The door on the far side swung open and Karl greeted Ryan with a smile. “Not a bad sort, really—just misguided.”
“Then it’s time we guided him on a proper course, straight into the tool shed out behind the inn.” Ryan holstered his pistol and handed Karl some cord filched at the train station. “By the way, the gentleman so adept with the umbrella is my brother Edward.”
Karl stuck the confiscated Walther into his belt and they shook hands across Gerhardt’s inert body. “Pleased to meet you, Edward.”
“The pleasure’s all mine. We’ll get acquainted under more favorable circumstances soon, but for now, let’s hurry.”
Ed helped Karl ease the lolling Gerhardt down to the sidewalk where they bound and gagged him. While they were busy stashing the captive, Ryan found a gap in the drapes and peered inside, spotting Kessler and Brandt nursing a bottle of schnapps. Heinz was chatting at a far table with the young woman who had visited the truck earlier.
Ryan gave his returning partners the thumbs-up as he hurried up the street to get Ed’s Buick sedan. Returning moments later with lights off, he stopped beside the truck and left the engine running. While Karl deflated the Audi’s tires, the brothers climbed up into the cargo hold. Once Karl was ready, they handed down the heavy satchels of notes and plates to stash behind the seat of the sedan. That task complete, Karl climbed into the trunk of Buick and Ed shut him in for the duration of the border crossing. Ryan took to the rear seat. In case of trouble, his pistol would have a broader field of fire, plus the darkness would obscure his face. It might be recognized from that damned flyer.
Ed slid behind the wheel and accelerated, the powerful sedan quickly covering the fifty meters before making a tight right onto the Zollstrasse. The checkpoint fronted the bridge straight ahead. Two border policemen beneath the streetlamp observed their approach. One raised a red-and-white paddle demanding they stop. He had a holstered pistol at his waist and a carbine on his shoulder. The other casually held a rifle in his hands.
“And you do this for a living?” Ed’s throaty chuckle couldn’t mask his nervousness as they approached the reception committee.
“Easy now,” Ryan said. “This doesn’t necessarily mean trouble.”
❖
Ryan’s doubts had surfaced at the previous morning’s meeting in Kessler’s townhouse. The gangster had refused to engage with him on any personal level. Ryan knew full well that team efforts relied on rapport to further a common goal. Kessler kept his distance, and Ryan suspected the man might deem him expendable once the heist was done. Would a notorious mob boss underwrite such a caper solely to please an old buddy seeking absolution from past sins? Certainly not when millions of pounds sterling were up for grabs. This Kessler didn’t strike Ryan as either selfless or magnanimous. The final straw had come that evening at the stables while awaiting Isabel’s arrival, when he overheard Gerhardt remark to his buddy: “The colonel in there will buy us all castles in Spain!” Ryan knew he should follow Klara’s advice and watch his back.
After the morning meeting he’d returned to the Emmengasse for a quick nap in anticipation of a sleepless night. After retrieving his hidden funds and pocketing minimal possessions, he sought out Frau Küpfermann to say his good-byes. A gift of two hundred marks brought tears of gratitude and a motherly embrace. He suggested she sell the clothing he’d left in the room. For better or worse, his cover was now blown. He would seek new lodging once back in Berlin. Finally, he’d stopped at the post office to place a call to Ed’s landlady in Geneva, asking her to relay an extremely important message: “Imperative meet tomorrow 18:00 Bregenz station ticket booth. Bring auto, old ID, clothing.” The landlady read it back to him. He then wired the identical message to Ed at the consulate. In the final minutes of the heist, when back in the shop ostensibly to get blankets and flashlight, Ryan placed a quick call to Geneva for confirmation from the landlady that Ed had received the message.
Once underway in the rear of the truck he’d advised Karl that their circumstances might change on a moment’s notice. “Whatever you hear and see in the next hours, don’t make waves. One way or another, I’ll find you when this truck reaches Lustenau.” Grateful beyond words for his sudden release from bondage, Karl agreed to follow Ryan’s further lead. During that final short stretch in the back of the truck, Ryan had shared the specifics of his plan with Karl.
Brandt and Kessler had left him at a station on the main rail line just north of Leipzig, where his SS field officer’s uniform won a salute from the sentry and quick service from the ticket seller. No problems arose on his long express ride via Nürnberg and Ulm into the Ostmark and he caught up on sleep for much of the way. His train, even with the delay of a transfer, was sure to beat Kessler’s caravan by at least an hour. The Opel Blitz and little Audi cabriolet would find slow going on winter roads.
Ed needed only five hours or so to reach the Bregenz station. They met at the Bahnhof shortly before seven. Ryan had secretly observed his brother for several minutes before making contact, just to be certain that no one had tailed him from Geneva. He was pleased with the ’39 Buick Ed had borrowed from the consular car pool, a Swiss-built sedan with powerful engine and a baggage compartment roomy enough to stash Karl for the brief crossing into Switzerland. Ed reported his diplomatic plates had proved to be an open sesame at the border.
Ryan suggested waiting until underway to discuss his plan, since time was precious. While Ed fetched beer and sandwiches, Ryan switched to the civilian wear his brother had brought and ditched the SS uniform in a waste bin. He kept Hallinger’s identity papers since COI could make good use of them. Returning with the food, Ed handed his brother his old State Department passport and they got underway.
Ryan quickly recapped the events of his last few days, and Ed listened intently as his brother recounted the morning’s caper and his plan for the rest of the evening. Once Ryan had finished, Ed broached a matter of his own. “So what’s Berlin’s stand on the war?”
“The Wehrmacht is sure to take Moscow in weeks if not days.”
“I meant Pearl Harbor. Will Hitler jump in now?”
Ryan looked puzzled. “You mean Hawaii, right? Home of the Pacific Fleet? What on earth are you talking about?”
Ed shook his head in amazement. “Hold on to your hat, brother—I can’t believe you haven’t heard!” He took his eyes from the road to glance at Ryan, trying to tell if his brother was joking. “Japan’s navy attacked us on Sunday! No advance warning, no declaration of war, no nothing! Many of our guys dead or wounded, our fleet at the bottom of the harbor. A crippling blow! By God, we’re at war with Japan and you haven’t even heard of it!”
Stunned, Ryan tried to grasp the ramifications for America, for the world, for him personally. “Incredible!” he finally muttered. “I’ve been so wrapped up in this Isabel business…” He tried to clear his mind of pressing personal issues. “So Hirohito’s forced our hand.”
“Will Hitler follow suit?”
Ryan thought for a moment. “He’s certainly not obligated. The Axis agreement calls for mutual support only if a fellow pact member is attacked, but we can’t bank on anything. Hitler sure doesn’t give a damn about agreements—just ask Stalin. But declare war on us while still dealing with the Russians? Doesn’t seem likely.”
“Glad I could fill you in. It is pretty momentous.” Ed lit a Chesterfield and just as quickly put it out, too worked up to drive and smoke simultaneously. “But we knew America wouldn’t sit this out forever.”
“How are they taking it at home?”
“The country’s getting on board. Roosevelt gave a damned fine speech declaring a state of war with Japan.”
They had driven on quietly for a few minutes, each considering where things would head next. Ryan finally broke the silence: “Tonight’s task is far less ‘momentous’ but demands immediate attention. Best we solve my little problem before we take on the world’s big one.” He glanced at the dashboard clock. “I reckon their cara
van will show in less than an hour and I know exactly where they’ll take a break.”
Neither had touched the food and beer.
❖
Entering the Reich hours earlier had been a breeze. Ed had shown his passport and the diplomatic plates did the rest at both ends of the Rhine bridge. Something had clearly changed in the meantime. The same Reich officers who had waved him through now blocked the approach to the lowered barrier gate, and the unshouldered weapon meant business. “I hope you’re right about this being no problem,” Ed said.
Ryan handed his passport up to Ed, then took his pistol off safety and set it at his side, well out of sight. “First we see what they want.”
“We have a choice?” Ed was no longer joking. They rolled to a stop and he lowered the window.
“Papiere, bitte.” The border policeman squinted into the rear seat. “For both.” Ed handed over their passports and the guard glanced at their covers. “Americans, yes?”
“Yes, on a diplomatic mission. You passed me through a couple of hours back, remember?”
“Yes, I remember you, but alone, nicht wahr?” He flipped through the two passports. “And now you drive a passenger who shares your surname?”
“My brother is also with the Foreign Service. He was handling a delicate negotiation in Bregenz.”
“And you make him ride in back?”
“He’s exhausted. Plans to nap as I drive.”
“You both have been very busy today, I assume.”
“Yes, a full day. We’re looking to reach Zürich before midnight. We both need rest.”
The sentry grinned. “Well, I can guarantee your rest for the next few days and likely very much longer.”
Ed glanced back at Ryan before responding. “I’m afraid I don’t understand. My German is only adequate. What exactly are you saying?” The free hand of the man with their passports rested on his holster flap.
“With such a full day you surely missed an interesting development in Berlin.”
Ed’s knuckles showed pale as they tightened on the steering wheel. “And what would that be?”
The officer looked over to his comrade, now standing on the passenger side of the car, and his grin stretched into a smile. “You should pay more attention to the latest news, my American friends. Our Führer made an important announcement before the Reichstag today.” He bent over to look directly into Ed’s eyes. “You see, Germany has declared war on the United States, and we have just received orders to detain any American attempting to leave the Reich.”
“My God…” Ed appeared stunned.
Ryan leaned forward and whispered in English: “Uncle Virgil’s farm—those kids who locked us in the barn. Remember how we got out of that scrape?”
The border guard gave Ryan a quizzical look. “I must ask you both to exit the vehicle, and now! Sofort!”
Ed remembered. “The tractor?” Ryan met his eyes in the rearview mirror and nodded once.
The guard suddenly turned toward Frau Weberli’s inn where a rising column of fire and smoke pierced the darkness. “What the devil?” he muttered. His comrade also watched intently as flames consumed the canvas cover of the Kessler’s truck and spit scorched fragments skyward. One moment the blaze engulfed only the cargo hold, then the entire truck exploded in a cataclysmic shudder as the fuel tank ignited. Ed’s fuse of smoldering cigarettes and the many liters of flammable solvent Ryan took from the print shop had done their trick. Kessler and Brandt would not be celebrating their good fortune any longer.
Ryan’s pistol was already in his hand. “Let’s get this tractor moving!”
Ed released the clutch and floored it. The Buick lurched, tires smoking as he aimed toward the gate arm blocking the bridge head. The startled guards leapt back in surprise, shouting “halt!” and raising their rifles. The sedan made quick work of the fifty meters to the barrier as Ryan and Ed braced for a collision and bullets shattered the rear window. The car shuddered and bucked on impact. The long metal arm tore free and twisted sideways, slamming into the front grill and dragging the Buick to a standstill.
“Again!” Ryan shouted over the crack of the rifles, and Ed threw it into reverse, dragging a piece of the arm with them. Ryan’s hat took a hit before the same slug webbed the front windshield. They backed fast toward the unrelenting gunfire, then Ed changed gears and stomped down as steam erupted from beneath the hood. Ryan fired repeatedly through the gap left by the missing rear window. The border police dropped to the roadbed and more rounds raked the rear of the car.
Ryan feared for the gas tank. “Oh my God,” he shouted to Ed in sudden realization, “Karl’s getting hammered back there!”
Ed aimed for the left lane of the deck. Despite the twisted metal extending into their path, the route along the guardrail appeared their best and only bet. The car tore past the downed barrier, peeling a front tire from its rim. The exposed wheel scraped on the roadway but the car kept rolling. Incoming rounds shattered what little remained of the split-front windshield and a ricocheting bullet grazed Ed’s shoulder. “God damn but that stings!” was all he could say, too intent on reaching the midpoint of the bridge to even look. Ryan fired until he came up empty. The guards took shelter behind the bridge parapets but their barrage rapidly faded out.
As the Buick growled and scraped into Switzerland in a cloud of radiator steam, the gunfire finally ceased and Ed cried out: “Look! They have the gate up for us!” The car limped to a halt. Without waiting for the Swiss sentries to reach them, they raced around to the pockmarked trunk. One round had damaged the mechanism of the handle. Ryan yanked at the grip while pulling with all his might until the lid finally surrendered and swung up.
With only moonlight as a guide, they peered into the luggage compartment. Karl lay on his side, legs drawn up, his body facing outward. He appeared not to have moved since the first bullets struck. Blood streaked his face, purple rivulets pooling beneath his tucked head. His glasses were splattered, his eyes closed. He wasn’t breathing. Ryan slipped a hand beneath the bloodied jaw in search of a pulse. Words failed him. Isabel’s misery would continue to haunt her.
Karl opened his eyes and grinned. Ryan and Ed howled in relief as they clapped each other on the back, much to the surprise of the approaching Swiss police. Karl stretched his legs and joined in the laughter. “As I told Isabel long ago—when the battle appears lost, just play dead. But now, if you’ll help me out of this hellhole, I need to clean up a bit.” Removing his glasses, he gingerly touched his scalp. “Can’t count the times I hit that damned lid! If it’s all the same to you, I’ll ride up front from now on.”
❖❖❖
AFTERWORD
The horrifying treatment of inmates in prisons and concentration camps of the Third Reich is described in many first-person accounts and historical treatises. This fictional story takes place in the earliest years of Nazi extermination camps, but the means of targeted mass murder as portrayed in the Gusen camp are factual, including the so-called Death Baths. These Todbadeaktionen were discontinued in early 1942.
I am indebted to Howard F. Cohn of Connecticut for sharing his monograph detailing the bravery and suffering of his late father August Cohn. Mr. Cohn spent twelve years leading resistance efforts in a number of camps before his liberation. The experiences of my fictional Karl Wittenberg were inspired by August Cohn’s honor and courage in the face of great adversity, though I chose to make my character a counterfeiter as well as a political dissident for the purposes of the plot.
Admiral Wilhelm Canaris, a complex man of apparent honor and humanity, held a position of immense power in the Reich. A confirmed anti-Nazi, he worked covertly and diligently to undermine Hitler while protecting both his country and his position as head of German Military Intelligence, the Abwehr. To more fully appreciate this complex figure, I suggest Richard Bassett’s fine study, Hitler’s Spy Chief.
The German Reichsbank colluded with top American and British corporations and industries in support
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br /> of Hitler’s war. Ryan Lemmon’s bank caper is described in Fulcrum of Malice. The interested reader is
invited to consult Charles Higham’s Trading with the Enemy; The Nazi-American Money Plot 1933-1949. This complicity continued even after Germany’s declaration of war on the United States in December 1941.
“Wild Bill” Donovan consolidated American intelligence-gathering operations in 1941 with the Coordinator of Information Office (COI). After the United States entered the war late that year, Donovan established the Office of Strategic Services (OSS), forerunner of the Central Intelligence Agency. A good resource is Douglas Waller’s Wild Bill Donovan; The Spymaster Who Created the OSS and Modern American Espionage.
“Operation Andreas,” the plan to undermine the pound sterling, was also very real. Ryan was undoubtedly disappointed to learn that the existence of the counterfeiting scheme was already uncovered by the British as early as 1939. In 1942 the mismanaged project was moved inside the Sachsenhausen concentration camp to use solely prisoner labor. Readers with further interest might enjoy Krueger’s Men by Lawrence Malkin.
Special thanks, as always, to my wife Dani. Her dedication to the demanding task of editing and her attentive eye on pace and plot are invaluable in bringing these stories to life. And I must mention again the man whose courage, brilliance and inquisitive spirit inspired these stories, my late father, Leonard L. O’Bryon, Sr.
Patrick W. O’Bryon
Patrick W. O’Bryon travels to Europe as frequently as possible to research his stories. He shares life’s adventures with his wife Dani, his family, and several very demanding cats.
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