The first guard left again, and two minutes later was back with Rudolf Scherl, Kohner’s deputy.
“What happened?” asked Scherl, a burly man with iron-gray hair and a fresh complexion.
“They both became ill.”
“Have you sent for the doctor?”
“He’s not in the building, and we can’t contact him.”
“Well get someone else then, you stupid idiot. Where’s the nearest one?’’
“There’s a doctor in the next building,” said the second guard.
“Get him, then.”
The guard reached for the phone book.
“Don’t waste time like that, man. Go and fetch him.”
*
Dr. Meyer stood just inside the doorway and stared in amazement at the room’s furnishing and equipment.
His gaze came to rest on Kohner and Mueller, stretched out on the floor. “What’s wrong with them?”
“You’re the doctor,” Scherl replied testily. “You tell me.”
Meyer knelt down beside Mueller.
“Never mind him. See to Herr Kohner first,” said Scherl, using his foot to indicate his fat chief.
The doctor began his examination.
“Did they complain of anything specific before they collapsed?”
Scherl looked at the guards.
“You were here.”
“They both had stomach pains,” said one of the guards.
“And Herr Kohner complained of a headache.”
The doctor looked worried.
“Has either of them been abroad lately… in a hot climate? India for instance?”
Scherl looked surprised
“Not India – but they were both in Ecuador quite recently. Why?”
“I’m not sure,” replied Meyer. “But I’m afraid it could be cholera.”
“Cholera!” Shock showed in Scherl’s eyes. He took an involuntary step backwards. “Shouldn’t you get them into hospital?”
“Not yet. I must be sure first.” The doctor turned to the guards. “Get hot water bottles to put on their stomachs, and blankets.”
The two men raced from the room, eager to get away.
“If they have got cholera they’ll need to be isolated,” Meyer continued, addressing Scherl. “But I’ll need a second opinion. I daren’t move them yet.”
“For Christ’s sake hurry up and get your second opinion then. Who do you want?”
Beads of perspiration stood out on Meyer’s brow. He remembered everything he’d been told to say… and he remembered the ugly automatic inches from the pale face of his beautiful young wife. He tried to keep his voice natural.
“Professor Schroeder is the expert. If you phone the hospital and ask for him.”
“What’s the number?”
“Perhaps I’d better phone. I know them at the hospital. If you’ll show me where it is?”
“This way.” Scherl, too, seemed relieved to leave the room.
*
“Professor Schroeder isn’t at the hospital and he’s not at home,” Meyer reported. “The only other man in East Berlin who specializes in tropical diseases is Dr. Walther Hermes – but I can’t trace him either.”
“What are you going to do then? You’ll have to get someone else, from another city.”
“That would take too long. These men must be treated urgently, but we must also be sure that the diagnosis is correct.”
“For God’s sake man! You’ve got to do something.”
The sweat was pouring down Meyer’s face.
“There is one last hope.”
“What’s that?”
Meyer swallowed, trying to moisten his parched throat.
“The British Military Hospital in West Berlin. They have an Army doctor there, Colonel Barrett, who is a recognized expert.”
Scherl stared. “You must be mad. Do you know where you are? This is SSD headquarters, and your patients are…”
“Likely to die if we don’t get expert advice immediately,” Meyer interrupted. “If you don’t do as I say, I refuse to answer for the consequences. We may have an epidemic on our hands if we don’t take the correct action quickly – and you may need preventive treatment yourself. You’ve been in contact with both of them.”
Scherl turned gray and reached for the telephone.
*
At about the time that Scherl was phoning the British Military Hospital, Dr. Meyer’s wife was being tied up and locked in the broom closet of her flat. The three men who had held her captive then removed their masks and left quietly.
In the back of a van, hidden among the thick woodland north of the Muggelsee, four people struggled futilely to shake off their bonds. They were Professor Schroeder, Dr. Schütz and Dr. Hermes and his wife.
The men who had taken part in their capture were already at Schonefeld Airport. Soon, they would be joined by the men from the Meyers’ flat.
All these men had been in East Berlin for only three days. Soon, they would all be taking off for other countries – leaving behind only the man who had been their Control, the man with the monkey face.
In his flat near the Lichtenberg station, the man with the monkey face waited, watching the clock. Later, he would make an anonymous call to tell the police where to find the van. He envied the men who were waiting to take off from Schonefeld. Soon they would be safe in the sunshine of Tel Aviv. As the only resident agent of the Israeli Intelligence Service, he would have to stay in East Berlin.
*
Scherl replaced the receiver and turned to Dr. Meyer.
“Colonel Barrett is coming immediately. I’ve told him one of our cars will pick him up on our side of Checkpoint Charie. I hope, for both our sakes doctor, I’ve done the right thing.”
Chapter Fourteen
The Director dropped the telephone receiver neatly back on to its cradle and turned to Dingle and Jones.
“It’s worked. They’ve just called Colonel Barrett. He’s on his way there now, so you two had better join Ritchie at Checkpoint Charlie.”
“Right sir,” replied Dingle. “Aren’t you coming?”
“No. I think it’s time I had a word with Frau Mueller.”
The three men left the room together and walked down the corridor to the stairs.
“You know what to do when they come through?” said the Director.
“Yes sir… if they come through,” answered Dingle.
“They will,” said the big man confidently. “I’m sure the colonel will manage it all right. He seems a capable fellow.”
He stopped talking to watch the young blonde coming up the stairs. She was staring at Jones and it was obvious that she had recognized him. Then, as she moved to pass them, the Director reached out and grasped her arm.
“Excuse me, but are you on your way to see Frau Mueller?”
The girl looked surprised.
“Yes, but why…”
“Then I’ll join you, if I may.” The SS(0)S chief bared his dentures in what he imagined to be a charming smile. “I have some business with Frau Mueller. Shall we take the lift?”
“No thank you. It’s only up one more flight and, anyway, I always use the stairs.”
“Quite right, too! I’ll walk with you. We young ones have to watch our figures, eh?” There was a rusty wheezing sound and the Director’s massive shoulders began to undulate.
Jones intercepted the girl’s startled look.
“It’s all right,” he explained, “he’s only laughing.”
The big man silenced him with a glare.
“I’ll be hearing from you soon, no doubt.” He turned to the girl. “Come my dear.”
Jones stood and watched as the girl climbed the next flight of stairs… with the SS(0)S chief still grasping her arm firmly
“Just look at that boyo. Isn’t she beautiful? And did you hear her voice? Like music it was.”
“Come on,” said Dingle.
“We’ve got work to do.”
The Welshman sighed.
“Yes, out in the cold, while he sits here in the warm chatting up the birds. There’s no justice in this world, Jim bach.”
*
“I’ve gone along with you so far,” Scherl said to Dr. Meyer, “but this is far enough. Now it’s my turn to insist. We’ll have to move them into another room. We can’t have the British doctor coming in here, can we?” he asked, indicating the operating theater with a sweep of his arms. “There’s a studio couch in Herr Kohner’s office. We can split it in two and make them both comfortable in there.”
The doctor nodded. “Very well,” he agreed. “You’ll have to help me to lift them.”
Scherl shrank back from any physical contact with the two sick men. He snapped his fingers at the two guards.
“Move them into Herr Kohner’s office,” he ordered.
*
Colonel Barrett completed his examination of the patients and turned to Dr. Meyer.
“It’s almost certainly cholera. All the signs are there: colic and headache preceding a severe attack of diarrhoea. They’re in the stage of collapse now… and we’ll have to be very careful. I’ll give them a sedative, morphine, but they need treatment urgently.”
“You mean they could die?” asked Scherl.
“They could. Soon they will show signs of extreme dehydration. They will have a persistent thirst and, as you can see, the faces are already shrunken and ashen. The stage of collapse could become more marked and they could die from dehydration, lack of sodium chloride, and acidosis.”
Scherl was almost as pale as the patients.
“There’s no hope…?”
“On the contrary. I’m sure I could save them – if I can begin treatment at once They’ll have to go to an isolation ward, of course.”
“I’ll telephone the hospital at once.”
“I thought I could take them to the British Military Hospital.”
“That’s impossible,” snapped Scherl. “They must stay in the East.”
Colonel Barrett shrugged. “As you wish. I’ll bid you good day gentlemen. I trust you’ll notify the authorities – we don’t want an epidemic.”
“Wait!” cried Dr. Meyer. “Can’t you treat them in our hospital?”
“I’m sorry. I have my own patients you know, and I refuse to keep coming through the Wall.”
“It doesn’t matter,” said Scherl. “Thank you for your help, Colonel, but our own doctors will manage now.”
“No!” Meyer almost shrieked the word. A picture of his wife, with two automatics pointing at her head, kept floating before his eyes. The threats of the masked gunmen echoed in his ears. “They must have specialist treatment – and we can’t contact our own specialists.”
“Perhaps they are back now” Scherl picked up the phone. “Dial the hospital. I’ll speak to them.”
Meyer dialed the number. “It’s ringing.”
“What are their names?”
“Professor Schroeder and Dr. Hermes.”
The SSD man spoke into the mouthpiece.
“I am Herr Rudolf Scherl, deputy commandant of the SSD. Is Professor Schroeder or Dr. Hermes available? If they are not at the hospital, find out where I can reach them urgently.”
He waited five minutes for the answer, then replaced the receiver slowly.
“They are not at the hospital, and they are not at their homes. Nobody knows where they are.”
“Perhaps they’ve gone to Warsaw,” suggested Colonel Barrett. “I believe there’s an East European medical congress on there at the moment.”
“Send them to Colonel Barrett’s hospital,” pleaded Meyer.
“I can’t let them go into the West.”
“You can’t let them die.”
“And I can’t stand here arguing all day,” the Englishman said “I have work to do. But before I go, I’d better give both of you and these gentlemen,” he nodded towards the two guards, “an inoculation. It’ll give you some protection. Roll up your sleeves.”
The four men obeyed, and when he had finished, Colonel Barrett added: “I shall have to write a report about this, naturally. If those men die, or if an epidemic sweeps Berlin, I shall know who to blame.”
Scherl looked away from Barrett’s steely gray eyes.
“I cannot let them go to West Berlin.”
“Very well.” The British Army doctor strode towards the door, opened it, and then turned. “Look, why not compromise,” he said thoughtfully. “Let them into West Berlin – but send them to an East Berlin hospital.”
Scherl looked puzzled.
“Have you forgotten?” asked Barrett. “One of the peculiarities of present-day Berlin. Your East German Railways Hospital?”
Understanding dawned in the SSD man’s eyes.
“Of course! The Deutsches Reichbahn Krankenhaus. It’s on your side of the Wall.”
“Exactly. If you send them there, I can visit them more easily.”
Still, Scherl looked doubtful.
“I’ll have to get higher authority.”
“There is no higher authority here now,” Dr. Meyer pointed out, looking at Kohner. “It’s your only chance Herr Scherl.”
The SSD man capitulated.
“Alright.”
“Good man,” said Barrett, coming back into the room. “Phone for an ambulance Dr. Meyer. There’s no time to lose. And you’d better arrange for everything that’s been in contact with the patients to be burned, Herr Scherl.”
Now that the decision had been taken, Scherl leapt to obey.
Dr. Meyer was trembling uncontrollably as he waited for the ambulance. His feeling of relief was tempered with worry in case the gunmen refused to keep their word and free his wife, once Kohner and Mueller were in the West.
He didn’t know that the gunmen were already airborne on their way out of Germany: and that his wife was kicking the inside of the broom closet door, shouting for someone to let her out.
Chapter Fifteen
The People’s Police on the East side of Checkpoint Charlie had been alerted to expect the ambulance. The back doors were opened briefly – to reveal Barrett, his two patients and the two SSD guards – and slammed shut again. The policemen obviously did not intend to run the risk of catching cholera.
While the driver handed in the necessary documents, the Vopos – the Volkspolizei, the “People’s Police” – made a quick routine check inside the bonnet and underneath the vehicle. But there was no undue delay. Soon the booms were raised and the ambulance lumbered slowly forward to negotiate the slalom concrete barriers. After being waved straight past the West Berlin police and Customs post, it paused briefly at the Allied control point, where formalities were kept to a minimum before it was on the move again.
East Berlin border guards in their watch-towers followed its progress through binoculars until it turned right at the end of the short street to be lost to sight behind a tall block of buildings.
And then things began to happen.
Two police cars screeched to a halt in front of the ambulance, forcing the driver to brake sharply.
Within seconds, West Berlin police surrounded the vehicle, the driver’s door was wrenched open and he found himself staring into the business end of Glyn Jones’s .38 Special. On the other side, the driver’s mate had a similar view of Ritchie’s snub-nosed Colt Detective Special.
At the back, the doors were flung open before the startled SSD guards had time to reach for their weapons; they were already covered by sub-machine guns in the capable hands of the police. Dingle beckoned with his Walther PPK automatic, and they came out with their hands held high.
A British Army ambulance reversed up at speed and stopped with its back door only six feet from the rear of the East Berlin vehicle. Four orderlies leapt out, the patients and Colonel Barrett were transferred, the doors slammed shut and the blood wagon raced off.
The SS
D guards were bundled into the body of their own ambulance, all the doors were closed and the driver was ordered to make a three-point turn and head back to the East.
Dingle watched the ambulance turn left towards the checkpoint. He looked at his watch.
“Not bad,” he said to Jones and Ritchie. “Three minutes.”
*
Erich Mueller opened his eyes and gazed blankly at the white ironwork of the bed. He swung, his head to see the green-painted wall – and the bulky figure which threatened to break the rickety wooden bedside chair.
Interest sparked. He tried to sit up but the movement brought a wave of dizziness and he closed his eyes again.
“Where am I?” The voice was weak. “And who are you?”
“You’re in the British Military Hospital in West Berlin,” replied the Director. “My name doesn’t matter… although we have met before, years ago during the war.”
Mueller’s eyes jerked open, fully aware now as memory flooded back.
“Is this another of Kohner’s tricks? I thought he’d poisoned me.”
The Director laughed. “It’s no trick.”
“You needn’t bother, you know. I’ve told you everything. No doubt Kohner is checking it out. It’ll take him some time, but he’ll find it’s correct.”
“Someone will be checking it,” the Director agreed
“But it won’t be Gerhard Kohner. We’ve got him, too. It’s a pity you talked though. We’d hoped to get you out before that happened.”
The German sat up. There was no dizziness or nausea now, only a raging thirst. He reached for the glass of water on top of the bedside locker, and drank deeply.
He repeated his earlier question. “Who are you?”
“I’m the head of SS(0)S, a branch of the British Intelligence Service.”
“And you say we’ve met before?” Mueller peered closely at the Englishman.
The Director nodded. “I’ve grown since those days.” He patted his paunch.
Recognition flared. “I remember. You were a British agent. You escaped. One of your men helped you… what was his name…? Macleod, that’s it, Macleod. He was killed.”
The Director’s bushy eyebrows slid down to mask the pain and hate in his eyes.
“I get it now,” the former SS man continued. “You were allowed to escape by Kohner. You were one of his men… a German Communist… I always thought your German was too good for an Englishman. It still is. You were allowed to escape at the cost of Macleod’s life. I suppose you’d been operating with his British group…”
A Time for Vengeance Page 8
