The Accomplice

by Joseph Kanon

Otto drew himself up, an admiral again.

  “And you knew this?”

  “Yes.”

  “He made you do this?”

  “The Israelis will kill you if you don’t get away. There’s no choice. Now sit. Calm down.”

  “You did this,” Otto said to Aaron. “Assassin. Why didn’t you die in the gas? How did you escape? One of the capos must have—” He stopped, losing the thread, waiting for his thought to catch up.

  Hanna looked at him, her eyes darting, dismayed.

  “I was making it easier for you,” Otto said, a plea. “Don’t you understand that?” And then he blinked, back on the boat, taking Aaron in, and ran toward him, knocking him back against the control panel.

  “Stop!” Hanna yelled, backing out of the way.

  Aaron felt the hands on his throat, holding the chain on Fritz. Suddenly tighter. Not even another second. Now. He punched at Otto’s bullet wound, hearing the scream of pain tear out of the boat and over the water. Otto doubled over, holding his side.

  “Stop! Now. I’ll shoot,” Hanna said, a gun in her hand.

  Aaron and Otto went still, both staring at her.

  “What are you doing?” Aaron said quietly.

  “What has to be done. You said to bring it. You were right. I need it.”

  “What for?”

  “You didn’t think I could let you do this, did you? Put him on trial. Put me on trial. Go through that all over again. Never an end. He’s dead once, let him stay dead.” She lowered her voice. “He’s my father. The same blood.”

  “That’s right,” Otto said. “German blood.”

  “Oh, German,” she said, her voice weary. “Again with that. It never ends. Not here. Not in Madrid.”

  “Blood doesn’t mean anything,” Aaron said.

  “Then why do you look at me like that? You think I’m weak?” she said to Otto. “No. Strong. Like you.”

  She raised the gun. Aaron felt a tingling in his hands, some fragment of reflex to hold them up, but they stayed at his sides, locked in place, his whole body unable to move.

  The sound exploded in his ear, booming on the water. He waited for the thud in his chest, the searing pain that would knock him over, but it was Otto who was pitching forward, mouth open in surprise, crashing down onto the deck in a heap. The boat rocked back and forth, then steadied, but Hanna’s shoulders kept moving, the winding mechanism finally snapping.

  “My god,” she said, still shaking, dropping the hand with the gun to her side.

  Aaron looked at her, too startled to speak.

  “Is he dead?” she said finally.

  Aaron stooped down and turned Otto over, checking his neck for a pulse. “Yes.”

  “So now I’ve done this. What kind of person does this? My god.”

  “Hanna—” he said, getting up, turning to her, but she was shaking her head, shoulders still heaving. She drew a breath, some audible sign of control.

  “Take off the life jacket. We don’t want him to float.”

  “What?”

  “The life jacket.” She looked up. “Help me. Do you think this is easy for me?”

  He nodded to the gun, still in her hand. “Were you planning to do this?”

  “No. Yes. I don’t know. He kept talking. Talking. That’s what it’s like now. Imagine in court.” She looked up. “I couldn’t. So he’s killed by his own child. Can you think of anything worse? Is that enough revenge for you? To be killed by your own?” Her voice breaking now. She looked down at the gun, surprised to see it, then lifted her hand and tossed it over the side, the splash like a starting sound, bringing her back. “Help me. Check his pockets.”

  “You can’t just—”

  “What? Put him in the water? Why not? He’s dead.”

  “They’ll find him. The body.”

  “No, the currents will take him. And if they do, who do they find? Otto Schramm died two years ago. The police say so. Everybody says so. So who is this?”

  She knelt, taking papers out of his breast pocket and tearing them, then tossing them into the water.

  “You have to help me with him. He’s too heavy for me.”

  Aaron looked down at Otto’s face, gray and inert, his mouth still open in surprise. What had he seen at the end? Hanna with a gun or some phantom in his mind, still tracking him all the way from Poland, finally here.

  “I’ll take his feet,” Hanna said, the words waking him, tapping him on the shoulder.

  He hooked his arms under Otto’s and lifted him from behind. “Put his legs over.”

  And then the body was sliding, Otto’s weight doing the work, Aaron spreading his legs apart to steady the boat as he heaved, waiting for the splash, oddly muffled, the water closing over the gray head.

  Hanna stood for a minute looking at the water, until the ripples had gone.

  “I don’t know why I feel so bad. Somebody had to do it. You wanted to make a spectacle, show everybody how crazy he was.”

  “I never—”

  “So somebody had to. You could see that tonight—he wasn’t himself anymore. It’s just—you don’t expect to feel like this. You put a dog down. It’s time. It’s better for him. For everybody. But it’s your dog.” She turned to Aaron. “He was good to me. But he did those things. How do you make sense of that? How do you live with that?” Her mouth turned up, a wry gesture. “And now look. I didn’t think I could do it. And then, when I had the gun, it wasn’t hard. So, the father’s daughter.”

  “You’re not—”

  “I saw your face and I knew. You thought I would do it. Kill you. Like him. Another Nazi. You change your name and you’re still Otto Schramm’s daughter. The same blood.” She stopped, reminded of something, suddenly practical. “We have to clean up. Is there blood?”

  “I’ll look.”

  “We should get the boat back before anyone sees it’s gone.”

  “What about Markus?”

  “Well, Markus,” she said, thinking out loud. “The Israelis. He’ll believe that—he’s afraid of them.”

  “And Julio? He worked for—”

  “More Israelis. And now a case for the police. He won’t want to go near that. Was anyone there besides you and my father?”

  “No.”

  “Then no one knows.”

  “Except you.”

  She looked down, nodding to the water where Otto had disappeared.

  “Or you with him. So that’s useful.” She stopped, looking away. “Isn’t that what we do? Use each other.”

  “No.”

  “And now more lies. Worse.”

  “I didn’t want this to happen.”

  “No? I did. And now he’s dead and I’m still his daughter.”

  “The trial would have—”

  “Oh, the famous trial. With all the world watching. And after? You think it would be over? For you?” She shook her head. “You think you’re him. That boy. The one he kept seeing.”

  “Max’s son.”

  “Yes, him. You think you’re him. But he’s dead.”

  “So we just forget about him?”

  “I don’t know. The way he died—what would be enough for that? But this business—you found my father, but look what you did to do it. Now what, another Otto? Then another? So many others.”

  “Otto was different.”

  “Maybe not.” She looked at the water. “Or maybe it just seemed that way to me. My father. So now what?” She turned to face him. “Would you do something for me?”

  He waited.

  “Talk to Jamie.”

  “What?”

  “I can’t stay here now,” she said, moving her hand toward the water. “It’s finished for me. Markus, whatever I say to him, he’ll be suspicious. It’s better to go.”

  “Back to New York?” he said, not following.

  “No. You gave me an idea.”

  “Me?”

  “I can’t get rid of the name, who I am, so where would I be welcome? Not here anymore. Not G
ermany. But Otto Schramm’s daughter would be welcome in Madrid. Perón always liked him. And the others? A new face. And if I work for Jamie, I’m protected. Markus wouldn’t dare make trouble for me. Or your Israelis. I’d be safe. Jamie wanted my father, but he gets something better. I’m a woman. I can do things my father couldn’t do.”

  “Sleep with someone.”

  “If I have to. I’m easy. You ought to know.”

  “Hanna—”

  “All you have to do is be nice to me. Don’t look so shocked. Madrid’s not bad. For once I’d be doing the right thing. Helping Uncle Sam. We’d be on the same side.”

  “No, we wouldn’t.”

  “But we never have been, have we?”

  He stared at her for a second, then took her by the shoulders. “You don’t mean this. I won’t—”

  “Oh, and what? Save me for a better life? With you? It’s too late for that. He ruined that for me too. I killed him but he’s still in my head. And yours now. You’d only make it worse. Just seeing you. Both of us knowing. This way, sometimes I’ll forget.” She moved away from his hands, turning to the control knob to increase their speed, heading back to the club. “If you really want to help me, talk to Jamie. Soon.”

  “What do I say about this? He thinks Otto’s alive.”

  “Because you did. But you were wrong. Otto died two years ago. You’ve been chasing a ghost.”

  * * *

  Nathan was waiting at the marina, leaning against one of the dock lights, smoking, his head shining under the lamp. When Hanna steered the boat in and cut the engine, he moved toward them slowly, tossing the cigarette into the water, a forced casualness.

  “Good trip?” he said.

  “You’ve been waiting all this time?”

  Nathan shrugged. “Nobody leaves a car out in Buenos Aires. They disappear. So I figured you’d be back.” He nodded to Hanna. “You’re quite a driver. Boats too?” He turned to Aaron. “Where is he?”

  “He’s dead.” Aaron looked over at him. “I wanted to do it. For Max.”

  Hanna turned to him, staring.

  “You shouldn’t have done that. People think they know what they’re doing and they make a mess of it.”

  “I didn’t. He’s gone. In the water.”

  “Bodies wash up.”

  “John Does. Otto’s already dead.”

  “They’re going to think we did it. All his pals.”

  “Then you get your message out anyway.”

  Nathan looked at Hanna. “And you?”

  “She was lucky to get away,” Aaron said. “When you snatched him. She thought you’d take her too, but you only wanted Otto, so she got away. In the car. It’s Bildener’s car.” He looked at her. “You’ll need something to tell him when you take it back. You don’t know where they took Otto. You can only imagine the worst. What you’ve always been afraid of. And now you’re frightened to stay here. Who’s next? Can you do it?”

  She nodded, her eyes on him.

  Nathan looked at both of them, assessing, trying to piece this together, then turned to Hanna. “You’d better get going, then. It’s late.” He jerked his thumb toward Aaron. “I assume you disappeared when we snatched Otto? Or are you one of us?”

  “You don’t want any trouble with the Americans,” Aaron said. “You threw me out of the car. I had to walk to the airport to get a cab home. But I saw you. Your face. So the sooner I get out of Buenos Aires the better.”

  “OK,” Nathan said. “Someday tell me another story. The one that explains you,” he said to Hanna.

  “I would like to hear that one. That explains me.” She waited a minute. “Tell me something. Would you have killed him?”

  “In a heartbeat,” Nathan said, his voice even.

  “Then maybe it’s better. He always thought Max would get him. This is the way it made sense to him.” She looked at her watch. “I’ll cover the boat. Carlos will never know.”

  She began to snap the tarp into place. Aaron had turned to help, but Nathan touched his arm, drawing him away, head close, private.

  “Don’t do that again. I thought something had happened to you.”

  “It was personal. For Max.”

  “There’s no room for personal—”

  “What’s the difference? Somebody was going to do it.”

  “The difference is, now there’s a witness.”

  “She’s not—”

  “Don’t be an idiot. A roll in the hay and you think she’s—? She’s his daughter. She’s a witness.”

  Aaron looked at him, alarmed, Hanna now in Nathan’s crosshairs, the hunt never over.

  “Don’t go near her,” he said flatly.

  “I’ve got the others to think about. Something starts unraveling and—”

  “She works for us. The Agency. Leave it.”

  Nathan stopped. “You want to explain that to me?”

  “Some other time. Right now, I just want to get out of here.”

  Nathan looked up at him. “Your first time?”

  Aaron said nothing.

  “You need anything cleaned up? Goldfarb’s good at that.”

  Aaron shook his head. “It’s done. He’s gone.”

  Nathan was quiet for a moment. “It’s not easy. You think it’s going to be—” He took a breath. “But then it gets better. And you make them afraid. Every day they think, Is this the day? The day they come for me? It’s not justice, but it’s something.” He took out a cigarette and lit it. “Not everybody can do this work. It takes a certain—”

  “What?”

  Nathan looked at him, not answering for a second, as if he was thinking this over. “Outrage, I think,” he said finally. “A sense of outrage. That people help them. Hide them. Somebody went into business with Mengele when he was here. Somebody protected him in Paraguay. Now they say Brazil, but who knows? Only the protectors. And these are people who have seen what it was like. All the pictures. The corpses. In piles. And still they protect them. So, what do you think, do you have this outrage?”

  “Why? Are you trying to recruit me?”

  “Recruit you? You’re already in it. You killed a man. I thought, at first—but I was wrong. You found him. You acted. Max would have been proud.”

  “No. It’s not what he wanted.”

  “Max had no life. He ate soup every night alone, reading those files. Over and over. To catch a few guards. You caught Otto.”

  “But he got away. For good. He’ll never answer now.”

  “So he answered to you.”

  Aaron looked down to the marina. “In a way.”

  “Don’t beat yourself up. You’ll feel better tomorrow.”

  “Do you? Every time you do it? Just curious.”

  Nathan met his eyes, then looked away, toward the boats.

  “You don’t want to start anything there. She’s a witness.”

  “Let me worry about that.”

  “Good. Worry. Keep your eyes open. And when any of this makes sense, let me know. Meanwhile, you’d better say good-bye to Buenos Aires. Go sort out the files.”

  “You can have the files. I’m out. I don’t want to feel better the next day. What does that make me? Like them, maybe.”

  “Then who does it?”

  “I don’t know. Somebody tough.” Looking at him.

  “You want to know something? The first time, I threw up.”

  Aaron smiled. “But you got over it.”

  “So will you.” Nathan hesitated. “It’s something you don’t walk away from. Not now. There are other people to consider.” Staring at him. “You’re a witness too.”

  Aaron stared back, seeing the rest of it, the door closing, everything that didn’t need to be said.

  “Here’s your girlfriend.”

  She was coming down the marina walkway, shoes clicking on the planks, the dock light behind her.

  “That should do it,” she said. “Did you work things out? Am I free to go?” Brisk, the sarcasm a kind of poke.

/>   Nathan, surprised, waved his arm in a maître d’ gesture.

  “Walk me to the car,” she said to Aaron.

  He followed her up the short flight of steps to the parking lot, dark, only a few security lights left on, a pale patch at the back of her neck, the first thing he had noticed.

  “So thank you for that,” she said when they were out of earshot. “You didn’t have to say you did it.”

  “I know. He’d never understand it. This way—”

  “You’re protecting me again. You like that.”

  “We both did it. I started. You just—finished it.”

  She looked at him again. “Your accomplice. Or maybe you were mine. Isn’t it funny. After everything, all the lies—” She put her hand up to the side of his face. “Still. From that first night. At the Alvear.” Her hand stopped. “If it means anything to you, I wish it had been different. That we’d both been—somebody else.”

  “But we weren’t.”

  No,” she said, dropping the hand. “So here we are.” She looked up, eyes fixing on his.

  “It’s not too late,” he said, wanting to stick out his hand, to catch something.

  “Shh,” she said, hushing a child. “Do you know what I think, though? I’m the last. So that’s something. You’ll be like him now.” She nodded to Nathan. “Chasing Ottos. And missing—”

  “Missing what?” he said quietly, stung, the words stopping his breathing.

  She looked away. “But maybe I’m just imagining it. People do, when it’s over. The love of my life. Like a song. And was it?”

  “Was it?”

  She leaned up and kissed him on the cheek. “Let’s pretend it was. So what do you think?” she said, a wry cheerfulness. “Will Perón tell me his secrets?” Her voice low with the old intimacy, speaking a language only they knew, and he looked at her, light-headed, suddenly feeling it slip away, the only thing that had ever happened to him, irretrievable, gone.

  He nodded, trying to find the same voice. “Anybody would.”

  She hesitated for a second, then she smiled, a last smile, and got in the car.

  “What was that all about?” Nathan said, at his side.

  “Good-bye,” Aaron said, watching her drive away, her voice still in his head.

  “She looks like him. Imagine looking at him every day. After you—” He stopped. “Come on, let’s get you packed. Somebody’s going to start missing Fritz soon and you don’t want to be around to answer any questions.” In charge, taking care of his team.