I’d promised Father Kolbe I’d fight to survive; until now, I hadn’t realized the full extent of the greater purpose my promise would serve. Fritzsch was using chess against me, but to use my friends was a play so bold and aggressive that it left me no choice but to redouble my efforts and regain control of the board. The game between us had become far more ruthless, and it was time to adjust my strategy.

Rubbing the last of my tears from swollen eyelids, I made my way down the poplar-lined street before reaching Block 15, and I didn’t slow down until I’d burst through the door and shouted his alias.

“Tomasz Serafiński!”

Pilecki turned toward me, and I spun on my heel and led the way to the alley between the blocks.

“I want to join the prisoner resistance movement,” I said once he’d joined me.

Pilecki didn’t look surprised or pleased, just pensive. At last the corners of his mouth turned into the slightest of smiles. “Welcome to the Związek Organizacji Wojskowej, Maria. We’re called ZOW for short.”

That was all I needed. I closed my eyes and savored the words while the energy inside me swelled to capacity.

Protocol violations were useful toward my goal, but, if the entire camp rose up in rebellion, Höss would have no choice other than to punish Fritzsch to the full extent of his power. Transfer and demotion, surely. Perhaps something even worse.

Chapter 16

Auschwitz, 20 April 1945

WITH EVERY PASSING move throughout this chess game, my throat gets tighter. I’ve spent years waiting for this conversation with Fritzsch; now that the time is almost upon me, suddenly I’m afraid I won’t be able to voice everything I need to say. As we progress through the middlegame and Fritzsch’s queen takes my bishop, he holds the captured piece between his fingers.

“You’ve done very little talking, 16671. I’m sure you didn’t come here to bore me.”

The words make me sit up straighter. I planned to keep quiet until our game progressed further, until I feel ready; now he’s tired of waiting. Fritzsch sets the bishop beside the other pieces he’s captured while I stay quiet, buying a few more precious seconds. When his thumb strokes the gun at his hip, I have no choice but to alter my strategy.

“You did it, didn’t you?”

Fritzsch wipes rainwater from the back of his hand. “With a question so vague, I’m afraid I can’t answer.”

I clench my jaw to contain the fury he always manages to produce in me. If this game is going to end how I want it to end, I need to maintain control. “The execution wall, 1941. They were political prisoners. You killed them, didn’t you?”