The Traitor Blitz

by Johannes Mario Simmel

  "Well, now," said Wolfgang Erkner, "let's not think about that yet!"

  "Oh, but we must," said Fraulein Louise. "I'm old and I'm not very well. I know it won't be long now and I'll be with you, my blessed friends. But you're right, let's not talk about it now. We have something important to do first, don't we?"

  "Yes," he said.

  "Do you want me to tell you the rest of what you said about the new order?" asked Fraulein Louise.

  "Please do," said Wolfgang Erkner. He was still looking at her kindly.

  "Well, then, that part in Revelation," said Fraulein Louise, "establishes for us the time when this universe will be replaced by a righteous heaven and a new and righteous earth. Have I got it right?"

  "You've got it right, Louise."

  "But this will not be at the end of the thousand years of Christ, after which all evil on earth and in heaven—" She stopped and laughed a helpless little laugh. "How does the rest go?"

  He looked at the book and said quickly. "'After all evil in heaven and on earth has been cast into the lake of fire.'"

  "That's it!" cried Fraulein Louise. "My memory's like a sieve 230

  these days." She burped and put her hand up to her mouth. "Excuse me, that was the frankfurters."

  "What frankfurters?"

  "I ate a couple on the platform, too fast. But I was hungry. Now they're making their presence felt. No... that isn't the time. The time is the beginning of the thousand years of Christ. And Revelation says it so beautifully." And the wind swept past the train racing through the night, and the air was filled with what sounded like a weeping and a wailing and a vast roaring.

  "Dreadful, all this noise, isn't it?" said Fraulein Louise. "That's what the poor souls in the nether regions surely sound like, because it must be dreadful down there."

  "In the nether regions?"

  "You understand me, don't you?" said Fraulein Louise.

  The man nodded.

  "That part in Revelation where it says there will be no more death—I never did understand it," said Fraulein Louise. "It sounds beautiful, but all of you, my dear friends, are dead and happy. In life you were unhappy. How will you be when there is no more death?"

  "It's too early to think about that," said the dark man.

  "Yes, of course. How stupid of me, Wolfgang!" said Fraulein Louise. "That time has yet to come, and it will bring many changes. For you, too."

  "It certainly will," said the dark man.

  "But long before that I'll be with you," said Fraulein Louise. "Not right away, though. I can't join you right away. I have something to attend to in Hamburg, don't I?"

  He nodded. The wind howled, the locomotive whistled, a long, piercing sound. Suddenly the train was hurtling through fog; waves of it swept like clouds past the window.

  "The man who murdered little Karel must be found," said Fraulein Louise. "And we must find Irina before something happens to her. Those are the important things, those are the only things that matter. Am I right?"

  "Absolutely," said the dark man. Suddenly he leaned forward and took off his glasses. "We have to have a talk, Fraulein Louise."

  "But we are having a talk."

  "We have to talk about other things. About you."

  "But you know all about me," said Fraulein Louise, suddenly uneasy.

  *T don't know everything yet, Louise. I have to know a lot more," said the dark man. "And you must know all about me. I am not a Jehovah's Witness, and the spirit of your dead friend does not rest in me."

  "No?" she cried, startled. "But—"

  "Wait," he said. "Nothing is going to happen to you. I shall look after you."

  Strangely calm suddenly, Fr&ulein Louise said, as if she could see into the future, "No. Nothing bad is going to happen to me through you. I believe that, too. With you everything will go well."

  He nodded. Then he said, "I must tell you what my profession is. I am a doctor."

  "A doctor?" cried Fraulein Louise.

  "A psychiatrist."

  "Oh, God!" cried Fraulein Louise, just as miserable suddenly as she had been full of hope a moment ago. "But the book? How did you get the book?"

  "It was lying on a bench in the station. I picked it up because I was interested in it."

  "And what are you doing on the train at this hour? Why aren't you at home in bed?"

  "I wish I were." He sighed. "But unfortunately I have to be in Hamburg as soon as possible."

  "Why?" Fraulein Louise was trembling. She had made a dreadful mistake. This was not one of her dead friends!

  "A patient escaped from our clinic last night," Wolfgang Erkner said. "She is very ill. Nobody knows how she managed to get away. The police in Hamburg are holding * woman who they think might be my patient. That's why I must get there fast, to identify her."

  "You—you are a psychiatrist?" stammered Fraulein Louise.

  "Yes, Louise," he said gently.

  "Don't call me Louise!" she cried angrily.

  "Whatever you like, Fraulein Gottschalk," he said. "I'm afraid you're not well."

  "I'm perfectly well."

  "And that's why we must talk about you now," said psychiatrist Dr. Wolfgang Erkner. He got up and stepped over to the door of the compartment to let down the blinds.

  A trap! thought Fraulein Louise, in despair. I walked into a 232

  trap, idiot that I ami If this doctor gets hold of me, he'll never let me go.

  Dr. Erkner drew down the first blind. His back was turned to Fr&ulein Louise.

  Just before I lost consciousness I saw Irina open the door on her side and jump out. I only found out later what happened after that.

  Irina saw a car coming down Eppendorf er Baum. She ran into the street and waved. Simultaneously, a man jumped out of the olive-green Buick parked behind my car—the friend of the so-called pharmacist who had pressed the wet cloth against my face. This man managed to catch Irina by her coat and began to drag her to his car. She struggled wildly. She kicked him in the shins and screamed, but the wind drowned out her cries. She managed to free one hand and scratched the man down one cheek. Blood spurted; the man cursed and struck Irina in the face. It knocked the breath out of her and she sank to her knees. He grabbed her under the arms and began to drag her to the car again. The man who had chloroformed me ran over to him and the two tried to get Irina into the Buick. They had almost succeeded when the car Irina had seen coming stopped beside the Buick, its tires screeching. A taxi. Two men jumped out—Bertie and the driver. The latter, an elderly man, had a jack handle in his hand. He went for the man who had chloroformed me, aimed at his head, but the jack handle came down on his neck. It worked. McCormick screamed with pain and fell on his knees, clutching his neck, then he collapsed on the ground. Bertie went for the second man, who was still struggling with Irina. He almost had her in the car when Bertie dragged him back by his coat collar and hit him as hard as he could below the chin.

  The man must have been a boxer. He shook himself like a wet dog and with a roar charged at Bertie. Bertie went down, and the two rolled over and over in the street. The boxer aimed at Bertie's

  face; Bertie, who wasn't exactly feeble, punched the man in the side. Irina screamed for help, but again her screams were swallowed up by the storm. Then she saw the jack handle, which the driver had dropped, and ran over to the man who called himself McCormick and who was just trying to get up. She hit him with the jack handle, and he went down again.

  At that moment I came to. The first thing I heard was Irina screaming, but I couldn't understand what she was saying. She ran over to me, and now I could understand. "I'm afraid! I'm afraid! They're going to kill us!"

  "No, they're not," I said, still feeling shaky. "Get into my car! Fast!"

  "But-"

  "Get into the car!" I yelled. She got into the front seat, sobbing. Slowly I was able to collect my thoughts. I leaned down, picked up the Colt, which had fallen on the floor of the car, and took a look at McCormick, lying in the street. He'd had it, at le
ast for a while, I decided, and ran over to Bertie and the other man. Bertie wasn't doing so well. He was lying on his back and McCormick's friend was punching him in the head. Bertie's bandage was dirty again. The taxi driver was trying to pull the man off Bertie, but the man turned and swung, hitting the driver in the stomach. After all, he was an older man. Courageous, but old. I stumbled over him to where Bertie was taking a beating, held the Colt against the other man's chest and shouted, "Get off him, or I'll shoot!" and with my free hand I struck him under the chin. He bit his lip and blood began to flow from his mouth.

  "Up!" I shouted. "On your feet!"

  He got up shakily and staggered back, directly into the arms of the driver, who had managed to get to his feet. The driver swung and struck the boxer under the chin. He was pretty strong after all, this old man. The boxer stumbled backwards, the old driver hit him again, the boxer slammed against the hood of the Buick and went down.

  The driver ran to his taxi. "What are you going to do?" I yelled.

  "Call the police! Over the radio!"

  "No!" I screamed. "No police! By the time they get here, the whole thing will have started all over again, and this time we may not be so lucky." The wind made it almost impossible for us to understand each other.

  "You don't think much of the police, do you?" he yelled.

  "No!"

  "All right, then. So what do you want to do?"

  "Get out of here! Fasti" At this point I didn't need the police, and after the way they'd treated Edith after Conny's accident, I didn't even trust them anymore.

  "Get out of here fast—sure I" yelled the driver. "But where to?"

  Bertie was scrambling to his feet, holding his head but grinning again. What a guy!

  "I'll drive behind you," cried the driver.

  "That isn't necessary!"

  "That's what you think. What if something like this happens again?"

  "He's right," said Bertie, standing beside me now. "Let him ride behind us. He's a good fellow. Got here just in time, didn't we? Just like a Western! Wild!" He waved to the driver and yelled, "Follow us!"

  The driver nodded and called back, "Take my jack handle with you!" It was lying beside my car.

  By now the lights were on in quite a few windows, and I could see the silhouettes of people looking out into the street. One window was open. I couldn't understand what the man in pajamas was shouting. The two so-called American tourists were stretched out on the street. Good! I picked up the jack handle, threw it under my seat, and got behind the wheel. Bertie got in on the other side, I started the car, revved the motor, made a crazy U-turn on screeching tires, and drove off with my foot all the way down on the gas pedal, back the way we had come. In the rearview mirror I could see the taxi's headlights. The old fellow could drive like a young one!

  Bertie told me that he had been delayed at the airport. At that time it always took hours to send anything, with only two men on duty at the checking office, and not a taxi to be had but the one that was following us. "He drove like a bat out of hell," said Bertie. "I told him I was in a hurry. I had a feeling you needed me." He clutched his head. "The bastard!" he said. "Hurts like hell. What happened, anyway?"

  Suddenly Irina began to tremble, her body shook. Delayed reaction. "They wanted to kidnap me!" she cried. "They wanted to kidnap me! What's going on here! What's—? I can't stand it!" she screamed. "I can't stand anymore! I have to know! I have to—" She grabbed the steering wheel, the car skidded.

  "Goddamn it!" I yelled. "Didn't I tell you—?"

  Bertie slapped Irina twice, hard. She was quiet at once, staring at him, speechless, but she had let go of the wheel, thank God. I had two wheels on the curb already.

  "I'm sorry," said Bertie. "But I had to. All right now?"

  She nodded and began to cry again, and I drove more slowly, south this time. She said, "I'm sorry. I really am. But I'm so confused. So utterly confused. What is going on?"

  "Well find out," I said. "Didn't you tell me at the camp that you trusted me?"

  "Yes."

  "Weil, do you?"

  Very softly, "Yes, Herr Roland."

  "Then everything's all right." I looked in the rearview mirror. "Your pal's keeping close behind us," I told Bertie.

  "Thank Godl I have the file on our gay friend Concon in his taxi." I began picking up speed again. The taxi stayed behind us. "It's quite a drama 1" said Bertie. "Not that I believe any of it, but whoever does will have a lot to think about."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "Your crazy Fraulein Louise and her dead friends." I had told him about my experience with the French antiques dealer, the Polish superintendant, and the Norwegian sailor. "All nonsense, isn't it?"

  I shrugged. "I ask myself that often. Not that I could believe in it. I don't believe in anything. But it's strange, no?"

  "What?" asked Irina.

  "The taxi driver," said Bertie.

  "What about him?"

  "Well," said Bertie, sounding almost embarrassed. "It's stupid to even mention it, considering... but his name is Ivanov. Vladimir Ivanov. That's what he told me. Came to Germany as a child, with his parents. Has been here ever since. In Hamburg. Speaks without an accent."

  "A Russian?" She sounded baffled.

  "Yes," said Bertie. "A Russian. They're all such good people, her dead. Isn't that what she said? Well, all I can say is, if that was her American and Norwegian friends back there deciding to stage a comeback, they're anything but good. But this is absolute nonsense! We're normal, Fraulein Louise is crazy, and the dead don't come back!"

  "Of course not," I said, and thought of my conversation with Hem. Irina said, "I wonder if the dead can be good only when

  they're dead and are bad again when they return to life?"

  "Irina!" I cried. "Now don't you start with it!"

  "I won't," she said. "I've just had too much whiskey and too much of a shock. And I'm so afraid. That's why I'm talking such nonsense."

  "We've got to keep our heads clear," said Bertie. "One crazy person in the story is enough. Give me your flask, Walter. Damn it, it feels like he made mincemeat of my face."

  "You did all right by him, too," I said.

  "Yes," said Bertie, smiling like an angel. "I gave him a few he'll remember."

  We had reached the Metropole. I stopped in front of the entrance. The taxi with the Russian driver stopped behind us. A bellboy I knew came out of the hotel. We shook hands. He took care of our luggage and my suits, and our Russian, Vladimir Ivanov, helped him.

  Ivanov had a very decent face and he looked friendly. I thanked him and paid him a lot more than he had coming to him. He protested at first, but then of course he took it. He gave me a card with his name and telephone number. "That's the central office," he said. "I'm going home to sleep for a few hours. If you need a taxi tomorrow—I mean today—then, please ask for me. I'll take you anywhere you want to go. You can depend on me."

  "I've noticed that," I said.

  "And business isn't good right now," he said. "You'll think of me, gentlemen, won't you?"

  Why not? I thought, and said, "We will."

  Nothing could possibly have offered a greater contrast than my suite in the Metropole Hotel and Fraulein Louise's barracks, where I had seen Irina for the first time. The latter had represented all the poverty of the Bundesrepublik, my suite in the Metropole all its wealth. Every window looked out on the park. You entered the salon through an antechamber, and a padded door led from salon to bedroom. Dark blue tiles,

  baseboard heating, two tubs, and two large washbasins in the bathroom; in bedroom and salon, dark blue silk wall-covering with a lily pattern, blue wall-to-wall carpeting with scatter rugs, stylized furniture, decorative plasterwork ceilings, thick blue velvet drapes. The bed was very large, like the French double beds, the frame cream and gold. Crystal chandeliers in both rooms. Floor lamps with indirect lighting, sconces on the walls. In the salon, old prints of Hamburg; in the bedroom, reproductions of B
oucher.

  Irina stood in the middle of the room in her simple cloth coat and looked at the splendor around her. "I've never stayed in a hotel like this in my life," she said. "I suppose you have. Always."

  "Yes," I said, "since there's nothing better." There was a knock on the door—the bellboy with my luggage and suits, my attache case and typewriter, and he got much too big a tip, as usual.

  'Thank you, Herr Roland. Your car's in the garage."

  "Good," I said. It was high time the Lamborghini disappeared. "Do you think I can rent a car?"

  "Of course, Herr Roland. We have twenty-four hour service in the garage." He smiled and withdrew. Right after him came a waiter, alert, immaculate, and courteous. All this at3:25 a.m.! He brought a small silver ice bucket, two glasses, soda, and a bottle of Chivas. "Your bottle, Herr Roland. Herr Heintze notified me at once that you were here."

  "Thank you," I said, and the waiter got much too large a tip.

  He was followed by a bellboy with toothbrush, toothpaste, nail brush, mouthwash, and a jar of cold cream, all wrapped in cellophane. "With Herr Heintze's compliments. Have a good night, sir."

  "Just a minute." I caught up with him at the door. Tip. "Thank you very much, Herr Roland."

  But the largest tip had gone to Herr Heintze, the night clerk. He had been alone. Nobody was manning the reception desk at this time of night, and only two bellboys were on duty. I knew all the bell captains and boys here, the day and night shift, knew them by name. This was important. Everybody likes to be remembered by name. I knew the names of dozens of bellboys and captains all over the world. Heintze had assembled the toothpaste and other toilet articles from the hotel stock. Irina had nothing with her but what she was wearing. I must go and shop for her in the morning, I thought, as soon as the stores open.

  Heintze was a pale man, with bags under his eyes. He grinned

  from ear to ear when he saw me come in. I always wonder if these fellows are really pleased to see certain guests, apart from the tips. I think so. They have to deal with so many obnoxious people, they're glad to see someone come in whom they like.