By mid-May the die was cast. The Allied armies were retreating in confusion, German tanks were completing a huge envelopment, and the British Expeditionary Army was retreating to the dead end of Dunkirk. It looked like the war was over not long after it had properly begun.
The Joker returned in triumph to the spa in Bad Fleishstein; back to his stolen art treasures, and Petra. In his pocket was a letter signed by Hitler, praising the part he had played in the glorious victory and declaring him a Friend of the Third Reich, First Class.
Back at the spa, the Joker went straight to his chalet. He saw the first sign of trouble as he approached, There were several armored cars packed in the grass around his house. When he came in, he found Germans in air force uniforms taking out his treasures. They had found it without difficulty. There aren’t a lot of places to hide a huge assortment of paintings, statuary, and jewelry in a small rented chalet.
“What do you guys think you’re doing?” he asked.
A young lieutenant came up to him and snapped his heels as he saluted.
“Lieutenant Karl von Krausner, at your service,” he said. “How may I serve you?”
“Easy,” the Joker said. “You can tell your goons to put all of my stuff back where they found it.”
“You claim this as your treasure?”
“Of course I do! It’s been in the family for years!”
“And do you always travel to Europe with uncountable millions of dollars’ worth of Italian art treasures?”
“You’re damned right I do,” the Joker said. “I like to have good art around me, not these tacky magazine re-pros.” He gestured at the artwork on the chalet’s walls.
“There is nothing I can do,” Lieutenant Von Krausner said. “These objects are confiscated under the direct orders of Field Marshal Goering himself.”
The Joker cooled off immediately. He recognized the name of the second in command in Germany, and head of the Luftwaffe, Germany’s air force.
“There must have been some mistake,” the Joker said. “I have permission from the highest authorities.”
“I know nothing of this,” the lieutenant said. “You will have to take it up with the Reichs Marschall himself.”
“Where’ll I find him?”
“He is presently a guest at the spa.”
The Joker hurried back to the hotel and asked the manager where Goering was.
“He is in his suite,” Gerstner said. “But he left orders not to be disturbed.”
“Big deal,” the Joker sneered, and hurried off despite Gerstner’s protests.
The Joker bounded up the stairs, pushing people aside as he hurried down the hall. He reached the door of the special suite. There was something familiar about it. Yes, of course, this was Petra’s suite! The Joker was getting really angry now. What were these people trying to put over on him? There was a German soldier with a Schmeisser machine pistol on guard at the door. The Joker pushed past him, ready to knock.
“Nein!” the soldier shouted. He fumbled for his gun. “Cool off, baby,” the Joker said to him, and, reaching into his pocket, took out a handful of a white substance and threw it into the soldier’s face. The guard sneezed violently, three times, then sagged to the floor unconscious.
“The new Joker sleeping venom always works,” the Joker mused. “He’ll wake up in a couple hours with a hangover and a memory of snowflakes.” He tried the door. It was not locked. He opened it and barged in.
Inside the room he heard the sounds of laughter from the bedroom. One of the voices had a high-pitched, slightly hysterical voice. Petra. The other was deep and gruff and weird. That had to be the Field Marshal. The Joker walked into the bedroom.
There he saw Goering sitting in an easy chair. He was a huge fat man with a particularly obnoxious expression. His sleeves were rolled up revealing forearms like hamhocks. His military jacket with the many rows of medals had been hung neatly over a chair. The Field Marshal was just leaning forward to pour champagne into two tall glasses when the Joker entered. Petra was also in the room. She was wearing her negligee, her blonde hair unbound and falling loosely around her shoulders. On the bedside table next to the champagne there were various drugs and little bottles with syringes. A phonograph was playing a German army march. The midday sun, streaming in through the Venetian blinds, showed the craters and pits in Goering’s face. It was said that he suffered from many different diseases, all of them brought upon by drugs and unhealthy living.
Petra was the first to react. “Why, Joker, I thought you were still away. I would like you to meet my very good friend, Field Marshal Hermann Goering.”
“I have heard of you,” Goering said. “You are the crazy American who has been advising the Fuhrer. Though, of course, the Fuhrer needs no advice.”
“He needed some when I saw him last,” the Joker said.
“The Fuhrer never needs advice,” Goering said. “To say otherwise is treason.”
“I’ve got a signed letter from him thanking me for my help and declaring me a hero of the Third Reich. And now you go stealing my treasures. How did you find out about it in the first place.”
“Word gets around,” Goering said, giving Petra a sidewise glance.
“I can see that it does,” the Joker said. “I want it back.”
“Oh, I’m afraid that would be quite impossible,” Goering said. “These art treasures that you stole from the Italians are actually German property. We’ve had a claim on them for over two hundred years.”
“Then you should have picked them up yourself,” the Joker said.
“Why do that when we had your services to do it for us so much better? No, my dear Joker, they will stay in the army depository at the camp here in Bad Fleishstein. You will be recompensed for your services. Shall we say a thousand marks?”
The Joker sneered. “I’ve stolen treasure worth millions of dollars and you’re offering me a lousy thousand marks?”
“Well,” the Reichs Marschall said, “I suppose I could make it two thousand. That’s the absolute top.”
The Joker paced up and down the room. He was getting agitated. Then he managed to calm himself. He looked at Goering, who had now put on his jacket, buttoned it, straightened the collar, and stood, trying to look every inch a warrior and commander. The Joker remembered what he had heard about Goering; how much the man wanted to excel in martial deeds.
“Listen, Goering,” he said, “I want that stuff back. I stole it and it’s mine.”
Goering shrugged, a gesture that made his belly ripple. “Well, so, what is that to me?”
“Only this,” the Joker said. “Maybe we can do a deal. Maybe I can do something for you, and you can give me back my stuff in return.”
The fat Reichs Marschall laughed. “What can you do for me? I am the second most powerful man in Germany.”
“I’m aware of that,” the Joker said. “But your influence at this point isn’t quite what it might be. There’s something you want, isn’t there? Something you want badly, and Hitler won’t give it to you.”
“Damn you!” Goering said. “How do you know these things? You are a devil!”
“No, I’m a joker,” the Joker said. “People like me know all sorts of things. It helps “being crazy. You know more that way. I happen to know that you’ve begged I Hitler to let you and your Luftwaffe kill off the British army at Dunkirk, entirely on your own.”
“Yes, well, that is so,” Goering said. “I’ve told the Fuhrer over and over again to call off the troops. It’s risky to use them against a cornered enemy. We need them for the big onslaught against Russia. And I have the English swine trapped on the Dunkirk beaches. My planes can easily finish them off with no help from anyone.
“Suppose I could set that up for you?” the Joker asked. “You could do this? But it is quite impossible!”
“But suppose I could?” the Joker asked. “Would you make a deal?”
“Yes, of course I would make a deal. You could have it all, all, and more,
if I could just get this opportunity to prove what my air fleet can do. But it’s impossible.”
“Listen,” Petra said. “Listen to him. He knows what he is talking about.”
“Do you think so?” Goering asked.
“The man is a genius,” Petra said. “He is probably the outstanding criminal genius of our age. He has influence over the Führer. He can do this for you, Hermann. And then yours will be the undying glory.”
Goering’s little pig eyes lit up. His mind was filled with the wonderful picture of his Stuka dive bombers crashing down their bombs upon the helpless British standing around on the beaches.
He said, “If you can do this, you have my promise. I will give you back your fleet, and I will even put an aircraft at your disposal so that you can transport it anywhere in the world.”
“Will you sign a paper saying that?”
Goering looked at Petra. She said, “Do it, Hermann! You have nothing to lose!”
“Very well, then. I do it. Bring me pen and paper. Quick!”
Hastily he scribbled a note, then looked up. “But you understand, this paper is no good until you get me the command to do the sole attack on the British at Dunkirk.”
“I know,” the Joker said. “Just give it to me and don’t worry about a thing. Stand by for further messages.”
When the Joker went to see Hitler the next day, he found the Fuhrer in a state of high excitement. He was in his private offices, making marks on his big wall map and moving little markers on the position plot on his desk to show the advance of German forces and the increasing compression of the Allied forces.
“Ah, Herr Joker!” he said. “I’m glad to see you. Your advice, as it turned out, was good. Not that I needed it, of course. I was coming to that conclusion anyway. But it was good that you were here at the time I made it.” Hitler took the Joker by the arm and led him up to the position map. “Look, see for yourself. Is it not good?”
“Oh yeah, it’s great,” the Joker said. “I’m really very happy for you. But I’ve got another hot flash for you now.”
“Ah?” said Hitler. “And what is that?”
“Dunkirk!” the Joker said.
“Dunkirk? Yes, I have them all trapped there! What about Dunkirk?”
“Let Hermann do it,” the Joker said.
Hitler stared at him. His face worked. His moustache twitched. He said, “Are you sure?”
“Trust me,” the Joker said. “Have I ever led you wrong?”
On May 24, Hitler ordered German troops to cease their advance toward Dunkirk and await further orders. The Luftwaffe was sent in. The great attack by Goering, designed to wipe out the British armies and secure Europe for the Nazis for the next thousand years at least, maybe longer, had begun.
When Herr Obermeier heard what the Joker had done, he was horrified. He said, “But it’s not possible! All of my astrological readings show that Goering, in spite of being in command of the air force, has an unlucky air sign. Alone he will not succeed.”
The Joker said, “I sort of figured that.”
“Then why did you do it?”
“Well, he wanted it so badly. And he’s got something of mine. Something that I need back. Obermeier, thank you for all of your help. I think I will be leaving Germany shortly.”
“It has been a very great pleasure,” Obermeier said. “I have enjoyed dealing with you.”
As the Joker reached the door he turned and said, ‘Tell me, what do your stars show for Hitler’s outlook in this war?”
“He will be fine,” Obermeier said. “As long as two conditions are met. The first is, America must not enter the war. The second is, Germany must not attack Russia.”
That evening the Joker went to his room. Using his special equipment he did a job of forgery on the paper the Reichs Marschall had given him. All he needed to change was the date, making the order effective immediately for release of the treasure and for an airplane. Then he packed. He was preparing to leave that evening, when there was a knock at the door.
It was Petra, “Joker,” she said. “I’m sorry. I know you were hurt when you came into my suite and saw me with Hermann.”
“Oh, think nothing of it,” the Joker said bitterly. “There was only one woman in this world who was ever really for me. That was Jeanne, my wife, and she’s dead.”
“But I am for you, too,” Petra said. “It is not my fault what came before you. The Reichs Marschall saw me several years ago and insisted that I become his mistress. I had no choice in the matter.”
“Well, it’s not a bad choice you made,” the Joker said. “Hermann’s doing well. Even if he falls on his face over this Dunkirk thing, he’ll probably still be fine, and you’ll be fine with him.”
“But I do not want him!” she said. “Do you still remember our dream of going to Rio?”
“Sure, I remember it,” the Joker said. “It was a pipe dream.”
“Not so! It can come true! Listen, I will meet you there. Instead of returning to America, why don’t you fly to Rio?”
The Joker lowered his long hideous face. She looked back at him without flinching. “Joker, I love you.”
It was well before dawn when the Joker set out on what he expected would be the final part of his European treasure hunt. Hans, his chauffeur, showed up about 4:30 A.M., when the sky was still dark and one could still see the thin yellow searchlight beams probing the sky far to the north in Hamburg. He had brought six men with him in the stretch limo. Each man carried a duffle bag. They filed into the chalet at the Joker’s invitation. The Joker told the men to wait in the living room. He took Hans outside so they could have a brief private conference.
“These men you brought me, Hans, are they good?”
“Oh, yes, sir, they are very good indeed. They are first-rate criminals from the slums of Hamburg, Berlin, Stuttgart, and other places. I recruited them with great care.”
“And they have no love for the Third Reich or Hitler?”
Hans laughed—a short, ugly sound. “None whatsoever, Joker! These men are criminals. If the Third Reich could find them, they would execute them. They are desperate men and very willing to do anything to get out of Germany, out of Europe.”
“And they all have their costumes?” the Joker asked.
“Yes, sir. I know a certain tailor who was able to run them up for me. The cloth is genuine field gray. At a pawnshop I was able to buy them a suitable bunch of decorations. I did not know if I should get a uniform for you, sir.”
“No need. I brought mine along,” the Joker said. “Made in the good old U.S.A., but with German cloth and labels. Wait until you see it. You’ll be falling all over yourself saluting me.”
The Joker and Hans went back into the chalet. The Joker swiftly changed into an officer’s uniform. He said to Hans, “Are you sure you don’t want to come along? It’s going to be a whole new life for us in Brazil.”
“No, Herr Joker,” Hans said. “There’s good work for me here, and you have rewarded me so well I will be able to buy a piece of land where Greta and I and the children will be able to farm. Perhaps in Sweden with our false papers. Then it’s an end of the life of crime for me.”
“Well, you’ve probably chosen well,” the Joker said. “Now, let’s inspect these men. Once we pick up the treasure and reach the airfield, your duties are over, and I will have a little extra reward for you at that time.” The Joker inspected his men. It was amazing what a few uniforms could do. These men no longer looked like riffraff from the lowest slums. Instead they looked just like any Nazi officers. As for the Joker, he had come prepared to disguise his face also. A tight-fitting rubber-and-plastic mask went over his face. It gave him the look of a hardened combat veteran. With it he had a wig of close-cropped blond hair. Hans looked him over critically and declared that he was perfect.
They piled into the limo. Hans attached the flag to the front fender showing that he had a general officer aboard. They set out for the Luftwaffe camp at Bad Fleishstein.
>
The roads were almost deserted at that early hour. They did come upon one army convoy. Flashing their lights, they went past it.
Half an hour’s rapid driving brought them to the air force depot at Bad Fleishstein. They pulled up to the sentry gate. The guard stiffened to attention when he saw it was an official German air-force staff car. When he peered inside and saw the tall austere shape of the general wrapped in his gray coat, Hans handed over the papers. The sentry glanced at them and snapped to a salute. The Joker touched a negligent forefinger to his cap as the car sped into the camp. So far, so good They drove past row upon row of barracks. Hans drove with calm sureness, for he had memorized this route a long time ago. The depot, where the treasure was stored, was at the far end of the field not far from the perimeter fence. Hans pulled up in front of it. The two guards, who came out to check their papers, were of a sterner make than those at the front gate. They read the papers carefully, conferred with each other in low tones, and said, “This is most unusual, General. We usually receive advance warning when objects of value are to be transported out of here.”
“In wartime,” the Joker said, in a harsh, grating voice, “only the unusual is usual. The Reichs Marschall did not want to alert anyone to the transfer of this treasure. Its destination is a top secret.”
The guards were still unsure. One said to the other, “Perhaps we should call up the captain of the guard.”
“Do so, by all means,” the Joker said. “And give me your names and serial numbers also, so I can remember the men who delayed an order from the second in command of the Third Reich.”
Another conference. Then both guards saluted. The senior of them, a corporal, said, “Please proceed, Herr General. We do not wish to delay you. But it is not good for us to be remiss in our duties, either.”
“Good,” the Joker said, “You have done well.”
Hans stayed in the car as they had arranged. The Joker, at the head of his seven men, marched into the depot. It was an enormous wooden structure. As far as the Joker could see, it was heaped to the ceiling with loot captured from all over Europe. There was furniture from Denmark and Sweden—chairs, lounges, all sorts of things, enameled sideboards, an endless array of paintings. The German army was making a good profit out of the loot of Europe. In the distance before they entered, the Joker had seen other large buildings under construction. These would be to hold the art treasures of other countries as they fell.
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