Soul Intent

by dennis batchelder

  Madame Flora gave us a rueful smile. “Did you see that coming?”

  She and Archie doing the wild thing: yes. She and Archie creating one of the world’s great unsolved mysteries: no. “I can’t believe you guys helped Goering kill himself,” I said.

  “He only swallowed the cyanide a few hours before he’d have hung,” she said.

  “And I can’t believe Mr. Morgan had you sleep with Private Lee,” Val said.

  “It wasn’t so bad,” she said. “Besides, if I hadn’t done it with him, I never would have had the nerve to do it with Archibald.”

  I scratched my head. “Are you sure he has no residual memories from that night?”

  “I’m sure.” She smiled. “If he did, he would’ve told me by now, and I would’ve made him pay his share of child support.”

  Whoa—I didn’t see that coming either. “He got you pregnant?”

  “With my only child. Jamie.” She sighed. “Archibald’s only child, too, I would imagine.”

  “Only Mr. Morgan doesn’t know he’s a father,” Val said.

  Madame Flora shook her head. “And you can’t tell him, either.”

  “Are you sure Archie’s the father?” I asked. “What about Private Lee?”

  “Lee used his US Army-supplied condoms,” she said. “My Jamie was definitely Archibald’s son.”

  “Does he know who his father is?” I asked.

  “Jamie died as a journalist in Vietnam forty years ago. I never told him.”

  “Something’s not adding up,” Val said. “How can Rose and Marie be your grandchildren?”

  “They’re really my great-granddaughters,” Madame Flora said. “When Jamie died in Vietnam, his wife ran away and left me their little girl. I raised her as my own daughter.”

  “And she’s the twins’ mother?” I asked.

  Madame Flora nodded. “They don’t know about Archibald either.”

  “When do you plan to tell them?” Val asked.

  “When the time is right.”

  “What are you waiting for?” I asked.

  She smiled. “For us to recover the gold.”

  Somehow I knew she was going to say that. “So you did find a way to hide it,” I said.

  Madame Flora laughed. “Poor Archibald really thought he deposited it, but I fooled him after all.”

  thirty-one

  October 1946

  Nuremberg, Occupied Germany

  Flora waited in the lobby of the Grand Hotel for Major Ned Callaghan to come down from his room.

  Baba had been sure that Callaghan, her grandfather’s best friend and fellow soldier from the Great War, would be happy to help Flora. “Old Ned will enjoy taking the mickey out of Soul Identity,” she said.

  Flora could only hope Baba was right. Without a fake depositary team to receive the gold, her plan would fail.

  She looked up as a middle-aged man with a cane approached her. “Stone the bloody crows, you’re the spitting image of your grandfather,” he said. “Only much prettier.” He passed the cane to his left hand and stuck out his right. “Ned Callaghan.”

  Flora shook his hand. “Flora Drabarni, and thank you for meeting me.”

  “No worries.” He looked around the lobby. “You up for a waltz around town? There’s too many ears here.”

  She nodded, and they headed out into the afternoon sun. The day was bright and the air crisp. They walked to the Gooseherder’s fountain and sat down. Flora tried not to think about last week’s meetings here with Private Lee.

  “Something nagging at you?” Callaghan asked.

  Flora sighed. “Just some bad thoughts.”

  He nodded. “The whole continent is buggered with them.” He laid the cane across his lap. “Your grandmother said you needed my help.”

  “I do.” Now how to start? “Major Callaghan, Baba said you were friends with my grandfather.”

  “Aye, his best mate,” he said. “Your grandfather was a top class fella. I knew him since we mined opals together in White Cliffs.”

  “Were you there when he died?”

  He nodded and looked into the distance. “We were digger mates in the first war.”

  “Digger mates?”

  “Soldiers. They started calling us diggers during Gallipoli.”

  Baba had told her about the senseless slaughter that the Australian and New Zealand soldiers suffered on the Turkish peninsula. “But you survived,” she said. Unlike her grandfather.

  He poked his thumb at his chest. “You’re looking at one of the few who made it all the way from Alexandria to Gallipoli to home. We fought Johnny Turk from April to November,” he said, “and then we tucked our tails between our legs and ran away.”

  “So it was all pointless.”

  Callaghan’s grip on this cane was tight. “Aye.” After a minute of silence, he asked, “Would you like to hear about your grandfather in Gallipoli?”

  She nodded. Baba had not known the details.

  He sat, head bowed, for another moment before starting. “By August most of our men were either blown to bits or dead from dysentery. Your grandfather and I dug a tunnel to the Turks’ front lines and hid there. When the rest of the army attacked, we blew out its roof and rose right out of the ground. We scared the piss out of those buggers.

  “We tricked Johnny Turk every way we could,” he said. He smiled at Flora. “Raddy was one of the best we had. He rigged up automatic firing rifles, hoisted silhouettes of the Kaiser, and even posted scarecrow troops.”

  Major Callaghan sighed. “Then in early November a fierce storm blew in. The water in our canteens froze solid, with us still in summer uniforms. Raddy was one of the few diggers with any snow experience, and he taught the rest of us how to survive.”

  “What happened to him?”

  Callaghan went silent and stared over the rooftops. He swallowed a couple times and pawed at his eyes.

  Flora waited for him to continue.

  “A week before we finally evacuated, a Turk hand grenade bounced into the corner of our trench. One man jumped on it and saved the rest of our lives.” Callaghan looked at her intently. “Your grandfather was a true hero.”

  Flora felt a chill run down her spine.

  Major Callaghan planted the tip of his cane on the ground and stared at it. “I held him in my arms as he died.”

  They sat quietly for a few minutes.

  He turned to look at her. “Did you see your grandmother’s locket?”

  She nodded.

  “Raddy pulled it off his neck and made me promise to return it to your grandmother.” Major Callaghan cleared his throat. “But when I got back to Australia, she had already left for Istria. It wasn’t until this war that I was deployed again in Europe.”

  “You fought in this war?”

  “Commissioned a Major, I was. We sat in Greece until the evacuation, and in 1941 me and me lads were captured at the Battle of Crete. I spent most of the war in different camps—Crete, Greece, Belgrade, and Dresden. At the end we were set loose somewhere behind the Russian Front.” He shook his head. “After VE day, I headed to Istria to find your grandmother. Then I followed your trail to Nuremberg.”

  “And you fulfilled your promise.”

  “Aye. Now Raddy can rest in peace.” He stood up slowly. “My knee needs stretching. Let’s walk while we chin wag.”

  As they headed toward the prison, Flora took his arm. “Major Callaghan, did you know my father?”

  He smiled. “When he was barely walking. A right cute lad, he was.”

  She pointed at the Palais du Justice. “He was killed by those monsters,” she blurted out.

  He glanced at her. “I know, darling. Your grandmother told me.”

  “But it’s worse than that,” she said. “What do you know about Soul Identity?”

  “Not much, I’m afraid. I joined years ago when your grandfather suggested it would help me, but I haven’t stayed with it.”

  “That fat bastard Hermann Goering is now a memb
er.”

  He grunted.

  “We’re supposed to deposit his gold this week,” she said. She gripped his arm. “But it’s not his—that gold was stolen from my father and others, and I need you to help me get it back.”

  He stopped walking and turned to face Flora. “Do you have a plan?”

  She nodded. “But I can’t do it alone.” She explained it to him.

  Major Callaghan scratched his chin. “It sounds doable. But where are you going to stash all that gold? The Art Looting Investigation Unit has found every hidey hole in this country.”

  She grinned. “I know a place you’re going to love.”

  thirty-two

  October 1946

  Nuremberg, Occupied Germany

  It was the afternoon of the fourteenth. The real depositary team was coming in an hour, and Flora was panicking.

  If she didn’t get Archibald out of the house, he’d turn over the gold to the depositary team. She cursed at her own stupidity of using up the remaining thiopental.

  She paced the hallway between the overseer’s office and the front door. What could she do?

  The only solution was to use James. And although it sickened her stomach, she steeled herself with the thought that if he was in his right mind, he’d approve.

  Or maybe he wouldn’t, but after all it was his idea that she sleep with Private Lee. If James Little could exploit her to get his mission accomplished, she could return the favor.

  She climbed the stairs and peeked through a crack in James’s door. He dozed in the bed, his legs still held upright in stirrups. His face and chest were dappled by the late afternoon sunlight.

  Flora tiptoed into the room and closed the door. James stirred, and for a minute she thought he had awoken, but soon his breathing returned to normal.

  She squeezed into the space between the bed’s headboard and the wall. She slipped the pillow out from underneath James’s head, moving slowly and carefully so he didn’t wake up.

  When she had the pillow in her hands, she crept around from the head of the bed and stood along its side, next to the window.

  She threw a glance at the door. Still closed. Now was her chance. She quickly climbed onto the bed rail and flung herself onto his chest. She kneeled on his shoulders and brought the pillow down over his face, pushing hard with both hands to make sure she smothered him properly.

  James’s arms flailed at her, but she twisted back and forth and avoided getting hit. He clawed at the pillow and tried to wrench it away from his face. Flora put all her strength into holding the pillow firm. She spread her legs out and pinned his upper arms with her knees.

  After a minute James’s body stopped writhing. In another half a minute his fingers stopped twitching. Flora lifted the pillow, set it on his chest, and slapped James twice across the face.

  He still wasn’t breathing, so she slapped him again, this time much harder. James gasped for air and convulsed, and she snatched up the pillow and smothered him again.

  This time it only took a few seconds for his body to stop moving. She removed the pillow and slapped him hard on both cheeks. James started breathing again, but he lay still.

  Flora slid the pillow back under his head. She rolled off of him and stood on the floor on the side closest to the door, her chest pounding. She looked at James lying helpless, and she reached out and caressed his forehead. Could she really go through with this?

  She could. She had to. She took a deep breath, grabbed his right wrist, and pulled. But she was unable to shift him. She’d have to roll him. She reached across his chest and grabbed his left arm, planted her foot against the bed, and pulled with all her might.

  James rolled toward her. She went around to the other side of the bed and pushed against his shoulders.

  His body teetered on the edge of the mattress before it fell. The side of his head hit the floor with a sickening thud. His legs remained twisted, tied to their stirrups and weights.

  Flora rushed around the bed and back to the door. She slipped out and closed the door behind her. She stood still and willed the hammering in her chest to subside. What had she just done?

  She opened the door a crack and let out a scream that echoed through the house. “Mr. Morgan, come quickly!”

  The overseer ran up the stairs and into James’s room. “What happened?”

  Flora threw up her arms. “I just opened the door, and there he was!”

  He knelt beside James and put his hand on his chest. “At least he is breathing.” He stood up and untied James’s legs. “Help me pull him forward.”

  She grabbed James’s arms and pulled him enough so Archibald could get his feet onto the floor.

  “We must get him to a doctor,” the overseer said. Together they got James down the stairs, out the door, and sprawled across the back seat of the Jeep.

  Then he climbed behind the wheel. He turned to Flora. “Hurry and get in.”

  That wouldn’t work—she needed to stay at the house. “The depositary team is coming,” she said. “Let me take James to the infirmary, and you can meet with them.”

  He shook his head. “James is more important than the deposit.”

  Exactly what she was hoping he’d say.

  He pointed at the door. “Stay here, and when they come, tell them to return tomorrow afternoon.” He flipped on the ignition, shifted into gear, and sped away.

  Flora spent the next ten minutes practicing the overseer’s signature in his office. She heard the sounds of a truck engine, and she peeked out the front room’s window. A green flatbed truck had parked against the curb, and three men in green uniforms walked toward her.

  It was a shame she no longer had the camera to capture the details of their uniforms. She committed them to memory instead. At the very least, Major Callaghan would need to know where to sew the Soul Identity logo and the nametags.

  She opened the front door. One steel-haired man wearing square glasses and carrying a briefcase stood between two young men.

  “May I help you?” she asked.

  The man in glasses stepped forward. “Overseer Morgan, bitte.” He spoke in German with a light Swiss accent.

  “You are the Soul Identity depositary team?”

  He nodded. “I am Herr Burri.”

  “Overseer Morgan sends his regrets, but one of his employees needed emergency medical care.” The truth was the easy part—now for the lie. “He asked me to represent him in the transaction.”

  The men looked at each other. Then the older man nodded his head. He looked at her expectantly.

  What was he waiting for?

  Burri cleared his throat. “You are to ask me for the password, fraulein.”

  She shook her head. “I’m sorry, but Mr. Morgan left in such a rush, he may not have given me the full details.”

  He nodded. “I understand.” He stood still, his mouth taught.

  After another moment of silence, she realized it was her turn to speak. “Very well, what is the password, please?”

  “Passion.” He said this in English.

  She nodded. “That is correct. Please come inside.”

  Burri shook his head. “Nein, fraulein. We must follow procedure. Please provide me your password first.”

  “My password?” Flora felt a rise of panic.

  He sighed. “Without verifying your password, we cannot accept any proxy deposits. Surely you know this.”

  She nodded. “I do. I’m sorry—I’m overwhelmed with concern for our employee. Let me get my thoughts organized.”

  He nodded and shifted his briefcase from one hand to the other.

  She had to calm down and think. Passion—why would Archibald use a word like that?

  The overseer would have chosen passwords that others couldn’t guess, based on information only he knew. So if she was going to figure it out, she had to think like him.

  Maybe the password was ‘Flora’. The drugged Archibald did say that he was in love with her passion.

  She loo
ked at Burri. “How many tries do I get?”

  “One.” He wore a stern expression on his face. “Maybe we should come back tomorrow?”

  “No! Just give me a minute to remember.”

  She realized it couldn’t be ‘Flora’. She would be standing next to the overseer if he was here, and she couldn’t imagine an un-drugged Archibald putting himself in a situation where he would say her name. He was too careful to expose himself like that.

  What could it be? If Archibald was in love with her passion, what did he love about himself?

  Then she smiled. “Vision,” she said.

  Burri smiled back. “Sehr gute, fraulein. Let us go inside to complete the paperwork. My men will wait here.”

  Flora led Burri down the hallway and into the overseer’s office. “Please have a seat,” she said. She sat behind Archibald’s desk and folded her hands. “Are there any other formalities?”

  Burri opened his briefcase. “Overseer Morgan told me to be prepared for as many as three boxes and twelve barrels. I have brought the requisite custom forms for you to complete.” He laid the forms on the desktop.

  “I’m afraid our client has had a change of heart," she said. “Only a single item, our client’s journal, will be deposited.” She pulled an open envelope containing her journal out of the drawer and slid it toward Burri.

  He removed the journal from the envelope and examined it. “Then there is no need for customs forms. I will write you a receipt.” He removed a paper-bound book from his briefcase and opened it on the desk. He placed a sheet of carbon paper under the first page and a sheet of cardboard under the second.

  Burri held his pen above the page and looked up at her. “One journal, handwritten. Yes?”

  Flora nodded.

  He wrote onto the form, then looked up again. “What is the soul identity of your client?”

  She steadied her voice. “Soul identity?”

  The older man sighed. “Fraulein, in order for the journal to reach your client’s collection, you must provide us with your client’s soul identity. It is a number.”

  “Where do I find this number?” she asked.

  He stared at her. “Does your client have a membership card?”