The Haigerloch Project

Scheissdreck! — Double shit! Now he would have to wait for another batch of subjects. Do it all over again. Angrily he pushed the release order aside. Lists! The devil take it! Be a hell of a lot quicker and more efficient to stamp some sort of arrest exemption on each man's ID! The brilliant Herr Standartenführer had not thought of that, had he? He had a sudden, deflating thought. Perhaps he had thought of it. Upon reflection — it was not too good an idea. A stamp — even a hand notation—could be forged on any ID card, or a bona-fide card could fall into the wrong hands. It would, however, be impossible to change the list. Grudgingly he reached for the stack of arrest reports lying on his desk.

The scatter-raid prisoners were already in the process of being released.

He would have to get on with making the damned lists!

Zum Teufel damit! — To the devil with it!..

* * *

At the checkpoint gate to the Haigerloch Restricted Zone, the SS man dropped off his three charges. He obtained his receipt from the SS non-com on duty, an Unterscharführer, and took off. Sig hung back. Let the two others go first. He might pick up a few pointers.

The sergeant checked their identification papers. First the Frenchman. Then the Pole. He entered their names in a logbook and verified the ID with a record in a large file cabinet.

Sig grew cold. No way could he pass muster.

Neither could he just wander off.

He'd have to come up with something.

His brow wrinkled in thought. What? All at once he brightened. There might be a way — that third way out Dirk was always talking about….

“Your papers,” the SS man held out his hand.

Sig gave him his Kennkarte and his Work Permit. The man glanced at him. “Where is your zone pass?” he demanded.

“I work in the cave,” Sig said. “I am a technician.”

The sergeant gave him an ugly look. “Where is your Red Pass, then?”

Sig looked unhappy. “I wish I knew,” he said apologetically. “It is a good question Where is my wallet? I had the pass in it. With my money. And the things you have. That is all they gave me back at the Gestapo jail in Tübingen.” He looked innocently at the non-com. “Perhaps the Herr Unterscharführer could ask the Gestapo what happened to the rest?” he suggested. “My wallet. The pass. And my money.”

A warning bell went off in the sergeant's mind. Missing pass? Missing money? Gestapo! Not on your life was he going to get involved in that! He was not about to put his fingers on that hot potato! Not he! Dammit — what to do? Of course he could not take the man's word. A foreigner. He cast about for the best possible cover-ass procedure. He went to the file. He searched. There was no record of any Brandt, Sigmund. He frowned. He looked at Sig accusingly.

“I work for Professor Himmelmann,” Sig said helpfully. “Professor Gustav Himmelmann. Perhaps you could check with him?”

That was it. Shift the responsibility. But fast. No one could blame him if one of the top scientists on the Project vouched for the foreigner. Or — disowned him. He ignored Sig. He went to the telephone. He picked up the receiver.

“Professor Himmelmann,” he said. “Security check.”

He waited.

Sig watched him tensely. What would Himmelmann do? What could he do? Had he miscalculated??

“Professor Himmelmann?” The sergeant spoke with obvious deference. “Herr Professor, I have here a foreign worker who claims he works with you. His name is Sigmund Brandt. A Swiss.”

In his laboratory, Himmelmann stiffened. One of the Americans! At Haigerloch! Sudden alarm flooded him, but he quickly regained control. Easy. Step by step. Do not rush to conclusions. Investigate..

“Yes?” he said coldly. “What about Brandt?”

He listened to the SS non-com explain. His mind raced. The corners of his mouth turned down. They had him. Brandt knew very well he could not refuse to help. Or he would be denounced himself. Brandt was involving him directly. Irrevocably. And he had no choice. No choice whatsoever…

“Brandt is one of my technical assistants,” he said curtly.

“I — we have no record of him in the file, Herr Professor.” The sergeant sounded aggrieved.

“Of course not!” Himmelmann barked. “The man did not show up for work for two days. I had his record pulled pending investigation. I have it here.” He thought quickly. He did have a blank record form someplace, left over from the days before the increased security measures went into effect. He could fill it out. Back-date it. It would work.

“He has also — eh — lost his Red Pass, sir.”

“Issue him a new pass, Sergeant — what is your name?”

“Brauner,” the non-com said. “Friedrich Brauner.” He suddenly felt enormously exposed, now his anonymity was shattered. He became uneasy.

Himmelmann went on. “Send him to the cave entrance, Sergeant Brauner. I shall meet him there and sign the pass.”

“Sir… I–I am not sure.” The non-com sounded dubious. It was highly irregular.