Stile Maus (31 page)

‘We agreed only on one name.  I have discovered the first on my own accord, now, tell me the other.’

Desperately trying to steady his quaking hands, Luther slowly leaned forwards. 

‘Klaus I can’t, for the sake of my family, please!’  The pistol clicked.

‘You are in no position to beg, Luther.  However bemused my mind is at this very moment I can assure you that it is set and you will do as I say.’  Klaus jolted an arm forwards, clutching at the trigger with great restraint as the pistol aimed at the chest of the quivering shadow cowering before him. 

‘Now!’ he seethed.  Luther opened his mouth to the taste of travelling teardrops.  

‘Milo Haas,’ spluttered Luther, ‘a member of the Gestapo, you have the man he reports to in your pocket.’  Klaus nodded gently,

‘I want you to be under no illusions
Mr. Eichel
,’ he started, ‘you would not see the rising sun if I had it my way.  Unfortunately your death would cause suspicion, a predicament I don’t wish to carry with me.’  Luther almost seemed relieved, even though the pistol was still aiming right at him. 

‘Klaus I… I have no words that will make amends for what has happened but please just know that I did what I did for my children.  I pray for you and Sophia and poor Elsie.’

‘What?  What did you say?’

Luther spluttered a series of sniffles and stared at Klaus with a wide eyed hopefulness. 

‘Oh Klaus, I am so sorry.  The arrangement was that Doctor Brandt would also accompany your Grandfather to the meeting.’

Klaus smiled spitefully.

‘Oh Luther, you could not be more mistaken my friend.  For like you, Doctor Brandt didn’t show up either.’

Luther tongued at his cheek and shut his eyes for a moment or two as though he had just been stung somewhere with the tip of a sharp needle. 

‘I did what I did...’

‘For your children and your wife, I know.  But h
ow many times have you told yourself that Luther?’ Klaus hissed, ‘Is it really me you’re trying to convince?’ 

‘Perhaps not,’ Luther muttered, ‘and tonight my heart may be as black as the skies, but ask yourself this Klaus, what would you have done if someone said that they were going to harm your family, destroy your life?  Would you not have done the same as I?’

‘Some people don’t get the chance to make that decision,’ his reply was soaked with hatred.  Luther withdrew.

‘Why so scared, Luther?  You’re not unintelligent.  You know if you were to be killed tonight an investigation would most probably be merged.’

‘Why?’ Luther said half-heartedly, ‘it’s over, they got what they wanted.  Why would they care about me?’  Klaus grimaced.

‘Now that I think of it, the deal I proposed seems somewhat unfair, which is why I will ask for something extra.  I’m assuming that the Nazis, being so famously generous with other people’s belongings, gave you something in return of this favour.’

Without at all meaning to, Luther shot a worried glance towards a small cupboard fixed under the wine cabinet.  Klaus grinned.

‘Bottom cupboard,’ Luther spoke, bowing his head as if a great weight of shame balanced upon his neck.  Pushing away from the table, Klaus moved towards the wine cabinet, the gun still aimed at its target.  With his free hand Klaus latched open the small wooden doors and began to feel around inside the darkness until his fingers curled around a laced piece of string.  A velvet bag was heaved onto the table.  Klaus unfastened the cord and lowered the bag into the dim light of the lamp, scooping at the contents within.  A heap of jagged stones and jewels fell about his palm.  Each stone varied in size and colour.  Cerulean blue, burnt sienna, flashes of magenta and teal.        

‘The Price of a good man’s life,’ he said, thumbing at the assortment of shimmering gems. 

‘Nowhere near,’ Luther rumoured.

DEADLINES

‘So you see, Stefan.  You have lost nothing.’

Stefan had momentarily lowered his aim and was now staring at the dark shadow that stood within the framed doorway. 

‘What is this, I don’t understand?’

‘You’re friends and family are alive, they are safe,’ Lieutenant Jung said.  Gerard confirmed it with a nod.

‘He’s right, Stefan.’

Klaus Jung walked over the shattered remains of the De
Lorme residence and took the letter away from Stefan’s fallen clasp.

‘The signature sitting at the bottom of that
letter, is the name of the man who killed my Grandfather.’

Stefan shook his head.

‘What has that got to do with me, or Gerard or my family?’

‘More than you think,’ replied Klaus.

‘Come,’ Gerard said, ‘we’ve all got some explaining to do.’

They got into a car outside the house and a driver quickly took them to a street not ten minutes away.  There, the three of them climbed out one by one and Gerard led them behind a scatter of squared lockups.  Taking a key from his pocket Gerard slipped it into a weighty lock and turned it until the metal curve clicked and fell helplessly to one side. 

‘Here we are.’

The door swung open and he stepped inside.  The outside impression had been deceiving, for inside lay a deep room, filled only with four singular chairs that were lined neatly in the centre of the space.  A heap of wood and golden brass and tools sat just before them.  Klaus Jung strode into the centre of the room and collected a hammer from the neatly organised assemblage, stroking the head of clawed metal with a gentle and careful brush. 

‘You have two days to assemble the structure mapped out on these blueprints.’ 

‘Excuse me?’

‘You are a carpenter, are you not?’

‘Yes but...’

‘Then you should have it done in one.’

Gerard sniffled from behind Stefan’s shoulder. 

‘What is this?  Gerard what are we doing here?  Where are the others?’

‘They’re fine, brother.  Don’t fret, you’ll see them soon.’

‘I need your implicit attention, Stefan.  In precisely forty eight hours, a plane will be landing on a private runway in Paris.  We only have one window and the details must be perfect, flawless.’

Confusingly intrigued, Stefan glanced at Gerard’s calm stare and stepped towards the lean stand of Lieutenant Klaus Jung. 

‘So, what is it you would have a carpenter do?’

‘I need a chair,’ countered Klaus.

‘Like those chairs?’ said Stefan, pointing at the gathering of seating across the
floor.’ 

‘No.  A special kind of chair, made from brass knuckles and wood joints.  Consult the blueprints.  Let me know if you need anything else.’

‘Wait,’ Stefan clasped desperately at the starch pressed sleeve of the leaving Lieutenant.

‘I need answers.’

‘Very well,’ Klaus said, glancing testily at Gerard, ‘allow me to bring you up to speed.’

THE INDIAN CHIEF

THE FINAL PART

He decided to take the Chief, leaving Harley in the shadows of his Grandfather’s shed.  He had only ever once gripped at the reins of the Chief, some time ago, when his dear Grandfather had revealed to him that the magnificent steed had been restored to its past greatness.  Klaus had snuck out into the shed and pegged open the doors, wheeling the immaculate chassis of the Chief out into the spectral streets.  He remembered how it had purred and sniggered to life with a racing jolt.  Each breath tasted like a golden rush of freedom and Klaus had experienced nothing like it before.  But tonight was different.  As he barrelled through the empty country roads Klaus realised that he could no longer feel the thrill of the ride on his tongue, but within each deep lash that scarred his young face, and he was tormented.  He swivelled onto the drive of Doctor Hugo Brandt’s house and took to the bed of gravel leading up to the porch.  It was a long time since he had gambled up the white veranda staircase and through instinct and habit he found himself reaching for the small rubber ball tucked within his jacket pocket.  He thudded his palm against the door.  His legs raced with such agony, it was almost a fluid, spiralling up and locking his thighs into an agonising deadness.  Before a light appeared past the door he let go of the raging race of tears that so angrily and urgently intended to burst away from his sorrowful gaze and slumped against the frame, edging down onto the rippled wood.  A silhouette appeared in the blur washed doorway.

‘Yes?’

Klaus clinched the silk woven bandana that smothered the creases of dried blood and let it fall at his neck.

‘Oh my goodness,’ Miss Brandt clasped a hand to her mouth and turned into the hallway.

‘Hugo!  Hugo!’

Doctor Brandt materialized from behind his wife’s shuddering stance and stared upon the frightened boy that stood limply against the wooden foundations of his porch. 

‘Wake Elsie,’ Hugo said.

Hugo sat back and dipped the bloodied ends of his sharp tools into a cool soak of shimmering yet tarnished water.  The boy’s groans and painful strikes of hurt still echoed within his ears but what shocked him the most, was the story that had been told in-between.  The letter that had been in Klaus’ pocket sat stretched out across the table.  Elsie waited at the doorway, her eyes tightly shut as her Father took a hot pin to the thin gashes seeping across the boy’s cheeks. 

‘Let him rest for a while,’ Hugo muttered as he dabbed a towel over his brow, ‘I need to make a few calls.’  Elsie sat beside the cot on which Klaus lay and set a hand over his bare shoulder.  His eyes were lost behind a curtain of flustering eyelashes and his lips murmured ramblings that she could not make sense of.

‘Can you hear me?’ She said gently.  Her hair brazed his skin as she stooped down to his ear.  He offered no reply, just more quiet chokes of raspy breath.

‘I heard what you said,’ she sobbed, ‘I am so sorry.  I am so, so sorry.’

She laid her lips against his forehead.  Tears spilt onto his warm cheeks.  With a slow reach Klaus began to fumble a band of weak fingers at the pocket of his jacket.  It hung over the stud of the cot and he raised a cupped hand up to where Elsie sat, her eyes wide with proud expectation.  His fingers released like the lethargic grip of an opening oyster, revealing the shiny blue curve of the rubber ball.  She smiled and closed his clasp, kissing at his pale knuckles.  Again he seemed to lose himself within a flush of pain and he drifted away, his head sloping against the rise of the sweat drenched pillow.  Hugo passed through the doorway and placed his hand against his daughter’s shoulder.

‘He’ll be alright,’ he assured. 

‘What he said, could it be true?’

‘I believe it is.’

‘I need you to know,’ Elsie said with her head bowed, ‘we knew about Felix.  We knew he was meeting with Luther.’

‘Oh Elsie.’

‘We needed to find out what was going on,’ she cried, ‘after I found out you were involved I couldn’t just leave things be, how could I?’

Hugo turned to her.

‘Me?  What are you talking about?’

‘You... But Felix came to you... he came to you and told you about the meeting, we saw you together, on the porch, a day ago.’ 

Hugo stroked his beard and pondered over what he had just heard.

‘Felix didn’t tell me about any meeting.  He said that he was going up to Berlin this evening and he wanted me to watch over Klaus.  He wanted me to watch over Klaus.’

Elsie looked at her Father and then at the sleeping boy.

‘He knew didn’t he?  He knew he was getting set up?’

‘I don’t know,’ Hugo said weakly, ‘come, let’s leave him to rest.  We’ll talk more in the morning.’

When morning finally arrived, Klaus woke to the inquisitive stare of a man he recognised, but couldn’t recall where from.  He wore a large suit and an expression that Klaus could only describe as suspicious curiosity.