Even Kaltendorf could not have argued with that logic, so he allowed Pappenheim to continue.
“Müller ordered that we ask the local colleagues to put two officers to guard the scene, until Gatto’s people arrived. The officers were instructed not to enter the building, to avoid unwitting obliteration of vital evidence.”
“So what killed Zimmer?”
“Lateness, sir.”
Kaltendorf gave Pappenheim a baleful look. “Lateness?”
“Yes, sir.” Pappenheim replied, face expressionless. “I wanted Gatto and his team to get down there immediately. Müller thought people might try to get into the house to take away incriminating evidence. Unfortunately, they were held up.”
“How?”
“They were, sir, at a talk being given to…”
Kaltendorf paled with outrage. “Are you trying to lay the blame on me, Pappenheim?”
“Not at all sir. I am stating facts, regarding timings. Because of the delay, persons unknown had time to do the very thing Müller feared. The local colleagues were assaulted by two men posing as sailing enthusiasts, and injected with a drug that put them to sleep. The men then entered the house, and removed the body. They then cleared the building of incriminating evidence, placed most of it in the boathouse with the body, and rigged a booby-trap.
“Despite all the normal precautions - and we all know how careful Paul Zimmer was – an explosion occurred, killing Zimmer, and destroying the evidence that had been left. The body in the house has been torn to pieces. Most of it is gone. The trigger was voice-activated. I will have a full report from Gatto and the surviving members of the team, on their return. They are currently sifting through the place for anything that might lead us to the perpetrators.”
Pappenheim stopped, and waited.
“Where is Müller now?” Kaltendorf asked, after a long stare at Pappenheim.
“I’m not sure, sir,” Pappenheim again lied without batting an eye. “You know how he works, sir…”
“I know how he works!” It was a curse. “You tell him I want him here, in my office, as soon as he returns!”
“Yes, sir.”
“A colleague down. This is…this…”
“Yes, sir,” Pappenheim said again.
Kaltendorf kept staring at his subordinate, as if trying to find something hidden behind the neutral expression presented to him by Pappenheim, then he turned away.
“May I go now, sir?” Pappenheim asked with studied politeness.
Without turning round, Kaltendorf nodded,
“Thank you, sir,” Pappenheim said, and left.
While Pappenheim was walking back to his office, a man in another part of Berlin picked up his phone.
“Time for the colonel, I think,” he said to the person at the other end.
“When?”
“In your own time…but not too long.”
“Understood.”
Müller stood at one of the two large windows of his room. Like Carey Bloomfield’s this also looked down upon the stream, and the small wooden bridge.
After Pappenheim’s call, he had decided to remain a while longer, in case the oberkommissar called again. His instincts proved correct.
“Well, I’ve just had my audience with the man,” Pappenheim began.
“And ?”
“I think I won the argument.”
“If you ‘think’ it, it means you have.”
“He did fire a parting shot.”
“Let me guess. Me, in his office.”
“Clairvoyant, you are. When is he likely to see you?”
“When I’m finished.”
“Thought so. Right now, I don’t know where you are.”
“Thanks, Pappi. So how did it really go with him?
Pappenheim gave a detailed, blow by blow account of his meeting with Kaltendorf.
“Good linking the lateness of the team with what happened,” Müller said when Pappenheim had finished. “It might make him stop those stupid PR exercises.”
“I have my doubts.”
“So do I,” Müller agreed with some gloom.
“Interesting about the mention of his daughter,” Pappenheim went on. “Whoever’s pulling his chain still has a firm grip. Raising the subject also gave him an opportunity to refresh his dislike for you. You went after the kidnappers, and saved her. You saw him with his guard down, pleading. His gratitude at the time has crystallised into something close to hatred, because he feels indebted to you…”
“Are you quite finished?”
“No. There’s more. What really drives him insane, is that fact that his lovely, precious, darling daughter has a shine for you; so she tells him. Out of the mouth of babes…”
“She tells him? Oh I really do need that. And anyway, how do you…” Müller paused. “Why do I even ask?”
“Why indeed. I am assuming,” Pappenheim continued, “that when you leave where you are, you will be seeing the second candidate, then wandering further afield.”
“You assume correctly.”
“As long I as I know. And just so you know, Max and his crew are going over the scene, almost blade by blade of grass. Max has asked for a sniffer dog, and it’s on its way with its handler. The two bastards who did this may have been pros, but they must have left something. If it’s there, Max and his people will find it.”
“Let’s hope so. What state was Paul in when they found him?”
“Not pretty. The explosion and the flying bits ripped into him. But here’s a very strange thing…his entire head was virtually intact. Not a mark on his face. He’s still in one piece, in a manner of speaking. His suit obviously helped limit the effect of the blast.”
“But not enough.”
“Not nearly enough,” Pappenheim said with a sigh. “He was much too close. It’s amazing they found much at all. Max believes even at that late stage, he tried to either get away, or dropped low to somehow minimise the force he would be facing. He might have shielded his face in his arms. Could be why it’s untouched.”
“Either way, it’s very bad news. Tell Max to try and get as much as he can from the local colleagues about those two sailor boys. Something they don’t even as yet know they saw, might surface.”
“Max will keep on it. You can bet on that. He feels guilty about Paul.”
“He should not. It was not his fault.”
“I’ve told him, and I’m certain the team have told him. That won’t help much.”
“Understandable.”
“One last thing. About the your place. Ilona has let me have Hammersfeldt…”
“Staring boy?”
Pappenheim gave his first chuckle since the news about Zimmer. “Not jealous, are you?”
“Wash your mouth with soap.”
“Just did. Hammersfeldt is keen, and he is partnered with Hans Schörma. Good man. He’ll keep Hammersfeldt in check.”
“Schörma, our ex-Bundeswehr vet and, ex Legionnaire. If I know him, he’ll take an armoury with him. Explain to him this not an assault. If anything does happen, which I doubt, I don’t want bullet pockmarks all over my building.”
Pappenheim seemed to be grinning. “I’ll tell him. Not sure he’ll listen.
Perhaps he’ll wear gloves.”
Werneck, Northern Bavaria.
The dark blue Volvo estate pulled into the side of the road on Schönbornstrasse, and came to a stop. The woman at the wheel was a petite, genuine blonde with bright green eyes, and a calmly beautiful face that belied her real age. A mother with a 10-year-old daughter, and a boy of 12, she seemed far too young. On this day, only her son was with her. He was strapped in the back seat, engrossed in a game on his multifunction mobile phone.
“Just going to the bank, sweetheart,” she said as she unclipped her seatbelt. “Won’t be long.” She spoke flawless English with an American accent, but her roots did not come from America. “Will you be okay?”
The boy nodded without looking up. He was finished with sch
ool for the day, and had come along for the ride. His sister was with friends.
“And keep your seatbelt on,” she ordered.
Again, he nodded without looking up.
He was a handsome child with neck-long, well-cut hair that was darker than his mother’s but which also carried much of her blonde colouring. His eyes, like hers, were green, with the slightest muting of the brightness. His complexion was a slightly darker version of hers, his features bearing much of the strong planes of his father’s.
He still did not look up when she got out of the car and so, was unaware of the black Mercedes saloon with its darkened windows, pulling up a short distance behind. Like his mother, he was equally unaware of the two heavy-set men in the car, and of their deep interest in the Volvo.
Minutes later, she was back. She got into the car, and drove off. The boy was still wrapped up in his game.
The rain belt from the east had reached Bavaria and gone on; but its passing was still marked by damp roads, and a gloom that seemed out of place for both the time of year, and of the day.
Lights on, she drove along Schönbornstrasse towards the castle that dominated the little town, into Neumarkt then left, skirting the castle, continuing into Würzburger Strasse, which was the B19 to Essleben. The B19 went through Essleben and on to Opferbaum. She continued along it. She was heading for Würzburg.
“Do you know, Josh, I first met your Dad in Würzburg.”
“Yes, Mom,” the boy said with the air of someone who had heard it all before. “And every time we go to Würzburg, you tell me.” He looked up briefly to smile at the back of her head. “It’s okay.” Then it was back into the game.
She smiled as she drove. “How come you never get carsick playing that game on such a small…”
“Mom!” Joshua Jackson cried. “I’m concentrating!” But there was no real irritation in his voice.
Neither of them noticed that the Mercedes was following.
They were on an open stretch of road; no buildings were immediately nearby. Traffic, for the moment, was virtually non-existent; save for the following Mercedes, and the second one that had taken up station behind it.
Then life for the boy and his mother, was changed forever.
“What are these people doing?” she said in annoyance as the first Mercedes raced past to cut in sharply and slow down, forcing her to brake hard. The car skidded briefly. “There are such stupid drivers on the road these days!”
She was slowing right down.
The boy had looked up and instinctively looked back to check on following traffic, in case someone might have been too close and was in danger of hitting them. What he saw, alarmed him.
“Mom! There’s another car right behind us! It’s stopped!”
The Volvo had also now stopped completely, because the Mercedes in front was not moving.
She threw an anxious glance behind her and saw that her son was right. She looked forward again, in time to see the two men, now in black balaclava masks get out of their car. They carried what looked like short batons.
“Josh!” she yelled as she pressed the switches to lock all four windows of the Volvo. “Call your father!”
Josh forgot all about his game and hurriedly began to dial his father’s mobile.
The men had reached the car and had begun to strike at the windows which, for the time being, failed to break.
Josh had made his connection, when he saw a third man, gun in hand, pointing at him. The man wagged an admonishing finger.
Josh did something smart. He dropped the phone, as any scared boy would have done.
The man nodded slowly in approval; but unknown to him, the connection was active.
“Mom!” Josh yelled as loudly as he could. “There’s another man here! He’s got a gun!”
“Oh my God!” she said, voice rising with dread, jumping each time the blows were struck at the windows.
Colonel William T Jackson was an imposing man, and as tall as Müller.
His smart uniform was smarter than any of his personnel; which was saying something. Commander of Combined Attack Force Alpha (CAFA) he demanded, and got, smartness from his entire force; from the officers down to the lowest rank, male, or female. His full complement appeared to mirror the entire ethnic spectrum of his country.
He did not suffer fools gladly; yet, he was no martinet. His force was loyal to a man and woman; and he was one of those commanders who believed in leading from the front. Highly decorated, he was also a qualified combat helicopter pilot, and in his mixed force, two squadrons of Apaches were under his command.
The sombre look of the day was matched by the thunder of the Apaches in a rigorous training programme, as the colonel kept his crews up to speed. It was an open secret that Colonel Bill, as his people called him, would soon be gaining a general’s star. One of those who knew the real secret, was the commanding general, eager to bestow it upon one of his favourite officers.
The colonel was an unexpected surprise to those who met him for the first time. A native of Mississippi, he was a man whose genetic mix owed much to African and Apache heritage within which were also various European strains, including more than a bit of Saxon. His potent grey eyes could sometimes appear intimidating to the unknowing. As one of the youngest colonels around, his cropped hair, almost white, belied his real youth.
Today, Colonel Bill, general-in-waiting, was listening to the worst nightmare of his life come true.
He had quickly understood what his son had done, and had been wise enough not to speak, in case whoever was out there could have heard. He also knew that Josh’s yell had been as much for his own benefit, as for his wife’s. So he listened to his wife and child being attacked, reasoning that as he could not immediately go to their aid, knowing as much as he could about the situation would be of help later.
He continued to listen, face tightening with a growing anger, a chill
descending upon his heart.
An explosive smash told him that the Volvo’s strong windows had at last given way.
“What are you doing?” he heard his wife shout. She had spoken in German, in which he was also fluent.
“Elisabeth,” he said softly, closing his eyes.
“Out! Nigger-loving whore!” he heard a rough voice say in the same language. “Or I’ll drag you out!”
Jackson’s eyes popped open. A racist attack?
“Mom!” he heard Josh shout again. “Let her go, you bastards!”
“Josh?” Jackson murmured. “You swear? Of course you do. Your buddies do.”
Josh was clearly getting out of his seat to go onto the attack.
“No!” Jackson heard his wife say. “No, Josh! Don’t! They’ll hurt you!”
But Josh did not care. His mother was under attack, and he was the only man around to help.
Jackson heard his son open his door.
“You leave her alone!” he heard the child shout. “My father’s a colonel and he’ll kill you all!”
Then came the sound of Josh clearly striking out.
It was, inevitably, an unequal contest. Jackson heard a cry of pain, and knew the boy had been hit..
Jackson’s a steel-grey eyes, burned with a cold fire.
“Josh!” came his wife’s anguished cry. Then in German, “He’s only a child, you monsters!”
There seemed to be an argument going on among the men. Jackson could not catch what was being said.
“Americans?” one then shouted. “What is this? We attack the family of an American colonel? Are you crazy? No one said…”
“You will do as you’re told!” another voice snarled. “Now shut up and take her to the car! And as for you, little hero, see how you like this.”
Then Josh was screaming. “Aaaagh! Dad! Daaaad!”
“He can’t help you,” came the hard voice.
Jackson gripped his desk tightly, jaws clenched as he listened to his son’s cries of pain. Faintly, he could hear his wife screaming the boy’s name
.
Then there was the sound of doors slamming, and of cars driving away.
Jackson waited, a fear in his heart. After a while, he thought he could hear, very faintly, a low whimpering. If Josh could still move, Jackson thought, the boy would go to the phone.
He forced himself to wait.
Then, “Dad?”
“Josh! Are you alright?”
“They cut me…Dad.” The boy was weeping. “I…I tried to stop them. But…they were…too strong.”
“I know you did, son,” Jackson said, heart heavy. “You were very brave.”
“They took Mom away!” Then as if being brave were suddenly too much for him, the boy broke down. “They…they took her, Dad!”
“And I’ll get them for it, son,” Jackson vowed. “I’ll get her back, and I’ll make them sorry they ever did this. Now you must be brave again. Can you tell me where you are?”
We…we were on our way to Würzburg. Mom was telling me – again – how special it is for the two of you…”
Despite himself, Jackson forced out a grim smile at the boy’s emphasis. “It is.”
“But she doesn’t have to tell me all the time.”
Jackson felt his eyes go hot at the sound of the child breaking through the boy who was trying to be brave.
“I know,” he said. “Grownups are like that sometimes. Never know when to stop. Now tell me…where exactly are you?”
“We’re on a different road than usual, because we’re coming from Werneck. The B19. I was playing my game, but looked out once. I saw a sign…”
“That’s very good. I’m coming to get you. Stay on the phone. We’ll keep talking. You got that?”
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