Mark Frost - The Second Objective

“Somebody else was back here with him? An MP? Anybody else? Maybe two men?”

“Yeah, I think maybe.”

“Where they’d go, out that way?”

“I heard the door close.”

“You a medic?”

“No, sir.”

Grannit took the dog tags off Carlson and slipped them into his pocket.

“Come with me,” said Grannit, starting toward the door.

“What about him?” asked Bernie.

“Nothing we can do for him now. Come on.”

They hurried out the back door into an alley. Grannit had his sidearm pulled, looking in both directions. He pointed to the left.

“Take that way, once around the block, meet back here. Give a shout if you see anything.”

Grannit ran off to the right. Bernie headed down the alley like a sleepwalker, his thoughts thicker than the fog.

He knew this man. He remembered him now. The one who’d chased them at the hospital, who came after them on the motorcycle. He didn’t think the man had placed him. Not yet, anyway.

Bernie reached the end of the alley and looked in both directions. Visibility was less than twenty yards. No sign of Von Leinsdorf.

Should he go back as the officer ordered him to do or keep walking? The darkness beckoned. He had a chance at least; now that he was free of the German, he could fade into the night. They were focused on Von Leinsdorf now but if he went back to that movie house, there’d be MPs all over him, questions he couldn’t answer, then an American firing squad, just as Von Leinsdorf had predicted.

He could use the dead girl’s apartment, at least overnight. Find a map, figure a way out of the city. But to do what? Go where? His life in Germany was finished, even if his parents were still alive. He could never set foot there again, not after what Von Leinsdorf had told him about the death camps. He’d heard the rumors, and he’d been around the Nazis long enough to know they were capable of it. Von Leinsdorf had only confirmed what he’d feared was true for years.

A sense of shame overwhelmed him. His impulsive little acts of rebellion in Berlin seemed so puny and inadequate. He could have done more, tried harder to fight them, but all he’d thought of when it really mattered was his own survival. When he faced his own death, whenever it might come, what damage had that done to his immortal soul? If he’d failed so miserably what difference did it make if he lived or died?

The bottom dropped out: Was Von Leinsdorf right? Did it all mean nothing? How could whatever he had left of his life make up for what he’d failed to do, if he didn’t take a stand now?

He spotted something lying in a corner of the alley and picked it up. An MP’s armband. Nearby a white helmet and billy club had been tossed in a trash can. They’d come this way, Von Leinsdorf and the other man, after they’d left the theater. Bernie looked down the street. The girl’s apartment was in that direction. That was where Von Leinsdorf would go first.

To take care of me. Another loose end. Unless I take care of him first.

He heard MPs’ whistles blowing somewhere nearby, footsteps running down another street. A manhunt was under way and he remembered: They’re looking for me, too.

He ran back toward the theater, until he saw the American officer rounding the corner. Bernie showed him the armband, then led him back to where he’d found it. Bernie watched as he examined the other articles.

“I think I know who did this,” said Bernie.

“We killed that man in the theater.”

“No, sir. I think it’s someone else. Another GI. I followed him to the movie house.”

“Why?”

“I saw him hurting this girl, earlier to night.”

“Where?”

“Through the window of an apartment, as I walked by. I’m not sure, but I think he might have killed her. I didn’t know what to do so I waited. He came out a few minutes later.”

“Where were you headed?”

“Me? I was going to the movies.”

“Why didn’t you say anything to an MP?”

“I saw him go inside, lost him in the lobby. Then I thought I saw him going behind the screen. That’s why I followed him back there.”

Grannit just looked at him. Bernie couldn’t tell if he believed him or not.

“I think he might’ve gone back to that apartment,” said Bernie.

“Take me there.”

“Okay. It’s this way.”

Grannit called for a radioman to join them and they walked at a brisk clip, Bernie taking the lead. Grannit spoke into the radio most of the way, shouting orders to his men at the movie house.

“What’s your name, Private?” the man snapped, as soon as he came off the radio.

“Bernie Oster, sir.”

“What unit are you with?”

“Two hundred ninety-first Engineer Combat Battalion.”

“Where you from?”

“Brooklyn, sir.”

“Which neighborhood?”

“Park Slope.”

“North or South?” asked Grannit.

Bernie looked over at him, but couldn’t read the man’s expression. “North.”

“Where’d you live?”

“On Union Street, between Sixth and Seventh Avenue. You know Brooklyn, sir?”

“What’d your dad do?”

“He worked for Pfizer,” said Bernie. “Research and development. He was a chemist.”

“Was?”

“He’s retired now. Turn right here.”

Bernie led him to the front door of the woman’s apartment building. Grannit ordered the radioman to call in support and wait for it on the street. He forced the lock and Bernie led him up to the third floor.

The door stood open a crack. Grannit drew his gun, gestured for silence, and listened. He silently eased the door forward.

All the lights were off. Bernie couldn’t remember if he’d left them that way. Grannit pulled a flashlight from his belt. Bernie watched from the doorway as the beam edged around the apartment. Somehow, before even completing his sweep, the man knew the apartment was empty. He walked in and turned on the living room lamp.

“Stay by the door,” said the man. “Don’t touch anything.”

Bernie stepped inside. Grannit walked straight into the bedroom. Bernie watched him lift the blanket covering the girl’s body on the bed. He studied it for a moment, then replaced the blanket and examined the rest of the room. Bernie saw him pick up Von Leinsdorf’s old discarded GI uniform from the floor. He glanced briefly at the jacket, ripped something off the shoulder, then dropped it again. Out of nowhere, the dead woman’s damn cat rubbed against Bernie’s leg. He jumped half a foot and kicked at it.

“Get away. Get away.”

Grannit came back into the living room, opened the window, and looked down at the street.

“Is she dead?” asked Bernie.

Grannit marched straight to Bernie, grabbed him by the throat, stuck the barrel of his gun under his chin, and cocked the hammer.

“Two hundred ninety-first Combat Engineers?” he said.

“That’s right.”

Grannit held up the patch he’d torn from the uniform in the other room so Bernie could see it. The same unit.

“You didn’t tell me you were from the same unit,” said Grannit.

“Guess I didn’t realize-”

“You didn’t see him do anything to that girl from the street, the curtains were pulled. You were up here with him-”

“No, only after he killed her,” said Bernie, his voice shaking. “He made me come up with him.”

“What are you doing in Reims?”

“We were delivering dispatches-”

“Don’t fucking lie to me. Tell me what I want to know or I put your brains on the wall-”

“Okay, okay-”

“Your friend just killed my partner, you Nazi fuck!”

Grannit shoved Bernie down into a chair and pointed the gun at him. Convinced he was about to die, Bernie put his hands up and closed his eyes.