Blood Eagle

by Craig Russell

  ‘So much for your peaceful, gentle religion,’ said Maria.

  ‘And Christians used to burn heretics and so-called witches at the stake,’ said Janssen, with a cold smile and a glance at Maria’s blouse. ‘Like every philosophy or religion, Asatru is open to abuse. I really have no idea whether the rumours about this sect were true, or if indeed they have any connection to the crime you’re investigating. I’m just trying to be helpful.’

  ‘And you have been, Herr Janssen,’ said Fabel with a meaningful look in Maria’s direction. ‘Very helpful. Was there any mention of where this “foreigner” might have come from?’

  Janssen shook his head. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Or where this group held their meetings?’

  ‘No. I’m afraid not. They were supposed to be very secretive.’

  ‘Thanks again for your help,’ Fabel said and extended his hand to Janssen.

  Janssen made a big deal of coming around his counter and showing them out. ‘Anytime,’ he said. He held the door open for them both, his smile reserved exclusively for Maria.

  They had taken Maria’s car and were parked around the corner. She beeped off the car alarm and Fabel paused, his hand resting on the door handle and looking over the roof at Maria.

  ‘What?’ she said, defensively.

  Fabel smiled. ‘You don’t like Herr Janssen very much … do you?’

  Maria feigned a shudder, grimaced and made an uurgh sound.

  ‘Such a pity,’ Fabel said getting into the car, ‘I rather think he had a thing for you.’

  Maria didn’t switch on the engine immediately. Her face was thoughtful and her gaze unfocused.

  ‘It’s weird, isn’t it?’

  ‘What?’ asked Fabel.

  ‘The way people are always reaching out for something. And sometimes that something is as scary as hell.’

  ‘You mean the breakaway group Janssen was talking about? The fringe element’s fringe element?’

  ‘Yeah. Do you think Janssen really believes all of that Asatru crap? Or the people carrying out these rapes? Do they feel they have some religious justification?’

  Fabel pursed his lips. ‘I doubt it, Maria. Not on any meaningful level, that is. As for Janssen … maybe. As you say, there are so many people clutching at moral straws, trying to give shape and meaning to their lives. It’s a dark and lonely universe otherwise.’

  Maria started the engine and pulled out into the traffic.

  Friday 20 June, 12.00 p.m. Polizeipräsidium, Hamburg.

  Norbert Eitel’s secretary’s sole mission seemed to be to prevent the outside world from having any contact with her boss. She eventually put Fabel’s call through, but only after he threatened to arrive unannounced with a team of officers and arrest anyone who obstructed them.

  ‘Yes, Herr Kriminalhauptkommissar …’ Norbert Eitel sounded distracted, as if he were reading something of much more importance while he spoke to Fabel. ‘What is it I can do for you?’

  ‘I would very much like to come and talk to you … and to your father, should he be available at the same time.’

  ‘May I ask in regard to what?’

  ‘I understand you knew Angelika Blüm?’

  ‘Oh … yes … a terrible, terrible thing. But how can we help?’ Fabel could tell he now had Eitel’s full attention.

  ‘Background mainly.’

  ‘But my father didn’t know Angelika. I think they only met once and very briefly … I can’t see what use he can be.’

  ‘Well I think we’re better discussing this when we meet. Could you make time at two-thirty this afternoon?’

  ‘Well … I suppose so, but I can’t speak for my father. He does not work in this business. He has his own interests.’

  ‘That’s fine, Herr Eitel. If your father can’t make it, we can arrange for a car to pick him up and bring him down to the Präsidium … I wouldn’t want to inconvenience him.’

  Eitel’s voice turned cold and hard in the face of the threat. ‘I’ll see what I can do,’ he said, and hung up.

  Fabel arranged lunch for everyone to be delivered to the Mordkommission from the canteen. He was keen for Anna to go through her briefing for the MacSwain operation the following evening. Anna had made only a few changes from her initial proposal. She had asked for two extra officers to work on the surveillance team, boosting its number to ten, not including herself. Fabel approved of the added security and suspected that Paul Lindemann had insisted on it. As Fabel had hoped, Anna had chosen Paul to lead the back-up teams. There would be two officers inside the club; the other eight would be split between five vehicles. The main vehicle would be a panel van that would house two heavily armed MEK officers, Paul and Maria, as well as the electronic equipment to listen in on Anna’s wire. The van would operate as the command centre, monitoring activity and issuing instructions to the rest of the team. There would be two team members on motorcycles, allowing them to match MacSwain’s Porsche for speed, and two cars, each with a Mord-kommission officer. Altogether, it meant that MacSwain’s tail could continually change to avoid suspicion, and if he put a foot wrong, he would be swamped by police officers within seconds. As Van Heiden had already pointed out, it was an expensive operation to launch based on Fabel’s hunch and Anna’s on-the-spot improvisation. This was as secure an operation as Fabel could justify a budget for.

  After the briefing, Fabel called Anna, Paul, Werner and Maria into his office. He told them about the meeting with the Eitels that afternoon and asked if both Maria and Werner would come along.

  ‘I want to outnumber them … or at least match their numbers,’ said Fabel when asked why. ‘There are two of them and I suspect they will have at least one lawyer present. I just want to make our presence felt.’

  Fabel had the Klugmann murder weapon and the full report back from Brauner. He updated everyone on the background to the gun and what Hansi Kraus had said about the shooters. Fabel invited opinions.

  ‘Looks to me like we were meant to find the gun,’ volunteered Maria, ‘and Kraus screwed things up by being there and picking it up first. Someone wanted us to think that it was a Ukrainian hit.’

  ‘But they would have known that it looked contrived,’ said Fabel.

  ‘That’s only because we have someone who overheard them and can identify that they were German,’ said Werner. ‘If we didn’t have that we could have read the deliberate leaving behind of the gun as some kind of message … a claim of responsibility.’ He frowned. ‘There’s something odd going on with Hansi Kraus, Chef.

  ‘I got a full statement from him last night and we went through some of the photo files. Then I took him to the canteen for something to eat. I don’t know what the hell got into him but all of a sudden he said he had to go. I asked him what the hurry was but he didn’t say anything that made any sense. He promised to come back in today, but I said he’d have to stay a little longer to check through some more mug-shots. I sat him down at a table and went up to the counter – when I came back he was gone. That’s when you tried to get a hold of me … I was running around trying to find him.’

  ‘But you got his statement?’ asked Fabel. Werner confirmed that he had. ‘I wouldn’t worry about him taking off, Werner. He has a habit to feed and, when I last saw him, he was looking particularly ropy. We’ll pick him up if he doesn’t come in.’ Fabel turned to Maria. ‘Did you get the information I asked for on the Eitels?’

  Maria handed Fabel a folder she had brought with her. ‘Eitel senior is not a pleasant piece to research. My notes are all in there, but to summarise … Wolfgang Eitel is seventy-nine years old. He is originally from the Passau region of Oberbayern. He was a member of the Hitler Youth until 1942 when he enlisted in the SS. Like most SS swine, he seems to suffer from selective amnesia, but the records, as far as they can be trusted, show that he started as an SS Untersturmführer – a second lieutenant – and was a Hauptsturmführer – a captain – at his time of arrest by the Allies.’

  Fabel slipped out
a black-and-white photograph of an arrogant young man, no older than twenty-one but trying to affect the look of someone more authoritative. He was wearing an SS uniform. Fabel had expected to see the double-lightning-bolt Ss on the collar. Suddenly Fabel remembered that, had they been there, he would again have been looking at an ancient Germanic rune. The Sigrunen – the ancient rune for victory – had been appropriated by the Nazis and used as the double-S insignia of the Schutzstaffel. But they were absent in this photograph. Instead Eitel’s right collar patch was of a white lion rampant against a black background. Fabel turned the photograph to Maria. ‘What does this insignia mean?’

  Maria smiled broadly. ‘Now that takes us into interesting territory. I have no doubt that this is coincidental, but that is the insignia of the Fourteenth Waffen-Grenadier Division der SS. Also known as the Division-Galizien – the Galician Division. And as you know, Galicia was the historical region that encompasses part of modern Ukraine. The Galician Division of the SS was made up of Ukrainians who saw it as a way of liberating their country from Stalin.’

  ‘Ukrainian men but mostly German officers.’

  ‘Exactly. And Eitel was one of them. After its defeat at the battle of …’ Maria paused and consulted her notes – ‘Brody, the division made its way back to Austria. It was there that Eitel surrendered to the Allies, desperate to stay out of Soviet hands. After the war he was imprisoned for four years. He began Eitel Importing in Munich in 1956 and was a multi-millionaire by the mid-sixties. His late wife was from Hamburg and he moved his headquarters here in seventy-two. He helped his son set up the Eitel Media Group and sold Eitel Importing to the Group ten years ago. That allowed him to concentrate on his “political” career. He established the BDD – the Bund Deutschland-für-Deutsche – in 1979. It didn’t make much of a mark until the fall of the Wall and the Wende. Even then its support was weak and sporadic. In short, a nasty piece of work.’

  Fabel stared at Maria as if studying her would help him to process the information she had supplied. Then he said: ‘It’s odd the number of times a Ukrainian connection comes up in this case.’

  ‘This time, as I said, it’s more than likely just coincidental,’ said Maria.

  Fabel shrugged. ‘I suppose so.’ He paused. ‘What about the son – Norbert?’

  ‘A tabloid publisher with political ambitions. He studied at Hamburg and Heidelberg and set up SCHAU MAL! with his father’s support, including financial help. Through acquisition and growth the Eitel Group is involved in all forms of communication media, including the Internet …’

  ‘That’s why they’ll use someone like MacSwain,’ Werner interrupted.

  Maria continued. ‘The Group also has interests in tabloid publishing in the Netherlands, Poland and the Czech Republic. As well as media, there is a property-management business and a small-scale development company. Added to all of that is the import-export business Norbert bought from his father. Politically, his stance is right of centre. Way right of centre. But he stands as an independent. He obviously realises affiliation with the BDD would be a liability. He insists he is no neo-Nazi or extreme-rightist. But his platform is primarily anti-immigration and pro law and order. He is married to some aristo. Martha Von Berg.’

  ‘Any relation to Jürgen Von Berg, the city senator?’ asked Fabel.

  ‘Don’t know, Chef. I do know she’s kept her name and he went around for a time calling himself Norbert Von Berg Eitel. But he dropped that. The price of including his wife’s aristocratic name meant he was seen as adopting the trendy new custom of more liberal German men of combining their names with their wives’. It didn’t fit with the traditionalist image. He also had a reputation for womanising, which he has done much to play down.’

  Fabel rubbed his chin. ‘Nice people.’ He looked at his watch. ‘I think it’s time we paid them a visit.’

  Friday 20 June, 2.30 p.m. Neustadt, Hamburg.

  The Eitel Media Group had its offices in a burnished steel and glass commercial monolith in the heart of the Neustadt’s business district. Fabel had an interest in good architecture; which meant he had no interest in this building. It was a soulless, corporate box that was finished with expensive fittings but had all the character of a hotel lobby. The uniformed commissionaire, who manned the reception desk on the ground floor, guided Fabel and his entourage to the elevators.

  The first two floors of the building were occupied by the editorial offices of SCHAU MAL!, the third by TVEspresso, a weekly television guide published by the Eitel Group. The fourth floor was designated Communications Department. The floor above was devoted to the Group’s corporate and administrative offices. This was where Norbert Eitel had his suite.

  A middle-aged woman with a severe expression was waiting as the lift doors opened onto a large open-plan office. Fabel guessed this was the person with whom he had crossed swords on the phone. Her face suggested that she was not used to having her authority outflanked.

  ‘You are here to see Herr Eitel?’

  Fabel flashed his oval KriPo disk. ‘I’m Hauptkommissar Fabel.’

  She examined the others with a studied and pompous disdain, which was instantly punctured by Werner’s laughter.

  ‘Follow me,’ she said grudgingly.

  Fabel, Werner and Maria were shown to a cheerless reception bay at the far side of the office, a shore on which broke the babble of voices from the sea of desks. After ten minutes they were summoned into a glass-fronted meeting room by the stone-faced secretary.

  Norbert Eitel entered the room a minute later. Jacketless, he had his shirt sleeves folded clear of his wrists and his tie had been loosened. He smiled a polite smile but his body language was one of a man with more important things to do. He held open the door for a tall, lean, aristocratic-looking older man with a crest of thick, ivory hair that had refused to retreat from its hairline of sixty years before. Fabel recognised the older man as the SS officer in the photograph, except now he had fully achieved the authoritative maturity that he had sought so hard to project as an arrogant youth. Eitel senior was followed by a man of middle height in his late thirties.

  ‘Good day, Herr Hauptkommissar Fabel,’ said Norbert Eitel. ‘This is my father, Wolfgang Eitel.’ Eitel senior extended his hand and gave a sharp nod of his head. Fabel almost expected to hear heels clicking. ‘And this is Wilfried Waalkes, our head of legal affairs.’

  Fabel and Maria exchanged smiles. The lawyer. Fabel introduced Werner and Maria. Fabel studied the lawyer for a moment. Waalkes was a Frisian name, but the lawyer’s ‘Guten Tag’ was in a geographically indistinct Hochdeutsch.

  ‘What can I do to help you?’ said Norbert Eitel, a wave of his hand indicating that they should all take a seat around the oval conference table. Before Fabel could answer he added: ‘Can I get you anything? Coffee … tea?’

  ‘We’re fine, thanks.’ Fabel answered for everyone. The lawyer and Eitel senior took their places. ‘We would like to ask you about Angelika Blüm. Could you tell me what kind of relationship you had with her, personally and professionally?’

  ‘Personally, not much … professionally none. To be frank, Angelika would look down her nose at our publications. She considered herself to be in a different league.’

  ‘And you don’t agree with her assessment?’

  Norbert Eitel laughed. ‘I had a very high regard for Angelika’s abilities. But I also happen to consider our titles as a quality market offering. My main contact with Angelika was through trade events and mutual friends. We were acquainted.’

  ‘And you, Herr Eitel?’ Maria addressed Eitel senior. ‘What contact did you have with Frau Blüm?’

  Wolfgang Eitel tilted his head back and regarded Maria down his aquiline nose. ‘None. Well, we met just the once, at the Altona Krone … that would be a couple of weeks ago.’

  ‘But I dare say she was not particularly popular with either of you …’ Maria left the thought hanging.

  ‘I don’t understand …’ Norbert Eitel employed the
geniality of his features in a confused smile while his father remained expressionless.

  ‘Frau Blüm was about to publish a story alleging you were engaged in property speculation that involved foreign interests.’ Maria kept an even, authoritative tone as she spoke. Fabel stared hard at Norbert Eitel, determined not to show any surprise at Maria’s bluff. Eitel’s smile showed no sign of shifting and its endurance, in itself, made it seem fake. Maria had hit the mark. But it was Norbert’s father who spoke.

  ‘Herr Hauptkommissar Fabel, we were not aware that Frau Blüm intended running any kind of story on either my son or myself. It is true that we have property interests. It is true that we do business with other nations. My own career was based on importing and exporting. If Frau Blüm was about to run a story about us then not only were we totally unaware of it, I can assure you we have no idea what the grounds for such a story would be.’

  Fabel changed tack. ‘I believe you served in the Ostfront during the war. You commanded Ukrainians, didn’t you?’

  A spark became a flame that became a raging dark fire in Wolfgang Eitel’s eyes. But nothing of it leaked out into his voice, his expression, his movements.

  ‘I really don’t see what that has to do with anything, Herr Hauptkommissar …’ Fabel felt as if he were looking in through a metre of lead glass into the heart of a nuclear reactor: witnessing something uniquely powerful and deadly, but contained.

  ‘It’s just that the Ukraine has featured so prominently in our investigation.’ It was true; but how would Eitel interpret it? Fabel paused, inviting him to comment.