The Traitor Blitz

by Johannes Mario Simmel

  and told them to come to the Paris Hotel, Kleine Freiheit—a man had been stabbed.

  "Who's speaking?" the officer at the other end of the wire asked, but I hung up. We needed the time now. The police could try to find out who we were from the Ukrainian.

  "You stay here and wait for the poMce," I had told him. "And you tell them everything you told us."

  "Also that I tell you everything? That you here?"

  "Of course. Whatever you like," I said. Then Bertie and I ran back to our car, I made a U-turn, and drove back on the Reeperbahn. We met a patrol car, its blue light revolving, its siren howling. And according to what we now knew, Irina was still in great danger.

  14

  Wim Croft, the Dutch garage attendant on duty that night, was a stout man with a rosy, friendly face and funny little eyes. He directed our car onto the elevator platform. 5:40 a.m. The car gleamed in the light, water dripping from it because it was still raining hard outside. We had driven to the airport in Fuhlsbiittel, where Bertie had sent off his latest films. As we drove to the hotel, he was sleeping peacefully beside me.

  The underground garage had two floors, and the elevator was on the left side of the hotel, behind a heavy metal door. When it came up, the door slid up, leaving the entry free. Croft was wearing bright yellow overalls. He stood in the light of our headlights after having waved us in, pressed a handle, and the metal door came down again behind us. The platform, shaking a little, took us down to the first subterranean floor. Here Croft showed us the way to a free space. I turned off the motor and the lights; then I picked up my recorder and typewriter, Bertie took his cameras, and we got out. "It's been a long night," I said to Croft.

  "I like to work nights," he said. "Prefer it to daytime. So does my colleague. We work the same shift, one week each. Is the car all right?"

  "Yes," I said, "everything's okay. No damage."

  He didn't seem to hear, but asked, "Have you any idea how long you'll be wanting the car?"

  "No," said Bertie.

  "Are you here on business?" He was looking at Bertie's cameras and my recorder.

  "Yes," said Bertie.

  "I was only asking," he said, "because you got the last Rekord. All the others are out. And there's one guest who insists he's got to have a Rekord. So many people want a car right now. We have two conventions and they're driving us crazy, even down here. Tomorrow a third lot's coming in. Heart specialists."

  "And the other two?" I asked.

  "Stamp collectors and neurosurgeons," said Croft. Friendly fellow. "Doctors from all over the world. I just brought down this Rekord here, beside yours. About half an hour ago. The Hen-Professor seems to have had a good time."

  He walked into his littie office. The only decoration was a Coca-Cola calendar hanging on the wall beside a fire extinguisher. He began checking our car in. "What professor?" asked Bertie.

  "From Moscow," said the Dutch car attendant. "Professor

  Monerov. Well, now " He was looking at the registration

  book.

  "What?" I asked.

  "You have Suite 423, don't you?"

  "Yes, and—?"

  "And Professor Monerov had number 424," said Croft. "You're neighbors. And both of you rented a Rekord. Funny, isn't it?"

  "Very funny," I said.

  Apparently he loved to talk and seemed easygoing and utterly harmless, like a child. Many Dutch people are like that. And then, the devil take it, I thought of FrSulein Louise and her dear friends. But it was so late and I was so tired that I suddenly felt an aversion toward Fraulein Louise and her other world, and I thought: I can't—I don't want to believe in this world next door, whatever Hem says. I can only believe what I hear, what I see, what I say. And I know that what I see, say, and hear today—and this holds good for all human beings—is rendered obsolete and reduced ad absurdum by the very next moment. 276

  When Heintze gave Bertie and me our keys, we asked for any messages. There were none. I took the elevator with Bertie, said good night to him, and got out at the fourth floor. A pair of street and a pair of evening shoes had been put out in front of number 424. The evening shoes were very elegant, but very dirty, and they belonged to neurosurgeon Professor Monerov. A Russian: So what! People of many nationalities stayed at big hotels. Stop thinking such nonsense, I told myself. Then I unlocked the door to my suite, took off my shoes before entering and left them in front of the door, locked it, and walked into the salon in my stockinged feet. I turned on the floor lamp beside the couch, where I had thrown a pillow and blanket, hung my jacket over a chair, loosened my tie, then opened the door to die bedroom softly, very softly. I wanted to go to the bathroom, but stopped beside the bed and watched Irina for a while. She was sleeping like a child, lying on her left side, curled up, her fist pressed against her lips.

  I thought of her innocence and of myself, until the jackal came close, and I had to drink. A lot. When I finally stopped, I was gasping for breath, but the jackal had withdrawn. I wasn't sure if he would stay away, so I decided I'd leave the bottle on the table beside the couch.

  I crept into the bathroom, closed the door softly, and with a towel swept aside the shards of the glass Irina had dropped when I had come upon her naked. I washed fast and went back to the salon, where I undressed, put on my second pair of pajamas, and poured myself a stiff drink, just in case. I listened, but everything was quiet in the bedroom. Then I picked up the receiver. The operator on night duty answered in a low, tired voice. First I asked for Conny Manners's number. It rang for such a long time, I began to worry. At last Edith Herwag answered. She sounded sleepy and exhausted. When she heard who it was, she livened up. "Oh, it's youl"

  "I said I'd call up every few hours. How's Conny?"

  "The hospital called. They said if there are no further complications, I can see Conny this morning."

  "Great! When?"

  "Around twelve."

  "Okay. I'll call again around 10:30. I'm sorry I woke you."

  "It doesn't matter. I—I'm so glad Conny is better. I've been sleeping in the chair beside the phone."

  "So now go to bed."

  "I will. And...Walter?"

  "What?"

  "Thank yoa... you and Bertie. You—you've been very good to me."

  'That's all right, Edith. Good night."

  I hung up and suddenly felt very tired. I drank and thanked God, or somebody or other, that Conny was better and would make it. I lifted the receiver again and asked for Frankfurt, Hem's number. He answered at once. I could hear music, a woman's voice singing. "Hello, old boy," said Hem.

  "Hello, Hem. What's that? Still playing Schoeck?"

  "Yes. Diirande Castle. An opera. Maria Cebotari singing. Beautiful, isn't it? So, what's new?"

  I told him everything; he listened attentively. Every how and then he asked questions. And all the time I could hear the song and the wonderful music in the background.

  "Congratulations," Hem said when I had finished. "Good work. First-rate story we have there. Are the pictures of Concon's body coming with the early plane, too?"

  "Yes."

  "Good! I asked Lester to let us have four pages, but he said no. So I called the old man, and Herford said of course, four. With a story like that! Needless to say, we need photos like that, too."

  "You're getting them."

  "And the text for the advance copy, and the captions. Must be here by ten. Got it? Must bel Don't come to me with your jackal now, or anything else, or your story's dead!"

  "You'll have everything by ten."

  "Herford is beside himself with joy that you've found such a treasure, and that means a lot, because otherwise he's in a foul mood."

  "Why?"

  "Bob."

  Herford's son, playboy, and super-heel-about-town. "What's he done this time?"

  "Same thing. Knocked up a girl. Fifteen years old. Herford poured out his heart to me. The girl's a tough customer, no coming to terms with her. Wants the child. Won't have an abortion. No
way. Says she'll report Herford if he mentions it again." I laughed. "Yes. Very funny. Doesn't want child support either. Says that's too uncertain. Wants half a million. Cash."

  "She must be crazy!"

  "Not at all. Idiot Bob raped her."

  'That figures."

  "Unfortunately she has witnesses. Five. It was one of those mass productions. Nothing to be done about it, says Rotaug. Maybe they can get her down to four hundred thousand, but that's the best they can hope for. Herford gave his offspring more than hell. And he told ine that if God really loved him, he'd have given him a son like you."

  "You're kidding!"

  "No. That's what he said. He's crazy about you. So do me a favor ... do this thing right, please. It's a big thing, and it's all yours."

  "Hem," I said, "I'm going to write this story as I've never written before. I'm only sorry for Irina."

  "You're sorry for somebody?"

  "Yes."

  "That's bad."

  "No, I really am. Look, she loves this guy Bilka, and according to everything we've been able to find out, he's a bastard. He isn't giving her a thought anymore, and if he does think of her, he's scared to death of her. That fink has plans, big plans."

  "That's for sure," said Hem. "Only I haven't figured out yet what plans."

  "I haven't either. But whatever—if we go on like this, we're going to collide with the law in some form or other, German or foreign."

  "When are you going to the police?"

  "At eleven."

  "Good. You've got to have the police on your side. I can't say that often enough. Especially since this seems to be a case where foreign elements are involved. I called the office fifteen minutes ago. The newsroom knows nothing. Not a single agency has reported anything over the teletype."

  "Bilka? Irina's kidnapping? The shoot-out at the camp?"

  "Nothing. I even called our contacts in Bremen and Hamburg. Nothing in Bremen, nothing in Hamburg. And they had nothing

  extraordinary to report at the Davidswache."

  Our contacts were men who had specific talents and connections, and were the first to uncover any sensational items. We had a lot of them, planted all over the place. So the Davidswache had nothing important to report? And I had called them myself, to report a murder.

  "Great!" I said.

  "Yes, isn't it?" said Hem. "So get some sleep, Walter. It's almost day.- Where are you staying anyway? Where are you calling from?" I told him.

  "I get the feeling you're smitten."

  "Nonsense!"

  "When have you ever slept on a couch and a pretty girl in bed in the next room?"

  "Way back," I said. "Meanwhile I've become impotent."

  'That's a shame," said Hem. "So, sweet dreams, my poor impotent friend. You deliver at ten. 'Bye."

  I put down the receiver, got up and drew one of the heavy drapes aside a little and opened the French window. I couldn't sleep otherwise. The window led out onto a small balcony with a wide railing. I went back to the couch, fell onto it, and put out the light. I looked at the illuminated dial of my watch. 6:05. At 10:001 had to deliver my material. At 11:00 I was due at police headquarters. So I could sleep until 9:00. No, better make it 8:30. Suddenly I saw Irina's beautiful breasts, her lovely body as I had seen it not so long ago, and I was filled with a searing desire for her. You want her, I thought, and Hem said you were smitten. Rubbish! I told myself, and promptly fell asleep. As I was to find out later, this was just about the time Frfiulein Louise arrived in Hamburg.

  I woke up and Irina was sitting on a chair beside me, staring at me. Her eyes were the first thing I saw by the light coming through between the drapes. "Good morning," I said.

  "Good morning, Herr Roland."

  I looked at my watch. 8:30. Punctual as usual.

  The salon was filled with shadows, the light coming into the room was dim. It fell directly on Irina's beautiful face. "Have you been sitting here a long time?"

  "Yes."

  "How long?"

  "For at least an hour," she replied. "Excuse me, please. You don't seem to like the idea."

  "I don't."

  'That's what I thought."

  "So why did you do it?"

  "When I woke up, I looked in here, very quietly, and I could hear you talking in your sleep. And..."

  "You were curious."

  "Yes."

  "Did I talk a lot?"

  "Yes. And nearly the whole time."

  "I do talk in my sleep sometimes, not often. What did I say?"

  "A lot of things."

  "What things?"

  "Disgraceful things," said Irina, "and beautiful things. Very beautiful."

  "That's great!" I said, furious suddenly. "And you found them so amusing that you listened to me for a whole hour."

  "You didn't only talk during that hour. I mean..." She turned her head away.

  I got up, walked over to the windows, and pulled back the drapes. The storm had passed, the sky was gray, and it was raining gently. I closed the open window, turned around, and saw that Irina was crying again. She didn't have a handkerchief. I went over to her and gave her mine.

  "You know, when somebody talks in his sleep, you mustn't be surprised if—"

  "That's all right," she said, but went right on watching me as I collected my clothes and put on my slippers. My suitcases were still in the bedroom. I wanted a different suit and fresh underwear. I wanted to take a bath and shave.

  "Will you order breakfast, please?" I asked Irina. "Tell them to send it up in twenty minutes. I'll let the waiter in. I'd like espresso, ham and eggs, orange juice, toast, butter, marmalade. And tell the waiter what you want."

  "I also think that Jan is no good," she said.

  I threw my things on the bed, then went back into the salon and picked up the blanket and pillow from the couch. "They don't have to know I didn't sleep in the bed."

  lrina said, "But is it possible to stop loving a man just like that? Just because one knows he's no-good?"

  "Maybe a woman can't. I'm a man, thank God."

  She began to cry again. I took the things back into the bedroom and heard her say, "I'm getting your handkerchief all wet. I'm sorry."

  "I have others," I said, and found another handkerchief in my suitcase and gave it to her. "Here." Her shoulders were shaking.

  She said "Thank you," took it, and gave me back the wet one. "You're welcome," I said.

  "If Jan is such a bastard, as you just said—"

  "Don't you agree?"

  "Yes, I do. And there's something else I must tell you. I wasn't asleep when you came back and looked at me for such a long time on your way to the bathroom."

  "You pretended?"

  "Yes."

  "Why?"

  "I thought maybe you'd call your office and find out something about Jan. You did call your office, didn't you?"

  "I called my editor," I said. "And you listened to the entire conversation?"

  "Yes. I got up and crept to the door and opened it a little, and I heard everything. So now I know what you know about my fianc6, and it's not good."

  "No, it isn't," I said, and went into the bathroom and turned on the water for a bath. I unpacked my toilet articles, and as I was switching the voltage on my razor, I looked in the mirror and saw lrina standing in the doorway. She wasn't crying anymore, and her beautiful eyes were open wide. "What do you want?" I asked. The water pouring into the tub made a lot of noise, so I had to raise my voice. She said something I couldn't understand, so I turned off the water. "What did you say?" She was standing very close to me now.

  "I said, 'You're going to do all you can today to find Jan?'"

  "Naturally. It's my profession."

  "Don't," she said.

  "Don't what?" 282

  "Don't speak to me like that. Don't be angry with me."

  "I'm not angry. I just want to take a bath."

  "Yes ... of course. But, look... I've got to have someone I can trust, don't I? A person can't
live without somebody they can trust."

  'They can try."

  "I can't," she said. "I can't even try. I—I have to trust you now, don't I? I don't see what else I can do."

  "If you've got to have someone to trust, then you're right, there's nothing else you can do. So ... are you willing to trust me?"

  She nodded.

  "Good. And you'll do everything I tell you to do?"

  She nodded again.

  "And do nothing other people tell you to do?"

  "Nothing," she said. "But please, please, Herr Roland, don't let me down. Don't you lie to me, too. Always tell me the truth, please. I couldn't bear it if you lied to me and turned out to be no-good, too."

  "What would you do then?"

  "I'd run away," she said. "I don't know where, but I'd run away from you. I know that."

  "So I'll try not to be a bastard, like Bilka."

  "And tell me the truth?"

  "And tell you the truth whenever possible."

  "Thank you, Herr Roland."

  "You're welcome. And now you must tell me the truth."

  She started. T? What truth?"

  "What's your shoe size?"

  "What do you mean? Why do you—?"

  "I have to know," I said. "So? And I want the truth."

  "Thirty-nine," she said, and laughed suddenly.

  "And your dress size?"

  "Thirty-six."

  "And your measurements? Let me guess! Eighty-five, sixty-five, eighty-five."

  She was wide-eyed again. "But that's absolutely right! How did you know?"

  "I'm a genius," I said, "and women are my specialty. Besides, I had the pleasure of seeing you—I'm sorry. That was tactless of me. I need your measurements because I have to buy clothes for you."

  "No!"

  "And shoes."

  "No, no I I won't have it!"

  "And stockings. And underwear, and don't interrupt all the time. Of course I've got to go shopping for you. You can't run around forever in the clothes you've got on!"

  mt n

  "What's your favorite color?"

  "Red. But listen to me. This won't do."

  "Of course it'll do. You can pay me back from your fee. You have five thousand marks coming to you, remember?"