Anne swallowed. “It’s Anne Stewart,” she replied in a loud, firm voice. “I’m here to see the baroness.”
“Warten Sie einen Augenbliek, bitte.”
Anne shook her head. “I don’t speak German.”
There was no answer. She repeated her request several times but got no reply. Minutes passed. Suddenly the baroness’s voice reverberated through the air. Her tone was cold. “Anne Stewart?”
“Yes.”
“Have you brought the necessary items?”
“Yes. I must see my daughter first.”
There was a brief pause, then the baroness’s voice again:
“Very well. Drive up to the main entrance. Do not get out of the car until the doorman opens your door for you. If you do, the dogs will come after you.”
The gate rolled open, and Anne drove through. The bottom part of the drive wandered through a heavy forest of evergreens.
After several hairpin turns, the forest gave way to a wide apron of fields and vineyards, and then a series of lawns and formal gardens that sloped down and away from the castle.
Gigantic and forbidding, Schloss Vogel dominated the landscape. The central part of it rose over the high gray-black walls of cut stone that formed its base like a squat, four-cornered tower.
The narrow windows, deeply recessed in the thick stone, looked like gun embrasures, and the big, round turrets on each corner reminded Anne of prison watchtowers.
Then the dogs appeared—at least a dozen. They bounded rapidly through the gardens, ran out onto the driveway and fell into place behind the car. Anne glanced nervously in her rearview mirror. They were following her like a pack of hounds on a trace.
But these weren’t foxhounds; they were Dobermans and Alsatians.
There was something distinctly eerie about their behavior. They trotted silently along behind the car, as if they were politely escorting it up to the castle. Not one of them barked once. Yet their silence only magnified their menace.
The drive circled under a large entrance portico at the front of the castle. Anne drove underneath and braked to a stop. Iron portcullises dropped down over both ends of the portico, shutting the dogs out and Anne in.
A doorman with a trim mustache came around toward her door. Anne grabbed her bag from the passenger seat and let him help her out.
“Guten Tag,” he said, with a solemn frown.
Anne nodded curtly, hugging the bag to her side.
A second doorman rushed ahead to open the castle’s big double door for her. As soon as she was inside, the first doorman grabbed her around the throat from behind and twisted her arm up behind her back. The other one yanked her handbag away from her.
They marched her through several grand salons, past a gigantic staircase, through the enormous Hall of Knights, all the way to a service elevator somewhere in the back of the building. They took her up two flights, then down a long hallway. They knocked on a door.
Anne tried to suppress her anxiety and compose herself.
A thickset woman with blond hair braided and coiled around her head opened the door and let them in. It was a bedroom. No one else was present.
The man holding her let her go; the other one gave her handbag to the woman.
“Welcome,” the woman said, without a trace of irony. “My name is Karla. I am the baroness’s personal assistant. The baroness cannot see you now. She asked me to relay these instructions to you, which she said you would understand. On that desk by the window you will find a legal-sized notepad and some pens.
The baroness wishes you to write down for her all the relevant information you have.”
Anne shook her head. “I want to see my daughter,” she demanded.
“Right now.”
A look of distress spread across Karla’s face. “The baroness has given me very explicit instructions,” she warned. “When you have provided the information she requires, you’ll be allowed to see your daughter.”
Her arms folded defiantly across her chest, Anne faced the woman.
“I’ll do nothing until I see my daughter. Tell the baroness that, please.”
Karla ignored Anne’s words. “I will leave you here to write out the necessary information,” she said. “When you are finished, you may knock on the door. Hans and Wolfgang will both be on the other side, in the hallway. They will call me and I will take the material to the baroness immediately.”
“Didn’t you hear me? I’ll do absolutely nothing until I see my daughter! ” The assistant hesitated. She stared at Anne angrily. She hadn’t expected any resistance. “Frau Stewart,” she replied, in a low, conspiratorial tone. “Your daughter is perfectly fine. I promise you.
She is upstairs, waiting for you. Please hurry and give the baroness the information she needs and I will take you to her.”
The woman turned and hurried from the room, taking Anne’s handbag with her. The two men followed her out. Anne watched the door slam and listened to the key rattle in the lock.
The hours passed. No sign of Katrina. Maybe she didn’t patronize the Tischgesprach anymore. She was so mercurial and impulsive that almost anything could have happened in the last couple of weeks to alter her routine.
But Stewart was counting on her still needing her daily fix. He doubted that she had kicked her drug habit. So unless she had had a falling out with the manager, she’d show up. He would just have to be patient.
After the sun set it grew cold. Stewart started the car every halfhour to let the heater warm up the interior.
The idle waiting left his mind in danger of wandering into treacherous terrain. He forced himself not to think beyond the minute. His plan would succeed, like all plans, one step at a time.
If he started ruminating about either the past or the future, he knew he could come unraveled fast.
At 9:30 Katrina’s red Mercedes convertible coupe roared into sight, tires squealing. She circled the square twice. Finding no parking place, she pulled up into the no-parking zone in front of the club’s entrance.
Stewart watched her get out and go into the club. She was wearing one of her ankle-length fur coats. Her unsteady gait suggested that she was probably drunk. Stewart climbed out of the VW and hurried across the square to Katrina’s car. The convertible top was up, but, typically, she hadn’t bothered to lock the doors. He pulled the driver’s seat forward, squeezed his tall frame into the cramped rear, and slammed the door. He crouched down as low as he could manage behind the front seats, reached into his trench coat’s breast pocket, and fished out the Mauser pistol.
Ten minutes later Katrina came sailing out the door of the club. The sides of her unbuttoned fur coat flapped back, revealing black mesh stockings, a short skirt, and a see-through blouse. She opened the door and sank into the driver’s seat with a loud, whimpering sigh.
Stewart rose up behind her.
Katrina jerked around and shrieked. When she recognized who it was, she laughed. “Dalton! Liebchen! What are you doing?”
She was drunk. And now full of heroin as well.
“Take me back to the castle with you.”
“Of course, Liebchen. Did your car break down?”
“The baroness has my daughter,” he said in an even voice.
“But—” “I’m going to get her back. I need your help.”
“Why?”
“Let’s go. Right now.”
“It’s too early. I was going to visit a girlfriend.”
“Drive us back to the castle.”
Katrina whined. “Let’s go have some drinks first. I’ve been so bored all day. And Aldous has been a bastard. And I feel like fucking, Liebchen. We can do it at my girlfriend’s. She wouldn’t mind—”
“Now.
Let’s go.”
“But Liebchen—” “Now, goddamnit. Let’s go.” Stewart brought the pistol up into view and pressed the muzzle against her neck.
Katrina began to cry. “Please take the gun away, Liebc7en.”
“Start the fucki
ng car.”
The twelve-mile drive to Schloss Vogel was mostly a silent one, with Stewart crouched behind Katrina, holding the pistol to the back of her neck, and Katrina whimpering sporadically. Twice she nearly went off the road.
When the gate came into view, Stewart gave her his instructions. Once through the gate, she was to drive up to the portico, stop the car, and hand him the keys. They would go in together, with him holding the pistol on her. She was going to have to be his hostage, he explained.
He was going to hold the pistol at her neck until the baroness turned Genny over to him.
He had planned for Katrina to drive him and his daughter back into Regensburg, but she was too unstable to risk it. Instead he’d let Katrina drive them down into the village, put Katrina out on the street, and drive Genny to Regensburg himself. There they could transfer to his rented VW and drive back to Munich.
“But the baroness knows you won’t shoot me,” Katrina protested.
“You’ll have to persuade her that I will.”
“Liebchen, please. I can’t do it. I don’t feel well.”
“You’ll feel a hell of a lot worse if you don’t. Let’s go.”
An electronic device at the gate identified Katrina’s car and the gate rolled open. She threw the car into first gear and roared through, throwing up a shower of white pea stones behind the wheels.
“The baroness will be so furious,” Katrina sobbed. The driveway turned sharply, and Katrina steered the car drunkenly onto the narrow dirt shoulder and almost into the ditch. Stewart grabbed the wheel with his free hand and pulled the car back onto the drive.
“She won’t care if you shoot me or not,” Katrina blubbered.
“She won’t believe you. She’ll tell you to go ahead and shoot me.”
Stewart didn’t bother to reply. The drive sloped upward across an open lawn and then leveled out as it neared the portico. Suddenly the castle’s outside spotlights blazed on. There were several dozen of them, mounted on the portico, on the castle turrets, and along the high walls of the keep. They bathed a large area of the lawn and driveway in bright light.
Katrina tromped on the brakes and the Mercedes skidded to a halt fifty feet short of the portico. She dropped her head down against the steering wheel. “I can’t do it, Liebchen. The baroness will be so furious!
Stewart jabbed the pistol barrel behind Katrina’s ear. “Start the car!”
Katrina shook her head.
Stewart heard something slap lightly against the door. He glanced out.
Two Dobermans had come up alongside. They pressed their muzzles against the bottom of the window.
Suddenly Katrina yanked the keys from the ignition and opened the door.
Stewart grabbed for her coat collar but came away with a fistful of fur. She rolled out, scrambled clumsily to her feet, and bolted for the portico. One of the Dobermans lunged at her, sank his teeth into the trailing edge of her coat, and pulled her down.
Katrina screamed with terror.
Stewart climbed over the seat and groped frantically for the door handle. He found it and slammed the door shut, grazing the snoot of the second Doberman in the process.
Anne sat in the room for several hours. She wrote nothing on the pad of legal paper provided for her. She wondered how long they would wait.
Was she being stupid?
Repeatedly she was tempted to concoct a page of phony information, if only to get to see her daughter, but she hesitated. In the long run it might prove a bad idea.
But she felt that if she didn’t do something soon, she would collapse from the mental strain. The baroness had tremendous advantages in the situation. All Anne had was a few bits of information the baroness was determined to have. As soon as she gave those away, she would be completely at the woman’s mercy.
She paced the room, trying to decide what to do.
Footsteps and voices erupted in the hall outside.
The door opened. The baroness’s two thuggish bodyguards, Hans and Wolfgang, looked in. Then Karla stepped into the room. Behind her was the baroness.
Anne had not seen her since the night of the dinner party on Long Island many months ago—the night the baroness had informed her that she had been used as a guinea pig by Harold Goth. The night she had moved out on Dalton Stewart.
The woman looked older than Anne had remembered her. And haggard.
There were heavy circles under her eyes, and the once barely noticeable wrinkles at the corners of her mouth and eyes had deepened.
nne remained standing by the window.
404
“You have written out the information, ja?” the baroness said.
Karla went over to the desk and looked at the legal pad. “Gar nichts,”
she murmured in a shocked whisper. Nothing at all.
The baroness strode heavily across the room and slapped Anne across the face with great force, snapping her head to the side.
Anne gasped and brought a hand up to her cheek.
“You are a stupid, stubborn woman, Frau Stewart! If you want to see your daughter I would suggest you get busy immediately.
Do you understand me?”
Anne stared at her without speaking.
The baroness called out in a loud voice for Hans and Wolfgang.
They came quickly into the room. The baroness spoke to them in a rapid monotone. Anne saw Karla’s face become quite pale.
The two men seized Anne by the arms and dragged her down four flights of stairs to the dungeon in the subbasement. She didn’t resist. They pulled open the door to the little maiden, positioned her inside, closed the door, and screwed it tight.
Anne stood inside the device, more astonished than frightened.
How could the woman do something like this? What did she hope to accomplish? Was she crazy?
At first Anne didn’t know what was supposed to happen to her.
She could feel the pointed spikes in front and in back of her; but as long as she stood exactly in the middle, nothing touched her.
She looked up. There were four small airholes in the top, about six inches above her head. Except for the tiny amount of light visible through those holes, she stood in complete darkness.
After a few minutes the nature of the ordeal she faced began to dawn on her. The iron box was about two feet in width and depth and six feet in height. She could not sit, kneel, or lie down.
And the spikes prevented her from moving more than a few inches in any direction. All she could do was stand in one place. For the first hour or so, this would not seem like much of a punishment; but after three or four, the need to sit or kneel would become overwhelming. Her knees would tire and buckle, or she would faint. Then the real torture would begin.
She wondered how long the baroness dared to leave her there.
Five minutes after Genny climbed back up through the hole in the floor and repositioned the bed over it, some food was brought to her.
Two men stood in the doorway holding rubber truncheons while a third carried in a covered tray, put it on the table by the window, and hurried out.
Genny pulled the cover off eagerly to view her meal. Along with a glass of milk and a slice of black bread, there was a dish with a greasy fat sausage on it, a pile of limp, smelly cabbage, and another pile of cooked, sliced potatoes in an oily dressing. Genny consumed it all.
As soon as she had finished the meal, fatigue overcame her. She lay down on the bed and fell immediately asleep.
She awoke several hours later refreshed but still hungry. She hoped the next meal would taste better. Maybe they’d include a dessert. She loved desserts best of all. Mommy would never let her eat very many, though—only on special occasions. And she would never ever let her eat any candy. It was about the only thing about Mommy she didn’t like. Except for that, she loved Mommy more than anyone in the world.
She promised herself that she would never be mean to her or refuse to do anything she asked her to do—ever again. She would never eat
another dessert in her whole life if Mommy didn’t want her to.
Genny stiffened.
The faintest trace of a familiar odor—barely a few molecules of it—tickled her nose. Excited, she rushed to the door and pressed her nose against the narrow crack between the bottom of the door and the floor. Her nostrils were overwhelmed by the scents of floor wax, stain, and various chemicals. She got up and walked back to the bed and sat on the edge. She couldn’t pick up the scent anymore.
But a few minutes later she smelled it again. She crawled under the bed and put her face over the hole in the floor. It was coming up from the secret passageway. It was very faint, but there was no mistake what it was.
Mommy was here, somewhere inside the castle!
Genny got up on the bed and jumped up and down, shrieking for joy.
Mommy was here!
She ran excitedly back and forth between the window and the door, over and over again. Finally, exhausted and out of breath, she sat back down on the bed. Why was it taking her so long?
An hour passed, and Mommy didn’t come. Finally she heard footsteps coming toward her door. Her heart started pounding so hard she thought it was going to fly out of her chest.
The door opened and she ran toward it.
The same three men had come back again. But Mommy was not with them.
They left her a dinner tray, picked up the lunch tray, and departed.
After a few minutes Genny went over to look at what was under the cover. Some kind of goulash with noodles and more cabbage. No dessert. She ate the slice of bread, drank the glass of milk, and then started to cry.
They weren’t going to let her mother come get her. She had to do something about it, right away.
Genny pulled the flashlight out from under the mattress and then pulled the down quilt off the bed. She pushed the bed aside and stuffed the quilt through the hole in the floor. Before she dropped it, she held a corner and let it fall out as far as it would go. When it was hanging straight down, she released it. It fell in a nice pile directly under the hole. She then grabbed the pillow from the bed and stuffed that through the hole as well. It landed on top of the quilt.
Tom Hyman Page 39
