Michael Palmer: Side Effects

Miiller broke the silence. "We are all with the same laboratory. We all stand to lose much if we fall into disfavor-either now with the Reich or soon with the Allies. I expect a full disclosure of your work with Estronate Two-fifty, Dr. Becker."

Becker nodded his acquiescence and silently prayed that his portrayal of a beaten man would be convincing. Minutes later, the three men from the Blue Unit were gone. Becker closed his eyes and massaged the tightness at the base of his neck.

Then he poured three fingers of Polish vodka from a bottle Edwin had sent him, and drank it in a single draught. The encounter with Miiller and Rendl, triumphant though it had been, had left him drained. He fingered his chronometer. Was there time for a nap?

No, he decided. No sleeping until this filthy camp with its petty people and skeleton prisoners was a thing of the past. He walked briskly from his office to the low, frame, barracklike building that housed the Green Unit's biochemical research section.

With glances to either side, he backed through the rear door and locked it from the inside. The wooden shutters were closed and latched, creating a darkness inside that was tangible. The flashlight was by the door-where he had hung it that morning. Using the hooded beam, Becker counted the slate squares making up the top of his long central workbench. Reaching beneath the fifth one, he pulled. The cabinet supporting the slate slid out from the others. Beneath it, hidden from even a detailed search, was the circular mouth of a tunnel. "And the rockets red glare, the bombs bursting in air…"

Alfi Runstedt sang the words as he dug, although he had no idea of their meaning. The song, he knew, was the American anthem, and this day, at least, that was all that mattered. As a child in Leipzig, he had spent hours beside his family's new Victrola memorizing selections from a thick album of anthems of the world. Even then, the American "Star Spangled Banner" had been his favorite. Now, he would have the chance to see the country itself and, even more wonderful, to become an American.

"Oh say does that star spangled ba-a-ner-er ye-et wa-ave… With one syllable, he rammed the spade into the sandy soil. With the next, he threw the dirt up to the side of the grave. The trench, three feet deep, was better than half done. Lying on the grass to Alfi's left, two meters from him, were the corpses of the peasant woman and her son, which would be laid inside as soon as the proper depth was reached. Alfi Runstedt paid them no mind. He was stripped to his ample waist. Dirt, mingling with sweat, was turning his arms and walrus torso into a quagmire. The thick, red hair on his chest was plastered into what looked like a fecal mat. His SS uniform pants were soaked and filthy. and the home of the brave. 0-oh say can you see…"

"Alfi, take a break if you need one. We cannot make any moves until dark. I told you that." From his perch atop a large boulder, Willi Becker gazed down into the narrow crypt. Alfi stopped his digging and dragged a muddy wrist across his muddy forehead. "It is nothing, Herr Oberst. Believe me, nothing. I would dig a thousand such holes in the ground for the honor you have done me and the reward you have promised.

Tell me, do you know if many American women are thin like Betty Grable?

One of the men in the barracks at Friedrichshafen had her picture by his cot."

"I don't know, Alfi." Becker laughed. "Soon, you shall be able to see for yourself. If we meet the boat in Denmark and if my cousin has made all the arrangements, we should be in North America with valid papers within a few weeks."

"Big ifs, yes?"

"Not so big. The biggest if anyplace is money, and hopefully we have enough of that. We'll need some luck, but our chances of making it out undetected seem rather good."

"And you do not think me a traitor or a coward for wanting to leave with you?"

"Am I?

"You are different, Herr Oberst. You have research to complete. important research. I am just a junior officer in an army that is losing a war."

"Ah, but you are also my aide. My invaluable aide. Was it not you who informed me of the old system of drainage pipes running beneath Ravensbriick?"

"Well, it was just my fortune to have worked with the sanitation department when I was younger and-"

"And was it not you who chose to keep that information our little secret and to help me with the connecting tunnel?"

"Well, I guess-"

"So don't say you are not deserving, Unteroffizier Runstedt. Don't ever say that."

"Thank you, Oberst. Thank you." And at that moment, Alfred Runstedt, the man who had overseen or assisted in the extermination of several thousand Ravensbriick prisoners, the man who had, not an hour before, calmly strangled to death a woman, her young son, her husband, and her father, wept with joy. Hollywood, New York, baseball, Chicago-now just words, they would soon be his life. Since the June invasion at Normandy, and even more frequently since the abortive July attempt to assassinate the Filhrer at Rastenburg, in eastern Prussia, he had been forced to endure the recurrent nightmare of his own capture and death. In one version of the dream, it was execution by hanging, in another, by firing squad. In still another, ghostly prisoners, totally naked, beat him to death with sticks. Soon, the nightmares would stop. The grave was nearly deep enough. The wooded grove which was serving as an impromptu cemetery accepted the evening more quickly than did the adjacent field and was nearly dark when Becker pushed himself off the rock. "So, just a few more spadefuls, is it?" he said. "I think so, " Alfi answered. He had donned a windbreaker against the chill of dusk. His uniform shirt, hanging on a branch, would be kept clean for a final display. "Cigar?"

"Thank you, Herr Oberst." Alfi paused to light the narrow cheroot, one of a seemingly endless supply possessed by Becker. "I think you are deep enough now, " Becker said after a half dozen more passes. "Let me give you a hand."

Alfi scrambled from the grave. One with the arms, and one with the legs, the two men unceremoniously tossed the bodies of the woman and the boy into the pit. Alfi replaced the dirt with the spade. Becker helped, using his foot. "Forgive me if I am out of line, Herr Oberst, " Alfi said as he shoveled, "but is there any possibility of notifying my sister at the munitions plant in Schwartzheide that, contrary to the reports she will receive, I am alive and well?"

Becker chuckled and shook his head. "Alfi, Alfi. I have explained to you the need for secrecy. Why do you think I waited until only a few hours ago to tell you of my escape plan? I, myself, have been measuring every word for weeks, afraid I might give it away. For now, and for the foreseeable future both of us must remain among the lamentable casualties of the war. Even my brother, Edwin, at the camp in Dachau will not know."

"I understand, " Alfi said, realizing that he did not-at least not totally. "By the morning, you and I shall be both free and dead." Becker stamped on the topsoil of the grave and began throwing handfuls of dusty sand and pine needles over the fresh dirt. The idea of using the bodies of the farmer and his son-in-law was sheer genius, Becker acknowledged.

Originally, he had planned to have the two farmers supply him with transportation to Rostock. Their lorry would now run just as well with him at the wheel. The other refinements in his original plan were dazzling. When all was said and done, Miiller and Rendi would be left to face the music with little or no suspicion that he was still alive."..

and the home of the brave." Becker joined the startled Runstedt in the final line. Both Runstedt and Becker groaned repeatedly with the effort of dragging first one body and then another through the sewage pipe to the false cabinet in the biochemical research building. Intermixed with the sounds of their effort were the scratching and scraping of countless rats, scurrying about in the pitch darkness. The young farmer was, in height and frame, a virtual twin of Becker's. The older man, like Runstedt, was heavy, but taller than Runstedt by several centimeters.