He wanted to run away and go back to his block. If only he could erase that terrible scene from his mind, but he couldn’t. He knew he would carry it with him until the day he died. On his knees he looked up at the stars. Guilt and self-loathing washed over him. God was watching. I have to go back in there. I am a part of this. I know it’s wrong, and someday I will pay dearly, but I cannot leave and turn my back on the others.
Ben forced himself to stand up. He felt God’s eyes upon him, and he was terrified, but he walked back through the doors and into the crematorium.
The sound of the whistle that signaled the prisoners were to go to bed, reverberated throughout the camp. It was only a sound, yet Ben felt as if the earth had begun to tremble. He imagined it was the voice of God saying, “Vengeance is mine.” He shivered at the thought.
The whistle was sobering. It brought the prisoners back to reality. They stopped and looked at each other. In the darkness, all that could be seen were the whites of their eyes.
Rumkowski lay still in a pool of blood. His face unrecognizable.
“He’s dead,” Jake said.
“Are you sure?” Ben asked, but he knew Jake was right.
“Leave him here,” Paul said. “Let the Nazis find him. No one but us will know what happened in this room today. Are we all sworn to secrecy?”
Everyone said yes.
“Then quickly get dressed, and let’s get out of here before someone comes,” Jake said.
The men didn’t say a word. Each of them dressed in their uniforms and left the area quickly.
There was a full moon that night. Staying out of the light, Ben ran quickly back to his block. If he were seen by one of the guards in the towers, he would be shot. When he arrived at the block, he quickly got into bed.
“Where were you?” Isaac asked.
“Never mind.”
“I was worried.”
“I’m sorry. Go to sleep,” Ben said. It wasn’t long before Ben heard the sound of Isaac’s slow and steady breathing. Ben was glad that Isaac was asleep. He didn’t want to talk about what happened.
A ray of moonlight drifted through the window. Ben caught a glimpse of his hand. I didn’t strike a blow, but I was a part of this murder. I gave them the food that lured Rumkowski to his death. So I, too, am responsible for his murder. I have killed a man, he thought. He was a bad man. But nevertheless, I’ve killed another human being. Then Ben began to sob. His body trembled. But he wasn’t crying for Rumkowski. He was feeling sorry that he had been capable of such a horrific act. Ben was mourning the man he used to be: a tender, loving, and gentle man, and at the same time he was weeping for the man he’d become.
CHAPTER 29
Autumn, A Party in Vienna, Austria 1944
Adolf Eichmann was sitting at a table sipping a glass of wine when his eyes fell upon the petite blonde who was standing on the other side of the room. She looked elegant, almost like a movie star, as she tossed her head back and laughed at something her companion, Dr. Josef Mengele, was whispering into her ear. Eichmann knew Mengele rather well. They’d met on several occasions where he’d been introduced to Josef and his wife, Irene. Well, this girl is certainly not Irene. Irene was immemorable, but I would never have forgotten a girl like this. She must be his mistress.
The blonde looked his way, and her eyes caught his. She gave him a suggestive smile then turned her attention back to the doctor.
Eichmann watched Mengele lead the beautiful woman out onto the dance floor. As she moved gracefully in Mengele’s arms, Eichmann felt his manhood stir. Then as Mengele pivoted his partner, she looked Eichmann’s way again. Eichmann was too far away to see the color of her eyes, but they were dark and sensual with mascara. Her lips were full and blood red with lipstick. He wanted her, and he was a man who got what he wanted. I am certain that she isn’t Mengele’s wife, Eichmann thought, so there can be no harm in walking over to Josef and saying hello.
After the couple returned to their seats, Eichmann approached them.
“Dr. Mengele,” he said.
“Obersturmbannführer. How are you?” Mengele smiled.
“I’m doing fine. Thank you for asking. You’re looking well,” Eichmann said.
Mengele smiled. “Would you like to join us?” he asked.
“Yes, thank you.” Eichmann sat down. “And who is the lovely lady?” he asked.
“This is Ilsa Guhr. She is a guard at Ravensbrück.”
“A pleasure to meet you,” Eichmann said.
“The pleasure is mine, Obersturmbannführer.” She smiled, lowering her eyes.
“Please call me Adolf.”
“Adolf,” she repeated. “I’ve heard people talk about you.”
“Good things, I hope.”
“Yes, actually. I’ve heard that you are the expert on all Jewish questions.”
Mengele let out a laugh. “I don’t know how commendable that is.”
“Well, Josef, someone has to be an expert. Someone has to give the rest of us direction. We all know how dangerously tricky the Jews are, now, don’t we?” She smiled, then she winked at Eichmann flirtatiously.
Mengele scoffed and began looking around the room. Ilsa knew he was getting bored of the situation. She’d known him long enough to realize that unless all eyes were on him, very little kept his attention for long. They had been lovers on and off for years, and she knew he could be very cruel. In fact, there was a time when he’d spurned her, breaking things off between them. He’d chastised her for being too perverse for him. Too perverse for him, really now, that’s absurd. With all the ghastly experiments he has performed on children and twins, he had the nerve to call me perverse.
Mengele stood up and smiled charmingly. “If you two will excuse me, I see an old friend,” he said, then nodding his head, he walked away.
Ilsa glared at him as he sauntered toward the bar stopping beside a girl with auburn hair caught up in a bun with a diamond clasp. Mengele touched her back. The girl whirled around, and then they both laughed. “Josef!” Ilsa heard the girl say. Ilsa was humiliated. Once again Mengele had spurned her. But this time he’d embarrassed her in front of Eichmann, a high-ranking official whom she needed to impress. Turning to Eichmann, she smiled nervously trying to appear casual as if she didn’t care what Mengele did. Eichmann touched her hand under the table, then with his other hand, he took her chin and gently turned her head so he was able to look in her eyes. “Mengele is a fool; he’s always been a fool. Any man who could leave a woman as beautiful as you alone for even a moment . . .”
She put her hand over his lips then whispered, “Thank you.”
“Would you like to come for a walk out on the terrace with me? It’s a beautiful night,” Eichmann suggested.
“Yes, I would, very much,” she said, getting to her feet.
He took her elbow and led her outside. They stood overlooking the yard. It was a starless night, and the new moon was just a sliver of silver in the dark sky. The small, twinkling lights from the chandelier in the ballroom hardly stretched to illuminate the outside terrace.
“I would like to get to know you better,” he said in a husky voice.
“Would you now?”
He nodded. “I find it hard to believe that I have never seen you at one of these galas before tonight.”
“I’ve been to a few, but we must have missed each other.”
“And what, if I may be so bold as to ask, is the relationship between you and the doctor?”
“Nothing serious. We’ve known each other for years. But we are really no more than friends at this point.”
“Well, then, we must not waste any more time standing here and talking. Would you like to come to my room for a nightcap?”
She nodded. “Yes,” she said, her voice as soft as the autumn breeze.
He smiled. “Then shall we go?”
CHAPTER 30
The next three days were like a whirlwind romance between Adolf Eichmann and Ilsa Guhr. They did little other than
eat, make love, and sleep.
One afternoon, famished, they went to an outdoor café. Autumn leaves covered the ground, and although the weather was growing cooler, the sun shot golden rays down to the earth.
“How long are you staying in Vienna?” he asked her.
“I have to go back to Germany to work next week,” she said, sipping her wine.
“Do you like your job?”
“Sometimes, I suppose. Sometimes not. Do you like yours?”
“It is difficult sometimes; I must admit, but I like being good at my job. Do you know what I mean?”
“Yes, of course,” she said, not wanting to tell him about the perverse night games she played on the prisoners to amuse herself. She was not sure how he would take it if he knew that she had sex with the female prisoners, tortured them, and then murdered them. Mengele had not cared that she was a sadist or a murderer, but he’d been repulsed by the homosexual acts she’d engaged in, especially with prisoners. She didn’t want to lose the obersturmbannführer's interest. He was too important to her future. So far, everything was working according to her plans. In fact, the real reason she’d convinced Mengele to bring her to this party was so she could meet Eichmann. She’d heard rumors that Eichmann had connections to ODESSA, the secret organization of Nazi sympathizers who were already in place to help the SS escape if Germany were to lose the war. And the way things were going for Germany, Ilsa felt fairly sure she was going to need a way out.
“Well, I have heard some things about you,” she said, then she ran her tongue over the rim of her wineglass.
“Oh? And what have you heard?”
“I’ve heard that you are so important that even the führer listens to you when it comes to the Jewish question.”
He laughed and waved his hand as if to brush her off, but he was flattered. “You have heard this, huh?” he said.
“I have.” She batted her eyelashes.
He smiled.
“Adolf?” She called Eichmann by his first name now that they were lovers.
“Yes, dear?”
“I know you are married. I mean, of course, everyone knows that. And . . . of course, I’ve seen photographs of you and Veronika. So I was wondering if . . . once we leave Vienna . . . will I ever see you again?”
She seemed to really care, and the look in her eyes was melting his heart. “Of course we will meet again,” he said.
“I mean, you know how these things are. We are lovers here in Vienna for a moment. Then we return to our lives, and it is as if all of this never happened.”
“I could never forget you.”
“I understand that. But you do have a wife . . .”
“And you should know that I do not plan to divorce my wife. There is too much stigma attached to divorce, and it would not be a good career move for me.”
“Of course not. And I would not expect you to. I will always be discreet about us. Your wife need not know anything,” she said. “You can trust me. When our time here ends, I just don’t want this to be goodbye.”
He smiled at her. “What a delight you are to me. And I promise that I will try to come to Ravensbrück to visit with you.”
“Will you?”
“Of course,” he said, then he patted her hand. “And then perhaps we might be able to get away for a week together as well. Perhaps a week in Munich? I’ll see what I can arrange. This is only the beginning of us, my dear. Not the end.”
“I am glad to hear that. I was afraid this would just be a quick affair, if you know what I mean.”
“I do. But you’re far too pretty to worry about anything like that. Alas, I can’t promise you marriage because of my wife and my responsibilities to the party. However, I do vow that we shall be very good friends for a long time to come.”
“Let’s take a walk,” she said, a little disappointed by his answer. Ilsa was used to men falling at her feet. Except for the insensitive Dr. Mengele, she had all of them eating out of her hand, doing whatever she asked. There were plenty who were more than willing to divorce their wives if she would consider marrying them, but not him—not Adolf Eichmann. He said he was content to be an occasional bed partner and a friend. That was a little hurtful and insulting. She frowned. “It’s too cold to sit still. I would much prefer to continue walking." Don’t be a fool. Don’t let your pride get in the way. You need him. It doesn’t matter if he isn’t mad about you. All that matters is that he agrees to help you.
“Whatever you would like, my dear.”
He slipped his arm through hers, and they walked for several streets until they came upon a park bench. He led her to the bench, and in spite of what she said about preferring to walk, he sat down. She sat beside him. Inside she was fuming. He had gotten the better of her. He won. His will prevailed over hers. He preferred to sit and so they sat. But she could not let him know that she was angry. This was her opportunity to secure a safe future for herself. She must not let anything so petty get in the way.
An oak tree with a thick trunk and mane of leaves in muted fall colors stood only a few feet away. A symphony from a mismatched orchestra of songbirds filled the air. For several minutes the couple sat without speaking. He took a deep breath and sighed, smiling.
Then Ilsa took Adolf’s hand and brought it to her lips. She placed a soft kiss on his palm, then she ran his hand across the side of her face.
“I have something that I need to talk to you about,” she said. “It’s very important.”
He nodded.
“And I am afraid . . .”
“Of me? You are afraid of me?”
“What I am about to ask of you might well sound like treason. I have to trust you because I am so afraid.”
“Please go on,” he said. “Of course you can trust me, Ilsa.”
“Adolf.” She hesitated. “I know it is treason to say that there is a possibility that Germany might not be victorious in this war. But . . .”
“Yes, I know. It’s all right. I understand what you are trying to say. Things don’t look good for us especially on the Russian front.”
“Exactly,” she said. Then choosing her words carefully she continued, “And, well . . . I don’t know if the world will be kind to us if we lose the war. We can’t be sure they will understand all of the good we tried to do. By us, I am speaking of you and me, and all of us who worked so hard to rid the world of undesirable elements in order to make it a better place for future generations of Germans.”
“I have thought of that too.” An automobile honked in the distance, and Ilsa jumped. Adolf put his arm around her shoulder and gently squeezed. Then he lifted her chin so he could look into her eyes.
“I am afraid that if the Allies get ahold of us they will torture us.” She shivered.
“I can help you,” he said.
Ilsa was thrilled. Everything was falling into place. This was why she’d come to the party in Vienna. This was why she’d seduced Eichmann. She needed a way to guarantee her own safety should the Reich come to an end. And here he was falling right into her trap. Don’t look overeager, she told herself. Then she lay her head on his shoulder so that he couldn’t see her eyes.
“Of course, I am hoping that the tide turns and that Germany will win the war. I long for our dream of a thousand-year Reich, but just in case,” she said, but she had lost all hope. She knew the end of the Nazi era was near. Ilsa had known for some time that things were turning bad for Germany, so she'd made her own plans. She’d saved plenty of money from the stolen goods she and her friend Hilde had taken from the prisoners at Ravensbrück where she worked. And she knew she could continue to trust Hilde to keep on stealing for her because she had information on Hilde’s adopted son that would ruin his life. Except for Hilde and Hilde’s husband, Axel, who were both Nazi guards at concentration camps, Ilsa was the only living person who knew the truth about their son, Anatole. She knew Anatole was a Jewish child whom Axel had stolen from the Jewish children’s camp.
It all began when Hil
de had a miscarriage, which sent her into the throes of a deep depression, leaving Axel feeling powerless to help her. But as he later admitted to Ilsa, an idea came to him as he was passing through Ravensbrück one morning when he eyed a blond-haired, blue-eyed, Aryan-looking little boy in the children’s camp.
Ilsa had been passing by. She stopped to watch from a hiding place, and she saw him steal the boy. Axel then took the child home. They called the boy Anatole. But Ilsa looked deeper into the situation and learned the child’s real name was Moishe Rabinowitz.
At first Axel lied to his wife, Hilde, telling her that Anatole was a Polish child whom he’d taken from a Polish woman who was a single mother unable to take care of him. However, Ilsa knew the truth, and she told Hilde because she needed Hilde’s help with her own plans. As Ilsa expected, Hilde already adored the little boy, so she begged Ilsa to keep Anatole’s secret safe. In exchange for Ilsa’s silence and also for Ilsa conveniently ridding Hilde of Anatole’s mother, Hilde agreed to steal from the Reich and give all her stolen goods to Ilsa.
This was over a year ago. And during that time as the Reich was falling, Ilsa was gathering a large collection of valuables, which she would use for her escape when the time came.
“What you are asking of me will cost you. I’m afraid it will be expensive. There are many people who must be paid off. Not in reichsmarks, but in diamonds and gold. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, I understand,” Ilsa said.
“And you can pay?”
“I can,” she said.
He nodded and bit his lower lip. “Good,” he said. “Then you have no reason to be afraid. I have connections who are very willing to help.”
“But where will I go?”
“I think the best place will be South America. Peron is very sympathetic to our cause. And for the right price, one can start life over in Argentina. And you have already said you have some gold?”
“Some, yes,” she said.
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