The Serpent's Egg (31 page)

“I helped bury him, yes. I’m afraid the police will be looking for me soon. I will need to leave Germany. I dropped something at the scene. I’ve been told they are searching their fingerprint records.”

“That was careless. Where will you go?”

“I thought we might come here, to Brussels, Comrade.”

“We?”

“My wife and I.”

Two large glasses of beer arrived in front of them on the bar. Max sank half of his in one go.

Gilbert looked sideways at his young German companion. “Are you asking me for help?”

“We will need a place to stay while we get settled.”

“What do you do?”

“I work for the government, the Labor Service.”

The Belgian curled his lip. “A pen-pusher. What does your wife do?”

“She’s a waitress. She works in the food court at KaDeWe, a large department store.”

Gilbert took several moments to think about it. “Since you’re a comrade, I will be happy to arrange accommodation for two, maybe for a couple of weeks.”

“It could take longer than that to find jobs and another place to live.”

“Two weeks. That’s the best I can do. Your wife should find work straight away, you not so easily.” Gilbert sank his nose in his beer and took a long drink.

Max finished his beer and ordered two more.

#

Max told Anna about his trip and his conversation with comrade Gilbert while she worked her way through the suitcase. She liberated three items of lingerie and disappeared into the bedroom to try them on.

She called Max to come and take a look.

He called back, “Did you hear what I said, Anna? My contact in Brussels will find us somewhere to stay while we search for work. He said—”

He pushed open the bedroom door. At the sight of Anna in the lingerie, the conversation took a whole new turn.

Chapter 86

April 1940

Anna woke up with a blinding headache. She rang the department store and told them she wouldn’t be in that day. She made Max’s breakfast, and after he’d left for work, she went back to bed, leaving the dirty dishes in the sink.

At around noon, someone knocked on the apartment door.

She opened the door a crack. Jürgen pushed the door open and stepped into the apartment. He was dressed in his double-breasted suit.

Her heart skipped a beat. “You can’t come in. I’m not well.” That sounded like she had leprosy, but it was the best she could come up with.

He ran his steel-blue eyes over her. She pulled her housecoat closely around her body.

“I thought you were posted to the East.”

“I was. I liberated Poland from the Poles. Now I’m back in headquarters. Aren’t you pleased to see me?” He advanced, pressing her against the door.

“Please, Jürgen, I’m really not well…”

“Today you will give me what I want.”

“I don’t have any information for you, Jürgen. Please let me go.”

“Show me your bedroom.”

Anna panicked. “I’m a married woman. Please leave.”

“I’ve spoken to the registrar. I think you’ll find your marriage will soon be annulled.”

“I’ll scream if you touch me”

He stepped back. “You want me to leave? I can do that. If I do, I will have to inform my colleagues that your husband is a Communist.” He removed his jacket and draped it carefully over the sofa. “I will have to tell them that he murdered Salvatore Vigo, the Roman pastor.” He removed his trousers, lined up the creases, and draped them over the sofa. “And I will have to tell them that he buried the priest in the Holy Cross cemetery.” He unbuttoned his shirt…

#

Max found Anna in the bed that evening. He asked her how she was and she gave him a curt reply, “I have a headache. Leave me alone.”

He sat beside her on the bed. “Should I call the doctor?”

“No, I’ll be fine in the morning.”

#

A week after his trip to Brussels, Max got a call from Frau Greta calling herself ‘Sister Bernadina’ again. He was to attend an urgent meeting in Berlin’s zoological gardens. The choir was assembling at the monkey house.

Max walked to the zoo. It was no more than a kilometer to the north of the apartment. Greta had sounded out of breath, distressed. Had the vital secret message been lost when the policeman at the border stole those two cigarettes? She had said the message was important, that it could affect the outcome of the War. What if it never arrived in Brussels, if the border policeman had smoked the message and Gilbert found nothing in any of the remaining five cigarettes?

He bought a ticket and made his way to the monkey house. He found Adam Kuckhoff waiting for him, the monkeys in the cages leaping about, screeching at him. Adam looked miserable.

They stepped out of the noisy monkey house onto a green area where there were groups of children rushing about making nearly as much noise as the monkeys.

“What’s happened, Adam? Was there a problem with the message?” Max was ready to explain what happened at the border. He would agree to travel to Brussels again if necessary, if it wasn’t already too late.

Adam shook his head. “You played your part perfectly, Max. Gilbert transmitted the message to Moscow. The problem is that Joseph Stalin and his Intelligence chief have rejected the information out of hand. Word has come back from Moscow. They believe what we sent them is misinformation designed to misdirect the Red Army. Gilbert has been recalled to Moscow to explain his actions. And the Soviets will no longer accept intelligence from anyone in Berlin.”

Max was relieved that his part of the process hadn’t been at fault, but at the same time he was devastated that Gilbert would not be there to help when – if – he and Anna managed to escape to Brussels. He asked, “What was this intelligence? Frau Greta said it was of critical importance to the outcome of the War.”

“I can’t tell you that, but I can tell you we could be facing Armageddon if Moscow don’t act on the information. No, the reason I called you here is to deliver a message from Gilbert. He says he’s sorry that he won’t be able to do what you discussed in Brussels.”

#

Anna was devastated by the news. Every day since she’d allowed Jürgen into her bed she’d been terrified that he might come back for more, or that he might blow the whistle on Max “We have to get out of Germany, Max.”

“Don’t you think I know that? As soon as the Gestapo match my fingerprints from the cigarette lighter I will be arrested and charged with murder.”

“But you didn’t murder Father Vigo. You helped to bury him, but you didn’t kill anyone. Or did you?”

Max blinked.

“I’m not sure the Gestapo will make that distinction. At best I may be charged as an accessory. At worst I could be executed for capital murder.”

As he spoke, Anna realized that she shouldn’t have mentioned the name of the murdered priest. She wasn’t supposed to know that. Had he noticed? She sat down wearily on the sofa.

“Oh, Max, why did you have to get involved with these people? They’re murderers and Communists. And they are fighting against the Nazis. There’s only one way this is going to end.”

“You know why, Anna. I explained that to you. The Gestapo refused to sign our Marriage Authorization until I joined the Orchestra and found out where the printer is located.”

“You never did find the printer, did you?”

“No, but they found it without my help. Actually, they found one of the printers. There’s at least one more. I know that because the leaflets are still being printed.”

Max hadn’t asked how she knew the name of the victim. Perhaps he hadn’t noticed. She picked at a fingernail. “When will it all end. Max?”

“It could end very quickly for us if we don’t get out of Germany soon.”

“But where can we go if your friend in Brussels can’t help us?”

“We can still go to Belgium, Anna. We’ll just have to make our own way when we get there.”

Chapter 87

April 1940

Air Commodore Scott addressed the members of the Joint Forces Contingency Committee, now reduced to five members, one from each armed service and B-S, the civilian from Military Intelligence. The mood around the table was somber.

“You’ve all had a chance to read the final document. Operation Pike is now fully actionable. The analysts have given it the green light and the Prime Minister has sanctioned it. Our task now is to consider the ramifications.”

“Perhaps you’d brief us on how far advanced are the preparations?” The air commodore addressed his question to the RAF representative, newly promoted Air Commodore Pinkley.

“The French have completed their development of several new airfields in Syria. We have committed 75 aircraft to the campaign, and the French have agreed to match that number. We have completed many reconnaissance flights over the area and worked out a detailed plan of attack. They have minimal anti-aircraft weapons in place. Many of our aircraft and much of the ordnance are already in place at our bases. The remainder of the ordnance is in transit courtesy of the Royal Navy.”

“Can you give us details on the ordnance?” the Rear Admiral asked.

“I don’t have exact numbers, but we’re planning to use heavy armor-piercing shells to open up the storage tanks, followed by incendiaries. We anticipate a conflagration that could takes years to get under control.”

This statement was greeted by silence.

“The port of Baku will be the main target for the first wave. The city is several feet below sea level, so we plan to destroy the sea barriers immediately after the oil refineries.”

Someone said, “Won’t that put the fires out?”

Pinkley ignored the comment. He sat down.

B-S lit a new cigarette from the stub of an old one with a trembling hand. “And do we have an initiation date for the plan?”

Pinkley looked flushed, whether from excitement, apprehension or embarrassment, Air Commodore Scott couldn’t tell. “Operation Pike will start on May 15.”

Chapter 88

May 1940

Oberst Vogel called Kommissar Neumann into his office. He invited Neumann to take a seat.

“Traut’s been on the telephone. He tells me you asked for authorization to visit one of his men in a labor camp.”

“That’s right. Kurt Framzl in Sachsenhausen.”

“You are aware that Framzl has been kicked out of the Gestapo? He’s been found guilty of corruption.”

“Yes, sir. I believe he may be able to help with one of our investigations.”

Oberst Vogel picked up his new Meerschaum pipe and began to fill it with tobacco. “The killing of the priest.”

“Yes, sir. Did Traut say when we might get that authorization?”

The Oberst pointed the stem of the pipe at an envelope on his desk. “It came in yesterday.”

Neumann picked up the envelope. He opened it and pulled out the authorization.

“I need an afternoon to travel to Sachsenhausen.”

“Very well, Kommissar, but tread carefully. The Sturmbannführer read me a litany of dire warnings. And you know how mud can stick.”

Kommissar Neumann took the car. He travelled alone. The journey to the concentration camp in Oranienburg took an hour in light traffic. He presented his authorization three times, first at the gate, then at the door of the administration block and finally in person to the camp commander.

“What is your business with this criminal, Kommissar?”

“I’m hoping Herr Framzl can cast some light on one of the cases I’m working on, the murder of a pastor.”

“You suspect him of this murder?”

“He’s not a suspect, no, but he did have contact with the victim shortly before he died.”

Kurt Framzl looked like a beaten man, disheveled and gaunt, with sunken eyes, his flesh barely clinging to his bones. Neumann invited him to sit, but Framzl remained standing.

Neumann said, “Has the commandant told you who I am?”

“I know who you are, Kommissar…”

“Kommissar Neumann. I’m investigating the death of a Roman Catholic priest called Salvatore Vigo. You knew Vigo.”

“Yes.”

“You brought him to Prinz-Albrecht-Strasse in April of last year?”

“I did, yes.”

“Why?”

“It was a minor administration matter.”

“I have spoken to the registrar. He told us that you claimed a Marriage Authorization had been forged. Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“And after speaking to the registrar you brought Vigo into Gestapo Headquarters?”

“The priest married two people without following the correct procedures.”

“Based on the forged authorization?’