“Boy, I envy you. It seems like I haven’t had a holiday in years. Must be rough, though, waiting for these powders to hurry up and settle.”
The technician smiled hard. Hagen felt sorry for him. “Look, don’t worry. Why not get here fifteen minutes earlier on Wednesdays? Then the timing would be okay and you wouldn’t be decanting stray number-fours into the number-fives.”
“You won’t tell Herr Fritsch, will you? My wife … she didn’t think it would matter so much if I hurried one batch a week.”
“Relax. I’ll tell Walter the problem lay in the mixing. Just see that it doesn’t happen again.”
Hagen went to leave, only to hesitate. “Say, maybe you can tell me, Martin. What are you guys using the amber for? There must have been a fortune’s worth in those bins I saw them off-loading this morning. I wouldn’t mind getting a piece for my girlfriend.”
The technician smiled with relief. “It’s from East Prussia, from ancient mines that are now under the Baltic. There are flies in some of the pieces. Flies, can you imagine that? I’m going to make my wife a necklace for her birthday.”
“It’s a perk then—scrap for the boys and their wives?”
“Ah, no. It’s for the insulation on the electrical wires. Apparently it’s the only thing that works at altitudes above eight thousand meters. Amber dust, can you imagine that? They grind it up and melt it to make the insulation. It seems such a waste.”
“You couldn’t let me have a piece, could you? Mum’s the word. Just so that I can show my girl what it looks like.”
They found one with an embedded fly among the cluster of pieces in Martin’s lunch pail. Hagen got rid of it in the first dustbin he passed.
The Baltic was ice-blue in the early-morning light. As the Stuka climbed to its service ceiling of eight thousand meters, it appeared as an angular black dot in an all but infinite sky.
The sound of the engine faded—came now and then, broken by the extreme altitude and the rushing of the onshore breeze.
Then it died away altogether.
Hagen waited at the edge of the landing field. As he looked straight up, Dieter Karl Hunter gripped him by the elbow. The airplane hung motionless for the longest time, then the pilot tipped it over and started down.
Falling like a stone, gathering momentum with the increasing whine of its engine, the Stuka plummeted straight at them. Dieter released his grip. “Now notice what happens, Richard. Listen.”
“Dieter, what’re we standing here for? That guy may not be as good as you think!”
“He’s one of the best. You’ll see.”
Hagen’s mind flashed back to Africa, to the two of them standing alone on the veld as a white bull rhino had charged. Dieter hadn’t budged then; now Hagen knew he couldn’t do so either. On and on the plane came, plummeting at them until to the scream of its engine was added the piercing wail of a siren.
Unable to stop himself, he flung his hands over his ears. The sound of the siren was excruciating. Tears ran from his eyes. He began to yell inwardly, Got to keep on looking at it. Got to try …
With a bang, the Stuka bottomed out at four hundred meters in a rush of air that made him shut his eyes. Through the webs of pain he heard Dieter’s laughter.
“I told him you wouldn’t run. There, you see, the same old Richard.”
Hagen knew he was visibly shaken. “That was the Krupp, wasn’t it?”
Again there was laughter, the laughing wink of gunmetal eyes. “So, he asked, and I said, ‘My friend will not run.’”
“How much did you bet him?”
“Mmm, a little. Ten thousand marks. Come now, Richard, don’t be tiresome. I know how you feel about taking unnecessary risks, but it was all just a joke.”
The Stuka landed at the far end of the field and began to taxi toward them. When it drew near, Alfried Krupp cut the engine, and with a final swing of its propeller the plane came to a stop.
Dieter spoke quietly as the canopy was slid open. “We are having breakfast at the Flying Club, and then you are to come to Munich with us for a little holiday. Your work is finished here, Richard. Be sure to compliment him on his dive.”
The Daimler sped through the night. Since breakfast they’d been on the road. All talk had long since ceased. The Krupp von Bohlen was again at the wheel and, though he drove very fast, he did so exceedingly well, but all his concentration was required.
Hagen, having the whole of the back seat to himself since they’d last changed drivers, now had time to reflect. Alfried had listened politely to Dieter and him. It was as if the shy and future cannon king had wanted to share some of the freedom they’d once had.
Twice during the trip the Krupp had asked about Africa. Hagen had let Dieter tell his version, wishing not to contradict him but also to show, by additions here and there, that he was supportive.
Not once had work been mentioned, nothing of the sweeping changes that were all around them or of the hierarchy that had come so firmly into power. Only too obviously Dieter and the Krupp had agreed on this beforehand.
Instead, the talk had been of hunting, fishing, racing cars, women and good times. A whole day of it and some. Right across the country from the Baltic Coast near Warnemünde to Munich. A country of great beauty and much misery still. A country in turmoil, searching for its soul and fast forgetting that it had one.
Only the lights from the dashboard glowed. There were no other cars on the road at this time of night, just an occasional glimmer from a tiny village nestled in the wooded hills or by some forgotten stream.
At twenty-nine years of age Dieter Karl was the youngest son of a wealthy Munich industrialist. Having three older brothers and two sisters, one of whom was just a year older than he, Dieter had enjoyed being the baby in the family but had let none of it affect him in the slightest.
He was tall, though not as tall as the Krupp von Bohlen, with whom he had attended classes in engineering at Aachen and taken in the ski resorts of southern France and the gambling tables of Monte Carlo. The jet-black hair was short and parted in the middle, the forehead strong, the dark blue eyes fascinating to women, the nose ramrod straight. No dueling scars. No visible scars of any kind. Just the bluish shadow of a beard that never seemed to go away even with the closest shaving.
There were touches of arrogance, but these were infrequent and directed only at those who deserved the cutting edge of his tongue.
Hagen liked him immensely. Though completely different, he was almost the equal of Duncan McPherson, with whom boyhood days in Scotland had been shared. But Dieter would soon be on the other side unless things changed for the better.
“You are quiet, Richard. Thinking of some woman?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I was. The receptionist in our office.”
“Pretty?”
He gave a snort of laughter but was surprised to find that he wanted Arlette kept as a private matter. “I suppose so. I hadn’t really thought of her that way. No, I was just thinking I’d better send a cable to let the office know there’s been a change in the itinerary. They’ll expect me to be in Berlin on Monday, not sunbathing on the shores of the Tegelsee with Irmgard and Dee Dee. They’ll be at the house, won’t they?”
It was Dieter Karl’s turn to laugh. “Why else have we come all this way to rescue you?”
The Villa Hunter overlooked the gardens of the Castle Nymphenburg, the legendary summer residence of the princes of Bavaria.
As Hagen started down the staircase, laughter filtered through the house and he knew the girls must be having breakfast on the sun porch.
It would be good to forget things, good to see them again. Yet the presence of the Krupp continued to trouble him. It seemed an inordinate amount of time for the head of Hitler’s latest four-year plan to examine the character of a diamond salesman.
There were two entrances to the sun porch, which was built in the shape of an L. Only Dee Dee was in sight, her left side to him. The wavy, jet-black hair was pulled tightly ba
ck off the smooth, high brow to fall in curls about her slender neck.
As always, Irmgard’s best friend and Dieter’s current lover made him take a second look. The milk-white skin, high color on the cheeks, the finely chiseled face with slightly jutting chin were matched by lovely red lips, a broad smile and an animated manner of talking that was, in itself, a study in motion.
Flashing dark, dusky eyes betrayed a nervous intensity.
An actress, and a good one, a Bohemian not just of the avant-garde but whose ancestors had come from that region, Dee Dee Schroeder at thirty years of age was a stunning woman both on and off the stage. Her skirt was navy blue, pleated below the knees, the thinly red-white-and-blue striped jerkin falling around her hips to emphasize the leggy look of what was beneath.
The white silk blouse was ruffled on the sleeves and at the cuffs, the collar broad, floppy and open to expose the base of her throat. A nest of silver chains Dieter had brought from Cairo led to a single pendant. From time to time as she spoke or gestured, Dee Dee would suddenly retreat to the pendant, grasping it tightly as if to steady herself.
After he had watched her do this several times, Hagen realized something was troubling her.
Irmgard would be seated opposite her, the two girls having been friends since childhood and always carrying on like this when they got together, but was there someone else?
And where were Dieter and Alfried?
Hagen searched the grounds but couldn’t see them anywhere. A timid hand reached for the cream and he heard Dee Dee say, “Oh, sorry, Liza,” and saw her turn the pitcher so that the fingers could close about its handle.
He gave a chuckle, as much by way of letting them know he was there, as of laughing at himself. Of course, Liza Berle was the woman the Krupp was rumored to be madly in love with. Dieter had arranged the whole thing and had typically said nothing. A quiet weekend unknown to the Krupp family, who didn’t approve of the liaison. Dee Dee would probably be nervous for Irmgard’s sake.
“Richard!” The broad, square shoulders, the rangy, easygoing look of him, that grin … Dee Dee pushed herself away from the table and flung herself into his arms, hugging him too tightly. “Oh, Richard, Richard, how good it is to see you.”
She kissed him on the cheek, kissed him again and again, and all the time he held her, he felt the trembling.
Gently he chucked her under the chin and trailed a hand reassuringly down her arm. “What is it? What’s wrong?” he said quietly.
She gave her head just the tiniest of shakes and touched his lips. Moving in on him again, she said, “We need you, that is all. Now come, don’t be so serious. Come. We’ve someone for you to meet.”
Irmgard Hunter was the same age as Dee Dee. Her lank, light brown hair was worn back off her ears in rebellion at fashion and family. Her face was strongly boned and Nordic but reminiscent, too, of the Hun. The lovely hazel eyes were sometimes gay and mischievous as now, sometimes sad, far-seeking and shadowed by despair.
She had the blush of youth and the outdoors in her cheeks, the ghost of a summer’s tan, no lipstick. “Richard, so it is you at last. And how long have you been studying a certain woman?” Namely Dee Dee.
Liza Berle was blond, shy, somewhat matronly and feeling decidedly out of place. Giving her a sympathetic look, he took her hand and lightly kissed the back of it. “Fräulein, you mustn’t pay any attention to these buffle-heads. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Ignoring the rush of “Dee Dee, isn’t he gallant?” “A fop, Irmgard. An absolute fop,” he said:
“They’re always like schoolgirls when they get together. They need a good, long hike in the mountains to straighten them out.”
Her voice was mellow and quiet. “You are the Richard my Alfried has spoken of. The American.”
“In good terms, I hope?”
“Yes, of course. Alfried and the Baron Dieter Karl von Hunter are having a stroll on the grounds. They will join us shortly.”
Irmgard nudged Dee Dee under the table and gave Hagen a dark look. “What about me, Richard? You have not bothered to even kiss my hand.”
He took her by the shoulders, intending to give her a brotherly kiss on the forehead, but she pulled him down, locked her eyes fiercely on him and hungrily kissed him on the lips.
The breath eased out of her. Still she clung to him, swallowing with difficulty. “There, now maybe you will understand how much I’ve missed you.”
The moment passed. They all laughed, lightly at first and then with gathering gaiety, for it had all been done in fun.
Or had it?
Hagen drew a chair toward himself and sat down at the head of the table. Irmgard called one of the maids over, and in her best authoritarian style ordered, “Sausages, Gerda. Two eggs, scrambled, please—and juice, pancake flakes, brown rolls, jam—make it black currant this time—oh, and coffee. A big cup, too. A full pot for he is almost a Belgian, this one, though he eats like an Englishman.”
“You know me well.”
Her eyes grew sad and distant. “I should. You are like a messenger from the outside world, Richard, and I …”
“Irmgard, please.”
“Dee Dee, shut up! I need to know of the outside world, Herr Hagen. What is happening there, please?”
He would have to try to pass it off. Glancing at Dee Dee and Liza, he winked. “Nothing much. If you ask me, this is where things are happening. New roads—everywhere people building them, whole crews of teenage boys.”
“The Arbeitsdienst—after their stay in the Hitler Youth they are drafted into work gangs for the glory of the fatherland. There are shortages, Richard. Breadlines … Not everyone is so healthy-looking as those teenagers.”
Dee Dee gave her a rueful look and turned to talk to Liza. Hagen knew he had to say something. “There are shortages everywhere, Irmgard. Ranks of the unemployed. When I was in England last, I heard Welsh coal miners singing in the streets of London. They had walked, if you can believe it, all the way from their villages and towns. Never have I heard men’s souls lift themselves like that. It was as if they had to use the beauty of their voices to object to their poverty.”
“It will all end soon. Soon there will be work for everyone.”
What was the matter with her? “Including Dieter?” he asked, leaning back to let the maid set the start of his breakfast before him.
“Including Dieter. Father is adamant that my younger brother should not go into the armed forces. All the rest of the family have important jobs in our factories. They make uniforms for the Reich, Richard, silver braids for the arms, flashes for the tunics and badges for the caps. But something equally important must be found to keep Dieter out of things. This, of course, he does not believe.”
“Maybe he’d enjoy the army.” Richard was being cautious.
“He’d only get killed.”
Again he found himself wondering what had happened to set her off like this, particularly in front of company she didn’t know.
Dieter and she were so very close.
His tone was apologetic. “Yes, of course, he might get killed. I hadn’t thought of that. But there won’t be a war in any case, will there?”
Liza Berle watched them with bated breath. Dee Dee seemed to sense the danger for she said quite brightly, “No, of course there won’t. Why should there be? Germany’s only doing what is right. Everyone knows this.”
“So, we must find something for our boy to do just to keep him out of mischief and away from the pretty girls,” he said, waving his fork at them.
The meal was good, the sausages excellent. He worked at eating, hoping that the impasse was now over. Irmgard studied Dee Dee; Liza picked at the tablecloth as if pecking at indecision, then shyly offered hope.
“I think this may be why my Alfried has wished to meet privately with your brother, Irmgard. Alfried is very worried about the shortages of materials, yes? He needs someone who is free of other responsibilities to be a sort of troubleshooter …” Her voice tra
iled off in embarrassment. She felt foolish for having spoken out.
So Dieter would be working for the Krupp …
Dee Dee entertained them with the tale of a complicated love affair that involved a Polish cleaning woman, a cluttered closet that could not be locked and a fat Jewish stage manager whose wife was suspicious.
Alfried and Dieter finally joined them, the Krupp announcing that it was a distinct pleasure to share the weekend with them.
Now, however, everything became very formal, the laughter subdued. Cigarettes were produced, and Dee Dee took to clutching the pendant all the more.
When Hagen finally caught her eye, her fingers fled from it immediately. Over and around them the talk politely flowed, he adding bits and pieces as required until, on impulse, he reached out and took the pendant in hand.
The silver work was exquisite, a two-headed Celtic symbol like the Roman Janus, with the heads back to back, one looking outward, the other inward. Both with the bleakest of expressions.
“That’s from the La Tène period. The sculptor’s seen it in a museum and copied it.”
Irmgard didn’t smile, but watched the two of them. The Krupp and Dieter talked quietly. Liza was forgotten for the moment.
Was it an age of symbols? he wondered. The crooked cross of the swastika, the double zigzag and death’s-head of the SS? The banners and flags that were everywhere?
Irmgard had commissioned a friend to make the pendant, of this he was certain. But why give it to Dee Dee when it was far more her sort of thing?
The runic symbol for self, a sort of capital letter M, was incised in the space between the heads, but on turning the pendant over, he found the symbol for joy.
“Only through knowing the self is there joy and true peace of mind.”
“You’re too deep for me, Irmgard. I’m just a salesman.”
“Oh? For your sake, Richard, I hope you are.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“That questions are being asked of everyone, you in particular.”
The alpine meadow was far above the lake but not nearly as high as the stunted fir-clad slopes and felsenmeer that rose steeply behind them.
The Alice Factor Page 5