Greg Iles - Black Cross

“I don’t recall the exact day,” he said. “It was 1940.”

“That’s interesting,” said Schörner, “since all ceremonial daggers are awarded only on November ninth.”

Stern looked at his watch. 7:40. His only thought was to give the women time to get the children to the E-Block. And he knew he could do that. “There is only one solution,” he said. “Call Obergruppenführer Kaltenbrunner at SD headquarters in Berlin.” Stern reversed the Walther in his hand and handed it butt first to Sergeant Sturm.

Bewildered, the SS man accepted the weapon.

A faint smile touched Schörner’s mouth. “Where did you meet this man, Hauptscharführer?” he asked.

“At the back gate, Sturmbannführer.”

“You have someone guarding the gate now?”

“ Ja .”

“How many technicians are in the factory?”

“The full shift. Thirty-four men. They’re taking the place apart.”

Schörner nodded while he thought. “I want every one of the technicians moved into the cinema immediately and placed under guard. Then bolt every door on the factory. Clear?”

“ Zu befehl , Sturmbannführer.”

“One call to Berlin will tell me if the major here is fish or fowl. I want those technicians locked in the cinema by the time I’m off the phone. The civilian nurses as well. Every one of them. Get moving.”

Sergeant Sturm hurried into the headquarters building. Schörner turned back to Stern. “This has been most entertaining. If you are who you say you are, I will soon be without a dagger myself. If not, well. . . ” Schörner looked over Stern’s shoulder. “You’d better come with us, Schütze.”

With the barrel of a private’s rifle between his shoulder blades, Stern followed Schörner into the headquarters building. He stole one last glance at his watch as he passed through the door.

7:41.

“I’ve heard no explosion yet.”

“He’s still got nine minutes,” said McConnell from the kitchen table. He turned to the stove, where Anna stood warming herself. “Would we definitely hear a grenade on the hill?”

“Yes. I think we should go now. Something feels wrong to me.”

“That’s just nerves. It’s not time yet.”

McConnell was feeling butterflies himself, as if he were waiting to run the biggest race of his life. He had just gulped a large glass of water to make up for the fluid loss from a half hour inside his anti-gas suit. His air cylinder stood on the floor, the corrugated hose wrapped around it.

Anna turned from the stove. “I think they’ve caught him,” she said.

McConnell angrily slapped the table. “Then why haven’t we heard shooting? An alarm? Something? You think he would let them take him without a fight?”

“He might. His father is there, remember.”

McConnell took a deep breath and tried to stay calm. Arranged in front of him were his toggle rope, his clear vinyl head mask, the Mauser rifle he’d traded from Stan Wojik, and the bright swatch of tartan that Sir Donald Cameron had given him on the bridge at Achnacarry. The note from Churchill was folded in Anna’s diary, which he’d hidden in the leg of his oilskin suit. Stern’s gas suit was folded in the backseat of Greta’s Volkswagen.

But where was Stern?

Anna touched his arm. “He’s relying on us to send down the gas,” she said. “I think we should wait on the hill.”

“I’m doing what he told me,” McConnell said doggedly. He took another long drink of water. “Eight more minutes. We’ll make it to the hill in time.”

She reached out and took his hand. “All right. Whatever happens, I’m glad for last night. It will make everything easier.”

McConnell started to ask what she meant, but he didn’t. He had a feeling he knew.

When Avram Stern saw his son walking back across the Appellplatz ahead of Sergeant Sturm and an SS private, he almost panicked. Instead, he tried to think like his son. Jonas had come this far without getting caught; he must know what he was doing.

The three men walked around the cinema and disappeared. Could Jonas be trying to reach the main gate? It was fifty meters away, and difficult to see clearly in the darkness, but Avram would know if a man passed through it.

No one did.

Two minutes after Jonas disappeared, Avram saw Sergeant Sturm burst from the rear door of the headquarters and sprint toward the factory with five SS men behind him. Had Jonas made a break for freedom? Had he concocted some diversion to draw the SS away from the E-Block? Avram felt a flash of fear as white-coated lab technicians began streaming out of the factory gate with Sergeant Sturm’s men prodding them along.

The soft crunch of footsteps on the snow behind him told him Rachel and the other chosen women were slipping into the Jewish Children’s Block in preparation for the move to the E-Block. He looked down at his wristwatch — an illegal item he had accepted as payment for a repair job on a pair of SS knee boots — the wristwatch of a dead Jew.

7:41.

Jonas had planned to short out the electricity prior to the attack. That would not happen now. Without the cover of absolute darkness, the women and children would have to cross open ground in plain view of the sentry standing at the back gate.

They would never make it.

With quivering hands the shoemaker unslung the silenced Schmeisser and started for the back gate.

“Berlin never heard of you.”

Major Schörner put down the telephone and smiled.

Stern stared impassively into the black barrel of his own Walther.

“I talked to Kaltenbrunner himself,” Schörner said. “He wants me to send you to Berlin for questioning. But — I have a few questions of my own for you first.”

A door banged open behind Stern. He did not turn, but the clatter of boots told him at least three men had entered the office.

“Sturmbannführer, the technicians are locked in the cinema!” said Sergeant Sturm. “The factory is sealed!”

“And the nurses?” Schörner asked.

“The three who were on duty are in the cinema with the technicians. Greta Müller is dead, of course. I sent a rider for Frau Jaspers.”

“That’s five. And the sixth?”

“Fraulein Kaas, Sturmbannführer. It seems she left the hospital early today.”

Schörner sighed impatiently. “ And ?”

“I just found out she was driving Greta Müller’s car! In the confusion after finding the bodies in the sewer—”

“In the confusion no one noticed,” Schörner finished. “In fact I did notice that. But because Fraulein Kaas is the sister of a Gauleiter’s wife, I did not consider her a likely candidate for treason. How foolish of me. Now that I think of it, she was quite a friend of the Müller girl.”

Stern stole a glance at his watch: 7:43. He prayed McConnell would leave the cottage on schedule.

Schörner tapped his right hand on his desk. “Do you know what I think, Hauptscharführer? I think our ersatz Standartenführer looks much too clean to have been hiding in the forest for the past few days. He looks like he’s been enjoying local hospitality. Eating well, by the look of him. Where does Fraulein Kaas live, Sturm?”

“A old farmer’s cottage on the southern edge of Dornow.”

Schörner nodded. “I know that cottage.” He stood up suddenly and pocketed Stern’s Walther. “I’m going to take a detachment of men and search it.”

“But Herr Doktor Brandt ordered the camp sealed.”

Schörner’s jaw tightened. “I am in charge of security here, not Brandt. This man is no longer a threat. His comrades are. The Allies might well be planning to kidnap Brandt. I want you to place the Herr Doktor under guard.”

Schörner took an extra clip of ammunition from his desk drawer and retrieved his Luger from Sergeant Sturm. “If there’s any trouble while I’m gone, Hauptscharführer, do whatever you must to prevent the Herr Doktor from falling into enemy hands.” He looked up pointedly. “Do you understand?”