by Dean Hughes
Anna saw a sternness come into the woman’s face as she sat up straight, and in a less friendly voice she said, “You must have travel papers.”
“Yes. We have those.” Brother Stoltz placed his papers on the desk.
The young woman glanced over them, but then she said, “I’m sorry. These are not Swiss papers. I cannot help you.”
“But we—”
“I’m sorry. You must have permission to travel in Switzerland.”
“Young woman, I will tell you the truth. The Gestapo is pursuing us. We are considered enemies of the state in Germany. We have opposed the Nazi Party. These papers say that I’m a military officer, but I am not. We need a place to stay for a night or two, and then we’ll move on. But if you send us back to the streets right now, you may be sending us to our deaths.”
For a few seconds she seemed to consider. She looked at Anna, and then she looked at Sister Stoltz, who had begun to cry. “Please help us,” Sister Stoltz said.
Anna saw the woman reach her decision. Her eyes softened, and she leaned forward. “It’s all right,” she said. “You may have the two rooms.”
And so Brother Stoltz paid with the Swiss francs he had obtained from his underground contacts, and the Stoltzes climbed the stairs to the rooms. But for the present they opened only one door, and they all went inside and sat down. Anna could see that everyone was undone. The stress was finally coming home.
Peter sat on one of the two single beds and stared at the floor. “Will the police keep looking for us?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” Brother Stoltz said.
“Did I kill that man?”
His mother got up and went to him, sat by him and took him in her arms. “You only did what you had to do,” she said. “You saved our lives.”
“I don’t care if I killed him,” Peter said, but his face looked gray, and his eyes were wide and fixed, as though he were in shock.
Anna saw that her mother was finding her strength now. She obviously knew that she had to help Peter through this.
“I was the one who made the decision to fight—to hurt him if I had to,” Brother Stoltz said. “You only came to my aid.”
“What will happen to us now?” Peter asked, his voice still hollow.
“We’ll try to disappear in Switzerland, if we can.”
“Aren’t we going to Zürich now, the way we planned?” Anna asked.
“I don’t know,” Brother Stoltz said. “I dropped my valise in the struggle. Our false papers—our Swiss identity cards—were in it. That makes travel difficult, but it also makes for other problems. By now, the Gestapo must have the papers, with our pictures. It won’t be long until they make the connection and determine who we are.”
“But you said they couldn’t come after us here,” Anna said.
“Officially, they can’t. But if Kellerman learns of this—as I assume he will—he may not be willing to give up the chase.”
“So what can we do?” Sister Stoltz asked.
“I don’t know. Switzerland won’t give us asylum. That would compromise their neutrality. Maybe we can find an American or British consulate. Maybe they will help us. That’s the only thing I can think to try.”
Everyone was silent. Anna knew they were all thinking the same thing: the nightmare they had been living for such a long time was still not over.
Chapter 25
Brother Stoltz didn’t sleep well. He considered every aspect of the predicament he had led his family into. Over and over, as he lay awake, he thanked the Lord that his wife and children had made it this far. And all night, he pleaded for further guidance.
He was relieved when the sun began to rise, but it seemed forever until his exhausted family awakened. He hurried them along at that point, and they all went downstairs and ate in a little breakfast room. Then Brother Stoltz stepped to the front desk and asked whether there were a British or American consulate in Basel.
“The British consulate is not far from here,” the man at the desk said. And he gave Brother Stoltz directions to Bahrfusser Platz and a large old mansion nearby.
The nearness of the consulate seemed providential, and so Brother Stoltz waited again, feeling his nervousness build. But at nine o’clock he left his family at the hotel and walked out the front doors. He glanced around, saw no one paying attention to him, and walked to the consulate. He stopped to look into store windows along the way, and each time looked back to see whether he was being followed, but he saw nothing suspicious. When he reached the consulate, therefore, he strode up the front walk and rang the doorbell. In a moment a young man opened the door. “May I help you?” he asked in English.
“Yes,” Brother Stoltz said. “I must speak with someone. I need help. My family is in danger.”
“Are you Swiss?” the man asked.
“No. German.”
“What is it you want?”
“Could I come in?” Brother Stoltz asked. “Could I speak to someone in authority? I need help, but I also have valuable information to give you.”
The young man hesitated, but then he stepped back. He was wearing a handsome pin-striped suit that seemed a bit too big for him, as though his frame couldn’t quite fill up the wide shoulders. “Yes. Come in. You might have a bit of a wait before someone can see you.”
“That is understandable.”
But the wait lasted nearly half an hour and seemed twice that long. Eventually, however, the young man led Brother Stoltz up a flight of stairs to an office door. A tall, well-dressed man of about forty stood up and came around his desk. “Come in, sir,” he said in German. “Tell me your name.” There was something sagacious in the way he looked at Brother Stoltz, as though he were taking everything in, making an assessment.
“Heinrich Stoltz. I escaped from Germany only last night,” he answered in German. “My wife and two children are with me.”
“Please. Take a seat.” The man walked around the desk and sat down. He didn’t shake hands, didn’t introduce himself. He seemed cordial enough, but wary. “Why would you come to us?”
Brother Stoltz took a breath and then took hold of the arms of his chair. “I must take a moment and explain, if it’s all right.”
“Yes. Please do.”
Brother Stoltz decided to start from the beginning. He told about Kellerman’s attempted rape, about the years of hiding, and he told about harboring Jews in Berlin. Then he described the harrowing escape from Germany and the Gestapo agent he and Peter had knocked from the platform in the Basel train station. Finally, he said, “We intended to hide out in Switzerland, where we thought we might be safe. But now we have no travel papers, and after our trouble with the Gestapo agent, I’m not certain the Swiss government will allow us to stay. This is the only place I could think of where we might look for help.”
“This is difficult,” the man said. He crossed his arms and cocked his head to one side, and he remained in that position for some time. “Here is the problem,” he finally said. “Most Swiss hate the Nazis—especially these Gestapo agents who strut about in the Basel train station—but the government must protect its neutrality. Local police, if they find you, may feel that they have to turn you over to Germany. You’ve entered this country with false papers, and you’ve attacked an official—one who does have authority within the confines of the train station.”
“What can we do, then?”
“I’m not certain. Why did you think we might be able to help you?”
“We have been fighting Hitler, the same as you. I have intelligence you can use. I know about the underground in Berlin. I have firsthand knowledge about the treatment of Jews in Germany. I know where defense installations are in Berlin. Some are camouflaged very well, and your bombers are missing them. I could draw maps to show you where they are. Perhaps, in exchange for such information, you could help us get papers so that we can stay in Switzerland.”
Again the man sat with his arms folded. He was wearing a dark brown suit, with a vest, and
a well-starched white shirt. Something in his formality, his correctness, was very worrisome to Brother Stoltz.
“Herr Stoltz, let me be very frank with you. We have had other Germans come to us. Some of them have been spies. They offer us bits of information, and they all claim to be Nazi haters. They usually want our help in attaining permission to stay in Switzerland. But the simple matter is, we have virtually no way to give you asylum here.”
Brother Stoltz nodded. “I understand,” he said. “Please, though, try to think what we’re facing. It should be easy enough to check our story. We did fight with a Gestapo agent in the Basel train station, and we did injure him. He may be dead. That puts us in league with the Allies. If we can’t turn to you, whom can we turn to?”
The man leaned forward and for the first time appeared sympathetic. “Let me speak to someone,” he said. “While I’m gone, please begin to sketch out the maps of Berlin and the defense installations you spoke of. Will you do that?”
“Yes. Certainly. But I hope you understand what I’m doing. I know people who work in these factories. If you bomb them, I am putting their lives in danger.”
“And if we don’t bomb them, British lives continue to be in danger. Tell me now which side you are choosing. If you can’t do that, you might as well leave.”
Brother Stoltz had long known that it might come to this. He never wanted to be an enemy to his own people, only to Hitler, but the choice wasn’t that easy. And so he said, “I’ll give you the information,” and the official left the room.
Brother Stoltz sketched the maps as best he could. He told himself that when the raids came, the workers would move into bomb shelters, but he knew the advanced warning wasn’t always adequate. He pictured the bombs dropping, the noise and chaos of it all, the danger to innocent people, and what he felt was a deep sense of guilt, no matter how he justified his actions.
The consulate officer was gone for a long time. When he came back, he sat in his chair behind his desk again. “We have contacts in the local police department,” he said. “They verify your story. The Gestapo agent you pushed off the platform is not dead, but his back is broken. He’s in very serious condition. The Swiss police have pictures of you—from the false papers you lost—and they have promised to search for you. They may not be terribly committed to that search. I don’t know. But I would suggest you get back to your hotel immediately—before your family is located.”
“But what can we do?”
“Here’s the problem. This building is watched closely by Swiss security police. They are always nervous about spy activity—because of their neutrality. When you entered this building, you were certainly observed. If someone recognized you, you may be picked up as you leave and then turned over to the Gestapo. It’s true that the Swiss see that the Allies are taking control of the war, which works in your favor, and I have tried to convince the local police to leave you alone—but I can’t promise anything.”
“Is there a way to get papers, or to lose ourselves somewhere in the country?”
“That’s the other matter I’ve considered with my superiors. We simply don’t feel you are safe in Switzerland. Even if the police don’t turn you over, German spies will try to track you down. We can provide you with temporary travel papers but nothing more. We suggest you use the papers to get to Geneva, and that you leave Switzerland and enter “free France.”
“But the Vichy government cooperates with the Nazis.”
“Yes. We’re not suggesting that you do this officially. What we can do—and we have to be careful about this—is to put you in touch with the French Resistance. We know people who can guide you across the border into France and then hide you. This is what downed British pilots do. The usual route from there is a long hike, with a guide, over the Pyrenees mountains. Crossing Spain is not difficult, and once you reach Gibraltar, we have contacts who can get you to England. We want your information, but we don’t think you should stay here long. If you could get to Geneva soon, perhaps by tomorrow, the Resistance can meet you and take over from there.”
“As I told you before, I was beaten severely by the Gestapo. I have never recovered entirely. I don’t know whether I could make the hike over the Pyrenees that you speak of.”
“Yes. I thought of that. In your case, we might have to go about this in a different way. The Resistance has been known to hide people for lengthy periods, when necessary. As everyone in the world knows, the Allies will soon attack across the channel. The landing is likely to be in the north. Most experts guess that it will be across the Pas de Calais. German troops may begin to abandon the south, and then—we hope—travel across France will be much easier.”
“In any case, you think we will be safer in France than in Switzerland?”
“Not exactly. But we can’t hide you. That would get us in trouble with the Swiss. The Resistance people aren’t worried about pleasing Petain and the Vichy government.”
“How will we do this, then?”
“First, finish your sketches. Quickly. And I have some questions I want to ask you about the underground in Berlin. Then we’ll try to take you out a back way, in an automobile. We’ll drop you off within walking distance of your hotel—but not directly by it. Before the day is over, someone will contact you with travel papers and a prearranged meeting place in Geneva. We’ll also have the name of a contact you can make in England, should you get there.”
“How should we travel?”
“Don’t go back to the train station. That’s the last place you want to be seen. There are buses you can take. We’ll buy tickets for you.”
“Thank you.” Brother Stoltz felt tears filling his eyes. “We’ve only made it this far by a series of miracles. Now, we need a few more.”
“Or at least some good luck. I wish you that.”
An hour later Brother Stoltz was back at the little hotel. He was relieved to find his family nervous but well. Later that day a messenger brought the information and papers the Stoltzes needed. The plan was to leave the next morning, early. The bus departed at 7:40. The trip was only about 250 kilometers, but it took most of the day, with many little stops along the route.
All evening—even all night—Brother Stoltz waited for a knock on the door. He hadn’t told his family everything; they didn’t know about the danger of local police cooperation with the Gestapo. But the night passed slowly away, and for a time Brother Stoltz actually slept. At six, however, he got everyone up. He had purchased rolls and butter and marmalade the night before, so the Stoltzes ate quickly and then exited the hotel by a back entrance into an alley.
They looked nervously about, saw no one, and then began the walk toward the end of the alley, where it intersected with a main street. The city was quiet at this early hour, and sounds carried long distances. When Brother Stoltz first heard footsteps, he hoped they were an echo of their own. But he looked back and saw two men. They both appeared to be laborers, perhaps city employees, in coveralls. But where had they come from?
“Just keep walking,” Brother Stoltz said. But he didn’t like the feel of this. The men were walking in their direction, a little faster than the Stoltzes.
And then two men in suits and hats entered the alley ahead of them. Brother Stoltz turned and grabbed the back door to a building, but the door was locked. He spun and looked both ways, but now the men were closing in fast from both directions. There was nowhere to run.
“Stop right there,” one of the men said. His hand was in his coat pocket. He raised it toward them, and Brother Stoltz could see the shape of a pistol barrel. “You will go with us,” he said. His dialect was German, not Swiss.
“Who are you? What do you want?” Brother Stoltz said.
“My name is Breitinger, if you wish to know. We are agents of the Gestapo.” He smiled, and his satisfaction was obvious. He was a square-jawed, athletic-looking man.
The man next to him, also wearing a suit, seemed less secure. His dark eyes kept darting about. “Come. This
way,” he said.
“You have no authority here. You can’t do this.”
“We have something better than authority,” Breitinger said. “We have guns.” He pulled out his pistol—a Lüger—to prove his point, and then he tucked it back into his pocket. “We can shoot all four of you and be gone before anyone sees us. Is that what you want, or would you rather walk to the train station with us? In Germany at least you will receive a trial. Perhaps the women and this young man will receive mercy.”
Brother Stoltz knew better than to trust Nazi mercy, but he also knew that the agents were not bluffing. “All right. We’ll go to the train station with you.” He put his arm around his wife’s shoulder. “It’s all right,” he said to her, although he knew that wasn’t true. He saw the sad acceptance in her eyes, saw Peter’s look of desperation, saw Anna’s heartbreak, and he knew he had to think of something. He was the one who had promised to keep them safe.
“Go back the other way,” Breitinger told the two men in coveralls, and then he motioned the Stoltzes toward the end of the alley. “Walk ahead. This way,” he said.
Brother Stoltz walked with his arm around his wife, his children in front. Breitinger and his partner walked close behind. They reached the Bahnhof in only a few minutes, and they entered through the big front doors. By then Brother Stoltz had something of a plan in mind, but it didn’t fall into place until he saw two Swiss policemen standing in the middle of the large, almost empty hall. As the group entered the hall, Breitinger said, “Turn right here.”
Brother Stoltz suddenly called out, “Police! We need your help.” And then to his family. “Go to them. Walk fast.”
“Stop here,” Breitinger commanded.
But Brother Stoltz said, “Keep walking.” Then he called out again, “Help! Police.”
The two policemen walked toward them, closing the gap. Both had rifles, which they simultaneously pulled off their shoulders, ready for use. Brother Stoltz had gambled that the Gestapo agents wouldn’t shoot, but he felt the terror that any second he would hear the bullets, feel them in his back.
