by Joseph Kanon
He sat back and tossed the picture on the table, frustrated, Ron’s grin a kind of taunt. When his face fell on its double in the pile, he even seemed to move his head in a laugh. One more, Liz would have been saying, moving around for a better angle, Ron the fixed point in a stereoscope. How many had she taken? Jake leaned forward, grabbing up the prints. Enough for a small panorama? He collected the airport shots from the discard pile and laid them out with the others in a fan shape, ignoring Ron, piecing together the overlapping bits of background—Brian’s head on Brian’s head, moving left, matching the exit doors, until the edges were covered and he could look across the crowd with Tully.
He picked up the magnifying glass and moved in a straight line left from Tully’s face—soldiers going about their business, the annoying bulk of Ron’s head blocking the view behind, but now more faces beyond the edge of the first picture, some sharper than others, a few looking back in Tully’s direction. Somebody waiting with a jeep. Jake forced himself to move the glass slowly—in the crowd you could miss a face in a blink—so that when he neared the edge he caught it, a shape out of place, narrow straight board patches across the shoulders, the wrong uniform. Russian. He stopped the glass. Body turned toward Tully, as if he had sighted him, and then the face, almost clear among the blurs because it was so familiar, the broad cheeks and shrewd Slavic eyes. Sikorsky had met him.
Jake looked again, afraid the face would dissolve in the fuzzy crowd, something he only thought he saw. No mistake—Sikorsky. Who’d been interested in Nordhausen. Who’d had Willi watch Professor Brandt. It’s a common name, I think, he’d said to Lena outside the Adlon. Connected to Emil, where the numbers met. And now connected to Tully. Sikorsky, who’d been the greifer at Potsdam, a different connection. Jake stopped, letting the glass go and reaching without thinking across the table for the gun, feeling the same prickling unease he’d felt behind the Alex. Not different, maybe the same connection after all, a direct line to him, blundering after Tully, the only one unwilling to let it go. Not Shaeffer. Not Liz. He looked up into the mirror at the man Sikorsky had pointed out, standing behind Liz in the market.
Now that he knew, what did he do with it? Call Karlshorst for an interview? He left the billet in an excited rush and then stood in the middle of Gelferstrasse, suddenly not sure which way to turn. A few lights had come on in the dusk, but he was alone in the street, as deserted as a western town before a shoot-out. He felt the gun, strapped to his hip. In one of Gunther’s stories he’d be facing down the posse until the cavalry arrived. With an empty gun. He moved his hand away, feeling helpless. Who could he go to? Gunther, shopping for a new employer? Bernie, absorbed in a different crime? And then, oddly enough, he realized he was already where he needed to go. Don’t forget whose uniform you have on. The cavalry was just down the street, scratching at a bandage.
Breimer had joined Shaeffer for dinner, the two of them sitting with trays on their laps. Jake stopped halfway through the door.
“What?” Shaeffer said, reading his face.
“I need to see you.”
“Shoot. We don’t have any secrets, do we, congressman?”
Breimer looked up expectantly, fork in hand.
“Sikorsky has him,” Jake said.
“Has who?” Breimer said.
“Brandt,” Shaeffer answered absently, without looking at him. “How do you know?”
“He met Tully at the airport. Liz took a picture—no mistake. Sikorsky’s had him all along.”
“Fuck,” Shaeffer said, pushing away the tray.
“That’s what you thought, isn’t it?” Breimer said to him.
“I thought ‘might.’”
“Well, now you know,” Jake said. “Has.”
“Great. Now what do we do?” Shaeffer said, not really a question.
“Get him back. That’s your specialty, isn’t it?”
Shaeffer looked up at him. “It would be nice to know where.”
“Moscow,” Breimer said. “The Russians don’t have to go through the damn State Department to get things done—they just do it. Well, that’s that,” he said, leaning back. “And after all we—”
“No, he’s in Berlin,” Jake said.
“What makes you say that?”
“They’re still looking for his wife. Brandt’s no good to them if he won’t cooperate—they want to keep him happy.”
“Any suggestions?” Shaeffer said.
“That’s your department. Put some men on Sikorsky. It’s just a matter of time before he goes visiting.”
Shaeffer shook his head, thinking. “That might be a little unfriendly.”
“Since when did that stop you?”
“You boys don’t want to go starting anything,” Breimer said unexpectedly. “Now that we’re in bed again.” He picked up the Stars and Stripes on the windowsill. RUSSIA JOINS WAR ON JAPS. “Just in time for the kill, the bastards. Who asked them?” He put his fork down, as if the thought had ruined his appetite. “So now we play nicey-nicey and they’d just as soon slit your throat as look at you. If you ask me, we picked the wrong fight.”
Jake looked at him, disturbed. “Not if you read the Nordhausen files,” he said. “Anyway, maybe you’ll get another chance.”
“Oh, it’s coming,” Breimer said, ignoring Jake’s tone. “Don’t you worry about that. Godless bastards.” He looked over at Shaeffer. “But meanwhile you’d better keep the cowboy stuff to a minimum, I guess. MG’ll be bending over for the Russians now.” He paused. “For a while.”
“It’s no good anyway,” Shaeffer said, still thoughtful. “We can’t tail Sikorsky. They’d pick it up in a minute.”
“Not if you had the right tail,” Jake said, leaning against the bookshelf, arms folded.
“Such as?”
“I know a German who knows him. Professional. He might be interested, for a price.”
“How much?”
“A persil.”
“What’s that?” Breimer said, but nobody answered. Instead, Shaeffer reached for a cigarette, staring at Jake.
“I can’t promise that,” he said, flicking his lighter. “My signature doesn’t mean shit. He’d have to work on spec. Of course, if he actually located Brandt—”
“You’d find a better signature. I’ll ask.”
“You’re talking about hiring a German?” Breimer said.
“Why not? You do,” Jake said.
Breimer’s head snapped back, as if he’d been slapped. “That’s an entirely different matter.”
“Yeah, I know, reparations.”
“You don’t want to get mixed up with Germans,” Breimer said to Shaeffer. “FIAT’s an American operation.”
“Suit yourself,” Jake said. “Somebody’s got to get to Sikorsky—he’s the only lead we’ve got.”
Shaeffer looked at him through the smoke, not saying anything.
“Well, you guys think it over,” Jake said, moving away from the shelf, impatient. “You wanted me to find Brandt. I found him. At least how to find him. Now the ball’s in your court. Meanwhile, can I borrow some ammo?” He patted the gun. “Liz was fresh out. Same Colt, too,” he said to Shaeffer.
“I thought press weren’t allowed to carry arms,” Breimer said, missing the look between them.
“That’s before I started working for FIAT. Now I get nervous. I notice you carry one.” He nodded toward the bulge in Breimer’s pocket.
“For your information, this is going to a boy’s father in my district.”
Shaeffer opened the drawer to his nightstand, took out a box, and threw it to Jake.
“Careful you don’t shoot yourself with it,” Jake said to Breimer. “Hell of a way to lose an election.” He sat on the bed and fit the bullets into the gun, then snapped it closed. “There, that’s better. Now all I have to do is learn how to use it.”
Shaeffer, who’d been quiet, running the tip of his cigarette around the ashtray, now looked up. “Geismar, this isn’t going to work, you know.”
“I was kidding. I know how—”
“No, with Sikorsky. We’re not going to get anywhere with a tail, yours or ours. I know him. If he’s got Brandt stashed away, even his own men aren’t going to know where. He’s careful.”
“They must have their own Kransberg. Start there.”
Shaeffer looked down at the ashtray again, avoiding eye contact. “You have to bring her in.”
“Bring who in?” Breimer said.
“Geismar’s a friend of the wife’s.”
“Well, for Christ’s sake—”
“No,” Jake said. “She’s not going anywhere.”
“Yes, she is,” Shaeffer said quietly, jaw set. “She’s going to see her husband. And we’ll be right behind her. It’s the only way. We’ve been waiting for Brandt to come to her. Now the fun’s over. We have to give Sikorsky what he wants. It’s the only way to flush him out.”
“Like hell it is. When did you get this bright idea?”
“I’ve been thinking it over. There’s a way to work it, but we need her. You set it up with Sikorsky—or get your friend to do it, even better. That might be worth a persil. She goes to visit, we’ll have a team on her the whole time. There’s no danger to her, none. We get them both back. I guarantee it.”
“You guarantee it. With bullets all over the place. Not a chance. Think again.”
“No bullets. I said, there’s a way to work it. All she has to do is get us there.”
“She’s not bait. Got it? Not bait. She won’t do it.”
“She’d do it if you asked her,” Shaeffer said calmly.
Jake got up from the bed, looking from one to the other, both sets of eyes fixed on him. “I won’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“And risk her? I don’t want him back that much.”
“But I do,” Shaeffer said. “Look, the best way to do this is nice—makes for a better team effort. But it’s not the only way. If you won’t bring her in, I’ll do it myself.”
“After you find her.”
“I know where she is. Right across from KaDeWe. You think we didn’t watch you?” he said, almost smug.
Jake looked at him, surprised. “You should have watched harder, then. I moved her. I wanted to keep her out of the Russians’ hands. Now it looks like I’ll have to keep her out of yours too. And I will. Nobody touches her, understand? One move and we’re gone again. I can do it, too. I know Berlin.”
“You used to. Now you’re just a guy in uniform, like the rest of us. People do what they have to do.”
“Well, she doesn’t have to do this. Get another idea, Shaeffer.” He started moving toward the door. “And by the way, I resign. I don’t want to be a deputy anymore. Go watch someone else.”
Breimer had been following this like a spectator, but now interrupted, his voice smoothing over, folksy. “Son, I think you forget whose side you’re on. Kind of thing happens when you get your head up some kraut skirt. You need to think again. We’re all Americans here.”
“Some of us are more American than others.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you haven’t got my vote. No.”
“Your vote? This isn’t a town meeting. There’s a war going on here.”
“You fight it.”
“Well, I intend to. And so will you. What do you think we’re doing here?”
“I know what you’re doing here. The country’s on its knees, and all you want to do is give favors to the people who put it there and kick everyone else in the balls. That your idea of our side?”
“Take it easy, Jake,” Shaeffer said.
“I’ve seen a lot of men die. Years of them. They didn’t do it to keep things fat for I. G. Farben.”
Breimer flushed. “Just who the hell do you think you are, talking like that?”
“It’s just his mouth,” Shaeffer said.
“Who?” Jake said. “An American. I get to say no. That’s what it means. I’m saying no to you, got it? No.”
“Of all the piss-ant—”
“Drop it, Jake,” Shaeffer said, his voice like a hand on Jake’s shoulder, pulling him back.
Jake looked at him, suddenly embarrassed. “Enjoy your dinner,” he said, turning to the door.
But Breimer was on his feet now, almost knocking over the tray as he got up. “You think I don’t know how to deal with guys like you? You’re a dime a dozen. You don’t want to play ball, I’ll get your ass fired right out of here. Bunch of pinks running around. All mouth, that’s what you are. And they love it, the Russians. Aid and comfort to the enemy, that’s what you’re doing, and you don’t even know it.”
“Is that why they took a shot at me?” Jake said, turning back. “Funny thing about that, though. An American shot Tully, not Sikorsky. So why did Sikorsky want to kill me? Seems like he might have been doing a favor for someone on our side. The one we’re all on. Who knows? Maybe you.” Breimer gaped at him. “But somebody, one of ours. Makes you a little reluctant to take sides. All things considered.”
“Geismar? See me tomorrow,” Shaeffer said. “We’ll talk.”
“The answer’s still no.”
“You don’t want to be alone out there too long. Think about it.”
“That’s it?” Breimer said. “Man thumbs his nose at the U.S. government and just goes back to his girlfriend and that’s it?”
“He’ll be back,” Shaeffer said. “We’re all a little hot under the collar here.” He looked at Jake. “Sleep on it.”
“I’m only thumbing my nose at you,” Jake said to Breimer, ignoring Shaeffer. “Feels good, too—kind of a patriotic gesture.”
“This is a waste of time,” Breimer said abruptly to Shaeffer. “Go pick her up. She’ll do what she’s told.”
Jake put his hand on the door, then turned back, his voice icy. “Maybe we should be clear about one thing. You lay a hand on her, one hand, and you won’t know what hit you.”
“You don’t scare me.”
“Try this. There’s a big hole in a national magazine waiting for me to fill it. Maybe a father in Utica getting his boy’s gun. There’s a congressman not too busy to run an errand of mercy. Picture them together, it practically brings tears to your eyes. Or maybe the same congressman in Berlin. Not so nice. Lobbying for Nazi war criminals on your tax dollars. While our boys are still dying in the Pacific. Here’s the picture layout. Farben ran a factory at Auschwitz. We get a shot of the Farben board, then right next to it one of the camp. One with a lot of bodies stacked up. I’ll bet we can even find an old one, prewar, of the Farben boys shaking hands with their friends at American Dye. For all I know, you’re in it too. Then a nice one of you—one of Liz’s, she always wanted a credit in Collier’s. I figure FIAT owes her.”
“Jesus, Geismar,” Shaeffer said.
“That’s a lie,” Breimer said.
“But I can write it. I know how to do it. I’ve written lots of lies—for our side. I can fucking write it. And you can spend the next two years denying it. Now leave her alone.”
Breimer stood for a moment without breathing, his eyes fixed on Jake. When he spoke, his voice was hard, not even a trace of back home. “You just burned one hell of a bridge for some German pussy.”
Jake opened the door, then looked back over his shoulder at Shaeffer. “Thanks for the ammo. Tell you what, if I do find him, I’ll send up a flare.”
Shaeffer was looking down at the floor as if someone had made a mess, but raised his head as Jake walked out.”
“Geismar?” he said. “Bring her in.”
Jake walked past the GI guard and the nurse coming down the hallway for the trays. Then he was out in Gelferstrasse again, even more alone than before.
CHAPTER 15
Gunther refused the job, agreeing, ironically, with Shaeffer.
“It would never work. He’s careful. And you know, this is not police work. This is—”
“I know what it is. I didn’t realize you were so
choosy.”
“A question more of resources,” Gunther said blandly.
“We know he met Tully,” Jake said.
“So Vassily’s the paymaster, but who else did Tully meet? Not Herr Brandt, I think. With an American bullet.”
“The one leads to the other. And Sikorsky knows where Emil is.”
“Evidently. But you keep confusing the cases. Who is it exactly you wish to find, Herr Brandt or the man who killed Tully?”
“Both.”
Gunther looked at him. “Sikorsky won’t lead us to Herr Brandt, but he may lead us to the other. If he doesn’t suspect we know. You see, it’s a question of resources.”
“So what do you intend to do, just leave Emil with the Russians?”
Gunther shrugged. “My friend, I don’t care who makes the rockets. We already made ours. You can see with what results.” He got up from his chair to pour more coffee. “For now, let’s just solve our case. Herr Brandt, I’m afraid, will have to wait.”
“He can’t wait,” Jake said, frustrated.
Gunther looked over the edge of his cup. “Then read the files.”
“I read the files.”
“Read again. They’re complete?”
“Everything he handed over.”
“Then it must be there—what Vassily wants. You see, it’s the interesting point. Why did Tully have to die at all? The deal was a success. Vassily got what he wanted, Tully got paid. A success. So why? Unless it wasn’t finished. There must be something else Vassily wants.”
“Besides Lena.”
Gunther shook his head, dismissing this. “Herr Brandt wants her. Vassily is just the good host. No, something else. In the files. Why else would Tully read them? So go read.” He wriggled his fingers, a schoolmaster shooing Jake away.
Jake checked his watch. “All right. Later. First I have to do some work.”
“The journalist. More black market?”
Jake glanced up, sorry now that he had mentioned it. “No. Actually, Renate. An interview.”
“Ah,” Gunther said, walking back to the chair with his cup, avoiding it. “By the way,” he said, sitting down, “did you check the motor pool?”