The One Man (46 page)

“What do you see, Greta?”

“I see beyond this.You still have to believe in something. Even in this hell, right?”

“And what do you believe in, Greta?”

“What do I believe in…?” She smiled at him thinly. “I believe in the sky, Kurt. The big blue vastness of the sky.”

“Greta!”

She raised the gun to her head and squeezed the trigger.

After Greta's body slumped to the floor, she was able to lift herself up. She no longer felt bound by a place of ugliness and death. She walked right by Kurt, still staring in horror and disbelief, as if she wasn't there. The door was open. She went past the barracks, one after another, in their geometric sameness, and the grim, red-bricked crematorium. Guards running around. Past the bitter smell and the heavy cloud that always hung so low you could never see the blue behind it, even on clear days.

But now she could see the sky. Infinite and beautiful. She could see stars, galaxies. She could see all the way to a faraway place she had read about. Of grass and rivers and beauty. It all seemed so close, just up ahead of her. It made her smile. Through the mist. It was always just an arm's reach away, she thought. Always so close.

Just beyond the wire.

 

SEVENTY

“Head for the town of Rajsko,” Blum told the driver as soon as they were clear of the camp. The road sign said it was to the southeast, twelve kilometers. “Remember, there's still a gun to your head.”

“Please,” the young driver said. “I'll do what you say. Just don't shoot me. I was just married four months ago.”

“Then just drive. And two hands on the wheel. At all times.”

The drop location had been a field three kilometers south of the hamlet of Wilczkowice, and the landing site was on a farm road cleared just enough to accommodate the Mosquito a quarter mile to the north. Josef had pointed it out when he picked Blum up.

“What time do you have?” he asked the driver.

“Time? Zero zero fifteen hours, sir,” he answered, glancing behind.

The attack on the work crew was set to take place in fifteen minutes. The plane was well on the way. But when there would be no one at the river, Blum's fears now turned to whether it would even land at all. He only prayed there would still be people at the landing site. They had to clear the field and light the way. They would be in radio contact with the plane.

Now he just had to locate the site.

“What is the mileage, Corporal? On the odometer.”

“The mileage? Seventy-eight four two nine,” he read.

“Seventy-eight four two nine,” Blum repeated. “Thank you.” For the first time he sat back.

The road was dark; after midnight there was almost no one on it. He wondered how much of a head start they had until they were discovered. Until Greta Ackermann was discovered. At first the Germans wouldn't know for certain which direction they had taken. But they likely had checkpoints at each town, and, in a fancy Daimler, they would be spotted in a flash.

“Hit the lights,” Blum ordered the driver.

“But, sir, the road is dark. It's dangerous.”

“Trust me, not as dangerous as if you don't.” Blum put the gun to the back of the driver's head. “Hit the lights.”

The driver switched off the headlights.

Blum's thoughts went to Mendl and Ackermann's wife. He was probably dead by now; and she, who knew. He only prayed that what the professor said was true. That all he knew was safely locked away in Leo's brain. Everything depended on that now.

Rajsko, three kilometers.

“Slow down. We'll be making a left-hand turn up ahead.”

“A left? I thought you said you wanted to go to Rajsko.”

“There'll be a kind of mill on the right-hand side, and there should be a dirt road on the left. Take it. Go slow, or you'll pass it.” It was one of the back roads Josef had taken to avoid detection on his way to Brzezinka the night Blum arrived.

Up ahead, he suddenly saw headlights in the distance coming toward them. “Quick, pull off the road now.”

“Here, sir?”

“
Now!
In this gully to the right.” Blum put his gun to the driver's head again. “And don't even think of flashing your lights as they pass unless you want to make that new wife of yours a war widow.”

“Yes, sir.” The driver nodded. He swung the Daimler, its lights off now, into a clearing to the side of the road. The oncoming headlights grew brighter. Blum saw that it was a truck. Heading toward the camp. As it passed, his heart stood completely still. He leaned forward, the gun at the driver's head.

“Not a move.”

As it passed, Blum saw it was a troop truck—
filled
. He knew there was a detachment in Rajsko. So likely the word had gotten out. He held his breath as he watched the truck pass by and keep on going, its taillights fading into the night.

Blum let out a breath. “Okay, let's get going again. And keep your eyes out for that turnoff.”

They found the road and skirted the sleeping town. It wound past dark farms and cottages, their inhabitants asleep. The road was rutted and uneven, fit more for a farm truck or a tractor than a heavy Daimler built for cruising. He felt bad for what Leisa and Leo must be going through in the hatch.

Finally it let them out onto the main road again.

“Which way now?” the corporal asked.

“Left. Toward Wilczkowice.”

The driver took the turn, and for a few kilometers the only vehicle they came upon was a chemical truck heading east, likely for the IG Farben facility. Blum searched for anything even remotely familiar. There was nothing, but, to his joy, a couple of miles down they came up on the train crossing where the guards had stopped him and Josef three nights ago, now deserted and quiet. Blum knew he was on the right path. But now was where it began to get tricky. He, Josef, and Anja had been talking, and he hadn't paid attention to the way. It never occurred to him he'd need to find his way back. He knew he was looking for a back road, unpaved, off the main thoroughfare.
But where?
He passed a farm with a conical silo. Yes, he thought maybe he'd seen that before. Perhaps. “Keep going.”

Farther along, they passed a darkened farm road blocked by a fence.
“Stop!”

The driver applied the brakes.

“What is the mileage now?” Blum asked. “On the odometer?”

“Seventy-eight four fifty-one,” the driver read off.

They had driven twenty-two kilometers.
Fifteen miles.

This had to be the road.

“Get out, and pull back that gate,” Blum instructed him. “Make one move to run and I'll shoot you in the back. I don't need you now.”

“I won't. Don't. Please.”

“Hand me your gun.”

“I don't carry a gun,” the driver said. “I'm only a mechanic. See…” He lifted up his jacket. As he said, there was no gun strapped to his belt.

“Okay, then quickly.” Blum stepped out of the car with him. “The gate should unlatch.”

The corporal ran over, fumbled with the lock for a few seconds, then finally threw open the gate, all the time Blum keeping his gun trained on him. It was pitch dark. Blum wasn't 100 percent sure about the road. But the gate had to be the one Josef had flung open on their way to Brzezinka. They hadn't passed another that fit. And the mileage seemed correct.

“Now go back and open the hatch,” Blum instructed him.

“Okay,” the driver said, his palms raised to his shoulders. “Just don't shoot.” He opened the trunk of the car. Leo and Leisa peeked their heads out, uncertain.

“Where the hell are we?” Leo inquired.

“Close to where we need to be. Climb on out.”

Leisa looked around. “Is everything all right, Nathan? Do you know where we are?”

Blum gave her a positive wink to convey it was all okay.

“What do we do with him?” Leo said, speaking of the driver, who was starting to look at them with an anxious concern.

“We'll decide. For now, climb in. Leo, you're in front.”

They continued down the dark road, headlights on now. Blum focused at every stretch and turn, trying to find something that looked familiar to him. A barn. A farm gate. A sign.

Nothing.

“What's the time?” he asked the driver again.

“Zero zero forty,” he said.
Fifty minutes to landing.
If they missed the plane, it didn't matter if they were right or wrong. Or where they were. They had no other way to get home. There was the safe house back in Rajsko, but that would entail driving around in a vehicle every Nazi in Poland probably knew of by now. Plus, their escape plan had been infiltrated, that was clear. Who knew if the “safe” house was even still safe?

They suddenly came to a fork.

The driver turned around. “Which way?”

Three kilometers west of Wilczkowice,
Josef had said. “That way,” Blum said, pointing left.

Here, the road seemed to wind along a ridge of dense trees.

“How will the plane even land?” Leisa asked, looking around. “It's all forest here.”

“Hush!” Blum cautioned. He saw the driver's head turn.

“Are you sure of where you are?” Leo questioned from the front.

“I don't quite have your memory,” Blum said tersely, “but it is somewhere near.”

He damn well prayed it was.

They continued on, another mile or two. The night was so thick and dark they could see nothing but the glare of their own headlights and bugs smacking against the windshield, virtually blinding them. The Daimler bumped along the uneven path. A rabbit ran across in front of them. The driver stopped for it. Then a fence of wire blocking in a field that Blum thought perhaps he had seen before. Then a house in the distance, a dog barking. A hand-scrawled sign:
NIE WCHODZIC NA POLA
.
Keep off the fields.

His heart picked up. He was sure this was near where he had landed. “Pull up here.”

The Daimler came to a stop.

“This is it?” Leo looked around doubtfully. There was nothing. Nothing but fenced-in fields and more woods.

“It's close enough. Everyone get out.”

There wasn't a light or a landmark to fix on anywhere. Blum estimated they had driven at least two miles from the main road. The nearest dwelling was at least several hundred yards away.

The driver looked at them nervously, his hands raised.

“Now what?”
Leo turned to Blum, questioning.

Blum looked at the driver. “Now we deal with him.”

 

SEVENTY-ONE

“Give me your watch,” Blum instructed the driver.

“It belonged to my father,” the German protested.

“My apologies to him then. Mine was shot by the Nazis.” Blum waved his gun at him. “Come on now.”

The driver took the watch off and handed it over. It was ten of one. Forty minutes now.
If
the plane was still set to land. The attack would have already taken place on the camp work detail and the partisans would know that no one had come to meet them.

Blum's heart raced anxiously. He didn't see a sign of anyone around.

“So? What do we do with him?” Leo finally asked.

“He says he's just a mechanic,” Blum said.

“I am,” the driver insisted, overhearing the word “mechanic,” which was the same in Polish. He was maybe a year or two older than Blum, no more. With a new wife. If he was being truthful. His eyes kept flitting around, maybe searching for an escape route to take off on, if it became necessary.

“Well, he's heard things,” Leo said. “And mechanic or not, he's still got that eagle on his chest.” He pointed to his Abwehr insignia.

“It's just a uniform,” the driver pleaded to Blum, needing no translation. “I was drafted.”

“You two go on ahead.” Blum pointed to a dark clump of trees a couple of hundred yards away. “Wait there. I'll take care of him.”

“You have to kill him,” Leo said in Polish. “Or else he'll alert them all.”

“Maybe it's just as he said,” Leisa said, coming to the driver's defense.

Blum nodded. “You both go on. I'll catch up in a while.”

The driver was trying to figure out just what was being said and didn't seem to like what he was hearing.

Leo and Leisa started off through the deep grass toward the trees. Blum waited until they were fully out of sight.

“Please, I won't tell anyone,” the German pleaded, sensing what was happening. “I'm only a mechanic. They ordered me to make this drive. The uniform means nothing to me. They make me wear it. I don't believe in what they do.”

“Just walk.” Blum motioned with the gun. There was a spot of high grass under a tree. “Over there.”

“Please, I did what you asked. You said you would let me go. I won't tell a soul. I promise,” he begged nervously.

“You heard about the plane.”

“I didn't hear a thing. What plane? I don't speak a word of Polish. My wife's expecting in three months. Don't shoot me. Please…”

“I'm sorry. Bad things happen in war. No one told you? Move over there.” The driver took a step back. Blum knew what the right thing was to do. He remembered what Strauss and Kendry had asked him back in England, “Can you kill?”

I'm a soldier. Of course I can kill.

“On this mission it may mean the difference between life and death. You will have to do far worse than kill a cat.”

So do it then. Now.

The driver stood there, fear pooling in his eyes.

Blum said, “The Nazis murdered my father and my mother simply because they were near where one of their own was gunned down.” He tightened his finger on the trigger.

“I didn't do that,” the corporal pleaded. He looked into Blum's eyes. “Please.”