TOO LATE. WE HAVE YOUR LITTLE RAT FRIEND.
“Yaakov!” Mason yelled and ran out the door.
* * *
Abrams pounded the steering wheel and cursed as he raced toward town. “We should have hog-tied Yaakov to his bed. How are we going to find him in a town this size?”
“We’re not going to find him. Right now we have to get to Yaakov’s family before the killers do. Yaakov’s probably being tortured as we speak, and could have given away their hiding place by this time. We may already be too late.”
Abrams cursed again as he renewed his assault on the steering wheel. “If Yaakov is dead, I’ll kill them all.”
“You sure you’re up for this?” Mason said firmly.
Abrams nodded and pressed on the accelerator. Mason gave him directions that took them in a circuitous route, all the time checking the mirrors and looking behind. Satisfied that they weren’t being followed, Mason had Abrams park in the alley behind the bookshop.
After a visual sweep of the area, they went to the back door. It took several knocks to persuade the shop’s owner, Isaac, to answer. He looked terrified at the sight of two men in uniform until Mason reminded him that they had been with Yaakov the day before. “Is the family still here?” he asked.
Abrams said something in Yiddish, which elicited another terrified look on Isaac’s face. He said in German, “Follow me.”
Mason and Abrams followed Isaac up the stairs. Isaac knocked on the door in a code.
The door opened a crack, then fully. A tall man with dark hair and thin beard stood at the doorway. The man was Yaakov’s brother, Berko. He displayed the same terrified look as Isaac when he saw Mason and Abrams. Isaac introduced them and said that they had been there to see Yaakov the previous day. Berko let them in. Yaakov’s pregnant wife, Helena, let out a soft cry when she saw Mason and Abrams. Berko spoke softly to Helena in Yiddish. The entire family gathered in the small living room and looked expectantly at the two investigators.
“Yaakov has not come home for hours,” Berko said in English. “We urged him not to go out, but he said he had to retrieve the bulk of the money he’d earned on the black markets.” He threw his hands up in worry and frustration. “And he wouldn’t tell any of us where that was. Why did he have to do that? We could have gotten along fine without it.”
Mason lowered his voice so the others wouldn’t overhear. “Berko, we have to get you and your family out of here quickly. This place is no longer safe.”
“Where is Yaakov?” Helena demanded with rising panic in her voice. “We can’t leave without Yaakov.”
Berko spoke to Helena in a reassuring voice, though Mason could tell she sensed the worst had happened. “He can join us later,” Berko said. “We’ll make sure he knows where we are.” He issued quiet commands in Yiddish.
The family immediately went to work, gathering clothes hung out to dry, the children’s things, a bundle of food. The children looked bewildered but displayed no tears. They were obviously used to being pushed from one place to another, and a few of the children were old enough to remember the war, the fear, and the idea that you ran to stay alive.
Mason turned to Isaac. “Could you please go downstairs and watch the street? Warn us immediately if you see anyone or anything suspicious.”
“How are we going to fit everyone in one car?” Abrams asked.
“We can manage,” Berko said. “We take only what we need.”
“When it’s safer, we’ll make sure you get the rest of your things,” Mason said.
“Do you already have a place to go?” Abrams asked.
“Yaakov had a plan for this kind of emergency. A small maintenance shed in the mountains.”
“Maintenance shed?” Mason said. “You can’t live more than a few days isolated like that. It’s snowing up there.”
“It was a last resort,” Berko admitted.
Mason shook his head. “I know a better place.” He noticed Abrams’s puzzled expression and said to him, “She said if we needed a safe place . . .”
Abrams smiled and nodded. In ten minutes everyone had a bundle to carry. Helena tried to keep a brave face for the children, encouraging them and making it an adventure—flight took precedence over grief. Mason carried the smallest child and a bundle as he led the way down the stairs. Berko removed the mezuzah from the door frame and put it in his pocket.
Halfway down, Isaac ran up to them. “There are four men out front, and they have guns.”
TWENTY-THREE
Mason ordered the family back upstairs, but Berko came down a moment later carrying an old shotgun. “I will help,” he said.
“You know how to use that thing?”
Berko nodded as he panted with fear.
“Then stay on the bottom step and cover us,” Mason said. “They could come from the front or back, so be ready.”
They descended the stairs into the narrow hall that led to the front of the shop, an office, and the back door. Mason had Abrams watch the back door, using the office doorway for cover. Mason had Berko stand on the last step of the stairs and crouch behind the return wall. He then crept up to the curtain dividing the hallway from the front of the shop and peered through the gap. The bookshelves obscured a full view of the front shop window, but looking between the tops of the books and the bottom of the shelves, he could make out two men dressed in black moving toward the alley.
Mason looked at Abrams and signaled that one or two were heading toward the back. He then bent low, slipped through the curtain, and slid behind the first row of bookshelves. From there, he had a better view of what was going on outside.
Two men with black stocking caps pulled down over their faces stood by the front door and right-side window. Mason guessed they were waiting for the other two to get into position, with the plan to rush in at the same time. This portion of the street contained stores that had closed at seven P.M., so there was little traffic. The men could enter with little worry of witnesses.
Mason figured the two men going around back would notice the army sedan and take a few moments to check it out. He hoped the presence of the vehicle would be enough to discourage them, but in that same instant, the men in front pulled out submachine guns from their long coats and glanced around one last time.
Mason aimed his .45 at the one standing by the window. “Military police! Drop your weapons and put your hands up. My gun is trained on you.”
The man jumped aside, using the door frame as a block. Mason held his fire so as not to reveal his position. He aimed at the door. That was when the two opened fire, blindly spraying the room.
From the other side of the curtain, Mason heard someone kicking in the back door. Then two gunshots in rapid succession. He knew the sound well: a .45 Colt automatic—Abrams’s gun. A man cried out in pain. The second man in the back opened fire with an automatic pistol.
That exchange prompted the two men in front to charge. But instead of going through the door, one leapt through the window. Mason fired and missed the first man, but when the second attempted the same thing, Mason was ready. He fired again, hitting the man’s thigh. The man jerked in midair and wailed in pain, then landed hard on the sidewalk.
Mason raced to the opposite shelf, just as the first man fired at his previous position. Books exploded. The wooden shelf splintered. Book pages, ripped to shreds, floated in the air.
Mason stayed low and moved to the far end of the shelf. The first man stopped firing, and a moment of silence passed before another round of firing came from the back. A deafening boom followed—Berko’s shotgun.
In front, the wounded man continued to wail in pain, and his companion yelled in English for him to shut up—American English.
Abrams came out noisily from the back.
“Get down!” Mason yelled.
A burst of machine gun fire erupted from the front. Wood,
glass, and paper sprayed out like mini explosions. Mason went up on his knees to see if Abrams was hurt, but the movement gave his position away. Immediately, the shooter brought his machine gun fire to bear on Mason. Bullets buzzed narrowly over his head.
A moment later the firing ceased, followed by the sound of footsteps on broken glass. The men were making their escape. With one last spray from the machine gun, the men ran for their car.
Mason and Abrams rushed to the front as the assailants’ car sped away. Mason checked Abrams and saw blood on his coat. “Were you hit?”
“That’s the other guy’s blood.”
Mason sighed with relief. “We only have a few minutes before the MPs arrive. Let’s go.” He pulled a breathless Abrams toward the curtain.
“Aren’t we going to wait for them?”
“I don’t want anyone to see this family or have any idea where we’re going.”
Mason picked up his spent shells and instructed Abrams to do the same. When he entered the back hallway, he saw Abrams staring at the dead assailant.
“I shot him,” Abrams said in a weak voice.
Mason gently urged Abrams toward the stairs. “Come on. You did the right thing. These men were coming to kill Yaakov’s family.”
Berko was already up in the apartment barking orders at the shocked and weeping women and children. Once again they gathered the bundles and hurried down the stairs. It took some urging to get them past the dead man. Mason made sure everyone, including Abrams, was settled in the car before returning to the hallway. Isaac sat on the stairs in shock. Mason turned the corpse on its back, pulled up the black ski mask, and shined his flashlight on the face. Just as Mason thought: one of the Poles from the Casa Carioca. “I’m sorry for all this,” Mason said to Isaac. “The MPs will arrive in a few minutes. Say nothing about us or Yaakov’s family being here. Just tell them to search the hospitals for a man with a gunshot wound in his thigh. You saw nothing else.”
Isaac nodded.
* * *
What do you want?” Richard was not happy. Not happy to answer the door after eleven P.M. Not happy to answer it in his bathrobe. And sure as hell not happy to see Mason there, let alone Abrams and eight apparent refugees.
“Sir—” Abrams was cut off when Laura spoke behind him.
“Richard, what is it?”
Richard stepped aside to let Laura have a look for herself. “What is all this?”
Mason shrugged as an apology. “I know you offered Gil and me safe shelter, but this family needs your help.”
“Of course,” Laura said. “Come in.”
Richard grumbled, “Laura . . .”
Laura ignored Richard’s protest and stepped aside. Mason ushered the family indoors, while Richard fixed his stare on Mason. In any other circumstances, Mason would have met the glare with equal contempt, but for the sake of the family, and Laura, he kept his eyes on the family as they gathered in the living room.
The men removed their hats and faced Laura. With one last sigh of exasperation, Richard disappeared down the hallway leading to the bedrooms. The baby started to cry, but the rest remained silent. In the car, Mason had told the family about Otto’s body and the note indicating that the killers had probably abducted Yaakov. Helena could have thrown a tantrum, blaming Mason, blaming all Americans for putting Yaakov in harm’s way, and though her eyes had conveyed that message, she had remained silent. Mason couldn’t blame her; he had, perhaps, pushed Yaakov too hard, or underestimated the ruthlessness of the killers.
Laura smiled at the children and asked Mason, “Is this the family you asked me to help?”
Mason nodded and introduced them all, telling Berko and Helena that Laura was the person who would try to contact someone in the Jewish Brigade. They nodded their heads and softly expressed their gratitude. Mason then explained to Laura why he had brought them there. “I know this is going to be hard on you,” Mason said, “but we had no other choice.” Mason said to Berko, “I have no delicate way of saying this, but you will only be able to stay here a few days at most. If Laura is unable to make contact within that time, I think you should reconsider going to the Jewish DP camp in Feldafing.”
“What has changed?” Berko asked. “Is it not as likely that they will find us there? I am determined to carry out Yaakov’s dream for us all to go to Palestine. He has sacrificed everything for that. Thank you, but we will take our chances. I will find another place.”
Berko turned to Laura. “We promise not to be a burden. And we can help around the house. Helena and Olga are excellent cooks. I can do repairs. Whatever you need.”
“Don’t worry about that now,” Laura said. “I’m glad to help out. You all must be exhausted and in shock. Fortunately we have two extra bedrooms you can use. Let me show you.”
Mason and Abrams waited in the living room while Laura helped the family settle in for the night. A few minutes later, Laura came back to join them.
“I know you told me we should keep our distance. . . .” Mason shrugged. “Sorry about all this. I hope it’s not going to cause a problem with Richard.”
“He’s slowly getting used to my form of insanity,” Laura said and looked at Mason with a tender expression he hadn’t seen since their affair in Munich. “You’ll never cease to amaze me. Just like helping those orphans in Munich. You’re whacking someone over the head one moment, and the next moment, this.”
They held each other’s gaze for a moment, until Abrams cleared his throat.
“I promise they’ll only be here a few days,” Mason said.
“They can stay as long as they need,” Laura said.
“I told Yaakov’s wife and brother that Yaakov has been taken by the killers, and that, chances are, he’s not coming back. It’s the same people, Laura. I told Yaakov to stay put, but he went out, and they found him, just like that. As hard as it might be, the family has to stay inside and out of sight. You, too.”
She nodded. “Find them, Mason. Find them, and if there’s no other way, put them in a deep, dark hole.”
TWENTY-FOUR
Mason and Abrams left Laura’s and descended the hill into town. Abrams had fallen silent. Mason knew why. “Have you shot anyone before?”
Abrams took a moment as if coming out of a deep thought. “Once. Maybe. Our squad of MPs entered a German village ahead of the regular troops. The town had surrendered without a fight, but there was a sniper in the church bell tower. We all fired at him, and someone got him, but no one really knew who.”
“It’s different when the man is right in front of you.”
“I’m fine, okay? Let’s leave it at that.”
“You shot because you had to. Period. I don’t want you brooding over this, because the next time you might hesitate, and you’ll be the one on the ground.”
“Did you ever shoot anyone up close?”
“A few times. Then there were a few times I should have and didn’t. Right now, I regret those more.” He said the last sentence with force, and he turned a hard left on the steering wheel.
“Where are we going?” Abrams asked. “The bookshop is the other way.”
“No more regrets.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“I should have shot Volker and Schaeffer last night in Schaeffer’s office. Right there where they sat, right in the teeth of their smart-assed smiles.”
“You’re insane, you know that?”
“For some time now.”
“Pull your shit together. You’re not going to march in there and kill Schaeffer. All that’s going to accomplish is putting your neck in a noose. Whatever guilt you feel about Yaakov is not going to be solved by gunning down that scumbag. There’s still a slim chance that Yaakov got away, or we can track them down in time to save him. Turn the car around, and go back to the bookshop.”
“You said it yourself
: You want to kill whoever took Yaakov. Now here’s your chance.”
“Turn the damn car around!”
“You giving a superior officer an order?”
“Damn right I am. When you’re acting like a crazed fool. We get the evidence, and we watch them hang.”
Mason eased the accelerator, bringing the sedan back down to normal speed, but he stayed on course. He looked at Abrams: still green, still so young, not hammered by war and loss. It was like looking at a mirror that reflected Mason’s own youth, a time before. . . . Maybe he could still hold on to some of those qualities. Maybe he could rein in some of the rage and remember his humanity. At that moment, he was glad Abrams sat across from him.
Mason turned the car around and headed back to the center of town.
They pulled up to Isaac’s bookshop ten minutes later. Two jeeps, an ambulance, and an olive-drab sedan sat at odd angles in front of the shattered shop window. A bevy of MPs stood around in a circle and stared at something on the pavement. The headlights of the vehicles cut through the darkness and were aimed at the same spot.
A few flashbulbs went off. The MPs talked excitedly, but no one seemed to be in a hurry to rush the victim off to the hospital. Whoever the ambulance had come for no longer needed emergency aid.
“A lot of activity for a dead gunman,” Mason said.
“Oh, God,” Abrams said and jumped out of the car.
Mason ran to catch up, and they stopped next to the group of MPs. “Who is it?” Mason asked, though he felt he knew the answer to that question.
The MP sergeant said, “There’s not much left to identify. Looks like he was tortured before they killed him.”
Spoils of Victory Page 22