Black Cross (59 page)

“My God,” said Avram. “What are they doing?”

Jonas couldn’t make out faces or rank badges, only two men standing inside the gate smoking cigarettes and talking to the sentry who stood outside. He checked his watch. 7:35. He should be driving out of the front gate now.

“Do you think they’ll go away in time?” Avram asked.

“I don’t know. Father, walk with me to my car. With you in that uniform we can drive right out of here.”

Rachel grabbed Jonas’s arm. “You can’t do that! You can’t leave Hannah behind!”

“We’ll take her with us.”

Awakened by her mother’s panic, the child whimpered softly in the darkness. Avram touched Rachel’s arm. “Have no fear,” he said. “Jonas, forget the men at the gate. Take this child and go. The E-Block was a long chance anyway.”

Jonas stared at the three SS men, his mind whirling.

Avram held up the dead corporal’s machine gun. “If they don’t move, I will try to kill them.”

As Avram spoke these words, Jonas spied two more SS men. They were standing in the shadow of the hospital wall, examining the polished black Mercedes that had mysteriously appeared in camp. In that moment Jonas knew he would not reach the gas cylinders in time. It would be McConnell or no one.

He slipped through the gate and hugged his father as tightly as he could, as if to cling to the moment for the rest of his life. “I will never forget you,” he said in a choked voice. Then he snatched away the dead sentry’s gun and threw it onto the snow. “That weapon isn’t silenced,” he said. “Take this.”

He handed Avram his Schmeisser.

Avram made as if to speak, but his voice failed him. A brief light flickered in his eyes, something very much like second thoughts, but he pushed his son away. “Go!” he said.

“Have the child ready,” Jonas told him. “If I’m alive in five minutes, I’ll be back for her.”

42

Jonas Stern marched across the frozen Appellplatz like Erwin Rommel inspecting the Afrika Korps. His only weapon was his Walther PPK; he’d given his silenced Schmeisser to his father and his SS dagger to Rachel Jansen. Whenever one of the SS men smoking at the back gate inhaled, an orange glow lit the upper half of his face. By this light Stern saw that two of the guards were privates, the other a sergeant major. The men still had not noticed him.

“
Hauptscharführer
!” he snapped, singling out the senior man. “You are not in the habit of saluting superior officers?”

Sergeant Gunther Sturm looked up in amazement at the gray-green uniform and Iron Cross First Class. An angry SD colonel was the last thing he expected to encounter at Totenhausen’s back gate.

“Standartenführer!” he cried. “Heil Hitler!”

The privates quickly followed his example.

Stern raised his chin and looked down his nose at the bull-necked sergeant. “You are Hauptscharführer Sturm?”

Sturm’s eyes widened. “
Jawohl
, Standartenführer.”

“Don’t look so frightened. I have bigger fish to fry than you. I am here to arrest Major Wolfgang Schörner for conspiring to reveal state secrets. I shall require your assistance, Hauptscharführer, and that of these men as well. Obergruppenführer Kaltenbrunner in Berlin will appreciate your help.”

Sturm’s stubbled face went slack, then brightened with malicious glee. “Standartenführer,” he said unctuously, “I’m not one to complain about a superior, but I have had suspicions of my own about the Sturmbannführer.”

“Why did you not report these suspicions?”

Sturm was momentarily at a loss. “I’ve been searching for proof, Standartenführer. One does not accuse a holder of the Knight’s Cross lightly.”

“Herr Schörner will not wear the Knight’s Cross much longer, Hauptscharführer.”

Sturm looked at the two privates, astonished by his good luck. “What do you want us to do, Standartenführer?”

Stern glanced at his watch: 7:37. The women would begin moving in thirteen minutes. Now he regretted giving up the silenced Schmeisser. “Here is the situation, Hauptscharführer. We believe Allied commandos intend to attack this camp tonight to assassinate Herr Doktor Brandt and destroy his laboratory. We believe Schörner arranged this attack through contacts with the Polish Resistance.”

Gunther Sturm could barely contain his excitement. “The Herr Doktor was right!”

“SD reinforcements will arrive from Berlin within thirty minutes,” Stern went on. “But with your help I will immediately arrest Schörner and remove him from the camp, to prevent him from assisting these commandos in any way. Are you ready?”

Sturm jerked a Luger from his belt and shook it in the air. “I know how to deal with traitors, Standartenführer. If Schörner resists, I’ll blow his head off!”

Stern nodded. “Bring these men as well. Schörner is a dangerous man.”

Sturm looked suddenly uncertain. “I must leave one behind, Standartenführer. The commandant could have me shot if I left this gate unguarded.”

Stern glared at the private who stood on the other side of the wire. “This is your last smoke break,” he said. “Don’t take your eyes off of those trees. The commandos will almost certainly attack from the hills. Is that clear?”

“
Jawohl
, Standartenführer!”

The gray-faced private whipped around instantly, his eyes on the dark trees that had seemed benign only a moment ago.

“To the headquarters, Hauptscharführer!”

Stern walked a step ahead of the two SS men as they crossed the Appellplatz.

“Perhaps I should have my dogs patrol the back fence?” Sturm suggested.

“No need for that yet,” said Stern. The last thing he needed was attack dogs prowling the area of the E-Block. “We will deploy the dogs only at the last moment. We want them fresh.”

“Very good, Standartenführer.”

They passed the rear of the cinema annex, which was contiguous to the headquarters building. As they reached the front door of the headquarters, it opened and a tall officer wearing a Waffen SS uniform and a black eyepatch stepped through it.

Wolfgang Schörner froze in midstep when he saw the SD uniform.

Stern calmly drew his Walther and aimed it at the astonished major. “Sturmbannführer Wolfgang Schörner, by order of the Führer I place you under arrest.”

Major Schörner stared in amazement at Sergeant Sturm, who had drawn his Luger, then looked back at Stern. “I beg your pardon, Standartenführer?”

“You heard me. Relieve him of his pistol, Hauptscharführer.”

Schörner made no move to resist as Sturm yanked his Luger from its holster. “Who is this man, Hauptscharführer?”

Stern held up his hand. “I am Standartenführer Ritter Stern from the
Sicherheitsdienst
in Berlin, as you can plainly see.”

“I received no communication about your arrival.”

“Of course you didn’t. All will become clear in Berlin.”

“Berlin?” Schörner’s eyes moved up and down Stern’s uniform, taking in each button, patch, badge, crease, and stain. “Hauptscharführer,” he said, “the Standartenführer seems to be missing his dagger. Don’t you find that interesting?”

Stern waved his pistol toward the hospital, where the Mercedes waited. “To my car, Hauptscharführer,” he said tersely.

But Gunther Sturm was looking at Schörner. Sturm knew the face of guilt, and as much as he hated the major, Schörner was not acting guilty of anything.

“I am perfectly willing to go to Berlin,” Schörner said equably. “But shouldn’t we at least ask to see this man’s papers first? An SD officer who loses his dagger is subject to arrest himself.”

Sturm looked uncertainly at Stern. “Standartenführer?”

Stern glanced impatiently at his watch, an officer in a hurry. “You will regret this,” he said. He brought out his wallet and handed it to Sturm, who passed it straight to Schörner.

“These papers give you authority to inspect security arrangements at Totenhausen.” Schörner looked up. “Not to place me under arrest.”

“By statute, the SD has complete powers of examination and arrest over the SS,” Stern said. “I do not need a written order to arrest a traitor.” He lowered his voice to a menacing pitch. “Now, move to my car.”

“These orders are dated four days ago,” Schörner observed, not moving an inch. “Did it take you four days to drive up from Berlin?”

Before Stern could respond, Schörner said, “The suntan interests me as well. Has the sun begun shining in the Tiergarten in the dead of winter?”

Stern raised his pistol to Schörner’s face.

The major showed no sign of fear.

Stern wanted to pull the trigger, but he knew it would be the worst possible mistake he could make.

“Where
is
your dagger, Standartenführer?” Schörner asked.

Stern forced himself not to look down at the empty sheath on his belt. This showed considerable nerve, considering that his mind had gone blank.

A bemused look crossed Schörner’s face. “With all respect, Standartenführer, on what day did you receive your dagger?”

It was funny in a way, thought Stern. He was replaying the scene in the Jewish Women’s Block, when he had been questioned to prove he was a Jew. Only Major Schörner had not asked him what year it was on the Hebrew calendar. “I have not come here to answer your questions,” he snapped. “You will answer mine.”

Schörner glanced at Sturm. “What do you think, Hauptscharführer? A simple enough question, don’t you think? Even you could answer that one.”

Gunther Sturm wore the expression of an attack dog being given commands by two masters. He hated Schörner viciously, but those very qualities he hated most made the idea of Schörner betraying Germany an impossibility. With agonizing slowness he turned until his Luger was aimed just to the right of Stern’s belly.

“If the Standartenführer could answer the question?” he said in an apologetic tone. “When did you receive your dagger?”

Stern had always known this moment would come someday. A moment without options. A truly impossible situation. He had simply overestimated his abilities, while underestimating those of a combat veteran named Wolfgang Schörner. He thought of the cyanide capsule he had earlier transferred from his Star of David medallion into his pocket, but he felt no inclination to try to swallow it. No matter what the bastards did to him, they would not break him before the gas descended on the camp.

“I don’t recall the exact day,” he said. “It was 1940.”

“That’s interesting,” said Schörner, “since all ceremonial daggers are awarded only on November ninth.”

Stern looked at his watch. 7:40. His only thought was to give the women time to get the children to the E-Block. And he knew he could do that. “There is only one solution,” he said. “Call Obergruppenführer Kaltenbrunner at SD headquarters in Berlin.” Stern reversed the Walther in his hand and handed it butt first to Sergeant Sturm.

Bewildered, the SS man accepted the weapon.

A faint smile touched Schörner’s mouth. “Where did you meet this man, Hauptscharführer?” he asked.

“At the back gate, Sturmbannführer.”

“You have someone guarding the gate now?”

“
Ja
.”

“How many technicians are in the factory?”

“The full shift. Thirty-four men. They’re taking the place apart.”

Schörner nodded while he thought. “I want every one of the technicians moved into the cinema immediately and placed under guard. Then bolt every door on the factory. Clear?”

“
Zu befehl
, Sturmbannführer.”

“One call to Berlin will tell me if the major here is fish or fowl. I want those technicians locked in the cinema by the time I’m off the phone. The civilian nurses as well. Every one of them. Get moving.”

Sergeant Sturm hurried into the headquarters building. Schörner turned back to Stern. “This has been most entertaining. If you are who you say you are, I will soon be without a dagger myself. If not, well. . . ” Schörner looked over Stern’s shoulder. “You’d better come with us, Schütze.”

With the barrel of a private’s rifle between his shoulder blades, Stern followed Schörner into the headquarters building. He stole one last glance at his watch as he passed through the door.

7:41.

“I’ve heard no explosion yet.”

“He’s still got nine minutes,” said McConnell from the kitchen table. He turned to the stove, where Anna stood warming herself. “Would we definitely hear a grenade on the hill?”

“Yes. I think we should go now. Something feels wrong to me.”

“That’s just nerves. It’s not time yet.”

McConnell was feeling butterflies himself, as if he were waiting to run the biggest race of his life. He had just gulped a large glass of water to make up for the fluid loss from a half hour inside his anti-gas suit. His air cylinder stood on the floor, the corrugated hose wrapped around it.

Anna turned from the stove. “I think they’ve caught him,” she said.

McConnell angrily slapped the table. “Then why haven’t we heard shooting? An alarm? Something? You think he would let them take him without a fight?”

“He might. His father is there, remember.”

McConnell took a deep breath and tried to stay calm. Arranged in front of him were his toggle rope, his clear vinyl head mask, the Mauser rifle he’d traded from Stan Wojik, and the bright swatch of tartan that Sir Donald Cameron had given him on the bridge at Achnacarry. The note from Churchill was folded in Anna’s diary, which he’d hidden in the leg of his oilskin suit. Stern’s gas suit was folded in the backseat of Greta’s Volkswagen.

But where was Stern?

Anna touched his arm. “He’s relying on us to send down the gas,” she said. “I think we should wait on the hill.”

“I’m doing what he told me,” McConnell said doggedly. He took another long drink of water. “Eight more minutes. We’ll make it to the hill in time.”

She reached out and took his hand. “All right. Whatever happens, I’m glad for last night. It will make everything easier.”

McConnell started to ask what she meant, but he didn’t. He had a feeling he knew.

When Avram Stern saw his son walking back across the Appellplatz ahead of Sergeant Sturm and an SS private, he almost panicked. Instead, he tried to think like his son. Jonas had come this far without getting caught; he must know what he was doing.