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 Schorner put down the telephone and smiled.
Stern stared impassively into the black barrel of his own Walther.
“I talked to Kaltenbrunner himself,” Schorner 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.
“Sturmbannfuhrer, the technicians are locked in the cinema!” said Sergeant Sturm. “The factory is sealed!”
“And the nurses?” Schorner asked.
“The three who were on duty are in the cinema with the technicians. Greta Muller is dead, of course. I sent a rider for Frau Jaspers.”
“That’s five. And the sixth?”
“Fraulein Kaas, Sturmbannfuhrer. It seems she left the hospital early today.”
Schorner sighed impatiently. “
“I just found out she was driving Greta Muller’s car! In the confusion after finding the bodies in the sewer —”
“In the confusion no one noticed,” Schorner 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 Muller girl.”
Stern stole a glance at his watch: 7:43. He prayed McConnell would leave the cottage on schedule.
Schorner tapped his right hand on his desk. “Do you know what I think, Hauptscharfuhrer? I think our ersatz Standartenfuhrer 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.”
Schorner 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.”
Schorner’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.”
Schorner 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, Hauptscharfuhrer, do whatever you must to prevent the Herr Doktor from falling into enemy hands.” He looked up pointedly. “Do you understand?”
Sturm cleared his throat. “Does the Sturmbannfuhrer mean that I should kill him?”
“Precisely.”
Sturm nodded soberly. Schorner’s sudden transformation from altar boy to ruthless commander had stunned him. “What about this one?” he asked, pointing at Stern.
“I need to know everything he knows. Who sent him, how many men in his unit, what their plans are, everything. I believe you’re up to the task, Hauptscharfuhrer?”
Gunther Sturm knew he was up to the task, but after killing the Polish giant by mistake, he was a little hesitant to take on another important interrogation. “Exactly how far may I go, Sturmbannfuhrer?”
Schorner pulled on a greatcoat and marched to the door of the office. “Don’t kill him. Is that clear enough?”
Sturm saluted. “
Schorner went out.
Sturm lifted the phone and said, “Karl? Tell Glaub and Becker to guard the Herr Doktor until they hear otherwise from me.”
He hung up and motioned to two SS privates standing at the back of the office. “Hold him in the chair,” he said.
Stern tensed as four hands took him by the upper arms and squeezed tight enough to close off his circulation.
Sergeant Sturm quickly searched the SD uniform, laughing at the cyanide capsule and pocketing the keys to Sabine’s Mercedes. Then he smiled and drew his SS dagger from the black sheath at his belt. It was identical to the one Stern had used to slash the throat of the sentry, the one he had in his ignorance given to Rachel Jansen. Sergeant Sturm casually cut the buttons off of the SD tunic, then sliced the undershirt beneath it down the middle.
The two SS privates leaned down and gaped at the livid scars that covered Stern’s chest and abdomen. It was Sturm who first noticed that the scars extended down into the trousers.
“Stand him up,” he said.
When Stern was on his feet, Sturm cut his belt in half and jerked the SD trousers down to his knees.
“He’s missing his last inch!” Sturm crowed. “I’ll be damned! He’s a Jew! A stinking Jew in an SD uniform!”
Stern stopped breathing when the sergeant lifted his scrotum with the cold dagger blade.
“Look at him,” Sturm said, laughing. “Shrinking like a wilted radish! How long do you think it will take me to
