But the mess here was served cafeteria-style. Mick handed her a tray and led her through the line, where she was unceremoniously served some sort of meat and potatoes without being asked. “Our quarters aren’t bad,” Mick remarked as they found two spots at a table. “Anything beats the winter we spent in the foxholes near Bastogne. Of course, the food is still awful.” Eleanor’s stomach turned as she thought of the starving children she’d passed near the train station in Munich, so emaciated their bones showed through their pale skin. And that, she reflected, surely paled in comparison to the suffering Jews who had been imprisoned at Dachau, scarcely a quarter mile from where they now sat.
Mick tore into his food without hesitation. “I’m sorry for being rude earlier,” he said between bites. “This whole operation has been completely messed up. While the big shots in Nuremberg prosecute the high-profile cases, the real beasts, the guards who did the actual killing, are down here. And we’ve got precious little to work with. We’ve got a trial starting next week and the work has been nonstop. We’re all exhausted.” He paused, looking her up and down. “You don’t look so good yourself,” he added bluntly.
She ignored the unintended offensiveness of his remark. “I’ve been traveling from Paris since yesterday morning. And now it seems, I’ll be heading right back out.”
“At first light,” he agreed, still chewing. He wasn’t trying to be rude, she realized. Rather he ate with the haste of one who had lived through combat, not knowing how long he had to finish the meal or when the next one would come. “Can’t have anything interfering with trial prep.” He paused. “I’ve heard of the female agents.” Eleanor was impressed. Few beyond SOE would have heard about her program. “I read in the reports that some were arrested along with the men. I don’t know if they were yours, of course,” he added hastily.
“They were all mine. Tell me,” she ordered, forgetting in her eagerness to be polite.
“We interviewed a guard who spoke of some women being brought in.”
“When?”
He scratched his head. “June or early July of ’44 maybe. It wasn’t unusual to have women here. There was a whole barracks for them over the hill.” He pointed toward the darkness outside. Eleanor’s stomach turned. In coming for Kriegler, she hadn’t realized that she’d stumbled upon the very spot some of the girls were lost forever. “But these women were never registered, never went into the barracks. They were taken straight to the interrogation cell.” Eleanor shuddered. She had heard of such places of suffering before death. “No one ever saw them again. Except one prisoner who had worked in that block. We have his testimony.”
“Can I see it?”
He hesitated. “I suppose it can’t hurt if I just show the transcript to you. You’re leaving tomorrow anyway. You can see them after we eat.”
She slid the tray across the table and then pushed her chair back with a loud scrape. “I’m done.”
Mick took one more bite, then stood and cleared the trays. He led her back to the office where she had waited earlier. There were papers stacked everywhere and it seemed to Eleanor, who had always kept her own records immaculate, that he might not be able to find anything after all. But he walked to the file cabinet and opened the drawer without hesitation. He pulled out a thin folder and handed it to her.
Eleanor opened it. It was witness testimony from a Pole who had been forced to work as a laborer at Dachau. She skimmed the pages of testimony about the awful job he had been forced to perform, putting bodies in the ovens after the prisoners had been murdered.
A line caught her eye. “Three women were brought in from a transport one night. They stood out and were very well dressed. One had red hair.” That would have been Maureen. Eleanor continued reading:
“They did not show fear but walked arm in arm through the camp, even though they were followed with a gun at their backs. The women were not registered as prisoners, but were brought straight to the medical barracks, next to where I worked. A guard ordered them to undress for a physical. I heard a woman’s voice asking, ‘Pour quoi?’”
For what? Eleanor translated in her head before reading on: “And the answer came, ‘For typhus.’ I heard nothing more after that, and then the bodies were brought to me.”
Eleanor set down the file. They were injected with something, told that it was medicine. She had known that the girls were dead. But the picture of what exactly had happened was now painted before her. It was almost too much to take.
But she still didn’t know how they had been caught in the first place. She forced her feelings down and focused on why she had come. “I need to see Kriegler.”
“Damn it, Ellie,” Mick swore. It was the first time in her life anyone had called her that. She considered telling him not to, then decided against it. “You’re one pushy broad.” Mick pulled out a pack of cigarettes and offered her one. She waved it away. She’d only smoked on the nights she put the girls on the planes to France; she hadn’t taken a drag since. He lit one for himself. “I’ve already told you more than I should. Your girls were killed by the Germans. It’s a damn shame, but at least you know for sure now. Isn’t that enough?”
“Not for me. I want to know everything—including how they caught the girls in the first place. That’s why I need to speak with Kriegler. Half an hour. That’s all I’m asking. You claim to care about bringing these men to justice. But what about those against whom they committed the crimes?”
Mick took a drag of his cigarette, then exhaled hard. “The female agents had no official status and, other than the one report I showed you, there’s so much we don’t know about what happened. It’s as if the evidence disappeared with them.” Which was what the Germans wanted, Eleanor thought. Just another way justice had been denied to her girls. “I understand your loyalty to these girls and it’s admirable,” Mick continued. “But you have to see the bigger picture. These men murdered thousands—no, millions. And Kriegler is among the worst of them. I can’t risk bringing him to justice just to help you. Especially when we aren’t ready...” He stopped, as if realizing he’d said too much.
“That’s it,” Eleanor said. “Your case against Kriegler—it isn’t strong enough, is it?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” But there was a warble in his voice.
“Kriegler.” Eleanor seized on it. “He won’t talk. You don’t have what you need to convict him, do you?”
“Even if that was true, the prosecution’s case is classified. You know I couldn’t say.”
“I’ve got all the top clearances from Whitehall.” Had, she corrected herself silently. “If you tell me, maybe I can help.”