Padlocked, page 17
No one answered, and he remained motionless. The figure had been tall, much taller than himself. And it had been a human form. No, it couldn’t have been human. It was too tall for that.
After a moment of panning the area that surrounded him, he looked in the direction of his office. Wilhelm was testing him. He was sure of it. Wilhelm had only to pick up his phone to reach the Bereitschaftsleiter’s office. He could have informed him directly what he wanted done. Alternatively, he could have sent a messenger with the orders in a sealed envelope, as was their usual practice. Not even the messenger would have known he was delivering the death sentences of so many civilians.
He turned away from his office and in the direction of his home. Wilhelm had tested him, and he had delivered. He would have to watch his own back now.
Stella met him at the door to Mrs. Weiss’s home, and he knew immediately that something was wrong. She was still dressed in her fancy, bright red dress, which struck him as odd. It certainly hadn’t been only a few hours since he’d seen her with her picnic basket. Her facial expression was what concerned him most; her eyes conveyed a mix of panic and anxiety.
“Darling!” she called out in an unnaturally loud voice. She’d opened the door before he had started up the path to the door, and now he abruptly halted. She raced down the path and hugged him. “Oberführer Keller is in the parlor. I can’t find your mother.”
His eyes moved to the house. The draperies in the parlor window, usually closed, were wide open. The lamp was lit on a round table, casting a muted golden glow over a darkened figure sitting in the wingback chair beside it. The fainter glow of a cigarette moved smoothly from the chair’s arm to the figure and back. “How long has he been here?”
“At least an hour. Where have you been?”
“What does he want?” Max asked, ignoring her question as they made their way up the path to the door.
“I don’t know,” Stella whispered as they moved into the foyer.
“Wilhelm!” Max called out jovially, striding into the front parlor. “What a pleasant surprise!”
Wilhelm rose and greeted him briefly, one hand holding a cordial while the other had a cigarette.
“Have you eaten?” Max asked. His eyes dropped to the table, where a platter filled with meats, cheeses, and bread appeared to have been picked over.
“Fräulein Kowalska has been a gracious hostess.”
“Stella, please,” Stella interjected.
“You must stay for supper,” Max said, pouring a double shot of dopplekorn. He turned his back as he poured, concerned that Wilhelm would notice his trembling hands. He downed half of his drink in one gulp, the rye and wheat-based alcohol burning his throat as it slipped down his esophagus. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and turned around.
“I explained that it’s your cook’s day off,” Stella said nervously, “but I am happy to—”
“Do you even know how to cook?” Max asked pointedly.
She paused to stare at him. “Obviously, not as well as your cook, but—”
“I won’t bother you,” Wilhelm said. He returned to the wingback chair and motioned for Max to join him. Max sat on the other side of the table. “I am here on business.”
“Oh. If you need anything, please...” Stella began. Her voice faded as silence grew between the two men. She quickly moved to the parlor window, where she drew the heavy drapes before slipping out of the room and closing the door behind her.
“I hope you weren’t waiting for me very long,” Max said. “I was... was...”
“...making certain my orders were followed, I’m sure,” Wilhelm finished. He glanced around the room. “Do you know where your cook is today?”
Max hesitated. “I must admit,” he said finally, “that I do not. It is her day off, as Stella said.” When Wilhelm did not respond, he added, “Is there something that I should know?”
“Is there?” It was Max’s turn to remain silent. After a moment, Wilhelm continued, “I understand all went smoothly today with the assignment.”
“Yes.” Max downed the rest of his dopplekorn and swirled the glass in his hand to give himself something to focus on.
“I spoke with Klaus Braun. He was impressed with how easily you persuaded people to volunteer for their” he paused, “final mission.”
Max nodded. “I am afraid it won’t work as well the next time.”
“I suspect not. They were too close to the city; the shots heard too easily.”
“Oh—” Max looked up, startled.
Wilhelm waved off his concern. “It was not your fault. It was Klaus’s. He should have instructed them to move further away.”
“With all due respect, I believe the shots would have been heard regardless.”
“Perhaps. But, they might have been muffled.” Wilhelm rose and poured himself another drink. “I drove to the site to inspect their work.”
Max’s heart sank, and he felt ill. “Should I have—?”
“Yes. You should have.”
A silence fell between them, and Max’s hand gripped the glass more tightly.
“The filth was exterminated,” Wilhelm continued casually, as though he were speaking of cockroaches in the kitchen. “But what was a bit concerning, I might say, is the death of one of our own men.”
“What?” Max breathed. “Surely, no one had the means to fight back—”
“It was Obersoldat Otto Schubert.”
“Otto?” Max’s mind raced.
“He had been shot in the head. And your journalists—Hank Mullins, I believe his name was—”
“Was?” Max breathed.
“—and his sidekick, Rafe. I can’t seem to recall his last name offhand. Cabrera, is it?”
“Surely, Hank and Rafe would not have murdered Otto—”
“And they stole Otto’s vehicle.”
“They’re gone?”
“They’re gone, but they will be found.”
Max waited for him to continue. When he didn’t, he asked, “Who is searching for them?”
“Does it matter? Of course, it doesn’t,” Wilhelm answered himself. “All that is important is that they will be found and executed for their driver’s murder.”
“Of course. As they should be.”
Wilhelm swirled the golden liquid in his glass before taking a hefty sip. “You have grown quite pale, Max.”
Max rose and poured another double. He felt Wilhelm’s eyes on his back, and he intentionally turned back around before partaking of the liquid courage he so desperately needed. “I am concerned,” he said carefully, “that they have taken photographs of the event. And I am troubled they will fall into the wrong hands.”
“As am I. That is why soldiers are now combing the countryside and the city for them. They can’t have gone far. They will find them, and the film.”
Max nodded. “They were in the Jewish sector as I was rounding them up. They might have photographs of me lining them up.”
“And you did not confiscate their camera?”
He shrugged. “I thought perhaps you had ordered it. In any event,” he hastily added, “the ones in line were happy. They thought they were going to a better location. I thought it would be good for the Reich Ministry of Public Enlightenment and Propaganda.”
“And who allowed the journalists to accompany them?”
Max felt a chill racing up his spine. He knew without looking that Wilhelm always carried a pistol; he had never seen him without it, even in his own office. He could pull it out now, shoot him dead in Mrs. Weiss’s front parlor, and perhaps Max’s mother would find him. Stella would flee; it is what he would do in similar circumstances. She could, perhaps, find her way underground. “I don’t know,” Max answered, realizing that Wilhelm was waiting for his answer. “When I left the Jewish quarter, I did not see them. I thought they had already left.”
“Your job was to supervise them.”
“My job, sir, was to assemble two hundred Jews and fifty soldiers.”
Wilhelm placed his glass on the table and slowly clapped twice. “Which you did. Bravo.”
Max remained standing, his feet rooted to the floor, his drink held firmly in his sweating palm.
“What do you know of the young woman living in your home?”
“Stella?”
“Stella Kowalska. She is Polish.”
Max hesitated. “Yes,” he said after a long moment. “She is of Polish birth. However, she is a founding member of Będzin’s Jungdeutsche Partei. I met her before the German invasion, when we all had to meet underground, lest the Polish Army kill us.”
“Do you know that she also meets with the Armia Krajowa?”
“Poland’s Home Guard?” Max placed a hand over his chest, seeking to quiet his erratic heartbeat. “If she does, I am sure it is as a spy—a spy for Hitler. She is quite” he paused as he thought of the right word “zealous about the Nazi cause.”
Wilhelm casually reached for a cube of cheese and placed it in his mouth. He chewed for a moment before answering. “The problem with that theory, dear Max, is that she doesn’t pass along information to our spy network.”
“Surely, she has meant to—”
Wilhelm took another cube. “It is of no consequence.” He locked eyes with Max as he thoughtfully chewed. “You must know that we must maintain tight control.”
“Yes, of course.” Max attempted to calm his trembling hands.
“You see,” Wilhelm continued casually, “while we have been chatting, my guards have apprehended her.”
“Where will she be taken?” Max breathed.
“She will not be taken anywhere,” Wilhelm answered. He waited a moment before continuing. “My guards had orders to slit her throat on your front lawn and leave her there.”
The room began to spin, and Max tried to force himself not to drop his drink or faint. Surely, the man was jesting. Yet, as he stared into Wilhelm’s cold gray eyes, he knew he was not. Men like Wilhelm did not pull pranks. “Then, I suppose you will kill me next.” His voice was hoarse, and the words forced.
A long silence enveloped them. “On the contrary,” Wilhelm said, finishing his drink. “You have been watched, Max, as we all are. You see, we live in a fishbowl in the Third Reich. Every move we make is observed, recorded, and analyzed, as it should be. Our commitment is not to the individual. It is for the collective cause.”
“Yes. Of course it is.”
“That is why we all must be willing to make sacrifices.”
“Of course. It is for the greater good.” His words came automatically, as though his brain had ceased to reason.
“Your actions have been what I would have expected from you,” Wilhelm was saying.
“I didn’t have a lot of training—”
“Excuses are not necessary, and they hurt your cause. Rather, you have performed every task asked of you. Your shortcoming lies in who you trust.”
“Who I trust?”
“Your girlfriend, as an example. The journalists, as another.”
“I did not provide any information to any of them. You can end my life tonight, but know that I never passed along information of any kind.”
“I know that already, Max,” Wilhelm answered smoothly. “That is why you are being given a new assignment.”
Max’s mind reeled as he grappled with the idea.
“Your shortcoming, as I said, is who you place trust in. So, you will be sent away from Będzin.”
To the camp, Max thought, or perhaps to the woods where he would be executed far from the place where he had spent his life.
“Are you familiar with Oświęcim?”
“Oświęcim? Of course, I am. It is not far from here.”
“That is correct. It is not far, and yet, it is worlds away.”
“What do you mean?”
“Only Germans live there now, Max. And soon, only Germans will live in Będzin.”
Max tried to swallow, but it stuck in his throat.
“There is a series of camps around the factories at the edge of Oświęcim. It has grown quite large, actually.” He took a deep breath, his eyes riveted on Max’s reaction. “Initially, the labor camps were administered by men. However, more men are needed at the front. Therefore, we have been ordered to replace the men with female guards. They must be German, not of Polish descent. Of course, they must be loyal to the Third Reich. They must be willing to die for Hitler, if it comes to it.”
A silence fell on them. Max waited for Wilhelm to continue. When he did not, he asked, “I understand, but what does that have to do with me? Am I being sent to the front?”
“No, Max. You are being sent to Oświęcim to hire women for the camp.”
Max almost laughed. “To hire women?”
“It is an important job. The women must be tough. They must have a fighting spirit. They cannot be soft or easily misled by manipulative prisoners.”
“Prisoners,” Max said. “You mean, laborers?”
“Prisoners, Max. Forced labor. Let’s call it what it is.”
“Of course. But, wouldn’t Berlin send us guards?”
“Berlin has its hands full.” Wilhelm stood. “A driver is outside waiting for you. Pack a suitcase, but don’t waste time. You will be driven to Oświęcim tonight. Tomorrow at precisely seven o’clock, you will report to the administrative offices in the center of town. You will begin interviewing. You will have a quota, and every applicant must be properly vetted for bloodline and loyalty. Do you have any questions? You should have none.”
Max rose and saluted. “There are no questions, my friend. I will report to Oświęcim, and I will perform the job to the satisfaction of the Führer and all of Germany.”
A tiny smile tugged at the corner of Wilhelm’s mouth. “Of course you will.” With that, he picked up his cap, placed it on his head, and made his way out the door, leaving it open. As Max followed him to close the door, he realized that Wilhelm had left it open in full view of Stella’s body, crumpled and bloodied along the path.
22
Agata
Agata had dozed off when the light truck abruptly stopped, nearly catapulting her off the rudimentary bench. When she heard the driver rap on his door several times, she quickly moved to the back of the vehicle and slid out from under the rigid tarp that served as the transport's roof. The sky was filled with ominous clouds that had effectively obscured the moon, and the truck blended seamlessly into an ever-present mist. She turned toward the driver as she attempted to orient herself.
The driver’s window was down, and now he pointed toward a ditch along the side of the road. “Mitternacht, mitternacht,” he said in a stage whisper.
“Danke,” Agata answered, but he was already speeding into the deepening mists. She quickly crouched as she wandered into the ditch among the reeds, tamping the plants underneath her feet to prevent her shoes from getting sucked into the muck. It had been so dark under the tarp that she could barely see her hand in front of her face. Even with the mist, the night air was preferable.
She raised her head to peer around her. On the other side of the ditch behind her was a wooded area so shadowy that someone could have been hiding a few yards from her, and she doubted she would have been able to spot them. To her left and right for as far as she could see, the rain ditch ran alongside an unpaved road, weeds and reeds intermingling to obscure the ditch’s depth. She could barely make out the retreating truck’s taillights as it sped along the road, occasionally jostling as it hit bumps or potholes. Across the road, on the other side of an identical ditch, was a recently plowed, flat field that offered no cover.
It had been over a week since she left Warsaw. Every day brought new surprises and experiences that caused her to constantly question her decision to leave the relative safety of the bakery warehouse. Yet, she knew that she’d had no other choice than to find Elsa. Better that she died searching for her than live with the knowledge that she hadn’t tried.
She’d spent time in isolated barn lofts, a building half-filled with animal feed, a pigsty, and even an abattoir that threatened such waves of nausea that she thought she would have to strike out alone. Often, there was no food, and the only source of water was the troughs for the livestock. Occasionally, there would be a crust of bread or a slice of cheese stuffed in a cleft the animals couldn’t reach. On those occasions, she would savor every ounce, for she knew not when she might eat again.
The drivers usually arrived long after dark. They didn’t speak beyond an instructional word or two, did not look her in the face, and often deposited her somewhere else in a matter of minutes. It made the journey agonizingly protracted. The days were spent in hiding. Sleep was elusive as every sound jolted her awake and wide-eyed, and an increasing paranoia overtook her.
The last driver had been a German soldier. She’d been so astonished that she nearly didn’t go with him, convinced he would take advantage of her helplessness in horrific ways. It was only her understanding of the German language that made her realize he meant to take her to the next mysterious stop. Whether he had been paid handsomely for a ride he might have taken otherwise, or he operated out of benevolence, she would never know.
His instruction, mitternacht, as she exited his vehicle, was the German word for midnight. As she stood in the ditch with reeds up to her chest, she knew she could not spend an entire day hiding alongside the road as she waited for midnight to arrive. Agata rolled her eyes toward the skies to find the slightest sliver of sunrise peeking through the mist. It was only a matter of time before the sun rose high enough to illuminate the terrain and reveal her position.
The only recourse was to hide in the woods. She scrambled up the far side of the ditch, her dress soaking up the mud as she fought against sliding back into it. She had long ago lost her possessions, what little she’d had on the night she’d left Warsaw, due to too many abrupt departures.
A set of headlights sliced through the mists in the distance, hastening her desire to reach the wood line. She’d barely reached a sizable tree and slid around on the far side of the trunk before a truck similar to the one she’d just left bounced along the road as men’s voices filled the air. She recognized the language and the accents. The Nazis commanded these parts. The knowledge filled her with dread and a strange sense of foreboding.
