“Okay,” Keegan said finally. “I’ll give it a shot. What do you really think they’re doing to her?”
“They will torture her. Even if they know she knows nothing, Hitler wants revenge against the Black Lily. They know she is a
“What’s the
“That she can convince the Gestapo she knows nothing,” Wolffson answered. “And that they let her die quickly.”
“If she survives?” Keegan kept his voice steady.
“If she stays alive? Dachau,” said Wolffson.
“What’s Dachau?”
“A little town about thirty kilometers from Munich,” said Wolffson. “They have built a camp there, an enormous prison stockade for political enemies. It is like a Russian slave camp.”
“How long will she be in for? How much time will she get?”
“It doesn’t work that way,” Weber said.
“There is no sentence,” Gebhart said in a low voice. “She will be there forever. Dachau is a forever place.”
He lay in bed all night watching the phone, waiting for Vierhaus to answer his calls. He had called three times, talking to the same icy male SS operator on the other end of the line. On the last call the operator became abusive.
“Don’t you understant,” the
Sleepless, Keegan lay clothed on the bed thinking about Jenny. Wondering where she was at that moment. Wondering what horrors the Gestapo was wreaking on her. Imagining himself attacking the prison, killing all the guards, and whisking her to freedom in some mad, outrageous rescue scheme that could only happen in the movies. And, too, he wanted to get even. Vierhaus, Conrad Weil, von Meister, each had contributed in a different way to the tragedy, each for a different reason, and each was equally responsible.
The minutes crawled by. Dawn sneaked through the drapes, spreading a crimson stain across the carpet. He watched the spear of light lengthen and widen and slowly illuminate the room.
The phone was a silent threat. He stared at it, reached out, then drew his hand back. He wouldn’t call the miserable bastard again. Pain laced his stomach and he reached out again, asked for room service and ordered coffee and rolls. When he heard the knock on the door he opened it, expecting the bellman. Bert Rudman was standing there.
“Can I come in?” he said softly.
Fear cut into Keegan again, a pain now so common he recognized its roots immediately. Bert Rudman had never asked to come in before. Barging in with arms waving, that was his style.
“I didn’t know the Gestapo had picked up Jenny.”
“Yes. I’ve known since late last night. I called the bureau and left a message for you.”
“God, I am sorry, Kee.”
“I don’t know what to do. I’ve never felt this . . . this helpless before.”
“You look like hell. Have you been to bed?”
Keegan shook his head. “I couldn’t sleep,” he said. “What do you know? For sure, I mean?”
“She was arrested at two o’clock yesterday afternoon . .
Keegan slammed a fist into the palm of his hand. “Damn it, why did I make that call,” he anguished.
“What call?”
Keegan paced the room, burning off nervous energy, rambling in a low voice as if he were talking to himself, as if Rudman wasn’t there and he was addressing an imaginary friend, recounting the steps that had led to Jenny’s imprisonment.
Rudman walked over to Keegan and stared at him quizzically.
“How do you know all that?” he asked when Keegan finally was quiet.
“Some of it is conjecture, most of it is fact. I know it, take my word for it.”
“What else do you know?”
“That they probably tortured her. She may be dead by now. I understand that’s the custom.”
Rudman took Keegan firmly by the arm. “She’s not dead, Francis.”
“Are you sure? How do you know?” Keegan said in a rush.
“I got a tip. She was moved about five this morning.”
“Moved where? Where did they take her?”
“They’re taking her to Dachau, Kee.”
Keegan was too stunned to speak for a moment. He was not surprised. The news itself was not unexpected. It was the reality of the news, knowing his worst fears had materialized, that got to him.
