The Eye of the Abyss - [Franz Schmidt 01]

by Marshall Browne

  Wagner was mesmerised. ‘What will you do?’

  Schmidt smiled slightly. It was clear that in the past weeks the leadership relationship between them had been reversed. Again in a matter-of-fact tone he said, ‘The plan I speak of requires you to take the 9,500,000 of bonds still in my safe to the Swiss Bank, Zurich. You might take these along, too.’

  Rubinstein, overcoated, hatted, apparently a visitor in his own house, stood at the top of his cellar steps and meditated on the ruinous scene. Herr Dressler stood beside him.

  ‘In a world of shortages, such a waste,’ the Jew said.

  ‘The act of criminals — and fools.’ Herr Dressler wasn’t present in his official capacity. The floor of the cellar was a glutinous, multi-coloured morass of preserved fruits and pickles, several centimetres deep, impregnated with the glass of smashed containers. A sweet odour laced the air. Upstairs, the faces of family portraits had been slashed. The canvases hung in ribbons between the ornate frames. Turkish rugs were despoiled.

  ‘Thank God, my family were away. I’ll have it cleaned up before they return ... I am sorry about your daughter. Beside that, this is nothing.’

  Dressler lowered his head onto his chest in acknowledgement. He’d thanked the ex-judge, for his efforts, for his courageous intervention. Though he still appeared to meditate on the scene, Rubinstein’s mind had shifted. ‘The auditor, Schmidt — a strange man. In the courts one sees many types passing through. Criminals who’ve the appearance of innocent citizens. Innocent citizens who’ve the appearance of criminals. Of course, you’ve seen this phenomenon, Herr Dressler.’ The detective acknowledged that he had. ’I don’t mean to infer that Herr Schmidt falls into either type. There are others, of course. However, I admit if I had to make a quick judgement, I’d err on the side of the first.’

  ‘He is a good man.’

  ‘None of us is wholly good. His colleague, Herr Wagner, whom I happen to know something about, is another strange individual.’ He looked at Dressler to examine his reaction. The detective showed none. However, as he left the despoiled house, close to midnight, Dressler wondered what the Jew knew of this Herr Wagner. Something, obviously. But he let it go, and strode across the city with his grief. Dietrich’s face, which he’d never seen in the flesh, appeared in his mind’s eye. He wondered whether the Nazi Party photo, in his pocket, was a good enough likeness. The old colleague who’d got it for him didn’t know about that.

  ~ * ~

  28

  C

  OULD HE GET it out in one short speech? Schmidt drew in breath.

  ‘Herr Dietrich, this is the mandate for the Party’s new account in Zurich. Our investment department anticipates Swiss-related transactions, and asks that this be opened. Yourself, Herr Otto, are recommended as signatories. If you agree, please sign where I’ve marked.’

  Dietrich’s eyes flicked to it, then away. He leaned back in his chair, and smiled broadly. ‘Well, Franz, looking forward to our little dinner?’

  Schmidt bowed affirmatively, and thought: Why didn’t you get those teeth cleaned? An anxious Dr Bernstein had reported only an examination — during which the Nazi had silently examined him, and his premises.

  ‘Good! You will enjoy it.’ Becoming briskly businesslike, Dietrich turned his attention to the form. ‘Now what’s this about a Swiss account? Surely the bank already has one?’

  ‘Yes, Herr Director — several. But this is to be a subaccount specifically for the Party’s business. Under the approval of the Reichsbank, the bank opens such facilities as needed. Of course, any request of you to append your signature for withdrawals, would be submitted with full supporting documentation.’

  Gravely projecting his years of auditing probity, holding down his nerves, Schmidt eyed the destroyer of Lilli Dressler, and waited. Did the bastard know she was dead?

  ‘This is a blank form, Schmidt?’

  ‘The investment department will complete it. I’ll personally verify that it’s in order.’

  ‘A blank cheque?’ The Nazi grinned, pulled the form to him and signed. ’Explanation accepted! Knowing you, I’m sure you will see to the paperwork as appropriate.’ Schmidt smiled politely, and withdrew from the Nazi’s room. Again he committed his nerves and his cold resolve to the corridors, and traversed them to Otto’s rooms. He sighed on the way, to reduce his tension. The Nazi’s last comment had been weighted with an amused sarcasm. But he’d signed.

  God! How boring we breed them, Otto thought, listening to the long-serving auditor with his grey-toned personality commence his speech. If I permit it he’ll stand there for an hour talking like this. With an irritated gesture he cut Schmidt off. ‘Spare me the details, Schmidt. I do understand these matters. Just give me the form. I’ve got important affairs on my plate this morning.’ He signed with a flourish and negligently tossed it back. ‘Today I’ll need to withdraw Reich bonds from the Party’s safe. Make sure you and Wagner are available.’

  He waved Schmidt out.

  Otto, having dismissed the auditor from his office, did so from his mind. He was excited — even exalted. He’d made a killing. Ambitious thoughts cartwheeled in his head. With the support of the local Nazi authorities, who twice in one day had remitted the agreement for renegotiation at terms less favourable to the Dortmunds, he’d got their business for 1.3 million. A ludicrous price! A splendid deal for the Party, and a splendid commission and accolade for Wertheim & Co! It might’ve been a million, except for his uncle’s intervention ensuring that the price was set at one point three. Ready for signing today, the final documentation lay under his soft hands. He’d demanded the lawyers work through the night. And by God, it’s only the beginning! he thought.

  Schmidt returned to his office. Otto’s demand gleamed in his mind like a steel chisel. Today! With an effort he pushed it away and concentrated on the mandates just signed. From his desk he took the paper he needed, and carefully traced on it each signature. He put this aside, and taking the mandates to the typewriter used for confidential reports to the board, typed in the blanks, and put the forms in a leather pouch embossed with the name of Bankhaus Wertheim & Co AG. Crossing to the door, he listened. The corridor was steeped in silence. He hurried to the safe, took off his combination, and removed the large envelope with the remainder of the bonds. He put this in the pouch, too.

  With a rigour which sought to detect any nuance of danger in the atmosphere, he listened again. Wertheims seemed to have stopped all engines, to be wallowing in a swell. Back to work. His throat was dry, his heart racing. Quickly he brought out different forms. Going over the tracings on the paper he’d taken from his desk, he traced the two signatures on a form. Taking up a pen he went over them. This time it took several attempts before he had two forms which satisfied him. Tensely he thought: Getting expert! He burnt the trial runs in his waste tin. On the typewriter, he tapped words into the blanks on these forms; each was Wertheim’s instruction to its clearing banker to either release or accept for safekeeping a sealed envelope.

  Five minutes later, the first instruction form, requesting the release of the sealed envelopes containing Wagner’s and his combinations to the Party’s safe, was on its way to their clearing bank via a messenger. Wagner glanced up warily, as Schmidt entered his office and precisely closed the door.

  ‘We might have a problem,’ the auditor said quietly. ‘Sometime today Herr Otto requires to withdraw bonds from the Party’s safe.’ Schmidt sat down, keeping his manner low-key. Wagner’s nerves had to be respected. He observed that the deputy foreign manager had had a rough shave, and he smelt of body odour.

  Wagner’s eyes blinked in a nervous spasm. ‘I’d expunge might.’

  ‘I estimated we would have more time, but he’s put together the Dortmund Aryanisation surprisingly quickly. I’ve been keeping a watch on its progress. I calculate he’ll need up to 1,300,000, for the settlement.’

  Wagner laughed mirthlessly, and tensely lit a cigarette. ‘And there’s 1,200,000 remaining in the uns
ealed packet in the safe — and a sealed packet of blank paper? This, my friend, is going to be one of those days.’

  ‘May I suggest you keep your voice down?’ the auditor said. He held the pouch he’d brought in his hands and regarded it, biting his lower lip. After a moment he said, ‘Otto doesn’t attend to detail. All he’ll be interested in is having the amount he needs. If the bonds in the working stock are insufficient ... I’ll add what’s necessary, from here.’ He tapped the pouch. ‘It shouldn’t take more than 100,000.’

  ‘From here, Franz?’

  Schmidt held open the Wertheim pouch holding the bonds to show his colleague the thick packet nestling there. Wagner became even paler. ‘And if it does?’

  ‘Let’s say I allow for 200,000, then.’

  Wagner’s face livened. ‘Yes, Franz, it might save us. For the moment. Are you good at sleight of hand?’ His hands were shaking, but his old mocking tone overrode the nerves.

  ‘When we’re in the vault I’ll ask him how much he’s withdrawing. I’ll take the unsealed envelope to the table, and count out the certificates in it. At that point, I’ll need his attention diverted, while I amend any shortage.’ Wagner clasped his hands under his chin and brooded, as though adjudicating on a recommended chain of book entries. Schmidt continued, ‘Could you arrange the diversion?’

  Wagner brought a hand to the cigarette, and exhaled, ‘I’ll have to, won’t I? Perhaps if I stand on my head?’ He grimaced at the ceiling.

  ‘If we can create enough time for you to complete the arrangements in Zurich all will be well.’

  Wagner watched Schmidt. Precisely how all would be well wasn’t yet clear to him. Sooner rather than later the theft of the bonds would come to light. The trickery Schmidt was now proposing would only bridge the gap in the short term. After that? Franz hadn’t revealed the innermost workings of his plan. These days his friend seemed absolutely certain of his destination. For his own part, it was sink or swim. For years he’d been too carelessly living his life on that basis ... But it was time for him to know more. ‘My friend, at the risk of stating the obvious, the time will arrive — assuming we survive till then — when the shortage is going to come to light. How does your brilliant plan cover that?’

  Schmidt regarded his colleague patiently. ‘I’m coming to that, Heinrich.’ He reopened the pouch and laid the Swiss Bank mandates, signed by Dietrich and Otto, on the table.

  Wagner examined them and gazed at the auditor, his eyes widening. They were for accounts in Dietrich’s and Otto’s own names. ‘Christ,’ he breathed. ‘What’s this?’

  Schmidt said, ’You’ll set up two accounts — one each in the personal names of these two.’

  Wagner was silent. In a choked voice he said, ‘You understand that their names’ll vanish behind the numbers of their secret accounts?’

  ‘Yes, Heinrich. In theory. When the Gestapo starts delving into it with their Swiss banking contacts what do you think will happen?’

  Wagner’s gaze was fixed on the mandates. Some Swiss were very sympathetic to the Third Reich. A lot of profitable business was being done, with much more in the offing. He said, ‘They’ll spill the beans.’

  Schmidt nodded. ‘So that’s your job. You should apportion the bonds between each account. Is it clear, Heinrich?’

  ‘Very clear. And, when the day comes to open that packet of blank paper

  ‘The cupboard’ll be empty. But who’ll have emptied it? There are other arrangements in train which will point quite clearly to

  ‘My God!’ Wagner was stunned as he finally fully understood. He sucked in his breath. It was an act of revenge and retribution worthy of their opponents.

  Schmidt was watching him intently. ‘It’s them or us,’ he said quietly. ‘However, there is today’s little complication to get over.’ He reopened the pouch, replaced the mandates in it, and without removing the envelope slipped from it two of the 100,000 bonds. He put them in his breast pocket, closed the pouch, and pushed it across the desk. ‘Everything’s there, Heinrich ... No, not quite.’

  He laid a large buff envelope on the desk. ‘Here’s my family matter. It’s to go to my cousin in Zurich at this address —’

  ‘Ah ... one could say, the more important of the two. In terms of life s big picture,’ Wagner murmured. Each considered the Salzburg cantatas. ‘I take the five o’clock express, assuming we survive the interlude in the vault, and assuming the Gestapo permits my departure, and I’m not searched. Those risks hang over us, my friend. Explaining this pouch would test even my professional ingenuity to the maximum.’

  They both knew its contents were unexplainable.

  A slow smile came to Schmidt’s face. ‘We’re locked into this path, Heinrich. All we can do is keep cool heads, play the cards as they come to us.’

  ‘A card-player, too, Franz?’Wagner’s mouth had twisted in a grin. ‘And I thought I was the gambler.’ He needed his caustic humour as much as his cigarettes. At this moment, he really needed it.

  There was a final matter to consider. A rather difficult and unpalatable one. Schmidt had had it under consideration but hadn’t made progress with it. Last night he’d put it aside. Now he came to a decision.

  ‘Heinrich, if we bring this off, the bank and the Gestapo will rigorously look into how the bonds actually reached Zurich ...’

  Wagner, watching his friend, thought: At which time, I am going to be in the soup. In the past minutes, the problem had loomed up in his own mind. He nodded slowly, and reached for a fresh cigarette.

  ‘It’s a loose end to the plan which leaves you in a bad situation.’ Schmidt’s voice was apologetic. He said decisively, ‘You must leave Germany. You appear to have connections in Paris — could you go directly there from Zurich?’

  They regarded each other in silence. Wagner turned away in his chair and stared at the wall. He sucked a shred of tobacco off his lip. Abruptly, he turned back to face Schmidt. ‘No. I will go to Paris, but I’ll need to return here briefly. There are matters I must finalise.’

  Schmidt frowned, considering this. ‘You’ll need to be quick. Very quick.’

  Wagner grimaced. ‘I know that. Now, a little surprise for you. In case I don’t return from this stimulating mission.’ He produced a small brass key. ‘Our mutual dentist, Dr Bernstein, has stairs going up to his surgery - as you’ll recall. Under those stairs, beneath the fourth floorboard from the door, quite cunningly fitted, is a metal box. In that box ... but I don’t need to tell you that ... a fellow of your startling ingenuity would know what to do. Have you got that? I have another key, and hopefully, I’ll be able to deal with it myself.’

  Schmidt nodded, assessing his colleague. He put the key in his pocket. A fraction more of Wagner’s political past had emerged into the light. Not past, present, he corrected himself. God forbid that it wouldn’t sabotage their mission.

  The two trusted servants of Wertheim & Co shook hands and exchanged a long look.

  When Schmidt had gone, Wagner contemplated, sitting there quietly, his own life, which appeared to be in a state of deconstruction — and his doubtful future. He gazed around his room. He felt stale with cigarettes, sticky from the day’s tension and work. A slight headache had begun and he massaged his temples with both hands. Yes. It’d be certain death to hang around here. The time had come. If he returned safely he’d do that job and take off for Paris immediately.

  ~ * ~

  29

  B

  ACK AT HIS desk, Schmidt was now waiting on Otto. He turned to his in-tray, hesitated, and took up the envelope that had arrived at his home this morning. A Dresden law firm’s name was printed on the flap. Postponing opening it wouldn’t delay the issue. He slit it neatly, and gazed at the papers. Whereas Frau Helga Katharina Schmidt and Herr Franz Frederick Schmidt ... He replaced the divorce papers in the envelope, put it away, forced it from his mind.

  Wagner was well respected in Zurich; he’d have no trouble opening the two accounts. The Gestapo, and custo
ms at the frontier, were the dangerous factors. Wagner had been crossing the frontier for years on the bank’s business, and had never been searched. They were counting on that, and he was counting on Wagner’s nerves holding up.

  He couldn’t face his in-tray. His own nerves, which had been mainly quiescent, were no longer so. He looked at the phone, reassessing his plan step by step, his fitness to carry it out. A bead of perspiration formed on his upper lip. It all looked good but a complication could emerge without warning, and he thought of the enigma of von Streck.

  The messenger’s return from the clearing bank with the two sealed envelopes drove these thoughts from his mind. Wagner’s, and his own, combinations to the Party’s safe. Schmidt dismissed the man, broke the seals on the two envelopes, then resealed them with sealing wax in which he embossed the bank’s seal, and inserted them in an envelope with the prepared lodgement form. The clearing bank’s records were going to show: withdrawn am, re-lodged pm, this day, order of Directors Otto Wertheim and Frederick Dietrich.