The Fallen Eagles

by Geoffrey Davison

  Corporal Reitzer! Leeburg looked at her. ‘Hertz?’ he asked sadly.

  ‘Yes, Karl Hertz,’ she said. ‘His father was a lecturer in music.’

  ‘Hertz!’ Leeburg whispered his name.

  ‘I remember his parents receiving a letter from him telling them how he had killed a British soldier. Made to kill him by Corporal Reitzer. I also remember the look of sadness on his mother’s face when they received a curt note telling them that he had taken his own life. I think I must have hated Erich Reitzer from that moment on. I saw Reitzer once when he was on leave. I was visiting Uncle Otto. Reitzer strutted proudly around the town in his officer’s uniform. He was enjoying every minute of the war. He was one of them.’ She looked at him and smiled apologetically. ‘I must sound very bitter and twisted,’ she said.

  ‘You have every right to be,’ Leeburg replied. He felt sorry for her. He felt sorry for all who had suffered. He felt sorry for those seven bodies which lay buried in the hillside near the Villa Lucciano. If he had shot them, he was as bad as those whom she despised. The thought churned up his inside.

  ‘And what about the French?’ he asked to take his mind away from his own guilty conscience. ‘What did they find out about Reitzer?’

  ‘Not very much,’ she replied. ‘When I started to work for them as a translator I heard of their enquiries about Erich Reitzer by accident. I offered to help and they asked me to talk with Frau Reitzer and anyone who might know of his whereabouts. There were a lot of rumours about him hiding in Switzerland, but I learned nothing definite.’

  ‘What about French Intelligence?’ Leeburg asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘The military department in Innsbruck which was responsible stopped sending their reminders about him. The whole affair seemed to fizzle out. Then you came on the scene and it brought it all back to me.’

  ‘Why were they wanting to find him?’ Leeburg asked. He waited tensely for her to reply, his heart starting to thump wildly.

  ‘Something to do with a shooting incident in the mountains in Italy, and some missing paintings.’

  ‘Do you know any more details?’ he asked with a sickly feeling inside of him.

  ‘Some valuable paintings from galleries in Florence and Pistoia had been hidden away for safety in small numbers throughout the mountains close to Lizzano. Some were recovered, but a lot are still missing. About a dozen had been stored in a villa called the Villa Lucciano. A party of local villagers had also hidden in the villa. There were seven of them. They were found shot dead, and the paintings missing.’

  Leeburg felt his stomach turn over. He clenched his fists. If only he could remember what had happened. ‘Is Reitzer accused of this killing?’ he asked hoarsely.

  ‘I don’t know if he is accused of the killing, but he is certainly wanted in connection with it.’

  ‘How did they get on to him?’ Leeburg asked.

  ‘Probably through the German war records. His battalion location was close to the villa.’

  ‘There are a lot of men in a battalion,’ Leeburg said.

  ‘And I am not a member of French Intelligence,’ she smiled. ‘I am not normally involved with such matters. I do not know why, or how. All I know is that they wanted to find Erich Reitzer.’

  ‘So do I,’ Leeburg said seriously.

  She looked up at him, wide eyed with surprise. ‘Is that why you were visiting Frau Reitzer?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Leeburg replied firmly.

  ‘If I ask any questions you will think I am going to tell the French,’ she said quietly. ‘So I won’t.’

  They had come to the crossroad which led to the Gasthof. Elka hesitated to see if Leeburg intended to leave her, but Leeburg looked preoccupied with his own thoughts. They walked on into the town.

  ‘Would you like to come in?’ Elka asked when they reached her uncle’s house. ‘Uncle Otto will be pleased to see you again.’

  ‘No thank you,’ Leeburg replied. He didn’t want to get involved in any further discussions with Herr Beck.

  She smiled at him. ‘Well, thank you for being such a good listener, and for carrying my skis.’

  Leeburg shuffled his feet. If he just left it at that he knew he would regret it. He owed her something, even if it was only part of the whole story. ‘I think Reitzer is alive,’ he said abruptly, ‘and I am going to find him.’

  ‘But why?’ she asked, puzzled by his outburst.

  ‘I have my reasons,’ he said in a manner which gave no suggestion that he would tell her what they were. ‘I prefer to keep them to myself,’ he added less sharply.

  ‘How are you going to find him?’ she asked.

  ‘There is a man in Bregenz who might be able to help me,’ he said. ‘I am going to see if I can find him tomorrow.’

  ‘You think Reitzer is in Switzerland?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Leeburg replied. ‘I do.’

  ‘Can I help?’

  Leeburg shrugged. ‘You could find out why the French cut short their enquiries,’ he said, ‘but don’t arouse their curiosity.’

  ‘I will see what I can do,’ she said enthusiastically.

  Leeburg turned to leave.

  ‘Wait!’ she called out hurriedly.

  He hesitated. ‘What?’ he asked.

  ‘I have an aunt living in Bregenz,’ she said eagerly. ‘I visit her once a month. I could go this weekend.’ The words came rushing out. ‘Could we go together?’

  Leeburg looked uncertain.

  ‘Please,’ she said. ‘I promise I won’t interfere, and it will be somewhere for you to stay.’

  Again Leeburg hesitated.

  ‘Please.’

  ‘All right,’ Leeburg said finally, but wondered if he was doing the right thing.

  ‘There is a bus which leaves at one o’clock,’ she said, her eyes sparkling. ‘It connects with the train at Bludenz.’

  ‘I know,’ Leeburg replied.

  They made arrangements to meet at the bus halt outside the Post Office, and Leeburg walked slowly back to the Gasthof. The more he thought about Elka coming with him, the more it appealed to him. Her explanation for her attitude the previous evening had removed any reservations he had about her. He liked her more than he would admit to himself and it was good to have an innocent cover for his visit to Bregenz.

  At the Gasthof he learned that Karl was also visiting Bregenz. He had returned at midday, but had gone to Bregenz with a party of Frenchmen and was spending the evening there with Frieda. He was due to return the following day. His mother asked Leeburg, if his visit to Frau Reitzer had been successful. Leeburg gave a non-committal answer and she didn’t pursue the matter. Together they prepared the evening meal for their guests. Later Annalisa joined them and there was something of the pre-war atmosphere about the hotel. For the first time since he had returned, Leeburg felt there was peace inside their home.

  After they had taken their own evening meal, Leeburg told them he was going to Bregenz with Elka. Annalisa’s eyes opened wide.

  ‘Fraulein Elka!’ she exclaimed and gave a girlish chuckle of delight. His mother looked at him. Her eyes asked if there was some particular reason for the visit.

  ‘Have you heard of a man called Alfoss?’ Leeburg asked quietly. His mother shook her head.

  ‘I think he might be able to help,’ he said.

  His mother put her hand on his. ‘Paul,’ she said. ‘Take care.’

  ‘Of course,’ he replied and the matter passed.

  The following morning he was glad he had Elka’s excuse to give to Heckmeir. Not that there was any skiing duties after their morning session, but Heckmeir had begun to take an interest in Leeburg’s movements.

  ‘Understand you went to see Frau Reitzer yesterday, Paul,’ he said as they walked together to the ski slopes.

  ‘Yes,’ Leeburg replied. ‘I felt I had to. Reitzer and I were friends once.’

  Heckmeir gave a grunt which seemed to indicate that he had little time, or respe
ct, for Reitzer, or was it Frau Reitzer? Leeburg wondered, but didn’t ask.

  ‘There was some rumour that Reitzer got into Switzerland,’ Heckmeir said.

  ‘So I have heard,’ Leeburg replied, ‘but Frau Reitzer doesn’t seem to know anything.’

  Heckmeir stopped and looked at him. ‘Did you serve with Reitzer?’ he asked.

  ‘For a while before I was taken prisoner.’

  Heckmeir continued walking. It was almost as if he was going to warn Leeburg, or give him some advice, but had changed his mind. Again Leeburg decided to leave well alone and made no further comment. When they reached the slopes they saw a party of skiers come out of the woods. They were in single file, all wearing light khaki ski anoraks with packs and rifles slung over their shoulders.

  ‘French,’ Heckmeir explained. ‘Border patrol. They shoot on sight.’ He turned and looked Leeburg full in the face. ‘See the sledge they are trailing?’

  Leeburg saw it.

  ‘They are empty handed today,’ Heckmeir said, ‘but often there is a body on it — a dead body! Someone trying to smuggle black-market goods into the country.’

  Leeburg watched them cross the top of the slopes trailing their sledge. He had been thinking of finding Reitzer in Switzerland as if all he had to do was cross over the road. The party of French soldiers put it into its right perspective.

  ‘Come on,’ Heckmeir said brightly. ‘It’s not as if we are going to get involved with them.’

  ‘No,’ Leeburg muttered and put them to the back of his mind.

  The morning session passed quickly and at midday Leeburg hurried back to the Gasthof and collected a few belongings. At the bus halt a small crowd had collected. Elka was amongst them. She smiled at him.

  ‘I thought you might have changed your mind,’ she said.

  ‘No,’ Leeburg said forcibly. ‘I won’t do that.’ Despite Heckmeir’s grim warning, and the sight of the French soldiers, he was still determined to find Reitzer — in Switzerland if necessary.

  CHAPTER 8

  Bregenz had a distinct air of activity about it. The streets resounded to the sound of traffic. The shops, although not displaying any more goods than could be seen elsewhere, gave the impression of being better stocked, and there were more people about. The pavements were filled with visitors and servicemen, the cafés busy and noisy.

  Everywhere there were French uniforms. On the streets, in the vehicles, and in the bars. Bregenz was the end of the line. Across the lake was Switzerland which had everything that Austria had not. There was an air of excitement and anticipation about the town as if everyone felt that all they had to do was to cross the lake and they would be in a land of plenty.

  When Leeburg and Elka arrived, it was dark, but the well-lit shops and streets gave the town an almost carnival atmosphere. They went direct to the house of Elka’s aunt, where Leeburg left Elka and went in search of Kurtz. He found his apartment in the centre of the town. It was on the first floor of a large building which had been hastily converted into living accommodation. In response to his knock, a shirt sleeved Kurtz opened the door.

  ‘Leeburg!’ Kurtz exclaimed. ‘Come in.’

  Leeburg entered the room. It was sparingly furnished. Over the floor was a threadbare carpet. A table, two chairs, and an old fashioned gramophone cabinet made up the furnishings.

  ‘Not the person I had expected to see when I opened the door,’ Kurtz smiled, ‘but nevertheless welcome. Let me get you a drink.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  Leeburg watched him open the gramophone cabinet and produced a bottle of brandy and two glasses.

  ‘A generous Frenchman gave me this,’ Kurtz beamed.

  Everyone seemed to be living off generous Frenchmen, Leeburg thought. He glanced in the adjoining room and saw the bed and Kurtz’s clothes hanging from a piece of string, strung across the corner of two walls.

  ‘How is Karl?’ Kurtz asked.

  ‘He is well, thank you,’ Leeburg replied.

  Kurtz handed him a glass. ‘Everyone else well back home?’

  Leeburg took a drink. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘And you?’

  Kurtz smiled. ‘Oh! I am kept busy. There is plenty of news for me to write about.’

  Kurtz sat on one of the chairs and offered the other to Leeburg. He had a suave, prosperous air about him. His shirt looked of good quality. His hair was well groomed and his face a delicate tan. He looked like a man who took a lot of pride in his personal appearance.

  ‘What brings you to Bregenz?’ Kurtz asked casually, taking a drink of his brandy.

  ‘Information,’ Leeburg replied.

  Kurtz raised his eyebrows.

  ‘That’s why I came straight to you. You seem to know everybody and everything.’

  ‘An overstatement I am sure,’ Kurtz smiled, ‘but try me.’

  ‘I am looking for a man called Alfoss,’ Leeburg said. He watched Kurtz’s face. It remained expressionless.

  ‘What about?’ Kurtz asked.

  ‘You know him then?’ Leeburg asked.

  ‘Perhaps,’ Kurtz shrugged. ‘Perhaps not.’

  ‘I would like to talk to him,’ Leeburg said. ‘I think he might be able to lead me to someone else.’

  ‘Sounds like a game of snakes and ladders,’ Kurtz said dryly. ‘Who is this third person?’

  ‘Nothing doing,’ Leeburg grunted. ‘That’s between Alfoss and me.’

  ‘As you wish,’ Kurtz said and got up and filled his glass again. He offered the bottle to Leeburg. Leeburg refused. He wasn’t used to drinking the hard stuff. He could feel it warming his inside.

  ‘Can you help me?’ he asked.

  ‘Perhaps,’ Kurtz said, noncommittally.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Leeburg asked.

  Kurtz played with his glass thoughtfully. ‘Do you mind if I give you some advice?’ he asked seriously.

  ‘You can give it to me, but don’t expect me to accept it,’ Leeburg frowned. He hadn’t come to be lectured to.

  ‘Go back home,’ Kurtz said abruptly. ‘Go back to your mountains and your skiing. Give Alfoss a miss.’

  ‘I didn’t come here to go all the way back empty handed,’ Leeburg snapped.

  ‘Why not?’ Kurtz flung back at him. ‘Forget anything I have said to you. Leave well alone.’

  Leave well alone! If only he could. Kurtz didn’t know what he was talking about. He was only imagining part of the picture.

  ‘We are living in rotten times,’ Kurtz growled. ‘We were probably better off during the war.’ He walked over to the window. ‘Now we have no identity, no belonging. Everyone is trying to make their own little pile. Scurrying like rats to safe places and fighting like animals over the scraps that are thrown at them.’ He turned to face Leeburg. ‘And there are others who go after the cream,’ he said. ‘They are the dangerous ones. They take the risks. The stakes are high, so are the rewards, but so also are the dangers. They play rough, Leeburg, very rough.’

  Leeburg knew what he was getting at. Alfoss was involved with the black-market, or even something more dangerous. To cross his path was courting trouble. But there was no other lead to Reitzer.

  ‘Where can I find him?’ he asked.

  ‘It’s that important, is it?’ Kurtz sighed.

  ‘Yes,’ Leeburg said seriously. ‘It is.’

  Kurtz shrugged. ‘Don’t say I didn’t warn you.’ He poured himself another drink. ‘There is a cellar behind the Hotel Ambassador. It is called the Spider Club.’

  ‘Will he be there?’

  Kurtz didn’t answer him directly. ‘Tell one of the waiters you want to speak to Alfoss. He will pass on the message. Tell him I sent you.’

  Leeburg placed his empty glass on the table. ‘Thanks,’ he said.

  ‘Don’t thank me,’ Kurtz growled, ‘and don’t come back here tomorrow complaining. Remember they play rough.’

  How rough? Leeburg wondered, as he left the apartment. What was Kurtz getting at? He walked along the pavement. Kurtz had trie
d to warn him off. Different from their last meeting when he had talked about Leeburg’s talents. Why the change?

  Someone brushed past him in a hurry. Leeburg mumbled an apology, and stopped mid-sentence. It was Frieda! There was no mistaking her features. He turned and saw her hurrying along the pavement. She hadn’t realized who he was.

  He slipped into a shop doorway and watched her go up to the entrance to Kurtz’s apartment. She hesitated, looked about her, and then dashed inside the building. There was no doubt in Leeburg’s mind about who she had gone to visit. If he had remained with Kurtz for a further five minutes, they would have come face to face!

  He wondered what the outcome would have been. He recalled how Kurtz had been quick to come to Karl’s defence when the others had been set on making sport about Karl’s marriage to Frieda. Had he been worried in case some of Frieda’s other interests had come to light? So much for Frieda’s faithfulness, Leeburg thought. He was not her only target. He left them to it and returned to Elka.

  Elka didn’t question him about his visit to Kurtz’s apartment, but when he told her he was going to the Spider Club, she insisted upon going with him. Leeburg tried to dissuade her, but she was adamant, and he relented. He found it difficult to argue with her.

  The Spider Club was typical of many which had become popular in post-war Austria. It was in a large, open cellar, with a low ceiling and few embellishments. But it was warm and provided a means of entertainment. In one corner was a three-piece band which battled against the noise of conversation. The atmosphere was provided by the occupants who filled the room with their bodies and blue smoke. In the main they were French soldiers with their girlfriends, but there was also a number of civilians.

  Immediately Leeburg entered the room he took a dislike to its cheap, shabby atmosphere. He had never seen so many people crowded together in such a place. It was alien to him. Elka sensed his resistance and tried to make him relax. She knew there was something troubling him, she assumed it was connected with Erich Reitzer and she wanted to help. One way was to make him enjoy the evening.