by Walter Wager
“I asked if you were all right. You look tired. Want to sit down?”
The pathologist considered this very carefully, and sighed. “No, thanks. I want to see Hess.”
Cool and slow, Merlin calculated.
That was the only way to survive, and to bring the doctor home alive too.
“Hess isn’t here,” the stubborn CIA agent repeated as he started to reach—quite automatically—for a cigar.
“No tricks!”
Merlin froze again, hand in midair. “Sorry, doc. It’s a bad habit. Mind if I smoke a cigar?”
“You inhale?”
“Sometimes,” Merlin confessed.
“Not too good for you,” Beller scolded. “Cigarettes are worse, but take it easy on the inhaling.”
The man who might kill him was offering free medical advice. It was, beyond doubt, insane. Merlin lit his cigar, took care not to inhale and relaxed—just the tiniest bit.
“It’s time to go,” the walking bomb announced.
Wherever they went could be an improvement, for the blast would be much less deadly out in the open, anywhere outside the compressing walls of the cell. Merlin rose, walked slowly toward the door and tried to think of some way to disarm the thing that the deranged doctor had strapped to his chest. He half-turned, estimated the distance to his foe and eyed the device.
“No tricks, Mr. Merlin. I’m quite willing to detonate, you know.”
He probably was.
Merlin banged on the door, and it swung open less than fifteen seconds later.
“You got him?” Rich demanded eagerly.
“Not exactly. We’re coming out. Stand back—he’s got a bomb.”
“Goddam!”
“My view precisely. Just stay out of the way, and Ernie and I’ll work it out.”
They stepped out into the corridor, faced a semicircle of seven armed soldiers—and Angelo Cavaliere.
“You okay, Merl?”
“Terrific, Angie. Just terrific. No sweat. Taking a walk with Ernie, that’s all.”
Nobody moved.
Then Cavaliere saw the dynamite device.
“Yeah, it’s a goddam bomb, Angie. Good old Ernie made it himself. Neat, huh?”
“Jeezus.”
“Why not? Listen, you guys get back and go pray.”
Cavaliere and Rich exchanged glances, waved the guards to retreat.
“That’s good,” Beller judged. “And now I want Hess.”
“We moved him out. Take a look for yourself. Check the other cells if you want.”
With Rich’s men trailing some eighteen or twenty yards behind, Beller and Merlin walked slowly down the passage, looking into every chamber. They were all empty.
“Not here, right? Now listen, doc—”
“Later. We’ll look on the floor below, if you don’t mind.”
“Course not. Whatever you say.”
Merlin now had the beginnings of a plan. He would work the walking bomb out of the building into the open, and then he’d try to wear him down or divert him. It was important to keep talking, and to avoid wetting one’s pants. If that goddam thing went off, they’d need a vacuum cleaner to suck up the fragments of both men.
Goddam the bomb.
Goddam the woman who’d pleaded with him to stop Beller.
Goddam the Nazis who’d made the nightmare.
“And goddam me for not taking that Pan Am flight home,” Merlin thought.
Fortunately Beller didn’t hear, for Merlin was in no mood to explain. Right now, he hated almost everyone he could think of and he was particularly furious with himself and the crazy doctor. As they reached the head of the stairs he glanced around, saw that none of the guards was within twenty yards and hoped they’d maintain that distance. As long as the MPs stayed away, there was a chance.
The two men started down the stairs, only a yard apart.
It happened eight steps down.
One of the soldiers leaped out of a recess in the stone wall, lunged for Beller to take him by surprise.
Merlin hurled himself in between, punched the guard in the stomach as hard as he could. When the MP doubled up, Merlin kneed him in the groin and shoved him down the stairs.
“Is he hurt?” Beller asked solicitously.
“I hope so. If that dumb bastard had reached you…”
It took the doctor a few moments to comprehend.
“Yes, I’d have detonated, of course.”
Merlin’s hand shook just a bit as he relit the cigar. Then he roared his rage at the man below. “Rich—Rich, you idiot! You hear me, dummy?”
A voice replied from the foot of the stairs. “Wasserman?”
“You almost killed us both, moron! Leave us alone! Angie, clear the goddam area!”
It was cool in Spandau, but Merlin was sweating. His whole torso was wet and his throat was dry, and his mind seethed with thoughts as homicidal as any Beller had ever conceived. He puffed on the cigar, trying to control his fear and fury. Being afraid only made him angrier, and he knew that he couldn’t afford to yield to either emotion.
Eight goddam sticks of dynamite.
“Can we look at the cells on this floor, please?” Beller broke in, and once again Merlin led the way.
Hess wasn’t on the second floor, or on the first either. When they’d checked the last cell and the last room, Beller’s brow furrowed. He was disappointed, puzzled.
“Where is he?”
“Maybe he’s out in the garden.”
Yes, Beller recalled, the lieutenant colonel had mentioned that Hess often went to the garden. Merlin swung open the door, then blocked it with his arm. That bastard Rich might have marksmen out there, and Merlin had promised himself that he’d bring Beller in alive.
“I’ll go first, doc.”
Merlin stepped out into the sun, scanned the courtyard and then the upper windows and roofs. Nothing…nothing…nothing…nothing…Son of a bitch! There—up there! And on the other side—there! Gun barrels, pointing at the door. Infuriated, Merlin strode forward and shook his fist. “Angie! Angie! Call General Brieant! Get those snipers out of here! Do it! That’s an order! Do it!”
He walked back inside, where Beller waited with his fingers a scant inch from the firing mechanism. It was disturbingly obvious that the dedicated and desperate doctor wasn’t bluffing. He’d do it. Merlin wasn’t surprised at that, but what did seem odd was the fact that he wasn’t angry with Beller. It wasn’t pity, but something like compassion—and that was startling.
“Take it easy, doc. We’ve got to wait a couple of minutes while my friend straightens out those clowns. Won’t take too long.”
Christ, there was no way to guess what Beller was thinking.
He might do anything—at any moment.
The whole situation was insane.
All of them—including the shooters outside—were crazy, and this idiotic prison that held only one man because four great nations were bickering was crazy too.
“What friend?”
Merlin looked at him, saw the question was sincere.
“His name is Angelo Cavaliere. We work together—nice fellow. You’d like him, doc. He’s very decent, well educated.”
More frightening silence.
“What do you do?”
What the hell. Why not?
“We’re spies. Secret stuff, all over the world. Doesn’t make much sense for grown men, huh?”
“As much as a lot of other things.”
Beller wasn’t completely crazy.
“For the American government?” he asked.
“Yeah—the CIA. Spooks—that’s what the hot-shit journalists call us. Spooks, not so nice, huh? Anything lousy goes down anywhere on earth, they say we did it. Half the time it’s the other side that did it.”
“What other side?”
“There’s nineteen other sides, maybe thirty-seven. Who cares?”
Still more silence.
“Are your parents alive?”
St
artled, Merlin nodded.
“Mine are dead.”
Merlin wanted to cry, and that made him angrier.
“I know, doc. I know a lot about you—that goddam camp…your aunt and uncle in New York. All kinds of things.”
Suddenly Cavaliere’s voice boomed over a bullhorn. “Merlin—Merlin, it’s okay. You can come out. It’s okay.”
Merlin stepped through the door, scanned the roofs and windows slowly, just in case. No harm in double-checking.
“Okay, doc, let’s see if he’s in the garden.”
It wasn’t really that safe, for those marksmen weren’t too far away. Rich wasn’t the sort who’d give up that easily. He was one of those achievement-oriented bastards, trained by the army to handle every contingency, and in situations like this the goddam manual said act. If necessary, kill. Couldn’t blame Rich too much. That’s what the book said, and light colonels in the military police went by the book. It was bitterly ironic that the book could destroy Merlin, who’d always hated such books.
They walked out into the courtyard, then turned toward the garden. It wasn’t that large, but the flower beds were colorful and rather lovely—and Hess was nowhere in sight.
“Where is he?”
“Must be out here somewhere,” Merlin stalled.
Hess was in the cellar with eight guards, who’d shoot Beller to pieces—literally—before he got within fifty yards.
“I don’t see him. Is this a trick?”
As they say in official communiqués, the situation was deteriorating, and Merlin didn’t have the slightest idea of what to do or say next. Beller was getting tense again, and those snipers were almost surely creeping up or taking new positions.
“Maybe he’s taking a leak, doc. I could use one myself.”
This would be a stupid way and a dumb place to die.
“You promised me Hess, and you lied.”
“Would I lie to you? I’m trying to help you. I don’t like Hess either.”
The expression in Beller’s eyes said that Merlin had failed. He’d run out of tactics and time, and there was nothing left. He watched the madman’s hand move to the detonator box.
End of the line.
47
Merlin didn’t reach for a weapon or plead.
He zipped open his trousers.
“Go ahead, Ernie,” he said with a shrug as he began to urinate onto the dark earth between two yellow flowers.
“What—what are you doing?”
“I don’t lie. Told you I had to take a leak, and I can’t wait any longer. Be finished in a couple of seconds, and then I can die comfortably.”
Baffled and incredulous, the doctor watched the stream fall and fall and fall. It didn’t make any sense at all for a man to do this as his last act.
“That’s better,” Merlin announced truthfully.
Then he zipped up his pants, took four steps to a neat patch of grass and sat down with a sigh. He puffed on the cigar again, looked up at the puzzled executioner.
“Okay, Ernie. Blow us up.”
Beller’s finger moved to the box, stopped.
“I can’t kill a man sitting down on the grass. That would be—well—wrong.”
“You sit down too. We can both go out in comfort. One big bang and so long, Diane. So long, Anna, too.”
Was this spy cunning—or insane?
“Who’s Diane?” Beller asked—and he sat down.
“Great woman. Not as great as she thinks, but goddam great. Used to be married to her. She’s waiting in New York, at your uncle’s place. Like a cigar?”
“What?”
“Take it. It’ll only be wasted when you blow us into dog meat. Enjoy your last two minutes, Ernie.”
It was irrational and childishly innocent.
“No, thanks,” Beller answered politely. There was something about this man he didn’t understand. “I’m going to detonate.”
“Course you are. Nothing can stop you. You’re one of the best killers in the business—and I ought to know. Same line of work, Ernie.”
Perfect smoke ring.
It smelled good, reminded him of the cigars Uncle Martin enjoyed after dinner.
“You’ve killed many?”
“More than you, Ernie—but not as cleverly. You’re a smart fellow. Must have been one helluva doctor.”
Merlin leaned back on the grass, yawned.
“Did you—like the killing?”
“No. Nice guys like you and me don’t enjoy that kind of thing. Only creeps do. You do it because you have to or because you’re angry, but—hell, you can’t talk about it. You never told Anna, I bet.”
Another smoke ring—almost perfect.
“How do you know about Anna?”
Merlin told him how they’d found his aunt, about his uncle’s terrible concern and how the postcard had led them to Freudenstadt, where they’d shown his photo around and finally found Anna.
“She said you were here, and I figured out—guessed, I suppose—that it had to be Hess. Pretty shrewd, huh?”
“Is Anna all right?”
“No. Worried. Worried sick about you, Ernie. Crying, the whole bit. Gonna miss you, Ernie. That’s love.”
“You’re pretty cynical, aren’t you?” Beller replied sharply.
“Yup, and not too thrilled about dying so young either. Damn shame. Two sweet guys like you and me—boom!”
He heard the buzz, looked skyward and computed.
Beller didn’t notice. He was remembering that he’d forgotten to mail the letter home, and he thought about the woman waiting in Freudenstadt—alone.
“You know, Ernie,” Merlin said with an odd half-smile, “I came here to save you. To stop you from killing any more, and I succeeded—in a funny way. After you blow us both up, you won’t kill anybody else.”
Beller’s mind was still on Anna. He didn’t answer.
“Ernie, tell me—as one pro to another—how did you figure out all these hits?”
“Medicine is my profession.” The pathologist sat up to explain, and went on to describe how he’d planned and carried out all the executions. As each minute ticked away, Merlin began to think that he might—with a great deal of luck—possibly survive.
“Ingenious,” Merlin complimented. “Bet you were one helluva doctor. Too bad… Say, what’s going to happen to Anna and your aunt and uncle?”
“She’ll be all right!”
That was it.
The emotion in his voice signaled that he cared deeply about the woman in Freudenstadt, and Merlin knew what had to be done.
“Hope so, Ernie. She’s all alone, you know. Your uncle’s getting better, and he’s got your aunt to look after him, but Anna’s got no one. No family, nobody to care—but you. Man, is she scared!”
Beller was breathing hard, clearly in pain.
“Full of shame about her goddam grandfather,” Merlin went on, “no parents or sisters, and she falls in love with a terrific guy—stranger-in-the-night routine—who’s everything she dreamed about. One week of magic, just like in the movies, and he takes off to kill some old politician who’s probably going to die in a couple of months anyway.”
“Please.”
“Then the idiot blows himself up. What a lousy ending.”
There was a long silence.
“I don’t like you, Merlin,” Beller whispered grimly.
“Or yourself—or you wouldn’t do this dumb number. Why don’t you think with your head instead of your guts, doctor?”
The buzz in the sky was a bit louder now.
Not much time.
Merlin had to make his move. He saw the tears welling in the doctor’s eyes, decided.
“Ernie—Ernie—stop it now—for Anna—you just can’t do this to her, Ernie. Please, it’s her only chance—and yours.”
Beller’s face showed his torment, and his love.
After nine or ten seconds that seemed like half an hour, he groaned and sighed and groaned again, and stood up from the g
rass. “Anna, Anna,” he agonized.
Merlin rose too, nodded. “Okay…Okay, Ernie—you’re doing the right thing, for Anna. Come on, let’s get you out of that damn harness.”
Beller hesitated and the noise grew still louder, and Merlin wondered whether to tell him. The troubled physician slowly struggled out of his officer’s tunic, reached for some catch to release the straps. His fingers brushed the black box. A clicking sound broke the silence.
“What’s that?”
“Time fuse. I’m afraid I tripped it,” the dazed avenger mumbled.
Merlin rushed forward to help him get free.
“How long? Ernie, how long?”
“Minute.”
“Shit!”
Merlin ripped and tore at the webbing, snapped the catches and glanced up once at the helicopter that was boring in fast. Goddam chopper—police or army—was swooping down fast, and the armed men aboard would try to pick off Beller in a few seconds. As Merlin finally jerked the last catch loose, he had a desperate idea. He grabbed the whole harness, swung it around his head and threw it as far as he could—in the direction of the charging helicopter.
The bomb hit the ground some fifty or sixty yards away, and Merlin knocked Beller to the earth just as it exploded with a tremendous blast. Great chunks of earth were hurled high in the air in a brown geyser, and the shock waves bobbled the chopper in midair. The helicopter veered away. Merlin could hear shouting, and when he stood up he wasn’t surprised to see Cavaliere and a squad of soldiers running toward him.
It had worked.
The long-shot scheme of diverting the airborne marksmen with the bomb had succeeded, at the last goddam second. Beaming as he brushed the clods of earth and dirt from his face and clothes, Merlin waved to the approaching men to signal that everything was all right. Then he reached down to help Dr. Beller to his feet.
“It’s over,” Merlin said victoriously.
He swept the earth and debris from Beller, put his arm around the blinking doctor’s shoulders reassuringly.
“Ernie, it’s time to go home.”
48
There was an argument when the special plane carrying Merlin and Cavaliere and Beller and the army psychiatrist arrived at Andrews Air Force Base near Washington. A typical Merlin argument. Everything had gone smoothly until then, with both the West German and U.S. authorities cooperating eagerly to get the killer of the Nazis out of the Federal Republic as quickly and quietly as possible to avoid political embarrassment. The argument arose when Lomas sent five armed CIA security men to Andrews with a straitjacket and an ambulance to take Ernest Beller.
