Joel crushed out his cigarette as the driverslowed down to let a pickup truck pass. He could seethe large dark-red car ahead on the long curve. TheGerman was no amateur, he knew the moves tomake, and Converse understood. Whoever was inthat limousine might well be an influential owner,and even two hundred deutsche marks were notworth the probable enmity of a powerful man.
Probabilities . . . everything was probabilities. Hehad built his legal reputation on the study ofprobabilities, and it was a simpler process than mostof his colleagues believed. The approach, that is, wassimple, not the work; that was never easy. Itdemanded the dual discipline of concentrating on theminute and prodding the imagination to expand untilthe minutiae were arranged and rearranged intodozens of different equations. This exhaustive what-ifprocess was the keystone of legal thinking; it was assimple as that. It was also
a verbal trap, Joel reflected, as he thought backseveral years, smiling an uncomfortable smile alonein the darkness. In one of her moments of pique,Val had told him that if he would spend one iota ofthe time on the two of them that he spent on his“goddamned probabilities,” he would “probably”come to realize that the “probability” of theirsurviving together was ”very probably nil.”
She had never lacked for being succinct norsacrificed her humor in the pursuit of candor. Herstriking looks aside, Valerie Charpentier Conversewas a very funny lady. Unable not to, he had smiledat her explosion that night years ago, then they bothhad laughed quietly until she turned away and leftthe room, too much sadness in the truth she hadspoken.
Large picturesque buildings gradually replacedthe quiet countryside, reminding Converse of hugeVictorian houses with filigreed borders andoverhanging eaves and grilled balconies beneathlarge rectangular windows stark geometric shapes.These in turn gave way to a contradictory stretch ofattractive but perfectly ordinary residential homes,the sort that could be found in any traditionalwealthy suburb on the outskirts of a majorAmerican city. Scarsdale, Chevy Chase GrossePointe or Evanston. Then came the center of Bonnwhere narrow, gaslit streets ran into wider avenueswith modern lighting, quaint squares only blocksaway from banks of contemporary stores andboutiques. It was an architecturalanachronism Old World ambience coexisting withup-tothe-minute structures, but with no sense of acity, no sense of electricity or grandeur. Instead itappeared to be a large town, growing rapidly larger,the town fathers uncertain of its direction. Thebirthplace of Beethoven and the gateway to theRhine Valley was the most unlikely capitalimaginable of a major government. It was anythingbut the seat of a hard-nosed Bundestag and a seriesof astute, sophisticated prime ministers who facedthe Russian bear across the borders.
“Mein Herrl” cried the driver. “They take theroad to Bad Godesberg. Das Diplomatenviertel.”
“What does that mean?”
“Embassies. They have Polizeistreifen! Patrols.We could be, how do you say, known ?”
“Spotted,” explained Joel. “Never mind. Do whatyou’ve been doing, you’re great. Stop, if you haveto; park, if you have
to. Then keep going. You now have three hundreddeutsche marks over the fare. I want to know wherethey stop.”
It came six minutes later, and Converse wasstunned. Whatever he had thought, wherever hisimagination had led him, he was not prepared forthe driver’s words.
"That is the American embassy, mein Herr. “
Joel tried to focus his thoughts. “Take me to theHotel Konigshof,” he said, remembering, notknowing what else to say.
“Yes, I believe Herr Dowling left a note to thateffect,” said the desk clerk, reaching below thecounter.
“He did?” Converse was astonished. He had usedthe actor’s name in the outside hope of somepossible preferential treatment. He expected nothingelse, if indeed that.
“Here it is.” The clerk extracted two smalltelephone memos from the thin stack in his hand.“You are John Converse, an American attomey.”
“Close enough. That’s me.”
“Herr Dowling said you might have difficultyfinding am propriate accommodations here in Bonn.Should you come to the Konigshof tonight, herequested that we be as helpful as possible. It ispossible, Herr Converse. Herr Dowling is a verypopular man.”
“He deserves to be,” said Joel.
“I see he also left a message for you.”
The clerk turned and retrieved a sealed envelopefrom one of the mailboxes behind him. He handedit to Converse, who opened it.
Hi, pardner.
If you don’t pick this up, I’ll get it back in the
morning. Forgive me, but you sounded like toomanyof my less fortunate colleagues who say no whentheywant to say yes. Now collectively in their case, it’ssome kind of warped pride because they think I’msuggesting a handout it’s either that or they don’twant to meet someone who may be where I’mgoing.By the looks of you, I’d have to rule out theformerand stick with the latter. There’s someone youdon’twant to meet here in Bonn, and you don’t have to.The room’s taken care of and in my name changethat if you like but don’t argue about the bill. Iowe
you a fee, counselor, and I always pay my debts. At
least during the last four years I have.
Incidentally, you’d make a lousy actor. Your
pauses aren’t at all convincing.
Pa Ratchet
Joel put the note back in the envelope, resistingthe temptation to go to a house phone and callDowling. The man would have little enough sleepbefore going to work; thanks could wait untilmorning. Or evening.
“Mr. Dowling’s arrangements are generous andcompletely satisfactory,” he said to the clerk behindthe counter. “He’s right. If my clients knew I’d cometo Bonn a day early I’d have no chance to enjoyyour beautiful city.”
“Your privacy will be respected, sir. HerrDowling is a most thoughtful man, as well asgenerous, of course. Your luggage is outside with ataxi, perhaps?”
“No, that’s why I’m so late. It was put on thewrong plane out of Hamburg and will be here in themorning. At least that’s what I was told at theairport.”
“Ach, so inconvenient, but all too familiar. Isthere anything you might require?”
“No, thanks,” replied Converse, raising hisattache case slightly. “The bare necessities travelwith me…. Well, there is one thing. Would it bepossible to order a drink?”
“Of course.”
Joel sat up in bed, the dossier at his side, thedrink in his hand. He needed a few minutes to thinkbefore going back into the world of Field MarshalErich Leifhelm. With the help of the switchboard,he had called the all-night number for Lufthansaand had been assured that his suitcase would beheld for him at the airport. He gave no explanationother than the fact that he had been traveling fortwo days and nights and simply did not care to waitfor his luggage. The attendant could read into hiswords whatever she liked; he did not care. His mindwas on other things.
The American embassy! What appalled him wasthe stark reality of old Beale’s words…. Behind it allare those who do the convincing, and they’re growingin numbers everywhere…. We’re in the countdown …three to five Uzbeks that’s all you’ve got…. It’s real andit’s coming. Joel was not prepared for the reality. Hecould accept Delavane and
Bertholdier, certainly I,eifhelm, but the shock ofknowing that ordinary embassy personnel Americanpersonnel were on the receiving end of ordersfrom Delavane’s network was paralysing. How farhad Aquitaine progressed? How widespread were itsfollowers, its influence? Was tonight the frighteninganswer to both questions? He would think about itall in the morning. First, he had to be prepared forthe man he had come to find in Bonn. As hereached for the dossier he remembered the suddendeep panic in Avery Fowler’s eyes PrestonHalliday’s eyes. How long had he known? Howmuch had he known?
It is pointless to recount Erich Leifhelm’s ex-ploits in the early to middle years of the war otherthan to say his reputation grew, and what is mostimportant he was one of the very few superior offi-cers to come up through Nazi party ranks acceptedby the old-line professiona
l generals. Not only didthey accept him but they sought him out for theircommands. Men like Rundstedt and VonFalkenhausen, Rommel and von Treskow; at onetime or another each asked Berlin for LeifLelm’sservices. He was unquestionably a brilliant strategistand a daring of dicer, but there was something else.These generals were aristocrats, part of the rulingclass of prewar Germany, and by and large loathedthe National Socialists, considering them thugs,exhibitionists and amateurs. It is not difficult toimagine LeifLelm, sitting among these men,modestly expounding on what was clearly noted inhis military record. He was the son of the lateprominent Munich surgeon Dr. Heinrich Leifhelm,who had left him considerable wealth and property.We need no conjecture, however, to understand howmuch further he went to ingratiate himself, for thefollowing is extracted from an interview withGeneral Rolf Winter, Standortkommandant of theWehrbereichskommando in the Saar sectors:
We would sit around having coffee after dinner,the talk quite depressing. We knew the war was lost.The insane orders from Berlin most we agreedwould never be carried out guaranteed wholesale
slaughter of troops and civilians. It wasmadness, national suicide. And always, thisyoung Leifhelm would say things like “Perhapsthe fools will listen to me. They think I’m oneof them, they’ve thought so from the early daysin Munich.” . . . And we would wonder. Couldhe bring some sanity to the collapsing front? Hewas a fine officer, highly regarded, and the sonof a well-known doctor, as he constantly re-minded us. After all, young men’s heads wereturned in those early days the cavernoussoul-stirring roars of Sieg hell, the fanaticcrowds; the banners and drums and marchingbeside ten thousand torches at night. It was allso melodramatic, so Wagnerian. But Leifhelmwas different; he wasn’t one of the gangsters;patriotic, of course, but not a hoodlum…. So wesent dispatches with him to our closestcomrades in Berlin, dispatches that would haveresulted in our executions had they fallen intothe wrong hands. We were told he tried veryhard, but he could not put sanity in the mindsof men who lived in daily fear of death fromrumor and gossip. But he maintained his ownsanity and loyalty which were constant. Wewere informed by one of his adjutants nothim, mind you that he was confronted by anS.S. colonel who had followed him in the streetand demanded the contents of his briefcase. Herefused, and when threatened with immediatearrest, he shot the man so as not to betray us.He was one of us. It was a noble risk and onlya night bombing raid saved his own life.
It is clear what LeifLelm was doing andequally clear that the dispatches were nevershown to anyone, nor was there an S.S. colonelshot in the streets during a bombing raid.According to Winter, those dispatches from theSaar were so explosive in content
that someone would have remembered them; noone does. Once again, LeifLelm had seen anopportunity. The war was lost, and the Naziswere about to become the ultimatetwentieth-century villains. But not the eliteGerman general corps there was a distinction.He wiped another slate clean and joined the“Prussians.” He was so successful that he wasrumored to have been part of the plot toassassinate
Adolf Hitler at Wolfsschanze, and called upon to bea member of Donitz’s surrender team.
During the cold war, Allied Central Commandasked him to join other key elements of the Wehr-macht officer corps in the Bundesgrenzschutz. Hebecame a privileged military consultant with full se-curity clearance. A mature killer had survived, andhistory, with the Kremlin’s help, took care of therest.
In May "49 the Federal Republic was established,and the following September the Allied occupationformally came to an end. As the cold war escalatedand West Germany began its remarkable recovery,the NATO forces demanded material and personnelsupport from their former enemies. The new Germandivisions were formed under the command ofex-Field Marshal Erich Leifhelm.
No one had dredged up the questionable deci-sions of the Munich courts from nearly two decadespast; there were no other survivors and his serviceswere desired by the victors. During the postwar re-construction when countless settlements and laby-rinthine legal resolutions were being soughtthroughout Germany, he was quietly awarded all as-sets and property previously decreed, including someof the most valuable real estate in Munich. So endsthe third phase of Erich Leifhelm’s story. The fourthphase which concerns us most is the one we knowleast about. The only certainty is that he has becomeas deeply entrenched in General Delavane’soperation as any other man on the primary list.
There was a rapping on the door. Joel lungedoff the bed, the Leifhelm dossier cascading to theQoor. He looked at his watch in fear andconfusion. It was nearly four o’clock. Who wantedhim at this hour? Had they found him? Oh, Christ]The dossier! The briefcase! “Joe . . . ?Joe, you up?”The voice was both a whisper and a shout anactor’s sotto voce. “It’s me, Cal Dowling.” Converseran to the door and opened it, his breath comingin gasps. Dowling was fully dressed, holding upboth his hands for silence as he glanced up anddown the corridor. Satisfied, he walked rapidly inside, pushing Joel backand closing the door.
“I’m sorry, Cal,” said Converse. “I was asleep. Iguess the sound startled me.”
“You always sleep in your trousers with thelights on?” asked the actor quietly. “Keep your voicedown. I checked the hallways, but you can never beclear about what you didn’t see.”
“Clear about what?”
“One of the first things we reamed on Kwajaleinin "44. A patrol doesn’t mean shit unless you’ve gotsomething to report. All it means is that they werebetter than you were.”
“I was going to call you, to thank you “
“Cut it, good buddy,” Dowling broke in, hisexpression serious. “I’m hming this down to the lastcouple of minutes, which is about all we’ve got.There’s a limo downstairs waiting to take me out tothe cameras over an hour away. I didn’t want tocome out of my room before in case anyone washanging around, and I didn’t want to call youbecause a switchboard can be watched orbribed ask anyone in Cuckooburg. I don’t worryabout the desk; they’re not too fond of our crowdover here.” The actor sighed. “When I got to myroom, all I wanted was sleep, and all I got was avisitor. I’m down the hall and I was hoping toChrist if you came here he wouldn’t see
you.”
“A visitor?”
“From the embassy. The US. embassy. Tell me,Joe “
“Joel,” interrupted Converse. “Not that it matters.”
“Sorry, I’ve an obstruction in my left ear andthat doesn’t matter, either. He spent damn neartwenty-five minutes with me asking questions aboutyou. He said we were seen talking together on theplane. Now, you tell me, counselor, are you okay, orare my instincts all bucked up?”
Joel returned Dowling’s steady gaze. “Yourinstincts are perfectly fine,” he said withoutemphasis. “Did the man from the embassy sayotherwise?”
“Not exactly. As a matter of fact, he didn’t saya hell of a lot. Just that they wanted to talk to you,wanted to know why you’d come to Bonn, whereyou were.”
“But they knew I was on the plane?”
“Yep, said you’d flown out of Paris.”
“Then they knew I was on that plane.”
“That’s what I just said what he said.”
“Then why didn’t they meet me at the gate andask me themselves?”
Dowling’sface creased further, his eyes narrowingwithin the wrinkles of bronzed flesh. “Yeah, whydidn’t they?” he asked himself.
“Did he say?”
“No, but then, Paris didn’t come up until he wasabout to leave.”
“What do you mean?”
“It was like he figured I was holding back some-thing which I certainly was but he couldn’t besure. I’m pretty good at what I do, Joe Joel.”
“You also took a risk,” said Converse,remembering that he was talking to a risk-taker.
“No, I covered myself. I specifically asked if therewere charges against you or anything like that. Hesaid there weren’t. “
“Still, he was “
“Besides, I didn’t like him. He was one of thosepushy oflficial types. He kept repeating things, andwhen he cou
ldn’t come up with anything, he said,"We know he flew out of Paris,’ as if he waschallenging me. I said I didn’t.”
“There’s not much time, but can you tell me whatelse he asked you?”
“I told you, he wanted to know everything wetalked about. I said I didn’t have a tape recorder inmy head, but it was mainly small talk, the kind ofchatter I get all the hme from people I meet onplanes. About the show, the business. But he didn’twant to settle for that; he kept pushing, which gaveme the opportunity to get a little pissed off myself.”
“How so?”
“I said, yes, we did talk about something else butit was very personal, and none of his damn business.He got pretty upset at that, and that let me get evenangrier. We exchanged a few barbs but his weren’tvery sharp; he was too uptight. Then he asked mefor about the tenth time if you’d said anything aboutBonn, especially where you were staying. So I toldhim for the tenth time the truth at least what yousaid. That you were a lawyer and here to see clientsand I didn’t know where the hell you were. I meanI didn’t actually know you were here.”
“That’s fine.”
“Is it? Instincts are okay for first reactions,counselor, but
then, you have to wonder. An aggravating IvyLeague government man, waving an embassy IDand acting obnoxious may be very annoying in themiddle of the night, but he is from the Departmentof State. What the hell’s this all about?’
Joel turned and walked to the foot of the bed;he looked down at the LeifLelm dossier on thefloor. He turned again and spoke clearly, hearingthe exhaustion in his voice. “Something I wouldn’tfor the life of me involve you in. But for the record,those instincts of yours were right on, pardner.”
“I’ll be honest,” said the actor, his clear eyesamused peering out from behind the creases. “Ithought as much. I said to that bastard if Iremembered anything else, I’d phone Walterwhat’s-his-name except I called him Walt and lethim know.”
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