The Devouring

by James R Benn

  “Very well,” Kaz said, dropping the keys on the seat. “For now. Do you speak English?”

  “A little, yes. The automobile belongs to mein Chef. The man I work for. Please, I must return it.”

  “Your boss’s car?” Kaz asked, looking through the mook’s wallet.

  “Yes, boss. There will be trouble. I will my job lose, I think.”

  “Our friend’s name is Oskar Wendig, a member of the Schweizerischer Vaterländischer Verband,” Kaz said, holding up his membership card with his photograph and SVV emblazoned across the top. He flipped it out the window. “That, you can do without, Oskar.”

  “What do you want?” Oskar asked, his gaze flickering between my pistol and Kaz, nervous at what damage each might do.

  “Oskar, we don’t want you to lose your job, understand?” I said, in the most soothing tone possible. “Or die.”

  “Sterben,” Kaz translated, just to be sure.

  “No, please, I only drive. When they tell me,” Oskar said. “I do nothing bad.”

  “Where do you work, Oskar?” I asked as we crossed one of the many bridges over the River Aare, this one downstream from Bern. The road was narrow, with little traffic. We hadn’t been driving long, but the view was already turning bucolic. Whitewashed houses with steep roofs and the ever-present flowerboxes dotted the hillsides. Heidi country. “A garage?”

  “My boss sells automobiles. I fix,” Oskar said.

  “Your boss is not in the SVV? He doesn’t know you took the car?” I asked.

  “No. He does not think about politics. He will be mad if I lose the Peugeot, very mad.”

  “Billy, do you think Inspector Escher would be interested in a case involving a stolen vehicle?” Kaz asked, turning in the front seat to face Oskar.

  “Grand theft auto, we call it in the States,” I said. “You will go to prison, Oskar. For years. You will be an old man when you get out.”

  “No, please, it was only for one hour, they said. Please, give me the keys,” Oskar said, his voice cracking. Tears would come soon. Right where we wanted him.

  “Lasho, pull over,” I said. He eased the Citroen onto the verge, sheep in the field by the side of the road paying us no mind. Oskar’s eyes widened, not knowing what was coming next. Today had probably started like any other day, and then he got the call. A quick trip around the city, no big deal. Maybe he’d been nervous, or proud at being chosen by the SVV. Then we’d grabbed him at gunpoint and his world had turned upside down. Prison, betrayal, death, none of those had seemed likely a few short hours ago. Now, here we were, holding pistols and the promise of freedom. Which would it be?

  “Oskar, we want to know everything. Who the men with you were, what you know about them, what they are after. Every little thing. Do you understand?” I said.

  “Yes. But I should say nothing. I made a vow to the Verband,” he said, summoning up a sudden reserve of courage.

  “Oskar, look out the window. Tell me what you see,” I said.

  “The grass. It is green. The blue sky, the sheep,” he said, as if reciting vocabulary words he’d learned in school.

  “Sheep, grass, sky. If you keep that vow, they will be the last things you ever see,” I said. “Stay loyal to the SVV, and I will put a bullet in your brain and leave you on the side of the road. Look, that’s where your body will lay, near those wildflowers. A nice spot, isn’t it?”

  “No, you would not,” Oskar said. After all, this was neutral Switzerland, he was probably thinking.

  “We have killed many Nazis between us,” I said. “One SVV man means nothing. Now get out, and make this easy.”

  “No, please,” Oskar cried, grabbing onto the seat cushion. “I will tell you. Everything.”

  “Good, Oskar. Very smart,” I said. “After all, where is the SVV now? They left you all alone. You don’t owe them anything. We are the men who will save you from prison and from losing your job. You have to trust us, and tell us the truth. Go ahead, tell my friend, in your own language. Sprechen Deutsch, ja?”

  He nodded and wiped his eyes, clearing away the tears that built up as he considered his final resting place. I holstered my revolver. It was time to make nice.

  “Tell us, and we can make things right for you,” I said. Kaz held up the keys, jangling them just out of Oskar’s reach. I patted his arm, like an old pal.

  He took a deep breath and started off in German, slowly at first, then building up a head of steam once he got used to the notions of betrayal and survival. Kaz snapped questions while Lasho stared him down with his dark eyes. Kaz’s words and Lasho’s persuasive gaze, a one-two punch.

  “He says he does errands for the SVV,” Kaz said, after Oskar wound down his story and sat staring out the window. “His father is a member and admires the Nazis. Oskar says he does what his father tells him to do. He is worried about his father being angry at his failure.”

  “Did you get anything except a sob story?” I asked.

  “Yes. The Bern SVV party chapter has been put on alert to assist the Gestapo in their search for Victor Hyde. Oskar was told to borrow a vehicle from his garage and assigned to drive two of the Germans this morning, since he knows the city and they had arrived from Zurich only last night.”

  “Does he know why the Krauts want Victor?” I asked.

  “No. But he heard that Victor was not to be killed under any circumstances,” Kaz said. “He had driven the two Germans out to Alpenstrasse earlier in the morning, and they’d searched the apartment. Oskar says they found nothing and were very upset. He asked what they were looking for, but they wouldn’t say.”

  “Was the old lady one of them?” I asked.

  “Yes. The SVV set up observers at several locations where Victor might show up. His apartment, his office, the embassy, and so on. They got a call from the woman across the street and went to find out what we had said to the concierge and if he’d learned where we were going next.”

  “Where were they when the call came?” I asked, wanting to know if there was an SVV headquarters we might want to visit.

  “At a warehouse on the north side of Bern, just outside the city,” Kaz said.

  “What kind of warehouse?” I asked. Kaz shrugged and looked at Oskar.

  “There were big trucks,” he said. “They had a lot of telephones and a radio. For shipping and transport, yes? Aluminium. I think it must be where one of the SVV leaders works. There was a big fence so no one could see. There were many Germans, some in uniform.”

  “Warehouses and trucks shipping aluminum?” I said, turning to Oskar. “What was the name?”

  “I am sorry. I was more interested in the trucks. Very big trucks, and I work on engines, yes, so I looked at them and not the signs. But I could tell you where. And how to get there,” Oskar said, eager to help. I’d seen it before: when you get a guy to turn on his pals, you then become his best friend, and he’ll do anything to please you, since you’re all he’s got. It’s pathetic, and I began to feel bad for the kid.

  Kaz found a pencil and paper in the glove box and gave it to Oskar, who licked the lead and got to work. When he was done, he handed it to me. An address and a rough map, showing a route across the Aare River, ending at a place marked Zentweg.

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “The name of the street. It is close to the railroad, see?” He pointed to hatch marks along the road, which were supposed to be tracks. “It is a small road, and the warehouse is at the end. It is easy to find. I will show you. Then you will let me go, yes?”

  “How far from here?” I asked, not answering his question.

  “Ten, twelve kilometers, perhaps,” Oskar said. “I show you, then you give me der Schlüssel, yes?”

  “The key,” Kaz said, with a quick nod.

  “It will still leave us time to visit the doctor,” Lasho said, wisely avoiding mention of
his name and location. Which set the wheels turning.

  “Right,” I said. “Oskar, you have a deal. We’ll take you back now.”

  “Now?” Oskar asked, surprised. “Jetzt?”

  “Ja, jetzt,” Kaz said, tossing him the keys. “Now. Right Billy?”

  “Sure. Not all the way. Close enough so Oskar can get to a telephone. I don’t want him to get into trouble over that Peugeot, not after he’s been so helpful,” I said as Lasho turned our car around and headed back to town.

  “Thank you,” Oskar said, clasping the keys in his hands as if in prayer.

  “No problem,” I said. “The warehouse should be easy to find, and we can’t get there until tomorrow anyway. We have to deliver a package to Geneva before nightfall. I’m sorry if you’re going to have trouble over this, Oskar.”

  “If I get the Peugeot back, I do not think I will lose my job. My boss, he does not like the SVV, but he knows my father. He understands I must follow my father’s orders,” Oskar said, turning his face toward the window. He didn’t seem happy, which was what I counted on.

  “I meant trouble with your father, Oskar. You can always get another job, but you’re stuck with your old man.”

  “Ja,” was all he said. “He will be angry. He says I am weak.”

  “Would you like us to help with that?” I asked.

  “How?”

  “Answer the question, Oskar,” I said. “Even if it causes you pain, would you like us to help fix things with your father?”

  “If you could, yes. Please.” I eyed the road ahead as Kaz gave me a quizzical look. Not the first one he’d ever given me. He tossed Oskar his wallet, followed by a nod, which told me he’d follow my lead.

  “Pull over ahead,” I said, tapping Lasho on the shoulder. “Near that big oak tree.”

  Now Lasho shot me the same quizzical look in the rearview mirror. Oskar had the same expression, except his had a good deal of fear mixed in.

  “You will let me go here?” Oskar asked.

  “Yes. There are houses and shops down the road. You should be able to find a telephone. Now get out. You too,” I said, tapping Lasho again as I exited the backseat.

  “But you told me you would help,” Oskar said, watching Lasho as he loomed over him.

  “I will. Are you right-handed?”

  “What? Yes, I am.”

  I grabbed Oskar by his right arm and dragged him over to the tree. It was a hundred years old at least, its bark rough and gnarled. With a two-handed grip, I drew back Oskar’s hand and drove it against the tree trunk.

  He took it well. Or he was too shocked at the sudden violence to complain. I studied the effects. Raw bloodied knuckles. Excellent.

  “Why did you do that?” Oskar wailed, clutching his hand.

  “That’s not the worst of it, kid,” I said. “You got that fighting us when you made your escape. But not before you got clobbered, good.” I nodded to Lasho. “Black eye or a decent bruise, no lasting damage, please.”

  “No,” Oskar said. Not that he was in control of the situation.

  “Do not worry, young man,” Lasho said, placing a fatherly hand on Oskar’s shoulder. Then he hit him, and Oskar fell to the ground. “I am more used to long-lasting damage, but you will live to tell many lies about this fight.”

  Then he helped Oskar up, whose eye was already swollen.

  “Oskar, can you hear me? Are you okay?” I asked. He nodded, cupping his good hand over his bad eye. “We can’t drive you any closer; we have to catch a train. Now go and call your father. Tell him you escaped. He’ll be proud of you.”

  “Thank you,” Oskar said, and stumbled off down the road, trailing thank-yous, his scraped hand stuck in his pocket.

  “Now what do we do?” Lasho asked as we got back into the car.

  “Watch the warehouse?” Kaz guessed.

  “Yep. Oskar is going to be redeemed in his father’s eyes. He fought, he escaped, and he came back with information.”

  “The package,” Kaz said. “They will think we have the silver cigarette case.”

  “Yes, and if I’m right, it won’t be long before every goon left in the warehouse heads for the train station or Geneva to intercept us,” I said.

  “Very smart,” Kaz said. “And poor Oskar earns praise from his stern Swiss father. Nicely done, Billy.”

  “Until the old man realizes we’ve tricked Oskar,” Lasho said, taking a turn for the area north of Bern. “Then I almost pity the young fascist.”

  “Well, maybe he won’t know,” I said. Maybe we’d get into the warehouse and out again without anyone noticing. The SVV might think they missed us in Geneva, and maybe they’d lay off, thinking we had the documents, whatever they were. Maybe Oskar wouldn’t snitch on us to his old man, but I doubted it. I served up the idea on a silver platter, and I knew that he was worried about disappointing his father. I knew I always was, and I have a great dad. With an SVV bastard for a father, a guy would have only so many options.

  Oskar would be a fool to not betray us. Too bad for him.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Using Oskar’s map we found Zentweg easily enough. It paralleled the railroad tracks that crossed the Aare River, a stretch of road populated by small factories, a lumberyard, and a string of brick warehouses, all of them close to a siding where materials could be easily loaded or unloaded from boxcars.

  Zentweg intersected with a road that crossed the tracks, and that’s where we found the warehouse. Not that we could see it, with a six-foot cinderblock wall surrounding the property. Strands of barbed wire were strung along the top, in case anyone didn’t get the message. Lasho slowed as we passed the entrance, which featured two gates that swung inward, wide open and revealing half a dozen automobiles and trucks in front of the warehouse. We only had time for a quick glance, but it looked like the vehicles were parked in front of an office. Beyond them, lined up along the side of the warehouse, were larger trucks, probably ready to carry aluminum or whatever Oskar had mentioned they stored here.

  Faded paint on the wall declared the business to be Aluminium Industrie Aktien. A newer sign, brightly painted blue, gave Alusuisse as the firm’s name.

  “Where have I heard that name before?” I asked as Lasho turned the corner.

  “I think Victor may have mentioned it,” Kaz said, craning his neck to check the wall encircling the property. “It looks like the barbed wire does not extend to the rear. We may be able to get over the wall there.” He pointed to a spot where a row of pine trees gave some cover from the road.

  “Okay,” I said. “Let’s swing around and find a spot to watch from.” Lasho made the turn and we crossed the railroad tracks, parking on the side of the road. We had a good angle on the main gate and settled in to watch for what I hoped would happen.

  “Alusuisse,” Kaz said. “I am certain Victor mentioned it at the reception.”

  “I think he said Max Huber owned it, didn’t he?” I said, watching as two flatbed trucks loaded down with lumber drove past the warehouse.

  “I do not recall,” Kaz said. “I remember the name, since it combined the words aluminum and Switzerland. It would be quite the coincidence if indeed Huber controlled the company providing the headquarters for a joint Nazi and SVV operation.”

  “Well, as my dad always says—”

  “‘Coincidence is the word people use when they cannot see who is pulling the strings,’” Kaz jumped in to say.

  “So I’ve mentioned that before?”

  “On a few occasions, yes,” Kaz said. “Repetition has not made it any less true.”

  “Huber is the fellow who owns that fine mansion?” Lasho asked. Kaz nodded. “Then we should speak to him. Kaz and I, you understand?”

  “He’s a very important man, Lasho. Head of the International Red Cross,” I said.

  “Then he is the one pu
lling the strings. You do not think the men driving around looking for us are in charge, do you?”

  “No, of course not. We want the man who killed Henri Moret. And Lowenberg, for that matter. I don’t think Max Huber is going around Bern murdering people,” I said.

  “Although he was quite friendly with Hermann Schmitz of IG Farben,” Kaz said. “Who has quite a lot of blood on his hands, metaphorically speaking.”

  “Maybe he’s selling aluminum to the Germans,” I said.

  “Of course he is,” Kaz said. “Switzerland sells to any country with hard cash. Or gold. That’s the beauty of neutrality. But it’s not much of a secret. Nothing to kill for, of that I am sure.”

  “Where was it when the Gestapo inspector shot at you?” Lasho asked.

  “Outside the Red Cross office,” I said.

  “Then you go to a reception at Huber’s mansion, and Henri Moret meets with him. Later that night he is killed. Today we are sitting outside one of Huber’s warehouses,” Lasho said. “And still, you wonder who is making the puppets dance?”

  “It wasn’t the International Red Cross office,” I said. “It was the Swiss Red Cross. Part and parcel, I admit, but it could be, um, well, you know.”

  “Not a coincidence?” Kaz said, his eyes glued to the Alusuisse gate. Even so, from the backseat I could see his grin.

  I was saved from the necessity of a reply by the revving of engines, echoing from inside the enclosure. Within seconds, cars sped out into the road, spitting gravel as they headed away from us. Trucks rumbled behind them, men perched on the running boards. I couldn’t spot any uniforms, but there were a few trademark leather coats, making this a joint SVV and Gestapo operation.

  “Bless you, Oskar, and your mean old man,” I said. “I hope he gave you a pat on the back.”

  “Should we wait longer?” Kaz asked.

  “No. This looks like all hands on deck. Maybe they even dragooned the guys who actually work here. After all, they have to check the Bern train station and send a bunch of guys to Geneva before the next train arrives. Not to mention checking points in between.” I was talking myself into thinking this would be easy. Then I saw that it might be. “Look, the gate’s still open.”