Yet he had a strange commitment to Lyons. He had commitment enough for him
at the moment. He dared not think beyond that instant.
And he was good; he could - should - never forget that. He was the best
there was.
If it was important to anyone.
So much, so alien.
He pressed his cheek against the molding of the arch and what he saw
sickened him. The revulsion, perhaps, was increased by the surroundings: a
well-appointed flat with chairs and couches and tables meant for civilized
people involved with civilized pursuits.
Not death.
The two male nurses - the hostile Johnny, the affable, dense Hal - were
sprawled across the floor, their arms linked, their heads inches from each
other. Their combined blood had formed a pool on the parquet surface.
Johnny's eyes were wide, angry -
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dead; Hal's face composed, questioning, at rest.
Behind them were Rhinemann's two other guards, their bodies on the couch
like slaughtered cattle.
I hope you know what you're doing!
Johnny's words vibrated painfully - in screams - in David's brain.
There were three other men in the room - standing, alive, in the same
grotesque stocking masks that had beenworn by those in the Duesenberg who
had cut short the few moments he'd had alone with Leslie Hawkwood high in
the hills of Lujin.
The Duesenberg that had exploded in fire in the hills of Colinas Rojas.
The men were standing - none held weapons - over the spent figure of Eugene
Lyons - seated gracefully, without fear, at the table. The look in the
scientist's eyes told the truth, as Spaulding saw it: he welcomed death.
'You see what's around you!' The man in the light grey overcoat spoke to
him. 'We will not hesitate further! You're dead! ... Give us the designs!'
Jesus Christ I thought David. Lyons had hidden the plans!
'There's no point in carrying on, please believe me,' continued the man in
the overcoat, the man with the hollow crescents under his eyes Spaulding
remembered so well. 'You may be spared, but only if you tell us! Now!'
Lyons did not move; he looked up at the man in the overcoat without
shifting his head, his eyes calm. They touched David's.
'Write iff said the man in the light grey overcoat.
It was the moment to move.
David spun around the molding, his pistol leveled.
'Don't reach for guns! Youl' he yelled at the man nearest him. 'Turn
around!'
In shock, without thinking, the man obeyed. Spaulding took two steps
forward and brought the barrel of the Beretta crashing down into the man's
skull. He collapsed instantly.
David shouted at the man next to the interrogator in the grey overcoat.
'Pick up that chair! Now!' He gestured with his pistol to a straight-backed
chair several feet from the table. 'Now, I said!'
The man reached over and did as he was told; he was immobilized. Spaulding
continued. 'You drop it and I'll kill you....
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Doctor Lyons. Take their weapons. You'll find pistols and knives. Quickly,
please.'
It all happened so fast. David knew his only hope of avoiding gunfire was
in the swiftness of the action, the rapid immobilization of one or two men,
an instant reversal of the odds.
Lyons got out of the chair and went first to the man in the light grey
overcoat. It was apparent that the scientist had observed where the man had
put his pistol. He took it out of the overcoat pocket. He went to the man
holding the chair and removed an identical gun, then searched the man and
took a large knife from his jacket and a second, short revolver from a
shoulder holster. He placed the weapons on the far side of the table and
walked to the unconscious third man. He rolled him over and removed two
guns and a switchblade knife.
'Take off your coats. Now!'Spaulding commanded both men. He took the chair
from the one next to him and pushed him toward his companion. The men began
removing their coats when Spaulding suddenly spoke, before either had
completed their actions. 'Stop right there! Hold it! ... Doctor, please
bring over two chairs and place them behind them.'
Lyons did so.
'Sit down,' said Spaulding to his captives.
They sat, coats half off their shoulders. David approached them and yanked
the garments further - down to the elbows.
The two men in the grotesque stocking masks were seated now, their arins
locked by their own clothes.
Standing in front of them, Spaulding reached down and ripped the silk masks
off their faces. He moved back and leaned against the dining table, his
pistol in his hand.
'All right,' he said. 'I estimate we've got about fifteen minutes before
all hell breaks loose around here.... I have a few questions. You're going
to give me the answers.'
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36
Spaulding listened in disbelief. The enormity of the charge was 80
far-reaching it was - in a very real sense - beyond his comprehension.
The man with the hollow eyes was Asher Feld, commander of the Provisional
Wing of the Haganah operating within the United States. He did the talking.
'The operation ... the exchange of the guidance designs for the industrial
diamonds ... was first given the name "Tortugas" by the Americans - one
American, to be exact. He had decided that the transfer should be made in
the Dry Tortugas, but it was patently rejected by Berlin. It was, however,
kept as a code name by this man. The misleading association dovetailed with
his own panic at being involved. It came - for him and for Fairfax - to
mean the activities of the man from Lisbon.
'When the War Department clearances were issued to the Koening company's
New York offices - an Allied requisite - this man coded the clearance as
'Tortugas.' If anyone checked, 'Tortugas' was a Fairfax operation. It would
not be questioned.
'The concept of the negotiation was first created by the Nachrichtendienst.
I'm sure you've heard of the Nachrichtendienst, colonel. . . .'
David did not reply, He could not speak. Feld continued.
'We of the Haganah learned of it in Geneva. We had word of an unusual
meeting between an American named Kendall -
350
a financial analyst for a major aircraft company -and a very despised German
businessman, a homosexual, who was sent to Switzerland by a leading
administrator in the Ministry of Armaments, Unterstaatssekretir Franz
AltmOller.... The Haganah is everywhere, colonel, including the outer
offices of the ministry and in the Luftwaffe. . . .'
David continued to stare at the Jew, so matter of fact in his extraordinary
... unbelieveable ... narrative.
'I think youll agree that such a meeting was unusual. It was not difficult
to maneuver these two messengers into a situation that gave us a wire
recording. It was in an out-of-the-way restaurant and they were amateurs.
'We then knew the basics. The materials and the general location. But not
the specific point of transfer. And that was the all-important factor.
Buenos Aires is enormous, its har
bour more so -stretching for miles. Where
in this vast area of land and mountains and water was the transfer to take
placeT
'Then, of course, came word from Fairfax. The man in Lisbon was being
recalled. A most unusual action. But then how well thought out. The finest
network specialist in Europe, fluent German and Spanish, an expert in
blueprint designs. How logical. Don't you agree!'
David started to speak, but stopped. Things were being said that triggered
fiashes of lightning in his mind. And unbelievable cracks of thunder . . .
as unbelievable as the words he was hearing. He could only nod his head.
Numbly.
Feld watched him closely. Then spoke.
'In New York I explained to you, albeit briefly, the sabotage at the
airfield in Terceira. Zealots. The fact that the man in Lisbon could turn
and be a part of the exchange was too much for the hot-tempered Spanish
Jews. No one was more relieved than we of the Provisional Wing when you
escaped. We assumed your stopover in New York was for the purposes of
refining the logistics in Buenos Aires. We proceeded on that assumption.
'Then quite abruptly there was no more time. Reports out of Johannesburg -
unforgivably delayed - said that the diamonds had arrived in Buenos Aires.
We took the necessary violent measures, including an attempt to kill you.
Prevented, I presume, by Rhinemann's men.' Asher Feld stopped. Then added
wearily, 'The rest you know.'
No I The rest he did not know! Nor any other part/
351
Insanityl
Madnessl
Everything was nothing I Nothing was everything I
The Years I The lives I... The terrible nightmares offear ... the killing!
Oh, my God, the killing!
For what?! ... 0h, my God! For what?!
'You're lying!' David crashed his hand down on the table. The steel of the
pistol cracked against the wood with such force the vibration filled the
room. 'You're lying!' he cried; he did not shout. 'I'm in Buenos Aires to
buy gyroscopic designs! To have them authenticated! Confirmed by code so
that son of a bitch gets paid in Switzerland! That's all. Nothing else!
Nothing else at aill Not this I'
'Yes. . . .' Asher Feld spoke softly. 'It is this.'
David whirled around at nothing. He stretched his neck: the crashing
thunder in his head would not stop, the blinding flashes of light in front
of his eyes were causing a terrible pain. He saw the bodies on the floor,
the blood . the corpses on the sofa, the blood.
Tableau of death.
Death.
His whole shadow world bad been ripped out of orbit. A thousand gambles ...
pains, manipulations, death. And more death . . . all faded into a
meaningless void. The betrayal - if it was a betrayal - was so immense ...
hundreds of thousands had been sacrificed for absolutely nothing.
He had to stop. He had to think. To concentrate.
He looked at the painfully gaunt Eugene Lyons, his face a sheet of white.
The man's dying, thought Spaulding.
Death.
He had to concentrate.
Oh, Christ! He had to think. Start somewhere. Think.
Concentrate.
Or he would go out of his mind.
He turned to Feld. The Jew's eyes were compassionate. They might have been
something else, but they were not. They were compassionate.
And yet, they were the eyes of a man who killed in calm deliberation.
As he, the man in Lisbon, had killed.
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Execution.
For what?
There were questions. Concentrate on the questions. Listen. Find error.
Find error - if error was needed in this world it was nowl
'I don't believe you,' said David, trying as he had never tried in his life
to be convincing.
'I think you do,' replied Feld quietly. 'The girl, Leslie Hawkwood, told us
you didn't know. A judgment we found difficult to accept.... I accept it
now.'
David had to think for a moment. He did not, at first, recognize the name.
Leslie Hawkwood. And then, of course, he did instantly. Painfully. 'How is
she involved with youT he asked numbly.
'Herold Goldsmith is her uncle. By marriage, of course, she's not Jewish.'
'Goldsmith? The name ... doesn't mean anything to me.' ... Concentrate I He
had to concentrate and speak rationally.
'It does to thousands of Jews. He's the man behind the Baruch and Lehman
negotiations. He's done more to get our people out of the camps than any
man in America.... He refused to have anything to do with Us until the
civilized, compassionate men in Washington, London and the Vatican turned
their backs on him. Then he came to us ... in fury. He created a hurricane,
his niece was swept up in it. She's overly dramatic, perhaps, but commit-
ted, effective. She moves in circles barred to the Jew.'
'Why?'. . . Listen I For God's sake, listen. Be rational. Concentratel
Asher Feld paused for a moment, his dark, hollow eyes clouded with quiet
hatred. 'She met dozens . . . hundreds, perhaps, of those Herold Goldsmith
got out. She saw the photographs, heard the stories. It was enough. She was
ready.'
The calm was beginning to return to David. Leslie was the springboard he
needed to come back from the madness. There were questions....
'I can't reject the pren-dse that Rhinemarm bought the designs. . . .'
'Oh, come!' interrupted Feld. 'You were the man in Lisbon. How often did
your own agents - your best men - find Peenemfinde invulnerable? Has not
the German underground itself given up penetrationT
353
'No one ever gives up. On either side. The German underground is part of
this!' That was the error, thought David.
'If that were so,' said Feld, gesturing his head toward the dead Germans on
the couch, 'then those men were members of the underground. You know the
Haganah, Lisbon. We don't kill such men.'
Spaulding stared at the quiet-spoken Jew and knew he told the truth.
'The other evening.' said Spaulding quickly, 'on Parand. I was followed,
beaten up . . . but I saw the IDs. They were Gestapo V
'They were Haganah.' replied Feld. 'The Gestapo is our best cover. If they
had been Gestapo that would presume, knowledge of your function.... Would
they have let you live?'
Spaulding started to object. The Gestapo would not risk killing in a
neutral country; not with identification on their persons. Then he realized
the absurdity of his logic. Buenos Aires was not Lisbon. Of course, they
would kill him. And then he recalled the words of Heinrich Stoltz.
We've checked at the highest levels ... not the Gestapo ... impossible....
And the strangely inappropriate apologia: the racial theories of Rosenberg
and Hitler are not shared ... primarily an economic ...
A defense of the indefensible offered by a man whose loyalty was
purportedly not to the Third Reich but to Erich Rhinemann. A Jew.
Finally, Bobby Ballard:
... he's a believer ... the real Junker item....
'Oh, my God,' said David under his breath.
'You have the advantage, colonel. What is your choice? We're prepared to
die; I say this in
no sense heroically, merely as a fact.'
Spaulding stood motionless. He spoke softly, incredulously. 'Do you
understand the implications? . . .'
.We've understood them,' interrupted Feld, 'since that day in Geneva your
Walter Kendall met with Johann Dietricht.'
David reacted as though slapped, 'Johann ... Dietricht?'
'The expendable heir of Dietricht Fabriken.'
'J.D.,' whispered Spaulding, remembering the crumpled yellow pages in
Walter Kendall's New York office. The breasts, the testicles, the swastikas
... the obscene, nervous scribbings of an
354
obscene, nervous man. 'Johann Dietricht ... J.D.'
'Altmilller had him killed. In a way that precluded any .
'Why?'asked David.
'To remove any connection with the Ministry of Armaments, is our thought;
any association with the High Command. Dietricht initiated the negotiations
to the point where they could be shifted to Buenos Aires. To Rhinemarm.
With Dietricht's death the High Command was one more step removed.'
The items raced through David's mind: Kendall had fled Buenos Aires in
panic; something had gone wrong. The accountant would not allow himself to
be trapped, to be killed. And he, David, was to kill - or have killed -
Erich Rhinemann. Second to the designs, Rhinemann's death was termed
paramount. And with his death, Washington, too, was 'one more step removed'
from the exchange.
Yet there was Edmund Pace.
Edmund Pace.
Never.
'A man was killed,' said David, 'A Colonel Pace'. . .
'In Fairfax,' completed Asher Feld. 'A necessary death. He was being used
as you are being used. We deal in pragmatics. ... Without knowing the
consequences - or refusing to admit them to himself - Colonel Pace was
engineering "Tortugas.
'You could have told him. Not killed him! You could have stopped it! You
bastards!'
Asher Feld sighed. 'I'm afraid you don't understand the hysteria among your
industrialists. Or those of the Reich. He would have been eliminated.... By
removing him ourselves, we neutralized Fairfax. And all its considerable
facilities.'
There was no point in dwelling on the necessity of Pace's death, thought
David. Feld, the pragmatist, was right: Fairfax had been removed from
'Tortugas.'
Robert Ludlum - Rhineman Exchange.txt Page 43