Hearts of Stone (30 page)

Chapter Twenty-Six

‘You look tired, Anna,’ said Dieter as he drew the chair back for her to sit. She took her place and he moved round and sat opposite. Above them the lattice of steel and glass curved over the atrium of the British Museum, suffusing the sunlight on to the other diners and the visitors swarming across the ground floor below.

‘Are you all right?’ he continued with a concerned expression.

‘Fine, thanks. I just haven’t been sleeping well the last few nights. I’ve been thinking about everything my grandmother has told me. It’s quite a story. Some of it she could not bear to tell me.’ Anna paused. Not yet willing to divulge the account of Eleni’s final experiences of the war on Lefkas.

‘I hope that my interest in her account has not given any cause for you to lose sleep.’ Dieter offered her a slight smile.

Her brow creased. ‘Why would it?’

Dieter shrugged and they sat awkwardly before he remembered the menus lying on the table before them. ‘Would you like a drink?’

She nodded. ‘A spritzer please.’

‘Really? Because it sounds German?’

The waiter came over and hovered at Dieter’s shoulder until he looked up.

‘Drinks, sir?’

‘A Diet Coke for me and a spritzer for the lady.’

‘Yes, sir.’ The waiter bowed his head and made off towards the bar.

‘How have you been?’ asked Dieter. ‘Since the last time we met.’

‘Well enough. Looking forward to Christmas though. I could use a break, get some rest and eat some food.’

He smiled at her. ‘I can imagine. I have friends who are teachers back in Germany. They say the same. So, you spoke to your grandmother, yes?’

‘I did. I got almost all of her story. I’ll get the rest when I am next in Norwich. I’m hoping that’ll be before Christmas. I’ll type it up when I’ve got all my notes together.’

‘Very good . . . I thank you, Anna, from the bottom of my heart.’

‘It probably won’t help you much. She doesn’t have much to say about what happened before the war.’

Dieter shrugged. ‘That may not matter. I have extended the scope of my research since we met. I’d like to know whatever your grandmother can recall. It is a pity that she would not speak to me herself.’

Anna recalled the contents of the envelope that her grandmother had passed to her, and shuddered. ‘She has her reasons, as I am sure you understand.’

He looked up at her wearily. ‘It seems we Germans will never be allowed to forget the war.’

‘And given what happened, perhaps that is not such a bad thing. The world needs examples to make people reflect.’

‘You think so?’ Dieter looked amused. ‘And having reflected on what happened in Germany, do you think the world has really become a better place? Do you think we have learned from the past? When I look at the world I begin to doubt that. What do you think, Anna? You seem like a good person to me. An honest person. Tell me.’

She could think of nothing to say. After the war to end all wars, and the war that followed hot on its heels, and the multitude of further wars and horrors, it was hard to have any faith in the examples set by history. Few people seemed to pay history much attention at all. Even so, she still believed, passionately, that the point of teaching the subject was as much to do with warning her students to learn the lessons of the past as it was to do with studying the subject for its own sake. There was still that hope.

She stared back at Dieter and her thoughts shifted to a school trip to Berlin she had taken as a girl. The German capital had been a strange place, a city looking back almost as much as it looked forward. New buildings jostled with older, bullet-scarred facades. Memorials to the atrocities carried out by the Nazis were plentiful and in plain view, forcing onlookers never to forget. Nor would they forget the brutal wall that had once divided west from east, its line forever marked by bricks set into the roads and pavements. If only more countries were prepared to bear the scars of the past rather than slip into the collective amnesia that passed for a reverence for history when the anniversaries of previous wars came and went. If only there were more like this German, who clearly cared deeply about history.

Dieter had given up waiting for a reply and nodded a curt thanks to the waiter as he returned with the drinks and set them down. He picked up the menu and began to read. He nodded as he made his decision and returned his gaze to her.

‘I’m having the risotto. Have you decided?’

‘The Caesar salad.’

Once Dieter had given the order, he settled back in his chair and studied Anna. ‘I will look forward to reading your notes. But for now, could you outline what you have found out?’

‘I will, if you share what you have discovered with me.’

‘That will be easier once I know what you know.’

Anna nodded, wondering how far she could really trust him. ‘OK, I’ll go first.’

She briefly related what Eleni had told her, but withheld the details of the letter, determined to see if what Dieter said matched her grandmother’s disturbing account. Dieter listened attentively, nodding once in a while. Their food turned up as Anna finished and once the waiter had departed Dieter gave his reaction.

‘It’s a little disappointing.’

‘Well, I’m so sorry about that . . .’

He looked apologetic. ‘I did not mean to make sound as it did. It’s just that I was hoping for more detail. To help with my research.’

‘If you could tell me what it is that you are after then perhaps I can find out more when I next see my grandmother.’

He chewed his lip gently and then nodded. ‘All right. I told you that my great-grandfather was part of an expedition looking for the remains of the palace of Odysseus. At the time he was forced to give up the search and return to Germany nothing of significance had been found at any of the excavations in the charge of his superior, Dörpfeld. Just a few small buildings here and there and fragments of pottery and so on. For a long time that’s all that it seemed. When I started my research degree I had little interest in such details and that was not the focus of my thesis.’ He leaned forward and lowered his voice. ‘Then I found a reference in a diary to his discovery of something significant. He was very careful not to go into any detail. For a while I tried looking for further references in Berlin University’s archives, and the papers of some of his colleagues, but there was nothing. So I went back to his notes and diaries and read them again. Far more closely this time. And I discovered something very interesting. Look . . .’

He leaned down towards his bag and came up with a thick notebook covered in faded red leather. Opening it carefully to a bookmarked page, he showed Anna a list of numbers under a neatly written legend at the top. She shook her head.

‘What’s it mean? I don’t understand German.’

‘It’s dated the last day of the excavation, before he and Peter had to leave Lefkas. It says that it is a list of the items found and catalogued.’

‘So?’

‘I came across a separate list of the finds in another set of records, compiled by his assistant, Heinrich Steiner. There are no matching numbers. This is something else.’

‘What?’ Anna thought quickly. ‘Like a code?’

‘Exactly!’ He grinned. ‘Just like a code. So I asked a friend of mine in the mathematics department if he would have a look at it. He came back to me very quickly. It was a simple enough cypher to break using his computer. He gave me the key and I set to work uncovering my grandfather’s secrets.’

‘And?’

Dieter took a fork of risotto and his jaws worked briefly before he swallowed. ‘And he claims to have discovered the resting place of Odysseus.’

Anna lowered her the fork as she felt a tingle of nervous excitement at the back of her neck. ‘Odysseus?’ She asked softly. ‘The Odysseus of Homer?’

‘I think so. No, I am sure of it. My grandfather was a careful man, a precise man.’

‘Did he find a tomb, then?’

‘Yes, that’s what he claimed. It was hidden in a cave not far from the excavation. He gives directions on how to locate it in his code. He said that it contained the treasure Odysseus brought back from Troy.’ Dieter frowned. ‘But there’s something wrong. I couldn’t find the cave where he said it would be.’

Anna’s eyebrows rose. ‘You’ve been there?’

Dieter nodded. ‘There’s nothing. No cave.’

‘Then your great-grandfather made a mistake. But I thought you said he was a precise man.’

‘He was. That’s why I thought I must have made an error in deciphering his directions. I checked again and again. But there was no mistake on my part. It’s puzzling. There is no cave. I have been to the site of the excavation. I found it easily enough. I followed the directions my grandfather had given, but they led nowhere. I came to a rocky slope where he claimed there was a cliff and that’s as far as I could go.’

‘Then your grandfather made a mistake when he encoded the directions.’

Dieter shook his head. ‘I told you. He was a precise man. Meticulous. He would not have made a mistake.’

Anna sniffed at the German’s conviction. So typical of a man. ‘Clearly someone has.’

‘It would appear so. But there’s something else I discovered that seems to have a connection to my great-grandfather’s work. It’s in another coded entry in this notebook. He speaks of his work having come to the attention of an official in the government. He says that he has been under observation and that his office and home have been searched. And then he makes a brief note that he has been summoned to the Hotel Prinz Albrecht to speak to H.’ Deiter showed her the entry. A half-page of more code. He flicked on a few more pages to show her that they were blank. ‘It’s the last entry he made.’

‘Before he was killed in the air raid?’

‘If that
is
the way he died.’

Anna lowered her knife and fork and stared back intently. ‘You think something else happened to him?’

‘It’s possible. Especially if one considers the content of that last message.’

‘You think he met someone at that hotel who might have killed him?’

Dieter gave a dry laugh. ‘At that time the Hotel Prinz Albrecht had not been a hotel for some years. It was taken over by the SS as their headquarters after Hitler and his thugs came to power. Many entered the building, never to be seen alive again. Perhaps that was the fate of my great-grandfather.’

‘Oh . . . Then who is H?’ Her eyes widened. ‘Not who I think? Surely?’

‘No. I don’t think so. It might be anyone, but I think it is likely that it was Himmler, given the nature of my great-grandfather’s work.’

‘Why would Himmler be interested in archaeology?’

‘He wasn’t. Not archaeology as such. He was more concerned with the occult, with symbols of power throughout history. But I think the Nazis just liked to take possession of anything that had any kind of value. Mystical or monetary. Goering was the worst of them all in that respect. They looted Europe for anything of value.’

‘I saw a movie about that recently.’

‘I know it. But this was all real, Anna. It was not a movie. My great-grandfather went to the headquarters of the SS and that’s the last record of his life that I have found. Most of his papers were lost, or disappeared. Except for the few notebooks and diaries that he had sent to his son for safe keeping with a note to keep them secret until he asked for their return.’ Dieter took another forkful of rice. ‘And that never happened.’

Anna helped herself to more salad before she said, ‘I’m sorry.’

‘It was long ago, and I never knew the man. I barely even knew my grandfather, Peter. He died while I was young. But there again I found that the story continues.’

‘What do you mean?’

Dieter removed his glasses and dipped into his pocket for a lens cloth and gave them a quick rub as he continued. ‘Once I had exhausted my great-grandfather’s records I turned my attention to his son. He had been there at the excavations, and like his father he kept a diary. There was not much of interest in the early years, but plenty of mentions of his friends Andreas and Eleni. It’s clear that he had strong feelings for her. Sadly for Peter there is no indication that she gave him any sign that she felt the same way about him.’

‘I don’t think she ever did, from what she told me.’

‘A pity. It might have changed the way things turned out.’

‘What do you mean?’

Dieter raised a finger. ‘That will become clear in a moment. But first let me tell you more about Peter. I believe you know he served in the Wehrmacht, the German army?’

‘Yes. You showed me the photo. Remember?’

Dieter nodded. ‘Then you also recall that he returned to the island when he was posted to Lefkas.’

‘Yes.’

‘So I read his diaries again. All of them this time. Before I had been interested in what happened before the war. But given what I had discovered about his father’s last days I hoped that there might be something in Peter’s account that would help me find the tomb of Odysseus.’

Anna’s pulse quickened. ‘And did you find anything?’

The German pursed his lips before he replied. ‘I’m not sure. What I did discover is not going to be easy for you to hear, Anna. It concerns Eleni, and Andreas. If I tell you, then you must try not to be angry with me. I had nothing to do with it. It is the story of events which took place nearly seventy years ago. They would be forgotten if I had not brought them to light. Please understand that, before I tell you any more.’

There was a pleading tone in his voice and it made him look vulnerable somehow. Anna felt a slight glow of warm feeling towards him, before it faded to be replaced by the account set down by Eleni. She already knew what Dieter was getting at. Now she would know for sure. Between his account and what was contained in Eleni’s own words she would know the truth of what had taken place on Lefkas all those years before.

Anna put down her cutlery and pushed the plate aside. Taking her glass she sipped and then nodded.

‘Very well, I think it’s time you told me Peter’s story . . .’

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Lefkas, November 1943

L
eutnant Peter Muller stood up in the back of the Opel truck. He grasped the wooden side rail in one hand, rested the other on the roof of the cab and stared down the road stretching the length of the causeway linking the mainland to Lefkas. Even though the season had changed, it was a warm day and the sky was cloudless. Behind him sat a platoon from the regiment’s headquarters company, bare-headed and in good humour as they talked and joked over their kitbags piled along the bed of the truck. Ahead of them were two more trucks, then several motorcycles with sidecars. Behind, the line of trucks carrying the men of the 98th Gebirgsjäger – mountain troops – stretched to the mainland and then along the coast to the north for nearly two kilometres. A pall of dust hung over the road, marking the passage of the formation.

They were ordered to join the first battalion that had been sent to Lefkas following the surrender of the Italian troops back in September. That was the month in which Mussollini’s fascist government had collapsed and its replacement had immediately capitulated and abandoned their German allies. It had come as no surprise to Hitler and plans had been made to deal with the desertion well in advance. The disarming of the Italian soldiers in Greece had proceeded efficiently, though there had been instances when the Italians had resisted, and paid a high price for their sense of honour. Peter had heard rumours of the massacre of thousands of Italians on the nearby island of Kefalonia. Officially the men were prohibited from making any mention of it but they still talked and so it was an open secret that caused many German soldiers to burn with shame, while others were indifferent to the atrocity, or argued that it was a necessary act.

Peter had been transferred from an artillery unit based in Normandy. It had been a peaceful posting, far from any of the war fronts, and he had yet to be tested in action. His orders stated that he had been seconded to the 98th Gebirgsjäger until further notice to ‘advise and assist’ Oberstleutnant Josef Salminger. So for the last two weeks he had travelled by train and truck and joined the main elements of the regiment as it completed its relocation to Lefkas. It was only when he reached Greece that he had heard the dark stories about what had occurred after the Italians had surrendered. At first he was reluctant to believe it, but the steady trickle of details from the soldiers he encountered had convinced him of the reality. So it was with a heavy heart that he concluded his journey.

The view of the houses and church towers of Lefkada and the green hills rising up beyond raised his spirits a little. Ever since he had left the island five years earlier he had hoped to return. But not like this. Not as part of a conquering army. It pained him to return in uniform. Then his thoughts turned to the prospect of encountering some familiar faces. They would be surprised to see him again, and perhaps he might act as something of a bridge between the local people and the army. If he could do anything to ease the relations between the islanders and the occupying forces then he would.

‘Herr Leutnant!’

Peter turned and saw one of the men with a half-raised hand. ‘What is it?’

The soldier cupped a hand to his mouth and called out loudly to be heard above the din of the rattling truck and the rumble of the other vehicles. ‘I hear you’ve lived on the island. Is that right?’

Peter nodded. ‘A few years back.’

‘So what are the women like? Any different to the hags in the rest of Greece?’

‘No different.’ Peter grinned. ‘Just more wrinkled and unfriendly. And their men will cut your throats if you even think of touching their women. Pray the Italians have left some of their whores behind. You’ll find nothing of interest amongst the Greek women, I promise you.’

But he was thinking of Eleni. Beautiful Eleni who had stolen his heart when he had been a teenager. What would she look like now? Would she be married and have infant children clutching her knees as she cleaned up after them and some surly husband? The image was so unlikely it made him smile to himself. No, not Eleni. She was better than that. More ambitious. He looked forward to seeing her and telling her of all the things he had seen since they had parted. If only she did not resent him for being German.

It would be different with Andreas, if he was still living with his father. He recalled that Andreas had wanted to serve in the navy. If so, then by almighty and merciful God, Peter prayed that Andreas had emerged from the conflict unscathed and had returned home to live in peace. If so, then the three of them could make good on the promise they had made to each other when they had been parted.

Five years on, and more worldly, Peter looked back at that moment with a certain detachment, but still desired that the promise be fulfilled.

The vehicles trundled past the old Venetian fort that had once guarded the approaches to Lefkas and crossed the bridge on to the last stretch of road leading to the town. Peter could see the familiar sprawl of buildings along the harbour front and the close ranks of the fishing boats. Anchored further out lay the sleek grey lines of an E-boat with a
Kriegsmarine
flag rippling lazily from the radio mast. Another flag flew from the staff rising above the centre of the town and after a moment’s recollection Peter guessed that it must be flying over the prefecture. He eased himself back down on to the wooden bench and gratefully took a slug of the rough wine from the bottle passed to him by one of the men.

Most of the men were young like himself, fit and cheerful, with seemingly few cares in the world. But he knew there was a difference between them and himself. While he had spent all his time in the army stationed in France, the men of the 98th had been fighting on the Russian front before being sent to fight partisans in the mountains of the Balkans. That had been a bitter campaign against a cruel enemy and the Germans had responded in kind. Many villages had been burned to the ground and their populations slaughtered in response to attacks and atrocities carried out by the partisans. For all their youth and good humour, these men were seasoned veterans who had seen much action, and who had carried out brutal acts, and would do so again if necessary, with little compunction. He hoped that could be avoided here on Lefkas.

The convoy droned into the town and a military policeman waved the officers’ cars into the narrow street while the trucks were directed along the harbour front to the vast enclosure on the outskirts of Lefkada prepared for the regiment’s camp. Hundreds of tents had already been erected in neat lines and a vehicle park stood a short distance away. The whole was surrounded by two lines of staked barbed wire. As his truck reached the harbour front, Peter rapped sharply on the roof of the cab and the driver’s mate leaned out of the window and looked up.

‘Let me off here,’ Peter ordered.

The vehicle slowed and juddered to a halt at the side of the road to allow those behind to pass. Peter hefted his kitbag and helmet and made his farewells to his travelling companions before dropping down from the rear of the truck. A moment later it roared away. He looked along the buildings that lined the harbour, once so familiar to him. It seemed different now and he felt conscious of the cold looks of the local people. As before, the fishermen sat cross-legged as they mended their nets at the water’s edge. But the cheerful banter Peter remembered from before was absent and instead the men looked sullen, their expressions pinched from hunger. It was the same with the women and children who passed by; they did not meet his eye and offered no greeting in return to his friendly, ‘
Kalimera!
’

Peter took his cap out of his pocket and pressed it on to his head before picking up his kitbag and slinging it over his shoulder with a grunt. Turning into a narrow street he entered the town and made his way towards the prefecture. The smell of woodsmoke and fish filled his nostrils and he smiled at the memories they evoked. He had strode down this same street with Andreas and Eleni on the way to the market to buy fruit, cured sausage and bread for the meal on the last boating trip they took. He knew that on the far side of the square was the lane where Eleni’s father lived. Even though circumstances were difficult he had resolved to pay Inspector Thesskoudis a visit very soon, and enquire after his friends, even if Eleni was no longer living there. It was the familiar yearning of all those who have returned to a place and people they once knew well. And yet, he knew that everything had changed. This was not how he had wanted to return to the island and he knew that he could expect resentment in place of the warm welcome he had known before.

The old part of the town seemed to have changed very little wearing the presence of its occupiers lightly, until Peter emerged into the square that fronted the prefecture. Several Kübelwagen and trucks were parked outside the building and the entrance was guarded by a section of mountain troops. Two long red banners bearing the swastika hung from second-floor balconies and a large flag flew from the staff rising above the weathered tiles of the prefecture. Peter presented his papers to the sergeant in charge of the sentries and was admitted to the building. Inside the smell of floor polish and mustiness felt welcoming as he reported to the woman in grey uniform at the reception desk.

‘Leutnant Muller, reporting to Oberstleutnant Salminger.’

She studied his identity card and orders briefly before handing them back with a pleasant smile. Picking up the phone she dialled an extension and there was a brief exchange as she announced his arrival and then replaced the handset. ‘Welcome to Lefkas, Leutnant. You can leave your kitbag here. The Oberstleutnant is making a call at present, but I’ll take you up to his office. You can wait outside.’

She led him up two flights of worn stone stairs and along the corridor behind the offices looking out over the square. Wooden benches stood outside most of the doors and the woman gestured to the seating outside the last office. ‘I’m sure he won’t be long.’

Peter nodded and sat down, removing his cap and holding it in both hands. He began to knead the felt material lightly as he reflected on the reasoning behind his new posting. It was more than likely that it had to do with his familiarity with the island and its people and his grasp of their tongue. Translation duties then, he surmised. Not the most important service he could provide for the fatherland but he was not going to complain if it meant a return to Lefkas and a break from the tedium of life at the coastal battery in Normandy.

The corridor was adorned with the usual posters exhorting duty, courage and sacrifice as stridently Aryan soldiers gazed out at the viewer or stared off in the direction of some inspiring sight beyond the frame of the image. He saw a copy of
Signal
magazine on the bench opposite and crossed to pick it up before resuming his seat and flicking through the heavily illustrated pages. Despite the defeats at Stalingrad and Kursk, and the collapse of the front in North Africa, the magazine continued to proclaim that German forces were regrouping, ready for fresh offensives that would sweep the overconfident Allies aside. Ultimate victory was assured.

Peter was not convinced. He had met fellow officers who had returned from Russia who had discreetly told him of the horrors of the winter, the sprawling plains and the endless numbers of men and tanks possessed by the enemy. Victory on the eastern front would be a miracle, they said.

The door beside him clicked open and a corporal stepped into the corridor and saluted.

‘Sir, if you would follow me?’

Peter stood, quickly eased the creases from his jacket and entered the small anteroom where two more headquarters clerks and another female sat at their desks dealing with paperwork. A frosted glass partition separated them from their commanding officer, whose name had been painted on the wooden door in white gothic script. The corporal rapped on the door.

‘Come in!’ a voice called.

The corporal opened the door and leaned in. ‘Leutnant Muller, sir.’

‘Ah yes! Good. Send him in and fetch some coffee.’

‘Yes, sir.’

The corporal stepped aside and waved Peter forward. Oberstleutnant Salminger’s office was bright and airy thanks to the tall windows on two walls. It was also impressively large and a red carpet covered most of the floor, stretching across the room to the oak desk behind which Salminger sat in his unbuttoned jacket. He was thick-necked with cropped hair around the sides of his head and a dark wave across the crown. A neatly trimmed beard graced his jowls and his moustache was waxed into a slender line above his lips. To one side of the room hung a detailed map of the island. Behind Salminger, on the wall, was a large framed portrait of the Führer. Peter felt conscious of both sets of eyes scrutinising him as he strode up to the desk, saluted, and laid his papers in front of his superior officer.

‘Leutnant Peter Muller of the Hundred and First Artillery Regiment, reporting as ordered, sir.’

Salminger looked him up and down before nodding a curt greeting and drawing the documents towards him. He gave them a quick glance then leaned back in his chair.

‘You’re a day early, Muller. I like a man who makes an effort to be efficient.’

‘Yes, sir. Thank you.’

‘I expect you’ve already guessed part of the reason why you have been sent to Lefkas. I need translators and you come with the advantage of knowing the ground. You’ll be very useful. I dare say you also know some of the more influential of the local people, given your father’s role on the island before the war. That will also be useful since I would rather have the cooperation of the islanders than have to use force to keep order. Though that is work for the future given the current situation.’ He paused, just long enough for Peter to grasp he was being prompted. He cleared his throat.

‘Situation, sir?’

‘I doubt it will come as much of a surprise to learn that the islanders resent our occupation of Lefkas, just as they resented the Italians before us. A considerable number of them have taken up arms to form a resistance movement. The Italians made a poor show of dealing with these insurgents. Aside from a few half-hearted sweeps through the mountains which yielded paltry rewards – no more than a handful of the enemy killed or captured – they kept to the larger towns and coastline and left the resistance in control of the mountains. Which meant that they were able to get air drops of supplies from the British without much trouble. They’ve been putting them to good use harassing the Italians, and now it’s our turn.’