Shadow Of The Wolf Read online

  Kretschmer heard the explosion and staccato burst of gunfire as he was about to tell Schafer what had happened. The sound cut in on them and stopped so quickly that Kretschmer thought for a moment that he had imagined it. But when he saw the look on Schafer's face and heard the volatile expression from Konrad beside him, he knew he was not mistaken.

  "Gunfire?" Schafer said. His deep frown said everything.

  Kretschmer stiffened. "We disturbed Lucas, but he got away. I left Kohl and Seeler at our last contact point."

  Schafer looked towards the door. "I thought I heard gunfire some time ago, but the wind carried the sound away, so I decided it was coming from the sea." He picked up his cap. "But if you have Lucas, that's wonderful news. Let us see." He got up from the chair and placed the cap carefully on his head.

  The three men hurried away from the cottage. Schafer decided against calling his patrol together as they were resting on the Nordcaper and were due back on duty soon. He followed Kretschmer at a trot, going along the broad path that led westward, using the moonlight to guide the way.

  As they came within sight of the cottage, they slowed up and moved cautiously. Kretschmer did not feel confident. He had a nagging feeling in his bones. There was no sound from the cottage as they approached it, and he had expected to see his men if they had clashed with Lucas.

  He stopped and held his hand up automatically to the others. He dipped his head towards the cottage and looked back at Schafer. "That's the one, sir. I think we should use caution."

  Schafer removed his Luger pistol from its holster and moved away from Kretschmer. Konrad moved with him. Kretschmer told them to wait while he went in alone.

  Barely two minutes passed when the Truppsturmführer appeared. He was holding his Schmeisser casually by his side. Schafer felt a shiver run through him and he feared the worst. He went forward and followed Kretschmer into the cottage. Konrad waited outside, careful to remain out of sight. He did not need to look inside to know what had happened.

  Schafer was staggered. He could not move or think for several seconds. The two dead men stared back at him from sightless eyes, each man torn apart by the awesome killing power of a shotgun and machine pistol at close range.

  "I've seen enough," he whispered. Kretschmer switched off the torch. "I have seriously underestimated Lucas. He is lethal. He knows how to think clearly even though he is under intolerable pressure." He turned towards Kretschmer. "We must change our strategy. I want Anderson's house completely secured and the guard withdrawn. Put a booby trap on the front door. Lock the schoolhouse and withdraw the guards. No food is to be prepared; the islanders will have to exist on what vegetables and water they have with them. I want the men regrouped into one team. Inform Leutnant Brenneke immediately." He went to step out of the room, but stopped. "Oh, in the future we shall take the woman along with us; it may discourage the boy from further attacks. She will be your responsibility, Kretschmer." He wrinkled his nose. "Bury them in the cemetery."

  *

  Maura heard the sound of the gunfire too. She lifted her head and listened, straining her ears in the hope she might understand what was happening. The schoolroom was lit only by the moonlight filtering through the poorly erected blackout curtains. Most of the islanders were asleep, the sounds of their breathing overlaying the other sounds of restlessness and discomfort. Maura was restless too and desperately worried. Since Ailie had told her about Billy, she had literally gone to pieces. She wanted to run to her son and tell him everything was fine and they were all safe and well. But in truth she knew they were all closer to death than they had ever been. Schafer was like a ticking bomb, and if he went off, she knew that his storm troopers would act like shrapnel and tear them apart.

  But now her biggest worry was that they would catch Billy and kill him in retribution for the death of the storm trooper. They had been forced to watch the burial of the man Ailie had killed when she had battered him with a rock. None of them were aware of that, except Ailie and Maura. Schafer had hoped that the effect on the islanders would open them up and they would willingly surrender the information he so desperately needed. She lowered her head to her knees and began weeping softly, recalling Ailie's emotion-charged story. She knew that Schafer would want his revenge: her poor Billy was bound to suffer.

  Ailie stirred beside her and sat up. In the darkness she was unable to communicate, but her perception and sense of awareness told her that Maura was crying. She put her arm comfortingly across her shoulders and the two of them huddled together.

  Not long after the sounds of the shooting, the door of the schoolroom suddenly crashed open and Schafer's men poured in. The islanders all woke disturbed and totally bewildered as powerful torches swept their faces. Some of the people raised their voices in protest but were silenced by an unaccountable violence from the storm troopers. They rained blows on their unsuspecting victims and pushed their way through the incumbent mass on the floor. The beams flashed until they picked out Maura.

  Kretschmer came forward and pulled her roughly to her feet. She cried out in pain and fear. Ailie started to protest but Kretschmer struck her savagely. Then he produced a rope with a loop in one end. He tossed the loop over Maura's head so that it settled round her neck, and pulled it viciously. Maura almost choked, and put her hands up to the coarse hemp as it bit into her neck.

  Without a word, he dragged her out of the schoolroom. She stumbled and fell several times; continually begging him to stop, but he just ignored her anguished cries and continued to pull. The storm troopers followed him out of the room, locking the door behind them. Their footsteps faded into silence.

  "It's starting," Callum whispered. His voice cracked as though his words were tempered on an anvil of fear. "It's like we said it would be." He got up and went to Ailie in the darkness. He knelt down and put his hand on her shoulder. "Are you alright lass?" he asked. She reassured him by taking his hands in hers and squeezing.

  "Something has rattled them," Marker Mace said ominously. "There was shooting earlier. They're feared of something."

  "I heard shooting too," someone said. "It wasn't for long. Do you think some help has come from the mainland?"

  Doctor Kristen moved among them, ensuring that no-one had suffered badly when the storm troopers had rushed in and beat anybody who had uttered a word of protest. "God, I wish it was lighter," he complained. "Does anyone have a match?"

  "Germans took them all," a voice answered from the gloom.

  "Well if we cannot light the lamps, we might just as well tear down the curtains and let the moonlight in."

  "Why should they take the widow Lucas first?" Reevel Anderson asked no-one in particular. "Why not one of us?"

  "Someone has to be first," the doctor replied.

  Reevel shook his head. "No, it was deliberate: they wanted her, nobody else." He got up pushed a table up against the wall. Then he clambered on top of it and ripped a curtain down from the window. "There's something happening and it's connected with that woman."

  "Perhaps the Germans want her company for the night," someone said unkindly, and laughed. The man's levity was short lived though. Ailie dashed across the room and delivered a fierce blow across his face. His head moved quickly and he put his hand up to his cheek. Ailie stood above him but in the darkness no-one could see the anger burning in her cheeks or the tension straining the muscles in her arms and clenched fists.

  "There's no need for that, lass," the islander complained. "The woman's brought shame on this island before and it's her that's responsible for the Nazis being here."

  The man's name was James Hayward, and he was about to feel the unbound fury of Ailie Macdonald again when Doctor Kristen intervened and restrained her. As he did he could feel the dangerous signals emanating from her, like a warning from a smoking building about to erupt into a fire. He knew he had to get her away from this conflict before she became too upset. He remonstrated with the man and pulled her away.

  "Your words are too harsh, Jami
e, They are not welcome. Keep them to yourself." He said as he guided Ailie back to Callum. "I will ask Schafer tomorrow if I might get some medication," he told Ailie’s father. "She needs something to calm her down."

  "They won't let you near your place, Benedict," Callum responded. "You know that."

  "I can at least try," the doctor said. "Maura Lucas may need help as well, Callum."

  The old man understood the inference, but chose to ignore it. Ailie was all that mattered to him. He watched the doctor moving away, preferring not to say anymore.

  *

  Maura fell to her knees and struggled helplessly through the mud to get to her feet. "Please wait," she cried out to Kretschmer. "Please." The coarse fibres of the rope were biting painfully and beginning to break the tender skin on her neck. "Oh my God, please," she cried. "You'll kill me,"

  His only response to her pleas was to pull savagely on the rope and continue dragging her to the cottage where Schafer was waiting. She stumbled in and sprawled helplessly at Schafer's feet. He stood above her, staring dispassionately as she struggled to push herself up. Then he reached behind him and lifted something from the chair. Maura was not able to see it clearly at first, but as he moved it closer to the light, she realised it was Billy's kitbag.

  "Where is he?" she cried desperately. "What have you done with him?"

  The constricting rope round her neck had given Maura a startling complexion. With the fear and anger in her voice her face was beginning to swell. She pulled angrily at the rope. "Where's my Billy?"

  Schafer dropped the kitbag. How did she know? The woman knew her son was on the island, but how?

  "You are surprisingly well informed Frau Lucas. Quite amazing for one whose movements were severely restricted? It would be interesting to find out how she knew about her son, don't you think Kretschmer?" He did not look at the Truppsturmführer, but kept his eyes fixed on her.

  Maura felt the chill of despair when she realised how stupid she had been. Schafer would now learn the truth. She knew she was not strong enough to stand up to Kretschmer, and would tell them about Ailie. She wished she could die and, by some miracle, deprive the sadistic Kretschmer of his moment.

  "I did not know Billy was on the island." Her words tumbled out in a desperate hurry. "I guessed it when I saw his kitbag. How could I know?" She broke down and started sobbing.

  Schafer dropped to one knee in front of her and tipped her head back by pushing his finger under her chin.

  "Your son has become a nuisance to us. You knew he was on the island. I want to know how." He lowered his hand. "He is also making it difficult for us to discover where Lieutenant Ziegel hid those papers. He is diverting our attention. I had you brought here to tell you that you will stop him."

  Maura looked at him through misty eyes, long weary from tears and lack of sleep. "How can I stop him? My Billy isn’t here. You are lying!"

  "No, Frau Lucas, I am not lying. You will be with us at all times. Your son will understand. "

  "There has been shooting," Maura said hesitantly. "I heard it during the night."

  Schafer stood up. "There is shooting in all wars." He thought of the three men killed by this woman's son, and wanted revenge. He needed to exact some toll and inflict suffering on the woman who had spawned the assassin. The urge to do this was no longer repressible.

  He spoke to Kretschmer. "I want to know," he said. "I will be on the Nordcaper when you have finished."

  He went then, withdrawing hurriedly and taking the guards with him, leaving Kretschmer alone with Maura. He knew that the anger felt by his men would hone the edge of Kretschmer's sadistic nature.

  Kretschmer dragged her through to her small bedroom and made her stand while he removed her clothes. Maura was terrified and couldn’t move, although her body shuddered violently each time he touched her. Then he shoved her on to the bed and rolled her over, standing menacingly over her. He removed his uniform slowly, seemingly oblivious to the cold that seeped into the room. And then he began.

  Maura was kept in a state of limbo by a man who worked with intuitive skill, plumbing her mind to feel out the limits beyond which he had no need to go, feeling out the first barrier. She hovered constantly on the edge of pain and hedonistic sensitivity; one moment plunging over to endure searing torment which tightened the flesh on her body and sensitised her nerves to such a degree that he could draw her back from the edge into a state of almost unconscious passion. Her body's voracious demands eclipsed the horror in her mind that she could want to submit to this animal. But Kretschmer's self-discipline enhanced his brutal skill, and he never made the penetration her tortured limbs demanded. Nor had he asked about Ziegel.

  He left her sobbing on the bed, humiliated and broken. The rope was still entwined loosely round her neck. Kretschmer dressed, still feeling hyped to a level of desire for the woman he knew he would satiate when he was ready.

  Kretschmer told her to get dressed. She lay naked, curled up in the foetal position. She flinched and stared up at him. Now the control was being exerted. The sublime acceptance of his command had now replaced the natural resistance which would normally have brought some reaction from her: some small, open show of defiance. But it was not there; she had been broken and she knew that soon the Germans would learn the secret that the islanders had promised never to reveal.

  On board the Nordcaper Schafer had moved into the tiny, cramped Captain's cabin behind the bridge. He had decided, as a result of the three deaths in his group, to billet everyone on the ship, which was their only means now of leaving the island.

  Brenneke was with the search party concentrating on an intense search of the north side of the community. Although it was still dark, Schafer had made the decision to press on with the search for Ziegel and the papers, not forgetting the ever present threat posed by Billy Lucas. With Kretschmer occupied elsewhere, it fell to him to remain on board the catcher.

  He was lying on the bunk dozing when he heard footsteps on the deck outside. There was a knock on his cabin door and Brenneke stepped in. He closed the door behind him and turned on the light.

  Schafer sat up. "What is it Jochen?"

  Brenneke was standing rather formally, a tight smile gathering round the corners of his mouth. "Herr Hauptsturmführer," he said airily. "I believe we may have found Leutnant Ziegel."

  Schafer came of the bunk like a scalded cat. "What?" he roared, "where?"

  "He is buried in the island cemetery."

  SIX

  In the early dawn the rain danced off the marbled headstones and washed them clean. The sky was overcast and visibility out over the sea was little more than a mile or so. The cemetery was not big, and the chapel from where their departed souls were offered into God's kingdom was just a mite larger than the cottages on the island.

  The grave Brenneke took him to was in a corner of the cemetery. "It was its fresh appearance," he told Schafer as they stopped beside it. "Very recent."

  Schafer looked down at the forlorn mound already showing a new covering of grass. A small pot of flowers had been placed at the foot of the grave.

  "I thought about what we knew, what you told us. You said Leutnant Ziegel knew this island and the people. They knew him but denied it. Why?"

  Schafer hadn't been listening, his mind was racing on. "Denied what?" he asked.

  Brenneke pointed at the grave. "There's no crime in having past knowledge or friendship with one's enemy, so why didn't the islanders admit knowing Leutnant Ziegel?"

  "Because they are afraid of something," Schafer replied. "But what?" He asked himself as he put his hands behind his back. He looked up at Blue Whale Mountain whose peak was almost hidden by the dark clouds moving rapidly from the north. He took a packet of cigarettes from his pocket and lit one, cupping it in his hands to shield it from the wind as it whipped across the ground, bending the tufts of grass and occasionally flattening the heads of the flowers adorning the graves.

  "If Ziegel had died," Brenneke went on, "they s
hould have notified the authorities, but they didn’t. I decided to check Reevel Anderson's house. He keeps the records of all births and deaths on this island. The last entry was the death of one Richard Wyld. It was three years ago. He was ninety."

  He pointed to another headstone. "That's Richard Wyld’s grave. So I checked the records in the chapel. They are no more than a diary really. Last burial: Richard Wyld. That left the doctor. I thought he might have copies of the death certificates."

  "And did he?"

  "Yes."

  "Richard Wyld?" Brenneke nodded. Schafer looked away and studied the neat posy of flowers and the young, green blades of new grass sprouting from the dark soil. "If it is Ziegel, why didn't they mark the grave with a cross?" The question was hypothetical, but he looked at Brenneke who said nothing. The lieutenant’s expression held an answer that Schafer found too fantastic to contemplate.

  A sound interrupted his thoughts. It was distant and alien, but somehow familiar. He remembered; he had heard it the morning before, with Kretschmer. He looked round but there was no accounting for it. Then it faded and was gone.

  "You're convinced it's Ziegel, aren't you?" he asked, knowing that if it was, then there was little chance of finding the package.

  When Brenneke did not reply, Schafer dropped his cigarette into the soft earth and crushed it methodically with the heel of his boot. Then he looked towards the schoolhouse.

  "They know," he said tightly. "And by God they are going to tell us."

  *

  Reevel Anderson was standing on a desk which had been placed on top of a table beneath a window. There was no curtain covering the window because it had been torn down earlier. A group of islanders was clustered round the table. Since Maura had been dragged from the schoolroom, nothing more had been heard, and they needed this contact, however tenuous, with the outside world because they were beginning to feel the isolation and fear that psychological terror brings.