The One Man (20 page)

“Every day. According to our sources, the work to finish these tracks goes on day and night. There seems to be quite a rush, it appears”—Strauss sniffed—“to ramp up the killings. What you've got to do is get yourself assigned to that particular work detail on the third night you are there. Vrba and Wetzler insist this is not a difficult task. The guard who generally oversees this assignment, an Oberführer Rauch, is known to be open to a bribe. In fact, they claim this is an everyday occurrence in the camp for all sorts of things. In the case of the night detail, apparently there are some who actually desire this particular work detail as it gets you a second meal.”

“
Bribe?
Bribe him with what?” Blum questioned.

“More on that later … In the meantime, what is important is that on this particular night, at zero thirty hours, local partisans, who the colonel here assures me are quite ready and capable, will organize an attack on the work detail from the nearby woods.
Here.
” Strauss tapped his pointer against the blackboard. “This is why it's so important that you have the surrounding terrain committed to memory. You—and Mendl, of course, we're counting on—will run from the attack not toward the woods but toward the river.
Here…”
Strauss pointed. “It's vital that amid the commotion you and Mendl make your way there, Nathan. You'll be met and taken to the landing site. The plane will be set to land precisely at zero one thirty hours. The guards should be occupied for at least a few minutes, till reinforcements arrive, and it would seem logical that anyone looking to escape would run in the direction of the woods, where the partisans will be firing from, and not toward the river. In any case, the ambush will give you cover. Do you have all that?”

Blum nodded. “Yes. I believe so.”

“Of course, should you somehow be unable to find Mendl, or in the event he's dead or in no condition to escape”—Strauss shrugged—“then it will just be you.”

“I understand.”

“So that's the plan. We'll go over everything several more times.” Strauss sat on the edge of the table. “I'm sure you have questions…”

“Just one to start. I'm betting my life on the belief that the local Armia Krajowa will attack,” Blum said.

“They will,” Radjekowski, the Polish colonel, said. “You can be sure of it.”

“And”—Blum turned back to Strauss with a smile—“that this particular guard can be bribed.”

“Yes.” Strauss tapped the pointer twice against the map. “That is the case.
So…”

A stiff silence settled over the room.

Blum felt it was time to ask the question. “So when do I go?”

Strauss glanced toward the Brits, receiving a last, confirming nod from the Polish resistance officer. “The twenty-third. It's a full moon. Highest visibility. We'll be needing it to spot the landing sight. You'll be making the trip in one of the RAF's brand-new Mosquito bombers. Lightweight, high speed. It's able to fly well above the German radar. Oswiecim's about a thousand miles one way, direct, but you'll be flying over to Gothenberg, Sweden, then south, across the Baltic. The Mosquito cruises at about three hundred miles per hour. Given the detour, it should take around four hours or so. We'll do our best to occupy the Luftwaffe with some diversionary bombing runs.” He looked at Blum, in the way a trial lawyer might look at the end of his closing argument when there was no more to say. “All clear?”

“So the twenty-third then…” Blum nodded. A stab of nerves edged through him.

“Yes.” Strauss put down his pointer. “Two days.”

 

TWENTY-SIX

The following day was Sunday, and Blum was given the morning off though he was up at dawn, his nerves unsettled. He leafed through the files one more time—the map of the camp, Mendl—even though everything was already firmly etched in his brain.

At noon, Schubert came around his bunkhouse, the cat's food options clearly diminished elsewhere. Blum was putting a few crumbs on the sill when he heard a knock on the door.

It was Strauss. “Sorry to bother you, Nathan,” he said. He had an expression Blum couldn't quite read. Sober. Unsettled. He was with Kendry, the quiet Brit. Blum didn't trust him. “Mind if we sit?'

“Please…” Blum said, clearing his clothes and files off the other bed. Kendry chose to lean against the window and took out his pipe.

“So…” Strauss gave him a lukewarm smile. “Tomorrow night it is…” He looked at the files and pictures on the other bed. “You're all set?”

“I think so, sir.”

“Got everything down?”

“Like I was from there.” Blum gave him a smile.

“Yes.” Strauss smiled too. “Of course, there's a few more details we have to get settled. You'll be pleased to know we've gotten the final thumbs-up from the people on the ground. They're expecting you. And the weather looks spot on.” He took off his cap. “There is, though, just one more thing…”

“What is that, sir?”

The Brit took a step forward and took a puff on his pipe. “We're concerned about one aspect, Lieutenant, that wasn't part of the training.”

“What is that?” Nathan sat there, looking at them.

“The question, Lieutenant … can you kill?”

“Can I kill?”
Blum looked back at them, unsure. He'd faced being shot at. Several times. But even in the ghetto he'd never had to kill someone. “I'm a soldier,” he said. “Of course I can kill. If I have to.”

“I'm afraid that's just not quite good enough, Nathan.” Strauss stood up. “With all that's on the line, with everything that's at stake, there may well be a time on this mission when you will have to. When your life, and everything else that's involved, will depend on it. And you won't be able to decide there if you can or you can't.”

“Then I will. You can count on it,” Blum declared firmly, looking at the two of them.

“So then we'd like you to prove it,” Kendry said. He unbuttoned his side holster and took out his Browning.

Blum regarded them in some confusion. “How?”

“I see you've made a friend,” the Brit said, smiling to Schubert on the sill. He held out his finger and the animal sidled over to him, arching his back, brushing against him.

“Yes, I think I told you about him,” Blum said. “He—”

The Brit looked back at him.

Suddenly it became clear to Blum just what they were asking. “You can't be serious?” he said, shaking his head. The Brit's gaze hadn't budged. “He's just an innocent cat. He's my friend.”

“From here on out, you have no more friends,” the major replied. “And there's no such thing anymore as guilt or innocence. Only people standing between you and what you have to get done. So, in fact, I'm perfectly serious…” He cocked the pistol and held it out for Blum. “We both are. Show us.”

Blum's jaw parted, then he turned toward Strauss. The OSS captain offered him no relief. He merely shrugged. “Unfortunately, Nathan, we can't quite run with this uncertainty. There's simply too much on the line.”

Blum stared, disbelieving, at the gun. He could not accept what they were asking of him. “There is a difference,” he said. Schubert jumped from the sill to the bed. The Nazis were murderers. They killed innocent people, his parents and sister. Many of his friends. He'd talked his way past German guards and checkpoints with needed medicine in his pockets. He crossed Poland with a holy tract of the Talmud in his luggage; was snuck onto a Swedish freighter, when being discovered would have meant immediate death.
But this …
There was a line. This was on the other side of it. The cat jumped onto the floor and brushed up against the bed.

This made him just like them.

Strauss said, “You think this is any worse than what you will likely face when you land?”

Kendry continued to hold out the gun.

Blum's gut felt as if a knife was tearing through it. It was as if whatever value he held dear, any remembrance of the life he once had, his parents and his sister, anything that separated him from the soulless goons who murdered them was being shredded for good.

You're the one who wanted to do more …

“He's innocent, I know, Nathan. But there may be others who are innocent who may threaten this mission. If you can't,” Strauss stood there, waiting, “I'm afraid we cannot trust you to go.”

Schubert made his way along the floor.
Run. Now. Please …
Blum begged inside. The cat stopped at the door and looked up at Blum, likely expecting an affectionate pet or some food maybe, and meowed.

Blum took the pistol. “Forgive me,” he said, and stepped up to him.

He put the gun down and squeezed the trigger. There was a loud retort. The pistol jerked back in his hand. The cat fell over on his side. Blum stood there looking at it, as something hollow and shameful knotted in his gut, knowing something in him had now changed and gone over to the other side.

“Here.”
He handed the Browning back to Kendry.

Strauss came over and put a hand on Blum's shoulder. “Nathan, I'm sorry. I know what that took. Still, we had to be sure.”

Blum nodded. “I understand.”

“And trust me
…”
Kendry placed the gun back in his holster. “This won't be the worst thing you'll be forced to do on this mission.”

 

TWENTY-SEVEN

The day he was set to go, Blum was asked to take a call at the communication headquarters.

Strauss set him in a private room, with a radio receiver and a telephone handset.

He figured it was Donovan to wish him luck, or maybe a member of his new family, in Chicago, but when the caller got on, through the scratchy static and hissing, he recognized the famous voice from his speeches and “fireside” chats.

It was the president of the United States.

“Am I speaking with Lieutenant Blum?” FDR asked.

“Yes, sir.” Almost by reflex, Blum stood up, although the great man was an ocean away. “Mr. President…” His throat grew dry.

“I wanted you to know that I am fully aware of your mission, Lieutenant. And I called to wish you all good luck.”

“Thank you sir,” Blum said, swallowing. “I'm honored you were even told of it.”

“Told of it.” The president chortled. “I damn well ordered it, Lieutenant.”

A wave of pride washed through Blum. He looked at Strauss, the blood rushing into his face.

“I know the risks,” the president said, “and what you are giving up to do this. We owe you a debt, young man. But do not fail us. You have no idea how much depends on the success of what you do.”

“I won't,” Blum said, his chest expanding. “Sir.”

“Good. Then all I can do is to wish you all God's speed and that His watchful eyes will be over you. I've been assured on many levels that we have chosen the right man.”

“I'm humbled, sir,” Blum said again.

“Then I await the news of your safe and successful return.” The president signed off. “Good luck, young man.”

Blum heard a beep and the receiver showed that the line had disconnected. Still, Blum filled his chest and uttered, “Thank you, sir.”

*   *   *

Before he left he was given three last things.

The first was cash. Five hundred pounds sterling. “You'll need something to bribe the guard with. It'll be sewn into the lining on your tunic.” Strauss showed him. “Along with something else.”

He had a small blue pouch with him, which he tossed to Blum. Blum opened it, and his eyes went wide.

It contained a diamond.

Quite a large one. Larger than anything he had ever seen, even on the fingers of the fancy wives who would accompany their rich husbands into his father's shop.
Eight karats,
Blum estimated.

“Ten, I can see you wondering,” Strauss said. “Nearly perfect quality. Worth a tidy sum. In case you get into trouble,” the captain winked at him, “and you have to buy your way out. It's better than cash or gold in the camp and far more transportable. You know where to hide it, don't you? In a pinch…?” Strauss gave him kind of a crooked smile.

“Oh. Yes. I see.” Blum said, blushing slightly.

“Use it wisely. And by all means, try not to forget it's there.”

“No, I won't. Of course not.” Blum cleared this throat.

“In the meantime, I'll just hold onto it, if you don't mind…” Strauss put out his hand. “For safekeeping, until you leave. Oh, and something else…” He dug into his pocket. “Not exactly sure how to broach this one with you. You're going into a nightmarish place. Even I'm not sure myself just what you'll run into in there. Especially, in the chance something goes wrong…” He opened his hand, and there were two reddish capsules in a plastic case.

Blum looked at them closely, then back at Strauss, the meaning clear. “I see.”

“Instantaneous, practically painless, I'm told. Have to admit, though”—he smiled sympathetically—“haven't tested them myself. They'll be sewn into the top of your tunic. I guess the idea is, even if your hands are tied, you can just, you know…” Strauss put his jaw close to his shoulder. “Bite. I leave it up to you. The official line is, we won't be coming to your aid and the less known, of course, the better…”

“Of course.” Blum nodded, swallowing.

“And between us”—Strauss snapped the container closed and placed it back in his uniform pocket—“it might just be the best alternative, if you're captured, if you know what I mean.”

“Yes, I understand,” Blum said.

Strauss shrugged. “I guess there's not much more to add…”

Blum smiled and met his eyes.

“Other than…” Strauss put his hand on Blum's shoulder. “
Mazel tov
, Lieutenant Blum. Colonel Donovan and I have nothing but one hundred percent respect for what you are undertaking…”