by Allan Jones
Suddenly he remembered! He had purposely left the second letter from Himmler, addressed to the airbase commandant, in his tunic pocket when it had been taken away for valeting. He crossed to it and drew out the envelope and examined it minutely. Sure enough, it had been opened. Wessendorf was clearly a careful and devious man! Paul smiled grimly; no matter, the second letter was further bait, after all.
The time had finally come! Paul stood at his door and looked at his watch. He held a half-full bottle of brandy in his hand. If he was seen he would pretend to be drunk and lost. He opened the door quietly and peered out in both directions. All was clear, so he padded speedily to her door, opened it, went quickly inside and locked it behind him. She was standing at the door to her bedroom dressed in slacks and a blouse, and she beckoned him to join her. He put the bottle down on a nearby table and hurried across the room. She closed the door behind him and threw her arms round his neck.
“Oh God, it’s been an age. I’ve waited so long,” she said.
Paul remained stiff and soon she realised. She brought her hands down and rested them against his chest, her head down. Finally, she patted his chest and withdrew and turned and walked away from him. His fears grew; this was it!
“Ah,” she said, “what have we here, eh? A bruised ego, male preciousness, wounded pride, all three!” Her voice rose.
She whirled round, her eyes ablaze with anger. “So you think I’m his whore, do you?” She came and stood two feet from him and fixed him with her stare. “If I was, do you think there was any choice? Well, do you?” Paul stood still, unable to look away.
She tried again. “Do you really think that, given the choice, I would choose to fuck him, or would I choose a slow, noble, painful, death? Would I choose to fuck him and live, or would I let him waste my life, everything, everything I’ve been trained for? What use would that be? What would be achieved by my dying? What good would it do?”
Paul remained silent, though now he began to shake a little; his worst fears were being confirmed. She stared at him, growing angrier. She stepped forward and prodded his chest, accentuating her words.
“Well, let me tell you something, buster! Would I? You fucking bet I would. I’d fuck Hitler himself if it meant I get to live. I’d fuck all of them if it meant the end of this bloody war. Chew on that, you self-righteous prick. You’re not a woman, you know nothing, you have no right to judge me.”
Tears formed in her eyes, as she thumped his chest hard and strode away. Paul was shocked and slumped down on to the chaise longue behind him, stunned. There was an awkward silence as she wept and he tried to compose his feelings. She turned, wiped her eyes with her hands and came and sat next to him. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have hit you,” she said. “I should’ve known, I should’ve realised, known how you would react. I’m sorry I got angry. You care for me, or you wouldn’t be upset. I’d feel the same if it was you; but here, look at me.”
She took his chin and turned his head to face her. “It’s not like that; he hasn’t touched me, no-one has, believe me. You have to! Apart from my poor Bill, there’s been only you, no-one else, only you, I promise. I’m still yours, Paul. I love you; do you hear me, I love you, only you.”
Tears began to well up in Paul’s eyes; he couldn’t speak. Instead, he leant forward and kissed her lightly on her lips. She pulled his head to her breast and held it there for a while as he composed himself, then he reached up and kissed her again. He struggled for something to say. “I love you too,” he whispered in a small voice. He was ashamed.
They kissed and embraced for a while till Paul sat up and spoke. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I was stupid. I should have thought about it, I should have had more faith in you; but then I’m only a man, aren’t I?” He smiled weakly.
She smiled at him. “A very dear man to me, a lovely man,” she said. “My man!”
“Our first row,” he observed with a small grin.
“Let’s hope we live to have many more,” she laughed.
She moved into his arms and they embraced and kissed hungrily, till finally she gently pushed themselves apart. “Now to business. Would you like to know what’s really going on?”
Paul straightened. “Tell me.”
“Promise not to laugh?”
“I don’t feel like laughing.”
She looked into his eyes and prepared her next words carefully. “Well, go on,” he said impatiently.
She gave him a weak smile and said, “Well, here goes. Herr Sturmbannführer Gunther fucking Wessendorf, to give him his full title, has no interest in sex whatsoever, not with women, men, boys, girls, none of it! He’s just a common or garden fucking stinking pervert! He’s a monster! He gets his kicks maiming and torturing, killing; he enjoys inflicting pain and watching his victims suffering. It’s what he does, it’s what he lives for. He’s been doing it all his life. Before the Nazis came, he was an abductor, a common criminal, a murderer − he told me! The Nazis were a godsend to him; by joining them he could get away with it! He started with the Jewish persecutions; he pleased his new masters. Oh how he shone with his righteous zeal! Now look at him: master of this region, able to do what he does legally, and be rewarded for it! He thinks he’s died and gone to heaven!”
Paul whistled softly as the implications dawned on him: perhaps they could use blackmail! He looked at her.“And you, where do you fit in? How did you get here?”
She laughed nervously. “Ah, that’s the best bit. He simply abducted me off the street. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time, that’s all! He really has no idea who I really am; either my cover story held up or he didn’t check too far. He took me for my looks, just that! He likes tall, strong women; they suit his purpose.”
Paul was intrigued. “And what’s that?” he asked.
Amelia composed her next words carefully. “I guess I provide a kind of catharsis for him.” She paused for effect. “Do you know what? I get to beat the shit out of him.” Paul’s jaw dropped in amazement. She continued with a wicked smile on her face. “I get to beat his ass, I get to thrash him, with canes, whips, rubber truncheons, you name it. He doesn’t have a conscience in the normal sense; his version requires him to be punished for his gross deeds. He gets a kind of salvation. He justifies himself! By being punished he’s cleansed and ready to start the cycle again. That’s what he took me for, to be his tormentor, to give him the punishing he craves. And I bloody love it! The thought that he has no idea who I am, the irony of it! When I’m doing it, I think of all the poor wretches he’s ruined and killed and it gives me strength. I put everything I’ve got into it, and he loves it; he likes me to hurl the most foul abuse at him and humiliate him as I thrash him without mercy.”
“Fucking hell!” Paul breathed.
“That’s where he went tonight, to his ‘playrooms’, as he calls them. He went to give some poor bastard hell. No-one ever comes out of the basement alive. I’ve been there. I was taken there when they captured me, to watch, to see what would happen to me if I resisted his demands. I did resist too, at first, but then he had me beaten and after that I would have done anything…anything! Nothing prepares you for that kind of pain, nothing they taught us in England. You don’t realise! You intellectualise the thought of it, the pain, and think that you’ll be able to cope, to endure, to be brave enough; but when it happens to you, it’s entirely different. You realise you’re not brave at all, you just want it to stop, just stop, and you know that you’ll do anything to make it stop; you want to live! Suddenly, bravery and stoicism are only words, they don’t mean anything.”
“He hurt you?” Paul was aghast.
“Not personally, but he ordered it. No permanent damage, no broken bones or pulling out of fingernails, nothing like that; but enough, enough to make you realise that you really can’t take any more, after what I’d seen in the basement, and he had me watch an execution. I was going to be next, I knew that; he made it clear,” she said quietly.
Paul’s face clouded wi
th anger. “I’ll kill him!” he spat.
“No you won’t. I will,” she said grimly, “and soon. But all the time it was happening I kept thinking this is wrong, this isn’t how you expect things to be. I kept waiting for him to accuse me of being a spy.”
“You think you could? Kill him, I mean,” he asked, searching her face.
“I’ve killed before,” she said, and went on to tell him of the two sentries at the bridge. He listened with wonder as she told him all of the events that had led to her capture. Paul also brought her up to date regarding his movements.
Then she said, “I’ve yet to tell you the very best bit. When I first started with him, he didn’t trust me as much as he does now. Then he wouldn’t allow it; but now, he lets me tie him up before I beat him. I have him quite helpless, totally in my power. I have him stripped naked, gagged and tied down over a vaulting horse, and guess where the keys to his safe are during all this: in his trouser pocket, where he keeps them all the time.”
Paul began a wicked smile as he realised the implications. “I see; and what exactly is in his safe, I wonder?”
“He’s like a spider in a web: he delves into everything. He gathers all sorts of information to him; everything that happens in this region he makes his business to know about. Being ‘in the know’ is the key to his power. He has names of collaborators and informants, troop dispositions, railway timetables. There’re plans for the entire Atlantic wall defences they’re building, from the south right up to Holland. He’s got the plans of all the submarine bases on the coast at St Nazaire, Brest, La Rochelle, Lorient, plus all the security dispositions for them all! That’s what I know for sure, and it’s just the tip of the iceberg, I reckon; there’s more, much more. All we need is a camera.”
“I brought one with me, and loads of film,” Paul said triumphantly.
“Brilliant!” she cried, and got up and went to her wardrobe.
She pulled out the clothes that were hanging there and threw them on the bed. Then she detached the hollow metal rail from one end and felt inside and pulled out a rolled sheet of paper. She sat back next to him and flattened it out. “I know it’s a cardinal sin to put anything to paper, but it couldn’t be helped. I made a plan of the house and grounds. Now look here.” Paul bent to study the paper. She pointed with her finger. “Here’s the easiest way to get in the grounds: over this wall, it’s wooded there. Here is a service door for the kitchen; you go down some steps here, see. To the side, in the kitchen here, is a flight of stairs, the old servants’ stairs, that lead to all floors. No-one uses them now. I’ve reccied them a few times, I know which steps creak. If you can get to that door there, I can let you in and guide you to his office and the safe.”
Paul thought about it for a while, then said, “Seems fine. When?”
“Two nights from now, Tuesday night. Can you do that?” she replied.
“Sure,” he said.
“Remember I moaned at him when he left the dance. We were to have a ‘session’ tonight; he’s said Tuesday. I’ve pinned him down to that; I’ve even written an order in his diary, summoning him. He won’t miss it, not this time! After whatever he’s done tonight, he’ll require his treatment. I’ll have him tied down and gagged, then I’ll come and let you in. He likes me to leave him tied up for awhile, to stew, before I start on him. I’ll give you the key, you photograph everything in the safe and put it all back precisely as you found it. That way they’ll have no idea! I’ll keep him busy, then let you out when you’re finished. OK?”
Paul held up his hand. “Hold it there! I’ve orders to get you out, take you back. Gibbons was very clear on that,” he said firmly.
“Gibbons, no less!” She sounded surprised.
“Yes, he’s taken a personal interest. We concocted the plan to get me in here together, with Pru’s help, of course.”
“Well, I shan’t argue. Thank God really. I’ve been very scared. It was only a matter of time before he tired of me; till the next pretty girl caught his eye. When he does, the best I could hope for is gang rape by his men, then a mercy bullet in the head and a shallow grave in the grounds. I’m not the first; there have been two more before me. Besides, I know all his sordid little secrets, don’t I? That gives me a short shelf life in itself.”
“Then it’s even more urgent to get you out,” he said grimly.
She took his hand and thought for a while. “OK, while you’re busy I’ll thrash him hard to make it look good, and then I’ll kill him; make it look like a sex game gone wrong. I’ll have a change of clothes ready. Then we go. His tart will have panicked and fled. They’ll look for her for a while, but not too long; they’ll keep the details quiet to avoid the scandal. So long as they don’t think the safe has been opened, it’ll be all right! What do you think?”
“Are you sure you can do it? I could, if you like,” Paul asked urgently.
“No chance, Paul. He’s mine! He has a debt to pay.”
Her face was grim as he looked at her and he knew that determined look; he wasn’t going to argue the point. “Right, be at the kitchen door at 9pm on the dot. Let’s do our watches now. I’ll have everything ready; we’ll have plenty of time, no need to rush it. Now, I’ve been watching the sentries’ patterns: they stick to a strict routine. You should be able to get by them; they’ll be half-way into their shift and bored by then.”
They went over all the fine details and danger points, till finally the plan was understood and every detail had been worked out. Paul folded the paper and put it in his pocket; he would need to study it some more before destroying it.
He took her in his arms and kissed her passionately. She returned his kisses with ardour, savouring the taste of him. Her hands roamed his back as he held her tight. She felt herself weaken in his embraces and was at the point of tearing his clothes off when he stopped and held her apart. “No, darling, not here, not in this foul place,” he said quietly, his forehead against hers.
“No,” she agreed, and kissed him once more. “We can wait. It won’t be long now, my love!”
They parted and stood up, and, as he smoothed his hair back into place, he said, “I must go.”
“Yes,” she said, “You must. Be careful; if you’re seen there’ll be hell to pay.”
“I’ll be careful, don’t worry. You take care too.”
“I’ll be all right. He’ll be in a good mood after tonight and be looking forward to Tuesday. I’ll be fine,” she said.
“And especially after the lies I told him,” Paul grinned.
“He won’t cry off, but in case he does and I haven’t opened the door by 9.15, you’ll have to go, leave me. I’ll think of something else. I know where you’ll be.”
“I’ll bloody well storm the place and get you if I have to,” he said earnestly.
She smiled. “You won’t have to, I’m sure. Now go!”
They embraced once more by the door; then, after a careful scrutiny of the corridor, he slipped back into his room. She watched him go, breathing a sigh of relief as she locked her door.
CHAPTER 13
The car swept onto the station forecourt and Paul got out, carrying his briefcase. He dismissed the car with a nod and watched it drive off, before he swept into the station. He needed no ticket, so went straight to the platform and walked to the rear of the train and boarded the last car in front of the guard’s van. A few people were already in their seats and they all conspicuously avoided his eye as he moved to the rearmost seat. He turned before sitting and, as no-one was watching, he tried the door to the guard’s van; it was unlocked! He pulled it to and sat down, leaving his briefcase in the aisle beside his seat.
He glanced at his watch as the train pulled off: on time, he noted. Good! The inspection of the airfield had gone as planned. The commandant had believed the mixture of promises and threats Paul had tailored for him, and had conducted Paul around personally. Paul had been thorough, opening every door he came to, his face a mask of disgust. He had woken sleeping
airmen with a harsh shout and inspected them by their beds as they shivered in their underwear. He had said little during the inspection, making notes on the pad he carried without explanation. Several of the surprised officers he encountered bore the brunt of his rage as he subjected them to harsh bollockings, for sloppiness, for inefficiency, for anything he could think of. He played the part well! He looked the part! By the time he had finished, the whole base was in a state of nervous panic!
Paul had now stored useful information in his head to pass onto the RAF; a bonus! Now it was time for Major Hans Krueger, Himmler’s aide, to disappear. He looked idly out of the window at the passing landscape, not bothering to look up as the guard appeared from his van and began checking tickets in front of him. Presently, the man moved into the next car. After five minutes, Paul began to look out of the window in earnest.
He saw the first marker, a rag flapping on a fence, and began counting in his head. The train slowed as it began a steep ascent as Paul looked for the next signal. There it was! He checked the carriage: everyone was facing forward. As the signal passed, he got up, picked up his briefcase and slipped out of the door, closing it behind him.
Holding tightly to the rail at the rearmost of the train, he descended the few steps and peered forward, still counting in his head. He saw the red final marker flapping ahead of him in the wake of the train and readied himself. As soon as it came abreast, he stepped off the slow-moving train, staggering slightly to regain his balance; then, crouching low, he walked backwards away from the retreating train, his eyes on the guard’s van.
The train continued on and round a bend. He got to the marker on the fence and vaulted over, then hurried over the patch of waste ground to the car. He got into the back and Andre drove off down the bumpy track. “Everything OK?” he asked Andre.