Beneath the Stone by Margaret M Ford

Author:Margaret M Ford
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: eBookPartnership
Published: 2014-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

1947

Münster City, Occupied Germany (Western Zones)

Rannulf Nagel

Rannulf Nagel was sitting with his back to the room in a discreet corner of a grubby back-street café that had survived the bombs but seen much grander times. It had little to commend it, except for its cheap food and just acceptable coffee. As he shifted on the hard chair, he became conscious of the last few coins remaining in his pocket, reminding him that he had no choice now but to seek work, which might prove to be his undoing if he wasn’t careful.

Remembering the tone of his mother’s letter, he knew it would be pointless writing to her again to ask for fresh funds. He regretted, now, reporting his father to the authorities for his anti-Nazi views, as it meant he would never be welcomed back in the Nagel household. But, since he had believed it to be his duty at the time, the feeling of regret was fleeting and he dismissed it, believing there were other avenues open to him. The trick was to choose the right one.

He had chosen to make for Münster because it was so far from Dresden, though he couldn’t believe anyone with a choice would have voluntarily returned to Dresden while under Russian occupation. Nevertheless, any survivors of Dresden with their wits about them and time to act would have crossed to the western side, remaining as close as possible to the border in the hope of maintaining contact with relatives or friends in the eastern zone. Likewise, any friends or distant relatives of Friedrich Vogler’s with luck on their side would no doubt be living on the western side, again as close to Dresden as possible. Despite Vogler professing the uncertainty of his destination, he would probably have headed towards Dresden anyway, still hoping to locate his lost friend. This meant that Nagel needed to stay clear of that particular area in the event he needed to fall back on Vogler’s name in the future.

There must be thousands like himself who had masqueraded under assumed names to get through the British and American checkpoints in 1945, he thought, but now living openly under their own names. If only he had managed to return to Germany with his spoils intact, he wouldn’t be in this mess now. The money would have set him up for the rest of his life. He clenched his jaw, burning with bitter resentment at those responsible for stealing his spoils in that accursed Vietri until he started his favourite daydream: fantasising on the possibility of retrieving what rightly belonged to him.

An audible sigh escaped his downturned lips as he took up the newspaper once more and scanned the employment section. After a few minutes he slapped it back on the table in disgust, drained the dregs of his coffee and pushed back his chair. With an ugly scowl marring his handsome features, he got to his feet and exited the café. On reaching the pavement, he paused for a

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