Read Soul Intent Online

Authors: Dennis Batchelder

Tags: #Action & Adventure, #Revenge, #General, #Suspense fiction, #Thrillers, #Soul, #Fiction, #Nazis

Soul Intent (10 page)

BOOK: Soul Intent
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She crossed her arms. “Are you mocking me, James Little?”

He looked in the mirror, then maneuvered the Jeep over to the side of the road. He flipped the ignition lever down and the engine stopped.

She stared out the windshield, arms still crossed.

“Flora, look at me,” he said.

She twisted in her seat, then looked up to meet his gaze.

“Do you want these Nazis to get that gold?” he asked.

“Are you crazy? Of course not!”

“Then smarten up. Most of the Nazis we missed have escaped to Spain and South America. Some joined the French Foreign Legion. Now only the wily ones are left—ones smart enough to be able to hide in Occupied Germany for over a year. If you go waltzing in and tell them that you have their gold, what do you think they’re going to do?”

“They’ll tell us the truth.” She stared at him. “Why won’t you understand this?”

“Because you’re not thinking!” He pulled his pistol out of his holster and held it in the air. “If I were them, I’d just force us to tell them where the gold is.” He pointed the pistol at Flora. “And then I’d kill us both.”

She opened her mouth to retort, but then turned back and slumped in her seat. James was right: there was no reason for the Nazis to help them. Her naïve plan would get them both killed. Baba would be left alone, and Mr. Morgan would still deposit Goering’s gold.

“Do you have a better idea?” she asked.

“I do,” he said. “When we meet with the Nazis, you keep quiet.” He holstered the pistol. “I mean it, Flora. Not a peep out of you. I have some experience dealing with these kinds of guys, and it’s a man’s job.”

“What do I get to do?” She aimed these words at the windshield.

“Take your photographs like you planned. But don’t say anything.” He stretched his hand to her cheek and gently turned her face toward him. “Trust me on this one. Stow away that feisty temper until we’re back home.”

She glared at him, but she knew he was right. She nodded.

He patted her cheek and smiled. “Then let’s go and save the world.” He flipped the ignition lever and the Jeep rumbled to life.

 

After a few minutes, James turned off the road and drove into the woods. He parked behind a large bush.

Flora looked around. “Where are the Nazis?”

He pointed. “Five minutes through the woods.” He undid his belt, pulled off the holster, and stuck the pistol in his side pocket. Then he bent down and grasped a small pine tree he had run over, jerking it out of the ground with a grunt. He turned it over and swept its branches over their tire tracks. He threw the tree in front of the Jeep. “Let’s go,” he said.

Flora reached behind the seat and pulled out her camera case. She hopped out and caught up to him as he strode into the forest.

 

As they drew near the edge of a clearing, James stopped and put his finger to his lips. He pointed to the remnants of a dilapidated barn a hundred yards away. “That’s where we’re meeting them,” he whispered.

Flora shifted to get a better view through the trees. The barn stood surrounded by mown fields in the clearing. She could see one person: a shirtless, barefoot man standing at attention next to an ancient door. “That’s a Nazi?” she asked.

“Not just any Nazi. He’s ex-SS. Remember, they’re in hiding, so don’t let their appearance fool you. They’re mean and dangerous.” James pulled out his pistol. “Can you squeeze this into the bottom of your camera case?” He held it by the barrel and extended it to her.

It was the first time Flora had touched a gun. She closed her eyes and wrapped her fingers around the grip. The textured handle felt cold and murderous.

She opened her eyes. “How does it work?” she asked.


It?
This is my standard issue M1911A1 pistol, the most dependable sidearm in the world.” He moved Flora’s index finger to the guard. “Feel the curve? That’s the trigger. You can squeeze that seven times before you’re out.”

She hefted it. “It’s heavy.”

“Almost three pounds with a full clip. Use both hands, and just point and shoot. But not at me.” He showed her where to put her left hand, and how to squeeze the grip safety.

She removed the camera and the lens cloth from the case. She laid the pistol in the bottom, covered it with the lens cloth, and put the camera on top. The case barely closed, but Flora was able to buckle it shut.

James whispered instructions as they walked out of the woods and across the field. “Ask no questions. Show no emotion. And don’t take out the pistol unless you’re ready to kill somebody.”

When they were halfway across the field, the shirtless man slipped into the barn.

Flora glanced at the empty fields and shivered. “This is scary,” she whispered.

James stopped. “You want to go home?”

She glared at him. “Of course not.” And that gave her the determination to march the rest of the way to the barn.

James rapped on the door, and it swung open.

“Come inside,” a voice commanded in German.

“Outside is better,” James called. He turned and marched back into the field. Flora followed him. They stopped after twenty feet, faced the barn, and waited.

The shirtless man stood in the doorway and scowled. Flora could see his ribcage poking at his taut skin. “The
Untersturmführer
commands you to come in,” he said.

“Please tell your storm leader that we will meet with him outside,” James said. “Until we get to know each other better.”

The man vanished into the barn’s darkness, then reappeared carrying a wooden dining chair. He placed it just outside the door and went back inside.

Flora heard murmuring, then a suppressed moan. A tall blond man in a dirty, pale-gray SS uniform appeared in the doorway. His right hand gripped a cane, and his left rested on the shirtless man’s shoulder. A soiled brown bandage encircled his right thigh.

The shirtless man stepped over the threshold. The officer squinted in the light and carefully limped out. He fell into the chair and grimaced, using his hands to retract his right leg.

“Do you have our gold?” he asked in a raspy voice.

“Herr Goering insists the gold belongs to him,” James said.

“The gold belongs to the Party—not to that traitor.”

James threw a look at Flora, then back at the SS officer. “That may be true,” he said. “But my employer requires evidence of your ownership before releasing it.”

The officer beckoned his helper, then murmured in his ear. The shirtless man stepped into the barn. The officer glanced back, then focused on James. “My
Sturmmann
will bring our documents.”

The storm trooper returned grasping a leather portfolio. He handed it to the officer, who undid the clasps and pulled out four pages of carbon copies.

James stepped forward, and the officer handed him the papers. “You may examine them, but they must remain here,” he said.

James nodded. He motioned to Flora, and together they tried to make sense of them.

The officer leaned forward and gave a few hacking coughs. “The top sheet is from Degussa,” he said. “It shows their purchase of five hundred and nine bags of gold teeth, pocket watches, fountain pens, and eyeglass frames from the Dachau camp.”

Flora went light-headed, and she gripped James’s arm. She had heard in the war crimes trials how the German company had set up gold smelting foundries next to each concentration camp.

James looked at the blond officer. “Herr Goering’s gold bars are not marked from Degussa,” he said. “They are stamped with the Reichsbank’s insignia.”

The officer smiled. “You are correct. The second paper shows the sale from Degussa in Dachau to the Reichsbank in Frankfurt, nineteen days later, of nine hundred kilograms of pure gold.”

James looked at the second page, then handed it to Flora.

Flora verified the dates, and did some mental math. At twelve and a half kilograms per bar, this made seventy-two gold bars—exactly what was in Soul Identity’s Nuremberg basement.

The officer pointed. “The third paper shows the resulting Reichsbank gold bars. The serial numbers and dates on the bars are listed.” He smiled. “The bank was quite thorough in its deception.”

Flora looked at the sheet. The dates on the gold bars were all prior to 1939, just like the bars in the basement.

“And the last page?” James asked.

“A copy of the orders last April to the Reichsbank to have the gold delivered to me in Berlin.” The SS officer scowled. “The Reichsmarschall’s goons hijacked the gold and shot the deliverymen.”

James re-scanned each page. “These seem to be in order.” He looked down at the seated officer. “Of course, I will need to have them verified by my employer.”


Nein!
” The officer slapped his legs, then winced. “The papers shall remain with me,” he said. “Bring your men here.”

James shook his head. “The men won’t come here.”


Sturmann!
” the officer barked.

The shirtless storm trooper reached inside the door. He withdrew a rifle, worked the bolt action, and aimed it at Flora.

Flora couldn’t move. She could feel her heart racing in her chest. James had been right; these men were too dangerous for them to handle. They were going to die for nothing more than her foolish idea.

“Your
fraulein
will stay with us until you return with the gold,” the officer said in his raspy voice.

James stood still for a full minute. Then he shook his head. “I cannot leave her here.”

The officer shrugged. “Then you both shall die.”

Flora knew Mr. Morgan would be too cautious to mount a rescue. If James left, she would perish in this barn for sure.

But why should James sacrifice his life? It was her silly idea to come here. Not his. She would have to help him leave. “Go,” she whispered in English. “Get out of here, and get Baba to America.”

He shook his head. “I will not leave you here to die.”

“You must.” She tightened her grip on the camera case. She still had James’s pistol; she still had a chance to save herself. She swallowed and looked up at him. “Don’t let Goering get that gold.”

James addressed the SS officer. “My employer will want a photograph of you and the
fraulein
, and of the papers, too. Otherwise he may not believe me.” He pointed at Flora’s case.

What was he doing? Flora shook her head, but she saw the officer nod, and then James reached out and pried from her fingers her last hope of escape.

The officer held out his hand. “Let me inspect the case.”

James nodded as he unbuckled it. “Of course. Here, let me get that camera out for you.” He handed the papers to Flora and reached inside.

“Halt!” the officer shouted.

The storm trooper spun his rifle and swung the butt at James’s arms.

James pulled back, but the rifle struck the edge of the case and ripped it out of his hands.

Flora held her breath as the case fell. It bounced, flipped over, and dumped the camera, cloth, and pistol onto the ground.

James lunged for the pistol, but the storm trooper swung again, and this time connected with James’s forehead with a loud thud.

James fell face down on the ground.

The shirtless man stepped forward and pounded his rifle butt into the back of James’s head.

James’s arms and legs jerked once, and then his body went limp.

The SS officer extended his cane and used it to drag the pistol to his feet. He bent down and picked it up.

“You will give me my papers.” The officer pointed the pistol at Flora.

She stood frozen.

He shifted his aim and fired over her head. The shot echoed in the clearing. “Now,
fraulein
.”

Flora felt her knees buckling, and she fought to keep them rigid. She opened her hand and let the papers drop to the ground.

The officer pointed, and the shirtless man stepped forward and swung the rifle toward her head.

Her last conscious thought was of Baba.

 

She woke with a gasp, her head pounding. She was unable to see far in the dim light, but she could hear the sounds of a muted conversation.

Where was she?

Flora turned her head and stifled a scream as her nose brushed against somebody’s cheek. It was James. The memories of the Nazis and the clearing and the papers rushed back at her.

She and James must be inside the barn. The officer and the storm trooper were talking outside. They held her and James captive.

Was James even alive?

Flora quietly pulled herself to her knees, fighting nausea from the overwhelming pain in her head. She leaned close to his chest.

He was breathing.

She looked around. They lay with their feet against the barn wall, directly across from the entrance. A small table and a few wooden boxes stood on her right, and two tiny cots occupied the space on her left. She couldn’t see the officer and storm trooper, but it sounded like they were just outside the doorway. The officer probably still sat in the dining chair.

BOOK: Soul Intent
3.4Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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