Bill stoked the dying fire and fished out another damp log from the bag. It had taken two whole newspapers and numerous slivers of wood to finally get the thing lit, and he wasn’t going to let it die now. He left the dry wood he had asked Irene to bring in a stack next to the canvas bag. Cigarettes and dry firewood are the two most valuable things in Berlin. Apart from a foreign agent in your custody. Particularly one you didn’t expect to find alive, let alone still in Germany.
“Been looking up old friends, have we, Klaus?”
Barbie just sat staring up at him through bloodshot, angry eyes. A trickle of blood had dried a brownish streak down his face.
“I know you killed our fiend with the moustache. Why? I have no idea, but you will tell us. If you don’t tell me now, you will tell the police later.”
“The police!” he croaked with incredulity. “You think the police are going to care about some degenerate? I’ve done the world a favour.”
Bill, of course, had no intention of taking him to the police. He would get him directly to Spandau and in a cell. There were things in his head that an interrogator would do almost anything to extract. Bill would almost feel sorry for him if he didn’t know this man better.
“Why him? There is a house full of homosexuals over the road, but I’m sure you know that. It wouldn’t have anything to do with this, would it?” Bill replied as he showed him the Nazi party membership badge recovered from the body. Barbie glared at him, breathing heavily. “Your friend, though, won’t be identified for quite some time. If at all, I’m afraid. You see, I recovered his ID.”
Bill pulled out the two differing ID documents and held them up for Barbie, who tried to lean forward to read them but stopped with a wince and sharp intake of breath.
“Are you in pain, Klaus?”
“You broke my arm.”
“It’s only dislocated. I’ll get someone to fix it for you. Eventually. Maybe.”
Bill moved over to the window and peered out to see the Russians’ stepped-up patrols were starting to dissipate into the misty darkness, like a fart in a picture house. He didn’t want to stay here much longer. Irene had got in without issue, but getting Barbie out quietly would be almost impossible with so many eyes watching.
“What is the plan here, Bill?” Irene asked. Her eyes widened as she looked out at the patrolling soldiers. She was still wearing her fur coat, with her white chiffon scarf tied tightly around and over her chin.
“It’s started to calm down out there now. So, we’ll wait for an opportunity, gag him and get him down to the car.”
“I wonder who you are?” Barbie remarked in French, coldly. “Do you realise the danger your friend here has put you in?”
Bill looked to an alarmed Irene and reassuringly shook his head. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”
“Thank you, Bill, but I don’t need protection. Not anymore. I have been through too much to be scared of bullies like him. He is a has-been. A never even was.” She turned to face Barbie and continued, “You are only a man. A small, twisted evil man, whose sick ideas are long dead and buried, like your awful politics.”
“Dead and buried?” he sneered. “You think our ideas are gone? On the contrary, National Socialism will live on. No longer allowed in the open, it has moved behind closed doors, in the minds of the righteous. Every time white European politicians meet, our ideas are docked in the safe harbour of their minds. Outwardly they will be every part the obedient servant of American Jewry. Still, they will drip-feed our ideas back into a hungry society, reawakening the centuries-old knowledge that we are the superior race. We have always been there, and we will always be there.”
Bill moved towards Barbie and grabbed him by the throat, pinning his head against the solid wall with a dull thud. He swept up his blade and held it barely millimetres from Barbie’s eye.
“One more mistimed remark or false move, and I will have your eye. The intelligence boys will still get what they need from the shrivelled corrupt mess you call a brain, and I will have my revenge. The revenge for all the people you killed.”
Barbie stared back into Bill’s eyes. Bill saw there was nothing. Just empty, endless pools of evil. The man was so filled with hate. It had consumed him entirely. Cutting his throat might even be a kindness.
“What of your friends, I wonder. Violette? Yes, that was her name. She was a fighter. She took down six men before they captured her. One died of his wounds. Yes, a real warrior. Not like you. We picked the three of you with no real trouble. What became of her, I wonder?”
“You know exactly what happened to her.” Bill’s blood was drumming in his ears in some ancient tribal rhythm. Like druids marching to some death beat towards a waiting human sacrifice.
“Au contraire, I have no clue what became of her, but I hope she survived. A spy she may be, but she told us what we needed. I’m not some kind of monster, you know, no matter what you think of me. I persuaded Ernst to let you all live. Our methods may have been,” he paused, searching for the right word, “unorthodox. But we had no desire to add to your misery any more than we had to.”
“Not a monster? Do you think we don’t know about what you did in Holland or the thousands you sent to their death from Lyon? Your repulsive ideas and your charlatan Führer are extinct.”
“Those were not people, Mr Hoffmann. They were merely Jews.”
Bill gritted his teeth and clasped the handle of his blade tightly. It was all he could do not to stick the thing in Barbie’s neck.
“Don’t listen to him, Bill. It will only cause more pain. The man’s a beast, and they will hang him.”
Bill grabbed the spare rope and used it as a gag around Barbie’s head. He pulled tightly, hoping it might cut off the thoughts in his brain from reaching his mouth.
“Do you think he knew we were in Berlin?” Jack asked as they walked out of the main doors of the prison.
“I have no idea. I tried to reason with him or get some decent intelligence one final time, but I wasn’t focused. Anger was getting the better of me. With Irene there, having to look into that monster’s eyes. I shouldn’t have involved her.”
“You had little choice. If you hadn’t got him out of there, or the Russians had arrested you, it would be you getting interrogated and tortured now, instead of him, and we both know who deserves it more.”
They strolled along the cobblestone-paved wide road that led out onto Wilhelmstrasse. Either side were sentry posts. A British military policeman waved to them as they left.
“Cheerio, chaps. Mind how you go.”
“Thanks, goodbye,” Jack replied.
Spandau Prison was barely seventy years old but similar to the old Police HQ in Alexanderplatz. It was curiously built in mock-medieval style out of red brick. Its looming towers and portcullis archway had a formidable appearance. Bill looked up at one of the watchtowers that made up part of the perimeter wall and nodded to the marksman that manned it. The soldier smiled back. About a hundred yards farther, they were through the chainlink and razor-wire fence that marked the outer boundary of the complex. Taking a left turn, they headed back towards Jack’s car.
“It’s starting to add up. The cards that Misselwitz was handing out,” Bill said, handing it to Jack for added effect, despite him having seen it before.
You have a friend at St.Bernhardt Church. All sins cleansed. Escape in the arms of our Lord.
Bill added, “You have a friend at the church.”
“Father Lardy, right?”
“I guess so. Plus, we know the sins. Being ex-SS, having worked in any capacity, administrative or otherwise, is tantamount to being a war criminal in the eyes of all the allies.”
“Then, who is the Lord?”
“Misselwitz? We know he is arrogant enough to compare himself to the almighty.”
“Fine, so, if the victim was on board for a long ride on this ratline, why did Barbie kill him? We already know coincidences don’t happen.” Jack unlocked the car, got in, and then leaned over and unlocked Bill’s side.
“Because he was a queer, I guess? Maybe they had already set him up to leave the city, and with Barbie tailing him to ensure he wasn’t a snitch, he made one final visit to Anna’s pretty boys. Barbie realised what he was and so took him out.”
“So, a crime of passion? He had no idea previously?” Jack asked, not entirely buying it.
“Who knows? I guess the Intelligence chaps will get the truth. They can be very persuasive.”
“Yes, so I’ve heard.”
“The only thing bugging me is that the new ID card would only get them so far. It might be good enough to get them on a train out of Berlin into one of the allied-controlled areas to the West, but how long would the cover last? Someone would be bound to recognise them eventually.”
“There must be another ratline out of the country somewhere. Didn’t they find one getting ex-SS officers out to Argentina from somewhere?”
Jack started up the engine and eagerly awaited some warm air. Bill started to fill the bowl of his pipe. He struck a match and, stopping briefly to light his pipe, looked up at the vast prison.
“At least one. This would be a first for Berlin, though. If you were a Nazi, would you hang around in this city? You’d likely want to get as far from the Russians as possible.”
“You don’t have to be a Nazi to want that.”
“But Misselwitz hangs around the city with his old comrade Barbie, reminiscing about old times, plotting world domination and maiming small animals, or whatever Nazis do, then decides to set up a fake ID operation and runs a ratline to get the old SS alumni out of the city? Why wouldn’t he just get out of Dodge and set himself and Barbie up with a new life somewhere?”
“All good questions. All of which I have no clue about. However, I have some more details about our man in the Jeep crash. Albie’s colleague said he remembered him. He had served in an army unit in the war, driving supplies to the Eastern Front. Ukraine, or somewhere. Anyway, our crash victim was an SS captain, in charge of some kind of anti-partisan operation out there. He gave me his name.” Jack found his notebook and, pulling out the top page, read aloud, “Grüning. He said he couldn’t remember ever knowing his first name, but he had to report to him several times over about a month to sign over ammunition resupplies. He was certain it was him. The autopsy confirms it, as Albie’s guy at the mortuary also photographed his blood group tattoo under his arm.”
“So, we have two dead ex-Nazis. Sergeant Pheonix, the Tempelhof guard, said he and another guy saw the Jeep veer off the road and crash. He didn’t notice Misselwitz but said there were some civilians around.”
“But we know he was there from the photo and interview.”
“Correct.”
“And, there are no coincidences.”
“Right.”
“Still doesn’t get us much closer to finding where he is, does it?”
“No, but at least we know what he’s up to. I have the moustache man’s ID documents. I’ll get Albie to hunt through old news reports, anything that might give us some more info on him or this Grüning. There must be a link other than what we already know. Maybe they knew each other?”
“Maybe. I believe the Nazis burned most of the military records. But I agree it’s worth a try.”
“Once we get back, drop in and see Apolonia. Anna said she has been pining for you,” Bill said, laughing.
“I’m afraid she only really misses the marks, not the man. But, I’ll go and see her all the same.”