The Conduct of Major Maxim

by Gavin Lyall

  "Mind you, " George said abruptly, "that certificate must be sheer balls because he'd have to use his roadname on it. Not Eismark at all."

  Agnes sipped and shrugged. "They did the best they could in the circumstances. It showed willing."

  "It also showed the baby was started before the marriage. Is there any leverage in that?"

  "No, not even in the GDR. It wasn't adultery, he Did The Right Thing by a girl who had only months to live, Hitler's hounds baying at their heels… They weep over muck like that on their side, too. "

  George nodded. "The baby was only five months, still in arms.-Why didn't he get killed, too?"

  "A good question, and one widely asked in East Germany, I imagine. Manfred's a big boy now and a full colonel in the SSD. Old Gustavmay still have some old-time socialist ideals about the rights of man, but the general feeling is that Manfred would have done well on the faculty at Belsen. "

  "So I'd heard. But anyway, that's all she had to say?"

  "That's only onepage of what she said. There's at least another thirty about life in the GDR in the fifties, how they treat musicians, how she brought up baby Manfred while Gustav wasoff in Moscow learning to run a shipyard and getting booster shots of dialectical materialism. It read as if having to play auntie instead of Schumann first gave her the idea of coming over – Here's our hunter home from the hill. "

  The junior hall porter was guiding Maxim through the crowd by the bar. George waved and Maxim was released tomake the last few yards by himself. He sat down beside Agnes, who said: "Don't wriggle or you'll collapse a hundred years of military history."

  "How is he?" George demanded.

  "Better than I expected. He's tough."

  "And talkative, I trust?"

  "I think I've got everything, at last. "

  "What is it?"

  "I didn't say I'd got anything, but -"

  "Harry…"

  "Let him say his piece," Agnes said.

  "We know Blagg picked up the money and the car keys. Now he says he also took a batch of papers and a bit of film, negative film. He thought the papers were all death certificates or copies; he remembers a word like Sterbeurkunde-"

  "Thatis death certificate," Agnes said.

  "It was when I learned German, too. "

  "Children, children," George said warningly. "Go on, Harry."

  "About thirty or forty of them, all from April 1945. Seems a bit odd, but… All this was mixed up with the newspapers and the money. Something thatwasn't there was a magazine she'd asked him to get: a back copy of a thing called Focus on Germany. It's a sort of goodwill thing that Bonn puts out for the Allied forces; it doesn't outsell Playboy. He just pinched it from the Services Liaison Officer's files in Soltau. I've got the date."

  "Fine, fine," George said. "But you've got all the rest?"

  "No, it's--"

  "For God's sake -"

  "He left it with a woman in Germany."

  After a time, Agnes said thoughtfully: "That boy's no fool, keeping a nice big ace in the hole in case Six won't play ball. No fool at all."

  His mother abandoned him before he could crawl, " Maxim said. "He didn't quite grow up with a happy trusting nature like you and George."

  'Quite," George said. "But is he prepared to trust you now?"

  "I've got her name and address. "

  "Good. Well, we give her to Six. It's all we can do, and perhaps we'll really finally be out of it."

  "Hold on, " Agnes warned; she had been watching Maxim's expression. "Something tells me it isn't going to be that easy. "

  Maxim flashed his quick defensive smile. "Blagg told her not to hand them over to anybody but himself or somebody with a letter from him. I've got the letter. It names me as the messenger boy."

  There was a moment of silence, then George erupted. "Youarranged that. We had our chance to get Number 10clear of this whole… wholecatastrophe, but not you, no, you want a front seat for the opening night of Armageddon, you do…"

  "I didn't arrange it, but I didn't dodge it," Maxim said doggedly. "Blagg just doesn't trust Six any more. They screwed him at least once and he knows it. And so do you. "

  A member, passing with both hands full of glasses, stopped suddenly. "George! We hardly ever see you. Do tell, how's the Prime Ministerreally?"

  "Dead, if he's got any sense," George snapped.

  The member stiffened, then edged away in a fading mumble: "Well, I suppose things must be rather trying for you, what with…"

  George's short tempers were at least short. Suddenly he was Organisation Man, and Agnes could see why politicans liked having him around. "All right, you be in Germany tomorrow some time. You'll need some money. I'll ask Sir Bruce to send a signal to Rhine Army and then you tell him what you want: a room somewhere, I'll leave that to you. Don't go armed, for God's sake. And I'll have to tell Six. They'll probably get somebody to contact you over there and you just hand over the material and come quietly home without blowing any bridges behind you. If you think you can manage that, we'll get over to Number 10and start the wheels turning. "

  Chapter 16

  Hannover station was like a greenhouse and bustling with tanned young men and women hunchbacked by huge colourful rucksacks. Maxim had an hour and a half to wait for a train to Osnabrück, and half changed his mind about hiring a car, but that meant lots of signatures, and might be difficult to hand back if he flew home on a trooping flight from RAFGütersloh. So he made a couple of phone calls to Osnabrück-he found he'd been given a room with an Engineer regiment -then sipped a lager until train time.

  With the flat, disciplined North German plain rattling past, he suddenly remembered when he had first been posted to Germany how surprised and even unnerved he had been to find that all the buildings seemed familiar. It had been a couple of days before it dawned on him: they were the full-size versions of the houses and station buildings he and his father had made up for their never-quite-fmished model railway layout. Like the locos and the rolling stock, the best plastic building kits – Arnolds and Heljans and Rikos – all came from West Germany and were based on West German originals. But for Maxim it was still the other way around: the landscape beyond the train window wasjust for show; secretly he knew those buildings were merefaçades, without interior floors, furniture or live people.

  The only person he'd told about his odd vision had been Jenny, and she had laughed delightedly and understood.

  Prom the station he took a taxi straight to Blumenthalstrasse. He knew Osnabrückfairly well, as he knew most towns inist British Corps area, although he'd never been stationed there. It had taken a bad beating from the RAF and been widely rebuilt, much of it as copies of the original high-pitchedmedieval buildings. They looked phoney, but only because they looked new; once they had cracked and weathered and slumped a little, nobody would ever credit that they mightjust as well have been built as concrete and glass shoe-boxes.

  The Blumenthalstrasse address turned out to be one of the shoeboxes, a five-storey block of flats with the staircase and lift-shaft stuck on at the side of a column of frosted-glass bricks. Maxim pressed the entryphone bell for Winkelmannand waited until a man's voice rasped:"Biffe?"

  Speaking rather rusty German, Maxim said carefully: "I am Harry Maxim. I rang Fraulein Winkelmannfrom Hannover. I have a message from Corporal Ron Blagg."

  "Ja, ja. I remember. It is the third floor."

  Maxim looked round at his taxi-driver, who had parked two wheels on the pavement with the usual German disregard for the tyres, and got a nod and a rather strange smile in return. Then the driver hunched down with a magazine, the door buzzed open and Maxim went in.

  A man was waiting in the doorway of the Winkelmann flat; he was shortish, stubby, strong-looking and probably around forty. He had a face that was both sensuous and battered – his nose had been broken at some time – with deep pouches under his dark eyes. He smiled widely and held out a hand, but the way he looked Maxim over gave him a little pang of disquiet. He fel
t that if he'd been wearing a gun, this man would have known.

  "I am Bruno. Please come in. "

  The scent was the first thing: it was like walking into a peach-canning factory. The furniture came with the smell: soft, shiny, billowy and over-decorated like great banks of flowers; the little lampshades around the walls were all tassels and fringes, the ornaments were fiddly coloured glass and the not-quite-velvet curtains draped artistically and bound with golden cords. It was a very feminine room if you happened to like your femininity in ton lots.

  Oh damn it, Maxim thought. I know what professionshe's in, and no wonder that taxi driver was giving me the big smirk. But I should have guessed: what other sort of woman with a permanent address would Blagg know?

  Bruno wasoffering him a sticky-looking liqueur from a tall thin bottle. Maxim smiled and shook his head. I know what businessyou're in, too, mate, and I shouldn't wonder if the conversation came around to money before long.

  After the room, Fraulein Winkelmannherself was hardly a surprise. Built like one of her own sofas, topped with crisp golden curls, she had big blue eyes, a vivid red mouth and three chins to do the work of one. The unexpected thing was that she made no attempt to hide her age, which was around sixty. Instead, she made up to it, becoming a perfectly painted and exquisitely detailed matron in a fur-trimmed green satin housecoat. She let Maxim hold her hand for a moment, then swept regally past and merged herself carefully with one of the big chairs.

  "It is very warm," she said in English, fluttering at the air with a Japanese fan. Bruno handed her a glass. "You are not drinking?"

  "Not at the moment. "

  "Have you come all the way from England? How is dear Ronald?"

  "He's fine." Maxim sat carefully on the least-soft chair he could find. Bruno stayed standing, watching him with a small fixed smile.

  "And you have a letter from him?" Her English had an unmistakable accent, but flowed easily. And why not? – the British Army had been in Osnabrücksince 1945.

  Maxim offered the sealed envelope, Bruno took it, broke it open and passed it to her. She blinked at it, said: "Ah yes," and gave it to Bruno to read properly.

  Halfway through the letter, Bruno said in German: "Ah, he is a major in their Army," and then smiled hastily at Maxim because he had forgotten they had been speaking German earlier. Fraulein Winkelmannjustnodded pleasantly.

  Bruno read the letter twice, then folded it up, licking his lips as if uncertain how to begin. "Corporal Blagg is… quite all right?"

  "Oh yes."

  "But you have come instead."

  "He can't get away at the moment."

  "He is not… in trouble?"

  Maxim shrugged and waved at the letter. "What does he say?"

  "Yes, yes. What did he say to you?"

  "Just that Fraulein Winkelmann waskeeping some papers for him."

  "Has he said what papers?"

  Maxim looked curiously at Bruno, using the time to mask his own indecision. He didn't want to sound too eager and knowledgeable, but Bruno wouldn't believe him as a country bumpkin. "Some photographic negatives and a collection of certificates. " When Bruno didn't say anything, Maxim turned to Fraulein Winkelmann."Do you still have these things?"

  "I let Bruno do all my business work. " She surged upright.

  "Business?"

  "I will leave you." She touched Maxim's hand and went away.

  Bruno indicated the bottle. "You are sure you do not…?"

  Maxim just looked stolid. Bruno squared his shoulders inside his tight-fitting shirt. "What photographs were those?"

  "Some very small ones." Maxim hoped it sounded as if he were hiding something more than the fact that Blagg hadn't been able to tell what they were.

  Bruno licked his lips. "There is a problem with the certificates."

  "Really?"

  "They are Sterbeurkunden, certificates of death, and they are from the Standesamtof Bad Schwarzendorn."

  Maxim went on looking stolid.

  "The night that Corporal Blagg brought them here, the Standesbeamteat Bad Schwarzendorn – he was killed. " Maxim still didn't react. Bruno licked his lips again. "There was also a woman killed."

  "Really? Can I have the negatives and the certificates now, please?"

  "I think you do not see the problem -"

  "Just get them, please."

  "They are, naturally, in the bank. But -"

  "I see." Maxim got up and walked through the inner door.

  Beyond, the muttering of a TV set led him to another door. Fraulein Winkelmann wassitting at one end of a small kitchen table, separated from a big colour set at the other end by a cup of coffee and a plate of cream cakes. She snatchedoffapair of gold-rimmed glasses and looked up at Maxim with myopic surprise.

  When in doubt, à l'outrance-and a good lie or two, as well."Fraulein, I understand from Bruno that you are prepared to swear to a document that Corporal Blagg brought you some death certificates on the night when Herr Hochhauser -"(thank God he had remembered the name) "- the Standesbeamtefrom Bad Schwarzendorn wasmurdered. I am sorry that I had to deceive you just now; I am from the Military Police Special Investigation Branch." He held out his ID; it showed nothing of what unit or corps he belonged to. "The Staatsen-walt at Paderborn would like to have thosedeath certificates. If I can give them to him, then perhaps he will leave you out of all this. I cannot promise, of course; we are dealing with a murder. And Corporal Blagg is in a lot of trouble. But if he cannot show you have the papers any longer, then he cannot prove he was here on the night of the murder. But I have no authority here; I have to go through the police."

  She stood up slowly, taking time to understand – if she ever did understand it, which was more than he did himself. He was just firing a smokescreen of emotive words and phrases. But she was just about to say something when her eyes moved and something touched the middle of his back. It didn't feel particularly like a gun, but with Bruno it would have to be.

  Maxim lifted his arms carefully and sighed. "Bruno? " A hand began feeling at him in the places he might carry a gun, so Maxim said to Fraulein Winkelmann:"It would be complicated if he shoots me. I have come from London to see you, a lot of people know that, and I have a taxi waiting outside withm y luggage in it." Bruno had taken his wallet; now he snorted. Maxim went on: "Take a look outside. A grey Mercedes, parked on the pavement about twenty metres up the road. He won't go away until he's been paid. And what are you going to do with my body, Fraulein? Cut it up in thebath – that's the best place – and then what? – eat me? It would take a long -"

  She suddenly started screeching at Bruno, so abruptly that Maxim felt a jab in his spine and knew he'd come very close to being shot. But then the pressure from the gun went away, and very carefully he twisted his head around and saw Bruno clutching a worn old Lugerby his waist, shaking it with impatience as he waited for Fraulein Winkelmannto stop yelling.

  Maxim couldn't catch half of what she was saying, but it seemed mostly on his side. Bruno turned and stalked out of the room, then came back and pointed the Lugerat Maxim once more and said Yes, there was a taxi waiting. Fraulein Winkelmanntold him for the Good God's sake to get the papersfast, and Bruno went away and came back and pointed the Lugeryet again. It was a farce, a terrible play, but still a real play because these two were acting out a charade of fright and face-saving and if he did anything to break the illusion that they were still taking decisions for themselves then he was going to get himself shot.

  But finally he had an envelope of papers in one hand and his wallet in the other and Bruno was clutching a wad of Deutschmarksand challenging Maxim with a twisted leer to say something aboutthat. That was part of the play, too, to give Bruno a final victory but not an easy or total victory because that would be unrealistic. He tried.

  "Blagg said he'd promised the Frauleinsome money. But you can't take all of it."

  "How much money?"

  "He said 300 marks." Blagg had said 250.

  "Then I take 400.
" Maxim knew he'd had about 650 in the wallet. Bruno handed him the difference, note by note, grinning. Then he swatted himself across the nose with the 400, and walked out jauntily. They waited until the front door of the flat slammed.

  Fraulein Winkelmannsat down again, staring at the TV. There was a zooming motor race on and Maxim simply hadn't even heard it until then.

  "You are not very brave," she said.

  "I paid 400 marks not to get shot. It seemed worth it to me. Did he give me all the papers?"

  "I expect so. Now he will drink your money and come back and beat me."

  "Do you know where he hides the gun? I could… make it so that it will not shoot, but he won't know until he tries."

  "I don't care. Now he sniffs cocaine, too. Let him shoot somebody and the police can have him." She started eating a cream cake.

  Maxim fingered the envelope of certificates: there seemed to be a lot of them. "Did he do anything with these? Copy them? – anything?"

  "I don't know. He could have done anything. "

  Maxim put 100 marks on the table; it was all he could afford, with the taxi meter ticking over. "I don't want anybody to get into trouble. So if you remember anything, call me at the Allenby barracks. I shall have some more money when I've changed some travellers' cheques."

  "I take them," she said, startling him. But why not? And why not credit cards? – no, he couldn't quite see American Express listing her.

  "Major Maxim," he reminded her.

  "At the Engineers barracks. " She scooped in the money and he let himself out.

  Chapter 17

  The barracks known as Allenby – though not to the locals -were pre-1939Wehrmachtbuildings, very solid and spacious but a little worn by now. Looking round his room, Maxim realised how spoiled he had become by married quarters and flats. Here there was no soap, no towel, no water-glass or coat-hangers, not even the traditional ashtray made out of a tin lid. Just the plain furniture from Accommodation Stores and a prominent list of what that should comprise. Somebody had pinched the 'Bin, Waste Paper, Metal… i'