The banker’s thick forefinger pushed his spectacles up his stubby nose. “What did you do with the gold?”
“Shipped to Argentina by U-boats. The last one is waiting for us in Kiel.”
Armande Hoffgeitz held up the ledger, shaking it. “How could they have so much?”
“Why not? They were educated people. Scientists, engineers, doctors, businessmen. Even bankers, like you. But the Fuhrer’s doctrine required cleansing Europe of the Jews to free up opportunities and wealth for the Aryan race. Turned out to be a tragic waste, in my opinion.”
“The costs of elimination?”
“The whole thing. Anti-Jew policies were useful initially to galvanize our political power, fire up the street. But actually rounding them up, transporting them, exterminating them? Huge waste of resources. And those who survived are helping our enemies defeat us.” Klaus motioned vaguely. “Anyway, the largest stones are in a steel case in the cabin, strapped to the passenger seat. Ten to thirty-five karats each. Museum quality. You’ll need to be very discreet when you sell those.”
The banker pulled down a mahogany tray, which formed a small working space. He produced a sheet of paper and copied the total quantities of each category of stones and jewelry, checking the numbers twice against the ledger. “You must choose an account number and a password that you’ll remember easily.”
Klaus took the pen and glanced at Tanya. In the space for the account number he wrote 829111. For the password he entered AYNAT. He sighed below: Klaus von Koenig, 00:16 a.m., January 1, 1945
Armande took the form and held it high, blowing on the wet ink. When he was satisfied, he folded it and tucked it away. “Regarding the conversion of all your deposits into liquid assets, I recommend a basket of currencies.”
“With all due respect, I prefer American stocks. Sell everything and buy shares of American corporations.”
“But America is broke. After the war, their economy will crash. How about-”
“The Americans are winning. Not the British, Canadians, Australians, or the Russian swine. The Americans have spirit. Forget Deutschland Uber Alles. From now on, it will be America Uber Alles. That’s the future!” He sat back with sudden weariness. “Buy me American stocks-manufacturing, food, oil, chemicals.”
“As you wish.” The banker opened the ledger on the last page and scribbled at the bottom: Deposit of above-listed goods is acknowledged this day, 1.1.1945 by the Hoffgeitz Bank of Zurich. Signed: Armande Hoffgeitz, President. “We can’t just dump huge quantities of stones on the market-prices will collapse.”
“Take your time.” Klaus took the ledger and handed it to Tanya, who slipped it under her shirt, where it rested against her chest.
Armande asked, “When will I hear from you?”
“I will contact you from Argentina when it’s safe.” Klaus rolled down the window. “Felix!”
His driver hurried across the road.
“Tell your cousin to show Gunter how to drive that monster.” He pointed at the truck. “I don’t want him to lose control on the way downhill.”
“ Jawohl, Herr Obergruppenfuhrer!” Felix ran to the truck.
“What about him?” Armande put the papers back in a briefcase. “Will you take Felix to Argentina?”
“I offered. He’s loyal and obedient, but no longer valiant. He wants to go with his cousin back to Bavaria, till the fields, milk the cows. Fools’ dreams.”
Armande Hoffgeitz’s assistant climbed into the cabin of the truck. The engine roared, and the truck proceeded through the gate into Switzerland.
They got out of the Rolls Royce. It felt even colder than before. The banker rubbed his hands. “A U-Boat ride across the Atlantic is risky. Why don’t you come with me to Zurich?”
“It’s too close to Germany,” Klaus said. “I must be far away when the Reich surrenders. The Allies will hunt us down, put up show trials, and march us one by one to the gallows.”
Tanya clutched his arm.
“Good luck, my friend.” Armande Hoffgeitz got behind the wheel.
“ Auf Wiedersehen. ”
The Rolls Royce slid backward across the border, and Klaus led Tanya to the Mercedes.
Felix held the door open. His cousin stood at attention.
“Excellent driving,” Klaus said. “You’ll be rewarded.”
They saluted. “ Danke, Herr Obergruppenfuhrer! ”
He helped Tanya into the car and was about to follow, but paused. “What was that?”
The two soldiers looked around, uncertain.
“I heard something!” He drew his service Mauser.
Felix and Karl cocked their submachine guns and followed him around the hood of the car. The night was quiet, the moon exposed by the thin clouds. He stayed back as the two soldiers advanced toward the trees, their boots sinking into the snow, their weapons ready.
He raised his arm, aimed, and pressed the trigger once. The shot caused a flock of birds to scramble off a nearby tree. Felix turned to his cousin, who collapsed, blood trickling from a hole in the back of his head. The Mauser shifted, aligning with Felix’s head, silhouetted against the snow-weighted branches. The next bullet entered Felix’s temple and exited on the other side. The driver’s knees folded under him and he knelt down, blood oozing down both sides of his face. His mouth gaped as if attempting to speak, and he fell forward in the snow.
Klaus got behind the wheel and shut the door. “I’m sorry you had to see this,” he said. “But they knew too much.”
Tanya didn’t answer. She forced her mind to recall the photos he had shown her of the ranch in Argentina, the rolling hills and lush pasture, the sturdy cattle and proud horses. She imagined the sound of chirpy children.
E lie Weiss crouched in the snow by the roadside. The wool coat, stripped from a corpse a month earlier, was too big. The gloves were tattered, the knuckles bare. Another hour of exposure could cost him a finger, or worse.
“We’re too late,” Abraham Gerster said, clapping his hands to keep the circulation going. “We missed them. Let’s go back to the village, steal some food.”
“Not yet. They might come back this way.”
Abraham obeyed without argument. Elie was barely two years older, but they had known each other since childhood, when such age differences fix seniority in concrete. But Elie envied Abraham’s vitality, his youthful energy, the strength he hadn’t lost despite the harsh weather, constant hunger, and bursts of violence. At eighteen, Abraham was still running at full speed, four years after they had escaped the German slaughter of their shtetl. They had learned to survive in the thick forests, stealing food when possible and killing Germans at every opportunity. But as the war dragged on, hiding became harder, and the dwindling German units had little food left to steal.
“Maybe they took another route,” Abraham said.
“I heard them clearly.” Elie had eavesdropped on two German soldiers smoking outside the inn at the village. They were cousins, serving as drivers for SS General Klaus von Koenig, who was transferring loot from the camps to the Swiss border. Elie and Abraham had climbed the steep mountainside, plowing through deep snow and treacherous boulders, to set a trap. But they must have been late.
“Listen!” Abraham tensed, inching closer to the road.
An engine sounded from uphill. Elie watched the next turn up the steep road. His eyes never disappointed him. Back in Kolno, his father had been the village shoykhet — the kosher butcher. People had said that Elie had the devil’s eyes, small and black and all-seeing, even in darkness. People had strange ideas where death was involved.
The engine noise came closer. A single car.
Abraham got up on one knee, ready for action. His hands were strong, his shoulders wide. He was no longer the rabbi’s dutiful son. Gone were his side locks, the black coat, and the hat. He grabbed the trunk of a fallen tree and dragged it into the road.
The car made the last turn. Its headlights painted over, it headed downhill, gaining speed, oblivious to the impending disaster. The front tires hit the tree trunk. The car lost its ability to steer, missed the next turn, and
