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Something clicked. The engine of history ceased sputtering, began to hum.
The security police closed in on Karl Borromaeus Church.
There were no survivors when they finished.
But this time there was no one named Josef Gabiek among the dead.
Next morning, carrying papers identifying himself as Dr. Hans-Otto Schmidt of the SS-Reich Economic Administration Main Office (the incongruously named bureau responsible for the death camps), in transit from Theriesenstadt to Mathausen, Neulist-Hodzв-Gabiek was on the move, destination Ostmark, the Austrian province of the Greater German Reich. In the false bottom of his physician's bag lay stamps massing less than half a kilo, yet worth millions of Reichsmarks. They would be his means till he could reach his Swiss deposits.
There was no easier way to move a fortune.
He was in Linz, preparing yet another identity, when the sword of this vengeance finally touched a Zumsteg.
That was the morning of June 9, 1942.
The massacre at Karl Borromaeus Church hadn't seen enough blood spilled to satiate Heydrich's avengers. For days all the Protectorate had been waiting, treading a razor's edge of fear, not knowing where the inevitable blow would fall.
Early that morning ten trucks rolled to the outskirts of Lidice. Captain Rostock ordered his troops to surround the village. They were hard-faced men, Totenkopf men, ready for murder.
Their first victim was a twelve-year-old boy, shot down as he ran to warn his father, who worked in the mines at Kladno.
The next was an old peasant woman, shot in the back repeatedly as she fled across a plowed field.
The men they drove into Mayor Horak's cellar…
And the killing began in earnest.
One thousand three hundred thirty-one people died at Lidice, including 201 women. And it wasn't over then. More would perish in the camps. The babies of pregnant women would be murdered at birth.
Among the 1331 was Fian Groloch, who didn't realize what was happening till far too late. His final remark, to Horak, was, "Ignorance can be a capital offense too," which puzzled the mayor for the few minutes he remained alive.
Groloch spent his last minutes trying to reason out why the Heydrich-Lidice scenario differed from what he vaguely remembered. In the absence of knowledge about Neulist, he erroneously concluded that his own presence had affected the changes. He made admonitory notes in his diary, buried it in a box beneath Horak's cellar floor. The construction crew excavating the foundations of the agency building might find it.
He tried to compose himself.
But he died terrified for the State.
Then Rostock burned the village, dynamited the ruins, and leveled the site. The surviving women went to the camps. Their younger children went to racial experts for determination of which were worthy of adoption into good National Socialist families.
And for three and a half years, in Vie
XXI. On the Y Axis;
1975
Cash was reasonably impressed with the Tran family. The boys were a handsome pair, he thought during the introductions. Taller than their parents already, and not at all uncomfortable with American ways.
When he mentioned it, Tran replied, "They spent several years in the company of American children in Saigon. Children are more adaptable than us old folks anyway."
"That's the truth. That's why they turn them into soldiers. Well, let's get your stuff upstairs, show you your rooms. The boys are going to have to share, I'm afraid."
The Vietnamese hadn't brought much with them. A
"This is it," Tran replied, almost apologetically. "We weren't able to bring much out." Then, to ease A
"Supper. It's just spaghetti. I didn't know what to fix."
"You won't hear any complaints from my sons. They were ecstatic when they saw how near that pizza shop is."
"Imo's?" Cash asked. "I know it well. Michael and Matthew damned near kept the place in business when they lived at home. This's it. Your room." He hadn't been into it for weeks. A
Once it had been Michael's room. She had cleaned out every scrap that had been the mark of their son's personality, even patching the plaster where the framed centerfold of a favorite Playmate had hung till he and John had pulled it-down while clowning.
Cash slipped his arm around A
"It's very nice." Tran seemed as much at a loss as they. His wife said nothing at all, and the boys, in the hall, confined themselves to whispers.
"The bathroom's right here," A
The wine she served with supper helped everyone relax. It was a native Missouri pink catawba; they made no pretenses in that direction. Soon all but Tran's wife were chattering like old friends. The major didn't seem to mind that his sons were heard as well as seen.
The phone rang while A
Cash answered it. "Hi. No. Yeah. You tried the station? Yeah, he was working on something for me, but I figured he'd get done in time for supper. Guess he must've hit a snag, eh? Would you tell him to call me when he gets there? Sure. Bye."
A
"Carrie. Looking for John." How long could he keep this Teri business to himself? A
"Your partner?" Tran inquired. "I meant to ask, how did you do with that case? The one with the old lady and the mysterious corpse."
"Still going. We keep digging things up. It just gets spookier." He brought Tran up to date.
"And not one body turned up? Very strange."
"No lie. Don't know for sure about the bodies, though. Tomorrow we start checking back, to see what's on the record."
"Norm," said A