Mark of the Devil (19 page)

She shook her head. “No.”

“It means work and freedom. That is what you shall have if you stay with Uncle Pepi. A little work, much freedom. Would you like that? Here, drink some more wine.”

Hannah took the glass from Mengele and drank, this time emptying the glass in hopes it would make Uncle Pepi happy. “Yes, Uncle Pepi, I would like that, but what of my mother and father?”

“They have gone far away to another place, but I will take care of you. Now give Uncle Pepi a big kiss for such a nice present.”

Hannah kissed Mengele on the cheek as she would her father.

“No, no, Hannah, here.” He touched his lips with his index and middle fingers. “On the lips. Like two people who will make each other happy.”

Hannah felt Mengele’s right hand work past her ribs to her nipple, his fingers moving slowly over her chest, from right to left, caressing. She knew it wasn’t right. She tried to move his hand away without dropping the medallion, but she wasn’t strong enough. Her head was so dizzy, everything going round and round. She looked toward Aleksander for help, but all she saw were tears in the boy’s eyes as his head was forced down between the colonel’s legs.

“Aleksander, please—”

“Quiet, little one,” Mengele said. His free hand tilted her head back and he pressed his lips against hers, his tongue working its way inside. At the same time, his right hand clutched her thighs. He rubbed gently at first, then pushed beneath her dress, fingers probing.

Withdrawing from her mouth, Mengele whispered, “Make Uncle Pepi happy, my beautiful little Hannah, and someday you shall have freedom. I know you can taste the freedom, little Hannah. All you have to do is make Uncle Pepi happy.”

Matt dabbed his handkerchief at the tears running along Hannah’s cheeks. “You don’t have to go on, Hannah.”

“Oh, but I must if you are to learn.”

“Learn what?”

“The colonel.”

“What about him?”

“Mengele told me his name was SS-Colonel Jürgen Krueger.”

“J. K.” Matt said in a near whisper. “The initials in the hat with the death’s head insignia.”

Hannah nodded. “J. K. He was charged with maintaining the gas chambers and crematoria and overseeing the gold and jewelry after the other officers were caught. He became second only to the camp commandant in power. And he was very good at what he did. You should ask Aleksander, if you could, just how good.”

“What happened to Aleksander?”

“Like I had done with Mengele, he went everywhere with the colonel, watching those led to their deaths, seeing them burned, seeing the firing squads when the gas was not available, the burning pits. But the spring of the next year, the colonel found another boy…and then I never saw Aleksander again.”

“And you?”

“I was Mengele’s toy. That spring, I became pregnant. I had just become twelve years old. Pregnant, not enough to eat for myself, and a child growing in my belly. That would have been the end of Mengele’s play toy.”

“Abortion?”

“Mengele took me to a Dr. Clauberg who scraped me clean. No anesthesia. I fainted many times, but then this Clauberg, an ugly, ugly man with ugly hands, told Mengele he could fix it so I would never get pregnant again.”

“And Mengele said yes, I’m sure.”

“While I’m still on the table from the abortion and nothing done to keep away the pain, this man shot acid into what I’ve since learned is my uterus. I felt like I was on fire. Like my stomach would burst. I screamed and screamed until, again, I must have fainted.

“One of the Jewish nurses said later, ‘Thank God, you lost consciousness.’ I told her after what I’d seen and felt, there could be no God. If there was a God, why did he let any of it happen? I still ask that question, but I’ve found no answer.”

Matt watched the passing flow of debris along the river, churned up by a tug on its way to the Rhine. “But you and Eddy still had children.”

Hannah shook her head. “All adopted when they were small. Two from Poland and one from the German Democratic Republic—East Germany, when it was separate. He was Eduard’s brother’s son. He closely resembles Eduard, don’t you think? Otherwise, they all would have died for lack of care at the hands of the Communists.”

Matt thought he could tell her some good had come from what the doctor did to her, but it would really be a stupid thing to say in light of the pain she went through Instead, he simply said, “But you made it out. How?”

“With Mengele, in the middle of winter. January nineteen forty-five. So cold. As the Russians approached, thousands were marched toward Germany, but the day before the Russians arrived, Mengele took me in a car and we escaped to the west with two other officers, Colonel Jürgen Krueger one of them. A large covered truck followed. We went through Dresden, such destruction you’ve never seen, and onto Leipzig. Mengele and I took the car and went south to a place called Günzburg. We stayed there until he was captured by the United States Army that summer. I was sent to live with a family named Richter in Munich, and here I now live in Koblenz, Eduard Richter’s widow.”

“But Mengele escaped, didn’t he?” Matt asked.

“Not so much escaped, but he was never identified as a war criminal until sometime in the nineteen fifties. We now know that’s when he went to Argentina and later died in Brazil. Drowned, I believe they said.”

“What about Colonel Krueger?”

“He and the other officer left us in Leipzig. They went north in the truck. They were going to Berlin, then to Hamburg, he told us.”

“Hamburg,” Matt said, thinking out loud. “That’s where the submarine was built. Do you know what was in the truck?”

“Nein,
but I’ve always suspected it was something valuable.”

“Like gold?”

“Perhaps. I overheard the colonel tell Mengele he had been chosen to take a special mission for
Reichsführer-SS
Himmler. A paper, very important for possible rebirth of the Reich in another time. He didn’t like the part about the submarine, but—”

“My God!” Matt slapped both sides of his face as though trying to awaken himself to the revelation of Hannah’s words. “Hamburg and the Blohm and Voss shipyard. The U-Twenty-five thirty-seven, Helmut Strobel’s boat. And now you give me an SS colonel, a special mission, and a paper important to the survival of the German Reich.” With a wide grin on his face, Matt threw both hands in the air in disbelief. “If this colonel is really the connection, you’ve made it too easy. Not for you, certainly, but for me.” He shook his head. “So many years ago, it’s just…it’s just hard to believe that—”

“Why so hard?” Hannah asked. “Do you have any other answer?”

Friday, 26 October 2001

It was the middle of the afternoon, yet only the bare skeleton of a staff remained throughout the Alliance Industries building. With the exception of a handful of clerical personnel, most of AFI’s people, especially at the management level, had already made a head start on the weekend in anticipation of the big game between the Jacksonville Jaguars and the Pittsburgh Steelers.

In her office next door to Starla, the one her brother Eric had been using the day of her interview, Ashley sat at the desk, staring but not really seeing the pages of an open folder in front of her. Rather, she was pondering her next move. Four days on the job and she was no closer to learning the truth about the submarine than she’d been the first day she’d walked in the door. One thing she had learned, however: something was happening to part of the money from investors. Someone was dipping into the money pot…but that wasn’t why she was there.

And why the hell wasn’t Matt home? He’d said things were taking much longer than planned, but he’d given no explanation.
Damn!
No matter how much she loved him, there were times he could be the most infuriating person in the world. And besides, much longer and AFI would surely learn who she was and why she was there. God knows what they’d do if they found out she was Matt’s wife. Probably a lot more than give her two weeks’ notice.

She’d already started looking over her shoulder, watching eyes and facial expressions for telltale signs of suspicion. Even driving home to Aunt Freddie’s house after work, she’d kept a steady eye on the rearview mirror for cars that seemed to be following too close or for too long, holding her breath until they passed or turned off. Not much time left. She had to do whatever it took to discover the truth behind AFI’s involvement, and time wasn’t on her side.

Using the assignment from Starla as her excuse, Ashley had searched through every filing cabinet in every office to which she’d been given access. Nothing. She’d also double-clicked her way through AFI’s computer files. Again, nothing concerning the U-boat, at least in files she could open. Her second day on the job, she had located several files in a folder designated
AFI Proprietary.
They, however, required a user name and password, neither of which she’d been given. One of the proprietary files, however, piqued her interest, its name in German:
Operation Geist Schiff.
She’d written down the words, stopped by the Beaches Library that evening on her way home, and found a German-English common usage dictionary. Operation Ghost Ship. She’d almost cried when she’d seen the English translation. The lost U-boat! That had to be it, but how to open the file? The user name. The password.

She’d taken the risk of letting herself into Starla’s office each time her boss was away. Filing cabinets? Nothing had even vaguely related to the submarine. Computer? Once again she’d found
Operation Geist Schiff,
but she’d still been locked out.

The next morning while Starla was in the “wrap-up-the-week financing conference,” Ashley reverted to her private-detective ways and used a basic lock-pick to open Starla’s desk drawers in search of a user name and password, but her efforts were futile. “This weekend,” she mouthed to herself.

Time was running out, and somehow, some way, it had to be this weekend—or not at all.

Hours later, back in her own office, Ashley stood and closed the folder in which Starla had marked,
Good work!
Moving to the filing cabinet across the room, she opened the top drawer and was about to insert the folder, when suddenly she heard an outburst from Starla’s office. Loud yet still indecipherable words in Starla’s unmistakable voice. Hearing the changes in pitch and tone, she was certain they were angry words, accusing, derisive. Moving closer to her own office door, Ashley could hear Starla shout, “You ungrateful little bitch!”

At first she thought Starla was on the phone, but a second voice Ashley recognized as belonging to Claire, the receptionist, stuttered, “B-b-but Starla, I’m…I-I-I-I’m not…I’m not like that.” With increasing forcefulness, Claire continued, “I am not a lesbian if that’s what you thought or wanted. I don’t even like shaking hands with a woman, let alone—”

When the sound of shattering glass reached her ears, Ashley jumped backwards, but the noise of Starla’s rage penetrated her door. “Get out! You’re nothing but a cheap little tease, and nobody, man or woman, does that to Starla Shoemaker. You’re fired. Get out, damn you! Now!”

With the sound of a distant door slamming shut, Ashley did a rapid about-face and hurried back to the filing cabinet. She had barely reached the cabinet when the door to Starla’s office opened. Looking over her shoulder as she slipped the file into place, she saw Starla standing in the doorway. The woman seemed frozen in place, pausing as if to catch her breath. Both hands grasped the doorframe for support. A forced smile slowly worked its way across her face in an obvious effort to erase the blaze of anger that Ashley had heard moments earlier from the other room.

“That report you prepared on the Guatemalan excavation project at Quiriquá and its recommendations were just what the doctor ordered,” Starla said, still breathing heavily as she walked into Ashley’s office. “The way you’ve learned the various projects, I’d swear you’d been here for years, and it’s only, what? Three days? Four?”

Ashley laughed self-consciously. Sliding the file drawer closed, she turned and found Starla standing only inches away, looking down into her face. “I, uh…I don’t like doing anything halfway,” Ashley said, trying to inch away.

But Starla persisted. She took hold of Ashley’s shoulders and held her in place, saying, “In the conference this morning, two of our business partners, contributors really, which have been questioning the project, on the verge of backing out, have decided to continue the financing. All because you had guts enough to tell it like it is. I couldn’t have said it better. I like that.”

Trying to encourage a businesslike atmosphere, Ashley said, “Not to change the subject, but the AFI ship? I understand from Gerard in the oceanic exploration office there’s been a fire on board during some kind of submarine project, but I can’t find any paper or computer files on the fire or the project.”

“Only one, my dear, and it’s very closely guarded, but if you prove as reliable as I think you will…” Starla’s hands massaged Ashley’s upper arms, at the same time holding Ashley in place. “You don’t know how much I’ve needed someone like you,” she said, her voice suddenly a husky whisper, her eyes asserting dominance as she moved even closer.

“Starla, I—” Ashley’s words were cut off by Starla’s mouth, her lips soft as velvet yet stubbornly demanding. Almost immediately, Ashley felt Starla’s tongue force its way between her own lips, probing, licking. The height of Starla’s taller body pushed Ashley against the file cabinet, the handle of one of the drawers nudging her in the small of the back. She felt Starla’s grip on her shoulders loosen as hands moved to her cheeks, softly, gently, then down along her throat and finally to her breasts, her palms and thumbs fondling nipples that were suddenly awakened by the uninvited attention.

Ashley couldn’t believe what was happening. She’d promised Matt she’d do anything she could to help, but this? There had been talk from some of the other women in the office, talk that she considered little more than unfounded gossip to pass the time of day, but having overheard the exchange between Starla and the receptionist…

She also couldn’t believe her whole body was responding to Starla’s advance, actually enjoying a beautiful woman’s closeness. Her hands, at first trying to push Starla away, began to pull the woman even tighter against her own body, hips moving against hers in a slow, undulating motion when suddenly the door to her office swung open and she heard the receptionist say, “Mrs. Shoemaker?” The woman’s voice was like a fire alarm going off in Ashley’s brain.

Showing neither surprise nor embarrassment, Starla broke away and turned toward the door. “I thought I told you to leave, Claire. What do you want?”

The receptionist stood in the doorway, her face radiating hate, her voice filled with bitterness. “I
am
leaving, thank you very much. I was cleaning out my desk when Mr. Striker came in. You said you wanted to see him as soon as he arrived, and here he is.”

“Damn!” Starla cursed before turning back to Ashley, her face quickly assuming a mischievous little smile. “Girls will be girls, won’t they?” She hesitated a moment, searching Ashley’s face, still flush from the past few moments, before saying, “I’ve a little hideaway on the top floor of the building.” Starla pointed toward the ceiling. “My shelter from the world and my rather drab home life when things get too demanding. Drinks after work? There’s a great view of the city.”

Before she could stop herself, Ashley nodded. “After work.” At the same time, she saw a short, heavyset man step up behind the receptionist and stare at her, eyebrows furrowed as though he recognized her but couldn’t remember from where or when.
Oh, God!
A shiver ran through her body as Starla pushed past the receptionist into her office, motioned the man back, and closed the door.

The receptionist stood for a moment, looked quickly back toward the door to make sure she couldn’t be heard and said, “From what I just saw, you look like you’re willing to do whatever she wants. Too bad.”

Red in the face from embarrassment, Ashley hurriedly smoothed her blouse back into her skirt and sputtered, “No, no, I…it…it happened so quickly, I really don’t know how it happened. Have you?”

The woman shook her head. “Absolutely not. She called me a tease, but no way. I’ve done nothing to make her think…She fired me not more than fifteen minutes ago because I wouldn’t play her little kissy, feely games. I never thought she’d try something like that with me. Never gave her any reason.”

“Is she a…a lesbian?”

The receptionist forced a harsh laugh from her mouth as she moved toward the door to the reception area. “Probably more so than not, but talk around the water cooler says she goes both ways. As for the girls, you won’t be the last.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Two weeks,” the receptionist answered. “As you can see, she doesn’t waste a lot of time.”

“Tell me about it. And if I refuse to do what she wants?”

“Like me, you might as well start looking for another job.”

St. John’s, Newfoundland

The sleek, Continental 767 jet liner with the quarter-globe design on its tailfin had been buffeted by 100-plus-mile-an-hour headwinds along its rhumb-line route south of Iceland and again over the very southern tip of Greenland. The flight had been a white-knuckles adventure, but Matt had experienced similar flights before. The engines had sucked fuel out of the tanks like a drunk hitting the bottle after a long dry spell. “Hey, Steve, guess who?” The telephone rested on Matt’s left shoulder as he handed the bartender a five-dollar bill and took a quick sip of Labatt Blue.

“Don’t give me that ‘guess who’ crap” came the response over the phone. “Where the hell are you?”

“St. John’s, Newfoundland. We almost ran out of gas, stopped for a fill-up, and now they’ve found some kind of mechanical problem. Looks like tomorrow morning, at the earliest, before we’ll make it outta here.”

“Y’know, after you taking off for a fun-and-beer trip to Germany, I personally don’t give a damn whether you get back or not, but Ashley’s worried sick. You talk to her?”

“Thanks for caring, ol’ buddy. Haven’t talked to her for the last two, going on three, days. Didn’t say why, but said she got a new cell phone. Having trouble with it. Rings, but she must be leaving it at the house or in the car. Whether the missed-call thing on the new phone is working, I don’t know.”

Park responded, “All I know, she’s been calling from a pay phone on her lunch break, and from what she says, she’s already in thick with Starla Shoemaker, Henry’s wife. She’s the AFI director.”

“Yeah, Ashley told me. Would of thought ol’ Henry would be the chief honcho at AFI, but from a corporate point of view, I guess it makes sense.”

Park went on. “And, yeah, there are whispers about a submarine project. The only thing she can find is a computer file, Operation Ghost Ship, but it needs a user name and password to open. When she called at noon today, she said she snuck into the Shoemaker woman’s office, pick-locked her desk drawers looking for a password, but came up empty handed. Says she’ll try to find it tomorrow if she gets the opportunity.”