Godunov looked astonished at the two boys when they entered his office.
“I did not expect to see you, Harold, but it seems that Karl wants you involved. So it is fine with me.”
He was in his chair behind his desk and waived at the boys to take a seat.
“Before we start I have some good news and some not so good news for you, Harold.” He looked intently at his protégé. Harold braced himself for the bad part of the news.
“I found more information about your father. We knew that he was being held captive in Spandau but now we also know that he is well and in good shape. The not so good news is that he has been classified as a political prisoner. As a German civilian official he will be tried for war crimes. At this time I don’t know where the war crime tribunal will be held but I am told that it will not be in Berlin.”
He locked eyes with Harold and saw the questioning look. “No, Harold, I am sorry. I am unable to get him out of Spandau. There is an agreement between the four super powers that all the German political prisoners will be under a joint guard. This means that there are French, British, US and Soviet guards on duty. I have no power to override them or to make a deal with them.”
The Kommissar pushed himself back a bit from his desk, pulled out a side drawer and rested his legs on top of it.
“Herr Godunov, how severe and how long do you expect the prison terms to be?” Karl ventured a question on behalf of his friend.
“I am told that none of the political prisoners will be delegated to labor camps. Supposedly, they will remain in German prisons. As to the terms, I have no idea. But my guess is that the minimum term will be in excess of five years for the most benign cases and the worst will be death by hanging.”
“But, my father is not a criminal. He was only in charge of food and material distribution. If anything, he should get a medal for keeping order in the supply chain.” Harold’s eyes were moist as he voiced his protest.
Godunov studied the boy for a moment and then slowly proceeded to answer.
“Harold, if the Germans would have won the war your father might have received a medal, however, since the Germans are the losers he will probably be found guilty of a war crime.”
Karl felt sorry for his friend and tried to think of something positive to say.
“Look at the bright side of it, Harold. If it would not have been for the Kommissar you would still not know the whereabouts of your father or that he is even alive. Now, you not only know that he is well but you also know that he will not be sent to a labor camp in Russia.”
Harold wiped his eyes. “Thank you Herr Godunov for bringing me the news.” His voice was steady and he silently thanked his friend for pointing out the good part of the message.
“But, may I ask how you found out about him?” he addressed the Kommissar.
“That was easy, Harold. You told me that your father had been evacuated from Berlin with some other civilian government officials. After I found your mother, I persisted in getting information about the male detainees.” He reached for a plain piece of paper and a pen. “Here, take this and when you are alone, write a cheerful note to your father telling him that you are uninjured and well. Do not tell him about your mother. I cannot promise you anything except that I will endeavor to get this message to him.”
Harold thanked him again and kept quiet as the Kommissar turned his attention to Karl.
“You told me about your values and that you do not kill. You were very adamant about it. I believe you. However, you know that I want the Zampolit Kozlov dead and a few minutes ago you offered to assist me. Please tell me what you intend to do.”
Karl had several ideas and answers to this question but first, he wanted to know more about Kozlov.
“You told me that Sodbileg Kozlov is a well-connected Zampolit and that this is the reason you are unable to eliminate him yourself. I never heard of a Zampolit. Could you please explain?”
“Of course, Karl. A Zampolit is like me, a political officer. His title infers that he is a deputy commander. He is on the career path of the Communist party and not subject to the military command.”
“Then what is the difference between a Zampolit and a Pompolit?” Karl wanted to know.
“Not much of a difference; we are both party men, except that a Zampolit acts as a deputy and is required to wear a military uniform while a Pompolit is tasked with the overall party protocol and is allowed to wear civilian clothing in a peacetime environment.”
“You also indicated to me that this Kozlov is an incompetent drunk and his only claim to fame are his untouchable connections to Moscow,” Karl continued.
“It is not so much that he is a drunk than what he does when he is in a stupor. He is directly responsible for countless murders and rapes besides making up trumped up charges to have his opponents sent to political prisoner labor camps in Siberia. Even his associates will breathe easier when he ceases to exist.”
While Karl was evaluating what he had heard, Harold suddenly showed interest in the conversation. He could not help but join in. “I think that I understand. You don’t want Karl to shoot the man. You just want him dead.”
Godunov did not answer him directly but nodded his head in agreement.
“I also assume from your previous remarks that you need complete and absolute deniability since the rape of your daughter could possibly be linked to the sudden demise of Kozlov.”
“This is correct, Harold. Any suggestions?”
“Nothing. Not a single thing. You just confirmed that you want complete deniability. Therefore, I suggest nothing. But, I recall that you told us that the City Commander of Berlin, Colonel General Berzarin, invited you to a belated victory celebration in a few days. Will the Zampolit participate?”
“I know the party is scheduled for the day after tomorrow and it will only be for a select group of officers. Due to Kolovos position I think that it is a given that he will be invited.”
“Will you be allowed to bring your guards with you?”
“Not only allowed, it will be expected of me. But none of them will participate in the festivities. Their presence will be strictly for security,” Godunov confirmed.
“Perfect,” beamed Harold, “now please tell me where this Zampolit’s headquarters is located.”
“He seemed to have stayed only one night in Potsdam where he raped my daughter. He is presently occupying a small estate in a suburb of Berlin called Gatov.” Godunov pulled a small map from a shelf and opened it on the desk.
“We visited Gatov once on a work detail,” Karl remembered.
“Yeah,” agreed Harold. “We don’t need a map. Gatov is very small and I can only think of one particular place that could possibly qualify as an estate.”
“Kind of strange that a high ranking victorious officer is holed up in this out of the way area,” Karl remarked.
“No, not really,” disagreed the Kommissar. “A few weeks ago the Zampolit stayed at a decrepit area by Warsaw. It was similar last year in Hungary. He likes small out of the way places to entertain his friends with female prisoners. He could not do this in the middle of a city where his orgies might be subjected to interruptions.”
Harold studied the map. It was an old outdated edition, showing the greater area of Berlin. Gatov was only a name on it, close to the town of Spandau without any details of the surroundings.
“This does not tell me much,” he said to the Kommissar and pushed the map away.
“Thinking back I remember enough of the village. Besides, I don’t need to see the place anyway.” Harold smiled at his friend. “I need a few minutes to talk with you before you visit with your father.”
Karl was glad that the meeting was coming to an end before he had to give the Kommissar any assurances.
“May we be excused until tomorrow? He looked at Godunov, who was equally anxious to spend the remainder of the evening with his daughter. He was already thinking how he could feasibly assure her safety. Maybe he could use his influence to separate her from her unit. Now that the war was over, he could possibly dismiss her from active duty and send her back for advanced studies to the Moscow Institute of Medicine.
Then again, he knew his daughter. If she was bent on revenge it would be very difficult for him to convince her to go back to Russia. His only practical solution was to eliminate Kozlov before his daughter decided to take matters into her own hands. He had hoped that Karl would jump at the opportunity to take a shot at a Russian officer. The thought that the HJ-trained sniper might have moral values never occurred to him. Fortunately it seemed that Harold, who was bent on avenging his mother anyhow, did not share Karl’s scruples.
“I will see you tomorrow morning. I still have the American Jeep at my disposal and I will instruct Poti to stand by if you want to travel to Gatov.”
Although Harold was opening the door, Karl hesitated for a moment. “How is your daughter doing, Herr Godunov?” he wanted to know.
“She is resting comfortably. Thank you for asking, Karl.”
The Pompolit liked the boys. He had no friends who would have bothered to inquire about the health of his daughter. All he had were some good associates. Good, but not close enough that he would trust them with his personal difficulties.
“Do you still have some of your Argentine miracle wound ointment? Anna might need it,” he asked Karl.
The boy reached in his shirt pocket and handed the Kommissar a small vial with an oily substance. “You only need three or four drops and don’t forget to dilute it with vegetable oil. Apply it directly to the wound.”
“Thank you, Karl. Go and enjoy the visit with your father. I will see you tomorrow at 7:00 AM.”
*****
“Do you want some time alone with your dad?” Harold asked as the boys walked through the hallway to their room.
“No, thank you, Harold. I don’t need any privacy and I think that we should enjoy this evening together.”
He stopped and faced his friend. “You wanted to ask me something or talk with me before we see my dad.”
“Yeah, I will make it short. I’d like to take care of Godunov’s problem.”
“What do you mean by take care of?”
“Come on Karl, don’t act so stupid. I might have used the wrong words, but I know that you would never kill anyone and also that you would never be an accomplice to an assassination.”
“But you would?” Karl studied his friend, not quite sure what to make of Harold’s offer. He had thought that they shared the same values. Obviously he was wrong.
“No, not directly anyway. But I can think of a way to keep Godunov and us completely out of it. And still, the Zampolit will get what he deserves.”
“Alright, let’s hear what you’ve got.” Karl was curious.
“No, Karl, you don’t need to know any of this. Just cover for me tomorrow because I will need the Jeep and Poti for a few hours. Please don’t worry about me. Nothing will happen during that time.”
“So, we are back to our old routine. One of us gets the job done while the other one is not allowed to ask questions,” Karl summed it up.
“Exactly,” confirmed Harold.
“Hmm, I don’t know. Really, I don’t know, Harold.” Karl tried to envision what his friend had in mind.
“What exactly is causing you to hesitate?” Harold asked patiently. “I don’t ask for anything and it always worked between us before.”
“Yes, I know. But this time it’s different than confiscating a motorcycle or obtaining medicine or food. This time we are talking about a human life.”
“Alright then. I’ll step back and you tell me your plan.”
It seemed to Karl as if his friend was serious. “That’s just it; I don’t have a plan, yet. I am unable to think of anything except how to get my father away from the Soviet-controlled area to the Western Allies.”
“Then that’s it,” announced Harold. “You concentrate on a strategy to get your father to your mother and then, like always, you will also find a solution for the Kommissar’s situation.”
“So, we are clear then?” Karl wondered about his friend’s apparent change of mind.
“Yes we are. Nonetheless, if Godunov’s problem gets solved in the meantime then he is happy and you have no obligations.”
Karl understood and knew when to back off. “I already know how to cover for you tomorrow,” he said as he opened the door to their room.
*****
Herr Veth had discarded his old uniform and looked almost refreshed in the civilian clothes. The only odd things on him were the badly worn German army boots. Karl made a mental note to remedy this as soon as possible.
While Herr Veth had made a list of questions which he now consulted - after all he was a pedantic engineer - Karl had almost none. He was just joyful to see his father alive and well. As he listened to his father’s recollection of the past year, his mind was occupied with the question of how to reunite his father with his mother. In order to achieve this he had to more or less smuggle his father through the Soviet-controlled zone and then through the western zone to Westphalia. He knew that the Soviet occupation zone was supposed to end on the Elbe River, about 160 Kilometers (100 miles) west of Berlin. But he knew nothing about the Western Allies other than the fact that they didn’t ship their prisoners of war to Russia. Maybe they shipped them to America, but this did not sound as threatening as Siberia.
So he fielded his father’s questions about the last few months and only now and then added one of his own. He gathered that his father’s Volkssturm unit - Hitler’s final call to arms, regardless of age - had not been engaged in the defense of Berlin. His regiment had been surrounded by the Belorussian armies near the Spreewald (a small river forest, outside of Berlin) and surrendered after they had run out of ammunition. This was about six weeks ago and luckily for his father the Soviets had still taken prisoners. Since then they had been kept in POW camps where they were fed one meal a day and were forced to sleep under the open sky. Nearly a week ago they had been transported to Berlin where his regiment was divided into future labor brigades waiting for their final deportation to Russia.
Herr Veth was still unable to fully comprehend his sudden freedom and repeated over and over his questions regarding his son’s relationship with the political Kommissar. In spite of Harold’s earlier explanations, there were many gaps which needed clarification.
“How did you obtain your position with the Pompolit?” he asked his son again. It must have been at least the fifth time.
Karl saw that his answers were insufficient for his father. At least at the present time. He decided on a question of his own: “You don’t think of me and Harold as traitors, do you?”
His father shook his head. “No, not at all but I still don’t understand how the Kommissar feels he owes you my freedom.”
“Well, Pappa, I don’t know either. Our relationship is not normal, I know that much. It just evolved to the present state and this is the reason why I want to leave with you as soon as possible. Do you by any chance have any friends between here and Detmold in Westphalia where Mother is waiting for us?”
Herr Veth did not have to think before answering that question. He had no friends or relatives outside of Berlin. It was his wife who had relatives in Detmold.
“Is Harold coming with us?” he asked. Karl hesitated for a second and decided on a simple answer.
“No. Harold’s father is in a political prison in Spandau. So he will be waiting for him here, in Berlin.” He didn’t tell his father about the rape and death of Harold’s mother.
Their conversation ebbed on and off until after midnight. When Karl finally fell asleep he was at ease and happy. It had been a long, long time since his last peaceful sleep.
*****
Godunov had followed the instructions Karl gave him and mixed a few drops of the ointment with a few drops of vegetable oil. He handed the oily lotion to his daughter and asked her to carefully apply it to her cuts which refused to heal. He had observed the strange healing power of the ointment when Karl had tended to Alex’s feet. The otherwise healthy and giant Tatar had suffered extensive wounds from marching hundreds of miles in badly fitting footwear. But now his feet were in excellent shape and the Kommissar had watched the Mongolian ritual in which Alex had thanked Karl. He knew that Karl had a friend for life in the simple but devoted Tatar.
Anna was aching when she tried to apply the liquid but as soon as the ointment touched her wounds it seemed that the pain was somehow numbed. As a physician herself she tried to understand what might cause the soothing sensations.
“Where did you get this medication?” she asked.
“I received it from my young German friend who obtained it from a submarine commander as a gift. We don’t know anything about it except that it works wonders.”
“If the lessening of the pain is not just temporary, then you might be correct and I would like to get the remainder analyzed.” Anna closed her eyes as she started to enjoy a nearly painless sleep.