The Making of Herman Faust

by Michele E. Gwynn

  “I’ll take the bedrooms. See if you can find anything out here.” Faust directed Joseph towards the small library off the living room as he turned to make his own way down the short hall to the back of the flat.

  There were two bedrooms. The first one appeared to be a guest room. Faust made quick work of rummaging through the wardrobe and nightstands. Other than a few family photo albums and spare clothing, there was nothing of consequence. The master suite contained a queen-sized four poster bed with royal blue velvet bed curtains. A gold and royal blue duvet covered the bed which was decorated with several matching pillows. The furniture looked antique with brass knobs on the drawers. Herman began with the wardrobe closet, carefully going through each clothing item hanging, checking pockets. He moved down to the shoes on the shelf and then started in on the drawers below. Nothing. He moved on to the nightstands on both sides of the bed. He found the usual items one would expect, but nothing of interest. A small desk sat in the corner by the window. If Rheinhardt kept anything in the apartment, it would probably be here.

  The oak desk stood upon four carved, curved legs. It had two drawers beneath the surface leaving the rest of the desk open. Inside the first drawer was a small box of stationary, some pens, envelopes, and a pack of batteries. The second drawer was locked. Faust tugged on it, and then pulled out his handy lock picking tools. He found the smallest pick in the group and inserted it into the keyhole. After jimmying it around, it gave with a click. He slid the drawer open. This time, he found something. A red leather-bound personal journal occupied the small space. He lifted it out and opened it. After the first two pages, Herman knew he’d found the incriminating evidence of a double agent. The sinking feeling in his gut made him swallow hard. He skipped ahead to the current week finding the last two entries. He tilted the pages toward the moonlight coming in from the window in order to better read the words. In Rheinhardt’s familiar scrawl was information detailing a public event scheduled earlier in the day that had made the news. Faust recalled hearing a bit of the broadcast while at the hospital. The American ambassador, Peter Holmstead, and his family had attended a ceremony honoring both German and U.S. troops for the holidays. This wasn’t unusual or alarming, until he turned the page. Tucked into the binding was a newspaper clipping from the local Berlin Zeitung dated two days ago. The author had interviewed the American ambassador for the piece. Highlighted in bright yellow was Holmstead’s own words. “We’re looking forward to spending the week with my wife’s family back home in D.C. for the holidays. We’ll attend the ceremony on Wednesday, and then leave Thursday afternoon. It will be good to see everyone.”

  Written under the current date was a time and place; 1300 hours, U.S. Embassy. It was circled in red.

  “Anything?” Joseph poked his head into the room.

  “Yes. Everything.” Faust stood, pocketing the journal. He knew he’d need it later as evidence.

  “What do you mean?” Heinz stepped into the room.

  “It means I know where Rheinhardt is going to be in less than twelve hours. We don’t have much time, Joseph. He’s targeting the American ambassador and his family. We need help. It’s time to contact the LKA.”

  ***

  By 0700, Faust had met with Colonel von Friedrich, Major Beck, and the head of the LKA, Lars Muller.

  “Gentlemen, I don’t think I need to tell you how serious this is,” the Colonel stated. He paced the length of the makeshift war room Major Beck had set up inside the hospital room on the fifth floor.

  Muller’s nostrils flared. “Why the hell didn’t you contact my office earlier?” He nailed Faust with a glare. “What made you think you could keep this to yourself this long?”

  Faust squirmed in his seat, but straightened his spine. “My apologies, Herr Direktor, but in light of the threat to my family and the events of the last forty-eight hours, I didn’t know who I could trust.”

  Muller grunted. “Heads are going to roll!” He pointed at a thin, younger man in the corner, the Assistant Direktor, Victor Platz. “You get me Captain Schneider on the line as soon as he reports in to work.” The man nodded. The Direktor eyed the Colonel. “How the hell did you get dragged into this, Colonel? You’re retired.”

  “My niece and grandniece are under threat. And you know better, Lars, we never really take off the uniform. I won’t apologize. I’m protecting my own. The rest is up to you. I won’t interfere in that, but I’m at your disposal should you need me and so are my men.”

  Muller raked a hand through his thinning gray hair. “The goddamn CIA,” he muttered. “When those two stiffs came to my office last week, all they said was that they had intercepted ‘chatter’ about a threat surrounding the embassy. We granted permission for them to investigate, but only in direct cooperation with the Landeskriminalamt, not on their own. Goddamned American cowboys!”

  “Did you really expect them to be transparent, Lars?” Von Friedrich asked. “You know better than that. Spooks operate in the dark. Always have, always will. They feed you just enough to gain your trust, and then they screw you.”

  “Yes, but now we have intelligence that they don’t.” Muller grinned sardonically.

  “And you can thank my nephew-in-law for that,” the Colonel stated pointedly.

  Muller’s grin froze and then receded. He looked at Faust and his partner in crime, Officer Joseph Heinz, sitting quietly at the table. “Yes, it seems I do owe you a thank you, Officer Faust. It doesn’t excuse your activities. You’ve acted with insubordination, conducting an unsanctioned investigation while not even officially on duty.”

  “I fail to see how that’s a crime, Lars,” the Colonel interjected. “If it’s his own time, he wasn’t acting against orders, especially since no such orders were issued.”

  Muller slapped his hand down on the table top. “He still admits to breaking and entering, Colonel, into two separate residences.”

  “And stole nothing,” the old man stated.

  “Except this journal,” Muller parried, holding up the incriminating item.

  “Look, I know it looks bad, and I understand my duties well, but these have been extreme circumstances.” Faust stood, unable to take any more of their bickering. “Furthermore, we have a pressing and dangerous situation that needs a plan, fast, or people are going to die, our own as well as the Americans. If we fail, they’ll see it as a hostile act of war. And then what?”

  Muller sighed. Colonel von Friedrich stood with his hands behind his back, at ease, waiting. It was Major Beck who spoke up.

  “It seems time is of the essence. I can have a squadron of twelve men here within the hour at your disposal, Herr Direktor. Just say the word.”

  “Mercenaries,” Victor Platz sneered. “Hardly Germany’s finest—”

  “Every last one of them was once Germany’s finest, Platz.” Beck pinned the assistant direktor with an angry glare. “All served the fatherland and all would lay down their lives even to this day. They are trained better than even your SEK since they have battled all over the world under every condition.”

  “For money!” Platz spat.

  “For justice!” Beck boomed. “We are not your average soldiers for hire. My men serve me, and my standards are high. To imply anything less is an insult to both me, the Colonel, and to Germany.”

  “Stand down, Victor.” Muller held up his hand, effectively silencing his assistant. “Go call Captain Schneider. We’ll need official cover for this in the event it all goes south. Get the SEK Direktor on the line too. I’ll fill them in.” He turned his attention to Beck. “Call your men. I want them to take the lead on this, but you must coordinate with the SEK. Captain Schneider’s men will be on standby. I want an all-points bulletin put out on Rheinhardt, but it’s surveillance only. No one is to alert or apprehend him. Just notify me. If Rheinhardt does, indeed, show up at the embassy, we’ll take him down. Major,” he pointed at Beck, “let’s get a map on the table of the embassy grounds and surrounding area. I want to set up vantage po
ints. We’ll install undercovers at key locations.” Muller began laying out a plan. At the end of the hour, he addressed Faust. “You, get some rest. Go home or across the hall, but either way, I need you sharp. You got yourself wedged up into this mess, so you’re going to ride it out.” His eyes bounced to Heinz. “You too. We’ll meet back in two hours.”

  Chapter Nine

  Faust left Joseph sprawled across a couch in the lounge. “Need anything?” he asked.

  Heinz stuffed two thin hospital pillows under his head and closed his eyes. “No. I’m good.” He lay there, reposed.

  “Christ, you look positively morbid,” Herman mumbled as he turned to leave. His sarcasm was answered by a soft snore.

  Herman walked out into the hall, feeling exhausted. He was painfully aware that his wife had no knowledge of his after-hours investigating. She didn’t even quite know the whole story on why para-military men were guarding the floor where her daughter had been moved. Between himself and her uncle, they’d concocted a semi-truthful explanation about the ongoing threat from those possibly infected. It hadn’t taken much to convince Helga that putting Therese in a private room on a floor in the hospital reserved for officials and celebrities would help keep her safe while she rode out her situation. Her uncle explained that he personally knew the hospital administrator and had requested such as a favor, had pulled a few strings on her behalf, and that until the contagion was completely contained, he would feel better knowing that she and Therese were well guarded. The lie worked, and for that small mercy, both he and the Colonel were thankful, but Herman knew eventually, Helga would ask questions. She was a sharp-minded woman. The only reason she hadn’t done so yet could only be her immediate worry for their child. He walked to the side of her bed and picked up her small hand. “Papa is here, liebling. You just keep trying to heal, okay? I’m right here.” He looked around for Helga. She was not in the room. Probably stretching her legs in the halls.

  The monitor continued to beep in time with her heart. The only other sound in the room was the respirator providing oxygen through the tube threaded down her throat. Seeing her lying there, unmoving, broke him deep inside. “You don’t deserve this. If I’d been more attentive, taken you to the hospital as soon as your Oma told me you’d fallen and hit your head, maybe we could’ve prevented this. I was tired, not thinking. I’m so sorry, baby.” A tear slipped down his cheek. “Please, God,” he knelt down, still holding her tiny hand in his own as he began to pray, “please, you who can do all things, heal my daughter. She’s just a little girl. She means everything to me. She’s my reason for getting up every day, the light in my life. Take me instead if you must, but please, help her and bring her back to us, for me, for her mother.”

  The monitor beeped, and the respirator sighed, and the quiet continued. Herman Faust kissed his daughter’s hand and stood as he gently placed it at her side. “I’ll be right over there, love. You just rest so you can get better.” He ambled to the rollaway bed next the opposite wall and sat down. It felt as uncomfortable as it looked, but it was near Therese and the pillow still smelled like Helga’s perfume. Faust curled up on his side and closed his eyes. Within minutes, he was fast asleep, unaware of the note that fluttered to the floor.

  An hour later, his pager went off, disturbing the silence. Faust’s eyes popped open and he looked immediately to his daughter. She lay as still as before, monitor beeping, and respirator sighing. The shrill sound rippled once again through the room. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the pager. The number flashing in red was not one he recognized. Rising, Herman prepared to leave the room. His foot slid, and as he righted himself, he noticed a slip of paper under his shoe. He bent down to pick it up and exited the room, stepping across the hall to the payphone on the wall, never once looking at it. He slipped a coin into the slot and dialed. It was a 00372 number. East Germany, area 2. Herman made the call collect.

  “This is Herman Faust,” he said. The operator repeated his name.

  “Herman Faust making a collect call. Will you accept the charges?” she asked.

  A deep, gravelly voice chuckled. “Yes, operator. I accept the charge.” The line clicked, passing the call through. “Since I’m paying for this call, I’ll keep it brief. I told you not to interfere, Officer Faust, and yet, I have been informed otherwise.”

  Faust stood, thinking, wondering how this man knew he was investigating. There could be only one answer. There was a traitor among them.

  Major Beck stepped out into the hall. Seeing Herman on the phone, he stopped, directing a questioning look his way. Faust thought fast, and then tilted his head, inviting Beck over. He decided in that split second that the Colonel’s man was trustworthy. There was no ulterior motive that he could figure since Beck was on the Colonel’s payroll, and until yesterday morning, completely unaware and uninvolved in the unfolding drama.

  He considered his words carefully. “I’m not sure what it is you’re referring to.”

  The rough voice grunted. “Don’t play coy with me, Officer. You’re not dealing with a fool. Remember that I warned you. This operation is above your paygrade.”

  The man’s words struck a chord. His patronizing tone and reference to a pay grade connected the scattered information in his brain. Taking a chance, Faust dropped verbal bait. “And you’re not dealing with a fool, either...Colonel-general Davidovich.”

  Silence stretched painfully across the miles between them, separated by a wall of concrete and oppressive ideology. Finally, the man laughed, an amused yet angry sound.

  “I see. That is neither here nor there, but your bullheaded foolishness will not be allowed to derail our plans. I’ve worked too hard, planned for a very long time for this. Nothing is going to stop me or my comrades. Your westernized democracy is going to die a terrible death.” Faust held the phone out for Beck to listen. “And since you’re determined to stick your nose into my business, I think I’ll begin with you. I keep my promises, Officer.” He hung up.

  “Sonofabitch!” Beck cursed.

  Herman stood, holding the now dead receiver in his hand. “Helga!” he glanced down at the paper he held, finally reading it. “Jesus! She went home!” He dropped the phone, turning to Major Beck.

  “I’m on it.” He pulled out a two-way radio, calling two of his men. “Stein, Graf, I need you to head over to the Faust residence. Frau Faust is in immediate danger. A threat has just been issued. Voigt, Jensen, Weiss and I will remain here to protect the child. Bring Helga here. We’re going into lockdown...”

  “Roger that, Major. Over and out.” Stein replied, signing off.

  Beck patted Faust on the shoulder. “You did well. That was a smart move, calling him out. Now we know who we’re dealing with.”

  “Smart? More like stupid. I poked the bear and now it wants to eat my family.”

  Beck shook his head. “No, smart. You’ve rattled him, and agitated men make mistakes. He knows you know things, but not, exactly, what things. You understand? Whatever game plan he had, now it must change. He’ll be desperate. I need to inform the Colonel, and Direktor Muller will need an update.”

  “Direktor Muller will need an update on what?” Victor Platz came to a stop next to Beck.

  Irritation passed behind Beck’s hazel eyes before he turned his attention to the thin man wearing a gray suit. “Something has come up.”

  Victor pushed his hands inside his pants pockets trying to appear intimidating. “Then tell me and I’ll relay it to the Direktor.”

  Faust felt a queasy feeling in his gut, one he couldn’t quite explain. He cleared his throat and began to open his mouth, his attention on Major Beck, but Beck spoke first.

  “Come with me. I’ll explain inside.” He directed Platz to the room he used to both sleep and hold briefings. “The Colonel should hear this too and I don’t want to explain it twice.” He looked over his shoulder at Herman. “Stay with your daughter. I’ll be in shortly.”

  ***

  Herman paced the s
hort length of Therese’s room. His nerves were frazzled, his body ached from lack of sufficient rest, and his mind screamed at him that something was wrong. He knew Beck’s men were enroute to retrieve Helga, but worry nagged at him. If Davidovich was as organized as Faust believed him to be, he could easily have someone in place ready to carry out the threats to Herman’s family. If that was the case, would Beck’s men make it in time before something dire happened?

  Across the hall, Beck was busy briefing Colonel von Friedrich and Assistant Direktor Platz. That left three guards inside the hospital. Meanwhile, Captain Rheinhardt was still on the loose. Obolensk’s plan of attack was still in motion, and biological warfare was imminent. The clock was ticking, counting down. If they failed to stop the Soviet’s weapon, at 1:00 p.m., all hell would break loose, and the fallout would spread before anyone could stop it.

  It was just past mid-morning. Lunch would be arriving soon for Beck’s men and Helga. Jasper personally delivered every meal ensuring who the food came from. Faust reminded himself to add a bonus to the man’s pay on top of Von Friedrich’s payment. In Faust’s view, the man was truly an angel of mercy during their time of need. He knew Helga should be safely back inside the fortified hospital wing by then. One less worry. Still, he paced. The sick feeling in the pit of his stomach refused to leave. He needed air.

  Herman grabbed his coat, preparing to walk the hallway and perhaps poke his head out of the emergency exit door that led to the roof. As he stepped out of Therese’s room, the elevator chimed announcing someone arriving on the floor. He checked his watch.

  “A few minutes early, Jasper.” Faust pivoted, changing direction to greet the man and help him carry the bags.

  Horror gripped him.

  Time slowed as his heart rate sped up. A tall man sporting a blond crew cut stepped off the lift. Decked out in black from head to toe from his leather boots to long, leather duster coat, he exuded menace. In his hands, he carried an IWI Mini-Uzi. The fact that Faust recognized the Israeli model weapon, and knew it could fire over nine-hundred rounds in one minute felt surreal to the moment where alarms were flashing red inside his head, and screaming ‘Danger!’ The hallway suddenly felt like the eye of the hurricane before the storm raged.