by Neil Maresca
“Where is the Countess?” he asked in Hungarian, but Petra couldn’t understand, so all she did was cry and beg for her life in a language that he could not understand. László had no intention of killing her, but she was completely hysterical, and when he was unable to calm her any other way, he put a bullet in her head and left the apartment.
Sasha arrived at the rendezvous point a little earlier than planned, but so had Father Márton. He was sitting in a small chair opposite a couch that was covered with boxes.
“It’s a good thing I got here early,” he said. “The shops sent the packages sooner than I had instructed. I guess they thought that earlier was better than later.”
“Just as well,” Sasha said. “I told Petra that I had to go fetch Lukas to satisfy Von Piehl’s curiosity. She believed me because she knows that he had insisted on my bringing Lukas to the apartment this evening. But I don’t know how long that excuse will hold. So the sooner we get started, the better.”
Sasha went through the packages, complementing Márton for a job well done. She changed from her expensive mourning gown into more modest traveling clothes, but not before removing all the gems she had sewn into her garment. She and Márton then packed satchels for her and Lukas, took a last look around the apartment, and left for the station.
Schengel had no choice but to leave the search in the hands of his underlings and report back to Von Piehl, who, he discovered, had gone to the Excelsior Hotel to meet with the Countess. Schengel cooled his heels in the General’s office for a long time before his patience gave out and he went to the hotel and questioned the General’s driver who reported that Von Piehl had entered the premises two hours earlier, but had not exited.
“Is he all right?” Schengel asked. “Have you heard from him?”
“No, the driver answered, “but do you want to disturb him while he is with the Countess?”
Schengel cursed. Something needed to be done, but the driver was right. No one was going to interrupt the General’s supposed liaison with the Countess. It wasn’t until the next day that Schengel discovered Von Piehl’s and Petra’s bodies, and by that time Sasha and Father Márton were in Opatija sharing a happy reunion with Ambrose and Lukas.
Chapter 21
May, 1944
Mountains North of Zagreb, Croatia
For the first time in a long time, László Farkas was happy. He was drunk too, but that wasn’t really his fault. All day long his comrades had been coming by and toasting him with whatever drink they happened to have available, mostly home-brewed slivovitz. He was a hero, maybe not as great a hero as the man who shot the Tsar and his family, but a hero nonetheless. Even Marshall Tito, the leader of the communist resistance fighters stopped by to congratulate him.
When László left the Excelsior hotel after killing Von Piehl and Petra, he was not pleased. He had no idea who those two people were, but they were not the two he had wanted to kill. The Countess and her little brat had escaped him. He had, once again, failed in his mission. Dunayevsky would not be happy once he heard of it, and he would surely hear of it. Dunayevsky heard everything.
László closed the door to the Countess’ apartment and retraced his steps down the back staircase to the servants’ entrance where he found the Snake’s man waiting for him. Neither man spoke for the entire two days that it took to reach the communists’ stronghold in the mountains. László arrived in the camp tired and depressed, but was almost immediately greeted with smiles, claps on the back, and an overabundance of slivovitz. He had no idea what anybody was saying, or why they were treating him so well.
Eventually, the soldiers found someone who could speak Hungarian to translate for them. He told László that he was a great hero for having assassinated a hated SS general right in the middle of the grandest hotel in Zagreb. According to this man, László walked up the front steps of the hotel right past a platoon of SS troopers, killed the general and walked right back out the front door in complete disregard of the troopers. László didn’t feel it necessary to correct the story, nor to tell the man that the general was not his intended target. If they wanted to think of him as a hero, then so what? He did kill the general, didn’t he? The story seemed to grow a little with each telling, and soon László himself was describing how he shot his way in and out of the hotel, and confronted the general who begged on his knees for mercy before being mercilessly dispatched by a bullet between his eyes. He told the story so many times that he came to believe it himself. László was enjoying his new-found fame. People looked up to him and respected him. He was welcome at every campfire, and never left hungry—or sober. But after a couple of days of celebration, his failure began to gnaw away at him. Images of the Countess and Lukas began to drift in and out of his drunken fog, laughing at him, tormenting him. They lived! And it galled him. It ate away at his happiness, made a mockery of his new-found fame. He knew he was no hero, despite what everyone said, and it turned the slivovitz to dust in his mouth.
So, one day he went to his translator and asked to get a message to The Snake. He had unfinished business, he explained—and it was time to get back to work.
The quartet of refugees had arrived in Trieste on the evening train and made straight for the apartment Father Márton had arranged for them through his Jesuit connections in the city. Trieste was a major port and an international city. It had been part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire before World War I but had been awarded to Italy following Austria’s defeat. It sat on the Adriatic coast, closer to Zagreb than to Rome, and between its history and geography, it was equal parts Austrian, Slovakian, Croatian, and Italian. The Germans had made it the main base for their Adriatic fleet, and with the collapse of Mussolini’s government the year before, had taken control of the city’s administration, but they didn’t get along well with the Italians, who resented their presence. The result was a largely dysfunctional civil system.
It was safe—for a short time. There were so many spies and informers in Trieste that newcomers were immediately noted and reported to the local authorities. On the other hand, there were so many people coming and going, and the locals so lethargic and corrupt, that very little was ever done to follow up on any of the reports. Sasha, Lucas, Ambrose and Father Márton were most certainly noted and reported, probably by several sources, but all this did was to multiply the number of differing reports about the same people, making the job of the officials more difficult, even if they had a mind to investigate them, which in most cases they didn’t.
There were exceptions however. If a high-ranking German official expressed an interest in a specific person, then the local authorities were forced to act, which is what happened shortly after Schengel discovered General Von Piehl’s and Petra’s bodies.
The double murder sent ripples of fear and outrage throughout the Croatian government. The bold assassination, presumably by an agent of the communist resistance, of an SS General in a luxury suite of the Hotel Excelsior had to be dealt with swiftly. The German high command wanted to round up a hundred civilians and execute them in the public square in retaliation, but the Croats resisted, although they did conduct a massive roundup of suspected communist sympathizers, which, ironically, did not include The Snake.
As the person most familiar with the case, Schengel was placed in charge of the investigation and informed that it had the highest priority, all the resources of the Third Reich were at his disposal, and Hitler expected results. This was a great honor, but the Hauptsturmführer also realized it was a great risk. Succeed, and his career was ensured, fail, and he would be the next in line for execution.
What Schengel found at the Excelsior puzzled him. His training enabled him to immediately reconstruct the scene: Von Piehl shot twice in the chest from close range while striding forward, and the woman shot at point blank range while on her knees, probably begging for her life. Interviews with the hotel staff established that the Countess had left by the back staircase, exiting through the servants’ entrance some time before th
e General entered the hotel through the main lobby. So the Countess was in the clear, but what about the priest? His whereabouts at the time of the shooting were unknown, but Schengel considered it extremely unlikely that he would have killed the woman—the General, possibly, but not the woman. And why would the Countess want the General dead? And why was the General so interested in the Countess? Von Piehl had ordered him to follow the priest and locate the child, but why? Von Piehl was ambitious. Schengel was certain that he was on to something important, but he had kept it to himself so he wouldn’t have to share the glory with anybody else. Well, Schengel thought, he paid for his ambition with his life. Serves him right.
The murders looked like the work of a professional—up to a point. Whoever he was, he was smart enough to move unseen in and out of the hotel, and he must have used a silencer because no one reported hearing any shots, but the presence of the woman must have been a surprise, and what kind of assassin allows a witness to get down on her knees and beg for her life? Schengel didn’t know what to make of it, but he was certain of one thing, the Countess was in it up to her neck. Find her, he thought, and I find my assassin.
Schengel was thorough. He ordered the Excelsior shut down, and prohibited any of the guests from leaving until they had all been thoroughly interrogated. He also ordered the detention of the entire staff, and even had the General’s security guard questioned. He then issued orders to all the police and security forces in Croatia, and all Gestapo offices within 100 miles, to be on the lookout for a large Jesuit priest traveling with a woman and a child, and possibly a fourth, unidentified, accomplice. He ordered that every church, convent, and monastery be scoured. When he was satisfied that he had overlooked nothing, he conducted a search of General Von Piehl’s office, where he found two folders uppermost on his pile of paperwork; one, a thick report from the Gestapho in Budapest, contained detailed information on Count Mihal Károlyi de NagyKárolyi, his family, and his assassination; the second, a doubly-thick report stamped ‘Top Secret” contained information on Admiral Horthy’s attempted peace treaty with the Allies, along with the reports of British naval activity in the Adriatic off the coast of Opatija. But oddly, it also contained Sasha and Lukas’ official Hungarian travel documents, stamped with Admiral Horthy’s personal seal.
He found it all fascinating. He was like a bloodhound, trained to follow orders; convinced that he was a member of the master race, and that the Reich was invincible, he had been able to put aside the worsening war news as only temporary. Things would improve, he believed, as soon as the Jews were exterminated. And because he believed all of this, he operated in blind obedience, never asking questions or challenging the authority of those above him in the chain of command. But now, for the first time, sitting in the General’s chair and looking through the reports that littered his desk, he began to catch the scent of a new reality.
While Schengel was sorting through Von Piehl’s papers, Ambrose and Lukas were frolicking in Trieste’s farmers’ market. Sasha had never prepared a meal in her life, not even breakfast, and Father Márton despite his large, muscular frame, was indifferent toward food. Lukas was, of course, too young to have any idea about how to cook, so the job of making dinner fell to Ambrose, who attacked it, as he did everything else, with a great deal of enthusiasm and good humor. He began by taking Lukas to the market. Even in the middle of a war, the Trieste farmers’ market was filled with carts, stands, and produce. And even though it didn’t come close to matching pre-war standards, it was still magical for Lukas, awakening childhood memories of the country estate and the small village attached to it. Because of the war, he had spent most of the past year indoors or under the close scrutiny of Father Márton. Today, he was in the company of his new veliki brat, big brother, and was having the time of his life, poking through all the stands, begging Ambrose for candies and other goodies that he would not have dared to ask for had he been in the company of Father Márton.
Sasha sat in the small apartment staring out the window, watching for her son to appear, worried sick that he might have been recognized, or arrested, or even worse, killed. She need not have worried. Ambrose and Lukas blended in perfectly with all the other shoppers at the market. It was Father Márton she should have been concerned about. Schengel’s arrest order contained a detailed description of the Jesuit—the only one of the four that he had seen, and while the Italian officials in Trieste were not overly interested in the murder of an SS General and the arrest of a refugee family, the Gestapo was. Consequently, when Father Márton entered the Jesuit church, Gestapo agents, who had placed all religious institutions in Trieste under surveillance, were watching.
Márton’s Jesuit friends had chosen the apartment well. It sat on a corner just off the Piazza dell’Unita, and offered a clear view of the square and the street leading into it. From where Sasha was sitting, she could see Father Márton as he entered the square diagonally across from the apartment building. She could also see what he could not—two black-coated men following not far behind. The Gestapo did not conduct undercover operations. They took pride in the fear that their black jackets provoked and didn’t worry about being inconspicuous; in fact, they preferred being noticed, so Sasha knew immediately who was following Márton, and what she had to do.
She raced down the two flights of stairs and out the door, reaching the square while Father Márton was less than halfway across it. She took a moment to compose herself and then began walking directly toward Márton, but making no gesture of recognition. Márton was at first puzzled, but immediately realized that something was wrong, and continued to walk past Sasha without greeting her. As they passed each other, Sasha whispered gestapo without glancing up. She walked a little further before stopping at a flower stall. Márton also continued walking, right past the apartment building and on into the center of Trieste. After several turnings, he came to a Capuchin monastery. He entered the adjoining church, found a convenient corner to hide, and waited until the SS men had lost themselves among the chapels before leaving and making his way back to the apartment.
Ambrose and Lukas arrived shortly after, all smiles and laughter, their arms filled with packages, expecting to be greeted with smiles in return. Instead, Sasha hugged Lukas tightly, bravely holding back tears, while Father Márton stared gravely at Ambrose.
“I was followed,” he said in response to Ambrose’s questioning look. “By the Gestapo.”
“How? So soon?”
“I don’t know. Maybe it was some sort of coincidence. They weren’t interested in the Countess. They walked right past her. I don’t know what their interest in me might be. If General Von Piehl sent them, they would have been after her, not me. But in any case, this complicates matters. I can’t be seen on the street. Someone else will have to go out in my place to make arrangements for the next step of the journey.”
“I will do it,” the Countess said. “As you saw, they are not interested in me.”
“No, I can’t let you take that risk. Besides, you don’t speak Croatian, Italian, or Latin, and you would need at least one.”
“I speak all three,” Ambrose said. “And I’m sure I wasn’t recognized. I had my head buried as low as I could get it in that boat, and the Germans were high on the hill.”
“What about the monks?”
“They took a vow of silence. I doubt the Germans could convince them to break it. They would rather die as martyrs rather than endanger their immortal souls by breaking such a solemn vow.”
“Then it is you, Ambrose. We three will stay here until it is time to leave. Now, let us see what you have in those bags.”
Ambrose proudly displayed the contents of the bags, which consisted mostly of potatoes and vegetables, but also included one hen so scrawny that it made the Countess laugh.
“That is the worst-looking hen that I have ever seen,” she said.
“I had to fight five housewives to get it,” Ambrose said. “Meat of any kind is hard to find these days. It all goes to fe
ed the Germans.”
“They will need it,” Father Márton said. “There is good news. The allies have landed on the coast of France, and here in Italy, they have broken through the Gustav Line. The Germans have abandoned Rome. The Americans are expected to enter the city within days. Mussolini is in hiding.”
“This is wonderful news!” the Countess exclaimed.
“Yes and no,” Father Márton replied. “It means we will be crossing a battle zone as we work our way across northern Italy to the Swiss border, and most of the fighting will be going on between Germans and Partisans.”
“Lovely,” Ambrose said. “We have a choice between Nazis and communists.”
“Why can’t we just stay here and wait until the war is over?” asked Lukas who disliked and feared both the Nazis and the communists. Moreover, he liked Trieste and had enjoyed spending the day with Ambrose.
“Because, dear,” his mother replied, “the war will catch up to us here as well, and sooner or later we will be faced with the same problems. Lukas, I know this is difficult for you to understand, but we are being hunted like animals, and if we are to survive, we must keep moving. If we sit still, they will eventually find us. Do not think that they will ever stop trying to kill us.”
Lukas understood more than his mother realized. It was true that he did not completely comprehend why they were being hunted, but he had seen the look in László’s eyes when he turned the gun on him, and there was no misunderstanding that.
When Lukas did not respond, Márton returned to the subject of their escape “I have made arrangements with church officials for our safe conduct through Italy,” he said. “I can’t be sure that everything is still in place, but our best path to safety still remains through Italy into Switzerland. We should be safe here for a few days while Ambrose goes in my stead to finalize the plans.”