Armageddon - Leon Uris

Three million angered liberated slaves raped and looted and destroyed the western sectors; three million Allied soldiers from the West walked her land; and seven million of her men were prisoners of the West.

Ration was cut back to a thousand calories, about two thirds the minimum needed to sustain human life.

It was not only the broken body of Germany, it was the degradation they had imposed upon humanity. It was the terrible German sickness shown naked.

There was but a handful of Ulrich Falkensteins. The Nazi era had stripped the nation of government, of police, of intellectuals. Germany’s jewel, her manhood, was dead, maimed, imprisoned. And a strange thing happened. For the first time, the second-class citizen, the German woman, was asked to take over the government as well as clean the mess from the streets.

June 5. I am happy to report we are beginning a master plan for the reconstruction of Rombaden.

June 7. Today, Lieutenant Shenandoah Blessing accepted and began the training of seven Germans as a nucleus for a new Rombaden police force.

June 10. Today Ulrich Falkenstein became the first German publisher of a German newspaper. In a week we are hopeful of operating a 25-watt, hand-powered radio station for the area.

June 12. Under Ulrich Falkenstein’s Educational Committee, the task of rewriting the elementary textbooks has begun.

One by one General Hansen tested new laws, new ideas on Rombaden to learn if it would work out for the rest of the zone. Feeling Sean O’Sullivan had complete control of the area Hansen issued the edict there that no former Nazi could be employed at anything but common labor. This sweeping ruling was quickly followed up by the Questionnaire, the Fragebogen, which every adult had to fill out, accounting in full for every action during the Nazi era. In 131 soul-searching questions nothing was omitted ... nothing left to chance. As the Fragebogen stripped every facade in Rombaden, pried behind blank eyes and sealed lips, Hansen made plans to use it in the entire American zone.

June 15. I am personally convinced that Ulrich Falkenstein has succeeded in purging the government of this district of all former Nazis. They have been replaced by people with undisputable anti-Nazi records. Unfortunately, most of them are totally inexperienced in government. However, the purging of all Nazis from official positions has brought Rombaden to an important plateau.

Henceforth, I shall turn over the responsibility and function of government to them, bit by bit, as they prove they can handle it. In due course I will allow divergent political parties to begin to operate.

I am personally hopeful we will be able to have a free election within a year.

Chapter Twenty-seven

THE MOST UNOBTRUSIVE MEMBER of Pilot Team G-5 was H. W. Trueblood, an ex-curator of the British Museum. The old fellow was more than content, he was ecstatic spending his days in the cellars below the Rombaden Kuntshalle uncrating and cataloguing the museum’s works. Each evening he emerged looking like a pale gopher, but thoroughly enraptured by the stimulation of being surrounded by the work of the masters.

When Sean learned that Geoffrey Grimwood had “loaned” Castle Romstein to a field hospital, he sent Trueblood to the castle immediately to take down, catalogue, and store the art works against theft.

Trueblood chose the immense castle library as his workroom. Room by room, precious paintings, urns, statues and statuettes, armor and tapestries were removed to the library until it took on the appearance of a multimillion-dollar junk yard. A day and night guard was put on the library as Trueblood began the painstaking work of identifying and recording each single item.

On his third day at the castle, he phoned Sean O’Sullivan.

“I say, could you spare a bit of time, Major, and dash over here. I’ve struck the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. And bye the bye, bring the fat policeman with you.”

“Gawddamn,” Blessing said when he arrived with Sean, “looks like old Mr. Hawkins’ antique store.”

Trueblood led them to a corner holding a separate stack of paintings.

“I suppose you want to know why I called you over. It appears that Count Ludwig had a passion for the French post-impressionist period. Mind you, that is not my forte, but these works here have achieved such a measure of renown that they are commonly known.” He lifted the first in the line. “Toulouse-Lautrec’s ‘Portrait of Suzanne Valadon,’ vintage 1885.” Setting the painting aside he held the next two up, one by one. “These are Gauguins ... ‘Vahine no de Taire’ and, of course, ‘Seashore at Martinique.’ This one here we know is a Van Gogh ... ‘Field at Saint-Remy.’ Quite a foursome, would you not say? I took them out of Count Ludwig’s personal quarters.”

Blessing didn’t understand what was so hot about the paintings but was impressed that the Englishman called them off like names of his children.

Sean was already ahead of it. “Where are they from?”

“The Carlsberg Glyptotek in Copenhagen.”

Sean let out a long whistle.

“Let’s carry on, shall we? Van de Velde, seventeenth century, ‘Woman at a Window’... Royal Museum of Fine Art, Antwerp. Lemmen, ‘Harbor View’ ... Giroux Gallery in Brussels, and so forth and so forth. These last three are Renoirs from private collections in France.”

“You mean he stole these?” Blessing asked. “But, hell, we’ve got better painters than this in the Hook County Fair.”

“Certainly not. This lot represents in excess of a million dollars.”

“Gawd.”

“We have suspected all along that many high Nazi officials in occupied countries developed a sudden penchant for collecting art, other people’s art, that is. We think Goering alone has stolen millions from France.”

“Do you think there’s more of them here?” Sean asked.

“I’d wager on it.

Sean thought quickly. “Come back to Rombaden with me, Trueblood. We’ll try to get a line through to this museum in Copenhagen as a starter and find out under what conditions these were taken and what other pieces are missing. Blessing, round up everyone who worked in the castle or on the grounds. Grill their asses off. Promise them cigarettes, double rations, anything. We want to know every cellar, cave, secret passage ... any possible place a cache could be hidden ...

“What about the count?”

“Put a twenty-four-hour tail on him.”

Sean went immediately to Dante Arosa’s office.

“I’m going to need everything you have on Count Ludwig right away. Matter of fact, give me the records on the entire family.”

Dante was startled. “What the hell’s up?”

“I’ll know for sure in a few hours. Run the files into my office.”

Dante laughed weakly. “Hell, there’s nothing you can find out by breaking your head on the records. What is it you are after?”

In that instant, Sean sensed Dante’s uneasiness. An iota of suspicion had fallen on him. “I’m not quite sure what I’m after,” he said carefully.

Dante shrugged. “Well ... they’re really not up to date ...”

Sean was disturbed. “Let’s have them ... now.”

“Sure ... sure ...”

The voluminous files of the interrogation of Ludwig Von Romstein was studied for hours. Dates of his visits to Denmark, Belgium, Holland, and France could certainly concur with the thefts, but as Sean read on past midnight the finding of the art treasures began to take on a secondary meaning.

Dante Arosa’s files began to make an ugly revelation. “Oh God, no,” Sean whispered to himself. But he read on. He lifted the phone. “Operator, see if Lieutenant Arosa is in his quarters,” Sean asked.

Sean dropped his head on his hands, rubbed his temples, beat his fist slowly on the desk, counting each ring of the unanswered phone.