Dr. Hesse smiled. "Ah, Fraulein, even old men—or perhaps especially old men—have friends in many high places."
Maria and McGarvey again exchanged glances. This time he knew what she was thinking.
"Then you're in danger yourself," McGarvey said.
"I don't think so. It's been nearly thirteen years since the last killing. Whoever was interested is more than likely dead and buried by now. The war was a very long time ago. What vital secrets from 1945 could be so terribly important now?"
"There's another possibility," McGarvey said.
"Yes?"
"Maybe whoever was looking for the boat and her secrets finally found them in 1978, so they no longer had to kill."
Maria sat back, closing her eyes. "Maybe the killings were a cover-up. Maybe they knew all along where the cargo was but wanted it left where it was. Maybe they were making sure that no one betrayed them."
McGarvey looked at her. "Cargo?"
She opened her eyes and blinked. "Cargo—message—whatever it was Roebling brought with him."
McGarvey continued to stare at her for a moment or two.
"If that's the case," Dr. Hesse said, "the mysterious something probably never reached Argentina. Or at least it never got ashore. If it had, there would have been no need for the killings."
"Unless they found it in 1978."
Maria shook her head. "No," she said excitedly. "I would have heard about it."
"You've evidently done your homework, Fraulein Schimmer," Dr. Hesse said.
"Argentina is a small enough country that if such a discovery
were to be made—a World War Two German submarine in Argentinian waters—it would be known."
"Not necessarily," Dr. Hesse began, but McGarvey cut in.
"She's right. The government, especially in the late seventies, was very corrupt. Secrets could not be kept for long. Something would have come out, especially for someone who had the ear of a general, or a minister."
"I have friends," Maria said defiantly.
McGarvey was certain she had, but he said nothing on that subject, turning instead back to Dr. Hesse. "What did your BND friends say about the murder investigation?"
"It's a closed file. They could offer no help."
"Still?" Maria asked.
"Not so unusual, from what I'm told," Dr. Hesse said. "All governments have areas in which they are particularly sensitive. It is no different with us."
"Which could mean what in this case?" Maria persisted. "Maybe something to do with Jews?"
Dr. Hesse bridled. "I don't know." He shifted his gaze pointedly to McGarvey. "But I would like to ask why you are interested in this particular business. What has brought you out of hiding in Lausanne?"
McGarvey was stopped cold. In the several years he'd known the professor in Lausanne, never once had the subject of his past come up. There had never been a discussion of exactly what he was doing in Lausanne. Germans were too polite to ask such questions. There had been no hint that McGarvey had indeed been hiding from his past, from the legion of demons that rode like a family tree on the shoulders of every professional assassin.
"I ran into Fraulein Schimmer in Paris. She asked for my help."
"With a research project?"
'Tes," Maria said.
"One that you had unsuccessfully pursued not only here, less than ten days ago, but in Vienna as well?" he asked, turning to her.
"How did you know?" Maria asked.
"Where did you meet in Paris?" Dr. Hesse asked. "Let me guess: at the American Embassy, Tuesday night."
Maria's complexion paled.
"Are we on the Interpol wire?" McGarvey asked.
Dr. Hesse nodded. "I'm surprised you got across the border without being arrested."
"I didn't do anything," Maria said with sudden passion.
"Neither of you has been accused of anything," Dr. Hesse said. "You are merely being sought for questioning in connection with the incident." The old man shook his head. "So much violence," he said softly. "Will it ever end?"
"Not in our lifetimes," McGarvey replied seriously. "But perhaps the wholesale slaughter has stopped, at least in Eastern Europe."
"Yes," Dr. Hesse said thoughtfully. "Maybe it is less onerous to suffer the killings one at a time."
The reference to McGarvey's past was unmistakable. "Rather than thousands or millions at a time."
"What will you do now?" the professor asked, ignoring McGarvey's remark. "Return to Paris? I would think that would be for the best. Afterward, if you still wish to pursue this business ..." He let the sentence hang.
"It may have been the Russians," McGarvey said.
Dr. Hesse chuckled. "You Americans are all the same. You have Russians under every bed, in every dark closet. It was the same with us. But now we have grown up."
"French terrorists?"
Dr. Hesse nodded. "Possibly. But return to Paris, both of you. You cannot pursue an investigation of this nature as fugitives."
McGarvey glanced at the heavy file folders the professor had taken from his briefcase. "Those are not copies. They are the original documents."
Dr. Hesse's gaze followed McGarvey's. When he looked up, there was a deeply thoughtful expression on his face. "Does the terrible tragedy in Paris have anything to do with this investigation?"
McGarvey was startled.
"Have the killings begun again?" Dr. Hesse asked.
"No," Maria said forcefully. "My first contact with the Americans came only minutes before the embassy was attacked, and the meeting didn't take place there, nor was it planned."
"Where, then?" Dr. Hesse asked.
Maria looked at McGarvey. She seemed frightened, as if she were seeing her last door closing.
"At the Hotel Inter-Continental."
"Who was this American you met?"
"Carleton Reid. He was from the embassy."
"Was he alone?"
"No," Maria said. "I had followed Horst Hoehner there from Vienna. He and a Frenchman, Gavalet I think was his name, were having dinner with Reid."
"Reid is dead," McGarvey said.
"You asked Mr. Reid for his assistance, perhaps with the records people here?"
"We were just coming out of the hotel when the explosion occurred. I offered to help him if he would help me. But he said no."
"What were you doing at the embassy?" Hesse asked McGarvey.
"I was having dinner nearby when I heard the explosion."
"He dug me out of the rubble. Saved my life," Maria said, but no one was listening to her.
"Why the questions, Herr Professor?" McGarvey asked.
"I received a telephone call from Maurice Gavalet in Paris. He is a policeman. He asked about Fraulein Schimmer."
"Then you know that I am telling you the truth," Maria said.
"As far as it goes, Fraulein," Dr. Hesse said sternly. "The question is, what are you really seeking? Your grandfather's grave, as you profess? Or the mysterious cargo Major Roebling was bringing to your homeland?"
"I have no interest in any cargo. I merely want to know about my grandfather."
"That is touching, Fraulein Schimmer ... or should I say Fraulein Reiker?"
"If you know that much, then you know why."
"To atone for your father's sins by proving that your grandfather was an honorable man?" Dr. Hesse shook his head. "We Germans have been trying unsuccessfully to do that since 1945. I think it is time to put away such thoughts and move forward. You carry no guilt for your father's sins."
"Will you help me, or will I have to go elsewhere?" Maria asked evenly.
"Will you return to Paris first?"
"No."
"No matter what happens here, you mean to pursue this?"
"Yes."
Dr. Hesse looked at McGarvey. "What about you? Do you see Russians under Argentinian beds as well? Will you return to Paris?"
"Eventually."
"But not just now."
"No," McGarvey said.
"I no longer need his help," Maria told the professor.
"Ah, but Fraulein, don't you see that it is because of Herr McGarvey that I agreed to talk to you, to search out the naval records," Dr. Hesse said. He shrugged. "Without him ..."
The professor was playing at some game that McGarvey couldn't yet see. The old man was dissembling for a definite purpose.
"What do you want, Herr Professor?" McGarvey asked.
"To complete the record," Dr. Hesse said. He sounded sincere. "Those German boys, Fraulein Schimmer's grandfather included, have been waiting for their final service since 1945, nearly fifty years."
"Where is the boat?" Maria asked.
Dr. Hesse turned to her. "I don't know," he said.
"But you have the naval records. You said—"
"Look at them if you wish. In fact you must before you leave. The submarine U2798 departed the yard at Bremen at one o'clock in the morning on February fourth. Her destination was given simply as 'patrol operations in the Atlantic'"
"You said her ordered destination was Argentina," McGarvey said.
"The Kriegsmarine simply ordered her into operations in the Atlantic under the discretion of what was called the 2/SKL ... the second department or division of the SeeKriegsLeitung, which was the Naval War Command. More specifically, the U-Boat Intelligence Service."
"What did those records reveal?" McGarvey asked.
"Another bit of legerdemain that wasn't made clear until the board of inquiry convened after the war. It seems she was turned over to the RSHA at Major Roebling's convenience for operations in the South Atlantic."
"Argentina?" MaGarvey prompted.
Dr. Hesse took a bound volume of typescript out of his briefcase. The massive book had to contain at least a thousand pages.
"These are transcripts of interviews with RSHA officers in Nuremberg just after the war, and then at various prisons in 1949."
"Was all of this prior to the first murder?" McGarvey asked.
"Yes," Dr. Hesse said. "As a matter of fact the chief interviewers there, Horst Holtz and Motti Mueller, both members of the board of inquiry, were the first to die. One in his bed at home, the other in an auto accident."
"They later turned out to be homicides?"
"Suspected homicides," Dr. Hesse said. He opened the bound volume at a marked spot. "This is from an interview with RSHA Oberleutnant Rainer Mossberg, on March 17, 1949, at Prison Camp Twenty-seven A, outside of Bonn."
Q.: You are saying that U2798's destination was somewhere in
Argentina. South America.
A: Yes, but that was Roebling's baby. We had nothing to do
with it. It was an arm's-length operation, if you know what I
mean.
Q.: Roebling was carrying something with him?
A: That guy (pause) was always carrying something with him.
You know, a regular fucking opportunist. He had all the
answers. Knew Schellenberg. They were like this (prisoner
uses obscene gesture), if you know what I mean.
Q.: What was it he was carrying, exactly? Major Roebling, that
is.
A. I don't know. I wasn't in that circle.
Q.: Was this cargo important?
A: I don't know (pause) I don't know. Given the time, the
circumstances, probably very important. They were all crazy
down there, you know. They were going to carry on from the
National Redoubt in the mountains. And from Argentina. A lot
of the (pause) inner circle got down there before it was
impossible to leave. Hell, I should have gone myself. At least
to Switzerland.
Q.: But you don't know what he, Major Walther Roebling,
might have been carrying with him aboard U2798.
A: No.
Q.: Or where in Argentina they were bound.
A: Well, that's a big (pause) mystery.
Q.: What do you mean, mystery? What kind of a mystery. Do
you know?
A: I know nothing for sure. But there were rumors, you know.
In those days (pause) always rumors. May I have a cigarette?
Q.: What rumors, specifically?
A; Well, there was supposed to be some kind of trouble.
Someone was waiting for them or something. So their primary
destination may have been changed. Maybe even their
secondary destination was changed too.
Q.: These destinations were in Argentina?
A: Yes, of course.
Q.: Where?
A: Well, that's just it, you see. I don't know. There's no one
around now who knows.
Q.: What did you mean, then, by saying primary and secondary
destinations?
A: Just that I'd had heard that alpha and beta were
questionable, which left only gamma, delta, and epsilon.
Nothing more. May I have the pack?
"That was the end of the interview," Dr. Hesse said. "Within the month both Holtz and Mueller were dead."
"I don't understand," Maria said.
"What about Mossberg?" McGarvey asked, his mind racing well ahead.
"He escaped from prison at the end of June of that year. And as far as the records go, he is still at large."
McGarvey got up and went to the window. He looked out over the snow-covered garden as he tried to think this out. "How old was Mossberg at the time of the interview?"
"They were promoting them young at the end," Dr. Hesse said. "He was just twenty-one."
"He'd be sixty-three today."
"Practically a boy ..." Dr. Hesse mused.
McGarvey turned. "He knew where the submarine went, and so do I. Or at least I think I can narrow its location to a searchable area."
"How ..." Maria started to ask, but then changed her mind.
"Mossberg never got to her," McGarvey said.
"Was he behind the killings?" Dr. Hesse asked.
"Probably. And he might be dead himself now. The murders stopped in 1978, and no trace of the sub has turned up."
"Where is it?" Maria asked, a deep burning glow in her eyes.
"That's what I intend finding out," McGarvey said.
"No .,."
"You and I, Fraulein Schimmer, are going to find it together."
It was very late when Dr. Hesse heard his housekeeper cry out once, the sound distant and muffled. He lay awake in the dark for several minutes listening for the cry to be repeated, but the house was silent.
It had probably been a nightmare, he told himself. In the morning he would chide her about it.
In the meantime there was Kirk McGarvey and the extraordinary young woman he'd brought with him. Something would have to be done about that situation as soon as possible. In the morning he would have to make his call, an action that had not been necessary for a number of years. This time, however, something might come of it.
There was a noise in the corridor and Dr. Hesse started to sit up, but his bedroom door was thrown open and a strong light shone in his eyes, obliterating his night vision and blinding him.
"What is it?" he cried out.
"You are in no danger, Herr Professor, if you cooperate with me," a man told him in English. The voice was cultured, possibly British educated, but there was another accent there too. Well hidden.
"What do you want with me?"
"A few moments of your time. I wish to speak to you about Mr. Kirk McGarvey."
And then Dr. Hesse had it. The hidden accent was Russian. He knew now that he was going to die.
the Georgetown home of Secretary of Defense Donald Hamilton was lavish even by Washington standards. So were his parties, held every Saturday night in season. Half of Washington, it seemed, was there.
"Here comes your boss," Dominique Carrara told her husband.
Phil Carrara looked over his shoulder as Lawrence Danielle took a drink from a passing waiter and
joined them. He didn't look happy.
"I didn't think you came to these kinds of soirees, Larry," Carrara said.
"I don't, as a rule," the deputy director growled. He turned to Carrara's wife. "You're looking particularly radiant this evening, Dominique."
"Thanks. I think it's time to powder my nose," she said, smiling.
"Good idea," Danielle agreed, returning her smile. "I won't keep him long."
"Five minutes?"
"Make it ten."
"Sure thing," Dominique pecked her husband on the cheek and left.
Danielle looked around to make certain that no one was within earshot. "I take it you haven't seen the amended overnights from Europe."
"I usually check them around midnight," Carrara said, a sinking feeling in his stomach. "What's happened that I should know about?"
"It's McGarvey. Phil, the man has definitely gone over. I don't think there can be any question of it now. He's got to be brought in ... one way or the other."
Carrara shook his head. "We haven't established a firm age on those blood samples found in Hewlett's office. I gave you that report. And the fingerprints are next to meaningless."
"I might have agreed with you, except that McGarvey has disappeared."
"I know that."
"Carley Webb got into his apartment and looked around."
"Whose idea was that?" Carrara asked dangerously. The chain of command, as far as he was concerned, worked both ways.
"Take it easy," Danielle cautioned. "I'm told that she did it on her own initiative."
"Included in the amended report?"
"Yes," Danielle said. "I happened to be in the comms center this evening when it came in." He looked around again to make certain no one was listening.
"I'll take Dominique home and get out to Operations."
"Good idea. What she found in his apartment clinches it as far as I'm concerned."
"What was that?"
"He's had C-four plastique. She found a piece of wrapping material that tested positive. No doubts about that. Nor is there any doubt about his typewriter. Technical Services has positively identified the machine as the one used to write the death threat letter to Tom Lord."
What the deputy director was saying was extraordinary, and made even more so because it was out of place and character for Danielle to become personally involved in the bits and pieces of an ongoing investigation. All of that belonged in Carrara's purview.
Crossfire (Kirk McGarvey 3) Page 12