North Reich (47 page)

The New York Stock Exchange had been founded in 1792 and first operations took place in a room at 40 Wall Street.
 
The exchange had grown into world prominence and finally moved to its present location in 1903.

      
All of this meant nothing to Reinhard Krenz and his three companions.
 
Dressed in dark business suits, white shirts and conservative ties, they attracted no attention.
 
Nor did anybody think that the very large briefcases they carried were anything unusual.
 
Accountants and lawyers often needed to carry large volumes of paper.

      
Despite recently announced gas rationing, traffic was heavy. Cabs and buses moved slowly along with a dwindling number of civilian cars and trucks, while messengers on bicycles darted between vehicles, taunting danger.

      
The four men entered the building.
 
They were scarcely noticed by the security guards or the police out front who were keeping traffic moving.
 
Krenz and the others were barred from entering the trading floor but easily made it up to the gallery where they looked down at the teaming throng of traders buying and selling stocks.
 
At first they were surprised and stunned by the sheer volume of sound coming from the trading floor.
 
It was as if every one of the several hundred men below them was hell bent on out-screaming the others.

      
A very tense Krenz whispered to a comrade, “If this is how the Jews make their money, it’s no wonder they are so corrupt and incompetent.”

      
They broke up into two pairs and separated themselves by several yards.
 
They laid the suitcases on the floor and unsnapped them.
 
A couple of spectators seemed curious, but did nothing.
 
Krenz touched his hand to his nose.
 
It was the signal for hell to begin.

      
Two men pulled out submachine guns and began to shoot others in the gallery, while the other two began throwing grenades onto the trading floor below.
 
Within seconds, the gallery was cleared of all but the dead and wounded, while scores lay in bloody heaps below.
 
Now the screams were even louder than before, which pleased the assassins.
 
Let the Jews die, Krenz thought.

      
It took only a few seconds to empty their satchels of grenades.
 
Taking their submachine guns and extra clips, they shot their way out onto the street.
 
A security guard shot and wounded one of the Germans and was killed for his efforts.
 
New York Police officers raced towards the building, their revolvers drawn as thousands of terrified people streamed down Wall Street, impeding their progress.
 

      
Krenz noted with pleasure that a number of New Yorkers had been trampled in the rush.
 
Another of his men went down under a hail of police bullets.
 
Out of ammunition, Krenz dumped his weapon in a trash can and joined the throngs of people running in panic.
 
A couple of cops saw him, but he was quickly lost in the great numbers of people.
 
A few blocks later, the entrance to a subway beckoned.
 
He ran down along with a horde of others and got on the next train.
 
He didn’t know where it was going and he didn’t care.
 
He had struck and the center of Jewish control and was proud.
 
Better, he wasn’t in any danger of being captured which meant that the cyanide capsule he had in his pocket could stay there.
 
He would report back to Stahl for his next assignment.

Only a few days after arriving at Lambert’s house, Sherry Piper and he became lovers.
 
They hadn’t planned on it, but it seemed so logical and comfortable.
 
They were united in their hatred of the Nazis, she for her brother and he for Mary Bradford.
 
For the first couple of nights, he had chivalrously slept on the couch while she had the bed.
 
He informed the neighbors that Sherry was his cousin from Windsor who had fled the fighting.
 
He didn’t think they all believed it, but neither cared.

      
On the third night, he had just settled down under a blanket on the lumpy and uncomfortable couch when she simply walked out of the bedroom in her nightgown and grabbed his hand.
 
“Enough,” she said as she pulled him to his feet and they went into the bedroom.

      
After that, they decided to work as a team.
 
She would get a job close to the German headquarters in Toronto while he continued to use police resources to keep tabs on the Nazis.

      
Like everyone in Toronto, they were terrified of what the war would bring.
 
American planes flew overhead and they could frequently hear the bombs exploding on German bases or other military targets.
 
Sometimes they could see smoke where a target was hit, and, on rare occasions, a secondary explosion would follow.
 
Sometimes, too, Lambert’s job would take him to where civilians had been killed or wounded.
 
The American planes probed constantly for evidence of German men and equipment. There were no more planes of any kind at close by Malton Airport in Toronto.
 
It was just too easy a target for American planes.

Like many people he regretted the civilian cost, but recognized that such casualties could not be avoided.
 
He could only hope that there weren’t too many of them and that the battle for Ontario didn’t last too much longer.
      

With funds supplied by the OSS, Sherry started a catering company and quickly got contracts to provide food for the German’s cafeteria.

      
“A little poison would solve a lot of problems, Sam said one night while they lay in bed.
 
If you don’t want to kill them, why not something that’ll give them flaming diarrhea for a couple of months?”

      
“It is so tempting, but you know we’re not going to do it.
 
Our controllers want information.
 
Killing will have to wait.”

      
“Just not too long, I hope.”

      
She kissed him on the cheek.
 
“And now my little catering company will be feeding the American prisoners.”

      
His eyes widened and he smiled, “How many prisoners are there?”

      
“In the camp north of here, maybe three hundred, and that doesn’t count the civilians the Nazis are rounding up.
 
They will have to be fed as well.
 
Why, are you thinking of helping them escape?”

      
“Selectively, perhaps,” he said thoughtfully.
 
“I don’t think the OSS or anybody else could handle a large number of escapees.
 
Seriously, where the devil would they go?
 
To the south you have the battle lines, while to the north you have many thousands of German troops in hiding.
 
It’d be nice to think we could bus them all to Moose Jaw in Saskatchewan, but it ain’t likely.
 
No, the vast majority of prisoners might just be better off right here than wandering around and maybe getting shot.”

      
“Of course you could change your mind, couldn’t you?” she said as she tucked her head on his shoulder.

      
Easily, he thought as he wondered just how to work this knowledge to his advantage.
 
Maybe poor Mary Bradford would be avenged someday soon.

The military flight from Washington to New York was solemn.
 
The slaughter on Wall Street had stunned everyone.
 
So far, censorship had kept knowledge of the total number of dead and wounded from the public.
 
The world only knew that a pair of madmen had shot up the New York Stock Exchange and a number of people had become casualties.
 
The facts would dribble out after the shock of the assault had waned.

      
On board the almost empty converted DC3 were Grant, Captain Art Baldwin of the Provost Marshal’s office, and Alicia.
 
FBI agent Richard Dunn had taken an earlier and faster plane, courtesy of the feds.
 
There were serious concerns that the escaped German agent, Heinrich Stahl, had been the brains behind the attack.
 
It was believed that Stahl had killed a cop in DC along with a young burglar.
 
Alicia and Baldwin had actually seen Stahl and it was hoped they could provide information.

      
There had been some discussion about including the now disgraced Dr. Morris Langford in the group since he’d had a direct conversation with Stahl, but the decision from higher up was to exclude him.
 
It was feared that involving him might lead him to believe that the government was taking his claims about breaking German codes seriously.
 
Tom was convinced that the U.S. had broken German codes and Alicia was leaning that direction as well.
 

      
With sirens screaming, NYC police vehicles took them directly to the police gymnasium that had been converted to a morgue.
 
The first person they met was New York Police Commissioner Lew Valentine.
 
He had a well-deserved reputation for integrity and was credited with cleaning up the corruption that had been rampant before his appointment.

      
“Mayor LaGuardia would be here to great you himself,” Valentine said, “but he doesn’t want to draw attention to you or what’s in this building.
 
Anywhere he goes, the press is on his tail.
 
Normally, he loves it, but not right now.
 
If this is the work of Nazi madmen, then we don’t want panic to ensue.
 
We have told the press that any army personnel they see are experts in ballistics.
 
Obviously, we want any German connections kept secret.”

      
This was easily agreed to.
 
Their first task, and it was a repugnant one, was to examine the corpses of any dead men to see if they recognized Stahl.
 
They didn’t think they would, but it had to be done in case he had managed to get himself shot.
 
Seventy-four men, along with twenty-nine women, had been killed, either by grenades or by gunfire.
 
They were wrapped in tarpaulins and laid out in neat rows on the floor.
 
Some of the bodies were badly mutilated, and the stench from torn flesh and ripped bowels was almost overwhelming.
 
Everyone wore masks across their mouths and noses, but it only helped a little.
 
Stahl was not among the dead.

      
FBI Agent Dunn was nauseated, but kept control.
 
“Almost all of these people had some identification on them, but we were concerned that it might be phony.
 
Therefore, we had to have you check.
 
Now we can release them to their families.
 
Quietly, of course.”

      
Tom laughed, “Quietly?
 
Don’t you think somebody’s going to notice a parade of bodies being taken out in hearses and a host of obituaries in the papers?”

      
Dunn grimaced.
 
“Not my decision.
 
Nor was it my idea to say that we had all the Nazis already bagged.
 
Off the record, the Director is raising holy hell with anyone who thought we were safe.
 
I’m just thankful I wasn’t involved.
 
Much too junior, you know.”

      
They had three more bodies to view.
 
The dead Germans had been isolated from the others.
 
Again, none of them was Stahl.
 
All had been shot multiple times.

      
“I understand one of them lived for a while,” Alicia inquired.
 
Her complexion was a little green, but she was holding on.
 
      

“Yes,” Dunn answered, “but he didn’t answer any questions.
 
Not surprisingly, his last words were Heil Hitler.”

      
“And there definitely was a fourth man,” said Tom.

      
“Absolutely,” said Dunn.
 
“He was seen shooting and he was even briefly chased down Wall Street until he got lost in the crowd that was running away.
 
We think he ran down a subway.
 
Some tourists had taken pictures and we’ve had them developed.
 
Unfortunately, they don’t show anything useful.”

      
“Any chance the fourth kraut got shot and is dead somewhere, like in an alley?” Tom asked.

      
“One can only hope,” Dunn said.