by Glenn Meade
He flicked off the flashlight and waited patiently in the darkness.
Four more hours.
Four more hours and Dollman would be dead and Layla would be avenged.
MUNICH
It was 10:45 p.m. exactly when Volkmann pulled up outside the house in the Starnberg district.
Ivan Molke came out to stand under the porch light in the lightly falling snow. He quickly led Volkmann into a paneled study, where a fire blazed in the grate.
When they were seated, Molke said seriously, “Your phone call was very brief, Joe. Has this got something to do with what happened in Strasbourg? I heard it on the news.”
When Volkmann spoke, his voice was thick with emotion. It took him almost five minutes to explain everything, and he saw the reaction on Molke’s face, disbelief mixed with fear, and when he had finished, Molke stared at him with incredulous eyes.
“No, it can’t be . . . ,” he said. “You’re certain about the woman in the photograph?”
“Hanah Richter identified her, there’s no question. The other part’s guesswork, Ivan, but it makes some kind of sense. It’s like a puzzle fitting together.”
“Karl Schmeltz is Adolf Hitler’s son?” Molke shook his head as he stood up. “It sounds crazy, Joe.” His face was pale. “A neo-Nazi putsch I can imagine as possible, yes. But not another Hitler, Joe. Never that. No way.”
As Molke continued to shake his head, Volkmann took out the signal copy from Asunción and placed it on the desk. Molke read the paper. After a time, he looked up as if in a daze.
“Do you think the people who trailed my men belonged to the same group?”
“I don’t know, Ivan. Have you been tailed since we last spoke?”
“Not that I’m aware of. And I’ve been careful after what happened with my guys.” Molke slipped his right hand into his pocket and removed a Glock, weighed it in his palm. “I haven’t been taking any chances. I keep this with me.” He swallowed hard as he placed the pistol on the desk. “Do you have any idea where Erica is now?”
“Assuming she’s still alive, Kesser’s people probably have her.”
“Where’s Schmeltz, do you know?”
“After what happened in Mexico City, my guess is that he’s already in Germany. Or soon will be.”
Molke looked at Volkmann blankly; then he said, “What do you want me to do?”
“Do you know someone with authority in the State Ministry? Someone you’d trust your life with?”
Molke said, “I don’t know if I’d go that far with those guys. They’re career types. But there’s a politician named Grinzing I’m on first-name terms with. He’s the only one I can think of right now who might listen to me.”
“Then I want you to deliver a letter to him by hand, tonight. See that he reads it. In the letter will be everything I’ve told you, everything I suspect, except what I told you about Karl Schmeltz. Because no doubt Grinzing will want to ask you a few questions about me.” Volkmann paused. “Like if I’m crazy. If the letter is some kind of joke. The contents he’ll have to judge for himself. Regarding me, make him know that he can trust me.” He looked directly at Molke. “We worked together in Berlin for four years, Ivan. You know my character. That I can be trusted. Simply tell him that when he asks. But above all, tell him it’s vital that he act on the letter. The signal from Asunción can be verified by Strasbourg. His own state security people can make contact there directly.”
“Why don’t you want me to tell him about Schmeltz?”
Volkmann shook his head. “He’d never believe it, Ivan. You must know that. And explanations will only waste time. I don’t know how long we’ve got before these people start to move, but I can guess from what’s happened that it’s going to be soon.”
“And if Grinzing doesn’t believe me, what then?”
“You still know people in Berlin. Contact them. The same with state security. Tell them everything you’re going to tell Grinzing.”
“You honestly think they’ll believe me, Joe?”
“I don’t know. But you’re the only hope I have, Ivan.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Drive over to Kesser’s place. If he’s not at the apartment, his girlfriend may be. One of them’s got to know something. If neither one is there, I’ll drive up to the place at Kaalberg.”
“And do what?”
“Find Kesser. He’ll know what’s going to happen.”
Molke shook his head vigorously. “Joe, you saw the armed guards up there. It’s too dangerous. Let me call a couple of my people in as backup.”
“There’s no time to lose, Ivan. It would complicate things further. Just deliver the letter.”
Molke sighed and looked at Volkmann solemnly. “You know, I never thought this would happen again in Germany. Not in my lifetime. Sure, there’ve always been the crazy, extremist groups like the ones who burn down immigrant hostels. The shaved heads with swastikas who march and give the Nazi salute at the Brandenburg Gate every anniversary of Hitler’s birth.” Molke shook his head fiercely. “But not this. Never this.”
• • •
He tried not to think of Erica, but she was still in his thoughts when he reached Kesser’s apartment twenty minutes later. The snow had stopped falling and he tried to check his anger as he stepped out of the car, forcing himself to figure out how to handle the situation.
Christmas candles burned in the windows of the apartments and nearby houses, and here and there the lights of a Christmas tree winked on and off. The lights were off in Kesser’s apartment, and he saw no sign of the gray Volkswagen in the parking lot. His heart skipped a beat when he thought Kesser or his girlfriend might not be at home.
He had the Beretta in his pocket. This time he used the copy keys Ivan Molke had given him, and he let himself in the front entrance and went up to the second floor.
He hesitated before knocking on the apartment door, but when he knocked three times and got no reply, he let himself in, the key offering a little resistance before it turned in the lock.
The apartment was in darkness and when he tried to flick on the light switch, suddenly he was caught in the glare of a powerful light beam. As he wrenched the Beretta frantically from his pocket, he felt the stinging blow across the back of his neck. He heard muffled voices and felt strong hands immobilize him, and then something sharp jabbed his left arm.
He was barely conscious as he was carried back down the stairs and out into the cold air; then he heard the far-off sounds of car doors opening as he was bundled into a narrow space.
After that, the blinding whiteness took over and it smothered him.
53
MUNICH
It was almost 11:40 p.m. when Ivan Molke pulled up outside the driveway of the imposing house in the exclusive suburb near the Isar River.
A uniformed policeman was on duty in the hut that stood inside the gates. Molke showed his ID, and the man phoned through. Moments later a police bodyguard walked down from the house. He recognized Molke, walked over to the car.
“What’s this all about, Ivan?”
“I need to see Grinzing. Private business. Tell him it’s urgent.”
“You’ve no appointment?”
“No.”
“He’ll have to give me clearance first, Ivan. I’ll see what he says.”
The bodyguard telephoned through, and one minute later, Molke found himself in Grinzing’s study, the walls lined with expensive, leather-bound tomes.
Johann Grinzing was forty-two, tall, with blond, thinning hair. An ambitious man who exuded an air of confidence, he wore his expensively tailored suits well. His face was rugged, and his slim hands perfectly manicured.
Grinzing lit a cigarette and sat down behind his desk, gesturing for Molke to be seated opposite.
He glanced at his watch and regarded Molke with questioning eyes. “So, what brings you here this late, Ivan? Is there a problem?”
Molke nodded. “I need your help, Johann.”
Grinzing said simply, “Tell me.”
Molke reached inside his overcoat pocket and took out the buff-colored envelope. He saw Grinzing stare at it, and before Molke handed it across, he said, “I want you to do two things for me, Johann. First, listen to what I have to say. Then I want you to read the envelope’s contents.”
“What’s this, Ivan?”
“A friend asked me to give it to someone I trusted in the State Ministry. Someone with influence. Once he had told me what it was about, I chose you.”
“I’m flattered, but go on.”
“The man’s name is Joe Volkmann. He works for the DSE in Strasbourg.”
Grinzing raised his eyebrows. “This has something to do with national security?”
“Yes. I’d like to contact Weber, the interior minister, but I don’t know him personally.”
Grinzing lifted the cigarette to his mouth, drew on it slowly as if considering something, before he blew out smoke. “So, how can I help you?”
“Before you read what’s in the envelope, I want you to know two things. One, there was a bomb planted at the DSE offices this afternoon.”
Grinzing said solemnly, “I heard it on the news earlier. Has this got something to do with it?”
Molke nodded. “Then you may also have heard that the head of the British DSE was killed. Plus another man. Also British.”
“I thought it was two missing. That’s what the last report said.”
“That’s Volkmann. He hasn’t contacted his people in London.”
Grinzing raised his eyes again. “Go on, please.”
“Number two, Volkmann is totally trustworthy. I worked with him in Berlin. He’s one of the few people I’d trust with my life.”
“Why are you telling me all this?”
“Because after you read the signal here, probably the first question you’re going to ask me is, do I trust him? I want that clear from the start. I do. Absolutely.”
Grinzing averted his eyes for a time, thinking. Then he said, “May I see it?”
Ivan Molke handed the envelope across. Grinzing opened and plucked out the contents, unfolded the pages promptly and read.
Molke watched Grinzing’s tanned face become waxen, and then the politician looked up.
“And you really trust him?” There was a tone of incredulity in the question.
“I told you already, Johann. Please believe what you read.”
Grinzing shook his head slowly, his voice a whisper. “It’s almost beyond comprehension.” He looked down at the pages again and then up at Molke. “You really expect me to go to the state prime minister with this? Tell him that a group of neo-Nazis is planning to take over the country? That it may have a nuclear weapon?”
“If you don’t, then I will. There isn’t much time. A matter of hours perhaps.”
“And where’s Volkmann now?”
“In Munich.”
Grinzing put down the pages. “I’d be laughed at. You must realize that.”
Molke said grimly, “And you must realize that if these people carry out what they intend, this entire country is in danger of repeating the past.”
“I find that difficult to believe. And even if what you said were true, a democracy like Germany cannot be dismantled overnight. It’s absurd.”
Molke looked pointedly at his watch, then back at Grinzing. “They’ll have supporters. In Parliament. In the armed forces. In the police. They have to have, because it’s the only way they stand a chance of succeeding. And it only takes a small number to lend their support to this act of madness for the whole country to be plunged into a nightmare again.”
Grinzing shook his head, but his face was pale and his voice hoarse. “I really can’t believe that, Ivan. It’s not possible.”
Molke let out a deep sigh. “Very well. May I have the letter back? I’ll take it to the minister myself, even if I have to kick down his bedroom door.”
Grinzing hesitated. For a long time he looked at the papers in his hand, and then he looked up at Molke slowly, as if reconsidering. Grinzing said, “What if the minister believes you? What do you expect him to do?”
“Alert Berlin and Bonn. The federal office will have a list of loyal army and police officers the country can rely on. Every sensible democracy takes that precaution to counter such a situation as this—a coup that threatens its existence.”
“And if the minister doesn’t believe you?”
“I think he will. But if he doesn’t, I still have friends in Berlin who might listen.” Molke’s voice became strained. “For heaven’s sake, Grinzing, we have to do something.”
There was an uncharacteristic anger in Molke’s voice, and Grinzing hesitated, looking as if a great weight were pressing down on him. “I want you to do something for me, Ivan.”
“What?”
“Give me five minutes alone to think this through. You must understand my position. Such a decision cannot be taken lightly.”
Molke looked at his watch, saw the anxiety on Grinzing’s face. He nodded. “Okay.”
Grinzing stood, clutching the pages. “I’ll leave you here alone. You’ll have my answer within five minutes.”
As the door closed softly after Grinzing, Ivan Molke let out another deep sigh. At least the man was beginning to take him seriously.
• • •
Johann Grinzing stepped out into the hallway, past the bodyguard sitting in the chair reading a newspaper under the portrait of Grinzing’s father.
The guard went to rise out of respect, but Grinzing gestured for him to remain seated. He stepped toward the back door, opened it softly, and moved outside.
The gardens were white and the air crisp and cold, the branches of the bare apple and pear trees at the end of the garden covered in fingers of snow and the house behind him eerily quiet. His wife had gone to her mother’s with their two daughters for the holidays. He nervously lit another cigarette.
For eighteen years, he had been a public servant. For all those years, he had never been faced with a decision as grave as this one. He stared down at the pages in his hand, legible in the wash of light from the security floodlight on the back wall of the house. What Molke had said was true. There was a list of people loyal to the government. They could be activated quickly, if necessary. Cover all the major cities and ports, air and sea.
He thought of making a call first to seek advice but reconsidered. He was on his own. It was his decision to expedite the matter if he chose. Any delay would be on his shoulders.
He would have to inform his superiors, and urgently. But he would extract the most from it, of course. If he came out of it well, there was opportunity here.
But how to approach it? How to resolve it?
Three minutes later, he had figured out what to do. He stepped back inside, and into the hallway again. This time the bodyguard didn’t rise but simply gave a respectful nod and went back to reading his paper. Late-night visitors were common in Grinzing’s household.
For a few brief seconds, Grinzing glanced up at the painting of his father. The blue-suited man stood erect, the state flag flying behind him in the portrait. A loyal Bavarian to the core. It was strangely appropriate, Grinzing reflected. The man had been dead some twenty-five years. The portrait’s blue eyes stared down and seemed to warn him. What he was about to do could ruin him if it went wrong. His future could hang on this.
His father’s eyes looked on just as he remembered them. Blue. Honest. True. A loyal servant to his Fatherland and state. Only the blue business suit looked out of place.
All that was missing, Grinzing reflected—recalling the old photographs he had kept since childhood—was the black uniform of the Leibstandarte SS.
• • •
Molke turned as Grinzing stepped back into the study. “You’ve reached a decision?”
“Yes.” Grinzing sat down behind the desk again.
“Which is it?”
“There are a few matters I wish to discuss firs
t.”
Molke saw Grinzing’s hand reach over slowly behind the desk. In an instant the drawer was opened, the Walther pointing at Molke’s chest.
Molke stared and went to speak, but no words came.
Grinzing said, “I want you to listen to me very carefully, Ivan. What I have to say and how you react may determine whether you live or die in the next few minutes.”
Molke still said nothing, simply stared at the man and then at the Walther again, his mouth open in disbelief.
Grinzing said calmly, “You’re surprised, I can see that. I have a confession to make, but one that by now you’ve guessed. The people you fear, I belong to that group. I and many, many others.”
Molke said simply, “Why?”
A grim smile flickered on Grinzing’s lips. “Because for the first time in years, this country has a chance to be truly strong again. To reinstill the old virtues we once prided ourselves on. To stop apologizing for our past. To cleanse our country of all the filthy, stupid imported breeds our politicians had the audacity to invite here. To reawaken a sense of pride in being German. And I wish to be part of that change that is about to take place. It offers a great future for someone like me, I think you’ll agree.”
“You’re a fool, Grinzing. It can’t succeed.”
“On the contrary, it can. Too much planning has gone into this. It can’t fail.”
“Dollman would never sit back and allow this country to be dragged into the gutter again.”
“Dollman won’t be alive to obstruct us. As for his cabinet . . .” Grinzing shrugged. “I think I’ve said enough already. Suffice it to say that they won’t stand in our way.”
“And you think the German people would support any of this?”
“But they will, Ivan. Our strategy’s been worked out. The people will rally behind us. Once they see we’re capable of elevating this country to its former greatness, building a new and prosperous and powerful Reich that will stand tall and proud and strong again, they’ll thank us. It can and will be done, I assure you, and that’s all you need to know. Doesn’t the prospect excite you just a little?”