In Satan's Shadow (32 page)

CHAPTER 64

St. Francis Hospital was a large brick building trimmed with marble moldings, designed to be functional but still esthetically pleasing. It dominated the block, dwarfing the buildings beside it, surrounded by mature trees with bare limbs that stretched over the adjacent boulevard. One wing of the building had been bombed, and bricks from a damaged upper elevation had collapsed on the pavement and were shoved in a heap against the wall.

York went to the hospital Saturday night, well after dark, when fewer people wandered the streets or sped by in taxis. As he approached the main entrance, he saw a nurse and two patients standing outside. They were probably soldiers, their arms in slings, one with a bandage covering the left side of his face. They seemed to be waiting for someone, and ducked in and out of the entrance, trying to stay warm.

The facilities parking lot was at the rear of the hospital, close to a row of rubbish cans on a narrow back street. There were a dozen vehicles parked there: four ambulances, three small trucks, and five sedans. The area was deserted, tucked in a distant corner with a single door that led to it. It was dimly lit by a single lamp post, surrounded by shrubs, and flanked by the hospital walls.

York watched the area for thirty minutes, then moved furtively through the bushes to the vehicles. He sprawled on the cobblestones, hidden in shadows, and removed the front and rear license plates from all four ambulances, placing them in a satchel he had brought with him. License plates were identified by vehicle use. He wanted several sets of ambulance plates so he could switch them throughout the journey. It wouldn’t fool the Gestapo, he realized that. But it might confuse any others that reported them to the authorities.

He left the area quickly, moving down the street and trying not to lean too heavily on his cane. As he turned the corner, he stopped and looked behind him. No one was following. No one was watching. But just as he started on his way, he noticed a face peer around a building and then duck back again. It was a man with dark clothes and a dark hat, the moonlight reflecting off his spectacles.

York hurried down the street, afraid it was the Gestapo agent who had followed him before, at Max’s and at the cemetery. He caught the next tram, rode for two blocks and got off, taking a bus in the opposite direction. Six blocks later he got off and immediately boarded another tram, making sure he wasn’t followed.

He made his way to Olivaer Platz, leaving the tram and then taking a bus before walking the last three blocks, shivering in the chilly night. When he reached the hospital, he sat on a bench across the street, watching closely, just as he had done at St. Francis. When convinced the passing people were visitors or staff, with some patients mingled among them, he moved to the facilities parking lot.

A smaller hospital with fewer employees, York saw only two ambulances, one with two axles that held four stretchers, the other a large three-axle truck, more appropriate for their needs. They were parked beside each other, a sedan next to them and closer to the road, partially hiding them from the street. Two other cars were parked closer to the building.

After observing for thirty minutes, and seeing no activity, York made his way to the vehicles, using the foliage that bordered the parking lot as shelter, just as he had done at St. Francis. But now his objective was much different.

He lay on the ground beside the ambulance and removed the cap to the petrol tank, which was just behind the driver’s door. He stuck his finger in, could not feel petrol, and then stuck a narrow wooden branch in, using it as a dipstick and letting it touch the bottom. It was just over halfway full.

York moved to the smaller ambulance, removed a narrow rubber hose from his satchel, and inserted it in the gas tank. He stretched the tube out to the larger ambulance, and sucked on it, producing a vacuum until the bitter petrol entered his mouth. He shoved the tube in the gas tank of the larger truck.

It took almost five minutes to fill. As soon as the tank started to overflow he pulled the tube from the first vehicle and replaced the cap, letting the petrol in the tube drain to the ground. He returned the cap to the tank of the second truck, staying on the ground, hidden from view. He carefully surveyed the surrounding area and when satisfied it was safe, he walked up the ramp, staying close to the foliage, and left the hospital.

He went into the park where he used to meet Amanda, and found a bench with a view of the road. He sat down and watched the few passing pedestrians, studied the vehicles on the street, and surveyed the buildings destroyed by the bombings. Most of the park was intact, although an uprooted tree and the crater beside it gave evidence to the attack. He waited for almost thirty minutes and when sure no one had seen him, he went back to his hotel.

*

Sunday was cold and overcast, snow flurries swirling through the air and melting when they kissed the cobblestone streets. York met Amanda at Erika’s, and found the women nervous with anticipation, fearful of the unknown. They knew they were risking their lives, a million things could go wrong, but it was something they had to do. They couldn’t stay in Berlin any longer.

They practiced the escape planned for that night: how the children would be taken to the ambulance, how to load the luggage, who would serve as lookout, what to do if they were discovered. Then they made the warning signs to place on each side of the truck and at the rear doors: Gefahr: Tuberkulose! Nicht betreten!
Danger
:
Tuberculosis
!
Do
not
Enter
!

Hours passed slowly, the tension mounting, and when early evening arrived, it was time for the women to leave. York stood in the doorway and said his goodbyes, trying to assure them that everything would go smoothly. Amanda hugged him tightly and kissed him. She wouldn’t let go, burying her head in his shoulder.

York saw Erika watching, their poorly kept secret revealed. She smiled shyly and looked away, not wanting to intrude, not wanting to judge.

At 9 p.m. York was standing at the hospital, studying the small parking lot tucked behind the grove of trees. He sighed with relief when he saw the vehicles in the same location they had been the night before. He had no way of knowing they would be there. But neither had moved, and any petrol he spilled on the ground had gone unnoticed. He watched for twenty minutes and saw no one. It was quiet.

He moved through the foliage, taking the same path he had previously. He went first to the smaller vehicle and lay on the ground, removing the license plates. Then he removed the plates on the larger vehicle, replacing them with a set he had stolen from the ambulance at St. Francis Hospital. He paused, lying motionless, and watched. He saw no activity.

He rose slowly, stayed close to the vehicle, and moved to the driver’s door. It was unlocked. There were no keys in the ignition. He got ready to hot wire the engine but then paused. Maybe the keys were hidden. He lifted the floor mat and there they were, tucked just under the seat.

York closed the door as quietly as he could. He exercised the choke, pushed in the clutch, and started the vehicle. The engine grinded for a few seconds, but then caught, rumbling to life. He pushed the gearshift to first and eased out the clutch, guiding the vehicle towards the street.

CHAPTER 65

The ambulance was idling across the cramped parking lot when the hospital door opened. A man came out, with no coat, an alarmed look on his face, and started running. He waved his arms wildly and screamed for York to stop, attracting the attention of those on the street.

A taxi blocked the exit, a passenger climbing out. York looked in the side mirror, the man almost at his door, pushed the lock down with his elbow, and gunned the engine.

An elderly couple across the street watched with alarm, stopped a passing soldier and pointed towards the ambulance. More pedestrians paused, wondering what the commotion was, as a middle-aged woman yelled for a policeman standing at the corner.

The taxi pulled away, its passenger on the pavement. York accelerated, speeding out of the parking lot, tires spinning. He turned right, looking back.

The man from the hospital was writing down the license number. The policeman approached, joined by the soldier, as the man frantically described the vehicle theft to a gathering crowd.

York drove down one block, made a right, went two more blocks and made another right, circling back towards the Ku’damm and then crossing over it. He went three more blocks and pulled into an alley, turning off the headlamps but leaving the engine running.

He got out of the ambulance, saw no one hiding in the darkness, no one watching from nearby windows. He went behind the vehicle, swapped the license plates with a pair he had in his satchel, and drove away. If there was anyone in pursuit, he had eluded them.

When he reached Erika’s block he drove around it twice. It was quiet. He saw a man

walking his dog. Two young girls crossed the street. A teenage boy wearing his Hitler Youth uniform was approaching a nearby house. He glanced at the ambulance, studied it a moment, but then entered.

York drove down the alley and stopped in front of the carriage house. He got out and opened the doors, looking down the lane to study two parked sedans, ensuring they were empty. He watched windows of nearby buildings, some lit, others dark, and saw no one observing, at least not anyone he could see.

He backed the ambulance into the building and closed the doors. He stepped out the back entrance, into the shadows. The alley was still deserted. He waited a few minutes, but saw no activity.

It was just before 10 p.m. He went to the front door and rapped lightly. Erika’s mother, who he had met on Saturday, let him in. She was a nice woman named Millie, younger than he expected, but very sick. She had an emaciated appearance, her face drawn, with a pallid complexion and darkness around her eyes.

“Erika and Amanda haven’t come home yet,” she said. “I’m beginning to worry.”

York checked his watch and shrugged. “They said they would be about three hours. I’ll put the signs on the ambulance and carry the bags out while we wait for them.”

He grabbed three bags and the signs and left, seeing no activity as he crossed to the garage. He used a flashlight to see, and put the bags at the back of the rear compartment, against the partition behind the driver’s seat, conscious of Amanda’s violin.

The ambulance had ample space for storage. Bags could be stowed against the partition, or in compartments with sliding access doors that ran along the roof, stuffed with blankets and medical supplies. There were two rows of cots, one knee high, the second suspended by chains at shoulder height. York spread some blankets on the floor and cots, knowing the children would be comfortable on either.

He got the signs and affixed them to the doors, leaving the red cross symbol clearly visible. It was a good effect. They offered an ominous warning that should keep the curious away.

When he stepped out to go back to the house, he saw the man walking his dog turn back into the alley. York ducked into the garage and watched from the window. The man came closer.

The dog stopped to sniff a shrub just across the lane, stretching the leash. The man stood patiently, waited while the dog lifted a leg and urinated, and then pulled him forward. A moment later he was beyond the carriage house, not even turning to look.

York crept through the shadows and returned to the house. Millie was waiting at the door, Erika’s belongings and eight smaller bags for the children beside her. York picked up four bags and returned to the carriage house.

Carefully crossing the yard, he quickly entered the building. He stored the bags under the lower stretchers, keeping the adults’ belongings near the partition where they were accessible. He put more blankets against the back, creating an area where Erika and Millie and maybe the teenage girl could sit. The children would fit on the cots.

He returned to the house, grabbed three more bags and stored them in the ambulance. Prior to leaving the carriage house he studied the alley, saw nothing, stepped out and looked at all the windows. It was quiet.

When he reached the house, he grabbed the remaining bags just as Erika and Amanda arrived home. Amanda hugged him and gave him a quick kiss.

“I can’t wait to leave,” she said, her voice shaking with fear and excitement. “I thought the audition would never end.”

“It won’t be long now,” he said. “This is the last of the bags. Is there anything else to load?”

“I have two baskets of food in the kitchen, but I can carry them out,” Erika said.

York opened a bag he had left near the door. It contained a nurse’s uniform for Amanda, and his German sergeant’s uniform, all part of their charade posing as a transport vehicle for seriously ill soldiers.

“Here’s your uniform,” he said to Amanda. “I’ll get changed in the carriage house.”

“We’ll get the children,” Erika said. “It’ll only take a few minutes. We practiced yesterday.”

“Bring them out as soon as they’re ready,” York said. “I don’t think anyone saw me, but we have to get out of here as soon as we can.”

He retraced the route he had just taken, paused by the building to study the alley, and then made his way into the carriage house. He stored the bags, was about to walk out the door, when he heard a noise, like someone stepping on a branch. He froze, leaned against the wall, and waited.

A few seconds later a shadow passed the window. York moved beside the open door, listening intently, hearing nothing. The shadow reappeared. It grew larger, approaching the window. York waited, barely breathing, until the face was visible in the window.

It was the teenage boy with the Hitler Youth uniform, peering into the carriage house. His face was pressed against the window, the ambulance visible in the darkness a few feet away. He turned his head in each direction, looking down the slender aisle to see if anyone was inside.

York leaned against the wall, out of sight, watching the shadow. He looked out the opened door and saw Erika and her mother with two of the children, about to cross the yard. He moved to the door and waved them back. Then another twig snapped and he ducked behind the door jamb.

Erika and Millie paused, looking quizzically towards the carriage house. They were vulnerable, standing in the open space between house and garage, easily seen.

York paused, waiting several seconds. When he heard no other noises, he returned to the doorway and motioned them towards the building, where the shadows would hide them, where the intruder couldn’t see them.

Erika understood; she sensed danger. She whispered to her mother, and they quietly retreated, protecting the children. They peeked around the corner, standing still, waiting for direction.

The Hitler Youth was crouched by the window, studying what he could see in the darkness. A few tense moments passed and then he stood, uncertain, not quite satisfied. He was waiting, but he didn’t know what for.

One of the children shouted and then laughed, but was quickly silenced by Erika. The Hitler Youth turned, peering towards the noise. Seconds ticked by, quiet, no sounds from the street or nearby houses. The youth’s gaze returned to the garage.

York moved to the opened door. He withdrew the pistol from his pocket and leaned his cane against the door, knowing he should use the knife concealed within it, but not for a child, not if he could help it. He heard footsteps on the ground outside, coming closer, cautiously taking each step.

The shadow appeared in the doorway, looming larger. York tensed, taking the barrel of the gun in his hand. He would use the handle as a weapon. He held it over his head, waiting.

The Hitler Youth stepped into the carriage house, slowly, deliberately. He crossed the threshold and paused, listening, looking. He took another step.

York stepped from the shadows and brought the handle of his pistol down on the youth’s head. He crumbled to the floor, moaning.

York waved Erika forward, and pulled the Hitler Youth to the edge of the garage. He found some rags on a shelf against the wall and tore them into strips. He pulled the boy’s arms behind his back, binding them tightly, and then did the same for his ankles. With the last two rags he fashioned a blindfold, wrapping it around his head, and rolled the last one into a ball and stuffed it into his mouth.

“Who is that?” Erika hissed as she entered, watching York.

“A nosy neighbor,” he replied. “Come on, we have to hurry.”

Erika led her mother into the rear of the vehicle, where she perched on the blankets against the partition. The two children, a girl and the boy with thick glasses, went to Millie’s side. They sat there, hands folded across their laps, quiet and docile. They were tired, ready for bed.

Erika returned for more children just as Amanda, now dressed in a nurse’s uniform, arrived at the carriage house with two more. York briefly described the encounter with the Hitler Youth.

“Don’t underestimate him,” Amanda warned. “They get intense training.”

“I’ll watch him,” York assured her. “Come on, we have to hurry.”

Erika returned with two more children. The Hitler Youth remained in the corner, bound and unconscious, each of the women glancing at him warily.

“I’ll get everything ready,” Amanda said. She climbed in the back with Millie and started to spread the remaining blankets for the children.

The teenage girl, Inga, was waiting with the last child. Erika urged them on and then, after one last, lingering look at her apartment, she closed the door and locked it. She probably pictured her husband standing on the porch, watching the sunset or coming home after work. She wasn’t just leaving Berlin, she was leaving him, even though she would always treasure the memories.

They came into the carriage house and settled everyone in the ambulance, the teenager helping. York watched Erica as she studied the garage in the darkness, as if imagining her husband working, taking slabs of wood and producing works of art. She looked at a shelf by the door and saw a slender chisel sitting on it. She picked it up, the initials W.J. carved in the handle: Wilhelm Jaeger. She smiled sadly and put the chisel in her pocket.

Amanda stepped from the rear of the vehicle. “I think we’re ready,” she said.

Erika nodded, and summoned the courage to climb in the ambulance. She smiled at the children, trying to seem calm, even though her heart was racing. She didn’t want them to be afraid.

There was a moan from the corner. The Hitler Youth stirred, collected his wits, and started to struggle. He shouted, the noise muted by the rag, and panicked, thrashing about, struggling, trying to release himself. Turning towards the wall, he rubbed his face against the wood, trying to force the rag from his mouth.

York whipped him with the pistol, not hard enough to do damage but enough to knock him unconscious. When satisfied he no longer posed a threat, he walked to the rear of the ambulance, took one last glance at his passengers, and closed the doors.

Amanda climbed into the passenger’s seat while York opened the carriage doors and looked up and down the alley. It was quiet. No one watched from their windows; no one walked down the lane.

“Just tell me how to get to the boathouse,” York said as he climbed in the ambulance and started the vehicle.

He put the vehicle in gear and slowly pulled into the alley. When he reached the cross street, he looked in the mirror. The alley was still quiet. He turned right, driving towards Ku’damm.

“We won’t look as suspicious on the main roads,” he said.

Once on the Ku’damm, he saw a vehicle behind them in the distance. As he continued on, merging with light traffic typical for late evening, he saw it coming closer. It was a black Mercedes, probably the Gestapo.