The One Man (30 page)

It appeared he wasn't aware.

“You are busy, Herr Lagerkommandant. This is the sort of drudgery we in the intelligence corps concern ourselves with. By the way,” Franke laid out the next sheet, “you don't happen to have any truffles in the surrounding forests, do you, Major?'

“
Truffles?
Truffles are indigenous to northern Italy. And France,” the SS man replied.

“I thought not,” Franke said. “But you do have birchwood?”

“Birchwood? Yes, wood is in no shortage.” The camp commander looked at him curiously as Franke passed him the intercepted communiqués about the “truffle hunter” and the birchwood forest. He read them and put them down. “But this all proves nothing, of course. This person, even if it is what you say, could be anywhere in the region.”

“Is there any other target of strategic importance in the area?”

“There is a prisoner of war camp as part of the overall complex. And the IG Farben facility that is under construction.”

“Which you provide the labor for, I believe,” Franke said.

Ackermann leafed through the report again and put it down. “Well, if he
is
here, as you suggest, there are no ways out. There are over three hundred thousand prisoners here,” the Lagerkommandant said. “In all the camps.”

“Yes, and I want every one accounted for,” Franke said. “Today.”

“
You
want, Colonel?” Ackermann raised a countering eye at him.

“Yes. As per General Graebner in Warsaw and Admiral Canaris in Berlin.” Franke pulled out an official order. “And Reichmarshall Göring…”

Ackermann took the paper and stared with mounting rage at the signed order from an Abwehr general.
“Lagerkommandant Ackermann, please be aware that on the suspicion of a matter of security I have spoken with my superiors in Berlin and they have instructed you…”
He read through the memo without hiding his contempt and then put it down. Canaris, the Abwehr head, was a weakened but still powerful man, known to lock heads with SS Reichsführer Himmler for the Führer's attention.

“Herr Lagerkommandant, we do not want an investigation into something that is potentially harmful to the war effort to be hung up in, how shall we say, a kind of political squabble, while you spend the day attempting to reconfirm with your own superiors what they will likely simply approve anyway. And in the event I am right on this, I cannot conceive you would want this kind of lapse to have taken place while the commandant is in Berlin.”

Ackermann's face grew tight. He stared at the order again and slid it back across the table, though Franke could see he would rather have taken it and ripped it up in front of Franke and thrown the pieces on the floor. Then out of nowhere the commandant grew pensive. “You said two days ago…?”

“Yes. On the morning of the twenty-third.”

“Yesterday we let in thirty-one laborers into the main camp to assist with construction. Only thirty were counted leaving.”

Franke's eyes grew wide. “And you did not follow that up?”

“The guards assumed it was a miscount. It happens from time to time. Not a single prisoner was unaccounted for. And what kind of fool would choose of his own accord to be left behind in this hellhole, Colonel?”

“Maybe a very daring and well-trained fool, Major. I would like you to bring me the person who organized that work detail.”

“That will take some time, of course.” There was massive work to be done today, numbers to be met. Two trains were arriving. To be weighed down chasing a folly like this would cost a lot of manpower. Throw everything off. And to what end? There were three hundred thousand prisoners within the wires here. “I'm afraid I will have to discuss this with Kommandant Hoss, Herr Colonel…”

“I repeat, Herr Major, I am certain you would not want such a lapse of security to occur while the commandant is away and you are insistent on waging a tug-of-war over who has proper authorization…?”

The SS had little respect for the Abwehr in general, Franke understood. Ackermann likely thought of himself as a man of action, dirtying his hands with the Führer's proper work each day, whatever horror that entailed and was behind the gruesome smell Franke had noticed upon arriving. Ackermann no doubt looked upon Franke as merely some overzealous desk clerk who only got
his
hands soiled going over reports.

Yet Franke could see the assistant commandant knew he was boxed in.

“Fromm!”
the Lagerkommandant buzzed in his aide. The lieutenant who had served them their coffee ran in.

“Yes, Major. Are you ready for Captain Kimpner now?”

“No. I want you to bring me that jacket that was found this morning. In the equipment locker.”

“Yes, Major.” The lieutenant looked back, confused. “I'll have it brought up now.”

Franke looked at the assistant commandant. “A jacket was found?”

“Just this morning. It could have been from anyone, Colonel. It might have been there days, even weeks…”

“Someone is here, Major!” Franke jabbed his finger against the table and his eyes lit up with zeal. “Of that you can be sure. He put his life on the line to get himself in here. And now we are going to find out why.”

 

FORTY-FOUR

Before the evening meal, Alfred wound his way over to Block Forty and found Leo looking over a makeshift chessboard on his bunk.

“Come in the back,” he said. “I have something important to show you, son.”

“I'm going over some things,” the boy said. The old man seemed quite excited.

“Just come. Quick. Now.”

“I haven't seen such a spring in your step in some time,” Leo commented as they made their way back to the sick area of the block. “What's going on?”

“Your prayers have been answered,” Alfred said with a wide smile. “What I am going to tell you remains exclusively between us. You tell no one, not another friend or a bunkmate. Certainly not your new chess partner. Do I have your word on that?”

“
My word?
Of course.” Leo saw the spark in Alfred's eyes. “Tell me, what is up?”

Alfred squeezed his arm. “Someone is here to get us out.”

“Here…?”

“That's right. In the camp.”

“And by ‘get us out,' I assume you mean…?”

“Get us out of the camp. He has a way to escape.”

Leo curled a smile. He put his hand against Alfred's cheek, as if checking his temperature. “Has the typhus hit you again, old man? Because this time you have truly crossed over into the delusional.”

Alfred's eyes drilled into Leo. “Do I look sick, Leo?”

“In truth, for the first time in weeks, no.” Leo shook his head.

“So then look, I have something to show you.” Another prisoner passed by and went to the latrine. “Come over here, and keep your voice low.”

“You are certainly going to a lot of precaution. This is some kind of joke, right?”

They went to another corner of the sick area, where, at least for the moment, they found themselves alone. “Listen to me, Leo, someone has snuck into the camp from the outside. Not just from the outside … He came from Washington, D.C. In America. For
me
! I know this sounds crazy, and before you think of taking me to the infirmary again…” Alfred took out the folded letter from his trousers. “He gave me this. Read it.”

Leo reached to take the sheet of paper.

Alfred closed his hand over it again. “First I need your oath once again that this stays entirely between us.”

“I already gave that to you, Alfred. As I said, I swear.”

“On your family.”

“Yes, on my family,” Leo swore. “As much as is left of them.”

“Then, here…” Alfred released his hand.

Leo slowly unfolded the letter, casting a wary eye on his friend, whose mind he thought had completely crossed over the edge. He didn't read English, only a few words he knew from seeing Chaplin films and Westerns at the cinema before the war. However, he fixed on Alfred's name at the top of the letter,
Professor Mendl
. And then above it, his eyes registering the sender in absolute shock, he saw the words
The United States of America
and the image of the White House in Washington, D.C. Where the U.S. president lived.

Leo looked back at him, his throat dry. “How did you get this…?”

“Read on, my boy. And look, look who has signed it!” Alfred said, jabbing his finger.

Leo scanned the short letter and his gaze came to rest on the bold signature with the printed letters underneath.

Franklin D. Roosevelt

President of the United States

The breath grew tight in his chest. “Is this a ruse? If it is, Alfred, I give you credit, but I'm not sure why you would want to—”

“It's no ruse, boy. They've come to get me out. They have a plan. And it just might work.” Alfred's eyes were so purposeful and lucid Leo knew for sure that it was no trick. “But there's a catch.”

“A catch?”

“Yes.” Alfred put his hand on Leo's shoulder. “I need you to come along with me.”

“Me?”

“You, son.” Alfred nodded. “You know it all now. Every formula. Every progression of everything I've done related to diffusion. It's why I've been teaching it to you all this time. God forbid, something goes wrong for me…” He took Leo by the shoulders, his eyes brimming with life and renewed purpose, and stared deeply at him. “I need you to be my brain.”

 

FORTY-FIVE

Buoyed with hope, Blum finished up his work detail for the day and went back to his barrack.
He'd found him!
The exhaustion and misery of his fellow block mates could be heard all around him, yet inwardly he was soaring with expansiveness and pride.

He had his man.

His needle amid a hundred haystacks. Now all they had to do was execute their escape tomorrow, still no simple task. It was clear in a second's notice that the professor was in no condition to be dodging bullets. He'd be lucky to even be allowed on the work detail. That was where the bribe came in. And now they had this boy, Mendl's nephew, someone else for Blum to have to watch out for. That added to the risk as well. Still, he saw it was the only way he could get the professor to come.
You wouldn't leave your own flesh and blood behind, would you…?
So it had to be done, regardless of how it turned out.

Tomorrow …
Blum tried to block out the groans of misery and exhaustion coming from the rest of the barracks. Their task was just to get through their day; but hopefully by tomorrow night, he would be gone. He went through in his mind how the plan would unfold. They had to position themselves on the side closest to the river. At 0030, gunfire would erupt from the woods. Presumably the guards would return fire. In the midst of the chaos, they would move away from the fighting, toward the Sola. A detachment would meet them there. If everything went well, a little over twenty-four hours from now he would know whether he had pulled off the biggest miracle of the war, or just become another forgotten number among the thousands and thousands here whose fates would never be known.

All he had to do was get through the next day.

“So? Did you ever find him?” someone asked Blum from below. It was the man in the tweed cap. “Your uncle?”

“No.” Blum said. He'd been careless once; he didn't want to arouse even the slightest suspicion over it. “Everyone was right. He must be dead.”

“Well, at least you got the first-class tour of the place on your new job,” the man joked good-naturedly. “Don't worry, many of us have had that pleasure. What was it you did before the war?”

“We were milliners,” Blum replied. “My father had a shop with a small factory above it.”

“
Hats,
huh…?” The man took off his own crumpled cap and inspected it. “Maybe if we ever get out of this hole, I'll be in need of a new one.”

“If we manage to get out of this hole, you may never want to take yours off ever again,” Blum played along, “for it will surely be lucky. Anyway, if you're ever in Gizycko, be sure and come in. I promise you a good price on a new one.”

“Maybe felt, this time,” the man said longingly. “With a nice, sturdy brim.”

“Yes, beaver,” Blum said. “It's by far the best.” He thought back to his father, who loved to take Blum through the factory above his shop. Workers, almost exclusively men, shaping and banding over machines. “Crushed and properly shrunk. It's called pouncing. It—”

Suddenly there were shouts and loud banging all around. Guards had come inside the barracks and were cracking their sticks into the walls and bedposts.

“What's going on?” people whispered worriedly. “Can you see?” Any unexpected intrusion filled the ranks with terror.

“You are all in luck,” Muller, the Blockführer, announced, walking amid the bunks. “The Red Cross is coming tomorrow and we want you looking your best for them. Time to bathe and clean yourself. Leave all your belongings. You will be coming back shortly. Come on, get up! You'll all feel one hundred percent better in an hour.”

Uncertainty swept over them. Mixed with fear.
The Red Cross? They had never been there before. In the children's camp once maybe.
Many of them had been in the camp for years.
Are they lying to us? Was this finally it?

“You know what that means. They are going to kill us,” someone cried out. “Just like Thirty-Four last week. They're all gone!”

“No, that's silly.” Muller tried to calm things. “Where did you get such a notion? It's just a bath. You'll be no more dead than I am. And you'll likely smell a whole lot better. And with no lice. That doesn't sound so bad, does it? And your friends in Thirty-Four, they were just transferred. To a different work camp. So, c'mon, up, up, everyone! It's for the Red Cross inspection. Everyone get in line! You know you can trust me.”