Hoffner was done trying to piece it together. When Pimm continued to rub the towel along his gums, Hoffner said, “You actually have it, don’t you? Out in Wannsee.”
Pimm flashed his teeth in the mirror. They were remarkably straight and white. “Something you didn’t believe earlier tonight. Do you know how much a porcelain crown costs these days?”
“I’m sure you’ll let me know how much I owe.”
Pimm glanced at him in the mirror and laughed. “You think I pay for it?” He slipped the towel onto the rack and said, “You need to get dressed.”
“I’ll call your tailor.”
Pimm turned. “No, you need to get up and get dressed now.”
Hoffner found a pack of cigarettes in the pocket of his robe. He pulled it out, but it was empty. “Otherwise I end up in a tub someplace?”
Pimm said easily, “I’d do that one myself.” Hoffner tossed the pack into the trash, and Pimm said, “Who do you think put her here?”
Hoffner imagined he might want to figure that one out sometime soon. Right now, though, it felt better just to sit. “Oh, I don’t know,” he said. “Fritz Lang, his wife, the great Al Jolson. They’re all at the top of my list.”
“You’ve mucked this one up nicely, Nikolai, so now you’re going to help me fix it. You need to get dressed.”
Hoffner said, “From where I’m sitting, Alby, it looks like you managed that pretty well on your own.”
“Really? And how’s that?”
“I’ve no idea,” Hoffner said flatly. “I can’t tell you why she was meant to destroy it—thanks, by the way, for that little piece of information—or why you’ve clearly had the thing the whole time, or who this ‘we’ is you like to refer to. I could probably put in a guess, but I just don’t have the energy. The only thing I do know is that you decided to keep all of it to yourself until now. So that makes it your mess, not mine. You want to string me along, fine, but don’t blame me when the string breaks.”
Pimm might have shown a moment of remorse before saying, “She needed to destroy it, Nikolai, because the Americans needed it that way. They don’t see it destroyed for themselves, they don’t buy Ufa. And if they don’t buy Ufa, someone else does. Making enough sense for you?”
It took Hoffner another few seconds to see through this. He shook his head in disgust.
Pimm nodded over at the tub. “Who do you think did that?”
Hoffner hated Pimm for drawing him back in. “That isn’t what Hugenberg does, Alby.”
“You’re right. It isn’t. That’s why he has friends—those new political ones he’s been bankrolling. Who do you think was standing guard outside the warehouses tonight?”
The image of Sascha and his comrades pissing on the university boys this morning filled Hoffner’s head. He pushed it from his mind and said, “So this is about who gets Ufa? She’s dead because someone wants another notch in his belt?”
“It’s not as simple as that. We need to get you dressed.”
Pimm started for the door, but Hoffner said, “Seems pretty simple.” Stifled rage had a tendency to quiet his voice. “Another case of the Americans trying to buy up German industry, and you’re working with the Americans. Well done.”
Pimm waited before saying, “You don’t want to go through this, Nikolai.”
“No, I think I do.”
Again Pimm waited. “Get dressed.” When Hoffner refused to move, Pimm said, “It’s not going to help.” Hoffner continued to wait, and Pimm finally said, “Fine. You want to know?” He shook his head as he sat on the edge of the sink; he needed them beyond this. “The company,” he said. “Mentor Bilanz. The one you were so eager to talk about tonight. I have no idea what it does except I get paid very well to ship various things across Europe. Right now it’s bacon.”
“We’ve been through this.” Hoffner’s voice remained quiet. “What does that have to do with her?”
“As a token of his thanks,” Pimm said, ignoring the question, “Herr Alfred put me on the board. It was a joke to him, of course, but his cronies liked having a gangster as a silent partner. Made them feel somehow more dangerous. Made no difference to me. I was still making my money. Of course I could never attend the meetings—that would have been too ridiculous—but the mysterious LA Company went onto the letterhead, and they all had a good laugh.”
“I never pegged you as someone who liked being the butt of a joke, Alby. I’ll have to remember that.”
“Yes, you do that,” Pimm said coolly. “And I’ll leave you to figure this out on your own, shall I? Given that you’ve been so brilliant up to this point.” Hoffner said nothing, and Pimm continued. “A few months ago, a memorandum came my way. It wasn’t meant to. Some clerk decided to send it to everyone on the letterhead. Rather clever finding an address for me. It came to the club, delivered on one of those silver trays. Very nice. It was a proposition from Hugenberg. He wanted to buy Ufa. Even I knew that made no sense. The company was bleeding money. Only a matter of time before the Americans were going to swallow the industry whole. But Herr Alfred said he’d gotten wind of something Ufa was developing. Something that could revolutionize sound production—and cripple the Americans all at the same time. What could be better than that? Of course he knew his board would need proof. So he promised to show them this miracle device before asking them to invest.”
“And that’s when you decided to help the Americans? That seems a little thin, Alby.”
“You’re right,” said Pimm. “It wouldn’t have been nearly enough had the whole business with Phoebus not fallen in my lap.”
“I don’t follow.”
There was a single knock at the front door, followed by three more short raps, and Pimm made his way out into the kitchen. Hoffner heard a hushed conversation before two of Pimm’s men stepped into the bathroom. They each nodded over at him and then gently lifted Leni out of the tub. Hoffner followed them back into the kitchen, where a carpet had been laid out. They set her down and, with four quick turns, rolled her up tight. Pimm said, “I’m guessing the Kripo will have a few detectives here in the next hour or so. An anonymous call implicating one of their inspectors in his own case.” They hoisted her up, and Pimm nodded his men to the door. “Better for you if she isn’t here, I think.”
The boys maneuvered her out into the corridor and then pulled the door shut behind them. Hoffner listened as the footsteps receded. He then moved to the door. Only its silence convinced him she was gone.
THERE WAS STILL THE SECOND GLASS of whiskey on the table, and Hoffner now tossed it back. “You were telling me about Phoebus.”
“She’ll be sent back to the States,” said Pimm. “That’s the right thing to do, I think.”
Hoffner refilled his glass and said, “Yah.” He drank.
“You mind pouring me one of those?”
Hoffner spilled out two more, and Pimm said, “Your friends at Phoebus. They had something else Hugenberg needed shipped. Film stock. It was getting produced at their studio and then processed in Switzerland.”
Hoffner saw where this was going. He handed Pimm his glass and said, “So the charade at your club. The projector that couldn’t run the film—all of that was just to send me in search of Herr Vogt’s sound device.”
Pimm said, “The Fräulein needed a guide. We figured the Americans would believe a Kripo detective leading her to it.”
Hoffner brought his glass to his lips. The whiskey had lost its smell. He set it down. “For fuck’s sake, Alby, you should have told me.”
“And expect you to help the Americans? Please. I know you better than that. She had to think she was playing you. That doesn’t happen if you know.”
Hoffner was losing what little strength he had. “Not my fault alone, then, is it?” Pimm said nothing, and Hoffner suddenly felt ridiculous standing in his robe. There might have been other reasons for it, but he chose to focus on the robe. “Why not just destroy the device yourself?”
Pimm was growing impatient. �
��Think, Nikolai. The Americans knew Ufa was after sound. They knew Ufa had come up with something that could revolutionize the way films are produced. The Americans find that out, and they know they need to stop it. The problem is, if the Americans don’t destroy Vogt’s sound device themselves, they don’t make an offer. We couldn’t just tell them, ‘Hello there—we’ve gotten rid of the thing. Now come and buy the company.’ They wouldn’t have believed us. They couldn’t risk making an offer and then having Ufa make fools of them by trotting out the device. We needed Fräulein Coyle to find it—with some help from you—so that the Americans would be certain that Ufa was completely vulnerable.”
Hoffner shook his head. “That still doesn’t explain why the Americans would want to destroy the thing in the first place. Why not ship it back to the States, use it—and then buy out Ufa?”
“Because they can’t use it,” said Pimm, growing more frustrated. “They’re committed to sound on disc. This is sound on film. It would cost them too much to change horses now.”
“You’re quite the expert.”
“No, I know the same as you—just without the distractions.”
Hoffner ran both his hands across his face. There was too much spinning through his head. He needed to simplify. “So why help the Americans? Why not Hugenberg?”
Pimm had yet to take a drink. He stared into his whiskey, then took a sip. “I might not be much of a believer, Nikolai,” he said. “But when some lunatic’s grand plan includes my elimination, I tend to take notice.” He finished the glass and set it down.
“What?”
“Hugenberg’s friends. The thugs at the warehouses. They’re a charming bunch. I believe you’ve met them.”
Hoffner always managed to forget this little piece to Pimm: the criminal Jew. Still, it hardly made sense. “They’re fringe, Alby. They’ll be gone in a year.”
“Really? When was the last time Hugenberg stepped out onto the fringe? If this is who he’s getting into bed with, then, yes—I’ll take the Americans every time.”
“And that’s it?” Hoffner said, unconvinced. “Hugenberg throws some money at a bunch of Jew-baiters and you decide he shouldn’t get his paws into Ufa? Not that I question your noble streak, Alby—”
“Don’t push it, Nikolai.”
“But I also know you better than that. You’ve had a man at the Phoebus warehouses for weeks—watching, waiting. That’s how you knew to come here.” Hoffner held Pimm’s gaze: it was only then that he began to see it. “You have no idea what’s inside them, do you?”
Pimm’s stare was no less firm. “I’m guessing you do, though.”
“And that’s the reason you’re here—aside, of course, from coming to my rescue with the Kripo. Very gallant of you.” For the first time in hours, Hoffner felt his strength returning. “You couldn’t find your way inside the warehouses, could you?”
Pimm looked mildly amused by the question. “Of course I could have gotten inside. What do they have—two men on the perimeter of each building? Walk-arounds every twenty minutes? It’s a Luger for each of them, except for the little one who likes a rifle. I’ve been told he fires it into the sky when he drinks too much. Everything in sixhour shifts. Very exact. Very precise. It would have taken us ten minutes—at most—to get in.”
“Then why didn’t you?”
“Because the only person in Berlin who could do that, Nikolai—aside from you and your friends in the Kripo—is me. And Hugenberg knows that. I take those warehouses and I’ve started a war, and I’m not sure that’s what I want just now. Besides, everything else was moving so smoothly, why take the risk?”
Hoffner said with mock sincerity, “Yes, you’re so unwilling to take risks.”
“She doesn’t know her limits anymore, Nikolai.” Pimm spoke with a distant anger. “She doesn’t know when to say, ‘Enough.’ ”
Hoffner had no idea what Pimm was talking about. “Who doesn’t?”
“Berlin,” Pimm said. He sat back against the edge of the table and let his eyes drift to the floor. He stayed like that for nearly half a minute before saying, “Used to be, things would get a little wild, a new craze, and she’d find a way to rein herself back in. She doesn’t seem to know how to do that anymore.”
“And that’s Hugenberg’s fault?”
Pimm looked up. “Things run best when everyone has their own bit. I like the five districts and down to the wharves. Gröbnitz has the slaughterhouses, north through Wedding. The Sass brothers work west and south of the Hallesches Gate. And for some reason Frimmel loves the west. I don’t know how he makes any money with it, but it’s not my concern.”
“I know how the syndicates work, Alby.”
“Do you? Then you know how Berlin works. How we all watch each other. Hugenberg doesn’t. He wants to have all the newspapers? Fine. The telegraphs as well? All right—I suppose that makes sense. And now he wants the films? And maybe that wouldn’t be a problem, except the sort of thing he’s got going down at those warehouses smells a lot like what I would be doing down there. Truck deliveries in the middle of the night. Trucks with the old Krupp factory insignia painted over.” He pulled out a cigarette and tongued the tobacco. “I don’t know what it is. Maybe he’s running guns, black-market munitions—we’ve all been trying to get a hand in since Versailles clamped down. It’s good money if you know what you’re doing. But all of that is how I run my interests. It’s not the way he’s meant to run his, with his factories and his letterheads and his boards of directors. So I’m just wondering if Hugenberg is stepping out. Add to that these new friends of his—and that’s no small concern for me, Nikolai. These people stink of a corruption to their very core. Just look at the films they make. You can’t have things running that way. And if I don’t make that clear to him now, then maybe Hugenberg thinks he can take it all. And then Berlin ceases to exist.”
“Your Berlin, Alby.”
“No, Nikolai.” Pimm was now staring directly at him. “Our Berlin. You need it this way as much as I do.” He finally lit up. “It’s already slipping away. That’s why you’ve lost your footing on this one.” He exhaled a stream of smoke and said, “Now what does he have in those warehouses?”
The ring of the telephone startled them both. Hoffner waited for the second ring, then the third, before stepping over and picking up. It was the desk sergeant at the Alex. “Yes?”
“There’s been an incident, Herr Chief Inspector.”
Inexplicably Hoffner’s mind raced to Georg. “An incident—where?”
“Your office, Herr Chief Inspector.”
It took him a moment to answer. “What are you saying?”
“Two men. They tried to—”
“When?” said Hoffner.
“I—I don’t know, Herr Chief Inspector. Maybe twenty minutes ago.”
“Did they take anything?”
There was a pause. “Take . . . I don’t think so.”
“What do you mean you don’t think so?” Hoffner stared across at Pimm.
“It’s not clear at this time, Herr Chief Inspector. They did, however—well, they’ve left something.”
The man was getting more irritating by the minute. “And what was that?”
There was another pause. “Best if you come down and see it, Herr Chief Inspector.”
Hoffner let out a frustrated breath. “And you have them?”
The last pause was almost too much. “Unfortunately, we weren’t able to—”
“Jesus Christ.” Hoffner tried to think. “Post a man at my office, Herr Sergeant. I’ll be there in half an hour. And try to keep track of anyone leaving the building—if that’s not too much trouble for you.”
TWENTY MINUTES LATER Pimm shut the car door behind them and yelled to his man: “Alexanderplatz.” The driver pulled out, and Pimm said, “You’re sure it’s tanks?”
Even the short run across the street had soaked them both. Hoffner shook out his hat. “Well, it could have been a new type of tram, Alby. The big gun
s would certainly clear traffic quickly.” Hoffner set his hat on the seat. “Yes. Tanks. Not exactly what you were expecting, was it?”
Hoffner braced for another outburst, but Pimm just sat there, nodding absently. It became unnerving, and Hoffner said, “You’re telling me you had no idea? Even with the Navy connection—none of it?” Pimm remained lost in thought, and Hoffner said, “I should have checked the other building. That was stupid. Who knows what he’s got in there.”
Pimm suddenly found his focus and barked at his man, “Stop with the turns, idiot. Just straight down. What traffic are we avoiding at two in the morning?”
“That’s right,” said Hoffner. “Blame your boy. After all, he was the one keeping watch on those warehouses, wasn’t he?”
Pimm snorted. “Shut up, Nikolai.” He began to shake his head. “What the hell is he doing building tanks?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Hoffner said as he pulled a soggy cigarette from his pocket. “An old monarchist with more money and power than he knows what to do with—and he wonders where it all went wrong.” He tried to light it. “His Berlin’s gone, too, Alby, and crying about it in his newspapers and the Reichstag obviously isn’t getting the job done. My guess, he’s found another way to get it back.”
“By putting tanks on the street? Please.”
“Would you put it past him?” Hoffner made one last effort before tossing the cigarette to the floor. “Jolson changes the world, and Herr Hugenberg gets all the sound stages he wants—to build whatever he wants. I’d call that being a very clever man.”
“I’ve met him,” said Pimm. “He’s not that clever.”
“Really? All of this, Alby—the films, the sound, the sex—Hugenberg doesn’t care about any of that. He might put a few talking newsreels in a theater, let the novelty of that distract everyone while he gets his message out, but he’s after much bigger things. All of this was so he could build his tanks. That’s why he needs Ufa. And his new political friends—doing exactly what he tells them to do—they just make that easier for him.”
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