by Mick Hare
“Have they!” retorted Friedrich with no hint of a question in his tone.
He read the papers again and stared once more into the man’s eyes. Friedrich waited outside in the corridor. He considered the permutations. There were two men and a woman. Unfortunately the age of the family’s male companion was too young. If Friedrich took Herr Lindow’s papers and Robert the male companion’s, both ages would look wrong. If Robert took Herr Lindow’s that would be just about acceptable. But that would leave Friedrich with papers describing him as thirty years younger than he really was. He was probably better off keeping his SS ID for now.
Soon the train began to slow on a long wide curve into Rosenheim. As the station approached Friedrich once again entered the compartment of the family of five. As soon as he entered he saw the look of dread pass over all the faces save that of the young son who knew no better.
“Pardon me once more, mein Herr and mein Frau. But I need you to accompany me. This is merely a formality I assure you.”
A desire to protest flickered across the expression of the mother but she immediately curbed it. The husband was still too dazed to make a coherent response.
“Come on children,” said the mother with mock cheerfulness. “I’m sure the officer will deal with us courteously and have us back in our compartment in the wink of an eye.”
“You will need to bring your papers with you. I have arranged for confirmation of your need for travel to be telegraphed from Rome. It will be confirmed and as you say mein Frau, you will be back in your compartment in the wink of an eye.”
“What about Otto?” she asked looking at their young companion.
Friedrich looked at Otto.
“I do not need him,” he replied. “This is just a spot check mein Frau. A mere formality.”
The mother was re-assured and as soon as the train pulled into Rosenheim the family disembarked with Friedrich. Before disembarking Friedrich beckoned the bemused Otto to him and suggested politely, “I would move as far from this compartment as you can if I were you and make no reference to your former travelling companions.”
Otto nodded vigorously, quickly gathered his belongings and, after stealing one guilty glance at Fraulein Lindow, scuttled away down the corridor towards the front of the train.
“If you would be so good as to follow me we will have this matter concluded in minutes.”
Friedrich crossed the platform and entered the station house with the family in tow. He beckoned them to a bench and requested that they sit.
"Your papers please!" he instructed.
Frau Lindow reached into her bag and pulled out a brown envelope. Friedrich examined the contents, slid them back into the envelope and slotted them in to the inside pocket of his jacket. He then went to the station office and asked for the station superintendent. The superintendent invited him into the ticket office and from behind the glass they spoke about the family.
“I have suspicions that these people are conspirators. There has been an incident in Munich. News will not have reached you yet. I have played a deception upon them. They think they will be re-boarding the train but I have arranged for the train to leave without them. You will be apologetic when it does so and assure them that it has been a dreadful mistake. Within fifteen minutes colleagues of mine will arrive to take them into custody. These people might be innocent, but I cannot take that chance.”
The superintendent nodded, barely able to keep the excitement out of his eyes. “You need have no fear. I will keep them pre-occupied until your colleagues arrive.”
“Excellent. You are a credit to the Fatherland, Heil Hitler!”
“Heil Hitler!”
When Friedrich emerged from the superintendent’s office and walked out of the station house without looking at or speaking to the family the mother started to call out to him. To ask what was going on. To protest. But some instinct made her bite her tongue. Even when the train jolted forward and began its slow acceleration out of the station she remained stuck to her seat, a kind of dread inevitability descending around her.
Looking back out of the train Friedrich saw the young boy and girl come to the door of the station office and watch the train leaving. He wondered for a moment if he had deceived a good German or a bad one. He would never know.
Fifty-seven
Untersturmfuhrer Kremer was entering headquarters as Schirach and Dortmuller arrived back from the exhumation of Netzer.
“What the hell are you doing here?” demanded Schirach.
A shocked Kremer replied, “We have carried out our orders Herr Haupsturmfuhrer. We await further instructions.”
“Report!” snapped Schirach.
“My instructions were to clear the Hauptbahnhof, verify the facts as reported, check all security issues, such as other departures and effect a speedy departure for the Papal train. We did all this. The Vatican officials claimed diplomatic immunity for the train but I insisted on verifying the facts of the report. I am afraid it is true. The Pope has been assassinated.”
“Has the train departed for Italy?”
“Yes, Hauptsturmfuhrer. We ensured its departure.”
Schirach visibly relaxed and started to turn away. Then he visibly stiffened and turned back to Kremer.
“Why did you not escort the train?”
“Direct orders from Berlin; from Himmler himself. We were to disassociate from the train as soon as possible. It is obvious the Allied propaganda machine will make the most of the Pope’s assassination on German soil. We want as little involvement as possible. Those were Himmler’s orders.”
Turning to Dortmuller, but in truth asking the question of himself, he muttered, “Is that sensible?”
Unsure if the question was directed at him, Dortmuller merely shrugged.
When Lily awoke it was dark outside the window and the train was making good progress. She had no idea how long she had slept. Opposite her Friedrich was dozing, his head slumped into his folded arms. The train began to decelerate. Robert was at the opposite end of the facing bench. He was gazing into space and delicately fingering the slits where Netzer’s chisel had pierced his cheeks. It was not an unwelcome sign. If the wounds were becoming itchy, maybe they were healing. Lily smiled to think that Netzer’s meticulous care of his instruments of torture had meant that the wounds were so clean and precise that healing had begun very rapidly.
Her gaze was distracted by lights outside the train window. She realised their train was drawing into a station. It was certainly not Innsbruck. The station was just a few buildings either side of the dual tracks with a couple of sidings looping around the backs of the buildings. This was an unscheduled stop. The station nameplate had been removed. Steam billowed around the window as the train shuddered to a halt. Gradually the steam cleared and Robert joined the awakened Friedrich and Lily at the window.
There was minimal activity outside on the platform. As far as they could see there were no passengers waiting to board. A signalman hurried past carrying a lamp towards the front of the train. Friedrich touched Robert’s arm. “That’s it,” he said pointing through an archway between the two buildings on the platform. Through the archway on a siding there were the lights from another train.
“You’re right,” breathed Robert. “It’s our brother train on this journey to oblivion. The Holy Father’s cortege.”
Robert turned and headed towards the compartment door. Lily reached out and caught the sleeve of his overcoat.
“Where are you going?”
He stopped and gently lifted her hand away from his arm.
“Well,” he whispered, “I’ve been wondering all journey if I would get another chance to complete some unfinished business with that train, and it seems fate has provided me with an ideal opportunity.”
“You mean O’Shea, don’t you,” said Lily accusingly.
“You are very astute my love.”
“This is why we are compromising our escape travelling to Rome. We should be well on the way t
o Spain by now. But no, you have us riding to Rome to carry out some personal vendetta of your own.”
Robert’s face showed the accuracy of Lily’s claim.
“You are right, Lily. I should not involve you and Friedrich in this action. You two should make your own plans. I cannot let it end here. I know I am taking ridiculous risks. But for me it is a simple equation. Although this action will probably lead me to my death, the fact is I would rather be dead than live not having carried this action through.”
Friedrich shrugged his shoulders and re-took his seat. Lily realised that the only person who might lend her support in this confrontation had just opted out. Something manifested itself in her understanding about this man Robert, and her relationship to him. She knew that something structural had collapsed inside him. She also knew that he was too single-minded, too determined to allow that collapse to curtail his actions. The other stark fact manifesting inside her being was that she could not be without him. That she would accept him on any terms. So, eventually, she too shrugged and sat down.
As Robert turned to exit the compartment Friedrich said, “Don’t you think you should tell us what you intend to do and what, if anything we can do to assist.”
“Nothing. Just be here. If I don’t get back on board meet me in Rome. Shall we say at the Spanish Steps?” Then he was gone.
As he scurried across the platform space and through the archway, Robert saw the Pope’s train start to move off. He guessed that the train they were on had been halted to allow the Papal train priority. He boarded the train through the last door and pulled it to behind him. Already the train was clear of the station. The space at the end of the carriage where he had boarded contained the WC and he slipped inside to contemplate his plan of action. He guessed he would be conspicuous. The only travellers would be clerics, nuns and Swiss Guards plus a few known civilians. Even if he had been able to pose as one of these civilians his facial bruising would attract unwanted attention. Just as he was resigned to the fact of taking his chances and moving through the train in search of O’Shea the door handle of the WC was rattled.
“One moment,” called Robert in his flawless German.
“I’m sorry,” came back an Italian male voice.
Robert cautiously opened the door and stepped out backwards into the corridor. The Italian priest waiting there raised his biretta and said, “Grazia.”
However, as the priest was entering the WC he felt a blow to his back and found himself flung against the basin, banging his elbow. For a moment the shock made him believe the train must have jolted, but the large forearm now around his throat immediately relieved him of that misapprehension. The words that he next heard hissing in his ears filled him with fear. In schoolboy Italian, Robert said, “Take off your robes.”
The terrified cleric was spun round to face his assailant and he felt a large hand grip his throat like a vice. He undid the buttons on his cassock and let it fall from his shoulders to the floor. Underneath he was wearing woollen long johns and a vest. Robert almost laughed. The sight reminded him of his father.
“Take off your biretta!” he ordered.
The man did as he was instructed, the biretta falling to the floor. Robert then forced the man to turn around and made him look at the floor. He quickly pulled off his overcoat and dressed himself in the cassock. He placed the Biretta onto his head. He turned the man round to face him again and said, “Put the coat on!”
The priest put the coat on.
“Button up!” ordered Robert.
When the coat was buttoned Robert suddenly gripped the man by the throat again. He leaned his face against the priest’s and hissed, “Do you want to die or jump?”
Complete incomprehension chased fear across the man’s visage.
“Die or jump,” repeated Robert, “…from the train.”
“Jump,” croaked the priest.
“Okay!”
They waited. After several minutes Robert sensed the train was slowing as it encountered an incline. He opened the door and checked the corridor. Still grasping the priest by the throat he dragged him across the corridor to the exit door. Without pausing he flipped open the window, reached out, grabbed the handle and turned it to fling the door open. With no time to react the priest found himself being propelled out into the freezing temperature of the Bavarian night.
Robert calmed his breathing and checked his cassock and biretta. He pulled the ridiculous headwear as low as he reasonably could, bowed his head and stooped his shoulders to disguise the fullness of his height. He pushed himself along the walls of the swaying corridor and headed towards the front of the train.
Each compartment he passed he scanned for any sight of O’Shea. The passengers, all members of the Papal entourage, seemed to be numbed out of their shock by the tedium of travel. In some compartments nuns dozed; in others priests of all ranks smoked up a thick fog. In still others, nuns and priests knelt on the floor in front of their seats and said the rosary. No sign of O’Shea!
It was when he reached the connection between the third and second carriages that Robert guessed he was getting close. Standing at the connecting door was a Swiss Guard. The Guard caught sight of Robert from halfway along the corridor and Robert could not turn around and retreat without attracting unwelcome attention. He continued to move slowly along the corridor towards the Guard, desperately trying to think of an excuse for being there. He was rescued by the contents of the priest’s cassock pockets. His hand closed around a packet of cigarettes and as he reached the Guard he pulled them out and offered him one.
“I was hoping you had a light for my cigarette,” ventured Robert.
Fortunately he was a German speaking Swiss and he replied, “No I do not, Father, but if perhaps you can spare one more,” he smiled. “My partner through the connection will oblige us both.”
Robert gave the Guard another cigarette and he opened the connecting door and stepped through the gap. Robert placed his foot in the doorway to prevent it slamming closed. When the Guard opened the door at the far side of the connection he could see right into the Pope’s carriage. It was not like the others. There were no compartments and no corridor. It was kitted out like a state room with carpet, desks and comfortable armchairs. High ranking clergy were standing and sitting in clusters, deep in earnest conversation.
And suddenly there he was. O’Shea! Robert felt his nerves tighten like wire and his mind go red with anger. Then O’Shea moved across the carriage and disappeared from sight. The far door closed and the Guard was standing in front of him again offering him a lighted cigarette. Robert took it and used it to light one for himself. He sucked in the smoke and felt himself go light-headed. As a non-smoker his throat could not handle the onslaught. Fortunately, he managed to control the impulse to cough up his lungs and gathered himself enough to say.
“Will you please pass a message to Canon O’Shea. Tell him a group of priests and nuns would like to report to him on the content of an important conversation they have been having about the current situation. We are positioned in the first compartment of the carriage behind this one we are in.”
“Certainly, Father. Would you mind if I smoked my cigarette first or is this an urgent message?”
“You smoke your cigarette, Son. We have plenty of time before we get to Rome.”
Robert smiled at the Guard and turned away from him. He moved back down the corridor cursing the cigarette and the Guard for asking for time to smoke it. Still, it gave him time to have a think about what he would do when O’Shea came along the corridor into his hands.
Fifty-eight
In the station building at Rosenheim, train superintendent Meuller was beginning to reflect ruefully on the efficiency of the security services. The SS Orpo officer had told him that SS colleagues would be here to check on the Lindow family within fifteen minutes. After twenty minutes he had telephoned Munich SS Orpo Headquarters and asked why they were taking so long. He had found himself in a complex conversation
which he only began to understand when he realised they did not know what he was talking about. Eventually he had been asked if the Papal train had passed through Rosenheim. When he had replied in the affirmative things had begun to happen. But that was over twenty-five minutes ago. He thought he had waited long enough but he was too afraid to lock up and go home. It had already been a long day for him. He had put in two shifts because his co-superintendent, Gunther, had cried off sick. Meuller knew that Gunther had tuberculosis and should be fired. So, if he took the money he should do the work. Why damage Meuller’s health with over-work?