was run by Jews, there were loud guffaws and cheers. Personally, he didn’t like that sort of display. Not that he particularly liked Jews, but if you are going to be professional in your police work, you shouldn’t allow the rank and file to behave like they were drunken louts at a village soccer game. Soldiers, police – it didn’t matter – they had to concentrate on what they were doing, and that required discipline and focus.
Whoever had mapped out these police objectives had done his homework well. Someone, well before the war, had exhibited real professionalism in this kind of detailed planning, and now things were going flawlessly. A platoon of infantry had been assigned to each Gestapo squad and so far there had been no resistance. Neumann liked that.
Neumann also liked what he had seen of Holland. It was such a sensible little country. The people were good looking, the towns and cities clean. There was an obvious sense of order and purpose to the place. In its own way, it was as Germanic as Salzburg. The café on the other side of the canal looked like it could have come out of a Viennese postcard: people enjoying the early summer sunshine, drinking coffee, reading newspapers. It was a shame it had come to war between them. But when you thought about it, compared to the Great War, the casualties in this operation had been insignificant. That’s how it should have been.
Neumann lit a cigarette and exhaled as they careened around another corner in one of the narrow streets north of the Herengracht Canal. He had to admit that whoever had decided that the Netherlands should be incorporated into the Reich certainly knew what he was doing. Oh, for now, there were sullen and hostile stares from most people on the street, but Neumann was confident that would all change once they got over the initial shock of being invaded. Besides, he had heard there was a group of Dutchmen that had actually been on hand to welcome the German army. The Dutch Nazi Party had urged a sensible armistice and made a small ceremony of welcoming their brothers in arms. That was wise of them. There was no point in taking casualties for what was a foregone conclusion. Their numbers weren’t large, but National Socialism had definitely taken root here. It just hadn’t had time to blossom yet. There was hope for the Netherlands. With their Aryan blood and their Germanic sense of order, someday they would be a part of the Reich itself, and not just one of the countries in its Empire.
The column came to an abrupt halt. The lead lorry stopped and infantry were fanning out around the block, preventing anyone from entering or leaving the cordoned area. These diamond factories shouldn’t take too long to deal with. Just like at the mint, he would arrest the owner, place a guard on the property, and then move off to his final objective for the day.
Neumann got out of his car and flicked his cigarette into the street. He straightened his Tyrolean hat and adjusted his tie in the reflection from the Opel’s window. He noted the small bronze sign beside the front gate tactfully advertising Samuël Van Zuiden, Diamond Merchant. Appraisals, Cutting and Sales. He glanced at the sheet listing his daily case file. He was at the right place. The only difference between the sign and his file was that the case file noted “Juden” behind the name of the business. Neumann smirked and wondered by how much this place would increase the Reich’s coffers.
The infantry platoon leader doubled up to him and saluted smartly. “The cordon is in place, Herr Major.”
“Fine. Send in the entry team. I’ll be here at the car. Report to me personally when the grounds are secure and we’ll do an inspection. Keep a section in reserve in case there are any problems.”
Neumann loitered about the car for several minutes, and then as he grew impatient, he walked up and down the cordon. The infantry stood in full fighting order: rifles, helmets, water bottles, leather ammunition pouches, respirators, and polished jackboots. The soldiers were spaced ten metres apart, every other man facing in opposite directions, allowing them to keep watch over the windows and doorways on both sides of the street. None of the soldiers’ eyes met Neumann’s and nobody spoke. Neumann looked at his watch. The entry team should be out by now. He paced halfway around the block again. Seconds before he was about to go in to see what was taking so long, a procession made up of three soldiers and a civilian in handcuffs came out the front gate.
“The premises are ready for your inspection, Herr Major. We had some problems with Herr Van Zuiden, but I think he understands the situation. Things are in order now.”
Samuël Van Zuiden had his head down. A trickle of blood ran from a cut above his left eye and his shirt was torn at the collar.
Neumann jerked his head toward the waiting vehicles. As the soldiers pushed Samuël Van Zuiden toward the truck, a sweating man on a bicycle cycled furiously up to the cordon.
“What’s going on here? What do you think you’re doing? This is my uncle; he’s done nothing wrong.” Saul let the bicycle fall to the pavement with a clatter. As he did so, two soldiers stepped forward and one of them pushed the butt end of his rifle into Saul’s chest.
“Stop! He’s my uncle. He’s done nothing wrong. I’ll take care of him. Please, release him.” Saul took a deep breath and looked around. Recognizing that Neumann was in charge he stepped toward him. “Please, sir, please.”
Neumann snapped his fingers. “Take him with the rest of them. I’ll do my inspection now. We have another cordon to complete before noon.”
9
ANNIKA BIT HER LIP and began to pace the length of Oscar’s and Nina’s living room. She was exhausted. Saul had been “missing” for three weeks now, although she had few doubts as to where he was. And that knowledge made things worse. Her imagination ran wild. She was unable to see him, communicate with him, or get any information about him. Saul had suddenly become a non-person. Over the last days she had made a dozen inquiries and merely got shrugs and sympathetic looks.
Three weeks ago, when Saul had not returned to their apartment, Annika went searching for him at the Van Zuiden Diamond Factory. There she spoke to the young, blond gate guard. He confirmed what she didn’t want to hear. Yes, he had seen both Samuël and Saul being arrested. He shrugged in an idiotic sort of way and looked away. The Germans took them away, that’s all he knew.
Annika’s voice turned shrill and she shouted, “Where did they take him? Why the hell haven’t you phoned anyone?” When the security guard merely shrugged again she became furious. Her face flushed and her hands went clammy. She took a deep breath, struggled back onto her bicycle and, cursing at the idiot guard, began pedalling frantically the two and a half kilometres to the Amsterdam Central Police Station.
At the police station her pulse was racing, but she had recovered her composure. Although the officers on duty treated her respectfully, something wasn’t right. Despite having never met these men before, she had no doubt that the sergeant and the constable at the front desk were behaving in a strange manner.
All the time she was in the building a steady stream of helmeted German soldiers with rifles slung across their backs and clickers on their boots were carrying document boxes through the front door. The police sergeant blinked rapidly, acting as if he couldn’t see them. He was polite and sympathetic, but there was no question: he wasn’t telling what he knew. He kept his voice unnaturally low and refused to make eye contact. “I really can’t say, madam. The Germans have made a number of arrests, but none of us in the Amsterdam police know who they are or what they’ve been charged with. We aren’t allowed to visit them. There are a number of prisoners downstairs.”
He shrugged in exactly the same way the gate guard had an hour ago. And it struck her that these men weren’t being stupid or unconcerned. It was probably a peculiar mix of shame, humiliation, and fear. She was still very angry, and her flash of insight didn’t make her feel any better. The Dutch police couldn’t or wouldn’t tell her anything about Saul or Samuël, and at the same time, they
