Mila 18 - Leon Uris [122]
He was also a master of the psychological warfare that one uses to break down the nerves and will of the opponent. Intellectuals were putty. Business competitors of the Nazis even easier. The intelligent application of fear could win the battle of a hundred armies.
Unlike many of his Gestapo compatriots, Gunther Sauer never used terror or torture for its own sake, but as a tool of the trade to gain an end. Torture did not always work on some people, nor did psychological fear tactics. In his estimation, it was a waste of time and energy to dismember someone who was not going to help you solve your “police” problem. Sauer abhorred the brutality of Sieghold Stutze, who received personal pleasure from inflicting pain.
One had to be completely objective about his victim. After a study of a person he could fairly well establish the limit of his moral endurance. He never used torture on prisoners whom he knew would not break under torture.
On the other hand, he never hesitated when he spotted weakness. And it never annoyed him that he resorted to torture more often than not. Once or twice, early in his career, he had spent sleepless nights after torturing a child in front of its mother, but he learned to harden himself to it as part of a day’s work.
Sauer interrogated the first three Jews. All of them were nervous and talky. The first was a smuggler who implied a bribe and friends in high office.
The second, a fool who had escaped from Lemberg, a vagrant.
The third, one of the many thousands of “hidden” Jews living as Christians in Warsaw on the Aryan side. This man gave such a garbled version to cover his tracks and contacts that he was most suspect as the contact for Rebecca Eisen.
Wolf Brandel was shoved into the office. Sauer was leaning over his desk, scratching Fritzy’s chest. The dog whined and begged as Sauer teased the animal by opening and closing the drawer containing the box of tidbits. Fritzy won his prize, ran in a happy circle, then settled on the rug and crunched the hard biscuit.
Wolf snatched his cap from his head and stood at attention.
A quick appraisal. Eighteen or so. Not too Jewish in appearance. Strong, well fed, therefore resourceful. A perfect size and shape for a runner. He shifts from one foot to the other, nervously, but his eyes are innocent. He looks forward at me.
“Jew?”
“Yes, sir, I got caught.”
“Name?”
“Hershel Edelman.”
“Where are you from, Hershel?”
Watch his sweet talk, Wolf. They had the line on Sauer. Deceptive. He’ll tie you in knots.
“I’m from Wolkowysk.”
“How did you get to Warsaw?”
“My family was taken to the ghetto in Bialystok. I hid in the church during the roundup. After, I walked to Bialystok to look up a friend of my father outside the ghetto.”
“What was the name of the church in which you hid?”
“St. Casimir’s.”
“What was the name of the priest?”
“I don’t know, sir. He didn’t know I was hiding there.”
“Go on.”
“So I saw this friend of my father. He used to do business with him.”
“What is his name?”
“Wynotski.”
“What’s your father’s business?”
“Schoychet.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“It’s a man who kills chickens and cows so the meat will be kosher.”
“Fritzy, bad boy. Now get in your bed and stay there. ... But, Hershel, you said Wynotski did business with your father. If Wynotski sold kosher meat, wouldn’t he be in the ghetto?”
“No, sir. Wynotski has a gift shop. You see, sir, my father carved chessmen in his spare time and sold them to Wynotski. If you lived around Wolkowysk and Bialystok, you’d have heard about my father’s chessmen.”
“Go on.”
“So, anyhow, Wynotski got me this Aryan Kennkarte and travel pass.”
“I take it Wynotski is not Jewish.”
“Half Jewish, I think. Anyhow, his house and gift shop was lousy with crucifixes and rosaries and Bibles and stuff like that.”
“Where did Wynotski get the Aryan Kennkarte?”
“Most likely bought it from a family where someone died and it wasn’t recorded. Anyhow, I didn’t ask questions. I mean, sir, under the conditions, you just take it and don’t ask questions.”
Clever young man, Sauer thought.