In Satan's Shadow (33 page)

CHAPTER 66

York turned left at Konstanzer Strasse, past Olivaer Platz. The vehicle followed. He maintained a constant speed, trying not to seem suspicious. The sedan stayed the same distance behind them.

“I think we’re being followed,” he said to Amanda.

Two blocks later the vehicle moved beside them. A Gestapo officer leaned out of the passenger’s window and motioned for York to pull over and stop.

“What are we going to do?” Amanda hissed, her eyes wide.

“There’s nothing we can do,” York said calmly, his plan already formed. “Just let me do the talking.”

He guided the ambulance to the side of the road and came to a stop. The Gestapo pulled in behind him, headlamps still lit. York watched in the side mirror as two men exited the vehicle.

“Michael, I’m afraid,” Amanda said anxiously, touching his arm.

He forced a smile he didn’t feel. “Don’t be. Everything will be all right.”

He got out of the ambulance, leaning heavily on his cane, making sure the Gestapo saw his German uniform. He walked slowly towards the rear of the vehicle as they approached. They wore uniforms, black pants, jackets and ties with white shirts. A black and red arm band was marked by a swastika.

“Good evening, sergeant,” the first man said as he walked towards York. His stern expression softened when his eyes moved to the cane.

His partner stood at the rear of the ambulance, a few meters away, reading the sign affixed to the door. He seemed concerned, almost as if he didn’t want to be there.

York nodded. “Good evening, sir.”

“War wound?” the first officer asked, motioning to his limp.

“Yes, sir, North Africa,” York said. “It was a machine gun. But I can manage the ambulance. The clutch can be painful, but I get by.”

“Where are you going?” he asked as his partner came and stood beside him.

“To a country hospital,” York explained. “I have to get these patients out of the city. The last thing authorities want is a tuberculosis epidemic.”

The Gestapo agents exchanged nervous glances.

“It’s very contagious,” York continued, reading their expressions. “If not contained, it can spread everywhere. It starts with a cough, a bit of wheezing. Then they start spitting up blood. Not many survive.”

A scream came from the ambulance, followed by giggling. It lasted several seconds, child-like and innocent, before subsiding to hushed whispers.

“Who are the patients?” the first officer asked, showing skepticism.

York felt his heart start to race. “All soldiers from the Eastern Front,” he replied. “They’re delirious from medication. Many revert to childhood memories, their behavior regressing.”

“It sounds like children,” the officer said sternly. “Misbehaved children.”

“Actually, they’re all from the same regiment. That’s how contagious the disease is. One man probably caught it from some peasant, and now I have a whole ambulance full. And there are more at the hospital.”

The officer was listening to York, but was focused on the ambulance. He hesitated, wondering whether to search the vehicle. He wavered, and looked back at his companion.

York was still talking. “But they’re good men who did their duty for the Reich. They deserve decent care.” He lowered his voice, as if not wanting anyone to hear. “At least for as long as they need it.”

“I wasn’t aware of any tuberculosis epidemic,” the second officer said, uncertain, his voice quivering.

“And we’re hoping to keep it that way,” York replied. “Hopefully these are isolated cases.” He withdrew two half masks from his pocket. “You had better wear these if you’re going to stand near the truck. Just to be safe. Or we can move away.”

The Gestapo agents quickly stepped away. One whispered to the other and nodded.

“Who is in the passenger’s seat?” the first asked.

“A nurse,” York replied. “The patients need constant attention. Not that their condition has shown any improvement.”

Another loud outburst came from the rear of the ambulance. Shouting, followed by laughter, and then blathering, incoherent conversation.

The Gestapo officers looked at the vehicle, quizzical looks on their faces.

“Poor men,” York said, slowly shaking his head. “Not much left of them I’m afraid, mind or body. Sometimes they giggle and ramble on like idiots.”

“Excuse us a moment,” the first man said.

The Gestapo agents moved a few feet away, whispering, their hands over their mouths. One walked towards the rear as the other watched. He took a piece of paper from his pocket and held it against the license plate. Then he got down on one knee and looked under the vehicle. He held an ear to the door, listening to the rumbling inside. And then after a brief inspection, he stood, returned to his partner, and said a few words.

“That will be all, sergeant,” the lead agent said with a nod.

“Thank you, sir,” York replied as the two men went back to their car.

York sighed with relief, beads of sweat on the back of his neck, and watched as the Gestapo pulled away. He put his hand over his heart, touching the photograph that was in his breast pocket, as he always did when eluding danger. It made him remember what he had to live for.

He got back in the ambulance and turned to Amanda. “They’re gone,” he said, lightly brushing her cheek with his fingers. “We’re safe.”

“What happened?” she asked hoarsely, frenzied. “I didn’t know how to help you. Should I have gotten out, too?”

“No, you did fine. There was really nothing you could do. But we have to find a way to keep the children under control. Especially in situations like that. Maybe Erika has some sedatives.”

“She did the best she could,” Amanda said. “The children are excited. They haven’t been out of Erika’s apartment for years. They’ll settle down. They should be asleep in a few minutes. Now, tell me what happened.”

He described the exchange, emphasizing the fear in the Gestapo officers’ faces as he described tuberculosis. “They didn’t ask to see my papers, or to look at the patients, even though they did get very suspicious when the children acted up. But they never asked where we were going. They just wanted to get as far away from the ambulance as possible.”

“Why did they stop us to begin with?”

“They must know an ambulance is missing from the hospital. This fits the description, but I changed the license plates. They had another license number written on a piece of paper, probably from the hospital employee who chased me. But when they saw a German soldier get out, they wondered if they had made a mistake. When the plates didn’t match, it confirmed it. But they won’t make that mistake again, especially with the tuberculosis warnings. No other ambulance has them.”

Amanda sighed, weary and distraught. “Let’s hope there’s no more Gestapo.”

They continued to Wannsee Lake, the traffic thinning as they exited the city proper and the night wore on. There was a sprinkling of taxis and police cars, a few more dark sedans which may or may not have been the Gestapo, and an occasional streetcar. Thirty minutes later they arrived at the edge of the city, and Amanda guided them down a road that ringed the lake, past a boat club, and into a secluded drive.

There was a long, dirt lane that led to the boathouse, hidden from the road by trees and foliage. Winter had stolen most of the leaves, except for scattered pines that bathed the landscape in green. York backed the ambulance down the road, almost to the building, but stayed close to the trees. The woods were thickest at that point, and even though the foliage was sparse, it still served to screen them from the road.

It was just after midnight. York left the vehicle and walked the entire length of the driveway, up one side and down the other. He squinted in the darkness, searching for signs that anyone was nearby, even looking for lights from any nearby cottages, but found nothing.

He walked back to the ambulance, motioning for Amanda to get out. Then he went to the rear of the vehicle and opened the back doors. The children and Millie were sleeping. Erika was awake, and she moved around the others and got out of the vehicle and joined them.

“I’m sorry about the children,” Erika said. “They’re so excited, I couldn’t control them. Did the Gestapo hear them?”

York looked at Amanda. “Yes, but I managed to convince them the patients were delirious.”

Erika cringed. “Try to give me more warning if anything else happens. Inga and I can try to calm them.”

“It doesn’t matter,” York said. “As long as we’re safe.” He glanced at the sleeping children. “One more day and they’ll be out of danger. For the first time in their lives.”

Erika acted as lookout while Amanda and York went to the boathouse. The entrance was on the side, away from the road, on a brick path that led to the water’s edge. Amanda withdrew a key and opened the door.

They entered the building, the glow from York’s flashlight illuminating the room. The walls were made of vertical wood planking, a window on each side. The front was open to the lake, the rear had carriage doors that were locked and barred. The roof was supported by six trusses, the space below an extension of the lake with a two-meter-wide walkway on each side. Against the side walls were a dozen ten-liter cans, hopefully filled with petrol. But one thing was missing.

“Where’s the boat?” York asked.

She shrugged, confused. “I have no idea. It must be on the water.”

“I thought Manfred was home.”

“So did I,” she said. “At least that’s what Hannah told me. But he wasn’t there when I left.”

“Does he use the boat often?”

“No, he never uses it.”

York went over to the petrol cans. One by one he lifted them, finding each can empty. Finally, at the end of the row, he found three that were full. They needed seventy liters. They had thirty.

“There’s not enough,” he said. “We’ll have to find petrol somewhere else.”

Amanda grabbed his arm. “That’s the least of our worries.”

“Why?” he asked, confused by her statement.

She pointed to the lake. “Here comes the boat.”

CHAPTER 67

“We have to get out of here,” York said grimly. He watched the boat, which was still some distance away, coming towards them. “Is there someplace we can hide over night?”

Amanda nodded, still wondering what Manfred was doing out in his boat at midnight. And who was with him. Why did he tell Hannah he would be home Sunday night, the very night she intended to escape?

“There are other boathouses just like this. We can use one of them.”

He looked at the petrol cans. It was too risky to take them, even an empty. If Manfred just took the boat out, he would know exactly how many cans were there, empty or full.

York looked at Amanda. She was tired, stressed and strained. And she was carrying their child. He had to protect her. He hugged her for a moment, and then kissed her on the forehead.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s go.”

They exited the boathouse as the lights coming in from the lake grew brighter. They quickly told Erika what had happened and she got in the rear of the ambulance. York closed the doors behind her.

As he got in the driver’s seat, he stopped, perplexed. “Where’s his car?” he asked Amanda.

She scanned the area before climbing in the passenger’s side. “I’m not sure. But he rarely drives anyway; an armed guard takes him everywhere.”

York started the engine. “Then where is the armed guard?”

They drove down the lane without headlamps, the approaching boat coming closer. York toyed with the idea of circling back to see who Manfred was with, but it wasn’t worth the risk. It was probably a woman, anyway. Maybe they were spending the night on the boat, and his chauffeur was getting them in the morning. Or maybe it was a clandestine meeting for Manfred’s favorite mission, the Fourth Reich. What better place to have a secret rendezvous than on a boat in the middle of the lake?

York guided the vehicle back on the road, still without lights, driving south. The first kilometer passed uneventfully, the lane to the boathouse no longer visible in the mirror, and York’s mind turned to a safe place to spend the night.

“Where do you suggest we stop?” he asked. “We should try to get some sleep.”

“There’s a boathouse a few kilometers down the road,” she said. “It used to be abandoned. It’s off the road, just like Manfred’s. We should be safe there.”

They drove a few more minutes and Amanda directed him to a lane on the right. The entrance was a bit overgrown, the shrubs untrimmed and stretching into the roadway. York guided the vehicle in reverse, moving all the way back to the building and keeping it against the trees. The area was more secluded than where they had left, a few more pine trees, the underbrush denser.

York turned off the engine. He opened the sliding port to the rear and told Erika they would be spending the night there. She snuggled under a blanket and prepared to sleep.

“I’m going to have a look around,” York said, his hand caressing Amanda’s arm. “Try to get some rest.”

“Be careful,” she said. “Should I go with you?”

“No, try to sleep. I won’t be long.”

He stepped out of the vehicle, quietly closing the door. The half-moon provided some light, but for the most part the area was cloaked in darkness. He walked the entire length of the lane, checking how dense the foliage was, visibility from the road, and how far away the nearest neighbor was. It seemed isolated.

He went to the boathouse. The design was similar to Manfred’s, the size comparable. The condition was a bit deteriorated, paint peeling off the vertical clapboards, the path to the entrance impeded by overgrown branches.

When he reached the door, he found the hasp for the lock had been pried from it. Someone had broken in, although he couldn’t tell how recently. He slowly pushed the door open.

He checked around for intruders, and then turned on a flashlight. The boat slip was empty, water glistening under the light, gently lapping the sides. He shined the light along the walkways and walls. The building was deserted.

He walked down one side towards the lake. A few tools still hung on the walls, but there were no petrol cans, empty or full. Whatever had been in the boathouse was probably stolen when someone broke in. A canvas lay in a heap in one corner, some trash on the floor beside it: a milk carton, a crumbled paper bag, a sausage wrapper. On the wall above it hung a homemade fishing pole.

York walked over to the canvas and stood beside it, not moving. He then went to the door, closed it, and flicked off the flashlight. But he remained inside the boathouse. He stood there, silent, waiting and watching.

Several minutes passed with no sound except for gentle lapping of the water on the sides of the boathouse. A little light from the moon slipped into the building, bathing the far end in a muted light. He looked out on the water, peaceful and serene. Then he saw the canvas move.

He stood still, peering through the darkness, not moving a muscle. Ever so slowly the canvas was pushed away, a few centimeters at a time. He waited patiently until it moved a half meter, and he saw a head appear in the darkness.

He snapped on the flashlight. The beam illuminated the frightened face of a child, maybe eight or nine. His eyes opened wide, his jaw dropped. His face was smudged with dirt.

The boy pushed the tarp to the side, exposing a young girl about four years old. Her black hair was braided into a pony tail. She looked at York, her eyes wide, fear marking every cell of her body.

The boy grabbed her hand and yanked her up, and they started to run.

“Wait,” York called. “Don’t run.”

They didn’t listen, and continued towards the water.

“I won’t hurt you,” he yelled. “I’m an Englishman.”

They stopped short and slowly turned, wondering whether to believe him. The German uniform proved he lied.

“Please, I can help you,” he said.

They reached the end of the walkway. There was no place else to go. Water was in front of them; water was beside them. The boathouse wall stood behind them. They could jump in the water and swim, or they could surrender.

“It’s all right,” York said. He raised his hands, showing no weapons, proving no danger. “I won’t hurt you. I promise.”

They looked less afraid, but wary. They stood there, not coming towards him, unable to move away. The boy protectively shielded the little girl, not knowing what else to do.

“I have food,” York said, trying to convince them. “And I can take care of you. I have other children with me, too.”

They stared at him, eyes wide with fear, not knowing what to do. The girl started to cry, sobbing at first, then the tears fell faster.

York walked up to them slowly, cautiously, not wanting to scare them. When they didn’t move, he knelt before them. “Are you alone?”

They both nodded.

“Where are you parents?”

The boy spoke. “Our father died in the war. Soldiers came and took my mother.”

“Why didn’t they take you?”

“My mother made us hide. Then the neighbors came and said we had to leave before the soldiers came back.”

“And you came here.”

“Yes.”

“How long have you been here?”

“For two days.”

York looked at their clothes. They wore pants and shirts, and had jackets on, but they weren’t warm enough for winter. His eyes moved to the yellow star affixed to the jackets. He felt like a hand had grasped his heart, clenching it firmly and then ripping it out. They were Jews, probably among the last left in the city. If their father was in the army, he was German. Their mother must have been Jewish. As long as their father was alive, they had some rights. But once he died, they had none.

“What are your names?” he asked warmly, forcing a smile but appalled at their dilemma.

“Samuel and Sarah.”

“Why don’t you come with me, Samuel and Sarah? I have a truck outside with blankets and food and other children you can play with. You’re safe now.”

He offered each his hand and they reluctantly took it, not knowing whether it was safe to trust him, but too tired and afraid to do anything else. He led them out of the boathouse and brought them to the ambulance.

Amanda was still awake, and when she saw him with the two children she hurried out of the vehicle to greet them. “Where did they come from?” she asked, surprised but sincere, worried for the children’s welfare.

As York told their story, she pulled them towards her, hugging them both. “It’s all right,” she said. “We’ll take care of you.”

“Can you find our mother?” Sarah asked.

Amanda hid the tears that clouded her eyes. “Someday soon we’ll find her. But for now, we have to go somewhere safe.”

They woke Erica and told her what happened. She was surprised, but didn’t care what dangers came with two Jewish children. She quickly left the ambulance and greeted them, calming their fears, making them feel comfortable.

After they chatted a few minutes, and the children were no longer afraid, Erika brought them into the back of the ambulance. She showed them the sleeping children, gave them some food, then wrapped them in blankets. Minutes later, they were fast asleep.

Erika and Amanda removed the yellow stars from their clothes, knowing the hatred they symbolized, disgust evident on their faces. York buried them at the edge of the foliage.

“Is their story realistic?” York asked. “I know Jewish spouses of German citizens were exempt from the laws, but I thought that ended long ago.”

“It was only enforced for the privileged this year,” Amanda said. “The father of these children must have been a high-ranking officer. When he was killed, they no longer had protection. Apparently their mother understood this and made sure they survived. I’m certain she didn’t.”

York couldn’t understand a society so distorted, so sadistic. And he didn’t try to. “We have to get some sleep,” he said as they returned to the cab. “Tomorrow will be a long day.”

“What beautiful children,” she said. “But what a horrible story. I’m so glad we came here. They would have died if we didn’t.” She turned, looking at York. “It was good of you to rescue them. You could have left them. You have enough people to look after.”

York shrugged. “I could never do that.”

“I know,” she said, smiling. “That’s because you’re such a good person. One more reason why I love you so much.”

He leaned over and kissed her. Then they wrapped themselves in blankets and fell asleep.