Night of Flames: A Novel of World War II (42 page)

The soldier yelled at him, “
Gehen wir!
Let’s go!”

“What?” Heinrich mumbled. “Where?”

“We’ve got to get out of here!
Schnell! Mach schnell!
” the soldier yelled and shoved him forward.

The three soldiers surrounded Heinrich as they scrambled up the other side of the embankment and trotted across a fi eld.

Heinrich stumbled along, trying not to fall. “Where the hell are you taking me?”

The soldier behind him shoved him in the back, almost knocking him down. “Just shut up and keep running!”

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They came to a canal and followed it until they came to a small bridge. They trotted across the bridge, crossed another fi eld and came to a dirt road. A truck was parked at the side of the road.

Heinrich was gasping for breath as they slowed to a walk and approached the truck. The soldier in the lead pulled open the canvas covering the back of the truck, and Heinrich looked up at a silver-haired man standing inside.

The soldier turned to Heinrich and motioned for him to get in the truck.

Heinrich hesitated.

The soldier grabbed his jacket and jerked him forward while the other two grabbed his arms and hoisted him into the truck.

As Heinrich sprawled on the fl oor, the lead soldier climbed in behind him and pulled the canvas cover closed.

The silver-haired man switched on a fl ashlight and shined it into Heinrich’s face, holding the light there for several seconds.

Then the light moved away and Heinrich blinked, trying to clear his eyes.

He blinked again and glanced around. The fl ashlight was shining on another man, a tall, blond man.

The silver-haired man said something in French, and the tall, blond man nodded.

Heinrich didn’t understand.

The silver-haired man shined the fl ashlight back into Heinrich’s face and spoke again. Heinrich still didn’t understand and shook his head.

The tall, blond man bent down and barked at him in German. “Take off your clothes, Herr Heinrich.
Verstehen Sie?
Your trip is over.”

The rest of the operation went as planned. Jan changed into Heinrich’s clothes, while White Brigade operatives bound and gagged Heinrich and put him into the trunk of Sam’s car. The silver-haired man drove off, taking Heinrich to an unknown destination for a “debriefi ng.”

One of the Wehrmacht “soldiers” drove the truck back to the scene of the train wreck while Jan rode in back with the other two. When they arrived at the site, two ambulances and a half-dozen Belgian policemen were on the scene, trying to restore order and assist the bewildered, stranded passengers. The “soldier” driving the truck called out to a policeman and offered to Night of Flames

287

transport some passengers. Within a few minutes they were bound for a hospital in Antwerp with a dozen additional passengers all suffering from minor injuries.

Having complained of a stiff neck and a sore back, Jan was kept in the hospital overnight for observation. At fi ve o’clock the next morning he slipped out of his room on the third fl oor, made his way past the single nurse doing paperwork at the nurse’s station and found the staircase. He walked down to the lower level and into a long hallway.

Following his instructions, Jan proceeded to the end of the hallway and through a door to the loading dock. It was still dark, and it took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust before he spotted Sam standing in a corner on the other side of the dock.

“Did you get some sleep?” Sam asked when Jan joined him and they had moved back, out of sight from the street.

“Not much but I’ll be OK. Did you learn anything?”

“
Oui, oui,
quite a bit, actually,” Sam said. “It seems that Herr Heinrich is no fan of the Nazis, and he’s not inclined to become a martyr for the Reich.

Once we convinced him that his only chance of surviving was if
you
survived, he became quite cooperative.”

“So, he’s a pragmatist; that’s encouraging,” Jan said.

The silver-haired man smiled and continued. “His home is in a town called Langenfeld, just south of Dusseldorf, on the Rhine River. He was last there about two weeks ago before going to Berlin, then heading here. His wife’s name is Frieda, and they have one daughter named Else, who is nine years old.

He works for a company by the name of Kleigholst. He said they manufacture demolition devices: blasting caps, fuses, timing pencils, things like that.”

Jan nodded and closed his eyes, concentrating. “Langenfeld . . . near Dusseldorf . . . wife’s name Frieda . . . daughter Else . . . company is Kleigholst

. . .
oui, oui, je comprends.
”

Sam continued. “Heinrich was trained as a structural engineer and has been with this company his entire career. He spent most of last year in Normandy providing technical assistance on the installation of explosives at the landing beaches. Before Normandy, he spent some time in Russia working with 288

Douglas W. Jacobson

combat engineers blowing up bridges and railways.” He glanced at his watch.

“That’s all I have. You’d better get back before you’re missed. Have you been contacted by anyone yet?”

“
Oui,
a nurse stopped in late last night with a message from someone on Stolberg’s staff. Apparently I am to be picked up at noon today.”

“Très bien,”
Sam said, extending his hand. “Every night, at ten o’clock, I will be at Storage Building Fifteen on the Kattendijkdok. I will wait for thirty minutes. Good luck.”

Chapter 58

Anna sat in the backseat of Koenig’s motorcar, staring at the deserted courtyard. The train carrying the last survivors of Drancy had left while she was bathing and eating. The car was a Mercedes-Benz, like her father’s. If she closed her eyes she could imagine Henryk sitting behind the wheel as they drove through the back roads of Poland during those fi rst terrifying hours of the war. It seemed like it had all happened in some other lifetime.

The car was one of only a few vehicles left in the camp, and it was becoming obvious that there was some delay in their departure. Anna’s wrists were secured in handcuffs and attached with a stout chain to shackles around her ankles. The big Feldgendarme sat in the front seat, behind the wheel, and pe-riodically checked his watch. He had glanced at her in the rear view mirror a few times but hadn’t spoken.

“Wie ist Ihr Name?”
Anna asked in German.

“Was?”
the big man replied.

“
Ihr Name. Wie ist Ihr Name.
Since we’re obviously going to be traveling together, I’d like to know your name.”

He turned his bulky frame toward her and said, in a deep, raspy voice,

“Mein Name ist Otto.”

“Well, Otto, do you know where we’re going?”

The man turned a little more until he could look at her, then abruptly turned back to the front and stiffened up.

The front door on the passenger side jerked open, and Dieter Koenig leaned in. Another SS offi cer stood behind him. Koenig glanced at Anna with a scowl on his face, then spoke sharply to Otto. “I won’t be going with you. I have to 290

Douglas W. Jacobson

report to Berlin immediately. Mueller will ride along with you. I’ll be there next week. You know what to do.”

Koenig turned and looked at Anna for several long minutes, his eyes moving down the neckline of the fl imsy dress he had provided. He reached back with a gloved hand and brushed her cheek. “
Ja, ja,
already, such an improve-ment. Otto will take care of you until I return.”

Anna’s skin crawled. She remained silent, staring straight ahead.

Koenig backed out of the car and was gone. The second offi cer slipped into the front seat and pulled the door shut. He turned toward Anna and reached back, grasping her handcuffs and jerking on the chain that secured them to her ankles. Apparently satisfi ed that she was suffi ciently restrained, he turned around again and motioned for Otto to get started.

Almost twelve hours later, they approached the German border near the city of Aachen, the fl ags of the Third Reich snapping in the wind at the checkpoint.

Anna’s heart sank, icy fi ngers of fear once again sliding down her back. She was entering the lion’s den.

As they passed through the barricades the road descended into a tunnel, and Anna stared in awe at the hills on either side. The giant concrete bunkers of Germany’s “West Wall” extended north and south as far as she could see.

When they emerged on the other side of the tunnel, it was as if a giant door had slammed shut on her life.

They passed through a second set of barricades and headed in a southeast-erly direction, driving slowly along an asphalt road lined with tanks, armored cars and thousands of Wehrmacht infantrymen. For the next hour and a half they made little progress as long convoys of soldiers and trucks clogged every road and every intersection. It appeared to Anna that every German male who could carry a gun had been pressed into action.

Eventually, they turned onto a dirt road and followed it for several kilometers through heavily wooded terrain, stopping at a wooden gate. Mueller got out and unlocked the gate, relocking it after Otto drove through. The trees gave way to a broad meadow and, at the far end of the meadow, a wooden barn and a sturdy-looking, two-story brick house.

Otto stopped the car in front of the barn, and Mueller jumped out, stretching and yawning loudly. Then he promptly unbuttoned his trousers and pissed Night of Flames

291

onto the gravel drive. When he was fi nished he pulled the rear door open and motioned for Anna to get out. Otto opened the barn door and drove the car into it, while Mueller grabbed Anna’s arm and led her hobbling up the steps and into the house.

It was surprisingly well furnished. In the parlor, two large, richly upholstered chairs stood on either side of a fi eldstone fi replace. There was a long sofa in front of the windows and an artistic hand-carved coffee table.

Mueller maintained his grip on Anna’s wrist and led her through the parlor and an adjoining, elegantly furnished dining room into a large kitchen. She struggled to keep from falling, forced by the leg irons into taking baby steps.

He led her to the far end of the kitchen and stopped in front of a stout, wooden door. He fi shed some keys out of his pocket, opened the door and pushed her into a room. He followed her in, removed the handcuffs and leg irons then left, slamming the door behind her and turning the key in the lock.

At fi rst it was dark. Then Anna heard a noise from outside that sounded like a muffl ed engine, and a few seconds later a soft glowing light emanated from a chandelier hanging from the ceiling. She looked around.

It was the most incredible, revolting room that Anna had ever seen: at least four meters on a side with three large windows behind heavy, braided drapes.

The walls were covered with red wallpaper, textured in an intricate fl oral pattern, along with three gold-framed paintings of nudes in various provocative poses. The crystal chandelier hung above a massive, four-poster bed. On either side of the bed were night tables, handcrafted in rich veneers of walnut, maple and cherry.

She walked to one of the windows and pulled back the drapes, not surprised to see heavy steel bars. She wondered how many other women Koenig had brought to this private little bordello over the years . . . and what had become of them.

Anna looked into a smaller, adjoining room, lit only by a barred skylight in the ceiling. Inside was a wash stand with a hand pump and a chamber pot.

Back in the main room, on the same wall as the door to the washroom was a closet in which Anna found a dozen dresses, all her size and all with the same slit skirt and plunging neckline as the horrid thing she was wearing. She slammed the door shut, her stomach churning with revulsion. There was also 292

Douglas W. Jacobson

a bureau, on the wall opposite the bed, which she didn’t need to open—she knew what would be inside. She slumped down on a wooden chair near one of the barred windows and buried her face in her hands.

Anna snapped awake at the loud knocking sound. She sat up, trying to fi gure out where she was. Her eyes scanned the red walls and the heavy curtains.

When it came back to her she felt sick again. She was sitting on the bed, obviously having crawled up there at some point and fallen asleep. She pulled back the curtain and looked through the bars. It was dark outside.

Again the knocking, this time accompanied by a rough, gravelly voice.

“
Kommen Sie.
Come to the door. Frau Laurent, come to the door.”

At fi rst, the name confused her. Then the cloud of sleep cleared and she remembered. Of course, he would know her as Jeanne Laurent, the name on the passport she had been carrying when she was arrested. In a fl eeting thought she wondered if they still had her passport, though she couldn’t imagine what good it would do her now.

Another knock, and this time she slid off the bed and opened the door.

Otto stood on the other side, his massive bulk fi lling the entire doorway.

“
Komm,
have your dinner,” he grunted and motioned toward the table.

Anna thought it curious that he had unlocked the door but hadn’t opened it. Was he a gentleman, respecting her privacy? She dismissed the thought as too much to hope for. It was probably some type of security measure to make sure she wasn’t hiding behind the door ready to hit him over the head with the chamber pot.

Anna nodded at the big man and sat down at the table, wishing she had a sweater or shawl to cover the fl imsy revealing dress. In front of her was a single setting of blue and white china, a platter fi lled with pork chops, boiled potatoes and cooked beets along with a plate of fresh bread. The aroma of the food was overwhelming, and Anna was starved. Her self-consciousness vanished and she eagerly fi lled her plate.

Otto brought a coffeepot to the table and fi lled her cup, then sat down across from her with his own mug of coffee.

“Aren’t you going to eat?” she asked.