by Philip Kerr
Ignoring this mention of the Nazis—nobody ever mentioned the Nazis unless it was absolutely unavoidable, especially in Munich—Alzheimer said, “Your candor is very much appreciated. And may I say, admired. I had no idea that such a thing was even possible. Did you, Philipp?”
Dietrich smiled. “No, but I’m not surprised, sir. You know what a cynic I am. Still, people never cease to surprise me. The things they’ll do to make a quick mark. I was, however, surprised about Friedrich Jauch. The man came to my home on more than one occasion. I must say I feel very let down by him.”
“So do we all, Philipp, so do we all. His had been a most promising career. They’ll certainly miss him in sales.”
“To think I even offered him a job in claims. I thought I was a good judge of character.”
“But you are,” insisted Alzheimer. “It was you who found Herr Ganz, was it not?”
“I suppose so.”
“Which is in itself a subject for congratulation, given that Herr Ganz here has taken to the insurance business with such obvious alacrity. One door closes and another opens. It’s most opportune. You must certainly write something for the company magazine on this fake heart attack business. Don’t you think so, Philipp?”
“Absolutely he must, sir.”
“I’m asking myself if there is anything else we might learn from him. What do you say, Herr Ganz? Can you teach two old dogs like Dietrich and me something new?”
I swallowed more of the whiskey, let Alzheimer refill my glass, and lit one of his cigarettes.
“I wouldn’t presume to teach you your business, sir.”
“Presume away,” he said. “No one learns without making mistakes.”
“You might care to consider having all new life policies witnessed by a third party. Ursula Dorpmüller was paying her husband’s policy in cash, which was how he knew nothing about it, so you might also consider the use of direct debits in the future. To avoid the possibility of fraud.”
“Those are both good ideas,” said Alzheimer. “I’m beginning to wonder why we didn’t think to employ an ex-detective in the claims department before now. Are you a religious man, Herr Ganz?”
“Not really, no.”
“Good. Because that enables me to speak freely. As a businessman it always seems to me that every company needs its own Jesus. Not necessarily the man in charge but another man who gets things done, who works miracles, if you like. I’m beginning to think that you could be such a man, Herr Ganz. Wouldn’t you say so, Philipp?”
“I would, sir.”
“I was just doing my job.”
But Alzheimer was not to be denied his opportunity to talk and to be generous. “We should find some way of rewarding his vigilance, Philipp. But for him this company should be poorer to the tune of twenty thousand deutschmarks. Not to mention the fact that we would still be employing a murderer in sales.”
“I agree, sir. Perhaps a raise in pay.”
“By all means a raise in pay. Let’s say another five marks a week. And since Friedrich Jauch is no longer employed by us, let us also reward Herr Ganz by giving him the man’s company car. Plus expenses. How does that sound, Herr Ganz? I take it you can drive.”
“Yes, I can drive. And thank you. A car would be very welcome. Especially in this weather.”
We all looked at the window and at the snow that was once more blowing through the gray air outside; through the glass it looked like interference on a poorly tuned television set. But the thought of not having to walk or catch a tram to work again filled me and my shoe leather with joy.
“And tell me, do you speak any other languages?”
“Russian, French—fluently, English, and a bit of Spanish.”
“You don’t speak Greek, I suppose.”
“No.”
“Pity. Because I do believe a working holiday in Greece might also be in order. As a reward of sorts, for work very well done. It will be an opportunity for you to stay in a nice hotel and in a more agreeable climate. Perhaps even to enjoy yourself for a couple of days. We were thinking you might perform a routine investigative service for MRE at the same time. You may or may not know that one of our more important business sectors is in marine insurance. However, Walther Neff—our leading average adjustor—has been taken ill. Like I say, it’s a routine matter, more or less. A German vessel, the Doris, was lost off the coast of Greece after catching fire. We have a local man, Achilles Garlopis, who knows about ships and who will do most of the actual donkeywork, of course. And Dietrich will tell you what else has to be done, in detail. But we do urgently need someone to go down there to check out a few things—such as if the owner has appointed his own general average adjustor, if we’re looking at an actual total loss or a constructive total loss—to ensure that everything proceeds smoothly and according to our own guidelines, and to authorize any expenditure, of course, pending a final settlement. Someone trustworthy. Someone German.”
“Sir, the one thing I know about ships is that it only takes a small leak to sink a large one. After the Titanic and the Gustloff, I’m amazed that anyone will insure them at all.”
“That’s why the marine insurance business makes so much money. The larger the risk, the bigger the premium. Besides, it’s not ships that are giving us any cause for concern here, Herr Ganz, it’s the Greeks themselves. The plain fact of the matter is that when it comes to matters involving money—our money—the Greeks are not to be relied upon. These goat bangers are probably the most profligate race in Europe. With them, lying and dishonesty are ingrained habits. When Odysseus finally returns to Ithaca, so accustomed is he to lying that he lies to his own wife, Penelope, he lies to his elderly father, he even lies to the goddess Athena. And she herself is no less glibly tongued. They simply can’t help it. The possibilities for fraud are endless. But with a man with a keen eye such as yourself, MRE stands a good chance of adjusting this claim to our satisfaction.”
He refilled my glass with Canadian Club, only this time not as much, as if he’d already judiciously calculated my limit, which was more than I’d ever done myself; still, I thought it was nice to know he was looking out for my welfare. But later on, to celebrate my promotion, I bought a whole bottle of the stuff to celebrate and found out exactly why this whiskey was called Canadian Club.
“These are interesting times,” said Alzheimer, sitting on the edge of his desk in a way that made me think I was expected to listen. “MRE is expanding into Europe thanks to this new treaty Adenauer and Hallstein are about to sign in Rome in a few weeks’ time. It will result in the progressive reduction of customs duties throughout a new economic trading area comprising Belgium, Luxembourg, the Netherlands, West Germany, and France—so I think your French will be useful. Of course, the French think they are to become the dominant force in Europe but, as time will prove, their ridiculous attempts to maintain their ragged colonies in Algeria and Indochina will be a great disadvantage to them economically. This will leave modern Germany very much in the driving seat. Again. And all of this done without an army this time. Just some new European laws. Which will be a nice change, don’t you think? And very much cheaper for all concerned.”
I could raise my glass to that, just about. I supposed the treaty of wherever it was could be seen as a declaration of good intentions: Germany would try its best to be nice to everyone and, in the interests of making money, everyone else would try their best to forget what Germany had done during the war. Bureaucracy and trade were to be my country’s new method of conquering Europe, and lawyers and civil servants were to be its foot soldiers. But if Konrad Adenauer was anything to go by, it was really a coup d’état by a group of politicians who did not believe in democracy, and we were being guided toward a Soviet system of Europe without anyone understanding what was planned. Hitler could certainly have taken a lesson from the Old Man. It was not the men with guns who were going to rule the world
but businessmen like Alois Alzheimer and Philipp Dietrich with their slide rules and actuarial tables, and thick books full of obscure new laws in three different languages.
Of course, what Alzheimer had said about the Greeks was unforgivable; I suppose his only excuse was—as I was about to discover for myself—that it was also true.
FIFTEEN
–
From Frankfurt I flew on a DC-6B to Hellenikon Airport in Athens. Including a refueling stop it was a nine-and-a-half-hour journey. It wasn’t hot in Athens, not in March, but it was a lot warmer than Munich. I was met inside the airport building by a fat man carrying a sign for MUNICH RE. He had a drooping mustache and was wearing a well-rendered bow tie that might have looked smart but for the fact that it was green and, even worse, matched his tweed suit—and, very slightly, his teeth—and the overall impression, apart from the one that the suit had been made by a trainee taxidermist, was of a jovial Irishman in some sentimental John Ford film. It was an impression enhanced by the enamel shamrock in his lapel which, he later explained, was due to a lifelong enthusiasm for a local football team called Panathinaikos.
“Did you have a good flight, sir?” asked Achilles Garlopis, MRE’s man in Athens.
“We didn’t crash, if that’s what you mean. After nine hours on a plane I feel like Amy Johnson.”
“It’s not a civilized way to travel,” he said, taking my bag politely. “Nor a natural one. Ships and trains—these are kinder to human beings, gentler. You won’t find a Greek who disagrees with you, Herr Ganz. After all it was a Greek, Icarus, who first dared to conquer the skies and look what happened to him.”
Garlopis managed to make Icarus sound like one of the Wright brothers but there was nothing wrong with his German; it was near perfect.
“The gods dislike aviators as they dislike all blasphemy. Myself, I never disrespect the gods. I am a very pagan sort of man, sir.” He chuckled. “I would sacrifice chickens if the priests did not object to it. For a religion based on bloodshed, Christianity is most peculiar in its attitude to animal sacrifice.”
“It doesn’t keep me awake at night,” I admitted, hardly taking him seriously, yet. “Not much does.”
“How is Mr. Neff, sir? He had a heart attack, did he not?”
“You know Mr. Neff?”
“Yes. He’s been here on several occasions. We’re old friends, Walther and I.”
“I believe he’s recuperating. But for a while back there he wasn’t so good.”
Garlopis crossed himself in the Greek Orthodox way and then kissed his thumb. “I shall pray for him. Send him my regards the next time you see him.”
He walked me out of the airport to his car, a powder-blue Oldsmobile with an accent stripe and whitewall tires. He noted my surprise at seeing the big American car as he placed my bag in the bedroom-sized trunk.
“It’s not my car, sir. I borrowed it from my cousin Poulios, who works at Lefteris Makrinos car hire, on Tziraion Street. He will give you a very good rate on any automobile you like. Including this one.”
“I’d prefer something a little less noticeable. Like a Sherman tank, perhaps.”
“Of course, sir. I perfectly understand. But this was all he could spare me today while my own car is in the workshop. Rest assured, your hotel is much more discreet. The Mega, on Constitution Square. Not as good as the Grande Bretagne, but not nearly as expensive. Many of the rooms, including yours, have their own baths and showers. I have another cousin who works there who has made sure you have the best room and the best rate. You’ll be living on velvet. It’s also very convenient for the post office on Nikis Street, from where you may send telegrams to head office at ten drachmas a word, at all hours and on all days of the week. For anything else, you may contact me at my office on Stadiou Street, number 50, next to the Orpheus Cinema.”
Garlopis handed me a business card and eased his bulk behind the white steering wheel of the Oldsmobile while I lit a cigarette and climbed in beside him, settling onto the matching white leather upholstery. On the blue dashboard was a little silver-framed icon and a small plaster statuette of an owl.
“What’s with the towels on the backseat?”
“Habit, I’m afraid. It gets very hot in the summer, sir. And I do sweat a lot. So it protects the leather.”
He started the engine and smiled. “The new Rocket engine. Alert, eager, power when you need it, thrifty economy when you want it. I must confess to an absurd and rather boyish enthusiasm for this car. Ever since I was young I have loved all things American. What a country that must be to make such cars. Driving this I find it all too easy to imagine myself on a space rocket to the moon.”
“You wouldn’t like the food,” I said, observing his girth. “There isn’t any.”
Garlopis put the car in gear and we moved off smoothly. After a while he pressed a switch to operate the car’s electric windows.
“Electric windows. Isn’t it wonderful? You look at a car like this and you think of America and the future. When Americans talk about the American dream it’s not a dream about the past. That’s the difference between the American dream and a British one, or a French one, or a Greek one. Ours is a dream that’s always about the past; and theirs is a dream that’s always about the future. A better tomorrow. Not only that but I sincerely believe they’re prepared to guarantee that future for us all, by force of arms. Without NATO we’d all be playing balalaikas.”
“Yes, that’s probably true.”
“I can assure you there are lots of American cars in Athens, sir. They’re not quite as noticeable as you think.”
“All the same I’d still like you to change it.”
“Certainly, sir.”
Garlopis was silent for a moment while he played with the electric windows some more. But after a while he changed the subject.
“Since you mentioned food,” he said, over the noise of the Rocket engine, “the best restaurant in all of Athens is Floca’s, on Venizelos Street, where they will give you a very good price if you say you are a friend of mine. You should expect to pay a maximum of twenty-five drachmas for a good lunch.”
“Another cousin of yours?”
“My brother, sir. A most talented man in the kitchen, if unlucky in life. He has a gorgon of a wife who would terrify the Colossus of Rhodes. But do not mistake Floca’s for Adam’s restaurant, which is next door. That is not a good restaurant. It pains me to say so because I have a cousin who works there also and the stories he tells me would make your hair curl with horror.”
Smiling, I pushed my elbow out the open window and tried to relax a little after the flight, although this was difficult, given the Greek’s erratic driving. I hoped we wouldn’t have need of the icon’s protection.
“You speak excellent German, Herr Garlopis.”
“My father was German, sir. From Berlin. Garlopis is my mother’s maiden name. My father came to Greece as the foreign correspondent for a German newspaper, married my mother, and stayed, at least for a while. His name was Göring, which we changed during the war for obvious reasons. My mother had eight aunts and uncles and all of those cousins of mine are on her side. You are from Germany, yes?”
“Yes. From Berlin, originally.”
“And do you travel very much, Herr Ganz?”
I thought of my recent trips to Italy, Argentina, Cuba, and the South of France, to say nothing of the eighteen months I’d spent in a Soviet POW camp, and then shook my head. “Hardly ever.”
“I’m not a well-traveled man, myself. I’ve been to head office a couple of times. And once I went to Salzburg. But there was something about Salzburg I didn’t like.”
“Oh? What was that?”
“Austrians, mainly. A cold, disagreeable people, I thought. Hitler was an Austrian, was he not?”
“We keep mentioning that in Germany, in the hope people will remember. Austrians most
all, of course. But they don’t seem to.”
“I wonder why,” said Garlopis in the voice of one who didn’t wonder at all. “If I may make a polite inquiry, sir? What other languages do you speak besides German?”
I told him. “Why?”
“You’ll forgive me for saying so, sir, but finding yourself alone and in need of help it would be best in all circumstances if you were to speak English, sir. Or even French. It’s not that Germans are disliked, sir. Or that the English are popular. Far from it. It’s just that so soon after the war there are some who are jealous of West Germany’s economic miracle, sir. Who feel that our own economy has performed, shall we say, less than miraculously, sir. Indeed, that it has stagnated. Myself, I believe that Germany’s success is good for all of Europe, including Greece, no matter how unjust it might seem to those of us who suffered so horribly under the thoughtless brutality of the Nazis. Only a strong Germany can help to guarantee that Europe doesn’t become communist, as Greece almost did after the war. But please speak English whenever possible, sir. And exercise a degree of caution before admitting your true origins. To say you are Swiss would always be better than to say you are just German. After the terrible civil war we fought, Athens is not without hazards, sir, even for a Greek.”
“So I see.” I touched the large blue eye that was hanging on the end of the chain attached to the car key. “That’s for the evil eye, isn’t it?”
“It is indeed, sir. I don’t think one can be too careful in the insurance business, do you? I’m a great believer in minimizing all manner of risk.”
