Unspeakable Prayers: WW II to Present Day (Thaddeus Murfee Series of Legal Thrillers)

by John Ellsworth

  "Nothing alleged about it," Rajski said as one who has just suffered the cruelest offense imaginable. “We were both there. We have known this man for thirty some years. He ruled over us at Treblinka. We witnessed him personally murder hundreds of Jews. He was also directly responsible for the deaths of hundreds of thousands more. We have your man."

  "I have known the man since I was 19 years old," I said. "There has never been a more cruel and depraved human being on the face of the earth than Janich Heiss."

  "I'm sure that's true," said Ms. Zeller. "It's just there is a certain protocol in these cases which must be followed, beginning with the contact from my office to the Israeli Defense Ministry."

  Rajski wasn’t assuaged. “In the meantime, we would request you send FBI agents to arrest this man so he cannot escape or move away during the night."

  "I can't do that. Like I say, there is a protocol which must be followed. While I sympathize with you, and while the office of the US attorney sympathizes with you, this is a quasi-State Department matter as much as a legal matter, or even more. The state of Israel will first have to indict your man for whatever crimes they believe he has committed. Most likely your witnesses will have to go to Tel Aviv and testify to obtain that indictment. Following which, the indictment is registered in the northern district of Illinois, and our office is informed and then can act. It's all very circumspect and it's all heavily burdened with governmental overtones and overseers. If there were something I could personally do, even today, I wouldn't hesitate to do so. Please understand. You should also know some form of identification of this person as the person you claim him to be will need to be made or obtained. Your simply coming to me and telling me a man known to the United States government as John E. Meekins, an English man, is actually a German by the name of Janich Heiss—that isn’t good enough. More will be required."

  "What if we had his confession?" I asked quietly. "Would that be sufficient?"

  She held up both hands. "Just please don't tell me about it going in. As I'm sure you as a lawyer understand, there are all kinds of constitutional problems with governmental action at this point as far as obtaining any kind of statements from the man you know as Janich Heiss. On the other hand, what evidence private citizens are able to obtain, untainted by governmental influence, are usually quite welcome in federal courts in this country. In a nutshell, if you are going to act, act on your own and without any form of suggestion you do so from me or by this office."

  Kaleb was visibly upset. He wrung his hands and muttered to himself.

  "Then what can we actually get done here today?" he said.

  She shook her head. "I'm afraid nothing can be done here today, except to recognize we have taken the first step which must be taken. After you leave here we will contact the Israelis, present them with this name you have given me, and see how they wish to proceed. Until then, my hands are tied. Please leave your contact information with my secretary. I think that's all for now, gentlemen. Now I have to get back to work, so please excuse me."

  Kaleb and I looked at one another with no small astonishment. Surely that couldn't be it, could it? But there was nothing else for us to do or say as we had told her everything we knew at that point. We stood and backed away from her desk and stepped out to the outer office where we gave the secretary our business cards. The woman was very busy with incoming lines on the telephone, and was dismissive; at least that was our impression.

  We found a coffee shop and settled into a booth. We talked for an hour. More than anything, we were horrified the United States government wasn't going to pick up Heiss immediately and take him into custody. What more can they possibly need? we wondered. We were both deeply wounded and deeply hurt and told each other so. We mulled over what else might be done and decided we didn't know enough about international law to move along further in that regard.

  But we did know about the higher law. A higher law that demanded justice among all living things. After coffee came, we both took an oath we would proceed according to this higher law and would not let man's law stand in our way. Heiss was not only wicked but he was sly as well. He had managed to escape the Nazis at the height of the war, had managed to obtain a new identity, and had managed to flee Europe when there was the greatest oversight in the history of mankind as to who was coming and going in Europe and America. A formal proceeding in Israel wouldn’t even faze him. He would be gone: Brazil, Agentina, Costa Rica—who could say? No, it wasn’t worth taking the chance with him.

  We even discussed what taking revenge would mean in light of our Jewish faith. Rajski, you see, was still a believer; I was not. Still, in Yeshiva, the Jewish law was ground into me. Especially where it says, "you shall not take revenge..." in Leviticus 19:18. But we both seemed to remember something from the Talmud that explained revenge. It says taking revenge is when you ask someone "Lend me your sickle," and he says no. The next day he comes to you and asks you, "Lend me your hatchet," and you respond "I am not lending to you, just like you did not lend to me." As far as Kaleb and I could tell, our present situation did not involve sickles and hatchets. So we felt total freedom in our decision to pursue Heiss as quarry of our own.

  His confession would be obtained.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Altar boys were chosen by the priests, and Bibby was ecstatic when he had been approached to take on the role himself.

  "What will be my job?" Bibby had asked Father Grumbacher, the afternoon the priest came to speak to Bibby's parents about Bibby. "What do altar boys do?"

  Father Grumbacher had accepted a second cup of coffee from Bibby's mother and crossed his legs. They were gathered around the family's oak dining table with its unmatched chairs—ladder back and captain's models—and were sipping coffee from Mrs. Meekins' best china.

  Father Grumbacher considered the question before answering. Then he turned to Bibby and spoke to him with the greatest profundity. Bibby remembered feeling like he was being asked to ascend to heaven with Father G and there wait on God himself as a beloved servant.

  "As Catholics," said Father G, "we treasure our Mass. Altar boys help us preserve this sacred tradition. This service to Our Lady is a very serious thing. Only the best of the best are chosen to serve. Which means you are at the top of all boys, Bibby. You are a special boy."

  "Would I have to go to school for my job? How would I learn it?"

  “You will have to learn Latin prayers and songs and how to behave in a proper manner and follow all rules we give you. Many boys like you will become priests later on."

  Mrs. Meekins had gasped. Father G and Bibby stared at her. She fanned her face with her hand. “Which would be...wonderful. Father Meekins, my Bibby."

  Bibby ignored her. He was still greatly stressed over what she probably did in bed with Bibby's father. He thought she didn't belong at the table, discussing with the priest, who seemed unaware of just exactly what Bibby's mother was up to. “Poor Father,” he thought, “God, please don't let him find out about mother or I'll never be an altar boy. Please keep it quiet just now.”

  Father cleared his throat and continued.

  "When serving the Tridentine Mass, one of the most important things you will do is say the responses to the priest's prayers in Latin. This is our tradition, the server makes the responses to my prayers."

  Bibby had looked at his mother. He hoped the sanctity of his role wasn't lost on her. And he hoped she didn't suddenly give him away and prevent his selection to service.

  "I can learn the Latin," said Bibby. "I've heard the other boys say it all my life."

  Father G smiled. He cupped Bibby's head in his large hand and smiled.

  "Of course you can," said the father. "And we will teach you what the Latin means. You will be filled with the Spirit."

  "I can do that," Bibby reassured the priest. Just then, it looked like he just might make it through the interview without his mother being found out. And without Grandfather's flags and uniforms suddenly messing thi
ngs up. Bibby said a silent prayer the priest wouldn't learn about his family that afternoon, that it just wouldn't come up.

  Which it didn't. One more cup of coffee and it was decided. Bibby would start training next Monday night. He, along with two other boys new to the service.

  Bibby was ecstatic.

  Now if he could just keep his family's secrets secret. Who could say? Maybe he would become a priest himself.

  Now that would be something.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  LODZI STORY 7

  After a month of tracking, twenty-four-hour surveillance, surreptitious photographs, and study, we knew Heiss’s habits better than he. We were ready to bring down our biggest game yet. His confession would soon be ours. We had also gone full circle and now we wanted to place Heiss in Israeli hands. We would arrest him and present him to the Israeli Consulate in Chicago. They would know exactly what to do with Heiss, whereas the U.S. Attorney's Office seemed to us powerless to act.

  Much to our surprise, the Chicago Nazis were discovered to have a camp at Crystal Lake, forty-five miles northwest of Chicago. I say "surprise," because the encampment was open and notorious, at least according to the local residents we interviewed in and around Crystal Lake, Illinois. The Nazis were well known there, everyone was suspicious, everyone hated them, but nobody dared speak out for fear of retribution.

  While eavesdropping one Friday night on Heiss’s office, we discovered Heiss and two of his cohorts were going to Crystal Lake early Saturday morning. After an hour of discussion, it was decided Rajski and I would tag-along; out of sight, it shouldn't be necessary to say. We would learn what we could about the encampment, take photographs, and attempt entry if the opportunity presented itself. We would then seize whatever evidence we could find.

  By now I had learned all I could about firearms. And I had traded up: I now owned a S&W Model 59 double-stack magazine with fourteen rounds. This was acquired in January of that year when I was attending Gunsite for combat shooting in Prescott Valley. This was the original "Orange Gunsite" of Jeff Cooper, before it was sold and became something else. The course was self-defense only, as far as I was concerned, and featured the new technique of two-handed shooting, which was intended—we were instructed—to bring the gun to eye level, where its sights could be better employed. We were also taught to use and maintain long rifles and shotguns. It had never entered my mind I might have to actually shoot someone and I was too much of a lawyer to even begin thinking that way. As far as I was concerned, we would capture Heiss and we might need our weapons to take him into custody, and we would then present him to the Israeli Consulate for extradition to Israel, where he would stand trial for war crimes against the Jews.

  At five-thirty the next morning—Saturday—I loaded a small knapsack in the front seat of my pickup truck. The sack carried my gun and a thermos of coffee. The truck itself was a leftover from my horse property days, used primarily to haul hay and oats and pull my one-horse trailer. Rajski and I decided to use it for our foray as it would fit in better around Lake Country. Rajski lived in Niles, so I swung by for him. We were both dressed as innocuously as possible: bluejeans, hiking boots (me), running shoes (Rajski), long-sleeve shirts and caps. We wanted to fit in and not stand out, so Rajski even brought his fishing gear and ice cooler, which we loaded in the truck bed—just in case anyone was looking us over.

  We headed for Heiss’s apartment complex in Palatine. When we arrived there, his ten-year-old black Mercedes was still parked in his slot, so we pulled in two rows away and began our wait.

  Not fifteen minutes later, Heiss appeared with two of his henchmen. They were each carrying a long rifle bag and heavy backpack—you could tell they were heavy by the way they carried. Heiss surprised me at first: he was wearing a bright orange hunting vest, which I thought was way too obvious, but then it occurred to me the hunting vest gave him deniable plausibility in case law-enforcement pulled them over for any reason. ("Where are you going?", "Hunting.") They all three piled in the car, Heiss driving and one next to him and one behind him.

  Chapter Thirty

  LODZI STORY 8

  We followed Heiss and his two goons out of Chicago, into the country, and began heading northwest. At Crystal Lake we headed northeast around the lake, coming to the northernmost point of the lake, past that part where the pine trees become deciduous, and leaving behind the last house in the small tract of homes nestled up against the lakeshore. By the odometer on my truck, we traveled just about 3 1/2 miles. Suddenly Heiss took a right off our paved road onto a gravel road, and sped up, blocking our view of him with his dust. I looked at Rajski and he looked at me. Then he nodded at me, so I made the same right turn and fell in behind Heiss. We rumbled along the gravel road for 8/10 of a mile, where Heiss took another right and disappeared into a small grove of walnut trees. This time I passed by without turning in, because we had evidently come to the end of our journey.

  Rajski and I rode a half-mile further on the gravel road, pulled over at a wide spot, and turned around and drove back the way we had come. It was a strange sensation, knowing what I knew: we were going to return, park where we were still hidden from the grove of walnut trees, and creep the rest of the way in. Which is what we did.

  I glanced down at my wristwatch: 7:30 a.m. We stopped and whispered for a minute. As far as we knew, Heiss and two others, and maybe more—maybe even many more—were somewhere beyond the walnut trees.

  "What is our plan?" Rajski whispered.

  "I don't think we have a plan. I don't think we can have a plan until we know how many people we are talking about. Do you still want to come along? Before you answer, I would prefer you did not. Most likely we will be outnumbered, but I can tell you this, I will not be taken captive by the Nazis again no matter what."

  "What, you want me to go back to the truck?"

  "I think so. I think that's what I'm saying. You are my dear friend and I would do anything to save you. But at this point, I think this is between Heiss and me. I would prefer to keep it that way. But I cannot order you because I know you have your reasons too."

  "Please don't forget, Lodzi. I survived in the camp right alongside you. While your hatred of this man is strong and there is an undeniable attraction in seeing him extradited, you did not serve at the camp by yourself. No, we will go together, and in the end we will draw straws to see which one of us wins: extradition or bullet in his head."

  “We’ll do it your way and draw straws,” I said. “Now, we have one gun. I believe I counted ten bullets when I loaded it last night. One of those must be saved for Heiss should you win. That leaves nine for the others."

  "Then the odds are more than fair. Two Jews against ten Nazis. Who's complaining?"

  I couldn't help myself. I smiled and placed a hand on Rajski's shoulder and gave a squeeze. So, we were in it together. At just that moment, a sparrow hawk erupted up out of the oaks and flew directly overhead. In the morning light the parting leaves were golden and lustrous. I felt at one with the universe, like I was exactly where I was supposed to be, doing exactly what had been appointed to me to do, in the required manner. For the briefest of instants, I imagined I heard the voice of God and the tone carried the same sweet quality you will hear in my voice with my own children when I am pleased with them. But that was a thought for another day, so I shook it off and climbed over the barbed wire fence separating the oak grove from the road. I put my foot on the bottom wire and lifted the two above, allowing Rajski to step through the same fence. If you were to ask me how Jews should treat other Jews, reread that last sentence: first through helps the second. Our history demands no less.

  We entered the oak grove, me leading the way. As we had silently closed the doors to the pickup truck, I had retrieved my gun from my bag and now it was in my back pocket. I reached and closed my hand around its grip. Then I withdrew it from my pocket and now the gun led the way.

  We covered probably fifty meters in this fashion and finally had our first
look at the Nazi's building. It was wide and low and the back was built into a hill. There were no windows except for two small portholes in front, one on either side of the front door, both with iron bars latticing them. Making sure we remained hidden from view, we agreed we would wait five minutes by my watch and just see what happened.

  So, there was nothing, and five minutes later there was still nothing.

  I reviewed our options in my mind. The building was constructed of logs split lengthwise, with their arcs outward facing. I had to admit, of course, we had no idea the layout of the building inside, who was doing what, and how many were there. My old pizza ploy came to mind and I smiled. Arriving at their doorstep with a pizza in my hands would only get me killed at this point. We would have to do much better than that.

  Just when we were perhaps both thinking we had chosen the wrong day and wrong place, the front door opened and Heiss with his two accomplices stepped outside. They had their rifles in hand, and were noisily loading them, working the slides to arm them, and then slinging them across their shoulders with their webbing. Rajski and I ceased breathing. For all we knew, they would be heading straight at us. Though I had long ago given up prayer, I reclaimed it momentarily. If there is such a thing as answered prayer, then this time I was a recipient, because the men headed directly south of the encampment, Heiss in the lead and the other two bringing up the rear. They were moving away 90° from Rajski and me and we almost whooped with relief.

  The men disappeared into the woods and while they were gone from view, Rajski and I made a run for the building. I found, as I turned the knob and pushed, the front door had been left unlocked. I entered, ready to point my gun and fire at anything that moved. Luckily for us, nothing did. Straight back from the front door was a small kitchen area and midway was a large round table cluttered with flashlights, lanterns of the old kerosene variety, knapsacks, and even a pair of running shoes. To the left was a wall, and halfway along it there was a hallway leading north or left. I held my finger to my lips and indicated to Rajski he should wait at the front door while I looked around. I wanted to know exactly where he would be in case it became necessary to shoot my gun.