The Traitor Blitz

by Johannes Mario Simmel

  Angela Flanders was afraid the women might start fighting, and she pounded on the table with her fist. "Ladies! Please!" Whereupon a young woman from personnel, began to cry bitterly. "What is it? What's the matter?" stammered Flanders. "Why are you crying, Frau—"

  "Westphal," sobbed the weeping young woman.

  "Frau Westphal"

  "Fraulein!"

  "What's the matter, Fraulein Westphal?"

  Still weeping, the woman stammered, "I—I can't stand any more of this. Please, may I be excused from future meetings?"

  "But, why?"

  "What's the matter with you?"

  "These meetings are terribly interesting."

  Reincke asked, "Have you ever had sex with a man?"

  "With a man?" sobbed Westphal. "With many men! But never felt a thing. And they were all ages. But I've never had an i organism."

  "She means Orgasm,'" Reincke explained benevolently, and i turned to Angela Flanders. "And that's to go in, too," she said i energetically.

  "What's to go in, too?"

  "Emotional trauma," said Reincke. She turned to the young ;j woman from personnel. "Were you ever raped?"

  "Yes," sobbed Westphal. "Brutally."

  Reincke was triumphant. "You see? What did I tell you? Emotional trauma. That's got to go in. That's—"

  "I've made a note of it," said Angela Flanders.

  "A Russian?" asked Reincke, herself filled with dire memories.

  "No... Ami."

  "That's funny."

  One of the switchboard operators raised her hand. "Yes?" said Angela Flanders.

  "I've been wanting to draw your attention to this for some time, and in this last article I see that there are again a few sentences that could make you laugh. I'm saying this because last Sunday my husband was reading Herr Roland's article, and he laughed so hard that he didn't have an erection that night, and 140

  that was what the article was all about! And after I'd told him, This one you've got to read!'"

  Now everybody was talking at once. Everybody agreed that the articles had to be absolutely serious. "Please take care of it, Frau Flanders. And there are a few places in this article that could be held up to ridicule."

  A young lady from bookkeeping: "My husband read the article about the erection and he didn't laugh. It had quite the opposite effect on him/'

  A packer asked suspiciously, "How long have you been married?"

  "Six months."

  Ribald laughter.

  Another packer: "Wait till you've been married eighteen years! After eighteen years... Jeesus!"

  Reincke said with emphasis, "So there you are, just as I said. The whole series had got to be turned around. We women must know what makes the men horny. More about what the men need, or Herr Roland's just casting pearls before the swine!"

  1Q

  By the time we arrived at Eppendorfer Baum the storm had assumed hurricane proportions. It almost threw Irina as she got out of the car. I had to hold her. She hooked her arm in mine and clung to me. I could see she was afraid, which wasn't surprising after what had happened twenty minutes before. The storm had blown away all the sawdust on the pavement and somebody had forgotten to wash away the blood.

  Poor Conny. I hoped he'd pull through. The hospital hadn't called Edith while we were there and we had finally left her in her despair, with Conny's whiskey. I hoped she'd get drunk; it would soften the blow if something more were to happen to Conny, or anything else. I was expecting more disasters.

  Irina and I leaned into the wind and fought our way to number 187. We were the only people on the street. My watch read 1:55. To the right of the front door I could see the window display and

  entrance to the antique shop, mainly pieces from the Far Ea beautiful pieces. The window was lit up. Andr6 Garnoi, Antiques, was printed on the glass door in gold lettering. To the left of the door there was a boutique, but that window was dark and I couldn't see a sign with the name of the owner, only a button with a small plate above it: Stanislav Kubinsky, Superintendent.

  I rang. I waited. I rang again. Nothing stirred.

  "They're asleep already," said Irina. She was very excited.

  I rang again. This time I didn't take my finger off the bell. My other hand was in the pocket of my coat, holding onto ai twenty-mark bill. It touched something cold. Conny's Colt .45.1 had taken it away from Edith to prevent her doing anything stupid with it and because at that point I wanted a weapon. It was loaded.

  We had managed to calm poor Edith down, to some extent. We had called the hospital, and a doctor on night duty had told us I Conny's condition was fair, but it was still too early to say anything definite. It could be hours before that would be possible. Edith promised to let nobody in except us, and to stay home until we got back unless the hospital called her, in which case she should be sure to call back to find out if it had really been i the hospital. Then we had gone off—Irina, Bertie, and 1.1 had driven directly to the main station, where people were still 1 hurrying to their trains and a few drunks were sleeping on benches. There I went to the telephone booth from which you i could dial Frankfurt. I had changed a lot of one-mark pieces at a ticket counter. Bertie and Irina waited outside in the car. Irina had protested. When were we going to drive to Eppendorfer Baum and Jan Bilka? But I had to talk to Hem, and after what had happened to Conny, I didn't feel that his phone was safe, nor his teletype.

  It was hot in the booth. After getting out of the car I had unlocked the trunk and taken one of the three bottles of Chivas I always took with me, and filled my flask. Now, after dialing Hem's number, I took a couple of swigs. The booth smelled of perfume and urine. I got very hot, but I didn't get around to opening the door because just then Hem answered. He hadn't gone to bed yet, he was wide awake. I told him everything that had happened. Now Hem was caught.

  "Boy, Walter, if this keeps up we have the story!"

  "That's what I think." 142

  The smell of urine was stronger than the perfume. I took another swallow because the smell was making me feel sick.

  **I called the night editor right away, and the photo editor, and I talked to Lester and Herford. I'm sure we can fill three pages, at least three, with advance publicity and photos. You have the releases?"

  "Of course." My voice rose. "And when we're ready to go, I write the story under my namel"

  "Of course, Walter. Don't yell."

  "I'm excited. This is the first story in years that I've got to write under my own name. I'm not letting anyone else have it!"

  "Nobody else is going to get it, I promise you. So shut up! We can set up the three, perhaps four pages by noon, but we'll need Bertie's photos as soon as possible."

  *TU send him right off to Fuhlsbiittel; then the first plane can take the films. You ? U have them in Frankfurt by eight."

  "Good. Tell Bertie to address them to us, general delivery, Frankfurt airport. We'll send a messenger. That'll be faster. We'll need a short opening by you—one page should do it—and the captions for the photos. By ten."

  "You'll have them."

  "And you'll call me again if anything new comes up. I'll have the phone by my bed. And, Walter—"

  "Yes?"

  "Don't let the girl get away."

  "I'm seeing to that."

  "Where are you going to spend the night?"

  "I think I'll go to the Metropole." It was Hamburg's most luxurious hotel. I always stayed there.

  "Call me when you get there."

  "Yes, Hem."

  "Have Bertie get the files on Karl Concon to you. They must have arrived in Fuhlsbiittel a while ago."

  "I'll tell him."

  "Where are you off to now?"

  "Michelsen. The girl wants to get to her fiance. She's pretty frantic."

  "Then drive there. But don't leave her there, not under any circumstances."

  "Hm."

  "What do you mean, hm?"

  "How am I supposed to do that, Hem? If he's really her f ianc6

/>   and wants her to stay with him and she doesn't want to leave him—"

  "Rot!" said Hem. "The girl's the key. I can feel it, the key to everything. We must not lose her."

  "But how—?"

  "You threaten her with the police. If worse comes to worst, you tell her you'll notify the police as to her whereabouts and she'll be sent back to the camp."

  "That might do it."

  "Of course it'll do it. Bilka will be sensible and let her go. He can see her anytime he likes. Do you have her release?"

  "Not yet."

  "Damn it—why not?"

  "Because I haven't had a chance, damn it! The girl's a nervous wreck!"

  "Don't shout!"

  "You're shouting, too."

  "Because I'm so excited."

  "So what about me? The first story in years, the first story I can put my name under without feeling ashamed!"

  "Yes, yes. But first have your story! Now listen to me, Walter. This is very important. Bertie surely knows a few VIPs at police headquarters in Hamburg."

  "Sure. Why?"

  "As soon as you've taken the girl to the hotel, one of you goes to headquarters and tells the whole story. That you're there with the girl and where you are and why..."

  "But that's-"

  "That's what? Crazy? It would be crazy if you didn't do it. They're looking for you ever since the girl disappeared. Do you want to wait till they nab all three of you?"

  "No, of course not."

  "So there you are. I think it would be best if you went to whatever man Bertie tells you to contact. He should call him first."

  "And if the guy isn't there?"

  "Idiot! Bertie asks to speak to him. Says it's important. Big thing! Which it is. He gets the man's private number, calls him, tells him everything. So you get a friendly reception at headquarters. You show your identification. You tell him you'll be responsible—no, you tell him that Blitz is willing to take the responsibility for the girl. You have power of attorney. They can 144

  call the house anytime to verify. If they want security, we'll wire the money. You pay it if you have enough. But this has to be settled or you'll mess up everything. We need the police on our side. If you go on driving around in that car of yours, they'll get you anyway."

  That was right. "That's something I hadn't thought of."

  "So," said Hem. "And now something equally important. Do you have enough change?"

  "Why?"

  "I've been thinking about what you told me, and I want you to go at this assignment with a certain approach. In order to explain what I mean, I need time. So?"

  "I have about twenty coins left."

  "Good. Now... the main character in this story, as far as I'm concerned, is Fraulein Louise."

  "Well, now—"

  "Let me go on!" Hem sounded quite fierce. I'd never heard him talk so sharply. But immediately he was calm again. "FrSulein Louise. Schizophrenic, no?"

  "Yes. A mental case. A woman with a sick brain."

  "Aha!" said Hem. "With a sick brain. And what do you depend on in your work, Walter? On your brain. Or am I wrong?"

  "I depend on what I see and hear, and on my instinct."

  Hem said, "Instinct, seeing, hearing—it all hangs together with the brain, wouldn't you say? All the impressions you get."

  "What are you driving at?" I asked. "Of course it all hangs together with—"

  "The brain. Yes," said Hem. "And now you're in for a surprise. I'm going to tell you a few things I'm sure you never expected to hear from me. But it's my opinion, since I've done some reading on the subject, and I'd like you to share it with me on this particular assignment. You see, our brain isn't simply a switch for our responses and reactions."

  "Well, well," I said.

  "Well, it isn't. Ask an expert. The brain is something quite different. It's a highly intricately constructed calculator. All this talk about the electronic brain has to be taken seriously."

  "Aha! You mean the brain is a computer. That old story."

  "Yes. That old story," he said. "Don't forget to throw in a coin." I did so.

  Meanwhile, a drama was developing in front of my booth. A little man, conventionally dressed, definitely middle class, came

  from the direction of the stairs that led from the trains with a pretty, much younger woman, flashily dressed, on his arm. The woman's hair was black, obviously dyed, and she was wearing a mink coat. She had a coarse, exciting face. The man seemed to be crazy about her. They had just stopped to kiss—she had to bend down to him—when another woman, a faded blond, plump, wearing a cloth coat, came storming out of the booth next to mine, rushed up to the pair, and tore them apart. She yelled so loudly I could hear her in my booth with the door closed:

  "So I've caught you at last, you louse! Not going to get back from Munich until tomorrow morning, is that so?"

  "Magda, please!" cried the little man, looking scared to death as he stepped back.

  "I've been on your trail long enough, you bastard!" screamed Magda. "And now I've got you. And your whore!"

  "What did you say?" cried the woman in mink.

  "Whore! That's what I said," cried Magda. "A filthy, miserable whore who carries on with a married man!"

  A few people stopped, amused. "What's going on out there?" asked Hem.

  'Two women fighting over a man. Marital tragedy. Go on, Hem."

  "A computer, Walter, just as you said. And that's what you've got to keep in mind all the time as you go after this story. In this case, it's terribly important."

  "So what about the computer?" I asked. "Especially since in the case of our schizophrenic friend it seems to have broken down."

  The people standing around the two women were laughing and applauding, directly in front of my booth now. The little man tried to get between the two women, but they shoved him aside. "You keep out of it, you fink!" cried his wife.

  "That's what I want to explain to you," said Hem. "And don't be in such a rush to say the computer's broken down. We still can only barely imagine what the brain really is, it's that intricately constructed. You can't cease to be astounded when you read what we know about it, Walter."

  "Say that again, you old bag! Just you dare say that again!" cried the woman in mink, and the blond went for her screaming, "Bitch! Bitch!" and grabbed the woman in mink by her black hair. The little man stood on one side, looking absolutely miserable.

  "And therefore it's not surprising," said Hem, "that people are constantly talking and writing about the miracle of the human brain."

  "You say miracle' so contemptuously," I said. Another coin.

  "I know."

  "Why?"

  "I'm just getting around to that. So... in the cerebrum and cerebellum, we have, roughly speaking, ten billion nerve cells, three times as many as there are human beings on this earth, and a thousand times the storage elements of a giant computer, and all this in our little skulls, connected a million times over—"

  The woman in mink punched Magda in the chest; Magda reeled back, her hands still gripping her rival's black hair. As she was thrown back, she took the hair with her. The woman in mink had been wearing a wig. Now her oily brown hair was exposed. Applause from the gallery!

  As the woman in mink burst into tears, the wife triumphed, not exactly elegantly. "So that's what you look like, you whore!"

  "In the optic nerve alone a million nerve fibers conduct the impulses to the optic center." Hem's voice. "Things must be really jolly outside your booth."

  "I'll say they are!"

  With a wild whoop, the whore charged and Magda went down. The two women rolled over and over on the dirty floor. The little man jumped up and down helplessly and wrung his hands.

  "They're beating each other up," I said.

  Hem said, "Billions of cells connected directly or indirectly by billions of nerve fibers. If you want to compare this with a computer, then we would have a skyscraper on the top of our necks instead of a head. But no—in our case a brain, we
ighing two and a half pounds, does it all. And that's a miracle, right? Makes a terrific impression on you, doesn't it? Makes you believe in God, no?"

  "Yes."

  The women had fought their way, kicking and screaming, to my booth. Magda's nose was bleeding—the whore was the stronger one. She rose, knelt beside her victim, and began punching her face. Magda yelled for help, her pitiful little husband did, too. The black wig lay in the dust. I threw another coin into the slot.

  Hem said, "And now pay attention! This miracle of a brain,

  the greatest miracle on earth—there you have my article of faith—is nothing more than a ridiculous little nothing when compared with the infinite cosmos and the idea of infinity, which none of us can grasp."

  "What?"

  The whore was punching Magda in the mouth. A few people shouted for the police. The husband was weeping.

  "A ridiculous nothing—yes. And ridiculously simple when compared with infinity and the endlessness of the space in which we live, on one star among millions of stars! If you try drawing this comparison, you'll soon have to admit that this miracle, this brain of ours, explains pitifully little about any of these incomprehensible aspects of the universe and creation—in fact, can't grasp them at all!"

  Two policemen came running. They tried to separate the two women, at first taking plenty of abuse themselves. The little man was screaming, "Magda... Lilo! Lilo... Magda! Stop! Please stop!"

  "And why should ours, of all the planets, be the one with the most highly developed living creatures? Ha? Who says so? Wouldn't you say this was the crassest arrogance? Try to imagine any star in the Milky Way, and imagine sensible creatures on it that have brains that would make ours look primitive. The people on that star, or on any other star, may possibly have brains with a grasp so broad that they can see and anticipate and relive things of which we have no idea whatsoever, which we can't even visualize! Can you follow me?"

  "Yes," I said, and threw in another coin.

  One of the policemen had separated the two women. They were still fighting each other, but now only verbally. "Why are you telling me all this in the middle of the night?"

  "You'll see in a minute," said Hem. "I can imagine creatures somewhere out in infinite space, with brains in which our earthly conceptions of time, I mean now the chronological passage of time—the it-was, it-will-be—don't exist! These creatures experience all creation at the same time! With them, Homer can exist beside 1 Iitler, Ikhnaton beside Einstein. And those who died long ago are still alive, together with those not yet born. These people have an outlook we can never have. They can see the interrelationship of all things—they can see the past, the future, and the present, all at the same time! Thus they can detach themselves from our rationalism and materialism!" 148