The car hit another bump.
"Jesus," Babe said.
"It really is incredible," Janeway went on. "Mengele was born big rich, but Szell had to work for his. He was Mengele's prot6ge, partly because he was so brilliant and partly because of his looks. See, Mengele hated his looks--he thought he looked like a Jew or a gypsy, and the thing was, he did. Half the crap he did was because somehow he was desperate to change his appearance, but why he grafted tits on men or tried to grow arms out of other people's backs, no one knows."
"He didn't do that," Babe said.
"You're right, he didn't succeed, but he sure as hell tried. Okay, that's Mengele, now forget Mengele, because Szell's the point of all this. I said he was poor going in, and naturally he started with gold, but then the word spread around Auschwitz that he was buyable, that you could escape if you paid enough to Christian Szell, and in the beginning he actually did let a few people out, just enough to keep the rumor alive. And these poor fucking Jews, well, they tried to keep anything they had of any value on their person, up their asses mostly, like any other convicts. And they'd come to Szell, or try to, and the richest ones he'd see, and make a deal with them, and once they'd given him everything they had, all their diamonds, whatever, he had them killed.
"Both he and Mengele had life-and-death power in the experimental block, and with the things Mengele was doing to people, you couldn't blame anyone for trusting Szell. They had to take the risk, what with goddamn Mengele raving around, convinced that if he just worked at it long enough, he could breed blueeyed people." Janeway took a long breath then. "Okay, Tom, that's most of the back story. Is it clear?"
"So far. Except, how does it get back to me?"
"Szell's father died accidentally within the last couple weeks."
"So?"
"Remember I said Szell started on gold? Well, pretty soon he went into diamonds. He traded everything for diamonds. No paintings, no cash, just every diamond he could steal or get his hands on. No one ever knew how much he had, but in early forty-five he managed to fake his father out of Germany, and the old man came here."
"To America?"
"To New York. He had a sister in Yorkville, and he lived with her under a phony name. Eventually she died, but he stayed on. He stayed and they stayed."
"'They'?"
"Szell's diamonds. Szell gave his father every goddamn one except what he figured he'd need to make it alive to South America. He lived in Argentina till Peron got canned, and then he quick beat it to Paraguay. The diamonds stayed here, because Szell wanted it just that way, so that in case he ever got caught, his fortune would be safe and he could use it to buy his freedom with. His father kept a safe-deposit box, and whenever Szell needed money, he'd get word to the old man, and they had a courier system set up. The diamonds would eventually wind up wherever the diamond market was highest at the time--sometimes Switzerland, sometimes West Germany--and then Szell would exchange whatever the top currency was for Paraguayan money and life would go on till he needed more. It all worked perfectly until the old man got totaled in the car crash. See, not anybody can use a safe-deposit box, just the renter and an alternate; they only have the alternate in case of this kind of thing, unexpected death. Szell was his father's alternate, and what's going on now is that his people are trying to figure out how dangerous it would be to try and sneak him into America for a day or two. Would the safety factor be too high? That's their problem. Personally, I think he's got to come, he hasn't got a choice, he can't let his fortune rot."
Safety factor, Babe was thinking, safe factor, and then he said, "Before, you said that Szell 'naturally' started off with gold. Why the 'naturally'?"
"Obvious reasons--he was famous for it--he'd knock it out of the Jews' teeth, they never found much gold in the Auschwitz ovens. Szell was a dentist." Babe stuck his head up over the seat then. "He's not coming to America, Mr. Janeway. He's come already. He's here."
Janeway turned around and looked at Babe a moment. Then he went back to his driving. "No," he said after a while. "We'd have heard something." A while later he said, "And put your head back down." And a while after that: "What makes you think so?"
"Because it was a dentist damn near killed me, not Karl and Erhard."
"Go on." There was an excitement starting now in Janeway's voice. Babe could sense it rising.
"He just kept saying the same thing to me over and over: 'Is it safe? Is it safe?'"
"What did he look like--did he have blue eyes?-- did he have the gray hair?--"
"Oh God, the eyes yes, they were incredibly blue, but he was bald, totally bald, except that--"
"Except that doesn't mean a damn thing, he could have shaved it off! Go on."
"He was just so good. He was so incredibly experienced when it came to hurting me--he knew just when I'd pass out, he could tell exactly what I was going to do right before I did it."
"Then the 'is it safe' business--that meant, 'Is it safe for me to get the diamonds--is it safe for me, Christian Szell, in America, to go to the bank?' because once he picks up those diamonds, anybody robs him is going to pick up a lot of money, fifty million, maybe five times fifty million, and you don't pay taxes on it," and then he was going on in triumph, "Son of a bitch, the bastard's here and scared shitless about making his move!" Janeway was almost shouting now. "I'd be scared shitless too, because once he leaves the bank with that goddamn fortune, he's helpless--he can't very well go to the cops and tell them he was robbed!"
"I still don't get where I fit in."
"Obviously, the son of a bitch must think your brother told you something before he died."
"You're saying Doc was involved with Szell?"
"All our work cuts both ways--sometimes we sell secrets to other countries--no sweat, because we know they know our secrets. Szell stayed alive by ratting on other Nazis. So when there'd be raids to get him, he'd have word in advance and get out in time. Over a thousand of them have been brought to trial, and I'd guess Szell's responsible for anywhere between twenty-five and fifty. Your brother was Szell's contact. Erhard would get the diamonds from Szell's father and he'd take them to your brother and he'd get them to Europe on one of his trips. To Edinburgh. There was a guy there, in antiques--he was the one always did the selling. There were rumors for years that he was ripping off Szell--you know, selling something for a half a million, turning over four hundred fifty thousand, like that but he was so good at knowing where the market was strongest, he kept the job. Anyway, like I said, it was only rumors about the rip-off. Then he'd give the cash to a courier and it would go down to Paraguay and Szell. That was more or less the operation." Janeway turned another corner, picked up speed. "Tom, I'm going to ask you something now, and please, you're going to have to tell me the truth, I don't care how hard it is."
"Anything."
"Stop protecting your brother--it's clear you must be--he should have been dead when he got torn apart, I know about wounds, remember that, and I examined the body, remember that too. He must have wanted to see you so much he stayed alive for just one reason, to tell you something, something incredibly important. He wouldn't have done what he did just to shout 'Babe' a couple of times and then keel over. Okay. Now's the time. Let it out, it's crucial: What did he say?"
Babe lay quietly on the floor in the back. "I've told you everything important that happened, I swear."
"Maybe something unimportant, then--he's dead, he doesn't need your protection any more, and nothing you can say is going to shock me, people say terrible things in my business, I've heard about how dangerous he was, how he was a double agent, how he was a thief, a raving homosexual, you name it I've heard it about him, and I'll bet he heard worse about me, but we're dealing with a fucking Nazi now, we could try swimming through all the blood he's spilled and never make it all the way across to the other side, so for Christ's sake, what did he tell you?"
"Nothing..."
"Shit," Janeway said, and he slammed down on the brakes till the car sto
pped.
Babe stuck his head up.
They were back where they'd started, by the boarded-up house, and both Karl and Erhard were waiting. "I couldn't make him talk," Janeway said, getting out of the car. "He's Szell's now."
"No," Babe screamed. "You killed them!"
"You're much too trusting," Janeway said, "and it's going to cause you grief someday." Again the quick smile. "Welcome to someday."
Karl reached in for Babe. Babe had nothing left to fight with. Three minutes later he was strapped back in the chair.
PART
IV
DEATH
OF A
MARATHON
MAN
23
"Hurry it up," Janeway said as Karl and Erhard finished strapping Babe into immobility. "One of you go get Szell."
Karl looked at Janeway. "You do not give me orders."
"Oh, come on, come on," Erhard said, limping off. "We've no time." Karl followed him.
Babe just stared up at Janeway. "It was all lies, wasn't it, all a lot of crap about you being this buddy of Doc." Janeway said nothing for a moment, and as he watched him, Babe couldn't catch much Gatsby resemblance any more. What Janeway really looked like was the Nixon lawyer Dean--a pilot fish they called him. A thing that hung around the biggest shark for power.
"Scylla was a romantic fool, it killed him eventually. He was always trying to overpower his love objects with the breadth of his passion. Every lover he ever had was unfaithful to him. He was never as friendly with me as he thought--business before pleas-sure, didn't someone once say something like that?" The dazzling smile again, and now Gatsby was back. "Who do you think got him involved with Szell?"
Again, the footsteps in the hall.
And just as Karl and Erhard had stiffened at their sound, so did Janeway now. Gatsby gone, the pilot fish returned.
"I'll leave you," Janeway said, and then Babe and Szell were alone in the room. Otherwise, things were much the same: bright lamps, clean towels, the black leather case resting close. Szell stood at the sink, washing his hands. Done, he shook them, dried them with a towel. Then he brought them under the brightest lamp and examined them carefully. Evidently, something displeased him, because he went back to the sink and scrubbed again, harder than before. This time, when he was finished, he brought his hands back under the fight and started talking. "You must pardon me, I am terribly fastidious, it is, you could say, my fetish. Where I live, I have my own laundress each and every day. She is greatly gifted." He took another towel, dried his hands, turned to Babe now. "So you are Scylla's brother."
Babe didn't answer.
"Oh please--now is our time for conversation; pain is in great part mental, and believe me, there will be plenty of that coming up for you. But now, I think it would be pleasant if we talked. Would you like to know how you were taken in? The bullets were blanks, the knife had a retractable blade, only effective if you don't look too long or too closely, but if you don't, most effective indeed, wouldn't you agree?"
Babe said nothing.
Szell walked over to him. "'Thomas Babington,' Janeway reports. After, of course, the great British historian. What do people call you? 'Tom,' I expect." Babe closed his eyes.
"I tell you something: I understand your having a certain aversion to me, but you see, I want to chat and I am in command just now, but I would never force my presence on someone who did not want it. Therefore, if you do not wish to speak to me, fine, if that pleases you; but if I wish to excavate more deeply into your cavity, then also fine, if that pleases me."
Very quickly Babe opened his eyes and said, "Why do you have so little accent? I know about languages, and it's very hard to hide the German."
Szell almost smiled. "Janeway alerted me that you were smart, but even I did not expect such an opening foray. 'What are you going to do with me?' would have been expected. Perhaps some queries concerning your brother. But you have found my pride first shot, and for that I salute you."
"I'm just interested in languages, that's all, it's part of social history," Babe said. Then: "What are you going to do to me?"
"Bad things," Szell promised, and, going on without a pause, he said, "I had alexia as a child, which is a disease--"
"I know about alexia, it's where you can't understand written speech."
"Very impressive," Szell said.
"No, it's just I kind of don't mind studying so I do it a lot, English and psychology I minored in actually, it's all related to history. What bad things, couldn't you just tell me now, I'm not all that crazy about surprises."
"We were speaking of alexia and my childhood problems, and I would never change such a subject, since, first of all, you asked the question, and, second and more important, your fear is growing as we talk, you are already anticipating pain, and I would guess your cavity is aching worse than two minutes before. Don't bother answering."
"It is," Babe said.
"It was very hard for me--I don't expect sympathy from a Jew, but you can clearly understand that my childhood was not a particularly pleasant time, since here I was, brilliant, I knew I was brilliant, I was positive, but everyone around me thought me backward, if not actually retarded. At any rate, I have always hated written speech--my penmanship, you would call it, is still in the scrawl stage, I loathe etymology, philology, but morphology I find fascinating. I assume you know what that is too."
Babe nodded.
"Well then, there you have it. Inflections fascinate me. I love the vernacular. Plus one more thing."
"What's that?"
"I've spent the last quarter century and more in South America, and there isn't much to do down there. If you're not a revolutionary, it's a very dull place. So I speak German, naturally, and naturally, Spanish, and also French and British and American. I am at the present time learning to speak Italian, and then, alas for me, it will all be over, I am too old to start Chinese."
"Russian," Babe said.
"You betray your youth," Szell said. "As an historian you have gaps that need filling. After what we did to the Russians, I might just as profitably learn Hebrew." Szell shook his head. "I was surrounded by madmen." He looked at Babe and started laughing. "That must strike you as being humorous, since I'm quite sure you consider me a madman."
"I really don't, no," Babe said. "Listen, we all have our little quirks, you say you're innocent, that's good enough for me." He nodded as reassuringly as he thought feasible, considering the circumstances.
"I have not been innocent since I was twelve years old and had my way with a chambermaid. I never said I was innocent. I merely say that I was never involved in any lunatic fancies. Whichever T.P. came under my care was there for a sound, viable reason."
"T.P.?"
"Test person. We called them that in the experimental block. How is your tooth, hurting very badly?" Babe nodded.
"Are you hoping someone will rescue you?"
Babe nodded again.
"Possible but doubtful. Never lose hope. My father owned this building, and Erhard and Karl are the sole tenants. Next door the warehouse is unused. Keep hoping, please. It makes the pain expand. Once one stops aspiring, one becomes sluggish, a derelict. It is very difficult to force the truth from such a person."
"I've told you the truth," Babe said. "I've told you and I've told Janeway. A hundred times. I don't know anything."
"I paid your brother very well, top commission for bringing the diamonds to Scotland. I trusted him for such an exercise; Jews are only to be trusted when it comes to money. You may have different feelings, fine, I do not choose to argue. But they can only be trusted with limited amounts. Scylla worked for me for years, but once my father died, it was a different thing. I think your brother planned to kill me after I left the bank and take my diamonds, what do you think?"
"I don't know anything about anything," Babe said. "You see, I do not believe you. Your brother was trustworthy because he loved money. He was, after all, an American, and that is something of a nation
al trait; an exaggeration, certainly, but not totally without foundation. Scylla was a courier for me, and a splendid one, powerful, armed, alert, all but impossible to rob. He received for his services much money, but always bit by bit over the years. Some now, more then. But the day of thousands is done; we have quantum jumped. Now we are into millions beyond dreaming. Now we are dealing with a different Scylla, and he cared, I am led to believe, for you, and he died, I am led to believe, in your arms, and so therefore it must not be overlooked that you would perhaps know something, perhaps only a little, perhaps a great deal, perhaps all--was he, for example, planning anything, and if he was, was he planning to do it alone, and if not, who else had he gone into business with, and since he is no longer with us, will they stop or does the plan stay in effect regardless, am I going to be robbed when I leave the bank--perhaps you could clarify some of these questions for me."
Babe's cavity was steady with pain now; he could tell the talk would be ending soon. "I don't know."
"For the last and final and, I promise you, ultimate time: Is it safe to get my diamonds?"
There was nothing Babe could say.
Szell opened the black leather case.
And took out a portable hand drill.
"Probably you have been thinking," Szell said, busying himself with the equipment, "that you have been running in bad luck, having a cavity already sore for me to pick at. It would not be unreasonable for such a thought to have crossed your mind. If it has, let me tell you that, in point of fact, you were lucky, not the other way around."
Babe's heart would not stay in place. He remembered a bird from his childhood. It had gotten so excited when a cat came to its cage that it fluttered and screeched for a wild moment and then toppled, dead, its poor heart unable to stand the menace.
Babe wondered about his own heart, because this menace was very clearly growing. Szell plugged in the drill, switched it on experimentally, then quickly off once he determined it was working. He reached into the leather case again and removed what looked like a good-sized nail. He put the sharp end into the drill, locked it in place, called for Karl.
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