The Kammersee Affair

by John Holt

  “We’ll be careful, don’t you worry,” said Behr, who was now moving quite fast, in his eagerness, to get to the crevice.

  Within a few moments the two men had reached the entrance to the cavern.

  Richter was just a few yards behind. “Just take a look inside,” he called out to them. “You can get an idea of the size of the area. It’s quite impressive isn’t it?”

  As Richter reached the crevice he could see the two men standing at the entrance to the cavern. Silently he removed the revolver from his tunic. There was a faint click as he released the safety catch. He raised his arm, and took aim. He squeezed the trigger, and fired two shots in quick succession. The first shot hit Behr at the base of the neck, and he died instantly. Steiner began to turn and saw the sunlight glinting off of the gun barrel, just before the bullet hit him in the left side of his chest. He staggered to the right and fell to the ground. As he did so Richter fired a third shot hitting Steiner in the head.

  The two men lay close to the cave entrance. Both were quite dead. Richter moved forward and pushed them both into the cavern. There was a loud thud as their bodies hit the rocks below.

  * * *

  Richter looked back along the pathway, down to the small clearing and the boat. Slowly the enormity of what he had done hit him hard. He was shaking violently and the sweat was running down his forehead into his eyes. He had difficulty breathing. He had killed two strangers. Certainly he had killed before, with the resistance. But that had been with explosives, and at a distance. And they had been the enemy. This was different. This was up close.

  These people had done him no harm. They weren’t a threat to him. He didn’t even know them. He knew that he had no choice, but that didn’t change anything. He had now committed cold-blooded murder. The punishment for that was execution; hanging by the neck until dead. He knew at that moment that he was now wholly in Hartman’s power. Whatever, Hartman wanted him to do in the future he would have no choice, and he would have to comply.

  At that moment he decided that Hartman had to die also.

  * * *

  The day that Hartman was expected dawned. Hartman never arrived. As the hours passed by and still there was no sign of Hartman, Richter became increasingly concerned. Hartman was the type who did exactly what he said he would do. He said he would be here, so he will be. Maybe he just got delayed.

  The following day there was still no sign of Hartman. Richter now started to think the worst. Perhaps Hartman had no intention of coming. Perhaps he has already been to the authorities. Perhaps he had intended to go to them all along. Once those two men were dead he would have no further use for me anyway, Richter thought. Perhaps he had always planned to betray me.

  A week passed by, and still Hartman never arrived. He just wanted those two men dead, Richter concluded. Now they were dead, what could he do? Richter realized that he knew nothing about Hartman. No address, no telephone number, nothing.

  Hartman must have gone to the police with that folder, Richter concluded. Any time now they will be after me. Even now they are probably searching my place at Gmunden. They won’t find anything there. There’s nothing there to link him with Hartman. There’s nothing there to lead the police to Kammersee. No one knew where he was. There is no reason the authorities should search for him here at the lake.

  Richter suddenly grew fearful. Suppose Hartman had already given the authorities that information, and they knew exactly where he was. They could already be on their way coming to arrest me. What would they find? Two dead men in a cave and a gun with his fingerprints all over it.

  Must dispose of the gun. I’ll throw it into the lake. He shook his head. Suppose Hartman does eventually show up? I would not have a weapon for either protection, or to use against him. Richter started to panic. He started to think wild, fanciful thoughts. He began to wonder if Behr and Steiner were in fact dead. Perhaps they weren’t. Perhaps he had only wounded them. Perhaps they were still alive.

  He began to imagine that they were coming for him. Maybe they were hiding, watching him at that very moment, just waiting for the right opportunity. He looked around, and behind him. Must stay awake and watch. Then he started to smile. They’re dead, I know it. Didn’t I shoot them and then push them into the cavern? Didn’t I hear them as they fell to the bottom? They were dead all right.

  Suddenly the smile faded from his face. If they were dead had he left any clues behind that would incriminate him? Was there anything that would lead the authorities to him? He had to check, he couldn’t afford to leave anything lying around.

  Then, when I’m sure everything is all right, I’ll get out of here. I’ll change my name, and go to Switzerland.

  He got into the boat, and rowed to the other side of the lake. He walked the short distance over to the crevice, and on to the cavern. Standing at the entrance of the cave he nervously peered in. He could see nothing. He could hear nothing. He shone his torch down into the abyss. He could still see nothing, except large shadows cast by the rocks below. He could not see the two bodies. They’re not there. They’re not dead.

  What was that? He thought he heard something. He was sure that there was something moving down below. He shone his torch into the abyss once again. Yes, there, he was right. There was definitely something moving down there. It’s them. He began to panic. Sweat ran down his face. He had to know for sure. If they were alive he would finish it now. He checked his gun. It was fully loaded. He placed it securely into his holster. He started to climb down.

  He began to hyperventilate. He started imaging all sorts of things, hearing all kinds of noises, and seeing all manner of things. Suddenly he lost concentration. His foot slipped, and he fell heavily to one side. He tried to recover his grip, but failed. He slid down some thirty yards, striking rocks as he fell. After ten yards he was dead, his skull fractured, and his neck broken.

  At the end of the fall he found the other two. They were definitely dead, but it didn’t matter to Richter, not then.

  * * *

  Richter’s camp was discovered, two weeks later, by a group of hikers. The discovery was reported to the authorities, who conducted a thorough search of the area. They found a small boat on the opposite side of the lake, close to a small waterfall. Nothing else was found, apart from Richter’s identification card. A formal enquiry heard that Ernst Richter was from Gmunden, where he operated a diving school. Recently the business had declined quite seriously. He had apparently left Gmunden some weeks earlier. Nobody knew where he had gone. A search of the premises in Gmunden was carried out. Nothing was found that helped the enquiry. He had been an experienced diver, who knew the local lakes well. It was concluded that he had been conducting a series of dives in the area. Sadly, he had got into difficulties, and had drowned. His body was not recovered. It was presumed that it now lay at the bottom of the lake.

  There was a possibility that he had actually committed suicide. However, no supporting evidence was found. The official verdict of the coroner’s office was Accidental Death By Drowning, a most unfortunate accident. There appeared to be no relatives to inform. There was no next of kin. The case was closed, and filed away.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  The Pentagon - Washington 1955

  Department 42T is located on the second floor, of the inner core section, at the Pentagon, in Room 227. The Department was primarily responsible for maintaining the records relating to America’s military personnel who were listed as missing in action, presumed dead, of which there were many, from both World War II, and the Korean War.

  The bulk of the work carried out by the Department was basically to provide information to third parties, including individuals, enquiring about particular persons. Occasionally, although more and more infrequent, information would be received regarding the whereabouts of a missing serviceman, or woman. Because of the implications, not least of which for the relatives, such information was always treated with top priority.

  * * *

  Corporal
Davidson struck a line through one of the figures on the calendar hanging on the wall. “August 15th,” he announced to nobody in particular. Another ten days and he was off on leave. He was going upstate with his two young sons, camping, and a bit of fishing. You couldn’t beat it, he thought, as he practised casting his imaginary line. Just lazing around in the sunshine with a gentle breeze blowing, the line floating in the water, and you fast asleep on the bank. And afterwards, a few cold beers. That’s the life, he thought, as he cast another imaginary line.

  His daydreaming was shattered by the sound of a document landing noisily on his desk. It related to some American dog tags that had been discovered in the vicinity of a small lake in Austria. The identification tags had originally been issued between 1939 and 1945. Details of the discovery, together with photographs of the tags, and where they had been found, had originally been given to the US authorities based in Vienna. They had subsequently been sent on to the Pentagon, in Washington. The tags had, apparently, been discovered by three German students exploring the area adjacent to Lake Kammersee, in the Austrian lake district not far from Salzburg.

  The Corporal carefully examined the photographs. The tag showing the persons name was, unfortunately, so badly damaged that nothing could be read. The other tag, showing the personnel number was quite corroded, but most of the numbers could be recognised.

  “749/2487,” he said to himself. “Pity I can’t see the name, or the last two numbers.”

  It was possible to identify a person by the number only. It was just more difficult, and more involved. In this case because two numbers were illegible he would need to find the ninety-nine records that those numbers could relate to. He looked closely at the tags. Although he could not see the two corroded numbers clearly, he was able to establish that the first of the numbers could only be a 2, 3 or an 8. That narrowed the search down a little. Now all he had to find was thirty records.

  He picked up the tags and walked out of his office. Entering the corridor he turned to the right, and a few moments later he arrived at a small office, Room 232. He knocked on the door, and walked in. Seated at a desk in the corner of the room was Corporal Joseph Rowland.

  “Hey Joe,” said Davidson as he entered the room. “Do me a favour will you? Check these out for me.” He handed over the tags. “I need to identify the last two digits.”

  Corporal Rowland took hold of the tags, and looked at them through a magnifying glass. After a short time he announced that regrettably he could not make out the last digit. “However, the other number is almost certainly a three, or maybe an eight. Sorry I can’t be more helpful than that.” Rowland handed back the tags.

  “That’s fine, Joe,” Davidson said. “You’ve been more than helpful. Thanks a lot.”

  Davidson turned around and returned to his office. With that assistance from Rowland he now had to find twenty names only, and not ninety-nine. He would then need to eliminate some of names. It would still be involved, and require a lot of cross checking, involving military units, locations, and dates. Nonetheless, twenty was infinitely better than ninety-nine. He walked over to the filing cabinets, and pulled out a number of files, and took them back to his desk. He then began the long task of checking.

  After several hours, and a dozen or more phone calls, he had a list of names. The names listed represented twenty United States soldiers who were missing in action. Since the end of the war a number of these men would probably have been discovered. In that respect twelve of the names could be eliminated straightaway. Of the eight names remaining five had been members of units operating in the Pacific. One name had been a member of an advanced column entering Berlin. The nineteenth name was a member of the Marine Corp. Consequently they could not have been the person to whom the tags belonged.

  That left just one name, one name where the known numbers matched those on the tag. Davidson underlined the name on his list – “Private Terry Roberts, US Pathfinder Group. Service number 749/248784.” He picked up the telephone and dialled an internal extension.

  “Hi, this is Davidson in 42T ….. yes sure I’m fine,” he said. “Yes I’ll be at the game, Saturday, wouldn’t miss it.” He paused for a moment tapping the sheet of paper lying on his desk. “I want the file on a Private Roberts. Service number 749/248784, and also the file on the Pathfinders Unit from 1943 until the end of the war.”

  “Be with you in thirty minutes,” was the reply.

  “Great, thanks, see you soon. Bye.” Davidson put the receiver back on the cradle. Another missing person identified another case that could be closed. It was always very satisfying to complete something. And his leave was still intact. He decided to get a cup of coffee, whilst waiting for the files to come up.

  He went down the corridor to the rest room. He went in, got his coffee, and sat down at one of the tables. As he sat there another soldier came in, and joined him.

  “Hi, Summers,” said Davidson, as the other man sat down. “How’s it going in your section?” He wasn’t exactly sure what Summers did, but it was something to do with logistics, whatever that was.

  “Oh, you know the same old thing. What about you? More of the usual I suppose.” Summers was a highly disillusioned man. He had seen action in Italy, and Germany, and found it difficult to adjust to post war life. At the end of the war he couldn’t face civilian life, so he had signed on for further military duty. It wasn’t what he had envisaged. Anyway he didn’t have too long now before he could retire.

  “No, not quite,” replied Davidson. “Something a little bit different. In fact, it could be quite interesting. We received a report regarding a missing guy from 1945. Actually he was in your unit, I think, the Pathfinders, name of Roberts, Private Roberts.”

  “I was in the 101st,” Summers corrected him. “How can you possibly confuse an outfit like the Pathfinders, with an elite unit like the 101st?”

  This remark went un-noticed by Davidson, who had finished his coffee, and had got up to leave. “Better get back,” he said. “I’ll be seeing you.”

  Davidson returned to his office. The requested files were seated in his in tray. He took up the first one. It was Roberts’ personnel file.

  He started to read. “Born and raised in Oklahoma. Farm boy.” Davidson was a country man himself. He continued to read. Roberts had been with the Pathfinders, from Sicily, right through Italy, in 1943 and 1944. He may have been a farm boy, but he must have been tough to survive all of that.

  Davidson continued to scan through the papers. “Here we are,” he whispered. “Reported accidentally drowned in 1945, at Lake Toplitzsee, Austria.” He slowly closed the file. “That’s that, case closed,” he said pleased with himself. “Another case finalised.”

  He placed the file in his out tray. “I’ll get on to the filing clerk later on,” he thought. “He can take them away.”

  Davidson looked over at the wall clock. It was almost lunch time. He decided that he wouldn’t start anything new, not yet. He would get an early lunch, drive into town, and start again when he returned. He closed the desk drawers, and locked them. He stood up and walked toward the door.

  “Wait a second, that report said Toplitzsee.” He turned around, and returned to his desk.

  “Where’s that report from Vienna?” He shuffled through his papers. There it was. He read it again, carefully. “Lake Kammersee.”

  He reached across his desk and retrieved the file from his out tray. He started to search through once again. The file clearly stated Toplitzsee.

  “Somebody has screwed up, one of them is wrong,” he said. Then it hit him. Roberts had accidentally fallen into a lake hadn’t he? He had apparently drowned. “That’s what the file said, drowned. That can’t be right.”

  Better see the old man, he thought, as he reached for the telephone. He dialled the extension number of Major Barnes.

  “Sir, I need to see you for a few moments, if convenient?” he said when he had been put through. “It concerns a report I received today, from ou
r embassy in Vienna. It relates to a missing soldier from 1945.” He hesitated momentarily.

  “What about it, Corporal? We have hundreds of soldiers missing from World War II,” was the curt response, which was saying don’t bother me with trivia.

  “Yes sir I know that,” replied Davidson. “But there is something odd about this one, sir. I think that it could be quite important.”

  He was told to come along immediately, but he could only spare a few minutes. Davidson picked up the file and the report that he had received, and walked along the corridor, to Major Barnes’ office. He tapped on the door, and went in.

  Corporal Ann Wheeler, the Major’s secretary, was seated at her desk, busily typing. She looked up as he entered. “You are to go straight in,” she said, looking at the Major’s door.

  Davidson needed no further invitation. He walked to the door, knocked, and walked straight in.

  “Okay, Davidson, sit down,” said the Major. “Now, what’s this all about? But be as brief as you can, I have a meeting in thirty minutes.”

  Davidson sat down, and as briefly as possible, told the Major the contents of the report, from Vienna, and his findings gleaned from the file. “Toplitzsee, Kammersee, what about it?” said the Major. “Somebody has made an error with the name of the lake, that’s all, nothing more than that.”

  “Sir, the name of the lake is not entirely the point,” said Davidson.

  The Major looked at his watch, his meeting was in fifteen minutes, and he needed to prepare for it. He was beginning to get impatient. “All right, Davidson. Exactly what is the point?”

  “The dog tags themselves,” Davidson said quite simply. “The most important aspect of this whole matter, sir, is those pieces of metal, the identification discs.”