Shadows of Yesterday

Chapter 5

Major Josef Ziegler was tall and gaunt with dark eyes that saw what others often did not see. In his late forties, his hair was black with strands of grey, lines of life etching his face. His uniform was black, a red band with a Swastika around his left bicep. A member of the Gestapo, the German secret police, he had a unique assignment. A cache of high-quality industrial diamonds, the best in the world, were kept in the vault at Sternberg & Sons. Major Josef Ziegler was tasked with taking them. But he now had a problem.

Four German soldiers waited in the second-floor office when he entered. Bullet holes riddled the walls, barely missing landscapes hanging beside the window. He turned to his aide, Sergeant Ernst Bayer, a man who had served him in Austria and Poland—a man he trusted. “How do you access a bank overrun by the enemy, steal diamonds, and escape?”

Bayer shrugged. “It was well-planned, sir.”

A soldier pointed to the floor. “The body was found just under the window, sir.”

Ziegler crossed the room. He studied the bloodstained carpet and then looked out the shattered windows, eyeing the alley below. He turned to Bayer. “Do we know who he was?”

A soldier stepped forward. “No identification, sir.”

“Did anyone see his accomplice?” Ziegler asked.

“It was a woman, sir. Young, with blonde hair.”

Ziegler paused. “A man would be easier to find. Most are in the army. Few are in Antwerp.”

“She may have fled the city, sir,” Bayer said. “During the chaos.”

“She didn’t escape through the port, sir,” another soldier said. “We captured it before the diamonds were stolen.”

Ziegler evaluated possibilities, finding no solutions. “How did they get in the vault?”

“They knew the combination, sir,” a soldier said.

Ziegler frowned. “Take me to the manager.”

They went downstairs to the lobby, a spacious room with green plaster walls and broad white crown molding. Victorian couches welcomed waiting customers, paintings hung from the walls. With only a glance, Ziegler knew they were works of the masters—not reproductions. He also knew they wouldn’t be there much longer. The Reich would take them.

They were met by an elderly man dressed in black, his long grey beard spilling onto his shirt. He had been waiting anxiously, knowing they wouldn’t be pleased. “Good morning, Major,” he said with frightened eyes. “I’m Jacob Sternberg, proprietor.”

“Show me the vault,” Ziegler directed.

“It’s this way, sir,” Sternberg said. He led them down two flights of stairs. “I had been holding the diamonds for your arrival. The British took the rest last week.”

Ziegler didn’t reply. He didn’t care why the Jew held the diamonds. He only cared that they were gone.

A hall at the foot of the steps led to the vault. The thick door was open, as was an inner door with the key still in the lock, and a mesh grate. The vault was square, the walls lined with deposit boxes of different sizes. Ten of the drawers were open, empty trays on the floor.

Ziegler stepped in the vault, eyeing the boxes. “Why are only a few opened?”

Sternberg cringed. “Just those containing the diamonds were disturbed.”

Ziegler surveyed the vault. “I’m told they were the finest industrial diamonds in the world.”

“Industrial diamonds are our specialty,” Sternberg explained. “They were the best of the best. That’s why I kept them. As a gift for the Germans when you arrived.”

Ziegler turned away. “Whoever stole them knew what they were doing.”

“It seems so, sir,” said Jacob Sternberg, his voice trembling.

“How did they get in the vault?”

“The first door was opened with the combination. They found the key to the second door, which was hanging in that utility closet,” Sternberg said, pointing. “And they picked the lock on the gate.”

Ziegler glared at Sternberg. “One of your employees must be the dead man’s accomplice.”

Sternberg shook his head. “No, sir. My employees would never do such a thing.”

“Who knows the combination?”

“Only myself and a few others. Most employees don’t have access.”

“Give me their names.”

Sternberg was hesitant to provide them—as if he knew he had nothing to trade for their safety.

Ziegler withdrew his pistol. He put the barrel against Sternberg’s left temple. “Tell me who they are.”