Soul Intent

by dennis batchelder

  twenty-eight

  October 1946

  Nuremberg, Occupied Germany

  She saw the overseer at breakfast.

  “How is your mission?” he asked.

  “Under way,” was all Flora could manage. She didn’t look at him, and after a minute of apparently finding nothing to say, he finished his coffee and left the room.

  She met Private Lee back at the same fountain later that morning, and she did her best to smile after he kissed her on the lips.

  “Last night was incredible, Mona,” he said. He put his arms behind him on the fountain ledge and leaned with his face up toward the morning sun. “I haven’t been able to think of anything else.”

  At least they agreed on that, though his thoughts probably weren’t filled with as much despair as hers. “Me too, Steven,” she managed to say.

  Lee reached into his pocket. “Here’s your pen, my lady.”

  As she reached out to grab it, he smiled and jerked it out of her grasp. “It’s going cost you.”

  She steadied her voice. “How much?”

  “Another evening of your time.” He smiled. “Just like last night, but longer.”

  She held out her hand. “Let me see.”

  Flora pulled off the cover and unwrapped the papers. They were unsigned! She looked up at Lee.

  He held a note in his hand. “Goering asked me to give this to you.”

  She took the note. It was written in German, and she read it to herself.

  Fraulein—our mutual soldier friend told me how sweet you taste. I encouraged him to sample you again, as it seemed fair payment for the embarrassment you caused me. I refuse to sign the papers until you help me get from Dr. Stahmer the special medicine I need to hasten my depature.

  “What does it say?” the soldier asked.

  Flora’s mind raced to find a credible explanation. “Herr Goering says he won’t sign until I spend another night with you.” She forced another smile. “He must really like you.”

  Lee grinned. “He sure does.” He laughed out loud. “That dirty old fox!”

  After making plans to meet the soldier in the evening, Flora returned to Soul Identity to speak with Archibald.

  “He must be referring to cyanide,” the overseer said after she relayed Goering’s request. “That seems to be the choice of most of the Nazi leadership.”

  “He deserves to be hung,” Flora said. “If you let him escape the noose by helping him commit suicide, you’ll turn him back into a hero.”

  He shrugged. “I do not care how he dies, so long as he signs the release first.”

  She saw his point. The clock was ticking, and if Goering hung before he signed, Archibald lost, James suffered for nothing, and Baba was as good as dead. They had no choice but to do what the Nazi wanted. “If you get me the cyanide today,” she said, “I’ll have his signature tomorrow.”

  He nodded. “Let me see what I can do.”

  While waiting for Archibald to return with the poison, Flora stopped by Baba’s room. The old lady was sitting by the window, looking at a tiny silver locket. When she saw Flora, she smiled. “Come here and look at my pictures,” she said.

  Flora knelt on the floor and glanced at the photographs inside the locket. One was of a young couple, and the other of a small boy. “Is that you and Zedza?” she asked.

  Baba nodded. “I don’t know how he did it, but one of your grandfather’s old friends found me here in Nuremberg and returned my locket.”

  “Why did this friend have your locket?”

  “Your grandfather took it with him when he went to war. Old Ned must have held onto it for the past thirty years.”

  “Old Ned?”

  Baba smiled. “A dear friend from Australia. Major Edward Callaghan, but your grandfather called him Ned. He’s here for the execution.”

  That was a subject Flora didn’t want to discuss. She tapped the photographs. “Your parents must have had to beat the boys away with a stick.”

  “I wasn’t nearly as pretty as my granddaughter.” Baba pointed at the man. “You’ve got your grandfather’s cheekbones.”

  “Tell me about him.”

  Baba closed her eyes and smiled. “A wild man, my parents said. But Radik was ambitious, and full of high ideals, and always finding ways to get into trouble.” She looked at Flora. “You’re an awful lot like him.”

  “I’ll bet he never got his friends almost killed.”

  “You still blame yourself over James Little, don’t you?”

  Flora nodded and bit her lip.

  “You must stop that,” Baba commanded. “And just so you know, your grandfather made his share of mistakes too.”

  This was new territory. Baba practically worshipped the memory of her long-deceased husband. His name had been invoked many times over the years to convince Flora to study harder, or to act more ladylike. If the great Radovan Drabarni had any flaws, Baba had them well covered with a layer of historical perfection.

  “Mistakes?” Flora asked.

  Baba nodded. “Two big ones that I know about. One of them cost him his job as foreman of the Hungarian opal mines.”

  Flora knew her grandfather had been a miner, but she thought it had been in Australia. “Hungary?”

  “At the time it was Hungary. The mines have since closed. But back in the nineties, your grandfather was in charge of mining the Dubnik opal mines. Until his first mistake.”

  “What did he do?”

  Baba looked out the window for a minute before saying anything. “Radik came home one evening and told me he had just sent a crew down an un-shored tunnel. The mine needed to complete a shipment to Budapest, and they were behind schedule. Your grandfather worried all night about a cave-in.” She stopped and sighed.

  “Did they make it?”

  She shook her head. “We sold everything we had and sent most of our money to the boys’ families. Then we headed to Australia to start afresh.”

  Flora knew the story from there. Among other jobs, her grandfather had been mildly successful in the Australian opal mines. Baba had told her about Flora’s father being born in the underground town of White Cliffs, and how Radovan had volunteered to serve in the Great War, where he was killed by the Turks at Gallipoli. After the war, Baba had returned to her hometown in Istria with her twelve-year-old son.

  “Did he ever forgive himself?” Flora asked.

  “Never,” Baba said. “And for the first two years, he was a nuisance to everybody in White Cliffs. That’s when he made his second big mistake—he tried to steal some opals.”

  “Zedza was a thief?” This was just getting worse.

  “I said he tried to steal, but fortunately Old Ned caught him in his mine before he took anything.” Baba frowned. “The mine collapsed, they both nearly died, and that finally shocked some sense into him. Your grandfather became a great man, Flora, but only after making great mistakes.”

  So her sainted grandfather had his own alternative history. “Why haven’t you told me this before?”

  “Because you weren’t ready to hear it.”

  Both of them were silent for a minute.

  “And now you think I’m ready?” Flora asked. “Now that I’m a failure too?”

  Baba stroked Flora’s hair. “You’ve proven your strength, my child. You’ve shown your convictions are stronger than your desires. Now you must learn from your mistakes and become a great woman.”

  The overseer returned that afternoon. “Dr. Stahmer anticipated my request,” he said. He held out a small brass cylinder a half-inch wide and two inches long. “He retrieved this just last week from one of Mr. Goering’s hiding places.” He unscrewed the top and flipped it over. A green glass capsule fell into his hand.

  “Is that the cyanide?” Flora asked.

  Archibald nodded. “When Mr. Goering bites down on this, he will experience a very painful, but self-inflicted, death.” He slid the capsule back into the cylinder and screwed on the top.

  Flora pul
led out the fountain pen and pulled off the rubber cap. “We’ll have to hide it in here,” she said, pointing to the piston.

  The overseer grasped the piston in his hands and wiggled it loose. He unscrewed the cap and handed it to Flora.

  Flora slid the brass cylinder into the cap and reassembled the pen.

  “It is as if it were meant to be there.” Archibald looked at Flora. “You will deliver this tonight?”

  Flora nodded. “I’ll bring you the signed release tomorrow.”

  After another long evening with Private Steven Lee and another harsh scrub in the bathroom, Flora crept to her bedroom and dreamt of her overseer.

  twenty-nine

  October 1946

  Nuremberg, Occupied Germany

  Flora held the signed release at exactly the height of the overseer’s eyes. She released it, and the paper drifted down and landed on his desktop.

  Archibald picked it up and read it. A smile crossed his face. “You did it, Flora.”

  She had, but at what cost? She shook this thought from her head and forced out a smile. “It was James’s plan.”

  But he didn’t seem to hear. He let out a whoop and jumped out of his chair. He rushed around the desk and hugged Flora, then gave her a big kiss.

  Without even thinking about it, Flora twisted free, lifted her arm, and slapped Archibald Morgan as hard as she could.

  His hand flew up to his cheek.

  Flora took a step back. “Damn you for what you made me do!” she cried. She turned and ran from the room.

  An hour later the overseer knocked on Flora’s open door.

  “Go away,” she said. She lay on her bed facing him.

  “Flora, we must talk.”

  She turned and faced the wall.

  After a minute, she heard him close the door. Relieved, she turned over, and bit back a scream when she saw him standing over her.

  “Flora, I must speak with you.”

  She sighed. “If you must.”

  He sat down on the chair and put his hands on his knees. “I owe you an apology.”

  “You owe me your career.” Maybe even his life.

  At that he was silent. Then he nodded. “You are correct. I do. Your actions have saved me my job, and I am in your debt, Flora.”

  At last he acknowledged this. Too bad it came too late.

  They sat quiet for a long moment. Then he cleared his throat. “Soon everything will go to the depositary, and soon we will go to America.”

  “Can you show me the gold?” she asked.

  He smiled. “You asked just in time. I have not yet sealed the final barrel.”

  She got up, and she grabbed her purse. Maybe she’d get a chance to drug him again.

  Downstairs, Archibald pulled out his chain necklace and selected the larger of the keys. He bent toward the basement door and unlocked it. He pulled on the door handle. It screeched as it opened.

  Flora followed the overseer down the stairs and closed the door behind her.

  When they reached the bottom, he flipped on a light switch and extinguished his flashlight.

  Twelve wooden barrels the size of beer kegs and three long and narrow wooden boxes stood against the far wall. A desk and chair sat in front. The overseer walked over to the last keg and slid off its wooden cover.

  The keg was full of sawdust. He brushed some aside and pulled out a canvas-wrapped, rectangle-shaped object. He grunted as he extended it toward her. “Careful, it is heavy.”

  Flora grabbed it with both hands, and was surprised at the weight when the overseer let go. She hefted it up over the desk and set it down. It made a dull clink.

  Archibald unwrapped the canvas, and the yellow metal gleamed in the light. The bar was about eight inches long, three inches wide, and two inches deep.

  It was hard to believe something so small weighed almost twenty-eight pounds. Flora rubbed the cool metal with just her fingertips. She traced the serial number and date with her fingers, but she avoided the German eagle and swastika. She closed her eyes and thought that part of her father could be inside the bar.

  Not just her father, but parts of each of the millions of slaughtered Jews, Gypsies, homosexuals, priests, and prisoners of war were entombed in that bar of gold. She felt a buzzing in her head, and she swayed with dizziness.

  She opened her eyes. The buzzing stopped. Archibald Morgan stood before her with a solemn expression on his face.

  “You can still do the right thing,” she said.

  He raised his eyebrows. “The right thing is to deposit Mr. Goering’s belongings.”

  She pointed at the wooden boxes. “Those papers are his belongings. But you and I both know he stole the gold.”

  He shook his head. “I am sorry, Flora. The gold must go to the depositary.”

  She grabbed his arm. “You have the power to do something great. Please don’t let that monster steal the gold.” But even as she said the words, she realized she had lost. Archibald Morgan was a man of facts and reason, and she knew he would not be swayed by her emotional arguments.

  He gave her a sad smile as he wrapped the bar in its canvas. “I have the power to do my job, Flora.”

  She watched him bury the bar back in the sawdust. He placed the lid on the keg and nailed it down. He ran a length of red tape through holes drilled above the lid in each of the keg’s staves. When he finished, the tape’s crisscrosses resembled a spider web suspended an inch above the center of the lid.

  The overseer picked up a large metal sealing tool and two small tablets of wax. He held the wax over both sides of the center of the tape, where it all came together, then squeezed it with the tool.

  When he opened the tool’s jaws, the wax remained, attached to the middle of the red tape. “Now we are ready for the depositary team,” he said.

  As he turned around, Flora was ready for him with her hypodermic syringe. She jabbed it into his arm and depressed the plunger.

  He looked at her and at the syringe.

  “Sit down before you fall down,” she said. She guided him to the chair, and he collapsed into it. The sealing tool hit the floor with a clang.

  After a minute he opened his eyes, smiled at her, and then closed them again.

  Had she overdosed him? “Mr. Morgan, are you all right?”

  “Call me Archibald,” he said softly.

  The dose was fine. “Archibald, when is the depositary team coming?”

  “Six days from now, at five in the afternoon,” he said. “I wanted them here sooner, but they said it would take them that long to verify Mr. Goering’s signature on the release.”

  “They’re depositing everything?”

  He nodded. “Then I get to go home.”

  “To much acclaim, I would imagine.” She tried to keep the bitterness out of her voice.

  He smiled. “Yes, this will cement my position as next in line for executive overseer.” He leaned forward. “And then I will do some real good.”

  “What will you do?” Despite her disgust at his self-serving decisions, she was interested in his plans.

  “Transform Soul Identity out of politics and into a smooth-running business,” he said. “There will be no more currying favor, no more plots, and no more subterfuge. I will bring peace to the organization.”

  If she was honest with herself, it did sound good. She could picture Archibald at the helm of Soul Identity, ruling with a firm but fair hand.

  And she’d be right there with him, helping him, guiding him. With her passion and his vision they’d fight together against the evils of the world, and they’d live together happily ever after.

  He reached out and grabbed her hands. “I owe my success of this mission to you, Flora. You are my heroine, and I love you.”

  And then, thinking she could replace her nightmares of the past few months with his dreams of a better tomorrow, she pulled her hands free and wrapped her arms around his neck. Their lips crushed together, seeking each other hungrily.

  She invest
ed herself in that kiss, and as he returned it, she felt her frustration and pain and anger melt away, replaced by a raw hunger. Her body, shamed by Private Steven Lee, responded in new and urgent ways.

  Archibald pulled his head back and stared in her eyes. “Flora…”

  And then she was on the desk but under him, and then they were fumbling with each others’ clothes. A minute later she cried out with joy as he filled her. She wrapped her legs around him and pulled him in even closer. He was the man she wanted; this was the love she needed.

  They held each other when it was over, Archibald stroking her face, Flora kissing his hands. She wished the moment would last forever.

  She sat up with a start. How many minutes had it been? Too long, she was sure. The thiopental might have worn off. She threw off his arm and searched for her purse.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “Getting something,” she said. “Relax for a minute.”

  She refilled the syringe with the remainder of the serum and injected it into his arm. Archibald’s eyes rolled up and he collapsed back on the desk.

  She stood over him and cupped his face in her hands and covered it with kisses. “My sweet, sweet overseer,” she said.

  But only sweet while drugged. Flora knew by now that Archibald Morgan was more interested in his career at Soul Identity than he was in her.

  And to be fair, Flora was more interested in fixing the wrongs of the world than she was in Archibald Morgan. So she took her undergarments and wiped him clean, got them both dressed, and as he slowly woke up, she used everything Baba had taught her about the power of suggestion to help the overseer forget what had happened.

  thirty

  Present Day

  Sterling, Massachusetts