The Hunt

Austria:

May 7, 1945

The American jeep drove rapidly up the dirt road toward the burned-out ruin of a castle, spewing dust out behind it. An American wearing a worn leather jacket with the gold leaves of a major pinned to the shoulders and an army officer’s hat cocked on the back of his head sat beside the driver. He wore no other uniform. His pants were brown corduroy and his shirt was dark blue wool. A black patch covered his right eye and a thin scar etched from under it down across his cheek.

In the backseat, a dark-haired, bearded man leaned back with his arms stretched out on the rear of the seat. He was wearing dark work pants, a black turtleneck sweater and a tweed cap. His rifle lay casually across his knees.

Beside the road were forlorn remnants of the Third Reich. Burned-out German tanks, staff cars, a motorcycle or two lay abandoned in ditches along the narrow roadway. Weary but smiling GI’s, sitting along the shoulders, tossed half-hearted salutes at the major with the patch over his eye as the jeep passed.

The radio was tuned to Armed Forces Radio. A GI disk jockey was babbling with excitement and had been for an hour. His voice was beginning to crack from the strain.

“That’s right, all you GI Joes out there, it’s all over! The war in Europe is over. At two-forty-one A.M., Germany unconditionally surrendered. Remember this day, guys, it’s Liberation Day! May seventh, 1945, the day we won the war. .

The major leaned forward and snapped off the radio.

“Geez, Major Keegan,” the driver said, “the war’s over.”

“It isn’t over till it’s over,” Keegan answered.

The bearded man in the backseat said nothing. He stared straight ahead.

The sergeant pulled up in front of the ancient German castle, swung the jeep in a tight arc and parked in front of a long, wide flight of marble steps that led to the entrance. Keegan and his companion jumped out and started up the stairs. An American flag waved from a flagpole attached to the arch over the door.

The Gothic structure had not fared well in the fighting south of Munich. Its windows were blown out and covered with tattered canvas. One wing of the château had been bombed and now lay in ruins. The roof on the main house was burned out and the face of the old place was scorched.

A military police corporal looked suspiciously at Keegan’s makeshift uniform and the leaves on his shoulder before finally deciding to salute.

“Corporal, I’m Major Keegan. This is my aide. I think you’re expecting me.”

The corporal straightened up when he heard the name.

“Oh, yes sir! Right this way, sir.”

He led the two men into the gloomy interior of the place. Ceilings towered above a wide marble hallway. The grand staircase ended abruptly just before it reached the first floor. A gaping hole in the wall behind it had been boarded up.

“This place is a mess,” Keegan said.

“Some Kraut general was using it for a command post,” the corporal said. “A squadron of P-51s really kicked the shi .

excuse me, sir, kicked the crap out of the place.”

“You can say shit in front of me, Corporal,” Keegan said. “I’m old enough to vote.”

“Yes, sir.”

“What happened to the general?”

“I hear they scraped him off the wall. We found the old man hiding down in the wine cellar. He was a sight.”

They walked almost to the end of the hall. The corporal nodded toward a door.

“In there, sir.”

“Thanks. Congratulations, Corporal.”

“What for, sir?”

“Winning the war, kid,” he said, and entered the room.

It had once been a library, although one wall had been blown away. Remnants of books littered the room. Soaring bookshelves dominated two other walls while the fourth wall was an enormous stained glass window which somehow had escaped the bombardment. A rolling ladder provided access to the upper bookshelves.

An army cot squatted in a corner of the room with an olive drab army blanket thrown carelessly across it. The only other thing in the room was a large, hand-carved oak desk. Like the window behind it, it was unscathed.

The old man sat hunched over behind the desk, a stack of books to one side, another opened in front of him. He was taking notes on a pad of army paper. His disheveled hair was as thin as mist and pure white. His eyes were dark hollows in a sallow face. He needed a shave. A hand-made shawl was thrown over his rounded shoulders.

He looked up through faded eyes as Keegan and his aide crossed the room, kicking book leaves out of the way. They stood in front of the desk. The bearded man was in the shadows.

“Professor Wilhelm Vierhaus?”

The old man looked up.

‘Ja?”

“You are under arrest, Professor.”

“I have been under arrest for over a week, Major.”

“No, you’ve been detained. As of today you would probably have been free to go, since you are officially a civilian and the war is over. But I have a warrant here for your arrest. The specific charge is murder in the first degree.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Murder, Professor. You are a civilian and you are charged with murdering a civilian.”

“Who?”

‘Specifically, Jenny Gould.”

“Jenny He shook his head, trying to remember.

“Her brother was Avrum Wolffson.”

Vierhaus looked up with shock. His eyes narrowed.

“The Black Lily?”

“That’s right. You sent his sister to Dachau and she was murdered there.”

“And you are charging me with that?” he said, almost sneering.

“That’s right. Not only charging you, Vierhaus, but I intend to see that you are prosecuted and hanged.”

“I did not kill anybody!”

“You sent her to Dachau to die.”

“And who are your witnesses, sir?”

“Her brother for one. Perhaps it’s time you met. You’ve been trying to kill him for twelve years. Av?”

The bearded man stepped from the shadows into the light streaming in the window.

“Professor, this is Avrum Wolffson.”

Vierhaus reacted with a combination of emotions: surprise, hatred, curiosity. Fear.

“Jenny Gould was his sister. She was arrested and ultimately murdered in an attempt by you to get her to turn him in.”

Vierhaus turned his attention back to Keegan.

“Who are you?” he said with awe. “Do I know you?”

“We met once, Willie. In a steam bath at the Grand Hotel.”

“Steam bath?” He studied Keegan’s face.

“I didn’t have the patch then.”

But Vierhaus did not recognize Keegan. Keegan took out a pack of cigarettes and offered one to Vierhaus.

“Perhaps a smoke will relax you, stir your memory.”

He took out the gold lighter with the wolf’s head, held it close to Vierhaus, then flipped open the top and struck it. Vierhaus stared at the lighter, then back at Keegan.

“This is my good luck charm, Willie. Carried it all the way through this stinking war. Every time things got rough I’d rub it for good luck.”

Keegan now rubbed the side of the lighter with his thumb and smiled. Vierhaus said nothing. He continued to stare at the lighter, which Keegan held up by its base.

“Quite handsome, isn’t it? According to Lady Penelope, you gave this to the actor. And this is what tripped him up. That’s where I got it, Willie. From Siebenundzwanzig, the night I tracked him down and killed him. And you know who tipped me off, Willie? Avrum Wolffson.”

Vierhaus’s attention flicked from Wolffson to Keegan to the lighter.

“Think about that. You Germans love irony, so think of the irony here. You sent Jenny Gould to Dachau because of the Black Lily and it was the Black Lily that was Twenty-seven’s downfall—and is now yours.”

“Who . . . are. . . you?” Vierhaus croaked.

“I’m the man whose fiancée you murdered. I’m the man you chased out of Germany with his tail between his legs. And I’m the man who put Siebenundzwanzig out of business.”

Recognition suddenly changed the expression on the Nazi’s face.

“Keegan,” he whispered as if to himself. “The Ire,”

“Very good, Willie,” Keegan said, and there was a hard edge in his voice. “You pass the course. I chased Twenty-seven for almost a year. And I’ve waited six more years for this day. You have any doubt that I’ll dog you to your grave? If you think hiding behind a coat and tie is going to save your ass, you’re crazy. You’re just as guilty as Himmler and Goring and the rest of the paperhanger’s boys. That’s why it’s important to nail you.”

The confused professor rubbed the back of his hand across one cheek.

“How did you find me?” he asked.

“An old friend of yours named Danzler at Dachau. We went in when they liberated it. Avrum here convinced Danzler to give up your location.”

Vierhaus’s eyes bulged as Wolffson stepped closer. He looked up at the man that Hitler had hated with psychotic rage. Wolffson looked down at him without expression.

His shoulders sagged as the pieces fell together. There had been so many murders. So many executions. But now it came back to him.

“So, that is what this is all about? Retribution, eh, Keegan?”

“No, it’s for me, Vierhaus. So I can put the last twelve years behind me and go home to my wife, Vanessa, and my little girl, Temple, and enjoy the rest of my life. It’s about little monsters like you, too. There’s so many big shots ahead of you, they would never have gotten around to you. You would have walked free. But I know what you are, Vierhaus. I know how you whispered your obscenities in Hitler’s ear. Killing the actor was self-defense. But you, you’re the cherry on the strudel, Willie.”

“So you even know who he was, eh?”

“I figured it out with the help of some friends in military intelligence and some old newspapers. You see, I got to know this guy like I know myself. One of his tricks was to make everyone believe he was dead when he wanted to disappear. So first we went through the records we seized in Berlin and

found out when he was recruited. After that it was a cakewalk. I was going through the newspapers, reading obituaries, hoping maybe something would click. And suddenly there it was staring at me in big, bold headlines. ‘Actor Dies in Mountain Auto Crash.’ The man without a face. The premier actor of Germany. The man who mastered dialects and spoke six languages.”

Keegan held his hands out to his sides, palms up.

“So this is what it’s all about.” Vierhaus shook his head in disbelief. “She was one woman among six million. A moment in time.”

Keegan turned to Wolf[son. “Excuse us for a minute, will you, Av?”

The tall resistance fighter left the room.

“This is an official warrant,” Keegan said, laying a folded sheet on the desk. “You’re a civilian, Vierhaus. This is not for genocide or any of those major, major crimes against humanity. It officially charges you with one count of murder. And I’m going to see you tried and I’m going to be in the front row when they stretch your neck. Of course, I don’t know if you can understand this. I hope so. You people killed so many you can’t even comprehend the value of a single life anymore. Except maybe your own.”

Vierhaus didn’t answer. He stared down at his dirty fingernails.

“On the other hand, I want to go home,” Keegan said. He took a German P-38 out of his pocket. Vierhaus’s eyes grew narrower. Fear slowly materialized in the bloodshot, lifeless orbs ringed with deep shadows.

“I don’t want to have to hang around here waiting for them to get around to your trial,” he said. “I’ve had enough of this.”

“You don’t believe in forgiving your enemies, Ire?” Vierhaus said nervously.

“I believe in the old Irish proverb, Willie. Forgive your enemies—but get even first.”

He removed the clip from the pistol, put it in his pocket and ejected the shell in the chamber. It clattered on the desk and rolled against a book. Keegan put the gun on the desk.

“Aufwiedersehen, Willie,” Keegan said, and walked out of the room. Vierhaus stared after him. He looked around the room, at his cot in the corner, and finally at the pistol on his desk.

Outside the room, Keegan and Wolffson walked down the marble hallway.

“You think it will stick, Ire?” Wolffson asked.

“The murder charge?”

“I doubt it.”

“You think he’ll go free?”

“No. I don’t think he’ll go free, Av.”

“Then what?”

The shot rang out as he said it and echoed through the hallway.

“Christ almighty!” the corporal cried out and ran down the hall.

Keegan walked down the long flight of steps with Wolffson trailing behind him. They got in the jeep.

“Okay,” Keegan said. “Now it’s over.” He leaned over and snapped on the radio. “Whip this baby back to Munich,” he said to the driver. “The party’s on me.”

The same disk jockey was still babbling with joy.

“We’re going home, guys! We’re going home! And here’s a classic from a man we all wish was with us to celebrate today. The immortal Glenn Miller and a song that has become an anthem for all of us on this side of the pond.”

Keegan leaned back as the song began. He joined in when the Modernaires began their vocal.

Don’t sit under the apple tree,

With anyone else but me,

Anyone else but me,

Anyone else but me, no, no, no,

Don’t sit under the apple tree,

With anyone else but me,

Till I come marching home . .

The End