Caught in time

By Michael Owino

In 1983 a car was burned in a village in Northern Germany. One person died and the culprit who was employed in a major German dairy was seriously injured. Could this have been a personal dispute or were there perhaps traces that needed to be covered up?

Its pre-history started a good forty years previously. A division of German soldiers received an unusual assignment: to empty the Winter Palace in Leningrad of works of art and to send them to Germany. Hitler had plans to set up an impressive collection of art, which the Nazis had stolen at various locations around Europe. In the first instance, the works of art were hidden in an underground bunker in a field near Munich.

In Berlin a museum inspector lost his job when his museum for modern art was closed, and he got by doing menial jobs. One day he is given a special assignment: to catalogue the stolen works of art for the new museum. He had no alternative but to say yes in order to put bread on the table. However, he plans a sophisticated revenge. But one day all things went wrong...

Seventy years later valuable jewels from the court of the Russian Tsar turn up with the director for a large German company. Possibly this has something to do with a Dane who was involved in fakes until he disappeared without trace. The Danish police have been put on the case, but their German colleagues go to great lengths in order to avoid scanda.

With its many fine details, this book gives a remarkable insight into life during the Second World War, from soldiers who freeze in the Russian winter to ordinary people in Germany who try to live life in their own way. The reader is given a great deal of perspective as well as the opportunity to postulate.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Books on Demand
• Release date: Oct 4, 2019
• ISBN: 9788743035329

Book preview

Copenhagen,

Chapter 1

Northern Germany, 3 April 1983

The petrol fumes irritated his nose whilst he was emptying the first can. Using his right hand, he kept a firm grip on its handle while steadying himself with his left hand and leaning his shoulder against the doorframe. He stood with one foot on the car’s doorsill and his other foot on the ground. The front seats made of imitation leather with patterns in matching synthetic materials became blurred from the petrol. In the glow from the car’s interior light, he registered how the liquid was slowly absorbed into the seats and ended in dark stains on the grey carpet on the floor of the car. The dashboard was also splattered with petrol. Once the can was empty, he left it on the passenger seat. Johan stepped a couple of paces backwards, stretched his neck back and dropped his arms down towards his toes while staring up at the night sky. He took it all in with a very deep breath. A feeling of nausea crept over him. His working gloves, his khaki trousers, his white shirt made of Indian cotton and the expensive deck shoes from Seabago – they all stank of petrol, earth, dirt and oil. He had not taken this into account. He pulled out yet another petrol can from the boot, twisted the screw top off and once again placed his foot on the doorsill. With his head and upper part of his body half inside the car, he twisted one front seat forward and awkwardly emptied the petrol over the back seat. He tossed the empty can into the car again. When he backed out of the car, he bent over using his knee to support his hands. Then, gasped for breath.

Do you really think I should live in the provinces? Johan had asked when Karl suggested that once in a while he should spend the night in a German village roughly two hours’ drive from the border between Denmark and Germany.

Karl had recently started as student assistant at Kräsen, the dairy giant, and Johan was the new media person. They clicked nicely together.

On a warm summer’s day, Karl had once more dropped into his office and threw himself onto the sofa next to the window.

I love being in Denmark, and I am crazy about bathing in the sea on a summer’s day like today.

Karl opened the window and let the warm air stream in.

Denmark is fantastic in the summer, Johan answered and continued drawing.

He really did not feel like talking about Denmark. Nope! All the same, Karl continued:

My parents and I have holidays in Denmark every summer. Somewhere in Jutland I think, where we used to bathe in the North Sea. You are not from Jutland; you are from Copenhagen, aren’t you?

Johan nodded. I come from one of the northern suburbs of Copenhagen. His voice seemed flat.

Karl looked at him with curiosity and raised his eyes over the thick rim of his glasses while running a hand through his hair. Johan felt uneasy.

I have spent many wonderful days in Jutland, though it seems that the media people couldn’t care less about farmers and country folk, don’t you think? Without expecting an answer, Karl continued: If there is anything you would like to know about Germany, just fire away.

One Friday when Johan had to go to Denmark late in the afternoon, Karl promoted Hirts Guesthouse once more.

Try it. It’s a lovely place. Experience the real Germany, Karl said encouragingly and wrote the address down.

Even though Johan felt that it was ridiculous, that Friday he drove to the guest house instead of booking a room at one of the usual but expensive motels. Karl was right. The place was cosy. Over the past few years, he had regularly spent the night at Hirts Guest House when he was commuting between Hellerup and West Berlin.

For one minute, Johan contemplated the house. In the dark of the night, it resembled a lonely giant in the midst of the flat landscape. A few kilometres from there, he could make out the forest as a huge dark shadow.

He continued and emptied the third can of petrol in a circle around the car making the pebbles round the vehicle slippery. The final and the fourth can, he emptied into the car’s boot, and he then flung the empty cans in among the others on the back seat followed by his working gloves. He stepped a few paces back and quickly struck a match. Moving quickly he lit one of the ten crumpled balls of newspaper, which he had prepared for this. He threw the fireball towards the car’s open door.

There was no need to light the other nine. The flames had already reached the front seat. A strange whirring sound from the car’s back seat, was followed by a roaring rumble.

The car was at the point of exploding and an enormous shooting flame smashed its windscreen while the fire in the rest of the car took hold so violently that the passenger seat twisted round into an absurd position.

The hospitable Herr Hirts had insisted that he should park his car beside his old Volvo that stood in the carport. Too late Johan realised that it was fatal that the car stood between the gable of the house and the carport. The plan was not for the house to burn as well!

Black clouds of smoke billowed up from the rear of the car and just then the boot hatch blew off, it flew out onto the road and hit the asphalt making a tremendous clatter. Whistling flames burst out from the boot and before too long the drive was transformed into a sea of flames.

Just before a panic attack nearly overpowered him, his mind registered that flames had reached the lowest part of the house’s gables. Desperately he ran through the front door and into his small room. He had to do something! He ran out to the toilet and turned on the tap in the shower cabin, distraught he stuffed his clothes into a suitcase, which he then flung out through the window. After that, he ran out into the kitchen where Frau Hirts had been preparing their meal a few hours earlier. He rushed around in the dark searching franticly until he found a bucket. He filled it with water and ran out again.

The roof next to the car had caught fire and he could no longer see the vehicle as it was entirely engulfed by flames.

Sensations of powerlessness and terror rushed through him and he was shaking so much that he dropped the bucket of water. Even though the smoke scorched his eyes and all his senses confirmed that the fire was real, it all seemed unreal to him. Like a nightmare!

It was only a couple of hours ago that he had been proudly telling his hosts about his media work. Boasted in order to impress and was pleased to say that Germany’s largest dairy company was enthusiastic about his work. He had told them about Denmark, about his son, Josh, who had started school, and about his daughter, Tessa, who loved dressing up and borrowing her mother’s makeup.

For an instant, Johan was a man of the world, a beacon, one who was visiting these small sitting rooms in the grey suburb. Neither Herr Hirts nor Frau Hirts fancied the idea of travelling, they told him, though they relished the stories their guests told them.

The relaxed atmosphere and the wine, which Herr Hirts had fetched, made the hosts extra chatty.

Unfortunately we have never experienced the pleasure of having children.

Herr Hirts flicked his wife an accusing look.

Never experienced the pleasure, he repeated to himself.

Frau Hirts remained silent. She only really spoke when she was serving her tasty traditional food. She had her own special way of laughing. First she would giggle and hide her face in her hands, after which she would break out in an uncontrolled roar of laughter with tears streaming down her face.

Now no one was laughing.

Ellen, Ellen, no, in hell’s name! Not the window sill!

Herr Hirts’s voice was desperate. He was panic-stricken!

Help, help! I want to get out! Frau Hirts yelled hysterically, and at that moment a dull thud could be heard.

My back! My back! she groaned in a desperate voice.

The fire had caught hold of her nightdress and was quickly burning into her flesh. The poor woman yelled in agony and twisted round in jerky movements. Then there came another heavy thud.

Herr Hirts jumped out of the bedroom window at the exact moment when his brain registered that he could not save his wife.

Johan heard Herr Hirts’s shriek of despair and agony, the shrillness of which pierced through the brutal sound of flames. Exhausted he sank back. The last thing he remembered before he was dragged down into infinite darkness was seeing a fragment of bone that was protruding from Herr Hirts’s thigh.

Chapter 2

The taste of smoke and earth parched his mouth.

Barely audible, he groaned: Water.

In a daze, he could just about make out the outline of a man. Judging by the man’s quick movements, he was quite young.

Where he was, he hadn’t a clue. He perceived a faint prick in his right arm and with his left hand he attempted to reach out for the spot.

You are in an ambulance on your way to Hamburg Hospital. You are being treated for shock. Don’t move. You are being put on a drip. I am also going to wipe your face a little, said a male voice.

The sensation of lukewarm water against his skin sharpened his senses. A distinct medicinal smell made his nostrils tingle, and a siren was howling monotonously, all very close by. He opened his eyes wide and took the plastic mug, which the young man had handed to him. He raised his head and drained the mug with large gulps.

How are you?

The question came from a woman who alternately looked at him and at a machine where various numbers flicked across a small screen. He tried to move his other arm, and it was then he realised that he was strapped down.

Calmly the woman took one hand.

Had we arrived a couple of minutes later, we would not have been able to get you out. The roof of the house tumbled down over the lawn.

He could then see the woman’s face clearly. It was round and smiling.

Johan nodded weakly, then fell asleep.

Are you in pain?

He opened his eyes and stared at a white curtain. Steps could be heard, and the curtain was pulled aside. A deep voice started to reel off various Latin names. The voice sounded distant. It seemed quite a struggle to keep his eyes open.

Peter Mauer, I am a doctor.

The voice took one of his hands.

You have been admitted to Hamburg Hospital for observation for signs of internal injuries and shock. Your knee has been badly sprained, but all being well that’s all. You had a narrow escape. Do you remember your name?

Johan.

How are you?

Fine. But I am tired and thirsty, he replied in German. He tried to focus on the doctor’s name badge that was fixed to his overall. ‘Senior registrar,’ it said.

We are going to keep you in for a couple of days. Your knee is well and truly done in; it possibly feels a little stiff.

Using a little pen torch, the doctor inspected both his eyes. Johan could not help thinking that the doctor could see his heart beating hard through his white hospital gown.

I ought to ring my wife and tell her where I am.

We can wheel the hospital telephone over to you or you can get a nurse to ring for you.

The doctor checked his pulse.

Just relax now. The police have caught the pyromaniac.

Johan turned round in his bed in order to support his elbow. The doctor continued: He is unlikely to do any more harm.

Caught him? asked Johan surprised.

The pyromaniac is no doubt depressed and mentally ill. This sort of thing is invariably a cry for help. The police caught him a couple of kilometres away from the scene.

Slowly Johan came to his senses. He shook his head despairingly.

Such a relief. I don’t really understand what happened.

We will now give you a mild sedative, interjected a matronly nurse who had remained in the background.

She introduced herself as Nete and gave him a small blue plastic mug with a couple of pills in it.

Press this button if you need anything.

With his eyes he followed her plump finger that pointed to a little button on the bedside table.

I need to ring my wife. I would like to use a phone as soon as possible, Johan asked again.

The doctor nodded.

Would you like Nete ring so that you can get some sleep?

It had better be me that talks to her. My wife will be worried if someone from the hospital rings.

The doctor and the nurse both nodded.

Just relax. We are used to having Danes admitted. They are not usually any trouble, interjected the doctor and got ready to go.

Rune Niebourg from the local police was here while you slept. He will pop round again at about midday. No doubt he will want to find out whether you saw anything.

He then turned round and left the room with Nete.

Once Johan was alone, it was clear to him that he should get out before the police turned up. He had to get back to the house to find his suitcase before the police got their hands on it. Cautiously he stretched his leg. That movement caused a wave of pain to shoot through his body. He fell back on the bed wondering how on earth he would get away.

Shortly after there was a voice:

The telephone is ready for you.

A young man of African descent wheeled a little table with a telephone on it to the side of his bed.

My name is Jack. Give me a shout if you have problems getting through.

The

Reviews for Caught in time

[Christeena Thomas · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

"Caught in Time" by Michael Owino is a beautiful historical suspense thriller that gives us glimpses around World War period and showcases the life situations about the ordinary people as well as the soldiers who fought in the war.

The story opens up in a village in Northern Germany in 1983. A car was burned and things go awry when a person dies. The culprit too was injured. What's the reason behind the incident? Also a division of German Soldiers were assigned to empty the Winter Palace in Leningrad of it's art works. Who sent the assignment? What's the reason behind it?

The book is divided into six parts with thirty four chapters. There were a lot of twists and turns happening in the book. There's deaths , revenge, thrill, mystery. While reading the book, the reader is transported back in time and experience it as if it happened before your eyes.
The storyline is presented beautifully and I am not giving away anything as it will destroy the beauty of the narrative. My most favorite part was the detailing of historical events in the book which gave more insights about the World War from German point of view. The plot was so engaging that I was hooked to it till the end. The author has a great gift in storytelling and it was evident throughout the read.

The language is lucid and the cover art is beautiful!! I had a great time reading the book and look forward to read more from the author. If you love reading historical suspense thriller, then you should definitely check this out.
Recommended to historical fiction lovers.