The Lucy Ghosts

by Eddy Shah

  They drove in from the west, on the 243 through Gunzerode, and along the cracked road that led past the IFA Motorenwerk where they once made bicycles and now were being upgraded to motorbikes. It was nearly five in the evening when they finally reached the centre of Nordhausen.

  The car rattled along, crossing the myriad narrow gauge loco tracks that ran between the factories lining the route. Three sets of lights later, they came into the town centre, a wide boulevard that sloped up a hill with the shops and offices set back from the pavement. There was the usual panoply of McDonald's and other American fast food imports mixed with the traditional shops.

  'Can we get a hamburger or a pizza?' asked a famished Billie.

  'At the hotel. We'll be there soon.' It was a decision he was later to regret.

  Adam pulled up and climbed out of the Audi Quattro to ask the way. Unlike their counterparts, East Germans had little opportunity to speak English and showed even less interest in remedying the situation. It took Adam nearly five minutes to find someone who could direct him to the Kurhotel in Yorckstrasse.

  He drove back the way he had come and turned right just before the IFA Motorenwerk. Nine blocks down there, in the middle of the mass of square slabbed, drab yellow-and-green workers' apartments, he turned into Yorckstrasse. The Kurhotel was on the next block, a 1950's five-storey tower of glass and unpainted concrete that had once been the pride of East German architecture.

  The receptionist, fat, well fed and dismissive of all before her, followed in the tradition of her countrymen and spoke little English. It suited Adam not to reply in German and he gesticulated wildly as he tried to make her understand. Eventually, after she had been joined by two others whose grasp of the English language was as poor as hers, they booked in to two rooms.

  'Why two rooms?' asked Billie as they waited for the slow moving lift to ascend to the third floor.

  'It's safer.'

  'Who for?'

  'For both of us. If somebody comes after us, then we've always got cover.'

  'Bullshit,' she remarked and punched him in the arm as he grinned.

  Their rooms were next to each other and identical. Shabby exercises in spartan comfort, designed to keep you out of the room and in the hotel lounge.

  'I don't believe these beds,' groaned Billie, throwing her case on hers and seeing a cloud of dust rising from it. It was a single, narrow affair with a wafer thin mattress that sagged in the middle and was covered by a brown woolen blanket that had probably been there since the hotel was built. She looked round the room, furnished only with a small table, a steel chair with a plastic seat and a chest of drawers with a Formica top. The wardrobe was a hole in the wall with no door and a metal bar stretched across it.

  She went next door to Adam who was hanging up his few belongings in his hole in the wall.

  'Is this what they call European hospitality?' she asked.

  'No. European culture.'

  'I can't stay here. It's worse than that place in New Orleans.'

  'It's all we've got.'

  'Shit!' she swore, sitting on the chair. 'You really know how to treat a girl, tough guy.'

  'Listen, this is luxury to some of the places I've dossed down in.'

  'Dossed?'

  'It means just as it sounds. You can't live much rougher.'

  'I don't suppose they have room service?'

  'Another filthy capitalist habit.'

  'I'm hungry.'

  'Then let's eat.'

  The food was as bad as they expected. Sausages and sauerkraut with brown bread. It was the traditional fare and they had agreed it might be something worth trying.

  'We could've had a pizza in town,' she reminded him. 'I've decided I'm not always going to follow you from now on.'

  When they returned to reception there was no one on duty. Adam quickly crossed to the desk, leant behind it and pulled up the register. He flicked it open and searched through it.

  'Look out!' warned Billie, seeing a movement from the room behind.

  Adam put the book back and stepped away from the counter as the fat receptionist came out to the counter.

  'Bitte?'

  Adam smiled, shook his head to signify he wanted nothing, took Billie's arm and pushed her towards the lift.

  'Well?' she asked once the door had closed on them.

  'Floor above us. 416.'

  'So you were right.' She felt the tingle of excitement. 'You were right. You were fucking right.' She punched his arm in a show of victory. 'You found him, tough guy. Let's go get him.'

  'Not yet. He's out.'

  'How'd you know?'

  'Key was hanging up in reception.'

  'You don't miss much, do you?'

  It was eight p.m. when Adam saw Goodenache coming up Yorckstrasse. He was wearing an overcoat and leant forward to protect himself against the biting wind. He limped just as Adam remembered. He was also weaving and Adam realised he’d been drinking. Goodenache entered the hotel, but Adam didn't leave his post, waited for almost five minutes to make sure no-one was following. Then he and Billie climbed to the next floor and walked down the corridor to Room 416.

  When he was sure that they were alone, Adam knocked on the door.

  'Bitte?' he heard the scientist ask from inside.

  'Police,' he answered.

  There was silence for a moment, then he heard the safety chain being withdrawn and the door opened slightly. Goodenache reacted quickly as he recognised Adam, and tried to close the door again. But Adam had his foot against the frame. He pushed hard, too hard for the scientist to resist.

  'What do you want?' shouted a frightened Goodenache as the two of them came into the room. 'You have no jurisdiction here.'

  'We're here to help, Mr Goodenache,' said Adam, closing the door behind him. 'Nothing else. You could be in danger.' He could smell the drink; it had obviously been a heavy session.

  Goodenache watched them, not knowing in his befuddled state what to do.

  'Just relax, Mr Goodenache,' Billie said from behind Adam. Maybe a woman wouldn't present such a threat, wouldn't panic the man. Her training in Dissemination would be of help now. 'I'm an American. Adam here is British. We were assigned to protect your friend, Mr Trimmler. We simply want to find out what happened. And to help. If you need it.

  As she spoke she crossed past Adam and put her arm on Goodenache's. 'We really are here to help,' she comforted him

  'Who else knows I am here?'

  'Nobody. As far as I can be sure.'

  'Your people. They will know.'

  'Not yet.'

  He pulled away from her and sat on the edge of the bed. 'How did you find me?'

  'The authorities traced you to Frankfurt, sir,' interjected Adam.

  'So where are they?'

  'Still looking for you.'

  'I don't understand. Why are you both here? How did you know...?'

  Billy held her hand up to interrupt him. ‘Adam overheard the conversation between you and Mr Trimmler.'

  'Which conversation?'

  'In your hotel bedroom,' interjected Adam, then continued, lying as he did so. 'My room was next door. It was pure chance, nothing else.'

  'You were spying on us?'

  'No.'

  'Don't insult my intelligence. People don't just hear conversations in hotel rooms.'

  'Okay. I wanted to hear you. Not spying. Just curiosity. Hell, I was meant to be looking after him and then you both start talking in the room next to mine. So, I listened. I heard you talk about this hotel. About Nordhausen. When Mr Trimmler was murdered, and you vanished, I thought this was where you might head for.'

  'So you just followed me? The two of you.'

  'The answer to Mr Trimmler's death had to be with you?'

  'Why?'

  'Because of the Lucy Ghosts.'

  Stunned silence. Goodenache was frantically sobering up.

  'By now, both the Americans and the Russians will be trying to discover who the Lucy Ghosts are,' Billie t
ook over. 'We've been out of touch for a few days now. They could already have the answers.'

  'So why you? I don't understand why you should come alone?'

  'Because someone was trying to set me up. As Trimmler's killer,' said Adam.

  'Why?'

  'I have no idea. I just know I was being set up.'

  'You're British?'

  'Yes. On special assignment. To guard Trimmler.'

  'Why not an American?'

  'Because they had a problem with their computer. They wanted somebody who wasn't listed on it.'

  'Ah!' Goodenache suddenly smiled, and Adam understood why.

  'You knew all about the computer, didn't you?'

  'You knew about the virus,' Billie backed him up.

  'I know of your problems. Yes,' Goodenache replied.

  'Why?' she asked.

  'I don't know,' he said, suddenly shutting them out.

  'Look, I need to find out what's going on.' Adam changed the subject.'

  'IYou’re not my problem.'

  'Trimmler wasn't mine. But I'm in a hole because I tried to protect him. And he was your friend. You owe me that.'

  'I owe nothing.'

  'Do you know why he was killed?'

  'No.'

  'Do you know who by?'

  'I've said, I don't know.'

  'Okay. Then let me tell you.' Adam took out a cigarette and offered one to Goodenache, who took it. When they had both lit up he told the scientist about the harrowing experience with Fruit Juice, about the deadly games that were played in New Orleans and culminated with Trimmler's death.

  'None of it makes sense,' Goodenache said finally. 'It's unreal.'

  'It's real. It happened. You know what they did with his arms. It's real, alright.'

  'Why is she, an American, with you?'

  'Because we're lovers,' stated Billie. 'And I don't want him to take the rap for something he didn't do.'

  Goodenache put his head in his hands, exasperated. 'I don't understand. I don't understand.' When he looked up there were tears in his eyes. 'It's awful. That they should kill Heinrich? Like that? With his arms like a... What kind of people are they?'

  'We were hoping you would tell us.'

  'I don't know. Why do you think I came here?'

  'In case you were next?'

  Goodenache nodded.

  'If we're to help, we need to know who,' asserted Adam.

  'The Israelis. Who else?'

  'I don't get it.'

  'Because of the Lucy Ghosts. Because it's all coming out. Because they have waited for this moment.'

  'Tell us,' said Billie. 'About them.'

  'It's a society. From the War. Some of them with...things to hide.'

  'War criminals,' said Adam.

  'No!' snapped Goodenache. 'Some, maybe some. But not all. It was war. We did as we were told.'

  'Where are these Germans?' asked Billie, quiet of tone to soothe Goodenache. She looked at Adam angrily. He shrugged and moved away, left it to her.

  'Everywhere. In Russia. In America. Africa. Even in Germany. We have been waiting for nearly fifty years.'

  'For what?'

  'To come back. Why else would we wait? I thought you were smart.' He tapped his forehead as he spoke, 'Now Germany is one, it's finally time to come home. Don't you understand? But we can't. Because the bloody Jews are waiting to take their revenge on us. I was a scientist. There are doctors and nurses and clerks and all types. Many have long since died. Not war criminals. Yes, some of us belonged to the Party. But only so we could do our work. The Lucy Ghost ring is there to bring us back to Germany.'

  'Who runs it?'

  'Not one person. Many. Many, since the War ended.'

  'Including Grob Mitzer?'

  'Yes,' he said sadly. 'Grob was the most important. He kept it together all these years, when others lost faith.'

  'But he had the knowledge?'

  'More. Much more. There's knowledge and there's wisdom. Grob had the wisdom. The rest of us just had knowledge. Who do you think introduced the virus into your computer? His people. That's how brilliant he was.'

  'But why?'

  'To wipe out our past. Can you imagine what would have happened if Heinrich and the others had wanted to leave America and come home? How long before they would have been branded as Nazis, with all their war records published in the newspapers? Can you not see the dangers for us? People have no idea of what was really hidden from the public after the War. There were few records kept, and those were transferred on to tape by the Americans years ago. All the sensitive OSS archive was on the computer.'

  'And you wiped everything out just to camouflage the truth?'

  'It went wrong. The virus could only be triggered off when someone wanted classified information on our files. Not mine, but on those involved in the Paperclip Conspiracy.'

  'The what?' asked Adam.

  'Paperclip Conspiracy,' Billy answered him. 'That's what the operation became known as. The one bringing the German rocket people out covertly after the War.'

  'Not just rocket scientists,' added Goodenache. 'All types of research people. Even medical people from the concentration camps. There are more in those records than just Von Braun and his few. We had the same problem in Russia. Only it wasn't on a computer. Grob organised that as well. For our safety.'

  'What about the deaths of the American and Russian agents?' Billie asked.

  'What deaths? What agents?'

  Billie realised his answer was genuine. She didn't tell him it was what had triggered off the virus. 'Why come back here? If you're running from the Israelis. Why not Russia? You would've been safe...'

  'Russians. Philistines. I'm not a Russian. I'm a German. This is my home.' Goodenache rose from the bed and went to the window. 'Do you know why Heinrich and I wanted to come back here?'

  Billie shook her head.

  'Up there, in the mountains, there are big caves. We built factories in those caves. Factories for rockets. V1's and V2's. How do you think the Russians and Americans got into rocketry? By taking V2's from here, from the mountains, shipping them back and using them for their own experiments. They used all our rockets. We couldn't fire them in 1945 because we ran out of fuel. Because the idiots in Berlin cut off our supply. We could have changed the course of the war. Another six months and we could have changed everything. This is where we worked, with no resources, just our ideas and our hands.' He turned away from the window, came back to the bed and sat down once again. 'We built rockets from nothing. I was twenty years old. It is where we were happiest. Then we were sent back to Peenemünde. To tidy up. Burn the documents that could have won the war for us. Only it went wrong and I got caught by the Russians. To save my life, I became a Russian. For forty-five years I was something I was not. It's not a crime to want to come back, is it?'

  'But why here?'

  'Because if I'm going to die, then let me die where I was happiest.' He suddenly yawned. The drink was having its effect.

  'Where is the society run from?' asked Billie quietly, wanting to move the discussion on, but not wanting to alarm Goodenache. 'Maybe that's where you should have gone.'

  'They let us down.'

  'Who?'

  'The Party.'

  'The National Socialists?'

  'Of course. In Dresden. They let us down. They spend millions trying to get us out, to wipe our records clean, then they go and change their minds. New objectives, they say. And we, the ones who kept the dream alive all these years, made their beloved Party possible, are told to find our own way home.'

  'Let's take you back to Dresden. They'll want to know where you are.'

  'They couldn't give a damn.'

  'Then let's tell them.'

  'No.'

  'How do I get hold of them?'

  'They're in the Heidi. That was Grob's idea. They'll fail without him'

  'Where's...?'

  'Forget them. If they had stuck to the plan instead of...ah! forget them.' He yawned
again. 'I am tired.'

  'The organisation. How big...?'

  'No more. Not now. Let me sleep. Tomorrow, we'll talk then.'

  He lay down on the bed. Adam saw how tired he was; his eyelids were already half closed as he fought off sleep.

  'Come on,' Adam said to Billie. 'We can finish tomorrow. At least we know what's going on.'

  Adam didn't think there was any danger to Goodenache, his instincts would have warned him.

  They returned to his room. He didn't say much, was simply prepared to listen. He had left the interview to Billie. He knew that Goodenache would respond better to a woman.

  'Nazis,' she said, once the door was shut and she couldn't be overheard. 'A bunch of Nazis, all waiting to come back. All waiting for the dust to settle.'

  'Could be.'

  'Got to be.'

  'He's a Russian. They play tricky games.'

  'But they're in this with us.'

  'They say.'

  'Okay. So we don't jump in with both feet. But we're still talking about Nazis. War criminals. Christ, there could be hundreds out there. Maybe more. Have you thought of who could be there? Even if they're dead, to know what happened to them. Wow!'

  'You won't find Hitler, you know,' he mocked her.

  'How do you know? How does anybody know what happened. Except some of these guys. And do you have to?' she snarled at him as he took out a cigarette.

  'It's my room.' Damn, he sounded too shirty, but he didn't like the way she could get under his skin. 'I need one, if you don't mind.' He lit his cigarette whilst she watched him.