A black sedan was parked in front of the boathouse, a newer model, shiny and well-maintained. It contained no passengers. The man was alone.
He led York to the door, pointing to the broken hasp. “See what I mean?”
“Yes, sir, I do. But I didn’t hear anything. Maybe it happened a while ago. When was the last time you were here?”
The man ignored him and pushed the door. It opened, the hinges squeaking. He started to enter but York stopped him.
“Let me go first,” York said, feigning concern. “Just in case it’s not safe.”
He stepped into the boathouse, followed closely by the owner. The building was partially lit, the rising sun streaming through the windows and open side that faced the lake. York used his flashlight in the darker corners.
“There’s no one here,” he said a minute later. “But there’s some trash at the other end. Maybe it’s from a vagrant, or someone fleeing the authorities.”
“Thank you, I appreciate your help. I’ll have the lock repaired.”
“The damage is minor,” York said. “I suppose it could have been worse.”
“Yes, I’m sure it could have. But now I’m afraid you’ll have to leave.”
“Of course, sir. I understand. We’ll leave right away.”
“What are those signs on the ambulance? I’m not going to catch anything, am I?”
“No, sir,” York assured him. “As long as you don’t get too close. I’m transporting some soldiers with tuberculosis to a remote hospital. After all, we do need to take care of our servicemen. No matter how sick they are.”
“Yes, of course,” the man stuttered. “I just don’t want to become infected.”
York limped away. “I understand. Thank you, sir. We’ll be on our way.”
He climbed back in the ambulance and started the engine, looking back in the side mirror. The man was writing down the license plate number on a piece of paper. York turned onto the road, telling Amanda what happened.
“What should we do?”
“We’ll change the license plates, but it may not help. If a policeman stops us, it could create enough confusion that we’re released, but not the Gestapo.”
“There’s a public beach two or three kilometers down the road. It should be empty this time of year. There’s also a bathroom there. We can all get cleaned up.”
York drove to the beach and parked the ambulance by the bathroom entrance, hiding the vehicle from the road. He changed the license plates while Amanda and Erika took the children to the bathroom, including the new additions, Samuel and Sarah. Millie and the teenager followed.
Erika had brought plenty of food and they ate some breakfast, bread and cheese with ham and some juice. York didn’t want to linger, worried the man at the boathouse may have called the police, so they departed fifteen minutes later. He looked at the back of the ambulance, now home to twelve souls.
“Can you manage with all the people in there?” he asked Erika.
“I think so. It’s a bit cramped, but as long as we keep the children occupied or asleep, we can keep the discomfort to a minimum. I suppose today will be the worst.”
York studied the map while both adults and children took the opportunity to stretch and move about. As Erika had said, it would be a long day.
Thirty minutes later they were back in the ambulance. York handed Amanda the map. “The route is a mix of autobahn and minor roads. We’ll have a stretch of highway soon. The ride should be better.”
An hour later they were on the autobahn, which was dominated by military vehicles and delivery trucks. The ambulance blended with the traffic and, after thirty minutes of troop trucks passing without seeming to notice them, York and Amanda became more comfortable.
“I am looking forward to returning to London,” Amanda said as they passed one mile marker after another. “How long will we have to stay in Switzerland?”
“I’m not sure. It might be a while. But Switzerland is beautiful. I love it. We can always stay there until after the baby is born.”
She smiled, subconsciously rubbing her belly. “Do you want a boy or a girl?”
“I’m happy either way,” he said. He felt the photograph in his pocket and thought of Elizabeth.
Amanda touched his arm. “You’re excited, aren’t you?”
He smiled. “Yes, I am. I can’t wait to have a family. But I am a little worried about finances.”
Amanda started laughing. “Darling, surely you’re joking.”
He was confused. “No, I’m not. It costs money to raise a family. A history professor doesn’t earn that much.”
“Michael, I come from Scottish royalty. I am an only child. I inherited the family fortune, and a Scottish estate. The money is managed by Lloyds. It’s safe.”
York was stunned. He never really considered wealth, or ever achieving it. A Scottish estate? He couldn’t even imagine. “I’m speechless,” he said softly.
“The money was never moved to Germany and the estate was never sold. It’s just outside of Edinburgh, not huge, maybe a thousand acres. It comes with a caretaker. He’s looked after the property since my parents passed. And well before, actually.”
“I had no idea,” he stammered.
“I know you didn’t,” she said, the grin still present. “But it makes everything a lot easier.”
“Yes, it does,” he said, still shocked. It would take a while to get used to the latest revelation. His life was changing in so many ways, whether he tried to control it or not.
They left the highway for a rural road early that afternoon, and found a wooded area where they pulled the ambulance into the trees. York watched the time as they ate lunch, mindful of Max’s warning to not arrive at the border too soon, and to stay in secluded areas. They let the children wander around for twenty minutes after they finished eating before they all piled back in the vehicle and resumed their journey.
Once back on the road, York tapped on the fuel gauge indicator. “I have to get petrol somehow,” he said. “We have a little more than a quarter tank. Maybe we can stop at a restaurant or store where there are other vehicles. Anywhere I can siphon petrol.”
They drove thirty minutes more and rounded a bend. York braked abruptly, finding an empty German troop truck blocking most of the road. The front end on the passenger’s side had hit a tree, a broken limb falling on the canopy. A staff car was in front of it, askew, as if they had collided.
Amanda hurriedly opened the port to the back. “Keep everyone quiet,” she hissed.
The children didn’t cooperate. Although not as loud as the evening before, they talked and laughed, screamed lightly when a fly buzzed about the cab, and were easily distracted. The adults tried to keep them occupied.
A German soldier ran up to the truck. He looked in the cab, past York, and saw Amanda. “Nurse, we need your help,” he said. “Two men have been injured.”
“Follow my lead,” York whispered to Amanda.
He got out of the vehicle and addressed the soldier. “Don’t let anyone near the ambulance. The soldiers in the back are highly contagious.”
The soldier, who looked about sixteen, grew pale. “No, of course not,” he said, his eyes wide. “We’ll stay away. What’s wrong with them?”
A shout came from the rear of the ambulance, followed by another, not as loud, and then laughter. The soldier looked at the vehicle, and then at York, a confused look on his face.
“I have masks if you have to get closer,” York said sternly, ignoring both the question and the soldier’s reaction to the noise the children made. “You’ll need them for your own protection.”
“No, there’s no need for that. I won’t come any closer.”
Although York faced the soldier, his attention was focused on the rear of the truck. It was empty; there were no more men. But more importantly, there was a ten-liter fuel can strapped to the bumper.
“Show us the injured men,” York said, softening his tone.
He and Am
anda followed the soldier past the truck, eyeing the damage, a dented fender and the tree branch resting on the canopy. A German staff car coming from the other direction had collided with it. The car’s bumper and fender were smashed, the right front tire flat.
“What happened?” York asked, scanning the scene.
“A deer ran across the road. The staff car veered, and so did we. I hit the tree and the car crashed into our bumper.”
Two soldiers stood in front of the truck. The driver of the staff car held a bloodied rag to his forehead. Another soldier, apparently the truck passenger, was holding his left wrist. Like the first soldier, both were much too young to be wearing uniforms. York wondered if they were making the transition from Hitler Youth to soldier, like Kurt, Amanda’s stepson.
York limped towards them, leaning on his cane, Amanda just behind him. They examined each soldier quickly, assessing their injuries. The driver of the staff car had a gash on his head, right below the hairline. It was bleeding badly and needed stitches. The passenger in the truck had a broken wrist.
“Amanda, can you see if there’s a first aid kit in the ambulance?” York asked.
As she returned to the vehicle, York noticed the soldiers eyeing him with awe. But he didn’t know why. It wasn’t until they spoke that he realized how highly they regarded a battle-scarred veteran.
“Where were you wounded, sergeant?” the soldier with the broken wrist asked.
“North Africa,” York replied. “I was carrying a wounded comrade on my back, fleeing the enemy, when a machine-gun raked my leg. It’s starting to get stronger, though. I’m hoping I can soon walk well enough to get back to the front.”
Amanda returned with a gray box marked with a red cross. York laid it on the ground by the soldier with the head wound. He rooted through it, finding some cloth and gauze, and small strips with adhesive on each end.
“Here’s some cloth,” York said, handing it to Amanda. “If you wipe the blood away, I’ll apply these strips. That should stop the bleeding for now.”
With Amanda assisting, York managed to close the wound, which was about four centimeters long. The skin around it was swelling and turning purple.
“Where are you stationed?” York asked.
“At a camp about ten kilometers up the road,” the soldier replied.
“You’ll need to get back to your base. Do you have medical personnel there?”
“Yes, we do.”
York looked at the flat tire on the staff car. “You should probably leave the car here for now.”
He moved to the soldier with the broken wrist, searching through the first aid kit, and then frowned. “Amanda, I’m going to see if we have a splint in the ambulance. We have to stabilize this man’s wrist before he can travel.”
Her eyes widened, afraid to be left alone. “I can get it,” she offered.
“No, it’s fine. I’ll only be a minute.”
He left them in front of the truck and walked to the ambulance. He stopped at the rear bumper and, when convinced he couldn’t be seen, he unstrapped the petrol can. It was full. He carried it back to the ambulance, opened the rear doors, and put it in.
“Did Amanda tell you what’s going on?” he asked Erika.
“Yes, when she got the first aid kit. We’ll try to keep the children quiet.”
“I stole this fuel can off their truck. I need a splint or board, maybe twenty centimeters long.”
Erika and the teenager rooted through the ambulance, but found nothing.
“It’s all right,” York said, eyeing the fallen tree branch. “I think Mother Nature can help us.”
He went to the rear of the truck, stepped up on the bumper, and broke a narrow branch off the fallen limb. He then hurried to the front of the vehicle, knowing Amanda was frantic.
“Nothing in the ambulance,” he called as he approached. “But this tree branch should work. We just have to keep it immobile.”
He broke the branch to a more manageable length and placed it against the man’s wrist and forearm. Amanda wrapped cloth around it, tying it tightly.
“This should keep it stationary until you reach camp,” he said to the soldier.
“How do we get the tree limb off the canopy?” one of the soldiers asked.
“I think if you slowly drive forward it will slide off. We’ll clear the road when you’re gone. You can send someone back for the car.”
They all climbed into the truck, squeezing into the front seat. The driver started the vehicle and eased out the clutch, idling forward, his eyes trained on the side mirror.
York stood in the rear, motioning forward with his hand as the driver gradually increased his speed. The fallen branch slipped from the canopy and crashed to the ground. With a last wave from York, and a nod from the driver, the vehicle drove away.
“We have to hurry,” York said, as he and Amanda pulled the limb from the road. “I want to siphon fuel from the car. Then we need to get away before they come back.”
The car’s fuel gauge showed three-quarters full. York parked the ambulance adjacent to the petrol tank and got the rubber siphon hose. He sucked until he tasted petrol, and stuck it in the ambulance’s tank. For five minutes the fuel transferred, the flow gradually slowing and then stopping.
York put both caps on and hurried back to the ambulance. He stowed the hose, started the engine, and drove down the highway.
“How do we get off this road?” he asked Amanda.
She had been studying the map, approximating their position. “They said the camp was ten kilometers away. It looks like the first crossroad is about six kilometers. Turn right, go five kilometers and turn left. If we stay on that road for about twenty kilometers, it merges back with this one, bypassing the camp.”
York shifted gears, urging the vehicle forward. He doubted the Germans suspected their story. But as soon as they found the staff car with an empty fuel tank they would. He covered the six kilometers quickly, and then turned right. He drove quickly, covering another five kilometers before turning left and slowing to a normal rate.
“I’ll drive until we have less than half a tank of petrol,” he said. “Then we’ll pull over in the woods somewhere and sleep. We’ll be more than halfway. But we have to find more petrol. That’s our biggest worry.”
He looked in the side view mirror and saw a troop truck behind them, rapidly approaching.
CHAPTER 69
Manfred Richter sat at a window table in a restaurant on Wannsee Lake, gazing out at the water. Only a handful of customers were scattered about the dining room, the lake less of an attraction in colder weather. But even in late November he could see a few boats in the distance, one with its sail tilted at an angle to catch the wind and propel the vessel forward. He watched it for a moment, wondering how difficult it was to captain a sailboat. He preferred motors. They were much more predictable.
Trees surrounded the lake, but much of the shoreline showed wide expanses of beach that overflowed with people in the summer, enjoying the sun and water. A few houses were visible, mostly mansions or older cottages that had existed for a century or more, peeking from the seclusion offered by the trees. A handful of boathouses similar to his could be seen along the shore, scattered haphazardly into the distance.
He returned to his sausage and sauerkraut, putting another forkful into his mouth. The food was good, even if it was off season, and he had always enjoyed the restaurant. Spread on the table before him, just beyond his plate, was a map of Germany. He looked at it closely while he ate, studying the arteries and veins that crossed it, rivers and roads, routes and rails. Then he put it away and finished his sausage and sauerkraut.
The three men he was waiting for arrived an hour later. He was still sitting at the same table, gazing at the lake, his meal replaced by a mug of beer. The men sat down, no introductions needed since they knew each other quite well, and Richter removed the map from his coat pocket and laid it on the table.
There was a distinct red line dr
awn across it, starting in Berlin and wandering southwestward towards Switzerland. Other lines were marked in blue, but not as heavily, signifying alternate and secondary routes. Each man in turn looked at the map, studying all that was identified, examining the natural terrain as well as the highways, knowing both the starting point and final destination.
“What do you think?” Richter asked. He only asked for opinions when he didn’t want them, just to see who agreed with him.
The apparent leader of the three glanced at his watch and shrugged. “I’m not sure how we lost them.”
“Or why they diverted from the route selected,” said another.
“But you did lose them,” Richter said. “There must be a reason why. I want to know what it is, and I want them found.”
“It could be anything,” the leader said with a helpless shrug. “But at this point it doesn’t matter. We know where their final destination is.”
“No, we don’t,” Richter said, his patience exhausted. “We only know the destination we gave them. But we don’t know the destination they’re seeking.”
The three men were silent, furtively glancing at each other, never quite as insightful as their mentor. They knew how critical the mission was, and they didn’t want to disappoint him, but the solution he sought escaped them.
“For all we know, they could have taken a separate route entirely,” Richter said. “What if they became suspicious and changed the plan? They could be anywhere.”
The third man sighed, knowing Richter could be right, and then spoke. “Although we have no reason to believe that’s the case.”
The muscles of Richter’s face tightened and he turned a faint red. “How do you know for certain? You don’t. You don’t know anything.”
The three men were quiet, considering the consequences, knowing it was futile to argue. It was their leader who finally spoke. “No, you’re right,” he said. “They could be anywhere.”
“They need to be found,” Richter continued. “How do you intend to do that?”
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