Echoes of Silence

by Patrick W O'Bryon

  His butt began to ache and Ryan stretched as best he could. He had no idea what was taking so long to link up with Brandt. His legs threatened to cramp and he worked the muscles in the tight confines. With considerable difficulty he lifted the satchel with the banknotes over his head and settled it between his legs. The blanket now served to cushion his back against the slatted wood side of the hold. Soon Karl made the same adjustments.

  Ryan had explained the original plan for the theft and his rescue, voicing suspicions that other surprises likely lay ahead and warning him to be prepared for sudden changes. He revealed that Isabel had killed Hallinger in retribution for all the pain the man had rained down on them but omitted the gory details. Karl remained silent for several minutes before expressing his satisfaction that the man was gone. He hoped his wife might find solace in her violent act, then went on to describe some of the horrors he had witnessed in the prison and camps at the hands of such men.

  Karl repeatedly asked about Isabel, desperate to know about her health and where they would meet once out of the Reich’s grasp. Ryan reached over her little envelope. Karl clicked on the flashlight to read her words, then sighed. It was clear the man had dreamt of such a reunion for nearly a decade. He slid the note into the breast pocket of his tunic and secured the button.

  Both men settled into silence and Karl began to snore. Ryan wished for his pipe and tobacco. Having heard just a fraction of what this man had experienced, he was grateful for his own good fortune. The pervasive inhumanity of the concentration camps was worse than he could have imagined. For the moment, he only hoped that luck stayed onboard through that final checkpoint at the border.

  At last the truck slowed to a stop, shifted hard and backed off the paved roadway. The dual wheels beneath them crunched on frozen ground as they came to a jolting halt. Heinz loosened the ties from the outside and lifted the canvas flap to reveal a frigid landscape. The truck stood some fifty meters into the woods on an unused access road. Their tires had imprinted their route in pristine snow. Gerhardt was already out of the cab and heading up to the main roadbed with a strip of red cloth in his hand. Ryan broke ground of his own to the nearest snow-laden tree to irrigate its trunk. Karl found his own target to relieve an overtaxed bladder. “What the devil’s taking so long?” Ryan demanded, returning to the truck as he buttoned his fly.

  Heinz was quick to apologize. “Brandt didn’t show at the first rendezvous point. We waited an hour but couldn’t let you out since we had to be on our toes. We stopped at a gas station outside Potsdam for Gerhardt to use the phone and got word that Brandt was delayed and would meet us here at the back-up spot. After tanking up, we passed through a checkpoint with no problems thanks to The Boss’ generosity to the sentries.”

  Ryan gestured toward a dense stand of trees blanketed in white. “And where exactly is this?”

  “North of Leipzig. Pretty, isn’t it?”

  Gerhardt came stomping back to the truck. “All these damn turnouts look alike in the snow, but Brandt has the kilometer count so shouldn’t have a problem spotting the flag.” He pulled a covered basket from behind the driver’s seat. “Anyone else hungry?” He pulled out a large sausage and began to slice it on the fender of the truck while Gerhardt distributed cold beer from a tool box on the running board.

  Ryan accepted a chunk of meat and a bottle. Leaning against the truck, he knew he needed to remain alert and considered asking Heinz for a couple of the white pills. Brandt’s changes to the agreed plan foretold other surprises ahead. If the intent was to violently sideline him, they would likely pull something before Brandt showed up. He kept one hand resting on the holstered sidearm. Perhaps he would find sleep in the long hours ahead.

  It didn’t help that the landscape was mesmerizing. Wet flakes fell steadily to further burden the trees. From time to time branches dipped under the weight to release their loads and bolster the snow mounds below. It was easy to imagine wolves lurking here, ready to make quick work of any wayfarer trespassing on their domain.

  Another hour passed. Each took a turn observing the main road while the others shared time in the cab with engine and heater running. As a vehicle finally slowed within sight of their marker flag, Karl trudged back to alert the group. A dark-gray Audi Cabriolet turned in and pulled nose-to-nose with the truck. My God, a two-seater is the best they could do? Even more surprising, Brandt was not alone. “Boss” Kessler climbed out on the far side, impeccably dressed in a heavy tweed overcoat with rubber galoshes protecting his expensive shoes.

  “So what’s going on?” Ryan demanded. “Why the change in plans?”

  “One step at a time, Herr Lemmon.” Brandt approached Karl and gave him a huge bear hug, slapping him several times on the back. “It’s been so long since we last met, my friend. I’m pleased to see you here, fit and free at last!”

  “Not as pleased as I am, sir.”

  “You look splendid, lad, especially given all you’ve been through. I would never forgive myself if we hadn’t pulled this off, and now you’re in for a nice life with that lovely wife of yours. Bravo!”

  “I’m most grateful, inspector.”

  “First things first, it’s time you met our benefactor, Anton Kessler.”

  The Boss came around from the car to shake hands. “Welcome aboard, Herr Wittenberg. Your reputation for printing skills precedes you.”

  “Most appreciative of your getting me out, sir.”

  “With all due respect, inspector,” Ryan interrupted, “we should hit the road. At this pace we’ll be lucky to reach Lustenau by midnight.” He glanced again at the Cabriolet. “May I ask what brings you along on this excursion?”

  “It seems my laissez-faire approach to law enforcement has finally drawn the ire of our SS overlords. My ‘trusted’ assistant turned out to be their snitch. I was already suspicious of his incessant inquiries, then yesterday my secretary overheard him setting the stage for my downfall.” He gave a self-conscious smile. “A private interrogation revealed all, but unfortunately this discovery comes too late to prevent my imminent arrest.” He clapped Karl on the shoulder. “Needless to say, at my age I wouldn’t fare well in prison, so I decided to tag along.”

  “But why ransack the shop instead of making a more discreet exit?”

  “Well, that brings us to my old friend here.” He looked over to Kessler, who stood with his back to them taking in the view. “Anton will also be joining us.”

  Ryan watched it all click into place. “Now there’s a surprise.”

  “Without my official protection, his head’s on the block, too. Powerful people benefited from his operations and can’t risk exposure. Should a trial be in the offing, he’d quickly disappear into some Gestapo basement for good. We’ve worked together since boyhood so I’m not about to let that happen. But with all the loot we’ve gathered here,” he gestured toward the truck, “and with all Anton has already squirrelled away in Spain, we can run our own cash mill in a more hospitable environment, and I get to live out my days supported by the fruits of Karl’s labors.”

  Done is done, as Isabel had said. Had she been aware of all this? He set that thought aside for later. “So that makes six of us,” Ryan observed, trying to move things along. “Shouldn’t we hit the road? Every delay raises the risk.”

  “I’m afraid I’ve bad news for you, Herr Lemmon. As impressive as you look in that uniform, an SS lieutenant colonel riding in a military transport truck arouses suspicion, and sadly, Anton’s little Audi only seats two.”

  Ryan almost smiled. “You intend to leave me here.”

  “We’ve really little choice, and I’m sure you see the logic. Your face is plastered at every border checkpoint, thanks to your recent Reichsbank caper, and everyone witnessed your leadership in this morning’s heist. Once that cat’s out of the bag, I’m sure the Gestapo will credit the Reichsbank robber with pulling off an even greater score.”

  “Exactly as we’d planned.”

  “Yes, exactly as planned
. But I’m sorry to say you’ve now become a bit of a liability. My superiors will connect the dots when they find Anton and me missing along with those millions in counterfeit notes. That makes assigning you the blame moot, does it not?”

  “Indeed it does.”

  “Before the alarm spreads, however, we’ll be off to the good life in Franco’s Spain, thanks to the government’s open arms to anything that profits El Generalissimo.”

  “Well played, Inspector. I’m sure you’ll both be very happy together.”

  “And equally satisfying for me personally, Karl reunites with his lovely Isabel, setting right that nasty business I started a decade ago.”

  Karl had remained quiet, accustomed to holding his tongue by years in prison. Now he interrupted forcefully: “Ryan and I can easily manage the remaining hours in the back of the truck.”

  “Afraid not, Karl. We’ve a good stretch ahead and the men can’t run that risk. The Potsdam checkpoint worked because Anton called in markers, but we can’t be certain about any surprise controls ahead. Our papers protect only five men. An SS corporal in the cargo bed makes sense, but a lieutenant colonel would be a definite red flag. I’m sorry, but we must say ‘auf Wiedersehen’ to Herr Lemmon.”

  “You’re forgetting I owe this man my rescue! Without his role-playing I’d still be a prisoner.”

  Ryan interceded, knowing the discussion would go nowhere. “Listen, Karl, thanks for your efforts, but you and Isabel have suffered for too long. Go find your wife. I’m resourceful, and for the moment,” he tapped his pocket, “Hallinger’s papers should serve me well.”

  “What if I insist on staying with you? The two of us can figure this out on our own.” Karl gave Brandt a challenging look.

  Kessler tossed his cigar in the snow and finally turned to face them. “Whether you realize it or not, Herr Wittenberg, this entire escapade puts you in my debt. Lemmon here was only an accessory. Should you fail to get back in the truck, and alone, my men will restrain you for the duration. You have been bought and paid for with your release, and your counterfeiting talents will be my asset when we set up shop in Madrid.” He approached with subtle menace. “Consider me your new boss,” he pointed to his henchmen leaning against the truck as they eavesdropped, “and feel free to ask those two how I handle insubordination from my men.” He dusted snow from his trouser cuffs. “Now get back in the truck and do as I say.”

  “I agree with Herr Kessler,” Ryan said. “You have to move on, and now.” He gave Karl a reassuring smile. “I’m sure we’ll meet again.” He turned back to Brandt. “Can you at least drop me at the nearest rail station? I’d hate to slog any distance on foot, and I must get back to Berlin.”

  “Consider it done, Herr Lemmon.” He smoothed his mustache. “Now back to the truck, but only as far as the nearest depot, you understand.”

  Ryan was already considering his next move.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Lustenau, Austria

  December 1941

  The inn on the edge of town faced a snowy field fronting the Rhine. Across the river the Swiss village of Au twinkled beneath a starlit sky. Just a few steps from the inn lay a short approach to the Reich border station, where key personnel facilitated Anton Kessler’s illicit shipments, whether material or human. The Berlin gangster greased additional palms on the Swiss end of the truss bridge, rendering the border irrelevant.

  The Gasthaus zum Zoll was known for its homespun cuisine. With six small but impeccable rooms, Frau Weberli’s inn on the Dammgasse also suited the needs of the smugglers. Here was the ideal spot for Kessler’s caravan to take a break before crossing into neutral Switzerland. The vehicles could lose military tags and markings under cover of darkness and the men trade out SS uniforms for civilian wear. With both tasks now accomplished, Kessler and Brandt relaxed in the warmth of the dining room, filling up on hearty Austrian fare and dark beer.

  The Boss himself had never before shown his face in Lustenau, and Widow Weberli felt honored to have such a notable guest praising her Schweinebraten with parsley potatoes. Advised that very morning to expect her special visitor, Frau Weberli had posted a hand-written “closed due to illness” sign on the front door. Word had spread quickly among the locals that the innkeeper, beloved for her culinary skills, was down with the flu, and they begrudgingly sought out an alternate locale in town.

  After a brief introduction to the famous Herr Kessler, the innkeeper was happy to remain in her kitchen until further summoned. The widow of a successful smuggler in his own right, she understood that hush-hush matters were under discussion. Kessler and Brandt sat in the far corner near a ceramic-tiled stove spreading heat into a nearly empty dining room. They had chosen the Stammtisch normally reserved for select regulars. Heinz sat apart near the swinging door to the kitchen, beyond range for eavesdropping but ready to relay orders.

  With stomachs rapidly filling but thirst not yet quenched, Brandt and Kessler settled into the easy sort of conversation so common between old friends. After the strenuous drive they would have preferred overnighting upstairs before crossing the border in the morning, but such a delay might give rise to new problems. They reviewed the day’s events and spoke of the next steps in getting the booty to Spain. The discussion came around again to the successful gutting of the print shop.

  “All things considered, I do regret turning the tables on poor Lemmon,” Brandt conceded. “A capable sort, really, and he did perform as hoped.”

  “The man will do fine on his own. He may be pissed for now, but he’ll move on.” Kessler took another bite of pork roast. Out of character for such a fastidious dresser, he released the lower buttons of his vest and exhaled in satisfaction. “Lemmon would have been in our way, and we couldn’t have him blowing the whistle to the Brits, right?” He took more bread to sop up gravy from his plate. “Without evidence to pass along, his handlers will deem him a fool and the Bank of England will remain none the wiser.” He stuck the dredged bite in his mouth and talked as he chewed. “And look at the bright side—you, my old friend, are now fabulously wealthy.”

  “I suppose you’re right. I do need to readjust my thinking now that I’ve joined your side of the business, and my retirement looks rosy indeed.” He sat back, shaking his head in disbelief. “I only wish dear Gisela could have lived long enough to enjoy it all with me.” He pulled the tucked napkin from his collar, calling it quits on the meal and reaching for his glass.

  Kessler laughed. “She would never have agreed to all this. Your wife was such a stickler for ‘law and order,’ she never did appreciate our close ties. Gisela—bless her heart— held me for some sort of dangerous criminal rather than an industrious entrepreneur, and she always let me know it.”

  “But she surely would have approved of reuniting Karl and Isabel. Of that I can be proud, especially after the hell I put them through.” He sighed and took a long draw on his beer. “Our only challenge now is convincing her to join him in Spain where we’ll print an even greater fortune.”

  “Consider it covered, my friend, so no worries. She’ll follow her man, and he’s not going anywhere without us.” He signaled Heinz, whose full plate still sat before him. He was riding high on the meth and had little appetite. “Tell the woman to bring us more beer. Better yet, have the young one do it. I like her look.” Frau Weberli’s daughter Anna had served their meals and delivered supper to the men waiting out in the truck cab. The twenty-year-old, gifted physically if not mentally, was popular with border officials and smugglers alike. Heinz jumped to his feet and disappeared through the swinging door to the kitchen.

  Outside in the cab, Gerhardt guarded their precious cargo and captive. A regular on this route, he had occasionally enjoyed Anna’s charms. Tonight he was forced to decline with regret when she brought sandwiches and beer and suggested he join her upstairs for a quick tumble. His orders were to keep an eye on Karl, just in case he thought of making a run across the border on his own. The Boss had been displeased with the attemp
ted mutiny in the woods. The counterfeiter was clearly as valuable to the enterprise as the stock of stolen banknotes, so Gerhardt would receive special compensation both for guard duty and for missing out on a warm meal. The anticipation of coming good fortune kept him on his toes and alert. The little white pills didn’t hurt.

  A solitary figure appeared in the driver-side mirror and Gerhardt recognized a possible threat. The man in the dark overcoat had already passed the small Audi and now neared their truck at a brisk pace. He used a furled umbrella as a walking stick despite the clear night sky. “Well now, what have we here?” Gerhardt rested his hand on the pistol at his belt as he observed the newcomer’s approach.

  “What is it?” Karl hastily checked his own mirror. “There’s nothing over on this side.”

  Gerhardt shifted his body toward the door. “Perhaps nothing, perhaps something.” The stranger was alongside the truck now, observing the cab but appearing at ease. When he knew he had Gerhardt’s eye, the stranger tapped on the glass with his umbrella handle. Gerhardt, pistol hidden but now in his hand, rolled down the window with his left. “What do you need, mister?”

  “Sorry to trouble you, sir.” The accent was off but the smile friendly enough. “I’m looking for Lustenauerstrasse.”

  “You’re almost there, mister.” Gerhardt glanced forward. “Continue straight on.”

  “Oh, sorry to be a bother.” He touched the brim of his hat and turned to leave. “A most pleasant evening to both you gentlemen.”

  Gerhardt reached for the window crank. In that moment the umbrella handle seized his neck and slammed him into the cab frame. Karl immediately delivered three solid rights to the chin, then wrestled the pistol from the stunned man’s grip. The stranger gave another solid yank on the umbrella, bashing then pinning Gerhardt’s head, and he slumped, his fight over.