The Boy from Berlin

by Michael Parker

  Gus picked up the phone. ‘Mason.’

  ‘Gus, it’s me; Babs.’

  Gus looked up at Tyler and Lawrence and mouthed the word ‘Babs’. They both nodded and walked through to another room in the suite.

  ‘Hi honey,’ Mason trilled as the two men left. He looked at his watch. ‘Shouldn’t you be in bed?’

  ‘I couldn’t sleep,’ she told him. ‘Things on my mind.’

  ‘Like what, the election night? Hey, should be great.’ He sounded almost light headed; flippant. ‘Don’t worry about it, sweetheart, it’s going to be great, I promise you.’

  ‘It isn’t that, Gus; it’s something else.’ She sounded mordant.

  ‘Look Babs, this isn’t a secure line,’ he warned her. ‘How about I give you a call in the morning?’

  ‘No Gus, I want to talk now.’

  He frowned. ‘Well keep it tight, Babs. Understand?’

  ‘I’m worried about a little girl, Gus. She’s gone missing.’

  Mason felt the muscles around his jaws tighten. ‘Don’t worry about that, Babs. We’ll talk about that when I get home. Goodnight sweetheart.’ He put the phone down. Then he picked it up and dialled reception.

  ‘No more calls please. None!’

  Babs switched her phone off and tossed it on to the pillow beside her. She knew now that Gus was aware of the kidnap. There was no doubt in her mind. She sat there staring at the far wall wondering what she could do about it, knowing that there was precious little.

  Something nagged away at her in the back of her brain. What was it? She shook her head in despair and lay back. Something was trying to get out and the awful thing was, she couldn’t pluck it from those dark recesses of her mind. Maybe it would be clearer tomorrow, she thought. And with that, and the nagging realization that her husband was up to his neck in some treacherous game, she turned off the bedside light and tried to think of the election and the gala night they had been promised when Gus was confirmed as president elect.

  And God help America, she thought.

  SIXTEEN

  BABS WAS NERVOUS. She had just watched her husband accept the congratulations from the defeated, Democratic presidential candidate by phone. It meant he was now locked in as President-elect of the United States of America. He was about to become the most powerful (and unapproachable) man in the world. Nobody would be allowed to get near to him if he didn’t want them to. Already his phone and credit cards had been taken from him and sealed away. Gus was now a symbol, an imaginary crown on top of the nation. He was the people’s property, no longer a private citizen. Only a select few would have his ear; those who would feather their own nests and enlarge their own, individual power and influence around the world. Those who would now further the cause of National Socialism under the guise of republicanism.

  Babs had seen the movement growing over the years and seen the men who would come to finance the path to power and glory. Men who would control the military, men who would control the justice system through the power invested in their rise to the Supreme Court. Men like Henry Lawrence and Mort Tyler. There were also the faceless ones who embraced a political dream and philosophy, who had tasted power and wanted to gorge on it.

  Babs had seen them come and go, but had never realized that it was a cancerous growth that was seeping into the nation’s well-being. It had passed her by until it was too late to recognize the signs. Now the die had been cast; the fingers of power and political change would spread until a sleeping nation woke up to the fact that the democracy they had so cherished and died for would soon be in the hands of a despised and hated demagogue.

  Yes, Babs was nervous. She wanted to stop everything. Call another election. Tell the world what an evil man her husband was beneath the media savvy front he showed to everyone. And as Gus stood on the platform and took the applause and the adulation of a crowd drunk on the sheer joy of seeing their man take the victory, Babs wanted to burst into tears; tears that would be confused with joy and emotion by the crowd, not recognized as tears of horror and bitterness.

  Gus turned to her and scooped her up into his arms as the crescendo of noise became a wall of sound. Babs put on the fixed smile and showed the crowd, the supplicants, how much she was enjoying the absolute victory with her man, Gus Mason, the next president of America.

  She wished it would all end, that there was some way of stopping all this. She wished it was a bad dream, that she would wake up and Gus would be a lawyer in the district attorney’s office in Newark, just like it was in the old days.

  Babs knew it had already begun, even as far back as that fateful day when Judge Lawrence agreed to support Gus’s application for the State Senate. Ann Robbins had died because of her opposition to Gus. Did she already know? Was she aware of the danger that was threatened by the ideology that would surely follow? And did Gus kill her? Lieutenant Amos believed it was either her or her husband, but was kept on a short leash by his captain, another of Lawrence’s acolytes. He also guessed that Bill Mason’s death was no accident. But Babs knew the truth.

  The noise and the cheering grew with each of Gus’s movements on the platform. A hand wave, a look at Babs, a nod to the members of his staff who were on the platform with him. There was even a congratulatory pat on the shoulder to his running mate. The bunting fluttered wildly and the flags moved back and forth in an orchestrated movement of colour. The journalists who had been assigned to trail Gus’s campaign now gave up their previously unbiased reporting and clamoured like drunken graduates at the foot of the platform. Television cameras were vying with personal cameras to get the best shots of the new man; the new, world statesman.

  Babs hated it. She wanted it all to end, but she knew she had no chance, none at all. Soon they would be doing the round of parties. First the official ball at the luxurious five star Marriott followed by smaller, more personal parties to show appreciation and heart-warming gratitude for services rendered. It was going to be a long night, and the more Babs thought about it, so the night seemed to stretch away into the interminable distance.

  Lieutenant Amos was on duty outside the hotel. Dubrovski was close by. Amos wanted to be there, simply to watch Mason walk past. He had some kind of forlorn hope that he might catch a glimpse of the man who, he was convinced, had ordered the kidnap of his beloved Holly. Dubrovski had taken the unheard of measure of relieving Amos of his side arm because he was afraid of what Amos might be tempted to do. Amos had told him not to be a prick, but his captain wasn’t taking any chances, so Amos went unarmed.

  The crowds from the convention hall had spilled over into the roads making traffic control an absolute nightmare. There were the usual, joyous scenes as motorists toured the city, sounding their horns and generally making an unfettered nuisance of themselves. Most of it was harmless, but still meant the overworked police department had a great deal on its plate.

  Amos couldn’t help feeling resentment at his own colleagues, foolishly branding them all with the same iron as he looked around at them and wondered how many were on Mason’s payroll. And how many were impeding their search for his daughter? It was probably true that none of those officers were involved in any aspect of the kidnap, and probably had no way of interfering with the investigation. The truth was, there was nothing to go on. No clues. No witnesses. No ransom demands, not that any were expected anyway, and nothing but total silence.

  He had spent a great deal of time with his wife, who was still in a coma. He had talked to her and kept promising that he would find Holly. It was this continuous insistence that helped to keep Amos on an even keel. He was frustrated by his own helplessness, and by his department’s failure to find any leads. Holly had simply disappeared off the face of the earth, metaphorically speaking, and there was nobody who could tell him where they were hiding her.

  Amos saw the flashing blue lights of the police motorcycle outriders coming off the expressway. The sounds from the sirens echoed around the high buildings, announcing the arrival of America’s next p
resident. He watched as the escorts brought the motor cavalcade to a halt at the edge of the red carpet. Immediately two secret servicemen leapt out of the second car and opened the doors for Gus Mason and Babs.

  Amos was standing on the edge of the red carpet, about five yards from the car. Dubrovski was beside him, trying hard not to touch the gun nestled beneath his jacket. He knew there were police marksmen on the roof of nearby buildings, and he had personally briefed two of them to watch Amos. Any unexpected movement and they were to bring him down. He tried to look casual and at ease, living easily with the sense of the occasion, but in truth he was under tension, and it showed on his face.

  Mason stepped out of the car and on to the red carpet. He turned and held his hand out for Babs, who emerged to a battery of flashing cameras. The noise from the well-wishers close by reached a crescendo, and Babs turned to acknowledge as many as she could with the smile fixed permanently on her face. Gus kept her hand in his. He could feel the tension in her body and put it down to all the excitement and nervous anticipation. He led the way with the smiles and the waves and the finger pointing as he recognized someone in the masses of people squeezed into such a small area.

  Then Babs spotted Amos and her smile dropped. Amos looked at her. He was quite solemn. He gave a small, almost indiscernible shrug and turned his hands outwards in a gesture of emptiness. Babs knew exactly what he was saying and felt his sadness pierce her heart. For a brief moment she thought she was going to break down and cry, but she kept her presence and remembered her duty. The smile returned and she looked away from him. Amos watched her walk by, not two yards from him, and didn’t take his eyes off her as she followed her husband into the grand foyer of the luxury hotel.

  As the television cameras continued to roll and the flash of many cameras scattered shotgun blasts of light that bounced off the glittering celebrities, Amos wondered why and how such people as Gus Mason could fool people into believing he was some kind of modern day messiah. The real powers behind this man, the faceless ones, would be kept away until the day Mason took the oath of office. And then, perhaps he would get his beloved Holly back.

  Inside the grand ballroom, Babs kept up the glamour pose and did her best to show that she was almost beside herself with happiness. But the truth was, she was growing more bitter as the evening wore on. She was becoming tired of the glad-handing, keeping a fixed smile on her face until she felt like the Joker from Batman. And she kept remembering the awful look on Amos’s face, and the distress in his body language.

  Babs kept her true emotions beneath the surface, continually watching the clock until it was almost midnight. Then she told Gus she was going to her room. There was an elongated goodnight from Mason and her well-wishers, until eventually she was free to ride the elevator, with a security man, up to the penthouse suite.

  She closed the door behind her, leaning up against it to enjoy a moment of solitude. It was peaceful there. No sound came up from the grand ballroom. She looked around at the huge suite with its brand new furnishings, magnificent drapes that shrouded all the windows, closed for security reasons. Babs wanted to fling them open and breathe in some of the cool, night air.

  She kicked off her designer shoes and left them where they came to rest. Then she pushed away from the door and walked across to the drinks cabinet and helped herself to a straight shot of bourbon. It was Bill Mason’s favourite tipple. Babs had grown quite accustomed to it. The amber liquid burned her throat as she tossed it back. She poured another and went through to the bedroom.

  The second drink followed the first and she slid the empty glass on to the dressing table. She studied herself in the mirror, looking at her trim figure, wondering what Bill would have done had he been there at that moment. The dress came off quickly, thrown to the floor like a discarded rag. She couldn’t get Bill Mason out of her mind now. It annoyed her because she should have been giving everything to her husband, the wonderful messianic Gus Mason. She almost spat the words out as she looked away from the mirror and pulled open a drawer, selecting a silk slip that she intended to put on after taking a shower.

  That was when she saw the gun. It had slipped out of an evening bag she had brought with her that morning. Babs couldn’t understand why she had kept it with her. It was the small, silver Beretta that Bill Mason had given her such a long time ago. She had never wanted to carry the gun, but when she had last visited Bill’s ranch, she had come across it by accident, almost. It opened up so many memories.

  She pulled the gun from the drawer and looked at it. It had been studded with small, industrial diamonds; a lady’s gun. Babs had never fired it. Now she held it in her hand and felt the weight of the loaded magazine. The safety catch was on. She put the gun back in the drawer and covered it with a pair of panties. Bill would have loved that, she thought.

  Her brassiere and panties were thrown to one side as she stepped into the shower, allowing the stinging needles of water to punish her body; a body that women would die for and men would kill for. She didn’t want this, Gus’s victory; she wanted to go back through the years and think only of Bill. She slid down the wall until she was leaning back against it, her knees drawn up around her ears.

  She began to cry, her tears vanishing in the stream of water that poured over her. She so much wanted this not to be. She knew now that her husband was only interested in power; extreme power. She knew he had murdered for it, and had kidnapped Amos’s little girl for it. Babs could not forgive him for the deaths of others, although she had learned to accept the inevitable truth. But to allow his thugs to kidnap a frightened little girl was beyond reason. It meant he would stop at nothing.

  And Babs now understood the reason why his father had been so vehement in his objection to Gus’s Nazi leanings, and why Gus had killed him. Bill Mason was a threat to the growing rise to power of the Nazi zealots. He knew that America was in danger of succumbing to the Phoenix; the birth of the new Reich. Anybody who stood in their way would be killed; it was as simple as that.

  Babs turned the water off, stepped out of the shower and reached for a towel. She was drying herself down when she heard her husband come into the suite. His voice was light and cheerful as he said goodnight to the security men who were stationed outside in the corridor. He closed the door and locked it.

  ‘Where are you, Babs?’

  ‘I’m in the bathroom. Be out in a minute.’ She tried to sound cheerful, on a high even, but her voice and her feelings almost betrayed her.

  When Babs came through into the bedroom, Gus was standing at the foot of the bed, a drink in his hand. He didn’t have his jacket on, and his tie had been pulled loose. He had closed the door.

  ‘Wonderful night, Babs,’ he said through a smile that Babs had got sick of looking at. He walked across the luxurious carpet towards her, his eyes gleaming and an expression on his face that was unmistakable. One side of Gus Mason’s character that was never revealed to the outside world was his propensity for rough sex. It happened on few occasions, and usually when he was drunk or had something to celebrate. Babs had tolerated his darker side, learning to endure it, but now she wanted no part of it, no part of him.

  She felt her skin tighten, and tried not to show her instant rejection of the idea of having him crawl all over her. ‘Gus, honey, I’m all freaked out. Later, eh babe?’

  Gus’s expression changed. The fixed smile faded into nothing and then was replaced with a frown.

  ‘What’s got into you, Babs?’ He moved towards her, the drink still in his hand. ‘You were always up for it.’

  ‘I think it’s the pressure of the whole day, Gus,’ she lied with an apologetic shrug. ‘Too much.’

  He put the glass to his lips and sipped the drink slowly. There was now a menace to his body language. He took the glass away and stood with his legs apart, like a quarterback on heat.

  ‘I’m the president, honey. Or hadn’t you noticed?’

  ‘You’re not the president yet, Gus,’ she reminded him.
r />   ‘All but,’ he countered. ‘People jump to my tune now.’ He put the glass down on a small table. ‘And that means you.’

  ‘Is that why you had that little girl kidnapped?’ She snapped at him. ‘Because people jump to your tune?’

  He stepped forward and grabbed hold of her arm just above the elbow. She could feel the pressure of his fingers biting into her muscle. The gratuitous violence he had suppressed for so long was returning, released by his elevation to the highest rank in the land and given almost unlimited power.

  ‘Gus, you’re hurting me.’ She tried to prise his fingers away, but he was far too strong for her. ‘Is this what your men will do to that little girl?’

  ‘Never mind about her. She’s as good as done for anyway.’

  The look on Babs’s face turned to ice. ‘You bastard, what have you done to her?’ She continued struggling, getting angrier by the minute.

  ‘All’s fair in love and war, honey,’ he laughed. ‘Nothing must be allowed to stop us. No black, fucking cop, nor his offspring.’ He grabbed Babs’s face with his free hand. She could feel his fingertips squeezing the blood from her skin. ‘No way are we going to be intimidated by blacks, nor by Jews nor by any Spic who thinks he’s entitled to a free ride in this great country.’

  Babs began struggling wildly and pulled away from him. ‘You’re crazy, Gus,’ she snarled at him, flecks of spittle flying from her lips. ‘You don’t think the American public are going to let you get away with this, do you?’

  ‘They already have,’ he declared. ‘That’s why I’m here.’

  He grabbed her again and flung her on the bed. As she fell her legs opened, revealing everything. This seemed to inflame Mason and he leapt on her, pulling the belt around his waist free. He wrapped it around his fist, leaving a small length, and whipped her across her ribcage.

  Babs screamed and turned away from him. He pulled her back and lashed out again. Babs could see he was beside himself, out of control. She swung a clenched fist up at him, catching him on the side of the head. He took the blow and put his hand up to where she had caught him. Then he smiled at her.