Johann wanted to look away and change direction so as to avoid them, but he knew that to do so would only arouse their suspicion, so he kept going, and the guards drew closer. They seemed to straighten their postures as Johann approached. Would they notice the state of his uniform or that he was a member of the Leibstandarte? Would it matter to them if they did? Johann’s heart began to thump as he asked himself these questions, and then they were upon him, no more than a few feet away. Both men saluted.
‘Guten Abend, Obersturmführer,’ one of the guards said, leaving Johann in no doubt that they had at least noticed his rank insignia.
‘Abend,’ Johann replied, his eyes fixed on the other side of the courtyard as they passed one another.
Johann kept going, but he was soon forced to stop.
‘Obersturmführer?’
He turned back. The guard who had wished him a good evening approached.
‘Please excuse my impertinence, Obersturmführer, but you have come from the Eastern Front?’
Johann nodded. Clearly the guard had indeed noticed the state of his uniform as well as his rank, but there was something about the guard’s tone that put Johann at ease.
‘I have a young brother,’ the guard continued. ‘He served alongside the Leibstandarte in the 12th SS Panzer Division Hitlerjugend. I’ve not heard from him in six months and was wondering whether you have any news from the Front? We receive so little information.’
Johann thought the guard sounded desperate to hear whether there was even the slightest chance that his brother might still be alive. He wished he could give the man hope, but how could he know? He shook his head. ‘I’m sorry. I’ve come from Vienna. If your brother was there, you should pray for him.’
‘Jawohl, Obersturmführer. I do, every day.’
With that the guard clicked his heels and saluted again, and both men continued on their patrol, leaving Johann to finish crossing the courtyard, now with a degree of reassurance that his presence at the camp had not so far raised suspicion. All the same, as he neared the first of the SS residential houses he was heading for, he thought he’d better not take any chances, so when he was sure no one could see him, he slipped back into the shadows of the trees that he’d noticed some of the houses backed on to. He recalled that on his previous visit, Volker had taken him through a gate to show him the SS officer housing. There had been guards at the gate then, and Johann supposed there would be now. He also thought they would be far more inquisitive than the two guards he had just met if he attempted to walk nonchalantly past them.
Johann soon came to a brick wall that was about eight feet high, which he imagined ran along the line of houses he was trying to reach. Assessing the situation, he saw that there was no barbed wire running along the wall, and he thought it would be easy enough to climb. He wondered then whether this wall was regularly patrolled by the guards. He suspected it was to some degree, but high security had clearly not been deemed necessary here, because again, he doubted those in charge of camp security expected anyone would wish to break in to the residential area beyond.
Johann looked along the wall and listened for signs of activity. He found none. The further along he went, the more dense the trees became until it was difficult to see anything at all in the darkness. He knew that Volker’s residence was at the end of the line of houses he was moving perpendicular to, and as he followed the wall, using his fingertips to guide him, it occurred to him that the higher up the chain of command you were the further you lived from the sounds and smells of the concentration camp.
When the wall turned to his left, he thought he must have gone far enough, so he stopped and listened for activity again. Once he was sure there was no one around, he leapt at the wall and pulled himself up. He didn’t dare linger for a moment. He swung his legs over and dropped to the other side where he landed with a thump. A quick appraisal of his surroundings told him he was in a well-tended garden, partially screened from the house by several shrubs of one kind or another.
Johann remained still for several seconds in case anyone had heard him enter the garden and was drawn to the sound. Then he looked out from the shrubs and saw that he had hit his mark. To his left he saw the row of houses, some with lights at their windows, others in darkness. They were a mixture of what appeared to be semi-detached family homes between small terraces that accommodated perhaps five or six SS officers each. He could see no more houses to his right, telling him that this was the last house on the appropriately named Strasse der SS, which fronted the buildings. The house before him, a small detached building no more than twenty yards away, was Volker’s accommodation.
Johann thought there were sure to be guards in the street beyond, and perhaps even at the residence itself. He imagined that Volker, as the main camp’s Lagerführer, might even have a small staff. There was a dim light at one of the windows on the ground floor. He couldn’t know who was there for sure, but the light told him the house was not empty. Taking no chances he crawled through the garden on his belly, as if he were back at the Ostfront, until he reached the house, wondering now how he was going to get inside undetected.
He stood up with his back pressed against the wall. He was no expert at housebreaking, but he had to find a way to get inside now he was there. He stepped away and checked the windows. All appeared to be closed on both levels. There was a drainpipe that ran close to one of the upper windows, and it crossed his mind to try to climb it and break the window to gain entry, but he quickly decided that even if he made it to the window without falling, the sound of the breaking glass was sure to draw attention. This was a particularly quiet area. There was no sound here to mask his activity.
A path ran alongside the house. It was poorly lit by a pale and distant street lamp on the other side of Strasse der SS. Keeping low, Johann went around to the front of the house, his eyes peeled for the slightest sign of activity. There were lawns at the front of the houses and a few more shrubs here and there, which Johann used for cover as he left the pathway. From there he had a good view of the street. He peered along it and quickly ducked back again as he saw the flare of a cigarette lighter not thirty yards away. It illuminated the faces of two guards as they leaned in and lit their cigarettes. They were on the same side of the street as Johann, heading towards him, and at seeing them Johann was glad he hadn’t tried to break into Volker’s accommodation by smashing a window. If he had then the guards would have been on him in an instant.
He sank into the shrubbery as low as he could, and he kept still as they approached. Out of the corner of his eye he watched them amble past, and his eyes continued to follow them until they were lost to distance and darkness. They would return again, that much was certain, and Johann had no idea how long he had before they did. Wasting no time, he crawled out from his cover just enough to see the house more fully, hoping to find an open window, but there were none. The house appeared to be locked up tight. The light inside the house drew his attention and he crept up to the illuminated window, thinking to peer inside, but as he did so, the light went out.
Johann hurried back to the side of the house, and a moment later he heard the front door open and close again. Someone was leaving. He wondered whether it was Volker, but he soon saw that it was not. It was a woman, and at first Johann thought it must be Trudi Scheffler, to whom Volker had been married now for the past three years. But unless Trudi had put on considerable weight in that time, it was not her. He watched the woman button her coat as she set off at a stomping march down the street, and he supposed she must be a housekeeper or a cook. Perhaps she had prepared Volker’s evening meal for when he returned. Johann couldn’t know and it didn’t matter. What did matter was that the house now appeared to be empty.
Voices from the direction the two guards had set off in suddenly drew Johann’s attention. The guards were already returning on their patrol. Johann moved further back into the deeper shadows along the pathway at the side of the house until they passed, wondering again how he was g
oing to get inside. He could see no quiet way to do it. Then it occurred to him that he would have to wait in the shrubbery for Volker to return.
Johann watched the guards come and go so many times that he soon learned their timing: three minutes beyond the house and back, twelve minutes in the direction the woman had gone. He had soon lost count of how many times they passed him and it was now quite late. He checked his watch. It was almost midnight. Then a short while later he heard a sound that was different from those he had grown accustomed to as he lay in wait for Volker to show. Someone else was approaching. His or her footsteps sounded markedly different from the guards’ plodding footfalls. These steps had urgency—authority.
Johann felt his whole body tighten. Then he saw him and his heart began to pound in his chest as the rage he had felt earlier that day, at hearing what this man had done, burned once more inside him. There at last was Volker Strobel. Johann watched him stride up to the house in his immaculate uniform. He reached to unlock the door and by then Johann was already on his feet. As the door opened, he drew his Luger from its holster, and as Volker entered the house and switched on the hall light, Johann burst in after him, knocking him to the floor at the foot of the staircase. He kicked the door shut behind him.
‘What did you do?’ he seethed.
His head was shaking with rage and disbelief, even now, at the idea that anyone could imprison someone in a concentration camp simply because they had chosen to love someone else. He aimed his pistol at Volker’s head and stepped closer. He had always had a steady aim, but now his whole arm seemed to shake as he extended it.
‘Johann,’ Volker began, but Johann silenced him.
‘Get up!’
Volker got to his feet.
‘In there,’ Johann ordered, flicking his pistol towards the door on his left.
‘You know if you shoot me the guards will come?’ Volker said.
‘Do you think I care? My parents are dead, and now, because of you, I have no one to live for.’
‘What about your son?’
Johann didn’t answer. He grabbed Volker by the collar and spun him around. He took Volker’s pistol and slipped it into his pocket. Then he shoved him towards the door.
‘Get in there!’ he said again.
Chapter Forty-One
Present day.
Another interruption at the drawing room door caused Johann Langner to pause his wartime account of how he had dealt with Volker Strobel for the terrible things he had done to Ava Bauer and her parents. Tayte followed Langner’s gaze as the old man was snatched back from his memories, to see Christoph enter the room.
‘Excuse me, Herr Langner, but your car is almost ready. We should leave soon.’
The announcement, although it had not fazed the seemingly imperturbable Ingrid Keller, who had now moved on to shining Langner’s shoes, seemed to surprise Johann Langner.
‘Thank you, Christoph,’ he said. To Tayte he added, ‘The time goes by so quickly, don’t you think? Even at my age, the long life I’ve led now seems little more than a blur to me. I’m afraid we don’t have very long to finish my story.’
‘Is there long enough?’ Tayte asked, hope evident in his tone. He really did not want Langner to leave his account there. It wasn’t a story Tayte felt could keep for another day, especially as he and Jean were booked on a flight back to London that evening.
‘Oh, I think we might have just enough time,’ Langner said. ‘Now where were we?’
Tayte sat forward. ‘You’d gone into the concentration camp at Dachau, looking for Strobel,’ he said. ‘You found him and forced him into his own accommodation at gunpoint. I’m keen to know what happened next.’
‘Ah, yes,’ Langner said. He nodded to himself, as though recalling the details that followed.
Tayte thought he was about to continue, but instead, he paused and fixed his eye on him.
‘Are you absolutely sure you want to know what happened next?’
Tayte scrunched his brow. ‘Yes, of course. Why wouldn’t I be?’
‘Perhaps because this is a past you might not wish to be connected with. Wouldn’t you rather walk out of here now, go on with your life and forget about it?’
Tayte had come too far to throw in the towel now. He was in all the way.
‘There’s still time,’ Langner continued. ‘But if I go on, I’m afraid it will be too late for you to reject who you are.’
‘I want to know who I am,’ Tayte said, determined. ‘It’s all I’ve ever wanted to know. Please, go on.’
‘Very well, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.’
Chapter Forty-Two
Dachau. 26 April 1945.
The light from the street lamp across the road outside Volker Strobel’s accommodation at Dachau concentration camp shone a pale glow into the room, casting long shadows over the few items of furniture that occupied it.
‘Draw the curtains,’ Johann ordered.
By his estimation the guards would be passing the house again soon and he couldn’t risk being seen, especially now that he’d made it this far. As Volker went to the window, Johann went to the table lamp he’d seen on entering the room. When Volker drew the curtains, Johann switched the lamp on.
‘Now sit down.’
Johann flicked his Luger at one of the armchairs by the fireplace. It had been lit, in all likelihood by the woman he had seen leaving the house earlier, but at this late hour it was now reduced to glowing embers.
‘Are we alone?’ Johann asked. ‘Where’s Trudi?’
‘We are perfectly alone, Johann,’ Volker said, lowering himself into the armchair. ‘Such beauty as Trudi possesses cannot exist in a place like this. Besides, Trudi would not live here any more than I would allow her to, but she visits often enough.’
Johann remained standing. ‘You don’t deserve her, or any woman for that matter.’
‘Ah, so we come down to it. I cannot say I haven’t been expecting you. I knew you must have discovered what had happened with the Bauer family when you called the camp this morning. You’ve done well to get this far.’
‘It was easy,’ Johann said. ‘Although I had expected you here sooner. I’ve been waiting a long time for you to return.’
Volker scoffed. ‘Haven’t you heard? The enemy is at our door. There is much work to be done at Dachau.’
‘Yes, the Devil’s work,’ Johann said, imagining the kind of work Volker was referring to. Ava’s mother had told him that the camp at Flossenbürg was to be evacuated the day after her release. The SS-Totenkopfverbände—the Death’s Head Units—were trying to cover up the atrocious things they had done in their concentration camps—things that people such as Volker Strobel would surely be made accountable for. ‘You must be more than a little concerned about what will happen to you when the enemy arrives,’ Johann added.
Volker laughed to himself, and although it was with a degree of sardonicism, it sickened Johann to think that the man before him could draw even the slightest amusement from any of this.
‘Look at us, Johann,’ Volker said. ‘What happened to you and me, eh?’
‘Do not compare us, Volker. I still know myself, but you! You’ve become a monster. A demon!’
‘Then shoot me,’ Volker said, his fingers digging into the arms of his chair. ‘Shoot me and send me back to hell, where I belong.’
Johann raised his pistol. All he had to do was pull the trigger. It was that simple. He would pull the trigger and take another man’s life, as he had done many times on the battlefield—only this man sitting before him was far more deserving of death than any of those soldiers who were only doing their duty, as he had been doing his. So why wasn’t it that simple?
Friendship. Johann knew it came down to that. And for all the terrible things Volker had done, even now he wished his childhood friend, with whom he had spent so many happy years before the war, would say something to redeem himself. He had been the brother Johann had never known—the brother he had yearned for sin
ce learning that his flesh-and-blood brother had died as an infant. Johann stared into Volker’s eyes, but he saw no trace of remorse. Even if there had been, even if Volker were kneeling on the floor in penitence, begging for forgiveness, Johann knew there could be no stay of execution for this man who was ultimately responsible for the death of his wife.
‘Well, Blödmann!’ Strobel said. ‘What are you waiting for?’
Johann’s arm began to shake again. He willed himself to pull the trigger and be done with it, but something, or someone, now prevented him. It was his son. Volker was right. If Johann fired a single shot, the guards patrolling the street outside would be at the door in seconds. It had been easy enough to get into Dachau, but he imagined it would be much harder to escape, especially with the camp on full alert after discovering the body of their Lagerführer.
‘You can’t do it, can you soldier boy?’ Volker continued, as if he were deliberately taunting Johann in an attempt to make him pull the trigger.
But Johann did not fire. As much as he wanted Volker to pay for all he had done, he could not deliberately leave his child fatherless as well as motherless. He was suddenly resolved to do all he could to return to Gilching. He had not yet held his son as a father should—as he doubted his own father ever had. Johann lowered his pistol and Volker sat up with a look of bewilderment on his face.
‘You really can’t do it, can you?’ Volker said, his shoulders slumping as he spoke.
‘You sound disappointed.’
Volker drew a long and thoughtful breath. ‘Yes, perhaps I am. Perhaps in moments of weakness I’m shocked myself at the things I’ve done. And if you can’t stop me then who will?’
‘You can stop yourself.’
Volker laughed. ‘You don’t really know me at all, do you Johann? You always look for the good in people, and I’ve always loved you for that, but there is no goodness in my heart. I used to look for it, questioning why I do the things I do, when I know I’ve caused pain and suffering. I’ve long since stopped looking. There is nothing there to find.’ He relaxed back into his chair and pressed his fingers together in front of him, as if in contemplation. ‘Let me make this easier for you, Johann. I’m going to tell you a story, and then you’re going to shoot me. I promise you will.’
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