She wasted no tears on her memories; those days were past. For the moment she could look back and feel a warmth and fondness as she moved from room to room. In the master bedroom she paused and remembered the last time they had made love. It was the night before he had been killed in the plane crash. His passion had burned as furiously on that night as it did the very first time he had made love to her.
She smiled wistfully and went back into the luxurious kitchen. She had made coffee earlier and now needed to sit and think about the situation she found herself in.
Breggie, quite wrongly, believed Joseph had been ordered to kill her because she had failed to eliminate all five of their colleagues. She was not aware that she had been identified. Had she given it serious thought, she would have realised that Joseph was equally to blame as her. Bombing the house had been their joint responsibility.
Breggie’s problem now, of course, was how to turn this to her own advantage. She held the trump card at the moment. To play it too soon could prove disastrous. Returning the baby to the Schiller family could net her a fortune. Now that she was no longer part of the organisation she could simply demand a ransom for the return of the child. The problem was; how to do that and get away with it?
She resolved to give herself a couple of days and hope she could come up with a foolproof plan.
*
At the same time Breggie de Kok was considering her future, Levi Eshkol was taking lunch at a pavement café in Tel Aviv. He had walked from his apartment, enjoying the warmth of the autumn sun, and despite the trauma of the kidnap, was feeling in good spirits. He honestly believed that Schiller would complete the transfer of power, and sign the covenant, within a few days.
He finished his bagel and pushed the plate to one side, drawing his coffee towards him. On the chair beside him was a copy of the Jerusalem Post which he had purchased while walking down from his apartment to the cafe. He stirred his coffee and picked up the newspaper. He hadn’t bothered to look at it earlier, leaving that pleasure until now. But as his eyes fell on the lower corner of the front page, he felt small icicles of fear cascade over him like steel needles.
PROMINENT AMERICAN JEW FOUND SLAIN IN MIAMI. Former Presidential Security Adviser, Alfred Weitzman, was found brutally slain in the Everglades just north of the city of Miami. Florida State Police are not releasing details except to say that the killing had all the hallmarks of a professional execution. The FBI....
Eshkol raised his head slowly and let the paper sink into his lap. Alfred Weitzman. He shook his head. It couldn’t be, not the Alfred Weitzman he knew. He looked back at the newspaper. ‘Former Presidential Security Adviser’. It was unequivocal; there in black and white.
He stood up, his legs feeling quite weak, and took enough Shekels from his pocket to cover the bill. He scattered them on the table and hurried back to his apartment.
Eshkol’s first phone call was to Avi Binbaum, one of the four men who had worked on the covenant. The former Shin Bet chief came to the phone almost immediately.
“Shalom, Avi,” Eshkol greeted him
“Shalom. I think I know why you are phoning.” Binbaum sounded mournful.
“You’ve seen the story about Weitzman?” Eshkol asked him.
“Ah, yes. I have been in touch with my former colleagues in Shin Bet. They have asked the Americans for details, but they know very little.”
“I fear the worst, Avi. Molke’s behind this.”
He could almost hear the old man nodding in agreement.
“I believe that too. Will you contact the others and warn them?”
Eshkol agreed. “And I think we should contact Schiller,” he added with a reluctant shrug. “We must ask him to sign the Covenant and complete the transfer immediately, before Molke’s damn thugs get to the rest of us. Shalom, Avi. God be with you.”
He put the phone down without waiting for the old man’s response. A shiver ran down his spine as he thought of Weitzman’s fate. If it was Molke’s thugs, and it was almost certain to be, they would have wanted to know the whereabouts of the Covenant. He would have died a painful death before telling them that the Covenant was in Israel with Levi Eshkol.
*
Conor drove to Bad Godesberg and spent a busy morning locating the whereabouts of Joanna Schiller’s place. It wasn’t too difficult considering the media were practically camped on her doorstep. His first, cursory inspection of the place told him much of what he already knew; it would be virtually impossible to gain entry without being seen.
The house was a single story bungalow, or villa. The wall surrounding the grounds was about two metres high. Two-thirds of the walled area was fronted by public roads, while the remainder bordered other, equally secure properties.
By mingling with the media people outside the main gate, Conor was able to see relatively clearly across the open lawns that separated the house from the wall. His trained eye was quick to spot the security devices around the place and the presence of dog faeces which suggested dog patrols. Had Conor been part of an SAS patrol, well briefed and prepared, he would have had no problem in gaining entry into the house unobserved. But that was not the case; he was armed with only a handgun, on his own, and with no foreknowledge of the grounds and the house. It was painfully obvious therefore that he would have to come up with a solution to what seemed like an impossible situation.
Conor drove away from the house and found himself a restaurant where he could each lunch and give some thought to his problem. He knew he had to gain access because the answer to Breggie de Kok’s whereabouts lay in that house. He didn’t know how, but the Dutchman seemed convinced the answer was in there. All he had to do was get in there and find it.
The solution came to him quite suddenly. It was so blindingly simple that he found himself chuckling out loud. It wasn’t without some risk and it meant a delay of at least one day. But it was a chance he would have to take, and taking risks was Conor Lenihan’s business.
*
Jansch brought the two polystyrene cups of coffee over to Hoffman’s desk and set them down gingerly without spilling the contents. A self-satisfying grin announced the achievement to Hoffman who had followed Jansch into the office.
“So what about this chemist?” Hoffman was asking him. “What makes her think it’s the de Kok woman?”
“Well, she doesn’t know that, does she sir?” Jansch lowered himself into a chair. “What bugged her was the girl’s attitude. And the way she was acting.” He sipped the hot coffee, grimaced and put the cup back on the desk. “She comes into the pharmacy asking for something for a sick child and then gets hot under the collar when it’s suggested she takes the baby to see a doctor.” Hoffman sat down at the desk and lifted the cup to his lips. Jansch went on. “Claims she’s from down south, Munich she said, and then legs it.” He put a finger up in the air to make a point. “The chemist noticed she had a South African accent.”
“But she didn’t know we were looking for a South African woman,” Hoffman reminded him, “so that’s not significant in itself, is it?”
“No, but when she returned a couple of days later, she had a prescription from a doctor.” Jansch was into his stride now. “The counter assistant thought she was acting a bit strange.” He laughed. “Even forgot to take the baby with her when she left the counter. Had to run back, quick.” He was digressing. “Anyway, the counter assistant told the chemist. The woman then asked her to check the signature on the prescription. It turns out the doctor was from the other side of Dortmund which is a long, long way from Düsseldorf, so she called us.”
Hoffman arched his eyebrows. “Thank you for the geography lesson, Uwe. I take it we are checking the doctor out?”
Jansch nodded. “The local boys are on it now.”
“Good,” Hoffman replied thoughtfully. “So if it is our Fraulein de Kok, she will be in Düsseldorf.”
“Possibly.”
Hoffman considered this for some time before reaching a decision. What he had in
mind was a formidable task but police work was all about patient plodding.
“I want all the property agencies checked in Düsseldorf,” he said at last. “Any property sold or rented within the last six months within a ten kilometre radius of the pharmacy. Eliminate the obvious ones as soon as possible. Discreet inquiries on the remainder.”
Jansch expelled a deep breath. “That’s a lot of footwork. It’ll take days.”
“Nevertheless, I want it done. Oh, and ask Meckenheim if there are any known terrorist safe houses in the area.” Jansch picked up his coffee and got up to leave. Hoffman stopped him. “And I want to see that doctor. If that bastard’s involved in this, he’ll never practice again.”
“Unless you bargain with him,” Jansch flung over his shoulder as he walked out of the office, and left the vague challenge hanging in the air.
*
Schiller learned from the police that the baby’s finger was not that of his grandson. It had been established that the finger had been dead when it had been cut off, but more importantly the blood group and DNA taken from the tissue sample kept at the hospital did not match that of Schiller’s grandson.
The old man was greatly relieved to say the least, but it did nothing to alleviate his mood and temper. He was normally a controlled man. Years at the leading edge of international business had shaped his character and honed his tolerance level. Losing one’s temper in the power game could cost money, and it was something Schiller tried very hard not to do.
But today was different. This was a personal trauma; a conflict of family emotion and personal ambition. Against his great wish that the vast empire he had built should not fall into German hands was the life of his grandson. Should he risk that, the single life, against the millions of lives that would inevitably be influenced by his Covenant?
As a businessman, Schiller knew the answer: the Covenant would win every time, providing the single life was that of an unknown child in some remote region of the world, and not that of his own flesh and blood. How easy it would have been to write the baby off and think no more of it than as a casualty of life. But what roused Schiller’s anger was the phone call he had received from Levi Eshkol that day. Although he had never met Alfred Weitzman, he could feel the stomach tightening terror of the Nazi hand as it reached across the ocean and took the life of an old man.
Schiller’s judgement had often been mixed with an element of instinct. The turn of a card might persuade a gambler to raise the stakes, but Schiller’s game had rarely been played on such fickle moments. Now his judgement had to be right, his instinct reliable. He didn’t believe Molke would order his thugs to kill the baby once the Covenant had been signed, although he vowed to expose the man if that happened. So he gave Eshkol his word; if his grandson had not been found within forty eight hours, he would instruct his lawyers to start proceedings which would end with the signing and transfer of control of his empire to the Israeli people.
Of course, the real reason for his anger was that he would have to tell Joanna of his decision. She would not understand, he knew that, but his decision would be irrevocable. He understood the pain and anguish it would cause, but he felt his own motives were justified and trusted that she would not be too judgemental; there was just too much at stake.
He walked through to the room overlooking the terrace and picked up the phone. He could feel an emptiness in his stomach as he dialled Joanna’s private number. Little threads of fear tightened measurably round his heart and he wished to God he had an alternative, but he knew he did not.
When Joanna answered the phone he wished her good-day and asked how she was feeling. She reciprocated and the subsequent conversation lasted a few moments and was full of banalities.
“Joanna, meine liebchen.” He faltered momentarily. “There is something I need to tell you.” He could sense a frisson of shock coming from the earpiece and guessed Joanna was expecting the worst kind of news. “It isn’t about little Manny,” he hastened to add. “It’s about a decision I have reached.” He told her hurriedly about the news he had received from Israel. “It means the kidnappers have started killing to learn the whereabouts of the Covenant.”
“They’ve already killed several people,” was Joanna short reply.
“No, I don’t mean those poor members of my staff who were murdered during the kidnap. I am talking about others.” He paused, wondering how he could mollify the shock of his decision. “The Covenant is too important to squander now. So....” He drew in a long breath through clenched teeth. “I will be instructing my lawyers to proceed in forty eight hours.”
The tirade came as he expected it would; surprise first, shock, then anger. He couldn’t blame her. She had every right to insult and abuse him because he was playing God over her child.
“Joanna, Joanna. I would give my life to save Manny.” He had tears in his eyes. “Believe me, please. But there are so many more lives.” He began to cry. “Joanna, I swear to you they will be brought to justice. Believe me; I will spend my fortune tracking them down. They will pay, I promise.”
There was silence for a while. He waited apprehensively, the tears still running down his cheeks.
“If my baby dies, you will have killed him,” she cried down the phone. He squeezed his eyes closed and shook his head. “No fortune on this earth will bring him back if you let him die.” He slumped into a chair, listening to her voice, compressed and nasal in the earpiece. “Don’t let him die, Manfred. Give in. For God’s sake; let them have the Covenant.”
He shook his head. “Your countrymen did not give in to the Nazis. It still cost many lives, but it saved many too. I will not give in to them either. I’m sorry, Joanna. I am an old man now. I hope when I have gone you will remember me not with hate and resentment, but with affection and understanding. I love you Joanna.” He put the phone down.
Deep in the pine covered slopes below Schiller’s residence a dull grey van had been parked relatively unobtrusively in the trees. Inside the van was a host of technical equipment being watched over by two men. One of the men was wearing a headset. Beside him a small, cassette tape recorder whirled and recorded the conversation that had just taken place between Schiller and Joanna. He switched the tape off, ejected the cassette and handed it to his companion.
*
When Hoffman and Jansch arrived in Dortmund, the doctor had been in custody for little over an hour. Naturally he was in a reflective mood and not too happy about the lack of reason for his enforced incarceration in the local police station. An hour after Hoffman’s arrival, the doctor was feeling even less happy and facing the prospect of an indefinite stay in one of the country’s prisons, to say nothing of the loss of his practice and freedom.
Hoffman’s attitude to the doctor had an affected ambivalence about it, whereas Jansch had been positively threatening. It was a fairly standard approach to this type of interrogation where they had no official reason to hold the doctor other than suspicion of complicity. But he didn’t know that.
“Show me the house,” Hoffman had asked him, “and I will show you leniency.”
The first glimmer of hope had raised the doctor’s expectations. All along he had protested that the prescription had been a forgery. Or the signature even. Not much wrong with that claim, Hoffman had supposed. Proving it was the doctor’s signature would not have been too much of a problem, as he pointed out to the man. Pointing the finger at him publicly in such a high profile case as this would have drawn unnecessary attention from the medical council.
“What do you mean leniency?”
Hoffman reached forward and turned the tape recorder off. He turned to Jansch and the uniformed officer who was in the room with them. “Leave us.”
When they had gone, Hoffman spelled it out for the doctor.
“I don’t want any of your crap or bullshit. You prescribed medicine for that baby. You show me where the house is and I will have no further interest in you.” He put his hand over his heart. “You have my word on
that.”
“Nothing? No further harassment?”
Hoffman agreed. “You have simply practised medicine on a sick child. It was your duty. Now, where is the house?”
The doctor’s pale face showed some shame when he answered. “It is in Düsseldorf.”
Hoffman nodded. “We know that.” The doctor’s features sharpened in surprise. Hoffman grinned at him. “You see, doctor, we are closer than you realise. Much better you save your scrawny neck now than have us find you out later. There would be no deals then, would there?”
The doctor looked suitably chastened. “I cannot tell you where the house is,” he told Hoffman, “but I can show you.”
Hoffman straightened. “Suits me.” He went to the door and called the two men back in. “We are going to Düsseldorf,” he said. “The doctor has agreed to cooperate.”
*
Frau Lindbergh opened the front door and saw a young, good looking man on her doorstep. There was an older man with him. Both were smart and appeared quite personable. The young one smiled and greeted her.
“Frau Lindbergh? Good day. I am Detective Weller and this is Sergeant Vogel.” He flashed his warrant card at her. “May we come in please?”
Frau Lindbergh placed a hand over her ample bosom. “My word,” she cried. “Whatever’s wrong?”
“Oh, nothing, nothing,” he quickly reassured her. “Just a routine investigation; there is nothing wrong at all.” He smiled again. “May we?”
She glanced quickly up and down the street. “Well, come on then.” She ushered them with haste, not wanting her nosey neighbours (so she thought) to put two and two together and come up with five. “Through there.” She pointed down the hallway and closed the door swiftly behind her.
“Now,” she said when she had got them safely seated in her sitting room. “What can I do for you?”
The Eagle's Covenant Page 17