“No. I didn’t want any part of it. I knew it was wrong, but I felt it wasn’t my decision to make. It was Saul’s. I told her I would give Saul her contact information, and if he was interested, they could work out the details. I stepped out of it altogether. Six weeks later, a man shows up in Landsberg asking for me. Everyone figured it had to do with my work on the board, but it was Max, and he had the visa for Saul. Saul had made the agreement directly with Olga without my knowledge.”
“Why did Max ask for you and not Saul?”
Bruchstein shrugged and spread his hands. “Maybe that’s who Olga told him to contact; I don’t know. I put Saul and Max together, they made the exchange and the next day both of them were gone. A month later, I received a letter from Saul, thanking me profusely for the time he was able to spend with his father before he died. To tell the truth, I felt good about it. I was happy for Saul. It meant so much to him, and I was happy to play my small part. As far as I was concerned, it was a onetime deal.”
“But it wasn’t, was it?”
“No. Harry Florsheim and his wife came to see me. I don’t know whether they heard it from Saul or how they got the information, but they wanted to buy two visas. They had the money.”
The rabbi interrupted and turned to Eli and the major. “Harry and Bertha Florsheim were elderly. Harry was an accountant in Berlin and was arrested during Kristallnacht. Bertha was left alone, was taken in a roundup and ultimately ended up at Gross-Rosen. By all rights, they never should have seen each other again. Somehow, after liberation, the Central Tracing Bureau put them together. It was a miracle.”
Pogrund picked up the rabbi’s narrative. “The concentration camps were hard on all of us, but Bertha never quite recovered. She had vivid nightmares, and not just at night. Her visions haunted her. When she got them, she would shake and moan, and Harry would hug her tightly. No matter where they went, Bertha would cling to Harry like a terrified child.”
Bruchstein nodded. “Harry came to me. He said he had made a solemn promise to Bertha to take her to America, far away from Germany, far away from her nightmares. ‘That promise is what’s keeping her alive, Shael,’ he said to me. ‘Bertha’s eyes still see the horror of her captivity, and I told her that her eyes would soon see America, Die Goldene Medina, and when they did, all her past visions would disappear. She lives for that, Shael. You helped Saul, and now I beg you to help Bertha and me. I have the money.’”
“And so you called Max?”
Bruchstein shook his head. “I didn’t know how to reach Max. I called Olga. To see them together, Rabbi, it would break your heart. It broke mine. I put them in touch with Olga without a second thought. In two months, they were gone.”
Eli leaned forward. “Mr. Bruchstein, this is very important: Did you happen to be present when the money was exchanged for the visas?”
He nodded. “I was always present. Olga would contact me, she’d let me know when Max would be here with the visas, I would notify the buyers and we would all meet with him. But now things have changed.”
“What do you mean?”
“Last week, Max called me directly. He has two more visas that were ordered by Aaron and Yetta Davison. He wants to set up the exchange next week.”
“Did Olga set it up?”
“Max said he wasn’t working with Olga anymore—something about a problem at Föhrenwald. He trusted me and he would only do the exchange through me. He wanted me to make sure the Davisons had their money.”
“Did you set a date?”
“Not yet. I have a telephone number for Max in Munich. I’m supposed to call him back after I talk to Aaron.”
Eli looked to Major Donnelly. “Are you and your men available next week?”
“I think you know the answer to that. Colonel Bivens was very explicit.”
“Tell Aaron to be available next week. Set it up for Wednesday at noon here at the camp,” Eli said. “Make sure that no one other than the Davisons know where or when. Tell the Davisons that they must keep the meeting secret or they’ll never get their visa.”
Bruchstein grimaced. “I hate to deceive Aaron.”
“He’s breaking the law.”
Bruchstein nodded. “May I ask, what is to become of me?”
Eli leaned forward and spoke directly. “First, you go home to Rachel as though nothing has happened. You say nothing about this meeting to her or to anyone else. Contact Aaron Davison and Max and set up the exchange. Let me know when it’s confirmed so that Major Donnelly and his military police will be present. If you do this, Mr. Bruchstein, if you help us to arrest Max, you will not be prosecuted. You and Rachel may go on living as before. If you betray us, if you alert Max, you will go to jail for a long time. Do we understand each other?”
Bruchstein stood. “I am truly grateful. I won’t let you down.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
ALBANY PARK
CHICAGO
ALBANY PARK NEIGHBORHOOD
DECEMBER 1965
Nathan was sound asleep when the ring of his bedside phone shook him from his slumber. “Hullo,” he whispered.
“Nathan, Nathan, get up,” Mimi cried.
His throat was dry, and he spoke in a whisper. “What? What’s the matter?”
“Get up and turn on the news! Nathan, they’re dead, Preston and Chrissie. They died last night. Oh, my God.”
“What are you talking about?”
Mimi was hysterical. “Pres and Chrissie. They’re gone. They died in a fire. Oh, Nathan, I just can’t believe it. Please, can you come over now? Please?”
Eli was standing on the front stoop when Nathan came running up. “Such tragic news,” Eli said. “I am so very sorry for you both.”
Nathan dashed up the stairs. The apartment door was open, and he could hear Mimi crying. “Meems, what happened?”
“Didn’t you see the news?”
He shook his head. “I came right over.”
“Here it is,” Grandma called from the living room. “NBC is broadcasting from the fire station.”
They watched as the battalion chief was interviewed. “The fire was extinguished before it had consumed the rear of the structure. Consequently, the back bedrooms were intact. Firefighters were able to extract the bodies of two adult occupants, who were later identified as Mr. and Mrs. Preston Roberts.”
“Do we know how the fire started?”
“Not conclusively. It’s still under investigation at this time. I can tell you that we believe it originated in the front hallway, and there are signs that suggest the use of an accelerant. That’s really all I have right now.”
* * *
The newscast then switched to the outside of an elegant brick home in the Ravenswood Manor section, set one hundred feet back from the parkway. Police were stationed in front of the circular drive.
“This is the home of Congressman Witold Zielinski,” the reporter said. “The congressman and Mrs. Zielinski are inside, but, quite understandably, they are not talking to reporters. They were informed by telephone of the tragedy that befell their daughter and her husband, both only twenty-five years old and married barely four months.” Photo clips of the wedding were displayed on the screen.