Mila 18 - Leon Uris [71]
“Who do you propose to head this new agency?”
“Oh, there are lots of people. Mainly, we must find a man acceptable to all elements. Say, Alexander Brandel.”
“Brandel? With his Zionist background?”
Goldman shrugged. “The Bathyrans as a group never achieved Brandel’s personal stature. They are disbanded now. He is mild and inoffensive and quite trusted.”
“Suppose I let you have your agency, but on one condition?”
“And that condition, Herr Doktor?”
“Brandel does not run the agency.”
They had come to the impasse. Goldman had hoped he could push it through without this moment. Now he had to make his gamble. He reached inside his breast pocket and placed a small envelope on Koenig’s desk. “The full plans for the agency are in here, Herr Doktor,” he said. I beg you to study them carefully and give me your answer tomorrow.”
The old man left the city hall, not knowing whether he was about to spend his last day on earth.
When Koenig opened the envelope he took out five one-thousand-dollar bills.
It was quite clear to him. The Jews wanted to run this agency away from prying eyes. His first inclination was of anger. He snatched the envelope from the desk and started for Rudolph Schreiker’s office. Then he stopped. Schreiker would laugh at him and pocket the money.
The very idea that a good German official would accept a bribe! He walked back to his desk slowly. The last few weeks had plunged him from the dreamworld to Teutonic purity. At this moment Schreiker was organizing hoodlum gangs to begin looting Jewish-owned warehouses.
Why shouldn’t the Jews play the game also? But where did he fit in? Five thousand dollars! More in a snap of the finger than he had made in an entire year at the university.
While everyone was playing cutthroat, wouldn’t it be utterly ridiculous for him to stand alone as a paragon of virtue? And if he did, how long would he last with Schreiker? Schreiker had been playing him for a fool.
Think it over, Franz. Schreiker needs you. You can make yourself indispensable to him. And this game. It is a rough game. The war was rough. The business here is rough.
He paced the floor of his home taken from Bronski in the Zoliborz suburb. Everyone is scheming and conniving. But he, Koenig, was in a key position. This is only the beginning. He was in a position to amass fantastic wealth in the days ahead.
Play the game ... five thousand dollars ... play the game ... Bit by bit the moral foundations upon which Dr. Franz Koenig had built his life had been nibbled away. From the moment he had cast his lot with the ethnics before the war he began compromising and rephrasing the wisdoms and rethinking the thoughts and justifying.
The next day.
“Emanuel Goldman is here to see you, Herr Doktor.”
“Send him in.”
“I have spoken to the Kommissar. I was able to convince him that a separate agency for Jewish welfare cases would be the best solution for all concerned. Your Civil Authority is authorized to issue a license for its operation.”
Goldman nodded.
“I have taken under consideration the appointment of Alexander Brandel. I think he is an excellent choice. He will deal with me directly on matters of rations, personnel, and privileges.”
Goldman nodded again. Dr. Koenig was cutting himself in for a nice big slice, he thought Now he could not back down. Koenig had pocketed the first bribe. He could be had. The gamble was won. In the future the money would come harder to Koenig, for the five thousand dollars had not only bought his silence but had stuck his neck out. There will be some more for you, you rat, Goldman thought, but not so much as you think, or we may tell your friend Schreiker how you have been stealing from him.
Stage two: Formation of the Orphans and Self-Help Society. Alexander Brandel was made its director.
Stage three: American Relief turned over tens of thousands of dollars of emergency funds to Brandel. In the name of the Orphans and Self-Help Society he leased fifteen pieces of property in the northern section of the Jewish area of Warsaw, where it was less expensive.
The houses were