“That’s how I figure it, Director. So I’m sending an agent to West Berlin – and I guess you’ll do the same?”
“Correct.”
“And we don’t want our boys treading on each other’s toes, do we?”
“Correct again. Who are you sending?”
“Jason Ritchie.”
“Ah, yes. I’ve already met him. He definitely trod on our toes on that occasion.”
Fowler chuckled. “I think he would put it the other way round.”
“Hmmm! Well I’m assigning James Dingle and Glyn Jones to the job and, since they are already acquainted with your Mr. Ritchie, that should make things easier. Jones is, I believe, visiting your establishment at the moment…”
“That’s right. Saw him yesterday,” Fowler interrupted. “Nice guy.”
“…And he is already on standby alert to return home,” the Director continued. “Perhaps he and Mr. Ritchie could travel over together? Then I can brief them with Dingle before they leave for Germany.”
“Great! I’ll book them on a flight tomorrow. Incidentally, Ritchie will be free to call on G2 for help in Berlin. They’ve got a lot of contacts over the Wall.”
The Director hesitated before replying.
“We have our own contacts in the East, Mr. Fowler. I’d prefer that my men had no dealings with G2. They will liaise directly with Mr. Ritchie. What he chooses to do is his own affair.”
“Sure! I understand. I guess that’s how G2 will want it, too. Neither you nor they want to risk getting your networks blown.”
“Exactly. I think that covers everything for now, Mr. Fowler, so I’ll bid you good day. Thank you for ringing.”
“A pleasure, sir. I’ll be in touch… oh! One thing that’s bugging me over this business: can you think of any reason why the Commies want Mueller?”
“None at all,” the Director lied smoothly before dropping the telephone handset gently into its cradle.
He smiled faintly to himself. His keen analytical mind had already worked out a motive for the East Germans’ action.
If he was right, the Iron Curtain could be pushed even further west – upsetting the balance of power in Europe, threatening the NATO Allies and undermining the economy of the Common Market countries.
A solution would be to find and kill Mueller before the East Germans had time to squeeze out of him the information they needed.
But that was a last resort. The British Government could also use that information to its own advantage.
Which was why the Director of SS(0)S wanted Mueller… alive.
Chapter Three
The last ten days had taken their toll. Erich Mueller now looked more than his sixty-two years. There was a frailness about his lean frame that had been absent before, already the deep brown tan was fading to an unhealthy yellow; skin was beginning to puff and wrinkle around the blue eyes which had lost their lustre. Suddenly, he was a man on the threshold of premature old age.
He watched the cold gray sea for a few moments before lifting his gaze to the smudge on the horizon which, the steward had told him, was England. Then he sighed, turned away from the porthole and settled back on the bunk, alone with his thoughts.
For more than twenty-six years, Mueller had dreamed of returning to Germany – to his wife and the daughter he had last seen on her first birthday; but not like this, a prisoner, locked in the cabin of an East German ship.
He wondered about Gerhard Kohner and his part in the affair; and then he remembered how, near the end of the war, a prized Communist agent had been captured. The man had escaped, with valuable information. No one could explain how he had escaped – but the finger of suspicion had pointed to Kohner.
Perhaps, even then, Kohner had been securing his own future in defeat by going over to the Russians. At least he’d been able to remain in Germany. He hadn’t been hounded across the South American continent by Israeli agents bent on vengeance.
Damn them! Why couldn’t they forget? It was all so long ago. Some of the things he had done… what did they call them? Atrocities? Well, perhaps they were. He was not proud of them; but he wasn’t ashamed either. He’d been doing his duty in wartime. Now it was over – a generation away – and he wanted to live in peace… with Hilde.
Hilde. He smiled at the memory of the early years of their marriage. He’d been riding the crest of the wave then. Efficient, ambitious and dedicated, he was promoted General in the SS at the early age of thirty-three. And Hilde had loved him. Hilde, blonde, beautiful and ten years younger.
He wondered what she looked like now. And his daughter, Kristen. She would be twenty-seven, nearly twenty-eight. Was she as beautiful as her mother had been at that age? Was she married? Did she have children? If she had, that would make him a grandfather.
Mueller smiled, recalling his final memory of Kristen: a laughing face smeared with the remnant of that first birthday tea, arms outstretched, the tiny fingers wiggling with pleasure as he stooped to kiss her goodbye.
He’d left then, on his last mission for the Führer. In those desperate days, amid the ruins of the Third Reich, he and others like him had thought something could be retrieved from the wreckage so that they could return later to begin the job of rebuilding an even greater Fatherland.
Mueller’s smile turned sour as he remembered the success of the mission… and the failure of the plan in which £200 million had been invested.
What had happened to all those dedicated Nazis? They had betrayed their comrades. They had waited, and then they had grown rich and fat while he was being chased across South America… and while others, less fortunate, were being sentenced to death or imprisonment at Nuremburg.
Curse them! And curse Kohner. He’d guessed long ago what Kohner and his Communist masters wanted from him.
They wanted the list.
He turned on his side and closed his eyes… seeking sleep to blot out the fear that was growing inside him.
He knew the methods Kohner would employ to get that fist. He knew… because he had taught Kohner.
Chapter Four
The Director didn’t apologize for keeping Dingle waiting. He pushed open the outer door of his secretary’s office and inarched across to his own room.
“Anything urgent, Miss Peach?”
“No sir, not for the next…” she looked at her watch. “…four and a half hours. The meeting you asked me to arrange is fixed for eight-thirty this evening.”
“Ah! Where?”
“Their embassy, sir.”
“Don’t let me be late.” The Director glared at Dingle, who was perched on Miss Peach’s desk, and added: “Well, come in then. Don’t just sit there.” The top agent of SS(0)S grinned and followed his chief into the inner office. He moved easily, like an athlete in peak condition. Hard, lean and confident, his age could have been anything from thirty-eight to forty-five. Dark hair, flecked with gray, framed the regular features of a face that was neither handsome nor ugly — an anonymous face. But there was one characteristic included in his description on the files of the Russian and Chinese security services: the index finger of his right hand, and the one next to it, were missing. He had lost them on a mission in the Far East.
The Director eased his bulk thankfully into the swivel armchair behind his desk, waved Dingle to sit down, and pushed two photographs across to him.
“Erich Mueller and Gerhard Kohner. Slightly before your time, James, so you won’t have come up against them. But I can assure you that they are two very nasty pieces of work. They vanished after the war. Now they’ve turned up – and we want them, Mueller particularly.”
“What are they, former SS?”
“Yes – and Gestapo before that.”
The Director paused for a moment, a faraway look in his eyes, and then he continued:
“Those are very recent pictures, so study them well. Remember those faces. I don’t want any silly mistakes. Make sure you get the right ones.”
Dingle glanced up sharply, an expression of distaste on his face. “Is this an extermination operation?”
His chief cut short a laugh. “No. That used to be their job. But we want them alive – especially Mueller. I don’t care about Kohner, though. If he gets in the way and has an accident, well, that’s too bad. But be very careful with the thin one.”
“What is it? War crimes?” There was a note of boredom in the SS(0)S agent’s question. He lived, worked and was prepared to die, for a better future. To risk everything for the sake of tidying up history seemed a useless exercise.
Anger sparked in the Director’s eyes.
“I know your feelings on that subject James. But there are still people alive today who suffered under monsters like Mueller. They want to see justice done.”
“Lynching parties bent on vengeance,” muttered Dingle.
“All right. Vengeance if you like.” The big man was breathing heavily, controlling his temper with difficulty. “But there’s something else involved in this case… and it’s damned important. Positive and urgent action is vital. Do you understand me? I can’t put it any plainer than that.”
Dingle leaned forward in his chair, finally interested.
“I’m sorry sir. Where are they now?”
“Kohner is in Berlin and Mueller’s on his way there.”
Dingle looked surprised.
“But if they’re in Berlin, why send me to pick them up? Surely the police will co-operate with our chaps on the spot. Their Abieilung Eins people are reasonably friendly and they’ve helped us in…” His voice trailed off as he caught the expression on his chief’s face.
“East Berlin, James. They’re in East Berlin – in SSD headquarters.”
Dingle sat back abruptly.
“And I’ve got to get them out?”
“You and Mr. Jones. But you’ll have help.”
“If we’ve got to get them out of the SSD building, and then over the wall, we’re going to need help,” said Dingle with feeling. “Are they coming with us willingly, or do we have to use force?”
“Kohner will certainly be unwilling; he’s a member of SSD. Mueller I can’t answer for, although my guess is that he’ll be only too pleased to get away.”
“You’d better explain, sir.”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to do ever since you came in, dammit,” the Director replied acidly. “Now for heaven’s sake shut up and listen.”
The big man paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts.
“The wires seem to have become crossed on operations mounted by the security services of three different countries. I think it’s accidental, but all three operations have a common denominator.”
“Mueller?”
“Exactly. Mueller. Now I’m going to give you a potted version of what’s been happening, because there’s a very full file on it and the duty officer will get it for you when you leave me. Read it thoroughly; but basically this is what it’s all about.
“The Israelis, hunting war criminals, discovered that Mueller was hiding in Ecuador; the Americans, on the trail of war loot which is being used to finance Communist Intelligence services, got a lead which led them to Mueller; and the East Germans, working on something entirely different, nipped in and snapped up Mueller from under the others’ noses.”
“Why should they do that?” asked Dingle.
“That, as they say, is the sixty-four thousand dollar question. But I believe I know the answer. Mueller knows all the names on the list.”
“The list?”
“That’s right. At the end of the war, when Hitler’s Reich was crumbling, the SS had millions salted away in money, gold, jewelery and art treasures. Mueller’s last mission – after suitably lining his own pockets, of course – was to distribute this wealth among a few trusted men: powerful industrialists and politicians who were Nazi sympathizers… but had never openly advertised the fact.
“These men were to spearhead the rise of the Fourth Reich. They never did, of course. With the help of this money, they became even more powerful and rich in post-war Germany. Why should they risk all that?
“But Mueller, even if he can’t remember every name on it, knows where the list is hidden – together with signed receipts for the amounts handed over.”
Dingle whistled. “That’s political dynamite. If the East Germans get their hands on that list they’ll be able to blackmail every man on it.”
“That’s only the tip of the iceberg,” the Director said. “The East Germans are after a united Germany – a united Communist Germany. And, handled correctly, this would be a means of achieving it.
“First blackmail, as you suggest, and then suppose they ‘leaked’ the list to the world’s Press. There would be an almighty stink – but with those receipts the facts could be proved. Later, other key Government and industrial figures could be implicated and labeled as corrupt, and the whole Establishment would be discredited. Even if this evidence was faked, the mud would stick in view of the earlier disclosures. Imagine what would happen.”
The Director stared at Dingle and then added slowly:
“Corruption breeds revolution; and revolution breeds Communism.”
Dingle swallowed hard.
“If that happened, the frontiers of the Eastern block would be pushed right up to the French, Belgian and Dutch borders.”
“Exactly. And think of the effect on the Common Market. It could have serious implications for us, because the West Germans are good friends of ours in the Market. We don’t want to lose their support.
“I’ve seen the Prime Minister and his orders are explicit. That list must be found and destroyed… but it wouldn’t hurt if we were to have a look at it first, just to see who’s on it.”
Dingle nodded. He was fully committed now, sold on the seriousness of the situation.
“When do you want me to leave for Berlin, sir?”
“Tomorrow, when Mr. Jones and an American friend of yours, Mr. Ritchie, arrive.”
“Jason Ritchie?”
“The same. I’ll be briefing all three of you together before you leave. You can put Mr. Jones in the picture privately – but I want one thing crystal clear. The Americans are not to be given a hint of the existence of the list.”
Dingle smiled briefly.
“Enter the fourth Power. That should tangle the lines up a bit more.”
He became serious again.
“But the problem still remains, sir, how are we going to get Mueller and Kohner out of SSD headquarters and into West Berlin? Have you any ideas?”
“Oh yes, I have a plan, and I think it might work. I’ve already made some inquiries, and there are a lot more arrangements to be made yet. But this is how we’ll do it.”
Dingle leaned forward, listening carefully, nodding every now and again as his chief explained.
“It could work,” he said when the Director had finished.
“If it doesn’t, you and Jones will have to try something else,” the big man replied heavily. “I’ll leave you to brief the doctor at the British Military Hospital. From what I’ve been told about him, I’m sure he’ll co-operate.”
Dingle nodded. “I’ll see Colonel Barrett as soon as I get to Berlin.”
Chapter Five
London, 8:30 p.m.
As the Director was ushered into a small back room at the Israeli Embassy, a tall, slim man with thinning gray hair came forward with hand outstretched.
“Good evening, Director. Do sit down.”
The SS(0)S chief inclined his head politely and sat. “Thank you Colonel. I must confess that I prefer to sit. I’m carrying a lot more weight around these days, whereas you…”
“I’m lucky. My doctor tells me I’ll never get fat. I burn up sugar as soon as I eat it, or something.”
The two men looked at each other.
“It’s been a long time, Colonel.”
“Nineteen f
orty-four, I think it was. Hamburg. And you weren’t a Director then.”
The Englishman smiled briefly. “And you weren’t a Colonel.”
“It’s rather unusual for you to leave your desk these days, isn’t it?”
“Special circumstances demand special measures,” the Director replied. “But then I could say the same of you.”
“When I received your message I had to come, but…” the Israeli looked at his watch. “…I must catch a plane back in two hours. I can’t spare any more time away, so…?”
“Mueller and Kohner,” said the Director.
The Colonel’s face was blank.
“Yes?”
“I know where they are. I presume you do, too.”
“I might. What are you suggesting Director?”
“That we should co-operate.”
“How?”
The SS(0)S chief paused before replying. Then he said: “I’d like you to hold off for a while.”
The other laughed shortly. “You know that’s impossible. You know we’re committed to…”
“To vengeance? My dear Colonel, may I suggest that there is a time for vengeance. But first, for my country, there are other things to be considered. Vitally important matters.”
“And later?”
“Later we might find it easier than you to get Mueller out of Germany.”
“And Kohner?”
“Possibly. I make no promises.”
“You’ll have to do better than that to convince me.”
It took the Director another half an hour to convince the Israeli Intelligence Colonel.
*
Tel Aviv, 7:30 a.m.
The Colonel leaned back in his chair, yawned and knuckled his tired eyes. It had been a busy night, but everything was settled now; his agents in East and West Germany had been alerted. Others were watching the home of Mueller’s wife. He smiled with satisfaction. There would be no mistakes this time. There would be no repetition of the Ecuador fiasco.
A Time for Vengeance Page 3
