Drained of the venom of fear, Dante began to sob. “You’re too decent. I don’t deserve that kind of a break, Sean. I don’t deserve it.”
“Maybe there’s some punishment in it for you, Dante. You have to go on living and knowing that if this ever leaks out, I’ll have to stand the court-martial in your place.”
Chapter Twenty-nine
DELIVER BY PERSONAL COURIER TO MAJOR SEAN O’SULLIVAN
Dear Sean,
I am using this unusual method of communicating with you for reasons you’ll quickly understand.
World opinion is creating a furor over the revelations of the extermination camps. The pressure on us for “action” is becoming unbearable.
Acting on instructions directly from Washington, Supreme Headquarters here will issue a proclamation within twenty-four hours: namely, PROCLAMATION #22. The proclamation will say, in effect, that a local military governor may request an extraordinary military tribunal for the trial of extraordinary cases. We refer, of course, to SS atrocities. The tribunal will be empowered to impose the death sentence.
Well, Sean, I’m handing the ball to you again. As my Pilot Team Commander we’ve tried quite a few new wrinkles out in your territory so I’m going with you again on PROCLAMATION #22. By happy coincidence you have the mother and daddy of them all in the persons of Klaus and Emma Stoll. We at Supreme Headquarters feel they’re perfect for the first trial under PROCLAMATION #22.
We’ve got to get moving on this to let a little steam out of the vent and to show both the world and the German people we’re going to be tough. We are particularly interested in banging Emma Stoll. The fact that she is a woman will make a heavy impact.
Have your legal officer draw up indictments (recommending death sentences) and a simple paper for your signature requesting an extraordinary tribunal under #22. We’ll have the court in session in Rombaden within seventy-two hours.
Destroy this document after you’ve studied it.
Kindest regards,
A. J. Hansen
Lieutenant Bolinski frowned and shook his head as he read Hansen’s secret letter. “Well, there is obviously a lot of pressure on Washington to put up a showcase trial.”
“What do you think about the legality of Proclamation 22?”
“Hell, Major, we won the war. We can do anything we want without splitting legal hairs. Now, Klaus Stoll could be hanged before any court in the world off the evidence.”
“Emma?”
Bolinski frowned again, picking those little legal threads upon which a lawyer can build a mountain. “I’d say that with the interrogations and evidence I could spring her from a death sentence in any fair court.”
“Go on.”
“She’s guilty of beating prisoners ... none of whom suffered either death or serious injury, and she’s guilty of sexual perversion. Her main crime is grand theft in the collection of Winter Relief Funds from the German people. That’s enough to stash her away for life. On the other hand, if the story of the silverware handles being carved from human skulls holds up in truth ...”
Sean opened a file, slid a report across the desk to Bolinski. He lit a cigarette and read the letterhead. It was from a Swedish silvermaker with an attachment from a laboratory. “This came in last night,” Sean said. “I sent samples of the handles to Stockholm, the States, and to Switzerland.”
Bolinski drew hard on his cigarette.
IN CONCLUSION, WE HAVE ANALYZED THESE SAMPLES BY EVERY KNOWN METHOD. IN OUR OPINION THEY ARE NOTHING MORE OR LESS THAN CARVINGS ON COMMON ELEPHANT TUSKS OF AN EAST AFRICAN VARIETY.
“Christ!”
“I phoned the Swiss firm in Zurich this morning. They haven’t written up their findings yet, but they told me essentially the same thing—elephant tusks.”
“Thank you, Cornelia Hollingshead.”
“The whole thing starts to take on the aspect of a legalized lynching.”
“But what the hell are you going to do about it, Major? You can’t stand up against this kind of brass.”
Sean put Hansen’s letter into the big crystal ashtray, lit a match to it, and watched it burst, flicker, and crumple into a hundred charred bits.
A few moments later he entered the prison cell of Emma Stoll and dismissed the guard. She knew nothing of the stories raging around the world that had made her symbolic of the evil of Nazism. He had met her before, many times. Emma, sloppy and dowdy, glowered at him with a return of some of her former arrogance.
The Americans had not killed her or Klaus and therefore they revealed their weakness. The SS had known how to rid itself of Germany’s enemies. The Americans were weak ... weak.
“You are about to be brought to trial, Emma. The only chance you have of living is by answering my questions.’’
“You are trying to trap me.”
“I’m trying to help you.”
“You lie!”
“Emma, you’re not being logical. I said that you were as good as dead. What do you have to lose by telling the truth?”
It was a puzzling proposition, indeed, to the shopgirl. Lie or truth ... what difference did it make now? They’d get her if they wanted to ... but, “Why are you going out of your way to protect me? Why?”
“Not to protect you, Emma. To protect the name of my country.”
The slow-witted girl was baffled. This Major O’Sullivan was a baffling man. Was he really as soft as she suspected? What meanings were there that she could not comprehend? “What is it you want to know?” she asked cautiously.
“I have only a few questions. None of them are tricks. Just give me straight answers. First, did you know what was going on inside Schwabenwald?”
Emma was about to make an automatic plea of innocence. She stopped herself short. She had planned to scream out her ignorance of Schwabenwald to the end ... but ... now ... he did say she was good as dead. She sulked, and slumped to her cot. All the jacked-up, painted-on, manufactured attempts to be sexy had split apart in the dank cell. Her hands held a head of uncombed dirty hair. “I lived outside the actual camp,” she said slowly. “You must remember that I am a German woman, a German wife. In Germany, the men run things. My husband never spoke to me about business inside the camp and I never asked him. I am a German wife.”
“Did you suspect?”
“Suspect what?”
“The exterminations.”
She looked up at him pitifully, wrung her hands, dropped her head again. “We all suspected.”
Sean was excited by the knowledge that he had either baffled her or gained her immediate confidence or ... that she was playing a wild gamble to hang onto life. “How much did you see of the camp?”
“Only ... only the outer camp. My husband’s office, the area around the SS barracks ...”
“How about the medical experiment center?”
Emma sealed her lips.
“The center was in that immediate area, Emma. Did you ever go inside the experimentation center?”
“Yes,” she said almost inaudibly.
“And the Gestapo Interrogation Headquarters?”
“I answered these questions a hundred times for Lieutenant Arosa.”
“The Gestapo Interrogation Headquarters?”
“I don’t want to speak any more! Get out!”
“Last time, Emma. It’s the end of the line for you. Were you ever in Gestapo Interrogation Headquarters!”
“Get out!”
“Okay, Emma. No more questions.” Sean walked toward the solid iron door to thump for the jailer.
“I was in Gestapo,” she said.
Sean turned back to her. “How many times?”
“I don’t know.”