. "It was your bloody-mindedness that got us into this mess," he snapped back. "You were determined to wash your daughter's dirty linen in public."

  "You're a heathen, Marker Mace," Callum shouted back at him. His face was red and looked quite fierce beneath his shock of white hair. "I was defending my daughter."

  Marker's lips twisted into a snarl. "It was never proved your lass needed defending," he said unkindly.

  Callum bridled at the remark. "Christ man, as big as you are I'm going to give you a hiding." He began struggling to his feet.

  "No!"

  It was Ailie. Her voice rang out like a bell: a single note that hung in the air, transcending the anger and bitterness that tainted and confused them in the schoolroom. Callum stopped instantly. He spun round to face Ailie.

  Marker lowered his fists and stared open mouthed. Ailie was stunned. She had her hand to her mouth in a display of instinctive apology, like someone who has offended the social graces and been caught out.

  Callum walked over to her carefully. He didn't want to break the fragility of that special moment, but capture it and hold it for ever.

  "Ailie, you spoke, lass." He said it quietly. "My God Ailie, you spoke."

  She smiled quickly. It was brief: a flash of happiness, unreality. Then she nodded.

  Callum went down on one knee beside her. He laid his hand on her head, caressing it gently. "Can you say it again?" She shook her head. "Don't you want to?" She shook her head again and the tears flowed. He pulled her into his arms and held her tightly.

  The others began crowding forward but Doctor Kristen got to his feet quickly and warned them off.

  "She's under more strain than any of us here, believe me," he whispered. "Far more. We must leave her be."

  Those who had come across the room to Ailie now backed away, content then to just look and feel happy that she had come so close. They knew that in time she would speak again. Some of them could understand that because they knew it was extreme mental stress that had robbed her of the ability to speak, so it was that some extreme form of physical or psychological violence, or deep emotion, would bring her voice back to her.

  For a while they were able to forget Schafer and the threat that hung over them. It did not last much longer though. The door crashed open and h
e stepped in. He did not walk to the end of the room but remained a few feet inside the doorway. Behind him stood Kretschmer.

  "Well?" he demanded. "Have you reached a decision?"

  Nobody answered. He waited a full minute before reacting.

  "I take it that you have." There was still no response, so he turned and grabbed an old woman who was sitting close to him. He dragged her to her feet and pushed her towards Kretschmer.

  The old woman began to cry and beg for mercy. She clawed at Kretschmer with arthritic hands but he beat her off by slapping her hard across the face. They took her out, pulling the door closed behind them. Two guards waited inside the room. They held their Schmeissers across their chests. The old woman's cries peeled into the school room with a chilling finality. There were a few harsh words of command and suddenly the sound of automatic gunfire crashed out. Her cries stopped.

  Inside the schoolroom several of the women screamed and started crying. Some fainted. The men shouted obscenities at the guards, who ignored them. The guards waited a few moments only after the shooting before stepping out into the street and padlocking the door behind them.

  The memory of the poor woman's screams subdued them all and left them bereft of the will to do anything. It was Doctor Kristen who eventually struggled out of the stunning reality of the situation and reminded Reevel they had still not solved the problem of the window. The two men went through to the small washroom together and once more studied the window frame. It had been so securely nailed shut that even with the necessary tools, they knew it would be impossible to conceal the damage from the Germans.

  "If we break the glass perhaps they won't notice it's missing," Reevel said without humour.

  "Why not remove the putty so we can take the glass out at will?" the doctor suggested. It was blindingly simple but not without its problems.

  "We shall need a very sharp knife to remove the putty," Reevel said, "and we are not likely to get it all in one piece."

  "Then we'll throw the putty away. They are not likely to notice it if it isn't there."