In the end, it had been easy. The Juden thought they were so clever. Karl was surprised no one had thought of it before. The intelligence report had led him to a small village to the north. He had interrogated the informant who knew which of the town’s residents was trading with the Juden. Maksym Shevchenko. It had not taken much to find out where this man lived, and drive the short distance to his house. No matter that it was the wee hours of the morning. No matter that he had been demoted. He was still a captain of the gestapo, which Shevchenko would do well to respect.

As soon as the peasant walked out onto the porch, Von Duesen could sense his fear. Shevchenko wore a straw hat, which he removed and worked nervously in his hands. His wife followed him, and though Shevchenko tried to order her back inside, she refused and clutched his arm.

“Guten Tag, Herr Shevchenko,” Von Duesen called out. Good day. He would not do them the courtesy of speaking Ukrainian. The man and his wife nodded, but did not reply.

“I am looking for two men. I understand you trade with them.”

“Nein.” The man shook his head.

“Are you certain? I have this information on very good authority.”

“Nein, mein captain,” the man said. “I know of no such men.”

Von Duesen sighed. It was nearly dawn. Inside the house he could see the warm glow from a lantern. He had probably interrupted their breakfast.

“Are you certain, Herr Shevchenko?” he asked again.

“Ja,” the man said.

Von Duesen pulled the Luger from his belt. He pointed it at Shevchenko’s wife and shot her in the thigh. She fell to the ground, her screams so high-pitched and agonizing that it was actually painful to Von Duesen’s ears. Shevchenko dropped to his knees, his hands pressing on her thigh to try and stop the bleeding. He cursed the captain as the woman continued her keening wail. The noise was giving Von Duesen a headache.

“Tell her to be quiet or I will shoot her again,” he said calmly.

The man sobbed as he spoke quietly to his wife, who tried valiantly to silence herself.

“Now. The men—where do they come from? They want for supplies for more than two people. Where are they hiding?”

“Mein captain,” the man pleaded. “I do not know. Please. Please!”

Von Duesen shot the wife in the right elbow. She screamed again, and to Von Duesen’s relief she passed out, her blood pouring out of her and staining the porch. Shevchenko begged Von Duesen for mercy.

“If you do not tell me what I want to know, the next shot will be between her eyes.”

Shevchenko was breathing so heavily he could barely speak. “No. No, please. Please, mein captain! I will tell you what I know. I have heard rumors only. The men, they bring scrap metal, which I can sell. They say nothing about where they come from or where they find the scrap. We trade and then they leave.”

Von Duesen raised the Luger, pointing it at the woman’s face.

“Say your good-byes. I will kill your wife, but I will leave you alive, to mourn, and to remind you how stupid you are. Your wife will die because you chose to protect a group of Jewish dogs instead of her.”

“No, mein captain,” Shevchenko pleaded. He put himself between the gun and his wife. “I do not know for certain! As I said, I have heard rumors. There is a place called the Priest’s Grotto. It is not far from here. It is a large cave. I have heard that the Jews hide there. Only the men come out and only at night.”

Von Duesen lowered the Luger to his side and returned it to his holster. He pulled the map from inside his uniform jacket and spread it open on the hood of his truck.

“Show me where it is.”

From there, it had been so simple. Von Duesen had gone to the Priest’s Grotto. And he had found exactly whom he was looking for.