Chapter 4

Peter Benner lives in Ferlach, Austria, with his wife Hilde and their four-month-old son, Paul. Peter’s father passed away in 1950. He inherited the gunsmith’s business, including the beautiful home next to it. For five years, his mother suffered from pneumonia, and she died in 1952. He loved his mother. When he needed help with his schoolwork or with a social issue, his mother always gave him advice. Though his mother was a self-centered person, she still had time for her son.

Peter misses his parents. His father helped him with the gunsmith shop’s work, and on occasion, they went quail hunting. They were friends, and they enjoyed their time together. Occasionally, they went bear hunting in Yugoslavia, using one of their specially made double barrel rifles.

It was Friday, a chilly morning in March. A few stubborn snow patches turned to ice at night in Peter’s backyard, waiting for the spring sun to melt them. Peter and his wife sat by the oak kitchen table, drinking their morning coffee, ready to plan for the last day of the week when someone knocked on the door. Hilde rose and went to open it, “Hi Franz. Come in, have a cup of coffee.”

“Don’t mind if I do,” said Franz, with a soft voice. Hilde passed a cup of black coffee to Franz. He added a spoon of sugar and stirred the coffee longer than it should take. Peter looked at his wife, raised his brow, and then looked at Franz, waiting for him to stop stirring, but he didn’t.

“So, how did it go yesterday?” asked Peter, wrinkling his forehead. Franz put down his spoon carefully on a napkin, taking his time, and then he drank a sip.

“Well, Peter, it was surprisingly easy. If Abu Bakr had arrived later, twilight could have been a problem,” said Franz, somewhat uneasy.

“What would you have done if it were too dark?”

“I would have waited — try another day.” Franz sipped more coffee, looking at Peter, concerned about his answer.

“That would be a wise choice.” Peter handed Franz a brown envelope. “For a job well done.” Franz didn’t count what’s in the envelope. He shoved it in his back pocket and finished the coffee. “Thanks, Peter. Well, I had better go to work. Where did you put the double-barrel shotgun?”

“It’s on your bench.”

“Alright, I’ll take care of it.” Hilde watched Franz leaving. He is a big, tall person and enormously vital. When one looked at him from a distance, one couldn’t help but admire his good looks. Weak in mathematics, but unbelievably dependable. Although Franz is one year older than Peter, they went to gunsmith school together. After graduation, Franz went to Salzburg to make his fortune. Unfortunately, he met the wrong people, became addicted to drugs, and drank large amounts of beer. As a last resort, he returned to Ferlach, his hometown, looked up his old friend, and asked him for advice. Peter gave him a job and helped him get off the drug habit. Miraculously, he reduced his beer intake automatically. He is not addicted, but occasionally he drinks a bottle, and he enjoys it. Now Franz was eternally grateful that Peter put him on the right track. Together, they keep the gunsmiths’ business going, and on occasion, they administer their kind of justice, secretly aiding the local and foreign authorities. For this episode, they call this their Unlawful Justice, doing their part controlling White Slavery.

About a year ago, Peter put away a drug dealer, a remnant of establishing the Second World War, and other undesirable characters. Then he worked by himself, but he had been looking for a partner. Now he is working with Franz Heidel. They are going after slave dealers, also known as human traffickers, particularly a group kidnapping white females and selling them in North Africa. For this dangerous enterprise, Franz will be of tremendous help to him. Occasionally, Hilde participated in background work and securing alibis.

Hilde stood up and walked around the table. She sat on Peter’s lap. “I’m worried about us. What would happen if we ever were caught?”

“I think that the law might look the other way. Right now, I’m more worried about Abu Bakr’s henchmen,” said Peter, smiling and flashing his white teeth. Hilde couldn’t resist. She kissed her husband. His wife loves him, and she is enormously attracted to him. She has loved him since they met in Sunday school, holding hands since they were fourteen. Then he was a skinny kid and at eighteen, he developed into a handsome, muscular rogue. He was a late bloomer — tall, blond hair, blue eyes, square chin. These two are a perfect match. Hilde complements Peter. She is also tall and attractive — still slightly plump from giving birth. Peter loves her long, dark hair. It always smells clean and fresh. She is working out to get her shape back, and she is making great strides. Peter held his wife around the waist and gently directed her to rise.

“I’m going to the store, check out things and run some errands,” said Peter.

“I’ll miss you.” Hilde kissed her husband and went upstairs to check on her crying son. He needed his mother for a diaper change and a bottle.

Peter went to the shop, thinking about this day and the workload. Three men, including Franz, worked on repairs while three other men worked on new shotguns. Peter walked to the end of the shop. He unlocked an old oak door and looked in. Shelves lined the walls, with all sorts of spare parts on it. Only Peter and Franz knew that one frame on the left swiveled and exposed steps going down into a cavern. He made sure that the latch was tight, and then Peter closed the door. While he did that, he looked at Franz, raising his eyebrows. Franz knew what Peter was thinking — tonight, after work, they will go down and talk. Then Peter left the shop and drove his Alfa Romeo to Klagenfurt to the leading bookstore. He picked up a detailed map of Villach, Austria. It is about 32 miles from Ferlach. Peter returned home and had lunch. After lunch, he spent time with his wife and son, waiting for 5:00 p.m. They went for a walk in the back yard. The small, ice-covered snow patches were melting fast. On the far end of his yard, between evergreens and apple trees, Schnee Rosen grew. Hilde found them in a wooded area near the river Drau, and she replanted them. Peter and Hilde loved these hardy, white flowers. Every early spring, they watched them piercing their way through ice and snow, and they could never figure out where these delicate flowers got all their energy. His ancestors were so impressed with the flowers that they named the valley they lived in after it. They called it Rosental. Paul cried, and Peter picked him up. Then he lifted him high, and Peter turned with his son. Paul loved it and smiled, drooling on his dad.

“Be careful, dear. Don’t hurt my baby,” said a worried Hilde. She took her son away from her husband and placed him in the black, large-wheeled baby carriage. Still, it was a picture of tranquility. It has all the signs of a happy family. As they returned to their home, they saw their employees leaving, except Franz.

“Goodnight, Mrs. Benner, see you Monday,” said the employees.

“Goodnight, all. Have a nice weekend. We’ll see you all on Monday.”

Hilde was in the kitchen, and she finished loading her wicker basket. She had a white, starched tablecloth and linen napkins, a loaf of homemade, dark bread, salami, smoked ham and cider, knives to cut the bread and the meat, and three jugs for the cider. She donned a light sweater and passed the basket to her husband.

“We’ll be back in a little while,” she said, turning toward Mary, the housekeeper. Mary didn’t know where they went, but she had an idea. They are doing something out of the ordinary. That’s part of their business, she thought. She has a good job, and she wants to keep it that way. Peter went to the shop while Hilde followed, trying to keep up. Franz waited by the oak door. He held a large key in his hand.

“Let’s go down,” said Peter impatiently. Every time they get ready to plan for the other business, Peter gets nervous. Fortunately, that lasts only a short while. Franz unlocked the door. They stepped in, and then he turned on his flashlight. From the inside, he locked the door leading to the shop, while Peter swung the shelf, exposing steps going deep below ground. Franz went first, shining his flashlight down the steps. It was a long way down. They walked slowly and carefully. Then Franz turned to the right, and they walked another lengthy stretch on packed dirt, ceiling supported with beams, a short distance ahead illuminated by a flashlight. Franz turned right again, found a light switch, and turned on an overhead light. Now they were in a cavern filled with stalactites. By the near-wall were a table and chairs, and by the far wall, Peter installed a convenience outlet. Earlier, Franz plugged in a heater. He adjusted the control knob, warming the cavern and reducing the humidity and the mildew smell, turning the cavern into an idyllic and cozy setting. When they talked, they could hear the echo bouncing from wall to wall. A bunk stood against the sidewall. Before he married, and before he brought Franz into the picture, Peter frequently stayed down here to study and plan his earlier assassinations. When he got tired, he rested on the bunk and covered himself with a thick and warm blanket. Sometimes Peter ate his lunch down here; bread, butter, sausage, and cider. On occasion, he also reaped one or two turnips and a few carrots from a farmer’s field on the top of the hill, wiped off the earth remains, and ate the vegetables.

Hilde opened the basket. She put the tablecloth on the table, passed out the linen napkins, and placed the other food items on the table.

“Help yourself,” she said, smiling, showing dimples on her cheeks. Everyone cut bread and sausage, except the smoked ham, because Hilde pre-cut that earlier. They enjoyed the food in the quiet cavern. All one could hear was an occasional smack, eating the savory salami or a slurp, drinking the 6 percent cider. Eventually, Peter looked up in Franz’s direction. “Tell me about the warehouse yesterday evening.”

“All right. After Abu Bakr collapsed, everyone ran around aimlessly, trying to figure out what to do. Four young women ran from the warehouse, obviously escaping. Barefoot, they ran down the street and turned into a side street, as if they knew where they were going, but I don’t believe they did.”

“How do you know they were young?” asked Hilde curiously.

“Only young women, perhaps between fourteen and eighteen, could run like this.”

“I see.”

“I have a question for you, Peter.”

“What is it?”

“How did you know this Abu Bakr used this warehouse to hold women captive?” Peter collected his thought and then started, “Two weeks ago, in February, I received a message from Sam down here in the mail chute. Here, I show you,” said Peter. He went to the filing cabinet, next to the mail chute and pulled out an envelope. He pulled out a note and showed it to Franz. Franz read it:

P. O. Box 6699

Dear Gregory,

The President of Tunisia requested our services to stamp out white slavery in his country. His initial investigation showed that slave runners abduct young females and sell them to prominent Muslim men in southern Europe and his country. He started the investigation that led him to a warehouse in Villach. They dropped the study because his Arabs are darker-skinned, making it difficult for them to work underground.

Furthermore, he doesn’t trust them. Fath Abu Bakr, a Tunisian businessman, has a foothold in Villach. We must eliminate him. If you accomplish that, I will know that you are working on the problem. How you proceed from here on is strictly up to you. Most likely, you will be following various leads.

I got this information from an emissary of the president. The pay will be excellent — by the head.

P. S. You have to organize and direct the operation. You may have to penetrate or go undercover. Passports will be available, per your specs, and call the emissary or me if you need anything else.

I attached a phone number. You can also send your reply in the usual way.

Sincerely, Sam

After Franz read the note, it was quiet in the cavern. He looked up at Hilde and Peter. “He is still calling you by your code name. That is, by far, the longest note that you got from Sam. So, I guess we’re in it.”

“He only knows me by my code name, and yes, we are in it, to our elbows. How do you feel about it, Franz?”

“The pay is excellent. I suppose we’ll investigate and travel a lot.”

“It seems that way, Franz. Tomorrow is Saturday. I’ll put my answer in the newspaper. I’ll tell Sam that we’re in.”

“I suppose, he knows that already,” said Franz, smiling, raising his brow.

“You might be right,” commented Peter, finishing off his cider. While the three friends finished the victuals, Franz stood up and walked to the wall. He opened the swivel rock that hid the opening to the chute and looked in, “So, you’re still getting the messages from the post office above?” asked Franz, curiously.

“Yes, this method of communication still works. I’m not changing it.”

“Peter, did you ever meet Sam?”

“No, I never did, and I never will,” said Peter, determined. Hilde cleaned up, and then they returned to the shop. Franz cleaned a few areas in the shop and then went home, “I’ll see you Monday. If you need me sooner, call me, and thanks again, my friend.”