“Yes, mein Herr? ”
“When the light changes, I want you to drive to the middle of the next block and stop without pulling over.”
“In traffic, mein Herr? ”
“Yes. Just stop dead and let me out. I’ll leave my briefcase in the car. What I want you to do then is to drive on as soon as I step out and go to the address I gave you. Do you remember it?”
“Yes, mein Herr. ”
“Good. Wait there. I’ll pay you and there’ll be an extra hundred in it for you as well. Got that?”
The driver nodded solemnly.
“Good.”
The light changed and the driver did as instructed. The car behind them almost hit them as it slammed on its brakes and skidded to a halt. Richard stepped out and noticed that the taxi that had been tailing him also stopped in the ensuing traffic confusion. His taxi drove on and Richard walked calmly over to his tail. The passenger sat in nervous confusion, not knowing what to do. If he drove on, then he would lose his prey, but if he stayed put, stopped in the middle of the road, it was obvious what he was up to.
Richard opened the passenger door and slid in beside his colleague. His gun was out and he pointed it at the terrified man and asked, “Who are you working for?”
“Herr Traugutt! Please don’t shoot! I’m only following orders!”
“Whose?” Richard asked again with ice-cold anger.
The man looked at the gun and then at Richard’s angry visage. He could conceivably shoot, he looked that angry, and they both knew that more likely than not Richard would not be held accountable for shooting a pesky subordinate. Maybe a fine, maybe a few bribes to clear his record. “Schindler,” the young man admitted. Better to face his boss’s anger than this man’s unpredictable temper.
Schindler! If it was that weasel, then it wasn’t a promotion! “Let me see your papers,” Richard ordered.
The man reluctantly handed them over. Richard put them in his jacket, saying, “If you’re lying to me, I’ll have you shot. Now, tell me again, who are you working for?”
“Schindler. I swear!”
“Okay. Get out.” Richard gestured with his gun toward the door.
“My papers?” the man asked desperately.
“You can pick them up at my office tomorrow.”
“But, mein Herr! I need them.”
“I said, get out!”
The poor fellow stepped out of the taxi and remained standing in the middle of the road as Richard ordered the taxi to take him home. He glanced back and snickered at the lonely figure standing still as cars passed around him on both sides. Eventually it disappeared from view.
The little interlude had lifted his mood some, and by the time he reached his house, he was humming happily to himself. He recovered his briefcase and the flowers, paid both drivers, and scanned the neighborhood to see if he could find the hidden observer. There was nothing obvious, and he went inside looking forward to a good meal and a long discussion with his wife.
“Clearly your tail wasn’t very experienced,” Kasia observed as they discussed the day’s events after dinner.
“What makes you say that?”
“Well, you spotted him so quickly.”
“Hmm. Maybe I’m just good at spotting the bastards.”
“Seriously, Ryszard. It sounds to me like this guy was told to follow you at the last minute. That would mean that Schindler is tailing you because of the American.”
“I’m inclined to agree with you,” Ryszard admitted as he held Piotr by his arms so that he could practice standing. He bounced up and down gleefully on Ryszard’s legs and let a mass of milky substance drip from his mouth.
Kasia reached over and wiped the spittle from Piotr’s mouth with a little cloth that she carried continuously. She had taken to letting the child nap for long periods in the afternoon and stay up late into the evening so that Ryszard could spend some time with him after work. She enjoyed watching the two interact. “I think the American is up to something. There’s more to it than the arms shipments,” she guessed.
“What makes you say that?”
“Well, for one thing, he was picked up in Calais. Why was he brought all the way to Berlin?”
“Don’t know.”
“And he gave in too easily.”
“You think?”
“Yes. He’s up to something else, he’s protecting something to do with Schindler by giving up the shipments to you.”
“Could be, but how am I going to find out what?”
“Let him go and follow him,” Kasia suggested.
“Do you think it will be that easy?”
“From what you said, yes.”
“And if he heads toward Schindler’s territory?” Ryszard asked.
“We have a contact in London, make use of him.”
38
BOTHBARBARAANDPETER looked up from their work when the officer entered the store. He walked directly toward the back with a manner that suggested he was not interested in asking after a book on gardening. The customers who stood in the queue backed away, some deciding to abandon the shop altogether.
“Herr Jäger?”
“Yes,” Peter answered hesitantly.
The officer snapped open an identification and immediately snapped it shut again. “Your presence is requested at the district’s security headquarters.”
“Requested,” Peter repeated quietly to reassure himself.
“Yes. You will accompany me.”
Peter gave Barbara a quick glance; the blood had drained from her face. “Can you handle things here?” he asked.
She nodded slowly.
“Don’t worry,” he assured her as he kissed her good-bye,“I’m sure it’s nothing.”
The room was sufficiently nondescript that Peter could read nothing from its contents. A desk and chair, two other chairs facing the desk, bookshelves laden with files and loose papers. He had been offered a seat, and the officer who had escorted him had left him alone in the room.
He sat nervously waiting, not even bothering to check the door. He knew somebody was standing outside it and that it was pointless to try to leave. Ten minutes passed. He stopped drumming his fingers and tried rubbing his neck a bit. He stood up and paced the room, then reseated himself and began drumming his fingers again. His tongue wandered back to the tooth loaded with poison. It would be easy this time, he would not hesitate at all.
Another ten minutes passed. To pass the time, he was tempted to start nosing through the files, but he decided against such folly. With an effort he stopped drumming his fingers. He scratched through the material of his sleeve at the skin above and below the light cast he wore; underneath the cast it itched like hell, but there was nothing he could do about that. He pressed with his knuckles against the cast, but it was worthless. He stopped the useless scratching and began drumming his fingers again.
Finally the door behind him opened. He jumped up to greet whoever was entering.
“Sorry to have kept you waiting,” Ryszard apologized brusquely, “I was unavoidably detained.”
Containing his utter amazement, Peter nodded noncommittally.
Without offering his hand, Ryszard introduced himself, then said, “Have a seat,” and gestured toward the chair.
Peter seated himself uneasily. Ryszard perched himself on the edge of the desk and lit a cigarette. He offered Peter one, but Peter refused. Ryszard smoked quietly for a moment and surveyed his guest in silence. Peter felt his heart pound in his chest. Had Ryszard finally gone off the deep end? Or was there something so terrible and important going on that he felt it necessary to sacrifice his brother-in-law? One life for many?
Finally Ryszard spoke. “I’m sure you’re wondering why you are here.”
“Yes, mein Herr, ” Peter’s throat was dry and he cleared it.
“Ah, well, it seems we could use your help.”
“My help?” he repeated pointlessly. Helping police with their inquiries —wasn’t that the standard e
uphemism for being tortured?
“Yes, it seems the owner of your bookstore might be involved in an international drug-smuggling ring based in Göringstadt. We believe they use his stores as a way of moving the contraband throughout the Reich.”
Peter blanched. Normal police practice would be to automatically assume his guilt.
“We were wondering if you could help us in our inquiries,” Ryszard purred.
Would Ryszard see him killed without even letting him know why? He swallowed, then answered as any German would, “I am pleased to offer my full assistance, mein Herr. ”
Ryszard smiled. “Good, good.” Suddenly, he was all business. “Now, what we have determined so far, through the thorough investigations of my people back in Berlin, is that you and your wife are completely innocent of any involvement. Nevertheless, I’ll need to question you at length to determine if you’ve observed anything useful, perhaps without being aware of the significance. After that, I’ll need your active involvement in tracking these criminals down.”
“I see,” Peter sighed.
Ryszard paused and considered his surroundings. “This office is not very gemütlich , is it?”
“No.” Peter shook his head.“Not gemütlich .”
“Let’s go out and get some fresh air. I think if we take a walk, you’ll relax and be much more likely to remember useful information. It’s brisk but at least it’s not raining for once!”
“No, not raining,” Peter rasped. Only now was his heartbeat beginning to return to normal.
“And perhaps we’ll get a cup of coffee, or even a beer, somewhere,” Ryszard suggested jovially. “Would you like that?” he asked, almost as if treating a child.
“Yes, coffee,” Peter replied mechanically.
“Oh, yes,” Ryszard interrupted himself, “but first, I think you should telephone your wife and let her know that you’ll be home for dinner. We wouldn’t want her to worry, now would we?”
Peter nodded, then shook his head.“No, no.”
By the time they were walking along the street, Peter had recovered himself sufficiently to ask, “What the hell was that all about?”
“Ach, I need to speak with you.”
“Obviously.”
“Well, I can hardly waltz into your flat and say ‘howdy,’ ” Ryszard snapped.
“You could have made it clearer from the first that I wasn’t dead meat.”
“I thought I was clear.”
“You took your bloody time about it,” Peter replied angrily.
“Did I?” Ryszard asked, unperturbed.
Peter sighed heavily; had his brother-in-law lost all touch with reality? “So what’s up?”
“How’s Zosia?” Ryszard asked incongruously.
“How would I know? She doesn’t deign to communicate with my sort,” Peter replied bitterly.
Ryszard looked at him, somewhat confused, but did not pursue the issue.“Well, anyway,” he began awkwardly as he led the way into a cafó, “here’s what I know so far . . .” He described the encounter he had had with the American and the surveillance that had occurred shortly thereafter. “The agent was telling the truth, it was Schindler who stuck the tail on me. I gave him dire warnings about pulling any such stunt again, but frankly I didn’t get much information out of him. He claimed to know nothing about the American and said he had just had his man follow me in order to give his agent practice. Try as I might, I couldn’t cut through his crap, and since there was nothing I could threaten him with, I had to let it go at that.”
“Is this the Schindler that the Vogels knew?” Peter asked. “The one directing that sterilization project?”
“The same. Anyway, my people followed the American here. Actually, to a town called Lewes. The American stayed in a place called the Bull’s Head; he checked into a room, stayed a night, checked out, and left.”
“That’s it?”
“Yeah, flew to Geneva and presumably from there to the NAU.” Ryszard rubbed his chin. “Didn’t meet anyone, didn’t do anything.”
“Didn’t leave the room?”
“They say not.”
“Anything come in? Dinner, say?”
“No, he ate on the train and apparently nothing was exchanged.”
“Anything leave the room, anything at all?”
“He put his boots out to be polished, picked them up in the morning.”
“Ah, did your men go and check them out?”
“No, they were across the street, watching through the window, and they kept their distance.”
“Shows a lack of initiative.” Peter laughed.
“Initiative can get you shot. They followed orders and I wasn’t there to countermand them. I have to keep them on a tight leash since they aren’t ours.”
“What did the boots look like?”
Ryszard glanced around the room.“See those boots on that young fellow over there? That’s the style. Either somebody dropped something into the boots—”
“—or removed something from them,” Peter finished the thought. “But that’s not possible! Surely he was searched in Berlin?”
“They could have missed it.”
“Something that obvious?” Peter was nonplussed.
“You have no idea of the incompetence . . .” Ryszard trailed off. He was embarrassed that he had stupidly assumed that Spengler’s people had done an adequate job and so had not conducted an independent search.
“So you let the American go without questioning him?”
“My agents only managed to talk to me directly when the American was at the airport already. I had the border security pull him out of line and give him a full-body search.”
“The whole thing?”
“Everything, including the bend over and cough bit.” Ryszard snickered. “They didn’t find anything, so I believe that something was removed from the boots, rather than put into them. Beyond that, I didn’t have him detained. I didn’t want to stomp on him since he might be working for our side, or at least our allies.”
“What does Warszawa know about this?”
“Nothing so far. I’m on my own here. Until I get something concrete, the less they know the better.”
“So if you don’t ask, they can’t say no.”
“Something like that. Besides, the more people who know something, the more chances of betrayal.”
“Which raises the question . . . ,” Peter began.
“. . . what do you have to do with all this?” Ryszard lit another cigarette. “I think the American was being used, could be his people in America were as well. They might have thought they were working with the English Underground and therefore were able to get the American Security Service to turn a blind eye to whatever they were doing.”
“Agency.”
“Huh?”
“It’s the American Security Agency. If it were Service their acronym would be ASS.”
“Ass?”
“That’s the American spelling of arse.” Peter was enjoying himself; it felt good to be involved in something without being in danger. Exhilarating even.
Ryszard shook his head in confusion. “Anyway, I have to tread lightly. If I go in and arrest everybody at the inn, I’ll probably find out what’s going on, but if it’s Schindler, I’d have shown my hand for no good reason. I could hardly demand that he hand over whatever was exchanged; after all, we’re both on the same side and I’m in his territory.”
“And if the American really did meet up with the Underground—”
“—it’d be even worse for me to intervene. I’d blow their operation and cost them a few people.”
“Do you think it was one of Schindler’s agents working for the English? A double cross?”
“That’s possible, too. Whoever it was, my hands are tied until I know more.”
“And that’s where I fit in,” Peter guessed.
“Yes. I can’t stay here long. What I’d like is for you to go to Lewes. Check out this place personally, see if you c
an find out anything. Do you have any contacts there?”
“I don’t have any contacts anywhere,” Peter reminded him.
Ryszard laughed. “Oh, yes, the man without a past.”
They sat in silence for a few minutes. Ryszard hacked and coughed a bit, putout the cigarette he was smoking, and lit another. Peter sipped his coffee and stared out the window, thinking of his past.
“What’s the problem?” Ryszard asked.
Peter looked down at the table and scratched absently with his thumbnail at a coffee stain. “I want to ask you a favor,” he admitted reluctantly. He ignored the slight groan from Ryszard and explained how he had found his mother’s diaries and her mention of the Pure German movement and her tentative contacts with the English Underground.
“And you don’t know yet which one it was that got them arrested,” Ryszard guessed.
“No.”
“You know, the Underground might have turned them in to make you an orphan.”
“I thought about that, but that’s not their style.”
Ryszard snorted. “You’d be surprised by what people will do for their cause.”
“I’m already familiar with that phenomenon. Nevertheless, whether or not they’d think it was moral to french my parents, it was impractical. After all, they hadn’t said no to the proposition yet, and I still had three years of schooling to go through. Even if the Underground had wanted me that badly, they would have waited until I was fifteen rather than burdening themselves with a thirteen-year-old.”
“Fair point,” Ryszard agreed. “So, you want me to see what political information I can dig up from that office around that time?”
“If you can. I realize that it’s an unnecessary risk for what is nothing more than personal motives . . .”
“Not to mention against standing orders.” Ryszard laughed. He leaned back and blew a stream of smoke into the air. “As if I could ever be buggered to follow them.”
“So you’ll do it?”
“Didn’t the Council already look up these details for you?”
The Children's War Page 144