The Gemini Agenda

by Michael McMenamin

  STURM returned to his apartment shortly before noon to take Ingrid to lunch. He told her what he found at the Brown House and about the appointment he arranged with Herr Doktor Verschuer for later that afternoon in Passau. All of which gave them the opportunity to enjoy a pleasant meal together. He took her to a large beer garden, the Löwenbräu-Keller, where they ate a light lunch of salzbrezeln in a quiet corner, safe in the anonymity of the crowd.

  Afterwards, they headed back toward his apartment in Munich to prepare for their trip to Passau. On the way, they neared Café Heck, one of Hitler’s favorite haunts. It was easy to see why Hitler spent so much time at the Café Heck as the luncheon crowd lingered over their steins at the tables spilling onto the sidewalk in the afternoon sun, greeting friends who passed by on the street. Sturm remembered the occasion a few years ago when Hitler had spotted him walking past the Café Heck and called out to him from his customary outside table, inviting him to join his luncheon party. He could see that table now, unoccupied for the moment, and he began to direct his eyes back to the street.

  As Sturm did so, he came to a sudden stop. Ingrid was not by his side. He looked back. and saw her standing beside one of the outdoor tables. She appeared to be talking to a café patron who had risen from his seat. He quickly walked to her and heard the patron speaking rapidly to her in German. Ingrid looked back at Sturm for help as it was clear she didn’t understand a word that was being said. As she did, Sturm chilled when he saw the patron’s face for the first time.

  Bruno Kordt

  58.

  I’m No Gentleman

  Hotel Continental

  Munich

  Tuesday, 31 May 1932

  SULLIVAN joined Mattie and Cockran in Churchill’s suite Tuesday morning for breakfast. It seemed to his eye that Sullivan had more mobility and was able to put more weight on his left foot than he had yesterday. His cane seemed different also. Slimmer than the one he had before. “New cane?” Cockran asked.

  Sullivan smiled. “Rolf found it for me. Dual purpose.” Cockran watched as Bobby grasped a metal band at the top of the cane and with his thumb and forefinger turned it a quarter-inch to the left. He flicked his wrist to the right and the cane dropped away to reveal a gleaming two-foot long stainless steel stabbing blade, its edges honed, its tip deadly. Cockran leaned down, picked up the cane and handed it back to Bobby who reinserted the sword into its sheath.

  Cockran shook his head. “I once read that sword canes were an indispensable part of a nineteenth-century gentleman’s wardrobe, but I’ve never seen one.”

  “I’m no gentleman,” Sullivan replied.

  No, you certainly are not, Cockran thought. And, right now, he was glad of it.

  Churchill arrived in a maroon silk dressing robe and Cockran spread out a map of the Bavarian National Forest. Sullivan had briefly advised them of the clinic’s location last night in the hotel’s dining room and now Cockran asked him to pinpoint the location on the map.

  Using a grease pencil, Sullivan had marked the location with a black X. “Ten miles due north of Passau is what Wenger told me,” Sullivan said as he ran his fingers along the map. “This is the only road leading out of Passau to the north. Give or take half a mile, it ought to be somewhere within this circle.” Sullivan then used the grease pencil again to draw a six-inch diameter circle around the X he had previously placed.

  Churchill stepped forward, put a cigar in his mouth and took the grease pencil from Sullivan. He then erased the X and the circle. “I believe we can be more precise than that,’ he said and proceeded to place a smaller X approximately an inch outside the circle Bobby had drawn. Then, he drew a small square around the X.

  “How can you be so sure?” Cockran asked.

  Churchill smiled and took his cigar from his mouth. “After we finished last night, I talked to the Prof and told him what Mr. Sullivan had discovered. This morning, the Prof placed a telephone call to a medical supply company in Regensburg and asked them when the last shipment of test tubes had been sent to Dr. Verschuer’s clinic near Passau. Two weeks ago he was told. The Prof said it never arrived; read the riot act to the man; and ordered more test tubes. Then, he had them repeat the address. The clinic is 18 kilometers outside of Passau on the Regensburg road.”

  “Great. But time’s running out. Only three days. So what’s next?” Mattie asked.

  “Reconnaissance,” Churchill replied. “I suggest Mr. Sullivan and his two colleagues travel by motorcar to Passau and check out the security up close. They should be back by early evening. The rest of us,” Churchill said, nodding to Mattie, “will head out to the aerodrome this afternoon for a flight to Passau where we will take aerial photos of the clinic. We’ll compare notes this evening and decide how best to effect a rescue.”

  Cockran shook his head in admiration. Winston didn’t waste time. “You chartered a plane this morning?”

  “No, my dear boy,” Churchill replied, “I delegated that to Randolph. And not one plane but two. I specified he engage autogiros like you used last year. Quite remarkable aircraft. I was most impressed by their versatility. Perfect for aerial photography with their open cockpits.”

  “Why two?”

  “Why not? I assume Mr. Hearst will cover the expense. You will pilot one of the aircraft and Detective Sergeant Rankin the other. Mattie and I will take photographs. What one of us might miss, the other hopefully will not.”

  “Rankin is here in Germany and not Inspector Thompson?” Mattie asked with surprise.

  Churchill paused, put his cigar down, and took a sip from his ever present weak scotch and soda. “Tommy is on holiday with his family at Beachycliff and Scotland Yard kindly offered the services of Sergeant Rankin to serve as my bodyguard in his place.”

  Cockran smiled. Robbie Rankin was a giant Scot, easily 6’ 4” with a flaming red beard and hair to match. He had been with them the year before in their pursuit of Mattie into the Austrian Alps and her subsequent rescue. Not only could he fly autogiros, but he was rated on multi-engine planes from his days flying Vickers bombers in the Great War. As a fellow Scot, he had a soft spot for Mattie and was as protective of her as he was his own sisters.

  Churchill continued, “There’s another reason as well for two aircraft. Verschuer’s clearly gone to a lot of trouble to keep his clinic’s location confidential. A single aircraft flying low and slow over the clinic might attract too much attention. Two aircraft, especially autogiros, are more likely to be considered a pleasure trip.”

  “And you’re determined to do this yourself? Take photographs?” Cockran asked.

  “Well, I could fly one of the aircraft myself and have Sergeant Rankin take the photos. I was once a seaplane pilot, you know. These autogiros don’t seem that difficult.”

  “Really, Winston?” Cockran said. “When was the last time you flew an airplane?”

  “1913,” Churchill replied. “But it’s no different than riding a horse. Once you get the hang of it, you never forget.”

  Cockran chuckled and looked over at Mattie who gave him a knowing smile. They both knew that in the dictionary, right under the word “irrepressible,” was a smiling photograph of Winston Churchill.

  59.

  The Other Man Was You

  Café Heck

  Munich

  Tuesday, 31 May 1932

  GOOD afternoon, Kurt,” Bruno said. “Under most circumstances, I would be happy to see you. But these are not ordinary circumstances.”

  No, they were not, Sturm thought. This was no chance encounter on the street.

  “I see you’ve colored your hair, Frau Waterman,” Bruno continued in German, confirming Sturm’s suspicion. “It does nothing to hide your beauty, but much to disguise your identity. Your German, however, could stand some improvement. Am I right?” Bruno took in Ingrid’s uncomprehending stare and continued. “But of course I’m right.”

  “That’s enough, Bruno.”

  Sturm had been careful to hide Ingrid when he was not w
ith her so Bruno must have followed Sturm without his mentor spotting him. That was disconcerting. But Bruno did not intend to kill at this point. He had something else in mind. Bruno wanted to talk.

  “If you have something to say, speak to me. Leave the woman alone.”

  “She is safe for the moment,” Bruno said. “You have my word.”

  Sturm turned to Ingrid. “Go to the apartment, lock yourself in and wait for me.”

  “Why? What is happening? Who is this man? Why are you so tense?”

  “Please. Do as I say. I’ll explain later.”

  Ingrid released his hand, reluctantly, and continued down the street to his apartment.

  Sturm watched her leave and then turned to join Bruno at the table. He caught the waiter’s attention and ordered a coffee. Then he waited for Bruno to break the silence.

  “I still can’t believe it was you,” Bruno said at last. “I wanted to be wrong.”

  Sturm’s coffee arrived and he took a sip.

  Bruno took a long pull on his cigarette and exhaled. “Why are you doing this?”

  “I do not believe in killing innocent women. There is no honor in such an act.”

  Bruno laughed. “You mean to say you haven’t killed innocent people?”

  “Killing is never clean,” Sturm said. “Sometimes good people die, I accept that — but that does not mean they were innocent. Ingrid Johansson is innocent.”

  “Innocent? She was fucking another man, betraying her marriage vows.”

  “Germany is not a Moslem country. Adultery does not deserve a death sentence.”

  “The other man was you.”

  “Even less of a crime,” Sturm said with a smile. “Ask Juliette.”

  “You expect me to believe that you’re not in love with her?”

  “Yes, I do” Sturm said. “But I do not expect you to understand.” He paused and took another sip. “My aim was to spare her life, yet keep both you and me in Geneva’s good grace.”

  “And make me look like a fool for my failures,” Bruno countered.

  “If necessary, yes,” Sturm said. “You have only yourself to blame for being deceived. In truth, however, I deflected most of the blame from you onto Manhattan.”

  “I must kill her,” Bruno said. “Otherwise, Geneva will never make me your successor.” Bruno put his free hand down, his cigarette still in the other. “I must kill Manhattan’s wife.”

  “You can try. But you will have to kill me first.”

  “I know.”

  Sturm couldn’t help but smile again. His hair was darker and he was slightly shorter, but Bruno reminded Sturm of himself years ago. Willing to do whatever must be done no matter how personally troubling. And he could see plainly on Bruno’s face how troubling it was for his young protégé. He felt a twinge of regret. He was the very man Sturm had trained him to be.

  “Who else knows about this?”

  “No one,” Bruno said. “I kept these suspicions to myself.”

  “Why?”

  “You are my friend, Kurt,” Bruno said quietly, “and my mentor. I owe you that much.”

  “You owe me nothing.”

  “I owe you a fair chance. I don’t want to kill you, but I will. I won’t reveal your treachery until after you are dead. If, by chance, I don’t survive, I won’t have deprived Geneva of your services. I know you will keep working for what we both believe just as I will.”

  They said nothing for a while. Finally, Bruno broke the silence.

  “If you and Frau Waterman leave Munich, you have my word of honor that I will neither follow nor monitor you for the next twenty-four hours. Those are my terms.”

  “I accept.” Sturm said and stood up, extending his hand. Bruno took it and the two friends shook hands. For the last time, Sturm thought. Once he rescued Ingrid’s brother and sister and left all three safely in Vienna, he would return and kill his protégé, his friend. If he did not, Bruno would one day succeed and Ingrid would die.

  STURM stood outside the door to his bedroom and listened. He could hear Ingrid crying inside. He knocked softly and spoke in English.

  “Ingrid? It’s Kurt.”

  There was no answer from inside, only more crying.

  “Ingrid? I’m coming in.”

  Sturm unlocked the door and pushed it in slowly. He saw her lying on the bed, his Luger on the floor. She looked up when he stepped in the room, got up from the bed and ran to him.

  He held her tightly against his chest as she cried. “Don’t worry, you’re safe now,” he said, cradling her head in his hands. “He’s not going to harm you. I will not let him harm you.”

  Ingrid pushed back from him suddenly, furiously flailing her hands at his chest, then slapping at his face. “You’re a liar! A liar! You’ve been lying to me this whole time!

  Who are you?!” she demanded in a loud voice. Then, more softly, “Who are you?”

  He took hold of her hands. “Listen to me and I will tell you,” he said calmly. “Please. We don’t have much time.”

  Still angry, she broke her hands free, and she sat down. “You lied to me.”

  “I did not lie to you,” Sturm said. “But I did not tell you the entire truth.”

  “Who was that man? Why did he speak to you like that?”

  “He is an agent of mine,” Sturm said, honestly.

  “He’s a killer, isn’t he? Just like you,” she said. “You’re not an executive assistant to a major industrialist. Tell me the truth.”

  “I am the executive assistant to Fritz von Thyssen,” Sturm said quickly before Ingrid could object, “but that is not my primary work. I am an assassin. That man is my protege.”

  “And now he’s trying to kill me?”

  “Yes,” Sturm said. “That’s his job.”

  “Then why didn’t he try to kill me just now?”

  “That’s difficult to explain.”

  “Try me.”

  “I am his mentor,” Sturm said. “And his friend. As a courtesy, he warned me that he’s discovered I am hiding you and that next time, he would not be coming to talk.”

  “Why does he want me dead?”

  Sturm took a moment before answering. “Because your husband hired both of us to kill you. And I could not let that happen. By sabotaging his operation against you in Hamburg, I have placed myself directly in his path to you. He knows he must kill me if he is to complete his mission. But I will not allow that to happen. I promise you.”

  Ingrid took the news quietly. She tried to look away, but Sturm reached out to her.

  “I am sorry I deceived you,” Sturm said. “I lead a life of necessity, not preference. I do not take great pride in what I do. It is not the unambiguous heroism of a soldier but the duty amounts to the same thing. I am involved in a secret fight for the future of Germany. It requires me to do unpleasant things. I could not be sure you would understand. I do not know even now if you understand but I hope you understand at least one thing. I will not let that man harm you.”

  Ingrid nodded, too tired to argue anymore. “I believe you,” she said, wiping the tears from her cheeks. “I don’t know how German women do things here, but in America, we don’t tolerate secrets from our lovers. No more, understand?”

  American or not, the statement was naïve in the extreme. Lovers always kept secrets from each other. But that was not what a woman whose life was in danger needed to hear. If he were to keep her safe, she had to believe in him. “Of course,” he said.

  “What next?”

  “I keep my promise. We find your brother and your sister.”

  60.

  A Fine Day to Fly

  Passau, Germany

  Tuesday, 31 May, 1932

  THE 90 minute flight from Munich over to Passau was uneventful. It was a fine day to fly with sunshine and fleecy cumulus clouds high above them. At Winston’s suggestion, the autogiros would make two, and only two, passes. The first pass would be at 500 feet at a slow speed, fifty kilometers an hour. After the firs
t pass, they would fly due north fifteen minutes and then head back. The second pass would be at two hundred feet but even slower, no more than thirty-five kilometers per hour. Churchill and Mattie would use a telephoto lens for the first pass and a standard lens for the second.

  Once they reached Passau, the autogiros banked left and followed the Danube River north. Off to their right was the two lane highway which wound through the Bavarian National Forest on its way to Regensburg. They had flown from Munich at an altitude of 1000 feet but once they were ten minutes outside of Passau, Cockran descended to 500 feet and began to scan the terrain below looking for a clearing. 15 minutes later, they found it.

  “Robbie, up ahead at ten o’clock” Cockran said into the two-way radio which connected the autogiros. “I think that’s what we’re looking for.”

  Rankin agreed and, as they passed over the clinic the first time, Cockran could see it was truly isolated. Except for a few scattered cottages, it was the only substantial man-made structure they had encountered since passing over Passau. It was a large triangular compound, probably a good five acres all told, inside of which was a low whitewashed building in the form of a large H and a smaller adjacent building which resembled a barracks. The triangle of the perimeter was formed by a high fence with coiled barbed wire on top. There were watchtowers at two of the three corners of the triangle — the two corners facing in the direction of the highway — and a large gate between them. There was no watchtower in the rear at the third point of the triangle, facing the forest. A long winding dirt road extended from the gate approximately a half a mile to the highway. Neither the fence, the gates nor the whitewashed structures would be visible from the highway.

  On the second pass, Cockran could see Mattie snapping pictures rapidly. The autogiros were much lower now, flying side by side only two hundred feet from the ground, and he could see something which had escaped his notice in the higher pass. Half-way down the entrance road and not visible from the highway was a swinging gate manned by two sentries in black SS uniforms, submachine guns slung over their shoulders.