They escorted him to a building set apart from the rest, a wooden cottage that wouldn’t look out of place at a lake resort. About him were the sounds of the quarry at work, the growl of the cranes, the thump of the drills, the whine of the cutting tools, and—underneath—the shouted voices of the guards and overseers.
At the cottage, both men stopped. One pointed to the front stoop. “You go on up there, boy, and there’s someone to see you. You step lively, and if you run out by yourself, jus’ so you know…”
The man jabbed an elbow into Sam’s ribs, making him gasp. The man went on, “Up there, at the southwest guard tower, there’s a man with a scoped rifle, and if you come out of that there cottage by yourself, he’s gonna blow your head clear off. You understand?”
Sam said nothing, shook off the other guard’s grasp, and went up the steps. It was cold, and he could feel shivering starting in his legs and arms. He took hold of the doorknob, wondering what was on the other side.
He opened the door, stepped into a tiny foyer with stained Oriental carpeting and a bureau and lamp. Through an arched opening was a living room with a thick couch and two easy chairs, the arms covered with dainty doilies. A picture window gave a view of the distant fence line, and way beyond that, the tree-covered peaks of the Green Mountains. A man in a military uniform—it looked to be army—was standing with his back to Sam, looking out, his hands clasped behind him.
“Well,” the military man said, and turned around.
Sam stood stock-still, as if someone had nailed his feet to the floor.
Before him, in his Army National Guard uniform, was his boss, Marshal Harold Hanson.
“Sam,” Hanson said, shaking his head. “What the hell have you gotten yourself into?”
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Sam closed his eyes, then opened them right up. “I… I was doing my job.”
Hanson stood there, hands on his hips. “Look at you. Christ, how in hell did you end up here?”
“The dead man… by coming here, I found out who he was—”
“Dammit, Sam, you were told several times to leave that case alone. You know it belongs to the FBI and the Germans.”
“Still my case, sir. No matter what you say or what the FBI says. It’s still my case, and I found out where he came from. I know his real name, and—”
“Do you have any idea the problems you’ve caused?” Hanson interrupted. “What kind of trouble you’re in?”
Sam ran a hand over his shorn head. “Yeah, I guess the hell I know what kind of trouble I’m in. Sir.”
Hanson’s face flushed. “That’s enough of that, then.”
“What else did you expect me to say? Or do?”
“I expected you to be smart, for one,” Hanson said. “And you’re lucky I’m here.”
Sam said, “How did you know where I was?”
His boss said, “Allow me some intelligence. One reason I became marshal is because I keep my ears and eyes open. You don’t think I knew about the deal you cut with Kenny Whelan to get a false FBI ID? He called me just after you left his apartment. Pat Lowengard sold you out, too, the minute you went out the door. That’s our world. Spies and snitches everywhere. It was a simple matter of tracking you from Portsmouth to Boston and then to Burdick, Vermont. Knowing what’s in Burdick, I knew you were going to get into serious trouble.”
Even in this pleasant room, Sam could still hear the thudding of the stonecutting equipment, could still smell oil and stone dust. “Why are they here? All these Jews? Here and New Mexico and other places across the country? There must be thousands, am I right?”
Hanson said, “You don’t need to know what’s going on here.”
Something sharp sparked inside of him. “The hell I don’t!”
“Sam, look—”
“No,” Sam insisted, “I’ve been beaten, stripped, and worked as a slave. I came close to getting a tattooed wrist like the rest of the poor bastards out there. I’ve got a right to know, and you’ve got to tell me. I demand it.”
Hanson folded his arms over his uniform. “You don’t look like you’re in a position to demand anything.”
“Maybe so, but I think this would prove embarrassing for you, sir. After telling people in the Party you’re sponsoring me for bigger and better things, having me imprisoned in Burdick wouldn’t look good for you. But tell me, and you’ll be thrilled at what I’ll do for the Party and you if I get out.”
Hanson stared at him, and Sam wondered what was going on behind those evaluating eyes. Then the marshal said, “What makes you think I know anything?”
“You’re here in full National Guard uniform in order to gain access. That means you have pull in a place that doesn’t officially exist. Which means you must know why it’s here.”
That brought a thin smile. “Thanks for your vote of confidence.” Hanson waited, let a breath out, and said, “It’s a couple of years old. It started small and then grew once it became apparent it was a deal that worked to everyone’s advantage.”
“Must be one hell of a deal,” Sam said. “How did it start?”
“Why should I tell you?”
“Because I deserve to know, that’s why. And you know I’m right.”
A pause. “It began in occupied Paris, with a trade delegation led by the secretary of the Treasury, Morgenthau. Probably the smartest Cabinet officer Long’s got. He’s also done his best since the war to get more Jewish refugees here, with no success. Too much resistance from Congress and everybody else. Nobody wanted them here, competing for jobs and housing. But in Paris, Morgenthau and some businessmen came upon a train shipping French Jews out to the east. There was a confrontation, and the ranking SS officer said to Morgenthau, ‘Fine, you’re so concerned about the Jews, take them.’ Which is what he did. They got off the train and found their way here.”
Sam said, “The news I saw before I came here said Morgenthau couldn’t get any more Jews into the country. He’s been trying and trying.”
“Sure, publicly,” Hanson said. “But he and his friends in industry have been doing it secretly for years. All that stuff you hear on the radio or see in the newsreels about him fighting Congress is all a lie. He makes a fuss in public, while in private, he makes it happen.”
“How do they get here?”
Hanson said, “After England was defeated, the Germans took possession of one of the largest merchant fleets in the world. English ships, crewed by Germans and a few American overseers to make sure the Jews arrive here alive, bring them over. They land in military ports, so security is maintained.”
“That’s unbelievable,” Sam said.
“When you get right down to it, the Germans want the Jews out of Europe, by either expelling them or killing them,” Hanson explained. “Hell, even the guy running the SS, Himmler, said something like that in a book a year or two back, about sending all the Jews overseas. They’re only doing worse to them because they can’t ship them out easily.”
“But the expense…”
“Sam, the Germans are locked in a death struggle with the Soviets. Once the offer was made for us to take the Jews, what made sense to them? To use their army and their train systems to ship Jews to concentration camps out to the occupied east, or to use their army and their train systems to supply the eastern front against the Russians?”
“And the secretary of the Treasury went along with this?”
“Morgenthau eventually came up with the arrangement, as tough as it was. The Jews would come here secretly, not as refugees but as labor. The Nazis get their Jew-free Europe, and we get workers.”
“Slave labor, you mean.”
“They get paid.”
“A dollar a week!”
Hanson said, “Which is more than they got back in Europe. A few thousand came out here at first, to work in
