‘April twenty-ninth. The day before Hitler shot himself.’
‘Of course.’ The author smiled dreamily. He ran his hand along the wall of files caressing the spine of each one, until he reached a slim brown volume. ‘Not a lot of civil administration left by then, of course. Surprising they held it together at all. Fear. And discipline. But mostly fear. You can read German?’
Jamie assured him he did and Sir William handed him the file. ‘Take as long as you like with it. If you need any copies, just let me know. We’ve all sorts of technical wizardry upstairs.
‘Ah, Mary, thank you, my dear.’ He accepted a tray from the secretary. ‘Milk and sugar?’
Jamie nodded distractedly, leafing his way through the file until he found what he was looking for. It was a single photocopied sheet of Geheime Staatspolizei headed notepaper recording a contact report between Kriminalassistent Krebs and informant Zeigler, a jeweller on Wilhelmstrasse. The time was given as 15:47 hours on Sunday 29 April 1945 and the place as the jeweller’s premises at Wilhelmstrasse 94.
Regular weekly contact meeting: Note – Informant displayed uncharacteristic nervousness, but this may have been a result of nearby artillery fire.
Informant Zeigler begged to report a suspicious customer on the morning of 29 April. Suspect knocked loudly on door of Informant Z’s shop premises and refused to leave until door was answered: suspect described as male, thin and of small stature, and dressed in the uniform of an SS-Unterscharführer. Suspect carried a brown hessian bag of reasonable proportions, which he opened on entry to reveal a curious object, which suspect claimed was a crown of Egyptian origin. Informant Z described a coronet of gold, or gold-like substance, decorated with a single stylized eye and mounted with the horns of some animal. In Informant Z’s professional opinion a central feature of the piece appeared to be missing. Suspect was visibly agitated and in a hurry. He wished to exchange the crown for its approximate physical value in gold coins or small diamonds. Believing that the item could not have been obtained legally, Informant Z terminated the meeting and suggested the suspect return later, at which point Informant Z contacted Kriminalassistent Krebs. Investigator’s conclusion: suspect is almost certainly a criminal element attempting to sell looted material. Action: further investigation required. Signed: Walter Krebs, Prinz-Albrecht-Strasse, 29 April 1945.
‘Astonishing, when you think of it, that our friend Krebs may have been typing that note at the very moment the Russians were knocking on the front door of Gestapo headquarters …’ The author’s voice faded into the background as Jamie flipped idly to the next page in the file, another report by the same agent. Suddenly he found it difficult to breathe.
‘Are you all right, young man?’
XXIV
‘HEY, YOU’RE LOOKING a little shaky?’
Jamie laid the envelope on the bed in Danny Fisher’s hotel room and retrieved the copies of the two Gestapo reports. He handed the first to Fisher.
She nodded as she read. ‘I don’t know why you’re so down. This is great. The guy in the Unterscharführer’s uniform has got to be Hartmann, so it confirms we’re right to follow the Hartmann trail. The thing that was missing was the Eye of Isis. It would make sense for a thief like Hartmann to try to offload the Crown, but hold on to the Eye, which had the benefit of being more portable and infinitely more valuable. Maybe this Dornberger guy eventually got the Crown, but Hartmann kept the Eye. And for us, it’s the Eye that’s important.’
‘I’m not down. I think I’m in shock. All this stuff about the Crown of Isis being stained with blood was just a story until I read this.’ He handed her the second sheet.
Suspicious death, Wilhelmstrasse, 29 April 1945. 16:50 hours.
On returning from contact meeting with Informant Z (see separate sheet LZ1-005) my attention was drawn to the body of a young male that had been recently discovered in a garden off the main street. Under the circumstances, this was not an unusual occurrence, but on investigation the unidentified child, of Aryan appearance and aged around seven years old, appeared not to have died on site from shrapnel or blast injuries, but had suffered a wound to his throat using a sharp instrument that had almost severed the neck. Investigator’s conclusion: subject may have been the victim of Soviet infiltration patrol or communist fifth columnists. Action: no further action possible due to deteriorating local situation. Signed: Walter Krebs, Prinz-Albrecht-Strasse, 29 April 1945.
Danny read the words, then reread them with even greater concentration. She tried to picture the scene among the devastation of Berlin. A small, blond figure lying across a pile of rubble, his blank eyes staring at a smoke-filled sky. Lost, orphaned or abandoned, it didn’t make any difference now. Two people standing over him. The finder, by now wishing he’d walked away, and the Gestapo agent, Krebs, probably thinking the same. The boy’s head would be thrown back, the wound …? Yes, that was the key. The wound.
‘Hartmann had the Crown in Wilhelmstrasse a few hours before the boy was killed,’ Jamie said. ‘And from what we know now, if he had the Crown, he had the motive. I’ve always thought of Hartmann as a bit player, the innocent link between the past and the present, but it looks as if Hartmann was as possessed by the Crown as everyone else who held it.’
Danny shook her head. ‘Let’s not jump to conclusions, Sherlock. We know that a day later it was Dornberger who had the Crown. Who’s to say that Dornberger didn’t kill Hartmann and the kid and steal the Crown for himself?’
They stared at each other, knowing they were going down the same road and entertaining the same doubts.
‘We need to know what happened afterwards,’ Danny said slowly. ‘Somehow we have to find out if Hartmann or Dornberger escaped, and what happened to them if they did? Is that possible?’
Jamie shook his head. ‘I don’t know. These people didn’t exactly advertise what they did after the war.’
‘Yeah, how do you go about tracking down an old SS man? I thought they all changed their names and skeedaddled off to Argentina, like that Doc What’s-his-name.’
‘Mengele,’ Jamie said absently. ‘A lot of them just vanished into Soviet prisoner of war camps and never came back. The lucky ones like Mengele were smuggled out by ODESSA, the SS escape organization that had been set up when they saw what was coming, or with the help of the Roman Catholic Church.’ He saw the look on her face. ‘Oh yes, it’s a murky area, but well documented. The worst of them changed their names and their faces, although, oddly enough, now that I think of it, some of them are quite proud of their past. They even have an Old Soldiers’ organization.’
‘Like the American Legion?’
‘That’s right, a sort of Legion for the Damned.’
‘Well I’ll be …’
‘What we need is an introduction.’
‘And where are we going to get that?’ Her face creased in a frown. ‘Maybe London is crawling with ex SS men, but they aren’t likely to introduce themselves and, even if they did, I doubt they’d send us an invitation to their next square dance.’
Jamie went to the window and looked out over the London roofscape towards the distinctive outline of the Gherkin. ‘There is one possibility.’ His voice made it clear it wasn’t a particularly welcome possibility. ‘It might be pointless. On the other hand, it might be dangerous. Even if it works, I’ll end up owing a man I’d rather not be in debt too.’
‘Except the other option is to walk away.’
‘That’s right. The other option is to walk away. And for the sake of the Crown of Isis’s next victim we can’t do that.’
‘May I speak to David, please?’
‘There is no David here. I believe you have the wrong number.’
I wish. Jamie smiled bitterly. ‘Perhaps he no longer calls himself David.’
‘You have a nerve calling this number again, Mr Saintclair. You exposed me to a great deal of needless trouble, not so say risk, and you cost me the services of a very good operative.’
‘How is Miss
Grant?’
‘What makes you think I would know?’ the other man demanded. Something in the way he said it confirmed Jamie’s growing suspicion that Sarah Grant had returned to the fold.
‘Please pass on my regards, if she gets in touch.’
A half-grunt of disbelief.
‘At great risk to myself, I lured the Vril Society out into the open for you. I’m sure you made good use of that.’
‘The Vril Society is an irrelevance, Mr Saintclair. Our only interest was in the Sun Stone. It took a large amount of money and effort to discover what you already knew. That it no longer existed. I have very painful memories of the meeting with my supervisor at which I had to explain that. So tell me, why should I talk to you?’
‘Because I also removed Walter Brohm, Gunther Klosse and Paul Strasser from your most-wanted list. I’m sure that was a cause for celebration in certain quarters.’ He took the silence that followed as confirmation. ‘I’m interested in getting in touch with some former Kameraden. You will have heard of Geistjaeger 88?’
A snort of disgust made David’s feelings clear enough. ‘Not just an irrelevance, but a joke. Perhaps if you discover the Spear of Destiny or the Ark of the Covenant you will get back in touch?’
‘I can assure you this is no joke, David,’ Jamie hurried on before the other man could hang up, ‘but a matter of life and death. People have already died and others may be at risk. I can’t believe a man with your background would leave them to their fate.’
There was another long pause while David made his decision. ‘I think if we had any sense we would discontinue this call and terminate our relationship now, Mr Saintclair, but there is a possibility that at some point in the future you may be of some practical use to us. Do you understand what I am saying? This might not be in your best interests.’
Jamie knew exactly what he was saying and he was certain that David was right. Who would have thought selling your soul would cause such a physical pain? Still, he was too far in to turn back now.
‘I need a way to reach the Old Comrades’ Association. I thought you might have a suggestion.’
‘Call me on this number in two days.’
David was still as he remembered him. Short, tanned and powerful: a pocket battleship of a man in a smart suit and open-necked shirt, who could break your neck with a flick of his wrists and his smile wouldn’t even falter.
‘How was our old friend Frederick when you last met? Berlin, wasn’t it?’
Jamie laughed. So he’d been right. Mossad did have a source inside the Vril Society. So much for being irrelevant. ‘If you’d ever tried poking a cobra with a stick you’d know. Isn’t this a strange place for you to be meeting someone?’ He looked up into the nave of the church, where time had blackened and cracked the seven-hundred-year-old beams.
David didn’t take his eyes of the altarpiece. ‘Not so strange as you might think.’ He reached into his pocket and withdrew an envelope, which he handed over. Jamie hesitated, not certain what to do next. ‘Open it, please.’
He worked the flap free and pulled out two sheets of paper. David saw his look of surprise.
‘Yes, quite interesting that you should already be acquainted. Page one is a biography of his life that you will already be familiar with. The second page is an alternative and entirely accurate account of his activities between nineteen forty-one and nineteen forty-six.’
Jamie shook his head, even after so many surprises this was difficult to believe.
‘What if he denies it?’
‘Oh, he certainly will. First he will feign shock that you, his friend, have accused him. Then he will laugh it off; a joke perpetrated by his friends. If you press him, he will deny it outright. Enemies attempting to smear him. A hangover from the time when he risked his life for good old Blighty in the fight against Communism. That’s when you show him a copy of this.’ He handed over a picture of a man in uniform, smiling broadly as he fixed a noose over the head of a boy in a flat cap. Beside the boy a pretty girl with wild blonde hair looks on so disinterestedly that it takes you a moment to realize she is already dead, choked by the thin rope around her neck. ‘Clearly he enjoyed his work.’
Jamie read the second page of the document again. ‘Why …?’
‘Because, despite what you read there, he was small fry. Not worth the effort of unmasking. There are thousands like that. Latvians, Estonians, Ukrainians. All former SS with blood on their hands and welcomed into your country. They even set up their own social clubs. At one time, there was a feeling that he might be useful and the material could be used to persuade him to help us. Now, because of his age, he is a dwindling asset. Thus …’
‘Thank you.’
‘You understand that it is up to you to make this work, Mr Saintclair? And that our agreement is still binding whether it does or not.’
Jamie nodded.
‘Good. Here is a card with a new number to use. I have decided to discontinue the old one.’
Jamie took it and studied the name. ‘Benjamin?’
The other man produced a tight smile. ‘David was becoming a little stale.’ He got to his feet. ‘Good luck, Mr Saintclair. I do not envy you your task. Even for the most righteous, it is difficult to dabble in these waters without becoming a little contaminated. And should this lead you back to Germany, please be careful. The Vril Society may be an irrelevance, but that does not make Frederick any less dangerous.’
XXV
‘I SHOULD REALLY call in at the office to let Gail know I might be gone for a while longer.’
Danny gave him one of her looks. ‘So you stay away from the apartment, but you’re happy to walk into the office in broad daylight? Why don’t you pin a notice on your back saying shoot me? Give her a call, but not on the office phone, on her cell. Okay?’
‘All right,’ he said, ‘but I can’t hide for ever.’
He rang the number and Gail answered on the third ring.
After the usual pleasantries and a briefing on the latest business she came out with the information he’d been expecting, but hoped not to hear. ‘I’m so glad you called, Jamie,’ she said. ‘I’ve been frightened for you. We’ve had some very odd phone calls and a couple of unlikely “customers” asking questions about your new female assistant.’
Jamie looked to where Danny lay on the bed studying the newspaper and making a call of her own. ‘We need all the customers we can get, Gail.’ He forced himself to be cheerfully reassuring. ‘If we turned away the weird ones we’d be out of business in a fortnight. Look, that’s what I was phoning you about. Why don’t you take a week off and spend some time with your mum? I’m trying to set up some meetings in Germany and I won’t be in the office for a while.’
‘I could do that.’ He sensed the reluctance in her voice. ‘But if there was anything I could do to help. Anything at all …’
He closed his eyes. Was she saying what he thought she was saying? Life couldn’t be that complicated.
‘No, that’s fine, but look, we’ll have a chat when I get back. Increased responsibilities, maybe a pay rise …’
When he rang off, Danny was doing the same.
‘Thanks for your help, sir.’ She laid down the phone, picked up the newspaper and handed it to him. ‘Page four. One of the stories down the side. Just a few paragraphs because Scotland Yard is trying to keep a lid on it for now.’
He found what he was looking for. ‘Two American tourists found dead in a hotel room. Police are treating the deaths as suspicious and have asked for any witnesses to come forward?’
‘That’s right, two American tourists with a rap sheet you could use as a parachute and a cocked .45 pistol under their pillow.’
‘Our guy? That would be quite a coincidence.’
She nodded slowly. ‘And we don’t do coincidences. But that’s not the juicy part.’
‘I’m not sure if I’m going to like the juicy part.’
‘The way they died. The very specific way they were killed.
According to your cops, their throats were cut by some kind of metallic ligature. That’s precisely the same MO as the Hartmanns in Brooklyn and the London Hartmans.’ She picked up the Gestapo report on the boy’s death in Berlin from where it was lying on the bed. ‘Which, in case you hadn’t noticed, is also uncannily similar to our unknown child victim in nineteen forty-five.’
‘Hartmann must be in his eighties. Dornberger nearer a hundred. They’re not running around London killing people with a piece of piano wire, for Christ’s sake.’
‘Maybe not, but someone is.’
‘Why would our man – assuming it is a man – kill someone who was sent from the States to kill me? It doesn’t make sense.’
‘None of this makes sense, Jamie. We just have to try to make sense of it. What does he achieve by killing them?’
The seconds lengthened into minutes as he turned it over in his mind. ‘I think there are two possibilities.’ She nodded for him to carry on. ‘Either he wanted them out of the way to have a clear run at me at a time and place of his choosing – he wants me dead, but for some reason not now – or he wants me to keep looking for the Crown of Isis …’
‘Which means …’
Their eyes met. ‘We’re closer than we think.’
‘Why not a combination of both? He killed them because he thinks you can lead him to the diamond and once you have …’
Jamie told her about Gail’s strange calls and visitors and got up to close the curtains. He looked out from the window and saw a hundred others staring back at him from a dozen tower blocks. The killer could be behind any one, which triggered a worrying possibility.
‘How did he know where to find them?’
‘As your Sherlock Holmes would say: Elementary, my dear Saintclair, elementary. He knew where to find them because he was watching us when they hit you. But I don’t think he is now.’
The Isis Covenant Page 17
