Mason ordered the family back upstairs, but Berko came down a moment later carrying an old shotgun. “I will help,” he said.
“You know how to use that thing?”
Berko nodded as he panted with fear.
“Then stay on the bottom step and cover us,” Mason said. “They could come from the front or back, so be ready.”
They descended the stairs into the narrow hall that led to the front of the shop, an office, and the back door. Mason had Abrams watch the back door, using the office doorway for cover. Mason had Berko stand on the last step of the stairs and crouch behind the return wall. He then crept up to the curtain dividing the hallway from the front of the shop and peered through the gap. The bookshelves obscured a full view of the front shop window, but looking between the tops of the books and the bottom of the shelves, he could make out two men dressed in black moving toward the alley.
Mason looked at Abrams and signaled that one or two were heading toward the back. He then bent low, slipped through the curtain, and slid behind the first row of bookshelves. From there, he had a better view of what was going on outside.
Two men with black stocking caps pulled down over their faces stood by the front door and right-side window. Mason guessed they were waiting for the other two to get into position, with the plan to rush in at the same time. This portion of the street contained stores that had closed at seven P.M., so there was little traffic. The men could enter with little worry of witnesses.
Mason figured the two men going around back would notice the army sedan and take a few moments to check it out. He hoped the presence of the vehicle would be enough to discourage them, but in that same instant, the men in front pulled out submachine guns from their long coats and glanced around one last time.
Mason aimed his .45 at the one standing by the window. “Military police! Drop your weapons and put your hands up. My gun is trained on you.”
The man jumped aside, using the door frame as a block. Mason held his fire so as not to reveal his position. He aimed at the door. That was when the two opened fire, blindly spraying the room.
From the other side of the curtain, Mason heard someone kicking in the back door. Then two gunshots in rapid succession. He knew the sound well: a .45 Colt automatic—Abrams’s gun. A man cried out in pain. The second man in the back opened fire with an automatic pistol.
That exchange prompted the two men in front to charge. But instead of going through the door, one leapt through the window. Mason fired and missed the first man, but when the second attempted the same thing, Mason was ready. He fired again, hitting the man’s thigh. The man jerked in midair and wailed in pain, then landed hard on the sidewalk.
Mason raced to the opposite shelf, just as the first man fired at his previous position. Books exploded. The wooden shelf splintered. Book pages, ripped to shreds, floated in the air.
Mason stayed low and moved to the far end of the shelf. The first man stopped firing, and a moment of silence passed before another round of firing came from the back. A deafening boom followed—Berko’s shotgun.
In front, the wounded man continued to wail in pain, and his companion yelled in English for him to shut up—American English.
Abrams came out noisily from the back.
“Get down!” Mason yelled.
A burst of machine gun fire erupted from the front. Wood, glass, and paper sprayed out like mini explosions. Mason went up on his knees to see if Abrams was hurt, but the movement gave his position away. Immediately, the shooter brought his machine gun fire to bear on Mason. Bullets buzzed narrowly over his head.
A moment later the firing ceased, followed by the sound of footsteps on broken glass. The men were making their escape. With one last spray from the machine gun, the men ran for their car.
Mason and Abrams rushed to the front as the assailants’ car sped away. Mason checked Abrams and saw blood on his coat. “Were you hit?”
“That’s the other guy’s blood.”
Mason sighed with relief. “We only have a few minutes before the MPs arrive. Let’s go.” He pulled a breathless Abrams toward the curtain.
“Aren’t we going to wait for them?”
“I don’t want anyone to see this family or have any idea where we’re going.”
Mason picked up his spent shells and instructed Abrams to do the same. When he entered the back hallway, he saw Abrams staring at the dead assailant.
“I shot him,” Abrams said in a weak voice.
Mason gently urged Abrams toward the stairs. “Come on. You did the right thing. These men were coming to kill Yaakov’s family.”
Berko was already up in the apartment barking orders at the shocked and weeping women and children. Once again they gathered the bundles and hurried down the stairs. It took some urging to get them past the dead man. Mason made sure everyone, including Abrams, was settled in the car before returning to the hallway. Isaac sat on the stairs in shock. Mason turned the corpse on its back, pulled up the black ski mask, and shined his flashlight on the face. Just as Mason thought: one of the Poles from the Casa Carioca. “I’m sorry for all this,” Mason said to Isaac. “The MPs will arrive in a few minutes. Say nothing about us or Yaakov’s family being here. Just tell them to search the hospitals for a man with a gunshot wound in his thigh. You saw nothing else.”
Isaac nodded.
* * *
What do you want?” Richard was not happy. Not happy to answer the door after eleven P.M. Not happy to answer it in his bathrobe. And sure as hell not happy to see Mason there, let alone Abrams and eight apparent refugees.
“Sir—” Abrams was cut off when Laura spoke behind him.
“Richard, what is it?”
Richard stepped aside to let Laura have a look for herself. “What is all this?”
Mason shrugged as an apology. “I know you offered Gil and me safe shelter, but this family needs your help.”
“Of course,” Laura said. “Come in.”
Richard grumbled, “Laura . . .”
Laura ignored Richard’s protest and stepped aside. Mason ushered the family indoors, while Richard fixed his stare on Mason. In any other circumstances, Mason would have met the glare with equal contempt, but for the sake of the family, and Laura, he kept his eyes on the family as they gathered in the living room.
The men removed their hats and faced Laura. With one last sigh of exasperation, Richard disappeared down the hallway leading to the bedrooms. The baby started to cry, but the rest remained silent. In the car, Mason had told the family about Otto’s body and the note indicating that the killers had probably abducted Yaakov. Helena could have thrown a tantrum, blaming Mason, blaming all Americans for putting Yaakov in harm’s way, and though her eyes had conveyed that message, she had remained silent. Mason couldn’t blame her; he had, perhaps, pushed Yaakov too hard, or underestimated the ruthlessness of the killers.
Laura smiled at the children and asked Mason, “Is this the family you asked me to help?”
Mason nodded and introduced them all, telling Berko and Helena that Laura was the person who would try to contact someone in the Jewish Brigade. They nodded their heads and softly expressed their gratitude. Mason then explained to Laura why he had brought them there. “I know this is going to be hard on you,” Mason said, “but we had no other choice.” Mason said to Berko, “I have no delicate way of saying this, but you will only be able to stay here a few days at most. If Laura is unable to make contact within that time, I think you should reconsider going to the Jewish DP camp in Feldafing.”
“What has changed?” Berko asked. “Is it not as likely that they will find us there? I am determined to carry out Yaakov’s dream for us all to go to Palestine. He has sacrificed everything for that. Thank you, but we will take our chances. I will find another place.”
Berko turned to Laura. “We promise not to be a burden. And we can help around the house. Helena and Olga are excellent cooks. I can do repairs. Whatever you need.”
“Don’t worry about that now,” Laura said. “I’m glad to help out. You all must be exhausted and in shock. Fortunately we have two extra bedrooms you can use. Let me show you.”
Mason and Abrams waited in the living room while Laura helped the family settle in for the night. A few minutes later, Laura came back to join them.
“I know you told me we should keep our distance. . . .” Mason shrugged. “Sorry about all this. I hope it’s not going to cause a problem with Richard.”
“He’s slowly getting used to my form of insanity,” Laura said and looked at Mason with a tender expression he hadn’t seen since their affair in Munich. “You’ll never cease to amaze me. Just like helping those orphans in Munich. You’re whacking someone over the head one moment, and the next moment, this.”
They held each other’s gaze for a moment, until Abrams cleared his throat.
“I promise they’ll only be here a few days,” Mason said.
“They can stay as long as they need,” Laura said.
“I told Yaakov’s wife and brother that Yaakov has been taken by the killers, and that, chances are, he’s not coming back. It’s the same people, Laura. I told Yaakov to stay put, but he went out, and they found him, just like that. As hard as it might be, the family has to stay inside and out of sight. You, too.”
She nodded. “Find them, Mason. Find them, and if there’s no other way, put them in a deep, dark hole.”