A Man Without Breath (Bernie Gunther Mystery 9) (26 page)

Batov grinned back at me. ‘You’re right, of course. I might not have been selling vodka or
brewski
but I’ve got something to sell just like anyone else who goes to the market. When you showed up here at the hospital the first time with that Polish intelligence report it was obvious to me where you must have got it from. I wanted to tell you about the lieutenant then, but I didn’t quite have the guts. Then you left and I figured my chance was gone. That is, until I spotted you in the market this afternoon. When I saw you it seemed too good to be true that you should be back here in Smolensk.’

‘I get a lot of that.’

‘So. Do we have a deal?’

‘I think so. Only it might take a little while. You’ll have to be patient.’

‘I’m Russian. Patience is something we’re born with.’

‘Sure, sure. That’s out of the same book as not putting any empties on the table. You don’t believe that shit any more than I do. But here’s something that you can believe. And this comes straight from the shoulder-holster. When you made that crack about not trusting Germans you implied you know what you’re doing, but I still wonder if you do. You tell me you’ve got evidence of what happened in Katyn Wood and I tell you I’m prepared to buy your story. But I’m not the one who owns the store. You’ll be making a deal with the devil here, not me. You appreciate that, don’t you? Once you’re out in the open with this I can’t protect you. Unlike me, you see, the Nazis are not the kind of people who can handle much disappointment. If they think for a minute you’re holding out on them in any way, they’re liable to reach for their pistols. The Gestapo is just as likely to put a bullet in your head as your own secret police. At that point I’ll be looking out for myself, see? Generally speaking it’s what I do best. I won’t have time or even the inclination to do any special pleading for you and your daughter’s ballet lessons.’

‘I know what I’m doing,’ he insisted. ‘I’ve thought about the risks. Really, I have. And I don’t think I have anything to lose.’

‘When people say that kind of thing, mostly I don’t believe them, or I think they haven’t thought things through. But I imagine you really do know what you’re doing. You’re right, I don’t think you have anything to lose. Just your life. And what’s that worth in the current market? In my case it’s not much and in yours it’s nothing at all. And in between there’s probably just a lot of misplaced optimism. Mine, mostly.’

Monday, March 29th 1943

‘How did Saturday’s execution go?’ asked Field Marshal von Kluge. ‘Did those two sergeants die well?’

‘Only one of them was a sergeant, sir. The other was a corporal.’

‘Yes, yes, of course. But the question still stands, Gunther.’

‘I’m not sure it’s even possible to die well when you’re struggling for breath on the end of a length of cord, sir.’

‘Do you take me for an idiot? What I mean is, did they die bravely? As bravely as any German soldier ought to die? After all, there’s always the chance that a condemned man will do or say something that reflects badly on the German army. Cowardice in the ranks is even more intolerable than wanton criminality. How did they acquit themselves?’

‘They died bravely, sir. I’m not sure I could have met the hangman with such apparent equanimity.’

‘Nonsense, captain. I don’t doubt your own courage for a moment. Any man with an Iron Cross like you knows what real bravery is. A German soldier should know how to die well. It’s expected.’

We were in the field marshal’s office at Krasny Bor. Von
Kluge had made a start on a large cigar and, in spite of the subject matter, was about as relaxed as a man can look when he’s got a red stripe on his leg and a Knight’s Cross around his neck. Of his pet Russian, Dyakov, there was no sign, although there was a large dog occupying a space next to the heat vents in the brick wall that could easily have been mistaken for him. The dog was licking his balls, and as I envied his ability to do something like that I reflected that he was almost certainly the happiest creature in all of Smolensk.

‘And did they say anything? Any last words of contrition?’

‘No, and they didn’t say anything about the murders of those two NCOs either,’ I said. ‘Which was a pity.’

‘Leave this matter to the field police, Captain Gunther. That’s my advice. I’m sure they will apprehend the true culprit before very long. Do you want to know why I’m so confident about that? Because I have forty-two years’ experience in the military to draw upon. During that time I’ve learned that such incidents as these have a habit of repeating themselves. A man who has cut the throats of two men will before long cut the throats of some others. Almost certainly.’

‘That’s exactly what I was hoping to prevent. I’m a little sentimental that way.’

‘Yes, you must be. Not to mention symbiotic and coadjuvant. Military law is not collaborative, captain. We do not make deals with those who are beneath us. Our existence is based on unquestioning obedience and power, and we must always be merciless, so that we triumph even when it seems that we might be crushed. The command of power is justified only by itself. I’d rather two more men were sacrificed on the altar of expediency than our military authority should ever be compromised in the distasteful way you proposed. A deal you called it. Ghastly idea. We shall win this war if our men
recognize that there is only one way to win it and that is to fight according to their duty, ruthlessly and without expectation of favour or mercy.’

It was a nice little speech, and while it might have been original, I thought it much more likely that Hitler had said something like that when he and the field marshal had been alone together in Von Kluge’s office at Krasny Bor. The bit about fighting ruthlessly and without expectation of favour or mercy had the leader’s rhetorical fingerprints all over it.

‘Oh, by the way, captain,’ said Von Kluge, changing the subject, ‘when I took the dog for a walk this morning, he could smell a change in the air. I know that because almost immediately we were outside he started to paw at a piece of ground. As if he was digging for rabbits. He hasn’t done that since the autumn of last year. I can’t say I noticed anything different myself, but then I’m not a dog. You can’t fool a dog about such things.’

He paused for a moment and sucked on the cigar.

‘What I’m saying is that the ground in Smolensk is melting, Gunther. Spring is here and so is the thaw. If the dog can dig, then so can you.’

‘I’ll get right on it.’

‘Please do. I don’t mind telling you I dislike this whole affair. And I especially dislike the ministry of propaganda. It is my sincerest wish that we begin and conclude this investigation as quickly as possible – that we remove our morbid gaze from the unfortunate past of this benighted region and concentrate only upon the future and on how we are going to fight a war against a resurgent Red Army now, in 1943. I tell you frankly, captain, I am going to need all of my resources to win this war, and I cannot afford to spare any of my men and especially not my officers in an effort that can kill none
of the enemy. Consequently, when your excavations start I should prefer it if the War Crimes Bureau uses only Russian POW labour. That seems only fitting. I think it would be demeaning for German soldiers to occupy themselves with digging up dead bodies left behind by the Bolsheviks. Von Schlabrendorff will help you there. And my man Dyakov, of course. He’s an expert on handling Hiwi Russian labour. We used a contingent of Ivan workers to rebuild a bridge across the Dnieper last spring, and Dyakov knows who the good workers are. Hopefully some of them are still alive. Perhaps you might mention this to Judge Conrad when next you see him.’

‘I’ll do that, sir.’

‘I doubt that the world really gives a damn about any of this. It’s my personal opinion that the minister is deluded if he thinks the Allies are going to fall out of love with each other just because the Russians might have murdered a few Poles.’

‘It’s probably more than a few, sir. My sources indicate to me that it could be as many as four thousand.’

‘And what about all of the ethnic Germans who were killed by Poles in 1939? In Posen, my own part of the world, the Poles – especially Polish soldiers – behaved like barbarians. Entire families of Germans were murdered. The women were raped and the men were frequently tortured before they were murdered. As many as two thousand Germans were murdered by the Poles in Posen alone. Two thousand. Some of my own family were obliged to flee for their lives. My house was ransacked. Read the white book that your own department prepared for the Foreign Office if you don’t believe me. No one in East Prussia is going to care what happened to some fucking Poles. I certainly don’t. I tell you they could find the
whole Polish army buried in Katyn Wood and I wouldn’t give a damn.’

‘I didn’t know you were from Posen.’

‘Well, now you do.’ Von Kluge puffed at his cigar and waved at me. ‘Was there another matter you wanted to see me about?’

‘Yes sir, there was.’

I told Von Kluge about Doctor Batov and his offer to furnish us with the hard evidence that would prove that the Soviets had murdered thousands of Poles in Katyn Wood.

‘I believe he has a ledger with the names of all the dead, as well as some photographs of the crime in actual progress. The only trouble is, he’s scared that he and his daughter will be murdered if the NKVD retakes Smolensk.’

‘He’s not wrong about that. There will be a bloodbath in this city if ever the Reds are in charge again. It will make your Katyn Wood massacre look like the teddy bears’ picnic. I should think any right-minded Russian would be very anxious to prevent that from happening.’

‘Exactly. Doctor Batov would feel a lot safer if they could come and live in Berlin, sir.’

‘In Berlin?’ Von Kluge chuckled. ‘I don’t doubt it. I should like to be back in Berlin myself. Yes indeed. A stroll in the Tiergarten before champagne at the Adlon, then the opera followed by dinner at Horchers. Berlin is lovely at this time of year. The Adlon is lovely. Yes, I shouldn’t mind a bit of that myself.’

‘He’d simply like some assurances to that effect. Before he cooperates with Judge Conrad’s investigation. What he has could be really useful to us, sir. To Germany.’

‘And this doctor of yours can furnish you with evidence? To the bureau’s satisfaction?’

‘I do believe he can, sir.’

Von Kluge sighed a cloud of cigar smoke and shook his head, as if in pity of me and my tiresome conversation.

‘I wonder about you, Gunther, I really do. Prior to becoming a policeman, what were you? A car salesman? You keep bringing me deals you tell me I have to make. First it was those two NCOs, and now it’s this damned Russian doctor. Don’t you know anyone in this city who’s prepared to do something for nothing – because he thinks he has a simple patriotic duty to bring forward the truth?’

‘He’s not a German, sir. He’s a Russian. Duty doesn’t come into it, nor patriotism for that matter. He’s simply a man trying to save his own life and his daughter’s. Right now he’s attending injured German soldiers in the Smolensk State Medical Academy. If he was a patriot, he’d have cleared off like the rest of them and left us to heal our own sick and wounded. If ever he’s captured, that alone will earn him a death sentence. Surely we should be prepared to assist him simply for that service?’

‘If we were to offer every damned Ivan German citizenship because he has collaborated with us, we’d never hear the end of it. And where would the purity of the German race be then, eh? Eh? Not that I believe in that nonsense myself. But the leader does.’

‘Sir, he’s offering us a lot more than just collaboration. He’s willing to furnish us with the means of proving to the world what manner of opponent we’re fighting. Isn’t that worth some sort of reward? And surely that’s what we’re already offering any man who joins General Vlasov’s Russian Liberation Army. It’s written in this Smolensk Proclamation that our planes have been dropping on Soviet positions that if they come over to us we’ll put them in German uniforms and give them a better life.’

‘I tell you straight, Captain Gunther, the leader doesn’t like these Zeppelin volunteers. He doesn’t trust them. Doesn’t trust any damn Slavs. Take this General Vlasov – the leader doesn’t care for him at all. I tell you now his damned Russian Liberation Army is an idea that will never get off the ground. They can drop all the leaflets they like on Soviet positions but his Smolensk Proclamation is a dead goose. I happen to know that the leader believes he will need someone as strong and ruthless as Stalin to keep control of Greater Germany in the Urals. The last thing he wants is this Vlasov trying to overthrow him.’ Von Kluge shook his head. ‘They’re a shifty lot these Ivans, Gunther. You watch out for this doctor, that’s my advice.’

‘And what about you, sir?’

‘How do you mean?’

‘Your man, Alok Dyakov. He’s a Slav. Do you trust him?’

‘Of course I trust him. And why not? I saved his life. The man is completely loyal to me. He’s proved that again and again.’

‘And what are you planning to do with him when all of this is over? Will you leave him here? Or take him with you?’

‘My affairs are none of your business, Gunther. Don’t be so damned impertinent.’

‘You’re absolutely right. I apologize. Your affairs are none of my business. But sir, if you’ll only think about this for a moment. From what he’s already told me, Doctor Batov has good reason to hate the Bolsheviks, and more especially the NKVD. They murdered his wife. Consequently I’m convinced that he’s every bit as keen to serve Germany as your man Dyakov. Or Peshkov.’

‘Who the hell is Peshkov?’

‘The group translator, sir. But Doctor Batov is every bit as keen on serving Germany as him or Alok Dyakov.’

‘It certainly doesn’t sound like it. By your own account this doctor seems keener on saving his own skin than serving Germany. But I will take the matter under consideration, captain, and give you my answer later, after I’ve returned from hunting.’

‘Thank you, sir.’ As I got up to leave, the dog left off licking his balls and looked up at me expectantly as if hoping I might suggest another more interesting activity. Not that I could ever have suggested anything that made more sense; not in Smolensk. ‘Are you hunting wolves?’ I asked. ‘Or something else?’