“Will that be all, Herr Doktor?”
“Not quite, Schorner. This matter of the British parachutes. You have the situation under control? I would hate to think anything might interrupt our production schedule, with the test so near.”
“Herr Doktor, Standartenfuhrer Beck and myself believe the parachutists had their sights set on the Peenemunde complex. Most of the sensitive rocketry equipment has been moved into Poland or the Harz Mountains to keep it out of reach of the Allied bombers, but the Allies may not know this. Beck has deployed a great deal of his strength between here and Peenemunde. If by some remote chance these commandos
“See that they do, Sturmbannfuhrer.”
Schorner clicked his boot heels again.
Setting the cigarette aside, Brandt adjusted his reading glasses and looked down at the paper he had been studying when Schorner entered. “One more thing, Sturmbannfuhrer. I understand that you have placed Hauptscharfuhrer Sturm under house arrest?”
Schorner stiffened. “That is correct, Herr Doktor.”
“Why?”
“The Hauptscharfuhrer instigated the incident that resulted in the death of Corporal Grot, as well as that of the
“And his motive?”
“I believe his motive involved some diamonds, Herr Doktor. Sturm has a habit of trying to loot prisoners as they are brought in from the Occupied Territories. I warned him once, but he apparently did not take the warning to heart.”
“Looting is a serious charge, Sturmbannfuhrer.” Brandt looked up over his glasses. “The Reichsfuhrer himself has mandated the death penalty for profiteers.”
“The basis of my action, Herr Doktor.”
“However,” said Brandt, tapping his fingers on the desk, “when I returned from Berlin, I found a note on my desk giving a somewhat different version of events.”
Schorner felt blood rising into his cheeks. “Was this note signed, Herr Doktor?”
Brandt smiled, but the effect was more like a grimace. “Yes, it was. By four noncommissioned officers. This note contained some serious charges of its own. Charges leveled at you, Sturmbannfuhrer. Charges relating to infractions of the Nuremberg racial laws.”
Schorner did not flinch. He knew Brandt was on thin ice himself here. “I am prepared to stand in an SS court on any charges you see fit to authorize, Herr Doktor.”
Klaus Brandt instantly raised his hands in a placating gesture. “At ease, Sturmbannfuhrer. I don’t think it will come to that. Still, it might be better if you released Sturm under his own recognizance. For the good of the corps. You understand. The last thing any of us want is a pack of SD officers down here turning over every stone and bed.”
A hot wave of revulsion washed over Schorner. He wouldn’t be surprised if Sturm’s comrades had made some oblique reference to Brandt’s perversions in their letter. He pressed down his disgust. “As you say, Herr Doktor.”
“I’m sure Hauptscharfuhrer Sturm has seen the error of his ways.” Brandt patted the desk with both hands. “Let us concentrate our energies upon the upcoming test, Sturmbannfuhrer. Destiny is at hand.”
Schorner fired his boot heels together and marched out.
Jonas Stern moved swiftly through the trees, his steps almost soundless in the newly fallen snow. He’d moved uphill after leaving the cottage, away from the village of Dornow, toward the power station. Toward the cylinders. Twice he had heard patrols pass within thirty meters of him, but he found it easy to avoid them. Usually the orange light or smell of cigarettes betrayed the SS men. Thirty minutes after leaving Anna Kaas’s cottage, he was standing beneath the tall wooden pylon where the gas cylinders hung.
He stood in the darkness beside the two great support poles and stared up through the foliage. It took some time for his eyes to adjust, but eventually he made out the silhouettes of the steel cylinders hanging in a neat row from one of the outermost electrical wires. He felt a sudden dizziness when he realized that the heavy tanks were swaying in the treetops. Even without the portable anemometer, he was certain that wind sufficient to move those cylinders was moving faster than the ideal speed for the attack.
He stomped on the snow around the base of the support leg nearest him. Buried beneath his feet, in a box with the anemometer and the emergency radio and the submarine signal lamp, were the climbing spikes and harness that would carry him to the top of the pylon. Within five minutes he could initiate the nerve gas attack on Totenhausen. The brisk wind might dilute the gas’s effects, but if the British nerve agent worked at all, it should certainly kill some SS men. On the other hand, if he waited for a while, the wind might drop off to nothing.
As he stood there in the snow, the hum of the nearby transformer station buzzing in his ears, he felt something even stronger than his hatred for the Nazis turning inside him. Something he would never admit to McConnell or the nurse or anyone else. Something he could hardly admit to himself. The visit to Rostock had dredged it up, and the longer he stood there, the more powerful it became until, to his surprise, he found himself moving again. Down the hill, away from the power station. Away from the cylinders.
He was moving toward Totenhausen Camp.
31
“Do you think he will do it this time?” Anna asked. McConnell sat opposite her at the kitchen table, two mugs of ersatz coffee made from barley between them. The brew tasted terrible, but it was hot.
“If he makes it up the hill alive, he probably will. Do you think he
“Someone must do something,” Anna said. “I don’t know if it’s right to kill the prisoners. But he is right about one thing.”
“What?”
“Everybody in that camp is doomed no matter what we do. They’ll never survive the war.”
“Do you think what he said is true? Do you think I’m a coward for not helping him?”
Anna looked into her coffee. “People are different. What he calls courage you call stupidity. What you call courage he calls weakness. Some men are not made for war, I think. And that must be a good thing.” She looked up at him. “Why
“They said they picked me because I’m not British and because I’m an expert on poison gases. I guess the idea was that together Stern and I would make one perfect soldier. A killer with the brain of a scientist. What about you? You’re a civilian nurse?”
“Yes. They said there was a shortage in the medical corps, but I think Brandt just prefers civilians.”
“I’m a civilian myself.”
She nodded. “A chemist, yes?”
He laughed. “By avocation only. I’m actually a medical doctor.”
Anna’s face underwent a subtle yet profound change. She seemed to be looking at McConnell through different eyes. “You are a physician?”
“Yes. Before the war, anyway.”
“You had a practice?”
“Briefly.”
She sat in silence, reflecting on this new information. Finally she said, “Is that the reason you are so hesitant to kill?”
McConnell hedged. “Part of it, I suppose.”
“It’s part of the reason I do what I do, too.”
“How do you mean?”
Anna glanced at the kitchen window. “It’s dangerous for you to be up here. Schorner might order a house-
