The Haigerloch Project

“I suggest you stand perfectly still.”

Kieffer's mind whirled. Who was this German officer? Why was he there?… Marshall! He almost turned to look for his companion still standing out of sight on the landing. What would he do? Please, no heroics, he prayed. Or I'm dead….

The German slowly backed toward a small side table in the hallway. On it stood a telephone.

Kieffer's thoughts churned.

He watched the German move toward the telephone. The action seemed to be played out in slow motion, a sinister somnambulistic ballet.

He frowned in concentration.

There was something — something he had sensed but not yet consciously recognized. Something out of context.

Suddenly he knew. The hallway floor was bare wood. But there was no sound of the German officer's boots as he moved. Only a soft shuffling.

He looked down.

Below the leather greatcoat he could make out the bottoms of thin, striped pants. And felt slippers on bare feet.

The German reached for the telephone.

“Wait!” Kieffer said, his voice urgent, strained.

The German hesitated.

“You are Professor Decker?” Kieffer asked quickly. “Professor Johann Decker?”

The German nodded curtly.

“I am,” he said.

He picked up the telephone receiver and placed it on the table. His gun never wavered from Kieffer. He gave the handle a short crank, picked up the phone and listened.

He gazed steadily at Kieffer; his enigmatic smile returned.

“Give me the Gestapo!” he said into the phone.

Kieffer acted.

In two strides he was at the table. He pressed down on the phone jack, at once cutting off the German. He reached out and took the receiver from the unresisting man's hand. He replaced it.

The German backed away a step.

Kieffer stared at him. He was suddenly aware that Marshall was crouched in the open doorway behind him, covering the German.

The officer looked back at Kieffer.

“Did you really find this necessary, meine Herren?” he asked bitingly “Did I pass your little test?”

He placed his gun on the table.

“Have I proven my loyalty to your satisfaction?” He sounded bitter.

“Herr Professor,” Kieffer said quietly, “I am an American.”

Without turning around, he continued.

“Jerry. Close the door. Keep him covered.”

He heard the soft click as the front door to the apartment was closed.

The German stared at him, white-faced, his little smile gone.

“I–I do not believe you,” he said, obviously shaken. “You are the Gestapo’ Trying to trick me into betraying pro-American sentiments which I do not possess. You are not—Americans!.. It is impossible!”

Kieffer opened his raincoat. Even in the faint hallway light the US emblems on his collar could be seen. He pulled his CIC credentials from his pocket and held them out to Decker.

“I am,” he said.

Wordlessly Decker took the credentials. For a moment he stared at them. Slowly he shook his head.

“The Gestapo makes the finest document forgeries in the world,” he said, his voice dull.

Kieffer unbuttoned his shirt. He pulled out his dogtags.

“And these,” he said, “they are American identity tags.”

Decker stared at them. He said nothing.

Kieffer gave a hard yank on the tags, breaking the chain around his neck. He held the tags out to Decker.

“Kieffer, Martin,” he said, “ASN 0346249. Blood Type O.”

Decker took the tags. Slowly he turned them over and over in his fingers. He tried to pry them apart. The gum stretched stickily between them. His eyes gray with uncertainty, he looked up at Kieffer.

“Chewing… gum?” he asked tonelessly.

Kieffer nodded.

“To keep them from rattling,” he said.

Decker sank down on a chair.

“I–I could have killed you,” he whispered. “Or…” He glanced at the phone. He looked up at Kieffer, his eyes haunted.

“I — could have shot you….”

“No,” Kieffer said.

“How could you know?”

“I knew you were Johann Decker,” Kieffer said. “Not someone else. Not an officer waiting here to trap me. He would not have worn pajamas and slippers under his coat. Only you. And you would not have shot me — whether you thought I was American or Gestapo.”

He took his dogtags back and put them in his pants pocket.

Decker nodded.

“Everything is packed away,” he said. “My robe. For tomorrow.” He looked up at Kieffer. “I am a scientist,” he said. “I am also a major in the Wehrmacht. That is how I shall travel.” He sighed. “Even in that, rank has its privileges.”

“Professor Decker,” Kieffer said urgently. “You know why we are here?”

Decker nodded fearfully “I–I can guess.”

“We have very little time, Professor Decker. Will you return with us? To the American lines? Now?”

Decker put his face in his hands. He shivered slightly. Perhaps it was because of the cold in the apartment Kieffer said nothing. Finally the scientist looked up at him. His eyes were harrowed.

“I–I do not know…,” he whispered.

“Your family?” Kieffer asked gently.

Decker shook his head. “There is only my mother. She left for Munich this morning. She will be safe.”

“Your — loyalties?”

Decker looked away.

“Loyalties?” he whispered. “To what? Inhumanity? Deceit? Fear? That is not my Fatherland. Not my people…”