The One Man (45 page)

“You've taught him?” Blum stared at Leo, his mouth agape. “Is this for real?”

“Yes,” the boy said. “But—”

“He has it all, Blum. Every bit.” A flame flickered in Mendl's eyes that confirmed it. “Even more than if I gave you my own notes to take back with you. I give you my oath on this.”

Blum turned to Leo. He didn't have a pad or a notebook with him. Not a thing. And nothing with him when they attempted to leave the camp. “How?
Where…?
”

“Tell him, Leo,” Alfred said with a smile, nodding. “Go ahead.”

The boy tapped the side of his head. “In here.”

“In your head?” Blum gaped and looked back at Mendl.

“Remember, I told you he was a remarkable young man…” the professor said, though each new breath seemed to take even more out of him. “He's as good as an encyclopedia with what he has in there. I knew it the second I met him. Trust me, Blum, what a joy it would be for me to go and reunite with some old friends; to present my work at last. But I would only slow you. You know as well as I do, none of us would make it then. So now go,” he smiled weakly, then coughed, blood on his tongue, “you no longer need me.”

“Quick, you must hurry,” Greta said. “You hear the orchestra? The crowds are starting to move. Kurt will be back shortly.”

“They're playing Beethoven's ‘Ode to Joy,'” Leisa confirmed to Blum. “That means they are being moved off the platform.”

Leo's eyes filled with tears. “Alfred, please, come … You must.”

“No, son. It's your path to go, Leo, not mine. That's why God sent you to me. I see it now. It's the only thing of which I'm certain.”

“I cannot leave you behind.”

“Yes, you will, Leo. You must leave me. You promised you would. You owe me that oath.”

Blum took Leo by the shoulders and peered into his eyes. “This is all true? You know this? Just as he says. Every bit of it? I need to know this with absolute certainty.”

“Yes.” He hesitated at first, then nodded with conviction. “I swear it.”

“Then we must go.
Now
.” He took Franke's Mauser from the floor. “Professor, I wish there was something I could say. God owes you a far better fate than simply for us to leave you here to die.”

“My fate is in good hands,” he said with a resolved smile. “My girls have been waiting for me a long time.”

“And madame…” Blum turned to Greta. “There is room. Will you come?”

“Thank you.” She shook her head. “But I will stay with him.”

“Please, come…,” Leo said, imploring her. Everyone knew what fate awaited her upon her husband's return.

“No.” Greta smiled at him. “The professor knows it correctly. It's not my fate either. And anyway, you may all need a few moments of diversion when my husband comes back here. So go.”

Blum nodded. “Then whatever impelled you to do what you did for us, you have my heartfelt thanks.”

“You must hurry.” She looked deeply into Leo's eyes and put a hand on his cheek. “Go. The guards will be coming back from the platform any time. God watch over you.”

“And you, madame,” Blum said back. “Leisa, wrap yourself in that cloth.” Blum pointed to a folded blanket on the floor. “Leo, you will follow behind me once I give you the signal that it's safe. You say his car is right outside?'

“Yes.” Greta nodded. “When I came in, his driver was having a smoke.”

“Well, let's hope that he's done with it and back in the car.” Blum checked the Mauser. “Otherwise, his war is about to end and we'll have to make a run for it in the car as best we can. Leo, is there any chance you know how to drive?”

“No.” He shook his head. “I don't.”

“Me either, sadly. So let's both hope he's back in that car. Professor…”

Mendl didn't answer. His head was tilted, his mouth open, his lips white and crusted, muttering something. He was dying.

“Alfred!”
Leo said, anguish tearing him inside. Again, he seemed unable to leave.

“Leo!” Blum grabbed onto his shoulder. “You have to leave him. It's time to go.”

“I'll stay with him,” Greta said. “He will not die alone. Your friend is right, you must leave without delay. But Leo…”

“Yes, Frau Ackermann…” Leo turned at the door.

“Greta.” She smiled. “And you would not embarrass a lady to have so easily forgotten, would you…?” She held out the photo of her in the boat he had taken along with the white chess piece. She went over and wrapped them in his hand and gave him a fond kiss on the cheek. “Good wins out, Leo. Every once in a while. Remember that. Even in here. So you make it, live out your life. If only just for me.”

“I will, madame,” he said, tears winding down his cheeks. “I will.”

“Then go.” Greta went back over to the professor and took his hand. “He needs to hear a soothing voice now.”

“Thank you again,” Blum said, and opened the cellblock door a few inches. He peered out. He saw the large car only a few yards away. It all looked clear. “Are you ready?” He glanced at Leo and Leisa. They both gave him a nod.
This was it, then.
He took one more look at Alfred and then smiled at Greta a last time. “To good, then. Seems as right as anything.”

“Yes. To some good.”

Blum drew the colonel's cap down over his eyes and stepped outside.

 

SIXTY-EIGHT

Luck
was
with them outside. No guards were visible. A huge din and the sheen of bright lights came from the direction of the train platform near the front gate. Franke's driver was in the front seat of a large Daimler sedan, the driver's door open.

“Come.” Blum, holding Leisa in a blanket in his arms, waved to Leo.

The driver jumped out to open the door.

“Remain in the front,” Blum snapped officiously in German. He had Franke's Mauser in his hand and was prepared to use it if the driver didn't comply. Fortunately, the intelligence colonel must have been enough of a taskmaster that the driver merely snapped back to attention, uttering, “Yes, Herr Colonel,” and remained behind the wheel.

Blum twisted the latch on the Daimler's trunk and a large hatch opened. He tucked Leisa inside. “Now.” He looked around and waved Leo out of the door. The boy ran out and climbed in the trunk as well. Blum told them, “Stay quiet. I will get you both out when we are safely away.”

He shut the latch and came around the side. “Start the engine,” he barked, climbing in the backseat, the colonel's Abwehr cap pulled low. “We head back tonight. Let's go.”

The driver turned around. “Back to Warsaw, Herr Colonel…?” It was already close to midnight and it was a many-hour drive.

His eyes widened in shock.

Blum had the Mauser at his face. “If you want to live, you'll just drive. Once we are past the gates, I will let you out. But if you say one word or give even the slightest signal that something is wrong, that will be the last thing you ever do. Are we understood?”

The driver, a corporal in a gray Abwehr uniform and soft, peaked cap, at most a couple of years older than Blum, nodded and turned back around. “Yes, sir, I understand.” He turned the key and the Daimler's engine rumbled to life.

“Keep both hands on the wheel so I can see them. And as you can hear, Corporal, my German is perfect, so no games. Be assured my gun is at the back of your head.”

“Yes, Colonel.” The driver nodded nervously.

“Drive.”

He turned the car around and headed slowly back toward the main gate. No one seemed to take notice or come after them. Blum could see guards in the watchtowers behind machine guns, but their attention seemed directed toward the tracks, not the fancy officer's car below. There was a lot of activity ahead as the train had let off its cargo. Floodlights glaring, music playing. A festive Slavic dance. Guards barking orders. Blum could see a huge crowd, thousands, like a black wave, congested on the railway platform.

Likely none of them would be alive to see the light of the next day.

“Stop at the gate, as normal,” Blum instructed. His heartbeat began to pick up. He saw two or three guards manning the entrance. “And let me say again, one wrong word and it will be the last breath you ever take.”

“Yes. I hear you.” The driver nodded.

“Good.”

They slowed on the brick approach and pulled up to the front gate, the very one Blum had been brought through three days earlier. The clock on the tower read twelve oh eight. Another hour and a half or so until the plane was scheduled to land.
If
it would still land. Blum suddenly pushed back a tremor of concern, thinking how he and Mendl would not be there at the river as planned when the attack took place, twenty minutes from now. A guard stepped out of the guardhouse and came up to the Daimler. The driver rolled down his window. Blum pulled the action back on the Mauser so the driver could hear it. “Remember, I'm listening to every word.”

“Leaving so late?” the gate guard asked, with a look around the car.

“Back to Warsaw,” the driver said. “Urgent business, I'm afraid.”

“Herr Colonel…” the guard acknowledged, perfunctorily peering in the back.

Blum, sitting deep in the darkness of the rear seat, gave him a wave in return. The gun was hidden by the colonel's greatcoat draped over his arm.

His heart almost beat out of his chest.

“Well, watch out for the fog, then,” the guard said, and signaled the guardhouse. “It gets bad in the valley at night.”

“I will. Thanks,” the driver replied. The gate slowly rose and the guard stepped away.

Blum let out a deep exhale.

The Daimler pulled ahead. As they passed through, Blum glanced behind and watched the guard take his place back in the guardhouse. The gate lowered again. His heart began to resume its normal cadence.

He had spent three days inside the worst hell on this earth.

And now they were free.

 

SIXTY-NINE

Ackermann knew something was wrong as soon as he and Fromm approached the cellblock.

Whistles sounded. Guards were running all around, shouting. Lieutenant Kessler stood ashen in the doorway and came to attention as he approached.

“What has happened?” the Lagerkommandant asked, a nervous feeling grinding at his belly.

Kessler just motioned inside.

Ackermann stepped in. His jaw tightened sharply as he took a look around.

Franke was dead.
Impossible.
On the floor. A dark hole in his forehead. His eyes as wide as a two reichsmark coin.

And Scharf … He was sitting upright against the wall, looking as startled as a man can appear, two red holes in his chest and a trail of blood smeared where his body had slid.

Greta turned to him. In a blue print dress and raincoat. She was holding a gun.

“What's gone on here?” he said, aghast, though the answer was irrevocably clear.

“They're gone, Kurt. That what's gone on.” Greta smiled, though not with humor. “Your precious mole. His sister. Oh, and my little chess player. All gone. The professor…” Mendl sat in the chair with his head back, eyes blinking at long intervals, a large bloodstain on his stripes, muttering something. “He stayed with me.”

“What the hell is he saying?” Ackermann asked, not sure why he cared.

“He's speaking German, Kurt. You should understand. Something about ‘
Ist das wirklich so?
'”

“Is that really so?” Ackermann said, bewildered.

“Maybe he's as amazed as you are, Kurt, at what he sees.”

“Greta, put down the gun. Please.”

“No, Kurt. I won't.” Instead, she raised it at him.

Fromm went for his pistol, but Ackermann held his arm.

“I could kill you as well, Kurt. But why would that even matter now?” There was pleasure in her eyes and voice. “Your career is done. Everything you worked so hard for. All your precious numbers. And I don't even need to pull the trigger. You're already dead. As dead to them now as you are to me. Dead to everyone.”

Ackermann stared at her in horror and then slowly looked around. “Greta, what have you done?”

“What have
I
done?” She laughed. “The question is, Kurt, what is it
you
have done? What have you all done? They were people. Your precious numbers … Not digits, Kurt. They were mothers. Husbands. Little children. They had lives. Hopes. Just like we did once. People.”

“I did what I had to, Greta. If not me, someone else.” He took a step forward. “Fromm, go sound the alarm. I want those three brought back now.”

“Yes, Herr Lagerkommandant.” The aide slowly backed away to the door, aware of the gun in Greta's hands, which never shifted from her husband's chest. He hurried out.

“We're going to catch them, Greta. It will all be for naught. We'll catch them, and you already know what we will do to them. Now put down the gun.”

“I'm afraid I can't, Kurt. It's too late. We both know that. Not now. And one last, little thing, my darling husband … something you should know.”

“What is that, Greta?” He looked at her, rage building up in him. She was right. His career was ruined. Their lives. What else was there?

“You were right. I did fuck the little Jew.”

The Lagerkommandant's jaw twitched in anger.

“I let him do to me willingly what you had to force on me.”

He gritted his teeth. “Greta, give me the gun.”

The old man had stopped muttering. His head hung to the side. His mouth was open. But his eyes seemed clear. A last, deep exhalation came out of him.

He was gone.

“I think I know what he means, Kurt.
Ist das wirklich so?
Anyone who has lived in this hell would know. I think he sees his wife and daughter. As I now see something…”