by Mick Hare
He was locking up his office when Kremer arrived with his detachment of men. Superintendent Meuller found himself confronting a wild-eyed, unshaven Untersturmfuhrer.
“Where is this family?”
Superintendent Meuller was immediately intimidated and glad to throw the attention of this man away from himself and onto the Lindows. Kremer looked across the station hall at the family sitting there. Already fear and uncertainty had turned their appearance into a family of refugees. The children’s clothes were creased and hanging awkwardly from them. The father was white-faced with concussion and had vomit stains on his coat front. The mother was trying to hold the unit together.
Kremer, still angry at the way he had been spoken to by Schirach, leaned towards SS Orpo Heines and said, “What do you think of her?”
“Very nice,” replied Heines.
Having worked with Kremer many times before, Heines guessed where this was going and he hoped he was right.
“You remember our training, Heines. We do not exist to investigate crimes against the state after they have occurred. We exist to act to prevent crimes against the state happening in the first place.”
Heines nodded, the embryo of a smirk emerging on his face.
“This family could indeed be innocent. But for us to establish that fact could take up valuable time. In the end, if they prove to be guilty, all of that time will have been wasted. Therefore it is in the interests of the state that we assume their guilt.”
“Agreed!”
“Very well! Tell Schmidt and Essen to question the father and the children. You bring the mother to this office.”
Turning to Superintendent Meuller he barked, “Open up your office and then get out of here.”
Frau Lindow was escorted into the office by Heines and courteously guided to a chair in front of the desk. Kremer sat on the front edge of the desk and Frau Lindow had to brush against his legs as she sat down. The only light in the office came from the hall through the windows. Kremer’s face was a patchwork of shadows.
“Please take off your coat Frau Lindow,” ordered Kremer.
Frau Lindow was surprised and was about to ask why when she thought better of it. She removed her fitted coat and hung it on the back of her chair. She was wearing a shaped, red, woollen cardigan with large red buttons, which was buttoned to the neck. Her calf-length skirt was tight and black.
The moment she was seated Kremer fell upon her, pinning her to the chair, his hands like clamps upon her shoulders.
“What do you know about the assassination of the Pope?” he hissed into her face.
His breath evidenced something foul in his stomach and a lifetime of stale ash from his throat.
“The Pope!” she exclaimed in utter disbelief. “Are you mad? I know nothing of any assassination. We are the victims of a theft. Our papers have been stolen.”
“I am afraid I have to assume you are lying.”
He took her by the arm and lifted her roughly out of the chair.
“Heines. Help me,” he ordered and together they ripped her cardigan and skirt from her.
Standing in her underwear and stockings, she crouched in fear. Between them they picked her up and threw her on her onto the table. The back of her head cracked against the telephone and it fell noisily to the floor. Kremer unbuttoned his trousers whilst Heines ripped her knickers from her, burning her thigh with the friction. When Kremer had finished Heines began. When Heines had finished he ordered her to get dressed and went out to join Kremer in the station hall.
As Heines emerged from the office, Schirach and Dortmuller arrived. Schirach glanced past Kremer to where Heines was tucking a shirt tail into his trousers and smiling over conspiratorially at some of the men. Schirach immediately pushed past Kremer and Heines and burst into the office. He switched on the light and saw Frau Lindow crouched down beside the table. She was using her torn knickers to wipe blood away from between her legs. There was also blood in her hair on the back of her head.
Schirach burst out of the office and took hold of Heines. He threw Heines to the floor of the hall and kicked him, between his legs, with all the force he could muster. Heines screamed in agony and fell onto his back. Methodically and with complete control, Schirach took hold of the man’s feet and proceeded to stamp repeatedly on his testicles. He did not stop until Heines had lost consciousness. Kremer watched with accelerating alarm but found himself incapable of speech.
Schirach went back to Kremer. He controlled his breathing and then calmly said, “Your men say the boy saw an SS Orpo on the tracks between the trains in the Hauptbahnhof. Have you checked this out?”
Kremer swallowed carefully. Yes, he remembered the little bastard saying something about an Orpo back in Munich.
“Yes, Hauptsturmfuhrer. We checked this at the time but found nothing. However, I followed this up back at Headquarters. I could find no record of an escort being assigned to the scheduled Rome train.”
“Damn you Kremer!” screamed Schirach. “You’ve missed something here. You’ve possibly let the Pope’s assassin slip through your fingers.”
Schirach took a breath and composed himself.
“You’d better come good from now on,” he added.
Schirach turned and stormed out of the station hall.
“Come on Dortmuller. We have to catch that train.”
The men ran out after him. In the relative emptiness of the hall Kremer felt his breathing gradually returning to normal. A voice startled him. It was the Superintendent.
“What is to happen to the family?”
Kremer looked at the man. He wore the armband of the volunteer SS member.
“Get two colleague volunteers, commandeer transport and deliver them to Dachau.”
Before the Superintendent could speak he added sharply, “Tonight!”
The superintendent hid his resentment and turned to go. As he did so he caught sight of Heines lying unconscious on the floor, a dark red stain seeping through the crotch of his trousers.
“And what am I to do with him?”
Kremer walked over to where his colleague of three years lay. He looked down upon him for several moments. Then he turned to stare fixedly into the face of the Superintendent and said, “Him too!”
Fifty-nine
The Papal train had not been rolling long since its last stop when Robert could swear it was slowing down again. From where he stood at the end of the carriage he could see O’Shea now emerging from the state room ahead. He looked puzzled and stopped to speak to the Guard to whom Robert had spoken. After a moment or two in conversation, during which the Guard pointed down the carriage towards where Robert stood, out of view, O’Shea began a slow progress along the corridor. The irregular braking of the train caused him to stumble and roll using the walls for support.
The train’s deceleration did not please Robert. He had hoped to finish his business here as the train sped through the night. When a train slowed or stopped you could guarantee a certain proportion of passengers would be roused to wander around whether they were alighting or not.
O’Shea stopped and slid open compartment doors as he progressed through the carriage. Each time he received a negative response to his enquiry, ‘did someone want me?’ he inched closer to his appointment with destiny. As he reached the last compartment in the carriage and received the same response, the train finally shuddered to a halt. O’Shea stepped across the corridor and peered into the night beyond the window. He was less than a metre away from Robert’s grasp, moments away from death. Robert could hear activity from the compartments as people started to question why they had stopped, seemingly in the middle of nowhere. He hesitated before stepping into sight of the passengers in the last compartment. Someone stepped into the corridor beside O’Shea and asked, “What is happening?”
“I’m sure it’s nothing,” replied O’Shea. “Go back to your seat and do not worry.”
The cleric returned to the compartment and Robert decided to act. Disgu
ising his voice by deepening it, he said in Italian, “You can see from here, Father. Through the open window.”
Unaware until then of any presence behind him O’Shea was startled. Robert kept himself in the shadow of the corner but permitted his form to be visible to O’Shea.
“What was that you said?” asked O’Shea.
Robert did not reply but stepped further back towards the door. He saw O’Shea begin to move towards him. A rush of murderous anticipation flooded his being. Then a shout came from the far end of the corridor. The sound of running footsteps pounding along the train towards them.
O’Shea turned to look along the corridor and then moved back towards the state room. The moment had slipped through Robert’s fingers. Amongst the shouts he could hear German voices and he could only guess that the Germans were searching the train. He opened the door and jumped down onto the tracks.
Robert tumbled down an embankment and scuttled away into a small copse that separated the tracks from a field of potatoes. He took off his cassock and berretta and lay them down. He went as far into the copse as he could without emerging into the field and lay down. The earth immediately transmitted its deathly cold through his clothing to his body.
The lights of the stationary train glowed above him; a distant source of warmth. He saw silhouettes behind the blinds and could surmise the progress of a search party from the front end of the train to the back.
The sound of boots crunching on gravel and coarse breathing told him that soldiers were moving along outside the train and that they had a dog with them. As they drew level with him the dog began to get excited. It tugged at its leash and yelped. The dog-handler yanked its leash with mighty force and cursed the dog. His companion asked, “What’s the matter with him?”
“Rabbits! Damn him. He’s crazy for rabbits!”
"No! Look!" said the first man. "He's found some clothes. Priest's clothes by the look of them."
The dog handler laughed. "Probably some old Bishop cavorting in the night with a Bavarian virgin. Come on, it's too damn cold to be out here looking for a naked cleric."
The men both laughed and dragged the dog along towards the rear of the train. They crossed over and walked back along the far side to the front.
After what Robert calculated to be fifteen minutes, the activity aboard the train settled down and some ten minutes after that the train jerked into life and pulled away. When the train had moved off Robert crept out of the copse to the top of the embankment. Three hundred metres or so along the track he could see that there was a level crossing at which an ADGZ armoured car was parked, along with two saloons. Why were they stopping the Papal train when it was obvious it had been cleared by Himmler to return to Rome? It might well mean that they were searching for himself, Lily and Friedrich. If so, would they wait to stop and search the train that they were riding, which would surely be along in a few minutes?
The sound of gunning engines and the plumes of exhaust fumes collided with the cold night air. The SS men, for that’s who he guessed they were, swung themselves aboard the ADGZ and, along with one of the saloons, accelerated away.
Giving them time to disappear and waiting some time more to make sure no guards had been left behind, he then crept along the embankment towards the crossing. He could see the light from the crossing attendant’s cottage. Coming around, creeping up to the window he could see the attendant leaning over a stove and then turning to pour boiling water into three cups. Leaning further in he already knew what he would see. Seated at a small table were two SS storm troopers, who had obviously been detailed to stop and search the next train. So, he wondered, how was he to stop the following train and warn Lily and Friedrich? He knew they could not be far from Innsbruck, but that did not mean safety. Austria was a part of the Reich and a pro-active Nazi society. Hadn’t Hagan rejoiced in 1938 when the Anschluss had been concluded? He considered his options. As far as he could see he had two. One, he could walk into the cottage now and shoot the three men dead, then stop the train at the level crossing gates and re-board. The problem was the driver and the rest of the crew would want to know why the train had stopped and go looking for the crossing attendant. Two, he could wait for the storm troopers to stop and search the train and hope that they were fooled by Lily’s false papers and Friedrich’s false ID. If he waited to see what happened he might have to execute the storm troopers as they led Lily and Friedrich into custody. But he would have to be careful not to be seen. Then they would be cut adrift, on the run in the Bavarian countryside. He decided his best outcome would result from the search of the train not identifying Lily or Friedrich. Everything else led to basically the same outcome, so he might as well let fate run its course.
Someone inside the cottage lifted the door latch. Robert melted away into the darkness. The three men came out and the crossing attendant walked back along the track swinging a large oil light. The storm troopers went to the crossing gates and closed them.
The train boasted no lights and Robert could only make it out as a bigger shadow amongst the darkness. Quite clearly, though, he could hear the squeal of the brakes and the loud protests of the ice cold rails. He scurried across the tracks, bent double and approached as close as he could to the road across which the train ran. He came to a stone wall and hid himself there with the storm troopers in clear view. He drew the Mauser from his pocket and waited.
When the train had screamed to an agonising halt, the storm troopers walked alongside and spoke to the driver. Then they moved along the train. One waited at the first door until the other had reached the door at the end of the rear carriage.
All was calm for a while. Then, all too quickly, activity exploded. There was shouting and the clunk of doors being opened. Halfway down the train first Lily and then Friedrich were tossed off the train. The storm troopers jumped down behind them. With rifles pointed at their heads Lily and Friedrich were ordered to get to their feet and were marched towards the waiting saloon. Robert, watching this, made a snap decision. If he wanted to avoid killing the crossing attendant, it was his only option. He shot out from behind his wall and climbed into the back of the car. He lay on the floor covered in his black crombie overcoat. He heard Lily grunt as she was slammed against the body of the car, inches from him. One of the storm troopers tied their hands behind their backs whilst the other covered them with his rifle. In the meantime, the crossing attendant had opened the gates and waved the train through, unaware of his close brush with death.
As Lily and Friedrich were tossed into the car they stepped and stumbled over him and then sat with their feet on him. In the rural darkness the storm troopers were unaware of him. For the first mile or so the storm trooper not driving kept his face turned to the back watching the prisoners. Robert stared fixedly at the man from beneath his coat.
As soon as the man became tired of twisting around Robert took hold of Lily’s calf. He tapped the word ‘friend’ in morse code and she understood. He then manoeuvred himself into a position behind the passenger seat. Lily suppressed Friedrich’s surprise reaction with a sharp nudge.
Suddenly, there was an explosion of noise inside the car, deafening all of the occupants. The driver felt his heart shift in shock. He shot a glance across at his partner. His eyes fell upon his partner’s stomach, which seemed to have exploded outwards. There was blood, stomach matter, undigested food and shreds of clothing plastered onto the dashboard in front of him. His head lolled on his shoulder. Robert had shot him through the seat into the back, the bullet making its exit through his stomach.