The Serpent's Egg

by JJ Toner

  Anna panicked. “I’m a married woman. Please leave.”

  “I’ve spoken to the registrar. I think you’ll find your marriage will soon be annulled.”

  “I’ll scream if you touch me”

  He stepped back. “You want me to leave? I can do that. If I do, I will have to inform my colleagues that your husband is a Communist.” He removed his jacket and draped it carefully over the sofa. “I will have to tell them that he murdered Salvatore Vigo, the Roman pastor.” He removed his trousers, lined up the creases, and draped them over the sofa. “And I will have to tell them that he buried the priest in the Holy Cross cemetery.” He unbuttoned his shirt…

  #

  Max found Anna in the bed that evening. He asked her how she was and she gave him a curt reply, “I have a headache. Leave me alone.”

  He sat beside her on the bed. “Should I call the doctor?”

  “No, I’ll be fine in the morning.”

  #

  A week after his trip to Brussels, Max got a call from Frau Greta calling herself ‘Sister Bernadina’ again. He was to attend an urgent meeting in Berlin’s zoological gardens. The choir was assembling at the monkey house.

  Max walked to the zoo. It was no more than a kilometer to the north of the apartment. Greta had sounded out of breath, distressed. Had the vital secret message been lost when the policeman at the border stole those two cigarettes? She had said the message was important, that it could affect the outcome of the War. What if it never arrived in Brussels, if the border policeman had smoked the message and Gilbert found nothing in any of the remaining five cigarettes?

  He bought a ticket and made his way to the monkey house. He found Adam Kuckhoff waiting for him, the monkeys in the cages leaping about, screeching at him. Adam looked miserable.

  They stepped out of the noisy monkey house onto a green area where there were groups of children rushing about making nearly as much noise as the monkeys.

  “What’s happened, Adam? Was there a problem with the message?” Max was ready to explain what happened at the border. He would agree to travel to Brussels again if necessary, if it wasn’t already too late.

  Adam shook his head. “You played your part perfectly, Max. Gilbert transmitted the message to Moscow. The problem is that Joseph Stalin and his Intelligence chief have rejected the information out of hand. Word has come back from Moscow. They believe what we sent them is misinformation designed to misdirect the Red Army. Gilbert has been recalled to Moscow to explain his actions. And the Soviets will no longer accept intelligence from anyone in Berlin.”

  Max was relieved that his part of the process hadn’t been at fault, but at the same time he was devastated that Gilbert would not be there to help when – if – he and Anna managed to escape to Brussels. He asked, “What was this intelligence? Frau Greta said it was of critical importance to the outcome of the War.”

  “I can’t tell you that, but I can tell you we could be facing Armageddon if Moscow don’t act on the information. No, the reason I called you here is to deliver a message from Gilbert. He says he’s sorry that he won’t be able to do what you discussed in Brussels.”

  #

  Anna was devastated by the news. Every day since she’d allowed Jürgen into her bed she’d been terrified that he might come back for more, or that he might blow the whistle on Max “We have to get out of Germany, Max.”

  “Don’t you think I know that? As soon as the Gestapo match my fingerprints from the cigarette lighter I will be arrested and charged with murder.”

  “But you didn’t murder Father Vigo. You helped to bury him, but you didn’t kill anyone. Or did you?”

  Max blinked.

  “I’m not sure the Gestapo will make that distinction. At best I may be charged as an accessory. At worst I could be executed for capital murder.”

  As he spoke, Anna realized that she shouldn’t have mentioned the name of the murdered priest. She wasn’t supposed to know that. Had he noticed? She sat down wearily on the sofa.

  “Oh, Max, why did you have to get involved with these people? They’re murderers and Communists. And they are fighting against the Nazis. There’s only one way this is going to end.”

  “You know why, Anna. I explained that to you. The Gestapo refused to sign our Marriage Authorization until I joined the Orchestra and found out where the printer is located.”

  “You never did find the printer, did you?”

  “No, but they found it without my help. Actually, they found one of the printers. There’s at least one more. I know that because the leaflets are still being printed.”

  Max hadn’t asked how she knew the name of the victim. Perhaps he hadn’t noticed. She picked at a fingernail. “When will it all end. Max?”

  “It could end very quickly for us if we don’t get out of Germany soon.”

  “But where can we go if your friend in Brussels can’t help us?”

  “We can still go to Belgium, Anna. We’ll just have to make our own way when we get there.”

  Chapter 87

  April 1940

  Air Commodore Scott addressed the members of the Joint Forces Contingency Committee, now reduced to five members, one from each armed service and B-S, the civilian from Military Intelligence. The mood around the table was somber.

  “You’ve all had a chance to read the final document. Operation Pike is now fully actionable. The analysts have given it the green light and the Prime Minister has sanctioned it. Our task now is to consider the ramifications.”

  “Perhaps you’d brief us on how far advanced are the preparations?” The air commodore addressed his question to the RAF representative, newly promoted Air Commodore Pinkley.

  “The French have completed their development of several new airfields in Syria. We have committed 75 aircraft to the campaign, and the French have agreed to match that number. We have completed many reconnaissance flights over the area and worked out a detailed plan of attack. They have minimal anti-aircraft weapons in place. Many of our aircraft and much of the ordnance are already in place at our bases. The remainder of the ordnance is in transit courtesy of the Royal Navy.”

  “Can you give us details on the ordnance?” the Rear Admiral asked.

  “I don’t have exact numbers, but we’re planning to use heavy armor-piercing shells to open up the storage tanks, followed by incendiaries. We anticipate a conflagration that could takes years to get under control.”

  This statement was greeted by silence.

  “The port of Baku will be the main target for the first wave. The city is several feet below sea level, so we plan to destroy the sea barriers immediately after the oil refineries.”

  Someone said, “Won’t that put the fires out?”

  Pinkley ignored the comment. He sat down.

  B-S lit a new cigarette from the stub of an old one with a trembling hand. “And do we have an initiation date for the plan?”

  Pinkley looked flushed, whether from excitement, apprehension or embarrassment, Air Commodore Scott couldn’t tell. “Operation Pike will start on May 15.”

  Chapter 88

  May 1940

  Oberst Vogel called Kommissar Neumann into his office. He invited Neumann to take a seat.

  “Traut’s been on the telephone. He tells me you asked for authorization to visit one of his men in a labor camp.”

  “That’s right. Kurt Framzl in Sachsenhausen.”

  “You are aware that Framzl has been kicked out of the Gestapo? He’s been found guilty of corruption.”

  “Yes, sir. I believe he may be able to help with one of our investigations.”

  Oberst Vogel picked up his new Meerschaum pipe and began to fill it with tobacco. “The killing of the priest.”

  “Yes, sir. Did Traut say when we might get that authorization?”

  The Oberst pointed the stem of the pipe at an envelope on his desk. “It came in yesterday.”

  Neumann picked up the envelope. He opened it and pulled out the authorization.
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  “I need an afternoon to travel to Sachsenhausen.”

  “Very well, Kommissar, but tread carefully. The Sturmbannführer read me a litany of dire warnings. And you know how mud can stick.”

  Kommissar Neumann took the car. He travelled alone. The journey to the concentration camp in Oranienburg took an hour in light traffic. He presented his authorization three times, first at the gate, then at the door of the administration block and finally in person to the camp commander.

  “What is your business with this criminal, Kommissar?”

  “I’m hoping Herr Framzl can cast some light on one of the cases I’m working on, the murder of a pastor.”

  “You suspect him of this murder?”

  “He’s not a suspect, no, but he did have contact with the victim shortly before he died.”

  Kurt Framzl looked like a beaten man, disheveled and gaunt, with sunken eyes, his flesh barely clinging to his bones. Neumann invited him to sit, but Framzl remained standing.

  Neumann said, “Has the commandant told you who I am?”

  “I know who you are, Kommissar…”

  “Kommissar Neumann. I’m investigating the death of a Roman Catholic priest called Salvatore Vigo. You knew Vigo.”

  “Yes.”

  “You brought him to Prinz-Albrecht-Strasse in April of last year?”

  “I did, yes.”

  “Why?”

  “It was a minor administration matter.”

  “I have spoken to the registrar. He told us that you claimed a Marriage Authorization had been forged. Is that correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “And after speaking to the registrar you brought Vigo into Gestapo Headquarters?”

  “The priest married two people without following the correct procedures.”

  “Based on the forged authorization?’

  “That’s right, yes.”

  “You beat him up.”

  “That was nothing. We slapped him around a bit.”

  The Medical Examiner found the scars on his face six months later, thought Neumann.

  “Shortly after that you were found guilty of corruptly demanding money as a condition for signing a Marriage Authorization.”

  Framzl’s eyes lit up. “That was a lie. I never demanded a pfennig for that.”

  “But you refused to sign the Marriage Authorization?”

  “I was attempting to uncover a subversive group. I was presented with an opportunity, a situation that could help to achieve my goal. I took it.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “The woman is a Mischling. They had pulled strings to get their Authorization, using one of my prime suspects, an actress called Libertas Schulze-Boysen. I took the opportunity to place an informer inside the subversive group. I explained all this to my accusers.”

  “They didn’t believe you.”

  Framzl clenched his fists. “What happened to me was a gross injustice. The boy, Noack lied. It was my word against his.” His voice rose a notch. “They chose to believe him.”

  “Are you saying you didn’t demand money?”

  “Haven’t you been listening to me? That was a malicious lie.” He was shouting, now. “Why would I jeopardize my whole future for a mere 500 Reichsmarks? It’s laughable.”

  “You blame the priest for that malicious report?”

  “Yes, I blame him. He fabricated that story to explain or excuse his own mistake.”

  “Is that why you killed him?”

  “When was he killed? I’ve been in here for the past eleven months.”

  “Perhaps you arranged to have him killed.”

  Framzl’s response was stunned silence, then, “As the Führer is my witness, the priest’s death has nothing to do with me.”

  “I’m told you are a heavy smoker.”

  “I was. There is no tobacco here.”

  “Did you own a cigarette lighter?”

  “No.”

  “Have you ever owned a cigarette lighter?”

  “No. What’s that got to do with the case?”

  “Have you heard of a priest called Schlurr? Father Gunther Schlurr?”

  Framzl shook his head. “Never heard of him.”

  Chapter 89

  May 1940

  In Gestapo headquarters, a team of three was wading through the records for government employees. It was Saturday, May 4. They had completed the trawl through the main ministries and started on the minor state services. One man gave a yelp. “I have him, sir. I have a match.”

  SS-Sturmführer Jürgen Traut swore under his breath. He had hoped for another trip to Kolonnenstrasss. He strode out of his office to check the man’s work. “What have you got?”

  “The man we are looking for is an employee of the Reich Labor Service, the RAD. His name is Max-Christian Noack, sir.”

  Jürgen picked up the telephone and rang Kommissar Neumann.

  “We have him, Erhart. His name’s Max-Christian Noack.”

  Neumann gasped. “We interviewed him. He’s the one who forged his Marriage Authorization. The priest married him in his church. Do you have an address?”

  Jürgen nearly blurted it out. “Not yet. We’re checking that now.”

  A man stepped into Traut’s office with a piece of paper. “I have it. It’s an apartment building in Kolonnenstrasss.”

  #

  Anna had a loaf of bread in the oven. The telephone rang. Max picked it up.

  “Your fingerprints have been identified. Get out of there.” It was Walter Lehmann.

  “How much time do we have?”

  “None. Ten minutes, maybe. Leave immediately.”

  “Thank you, W—”

  Walter broke the call.

  “Anna, we have to go.”

  “Go where? When?”

  “Right now. The Gestapo are on the way.”

  “I can’t leave. I have bread in the oven.”

  “Never mind the bread. Fetch your purse. We have to leave. Now.”

  “Don’t we have time to pack?”

  “No, Anna. I’m telling you, we have less than ten minutes.”

  They reached the end of the street and turned the corner as the Gestapo arrived in two black cars. They ran.

  Part 5

  Chapter 90

  May 1940

  Greta’s apartment was within easy reach. They got there in 15 minutes. Max hammered on the door. Greta opened it and they piled inside.

  “The Gestapo. They are in our apartment. We need a place to hide.”

  Greta closed the door. She went to the window and checked the street outside.

  “Did anyone see you?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

  “Very well, take a seat.”

  Max and Anna sat on the sofa.

  Greta said, “You can stay here for today. I’ll find you somewhere more secure after dark. In the meantime, stay away from the windows.”

  Anna asked how Sophie was faring.

  Greta said, “She’s well. She’s grown quite a bit since you saw her last.”

  “How old is she now?”

  “She was nine last month.”

  Ule woke. Greta went to attend to him. Anna followed her.

  When Ule was settled, Greta left the 2-year-old with Anna. She asked Max to explain what happened. He told her how he had dropped his cigarette lighter in the cemetery while helping Edmund and Bruno to bury the traitor. He didn’t mention Vigo’s name, as Anna was listening from the next room.

  “Can you tell me which of them killed him?”

  Greta blinked. “Go on with your story. Who warned you that the Gestapo was coming?”

  “That was an old friend of my father’s from the last War. He’s with the Gestapo.”

  “A helpful Gestapo man. His name?”

  “I’d rather not say. I don’t want to get him into trouble.”

  “He could be useful to the Orchestra, Max. Give me his name.”

  Max hesitated. Frau Greta was a ro
ck. She had been since he first met her. And he needed her help now more than ever. “His name’s Walter Lehmann.”

  “Thank you, Max. I promise I won’t get him into trouble. Now, you’re going to have to get out of Germany. Where would you like to go?”

  “We thought we might go to Brussels.”

  #

  Adam arrived home after dark. He and Greta had an argument about the best course of action. Anna listened behind a closed door. She caught only a few snatches, but she gathered that Adam wanted the Communists to provide shelter for the fugitives since they were the ones that had caused the problem in the first place. Frau Greta wouldn’t hear of it. She had a better idea.

  They bundled Anna and Max into the back of Adam’s battered old car. Frau Greta told them to lie down on the seat. She used two blankets to cover them. The last thing she said to them was, “Keep your heads down. And good luck.”

  Adam started the car. Anna came close to panic hiding in the dark under a blanket. And she hated the feeling of helplessness that came with being transported she knew not where. After a 20-minute journey, the car stopped. Adam came around the back and removed the blankets. “You can come out now.”

  Anna looked around. She recognized the mansion where she’d had her wedding reception, the home of Harro and Libertas Schulze-Boysen.

  The maid, Pauletta, opened the door. She showed them into the study and went to fetch her mistress. Adam went with her.

  Anna was having difficulty catching her breath. Perhaps that was from being driven at speed through the streets of Berlin under a blanket. Or it could have been the shock of what had happened. She’d had to leave everything. Her clothes, her wedding dress, her mother’s willow pattern crockery, their radio, their records, the gramophone, her books, all her wedding presents, her photographs. Everything.

  Her shoes!

  All she had in the world now was the clothes she was wearing and the contents of her handbag – a few Reichsmarks, a handful of change, a stick of lipstick, her identity card and their two ration books.