Fulcrum of Malice

by Patrick W O'Bryon

  “Don’t call it that! These girls are slaves with no choice in the matter!” She bent closer, desperate to win his understanding. “But I can help them, Ryan, show them true compassion and concern. I can’t replace the mothers and sisters they’ve lost, only comfort them when suicide seems their only answer. This gives my life purpose again despite all this senseless suffering and horror.”

  He hunted for words, new arguments, but came up empty. He wanted so much to free her, and now she insisted on a different path. But what right had he to change her mind, even though she would certainly die in the end? Where was the sense in her choosing slow suicide? That vengeful Nazi in Paris would see she perished eventually. She would never leave this place. Devastated, he said nothing.

  “I know you. You selflessly risked your life to save your German friends, and now you’re surely risking it to help me. But I’m not here for rescue. I’m here to help others. The best thing you can do for me is to allow me to do what I must, what I want. To understand my choice.”

  They sat for a while, fingers entwined. At last Ryan stood and pulled her to him. “I’ll wait for one day, my love. I’m staying at the Gasthaus zur Post in town. If you change your mind, or merely want to talk, I’m here for you.” Her kiss tasted of salt, whether from her tears or his he didn’t know. “Tomorrow at noon I’ll be here in this office again. If you don’t come, I’ll leave. But know this, Marita—I do love you, and you will be forever in my heart.”

  “I’ve always loved you and always will. But I couldn’t save my family in Paris. I won’t leave my new family behind.” She guided him to the door, urging him out.

  Hearing it shut quietly behind him, he walked away. He didn’t look back.

  At the Essen station he took a seat on an empty bench, his mind numbed by disappointment. Erika and Leo missing, likely dead at Horst’s behest. Now Marita had given up on life to appease some inner demon. Could he have been more persuasive, found more compelling arguments? That obstinacy would be the end of her!

  He had waited at the director’s office for over an hour. She hadn’t appeared, not even sent a note. The travel papers won at such risk now mocked him from his jacket pocket. He would destroy them at first chance.

  The express for Geneva wouldn’t arrive for another two hours. Distractedly, he watched the comings and goings of the travelers. Newsboys shouted the Extras. Ticket agents went about their business as on-duty soldiers took forbidden smoke breaks, and locomotives on the platforms announced their arrivals and departures with blasts of steam and piercing whistles. Scratchy loudspeakers alerted travelers and identified platforms. Passengers greeting families, soldiers on leave, men and women in uniform, businessmen in suits, most faces serious, distracted, rushed. Time waiting for no man.

  Enough was enough. Forget Geneva. His next COI assignment wouldn’t come until Ed was back from Washington. Plenty of time to do what was right. He joined the line at the ticket booth. One way, second class, Berlin. Von Kredow lurked somewhere in the capital. He would track him down. Somehow. And where von Kredow prowled, he would find Kohl. Twin destroyers of lives.

  Canaris might abhor assassination, find it dishonorable. But sometimes the world demanded vile means to eliminate evil. Ryan had failed once. It wouldn’t happen again.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Berlin-Wannsee, Germany

  6 October 1941

  The lamp spread a small circle of light that emphasized the rich reds and golds of the Persian carpet and the blood glistening on Horst von Kredow’s thighs. The rest of the study remained in deep shadow. Horst sat naked, watching the blood surface and pool between his legs before dripping to the rug. A spent syringe lay on the table beside him. Another waited, filled and ready.

  His glazed eyes slowly focused on a familiar figure sitting across the room in the darkness. The hint of a distorted smile appeared on the mask of Horst’s face. “So, my old friend, I can’t say I’m surprised you’ve come.” He set the blade on the leather seat of the chair. “We’ve been dancing this dance for many years.”

  “The music must stop eventually, I suppose.” The visitor held the Browning lightly, its muzzle aimed at von Kredow. He wore dark clothing from head to toe. He had not removed his hat. “Forgive my intruding on your self-mutilation. To each his own, right?”

  “A little diversion I picked up in France. It helps pass the hours. I hope I didn’t offend, but in truth I never saw you enter.”

  “Oh, I’ve been here a while already. Don’t give it a thought. It’s been quite a show, but what say we put an end to all this?”

  Horst nodded in agreement. “We’ve been through so much together, and had our fair share of confrontations along the way. I must say you’ve proved far more resilient than I’d have imagined possible.” Horst adjusted the black lampshade to direct light on his guest. “I do give you credit for that.”

  “I’ve learned from the best, Horst.”

  “So my time has come, has it?”

  “Inevitable, given how many lives you’ve destroyed with your vengeance and cruelty.” The man casually crossed his legs.

  “Those traits serve the Reich well. Weaklings tremble when confronted by us. Why? Because they can’t grasp one simple truth—compassion is for cowards. We are masters because we have a leader like Hitler. The rest of the world makes do with gutless Chamberlains.” Horst sat more upright on the chair. “You should have learned that by now, old friend.”

  “Well, it ends here and now, Horst. You forced my hand and turned me to violence. I’ve always preferred a more diplomatic approach, but tonight we see who proves the weaker when the final card is dealt.”

  “A little secret for you then, since you believe yourself hardened enough to kill me in cold blood. Life exists only in pleasure and challenge.” Horst took the dagger and carved a line in his forearm from elbow to wrist. He held the wound beneath the lamp to show the extent of the damage. “Without those two, life is nothing but an endless slog toward an unknown demise. Once I no longer take pleasure in forcing others to acknowledge they have no control over their destiny, that their existence has no meaning, I myself will surrender to the inevitable.”

  The tip of his dagger played with the welling streak of blood. “Just look what I’ve done here—I’ve saved you the trouble of actually shooting me. Just sit and watch and I’ll bleed out before your eyes. This evening I can prevent your becoming the monster you think I’ve become.” A right-sided grin distorted his face. “Better yet, the one I’ve always been.” He straightened again, as if intending to rise from the chair. “And with that said, I invite your best.”

  Abruptly, he slumped low and sent the blade on a straight course, pinning the intruder’s arm to the chair. In that same instant, the pistol spit and three holes opened in Horst’s chest. A fourth shattered his tortured jawbone. He managed to stagger toward his assailant before a fifth bullet dropped him to the carpet.

  The assassin wrenched the dagger from his sleeve and gently prodded his upper arm. The wound was superficial. He approached the dying von Kredow. “You won’t rise again from the dead, Lazarus.” He knelt down and rolled Horst onto his back, then severed his throat with the blade. Blood spread in pulsing waves, soaking the carpet before slowing to a trickle.

  He wiped the dagger on the rug before returning it to the custom case on the bookshelf. In the dim light he could just make out the brass plaque commemorating Horst’s SS induction. Leaving the room, he looked back one more time. The body remained still. “You see, Horst, you have indeed taught me well. I may never take pleasure in the act, but I am fully capable of killing the best.”

  He switched off each overhead light until he reached the landing, leaving a corridor of darkness behind him. He descended to the foyer. In response to the blackened house, a sedan already idled at the foot of the steps, the rear door open, a driver at the wheel. The killer slid in beside the tall man who immediately demanded: “Is it done?”

  “It’s done.” Kohl spit on
the lenses of his eyeglasses and used his handkerchief to wipe away a drying splatter of blood.

  “Good,” Heydrich said, his eyes straight ahead. The car pulled out from the drive and headed back toward the center of Berlin. “Despite all his formidable talents, von Kredow had become too great an embarrassment. My plan for Reich and Führer requires a clean slate and a new right-hand man. You, my dear Kohl, have shown yourself equal to the task.”

  “Thank you, sir. I did feel a bit undervalued in my old position. With von Kredow gone, I will shine under your tutelage.”

  Heydrich observed the passing villas. The moon had just cleared the gabled rooftops, turning them to flashing planes of silver. “I’m sure you will, Richard, I’m sure you will.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Geneva, Switzerland

  7 October 1941

  If any morning could banish thoughts of war and the millions suffering under the Nazi yoke, this would be it. Not one cloud marred the deep-blue sky over Lac Léman. To Ryan’s back, the Grand Hôtel du Lac caught the first rays as the sun crested the snow-covered Alps. Across the shimmering lake, the Jura glowed pink under a recent dusting of snow. A day to forget misery, death and the aching disappointment in his heart. A day to live for the moment, if only he could.

  Ryan rose to give Ed a welcoming hug, using his glove to clear a second spot on the park bench. He gestured for his brother to sit. Just in from Lisbon, Ed had flown the Clipper from New York, bringing Ryan’s new identity papers and mission assignment from COI. Ryan had awaited his return in frustration.

  When he’d arrived at Berlin’s Potsdamer Station a week earlier, two of Canaris’ men had pulled him from the crowded concourse. Preoccupied by Marita’s rejection, he hadn’t seen them coming, and still cursed himself for the stupidity. Despite his protests they brought him directly to Tempelhof Airfield and by late afternoon he was again airborne for Switzerland. They confiscated all the “Seffer” identity papers and Marita’s travel documents, telling him only that the admiral would soon be in touch.

  Ryan scraped out the bowl of his pipe, the ashes staining the crusted snow at his feet. “So, what did our Washington friends have to say?”

  “That’s damn nasty evidence you collected! Proves many of our most powerful are getting fat on Hitler’s war.” Ed was clearly angry. “But don’t hold your breath on things changing quickly back home.” He shook his head in disgust. “Or over here, for that matter.”

  A pair of swans floated by and Ryan thought of Leo in the Tiergarten, throwing crumbs to the waterfowl while a breathless Erika revealed her plan to escape the Reich.

  “Somehow I’m getting used to that from Washington.” He sighed, refilled his pipe and struck a match. “What’s their excuse this time?”

  “Same old story. Many of those big shots helped get Roosevelt re-elected, and others—not just the isolationists and their ilk—claim the economic recovery depends on huge corporate profits, no matter where they’re found.” Ryan shared the depth of Ed’s disgust. “Once we’re actually into this war with both feet, all that could change, but I have my doubts. The plutocrats will keep on making fortunes, and anyone hoping to blow a whistle will quietly disappear.”

  “So what the hell’s the point? Military intelligence I get, but what good’s economic intelligence if never used?”

  “Don’t feel bad. Your mission wasn’t for nothing, brother. David Bruce assures me that Wednesday’s coming negotiations with Canaris could undermine the Führer’s future plans. Maybe even get rid of the bastard, if there’s any justice in this unjust world. COI says you made it all possible. It seems the old admiral in Berlin likes your style.”

  Distant clouds were gathering over the Jura. The break in the fall weather had been just that, a break, and a challenging winter was heading their way. Ryan was prepared to do all he could, even if it made little difference in the schemes of nations and corporations.

  “What’s on my plate next?”

  “It’s back to Berlin you go.” Edward took an envelope from his overcoat. “Latest from Washington—Donovan and Bruce have something new up their sleeves. You’ll be back in Hitlerland within the week.”

  Ryan shrugged and stuffed the unopened envelope into his pocket, trying his best to prolong the moment of forced serenity. Berlin. Good. There he would find von Kredow and Kohl. A lake steamer chugged up to the pier, its wake churning the broken ice along the shoreline and separating the swans.

  “Can’t say I blame you for tucking it away,” Ed said with a chuckle. “But I believe this one will be of greater interest.” He fumbled in his coat and handed over a folded sheet of paper. “Arrived in the local bag last night,” Ed’s eyes twinkled. “Seems it reached the Paris consulate a week ago but some moron figured it could wait for my return.”

  Ryan opened the telegram and stared at the block letters:

  SAFE IN LONDON. NEW BABY ON WAY. TILL WE MEET IN PEACE. E. R. L.

  Erika. René. Leo. He shook his head as he tried to fathom how they’d reached England in wartime. He cleared his throat as emotion surfaced. “It’s true then? They’re really safe, all three?”

  Ed seemed as pleased as Ryan. “Yep, our wireless guy confirmed it last night. Safe, sound and anxious to help MI6. Particularly that rascal Leo, I’m told. In any case, they made it all the way from France on a fishing trawler. Took a lot of guts! London says the Saint-Nazaire plan turned sour but the intelligence they gained has future value.”

  “Well I’ll be damned.” Ryan stared across the lake, stunned by the revelation. “They made it out. Their deaths just more of von Kredow’s cursed lies.” He re-read the telegram, his smile spreading. “And a new baby, to boot! Maybe they’ll make me godfather.”

  “Perhaps your friends don’t always need your help after all, brother.” Ed nudged him good-naturedly as he left the bench. “But I’ll leave you for now with that happy report. Rolf von Haldheim arrives from Paris this afternoon to liaise with Canaris’ people and prepare for our meeting.” Ed set his Trilby firmly on his head. “I’m to show him around, but you and I can discuss your assignment over a drink this afternoon.”

  “Sounds swell. I think I’ll just sit here a while and enjoy the view…and your great news.” He held up the cable. “Thanks so much for this, Ed. I really mean it—a fine surprise indeed!”

  “Always glad to paste a smile on that kisser of yours.” Ed was several steps away when he turned back with an afterthought. “Oh, I nearly forgot. You might find this of interest, too.” He handed Ryan another envelope. “A special delivery came in this morning from Admiral Canaris. His courier said the old man wanted you to have it right away.” He was already up the path when he called out over his shoulder: “And take your time. This evening will be fine for that drink.” He headed toward the hotel, crunching the snow, chuckling again.

  “W.C.” drawn in elegant script decorated the upper corner of the envelope. Ryan recalled the admiral’s jest about sharing those initials with both Winston Churchill and the ever-present water closet. He split the seal and removed a hand-penned note from Canaris:

  In a life filled with challenge and suffering, nothing can replace the love of a good woman.

  I know. So should you.

  It may be difficult at first, but never let her go again.

  In fulfillment of my promise, I remain

  Your lesser W.C.

  Ryan leapt to his feet. His brother had already left the sunroom terrace. A petite woman in gray overcoat and red boots hesitated at the top of the icy landing, looking his direction, one gloved hand on the rail. She took a cautious step forward.

  

  afterword

  Readers will recognize in fictional Horst von Kredow a mentally-disturbed sadist empowered by a fascist government founded on prejudice, hatred, and arrogance. The evil of many historical figures of this period far exceeds anything I might have imagined for my chief villain.

  The actual Reinhard Heydrich is a fitting example. Whil
e still heading the Main Office of Reich Security, he became Acting Reich Protector of Bohemia and Moravia and immediately began slaughtering Czech partisans and nationalists, further establishing his reputation as one of the Reich’s harshest enforcers of Nazi xenophobic doctrine. In 1942 British-supported Czech and Slovak partisans ambushed him in a Prague street. He died of grenade wounds several days later.

  An exception was the true Admiral Wilhelm Canaris, one of the most enigmatic figures of his time. A man of apparent honor and humanity, he held a position of immense power in the Reich and yet remained a confirmed anti-Nazi. He worked diligently to undermine Hitler while protecting both his country and his powerful position as head of German Military Intelligence. He was ultimately killed by Hitler. To more fully appreciate this complex figure, I suggest Richard Bassett’s fine study, Hitler’s Spy Chief.

  The Bank of International Resolutions (BIR) is a fictional institution modeled after an actual banking operation. Its collusion with Hitler’s Reichsbank and top American and British corporations and industries is explored in depth in Charles Higham’s Trading with the Enemy; The Nazi-American Money Plot 1933-1949. The complicity continued even after Germany’s declaration of war in December 1941.

  “Wild Bill” Donovan consolidated American intelligence-gathering operations, starting in 1941 with the Coordinator of Information Office (COI). With America’s entry into the war, Donovan established the Office of Strategic Services, 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.

  The brutal treatment of Nazi captives in both French prisons and German labor camps is described in many first-person accounts. I recommend Lucie Aubrac’s Outwitting the Gestapo and Agnès Humbert’s Résistance, from which I derived much of the factual material relating to Résistance activity and incarceration.