Since his nightmare, Adolf had become obsessed with all incoming messages, which, everyone had to admit, were becoming increasingly disconcerting. He had requested and received this workspace, along with unheard of amounts of privacy. He had cut back on teaching, assigning Ilsa and Thoresten to take over for him. Adolf even had strong, battery powered light to read by, rather than candles and oil lamps that the others had to make do with. At least, he reflected, he’d still have some eyesight left after he found whatever it was he was looking for.
He picked up a translation of a broadcast from the previous week. The first half contained a list of rebel supply depots with instructions on where the hungry could find food, and where those who had it to give could bring it. Meat to one place; dairy to another. There were warnings against stripping any natural area clean of anything. There were warnings against eating pork or shellfish. In other words, strict adherence to Kosher laws.
That much, Adolf did not find surprising. One of Ilsa’s recent projects had been to find out if any other groups of practicing Jews had encountered Elijah at Passover this year. So far nearly a dozen groups worldwide had reported events similar to what Berta had described. And now Kosher laws were taking effect—even amid starvation.
Then, there was the second part of the message. It was a list of names—with no further explanation. Adolf stared again at the familiar names, willing them to give up their secrets. Otto Mengele. Eva Eichmann. Adolf Bormann. On and on the list went, like a Who’s Who of Nazi power brokers!
The only thing Adolf noticed, other than that he had once attended concerts and soirees with most of them, was that they seemed to be arranged in family groups. Eva Eichmann, he knew, was the married daughter of Otto Mengele. Adolf Bormann was related by both blood and marriage to the next two names on the list, and so on.
But what was the point?
He had rejected as wishful thinking Thoresten’s suggestion that all these people were now members of the underground. Seppi believed that they were targets of assassination or kidnapping by one or another of the underground organizations. That certainly made more sense, since at least half the people on the list held key positions in the Reich. But what about the other half?
Adolf was certain it was something else. If he could just figure out what.
Other bits of information were painfully clear. Just yesterday, they had received word of Dr. Speer’s death in Berlin, along with three other Party doctors convicted of the unauthorized dispensing of medical supplies to non-Aryans. Adolf tried to be happy for all the good his friend had accomplished in his life, but it wasn’t easy.
But selfless doctors weren’t the only ones dying. Two cabinet members had been assassinated in the past month. Neither of their names, Adolf noticed, appeared on the mystery list. A failed attempt on the Führer’s life had had the unexpected asset of implicating several of his trusted advisors—including his own mistress.
And now, since the use of Hebrew messages with direct translations had been compromised, there were dozens of messages whose meaning no one could agree on. Words that would be lovely to discuss and analyze under different circumstances: instructions for Jonah to deliver his message to the people of Nineveh; requests for Esther and Mordecai to save the kingdom; an urgent plea for Jacob and Esau to forget their differences.
Adolf had already spent precious hours trying to figure it all out. Karl insisted that Adolf was making it overly complicated. “This is Torah, not Enigma!” he had said. “Try the simplest interpretation.”
Adolf put his head down on the table and closed his eyes. Just for a moment, he told himself.
Someone was shaking him, and a voice was saying, “Rabbi, wake up!”
Adolf sat bolt upright, adrenaline washing away sleep. “How long was I out?” he muttered.
“I don’t know,” said the boy who woke him. “But Seppi’s called a meeting. A message came in and he said it was important.”
“All the rebel leaders in one place?” Karl repeated after Seppi finished explaining the proposed plan to the assembled community. “Isn’t that sort of like what that American president did at Pearl Harbor? Lined all his ships up nice and neat for the Japanese to bomb?”
“It’s risky, no question,” said Ilsa. “But we can’t win this war in scattered pieces. It’s time to coordinate our efforts and plan the actual defeat of the Reich.”
“Not to mention, figuring out a plan for the world in the event we actually win,” said Thoresten.
“Like there’s really a chance that might happen?” said Karl.
“I don’t know what’s possible or what’s real anymore,” said Adolf. “But things are moving faster than we can control them. This revolution has turned into a wildfire.” He shivered as he remembered his dream. “If someone doesn’t take charge of it soon, it’s going to consume us all—rebel and Party alike.”
“Naturally, that person is you,” said Karl.
“Of course it is—“ Thoresten began, but Adolf shouted over him. “You want the job, Karl? You’re welcomed to it!”
“Calm down, both of you,” said Seppi. “If it will make you feel better, Karl, we can put it to a vote.”
“We both know how that will turn out,” Karl muttered, never taking his eyes from Adolf.
Adolf took a deep breath and strove for patience. “The idea would be that any group that considers itself part of this revolution would send one representative. That person would bring the ideas and suggestions of his or her group, and would have the authority to vote and finalize decisions. I’ll admit, I’d like to be the one from here, but it’s up to you.”
It was hard to keep the urgency out of his voice; hard to even sit still through this meeting. It was as if God really had spoken to him, and Adolf felt that if he didn’t go to this conference, all they had suffered and died for would be lost. Was this how God called his prophets? Or was this how megalomaniacs were born?
“Small groups might be better than single individuals,” said Rika. “Say, delegations of up to five people?”
“Or single ambassadors with authority to speak, but allow them a couple of assistants,” said Ilsa.
“I like that idea best, Ilsa,” said Seppi. “Does the message say where this is supposed to happen?”
“How do we even know the ‘revolutionary committee’ or whatever they call themselves is behind this?” asked Karl. “If I were in charge of crushing this rebellion, I couldn’t think of a better way to get all the enemy leaders in one place.”
Everyone shifted uncomfortably. The message seemed authentic. The coordinates were given in Hebrew, but the message itself was all biblical allusion.
“Where is it being held?” asked Rika.
“Russia,” said Eikki. “A forest, somewhere near the old Polish border. The Free Russians wouldn’t meet anywhere else, and the area is technically outside Party control.”
“Not according to the Party, of course,” said Thoresten. “Adolf, I want to go with you.” Immediately, a dozen others were making the same request.
“All of you will have important jobs,” Adolf said. “Whether you attend the meeting or stay here. And keep in mind, all it takes is one slip up on our part, and the whole revolution could be over. Anyone who goes could be walking to his own execution.” He could see that wasn’t going deter anyone.
Adolf began assigning people various jobs, until only he and Seppi remained in the great rock chamber.
They sat in silence for several minutes, while Adolf watched the partisan leader, who seemed unaware of his presence. Tonight, Seppi looked every one of his sixty years.
“It’s an unbelievable moment,” Adolf said at last. “But I get the feeling you’re not struck mute by joy that victory may be within our grasp. What is it, Seppi?”
“It is unbelievable,” said Seppi. “And cause for joy. But never once did I imagine I might live to see it. And now, I suddenly realize that I wish I hadn’t.”
“Why is that?” asked Adolf, n
ot quite knowing how else to answer to a statement like that.
Seppi ran a gnarled hand over eyes that Adolf knew had seen far too much. “Fighting an Evil Empire is easy. Blowing things up is easy. Dying is easy.
“But, Great Odin, what happens if you actually win? Do you ever think of that?”
“All the time,” said Adolf.
Seppi looked at him, and Adolf could still feel power in the weary, red-rimmed gaze. “I believe you do, young man. So maybe there’s hope for us yet. But most of us…most of us old timers…it’s been enough for us to have a war to fight. Until now, everything’s been so clear and simple. Kill the Nazis. Destroy the Reich. Use any means necessary. No decisions to make, beyond how and when. No ethical dilemmas.
“But winning? That changes everything. And to try building something—anything--out of the ruins of a vanquished Third Reich…” Seppi shook his head. “That’s going to be hard.”
“Or maybe impossible?”
“For me, and all the others like me? Yes. But maybe not for you, Adolf. You still have things alive in you that are dead in us. Compassion. Forgiveness. Faith in a species that did this—“ Seppi waved his hand to indicate the world at large, “—to itself. But after all I’ve seen, and all I’ve fought for, I don’t have the courage to face a new world order that very likely—barring a miracle—will be just as bad as the old one.”
Adolf nodded. Seppi’s words came as no surprise to him. He too, had seen things that made him well aware that, in the end, they still might leave the world worse than they found it. There were certainly enough examples in history of idealistic revolutions that ushered in unimaginable horrors.
Yet for all that, he still hoped.
“’What will we do if we win?’ I had planned to put that second on the agenda at the conference, right after ‘how to win the war’. Maybe now I’ll put it first.”
Seppi smiled. “I’m glad you came to us, Adolf. I’d hate to imagine leadership like this in anyone else’s hands.”
“Seppi, it’s people like you that brought us this far. And it would mean a great deal to me if you would give me your blessing.”
Seppi looked at Adolf in surprise—an expression his features were not familiar with. “Why?”
“Dying may be easy, but sacrificing your life for a cause is still a sacred act. And you’ve sacrificed more than just your life for this cause. If I’m to take up the torch, and try to build something from the ashes, I want the mandate from someone who made my job possible.”
Again Seppi looked surprised, but Adolf decided it was a much nicer variety of surprise. He raised his hand, as if in traditional blessing, but changed it to ruffling Adolf’s hair. “Bless you, young man,” he said. “For all you’ve done—and will do. Now get some sleep. We’ve a lot of work ahead of us.”
The thing that surprised Adolf most about the next few days was just how quickly everything came together. Everyone was full of energy. Not even the nagging fear that this entire operation could end in a mass grave could dampen their enthusiasm.
An unexpected benefit for Adolf was discovering that he would be seeing, or at least hearing from, old friends and comrades. Ghosts from his past, with names like Schuller, Lena, Markus and Varina began to pop up as messages came in from as far as South Africa and the Americas.
Adolf had mixed feelings about Ilsa coming with him. He was glad not to be separated from her, but couldn’t shake the feeling this was somehow pushing their luck. Thoresten and Rika would be going as well, plus a large, silent bodyguard named Gregor.
Ilsa arrived just then, with the latest communication from their contacts. “If we can rendezvous with Miklos and his group of Free Poles ten days from now, we can travel the rest of the way with them,” she said. “They claim they can get us authentic travel passes.”
Adolf whistled. “That would certainly make things easier. How on earth did they come up with those?”
Ilsa gave Adolf her “don’t ask, don’t tell” smile. “We’ll still have to weigh the risks of traveling in such a large group.”
“How large?”
“They’ve got six—they say they’re representing three different Polish groups, and couldn’t make do with fewer.”
“But with our five—eleven people. Traveling almost three hundred miles—“
“Ten people,” said Ilsa. “I’ll meet you on the other side of the border. I have some things to take care of first. Besides, my face has become almost as well known as yours. We can't afford any extra risks now.”
Adolf felt a chill, as if a shadow had crossed his grave. “What kind of ‘things’?” he asked. “And why now?”
Ilsa only flashed Adolf yet another enigmatic smile and went off to organize their supplies. Adolf hated the fact that she still kept secrets from him, although as a long dead friend had once said, her air of mystery was part of what drew him to her. It was just that now didn’t seem to be the time for mystery.
Too much was riding on this meeting; on what was discovered and decided over the next few weeks. To separate now seemed—irrevocable. He had the sudden overwhelming desire to change the entire plan, delay the meeting—anything to avoid being separated from Ilsa.
“Rabbi!” someone was calling. Rika burst into the chamber. “Oh, excuse me Rabbi, but there’s another argument over the plans for after you leave, and Thoresten and Sven have found two entirely different departure ceremonies in the Talmud for tomorrow and everyone’s at each other’s throats.”
“I’ll be right there, Rika.”
He was Rabbi Adolf, and he had a job to do. He didn’t need a book to tell him that his duties as a leader came before his duties as a husband.
CHAPTER 24
Early the next morning, Adolf found himself yet again saying farewell to strangers who had become dear to him in a very short period of time. But this time, he prayed, it would be different. This time, he would return, with a cohesive plan to topple the Third Reich and live in freedom for the rest of their lives.
Yeah, right.
Rika and Thoresten chattered excitedly as they set out, but Adolf was nearly as silent as Gregor. His companions respected Adolf’s need for silence, but that didn’t help much either. Despite the enormity of the mission, it was being parted from Ilsa that weighed heaviest upon him. That, and wondering exactly what she was up to this time.
Whether in spite of or because of his worrying, everything went off without a hitch. Adolf, Rika, Thoresten and Gregor met up with Miklos, a Polish leader Adolf already knew, and his five companions. They set off together amid interesting discussion and exchanges of relevant news. They crossed the Polish frontier without incident, thanks to their travel passes. Then late on a moonless night, the party slipped past a drunken guard in a lonely tower, then across a rather unimpressive stretch of scrub into the “unoccupied” wasteland unofficially known as Free Russia.
The significance of the moment nearly drove away Adolf’s grim thoughts. He was, for the first time in his life, physically outside the Reich. Realistically, it didn’t mean much. A radioactive wasteland, with enough forests to hide the last few rebels, and terrain that would take more than the Reich’s overextended resources to conquer was hardly a viable alternative to life under Nazi rule. Still, it had an emotional impact, and that, no doubt, was why the rebel leaders had chosen to meet here.
They had Geiger counters, good only for keeping them away from the worst of the hot spots. Everyone who came knew they were shortening their lives at least a little by staying for a just a few days. Good way to keep the meeting short and focused, Adolf mused.
They stopped for a few hours rest behind the cover of an ancient fallen tree. When they woke at dawn, Ilsa was sitting in plain sight, just outside the sentry’s fire range.
Adolf greeted his wife formally, introducing her to the few members she did not already know—though Ilsa was known by reputation to all of them. “Planning on telling me where you’ve been?” Adolf whispered as the group set out.
<
br /> “Every marriage needs secrets to keep it exciting,” she said.
“I don’t recall reading that in any of the Jewish writings,” Adolf muttered.
They traveled for another three days without incident. This land had been sparsely populated before the Reich; now it was deserted. They passed the ruins of an abandoned village, then the crater that had once been a town. Other than that, there was no sign that anyone had ever lived here.
“Do you think they’re watching us?” Thoresten asked glancing around the thin edge of forest they skirted.
“The Russians?” said Miklos. “Probably. I’d like to think they’re watching our backs.”
“I wonder what they think of the conference,” said Adolf.
“You think they’ll be there?” asked Rika.
“I hope so,” said Miklos. “They’re the only free men left on earth. I’m hoping we’ll be working together.”
Ilsa consulted her map. “The conference is supposed to start today, and we’ve still got twenty klicks to cover. We’d better pick up our pace.”
They tried, but the uneven ground and the heavy forests made for slow progress—both physically and emotionally. Already, they were feeling like ants trying to scale a mountain.
They did not reach the ridge overlooking their destination until nightfall. The meeting site was the burnt out shell of a farmhouse—the only structure left in what appeared to have been an agricultural collective. Those who had already arrived were observing blackout rules, but the dark clusters of tents and gear were faintly visible in the clear, moonlit night.
“I don’t see any sentries,” said Adolf. “But they’re sure to have them. We should probably wait until morning.”
“But we’ve already missed the first day!” Thoresten sounded like a kid waiting for a candy store to open.
“We have passwords,” said Miklos.
“We might even get to use them before they shoot us,” said Ilsa.
From the Ashes Page 23