A Pious Killing

by Mick Hare

  Lily had left headquarters as soon as Netzer had headed off to interrogate Robert. Any lingering doubts she had had about her loyalties were banished when she saw Robert being dragged away. The guilt she felt for revealing his presence to Netzer by her expression was unbearable.

  She returned to their home. As she ate a meagre meal of black bread and hot chicory she made her plans. Her first objective was to get Robert out of the clutches of Netzer and the Gestapo. Next she had to initiate their escape plan. To do that, she would have to visit the apothecary and hope that the radio was still in its hiding place. Finally, if successful in her first objective she would have to force Robert to abort their mission and execute their escape plan. She went into their bedroom and pulled a case from the back of her wardrobe. From within the box she lifted two Luger pistols and a case of cartridges. She loaded each gun to its cartridge capacity. She placed one of them into her handbag along with the cartridges and the other into the pocket of her overcoat, which she then put on. In the other pocket she placed the case with the remaining cartridges.

  There was no heating in the house so she sat with her coat on, looking out into the street until dusk began to pull a blanket over the scene. When darkness had swallowed everything she got up from her chair and closed the blackout curtains. She went from room to room performing the same task. She opened the front door and slipped away along the darkened street.

  By avoiding the main boulevards and circumnavigating Marienplatz she was able to keep out of sight of police, blackout wardens and Gestapo. She burrowed her way through the back lanes and alleyways until she came to the rear access parallel to Beethoven Strasse on which stood the apothecary. Although hindered by the length of her overcoat she quickly scaled the back gate and crossed the yard to the door. She noticed a pane of glass in the door was shattered and that the door stood slightly ajar. Just as she was about to enter she heard a bumping noise from inside and a soft curse uttered in profane German. Stepping back into the shadows she drew her Luger from her pocket.

  Forty-five

  The Papal train, having routed through Turin to avoid favouring red-tinged Milan with the Papal presence, had made its way through neutral Switzerland. Although a longer route than through the more direct Austria, it removed the Pontiff from the war-zone for a good part of the journey. Rumbling into Interlaken at 1700hrs local time, the Pope had left his palatial compartments for the short limousine drive to the cathedral where he had celebrated mass for a packed congregation. Although a neutral country several members of the congregation wore the uniforms or insignia of the German Nazi and the Italian Fascist parties. People either did not care or were too intimidated to object. The Pope welcomed one and all.

  Father O’Shea served at mass. It was an activity he enjoyed as much, if not more than saying mass himself. He took a pride in his swift, efficient movements around the altar. He always anticipated the Pope’s next movements and he believed he enhanced the act of the sacrament itself by his skilled assistance.

  During communion, he and three local clergy administered the host to the multitude desperate to partake during the Pope’s presence. The Pontiff sat in the throne at the right side of the altar, a benign expression on his face. All who gazed upon him, and they all did, felt blessed. His expression, though meditative, spoke of immense care and love. Each member of the congregation felt that care and love directed solely at themselves.

  Before retiring for an evening meal with the Archbishop of Zurich, who had journeyed to Interlaken with the express purpose of outranking the Monsignor who was acting in charge of the local diocese, the Pope granted an audience with local Catholic boys. Father O’Shea met with the children in the crypt of the cathedral. He asked the parents of these children to wait in an ante-chamber whilst he briefed the children on manners and procedures when approaching the Pope. This he did in small groups of six in a side chapel.

  Approximately one hour later the boys and their parents marched back into the body of the cathedral where the Pope awaited them in his throne, which was now positioned at the foot of the altar.

  One by one the boys were guided by Father O’Shea to the feet of the Pope where he touched the back of each neck or the top of a shoulder to let them know it was time to kneel.

  Kneeling, heads bowed and hands joined in angelic prayer, each boy felt the Pontiff’s hand touch his scalp and the Papal thumb draw a cross on his forehead. The Pope’s Latin prayer was all too soon over and the next boy was brought forward in the sure hands of Father O’Shea.

  Forty-six

  Friedrich stepped carefully through the back door of the apothecary into the pitch black of the yard. His knee was still smarting where he had cracked it against a corner of the counter. His feelings were a complete mixture. The fear and shock that had overwhelmed him when in the hands of the Gestapo still raced around his system. An unwanted thought would spring to mind and spark off a rush of emotion. Conflicting with these flashback feelings was one of immense guilt. He had heard the commotion that had flared as he walked out of Gestapo headquarters and he was pretty certain that Robert had been seized. He had followed Robert’s strict instructions, but he knew deep down he wished he had turned round and stood shoulder to shoulder with him as they had on the night they first met in the alleyway. Into this conflicting mix spilled a massive amount of relief that he was out of Gestapo hands and had a chance to escape them and Germany forever. His shameful secret was out. Jewish blood, no matter how well diluted, mingled in his bloodstream. He could never again be the man he had been. Friends, colleagues and acquaintances would all look at him through different eyes. The hostility he had seen destroy strong, healthy men and women, would now be his to endure. And much worse! His administrative work told him that and he was no longer in any position to deny it.

  As he pulled the door silently to, his ears prickled at the intimate proximity of a sound that invaded his soul. A cold, metal barrel was pressed to the back of his skull and a woman’s voice said, “Don’t make a sound.”

  All of Friedrich’s conflicting emotions dissolved into disappointment and resignation.

  “Open the door and go back inside.”

  With the gun at his head Friedrich obeyed and they walked together into the interior.

  “Upstairs!” she ordered.

  Friedrich led the way and soon he was back in the room where he had just replaced the radio transmitter in its hiding place. Pushing him in the back to clear a safe distance between them, the woman checked the blackout curtains were secured. She then switched on the faint light that hung bare in the middle of the ceiling. Friedrich saw her face for the first time. He did not recognise her.

  “Who are you?” she said.

  Friedrich did not speak. Emotionally he was working out an equation that would balance his guilt for leaving Robert to his fate if he refused to tell this person anything that Robert had confided in him. After the fear and humiliation it would be no terrible thing to die here defending Robert.

  “Who are you and what are you doing here?”

  Still nothing. Lily had an idea.

  “Empty your pockets!” she ordered.

  Friedrich complied. ‘No drugs! Theft is not the reason he is here,’ she thought.

  Friedrich watched as the woman stared at him. She seemed to be making mental calculations.

  “Okay,” she said. “If that’s how you want it, I will do the talking.”

  She lowered the gun but kept it cocked and ready.

  “I am the wife of Dr. Robert Hermann. He is in the hands of the Gestapo. I want to rescue him from them. Now do you have anything to say?”

  Friedrich was tempted but managed to hold fire. Her words had shocked him, but how did he know she was telling the truth?

  “Still nothing to say? Well, my friend, listen carefully. I am now going to divulge things to you that no one should hear. If I am not convinced of who you are and what you are doing here by the time I have finished, you will have to die.”


  As if to emphasise her statement, it was immediately followed by the scream of the air raid siren. Another night of bombing was about to begin.

  “Dr Robert Hermann and I are British agents. We have been planted here to carry out a mission vital to the Allies in pursuance of their war objectives. We are not married. I am German by birth. I lived in Britain for several years and volunteered my services to the British War Office when hostilities broke out. I think our mission is now forfeit. My remaining objective is to rescue Robert from the Gestapo and to get us away from here.”

  She paused as if reflecting on the words she had spoken. Then she raised the gun to shoulder height and pointed it at Friedrich’s head.

  “Now I need you to speak or I will kill you. I am counting to ten in my head.”

  A silence fell on the room. Friedrich began to count to ten in his head too. He wondered if they were counting at the same rate. When he reached five he had a sudden thought. All of this could be clever Gestapo lies. If it was, he would die and Robert would die. But that was going to happen anyway. If, however, there was just a grain of truth in any of it – maybe, just maybe, there might be a way to save Robert.

  Friedrich saw the woman’s fingers tense and squeeze as the only words he could think to say fell from his lips, “A pious killing.”

  Lily immediately recognised the secret code name for their mission; the one they were to use when they wanted out. Only she and Robert knew it. Robert must have confided in this man. Her hopes rose slightly. If Robert trusted this man then maybe here was someone who could help her to rescue him.

  “I’ve seen you before, haven’t I?” Lily suddenly asked.

  Friedrich shrugged.

  “You were at headquarters earlier. That’s it! I remember you now. You were leaving as Robert was seized.”

  Friedrich, determined to be careful with this woman, could see no reason to deny what she was saying.

  “I was in custody. Robert rescued me. Unfortunately, he was seized as we were leaving.”

  “It’s my fault,” said Lily after a pause. “If I had not come into the lobby and glanced at him as you were leaving, Netzer would not have spotted him.”

  Lily lowered the gun and let it hang limply by her side.

  “Look Herr, whatever your name is, I’m not going to force you to do anything. But I am asking you to help me do for Robert what he did for you. In truth we might all end up in Gestapo hands. But that’s a chance I have to take. With you helping me I might have a better chance of success. You know what Netzer is capable of. God knows what torture he is subjecting Robert to at this very moment. Will you help me?”

  Friedrich looked into Lily’s eyes.

  “I can think of nothing I would rather do,” he said. “Tell me your plan.”

  It was about twenty minutes later when Lily and Friedrich left the apothecary. Lily had collected the drugs she thought she might need if Netzer had practised his arts on Robert. Friedrich led the way. He knew every short cut and back alley in Munich and he swiftly but cautiously led Lily straight to the home of Karl Belkin where a few hours earlier he had swapped his newly acquired Gestapo uniform for an outfit of Karl’s clothes. The plan was to re-acquire the uniform, and as they hurried to their destination both Lily and Friedrich prayed to a god that neither of them believed in that Karl had not yet burned it.

  Friedrich led Lily to the back garden of Karl’s home and they knocked at the back door. Karl had been eating black bread and some thin broth at his kitchen table when they knocked. A sickness thudded into his stomach. He looked at the bundle of clothes rolled up on the floor and cursed his indolence for not burning it immediately after Friedrich had left. Rapidly he grabbed a damp towel, wrapped it around the bundle and kicked it out of sight under the mangle that stood beside the sink. He switched off the light and waited for his eyes to adjust. He then went to the blackout curtain and pulled it fractionally aside. He recognised the shape of Friedrich almost immediately. He experienced tremendous relief and immediately unlocked and opened the door and admitted his two visitors.

  Friedrich and Karl looked at each other. Karl looked at Lily. Karl raised both hands and said, “I don’t want to know anything!”

  “Fine,” replied Friedrich. “I just need the uniform back.”

  Karl’s incredulous expression would have been amusing under any other circumstances.

  “Friedrich,” he said. “Are you mad? You’ve just had the closest brush with death you could ever have and survived. Now you’re going back for more? Why are you not in Switzerland already?”

  “I thought you did not want to know.”

  Karl raised his hands again.

  “You are right! I don’t!”

  Friedrich took a few moments to get into the uniform again. This time he asked Karl for a small bag and he slipped the trousers and jacket into it that Karl had given to him earlier. With a desperately inadequate grimace Friedrich tried to express a fraction of his immense gratitude to Karl. He dismissed it with a flap of his hand and a reluctant, “Get out!”

  Lily and Friederich walked with arms linked through the streets of Munich directly to Gestapo headquarters. They had no need to skulk along back alleyways. Friedrich’s uniform was their curfew-breaking passport.

  Friedrich placed his bag of clothes out of sight under a stairwell at the corner of the block. Lily handed him a loaded Luger.

  “If I had a proper plan,” she said, “I’d share it with you. The best I can say is if you need to - use it. If you start using it inside that building my best advice is to kill as many as you can as quickly as you can and then use it on yourself.”

  They walked on some more, their cold breath going before them.

  “Just let me do all the talking. All you need to do is salute senior officers and say ‘Heil Hitler,’ if required.”

  As Lily and Friedrich approached the desk sergeant, Netzer was walking along the basement corridor below towards the interrogation cell where Robert had been recently re-installed. As Netzer had ordered he was tightly tied by his hands to the back of the chair in which he was seated.

  Netzer looked down on the man in front of him. Robert’s head slumped on his chest. He could see Netzer’s boots as his torturer walked up and down in front of the array of tools hanging on the wall.

  “Now then Doctor Robert Hermann, or should I say Doctor Sean Colquhoun? What instrument of truth should I select for you today?”

  Robert felt totally disassociated from the sound of the name his parents had given him at birth. It was as if Netzer had mentioned the name of someone they both once knew. It convinced him, though, that he was right about Lily. She had betrayed him; she was a German sleeper. His considered decision was that the best option left to him was to die quickly. He had nothing to gain from clinging to life whilst in the clutches of this monster. The only way he could think to hasten on his own death was to enrage Netzer; to incite him to go further than he intended. He knew what he wanted to do and he was sure Netzer would give him at least one chance.

  Netzer moved behind Robert and took hold of his hair. Wrenching Robert’s head back he forced him to look at the various tools on view.

  “Don’t be coy, Doctor. I’m sure you would like to help me choose.”

  Robert felt Netzer’s breath on his neck as Netzer stooped close to his ear.

  “What’s the matter doctor?” he hissed. “Are you hard of hearing today? Is this the ear that was unfortunately injured the last time we had a chat?”

  A fetid odour of stale food and stomach disorder washed into Robert’s nostrils. Employing his favourite mode of dominance, Netzer moved his head to Robert’s other side and, with his mouth almost touching Robert’s other ear he yelled, “Or was it this one?” He walked away to the wall laughing loudly. He picked up a hand drill and came back. “Maybe today,” he mused, “You will experience a little eye trouble.”

  Again, taking a handful of Robert’s hair he yanked his face upwards and brought the drill close
to his left eye. “You can close your eyelid if it makes you feel better. But you need to know that I have seen this drill bit enter through the eyelid like a bayonet into a bowl of water. I have to confess, it is always a lot messier than my simile suggests, but it is definitely as slick. But look, my good Doctor! See, I have put the drill on the table. Maybe today is the day I should begin with a question or two. Perhaps you are ready to talk. It will not take us long to find out. As soon as we know we can decide whether my drill goes back onto its hook or gets to work.”