Once We Were Brothers (31 page)

“That stuff I carried in the box, did it come from your office?”

Catherine nodded.

“I’m sorry.”

“Ben, we’re not going to revisit that subject. It’s not the first time I walked away from a firm. It’s my private business and I’d like to keep it that way. But I do have something to share with you. Jenkins told me this morning that Rosenzweig and some investigative agency have located Piatek. Apparently they found his home. It’s in Cleveland.”

“That’s nonsense. Rosenzweig is Piatek.”

“Gerald Jeffers came to see Jenkins today just to bring him that information. He said a detective was staking out Piatek’s house and they expected to catch him soon.”

“It’s impossible, Catherine. Rosenzweig
is
Piatek. I’m one hundred percent certain of that.”

“How can you be so sure? It was sixty years ago.”

“When you live with someone, you don’t ever forget their mannerisms. The way they laugh, the way they gesture when they speak, their facial expressions. And his voice—I’d know that voice anywhere. It hasn’t changed. It’s him. Unless the detectives are staking out his mansion in Winnetka, they won’t pick up Piatek. Don’t you see, this is a diversion. I bet they told you to drop the case, didn’t they?”

“Yes.”

“What did you tell them?”

“I told them no.”

Ben slapped his leg. “That’s my girl! Don’t fall for their tricks.”

Catherine shrugged. “I don’t know. It was a long time ago, Ben. If you want to file a lawsuit, you’ll have to come up with more than gestures and facial expressions.”

“I don’t have the slightest worry that we’ll have the proof when we need it.”

“Ok. Let’s focus on your story and finish our background. Last Saturday you told me how you rescued your family from Izbica. Where did you plan to take them?”

Krasnik, Poland 1942

“I had no permanent solution in mind. My immediate plans were to drive south through the night to distance ourselves as much as possible from the Izbica transit camp. I knew I was a wanted man. Elzie had said that the Germans were looking for me. I had just kidnapped a German officer and stolen his car. For all I knew, Otto had connected me with Rolf’s death at Rabka. I would have to find a way for my family and me to go deep underground.

“I suggested that we try to meet up with the freedom fighters at the mill house and seek advice from Irek, although I had some fear that our group had been compromised. Otto had called me
Fox
and it seemed likely that one of the partisans had been captured and forced to give up information. But then, I had nowhere else to turn. We couldn’t go back to Zamość and the mountains were out of the question. They were too far and that’s the first place Otto would try to catch us. All of Poland was crawling with Nazis. Like Otto said, every town was enemy territory.

“We had other problems, too. We were driving a 1937 Mercedes, the quintessential German sedan. In 1942, no one in Poland would have such a car except a high-level Nazi. Although my father and I were each wearing Nazi uniforms, they were duplicates and his didn’t fit very well. On top of that, we had no papers. Hannah and my mother were in the clothes they had been wearing for two weeks and they looked like they’d come out of a resettlement camp. They wouldn’t exactly pass as girlfriends of two Nazi officers. And we had only half a tank of petrol. So I decided to head for the mill house.

“I parked at the end of the logging road and started walking toward the river house when my father called me back.

“‘If you go into the woods wearing a Nazi uniform, you’ll make a dandy target,’ he said. I hadn’t even thought of that. So I left my tunic in the car and ran off toward the mill house with Hannah close behind. It was too dark and too difficult for my mother to make it through the thick forest. She and my father stayed with the car.

“As we came upon the encampment, we stopped short in our tracks. It was a macabre scene, too horrible to describe. Several of our companions lay dead on the forest floor. Irek’s body was swinging by the neck from an oak tree. Jan’s twisted body lay face down in the dirt. The rest of the group, I was sure, had been taken away and executed.

“I cut the rope and lowered Irek to the ground. Hannah and I covered the bodies with leaves and pine boughs, said a prayer and turned to leave when we heard a rustle. I pulled my pistol and stood in front of Hannah like a shield. From behind a clump of bushes, came a small, dark figure. It was Lucyna. She was covered with mud. She ran to us and fell into my arms. Her whole body was trembling.

“‘They came two days ago,’ she said, ‘with machine guns and dogs. They jumped out of their trucks, set their guns on tripods without a word and opened fire. We scattered into the woods, chased by the dogs. I managed to make it to the river and hide in the mud beneath a log until they were gone.’

“Hannah put her arm around her and walked her back to the car. ‘Where have you been staying?’ she asked.

“‘In the forest,’ Lucyna said. ‘There are others, whole families – forest dwellers.’

“She slid into the back seat of the Mercedes and froze when she saw my father in his Nazi uniform, but then breathed a sigh of relief when she recognized him. ‘Where are you all going?’ Lucyna asked.

“‘We don’t know,’ I said, slipping on my tunic. ‘I had hopes that Irek could direct us to a safe route.’

“‘Irek was brave to the end,’ she said in a whispered voice. ‘They tortured him for information. I heard his screams from the river bed. I still hear them.’ She swallowed hard and shivered. Hannah and my mother tried to comfort her. ‘There are no safe routes,’ she added.

“We sat for a little while but dawn was breaking and we needed to move on. ‘There is a Catholic priest,’ Lucyna said, ‘Father Janofski. In a little town west of here. From time to time Irek would speak of him. He’s assisted many Poles in obtaining forged papers and escaping through the Polish underground.’

“‘Can you get us to this priest?’ I asked.

“‘I only know he has a church in Krasnik. I don’t know the name of the church or how to get there.’

“My father knew the road to Krasnik. It wound around the forest and through open farm land. Fortunately, because of the early hour we were the only car on the road. By the way, Krasnik was not so little. It was the size of Zamość and, because of the size, we were sure there would be SS offices there.

“As we approached the town, we came across a fifteenth century church and monastery. We took a gamble and pulled into the church yard. The wooden sign identified the complex as St. Mary’s Ascension Church.

“With my Nazi uniform on, I knocked on the front door. A nun unlocked the heavy oak door and looked me over. ‘Excuse me, Sister,’ I said. ‘Is Father Janofski available?’ She nodded silently and withdrew into the darkness of the church. A few minutes later, an elderly man in a clerical collar and a floor length cassock came to the door. He had a full head of white hair and pencil-sharp nose. The years had bent his posture.

“‘What does the Reich demand of me today?’ he asked.

“‘Father, may I speak with you confidentially?’ I said. He considered the request for a moment, eyeing me distrustfully. I decided to play my cards. ‘I am not a German,’ I said in Polish.

“‘Hmph,’ he snorted. ‘Come in.’

“He led me into the old Romanesque building. It was designed in the shape of a cruciform with a large nave and richly stained glass windows over the north and south transepts. A carved oak chancel held an ornate altar. The floors were stone blocks worn smooth over the ages. Candles burned at the entrances to small chapels at the recesses of the transepts.

“Father Janofski led me past the vaulted choir and into the sacristy where he shut the door. ‘What’s this about?’

“As rapidly as I could, I explained our situation. I told him I had four others in the car and we had nowhere to go. ‘I was told that you had helped some to find escape routes or safe houses.’

“‘Where is the car?’ he asked.

“‘In the gravel drive by the quadrangle.’

“‘We must dispose of the car immediately. It’s a homing beacon.’

“‘I’ll drive it into the woods and ditch it.’

“‘No!’ He shook his head. ‘They’ll trace that car. The Gestapo will know you’re in Krasnik and they’ll turn the town upside down. No, it must be returned to Zamość. Leave it there and they’ll have no reason to come here.’

“We walked back into the nave and he called out for Sister Mary Magdalena. The three of us quickly returned to the courtyard where my family was waiting in the Mercedes.

“‘Sister, take the three women inside,’ instructed the priest. Turning to my father he said, ‘You come with me, sir,’ and he preceded him in the direction of the church. He stopped a few yards before the door and called out to me, ‘You must take the car back to Zamość.’ Then he and my father disappeared into the church.”

Catherine put her notepad down on the small end table and stood to stretch her legs.

“Another cup of tea? Soft drink?” she said walking into the kitchen.

“How about I take you to lunch?”

“You got a date,” she answered. “What do you have in mind?”

“Rocco’s. Fullerton and Clark. Great meatball sandwiches.”

Catherine grimaced. “Do they have non-meatball sandwiches?”

“They got it all. Anything you want.”

The gloom of November had settled in and heavy gray clouds hung low over the city. Lincoln Park had lost its summer green and autumn orange. Colors had migrated south for the winter, like the Florida snowbirds, not to return until May.

“I feel so bad that you quit your firm,” Ben said, stepping over chunks of cracked sidewalk.

“I didn’t quit. I’m on leave.”

Ben stopped and faced Catherine. “I know what you’ve done. It took great courage and I’m so proud to have you as my lawyer. I can only assure you that when you do the right thing, goodness will come to you.”

Catherine’s lips quivered. “I hope to hell the evidence comes to me along with the goodness.”

Ben held the door for Catherine and the two entered Rocco’s.

Chapter Thirty-two

Krasnik, Poland 1942

“I backed the big Mercedes out of the courtyard onto the road and headed for Zamość. I was a nervous wreck. I had left my family again, this time with total strangers. Both the car and I were on the most wanted list. I had very little gas, no money, no papers, and no way to get back to Krasnik after I dumped the car in Zamość. And on top of all that, I was hungry and thirsty and tired.

“I made it almost all the way to Zamość before I ran out of gas. I ditched the car on the outskirts of town, pushing it into some bushes and stuffed the SS tunic underneath the front seat. I didn’t know if Otto was alive or dead or who might be looking for us, but at least there’d be no trail for anyone to follow back to the church.”

“How far were you from Krasnik?” asked Catherine, sitting across from Ben at Rocco’s white Formica table and nibbling on a meatball sandwich she’d been talked into.

“Forty miles or so. The return route to Krasnik wound partway through the woods, but most of the trip was through open farm country. My plan was to walk at night to minimize the chance I’d be spotted. Traveling through the woods that first day I came upon some of the forest dwellers that Lucyna had mentioned. They gave me food and water and, more importantly, encouragement.”

Ben wiped his mouth with his napkin and pointed his finger. “These people were living amongst the trees and bushes, trying to wait out the war in makeshift shelters. Some of them had little children. I thought about the impending winter, the days of ice and snow and cruel winds, the loss of foliage and cover. How were they going to care for these kids? But as feral as their existence was, they were a lot better off than on the cattle cars to Belzec. What courage and determination those forest dwellers had.

“They led me into a thick part of the woods where they had constructed lean-tos out of pine boughs. I slept a few hours and awoke at sundown, refreshed and ready to start my journey back to Krasnik. One of the men warned me to stay away from certain areas and described a trail to get me to the farm lands. As I was leaving, a little girl handed me an apple and wished me Godspeed.”

Ben paused his story and faded out of the conversation. His eyes saw the girl and he smiled at her. His distraction lasted only a moment and he picked up his meatball sandwich. “By the way, Polish apples are very tasty.

“I followed the trail and reached the farmlands by morning. From there, I walked through the wheat fields and potato fields, staying clear of farmhouses and roads. Along the way I picked a few potatoes, some vegetables and even a few eggs from a hen house. It took me four more days to get back to Krasnik.

“I arrived at St. Mary’s late at night. The door to the church was locked and no one answered my knock. Adrenaline was pumping through my veins. I had the feeling that something was wrong. I ran around to the courtyard building and tried the door, but it was also locked. I was about to try a window when the side door opened and a woman bade me to be quiet. She had night clothes on but I took her to be a member of the order.