The Dolomite Challenge

By Tom Joyce

This is the third novel in a series following Vienna Police inspector Karl Marbach. This story takes place in the late summer of 1947. With encouragement from US Army Counterintelligence, Marbach is investigating Die Spinne, an escape route out of Germany and Austria for Nazi war criminals. Marbach and CIC major Millican learn about a new escape route called Odessa, a better-financed and more ambitious escape route, and they set out to obtain information about the location of the Odessa relay stations. They also hope to capture travelers on Odessa, including Adolf Eichmann, the architect of what became a mass deportation of Jews to extermination camps.

Marbach enlists six men to go with him into the Tyrolian part of Austria to see if they can get the Odessa papersand hopefully also capture Adolf Eichmann. The seven-man team is a collection of men from different countries, including France, Austria, and Poland.

At a point where the Odessa papers and Eichmann appear to be within grasp, a large force of Odessa men get into position on the mountain just below Marbachs team, and the only way to avoid getting killed is to climb all the way up to the top of the Dolomites and then down into Italy. A solid bond is forged among the men, who struggle and take risks for each other during the Dolomite climb. During the journey, the men learn a lot about each otherand themselves.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Dec 16, 2014
• ISBN: 9781496958839

Tom Joyce

Tom Joyce worked in Ohio jails and the Ohio State Penitentiary. During his military service, he took ex-Nazis to Frankfurt, Germany, for de-Nazification proceedings. After military service, he got a PhD from Cornell University. He has taught courses in criminology and sociology to FBI agents, police officers, and college students. For many years, he has been writing, rewriting, and re-rewriting stories about a Vienna police inspector in the 1930s and 1940s. He has three novels and a dozen short stories gleaned from chapters in the novels. He is now working on novel four.

Book preview

© 2014 Tom Joyce. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 12/11/2014

ISBN: 978-1-4969-5884-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4969-5885-3 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4969-5883-9 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2014922259

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

This book is printed on acid-free paper.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

CONTENTS

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Forty-Four

Chapter Forty-Five

Chapter Forty-Six

Chapter Forty-Seven

Chapter Forty-Eight

Chapter Forty-Nine

Chapter Fifty

Chapter Fifty-One

Chapter Fifty-Two

Chapter Fifty-Three

Chapter Fifty-Four

Chapter Fifty-Five

Chapter Fifty-Six

Chapter Fifty-Seven

Chapter Fifty-Eight

Chapter Fifty-Nine

Chapter Sixty

Chapter Sixty-One

Chapter Sixty-Two

Chapter Sixty-Three

Chapter Sixty-Four

CHAPTER ONE

Vienna West Train Station. Monday, August 25, 1947.

An officious young Viennese man, a clerk in the British Burn Center at the Vienna General Hospital, stood with awkward stiffness in front of a woman and a man sitting on a wooden bench. The clerk’s attention was on the woman. When he spoke to her, it was in English prefaced by the conventional Viennese words used to address a woman doctor.

"Frau Doktor Marbach, I wish you a good three-day visit in Paris. Captain Burke is already in Paris. I am sure that with him on the job, this will be a holiday for you."

Marbach was a doctor in the British Burn Center, but she was also a major, and because she was wearing her major’s uniform, the young clerk might have addressed her as "Frau Major Marbach." Sitting beside her on the wooden bench in the West Train Station of Vienna was her husband, Vienna Police Inspector Karl Marbach.

Two years ago, Pamela Marbach came to Vienna with the Royal British Medical Corps. That was August 1945, and the war in Europe was over. The first week she was in Vienna, she met the police inspector. They were married less than one month after they’d met.

Now, two years later, Pamela Marbach was still with the Royal British Medical Corps in Vienna. Because she worked in the British Burn Center in the Vienna General Hospital, many people assumed she was British, but she wasn’t. She was an American. She joined the Royal British Medical Corps in early 1942 after her first husband, a man to whom she had been devotedly married for almost twenty years, was killed in Bataan during the early days of the war in the Pacific. His death had left her consumed by a desperate need to get into the war and serve the best way she could—as a doctor. But back in 1942 the US military wasn’t giving commissions to women doctors, so like a small number of other American women doctors, she got a commission with the Royal British Medical Corps. That meant there wasn’t much likelihood she would serve in the Pacific, but at least she would be able to serve. She ended up practicing her profession on the battlefields of North Africa, Italy, France, and finally Germany. For what she did on battlefields, she was awarded the Distinguished Service Order (DSO), a combat medal valued just under the Victoria Cross. There weren’t many doctors who got a DSO, but several high-level officers agreed that she had earned it.

Now, in 1947, Pamela Marbach was married to the police inspector, but she knew she would always grieve for her husband killed in the Pacific. She could dissolve into tears whenever she thought about that good man. Sometimes she wondered if she was unique: after all this time, she was painfully aware of herself as a widow while completely in love with the man who, for the past two years, had been her husband, her lover, her everything.

In the West Train Station, the young clerk continued to stand with awkward stiffness.

Thank you, Pamela Marbach said. She didn’t address the clerk by name, because she was embarrassed that she couldn’t recall it. She knew it was bad manners to not know his name, and that in Vienna it was especially bad manners.

The officious young clerk made a slight bowing motion, and with a stiff, awkward walking style, he went on his way.

Police Inspector Karl Marbach took advantage of an opportunity for some playful humor. His name is Julius Barwick, he said in the English he usually spoke when alone with his wife. If you couldn’t remember the name Julius Barwick, you might have addressed him as Herr Clerk.

Oh, pooh, Pamela Marbach said.

Oh, Pammy, Karl Marbach said with a distinctive Viennese inflection incorporated into his English. He used Viennese inflections whenever he addressed his wife by her name. He usually called her Pammy, but sometimes he called her Dr. Pammy.

He liked calling his wife Dr. Pammy. He liked hearing those words in his head. He knew that the British nurses in the burn center called her Dr. Pammy, and that even though most of the patients in the British Burn Center were Europeans who didn’t speak English, a lot of them spoke the words Dr. Pammy when she tended to them.

Karl Marbach raised a finger, debated a moment, and finally said, That young clerk mentioned Captain Burke and said something about a holiday. You have never introduced me to Captain Burke, but I hear he is most handsome. Who is this handsome Captain Burke who is asking you to join him in Paris for what might turn out to be a holiday?

With humor in her voice, Pammy said, Oh, Karl, don’t be cute. Captain Burke is an idiot, and he’s at least a dozen years younger than me.

Pammy was in her midforties. She fretted about the dark circles under her eyes, and she had always thought her cheeks were too round. Most certainly she had lost the freshness of youth, but in recent years—during the war and now afterward—she found that men seemed much more likely to convey appreciation for her as a woman than had been the case when she was young. She liked the feeling of being appreciated by men; she didn’t take advantage, but she liked it.

Pammy stared at Karl. She knew that before the war, one of his lovers was a popular Vienna Volkstheater actress named Constanze Tandler, who was killed by the Nazis. At informal gatherings, when she was nearby but not included in a conversation, she often heard people talking with Karl fervently and saying the name Constanze. But Karl never talked with Pammy about Constanze Tandler. Indeed, he made a point of never talking about any of his former lovers with her. She knew there had been quite a few former lovers. Viennese friends had advised her—sometimes seriously, usually with humor—about the large number of Karl’s former lovers.

Pammy knew Karl had had a lot of former lovers, but she knew he was faithful to her, because at the beginning of their life together, he had told her he would be faithful, and he never lied to her. He never lied about anything. Not to her, and not to anybody as far as she could tell. He never lied about the smallest thing. On trivial things and day-to-day trivia, she might lie, but he never did. Sometimes she would tell a lie or do some fibbing to avoid talking about something she didn’t want to talk about, but not him!

Pammy continued thinking about Karl and his aversion to not only lies but even fibs. She thought about how it was that she might tell people that something they had bought or acquired was excellent when it was just mediocre. Karl never did that sort of fibbing. Oh, he was just impossible!

She studied Karl, and she noted that he was intently reading one of the English language magazines he had purchased for her to read on the train trip to Paris. On the cover of the magazine was a picture of President Truman. She wanted Karl to put the magazine away and pay attention to her. In recent weeks she had become aware of a wall growing between them. They’d had an unusual number of arguments, and all of them were connected with her son’s upcoming wedding in the States.

Pammy sat up straight on the wooden bench. She regarded it as unfair for Karl to be obtuse about how important it was for her to attend her son’s wedding. Of course there would be a lot of expense, and even with two incomes, finances were a problem for them. She knew it was awful that Karl would have to stay behind in Austria while she was gone for a couple of weeks, but she was determined to go to the wedding. This was something they very much needed to talk about it, yet every time she brought up the subject, he turned it into an argument.

Pammy held a newspaper in her hands, which were trembling because she was angry. She didn’t like being angry. If there was one thing she really hated, it was being angry. She grasped the newspaper fiercely, held it up close to her face, and started reading. As always these days, the news was frightening. Why wouldn’t it be? A dark cloud was spreading a shadow over Europe. In recent weeks, Communists had killed priests in Yugoslavia, and a death sentence had been announced for the anti-Communist leader Nikola Petkov in Bulgaria. In Hungary things were awful: Communist threats had forced Deszo Sulyok, leader of the Liberty party, to flee. In Vienna this spring, there had been food riots that briefly threatened to result in a Communist overthrow of the government.

Pammy put aside the newspaper. She had stopped reading when she came to an article dealing with the possibility of a famine. If it came, a famine could change everything forever. Communism would flourish if there was a famine. Yes, thought Pammy, the future was forbiddingly dark, but she couldn’t do anything about the terrible things happening in the world. She couldn’t even do much about her own personal troubles. She stole a glance at Karl. At the very least, there was one piece of business they ought to talk about before she left on this trip to Paris.

She kept her voice firm. It was vital to her now to talk to Karl about Leo Lechner, one of her patients in the burn center. Karl, I had another long talk with Leo Lechner. I know you don’t like him, but this is important to me. I want you to see Leo. It would mean a lot to me if you would agree to see him.

Karl gave a terse reply. I knew Leo Lechner when he and I were police officers, working together before the war. I had no use for him then, and I have no use for him now.

Was Leo Lechner a monster? Pammy bristled irritably. Did he do something awful to you?

To me personally, Leo Lechner never did anything I can complain about.

Then …?

Lechner was like all the other young Nazis. The only difference was that he was more energetic preaching Nazi nonsense than were most of the others. He went to extremes in telling everyone about his devotion to Hitler and National Socialism.

Pammy was silent for a moment. How could she explain? Words seemed futile. She was a Jew—and proud of it. She hated Nazism with a fury that her sometimes Catholic husband couldn’t possibly imagine. But Leo, the mutilated former Nazi, had managed to touch her with the sincerity of his repentance.

People change, Pammy said, keeping her voice level and firm. Leo has been through a lot. I have feelings for him. I think maybe you would, too, if you got to know him again.

I hear Leo was badly burned.

Pammy’s reply was rather abrasive. I work in the burn center!

If it’s important to you, I will see any of your patients, even a miserable rat like Leo Lechner.

"Leo is no rat. If he was when you knew him many years ago, he has changed. Sometimes people do change."

Why is it that you and I never bicker? Do you ever wonder about that? Karl said abruptly.

What in the world do you mean saying we never bicker? That’s what we’re doing right now.

Oh?

And this bickering could turn into a fight. Have you forgotten all those dishes I broke yesterday? You’re lucky I didn’t break some of them over your head!

Karl shook his head. I have never been able to understand your incredible proclivity for breaking glassware.

Pammy felt her temper flare, but in the next moment the soft, gentle voice of Karl captured her total attention. Pammy … You were right picking fights with me recently. You were most certainly right to insist you were going to go to America to be at your son’s wedding. That’s two months from now. He paused. Things are fixed. We will be going to America together.

For a moment, Pammy had trouble taking a breath. Karl was saying he would be going with her to her son’s wedding in the States. It was difficult for her to keep her voice under control. You’ll go with me? But you’re an Austrian citizen without a passport. How …? She was aware that they were in the very public West Train Station, and she resisted the impulse to shout. Instead, she bolted into an upright sitting position on the wooden bench and spoke in a clear, direct manner. If you didn’t mind me going, and if you were working on a way to come with me, why did we have so many fights? A strong anger threatened to ignite within her, but when she looked at Karl’s face, all of the anger drained out of her. She listened as he spoke.

"Pammy, oh Pammy. You needed to get angry about something. A woman with all of your determination needs to know she can get angry when she is in the right, or even if she just thinks she is in the right. Besides, I needed time to see what could be worked out."

Pammy felt overwhelmed, but this was the train station, and that meant she couldn’t shout, couldn’t do any serious hugging and kissing. She settled for laughing and saying, I am going to check this out with your nephew, the priest. I’m not sure you are allowed to go to a Jewish religious service, a Jewish wedding.

Karl touched a finger to his nose. I suppose they’ll be breaking glass and everything. I say, is that where you get your disregard for glassware?

"You’re a beast! I may let you accompany me to the States, but I’m not sure I’ll let you come to my son’s wedding." Pammy laughed in the way she knew Karl liked, in E-flat. She snuggled her head tight against his chest. She didn’t care that they were in a public place. She needed to snuggle up close.

With Karl’s arm around her, Pammy listened while he spoke more English with his Viennese accent. It is grand when you laugh in E-flat.

Karl often said that laughter in E-flat was his favorite female sound. Pammy wondered whether any of his previous lovers had laughed in E-flat. Probably one or more of them had, but there was no way he would talk about that. He never discussed anything about his former lovers—not their names or anything about them. He never said anything, no matter how vigorously she prodded him to provide some details.

While Pammy laughed more of her E-flat laughter, Karl said to her, I hear there are marvelous mountains in America. Maybe I’ll climb one of your American mountains.

Pammy stopped laughing. You are much too large a man to be a mountaineer. I have climbed with you. I have seen how you climb, and I have seen how the good mountaineers climb. The best of them are compact, not big characters like you.

Compact?

Yes, like the French climber Henri Sampeyre.

Karl examined that remark for a moment. Henri telephoned me that he will be in Vienna next week. I told him he is invited to dinner whenever he shows up.

"Yes! Oh, yes!"

That Frenchman certainly has a way of impressing women.

Henri is a lovely, lovely man. Pammy made a cooing sound and then said, Oh be still, my heart.

Karl asked, Compared to Henri, am I too large or too old?

Mostly too large.

Mostly?

Pammy didn’t want to talk any more about Henri Sampeyre, not after learning Karl would be going with her to her son’s wedding. She felt like she was filled with words that demanded an outlet, but she didn’t speak. She remembered the time three months ago when her son, Sammy, came all the way to Vienna from the United States to introduce his mother to his bride-to-be, a young woman named Jennifer. Twenty-two-year-old Sammy was initially wary of Karl Marbach, but early on the day Sammy and Jennifer showed up in Vienna, and before wariness had a chance to get entrenched, Karl took Sammy out to see the town, just the two of them. When Karl and Sammy returned late in the day, they had bonded. Some of the bonding came from the alcohol they had consumed, but it was a firm and eternal bond. It didn’t matter at first about the bond; Pammy made a big fuss. She broke a lot of glassware while expressing her displeasure. She tossed dish after dish from the kitchen cabinet onto the floor. While glass was still being broken, Sammy smiled sheepishly, kissed his bride-to-be, and trundled off to his solitary bed in his private bedroom.

Then, when Karl had attempted to clean up the broken glass, he cut his hand, and the bride-to-be became his tender nurse. The blood from the cut could barely be seen on the handkerchief feverishly administered by the moon-faced Jennifer. For Pammy, the final outrage came when Karl croaked that he was beginning to feel a little faint. There had been nothing for Pammy to do but retire for the night, so she went to their room. A few minutes later, when Karl had still not come up to their room, she went to the bedroom door and hollered for him until he came up to bed.

That was how the first day ended. On the day that followed, there was a worse problem. Pammy had found herself filled with reservations about Jennifer. She told Karl that the young woman was too immature, too girlish to get married to Sammy, and she had believed it.

But things had quickly changed, and it was all Karl’s doing. He arranged a mountain-climbing venture up the Dolomite Alps. Before doing the climb, he spent two days teaching Sammy and Jennifer how to do mountain climbing. Then, the four of them used a cable car to get to a starting place, where they began a five-hour climb high up into snow and ice. The weather turned bad, but the group kept going until they were only a dozen meters down from the top.

It was then that Karl, leading the climb, signaled for Jennifer to come forward. He took a few moments to whisper something to her and then shoved her upward.

On her own, Jennifer made her way the rest of the way to the top. When she got to the top, she jumped with joy and hollered for the stragglers to catch up.

Pammy had enthusiastically joined in the joy expressed by Jennifer. She returned from the climb with a profound love for the woman who was going to be Sammy’s wife. Jennifer was not someone who was too girlish; she was a wonderful young woman who had climbed a mountain, met the challenge aggressively, and even pushed her way to the top ahead of the others. She was a young woman ready to be a wife.

Now, in the West Train Station, Pammy felt good knowing that Karl had found a way to accompany her to the wedding in America. But how had he done it? Passports were almost impossible for Austrian citizens to obtain. It seemed impossible and was like a miracle! Pammy knew Karl well enough to be certain that whatever had been worked out, she would be a long time learning all the details. She told herself that it was just like him to wait until a few minutes before the departure of her train for the Paris trip before springing this marvelous surprise. She would be a bundle of excitement until she got back from Paris. She knew he must have planned it that way; that would be just like him!

Giddy in her happiness, Pammy stared intently around. Many times she had been in the West Train Station. For the past year, at least once every month or two, she’d had to go to Paris or some other city.

She directed her total attention to Karl and immediately realized something was happening. The handsome face that could conceal so much was concealing nothing. Karl was staring toward the rear of the train station, and his entire body had become tense. At first she couldn’t tell what it was that had captured his attention; all she could see was that there were a lot of people in the train station, a bustling crowd. She continued to follow Karl’s line of sight, and then she saw two men greeting each other. She couldn’t tell who had been the one to arrive and who was doing the welcoming. After a moment, an American soldier with a camera came over and took a picture of the two men. These days, the Americans and Russians were taking pictures of all the people arriving in Vienna by train. The British were more selective; they photographed only the ones who might be Jewish. The French made their presence known but seldom did any photographing at all.

Pammy was startled when Karl suddenly got to his feet and said, "Something important is going on here. I have