So he began to speak. At first to veterans’groups and splinter organisations where militarypasts and long-established partisan politicsguaranteed him a favorable reception. Spurred bythe enthusiastic responses he evoked, Leifhelmbegan to expand, seeking larger audiences, hispositions becoming more strident, his statementsmore provocative.
One man listened and was furious. Thechancellor learned that Leifhelm had carried hisquasi-politicking into the Bundestag itself,implying a constituency far beyond what he reallyhad, but by the sheer force of his personalityswaying members who should not have beenswayed. Leifhelm’s message came back to thechancellor: an enlarged army in far greaternumbers than the NATO commitments; anintelligence service patterned after the onceextraordinary Abwohr; a general revamping oftextbooks, deleting injurious and slanderousmaterials; rehabilitation camps for politicaltroublemakers and subversives pretending to be“liberal thinkers.” It was all there.
The chancellor had had enough. Hesummoned Leifhelm to his of lice, where hedemanded his resignation in the presence ofthree witnesses. Further he ordered Leifhelm toremove himself from all aspects of Germanpolitics, to accept no further speakingengagements, and to lend neither his name norhis presence to any cause whatsoever. He was toretire totally from public life. We have reachedone of those witnesses whose name is notpertinent to this report. The following is hisrecollection:
The chancellor was furious. He said toLeifhekn:
"Herr General, you have two choices, and, ifyou’ll forgive me, a final solution. Number one,you may do as I say. Or you can be stripped ofyour rank and all pensions and financialaccruals afforded therein, as well as the incomefrom some rather valuable real estate inMunich, which in the opinion of any enlight-ened court would be taken from you instantly.That is your second choice.”
I tell you, the field marshal was apoplectic!He demanded his rights, as he called them, andthe chancellor shouted, “You’ve had your rights,and they were wrong! They’re skill wrongI”Then Leifhelm asked what the final solutionwas, and I swear to you, as crazy as it sounds,the chancellor opened a drawer of his desk,took out a pistol, and aimed it at Leifhelm. “I, myself, will kill you right now,” he said. “Youwill not, I repeat, not take us back.”
I thought for a moment that the old soldierwas going to rush forward and accept the bullet,but he didn’t. He stood there staring at thechancellor, such hatred in his eyes, matched bythe statesman’s cold appraisal. Then Leifhelmdid a stupid thing. He shot his armforward not at the chancellor, but away fromhim and cried “Heil Hitler.” Then he turned inmilitary fashion and walked out the door.
We were all silent for a moment or two,until the chancellor broke the silence. “I shouldhave killed him,” he said. “I may regret it. Wemay all regret it.”
Five days after this confrontation,Jacques-Louis Bertholdier made the first of histwo trips to Bonn following his retirement. Onhis initial visit he stayed at the SchlossparkHotel, and as hotel records are kept for aperiod of three years, we were able to obtaincopies of his billing charges. There were numer-ous calls to various firms doing business withJuneau et Cie, too numerous to examineindividually, but one number kept beingrepeated, the name having no apparent businessconnections with Bertholdier or his company. Itwas use Fishbein. However, upon checkingErich Leifhelm’s telephone bills for the dates inquestion, it was found that he, too, had placedcalls to use Fishbein, identical in number with
those placed by Rertholdier. Inquiries and brief sur-veillance further established that Frau Fishbein andLeifhelm have known each other for a number ofyears. The conclusion is apparent: She is the conduitbetween Paris and Bonn in Delavane’s apparatus.
Converse lit a cigarette. There was the nameagain, the temptation again. Ilse Fishbein could bethe shortcut. Threatened with exposure, thisdaughter of Hermann Goring could reveal a greatdeal. She could confirm that she was not only theliaison between Leifhelm and Bertholdier butconceivably much more, for the two ex-generals hadto transmit information to each other. The names ofcompanies, of buried subsidiaries, and of firms doingbusiness related to Delavane in Palo Alto mightsurface, names he could pursue legally, looking forthe illegalities that had to be there. If there only wasa way to make his presence felt but not seen.
An intermediary. He had used intermediaries inthe past, often enough to know the value of theprocedure. It was relatively simple. He wouldapproach a third party to make contact with anadversary carrying information that could be of valueto him insofar as it might be deemed damaging tohis interests, and if the facts presented were strongenough, an equitable solution was usuallyforthcoming. The ethics was questionable, butcontrary to accepted belief, ethics was in threedimensions, if not four. The end did not justify themeans, but justifiable means that brought about afair and necessary conclusion were not to bedismissed.
And nothing could be fairer or more necessarythan the dismantling of Aquitaine. Old Beale wasright that night on the moonlit beach on Mykonos.His client was not an unknown man in San Franciscobut instead a large part of this so-called civilisedworld. Aquitaine had to be stopped, aborted.
An intermediary? It was another question hewould put off until the morning. He picked up thedossier, his eyes heavy.
Leifhelm has few intimate friends that appearto be constant, probably because of his awarenessthat he is under watch by the government. He sitson the boards of several prominent corporations,
which have stated frankly that his name justifies hisstipend….
Joel’s head fell forward. He snapped it back,widened his eyes, and scanned the final pagesrapidly, absorbing only the general impressions; hisconcentration was waning. There was mention ofseveral restaurants, the names meaningless; a mar-riage during the war that ended when Leifhelm swife disappeared in November of’43, presumedkilled in a Berlin bombing raid; no subsequent wifeor wives. His private life was extraordinarily private,if not austere; the exception here was his proclivityfor small dinner parties, the guest lists alwaysvaried, again names, again meaningless. The addressof his residence on the outskirts of BadGodesberg…. Suddenly Converse’s neck stiffened,his eyes fully alert.
The house is in the remote countryside, on theRhine River and far from any shopping areas orsuburban concentration. The grounds are fencedand guarded by attack dogs who bark viciously atall approaching vehicles except Leithelm’sdark-red Mercedes limousine.
A dark-red Mercedes! It was Leifhelm himselfwho had been at the airport! Leifhelm who haddriven directly to the embassy! How could ithappens How?
It was too much to absorb, too far beyond hisunderstanding. The darkness was closing in, Joel’sbrain telling him it could no longer accept furtherinput; it simply could not function. The dossier fellto his side; he closed his eyes and slept.
He was plunging headlong down through acavernous hole in the earth, jagged black rocks onall sides, infinite darkness below. The walls ofirregular stone kept screaming in frenzy, screechingat him like descending layers of misshapen gargoyleswith sharp beaks and raised claws lunging at hisflesh. The hysterical clamor was unbearable. Wherehad the silence gone? Why was he falling into blacknothingness?
He flashed his eyes open; his forehead wasdrenched with sweat, his breath coming in gasps.The telephone by his head was ringing, the erraticbell jarringly dissonant. He tried to shake the sleepand the fear from his semiconsciousness; he reachedfor the blaring instrument, glancing at his watch as
he did so. It was twelve-fifteen, a quarter past noon,the sun streaking through the hotel window. Blinding.
“Yes? Hello . . . ?”
“Joe? Joel 2″
"Yes.” it’s Cal Dowling. Our boy called.”
What? Who?”
"This Fowler. Avery Fowler.”
“Oh, Jesus!” It was coming back, it was all comingback. He was seated at a table in the Chat Botte onthe Quai du Mont Blanc, flashes of sunlight bouncingoff the grillwork on the lakeside boulevard. No . . .he was not in Geneva. He was in a hotel room inBonn, and only hours ago he had been plunged intomadness
by that name. “Yes,” he choked, catching hisbreath. "Did you get a telephone number?”
“He said there wasn’t time for games, andbesides, he doesn’t have one. You’re to meet him atthe east wall of the Alter Zoll as fast as you can getthere. Just walk around; he’ll find you.”
"That’s not good enoughI” cried Converse. “Notafter Paris! Not after the airport last night! I’m notstupidI”
“I didn’t get the impression he thought you were,”replied the actor. " He told me to tell you something,he thought it might convince you.”
What is it?”
“I hope I get this right, I don’t even like saying it.. . He said to tell you a judge named Anstett waskilled last nught in New York. He thinks you’re beingcut loose.”
The Alter Zoll, the ancient tower that had oncebeen part of Bonn’s southern fortress on theRhine razed to the ground three centuriesago was now a tollhouse standing on a green lawndotted with antique cannons, relics of a might thathad slipped away through the squabblings ofemperors and kings priests and princes. A windingmosaic wall of red and grey stone overlooked themassive river below where boats of vari
ous descriptions plowed furrows in the open water,caressing the shorelines on both sides, diligent andsomber in their appointed rounds; no Lake Genevahere, far less the blue-green waters of themischievous Como. Yet in the distance was a sightenvied by people the world over: the Siebengebirge,the seven mountains of Westerwald, magnificent intheir intrusions on the skyline.
Joel stood by the low wall, trying to focus on theview hoping it would calm him, but the exercise wasfutile. The beauty before him was lost, it would notdistract him from his thoughts; nothing could….Lucas Anstett, Second Circuit Court of Appeals,judge extraordinary and intermediary between oneJoel Converse and his employers and an unknownman in San Francisco. Outside of that unknownman and a retired scholar on the island ofMykonos, the only other person who knew what hewas doing and why. How in the space of eighteenhours or less could he have been found ? Foundand killed!
“Converse?”
Joel turned, whipping his head over his shoulder,his body rigid. Standing twenty feet away on the faredge of a graveled path was a sandy-haired manseveral years younger than Converse, in his early tomid thirties; his was a boyish face that would growold slowly and remain young long after its time. Hewas also shorter than Joel, but not bymuch perhaps five ten or eleven and dressed inlight-grey trousers and a cord jacket, his white shirtopen at the neck.
“Who are you?” asked Converse hoarsely.
A couple strolled between them on the path asthe younger man jerked his head to his left,gesturing for Joel to follow him onto the lawnbeyond. Converse did so, joining him by the hugeiron wheel of a bronze cannon.
“All right, who are you?” repeated Joel.
“My sister’s name is Meagen,” said thesandy-haired man. “And so neither one of us makesa mistake, you tell me who I am.”
“How the hey . . . ?” Converse stopped, thewords coming back to him, words whispered by adying man in Geneva. Oh, Christ! Meg, the kids . . .” "Meg, the kids,’ ” he said out loud. “Fowler calledhis wife Meg.”
“Short for Meagen, and she was Halliday’swife only, you knew him as Fowler.”
“You’re Avery’s brother-in-law.”
“Press’s brother-in-law,” corrected the man,extending his hand. “Connal Fitzpatrick,” he added.
“Then we’re on the same side.”
“I hope so.”
“I’ve got a lot of questions to ask you, Connal.”
“No more than I’ve got for you, Converse.”
“Are we going to start off belligerently?” askedJoel, noting the harsh use of his own last name andreleasing fitzpatrick s hand.
The younger man blinked, then reddened,embarrassed. “Sorry,” he said. “I’m one angrybrother on both sides and I haven’t had muchsleep. I’m still on San Diego time.”
“San Diego? Not San Francisco?”
“Navy. I’m a lawyer stationed at the naval basethere.”
“Whew,” whistled Converse softly. “It’s a smallworld.”
“I know all about the geography,” agreedFitzpatrick. "And also you, Lieutenant. How do youthink Press got his information? Of course, I wasn’tin San Diego then, but I had friends. “
“Nothing’s sacred, then.”
“You’re wrong; everything is. I had to pull somevery thick strings to get that stuff. It was about fivemonths ago when Press came to me and we madeour . . . I guess you’d call it the contract betweenus.”
“Clarification, please.”
The naval officer placed a hand on the barrel ofthe cannon. “Press Halliday wasn’t just mybrother-in-law, he came to be my best friend, closerthan any blood brother, I think.”
“And you with the militaristic hordes?” askedJoel, only half joking, a point of information on theline
Fitzpatrick smiled awkwardly, boyishly. “;That’spart of it, actually. He stood by me when I wanted togo for it. The services need lawyers too, but the lawschools don’t tell you much about that. It’s notwhere they’re going to get any endowments from.Me, I happen to like the Navy, and I like thelif”and the challenges, I guess you’d call them.”
“Who objected?”
“Who didn’t? In both our families thepirates who go back to skimming the earthquakevictims have always been attorneys. The twocurrent old men knew Press and I got along and sawthe writing they wrote on their own wall. Here’s thissharp Wasp and this good Catholic boy, now, if theyring in a Jew and a light-skinned black and maybeeven
a not-too-offensive gay, they’ve got half the legalmarket in San Francisco in their back pockets.”
“What about the Chinese and the Italians?”
“Certain country clubs still have remnants of theold school ties in their lockers. Why soil the fabric?Deals are made on the fairways, the accent on“ways,’ not ”fair.’”
“And you didn’t want anything to do with that,counselor?”
“Neither did Press, that’s why he wentinternational. Old Jack Halliday pissed bright redwhen Press began corraling all those foreign clients;then purple when he added a lot of U.S. sharks whowanted to operate overseas. But old Jack couldn’tcomplain; his wild-eyed stepson was addingconsiderably to the bottom line.”
“And you went happily into uniform,” saidConverse, watching Fitzpatrick’s eyes, impressed bythe candor he saw in them.
“Back into uniform, and very happy withPress’s blessings, legal and otherwise.”
“You were fond of him, weren’t you?”
Connal lifted his hand off the cannon. “I lovedhim, Converse. Just as I love my sister. That’s whyI’m here. That’s the contract.”
“Incidentally,” said Joel kindly, “speaking of yoursister even if I were somebody else I could easilyhave found out her name was Meagan.”
“I’m sure you could have; it was in the papers.”
“Then it wasn’t much of a test.”
“Press never called her Meagen in his life,except for that one phrase in the weddingceremony. It was always "Meg.’ I would have askedyou about that somehow, and if you were lying I’dhave known it. I’m very good on direct.”
“I believe you. What’s the contract between youand . . . Press?”
“Let’s walk,” said Fitzpatrick, and as theystrolled toward the wall with the winding riverbelow and the seven mountains of Westerwald inthe distance, Connal began. “Press came to me andsaid he was into something pretty heavy and hecouldn’t let it go. He’d come across informationthat tied a number of well-known men or oncewell-known men together in an organization thatcould do a lot of harm to a lot of people in a lot ofcountries. He was going to stop
it, stop them, but he had to go outside the usualcourtroom ballparks to do it do it legally.
“I asked the normal questions: Was he involved,culpable that sort of thing, and he said no, not in anyindictable sense, but he couldn’t be sure whether ornot he was entirely safe. Natural
ly, I said he wascrazy; he should take his information to theauthorities and let them handle it.”
“Which is exactly what I told him,” interruptedConverse.
Fitzpatrick stopped walking and turned to Joel.“He said it was more complicated than that.”
“He was right.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“He’s dead. Believe it.”
“That’s no answer!”
“You didn’t ask a question,” said Converse. “Let’swalk. Go on. Your contract.”
Bewilderment on his face, the naval officerbegan. “It was very simple,” he continued. “He toldme he would keep me up to date whenever hetraveled, letting me know if he was seeing anyonerelated to his major concern that’s what we calledit, his "major concern.’ Also anything else that couldbe helpful if . . . if . . . goddamn it, ifl”
“If what?”
Fitzpatrick stopped again, his voice harsh. “Ifanything happened to him!”
Converse let the emotion of the moment pass.“And he told you he was going to Geneva to see me.The man who knew Avery Preston Fowler Hallidayas Avery Fowler roughly twenty-odd years ago inschool.”
“Yes. We’d been over that before when I got himthe security material on you. He said the time wasright, the circumstances right. By the way, he thoughtyou were the best.” Connal permitted himself a briefuncomfortable smile. “Almost as good as he was.”
“I wasn’t,” said Joel, a half-smile returned. “I’mstill trying to figure out his position on some Class Bstock in the merger.”
“What?”
“Nothing. What about Lucas Anstett? I want tohear about that.”
“It’s in two parts. Press said they’d workedthrough the judge to spring you if you’d agree totake on the “
“They? Who’s they?”
“I don’t know. He never told me.”
“Goddamn it! Sorry, go ahead.”
“That Anstett had talked to your firm’s seniorpartners and they said okay if you said okay. That’spart one. Part two is a personal idiosyncrasy; I’m anews freak, and like most of my ilk, I’m tuned intothe hourly AFR.”
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