Stile Maus

by Robert Wise

  ‘Which it won’t.’

  ‘Once we have the destination we can start to plan ahead.’

  ‘There’s just one more thing,’ interrupted Schulze, ‘during my time at Anaheim’s office I have discovered a number of, shall we say, interesting articles. The most recent; plans for the construction of a secret bunker in the hills of Austria. Tyrol to be exact.’

  ‘What has this got to do with the plan?’

  ‘I’ve looked over the blueprints. This could be the perfect place.’

  ‘To hide a Gestapo official?’

  Howard blew a cloud of smoke against the window pane.

  ‘To bury one.’

  Schulze opened the second folder and clipped at the front page, tapping a squiggle of black ink at the bottom.

  ‘Hitler’s signature.’

  There was a hushed whisper of different voices, none of which actually conversed with another but the room bustled with a mixture of confusion and curiosity. The very mention of the Fuhrer’s name created a tornado of butterflies within each man’s stomach.

  ‘It’s his consent for a hidden nest. As far as I’m aware, only myself, Anaheim, the Fuhrer and the construction team working on it know its whereabouts. It really is the perfect place.’

  Hugo raised a glass to his mouth and swigged gingerly at a lengthy pour of auburn warmth.

  ‘Then it is agreed. Howard will contact the office and set up a meeting. If there’s a way in which we can infiltrate the nest with one of own, I’ll find it. Meanwhile, stay hidden, stay silent.’

  The screen had worn thin and the once glittering canvas was now empty and without the black and white commotion that Klaus had remembered. There were no onlookers, no couples talking long into the night. A sigh took his breath and he found himself pondering time and what it seized away.

  ‘So what will you do when you catch him?’

  Klaus enjoyed the softness of her voice and chose not to reply, hoping she would repeat the question.

  ‘Klaus?’

  He smiled tentatively and met her gaze.

  ‘I don’t know. I guess I haven’t thought about that.’

  He was lying and she could tell.

  ‘I wouldn’t judge you Klaus...’

  She looked to say something else but caught his cool blue eyes watching her and she smiled.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘I almost forgot how beautiful you were.’

  They kissed under the pale moonlight.

  ‘I remember the night you came to me, scared and cold with blood and rain. That night still haunts me.’

  She ran a trail of fingers across his face and admired the dash of scars that crept at his cheeks and neck. Klaus did not shy away although he wanted to. A grumble of thunder sounded overhead.

  Some three months later Hugo called everyone to a tavern and waited for Howard’s belated arrival before beginning. They spoke freely behind frothy pints and through the smoke of casual cigars.

  ‘It appears things have moved quicker than we first anticipated.’

  They sat within the dark corners of a quiet room towards the back and filled two tables.

  ‘Tobias left for Paris last night. His facade begins immediately. Now, if all goes to plan, Tobias will lure Anaheim to the hotel in which he is staying four weeks from now. Here we will capture him and take out any units that tagged along for the ride.’

  Howard sprinkled a heap of smoky powder into an ash tray and cleared his throat with a grunt.

  ‘For days myself and Hugo could not think of a way in which we could get the Major out from his hotel room and down into the lobby, past his guards and then out into the alley where a truck will be waiting.’

  Klaus set down his beer.

  ‘But then we thought of this.’

  A large stretch of paper was thrust between the tables and those sat around it leaned in curiously.

  ‘It’s a chair...’

  Hugo scoffed at his beer and wiped away his smile.

  ‘It’s a special kind of chair. Bordered in a brass frame, locked down at the base of the trolley, disguised as a bellhop’s luggage cart. With a sheet hooked to these four hinges anything beneath the cover will be entirely hidden.’

  ‘So have you found someone to build it? It would have to be someone trustworthy, someone who wouldn’t threaten...’

  ‘We have someone in mind.’

  Hugo shot Howard a glance.

  ‘What?’

  Klaus caught them out.

  ‘A Frenchman named Stefan De Lorme.’

  ‘And does this Frenchman live in Germany?’

  ‘No,’ Howard spat, ‘he lives in Paris.’

  ‘An outsider, you want an outsider, a carpenter might I add, to build possibly the most important device in this operation and wheel it into a hotel packed to the brim with Nazi’s? He’ll need an army behind him. He won’t make it through the doors.’

  ‘Funny you should say that.’

  Howard scooped at his glass and grinned.

  ‘Stefan De Lorme happens to belong to a pretty prestigious French resistance group.’

  ‘So he’ll jump at the chance of helping us.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘So how do you know all of this?’

  ‘Til has been staying in Paris for a few weeks, he’ll remain out there until we join him.’

  ‘You mentioned that this De Lorme character is part of some group, what about the rest of them? Are they chair makers too?’

  ‘No, but they will feature in our plans, heavily.’

  ‘And if they refuse?’

  ‘They won’t. Soon enough we won’t be the only ones who know the true identity of these makeshift mercenaries. Once the Nazi’s find out who they are they’ll issue an arrest. We can offer them and their families a way out.’

  Hugo leaned onto the table.

  ‘Tobias will be staying in the ‘La Grande’, a hotel at the centre of Paris. That’s where Anaheim will go. With the help of these stallers we’ll be able to get one of them into a bellhop uniform and up to the floor where Anaheim is staying. Provided Kevin travels with him, he will assist Klaus in restraining the Major and they will supply sufficient cover to the man who pushes the chair.’

  ‘So what happens after that?’

  ‘We load our good friend, the Major into a truck and take him to the airstrip where two of us will wait with a carrier. Then its over the hills and into the abyss.’

  Hugo wet his dry words with a cool sip of beer.

  ‘Any questions?’

  THE HANGAR

  The phantom screeched to a halt. Til leapt out and swung around to the passenger side door, clipping it open with hurried fingers. He took Tobias by the under seam of his jacket and pulled his lifeless body out onto the concrete ground. The truck pulled in behind them and through the misty pale blue glow of the headlamps Hugo could make out the glare of panic that had set over Til Drezner’s face.

  ‘Something’s wrong, he’s not breathing.’

  Stefan and Jacques clapped down onto the concrete.

  ‘What happened?’ spat Hugo, ‘the explosives in the lift were supposed to deal with Anaheim’s guards in the lobby.’

  ‘You heard them go off,’ Stefan retorted stubbornly.

  ‘The guards were in the lobby when we got there,’ said Jacques, ‘for whatever reason they weren’t inside that shaft when the bombs went off.’

  Hugo seethed and placed the back of his hand over Tobias’ forehead. The tailgate dropped and Michel hopped down onto the ground first so that Klaus and Schulze could carefully pass down the brass frame that held Heinrich Anaheim. Howard had made his way over and stooped down at Tobias’ limp body, his face red with fury.

  ‘Who let this happen?’ he bellowed, ‘who is responsible for this?’

  Hugo grabbed his arm, smudging a batch of Tobias’ blood against Howard’s jacket.

  ‘Now is not the time, need to get him out of here.’

  Howard brushed a hand o
ver Tobias’ shoulder and looked towards the aircraft.

  ‘There should be a stretcher in the tail section.’

  Hugo nodded and got to his feet.

  ‘Cover the entrance and get Anaheim into the interceptor, we won’t have long.’

  The cart rattled across the hangar as Schulze and Klaus pushed it toward the plane. The sheet flustered at the base, revealing the neatly polished shoes that Anaheim was wearing. With a short bump the trolley mounted the ramp at the tail and they heaved it into the chamber. Through a short and narrow passageway sat a dimly lit room, cast in a shadow of glimmering green. A beacon spun at the wall, it’s blink easily misleading. With a quick snap Schulze began to clip the chair into place, locking each leg to a chain that stemmed from the steel floor. Hugo appeared at the foot of the corridor and began rummaging through a stack of netted coves until his blood stained hands met the cold spindles of a stretcher. He took it to the hangar and eased Tobias onto its navy slide with the help of Howard.

  ‘Start that thing up!’ Howard boomed. The propeller cranked and began to spin at a tremendous speed. Klaus watched as they loaded the stretcher into the tail and then stepped out into the cold mist hovering around the hangar. Stefan came to his side.

  ‘It appears our deal has come to an end.’

  Stefan nodded and stared toward the locker opening.

  ‘You have your man, now where are my family?’

  Klaus pried open his breast pocket and handed Stefan a note.

  ‘This is the address of an abandoned barn just outside of Paris. If you go now you can make it before the sun starts to show over the hills. Your family are there, your friend’s family too. They’re all safe, all well.’

  Stefan checked the note and ran a hand over his cheek. He winced.

  ‘You’re hurt?’ said Klaus.

  Stefan glanced down at his stomach and saw that the wound had spread across his shirt.

  ‘I’m fine,’ Stefan replied bluntly.

  ‘I can ask Hugo to give you a look over.’

  ‘No,’ Stefan persisted with a gentle smile, ‘thank you, for this.’ He held up the note and tucked it into the seams of his leather jacket.

  ‘Take the two cars,’ Klaus said, pointing at the Jaguar and Mercedes that sat across the hangar.

  ‘Should you come across any blockades, do not stop. Find another way around. Once you arrive at the barn park your vehicles inside and stay put. With any luck the war will be over before you are discovered.’

  Stefan stretched out his hand and Klaus shook it.

  ‘Take care now.’

  A silent nod was traded and Stefan turned and walked away. Taking one last look at the cold blue hangar Klaus boarded the interceptor.

  ‘So what’s going on?’

  Stefan patted Michel on the shoulder and smiled.

  ‘We’re leaving.’

  Patrice was now standing and massaging the temples beside his purple eyelids. Jacques had already climbed into the Mercedes and had clipped on the ashen blue headlamps. His fingers drummed restlessly against the steering wheel and he checked his mirror as Gerard opened the passenger door of the Jaguar for Ludivine. After she had climbed inside and settled against the crimson leather seating Gerard signalled to Michel and Stefan who stood at the entrance of the chamber and bellowed,

  ‘Come on, we need to....’

  A rattle sounded and a spray of sparks clinked away from the darkness. Beyond the entrance, the cool swish of churning tyres could be heard and Stefan and Michel ducked behind the military truck Hugo had parked by a loading bay.

  ‘Bastards,’ spat Michel, ‘how many do you think are out there?’

  Stefan shrugged and yanked a pistol away from his belt. The machine gun quivered within his grasp and he feared that it would soon fall with his arm weak with pain.

  By now, Til had veered the Phantom into the back of the plane and joined the others at the door of the cockpit.

  ‘There’s someone out there,’ Carsten yelled over the deafness of his headphones. Howard pushed to the front of the gathering onlookers and peered into the gloom that hovered in the distance. He caught a glimpse of another yellow and orange sparkle and slumped a heavy hand onto Carsten’s shoulder.

  ‘Run them down if you must,’ he raged, ‘just get us into the skies.’ His concern for Tobias was obvious. Carsten nodded and began flicking at the control panel until a yellow smudge started to blink. His hands met the acceleration lever and with a gentle nudge the interceptor began to creak forwards.

  Another cluster of bullets rippled into the truck and Stefan ducked down. Michel swept to the back of the truck and began firing into the darkness. It was more of an attempt to see how many soldiers they were dealing with which proved ineffective. The gloom was made of the purest black and apart from the towering watch tower lights and scarce crackles of gunfire, nothing could be seen. The nose of the plane breached the hangar. At first the curved shell remained untarnished, almost as though the soldiers waiting outside were unsure whether to fire upon it’s bulking grey frame. It didn’t last. Carsten pushed back into his seat as the fist barrage started clinking across the windscreen. Howard eased into the seat beside him and Klaus and Schulze sought after the chamber where they had contained the Major. With a sudden, sharp snap at the tiller Carsten pulled the aircraft to one side and headed for the runway. Seeing that the interceptor now covered most of the entrance, Stefan leapt up and signalled for Gerard and Jacques to collect them. The Jaguar arrived at their side first and Stefan climbed in while Michel scrambled around the silver chassis of the Mercedes before disappearing under the hooded frame. Gerard veered to the left as did Jacques and the cars took to the smooth road leading away from the airfield. Stefan scrolled down the window and aimed his pistol out into the mist they had left behind. Shadows tumbled within the silky smog and they disappeared into the cabins of the stalling trucks. The glowing red light of the interceptor took to the runway and he watched it with a breeze agitated glare as it began to rise into the night sky. A gathering of headlamps broke through the darkness and Stefan fired a few warning shots, hoping that a bullet might blow out a travelling tyre.

  ‘Five trucks,’ Stefan called out, ‘we’ll have to lose them before we get to the barn.’

  ‘Where is it?’ Gerard said, ‘the barn, where is it?’

  Stefan dug out the note and placed it against the rattling hum of the dashboard for Gerard to swipe. They came off the road and sped onto a path that led them over a small bridge and brook. The roads were much narrower but the trucks remained close, scraping at the weeping tree line as they swerved into each tight corner. Jacques pressed at the brakes as his bumper neared the back of the Jaguar. He watched the headlamps rise over a small mount in the distance, one by one. The track had become slushy and the dirt toyed with the wheels. Gerard latched onto another slip road and the Mercedes followed with the trucks close behind. The looming trees that stood above them began to rattle and shake as the gusts of strong wind grew. Light was sparse but for the mist clotted beams leaking from the headlamps and the grass seemed to glow an icy blue under their stare. A gate lay up ahead and Gerard crashed it to splinters and jolted onto the field beyond. The back end of the Jaguar revolved into a perfect spin and stopped amidst a bed of damp sludge. Gerard locked the wheel and then crunched heavily at the pedals until the car rocked to one side before trundling off across the field. Panic laced his brow in a cold sweat and Stefan glanced behind to see the Mercedes roll over the broken gate. The beaming headlamps of the German trucks could be seen in the distance, whisking past the empty strands of flustering tree line. The field came to an end and Gerard found the road once more. The tyres swished onto the track and Gerard shifted at the gears, desperate to take advantage of the ditch he hoped the German trucks now found themselves in. With Jacques close behind, the Jaguar sped into the darkness and soon disappeared amidst the midnight blue. They drove for a while longer just to make sure that they weren’t being followed and eventually
found a cottage that had been lost within the shadows. A barn sat at the top of a small knoll, the moon settled beyond it. They parked the cars behind the cottage and filed into the empty living room. Dust clung to their boots.

  ‘Where do you think they are?’

  ‘Taken by the German’s is my bet.’

  Toys were scattered across the floor. Furniture lay overturned and broken. Stefan frowned. He couldn’t help but think the cottage seemed familiar. Or was it the déjà vu of walking through his own glass carpeted living room, searching for his taken family? He couldn’t be sure but something unsettled him. He left the others basking in the warm glow of a gaslight and moved into the corridors. With the point of his finger Stefan trailed the walls. Licks of dents and scratches rippled beneath his touch. He came to a room and lingered within the doorway. Books lined the window pane and the curtain that would normally cover the murky glass fell and dangled at the foot of the bed. There had been some kind of struggle that much was obvious. Stefan edged into the room. A fold of paper sat against a pillow on the bed and he stooped down and collected it carefully. He opened it slowly and found a scrawl of writing inside. The lead had worn and smudged but the words remained clear and simple to read. Stefan’s eyes widened and he raced into the corridor.

  ‘What is it?’ Gerard said as he brushed past the living room and into the kitchen.

  ‘Stefan?’

  He pushed through the back door and stared at the barn that sat atop a grassy bank just up the way.

  ‘Where is he going?’

  The hushed questions were mere whispers as Stefan limped up the path, his fingers clutched into his leaking wound. Michel came to his side.

  ‘Stefan, what’s going on?’

  He didn’t stop, he couldn’t. The barn doors were half open and he palmed at the handle, nudging the door against something hard on the other side. Stefan slipped through the crooked gap and the others trailed each step, edging past a workbench that sat amongst the hay bitten floor. Bands of cool moonlight leaked at the walls, invited through the cracks in the roof above. Beams had fallen and lay burnt and ruined at the entrance. Someone had sought out to burn the place down but it hadn’t gone exactly to plan. The fire had been short, though not extinguished. Perhaps it had burnt itself out? There was no empty bucket, no pale of placid water. Ludivine had crept across the floor and crouched down, taking a picture frame within her trembling fingers. It showed a young man, a smile set over his handsome face, a motorcycle beneath his gloved clutch. Stefan glared up into the darkness of the rafters. From his pocket he fumbled at a box of matches and struck at them until a candle of bright orange warmed his face. He raised the tiny flame up into the dimness and let out a sigh, half chortle, half fester of disbelief.