He started the conversation on a light note: “Shall I call you ‘Schorseneel?’” He chuckled as he tried to enunciate the Dutch vegetable with the correct intonation. He failed. Now it was Arie’s turn to smile.
“Not a bad try. If you were German, you would fail the test.”
“How much do you know about the Enigma Coding Machine?”
Arie gave him a lesson in the secret world of German coding and decoding, using the enigma, an electro-mechanical rotor cipher system. Kuypers stopped his lecture.
“Enough! I am convinced that the real ‘Schorseneel’ has arrived.”
On this warm day, Arie enjoyed the landscape, noting the deep furrows of the freshly plowed fields. He loosened his angler’s vest. Kuypers saw how skinny he was.
“You look so scrawny … no food in Holland?” His words offended Arie.
“People are starving to death. Have you not heard of the ‘Hunger Winter?’ The Germans came up with a cruel way to punish the Dutch people: famine as punishment for the railroad strike. They cut off all food and fuel shipments to the western provinces in Holland. As a result, 18,000 people starved to death. I promise you, once Holland is free, the Dutch will exact revenge for this and other atrocities.” Kuypers pointed to a tin can in the back of the jeep. Inside were stale sea biscuits, hard as a rock. Arie reminded himself to be careful not to bite on the molar where the SS dentist had implanted the cyanide capsule when he became a Gestapo as his declaration of being a “Vollstandig Gestapo.” Arie looked around for some water to soften the biscuit.
While speeding down the coast, Arie noticed a military compound stretching as far as the eye could see. As they rushed through the gate, Arie read the sign: “First U.S. Army Group (FUSAG).”
“At the intelligence briefings at the German command in Le Hague, there was always a question mark,” Arie commented. “The Germans believed that FUSAG was a legitimate army. To them it was clear proof that the invasion of Europe would take place in Calais, and not in Normandy.”
At this moment, Kuypers had an idea.
“You will set up Klaus to radio the Germans confirming the existence of this U.S. Army Group. If they believe him, it will throw off for General Rommel the entire defense plan of the European Continent. It will be a huge disinformation coup for us,” Kuypers smiled at Arie.
“Confirming George Patton as the commanding general of this ghost army will give the German commanders in Holland something to worry about.” Continuing on their trip, Arie looked through the side window of the jeep, where he saw a farmer with a prodding stick, poking at a bull. Kuypers slowed down and wanted to know what was going on.
“Look at the huge gashes on the side of that Sherman tank. That farmer is trying to coax the bull away from the military vehicles parked in his pasture.” Arie sat in disbelief. It showed to Arie that the English had become masters of ingenuity and disguise in the war of deception.
“Let me be sure I understand what we are planning to do,” Arie began. “We want him to confirm via radio that this entire military complex, although made from cardboard, is poised to invade Europe in Calais, France. It will represent one of the war’s complete and unabashed fakes to throw German intelligence off kilter. The deception was textbook Churchill style.”
In the distance, several wooden structures stood hidden in the woods. They had arrived at Bletchley Park. The trees along the road to the entrance formed a natural canopy, keeping the access to the mansion shielded from enemy aircraft. At the gate, a sentry with a machine gun at the ready ordered them out of the jeep. Arie wondered if his ID papers would be a problem. For double agents, identification papers were always tricky. Finally, Arie was cleared under the code name Schorseneel and arrived at the office of N-Section. The officers at the meeting had already set in motion the plans to assassinate Klaus.
Once they arrived at the London district where the Queen’s mansion was, Kuypers steered his jeep onto an adjacent street. Arie disembarked, dressed as a fisherman. Throwing his travel bag and fishing rod over his shoulder, he strode nonchalantly to the residence of Queen Wilhelmina in exile. He was confident that Kuypers had briefed Klaus. Arie would start by announcing to Klaus that the resistance radio network in Holland could no longer be trusted; the Germans had infiltrated the web and were transmitting disinformation about German military positions via captured Dutch parachutists.
Klaus now believed more than before that he was in good standing with the English intelligence at Bletchley Park, and it strengthened his position as a German spy. The Queen’s mansion was in a wooded area. Four guards protected the property with sten guns at the ready. When Arie approached the gate, he gave Kuypers’ letter to the guards. The guard opened a side gate and waved Arie through. He walked for several hundred meters, until he reached a large pond with water lilies, reflecting the majesty of the mansion, a stunning piece of Victorian architecture.
Klaus greeted Arie with a cold handshake. He informed Arie that it would be best for the two German sympathizers—as he thought of Arie—to walk around the domain. It was a sunny day, and a lonely dog barked in a kennel.
Klaus knew that Arie worked with the Germans in Holland.
“The Queen left yesterday for Canada, visiting her family.” Arie thought it would be best if she were absent while a crime was committed on her domain.
Three days earlier, Klaus had received an urgent request from the Germans in Holland to step up intelligence about Patton’s First Army Group in England. Arie convinced Klaus to radiograph to the German military in Le Hague about the First U.S. Army.
“I just drove by the base of the First U.S. Army,” Arie told Klaus. “They have an impressive military compound, with tanks, artillery field ambulances, ammunition depots, and more. There are at least a million military personnel on the premises. You must tell the Germans that radio traffic further substantiates the existence of this large base. Do not forget to tell them in Le Hague that the local vicars complained to the newspapers about the behavior of Americans on the base. Make sure that the military in Holland understands the enormity of this intelligence. The existence of this army at this latitude cannot mean anything else but an invasion of Europe in Calais, not Normandy,” Arie told him.
Klaus walked Arie into the garden. “The radio is installed in the abandoned barn. We will go there first to send the message.” Now Arie was on his way to achieving his goal. Klaus turned a few knobs and pushed a few switches, and without consulting any manual, he swiftly entered the security code on the German bandwidth. He spoke in the mouthpiece in perfect German. Arie had no trouble understanding the message. Klaus had just perpetrated his final act of betrayal.
About a hundred yards from the barn, they admired a patch of white carnations in full bloom, the flower of the House of Orange. Klaus stooped down to pick one carnation as proof of his allegiance to the House of Orange. He placed it in his right lapel. Arie grabbed his knife, hidden in a pocket in his angler’s outfit. It was a rapid action switchblade.
Without a word, Arie jumped on Klaus from behind and thrust his knife deep into Klaus’ chest. Klaus slumped into the flowerbed with a deep gurgling sound. “Oh, no!” It was over in three seconds. Satisfied that he had accomplished his mission swiftly and quietly, Arie wiped his knife on the grass before plucking his carnation. Smiling, he proudly showed the carnation as he saluted the guards.
Arie walked through the same side street from where he had come. Without speaking a word, he entered the waiting car. Arie kept the carnation in his pocket. He had an idea to whom he was going to give it as a souvenir.
He returned safely in his Biber to the hangar in Scheveningen, where Dieter was waiting. They did not talk much. Arie pulled the carnation from his pocket and gave it to Dieter.
Chapter 16
The Escape
Himmler’s trusted advisor Professor Habers raced his big Mercedes with SS license plates throug
h the town of Mill. It was a rarity for the townspeople to see a big shiny SS vehicle with a high-level dignitary from Germany. As he drove past the local church, Habers pointed out the missing windows, blown out during a recent bombardment. Last month a bomb had hit the church, blowing out the original stained-glass windows.
Arie had been patiently awaiting the Mercedes’ arrival so he could escort Habers with his motorcycle to the castle. Danya, sitting next to Habers in the passenger seat, glanced at him with a quick wave of the hand. Habers wondered how well she knew Arie and what the townspeople were thinking of her, seeing her in an SS vehicle.
Everyone in Mill knew Arie worked with the Gestapo and was responsible for rounding up Jews destined for German concentration camps. Under normal circumstances, he would assign one of his agents to escort duty. This time around, he provided the escort as a special favor to Habers and because Danya was in the car. He wanted to make sure Danya’s return from Wewelsburg was without incident.
At the far end of the lane, leading to the drawbridge, Habers saw the castle where Manus stayed. He opened the gate.
Once they arrived, Arie rushed to open the door of the Mercedes on Danya’s side, as if she were the dignitary. She immediately took off, flinging herself into Manus’ arms, much to his surprise.
When Habers, Arie, and Manus came together on that day as Circassians, it was as if destiny had brought them there for a particular reason. They gathered to protect Danya from further harm. In unison, they experienced a sense of tribal pride. In times like these, when Circassians congregate, they followed their ancestors’ tradition of secrecy and solidarity in purpose. Circassian males took an oath to protect their women to the death.
Together, they marched through the grand hall meandering through the maze of the Stations of the Cross. For the first time, Habers admired the life-size figures created by Manus. In the darkened room, the half-finished monuments loomed like tombstones in a cemetery. In reality, the rough granite blocks represented the work of a sculptor who had lost his zeal for the project as the result of the war.
Towards the back of the hall, a single beam of light from a broken window fell on Hitler’s death mask. Habers grinned. With one eyebrow raised over his monocle, he chuckled and shook his head. He didn’t need to use words to express his feelings.
Habers faced a difficult situation, having to pressure Danya to join the Lebensborn Project, to which the SS had sentenced her as a condition of her release from jail. If she refused, she would meet the execution squad. He wondered if he would have the courage to defy Himmler. With a gesture of his long-fingered professorial hands, he started. “I brought Danya back to you, Manus, and rescued her from the clutches of Himmler. Her dossier showed that she committed an act of treason, distributing illegal propaganda hostile to the Nazi Regime in Holland, punishable by execution. In some odd way, I convinced the SS Council in Wewelsburg that her crime, although an act of treason, was, in fact, an act of courage. I convinced them that she had acted out of patriotism. The SS leaders are practical people. With the large hordes of German prisoners of war in Russia, the shortage of soldiers was becoming clear. For this reason, the officers in Wewelsburg decided to commute her death sentence on condition that she join Lebensborn and procreate Aryan soldiers. The officers gradually became convinced that the commutation of her death sentence was in the best interest of Germany.”
Danya had already made up her mind that she would never agree to the deal Habers had made to save her life. She would rather sacrifice her life than submit to Nazi rule.
“Joining Lebensborn is worse than the death sentence!” she shouted at Habers. “Never. My dignity and pride as a Circassian mean too much to me. Pull your pistol and kill me here and now.” Her eyes shot bullets at him.
His Circassian background compelled him to find a way to absolve her from the Lebensborn sentence. Not sure how he could handle this situation, he clearly understood the consequence of acquitting Danya from the obligation of joining Lebensborn; he would be signing his death warrant.
Arie stepped forward and spoke the magical words, invoking the Code of Ethics of Circassia. “As true Circassians, we must stand by Danya and save her. Remember the oath that every Circassian takes: ‘To protect the Circassian woman to the death.’ It is the code of every Circassian warrior of yesterday and today, as it has been for thousands of years. We shall fight for her and keep her out of the Lebensborn Project.” Habers looked at Arie and Manus and nodded in consent. He decided to be a true Circassian, despite his Gestapo uniform.
“The Nazi Regime has instituted the ‘Hunger Winter’ in Holland,” Arie continued. “They’ve been starving the Dutch into submission, requisitioning all means of transport and stopping all commerce from east to west. Severe food shortages will result in the death of thousands of innocents. The Germans decided on this cruel punishment meted out to innocent people for acts of sabotage which they never committed.” Arie pulled out Danya’s new ID card.
“This is your German ID, which will give you safe passage at checkpoints,” Arie said, handing her the card with the letter “C” in large print. As a precaution, he had registered her in the census files as “Circassian,” an ethnic group now exempt from deportation. Professor Habers had convinced the SS in Wewelsburg to exempt Circassians because of their relation to the original Aryans. After all, they had found archaeological evidence in Circassia that the swastika symbol was part of their culture.
Arie was proud to point out that Danya was the first individual in Holland officially assigned to this ethnic class.
“At checkpoints, just pretend to be a member of Lebensborn and they will give you full respect,” Arie told her. Arie and Habers advised Danya and Manus to leave the castle.
Manus was not yet ready to leave his atelier. He feared the Germans would destroy it all. For months, Manus had been idle, unable to muster the energy to complete the Stations. He meandered between the rough granite blocks, holding his chisel and hammer. Resting his hands on the cold stone of Station VIII, Manus stood there beholding the figure of Jesus, dripping blood while wearing the crown of thorns. He tried to find comfort in the suffering of Jesus. The longer he searched, the higher the agony of despair. He despised the Gestapo and struggled to come to grips dealing with Danya’s lot as a refugee from Lebensborn. Did he love her enough to give up his artwork in Holland and flee to Belgium?
A cup of coffee made from burned radicchio grind, commonly known as chicory, might stimulate his imagination, he thought. Danya, on the other hand, was ready to leave Holland and began gathering her belongings for the trip. She washed her clothes and hung them out to dry while she searched the cupboards for food. Whatever she could find, she stuffed into an easy-to-carry burlap handbag which she carried over her shoulder.
The next morning, they watched two rats fighting over a scrap of old Gouda cheese. In a lighthearted moment, Manus told Danya how he planned to deal with the Gestapo the next time they came looking for her, thinking it might change her mind and convince her to call off becoming a refugee. “The poet Goethe gave me the idea.” He found his booklet of Goethe’s poetry and read from the “Rat Attack”:
‘Once upon a time a rat
Kitchen-bred on cheese and fat
Till his paunch had swollen smoother
Than his counterpart on Luther
All about the house, he dashed
Till the enemy was thrashed.’
“As improbable as it may sound to you, Goethe’s poetry has inspired me to formulate my attack plan,” Manus snickered. “Could he have foreseen what was going to take place in our kitchen? Wait and see; next time the Gestapo come, I will have a surprise for them.”
Danya laughed until she cried.
They did not have to wait long to try out Manus’ attack theory. On that same day, it was dark and raining. Danya needed to take a break from packing. She turned to the back window, looking out at t
he woods behind the property and saw light beams bouncing around the trees. In the stealth of the night, another raid was underway; the Gestapo was looking for Danya again. She wasted no time rushing to her hideout. In minutes, they were inside. Manus made sure he hid her dishes and cups in the kitchen, leaving no trace of evidence that two people were living in the castle.
One of the Gestapo snarled at Manus as he held a pistol to his head.
“Last chance! Where is she?” He was getting used to the tactics, and he stiffened his resolve, holding firm, despite the feel of the cold steel of the revolver on his temple.
“If I knew where she was, I would never tell you,” he stated boldly. The agent stared at him with his steel blue eyes and came close to pulling the trigger before finally throwing Manus against the side door in the kitchen. The action opened the door to the room where Manus gave the rats sanctuary. Three furry creatures emerged, scurrying along the wall, noses upturned in the air. Before long, they smelled the fresh leather of the Gestapo boots. The attack was on.
“This is it! Enough nonsense!” an agent cursed and snarled. He pulled his pistol, aiming to shoot when his colleague stopped him.
“Nein! You are an idiot! The bullets in your pistol are not for rats; you must reserve your bullets for the enemy of the state: Jews! Put your weapon away!” The Gestapo stormed out of the castle, snarling about the victory by the rats. The rats had won!
After they left, Manus could not wait to fetch Danya from her hideout to give her the good news. He regretted that Danya had not witnessed what had happened in the kitchen. When he told her, she raised her hand to her mouth and laughed loudly. She remembered the story of the Rats of Hamelin from school.
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