Ruins of War (28 page)

Mason nodded. “Thanks. I hate saying it, but I can’t wait for her to get out of town.” He reined in his worries about Laura. The search for Angela would need all his attention. “How many men do we have left to search for Angela?”

“Today? You and me. Maybe two MPs. The raid has taken just about every other warm body.”

“The DP camp raid will probably take most of Becker’s men, too.”

Mason’s phone rang. He answered, “CID, Collins.” He listened. “When?”

Mason felt so excited that he slammed the phone down onto the cradle. “That was the MP station. An MP who just came on duty recognized the girl from the sketch we dropped off earlier. He and his partner picked up a girl matching her sketch and description around three this morning. She was naked and in shock, but not physically harmed. They dropped her off at the LMU hospital. Get someone to go pick up Becker. I want him in on this.”

O
n the pediatrics floor of Ludwig-Maximilians-University hospital, Mason, Wolski, and Becker were directed to the child recovery center. The “center” was a large room with twenty beds, each sectioned off by side curtains. A German police sergeant sitting at the foot of Angela’s bed shot to attention and saluted as Becker approached.

“This is definitely Angela,” Mason said.

Angela lay under a thick blanket up to her neck with her right arm exposed for an IV drip. Her thin face was more gray than white. Her blank eyes stared at nothing.

A doctor attending an emaciated boy furrowed his brow at the disturbance and marched up to them.

“This is Dr. Riesler,” the sergeant said.

“Who are these people?” Dr. Riesler asked.

Mason, Wolski, and Becker introduced themselves and explained their connection to Angela. The information seemed to satisfy Dr. Riesler, and they gathered around the bed.

“Has she said anything?” Mason asked.

“She’s in a state of shock and has not been responsive to stimuli since the American police brought her in. She was also hypothermic
and dehydrated. She’s obviously suffered extreme psychological distress. Though physically she’s recovering, only time will tell about the state of her mental faculties.”

“How long before she’s responsive?” Wolski asked.

“Assuming she hasn’t sustained any profound psychological damage, she could come out of her stupor at any time. It rarely lasts more than a few days. She might respond better to a family member.”

“She’s an orphan,” Mason said.

“We don’t even know her family name,” Becker added.

“What a pity,” Dr. Riesler said. “There are so many orphans.” A thought came to him. “Perhaps a friend or close companion. Someone she feels safe with could possibly get her to respond.”

As soon as the doctor said that, Mason knew what he had to do. “You two stay here. Talk to her. I know someone who might be able to help.” He left Wolski and Becker to wonder where he was going in such a hurry.

•   •   •

I
t took almost an hour for Mason to persuade Kurt to trust him enough to leave the safety of the shelter. Kurt was suspicious of most adults, especially those in uniform. Nurses and doctors terrified him, so just getting him to enter the hospital required another ten minutes of negotiation. Mason enjoyed his role as Kurt’s guardian and protector, and by the time they had reached the pediatrics floor, Kurt had glued himself to Mason’s leg. As soon as Kurt breached the door to the recovery center, he locked his feet when he saw Becker and the uniformed German policeman.

“It’s all right,” Mason said. “They’re here to protect Angela.”

“They won’t take me away?”

“No. I promise.”

Kurt stayed behind Mason’s thigh all the same until he saw Angela. He sprinted the last few yards and stood by her bed, staring down at her.

“Angela, it’s me, Kurt.” No response. “When’s she going to wake up?”

“Like I told you before, we hope when she hears your voice and knows you’re here it might make her feel better.”

“What happened to her?”

“The man who said he was her father really wanted to do bad things to her.”

“She escaped?”

“We don’t know.”

Dr. Riesler watched from across the room. A couple of nurses hovered nearby.

“I think she escaped,” Kurt said, keeping his gaze on the little girl. “She was brave and fought him off.”

“Maybe.”

Angela shuddered once then exhaled. A tear formed in the corner of her eye.

“Angela, come on, wake up. I’m really happy you’re okay.” Kurt looked up at Mason. “Can I touch her?”

Mason nodded, and Kurt used the back of his hand to stroke her cheek. Angela blinked.

“I think she’s waking up!” Kurt said.

Mason put his finger to his mouth, warning Kurt not to yell.

Angela’s eyes widened from an unseen fear. A low moan emerged from her throat and then she gasped as if remembering the terror. On impulse, Kurt hopped on the bed. Remaining on his knees, he held her cheeks and leaned in, his face close to hers.

“It’s okay, Angela, I’m here. There’s no bad man. You’re safe.”

Mason was impressed by Kurt’s sudden expert bedside manner. Kurt spoke gently but with authority. Angela’s breathing calmed and she stirred.

“Maybe we should step back,” Mason whispered. “Three big men hovering over her . . .” He gestured for the others to move.

They stepped back a few feet and watched Kurt do his magic. Angela whimpered and pulled her free arm out of the blanket to hug Kurt.

“That man . . .” Angela said. “He lied. Oh, Kurt, it was horrible.”

“You’re safe now. You’re in a hospital. There are police here to protect you. He can’t get you anymore.”

Angela saw Mason and his companions for the first time. “You remember the American policeman?” Kurt said.

To Mason’s relief, Angela looked at him with a calm, neutral expression—the expression she usually gave him, the expression of a child who had lost her parents, her leg, everything. Mason took a chance and stepped forward.

“Hello, Angela. You’ve been a brave girl. I’m so glad you’re okay.”

“A man . . .” was all she could get out before collapsing into sobs.

Kurt tried to comfort her. The doctor came over when he heard Angela cry.

“She should rest. If you make her talk it might be too much for her.”

Mason said in a low voice, “Doctor, the murderer who butchered those people is the one who took Angela. I don’t know how she managed to survive, but if we could just get her to tell us where he took her, we might be able to capture him.”

“If you push her too hard she might suffer too much mental trauma, and you won’t get anything at all. Also, I must advise you that many people after suffering such a mental shock have anterograde amnesia. She may not remember a thing from the recent past. In the interests of the girl’s health, I must ask you to give her some time to recover. Maybe in two or three days . . .”

“Two or three days? Doctor, the killer could move on by then. He may have just discovered she’s gone. He’ll find another place to cut up his victims and start hunting another child. I’m sure you don’t want that to happen.”

“Of course not, but—”

“How about if I have the boy ask her the questions? I’ll tell him to avoid asking about the traumatic details of the abduction. I just need to see if she can identify the place the killer took her.”

Riesler thought a moment. “If you limit it to a few questions and have the boy ask them.”

Mason stepped up to Kurt, who sat on the bed holding Angela’s hand. In a hushed tone Mason said, “Kurt, can you hop off the bed for a moment?”

“Don’t make him go,” Angela said.

“He’ll be right back. I promise.”

Mason led Kurt away from Angela’s bed and squatted to be on Kurt’s level. “I need you to ask Angela a few questions. It might be really hard for her to remember what happened, but we need to find out where the man took her. Then we can go capture the man and put him in jail. Do you understand?” Kurt nodded. Mason continued, “Don’t rush her, and be gentle. And don’t ask her anything but where she was.”

“I can pretend I want to know so I can tell the others how brave she was.”

Mason smiled at the boy’s insight. “That’s a good idea. I’m going to step away so she isn’t afraid to say anything. Try to remember every detail of what she tells you. And take your time.”

Kurt crawled back on the bed. Mason joined Becker and the doctor in the middle of the aisle. He could hear Kurt speaking in a tender voice.

“The doctor and I were speculating as to whether the girl escaped or he let her go,” Becker said.

Dr. Riesler nodded. “From what Herr Oberinspektor Becker tells me about this man, it seems impossible that a twelve-year-old girl could escape.”

“If he let her go, then perhaps even he has limits,” Becker said.

“Whatever the reason,” Mason said, “if he’s taken one child, then he could go after another. And my guess is he won’t let the next one go.”

Wolski entered the room from the hallway at a fast pace. “I used the nurses’ station phone to call the MP station. I talked to the MP who found her. He said she was limping along with her crutches like a zombie, but going at a pretty fast clip. She was heading south a block from the train tracks on Tumblingerstrasse.”

“And she was totally naked?”

“Yeah, he verified that.”

“How long could she go before succumbing to hypothermia?” Becker asked Dr. Riesler.

“It never got much below freezing last night, and I’m sure her flight instincts pumped her full of adrenaline. My best guess would be no more than an hour before exhaustion and the cold would get the best of her.”

“Have you got your map with you?” Mason asked Wolski.

Wolski pulled out a map from his coat and folded it so that it showed that section of Munich.

“She might get three miles at her speed,” Mason said.

“She was delirious, so she could have changed directions numerous times, or gone in circles,” Wolski said.

“Ramek must be further south than we thought. We’ll start the search between Theresienwiese and the Isar and work our way south.”

“It is still a very big area to cover with our limited forces,” Becker said.

Mason turned at the sound of Angela weeping softly. Kurt tried to comfort her.

Dr. Riesler glanced at Kurt and Angela then signaled for a nurse. “I’m giving the boy about one more minute, then I must insist she rest.”

Kurt didn’t need the extra minute. After promising Angela he’d be right back, he came over to the group.

“Did she say where the man took her?” Mason asked.

“She doesn’t know.”

Mason felt the weight of disappointment. “Does she remember the street?”

Kurt shook his head. “She’s never been in that part of the city. She said it was a big building that was bombed. It looked like a giant’s kitchen.”

“Do you know what she meant by that?”

“Huge machines and giant ovens. The man took her into a basement with long hallways and into a room with the scariest ovens she’d ever seen.”

“Did she describe the rest of the building?”

“No, but I can ask her.”

“That’s enough questions,” Dr. Riesler said. “Please, gentlemen, I must insist.”

“Just one or two,” Mason said. “We need to get a clearer picture—” He stopped and turned to Wolski and Becker when an idea came to him. “Ramek’s operating table from the workshop and the army rations in his house . . .” He looked at Wolski’s map. “One of the plants we were to search today is near that area, right?”

“Yes,” Becker said excitedly. “Just east of where the officers picked up Angela, there is a large complex that processed and canned potted pork rations for the German army.”

Mason dropped to one knee and held Kurt’s arms. “You did a great job, Kurt. I’m proud of you. Take care of Angela. Okay? We’re going to get the man who took her.”

T
hrough his binoculars, Mason scanned the immense meat-processing plant. The plant’s three buildings formed a U shape and took up a two-by-three-city-block rectangle. The open end of the U provided the main access for delivery trucks and a small parking lot. Though most of the outer walls remained intact, he could see an interior filled with a tangled mass of blackened metal and broken concrete.

Wolski, Becker, and Mannheim stood next to Mason, each with his own binoculars.

Wolski whistled. “A hundred guys could hide out in that place. Our twenty-eight are just going to get swallowed up.”

“We go with what we’ve got, since Colonel Walton refused to request infantry backup. He’s afraid he’s going to look bad if Ramek isn’t in there.”

Corporal Manganella’s jeep pulled up behind them, and Lieutenant Edwards, the engineer, jumped out. He came up to the group and unfurled a blueprint across the hood of the jeep.

“This is all I could get on short notice,” Edwards said. “It’s the main complex layout.” He pointed to the largest of the three buildings. “This is the processing facility with the main offices above. There
are two sublevels with machinery and maintenance corridors. In fact, there’s a whole network of maintenance corridors and tunnels connecting the buildings and the central furnaces.”

Wolski pointed to the second-largest building. “That’s the canning facility?”

“Canning and packing, with can manufacturing on sublevel one. The third building is receiving and cold storage.” Edwards looked at Mason. “It’s at least five hundred thousand square feet of unstable structures. I know this building. German locals, then the army, tried salvaging operations to recover some of the machinery and raw materials. Both times sections collapsed. Ya’ll go in there at your own risk.”

“That’s why your team and the medics are here.” Mason pointed to various points on the blueprint. “We’ll break up into four teams of six. The teams will enter from the four sides. Have the troop trucks and ambulance drive into the interior courtyard. Wolski and I will take our two MPs and two of Inspector Becker’s men into the processing building. My bet is that’s where he’ll be set up. Inspector, if you could organize your men into three teams to enter the canning facility and the storage building, and your remaining four to each take an outside corner and maintain clear sightlines on the four bordering streets. The idea is to encircle the complex and slowly work our way into a tighter circle. Clear up, clear down, then move in, converging on the processing plant. Everyone understand?”

After everyone nodded, Mason said, “Whether the girl escaped or he let her go, chances are he’s moved on. I acknowledge that, but I still want everyone on alert. We have Handie-Talkies, but they’ll be pretty useless in there. Everyone make sure your flashlights work and you have a couple of flares. Use your whistles only if you spot him. Guns out and eyes sharp. Any questions?”

No one had any.

Five minutes later Mason and his team entered the processing facility. He sent Corporal Manganella, plus the other MP and the two German police, to search the upper-floor offices of the building while
he and Wolski slowly penetrated the maze of the processing facility below. Man-sized meat cutters, saws, and grinders stood quiet in a space that could accommodate two football fields. Suspended from the fifteen-foot ceiling, pipes, conveyor belts, and a system of coffin-sized gondolas wove through the plant. Half of the floor above had collapsed from the bombings, turning an already impossible tangle of metal and concrete into a jungle of rubble and debris.

Wolski made a face and whispered, “Did a herd of buffalo die in here?”

Mason pointed to mounds of black and green rot spilled on the floor. “Looks like bombs hit in the middle of their workday.”

The huge holes in the ceiling let in soft light from the charcoal gray sky, but there were so many shadowy spaces that they had to use their flashlights to sweep the area. They tried to move quietly across the debris-strewn floor, but the men they had sent to the upper floor and the other teams in the other buildings were ignoring Mason’s warnings. Mason and Wolski could hear banging doors, loud calls, and heavy footsteps echoing across the entire complex.

“If Ramek didn’t know we were here before, he does now,” Wolski said.

Mason mumbled curses about the other men’s carelessness.

The wind picked up, making the building creak and moan. Somewhere a flap of metal banged rhythmically. Then rain began to fall, the plink of raindrops sounding on metal. They had almost reached the far side when the four men searching the upper offices came noisily down the stairs.

Corporal Manganella breached the doorway first. “No sign of him upstairs, sir.”

“Keep it down,” Mason whispered back.

Mason and Wolski joined the four others at the stairwell.

“We go down quietly,” Mason said. “No talking. Hand signals only.”

“What if we see him?” Manganella asked.

“Then blow your damned whistle.”

They all descended the two flights of stairs and entered a pitch-black room. Their flashlight beams revealed a large space housing barrel-shaped steam cookers and blending machines; above their heads, a dense metal grate hung just below a web of heating pipes, electrical conduits, and drainpipes.

The group spread out and proceeded slowly, weaving around the heavy machinery. Water trickled through hairline cracks in the floor above, forming stagnant puddles at their feet. The whole setting made the hair on the back of Mason’s neck bristle. Doubts about the wisdom of searching this place with so few men began to worm into his consciousness.

A section of the floor grating creaked when Wolski stepped on it. Mason crept closer to him, and they shined their lights down through the metal grid. The tight pattern blocked most of their light, so they could see only a small portion of the space below.

“What’s down there?” Mason whispered.

“Looks like some kind of maintenance access.”

The group finally reached a wall that Mason estimated was only a quarter of the way across the building. Mason looked at the others. The six men were stretched out along a fifty-foot line, and they faced two separate corridors. Their faces were barely illuminated by the reflections of the flashlights, but he could clearly see that all of them were unnerved by the oppressive gloom. He signaled for the last three to take the corridor leading to the right. He, Wolski, and Manganella took the corridor that led straight ahead.

The corridor was wide enough for the three to walk abreast, and it continued beyond the power of the flashlight beams. The same metal grating ran down the middle of the floor. Every twenty paces they encountered a doorway, alternating left then right. With each room, they performed the same nerve-wracking procedure, surging into the room two abreast, guns and lights up, never knowing if Ramek waited
in ambush. But each search revealed only lifeless giants of metal or mazes of compressors and pipes.

Mason felt it in his feet. The building shuddered. An instant later a deep rumble rolled past them.

Manganella threw himself against the wall. “Christ, what was that?”

“Sounds like something collapsed,” Wolski said. “Not in this building, I don’t think.”

“Sal, go find out what happened and report back to us,” Mason said.

“Back that way?” At the sight of Mason’s face, the corporal reluctantly turned and walked back the way they had come.

“On the double,” Wolski said.

Manganella broke into a run.

“Hope no one’s hurt,” Wolski said.

Mason felt too conflicted to respond. Was it worth risking lives to be crawling around the bowels of this wreck of a building?

He answered his question by moving forward. A moment later they came to another corridor that led off to the right. Though it was half the width of the hallway they were in, the majority of pipes and conduits branched off in that direction.

“By my reckoning, this main corridor leads to the canning building,” Wolski said.

“Sounds about right.” Mason nodded toward the narrower corridor. “This one should link us up with the other team. We regroup with them then search the rest.”

“Sounds like a plan, O Wise One.”

Mason gave him a reproving look, but he appreciated the humor; it helped cut through the oppressive surroundings. They turned into the branching corridor. The suspended pipes and conduits were only an inch above Wolski’s head. The same metal grating ran along the middle of the floor but with only a foot of concrete on either side.

They both put as much weight as they could on the concrete, which forced them to slide along the damp walls. A thin stream of
water trickled in the tunnel beneath them. Their footsteps on the sandy concrete rasped loudly in the narrow space. After advancing thirty feet, they came to a room off to the right. As before, they swung into the room on either side of the door frame with guns up. More pipes and compressors.

Wolski signaled for Mason to listen. “Voices somewhere behind that wall,” Wolski said. “The other team.”

Mason shrugged that he couldn’t hear them.

“Old man. Going deaf already?”

“You live through hours of artillery blasts and see how well you can hear,” Mason said.

“Hold on to your cane, Gramps. We should link up with those guys any minute.”

Mason and Wolski stepped out into the corridor again. Mason shot his hand up to stop. He pointed down the corridor another hundred feet ahead. He pushed Wolski’s flashlight down to aim at the floor. Then Wolski saw it, too.

The corridor ended, leading to another room. Somewhere in the room, off to the right, glowed a greenish yellow light. In the distance, beyond the door frame, the ghostly light reflected off a giant furnace.

“This corridor leads to the main furnaces and steam pump room,” Mason whispered. “That light wasn’t on when we went into that last room.”

They crept forward, guns up. Just a few steps later, Wolski’s foot made the grate creak. The silence amplified the sound as it echoed off the concrete walls. They waited and listened. Then, hugging tight to the walls, they moved forward again.

A shadow swept across the distant furnace. They stopped. Mason’s skin tightened and the hair on the back of his neck stood up as if in warning. A heartbeat later, a tall man stood silhouetted in the doorway as if he had been expecting them. He neither moved nor spoke. Mason and Wolski whipped up their flashlights. The beams struck the man in the face.

He smiled, as if taunting them. Under his long blue coat he wore a full surgical gown, and surgical gloves covered his hands.

Mason registered all this in a fraction of a second, yet he hesitated. His brain tried to comprehend while his skin turned icy cold.

“Ramek!”

Mason and Wolski made quick strides toward the door with their guns ready to fire.

“Don’t move! Put your hands up!”

In an instant Ramek vanished into the recesses of the furnace room. Mason and Wolski broke into a dead run. Mason was faster and he surged ahead.

“Mason, wait!”

Too late. Mason felt the tug of a trip wire at his ankle as he breached the door frame. He heard a metallic clank. At the same moment the lantern extinguished, plunging the room into blackness. Mason spun to his right, gun and flashlight arms rigid. His light flashed across something shiny in a swift, arcing motion coming right at him. An instant later Wolski burst through the door, slamming into him.

Mason went flying through the air. He heard Wolski scream even as he folded his body to protect himself from the fall. He collided with the cement floor. His flashlight popped out of his hand, bounced, then rolled out of reach. As Mason scrambled for the flashlight he could hear Wolski’s gurgled fights for breath.

From somewhere in the darkness came Ramek’s voice. “The trap was meant for you, but your friend will do.”

Mason reached the flashlight and whirled around with the light and gun. He searched frantically for Ramek, but Ramek was gone.

The urges to chase down Ramek or to turn to his friend’s aid were both so overwhelming that he remained frozen in a crouching position for what seemed like an impossible amount of time. He trained the flashlight beam on Wolski. Wolski lay on his side, facing away from Mason. His back was covered in blood, and he held the side of his neck as blood oozed between his fingers and streamed onto the floor.

Like a giant scythe, a broad chopping blade that had been hung from an overhead pipe still swayed even after lopping off a huge chunk of Wolski’s right shoulder and back.

Ramek’s voice came as a haunting echo. “You can hunt me or save your friend.”

The voice came from a maintenance tunnel leading to another part of the plant. Out of his mind with rage, Mason leapt up and charged into the tunnel. Six feet in, he came to a ladder leading down into the darkness. He could hear Ramek’s heavy footsteps just below him. But he could also hear Wolski’s gasps for air and moans of pain.

He hesitated at the top of the ladder. An overpowering voice from within screamed at him to forget Wolski and take Ramek.
Go! You may never have another chance.

He felt profound shame at the very thought, and it overwhelmed the primal urge to exact revenge. With a deep growl, he fired his pistol three times into the black hole, then rushed back to his partner and friend.

The sight of Wolski sent Mason into a panic. Blood poured out. His shoulder, and a portion of his back and neck, had been cleaved from his body; muscle, bone, and sinew were exposed. Mason blew his whistle and kept blowing it, while he ripped off his overcoat and pressed it against Wolski’s wounds. Wolski convulsed from the shock and loss of blood.

Mason dropped his whistle and screamed for help. He didn’t know what else to do. Wolski’s nearly severed arm bled the most, but applying a tourniquet would do nothing to stop the flow. How long before anyone could find them in this maze of turns and dead ends?

Finally the sounds of voices and running footsteps echoed into the room. Relief flooded over Mason. He couldn’t tell from which direction they were coming, but he prayed the medics were with them.