Stile Maus (22 page)

THE LIST

Private Schulze stepped away from the transmitter and frowned.  The operator unlatched his headphones and consulted the switchboard before turning to the Private and shaking his head,

‘Station seven appears to be offline.’

With a tired nod Private Schulze rubbed at his eyes.  The walk back to Major Anaheim’s office would be a long one.

‘Run that by me one more time, Private.’ 

‘We’ve lost contact with
Tobi... we’ve lost contact with Captain Linder, Sir.’

The smell of a fresh cigar lingered.  Major Anaheim set down the pen he had been so eloquently striking across the group of pages before him and coughed twice before raising a shallow glass of brandy to his lips.

‘And you’ve consulted both the operator and log book.’

‘Yes, Major.  He confirms
, last contact was made around noon, Friday.’

‘I see,’ said the Major, strumming a band of fingers against the slow rise of stubble crossing his chin.

‘If Tobias Vilsmaier doesn’t resurface in the next twenty four hours we can assume operation Stile Maus has been compromised.’

Private Schulze nodded.

‘What would you have me do?’

Major Anaheim thought it through. 

‘Bring me the list.’

Private Schulze nodded and left the office in a rush, leaving the Major alone to refill his glass and spark an unsullied cigar.  A faint scuttle captured his attention and he stepped away from his desk and headed towards the small cage sitting beneath the window’s icy glare.  The mouse
lay inside, its tiny black eyes blinking and flicking at the towering observer.  It belly rose in small, weak pumps and it’s stare appeared tired and strangely lifeless.  Major Anaheim reached inside and nudged it gently with his finger.  It didn’t budge.  Heaps of dry, rotting fruit piled against the sawdust, barely touched.   

‘Here you are, Sir.’

The Major turned his head towards the door and saw Private Schulze standing there with a thick black folder under his arm. 

‘Here you are, Sir.’

The office thanked Private Schulze and stepped inside, saluting the Major before filling the red leather armchair that faced the desk.  He appeared to be in his late thirties, ruggedly handsome, greying brown hair. 

‘Good afternoon Corporal Bauer, I hope you don’t mind a little snow.’  All three men stared out into the bland downfall of white soot.

‘Not at all, Major,’ replied the Corporal, ‘Stuttgart isn’t famous for its sunny meadows and boiling hot beaches.’

The Major grinned.

‘Apologies for the letter, I know it wasn’t exactly vivid in detail.’

‘I must admit I was a little mystified.’

‘Well I hope that this meeting puts your confusion to an end Corporal.  It just so happens that you have been selected for an assignment of the strictest confidentiality.  I understand you speak Polish?’

A memory.
  Soon lost. 

He gestured towards the table and the Private set down the document with careful precision, treating it almost as if it were a fragile or valuable artefact. 

‘If Goetsch finds out about this who knows what he’ll do,’ stressed the Major as he slumped back into his chair, ‘Vilsmaier is his prize possession.’

Private Schulze remained mute, wondering if he should offer some kind of suggestion.  The Major did not hide the fact that he was perplexed and unfastened the lid on a fresh bottle of gin before tipping a large amount into his scotch stained glass. 

‘Should
Captain Linder
happen to reveal his true identity, well...’

Even though his sentence wouldn’t finish, Private Schulze knew what he meant. 
Vilsmaier was merely a utensil in a failing plan which had been doomed from the beginning.  The Private didn’t know for certain but he assumed neither the rest of the high command or the Fuhrer knew about the Major’s privately organised operation.  Goetsch was a problem.  If he knew, if he even caught wind of his prodigal son’s disappearing act he could bring down the Gestapo with a plummeting fist. 

‘If I may speak, Major,’ murmured the Private.

Major Anaheim waved carelessly.

‘As you said, Tobias
Vilsmaier’s act of foolishness could indeed jeopardise the integrity of the operation and of course, this problem needs a solution, ignorance could end in catastrophic consequences.’

The Major stared at him, his greying eyebrows raised.

‘Are you offering a solution, Private?’ 

‘I think so, Major.  What I mean to say is, the solution is right here, before our eyes.’

His stare lingered over the black folder.

‘I see,’ replied the Major, ‘if I am
understanding you Private, you wish to send one of the existing operatives to Vilsmaier’s location, yes?’

‘That’s correct,
Major, the operative consists of eleven field operatives, two of whom are incredibly close to Mr Vilsmaier’s location.’

Major Anaheim agreed with a nod. 

‘Show me.’

Private Schulze flipped open the cover of the file and licked at his finger before flicking through to the third page.  He cleared his throat.

THE LIST

Alexander Hertz

Leopold Bauer

Tomas Richter

Jonas
Ehrlichmann

Phillip
Amsel

Markus Faust

Dominic Lowe

Ralph Dieter

Simon Drexler

Joseph Hermann

Niklaus Linder

‘Faust is currently stationed in Belgium and I believe Drexler will be arriving in Vichy tomorrow evening.’

‘Drexler the obvious choice,’ implied the Major, ‘hold on,’ his voice became shallow,

‘No,’ he decided, ‘no, if we send anyone else to find Tobias Vilsmaier, then they will find Tobias Vilsmaier.’

For a moment Private Schulze mulled over the Major’s words, not quite sure of what had just been inferred.  He caught on and smiled tiredly.

‘We are the only ones, excluding Goetsch and a few lab coats that know of Captain Linder’s true identity. 
We
are the only ones who have to solve this.’

His mood had changed, his words were rushed, excited even.

‘Speak with General Kuhn immediately.  Inform him that I will need the assistance of his finest men and an aircraft by sunrise.’

Major Anaheim eased into his chair and searched his desk for a cigar or cigarette.  He decided on a modest bottle of smoky bourbon that he found propped against the windowsill.  He glanced towards the cage and sighed.  Private Schulze shuffled to a salute behind him and went to leave.

‘Gather your things, Private.’

Stopping at the foot of the doorway Schulze turned to face him, watching as the Major filled a glass with a shaky clumsiness. 

‘You’re coming too.’

THE RETURN OF THE SABOTEUR

He landed on the other side of the wall, hitting the gravel knee first.  His wound had tweaked on the way down and his stomach churned upon landing.  He needed rest, badly.  A band of musky light streamed through the cracks in a wooden door just beyond his reach and he raised the Luger in caution.  He crept against the dirt and continued down the dark alley, pushing his shoulder at the wall to assist his faltering balance.  The sun had yet to rise and loitered behind the jagged backdrop of the city.  The morning was still young and dark and still had the feel of night.  He came to a green door, number forty-six.  Stefan nudged at the wood with the Luger.  It creaked open and Stefan stared at the ground, cursing before carefully slipping inside.  Scatters of garden furniture sat against a concrete path, leading up to the back door.  He knew it led to the kitchen and cupped his hands against the window before attempting to open it.  Even with the aid of early morning glare he was unable to make out what lay inside.  The door unlatched with little force and he entered, Luger first.  The kitchen seemed untouched, the same as he remembered.  Stefan frowned as he reached the pale glint of light that spilled out across the doorway of the living room.  His eyes were captured instantly.  A carpet of glass lay across the wooden flooring.  His heart dropped into the pitfalls off his deeply wounded stomach, his eyes grew wide and anxious.  The smatter of glass crunched beneath his footsteps as he proceeded slowly into the centre of the room.  The furniture had been over turned, anything breakable, broken, smashed in fact,
destroyed in an incredible rage.  Grinding the chatter of his teeth Stefan set the Luger down upon the rest of a ragged armchair and curled his fingers around the tall pairing of flimsy drapes and peered out into the street outside.  He had expected this.  They must have come to the house after his arrest.  He collected the Luger and crept upstairs.  His room had been scoured, most of his belongings taken, it was the same with his siblings.  His brother’s room had been trashed, ransacked, the floor covered in tiny strands of clothing.  He sat at the foot of his sisters bed, her favourite toy in his hands.  Anger lashed at his memories, whipping at every attempted vision.  Tears streamed down the hot blush of his cheeks.  They were gone.  He noticed a small batch of blood on the carpet of his Mother and Father’s room.  Her scarce amount of bronze jewellery plundered from her small music box.  His Father’s walking stick lay on the bed, its blunt point bloodied with darkness.  Always going out with a fight.

He returned to the living room.  The light was still meagre.  Stefan ran his hands over the tarnished wallpaper.  He turned his back and slumped against the bed of glass, tears stifled his breath.  Exhaustion had finally caught up with him and his eyes became heavier as he tried to battle it.  A spark ignited from across the room, quickly vanishing under a sharp snap.  Stefan scrambled his hand across the scattered heaps of glass, searching for the cold steel of the Luger.  As soon as it delved into his blood dotted palm Stefan pushed his aching shoulders up against the wall and stumbled to his feet, pointing the pistol blindly into the whitening darkness.                             

‘W-who’s there,’ he hissed, choking on the lump wedged inside his throat.

The gun flailed within his weak grip.

‘I’ll shoot,’ he cried.

‘I have never been threatened by a dead man before.’

‘Who
are
you?’

A rise of smoke flamed within the gloom.

‘I knew you’d come back, it was only a matter of time.  We knew you had survived.’

A tall outline rose from across the room, his face and attire completely hidden.

‘I said who
are
you
?’ seethed Stefan.

The shadow grinned behind his enflamed cigarette and stepped forwards into the rare band of light.

‘I am Lieutenant Klaus Jung,’ replied the voice, ‘we’ve been waiting for you.’

Stefan set his finger over the trigger and edged forwards.

‘You’re a German?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then you’re a dead man for coming here alone.’

‘And what makes you think I’m alone.’

Stefan took his stare away from the blur of darkness for a moment or two to check behind his shoulders.

‘I’m not your enemy, Stefan.’

‘Oh I beg to
differ
Lieutenant
.’

The shadow of Klaus Jung crept across the room.

‘DON’T.’ Stefan seethed, 

‘DO NOT SIT IN MY FATHER’S CHAIR’

The Lieutenant stalled and then eased back onto a small cabinet.

‘Tell me what happened here?’

‘What do you think happened?’

‘It looks like you and you bastards came into my home and...’

A swell of tears choked his speech and a soft, warm stream rolled down his face.

‘W-where are my family?’

Lieutenant Jung puffed at the cigarette and the embers blazed, igniting his peaceful glare.  His hand reached into his jacket.

‘Hold it,’ cried Stefan, cocking back the hammer so that the pistol snapped, issuing a firm warning.

‘Easy Stefan, you’re no use to anyone dead.’

‘Answer my question.’

An ageing envelope appeared in the light.  Stefan mulled it over with a tired squint.

‘What’s this?’

‘The answer to your problem,’ replied the Lieutenant.

With the Luger still aimed into Klaus Jung’s unseen chest, Stefan reached forwards and snatched at the yellowing envelope.  Its opening was rugged and torn, as if the paper within had been removed and returned a thousand times.  The page unfolded within his shaking grasp. 

‘What is this?’

‘Read it.’

The feeble strays of sunlight barely lit each ink strewn word.  Stefan frowned.  It only took about forty or so seconds to reach the signature at the bottom but he chose to read it again, his brow furrowing furthermore.   

‘I don’t understand,’ began Stefan, ‘who is Felix
Kalb?’

Glass crunched underneath the Lieutenant’s stride.  He swiped at the curtain and allowed a radiant shine of brilliant yellow to spill across his face. 

‘Felix Kalb happens to be the link between yourself and I, and he is the reason you are going to help me.’

Stefan shook his head, clearly angered.

‘Why, why would I help you?  My family, my friends, they’re gone because of you.’

‘And what if they weren’t?’

The Luger became heavy. 

‘It’s the wrong time to play games, Lieutenant.’

With a tired smile Lieutenant Klaus Jung glanced back at him, his face glimmering as though it were decorated in war paint. 

‘I do envy you Stefan.’

‘Envy me?  You envy me?  Look around,’ Stefan screamed, rushing toward the soft toned Lieutenant, ‘you have taken everything from me and now, now you ask for my help?’

The tip of the Luger nudged into Klaus Jung’s neck and the Lieutenant grinned, releasing a sigh.  His eyes wandered behind Stefan’s livid stare.

‘Put the gun down, Stefan.’

He turned and the point of the pistol slipped away from the perspiring skin of his guest.  His frown ceased and a pant of pure disbelief pursed his lips.  Gerard filled the doorway, a smile forming below his tear swamped gaze.

‘Welcome home my brother.’ 

THE HOMECOMING OF 1918

‘You ready?’  Felix stared out towards the bar.  His nervous pattern of hot breath jittered over the window and the lively tavern across the road transformed into a blurry smudge of amber.  It had been a long time since he had seen the place, any place for that matter.   

‘Sure,’ he said looking across the seat, ‘lead the way, brother.’  Nodding with a smile Hugo latched open the cab door, inviting in a whirlwind of cold evening bluster.  Felix quickly followed, tugging at the prickly scarf nestled around his roasting neck as his eyes and ears tasted the bitter winter air.  Voices echoed from the beer garden round the back, the cold no match for a belly full of warm scotch.  They waved off the car and headed across the snowy path, shuffling their hands over pink knuckles and huffing hot air into their palms.  Felix looked up into the violet evening sky.  It was good to be home.

They were greeted with a chant of cheers and applause.  A banner hung over the bar, its mixed-matched letters warm and welcoming.  A body of hands rushed over Hugo’s trench coat and he disbanded from Felix’s side before disappearing within a shower of hugs and kisses. 

‘It’s good to have you back, Felix!’ shouted the bar tender as he waved a hand over the crowd of gathering townspeople.  He searched the horde of smiling faces, thanking each as he edged closer to the bar where a cold, frothy beer sat waiting.  His eyes closed as the cold amber liquid travelled down his hoarse throat and reached his stomach.  Felix raised the glass in thanks and took another sip.

‘Lena not working tonight?’ he asked, wiping a moustache of white lather away from his lips. 

‘She’s out back, go on through.’  Felix nodded with a smile and slipped through to the hallway and into the back.  The corridor wasn’t unfamiliar; he’d been out here a few times to grab a barrel if Lucien had been too drunk and had then proceeded to bellow out a chorus of high pitched song.  A cold breeze crept in from outside a half open doorway.  A soft hum floated amongst the gentle wind.  Felix smiled.  She stooped over a large plastic bin of soapy water, her hands swiping quickly at a collection of tall, shimmering glasses.  Felix looped his scarf over his head and crept towards her before gently placing the garment over her eyes. 

‘Eighteen eighty-eight,’ he smiled, ‘you wore a beret you had taken from your Mother’s wardrobe, it was so big I had to keep pulling it up so that it didn’t keep falling over your eyes.’

He felt her smile rise against the scarf.  She let the scarf fall to her shoulders and rose to face
him, her eyes were more beautiful than he remembered. 

‘I’ve missed you,’ she whispered.

‘And I’ve missed you like you wouldn’t believe my dear.’

He pushed a lock of her hair aside and kissed her lips.  It really was good to be home. 

They sat upon the bottom step, huddled together, their hands wrinkled and warm.  Felix handed another soap glazed glass to Lena and sighed, staring up into the sky.

‘The stars don’t seem as bright here.’