Armageddon - Leon Uris

“Good morning, my dear Major O’Sullivan,” Ludwig said with contempt when Blessing brought him in. I am informed by your police that I am to be arrested.”

Sean was haggard from the ordeal of the affair with Dante Arosa and grunted hoarsely at the German.

“And for what horrendous crime am I to be charged?”

“Don’t glorify yourself. You’re being locked up as a common thief.”

Ludwig Von Romstein smarted. “I beg your ...”

“Your passion for post-impressionist art ran away with you.”

“You refer of course to the Van Goghs, Gauguins, and so forth in my apartment in Castle Romstein.”

Sean nodded.

“Well, that can be easily explained. If I had any guilt, I would have hidden them. They were gifts.”

“The Glyptotek in Copenhagen begs to differ.”

Lout! Ludwig thought Had he again underestimated the American? How the devil did he find out so quickly? “I ... I am astonished to hear they belong to a museum.”

“I’ll bet you are.”

“On my word, they were presents to me from various high officials in occupied countries. You see, I had occasion to visit Denmark, the Low Countries, and France as a member of the armaments board ...”

“Stop the horse crap. I’m tired. We have located the entire cache in the basement of your hunting lodge and the caves near the Roman antiquities.”

Good Lord! The German cleared his throat and thought with great rapidity. “Those ... were ... sent to me by Goering from France for safekeeping.”

“Safekeeping from whom? The rightful owners?”

“I demand the right to prove my innocence. I should like to go before an American court immediately.”

“First things first. You’re going to be reinterrogated by the new CIC officer.”

These words crashed in on him; his immaculate composure became threadbare. Von Romstein looked away from Sean’s hard, disgust-filled eyes. Now he felt entirely boxed, trapped. He tried to ask about Marla ... he couldn’t.

“In case you are wondering, your daughter was put in prison this morning.”

Beads of sweat popped out on the German’s brow. They fell down his face, into his dueling scar. “If Marla committed any indiscretion, you certainly cannot blame me.”

“Sure. You’re just an innocent victim of a lot of uncouth people. Your brother the Nazi, Goering, and now your daughter. They were all out to get you, weren’t they?”

“My innocence will be proved in court.”

“You’re not going before an American court, Von Romstein. I make that my personal mission. When we find enough anti-Nazis in Rombaden, we are going to license a German court.”

“A German court!”

“Certainly you want justice from your own people.”

The implications were clear. The first German courts would be on a binge of vengeance to show the world they were going to purge the Nazi era without mercy. Ludwig Von Romstein became faint with fright at the idea. All the calculations, all the carefully built plans crumbled. Why the hell hadn’t he made the dash for Switzerland? Oh Lord, the German courts would be bloodthirsty for revenge. Twenty years ... thirty ... forty ... Oh Lord ... what has this mad fool Hitler brought me to?

“What are you going to do with Arosa,” Maurice Duquesne demanded of Sean.

“I know what I’d like to do.”

“You’ve got to protect that boy.”

“Like hell I do.”

“If he is court-martialed under this idiotic nonfraternization law ...”

“He happens to be a counter-intelligence officer in the United States Army!”

“You know what that means, Major. Dishonorable discharge. He will be disbarred as a lawyer. What was his crime? Being human? Taking a woman to bed?”

“He picked the wrong woman.”

“The army of saints!”

“Don’t be so goddamned sanctimonious, Duquesne. When we entered your precious France your proud, proud citizens shaved the hair from the heads of the women who slept with Germans and sent them packing down the road, naked.”

“And so? When the Americans leave and the German prisoners return, they will shave the heads of their women who slept with Americans. How fortunate! How utterly fortunate your lovely American womanhood is spared these indignities!”

“This mingling of sweat with the enemy is no justification.”

“Ah, my dear Sean O’Sullivan. You have such a conveniently short memory. Have you forgotten about yourself and the English woman?”

“That’s different.”

“Certainly it is different You got away with it.”

Dante Arosa was gaunt and distraught when Sean went to his room. He looked up at Sean, then lowered his head. The black curly hair was in disarray ... the swashbuckle, the vitality was flat, lifeless. Outside the long green lawn dipped into the Landau, muddy from a fresh rain.

“Say something,” Dante croaked at last, “tell me what a prick I am. Tell me what I’ve done to my family. Tell me ... how everyone on the team would like to spit in my face.”

Sean told him nothing.

“I can’t explain,” Dante whispered. “It was as though ... as though Marla was trying to kill both of us in that bed ... like she was a messenger of death and was luring me with something wonderful ... death and danger was in the room with us every time and it taunted me. And she pulled me closer and closer to it ... and I couldn’t break away.... It was hard to breathe ... to think ...”

Sean gripped him by the collar and jerked him to his feet. “A German woman! How could you do it with a German woman?”

And then, upset by his own violence, he opened his hands and let Dante free.

“We’re just men,” Sean said futilely, “just men. They made the rules too tough for some of us ... you are confined to quarters until a new CIC man is brought in. You will acquaint him with the operations here. After that, you will be transferred to a service unit. At the soonest possible moment you will tender your resignation from the Army. I’ve ... seen to it that you will receive a fully honorable discharge.”

Drained of the venom of fear, Dante began to sob. “You’re too decent. I don’t deserve that kind of a break, Sean. I don’t deserve it.”

“Maybe there’s some punishment in it for you, Dante. You have to go on living and knowing that if this ever leaks out, I’ll have to stand the court-martial in your place.”

Chapter Twenty-nine

DELIVER BY PERSONAL COURIER TO MAJOR SEAN O’SULLIVAN

Dear Sean,

I am using this unusual method of communicating with you for reasons you’ll quickly understand.

World opinion is creating a furor over the revelations of the extermination camps. The pressure on us for “action” is becoming unbearable.

Acting on instructions directly from Washington, Supreme Headquarters here will issue a proclamation within twenty-four hours: namely, PROCLAMATION #22. The proclamation will say, in effect, that a local military governor may request an extraordinary military tribunal for the trial of extraordinary cases. We refer, of course, to SS atrocities. The tribunal will be empowered to impose the death sentence.

Well, Sean, I’m handing the ball to you again. As my Pilot Team Commander we’ve tried quite a few new wrinkles out in your territory so I’m going with you again on PROCLAMATION #22. By happy coincidence you have the mother and daddy of them all in the persons of Klaus and Emma Stoll. We at Supreme Headquarters feel they’re perfect for the first trial under PROCLAMATION #22.

We’ve got to get moving on this to let a little steam out of the vent and to show both the world and the German people we’re going to be tough. We are particularly interested in banging Emma Stoll. The fact that she is a woman will make a heavy impact.