The German Half-Bloods (The Half-Bloods Trilogy Book 1) Page 19

  “I’m sorry, Hans.”

  “I’m disappointed, Dieter. Perhaps you should think again?” Rudolph said.

  “No. I don’t need to. It all seems straightforward to me. You want me to produce gas, and I have refused your offer.”

  “The Minister of the Interior won’t be happy, and neither will the Führer. He’s become personally involved in this project.”

  Dieter lit a cigarette, sucking the smoke deep into his lungs, then slowly and deliberately blowing it out. Saying no was dangerous, but he would not agree to manufacturing a chemical gas when he didn’t have the written specifications for its use in Germany. Just because the Americans used it as a cleaning agent didn’t mean the Nazis would. He still remembered the yellow mustard gas that hovered above the ground like an unearthly animal during the Great War. Its effects on soldiers had been catastrophic, and he never wanted to see a chemical weapon being used again. And that was where his suspicions had led him.

  “Hans, I can see it would be a lucrative deal, a very generous offer,” Dieter reiterated, “but it’s not something I can get involved in. I’m sorry, you can’t use my factory.”

  Rudolph blushed from his neck to his forehead. Gone were the niceties, the gentle persuasion tactics, the semblance of friendship. “You, business types are all the same. You’re incapable of thinking further than your profit margins. Philipp Bouhler and Leonardo Conti both vouched for you, Dieter. Conti is the State Secretary for Christ sake. He’s not a man to cross swords with, especially when you consider all the other products you supply to the Ministry. They might even pull out of their existing deals with you and leave you hanging by your balls. How would that suit you?”

  “They might even see you as a traitor,” Leitner interjected, a nasty grin spreading across his face.

  Dieter’s heart thumped. There it was, the threat he’d been dreading. Traitor. The word that was being bandied about all too often nowadays. Cornered, he said, “I can’t imagine I’m the only industrialist in the running for this contract. I know of at least two other factory owners who’d be only too happy to handle this sort of large-scale production.”

  “The Reich has already commandeered everything from toy factories to bakeries, which are now up and running as weapons depots,” Rudolph reminded Dieter. “But we don’t want to take your factory off you, we want to work with you. You stay upstairs producing medical equipment, and the chemists and technicians manufacturing the gas in your basement, just as we proposed. You’re making a big mistake by turning us down.”

  Rudolph’s smug tone followed by another thinly veiled threat disgusted Dieter, but he’d just been struck by an interesting thought that he believed might give him an edge. Maybe his competitors had already turned the offer down, leaving him as a last resort. He was an industrialist, extremely wealthy and well connected. The Regime wouldn’t want to step on his toes with a hostile takeover of his factories. It needed the support and loyalty of the business community and labour unions. Germany might be at war, but good politics and negotiations were still crucial to the dictatorship, and the running of the country.

  “Hauptsturmführer Leitner, why don’t we tell Herr Vogel what happened with Paul at the hospital this morning?” said Rudolph, breaking through Dieter’s musings.

  “I want my wife to hear what you have to say about our son,” Dieter made to rise.

  “No, that won’t be necessary. You can tell her after we leave.” Leitner smiled without parting his lips. “Herr Rudolph, you carry on.”

  Rudolph removed his glasses and threw them casually on top of the pile of papers. Then, as though savouring the moment, he crossed his legs and looked at Dieter. “When I made this arrangement with you, I didn’t foresee the problems we’d have with Paul, and to be perfectly honest had he not been your son, he would be in prison by now.”

  “I see. That doesn’t sound very good.” Dieter shook his head. All hope of getting out of this unholy alliance had dissolved at the mention of his son’s name. Any minute now, Rudolph would overstate the severity of Paul’s misconduct; the man’s fondness for blackmail did not elude him. Then, he’d make another threat, and finish off by asking him to sign the contract. His tactics were transparent, but nevertheless effective.

  “Well, you had better tell me, I suppose. What’s my son done now?”

  “He disobeyed a direct order, was rude to Hauptsturmführer Leitner, threw a tantrum in front of hospital staff and then refused to finish his shift.”

  Dieter kept his eyes on the papers on the table. It was clear that Leitner and Rudolph wanted him to ask about the specific order that Paul had allegedly disobeyed, but he wouldn’t give the bastards the satisfaction. “So, what now?” he asked.

  Rudolph shrugged, “That’s up to Paul. He could have a very good future or no future at all. He might become a renowned doctor one day or a man who squandered his life in a concentration camp because he couldn’t work with his superiors – we haven’t determined the best course of action yet – perhaps you can help us decide?”

  Dieter ran his fingers through his blond mop, giving himself time to think of a measured response. He wanted to get off the subject of punishments as quickly as possible, lest Leitner make a harsh, irretrievable decision about Paul’s fate on behalf of the more level-headed Rudolph. “I cannot and will not agree to another business arrangement unless you go into more detail about what the gas is to be used for,” he finally said.

  “I told you, Dieter. It’s a disinfectant, just a very effective disinfectant,” Rudolph responded with a victorious smile.

  “And what about the gas that’s already being manufactured in my basement?”

  “What about it?”

  “Are you going to produce that side by side with the new one? Wouldn’t that be dangerous?”

  “Yes, it could be, but we’re going to concentrate solely on the Zyklon B from now on. We’ll move the Carbon Monoxide product elsewhere.”

  “I see. And when does the Ministry want production of Zyklon B to start?”

  “In about four weeks. Will you sign the contract now before we continue our discussion about Paul?” Rudolph took a pen out of his breast pocket and pointed it at Dieter.

  Dieter snatched it from Rudolph’s fingers, but unwilling to cave in completely, said, “I’ll sign this on one condition.”

  “And what might that be?” Leitner asked.

  “You leave my son alone. He’s not a threat to either of you.”

  Rudolph said, “I suppose we could offer Paul a transfer, somewhere more suited to his skills. I don’t think psychiatry is for him after all...”

  “No, out of the question. I’ve invested my time in his training,” Leitner interrupted, “and I’ve brought SS enlistment forms with me. Unlike Herr Rudolph, I still think Paul needs to be taught a lesson in obedience and loyalty. You will instruct him to sign the papers the minute he arrives, Herr Vogel. I’ll give him a few days at home to reflect on his behaviour, but afterwards I expect him to come back to Brandenburg where he will report directly to me. Is that clear?”

  “Sign the contract, for God’s sake, Dieter,” said Rudolph, a surprising hint of an apology in his voice.

  Dieter’s fingers trembled as he gripped the pen. He threw Leitner one last look of disgust and said, “You will make sure my son is treated fairly, Hauptsturmführer, or you will have me to answer to. I also have friends in high places.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  The military vehicle parked outside his parents’ villa caused Paul to brake gently at the corner of the street. He was still some distance away, but his house had unique lights on top of its gate posts making it the most unusual entrance in the neighbourhood. The lamps, created by one of Laura’s cousins in England, looked like huge ice cream cones in the light of the full moon, despite the blackout.

  He turned off the engine and cut the headlamps. He hoped to God that whoever was visiting his father wouldn’t notice his arrival.

  In the r
ear-view mirror, he saw Judith sitting rigid in the back seat. Her face was just a shadow in the darkness. She hadn’t responded to his question about how she was feeling. He could only imagine she would be pondering her options, so he let her be.

  “Why do doctors want to waste their time with me when I’m as fit as a fiddle? Why? I’m an unimportant Jewish woman who’s never been in trouble, or a bother to anyone, apart from the Rosenthals,” she’d asked during the journey.

  He’d had no credible answer to give, and had purposely not mentioned that she’d been earmarked for the Brandenburg gas chamber. To even admit that he knew of its existence would crush her fragile trust in him. She was understandably terrified, and though she’d not mentioned Hilde, she was undoubtedly still suspicious of his role in her death.

  Unlike Judith’s dark figure in the back seat, the SS driver of the military vehicle was as clear as day, smoking a cigarette beside the driver’s door. Paul had no idea how long the car had been there, or for how long its passenger, or passengers, would be inside his father’s house. If they were staying for dinner, it would be a long night, and he and Judith would be stuck there for the duration.

  “We might be waiting a while,” he said, finally breaking the silence. “But don’t worry, Judith, it’s dark up this end of the road under the shadow of the trees. I don’t think the soldier noticed our arrival. If he had he would have walked over to investigate. Just stay quiet and don’t touch the windows, they squeak.”

  “Is your father important? Is he a Nazi?” Judith whispered.

  “Yes, to both questions, but I know he’ll keep you safe until we decide how best to help you.”

  “I don’t want to get anyone into trouble. Maybe I should just start walking away from Berlin as fast as I can.”

  “Get down!” Paul caught a glimpse of a figure in a grey SS uniform coming out of the house through the open gates a split second before he lay across the length of his seat. With his head now on the front passenger side, he whispered, “Don’t move until I tell you.”

  A few seconds later the soldier’s car revved its engine before moving away, then its dimmed lights flickered briefly over Paul’s car as it passed by on the road.

  Paul waited a few minutes more and when he was sure the street was clear, he sat up and started the engine. “It’s all right, Judith. You can get up now.”

  Judith sat up and leant towards the front seats. “Doctor Vogel, why are you helping me?”

  He paused, trying to assess the impact his words would have. “I hate what’s happening to you, Judith. You can never go home again. You can only go forwards and I can help you do that.”

  Judith sniffed. “But I was born in that flat. Everything I own is in it, all my memories, my photographs, my Hilde’s favourite drawings. Everything. Why do I have to leave it? You’re frightening me.”

  “I know, Judith, but I’ll never let anything bad happen to you.” Even that was a lie, Paul thought, opening the car door. He couldn’t promise her a damn thing one way or the other. To his parents, she’d look like a Jewish pauper who had no money to replace old clothes. Her long black coat was threadbare in places. The scarf draped around her neck was hand-knitted and overstretched through wear, but most telling of her lowly status was her apparent fear and bowed head, the common stance of a Jew nowadays. His mother would be kind, as she was to all his friends, but his father was a deceitful man shrouded in the Nazi flag and unfathomable secrets. He’d be more apt to throw Judith to the SS as a bone than shelter her in his home. No, he couldn’t promise Judith anything except for his guarantee that he’d go to any length to get her out of Germany.

  ******

  Paul used his key to open the front door and entered the spacious hallway holding Judith’s hand. Dieter appeared from the living room, the initial flash of relief on his face disintegrating when he saw Judith. “Who is this?”

  Paul faced his father’s tight-lipped scowl. “Hello, Father. Sorry, I thought I’d be here sooner, but I got waylaid. Anyway, I’m home now.”

  Dieter’s eyes narrowed. His attention fell on Judith and the yellow Star of David on her coat. “I can see that. Why have you brought a Jew to my house?”

  Laura brushed past Dieter to get to Paul. “I thought I heard your voice, darling, thank God…” her words hung in the air when she spotted Judith.

  “Father, Mother, this is Judith Weber.” Paul tightened his grip on Judith’s hand as he watched his parents’ inner struggles. He could almost hear their thoughts running through his own mind. Apart from the tell-tale yellow star that confirmed Judith’s religion, she was clearly non-Aryan with her coal-black hair and huge brown eyes.

  “You, poor soul. You look half-starved.” Laura finally broke the silence.

  “Laura, take the girl into the kitchen while I have a word with our son.” Dieter’s tone brooked no contradiction.

  Dieter closed the kitchen door behind the two women, then took Paul’s arm and led him into the formal dining room, closing that door after him as well.

  “I’ve just had a visit from Hans Rudolph and Hauptsturmführer Leitner. They told me you disobeyed an order, were giving lip to your tutors and had a fight with soldiers. And if that wasn’t serious enough, you then refused to examine patients. And now this. What the hell are you playing at?”

  “I’ll tell you if you’ll just listen,” Paul spat.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means you always side with Rudolph and the Nazi Party. That’s what you do, Father.”

  “Watch your insolence in this house. I won’t put up with your tantrums. Your mother and I have had a terrible night. Leitner brought SS recruitment papers for you to sign, and to make sure you do, he’s sending a car and driver to pick them up in the morning. They don’t trust you at that hospital, said you are going in the wrong direction, whatever the hell that means.”

  Paul was taken aback. They’d been serious about him joining the SS. He straightened as his mind flashed to the dead children and naked women with their arms around the youngsters. “They can shove their enlistment papers up their arses. They can’t force me to sign them.”

  “Those are bold words when you’re playing with your parents’ lives. Did you know about their visit here? Is that why you didn’t come home?”

  Paul crossed his arms and sneered at his father. “You talk to me about playing with people’s lives? You? I saw Vogel’s carbon monoxide gas being used at the hospital this morning. They didn’t disinfect the wards and operating theatres or delouse clothes and bedding with it. It was poured into a barn being used as a gas chamber. The product supplied by your factory killed eighteen women and children today. So, Father, before you start giving me the holier than thou speech about how important loyalty is, think about the innocent people I saw dying in front of my eyes – think about that. Then ask me what they did with the bodies – go on, ask me!”

  Dieter’s mouth opened and closed without releasing a word.

  “Ask me!” Paul repeated.

  “For God’s sake, Paul … please … keep your voice down.”

  “Of course, we mustn’t let Mother hear the truth about murdered children being put on specially made stretchers with your bloody factory’s name on them, and then thrown into the ovens. That’s what’s going on Father. That’s why I refused to have anything to do with their programmes, and why I’m in trouble today. Jesus, you might as well have murdered those people yourself.”

  Dieter’s slap rang around the elegant high-ceilinged room. Paul’s head whipped to one side, then he glared at his father’s bowed head.

  Dieter gripped the edge of the dining table, his eyes tight shut. “Dear God, I didn’t know … I didn’t know that was what they wanted the gas for … and the stretchers; I just make them to my customers’ specifications. I didn’t know about their use either. They lied to me, bold-faced lies. I wasn’t told about this, Son. Had I known … had I only known … I never would’ve…”

  Pa
ul felt not an iota of pity for his father. “Don’t lie to me. You heard Rudolph talking about Brandenburg’s euthanasia programme last year at my graduation party, and you knew the name of the poison gas that was being produced for the SS. How much of the stuff have they asked you to supply from that factory basement of yours?”

  “I told you, I’m not producing it. I only leased the space to the chemists who were brought in from the outside.” Dieter slumped into a chair at the end of the table. “Please, sit, Paul.” He looked at Paul’s reddened cheek and sighed. “I’m sorry about that. I don’t know what came over me.”

  “Never mind the slap, just tell me about the gas.”

  “Which one?”

  “What?”

  “Look, it hasn’t happened yet. I’ve just signed a government contract for a gas called Zyklon B. I was expecting Hans Rudolph to telephone me with good news about a new product, but he turned up instead with that Hauptsturmführer Leitner, talking about gas, and Americans – Leitner came because he insists you join the SS?”

  Dieter Vogel was a ruthless businessman, devoted to making money. Yes, he was devious, as most powerful men were, but he wasn’t a liar, at least not a very good one. “Has this Zyklon B got anything to do with what I witnessed at the hospital this morning?”

  “I don’t know. It’s … they told me it was to delouse … to clean…”

  “And you believed them?”

  “Yes, I believed them. How can you be sure my gas was used in Brandenburg?”

  “I’m certain because your name was printed on the carbon monoxide canisters. Did you know it was going to be used to kill people?”

  “No, of course I didn’t!” Dieter exploded. “I’m not a murderer, and I won’t have you say I’m complicit in what went on at that hospital of yours. The Ministry of the Interior gave me the license to distribute the carbon-monoxide and offered me the opportunity to produce the gas canisters on my factory floor. In return, I leased the entire basement to their chemists at no charge. Paul, my factory is one of the biggest in Berlin. I only ever used the basement for storage and could afford to lose the space. I didn’t think anything sinister would come from it.” He shook his head in dismay. “I can’t discuss this with you anymore. I signed the contract to manufacture Zyklon B half an hour ago, and I can’t undo the deal. That must be the end of it.”