Erika nodded her understanding. In the last half hour she had said very little. She slipped into the back seat and huddled down in the foot well, cradling Leo in her arms. “Not too long, Ryan. It’s cramped and uncomfortable.” He thought of her injuries, and of her strength. “And do bring some food if you can. Leo’s surely hungry.”
“Are we playing hide-and-seek?”
“Yes, Leo,” Ryan said. “No one knows we’re here, so you both stay down there out of sight for the moment.” The boy snuggled up against his mother. Ryan pulled from the grassy shoulder and turned the car around, then parked a short distance up from the inn. “I’ll hurry,” he whispered to the backseat. The only response was Leo’s muffled giggle from beneath the tent of her coat. Erika had tickled him.
The smell of onions frying in butter was inviting, but the human reception at the inn was far less engaging. Three men and two women seated at a round table glared at him as he entered. Ryan gave the obligatory Hitler greeting, and the stout, matronly type who stood beside their table appeared peeved by the interruption. She alone returned his salute. The others stared for a moment longer before one man muttered something unintelligible and they all returned to their meal. Ryan approached the bar, wondering if he should play his Gestapo card. He unbuttoned his overcoat to reveal the Party pin on his lapel. The innkeeper reluctantly took her customary spot behind a counter outfitted with cash drawer, beer tap, and a register for anyone unfortunate enough to overnight in this forlorn village. Three room keys hung on numbered hooks beneath a hand-lettered board advertising Zimmer. No lodgers tonight, he thought.
“Dinner and a room?” The woman’s hair formed a tight bun, accenting severe features. Ryan could tell from her obvious once-over that she didn’t care for his looks, either.
“Thank you, no, I’m in a bit of a rush.” He remembered Erika’s request. “But perhaps something to eat on the road?”
“Pork roast, potatoes, sauerkraut; take it or leave it—no big-city menu here.”
“A couple of pork sandwiches and a bottle of cola, then.” He sensed something more disturbing here than simple mistrust of strangers. Without responding she turned and entered the kitchen. Visible through a half-closed curtain, an apron-clad man labored over the stove, and Ryan watched her give instructions. The cook cleared his wire-rimmed lenses of condensation, returned them to the bridge of his nose, and glanced briefly in Ryan’s direction. His face remained blank as he reached for a loaf of bread. Sour-face came back through the curtain.
“Something else?”
“Yes, if you don’t mind, I’m running late and need to make a call. Is there a public phone?”
She pointed to a small alcove just beyond the bar. “It’s the only one in town. Local call, I presume?”
“No, sorry, long distance, but in the Altreich.”
“Reverse the charges,” she directed.
“I’d rather not impose on friends, you understand.” Ryan laid a ten-mark note on the worn countertop. “This will more than cover both phone toll and the food. The change is yours to keep.” The woman glared for several seconds, as if memorizing his features, a school teacher with ruler in hand, plotting some fitting discipline for unruly behavior. She slipped the note into the cash drawer. Ryan turned toward the alcove.
“I’ll expect to know those charges when you’re finished,” she said to his back.
He gave the operator René’s business number at the docks, keeping his voice as low as possible. No answer. Ryan checked his watch, just past six. He had her try the home number. They needed a new plan, and now.
René answered on the fourth try.
Ilse Fleischer knew she was in the right place at the right time, once again. Block warden for Weidenbach and vicinity, her eyes and ears were always open. Barely an hour earlier a phone call had alerted her to a wanted fugitive in his thirties, driving an official vehicle and accompanied by a woman and a small child. Dressed for the city, his Prussian German abrasively crisp, this stranger was clearly up to no good. And he had ignored the space out front and parked well away from the inn. To top it off, he was now using French, obviously hiding something.
Fritz left the kitchen from the rear to verify the vehicle type and number. He returned to report an empty car. What’s he done with the woman and child? Ilse wondered. The flashy lapel pin did not impress her. Ilse knew poseurs on sight, late-comers who thought to ride the ascent of National Socialism only once victory was assured. She and Fritz had joined early, when others thought them brash fools. They had recruited among the disenchanted locals, organized meetings and events, sponsored speakers for the cause. When the government was theirs at last, no one dared question her power and authority, and she remained relentless in her vigilance. Now she could help bring this arrogant, educated type to justice and further strengthen her own position. The stranger’s French masked most of his conversation, but she recognized “Koblenz,” and there was a name, “René.” Little enough, but perhaps of value to the Gestapo, and she wasn’t finished with her fact-finding.
The stranger’s call was short. He told her the toll charges before leaving the inn with the sandwiches. The ten marks more than covered things, and the phone handset was still warm when she rang the operator. “Klara, here is Ilse Fleischer.”
“Ilse, all goes well for you and Fritz?” Ilse knew that her grammar school classmate held no special love for her but respected the power she wielded.
“Indeed, everything’s good, but now I need information. The call you just placed from my line, you have the number?”
“One moment, please.” She relayed both numbers.
“Where do they connect?”
“Both to Baden.” There was a momentary pause. “Kehl on the Rhine.”
“Thank you, Klara. Now connect me to the constabulary, please. Oh, and one more thing, just how much was the toll on that call?”
Her duty done, Ilse stepped to the window and looked up the unlit street. The black sedan was long gone. Fritz came out of the kitchen to report it had headed west.
Exhaustion finally overtook them now that dusk had faded to night. Ryan found his judgment affected on the dark and narrow roads. Several times he braked too quickly on a turn, or shook his head to clear his vision. Once he almost struck a deer. He longed for coffee. Erika remained in back with Leo as they finished off the sandwiches from the inn. Leo could drift asleep at a moment’s notice, but now he was turning restless, and Erika suggested a break to stretch their legs. The police radio reported a sighting in Weidenbach, so they knew their pursuers were getting closer, but the car would have to serve a while longer.
Near the village of Montabaur they pulled onto an unmarked tractor path leading into a wood. Gloom enveloped them as Ryan switched off the headlamps. Once their eyes adjusted to the dark, he steered up the muddy path. A hundred meters from the road he stepped out into an eerie silence. His collar raised against the chill, he trudged back down to the road to be certain lights from a passing vehicle wouldn’t reveal their position. Once satisfied their hideaway was secure, he made an emergency stop at a tree. Back at the car, he encouraged Erika and the boy to also take advantage of the dense growth. “You mean in the woods, like Bruno?” Leo had never used anything but a porcelain toilet. “That’s funny.”
“Yes, Leo, another secret of secret policemen, the woods work for people, too.” Erika carried him into the brush, testing her way through the darkness. They hugged the path and returned almost immediately to the car.
Mother and son managed a half-hour’s sleep. Ryan found only anxiety, frequently snapping alert and peering into the darkness. His breath condensed in the chill air of the car’s cabin. Erika shifted fitfully in the back seat, huddled with the boy beneath her coat. Ryan turned on the engine and the heater sprang to life, but the two sleepers barely responded. Moments later he shut down the motor and the warmth faded away.
Surrendering at last to restlessness, he eased open the door and followed the rutted road to
its crest. Beneath the hooded sky spread a woodland landscape, deep and brooding, reminiscent of a tale of the Brothers Grimm. Distant lights from a farmhouse on the edge of a field quivered through sparse foliage. A dog barked unhappiness at banishment from the family hearth.
Ryan felt very alone. He shivered, knowing the chill came from within and not his surroundings. In his hands lay the life of this woman and child. He lit his pipe and felt the smoke warm his face. He thought of the film in his tobacco pouch, a tiny cartridge that could affect the destiny of millions. His own life had been strewn with early and easy successes: academics, languages, sports, women. He’d earned a position on Wall Street, a European doctorate, a teaching appointment, all accepted as a matter of course.
And then along came this unforeseen opportunity to serve his country, an easy walk in a familiar park, or so he had thought. Perhaps it had always been too easy for him, never a challenge his natural talents couldn’t overcome. But a new reality was settling in, and it frightened him to the core. He shuddered.
The dog in the distance fell silent.
CHAPTER SIX
Sepp Kreisler was ready to pound heads. He had been duped by an American Arschloch, and would face ridicule and derision when they returned to the Kassel office. Ewald repeated the furious words of their chief, who had given them hell over the phone for allowing the fugitives to slip through their hands. Rather than immediately returning home in disgrace, they were to take a car from the Marburg pool and pursue—an unexpected and unearned opportunity to redeem their reputations. “Once we find them, he’s all mine,” Sepp said. They had reached Limburg. “I’ll tear that son-of-a-bitch apart before the bigwigs get hold of this case.”
“Did you get a good look at that blonde, those legs? How about a thorough ‘medical exam’ before we pass that one up the chain?”
For the moment they could do nothing but wait for a radio update, so they smoked and took turns dozing outside a storefront confiscated from some Jewish greengrocer, its old signage still visible despite hasty over-painting. Though exhausted, both were anxious to get on with the pursuit. Then toward evening the hoped-for sighting came in, and they were underway to Weidenbach.
The bitchy innkeeper there had not responded well to their interrogation. She gave as well as she took, and Sepp was tempted to knock her around, in no mood to waste time listening to her self-promotion. She had nothing new to add, other than the odd belief that the fugitive was now traveling alone. Within minutes they were out of that godforsaken hole, finally on a hot trail.
Koblenz was clearly the fugitives’ destination. Sepp and Ewald made good time, expecting the target vehicle to appear beyond each new turn of the road. But disappointment crept in with every kilometer, and they reached the Koblenz main station with nothing accomplished. Sepp immediately notified the two teams on duty that the parties of interest were known to them by sight and that they had been authorized to take charge. A more specific briefing went to the team manning the control gate. The Kassel agents then split up, Sepp heading to the station canteen to down several shots of schnapps and dig into a hearty veal cutlet. With hunger and thirst satisfied, he relieved Ewald in the small police office and his partner went off to find his supper. The agents would need their strength for settling the score.
“That’s perfect, absolutely perfect.” Horst von Kredow offered only a thin grimace of satisfaction rather than an actual smile, but his pleasure was obvious all the same. “Now we get all three: the American, the Jewess, and that Frenchman, as well. Marburg once again, and this time we do it right.”
Berlin had just relayed news. A backwater innkeeper had overheard the American place calls, and the phone numbers connected to Gesslinger Rhein-Fracht in Kehl on the Rhine. Memories of the duel gone awry came flooding back. Here at last would be the culmination of his revenge. He had thought the Frenchman destroyed, and had fumed when the American ran back home before he could take him down. And now the same merry little group thought to escape into France under the nose of his own secret police.
“How long ago?” Horst asked.
“They left some Dorf called Weidenbach barely an hour ago. She heard him mention Koblenz, but they could just as easily turn south toward Wiesbaden or Mainz.”
“None of that matters. It’s clear where they’re headed.” Horst slid the atlas across the canteen table and tapped his finger on the little town of Kehl. “Just make damned sure our agents hold back and surveil only. No slip-ups this time. The dockyards will be ideal to clean up this mess, and without distractions.”
The large man with a boy engulfed in one arm approached the checkpoint leading to the platforms. He favored his right leg as he walked.
“Purpose of travel?” the official asked, regarding the man’s papers which indicated ownership of a shipping concern on the Rhine.
“The boy’s grandparents are ailing, so I thought the little guy here would cheer them up a bit.” The child observed the agents sheepishly, a stuffed bear grasped to his chest. Then he looked back over the man’s shoulder toward the crowd in the station, as if searching for someone or something.
The father shook his head with exasperation. “What a day for travel, with all that mess in the streets. You fellows sure had your hands full.” He glared at a huddled family, sitting on their luggage as the other team of agents reviewed documents. The Gestapo agent grunted and handed back the burly man’s identity documents, waving him through toward the southbound express just braking along the second platform.
“Very well done, young man,” René whispered to Leo as they reached their carriage.
“Be sure to tell Mutti I did it right,” Leo said to his new adult acquaintance, Herr Gesslinger.
It hadn’t been easy convincing Leo to board the train with the intimidating stranger, despite the man’s warm smile and easy manner. Ryan and Erika had watched through the glass doors from outside the station concourse as René purchased the tickets and made his way through the control, her son in his arms.
They had finally abandoned the police vehicle on a side street near the center of town. Ryan remembered to rip out pages from the road atlas covering the region they still had to navigate. After a brief walk they were able to flag a cab, and René waited for them as anticipated at the café facing the train station. Ryan was delighted to have his old friend’s support, and Erika gave him a warm hug of welcome and word of thanks for his help. Leo had chosen to be his rare shy self, but Erika took him aside and assured him that this was all part of their “secret” plan. “Here’s your chance to show what a grown-up boy you are, Leo.”
The child nodded gravely, a look of uncertainty passing swiftly across his face.
“You must make Mommy and your grandparents—,” her voice caught at the thought of her parents, “make us all proud by doing exactly what you’re told.” Leo glanced warily at the two men, busy discussing something. “Can you do that for me?” she asked.
“Yes, Mutti. Remember, I’m a secret policeman, too.”
She explained that the friendly man would carry him to the train, while she and Herr Lemmon would follow a few moments later. “We’ll be right behind you, and watching you all the time, all right?” Leo gave another uncertain nod. “But don’t say a word to anyone except Herr Gesslinger.”
Though the café was no longer serving, the owner agreed to make coffee and hot chocolate. The three fugitives took advantage of the facilities to clean up a bit from the rigors of their journey before rejoining René at the table. Ryan’s friend unwrapped bread and cheese he had brought, as well as an apple and bar of chocolate for the boy. Leo hastily took both, his eyes lighting up, and put the chocolate in his coat pocket. He bit into the fruit immediately. “Thank you, Herr Gesslinger,” he said, and his mother smiled in gratitude and praised his manners.
René and Ryan looked over a hand-sketched plan of Kehl showing the location and layout of the Gesslinger docks as they quietly discussed the difficulties facing them. Dividing up the group
should throw off any watchers at the station expecting to see the family of three. It was agreed that, in case of trouble, they should act immediately and aggressively. “They’ll expect us to be cowed, to surrender on the spot—intimidation and fear are their daily weapons—so we have to be ready to surprise them,” René said. “I’ll take the lead if things go sideways; I’ve dealt with them before. If we’re separated, just make it to the docks.”
He placed a finger on a small square drawn in pencil alongside the water’s edge. “Here’s an office shack with adjoining machine shop, midway along the dock. Hugo Gerson will wait there for us, all night if necessary. Once we arrive you go under canvas in one of my launches and we whisk you across to France. The water police might be out, but we know the river better than they do and we run without lights, so it shouldn’t be a problem.” He smiled at Erika in reassurance. “Unless one of you gets seasick, of course.”
Erika gave the boy a final few words of reassurance before René hoisted him onto his arm and headed to buy their tickets. To her great relief, they easily passed the Gestapo gauntlet and disappeared out onto the platform. Ryan adjusted his overcoat to display the Party pin, placed his hand on her elbow and they moved forward. “You’re sure no tickets are needed?”
“The Gestapo always travels gratis.” Erika straightened her back and walked with an assurance she didn’t feel. They stepped purposefully to the front of the short queue, jumping others before them.
“Gentlemen, my wife and I need to catch the Karlsruhe express,” Ryan said, pulling the warrant badge from his vest pocket and pointing to the waiting train.
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