In the Claws of the Eagle (25 page)

Erich came back from an early dinner to find Elaine sitting on the edge of his desk, apparently lost in thought. She looked nice like that, quiet and pensive. He approached, half
expecting
one of her little flirtatious looks, or some banter. What he saw was affection, even respect. It nearly disarmed him. He wanted to talk, to tell her about yesterday, and how it had changed him, but shame held him back; anyway she wouldn’t know what he was talking about.

A murmured ‘
Guten Morgen
,’ and he sat down at his desk. He had meant to look busy but found himself just gazing at the polished surface, seeing again the notes laid out as he had read them last night. Not one of these notes had spoken of the misery, the hunger, the stench, the uncertainty; they had lied 
in order to spare the people they loved.

Elaine came around the desk, and stood close; he breathed in the clean smell of her body. He longed just to turn and bury his face in her softness. She put her arm over his shoulders and drew him towards her. Suddenly Erich was revolted by
himself
. He pulled himself away and stood up, keeping her at arms length.

‘
NEIN
!’ He shouted at her. ‘
Ich bin schmutzig!
I am dirty, dirty, dirty!’ He felt Elaine watching his back as he strode down towards his room, where he sat shaking, trying to recall the feel of her arm across his shoulders and the whisper of her breath against his cheek. It represented something he had lost the right to.

Elaine didn’t flirt with him any more after that; something good had happened between them and he wasn’t sure what it was. With Louise, however, Erich was like a lion chained. The last shreds of his Nazism had disappeared on Platform 14 of the Gare de l’Est.

‘Just tell me what to do Louise and I will do it!’ But Louise was too stunned to think. Whenever she tried to get her mind to bear on what he had told her, all she saw were the brave
letters
, and the torn and scribbled notes. They scrolled behind her eyes like Izaac’s music as he played, each with its own sad tale.

It was a time of frenetic activity at the Jeu de Paume. Rather to Louise’s surprise, Erich was throwing himself into it with as much energy as the others; hastily packing pictures that hadn’t even been catalogued. She envied him this preoccupation.

‘What’s the hurry, Erich?’ she asked when she could get him alone.

‘The British and the Americans are advancing and will be in Paris in a few weeks. Everyone here is trying to save as much as they can for the Führer museum. The whole collection is to be got out of Paris and hidden in the salt mines in Austria. The atmosphere in the mines is perfect for preserving pictures, indeed almost anything. Also, being underground, they’ll be safe from bombing.’

‘But why are you helping? Let the British and Americans come. I bet they’ll take better care of your pictures than the Germans.’

‘They might, if they ever got them. General von Brugen has signalled me to say that Hitler plans to order the total
destruction
of Paris if our troops are driven out. Do you realise what this means? It means blowing up the Louvre, Notre Dame, the Jeu de Paume, and everything that’s in them. On top of that, Göring and the others are already gathering like vultures to
snap up anything they think they will be able to sell after the war. I’ve got to save what I can!’ Louise felt a wave of panic on her own behalf.

‘What will happen to me, Erich? I don’t want to fall into the hands of someone like Göring. But I can’t expect you to go on hiding my picture for ever.’

‘I’d never let that happen to you, Louise. I have a plan. You remember I told you about the salt mines in Altaussee?’ Louise nodded.

‘Well, that’s one of the main repositories chosen for storing the pictures. Using the excuse that I worked in that mine, I’ve asked for permission to go there to help store the art. I’m going to take your picture there; it’s the one place I know you will be safe and where I will be able to find you again.’

Louise could hear thunder … or something that sounded like thunder. But it was sharper, more rhythmic. A train, that was it, the clack of wheels on a railway track, followed by the manic shriek of brakes. She heard wooden doors being thrown open, there were harsh shouts, and the barking of fierce dogs; a child cried in terror. Someone announced an unfamiliar name – Auschwitz – a station perhaps? She thought of Erich’s
description
of the transport of Jews in the Gare de l’Est and an icy chill gripped her heart. Suddenly the truth burst upon her. She had been deluding herself. Those images that Klaus had shown her were not just the foul imaginings of a deranged mind, they were real! So too then were the nightmare images that Izaac had accidentally let her see!

A silent scream rose in her mind, ‘Are you all right, Izaac? Tell me you’re all right.’ Nothing. Time passed, days, weeks, a month, and still there was no response. Was it all over with him? Then just when she was convinced she had lost all 
contact with him, he sent her one small message of hope – the unmistakable sound of a violin being tuned. He was still able to play. He must be all right! Those few notes evoked a deep memory in her. For a moment she was back in Vienna,
watching
little Izaac turn, riveted by the sound being produced by the Cloud Lady, Helena Stronski.

‘Erich, I think Izaac’s been moved. I heard a train, dogs, the name of a station I didn’t know. I never told you of the horrible things that Klaus showed me: corpses, death. I thought they were just in his mind, but they are true. We’ve got to rescue Izaac. Take me with you, or leave me in your salt mine and go alone. We’ve got to do something now! Please Erich!’

Erich paused in his work. ‘Believe me, Louise, I’d go off and find Izaac for you this very moment if I could, but I can’t, I really can’t. I would need travel documents, tickets, high
security
passes; it just can’t be done. With the Americans and British advancing on Paris, let’s hope it will be over soon.’

Louise sighed, he was right. She was powerless; all she could do at present was hope.

When the klaxon started wailing they both looked up, Reichsmarschall Göring! Another surprise visit! And, as if that wasn’t bad enough, a familiar voice, that neither of them wanted to hear, was ringing down the corridor.

‘Erich! It’s
him
, Klaus! Don’t let him near me! He’ll see me, I know it!’

Erich, already on his way to his room to smarten up for Göring’s visit, stopped in his tracks.

‘Klaus! What’s he doing here? I’ll run him out of the place!’

‘No, Erich, please be sensible. Be civil and find out what he 
wants.’ Resisting the temptation to fade into her picture, Louise stepped back out of the light. She wasn’t going to miss this encounter.

‘Erich, my friend! I come by special train all the way across Europe to see you and I find you busy.’ Erich made a choking noise in his throat. ‘Don’t
worry
, old son. Run along and change, you can’t go down to the fat man like that. I’ll be good and read the paper quietly until you get back.’ Erich hurried into his bedroom and emerged seconds later adjusting his tie. ‘See you when you’re done,’ Klaus called. ‘We’ll chew the fat then and talk about old times.’ He leaned back in Erich’s chair with the air of someone who was there for the day, but as soon as the sound of Erich’s footsteps began to recede, he laid down his paper, walked to the door, looked left and right, and closed it.

‘Perfect timing!’ Louise heard him mutter.

To her surprise, Klaus went straight down to Erich’s
bedroom
. She heard drawers being opened, a cupboard door creaked, and a tap was run briefly. In a few minutes he
reemerged
, slicking down his hair. Louise covered a gasp. Klaus was dressed in Erich’s one good suit; the likeness was uncanny. He walked past her, humming, and went straight to the wall opposite Erich’s desk, turned her picture face out, ran his eye over her portrait and said, ‘Good, you’re still here. I’ve been doing some research on you: “The Master of Delft’s finest work”, value astronomical, according to one expert,
conveniently
deceased. So Erich and I are the only ones who know that you are here, and dear old Erich can’t talk because he would have to explain why you have never been catalogued for the Führer museum. Food for thought, isn’t it? But now to more urgent matters.’

He turned away and dropped to one knee; Louise realised with relief that it was really Erich’s safe that interested him. She stepped forward. He hummed as he turned the dials on the 
combination lock. Then he sat back on his hunkers, looking pleased with himself. ‘Klaus never forgets,’ he said as the door swung open. ‘So this is the moment when Klaus Steinman becomes Erich Hoffman.’ He reached into the safe.

Don’t be a fool, don’be a fool
, Louise thought, but she could contain herself no longer. ‘How dare you take Erich’s things! Put them back!’ Klaus froze, but only for a second. Then he raised his hands in mock submission and turned to the point in the room where he’d heard her voice. She saw his eyes lock on to her like a stoat on a rabbit, and felt about as helpless.

‘So there you are. Louise, isn’t it? I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist me for long. Don’t look so surprised. My brat sister, Gretchen, told her mother and her father all about how you used to appear to Izaac, so why shouldn’t you appear for me? Perhaps you’d like to help?’

‘Don’t you dare!’ she said again, but she could have spared her breath. He turned back to the safe, withdrew a packet of documents and began to examine them. ‘Damn me, Erich, you old fox! So you’ve been working for the Secret Police all this time. Well, Louise, we don’t want these, do we? I want to be Erich the art expert, not Erich the spy.’ He put the
incriminating
papers away. As he did so a small object fell from the packet, a coin perhaps, and rolled away; Klaus didn’t notice it.

‘Now, here’s what I’m after.’ He took Erich’s passport, kissed it, and put it on the desk. Then he reached into his pocket and took out a small wad of papers. ‘Fair exchange, no robbery. My identity in exchange for his. Now he has my uniform, my Death’s Head Squad identity papers and even my travel passes to Auschwitz in September.’ Auschwitz – why did that name sound familiar? Louise wondered. But Klaus’s next words grabbed her attention. ‘If our mutual friend, Abrahams,
survives
that long, no doubt he will play for him. I’m just sorry I won’t be there to show him around.’ 

‘What do you want with Erich’s passport? Why, you’ve even taken his clothes!’ Klaus smiled, popped his SS papers into the safe and slid Erich’s precious passport into his pocket.

‘Haven’t you worked it out yet? Has Erich not been keeping you up to date, then? If our incompetent armies lose the war – and it looks as if they may – what do you think is going to happen to the elite SS? Our efforts to solve the Jewish question may not be appreciated, so a group of my colleagues decided to set up an escape route, with safe houses for ourselves in Brazil where we can re-group before disappearing into the South American continent. I, my dear, am the pathfinder, the chosen emissary, I have their money, I have Erich’s passport …’

‘You rat! You’re going to cheat on them, aren’t you?’ Louise exploded.

‘Clever, isn’t it? If by any chance my colleagues escape the hangman’s noose and come looking for Klaus Steinman and their life savings, all they will find is a cooling trail leading to a blameless soul called Erich Hoffmann, a retired art expert.’

There were barked commands below. The noise level was rising. Göring would be leaving. Louise glanced hopefully towards the door. Klaus caught her glance.

‘He’s coming, is he? It’s the back stairs for me then, but I’ve not forgotten you; I’ll be back.’

And Klaus was gone.

Elaine saw Erich’s figure hurrying down the corridor ahead of her; why wasn’t he seeing Göring off?’ The room looked bare now that most of the pictures were gone. She would miss Erich, and wandered round unhappily, remembering where they had had their little flirtations. She crossed over to his desk, gave it a desultory swipe with her duster and then spotted something lying on the floor. She bent, picked the object up, 
and then she stood staring at it in a state of mental paralysis. It was a small metal oval showing the Nazi eagle holding a
swastika
. There was a hole punched in it for a lanyard to hang around the neck. She turned it over,
Geheime Staatspolizei 7942
. A Gestapo identity disk. ‘Oh, Erich, no,’ she said. ‘Not you! Please, it can’t be yours!’ She looked up, and there he was at the door, smiling, relieved that the ordeal over.