Shadow Of The Wolf Read online

  Reevel had watched the dawn come and with it the two German officers walking up from Mullach Bay. Two armed storm troopers accompanied them. At any other time they would have been ordinary men engaged on ordinary occupations, but their alien uniforms belied that comforting notion. Their appearance made Reevel stiffen. The others noticed the sudden movement in his body.

  "What's up?" Callum asked.

  "Schafer and Brenneke," he muttered just loud enough for them to hear.

  "Is the widow with them?" the doctor asked.

  Reevel didn't answer for a while. Then he said: "Oh my God, they are going into the cemetery." The statement caused a flurry of movement among the group round the table who exchanged glances with each other, and all of them with expressions of horror on their faces.

  "They must know," Callum said dramatically. "That damned woman must have told them."

  "Wait now," Doctor Kristen pleaded. "If she has said anything, it would not have been intentional; they could have tortured her. We must not jump to conclusions."

  "They are standing beside the grave." Reevel's voice was strained and quiet. The others fell into a hush. Reevel had feared this moment and been tortured by it in his dreams, but never had he imagined it would be like this.

  He watched the two Nazis turn away, and the invisible shadow of the Nazi wolf preceded their strident steps towards the schoolroom. It reached up and took Reevel by the throat. He climbed down from the desk and lifted it on to the floor. His legs seemed to lose all substance and he sat gratefully on a convenient chair. Small beads of sweat prickled his brow and he prayed he had the strength to carry through with the bluff they had planned.

  With his throat suddenly constricted he told the hushed group that Schafer was on his way to the schoolhouse. Each one of them glanced at each other again, stunned expressions on their faces. They all moved away then as though a command had been given, and settled themselves in the places where they had been sleeping during the night.

  They were feigning sleep as Brenneke opened the door to let Schafer in. Neither of them seemed to notice the curtains had been pulled down, letting dull light filter into the room.

  The islanders stirred as Schafer's jackboots clacked hard on the floorboards. He walked up to Reevel and shook him. Reevel opened his eyes and squinted up at him. "What is it?" he croaked. "Have you come to take more of us away?"

  "There is a fresh grave in the cemetery," Schafer said without preamble. "Who is buried there?"

  Reevel felt small needles of pain at the back of his jawbone. Saliva flowed quickly into his mouth and he felt sick. "I don't know," he answered lamely. "A sailor." He shrugged. "He was washed ashore some weeks back."

  "What was his name? His nationality?"

  Reevel was taken aback by the sudden sharpness of Schafer’s questions. "I don't know," he told him lamely.

  "You are lying," Schafer accused him. "He would have carried some identification."

  "He had none." Reevel's eyes dropped. "He had nothing on him. No papers, no identification tag, nothing."

  "You would have notified the authorities, correct?" Reevel nodded. "And a record would have been made of his burial?" Reevel's eyes widened. Schafer grabbed hold of Reevel's jacket by the lapels. "And some record made, damn you. Am I right?"

  "No. No, we made no record."

  Schafer let him go. "Then your broke your own law."

  Doctor Kristen stood up. "We broke no law, Hauptsturmführer. The poor man would have been officially listed as missing at sea. We did our Christian duty and committed his soul to our Lord in heaven."

  Schafer looked sceptically at the doctor. "Pious words, but I am not moved by your Christian charity. Your records show that the last soul you committed to heaven was that of Richard Wyld. Three years ago."

  The words stung, and it was all that Reevel could do to prevent himself throwing away their chances. They had discussed the possibilities, and knew this was the line they must take.

  He stuttered the words out. "We believed we were right not to record the burial."

  "Who is the preacher here?" asked Schafer suddenly.

  Doctor Kristen responded. "I am the lay preacher."

  Schafer smiled. "How convenient, doctor. You also omitted to mark the parish record. An unchristian act don't you think?"

  "Our act of faith was in giving him a decent burial and praying for his soul. An entry in the parish records would have served no useful purpose. We knew neither his name nor his faith."

  "Not so," Schafer told him. "You are concealing something. That is why nothing was put on paper."

  "That's not true," Reevel protested.

  Schafer spun round, his eyes fixed firmly on Reevel. "You have nothing to hide?" he asked.

  "Nothing."

  Schafer relaxed. "Who put the flowers on the grave?"

  Reevel's brow furrowed deeply as he shook his head. The question caught him unawares. "Who? I don't understand.' ,

  "The flowers," Schafer repeated and pointed towards the cemetery. "They are recent. Someone must have put them there."

  Reevel shook his head. "One of the islanders, perhaps. I don't know." It was a weak response.

  Schafer looked round the room. "They are all here. Tell me, which one? You have already agreed you have nothing to hide."

  Nobody moved or spoke. The tension between them and Schafer was vibrating like a bow-string. "Come now," he said, persuasively, "what harm is there in putting some flowers on a grave?"

  Still nobody moved to volunteer the information.

  Schafer found it bewildering that a simple act like that could evoke such a collective silence.

  "You are all here," he said. "One among you must have the courage to confess to such a Christian action. There is no crime in that."

  "Frau Lucas is not here, Hauptsturmführer," Brenneke reminded him.

  A scuffling sound drew Schafer's attention and he turned in time to see Callum draw his hand away from Ailie, who was trying, against her father's wishes, to stand up. Callum avoided Schafer's eyes as Ailie stood up proud and statuesque.

  "Ah, the little dumb fraulein," Schafer exclaimed, walking over to her. "So, it was you. Is that what you wish to tell me?" Ailie nodded, but Schafer did not believe her. However, he chose to pursue the matter no further. Already these people were blundering into a tissue of lies with the finesse of a rampaging army. Their attempts to hide the truth or steer him away from it were pathetic. When he was ready, Kretschmer would drag the truth from them with little difficulty. Whatever they told him, however plausible an explanation it might be, Schafer was convinced now that it was Ziegel buried in that grave. He wished he could be as sure about the papers. He motioned Ailie to sit down, and spoke to Reevel again.

  "The reason we are on this island, Herr Anderson, is to discover the whereabouts of Leutnant Ziegel, one who is known to you but of whom you continually deny all knowledge. Leutnant Brenneke believes Ziegel is buried in that grave. I am almost totally convinced. You can stop what we are about to do by telling us the truth."

  Reevel had summoned up sufficient courage by this time to return Schafer's feeling of inevitability. "You do what you must do, Hauptsturmführer. If it is your man, then we admit to burying him, we cannot deny that. But we will not be a party to your shame."

  "You do not have to," Schafer replied levelly. "You have only to tell the truth."

  He waited for some time before turning away from Reevel and marching out of the schoolroom.

  "Still convinced, Jochen?" Schafer asked him as they made their way back to the Nordcaper.

  Brenneke hesitated. "It's a plausible lie, sir. But digging him up will not lead us to the papers."

  "It may not," Schafer agreed. "Unless the papers are buried with him. But how else do I learn the truth? I must consider all possibilities." He checked his watch. "Have Kretschmer bring the woman. I want to see her face when we open the coffin."

  "Why is that?"

  Schafer stopped. "The dumb gir
l's admission about the flowers was a lie; the widow did that. All the girl was doing was hoping to draw attention away from her."

  Brenneke laughed. It was short and explosive. "The old man was not keen."

  Schafer drew a cigarette from his case. A patch of smoke dissipated from his waving hand. "There's a damn conspiracy on this island, Jochen, and I believe that woman is the key."

  "Is that intuition sir?" Brenneke asked.

  Schafer grinned. "I hope so, Sturmführer, or I am going to look a bloody fool."

  *

  Billy looked along the barrel of the Schmeisser and drew a perfect line on the two men. He felt an overwhelming desire to squeeze the trigger, but knew the time was not right. He lowered the gun and got back to the business of eating the bread and cheese he had rifled from one of the cottages earlier.

  During the night he had slept fitfully. One moment he was submerged in total sleep, the next he was wide awake. He knew they would be searching for him, but he felt safe. After slaying the two Germans he had taken their weapons and slipped away up into the mountain, his place of secure refuge.

  Billy had gambled on the caution the Germans would naturally show against him, by choosing a high point beneath a natural overhang of rock. He reckoned their search would still cover the low ground and in the darkness their progress would be determined by their reluctance to show themselves, knowing that he was out there somewhere, and they knew he was armed. His cover was good and was another of his old places: one he had come to know well as a boy. He had taken Ailie there often but now all he could do was indulge himself in pleasant memories of their innocent childhood.

  He woke when the birds came fighting for the crusts he had laid out on the craggy ledge. Nature's alarm clock had proved reliable and Billy had opened his eyes to the sounds of the birds and a bleak morning.

  He had come down from the mountain early for his meagre breakfast. His intention had been to hide up on Orca Ridge and watch the Nordcaper for some time, hoping to invent some convincing plan that would free him and the islanders from this nightmare.

  He watched the two Germans leave the schoolhouse. It was unexpected, and the act of aiming the Schmeisser at them was more symbolic than serious. They separated, one going away towards the cottage, the other going towards Mullach Bay.

  Any activity which involved his mother's cottage was bound to draw Billy's attention, and he watched Brenneke through the binoculars. It was five minutes before anything happened. He saw his mother then, and his heart leapt as she stepped out of the doorway.

  His moment of filial pleasure was short lived when he saw the noose curling away from her neck into the hand of the brutish-looking German. When he saw how demeaned his mother looked, he felt all kinds of emotion running through him. He had no way of knowing what they had done to her or how badly she had been treated. He could do nothing but watch; he was impotent. Whatever he imagined he might be able to do to save his mother was born from a natural instinctive desperation. The hard fact was that he could do little except watch.

  They dragged Maura to the cemetery and waited for Schafer and more men to arrive. Although the cloud was thinning .and the sun was tinkering with the daylight, it was quite cold. Maura shivered in her thin dress. The marks on her legs where she had constantly fallen showed up quite livid on her pale flesh. Beneath her dress small, red weals touched the cotton in bursts of tiny, sensitive pain.

  She looked down at the grave without feeling, her emotions channelled from her by Kretschmer's exquisite, yet savage, treatment. She hated and despised him more than she imagined possible because he had awakened in her a fire that needed quenching. That passion had been surpassed only by one other man.

  She continued looking down at the grave and wished she could die. She heard the sounds of footsteps as Schafer appeared with four storm troopers. Two of them were carrying shovels. He returned Kretschmer's salute and spoke directly to Maura.

  "Good morning Frau Lucas. You must pray your son does not take it upon himself to attack us. It would be most regrettable. I had decided to question you this morning but something far more important has come to light, so that decision has been postponed. For the moment," he added. Then he turned to the two men with the shovels. "Begin."

  The two men began turning back the soil with relative ease. Maura watched without any other feeling than a philosophical acceptance. Eventually the small wooden cross toppled as the blades dug deeper into the ground, and was carelessly tossed aside.

  After thirty minutes the men paused. Sweat rippled their brows and they had removed their jackets. Maura could feel the first strokes of the sun, but she still shivered. Schafer had smoked two cigarettes while Brenneke and the other two soldiers had constantly scanned the surrounding area though with no real hope of seeing their quarry.

  The light and growing warmth had brought the birds from their nests and perilous ledges to wheel frenetically, bringing flashes of colour and life into the sky above Mullach Bay. On the ground the rabbits lifted their quivering noses out of their burrows, adding to the unfolding picture of a countryside at dawn. The shrill, sibilant sound of a skylark settled around them and mixed regally with the clucking of a posturing cockerel. The men took up their shovels again and once more the sound of the steel blades could be heard striking the soil.

  It took an hour, by which time the clouds had rolled away to leave a clear, blue sky and the sun had warmed Maura sufficiently to stop her shivering. They struck the wood of the coffin and hastily cleared the soil away. The ropes which had been used to lower the coffin were still heaped on top of it. They passed these up to Schafer and climbed out of the grave.

  This was not a moment of triumph for Schafer. He knew that a mistake here could undermine the morale of his men and increase the resolve of the islanders.

  The plain wooden box was brought to the ground beside the grave. One of the men handed him a small iron bar, flattened at one end. He thrust this into the thin gap between the box and the lid and prised it upwards. He then moved the jemmy further down the lid and repeated the movement.

  The lid came loose, and he slipped both hands into the wide gap and pulled it clear. Maura felt her whole mind vanish, and she fainted.

  *

  Reevel Anderson sat ashen faced. He had been watching through the small window and the picture was still clear in his mind of Schafer thrusting the lid clear and Maura falling to the ground. For some unaccountable reason he thought she had been shot. There had been no sound, but the affect had been riveting.

  He told the others exactly what had happened. They had expected it, but it didn't make them feel any easier. Nothing was said afterwards because they had already talked themselves into a corner. Words would be a merry-go-round and get them nowhere. They had taken up their defence and had to see it through.

  Schafer came back with Brenneke. He walked into the schoolroom slowly, his hands thrust behind his back. He looked at each one of them in turn. Most of the islanders returned his stare, but theirs did not possess the same malevolence, just defiance.

  He went up to Reevel and looked straight into his face. The islander waited for the outburst, trying to keep his head clear.'

  "The body in the coffin is that of Leutnant Manfred Ziegel, Herr Anderson." His voice was clear and articulate. "The man you denied all knowledge of is buried in your cemetery. What do you say now?"

  Reevel shrugged and shook his head. "We do not know him. Please, what else can we say?" He tried to sound sincere and persuasive. He knew of no other way of convincing this man. "He was washed ashore. We found him and buried him." He lifted his hands up in an empty gesture. "Why are you trying to put words in our mouths and corrupt our past?"

  Schafer pulled the gloves from his hands and held them tightly. "Leutnant Ziegel swam ashore here with documents that are of vital importance to the Third Reich. I know that is an indisputable fact. I also know that your past is indisputably corrupt."

  Reevel looked up, a pained expression on his
face. "Why do you say that?" he asked.

  Schafer's knuckles whitened around the gloves. "Because Leutnant Ziegel was murdered!"

  SEVEN

  "They hung the poor bastard, Jochen, couldn't you see that?" Schafer slammed his fist against the bulkhead. The noise bounced around the steel walls. They were in the captain's cabin on board the Nordcaper where Brenneke was attempting to play the Devil's advocate. "There wasn't much left of him, but they were rope marks. I'll stake my life on it." His anger was overcoming his reason.

  "We couldn't examine the body properly Herr Hauptsturmführer," Brenneke pointed out. "It was too unpleasant and far too risky."

  Schafer's eyes narrowed and his mouth twisted into a snarl. "These snivelling, grubby little islanders have lied, and still lie!" he roared. "Someone in that schoolroom is a bloody murderer, and they'll all sit there and rot until they tell me who it is."

  "They have more time than we do, Hauptsturmführer," Brenneke reminded him. "They can sit us out. We need to get off this damn island soon."

  "I'll lay siege to their souls, damn them," Schafer said angrily. "I'll burn their homes to the ground."

  "That would attract the Royal Navy." He shrugged. "And we will have lost."

  Schafer clenched his fist and held it in front of Brenneke's face, spittle flying from his lips. "Then I will take a life for a life. They owe me four." He dropped his hand. "They will tell me," he insisted. "They will tell me."

  There was a moment’s silence and not even the noise of the squealing seagulls could penetrate the cabin. "Sir, consider this hypothesis." Brenneke chose his words carefully. "If, just if, the islanders are telling the truth, no matter what you do, they can never tell you what you wish to know. If you begin executions you will bring the boy Lucas down on us. Even if we succeeded in killing him, several of our group could die. We would still not know where those papers are or if Ziegel had them when he came ashore. Our chances of finding them will have virtually disappeared."