Uncommon Enemy (22 page)

“You two can’t go, and that’s an end to the matter.”

“Look, Brendan-----.”

“No, you look, mate, you’re known to the authorities. Your photo and Carol’s have been widely circulated. Even if you want to play the brave soldier boy, how about considering her?”

“You could be in danger too.”

“Possibly. But there’s a big manhunt out there and the focus is on you.”

“Hamish Beavis,” murmured Carol.

“Exactly. He’s painted the blackest possible picture of both of you in order to gain maximum support for his personal vendetta. If either of you risk going out in public you’d be playing right into his hands.”

A collective murmur of agreement echoed round the woolshed. The day had ended and, with double sentries posted, a full meeting was under way.

“OK. OK,” said Dan walking into the centre and holding up his hand. “Your enthusiasm for the cause is commendable, Stuart, but Brendan’s right. If you get captured you could compromise all of us.”

“I hope you’re not suggesting that I would-----,” began Stuart sharply.

“I’m not suggesting anything,” Dan interrupted quietly. “Just bear in mind that we’re not dealing with a few grubby thugs. We are dealing with powerful sadistic men who have re-invented the art of extracting information in the most painful and effective way possible.”

To a murmured undertone of assent, he continued. “Fortunately none of us has had direct experience of their methods. And I don’t wish to put anyone in the position of finding out personally. So, Stuart and Carol are staying here.” Dan turned towards Brendan. “Now,” he continued, “please summarize the information that’s been received and what we plan to do.”

Brendan, with a quick smile at Susan, joined Dan in the centre.

“In Nazi Germany a resistance movement emerged about a year after the start of the war among medical students at Munich University. It called itself Die weiße Rose - The White Rose. It developed as a resistance movement against the Nazis’ stifling of individual freedom within Germany and the cruelty that had been inflicted on Jews and people in occupied places like Poland and Russia.”

“Define ‘resistance movement’,” prompted Dan.

Brendan nodded. “The information we gleaned during the war was very limited. However, it appears that resistance in this case did not involve acts of violence. The movement’s personnel were however quite successful in the writing and printing of anti-Nazi leaflets which they distributed through the White Rose network that spread quickly throughout parts of Germany.”

“Which presumably didn’t impress the Nazi government,” added Dan.

“Absolutely not. The Nazis used their networks of informers to round up the key men and women who were White Rose members. Some of them appear to have been seconded into the armed forces and sent to occupied countries overseas, including New Zealand. Two days ago two of their women,” he glanced at this notes, “a Sophie and a Gretchen, managed to make contact with an Auckland University College cell member.”

“Could be a trap,” said Susan.

“True. But it could also provide us with a direct link into the occupying forces network. The University chaps have had a preliminary interview with the women and looked through some literature that they had. However they want a second opinion before proceeding any further.”

“This is where Brendan comes in,” continued Dan. “His German fluency, the knowledge he gained during the war and his trip to Berlin makes him the ideal person. We’ve arranged a rendezvous with the two White Rose women tomorrow.”

“Where?” asked Lisa.

“Probably best that only a few of us know that. All the arrangements have been made. Brendan is to make contact, find out what he can and then report back to us. We’ll then take it from there, if he’s successful.”

He paused and looked round the silent group.

“If Stuart and Carol can’t go, then I’ll go with you,” said Susan suddenly.

“Susan, we’ve already discussed---,” began Brendan.

“I know there’ll be danger but a hand-holding couple is less likely to attract attention than a lone male.” Seeing he was about to reply she held up her hand. “I’ve done the basic training, and know a little German.”

She stood up, smiled and coyly tilting her head downwards, minced slowly towards the centre running both her palms down the front of her light floral frock. Stopping directly in front of Brendan she looked up at him from lowered lids.

“And in any case, if you’re going to meet a couple of golden haired Rhineland frauleins,” she said softly, “you’d better have me there to keep an eye on you.”

The laughter broke the tension. Bernard looked at Dan, shrugged his shoulders and spread his arms wide.

“Guess you can’t argue with that, mate.”

The Friday morning walk around the foreshore between the marine suburbs of Takapuna and Milford was deceptively pleasant. The clear blue of the sky mirrored the shimmering hues of the Waitemata Harbour presided over by conical-shaped Rangitoto Island - a familiar landmark to mariners and Aucklanders.

In keeping with their role of a young couple enjoying a day at the beach, Brendan was clad in light trousers, an open-necked shirt, battered Panama hat and sunglasses. Susan was wearing a pretty summer frock with a broad-brimmed straw hat secured by a light blue scarf tied under her chin. Although, like all New Zealanders Brendan had spent his boyhood in bare feet, his soles had lost their toughness and he now wore scruffy but serviceable sandshoes. Assured that they would be ‘looked after’ neither was armed.

The car had dropped them at Hurstmere Road, the main road that followed the coast, and taking the side street that lead to the foreshore, they had begun making their way along the rocky path past various small inlets. Absorbed by their own thoughts, they walked in silence paying scant attention to the beauty of their surroundings. The light breeze played with the folds of Susan’s frock as, entering the Thorne’s Bay inlet, she took Brendan’s hand and walked across the small beach’s warm sand. Reaching the end they clambering back up onto the narrow rocky path and continued to follow its northward contours.

Susan’s scream suddenly cut through the stillness. Clutching Brendan’s arm she scrambled back from the edge of the path and pressed herself up against the rock wall.

“Silly girl,” he chuckled, as the wave that had splashed the hem of her frock, hissed away from the base of the path.

“Sorry,” she smiled wanly, still holding onto his arm. “I’m just a bit tense, that’s all. The giant’s chair’s just around the next corner isn’t it?”

“Yes.” His hand closed reassuringly over her palm. “It’ll be OK. Nothing’s likely to go wrong.” He looked up at the tranquil sky. “Especially on such a beautiful day.”

Nevertheless, his footsteps instinctively slowed as they approached the next corner.

The large stone chair, constructed in the 1920s by a local philanthropist for public use, was built of large rocks cemented together and placed on a broad concrete base. It was large enough for two average sized people to sit and look out across a stretch of rock-strewn sand towards the sea.

“Nobody around,” murmured Susan.

“Looks OK. Come on.”

Hand in hand, trying to look like a couple of casual day-trippers, they walked slowly over to the chair. Seating herself on the base Susan smiled up at Brendan.

“I used to love coming here as a little girl.” She paused and gazed out to sea. “I distinctly remember the beginning of one summer when I sat on the chair and found that I could touch the ground. My dad grinned and said that I’d now grown up. Silly really.”

“Silly?”

“Yes. All kids like to feel they’re growing up but I remember at the time I felt quite sad – as though something had gone forever.”

Brendan leaned up against the side of the chair and looked towards the ocean. Apart from several wheeling seagulls and a self-absorbed couple lying on a pair of towels half-hidden by some rocks there was no-one else around.

“If this weather keeps up there’ll be masses of people here tomorrow.”

Susan didn’t reply. He glanced down at her. She was staring towards the northern end of the path.

“Brendan, I think it’s them.”

He turned. Two young women were approaching from the Milford end. Although dressed in light frocks and carrying small cane picnic baskets, from the pallor of their faces and shoulders it was clear that they weren’t locals.

“Just sit there,” he muttered.

Leaning against the high arm of the stone chair Brendan watched the approaching pair. Although his stance was one of contrived casualness he felt an inner tension seep slowly through his body.

A few meters from the chair the two women halted and stood uncertainly for a moment. They were both wearing new straw hats. One of the women showed short wisps of dark hair protruding from under the rim while the other’s blonde hair was shoulder length. From above them a seagull gave a sharp, raucous cry. Uncertainly they looked at Susan and Brendan and then at each other. The blonde woman nodded briefly and turning back towards the pair the dark girl spoke. The loudness of her voice betrayed her nervousness.

“That is a very large chair, is it not?”

“Yes,” replied Brendan. “Would you like to sit down?” Clearly relieved the two hurried forward.

“I am Sophie Scholl.” The dark haired one thrust out her hand.

They shook hands. She turned back towards her companion.

“And this is my friend Gretchen Brandt.” She smiled. “Gretchen can only speak a little English.” She shrugged. “My English is not so good but we will both try.”

Susan stood up and Brendan introduced her to the two women who took her a little by surprise by vigorously shaking her hand.

“It’s OK,” smiled Brendan. “Germans shake hands with everyone.”

“Was sagen Sie?” asked Sophie.

“Ich sage, dass man in Deutschland immer einen Händedruck machen muss.”

“In Neuseeland etwa nicht?”

“Nicht für Frauen.”

“I don’t think we should be talking in German, Brendan,” Susan frowned at him. “It’s not just because I can’t speak it well, it’s just that if we’re overheard----.”

“You’re right. I was just explaining that Kiwi women aren’t used to shaking hands.” He turned to Sophie. “We must speak
English while we are here.”

Sophie nodded vigorously. “Naturally. We understand.”

Speaking slowly, Brendan began to explain that it was his job to question the two women and then, if he was satisfied, he would confirm the initial university verification.

Susan studied the girls carefully. Dark eyed Sophie’s brow was continually creased in concentration, watching Brendan intently as he spoke, and regularly nodding her understanding. By contrast whenever Gretchen’s blue eyes caught Brendan’s a wisp of a smile appeared round her mouth and was accompanied by a gentle touch on his arm.

“Blonde hair, blue eyes. Classic Aryan beauty. Ideally suited for a Nazi Party recruiting poster,” thought Susan.

Several times during Brendan’s explanation he had to repeat more slowly what he had said then pause to allow Sophie to quietly translate for Gretchen. When he’d finished, Sophie, after glancing nervously around, reached into her basket and from underneath a white cloth produced a sheet of paper. Moving closer to Brendan, she quickly thrust it into his hand. Looking down he saw that it was a leaflet written in German.

“Die weiße Rose,” he said softly.

Both women nodded vigorously.

“It is our White Rose leaflet,” explained Sophie. “We printed many of these in Munich. We gave them to the university students. The Nazis were not pleased.”

Brendan studied the leaflet for a few moments then looked up sharply.

“God!” he exclaimed.

“What?” asked Susan.

He carefully checked to see that no one was approaching the group.

“Wenn das deutsche Volk…” His voice tailed off as he continued to read silently. He paused and then translated softly.

“‘If the German people are already so corrupted and spiritually crushed that they do not raise a hand, then yes they deserve their downfall ’.” He looked up at Susan. “No wonder the authorities are concerned. The whole pamphlet is an attack on the Nazis and their system. I’m surprised these two are still alive!”

Gretchen touched his arm. “Excuse me, Brendan, what said you?” she asked anxiously.

He turned to her. “A moment, please.” He addressed Susan. “Look, this is taking more time than I imagined. I’m also mindful that the longer we’re here the greater the danger. It’ll be faster if I speak in German. Then I’ll translate for you.”

“Suppose so. Just make sure you stick to the point and don’t get sidetracked.”

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Never mind. Just get on with it.”

Turning to the German women he explained that they would continue in German, but would speak quietly. They both nodded in eager agreement.

Sophie explained that at the outbreak of war they were both enrolled at Munich University as medical students. They had initially joined the White Rose group to show their concern at the increasing restrictions on university students and the treatment of German Jews. However the White Rose activities had attracted the ire of the authorities and they had been arrested. Under normal circumstances they would have been charged and imprisoned and possibly executed. However, the vast area of territory unexpectedly gained by Nazi Germany had created an acute shortage of army medical personnel. Consequently they had been ordered overseas and attached to a medical corps. They had assumed that their New Zealand posting was designed to take them as far away from Germany as possible. Although they’d been watched closely when they’d first arrived, their surveillance had slackened off over the past few weeks and now they were even allowed a weekly day off to spend as they wished.

Gretchen smiled. “Wir gehen gern zum Strand.” She laughed and playfully took his arm. “Neuseelander sind sehr schön.”

The three laughed, partly as a release from their tenseness.

“What’s so damn funny?” asked Susan brusquely.

Brendan grinned. “Gretchen was just explaining that they love going to the beach and admiring the handsome Kiwi men.”

“Brendan, I thought you were supposed to be checking their validity.”

“OK. Take it easy.”

“No, don’t ‘take it easy’. Just get on with it.”

“Yes, all right, I just---.”

Gretchen’s scream made them whirl round. A large black Alsatian had come racing round the corner, leapt up at the young German woman and was pawing the front of her frock.

“Midnight! Get down! Bad dog!” A small girl came running forward. Seizing the animal’s trailing lead she leaned back and dragged it off the frightened Gretchen.

“Sorry, lady,” began the girl as an older woman rapidly joined her.

“Yes, we’re terribly sorry. I told Margaret to keep a firm hold but Midnight’s a strong dog and he just broke away.” Pulling a small handkerchief from her dress pocket she reached towards Gretchen. “Frightfully sorry. You’ve got some dirt on your pretty dress.”

Gretchen already badly frightened by the dog and now confused by an unexpected encounter backed away uncertainly shaking her head.

“Das macht nichts. Das mach nichts.”

Quickly the woman seized her daughter’s hand. “Come away, Margaret!”

“What did the lady say, Mummy?”

“Quickly!”

“But, what did she - ow, Mummy, you’re hurting me.”

The four watched in silence as the mother urgently pulled the protesting child and dog along the path and disappeared around the corner.

“She was, er, with fright, was she not?”

“Yes, Sophie. Frightened. But that’s no excuse,” snapped Susan. She whirled round and thrust her face close to Gretchen’s. Her voice was low but the words were measured and angry.

“Do not speak German. Do you understand? No German.”

“OK, Susan.” Brendan reached out and touched her arm. “Gretchen was frightened by the bloody dog. It’s not her fault that----.”

Impatiently Susan shook off his hand. Her voice was harsh.

“Then whose fault is it? The authorities are looking for us. We’re not supposed to draw attention to ourselves. We’re supposed to look like a typical young couple enjoying the summer sun. And here we are frightening the hell out of the local population by jabbering away in German.”

Sophie, clearly unable to understand the rapidity of Susan’s speech put her hand on Brendan’s arm.

“I am sorry for any trouble,” she began. “It was the dog. Gretchen was----.”

“It’s OK,” replied Brendan. He glared at Susan. “Nobody’s fault. But,” he turned to Sophie, “we must be very careful. We are all running a great risk. You must not speak any German when you are with us.”

The two German women exchanged a rapid whispered conversation and then both nodded vigorously.

“We understand, now,” Sophie said. “We are very sorry. We will not speak any German.”

“No,” echoed Gretchen. “No German.”

Brendan smiled reassuringly. “OK, Susan?” he asked.

Susan frowned and then slowly nodded her head in agreement. “OK, as long as they stick to the agreement.”

“Good. I’ve looked at their pamphlet and believe that they are genuine members of the White Rose, which I also believe is a genuine German resistance group. I think we should now proceed immediately to the next stage.”

Susan hesitated. “You’re sure?”

“Yes, I am. It matches my background information and the communication from the University cell.”

Seeing her frowning he asked, “You’re still not convinced?”

“Maybe. But before we proceed, we have to check their baskets – and their persons. We’ve all been taught about concealed weapons.”

“Of course.” He turned to the two German women.

“Brendan. Just a minute.”

He turned back.

“Tell them that you’ll check their baskets.” She smiled wryly. “And that I’ll do the personal searches.”

He grinned and spread his arms wide. “Of course, dear girl. I never assumed otherwise.”

Swiftly he explained to Sophie the necessity for the search. The basket revealed nothing more than some pieces of bread, an apple, handkerchiefs and lipstick. Using the shelter provided by the Giant’s Chair Susan then ran her hands swiftly over each girl’s body.

“All clear,” she nodded to Brendan.

“Good. Now you are to follow me along the beach. The rendezvous is at the bottom of Milford Road.”

Taking Susan’s hand he headed north towards the end of the coastal path. When they reached the beginning of Milford Beach the four of them continued in silence across the sand finding some relief from their tension in the wavelets of the incoming tide that swirled around their feet.

“Brendan?”

He stopped and turned round.

“Yes, Sophie?”

“It’s Gretchen. She has a, how you say it in English,” she lowered her voice and touched her head, “Kopfschmerzen.”