Kino

by Jürgen Fauth

  Mina looked at Schnark. He was already on his feet. Car doors slammed outside.

  “Get up. Now. We've got to hide,” Schnark said.

  Mina didn't particularly trust this guy, but there was no point arguing now. “The backyard?” she said. She didn't know the house very well.

  Schnark nodded. “Let's go.”

  They'd just made it through the sliding door to the back patio when they heard muffled voices from the front of the house. Somebody was already inside. The air had cooled off and Mina wished she was wearing more than an oversized T-shirt.

  They rounded the pool, the water thick with algae, and hid behind an overgrown rosebush. The garden was walled-in by hedges, and the only escape routes led through or around the house.

  “Down,” Schnark commanded, and Mina didn't hesitate. She could see the shine of flashlights teetering on the living room curtains, then someone flipped on a light switch. Shadows of what looked like two men were searching the living room. Then they pulled back the curtain.

  Mina recognized them immediately.

  “The men who chased me through Berlin!”

  Unbelievable.

  “They're agents,” Schnark whispered. “Quiet, bitte.”

  Agents. That's what Sam had said. She hadn't believed him.

  They could see the two men confer, then they disappeared again. One by one, lights turned on all over the house.

  “What are they looking for?” Mina asked, but she already knew: they were looking for her.

  “There are two cars parked out front, so they know we're hiding somewhere,” Schnark said. “Does this path lead around the house? Let's bolt.”

  “I'm not dressed,” Mina protested.

  “But you have the journal, right?”

  Oh fuck.

  Mina pointed at the house. “It's on the table.”

  They could see the shadow of one of the men upstairs, searching the master bedroom.

  “Gottverdammte Scheisse,” Schnark cursed.

  From inside his jacket, he pulled out a stubby revolver and lifted it up to his face like James Bond. “Stay here. I'll take care of it. Go start your car.” He gave her a grim face, an expression that looked like he'd learned it from the movies.

  Mina took the elbow of his raised arm and gently pulled it down. “Are you crazy? You are going to kill someone over that old journal? Put the gun away.”

  Schnark was shaking his head, but now Mina made the grim face. “I'll take care of this.” Before he could stop her, she stepped out behind the rosebush and walked into the living room. “Excuse me!” she hollered. “Men who broke into my grandmother's house? Can I speak to you?”

  The men came rumbling down the staircase and Mina's bluster gave way to doubt immediately. In Berlin, Mina had only seen them from a distance. Up close, they looked just as beefy but more alert than she had suspected, with mean eyes and tough jaws. Apparently, they were agents of some sort. They had followed her from Germany to California and broken into her grandmother's house. And if Schnark was right and a gun was the only way to deal with them, it was too late.

  “What are you doing here?” Mina repeated. “This is my grandmother's house, and if I don't get an answer immediately, I will call the police.”

  “I wouldn't do that,” the older agent said. “It's really not necessary. We just want to ask you a few questions.”

  “Is there anyone else here?” the other agent asked. He had a scar across his right cheek that looked like he had gotten knifed a long time ago. He peeked through the curtains into the garden.

  That's when Mina's eyes betrayed her. Before she knew what was happening, she'd glanced at the mess on Penny's coffee table for the journal–there it was, next to a heap of puzzle pieces, half obscured by the whiskey jug–but the agent with the scar had noticed her look and seen the spiral notebook.

  “Now, what is this?” he said. He wiped a few stray pills off the table and picked up the journal. “Certainly looks interesting.”

  The other agent turned away from the curtains.

  “Mr. K is going to like this.”

  Watching them leaf through the pages filled with Kino's handwriting made Mina furious. “The journal is mine,” she said. “Hand it to me right now.”

  “I tell you what,” the older agent said. “Why don't you come to our office, and we can discuss all of this. It's only a short ride away.”

  “And if I don't want to?”

  “We're not asking. Don't make this any harder than it has to be.”

  He reached for her elbow, but Mina stepped away and picked up Penny's telephone from the table. She waved the handset like a weapon. “I'm not going anywhere with you. Give me the notebook and leave this property right now.”

  She dialed 911.

  “Hey!” The agent with the scar swiftly swiped the phone from her hands, dropped it on the carpet, and crushed it beneath the heel of his elegant Italian shoe.

  Mina had to process this. They had broken her grandmother's phone. Once people started breaking things, the situation could escalate quickly. Where was Schnark? Why was Mina always wrong?

  “What do you want?” she said again.

  The older agent slid the journal into a black briefcase. “Like I said–we'd like you to come to the office with us.” He reached for her arm again, and this time Mina was frightened enough to let him.

  “Would you mind if I put on some clothes?”

  “Of course.” He motioned for the agent with the scar to follow Mina upstairs. She led him to the guest bedroom, where she kept her bag. “Do you mind?” she said and closed the door in his face. She put on the jeans and boots she had bought in Berlin.

  “Hurry up,” the agent with the scar said through the door.

  “One second!” she said. The room's only window opened over the garden–she waved but couldn't see if Schnark was still in the darkness below. The pool, glowing green, was close to the house. If she had to, she could probably–

  The agent knocked on the door. “We have to go now.”

  There was a commotion downstairs–a knock and a crash, glass splintering, a lamp maybe. Mina locked the door. The agent started banging on it immediately. She opened the window. Perhaps the pool wasn't as close as it seemed. There was no safe way to climb down. The banging on the door continued. She couldn't hear any more noise from downstairs. Mina removed the screen from the window and dropped it on the patio.

  For a moment there was nothing but silence. Then, a crash that shook the door frame.

  Okay, Mina thought. I can do this.

  She climbed up on the sill, perched for a moment in her new boots and calculated the distance. Another crash against the door, her muscles tensed, and Mina jumped.

  Foul water rushed up her nostrils, and the weight of her wet clothes pulled her down. A stroke up, a stroke over, and she heaved herself onto the grass, dripping wet hair in her eyes. She'd done it! Angry yelling from above: the agent had broken into the room and shouted at her from the window.

  A hand offered to pull her up. Mina reached for it and came to her feet. It was Schnark. Behind him in the living room, Mina could make out the legs of the older agent, prone on the floor.

  Schnark saw her fearful look. “Cocked him,” he said, miming with the butt of his revolver. “Got the journal back, too,” he said, nodding to the agent's briefcase in his hand. “It's about time you listened to me, wouldn't you agree?”

  Mina rolled her eyes at him, but she was flush with excitement from the jump. She'd done that, she'd really done that and gotten away with it. They took the path around the house, Mina's boots splashing with every step. Why did she have to get dressed before she jumped? They could hear the other agent rumbling down the staircase.

  Three cars in the driveway: Mina's Thunderbird, a rental VW, and a large black SUV.

  “I drive,” Schnark said. Mina tossed him her keys and he and started up the Thunderbird.

  She leapt into the convertible without opening the door. I
t was a cool move, but she knocked her knee on the glove compartment. The front door opened and Mina could see the agent with the scar silhouetted against the light.

  Bang! Bang!

  Schnark shot his gun into the air. The agent leapt back into the house. Schnark laughed and took aim at the SUV. He fired three more shots before he popped a tire. They squealed backwards out of the driveway, Schnark rammed the Thunderbird into first gear, and they were gone.

  Chapter 14

  Shaking with exhilaration, Mina laughed at her own courage. She was dripping dirty pool water all over the car seat. Schnark drove fast, checking the rearview mirrors constantly. Without taking his eyes off the road, he put his gun into the glove compartment and reached for the agent's briefcase, which he'd thrown in the space behind Mina's seat.

  “Go ahead. Open it,” he said. “The journal's in there.”

  “Those guys were going to kidnap me,” Mina said. She untied her boots and wiggled out of her wet jeans, letting them dry in the warm night air. Her shirt was sticking to her chest. Schnark didn't seem to be interested in checking her out and kept his eyes on the road. She found Kino's notebook in the briefcase's side pocket. “Got it.”

  Schnark gave her a thumbs-up. “Well done,” he said. “The BKA is proud of you.”

  “Well,” Mina said. “I'm not sure if I like the BKA any better than those guys. At least they didn't wave any guns around.”

  “Yeah.” His grim face again. “They were too smart to pull theirs.”

  “Who are they?”

  “From what I have been able to ascertain, they belong to a secret branch overseen by a joint board of the six major film studios and the US government. These are the guys who take care of the studios' dirty work. Mainly, they do paperwork, copyright enforcement, a well-timed leak to the press or the cops, that sort of thing. A little bit of intimidation here and there. Snooping. But they won't shy away from violence, and if it's necessary, they'll take someone out. There have always been rumors. Some people think it goes way back. There's a theory they framed Fatty Arbuckle. Got rid of Marilyn when the time came.”

  “They're with the government?”

  “It's a blurry line these days. As you may know, your Vice President has an inordinate fondness for private contractors, and this administration is desperate to make inroads into liberal Hollywood.”

  “Are you saying they're like Blackwater?”

  Schnark didn't answer. Mina wanted to laugh, tell him that he'd watched too many movies, but her fear had been real. Whoever they were, these men had attempted to kidnap her. She had really jumped out of a window into a swimming pool while they were beating down the door. There'd been gunfire. Mina was past laughing. She realized she'd been reflexively checking the rear view mirror to see if they were being followed.

  “What do they want?”

  Schnark accelerated up a freeway ramp and settled into an empty lane. It was past midnight and there were only a few cars on the road. “Movies are America's greatest export,” he said. “Billions of dollars.”

  Oh great, Mina thought. Another lecture. Didn't Dr. Hanno just give her that speech? “I know, I know,” she said. “Propaganda and all that.”

  Schnark ignored her.

  “By and large, the industry controls itself. Hayes had it exactly right: ‘The quality of our films is such that censorship is unnecessary.’ But that doesn't mean the US government doesn't keep a keen eye on the potential of film.”

  “They also keep a keen eye on speeding,” Mina said, “so you might want to slow down a little. This isn't the Autobahn.”

  Schnark turned his head to give her a half-smile, but he didn't slow down. “In the sixties, the CIA set up something called MK/PSYNEMA, a secret program dedicated to the possibilities of mind control, propaganda, and psychological warfare. But it goes back further than that. Why We Fight couldn't compete with the best of the German films, and the Americans knew it. Have you heard of Operation Overcast?”

  Mina hadn't.

  “Immediately after V-E day, in a race with the Russians, a special unit of Marines rounded up German scientists: nuclear research, cryptography, aeronautical secrets, as well as mind control and propaganda experts. The same guys who built the V2 to attack London gave the Americans their space program. Heisenberg and Werner von Braun helped them get to the moon and develop ICBMs, and Riefenstahl helped them build modern Hollywood.”

  “Leni Riefenstahl?” Mina wasn't sure if he were kidding or not. Then she remembered something. “Oma was telling me about secret Nazi experiments, something called Schwarze Sonne?”

  Schnark whistled through his teeth and regarded Mina with some kind of newfound respect. “Yes, Dr. Spielmann's unit. A disciple of Goebbels. All Ufa directors were ordered to cooperate with him. Apparently, tests with Kino's material consistently yielded better than random results. They were, in some way no one understood, effective.”

  “Oma said they did horrible experiments.”

  Schnark nodded. “I got hold of Kino's immigration files. Lots of blacked-out pages. He told the Americans that the Nazis could never use his movies because his was the art of liberation, beyond anyone's control, but I'm not so sure they believed him.”

  “Where are we going?” Mina finally thought to ask.

  “I'd like to introduce you to someone who has some answers for you.”

  “Now?”

  “Marty never sleeps. I hope you're not tired?”

  Mina shrugged. She wasn't tired. She was wide awake.

  “I'm fine,” she said. “I feel fine.”

  “Good.” Schnark settled back into his seat. “Hey, this is a great car!”

  They arrived at an art deco house somewhere in the Valley. It was the only one on its block with the lights still on. Schnark rang the bell, and they were buzzed in. They found their way to the kitchen, where a white-haired man greeted them. He looked like he'd once been handsome but was now old and balding, with a rough grey stubble covering his wrinkled cheeks. He wore black silk pajamas. He'd been doing the crossword puzzle at the kitchen counter and eating soup.

  “Hey Marty,” Schnark said. “It's late for soup.”

  “I never sleep. Did you bring my cigars? You must be Wilhelmina. It's such a pleasure. I used to work with your grandfather. Aber Mädchen, you're soaked! Do you need dry clothes? I got some duds my ex-wife left behind.”

  “Please, call me Mina. And yes, I would love dry clothes.”

  Mina followed Marty to a bedroom with a walk-in closet, where she picked a pair of slacks and a white shirt, both too big for her, but they would do for now.

  She found Marty and Schnark in a dimly lit study lined with book shelves, reclining in cushy armchairs, drinking scotch and smoking cigars. They were talking in hushed tones when Mina came in.

  “Much better,” Marty said. “You look like Kate Hepburn.”

  He offered her a seat, a glass of scotch, and a cigar. Mina settled into the free armchair and declined both the drink and the smoke. The men seemed like co-conspirators to her, accomplices, sharing secrets in the dead of night. Mina leaned back in her chair, ready for anything. Marty exhaled a pungent cloud of cigar smoke. “Inspector Schnark tells me Penelope is in the hospital?”

  “She's in a coma. The doctors don't know if she will come out of it. She was doing an insane amount of drugs.”

  “Always has, always will,” Marty said, but when he leaned forward, Mina could see his forehead crinkled with concern. “I am sorry. Is somebody with her?”

  “This guy Chester. He's her nurse.”

  Marty smiled. “I've known some of her Chesters.”

  Schnark was quietly sitting back in his chair, and for a moment, Mina thought he might have fallen asleep. Then the end of his cigar flared up, and she saw that he was watching her intently.

  “I was a kid when Kino hired me as a grip on Jagd zu den Sternen. Did you know that?”

  “Back in Germany?”

  “I was a huge fan. People sai
d Kino was terrible with plot, that his dialogue was wooden, his characters two-dimensional.”

  Mina nodded. Three days ago, she didn't know there was anyone who gave a damn about Kino.

  “His movies were adventure stories, and he played fast and loose with facts, but out of the schmaltz and the melodrama, he distilled indelible moments. If you could see past the imperfections, they were full of strikingly persistent poetic images. Hell, if you watched them enough, you began to love the flaws, too. Genius, I tell you.”

  He puffed on his cigar. Mina couldn't have said why, but this old man, sitting up in the middle of the night sucking contentedly on a cigar, struck her as the most trustworthy person she'd met in days.

  “I worked closely with Kino on the preproduction for Pirates, in 1933, but my wife and I left Germany after the Machtergreifung.”

  “While my grandparents stayed.”

  “Kino claimed it was because of Penelope's father. People here thought he was an opportunist or worse. Either way, what happened to his films was a terrible tragedy.”

  “You believe that?” Mina asked.

  Marty Wagner nodded.

  “I was practically a kid when I first met Kino. By the time they finally arrived in Hollywood, I had worked my way up at RKO. My name is on more than thirty pictures. Cat People. Body Snatchers. Citizen Kane.”

  “You worked on Citizen Kane?”

  Marty pointed to a framed black-and-white photo on the shelf by the door. “That's me in Xanadu,” he said. “Orson took the picture.”

  Mina sat up straight, in awe of the old man in his silk pajamas. Citizen Kane was Sam's favorite movie in the entire world.

  “Kino and Penny were too proud to ask for my help when they showed up in this town, and I was hurt when they didn't come to see me. Those years were hard for them. They were shunned. Wilder, Lang, Pommer–no one would talk to them. Then and now, it's a company town, and your grandparents were considered Nazi collaborators. They lived in a tiny apartment in East Hollywood, eking out a living I don't know how. After the war I was in charge of the story department writer's stable. The Ruskies were the new enemies, and the movie business boomed. We needed more writers, and I hired Kino under a pseudonym.”