Sam Bourne - The Final Reckoning

Tom could feel Rebecca shuffling, desperate for Goldman to get to the point. ‘Could I-’

The raised palm again. ‘You'll soon see where this is leading.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Add to this the fact that the Nazis did not exactly advertise their plans. They hid behind euphemisms: “resettlement in the east”, and so on. And of course the Jews swallowed it up. “Never underestimate a man's inability to imagine his own destruction.” Those were the words of a member of this group. A rabbi, as it happens. Oh yes, there was a rabbi. A poet too. A couple of journalists. Farmers, merchants, doctors. They were a very mixed bunch. Anyway, this rabbi used to speak of Hitler's bus.’ He leaned forward, his eyes bright. 'You know about Hitler's bus, yes? That he was planning to exterminate every single Jew, except twelve? These twelve would be saved, as specimens. Human exhibits. They were to travel the world in a specially equipped bus, a mobile display of “the extinct Jewish people”. That was Hitler's plan. And you know what this rabbi would say? “Every Jew in Europe believed he would be one of the twelve who would make it onto that bus”.

'This is the context in which your father, Rebecca, and mine acted. They believed that the Jews, for all the reasons I have mentioned, had accepted their fate too passively. A few individuals had fought back, but the damage they had inflicted amounted to mere pinpricks. They were just children, the leaders of the resistance. Even the most senior commanders were in their very early twenties. There was so little they could do. You know the phrase, “Like sheep to the slaughter”? That was coined by the poet of the group. He said the Jews had walked into the gas chambers like sheep to the slaughter.

‘It was this that those three hundred men could not stand, that Jewish life had been extinguished so cheaply, without punishment. They wanted to teach the world a different lesson: that to kill a Jew came at a price. That such a crime would be avenged. And so they looked back into history and found an ancient vow: Dam Israel Nokeam. “The blood of Israel will take vengeance”. They took the first letter of each Hebrew word of that slogan to form another word, DIN . A word in itself, it means “judgement” and that became the name of this group. Your father and my father, they were both in it. And I believe, Rebecca, that your father was its very last member.’

Tom was thinking hard about everything he had seen: the passports, the press clippings, the evidence in New York. Had there been any pointer to this word, DIN; some clue he had missed?

‘In the beginning, it was quite straightforward. By the middle of 1945, the Allies ruled Berlin and DIN could operate relatively freely. They cultivated informants in the British and American bureaucracies, especially in the prosecutors' offices, finding men who for their own reasons were only too happy to leak information on Nazis who had melted back into civilian life. One way or another, DIN acquired a target list. Then they used all the old techniques of the ghetto resistance to acquire the uniforms and IDs they needed. My father was good at this work: he would follow a military policeman and knock him out cold, taking great care to steal everything he had: wristwatch, wallet, belt. The soldier would come to a few hours later, stark naked, unaware that the only things his attacker had really wanted were his uniform and military ID. But I believe the female members of DIN were especially adept in this task – though they didn't use force to part the MPs from their uniforms.’

Goldman allowed himself a smile at this, but it passed quickly. The earlier ebullience and pomposity had gone now; his face appeared to be in shadow, a shade entirely of its own making. The more of the story he told, the greater the weight it seemed to press on him.

'Posing as military police made the job easy; they could walk right up to a target and “arrest” him, just like that, bold as brass. Or they could do a “snatch”, an abduction. They could do all this because DIN were wearing the uniforms of the Allied authorities – and the Allies were the masters now.

'Then they would act like a court, reading out the charge sheet, listing the prisoner's crimes. Only then would they announce themselves: “We act in the name of the Jews and we have come to administer justice.”

‘Afterwards, they would go to some lengths to hide the body. That way the investigation into the victim's disappearance took longer, giving DIN time either to get away or to strike again. Ideally, the death, once discovered, was recorded as a suicide.’

Tom thought back to the sheaf of cuttings he had seen in the cardboard box that afternoon: most of the deaths reported there were either car accidents or suicides.

Goldman continued. 'This approach had the obvious advantage of ensuring that no other ex-Nazis would know there was a group actively pursuing them; they would not raise their guard. But, you have to realize, the way DIN saw things, that was also a disadvantage. They wanted the Nazis to know the Jews were out for revenge. They wanted the Nazis to fear the Jews.

‘I must stress that they went only after those who had a hand in the Final Solution. SS men who had staffed the extermination camps, those who had served in the mobile killing units, the Einsatzgruppen . You know about those, Mr Byrne?’

Tom nodded, remembering the story in the notebook, the same story recounted in countless history books: the pits, the shooting, the pile of bodies, still writhing even in death.

‘I see that I have avoided speaking of the actual executions themselves, as my father would have called them. I should correct that.’ Goldman sighed. 'My father hinted at all kinds of exotic methods. A punishment fit for the crime was one approach: a Nazi who had been involved with the gas chambers might be locked in his garage, properly sealed, with his car engine left running. Carbon monoxide was a poor substitute for Zyklon B, but at least the point was made. I heard about another method, also involving the garage. The target would be forced to stand on the roof of his car, while a noose, suspended from the ceiling, would be placed around his neck. Then a DIN member would drive the car away, leaving the target swinging.

‘Still, I'm not sure I believe these accounts. My best guess is that DIN preferred to kill with their bare hands – strangulation – or maybe a knife.’

‘Mr Goldman,’ Rebecca cut in. ‘What we saw today was nothing to do with this wartime period. The actions my father took were much later, in the fifties and sixties.’

Henry Goldman fell back in his chair, the air escaping from him like a punctured tyre. ‘I'm sorry. I've talked too long.’

‘No, not at all, I only-’

‘You see, I knew, of course, that this day would come, that one day I'd have to tell this story. But that does not prepare one for it.’ He gave a forced smile, an expression not of pleasure but of containment, of holding back a great floodtide of emotion. ‘I have not shared it with my wife or my sons. I have carried it, as it were, for many, many years. I don't know how else to tell it, except as I heard it.’

Tom decided to act as diplomat. ‘There's no problem with the way you're telling it, Mr Goldman. You take your time.’

Goldman nodded his silent thanks, cleared his throat and went on. ‘The killings I have described were known as “the first hunting season”. They arose out of the strong belief that there would be no other kind of justice. The Allies had promised it of course, fine speeches about bringing every last Nazi killer to book. But even before the war was over, those promises were fading. Soon there was the suggestion that only those in charge of the Third Reich would face prosecution. Which is how we came to have the great show at Nuremberg, in which a grand total of twenty-four men were brought to account. Twenty-four!’