by TR Kenneth
Washington would soon look like Sputnik Luxe and the surrounding moonscape of Barvikha, he surmised. And Sadler’s precious and safe Potomac estate would look like Nagasaki.
It was hard to hide his glee.
That’d teach them. That’d teach every last one of those motherfuckers, he thought miserably as he went to his private bathroom in the never-ending agony.
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
“STAG, WE’VE GOT to get the board to meet with you,” Duffy said. “Tarnhelm doesn’t want your evidence to appear. It would connect them to the bomb, to Heydrich, to the resurrected SD. Perhaps they’ll be anxious to get that loose end tied up.”
“They can spin the bad PR. They don’t need me for anything other than to up their body count.”
“If we could get the board, their chain of command might be interrupted,” said the admiral.
“I’d like nothing more than to orchestrate another board meeting. Hell, I’ve been planning to orchestrate another meeting all along. They owe me money,” Stag snorted. “But I can’t think of a way to get them to meet me now. Perhaps if they thought there was another bomb …”
Duffy stared. The admiral stared.
Stag shrugged. “No, there’s no second bomb that I know about.”
“They don’t know that.” The admiral motioned to his aide. “If we can put together the evidence for a second bomb, perhaps they’ll take the meeting.”
“Maybe.” Stag thought of the broken wall and closet in the apartment. With all Tarnhelm’s obsessive need to keep the apartment intact as possible, they overlooked the obvious omission. Tunnel vision always has a terrible blind spot. “They know I have more information than they do. That apartment they’ve been keeping connects them to Heydrich. The bomb connects them to the SD.”
“Contact them. We’ll provide the deza. Tarnhelm is an information and security service. They’re most afraid of what they don’t know.”
Stag nodded. “Sure. No problem. I’ve got my ticket to Bali now.”
“Bali? Why the hell are you dragging this to Bali?” the admiral demanded.
“I like it in Bali,” Stag offered obliquely. “Besides, Bali’s not a target by anyone on this list. They may actually meet me if I go there.”
“Plan your meeting. Maybe they’ll sit on this bomb long enough for us to get a bead on its whereabouts.” Duffy looked down at his phone.
The encryption read: In Zug.
“Our agent is back in the fold,” Duffy said with some relief in his voice. “Now we’ll wait for them to do their work.”
Or her work, Stag thought, his mind on the bomb, and that hole in Angelika’s sweater that needed golden repair.
Stag arrived in Berlin by NATO plane. He slipped quietly back into the Airbnb apartment he and Jake had left, all the while on edge, waiting to see if Tarnhelm would respond to his request. Waiting to see if the news crawl reported a horrific nuclear incident …
The apartment felt like he’d been there a lifetime ago instead of a couple of days. After the autopsy was completed, Jake’s body would be sent back to his daughter in Wuttke, no questions answered, many, many questions asked. The daughter would collect it, never knowing the events that had cascaded since that night at Gerde’s and the fateful fluttering of that white silk.
He looked down at his phone. A text had arrived. It was now time for a most important meeting.
Stag and Kronbauer were the only mourners in attendance at the grave in the old Dorotheenstadt Cemetery. Isolda’s coffin was lowered into the ground as a rabbi read a prayer. Each man in turn took a shovel of earth and poured it on top of the wooden lid.
Kronbauer was the first to speak. “The local chevra kadisha was willing to prepare the body. But without further divulgences, I had no way to get her into Weißensee, the Jewish cemetery. I can’t prove she was a Jew. I can’t even prove that was her real name.”
He looked down at the tombstone already to be placed.
It said:
Isolda Varrick
Never Forgotten
“How have you been able to hide her from Tarnhelm?” Stag asked.
Kronbauer snorted. “I’ve done everything I can. The wall has been repaired to exacting specifications, but one can never be sure what they know. They are masters at information control. And they know about everything, it seems.”
Stag looked down at the tombstone. He thought of Harry, wondering what he would have made of this strange adventure he’d been on since his death. He would have taken Isolda’s demise hard. The look into the mirror of his ancestry would have been a lot for him. Maybe it was best Harry was gone. A tender mercy.
Kronbauer swept his hand at the old graves. “But here, here she is in good company. Those of the Resistance are all around: Bonhoeffer and Dohnanyi have memorials here, and many of the failed 20 July 1944 assassination attempt on Hitler are buried here. They were shot by the SS in a park just down the way.”
“I’m surprised there was room. The place looks full.”
“It is full. This is my family plot you see here.”
Stag finally saw the names on the graves alongside Isolda.
“That one there?” Kronbauer pointed to the grave beside her. “He was my grandfather. Her mausebär.”
“He was SD. She was a Jew. Is it right that he should be next to her?”
Kronbauer’s shoulders seemed to carry the weight of the world. “He was in love with her. And in the end, I believe, he grappled with salvation. Perhaps, if she can view her placement here as less than an insult than a plea for mercy, she may redeem him.” He stared at his grandfather’s grave for a long time. “You know, they say the past no longer exists. But that is not true. The past is a maze, and we are stuck in it.”
He then began in German the Lutheran version of the Old Testament Priestly Blessing:
The Lord bless you and keep you;
The Lord make His face shine upon you,
And be gracious to you;
The Lord lift up His countenance upon you,
And give you peace.
“And give you peace,” Stag repeated, his heart heavy with thoughts of the past. And now, the future.
PART SEVEN
Beware the fury of a patient man.
—JOHN DRYDEN
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
HE TOOK THE long way back through the Tiergarten. It didn’t take her long to find him. The light was cold and snow had begun to fall, making the dreary, pre-springtime park appear suddenly fairytale-like. Few people were around during the workday, so when Stag saw her, in her scarlet coat and pale blue gloves, she was impossible not to notice.
“Beautiful, is it not?” she said, stopping a few feet in front of him.
“Yes.”
A long silence ensued. Finally, he said, “Aren’t you taking a chance here? If Tarnhelm—”
“Portier sends his greetings.”
“Ah. Today you must be the messenger, not the assassin.”
“He wants to talk about the second bomb. And about what you found in the closet at 12A.”
“Ah, so he knows. Not to be petty but there is the rest of the money he owes me.” He arched one brow.
She almost smiled. “He would like to make the payment and discuss further negotiations.”
Stag nodded. “You know with the price of this bomb, I think I undervalued it.”
“They are watching me.”
“Yes.”
“Shall I tell him you will meet him in Zurich?”
“He’ll meet me in Bali, in my own time.”
“The bomb’s new owner is American. I thought you should know.”
“They told me about NATO’s White Rose. Will TWR be able to stop it?”
Her face went hard. “Portier is very ill. He wants to see the world burn.”
“But you have your daughter …”
“My daughter is being held at his home, Eisschloss.”
Stag felt the punch to his heart. “He suspects.”
“You can choose the world or your daughter.”
“For me, there is no world without her.”
“He demands suicide missions from everyone, doesn’t he?” His fury rose. “Why not just kill the bastard?”
“It won’t stop the company. They need to be exposed. This is why I have to play both sides.”
“I want more than to just expose the company. I want them, each and every one personally. After Jake and Harry—”
“We must stop this bomb. And the only way to do that is to let Portier feel he still has all the control.”
“Yes.”
“We’re looking for any flight plan over Barvikha, but …” Her words dwindled. She started again. “I believe he has additional plans.”
“Why do you think that?”
“I’ve been able to intercept his messages. He’s been in touch with Moscow lately. And he hates Sadler. He doesn’t care for DC and would love to see it on its knees. If Moscow believes the US was behind the Sputnik Luxe bombing, they will retaliate.”
“And start World War III?”
“Any outcome is possible. Especially when a man is dying.”
“Would my meeting with him delay the flight?”
“No.”
“Plan the meeting anyway. That way he won’t suspect.”
“Portier needs to show the client he’s dropping their five-billion-dollar bomb where he said he would. The leak of the flight plan to Moscow will be his signature.”
“Does TWR know to watch for it?”
She nodded. Then looked nervously behind her. “I must go. I’ll tell him you wish for the meeting as soon as possible, but the diary is in Bali.”
“Yes.”
“Stag.”
He met her gaze.
“I … I like the man you are.”
“Save your daughter. Save yourself. Maybe then we can save the world and get the hell out of it.”
She tried to smile.
“Do you like Bali?” he asked. “I’m thinking of retiring there.”
The smile finally came.
The crated “ball bearing” was slowly lifted by crane and placed on the flatbed of the truck. Men worked diligently to see to the straps holding it down. They signaled the all clear, and the truck took off toward the airport.
The Global 7000 was in the private hangar, ready to go. The cargo doors had been significantly widened, but the paperwork didn’t show any of the modifications. As long as the doors closed properly, the ground crew would clear it for takeoff. It now just waited for its payload.
The hangar supervisor opened the doors for the Iveco flatbed, which trundled in slowly, crate intact.
“How are they going to make that fit?” the supervisor asked, eyeing the large crate and the new cargo doors.
“They’ve got a team. That’s all I know.” The Iveco driver jerked his head in the direction behind him.
“All right. Not my problem. But if it’s not secure, the plane won’t take off.”
“It’s a ball bearing. They’ve got engineers. They’ll get it right.”
The Iveco flatbed stopped next to the plane. By the time the driver had descended, there were armed men entering the plane hangar like they were readying for an assault on Entebbe.
“That’s a lot of gun power for a ball bearing,” the supervisor remarked.
“I told you they’d get it right.”
The supervisor shrugged. He began ticking off items on his clipboard, and walked by the crate, which said only: Contents FRAGILE.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
BEFORE STAG COULD reach his apartment in the Sony Center, he was surrounded by five men in suits. One flashed a NATO badge as Duffy stepped forward, quickly escorting him to a black sedan. In no time, he was back in the SCIF room deep inside Teufelsberg.
“The admiral says it’s urgent.” Duffy raised his eyebrows.
Stag settled in.
The admiral and a middle-aged woman in a dark suit came into the room, each looking grim. The woman identified herself as a NEST engineer. NEST was the Nuclear Emergency Support Team run by the US Department of Energy National Nuclear Security Administration, the NNSA. Stag was getting familiar with so many things he had not even known existed.
Aides placed several photographs on the large conference table.
“I need you to look at these, Mr. Maguire,” said the admiral. “Pay particular attention to the nose cone. These are the best our deza team could produce. Is this like what you saw on the mountain?”
Stag studied the photos. Some were grainy and black and white, others were color close-ups. “You’ve known about the bomb this whole time?” he said after finishing his examination.
“What makes you say that?” the admiral commanded.
“Well, obviously this is the bomb I saw. See? Here is the Todesrune.” Stag pointed to it in the photograph.
“These are pure fiction. We took our best artisans and re-created only what you’ve told us.”
“Wow. Then these are not photos of the thing I saw in Königssee? Your team does amazing work.”
“We have no choice if we’re to convince them there really might be two bombs,” Duffy interjected.
The woman in the dark suit said, “If the Katanga deposit was as rich as rumor said it was, it would be as cheap to make two bombs as it would to make one. That is a logic you can use.”
“But where am I to tell them this second bomb is right now?”
“Tell them these photos were taken at an ammo dump during the war. Perhaps the Soviet Union.”
Stag shook his head. “They’ll never believe that. If the Soviets had had this bomb, they’d have had nuclear know-how long before 1949, and they would not have been quiet about it.”
“Tell them these photos were taken contemporary to Heydrich.” Speculate the bomb was sold on the black market mistaken as a conventional weapon. Tell them only you know how to retrieve it.
“Won’t they wonder if another bomb is out there, why it hasn’t been used?”
The woman spoke up. “You give them two possibilities. They either don’t know what they have, or they do know what they have and are holding it. Either way, you can get your hands on it.”
“Or,” Stag quipped cynically, “a third possibility: It was destroyed long ago and people are unwittingly living around a nuclear waste site. And if they believe that scenario, I will be utterly useless to them.” He looked over the pictures again. It wasn’t going to be easy to convince Tarnhelm.
“Gentleman,” Duffy announced. “We’ve got our first bit of news.”
The men looked up.
Duffy held out his phone. The text on the screen said: Bombardier.
Eisschloss was her least favorite place to visit. Not that it wasn’t beautiful, Angelika thought, her eyes taking in the budding trees and greening slopes of mountains around her and the azure blue of Lake Zug just lapping at the stone patio they were now seated on. But it was just a beautiful trap. Every time she was compelled to visit, she wondered if Eisschloss would be her last vision on earth.
Now, the atmosphere at the schloss was as thick as coagulated blood. Her message had been sent to the numbers station. If they got to the airport in time, no one would ever know the world had teetered on the brink. If they didn’t, there was only worse to come. In Washington in particular.
“I need you and Genevieve here with me for the foreseeable future,” Portier said, wrapped in a paisley silk robe, a blanket over his knees. He was looking every bit the invalid he had seemingly become, but she knew it was deceptive. Portier might still be hiding the fact he was dying, but he would be plotting until his last breath.
“Mother! Come here!” Genevieve ran up from the lake, her hands cupped together. “It’s a baby frog!” she said, letting her mother peek at her captive.
Angelika patted the child’s most precious hair that was like Angelika’s murdered father’s. Bitter chocolate. “Make sure you let him go
back to his home when you are through looking at him.”
Portier watched as Genevieve went back down to the edge of the lake. He took a moment, then said, “You must stay with me. It’s safe for both of you here. We don’t know what will happen.”
Oh, but you do, she thought. “Of course. We will stay as long as you desire.”
“I would desire more affection. You have always been a cold one.”
Her skin crawling, Angelika placed her hand over his. His trembled coolly. “It’s my nature. Forgive me.”
“When I get over this flu, I shall take you both to the Maldives. We shall swim in the warm, clear water and forget the world exists in its entirety.”
“Heaven,” she said with a smile, but inside, all she could think about was here they were, having tea on the patio, while the world was about to burn in all hell.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
RIKHARDSSON WAS THE first to speak. “He’s fucking with us. There are no more bombs.” He addressed the last remaining board of directors of Tarnhelm. They’d all flown into Zurich for an emergency meeting, Rikhardsson, Sadler, and Zellner, the Canadian. Portier was on the flat screen, streaming from Zug.
“Agreed,” Sadler chimed in. “There aren’t any more bombs.”
“But what if there is one more?” Zellner tapped at the photographs Maguire had sent. “These photographs matching with the rune are most upsetting. What if he’s correct and can lead us to it? We should meet one more time to be sure.”
“Another bomb would be useful, not to mention extremely profitable after our ‘event.’ I want you to go and meet him,” Portier said from the screen.
Rikhardsson looked uncomfortable. “He insists on the entire board. I’m afraid—”
“I’ll go. This flu will be over soon and so will Maguire.”
Portier’s will was admirable, but Rikhardsson wasn’t convinced. “He’s not worth—”
“I will go.”
It was final. Zellner and Rikhardsson looked grim. Sadler looked delighted.