The Shadowboxer (34 page)

“Do you expect me to believe that the entire air raid and escape scheme was mounted just to see how somebody killed somebody?”

“Oh, other important factors were involved. But you were always a part of them. You're a part of everything von Schleiben does these days. You have become his passion, his obsession, his own private white whale. You fascinate and terrify him. Why should that be? What is it about you that—”

The car lurched as the locomotive was coupled. The telephone rang. Klempf's manacled hands raised the receiver.

“Thank you, Fergy. It was a pleasure working with you as well. Thank all the men for their cooperation.”

There was another brief answer.

“Yes, Fergy, the credit is all yours. It was your jurisdiction. I'll take care of it first thing tomorrow. Goodbye, Fergy, perhaps we'll work together again in the future—if there is one. Fergy, you may disconnect now.”

Footsteps were heard on the side of the car, then on the roof and then on the side again. Spangler glanced behind the curtain and saw wires fall away.

A string of emergency lights went on beyond the ramp. The Totenkopf guards moved back and formed in columns. A squad began to seal the boxcars.

“Yes, you are von Schleiben's passion,” Klempf continued as their train began to creak forward, “but I suspect that comes as no surprise. You see, von Schleiben must prove to himself that he's smarter than you, or should I say smarter than Spangler—though I'm certain you'll never admit to that name.”

Spangler watched through the window. The rest of the ramp lights came on. The compounds beyond were also illuminated; the searchlights blazed as they had in the old days. The car began to gain speed.

“Yes, von Schleiben must always prove himself more clever than the next fellow,” Klempf said. “He simply is not
original
. He is a copyist, a borrower. His genius lies in bending the ideas of others to his own perverse ends.

“Take the Bourse and the other exchanges at Birkenau. Of course they've been active for some time. The concept of setting up illegal markets within the compounds to use as listening posts on prisoner activities was mine. Von Schleiben let me organize and operate them, but then he added his own embellishments. It was von Schleiben's unoriginal mind which finally grasped that he could make millions of marks off them as well. Part of my function is to act as his collection agent.”

The car slowed. They were passing the lines of corpses being lifted onto stretchers.

“With the Russians expected to invade Poland by the end of next month, von Schleiben began to get nervous. He decided that the Bourses and everybody connected with them had better be eliminated—to erase any link to him. So, when we determined there was a strong possibility that you were our man, von Schleiben decided to kill two birds with one stone. Had he been an original thinker, however, he might—”

The car jerked to a stop. Spangler saw lines of SS guards running down the track below his window.

“Why are we stopping?”

“I have no idea,” Klempf answered with some concern.

“Find out.”

“I can't from inside here. There's only a switch engine pulling us out. The telephone won't be connected until our own engine is put on. I suppose we must remain uninformed, unless you wish me to go outside and see what the trouble is?”

“Come here,” Spangler ordered.

Klempf walked to the window. Spangler stepped behind him and pushed the pistol to the back of his neck. “We'll remain uninformed together,” he said, pulling the curtains back slightly.

A solid wall of SS guards stood on the roadbed between the empty boxcars and Klempf's radio train. The Totenkopf men froze to attention and turned toward the boxcars. They moved forward.

“What are they up to?” Spangler demanded.

“That's how the searches used to be, before,” Klempf replied in relief.

The SS searched in, under and above the transport before sealing the doors and waving the train out.

“Why aren't we going ahead of them?” Spangler asked as the boxcars started moving past.

“There are probably other trains waiting beyond the gate. They have to clear them off the track before we can get out.”

Spangler watched closely from the soundproof compartment. The transport moved away and the ramp lay bare. Twice the number of guards and baggage Kommandos he had ever seen there now stood on the long platform. They made no attempt to hide their truncheons. Smoke billowed from the tall chimney of Crematorium Two beyond the ramp. Long columns of new arrivals could be seen waiting their turn at the adjoining chambers.

Minutes passed slowly. A column of SS guards finally marched down the far track before the incoming train. The boxcars rolled to a stop. SS guards stood atop each.

The floor lurched under Spangler's feet. The car began moving forward, the speed increased. The jounce of switching was faintly felt. Spangler studied the towers and the fences of the compounds as they continued through the yard. Patrols were three to four times stronger than before. Every guard tower was manned. Camp routine had returned to the schedule he had seen on Kuprov's chart.

The car rolled through the wooden archway of the gate tower and out into the dark countryside. A fence and a sentry flashed past. They had left the outer guard perimeter. Spangler was free of Birkenau.

59

Spangler stood at the window watching snowladen black firs flash by. The first traces of a headache began to return. He felt a slight spasm in his left arm. His breathing rate was starting to rise.

“Where are we headed?” he asked, closing the curtains.

“Our clearance is through Cracow and on to Budapest,” Klempf replied. “I am expected in Budapest thirty-six hours after leaving Birkenau.”

“Turn up the lights.”

Klempf obeyed.

Spangler motioned with his Luger. “Let's take a look in back.”

The first of the corridor's electrically controlled doors slid back. The galley was constructed of stainless steel. Cooking ranges were electric, as was the refrigerator. The larder was well stocked. An electric coffeepot and an American toaster rested on the counter.

Behind it was an opulent stateroom. The furniture, drapery and carpeting were in various shades of blue. The bureau and the desk were Louis XIV.

The last closed door slid open. Tolan lay struggling on the floor, his mouth gagged, his ankles tied behind his back to his wrists.

“What the hell is he doing here?” Spangler demanded.

“He's our mutual passport to safety.”

“Free him!”

“Might I suggest waiting until you hear what I have for you?” Klempf asked politely. “After you've heard, you can do whatever you choose with him.”

“Undo his feet,” Spangler ordered.

“I am handcuffed,” Klempf reminded him, raising his arms.

Spangler severed the rope binding Tolan's ankles to his wrists. He removed the leg binds and pulled Tolan to his feet. He started to untie the gag.

“Couldn't we wait for that? He's rather noisy, you know.”

The gag came off.

“Schwein! Scheiss!”
Tolan screamed, charging at Klempf with his hands still tied behind his back. “Double-crossing swine! Traitor! I'll kill you for this!”

“Shut up!” Spangler commanded, leveling his pistol.

“I
told
you,” Klempf said. He led them back to the main compartment.

“You see,” Klempf began, “this car was originally designed and built to monitor police and Wehrmacht communications. In a word, von Schleiben was spying on both the military and his own men.”

Klempf reached up to a long shelf of phonograph records and brought down two disks. “When von Schleiben learned that Jean-Claude was in Hamburg, this car was moved nearby. In all modesty, the equipment you see before you is the most sophisticated in the world—so we had little trouble pinpointing his sources of radio communication and silencing them.

“We then moved Tolan into the Hamburg area in such a way that even a blind man couldn't miss him. As we had hoped, Jean-Claude spotted him and followed him east to Poland. We made no attempt to stop him from sending out messages by other means—in fact, we counted on it to lure a certain Mr. Spangler out of hiding. We destroyed the radios only to keep him from
receiving
orders which might have recalled him. In fact, once Jean-Claude arrived in the Auschwitz-Birkenau area, we gave him a full week of freedom to make certain he informed the West as to his whereabouts.

“It was during this week of waiting,” Klempf went on, “that something most unusual came across these receivers.” He placed the first record on the turntable and flicked the switch.

Spike Jones could be heard singing “In the Fuehrer's Face!” The song ended and the click of a wireless key boomed out over the loudspeaker. The clicking faded into background as a voice spoke out in German.

“Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. Freedom-Loving Germany and all the ships at sea! This is your
G. P. G.
-of-the-Air Reporter. Let's go to press.

“Flash:
Father Coughlin has been named special adviser to German Provisional Government's Human Affairs Section.

“Flash:
Representatives from eighteen leading United States Jewish organizations return from three-week tour of Germany. All have denied rumors of Jewish persecution within the Reich as flagrant and malicious Russian lies. The tour chairman, Rabbi Samuel Cahn of Moline, Illinois, stated that German Jewry has never had it so good.

“Flash:
Students of eleven U. S. universities have staged massive rallies to protest British bombing of German cities.

“Flash:
U. S. blood donations for German soldiers have …” The voice faded to static and Klempf switched it off.

“Curious, isn't it?” Klempf reflected. “I wonder in which concentration camp Rabbi Cahn found his people ‘having it so good'? Anyway, this was my first indication that something slightly insane was afoot. I checked with other listening posts to see if they had run into similar broadcasts. Most had not, but a few, in a small northern sector, reported jamming or faint overplay.

“Once Jean-Claude was taken, I moved the car up north to try to learn more about Father Coughlin's appointment. We quickly determined that these broadcasts were beamed exclusively along a corridor from the Baltic. From all evidence they were test transmissions being relayed by ship. Birkenau was in the direct path for reception.

“Over the next ten days, we picked up twenty or thirty programs ranging from American music and soap operas translated into German to household and cooking advice. But mostly they were newscasts. Outrageous and erroneous newscasts—but they gave me the idea for radio Cracow and Prague. After all, if someone else could create news fantasies, why not I?

“I had already anticipated von Schleiben's decision to destroy the exchanges at Birkenau and elsewhere when I suggested the radiocast experiment to him. Thus the premature Russian invasion of Poland was born.”

“What has Tolan to do with all this?” Spangler demanded.

“Everything. He is a witness. He has always been von Schleiben's inside man. He was a prisoner for his own protection; it was easier for von Schleiben to keep him alive inside a camp than on the outside. Tolan and von Schleiben are close friends. They have mutual proclivities. It was only natural for Tolan to become von Schleiben's private agent—as well as a few other things—within the camp. Now times have changed radically, and unfortunately for Tolan he possesses too many details about von Schleiben's activities to suit the
Obergruppenfuehrer
.

“But so do you,” Klempf said, smiling at Spangler. “You must realize that we three are the last living persons who know the specific nature of von Schleiben's link to concentration camps above and beyond his official functions. As head of the Council for Extreme Security, of which camps are only a minor category, von Schleiben can always plead ignorance of actual operations—but only if we are out of the way.

“Is it so difficult to understand the implications? Von Schleiben was beginning to fill the Bourse and other exchanges with friend and foe alike. Vassili, for instance, was a high Russian espionage officer by the name of Kuprov, an old adversary—a man who could connect him with many things better forgotten.

“At first I thought von Schleiben was simply doing away with the exchanges as a practical safeguard, as well as setting a trap for you, but when I saw the list for extermination the writing was large on the wall. He was getting rid of everyone with the slightest knowledge of his actitivities. Under these circumstances, how long could I expect to last? You, Tolan—how long do you think
you
would survive?”

Tolan shrugged. “If our places were changed, von Schleiben would already be dead.”

“Exactly. So you see my predicament,” Klempf continued. “I've known for some weeks that I must leave Germany to stay alive. But where can I go? In a neutral country von Schleiben's agents could reach me. In an Allied country von Schleiben could easily leak my Auschwitz-Birkenau record to the authorities. Would the Allies spare me?

“The solution to the problem came quite unexpectedly,” Klempf said, placing the second record on the phonograph. The clicking telegraph key filled the loudspeakers.

“Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. Freedom-Loving Germany and all the ships at sea! Let's go to press!

“Flash:
A secret meeting of delegates to the German Provisional Government has elected Friedrich Tolan Vice-Chancellor. Tolan is now believed to be leaving his underground activities in Germany to accept the position and join Martin Vetter, Konrad Lottman and Oswald Nebel at
G. P. G.
secret headquarters to begin formulating …”

Klempf turned down the volume as Tolan's eyes widened in disbelief.