Weapons of Peace

by Johnston, Peter D. ;

  —

  After they had cleaned the dishes from their meal, and as they poured real coffee and cream into their cups, Emma looked around and forced herself to her feet.

  No one followed her.

  She slipped away into one of the main room’s dark corners, out of sight. She sat down in a big leather chair and drank in the scene before her, taking slow, comforting sips.

  She wanted to appreciate this moment, a rare moment of safety compared with the ones that lay ahead. She wanted to appreciate that, just a month and a half earlier, she had felt like a prisoner in a fortress with stained-glass windows, towering over a glimmering moat. Now she felt free for the first time in years, even though she was living some forty feet underneath Berlin in a windowless concrete block, and the only water she could see came through the walls from leaky pipes and sewers.

  Above her, a city burned after each day’s bombings, and, by contrast, many of its residents lay exposed to the cold night air in various states of starvation. She could imagine parents telling their children they just needed to be patient, to say their prayers, and to know that their führer would somehow set things right and win this war they’d all grown to despise.

  Across the Channel in England, Emma knew parents were telling their children similar things, assuring them that God was on their side and wouldn’t let them down—because their cause was the right one.

  Directly in front of her, everyone was either arguing or laughing. The candlelight played on their faces, catching their teeth in a smile or a grimace. Ursula had an arm around Manfred and a hand on Kurt’s shoulder. Gunter and Gottfried sat close together, gesturing animatedly as they spoke. Maria, Peter, and Kurt had started a card game, and it looked as if Maria was losing, slapping her cards down on the table as Kurt celebrated with a fist pump, the same one he’d flashed behind Paula’s back as he rode away from the lion statue, knowing he’d saved the day.

  Emma felt so lucky to have gained admission to this special group of righteous rebels, one of whom was her beloved cousin.

  It was clear that these people at this particular moment, in this strange place and dangerous time, cared for one another and were inseparable in their pursuit of the same cause and the same principles, with the same courage, sense of adventure, and appreciation for what they all had. There were no distractions, no differences in wealth, no misplaced priorities, no confusion over who the enemy was. They had one another and needed nothing else.

  Emma had been here only one full day, and already she felt that this was her new family. The only person missing was her son. She looked up at the dark ceiling and wondered where Axel might be at this very moment. And then she thought of Nash.

  —

  Three days before the scheduled test at Rügen Island, Kurt reached his hand far under the cub’s paw at the lion statue and for the first time found a piece of paper waiting there, marked for Emma’s attention. He plucked it out of its hiding place and raced back to headquarters.

  Paula had come through.

  The words on the paper were concise: “October 11th, train 216, coach 2, compartment 2A, at 17:30; arrives Rügen 20:45. Accompanied by SS guard.”

  After days of planning and talking, things were finally coming together.

  Chapter 27

  Wednesday, October 11, 1944

  7:00 p.m.—Train from Berlin to Rügen, Germany

  A billow of white smoke rose up from the forest as the steam engine cut through the early-evening frost. A hawk screeched shrilly as it circled overhead, eyeing a rabbit that had darted across the tracks far below, just in front of the oncoming train.

  Nestled inside one of the passenger cars sat Erhard Wolf, his mind as unsettled as the changing night sky that he could see through the large window of his private compartment. He sucked at an unlit cigar, contemplating his situation.

  The following day’s test on Rügen Island had been years in the making. He knew that his own work was immaculate, but mingled with his exhilaration were growing concerns.

  He was entirely dependent on Max Sicke’s coming through with the encasement that would ignite the element 94 he’d created. The last time they’d met together, Wolf had estimated that an effective explosion would require a hundred or so triggers going off at the same time, within a millionth of a second, firing explosives inward into pinpointed locations in the atomic core. Any misfiring whatsoever could cause one part of the core to implode prematurely, breaking apart the rest of the core and leading to a much smaller, weaker result.

  A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts.

  Beside him, Sergeant Thomas Weiner, his omnipresent SS guard, was already on his feet, unlocking and sliding open the curtained, glass-paneled oak door that separated them from the outside corridor and the passengers who sat in public areas.

  An invisible waft of smoky air cut into the room, a reminder of the train’s dependence on coal-fired boilers supplying steam to the engine’s hungry pistons.

  “Sir, I have the food and drinks you ordered,” the uniformed train attendant said, peeking in with a tray as he requested permission to enter.

  “Excellent,” Wolf said, motioning the man forward across the burgundy carpet and into the well-appointed but worn compartment, a casualty of wartime priorities.

  Before the tray had landed on the low, small table in front of their padded leather bench, Wolf plucked up his glass of vodka while young Weiner grabbed his frosted mug of beer. A variety of sandwiches and snacks accompanied the drinks.

  “Anything else, sir?” the blond attendant asked.

  “No, that will be all for now, thank you,” Wolf responded, handing over the payment due while reaching for a ham sandwich. Weiner had already swallowed a cracker smothered in duck pâté, along with a large swig of Bavarian beer.

  Both men were ravenous—the train’s departure had been delayed an hour owing to unfounded threats of another imminent Allied bombing raid on Berlin. It was well past their usual dinnertime.

  The attendant handed them frayed white cloth napkins and ensured that they were entirely comfortable before exiting and closing the self-locking door.

  —

  Where is he?

  Luigi Romersa slammed down the phone in the lobby of Berlin’s landmark Hotel Adlon. The dapper, olive-skinned Italian journalist hated eating dinner early like a Brit, and had only lowered himself to doing so because he was supposed to have been picked up at 3:00 p.m.

  But it was now 7:15 p.m. and his Nazi-assigned driver was nowhere to be found. Nor was he picking up his phone.

  The twenty-seven-year-old knew that it was going to be a long, winding journey. He didn’t want to arrive exhausted, or, even worse, miss the special event he’d been invited to by Hitler and his minister of propaganda, Joseph Goebbels.

  Romersa told the Nazis that he would happily take the train to Rügen Island, but they had insisted on a touring car instead, saying that he would see more of their beautiful German countryside and seashore on his way to and from the Baltic Sea. He shook his head at this rationale now, knowing that he wouldn’t be seeing much of anything, at least not on the way there. It was dark outside.

  Could the Nazis have changed their minds? he wondered. Do they not want me to see their secret weapon, after all?

  —

  Wolf knew something was wrong; he just didn’t know what.

  Five minutes earlier, his guard, Weiner, had been chirping away about his Hitler Youth days. Now his eyes drooped, his speech had become slurred, and his head listed to one side.

  Wolf forced himself up from their bench so that he’d be in a better position to assist the guard, whom he didn’t particularly like, but who required help. They had both eaten several items from their tray and finished most of the alcohol. As the scientist rose, he stumbled slightly, a touch of nausea and fatigue washing over him.

  Damn, it
must be something we ate, probably the meat, Wolf thought, wanting to reach down his throat and extract the ham sandwich he’d just eaten. Instead, legs wobbling, he pulled a white cord labeled “Hilfe” to summon the attendant back to the compartment. While he was alarmed by his own condition, he knew that he wasn’t in nearly as bad a state as his guard, who was struggling to stay conscious.

  The attendant arrived within seconds. Wolf rose again, making sure that he could stand on his own. He crossed the room and let the waiter in, pointed at Weiner, and explained that they both felt unwell. The waiter apologized, informing the two men that, unfortunately, several other passengers had also been affected by the food on their trays. He hurried to Weiner’s side to prop him up, directing Wolf to sit down so that he wouldn’t risk falling.

  “There’s a nurse on board. I’ll get her.” The waiter drew the curtains so that no one could see in—a touch of discretion Wolf appreciated—and left the door slightly ajar so that he could reenter.

  Wolf fell back on the bench. Shutting his eyes kept the dizziness in check.

  He opened his eyes again only when a reassuring female voice asked him if he could hear her. The blonde sat on the bench across from him. She smiled, removing her black cloak and revealing her German-issued gray-and-white nursing uniform and a figure that briefly made Wolf think his illness a blessing. He smiled, looking sideways. Weiner was completely unconscious; for some reason, the nurse didn’t seem alarmed. In fact, she was remarkably calm. “You’ll feel better soon,” she said. He believed her, since he was already finding it easier to keep his eyes open and think clearly.

  The waiter was back. He closed the door behind him and stood by it. The nurse, who wore the standard German nursing cap, turned to Wolf.

  “What’s your name?” she asked gently.

  “Erhard Wolf.”

  “What do you do?”

  “I’m a scientist,” he said.

  “Excellent. I have the right person, then. That always makes me feel better after I’ve drugged someone.” Wolf’s eyes opened wider. “Herr Wolf, I’m only going to be here for thirty minutes, and then I have to go. Please answer all my questions quickly and accurately. And, by the way, your friend here will wake up before we get to Rügen Island. He had a much larger dose of chloral hydrate than you did.”

  “This is an outrage,” Wolf said with a soft slur. He looked around and started to rise. She pushed him backward lightly, telling him that he wasn’t to move. His eyes darted to the cord he’d pulled earlier.

  “Here, let me get that for you,” Emma said. She stood and yanked the cord, pulling it cleanly away from the wall. Wolf could see that there was no wiring attached.

  “No need for a real ringer,” Manfred said from the compartment entrance, his gun visible. “I had a feeling you’d be needing me, Herr Wolf, so I waited outside the door.”

  Wolf cursed. He glanced at Weiner’s holster, his adrenaline now driving the sedative from his brain.

  “Herr Wolf, don’t even think about trying to get your guard’s gun. You’d be stopped before you could touch him,” Emma said. “And, besides, we’re just here to talk. I think you’ll find that appearances can be deceiving. We’re actually on your side, and many of the people you think are on your side are actually your worst enemies.”

  “Like who?” Wolf demanded.

  “Like your boss, Kammler, and Hitler.”

  “Why would you say that? That’s preposterous.”

  “It’s the truth,” Emma said. “Herr Wolf, as just one example, as much as I hate to mention it in these circumstances—do you know about your mother?”

  Wolf looked at her blankly. “What do you mean?” he asked, his face growing red. “To my knowledge, she’s just fine.”

  “My apologies for being so blunt: she died six months ago, killed by SS soldiers.”

  “That isn’t true,” Wolf said, shaking his head adamantly.

  Emma waited. In truth, she wanted Wolf to be jarred by this news, but knew that she had to tread carefully, given the brutal circumstances.

  “I’m not going to tell you lies, sir, because I need you to understand that we have the same overall interests, so that we can start planning our next steps together.”

  “Next steps? What are you talking about? No one would dare hurt my mother!”

  “You’re right, Herr Wolf. In saner times, no one would dare hurt her or any other child’s mother. In your mother’s case, an SS soldier hit her by mistake while she was trying to protect Thelma Katz from being carted off to an extermination camp.” Wolf stared at Emma. “Your mother did what was right. She stood up to those soldiers taking her Jewish friend away.”

  “Absurd. What proof do you have of any of this?”

  “According to the written reports I’ve seen, your mother, Wilma, was knocked unconscious and left lying on the floor. They’d assumed she was a Jew as well. The next day, the SS realized they’d been dealing with the mother of one of the Nazis’ most important scientists. The soldiers returned to get rid of the evidence.” She paused. “Your mother was still alive, but barely. They couldn’t risk having her tell her story. Three weeks later, she and Thelma were gassed to death in Treblinka, the cover-up complete. Again, Herr Wolf, I am so sorry to deliver this news. They should have told you, but of course they couldn’t—or didn’t.”

  “What do you mean by ‘extermination camp’?” Wolf asked, off balance, not sure what to believe. Part of him wanted to weep; part of him wanted to kill these intruders.

  “When was the last time you had any contact with the outside world?”

  “It’s been two and a half years, early 1942,” he said, trying to calm himself, his breathing uneven. “They don’t want me to be distracted from my work. I’ve asked to speak with my mother, my children, my wife, but they wouldn’t let me, and eventually I stopped asking. No letters, either. Not one.”

  “The death camps escalated operations around the same time your uranium project started up,” Emma explained. Wolf couldn’t hide his shock that she knew about the project. “They call it die Endlösung der Judenfrage, and your boss, Kammler, has designed and built most of the camps involved. Jews are being systematically executed. Your own childhood friend, Thelma’s son Mark, died a full year before his mother, also at Treblinka, or so the records say. I’m sorry. I know you once cared greatly about him. I assume you hadn’t heard about his death, either?”

  “Stop, stop! No, of course not! What records? And how do I know you’re not fabricating all of this! Thelma and Mark Katz are still alive. So is my mother. What are you here for? Why are you telling me these lies? What is it you want?” Wolf moaned, pulling his hands through his hair. Emma reached into her bag. Wolf assumed that she was retrieving a gun.

  The scientist launched himself in the direction of Weiner to grab the gun from his holster. Before his backside was a foot off the bench, Emma intercepted him with her right hand. She sent him reeling toward the window. He landed with a thud, staring at her. He had no choice but to listen, for now.

  In her left hand, Emma held two documents. One was the identity card of Wolf’s mother; the other was a death certificate, signed by a local doctor from his hometown of Brandenburg. The cause of death was listed as “accidental fall, damage to skull.” She passed the papers, uncovered by Ursula, to Wolf, who looked them over carefully. He recognized the doctor’s name, the same man who’d delivered him. He nodded quietly, confirming that the documents appeared to be authentic.

  He began to cry.

  As much as they’d rehearsed their plans for dealing with Wolf, Emma was caught off guard. She couldn’t believe how sheltered this grown man had come to be. As brilliant as he was in his field by all accounts, the Nazis had obviously used circumstance and isolation to their advantage, ensuring that one of their rising stars knew nothing of their ugliest deeds.

  After a full minute of
silence, Emma took the scientist’s hand. He didn’t pull away.

  “Herr Wolf, what do you think they’re planning to do with your bomb?”

  “I can’t speak in details because that would be grounds for treason,” he answered. “But I can tell you that my project will help end this war—before things get worse.” He looked at her with tears on his cheeks.

  “Really?” Emma asked, one eye cocked in his direction, squinting. “So you do know they plan to use your weapon as soon as they have proof that it works? I’ve been told that several Allied cities would experience unparalleled destruction within days. Is that what you mean by ending this war before things get worse?”

  Wolf withdrew his hand from hers, shaking his head defiantly. “No, no, that’s not the plan. They will use it, but not drop it. They will use it as leverage to stop the fighting and reach peace terms favorable to Germany. They will never deliver this bomb. There would be too much loss of life, and the area would be rendered uninhabitable due to the radioactivity of these new materials.” Wolf slowed himself. “The führer has given me his word.”

  “And you believed him?” Emma said.

  Wolf, like so many intelligent Germans, she realized, had been hoodwinked, anchored for so long, and so deeply, in the assumption that their Nazi leaders could do no wrong, that they literally couldn’t see the mounting evidence to the contrary. If a man this smart believed the lies with such childish naïveté, no doubt the average German did, too.

  “We all believe in the führer,” Wolf said quietly.

  “That’s nowhere near as true as it was when you began your work, Herr Wolf. I’d encourage you to ask yourself questions based on what I’ve now shared with you.”

  She looked over at the sedated Weiner.

  “Do you think, for example, that Weiner here is supposed to be protecting you, or making sure you don’t try anything stupid?” Emma asked Wolf. “Likewise, do you believe your four lovely children and wife are being protected by the guards with them right now, or are they being held hostage until you deliver your bomb? And, finally, my last question: how can I prove to you that you’ve been viciously misled, that the Nazis are the antithesis of the values your grandfather taught you, and that you actually need to sabotage your own work in order to save your nation’s soul?”