Spoils of Victory by John A. Connell Read Free Book Online Page B

than give up information or coconspirators.
    When Mason and Densmore entered the Jewish man’s cell, they found Abrams and the arrestee sitting at the table, with the prisoner talking rapidly and without pause as if they were long-lost friends.
    Abrams rose from his chair. “Mr. Collins and Mr. Densmore, this is Yaakov Lubetkin.”
    Yaakov jumped to his feet and rushed over to shake each man’s hand as if jacking a handle on a well pump. “Pleased to meet you, sirs,” he said in heavily accented German.
    â€œDo you speak any English?” Mason asked.
    Yaakov shook his head and declared proudly, “I am Polish.” His broad smile displayed an equally broad set of teeth. He was in his late twenties and stood at the height of Mason’s shoulders. He had a boyish face with dark brown eyes and seemed overjoyed just to be alive and in the company of Germany’s conquerors.
    â€œHave a seat, Herr Lubetkin,” Mason said in German, “while my colleagues and I confer.”
    Anxious to comply, Yaakov raced over to the chair and sat. Mason, Abrams, and Densmore huddled near the door.
    â€œYou get anything out of him yet?” Mason asked Abrams.
    â€œI could barely get a word in edgewise. I got his whole family history, and his experiences at the concentration camps.”
    â€œWhat was he doing at the bar?” Densmore asked.
    â€œHe admitted to black marketeering. Mostly currency exchanges.The Germans give him foreign money to exchange for Reichsmarks, and he gets a percentage. He says it’s a sweet deal, because it’s against the law for Germans to have foreign currency, but the Jews can.”
    Mason walked over to Yaakov. Yaakov sat up straight as Mason approached, though his smile faded when he saw Mason’s expression.
    Mason asked in German, “Where do you get the foreign currency to exchange?”
    â€œFrom many people. Mostly rich Germans. I get twenty percent, and they are happy for that. Both win.”
    â€œYou know it’s illegal to exchange money for Germans.”
    â€œWhy? No one is hurt by this. I provide a service.”
    Mason decided against arguing the finer points of the law, and though he would have done it anyway, U.S. policy called for cutting a great deal of slack with surviving Jews when it came to interpreting the law. “Who were you exchanging money for at the Steinadler?”
    Yaakov hesitated.
    Mason growled a warning, “Herr Lubetkin . . .”
    â€œYaakov, please. I was exchanging money for a Herr Giessen. He won’t get into trouble because of me, will he?”
    â€œNot likely. He was murdered during the raid.”
    Yaakov’s jaw dropped.
    â€œDo you know where Herr Giessen got the foreign currency?” Mason asked.
    Yaakov shook his head. “He was trying to exchange Swiss francs. I usually deal in U.S. dollars or British pounds.”
    â€œDo you know a Herr Volker? He’d be about forty-five, tall, gray hair, smokes a particular brand of Turkish cigarette with a gold tip.”
    Yaakov shook his head again.
    â€œHow often do you go to that bar?”
    â€œMaybe once every two weeks.”
    â€œAnd you’ve had no other black market dealings with Giessen’s gang?”
    â€œNo, certainly not.”
    â€œDo you know any of the gang members? Could you point any of them out?”
    Suddenly, Yaakov looked like he wanted to be anywhere else but in that room. He sank into his chair. “I don’t think that would be such a good idea. My clients must remain anonymous or they lose trust in me. Not good for business. And I need the money.”
    â€œYeah, doesn’t everybody?”
    â€œI have a new wife. She is pregnant. There is my brother, his wife, and children. My brother works, but earns very little. I support them. They depend on me.”
    â€œThere’s a Jewish DP camp not far from here. Feldafing. Why don’t you and your group go