The Berkut (51 page)

A big man with a blue cap pointed to a seat next to a stack of
M-1
rifles. "Going far?" he asked in broken German.

"Gottingen.
"

"No problem."

Near the outskirts of the city Brumm indicated with sign language that he wanted to get out. His companion hammered the partition behind the driver and the ambulance glided to a halt. No suspicion. No papers checked. Could the entire zone be so lax? It was not what he had expected.

Brumm walked the rest of the way into the city, found the church and took a room in a small boardinghouse. He jammed a chair against his door and slept fitfully with a pistol under his pillow, wondering how Waller had fared.

The next day he found a restaurant adjacent to Waller's hotel and seated himself at a table in front of a window overlooking the street. Near noon he saw her enter her hotel. He paid his bill and followed her. Inside, he found that she had been stopped by the desk clerk. He took up a position nearby and listened to the conversation.

"You and your friend. Will you be leaving today?"

"No," Waller said. "We will stay one more night, perhaps two."

"Baths again?" the man asked with a leer.

"No." As she spoke she saw Brumm. When she reached her room, she left her door slightly ajar and waited. He checked the hallway and stepped inside.

"What's this about a friend?" he asked as she threw herself on him, trembling. "Have you had some trouble?" She pointed to a closet with louvered doors. Inside was a large pile of linens and towels, underneath them a body. He looked to her for an explanation.

Waller held out the map case to him. "I had to do it, Giinter. She had these."

He opened the case and spread the maps on the bed. Incredible!

Zones, bases, checkpoints, unit numbers-a rich vein of information. It was a windfall he hadn't counted on.

"She wanted to be my lover," Waller said shakily.

He didn't want to hear the details. "Where's the vehicle?"

"On a street behind the building. I have the ignition key."

He held out his arms to her and she clung to him tightly. When she had calmed down a little, he sat her on the bed. "You've done well. We'll have to change our plans. Did you get the train schedules?" She nodded and wiped at an eye with the back of her hand. "Freights, too?"

"It changes all the time. I got what I could."

"Confessions ?"

"In the afternoon, every day."

"All right. You remain here. I'll be back."

The confessional was in a dark corner to the side of the altar. Brumm knelt and the door to the screen opened. "I seek entry to the Order of Saint Elizabeth," he whispered.

"How many aspirants in your party?"

"Three."

"Normally we're prepared to deal only with pairs," the voice on the other side said.

"Keep your voice down."

"Remain calm," the voice retorted. "It's safe here. You are all Catholics? All three of you?"

"Yes, all baptized."

"Would you say a prayer for me?"

"Yes," Brumm said.
"Werwolf.
Stop. Wolf."

The voice repeated the words in sequence. "Wait here." The partition closed with a snap and the man's soles clipped the marble floor moving away. Brumm chambered a round, checked his silencer and waited, sweat beading his forehead. In a minute the footsteps returned and the small door between them slid open.

"There is a missal here, my son. When I leave, pull back the screen.
Give me five minutes to leave the church. It's best that we cannot identify each other. You will find the words of Saint Elizabeth quite comforting. "

"Thank you, Father." The voice blessed him and left. When it was quiet the colonel slid back the screen, found the missal and stuffed it into his pocket. He waited exactly five minutes then left the church. In an alley behind the hotel he found a back entrance leading up to the guest rooms.

Waller met him at the door with her weapon in hand. He pushed by, opened the missal, extracted an envelope and studied the papers carefully. They were in order. "We'll go back tonight," he said.

Waller walked to the bed, lay down and held her arms out to him.

They spent the afternoon making love and catnapping. When dark came, Brumm pulled the car into the alley while Waller went down to the lobby to distract the attention of the clerk. He carried the body down the back stairs, as if the woman were asleep or ill, and put her in the trunk. Then he returned to the American's room and removed her belongings and a half-full bottle of wine.

When Brumm rounded the corner, Waller was waiting by the curb. She got in and they drove slowly out of the town. "Where's the body?" she asked as the auto began to accelerate on a clear country lane.

"In back."

"She was on leave from her unit until midweek. She won't be missed until later. What now?"

"Back to our valley to wait out the winter."

"The automobile?"

"It's going to have an accident."

West of where they would reenter the Harz there was a sheer drop. Together they took the corpse from the trunk and dressed her in her uniform. Then Brumm smashed the wine bottle on the floor and they pushed the vehicle over the side of the cliff. It exploded into flames at the bottom.

"Will anyone see the fire?" Waller asked.

"Perhaps, but it's not important." Changing into their heavy boots, they began their trek back into the mountains.

66 – December 24, 1945, 11:00 P.M.

It was Christmas Eve and Beau Valentine had returned to Nuremberg. He had a lot of ideas floating around in his head, but so far none of them had connected. He'd learned long ago that there were times when problems couldn't be solved by sheer willpower; you had to step away, find a diversion and let your subconscious take over. He imagined this part of his mind to be a swamp with a smooth surface. Underneath it was something else, a reservoir filled with every idea he'd ever had, every word he'd ever spoken or heard, every experience. He didn't know why it happened, but if you worked a problem hard and long enough, then let it slide into the subconscious swamp, some sort of biochemical magic took place, and more often than not, the process brought forth new ideas and a fresh perspective.

Parking in front of the building, Valentine walked up the front steps. There was a Christmas tree inside and lights were strung on the walls. He'd always liked Christmas, and now just the sight of the decorations made him glad he'd come.

When he got to the door on the upper floor, he knocked lightly.

A sleepy voice called out, "Go away, I'm sleepy."

"It's Santa Claus," he said through the door. Seconds later Angie stared out at him. "Beau?"

"Ho, ho, ho," he said as he stepped inside.

67 – January 1, 1946, 9:30 A.M.

For several moments Brumm found himself trapped between sleep and consciousness, caught between a distant memory he couldn't quite grasp and the warm reality beside him. Waller was on her side, pressed tightly against him, her head on his shoulder, one of her legs draped over him. Her head was tilted slightly, her mouth open, and she was breathing deeply and evenly. Sliding gently away from her and out of bed, he stood, stretched and rubbed the back of his neck. It had been a nightlong celebration, with too much wine, and now the stiffness in his muscles told him he was facing a day of misery, the price for loss of self-control. These were rare feelings for him, but sometimes one had to let go and vent the juices that fermented inside a man. For months the group had exercised remarkable discipline; both he and Hans had spent their days training and teaching their Valkyries the skills of soldiers. At night they seldom slept alone, but the pattern was that of a single girl each night; who would be their partner was decided by the girls themselves, and neither the colonel nor his sergeant inquired about the selection process.

Brumm dressed slowly, taking time to think about their situation. Herr Wolf and Razia Scheel took little part in the activities of the group, and while Wolf had made no demands for a long time, Brumm sensed that something dangerous was building inside the man. Herr Wolf and his companion had even stopped eating with the others, and despite repeated attempts by the Valkyries to pull them into their circle, they remained on the outside, aloof and comfortable with each other. Scheel was difficult to understand; she acted like a slave around Wolf, doing his bidding without protest, always beside him, waiting for her next order. It was weird. Brumm supposed that the woman's experiences in the death camps had triggered some kind of survival mechanism, but it was not something he could identify with, and she made him uncomfortable. What did the two talk about when they were alone? What did they do? She was an attractive female, but it seemed unlikely that they were lovers, though some of the odors emanating from their living area made both Brumm and Beard wonder.

Late the previous night the group had gone to the pool in the cave. There they drank and played. Herr Wolf immediately retired with Scheel to their quarters. At midnight there had been a halfhearted celebration of the passing of the old year, and Brumm had been called upon to comment. He was drunk and filled with conflicting emotions.
In
the end he had simply raised his glass and offered a toast to Germany and Germans, and the others had cheered, then splashed en masse into the pool. Later he had crawled out of the water with the intention of returning to his room to sleep, but one of the girls had jumped on his back and ridden him piggyback style down to her room. They were
still in the preliminaries of lovemaking when another Valkyrie threw herself into bed with them and a wrestling match ensued that eventually turned into three-way sex. At one point Brumm looked up and saw Herr Wolf standing in the shadow of the doorway, his arms crossed, the muscles in his face drawn tight. He had fled when one of Brumm's partners began squealing as she reached a climax.

Now, as he dressed, Brumm had a feeling that Herr Wolf was going to cause trouble, and wondered as much about how it would manifest itself as how he would cope with it. There had been heavy snow in the valley for weeks, and it was increasingly difficult to go out. Being trapped inside was dangerous for them all, he knew. Even in small groups that were well adjusted and comfortable with one another, there could be friction when members lacked space to be alone. In this one there were signs of tensions, and Herr Wolf was the main source of them.

Entering the main living area, Brumm found Erda sitting at a table, staring into a cup of coffee. Her hair was tousled and there were bags under her eyes. "Good morning," he said as he poured his own coffee.

"My head hurts," she said simply.

Stefanie was sitting by the fire. She wore an unbuttoned shirt that was too long, and from time to time when she moved, her breasts flashed into view. "It's another part of me that's sore," she said with a giggle.

"Overuse," Brumm teased.

"Not enough," she countered, her tone serious.

The three sat quietly as the others filed in. Gretchen was the last, and after she had made tea for herself, she sat beside Brumm, pressing her leg against his. "I didn't hear you get up."

"You looked too comfortable to wake."

Beard added logs to their fire and poked at them to increase the heat.

Exactly when Herr Wolf entered they weren't sure. One minute he was absent; the next he was there. He was wearing a brown suit, a white shirt and a black tie. His arms were hanging in front of him, his hands joined, and he was glaring at the group. Walking over to Stefanie, he pinched the shoulder of her blouse and said, "Cover yourself." His voice was different and Brumm tensed. "You are a disgrace to German womanhood and to the Reich!" The man's face was turning red, but his voice was still controlled. "If you must carryon like a common whore at night, at least present the illusion of a proper woman during the day when decent people are about."

"Leave her alone," Brumm said.

Herr Wolf turned to face the colonel and slapped his hip.
"Stand when you address your Fü
hrer!" he screamed. Brumm and Beard simultaneously sprang to their feet in a conditioned response. Wolf's voice was powerful and commanding. "Colonel Brumm, I am disgusted by your behavior. Where is your honor? I would expect the great von Brumm to behave with more decorum. Last night was a disgusting display of human weakness. You were copulating like a common animal."

"You can't-" Beard started to say something, but Hitler turned on him immediately.

"You!" The disgust was heavy in Hitler's voice. "You should be castrated; I expect more from my noncommissioned officers."