Young Lions (25 page)

Zorn nodded. “One minute only.” He looked at his watch.

Halder saluted.

Four S.S. musclemen dressed in standard issue physical training uniform charged screaming into the cell.

“Why aren’t they wearing their uniforms?” Ulrich asked.

Zorn raised a finger to his lips and smiled.

Halder closed the door as he reentered the cell. Zorn and Ulrich watched through the spy hole as the prisoner collapsed beneath an avalanche of kicks, punches and pickaxe handles.

“Are you sure that this is absolutely necessary?” Ulrich asked Zorn with wide and bulging eyes.

“This is nothing, Ulrich. This is just part of the softening up process. Wait until the Gestapo turn up with their pliers and blow torches.”

Ulrich was violently sick in the corridor.

Zorn looked at his watch again. Precisely one minute after the musclemen had entered the cell they reemerged. Their P.T. uniforms were completely saturated in blood.

The suspect lay in a bruised and bloodied heap in the center of the cell. Ulrich involuntarily wretched at the odour of faeces, urine and vomit that assaulted his senses. He upchucked again in the corridor. The prisoner had lost control of his bodily functions and lay in a rank pool of his own mess.

“Ulrich. Pull yourself together,” Zorn said to him in disgust. “It’s our turn now. Listen to me, Ulrich. You will translate everything that I say, word for word. Understand?”

Ulrich nodded as he wiped the last few globules of sick on his sleeve.

Zorn asked a guard for two chairs, a dish of warm water, a couple of pillows, as many bandages as he could lay his hands on and an S.S. medical orderly. When the chairs appeared Zorn and Ulrich sat down. Zorn beckoned the orderly inside the cell and told him to attend to the suspect’s wounds. The medic’s hands were shaking as he cleaned the prisoner’s injuries. He had never seen the horrific injuries which were the result of a man being tortured before.

“Don’t be afraid, Mr….?” Zorn said gently.

The suspect remained silent. Ulrich could hear him painfully suck in air through his damaged lungs.

“No matter…introductions can come later.” Zorn said. “Who is responsible for inflicting these terrible wounds?”

“You know fine well who’s responsible…” the prisoner rasped through bruised and broken ribs. “Your…your animals…” The orderly began to gently remove the man’s bloody rags.

“My ‘animals?’” Zorn’s eyebrows raised in mock surprise. “You mean Obersturmfuhrer Halder?”

The suspect nodded. The medic began to wash his wounds.

“Halder!” Zorn bellowed. “Get in here at the double!”

Halder appeared at the cell door.

“Is this the man responsible for hurting you?” Zorn asked as he pointed at Halder.

The prisoner nodded.

“Obersturmfuhrer Halder!” Zorn barked. “We are soldiers, not savages!”

Halder came to attention. “Yes, sir.”

“We are members of the most civilized and highly developed race on the surface of the planet.”

“Yes, sir.”

“This barbaric treatment will cease immediately. You will report to me tomorrow morning for punishment. Dismissed!”

Halder saluted, about turned and marched away.

“Thank… thank you,” the suspect said through lacerated lips.

“You’re very welcome.” Zorn bowed graciously. “Now. Where were we, Mr…?”

“Mair. David Mair.” The orderly continued to clean his wounds with the warm water.

“You understand that in order for me to help you, you will have to help me.” Zorn was the very voice of reason.

Mair nodded. The medic started to wrap his wounds in clean bandages.

“I’m going to ask you a few simple, straight forward questions. All I ask of you is to give me simple, straight forward answers.”

Mair nodded.

“Are you now or have you ever been a member of the terrorist organization known as the British Resistance?” Zorn asked.

“No.”

“Do you know anyone who is presently or has ever been a member of the British Resistance?”

“No.”

“Has anyone ever contacted you with the express purpose of recruiting you for the Resistance?”

“No.”

Ulrich waited to translate Zorn’s next question. But it never came. The orderly continued to dress Mair’s injuries. He was treating him with the same care as he would treat a German.

At length Zorn sighed and stood up. “I’m sorry, Mr.Mair.” He shook his head and tutted with feigned disappointment. “I’ve tried to help you, but you haven’t tried to help me. You haven’t tried to help yourself. You’ve given me nothing.” Zorn walked over to the dish of now tepid water which the medic had been using and began to wash his hands like Pontius Pilot before Jesus.

“There’s nothing more that I can do for you, Mr. Mair.” Zorn said with resignation. “Hauptsturmfuhrer Ulrich? Rottenfuhrer?” he addressed the orderly. “Come on. We’re leaving.”

The medic looked up at Zorn with a half unrolled bandage in his hand. “But I’m not finished yet, sir,” he protested.

“You might not be, but he is,” Zorn said as he left the cell. “Obersturmfuhrer Halder?”

“Yes, sir?” Halder had been standing outside the cell the whole time.

“Send in the animals again. Two minutes this time.”

The interrogation continued throughout the morning and into the afternoon. Halder and Zorn alternating their questioning of Mair. However, Mair said nothing.

“I don’t think that your ‘Good cop, Bad cop’ routine is working, Sturmbannfuhrer,” Ulrich said.

Zorn detected a hint of smugness in Ulrich’s tone, but he decided to ignore it. There was more than one way to skin a goat. “I hate to admit it, Ulrich. But you may be right,” he admitted.

“What if he doesn’t know anything?” Ulrich was desperate for the torture to stop.

“My dear Ulrich. Some people may find your youthful naivety an endearing feature of your character. I merely find it annoying. If Mair truly did not know anything then he would’ve given us a name just to stop the torture.”

“So what next?” Ulrich asked rhetorically. He already knew the answer: the torture would continue.

Zorn tapped the side of his nose with his finger. “I’ve got one more trick up my sleeve.” He grinned. “If this doesn’t work then I’ll resign my commission and join the Vienna Boys’ Choir.”

Ansett sat back on a chair in the underground bunker. He was stunned. He was speechless. He was flabbergasted. He had just decoded the latest message from Edinburgh. He could not believe the instructions that he had been given. As if their original mission had not been hard enough. He had passed on the information that he had been given the night before to Edinburgh and he had eagerly awaited their response. But never in his wildest dreams or more accurately, never in his wildest nightmares had he envisaged such a response. Not only was he uncertain about how he felt about the new orders, but also he was not sure how he and his two fighting groups would be able to achieve them. That was if he actually managed to organize two fighting groups in time. He was due to meet Mair tomorrow. Mair only had one day to recruit the fourth member. If he had failed to do so, considering the new orders, Ansett didn’t know what he would do. The St. George’s Day Visit was rapidly turning from a mission improbable into a mission impossible.

“Mr. Mair, can you hear me?” Zorn asked. “Mr. Mair?” Zorn shook Mair by the shoulder. For the first time he was concerned about the extent of Mair’s injuries. There was a very real possibility that the beatings that he had suffered might have rendered him deaf, if not both deaf and dumb. Zorn wiped his blood-soiled hand on Mair’s rag covered shoulder. “Christ!” He swore. “Don’t tell me that those mindless muscle bound brutes have killed him!”

Mair groaned. He was slowly coming to. He had no idea where he was or what day it was. He couldn’t remember why he had been captured and tortured. He probably couldn’t even remember his name.

“Mr. Mair,” he heard the voice say, “There are two people here who would like to speak to you.”

“Daddy!”

“Oh my God! What have they done to you?”

Mair recognized the two voices. Then he identified them. Jesus Christ, he said to himself, what have I done? Why did I want to be a hero?

Soldiers formed a human barricade at the door and prevented Anne and Sarah from entering the cell.

Zorn knelt down beside Mair and whispered in his ear. “Mr. Mair, I told you that if you helped me than I would help you…Obersturmfuhrer Halder has your wife and daughter. I’ve done everything that I can to help you… but if you don’t help me now then I’ll have no choice but to hand Anne and Sarah over to Halder and his friends.”

“You…you bastard!” Mair spat out a globule of blood and teeth.

“Give me something…anything,” Zorn urged. “Give me two names. Give me two names and you will join your wife and daughter.”

Mair started to cry. He had done enough. He had done his best. He was willing to risk all for the cause. Give up his life if necessary. But not the life of his wife and daughter. Not Sarah and Anne.

Chapter Twenty
 

The man was walking down the High Street to the Town Square when they took him. An S.S. Staff car screeched to a halt in front of the man and another one skidded to a stop behind him effectively trapping him and blocking off any escape route. The arrest took place on the High Street in full view of the public. There was no attempt to disguise it. On the contrary, the S.S. wanted the good townsfolk of Hereward to know that they were not safe. They could be arrested at anytime and anywhere. Nowhere was unreachable. No one was untouchable. The S.S. snatched the man on the High Street to put the fear of God into anyone who was unlucky enough to witness. Word of the arrest would spread as would the fear of arrest.

Zorn and Halder put the man through exactly the same routine as they put Mair. Halder and his men were particularly keen to take out their frustration on being denied the fruits of their prior interrogation. Zorn and Halder carried on with their ‘good cop, bad cop’ routine.

The man grit his teeth through the pain. During a brief respite he tried to think. Who had betrayed him? MacDonald? No. He had recruited him more than two weeks ago. MacDonald had had ample time to betray him. He would have done it by now. Anyway, the boys had vouched for him and MacDonald himself had lied and put his neck on the line to protect them. What about the man whom MacDonald had recruited? No. He had recruited him more than one week ago and for the S.S. to get to Ansett then they would’ve had to get to MacDonald first. But he had seen MacDonald on duty when the S.S. had dragged him in that evening. And he was very much alive and kicking. So it wasn’t MacDonald or the man whom he had recruited. So it had to be Mair. But he had also been recruited more than two weeks ago. He also had had ample time to betray him. So it wasn’t Mair. Who was it? Where was I going when they arrested me? He gritted his teeth and tried to think clearly through the clouds of pain that circled his head. I can’t remember. Christ, they were coming for him again…

“What can we use against him?” Zorn asked himself as he scratched his chin.

Mair. I was going to see Mair. He was going to tell me whether or not he had recruited the fourth member of the group.

Mair had not betrayed him. The fourth man had betrayed him, just as the fourth man had betrayed Mair. Mair had been captured. He had been tortured until he confessed. Mair was probably in the cells right now. Or dead. Yes, Ansett decided. He was probably dead. The S.S. would’ve had no use for Mair once they’d squeezed all of the information out of him.

Halder appeared later that evening.

“Mr. Ansett, you have some visitors…” Zorn ushered Ansett’s guests into the cell.

“Mr. Ansett…is that you?”

Ansett recognized the voice. Charlie Bratten…eight years old…the youngest boy in Cromwell Boarding House.

“Mr. Ansett, what have they done to you?” George Hemphill asked. At nine years old, he was the second youngest boarder.

“You …you bastards!” Ansett growled.

“Give me what I want, Mr. Ansett,” Zorn said as he crouched down beside him.

“Mair…Mair…David Mair,” Ansett groaned. I’ll give you him because you have him already.

“Good.” Zorn stood up with a smile on his face. “Now, we’re getting somewhere.” He turned to face Ulrich. “We have Ansett.” He pointed at his prisoner with an unlit cigar. “We have Mair.” He lit up, “and we also have the other man that Mair named, Mason.” Zorn was not worried about naming names in front of Ansett. Ansett would never have the opportunity to reveal those names. The only way which he would be leaving the Police station would be in a body bag.

Ansett jerked at the mention of the third name, but neither Zorn nor Ulrich noticed. They were too busy playing detective.

“The Resistance operates in four man cells. So we’re looking for one other name…” Zorn was thinking aloud.

“Cut a deal, Zorn,” Ulrich urged. “You have two boys here. He’s given you one name. Release the youngest boy as a gesture of goodwill.”

Zorn bit down on his cigar. “I hate to admit it, Ulrich, but that’s not a bad idea.” He extracted the cigar from his mouth and pointed it at Halder. “Obersturmfuhrer Halder?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Drive young Charlie Bratten back to Cromwell and then return.”

Halder saluted and left.

Zorn turned back towards his prisoner. “Mr. Ansett, I’ll offer you a deal. One name per child. Charlie Bratten is already on his way home.”

Ansett did not reply.

“Mr. Ansett?”

No response.

Zorn was seized by a sudden feeling of panic. Don’t tell me that he’s dead. Don’t tell me that we’ve killed him. And we were doing so well.

“Medic! Shake him awake!”

The medic shook the crumpled heap lying on the floor. He shook his head. “It’s no use, sir. He’s unconscious. He’s passed out.”

“Verdamnt!” Zorn swore. He stood up from his chair. “Alright. What’s the time?” He looked at his wristwatch. “Eight o’clock. I’m starving.” Zorn patted his belly. “Medic, when Obersturmfuhrer Halder returns kindly tell him that Hauptsturmfuhrer Ulrich and I have nipped out for a bite to eat, a shower and a change of clothes. Tell him that we’ll return sometime after 10 p.m. He’s not to touch him whilst we’re away. Understand?”