No Dawn for Men (19 page)

“Where are you going? One of the river boys said you were a ‘
fellowship
.’ He used the word quite reverently, I might add. What did he mean?”

“I don’t know,” the professor replied, thinking,
then again, perhaps I do.

“Where is this fellowship headed?” Vaclav asked.

“Tell me who
you
are first.”

“I told you last night, I am a Czech Army captain, a ranger in a special unit. I sometimes assist in reconnaissance flights. The Germans have taken the Sudetenland without a fight, but from now on, we fight.”

“A ranger?”

“We are shadow warriors, a special group, if you will.”

“Spies?”

“If necessary. Were you in the war?”

“Yes, in France.”

“It’s coming again.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’ve been all over Germany in the last five years. A war machine is being built like no other the world has ever seen. They will crush all of Europe in six months if we don’t stop them.”

“How did you know about us?”

“I was told to be on the lookout for two men and a dwarf. I did not think you would be so far north, but there you were, except you were two men and
three
dwarfs.”

“What were you told about us?”

“That the Germans would kill you if someone didn’t get to you first.”

“Anything else?”

“That if you were spotted, I was to make sure you arrived safely in Prague, and with all deliberate speed. All of you.”

“So you jumped.”

“Yes. It was fun.”

“It was fun? You mean you never jumped before?”

“No, but I’ve watched.”

“Who
are
you?”

“I hate the Germans. That’s all you need to know. Now tell me, who are
you
, really, and why are you running?”

41.

The Bavarian Forest, Near Deggendorf

October 9, 1938, 8:00 a.m.

“There’s a priest at the bridge,” said Jonas Kaufman. He was sitting on a three-legged stool at a window overlooking the stream and the old wooden bridge. “On a bicycle.”

“Christ,” said Rex Dowling, who was sitting nearby on the floor, the radio in front of him.

The others, Fleming, Billie, and Hans, were also sitting on the floor, eating their breakfast of thick and rich Irish porridge out of tins that Hans had taken from the Adlon’s gloriously stocked kitchen before leaving Berlin. Spoons in one hand, tin cans of precooked oatmeal in the other, they looked in unison at Jonas.

Fleming put his things down and scrambled to the window on all fours. “Let me see,” he said, when he reached Jonas, indicating the binoculars that the German held to his eyes.

“Father Schneider,” Fleming said after putting the glasses to his brow and adjusting the focus wheel slightly. “From St. Peters.”

“The one who heard your confession last night?” Dowling asked.

“Yes. I told him if he heard anything else from the abbey to come to the mill.”

“You told him where we were?”

“I had no choice.”

“Does he look like he’s carrying a weapon?”

“No.”

“Where is he now?”

“On our side of the bridge.”

“I will go,” said Hans, who was already on his feet, his woolen cap on, his machine gun over his shoulder.

Fleming nodded, as did Dowling, who had crawled to the window and was peering out, concealing as much of himself as possible. They watched as Hans exited the mill through its large storage room door immediately below them and walked slowly toward the priest, who stopped and put his hands in the air when he spotted the one-eyed war veteran, who had unslung his weapon and was carrying it at the ready. Father Schneider kept his hands up as Hans came up to him. They spoke for a few seconds and then the priest, a small, thin man in spectacles, looked up at the mill’s second floor windows. In one of them, the one next to Fleming and Dowling, knelt Jonas Kaufman, his rifle aimed at the cleric’s chest.

“That’s a professional search he’s doing,” Fleming said. Father Schneider was now kneeling, his hands clasped on top of his head, as Hans went about his business.

“Yes. He was in charge of French prisoners at the end of the war. He learned to be thorough.”

“He won’t do a cavity search, I hope,” said Fleming. “The man is on our side.”

“Probably not. But I think that he lost his eye doing a search. The POW had a razor blade in his teeth. Slashed him pretty good until another guard shot him.”

“How do you know this?

“Rumor. Hans will say nothing.”

“Here they come.”

* * *

“Bauer and the troops are gone,” said Father Schneider.

“What? Are you sure?” Fleming asked.

“Yes, I was at the abbey this morning to say mass. Father Wilfrid asked me to ride over to tell you.”

“Are there none left?” Billie said.

“There is a group camped in the courtyard.”

“How many?”

“Forty men.”

“What happened?” Fleming asked. “Why did they leave?”

“I don’t know. Father Wilfrid does not know.”

“Where were they headed?”

“Father heard them say north.”

“Do you think you were followed?”

“I rode here directly from the abbey. I was not followed.”

“What else did Father Wilfrid say?” Fleming asked. “Did he tell you when they left?”

“They left last night, just before midnight.”

The group was silent for a moment as they took this in. The priest, pale of face and shy, but obviously determined to carry out the abbot’s request, sat before them on the three-legged stool. They had given him a tin cup of water, which he now sipped. “I must return soon,” he said after lowering the cup. “We are burying Father William.”

“The one who knew about the tunnel?” Fleming said.

“Yes, he died last night.”

“How? Bauer?”

“No, he called for Father Wilfrid, said his confession, and died a moment later.”

Fleming shook his head. At his faux confession last night, Father Schneider had relayed Abbot Wilfrid’s terse message:
there is a tunnel entrance near a Roman wall one hundred meters south of our orchard. It leads to the Devil’s Canyon.
That had been the first he had heard the term Devil’s Canyon. He had been hoping to connect somehow with Father William to ask about it.

“The Devil’s Canyon,” Fleming now said. “What do you know about it.”

“Nothing,” the timid priest replied. “Rumors.”

“What kind of rumors?”

“That one of the monk’s made a pact with the Devil in a hidden canyon in the forest many years ago, a hundred years ago, no one knows when or who.”

“Do you know where the tunnel entrance is?” Billie asked. “Does Father Wilfrid?”

“No, only Father William knew. He did not tell Father Wilfrid.”

“Are you sure?” Dowling asked.

“Yes. Father urged him to tell, but he would not.”

“Are the troops making patrols?” Dowling asked.

“Yes, Father said one group is circling the abbey at all times.”

“One group? How many, did he say?”

“No, I’m sorry, just one group. They patrolled last night and Father Wilfrid believes they will patrol around the clock.”

“Do they have a radio?”

“Yes, it is set up in the kitchen. A soldier stays with it.”

“Does he have a replacement?”

“Yes, the Father said the sergeant relieves him.”

“Are they sleeping in the courtyard?”

“Yes. I believe so. There are tents there and gear.”

“Is there an officer?”

“No, just the sergeant. I do not know his name.”

“Do they post lookouts?”

“I don’t know,. Father did not say. We did not talk long. He walked me to the front gate. We talked as we walked. Or, rather, he talked, I listened.”

“Are the gates guarded? When we visited there were troops outside the gates.”

“Yes, four men.”

“Are there gun placements? Machine guns set up?”

“I saw one in the tower.”

“Who is feeding them?”

“Feeding them?”

“Yes.”

“The machine guns?”

“No, the troops.”

“Ah, the troops. The monks are.”

“How do you know this?”

“Father asked me to bring back a sack of flour to make bread. He said they are feeding the soldiers and are running low.”

“Do they have a regular cook?”

“Yes, Father Adam.”

“When is meal time? When does Father Adam cook?”

“Six in the morning, noon, and six in the evening.”

“The patrol, where do they eat?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you know their schedule?”

“No, I just know that Father Wilfrid believes that they will patrol the grounds around the clock.”

“How far out? What distance from the abbey?”

“I don’t know. Please, I must go. I’ve told you everything.”

“Go,” said Fleming, extending his hand. The priest grabbed it and Fleming hoisted him gently from the stool.

“How can we contact Father Wilfrid?” Fleming asked.

“I will ride over for you. Just come to the rectory.”

“What is your routine? Do you go on a regular schedule?”

“I go every Saturday afternoon to hear confessions. And when Father Wilfrid calls and asks me. He called this morning and asked me to come to assist him at mass and to help prepare Father William’s body for burial.”

“Thank you, Father,” Fleming said. “You have been very helpful.”

“Helpful with what?” the priest asked.

“Permit me to ask you a question first,” said Fleming. “What is motivating you to help us? You are a German citizen. This is your country, those are German troops at the abbey.”

“I am Austrian,” Father Schneider replied. “Not German. I was born a Jew, orphaned when my parents were killed in a pogrom. I was taken in by the local Sisters of Mercy. They did not encourage me to convert. I insisted. I listen to the BBC every night in the rectory attic. The Nazis are killing Jews by the thousands, and soon, if they are not stopped, it will be in the millions. The Catholics will be next . . . I am both a Jew and a Catholic, a rarity, but here I am. So, Herr Fleming, what am I helping you with?”

“I will say only this, my dear Father,” said Fleming. “The second world war in our lifetime has started, and you are on the right side.”

* * *

“Can we take them by surprise?” said Dowling, when Father Schneider was gone. “It’s forty against four.”

“Five,” Billie said. “You’re not leaving me behind.”

“Can you handle a weapon?” said Dowling.

“Yes. I was in a gun club in college. I was too old for Hitler Youth, and this was an acceptable alternative.”

“Then you’re coming,” said Fleming. “It’s
your
father after all.”

“We will have to attack the patrol, plus the troops at the abbey,” said Hans Kaufman. “With five people, it can’t be done.”

“We can disable the troops at the abbey,” said Fleming.

“How do you propose to do that?” Dowling asked.

“Poison,” Fleming replied. “We will poison the troops at the abbey and ambush the patrol.”

“Poison,” said Hans Kaufman. “Excellent.”

“How?” Billie asked.

“In their food. Father Schneider will help us.”

“We can’t kill the radio operator,” said Dowling.

“No, nor the sergeant,” said Fleming. “We’ll need them alive.”

“Why?” Billie asked.

“In case Bauer checks in,” Dowling replied.

“How will we get poison?” said Billie. “And what kind?”

“We will visit the chemist in town,” Fleming answered, “and pick up the last things from our room, say goodbye to our lovely innkeeper.”

42.

The Niesse River

October 9, 1938, 10:00 a.m.

“We are wasting time sitting here,” Vaclav said.

“As I’ve said,” Trygg Korumak replied. “We can only sail at night. There is too much activity on the river during the day.”

“We are 190 kilometers from the Czech border,” the Army captain said. “That will take three nights of sailing.”

“What do you propose?”

“I need to leave the cave so I can use my radio. I can get a plane to pick us up and fly us to Prague, or Metten if you prefer.”