Page 115 of Code 6

The interrogator held a Hollerith card up to the light, allowing light to pass through the punched holes. “These little rectangular holes: they’re not positioned randomly, are they?”

“Punch-hole placement is by design,” he said smugly, as if pleased to show off his superior knowledge. “It delivers information.”

“About people?”

“It’s possible.”

“Let’s say the Nazis wanted to identify every person with a Jewish grandparent. They could search millions and millions of paper records. Months of work. Correct?”

“Years.”

“Or... they could transfer census data to punch cards like these, and let Hollerith machines sort the cards at—how many per hour?”

“Twenty-five thousand,” said Rottke, too proud of his company’s accomplishments to deny it.

“And if the Nazis wanted to know the street address of every man, woman, and child with Jewish blood, Hollerith cards could tell them.”

“A very basic design for a German engineer.”

“If the Nazis wanted a complete inventory of property taken from Jews, Hollerith cards could make such a list, no?”

The head of the “German engineers” had no answer.

“If the Nazis needed slave labor to build a wall around the Warsaw Ghetto, Hollerith cards could find Jewish masons. Right?”

Rottke offered only an angry glare.

“If the Nazis wanted every train to Auschwitz completely full and running on time, Hollerith cards could do that?”

“Hollerith cards are used by railways all over the world,” said Rottke, speaking with even more contempt.

“But for people stuffed in boxcars like cattle, their fate was in these cards, no?”

“I don’t understand what you are asking me.”

The Russian selected one of the Hollerith cards from the stack. “This card. Female. Twenty years of age. Student at university.”

“So?”

“This is what interests me about the cards we found. The coding might be different for age, sex, nationality, and such. But they all had one thing the same.”

He held the card so Rottke could see the punch hole, then continued. “Column thirty-four: Reason for Departure. All punched in same place: Code Six.”

The interrogator leaned closer, getting right in the prisoner’s face. “I want to know: What is Code Six?”

“I have no idea.”

“I wantyouto tell me!” he shouted.

Rottke tightened his jaw, refusing to answer.

The Russian grabbed him by the throat. “Tell me what is Code Six!”

Rottke groaned, his throat still in the interrogator’s grip.

“Louder!”

The Russian released his stranglehold. Rottke gasped for air and tried to speak.