The Traitor Blitz

by Johannes Mario Simmel

  All the lights were on in the lobby. Cleaning women were on the job, working quietly. Even their vacuums didn't seem to make the usual noise. I told Heintze I needed a suite, as high up as possible, and a single for Bertie.

  "We have two conventions, Hen* Roland, but 111 fix you up, of course, as usual." As usual.

  I had stayed here with all kinds of girls. It sufficed if I signed the registration form and simply added "with wife." That's what I did now. Heintze didn't move a muscle. He was very polite to Irina, who was terribly embarrassed. He also pretended not to notice that our clothes were dirty from the street fight. I never had to fill out the form. Heintze, or whatever night clerk was on duty, did that, when I turned up in the early morning hours like this. In the daytime the clerk at reception took care of it. They had all the necessary information. I told Heintze a story of how Irina's luggage had been put on the wrong plane, and he said he'd have everything she needed for the night sent up. We were given Suite 423.

  Bertie was given a room on the floor above us; that was the best Heintze could do. He left the desk and came up in the elevator with us and took Irina and me to our suite, where he turned on the lights and checked to see that everything was in order. When he left us, he got his tip. If he got that much from every guest, he'd soon be able to open his own Metropole.

  Irina stood in the middle of the salon and looked at the furniture and the prints, and was embarrassed. And dead tired. She could hardly keep her eyes open. I went over to the table with the silver tray, whiskey, and ice bucket on it and opened the botde of Chivas. I fixed us two stiff drinks and handed Irina her glass. "No, thank you," she said.

  "Come on," I told her. "Drink! You'll sleep better."

  "I don't want to."

  "You've got to!" I made her take the glass. "Please!"

  So we both drank, Irina watching me nervously. "I must know where Jan is. I must know who this woman is," she said. "I must—"

  "Yes, yes," I said. "We've got to know, too, and we'll find out. But alone. You stay here. It's too dangerous for you."

  "Dangerous?"

  "Don't you realize what they wanted to do to you? You did a while ago."

  "So you really think they wanted to kidnap me."

  "What else?" I said, and lit a cigarette.

  "But why, Hen Roland? Why?" she cried wildly, and I wondered if I shouldn't slap her, as Bertie had done, because she seemed constantly on the verge of hysteria. I hoped the whiskey would calm her down or knock her out. With what lay ahead for Bertie and me, we didn't need Irina. I was thankful to have her settled here, in the Metropole, where I thought she'd be safe.

  "Why, Herr Roland?" Now she was whispering. She was so drunk with sleep that she was swaying.

  "Give me time," I said. "A few hours, and I'll be able to tell you."

  This startled her. "You're not going to leave me?"

  "I have to."

  "Where are you going?"

  "I don't know yet. We have to find this Concon fellow. When we have him, we'll know why he was going to kidnap you. But we mustn't lose any more time. We've been held up long enough already."

  "And I'm to stay here alone?"

  "Yes. When I leave, I'll lock you in, and I'll tell the clerk he's to let no one have the key but me. If anyone knocks, you won't hear. I'll close the door to the salon. But you'll hear the telephone beside your bed. I can't have it disconnected because I may want to call you. You talk only if you recognize my voice. Or Herr Engelhardt's. You understand?"

  "Yes."

  "Otherwise you just hang up."

  "But why?"

  "Because your life is in danger," I said bluntly. "Haven't you grasped that yet?"

  She was trembling. She emptied her glass and held it out for more. She was beautiful, very beautiful. I refilled her glass and said, "I want to know if you realize the position you're in."

  "Yes," she said. "I do. But why—?"

  "No more questions," I said. "I don't have the time. Off to bed with you."

  I went into the bedroom where the boy had put my bags on luggage racks, opened one, and took out a dark blue pair of

  pajamas. "Here," I said. "Put them on. In the morning well buy you some things." Her face turned red. "What now?" I asked.

  She pointed to the bed. "When you get back—I mean, you've got to sleep somewhere, and—"

  "That's all right," I said, and took the pillows from one side of the bed, and a blanket, walked back into the salon and flung them on the couch. "You sleep in the bed, I sleep here."

  I got a second pair of pajamas out of the suitcase for myself, and my toilet kit. "You don't have to worry. I'm not going to make a pass at your pure, democratic little soul," and I marched off into the bathroom and arranged my things. "I don't know when I'll be back. I usually go to the bathroom once in the night. You'll have to excuse me. I've done it for years. I'll be very quiet and make no attempt to rape you."

  "You're good to me," said Irina.

  "Yes, I am."

  "When I think ... a few hours ago I was in that dreary camp and now... in this luxurious hotel..."

  "Yes."

  "It's like a wild dream!"

  "Yes," I said again, and thought that all this was anything but a dream, and was going to get a lot wilder. I also thought that I'd have liked very much to sleep with Irina, as 1 had with all the other girls I had brought to the hotel. But then I decided that actually I didn't want to, and that was a very peculiar realization. I couldn't understand myself. With this girl things were quite different, for the first time in my life, and it infuriated me.

  "Come on!" I said harshly. "Into bed with you. I have work to do."

  She looked at me, starded; then she shook her head, mumbled something in Czech, walked hesitantly into the bedroom, and closed the door.

  I poured myself another drink, a strong one, sat down next to the ivory-colored phone that stood on a pretty low table and called Conny Manners's number. "Yes, sir," said the girl, and I could hear her dialing. The phone rang three times, then I could hear the receiver being picked up at the other end. But no voice answered. All I could hear was breathing.

  "Edith? This is Walter Roland," I said. "If you aren't sure it's my voice, I'll understand if you don't answer."

  "I recognize your voice," said Edith. She had apparently been drinking since we left and was pretty far gone—that was evident

  by her slurred speech—but she was still reacting all right.

  "Where are you staying, Walter?"

  "Where I always stay when I'm in Hamburg," I said. I didn't trust the connection in Conny's apartment.

  "Oh—I see—in—I understand."

  "Did the hospital call you?"

  "Yes."

  "And?"

  "I was to go there right away. Conny's condition was much worse. It was a man speaking. I called the hospital back and asked if they'd called me." A sob. "They said no. Certainly not. Conny's condition was unchanged. I wouldn't be hearing from them until later in the morning. Walter! Who was trying to get me out of the apartment?"

  "No idea," I said, and drank. "But you see what a good thing it was that I told you to call the hospital back."

  "Yes. Why didn't you call before? You said—"

  "I know. But there wasn't a chance until now. I'm sorry. Did anyone else call?"

  "Yes. A man. A stranger. He must have been holding something over the receiver, because his voice sounded muffled."

  "What did he say?"

  No answer. She was sobbing again.

  "Edith!"

  "He—he said that Conny would die, even if he survived the operation, that he'd—he'd die if he said one word—" To whom?

  "To me. The voice said I should tell him that at once, the minute I see him. One word and the next day he's dead."

  "Did the voice put it like that?"

  "Just as I've said."

  "Tell me exactly what the voice said."

  "'One word, and he won't live to see the next day. We ca
n get him in the hospital, too.'"

  "'We'? Not T?"

  "No! We, we, wet"

  "Edith!"

  "I'm sorry, Walter, but I'm going crazy with fear. You must understand that!"

  "I do, I do. But nothing's going to happen to you or Conny," I

  said, and thought: I hope

  "Who was this man, Walter?"

  'Til find out. Give me time. Now stop drinking and try to catch some sleep"

  "I can't sleep!"

  We argued a while longer, then I gave up. I lit another cigarette and made another call, Hem's private number in Frankfurt. He answered right away.

  "So, what's new, Walter?"

  I told him everything. He didn't interrupt once. In the end he said, "This is going to be a big thing. I knew it. Herf ord is ready to give you three or four pages, but I need the advance material by ten."

  "Yes, Hem."

  "What about this fellow Concon?"

  "I don't know anything yet. We're going over there now."

  "Nothing's to happen to the girl, Walter! That's more important than anything else. Where is she?"

  "In bed. I've locked her in. I can depend on the people in the hotel."

  "Good. You'll call me as soon as you can, and at once if anything new turns up. I won't be asleep. I'm much too worked up.

  "Not any more than I am. What are you doing for it? Smoking your pipe?"

  "Yes. And listening to records."

  "Rahmers?"

  "Of course."

  "Which one?"

  "The Deluge'," said Hem. "And I've been thinking."

  "What?"

  "How this thing's going to develop. How will it end?"

  "And what do you think? Will it be a happy ending?"

  Instead of answering, he said, "Good luck, Walter," and hung up. Far, far away—but he had the unfortunate habit of coming close suddenly—I could sense my jackal, so I drained my glass and got up because I wanted to go to the bathroom. And I wanted to see if Irina was asleep yet.

  She wasn't asleep. The bedroom was empty, the lights were on in the bathroom, and I could see Irina. Her back was turned to me. She was standing in front of the washbowl, brushing her teeth, and she was naked.

  She must have seen me in the mirror over the washbowl,

  because she turned around, a horrified look on her face, glass and toothbrush in her hands, a ring of toothpaste around her lips. She had beautiful, firm breasts, with brown nipples and large areolae, very narrow hips, long legs, a little rounded stomach, as all beautiful women have, and below it the dark triangle of her pubic hair.

  The blood rushed to my head. I had never seen such a beautifully proportioned girl. I forgot completely what! had to do, what had happened, and what still had to happen. I wanted Irina. Right now. At once. I couldn't think of anything else. I walked over to her. She saw me coming, apparently unable to move, panic in her eyes. I didn't care. I wanted this girl. I had to have her. Her skin was clear and white, her nipples were raised. I could feel the blood pulsating wildly in my temples. With every step I came closer. In my thoughts I already had her under me, was inside her—

  Irina dropped the glass. It broke into pieces on the tiled floor. The toothbrush fell next. She stood there, motionless, making no effort to cover herself. Now I was beside her, and I touched her shoulders. My hands glided lower, and still she was staring at me, wide-eyed, the ring of toothpaste around her lips—

  It was the eyes that did it. Those sad, dark eyes told me what a bastard I'd be if I did it. Only the eyes. I couldn't do it.

  I picked up the pajamas I had given her to wear—they were lying on a terrycloth stool—and I thought that I had never behaved like this before, never in my whole life, and I said, "I'm sorry," and then, "Let me help you." And I helped Irina put on my pajamas, which were much too big for her. We folded back the hems of the sleeves and pants, but she still looked slightly ridiculous. Only I didn't find her ridiculous. She never stopped looking at me while this was going on. I wiped the toothpaste from her mouth. "And now off to bed with you," I said. "Be careful of the glass. Wait a minute," and I picked her up and carried her into the bedroom, and put her down on the bed, and covered her. "Good night," I said- And she was still staring at me.

  I walked toward the door that led to the salon. When my hands was on the knob, she spoke, so softly I could scarcely understand. "Herr Roland?"

  I turned around. "Yes?"

  "Come?" she whispered.

  I walked over to the bed slowly, hesitantly, and stopped. She made a sign to me to bend down, and I did. And she kissed me

  lightly on the lips and said, "Thank you." And suddenly I couldn't stand the sight of those eyes any longer—such innocence, such honesty and helplessness.

  I left the bedroom fast. In the salon I refilled my flask, took my pad and recorder, and left our suite. I double-locked the door.

  When I walked into Bertie's room on the fifth floor, he was on the phone. I nodded and walked through the room to the bathroom. As I passed Bertie's bed, I could see the clippings about Karl Concon from the Blitz archives spread out on it. In the bathroom I washed up a litde and brushed the dirt off my coat. Then I went back to Bertie. He was still on the phone. He wasn't talking, but I got the impression that he wasn't listening, either.

  "Who is it?" I asked.

  "Motor Vehicle Bureau," he said, smiling. He didn't seem in the least tired.

  "Is anybody there? At this hour?" I asked, surprised.

  "One man. For emergencies. But I know him. He won five hundred marks off me once at poker, and since then he's felt guilty. My luck that he's on duty tonight. Of course he has no business looking it up for me, but he's doing it. You've got to have friends."

  "Of course you let him win."

  "Sure," said Bertie. "You can never have too many friends."

  "What about headquarters? Did you reach them yet? Hem said we must report to them as soon as possible, remember?"

  "What do you think I've been doing all this time? Talking to headquarters. I know the head of the Missing Persons Bureau. I suppose he's the right one to see."

  "Yes."

  "His name is Hering. He's in Paris right now, at an Interpol conference, will be back early this morning. A man called Nikel is substituting for him. I know him, too, but not so well. I woke him up. He told me his boss was on a night train, on his way back

  to Hamburg. I told him it was important. No fooling. Fire under his ass. So he gave us an appointment. Eleven o'clock. At headquarters. With Hering."

  "How did you get that out of him?"

  "Told him it had to do with what happened at the Youth Camp in Neurode," said Bertie, still listening, "and suddenly he was wide awake. We seem to have raised a hornet's nest there. Nikel wanted to know what's up. I didn't say. Told myself, that's for Hering. Nikel was so befuddled, he forgot to ask where I was phoning from. So ... at eleven—"He grinned. "Did you put the little one to beddy-bye?"

  "Shut up!" I said, suddenly furious. But you couldn't shame Bertie. "As if I didn't know it all along," he said, smiling sweetly.

  "Know what?"

  "That you've taken a fancy to the young lady. Things like that don't escape Bertie, super-psychologist. But psychologist Bertie also told you that the young lady loves her fianc6, even if the fianc6 has a second young lady, at least so I hear. Women are funny. With her you'll get your comeuppance, lover boy. When a girl like that loves, the guy can do whatever he likes, and she goes right on loving him." He stopped, because his friend at the other end of the line had come back. "Yes, of course I'm still here. Were you able to find it y Steffens?" He nodded at me, beaming. "Yes? Great! Wonderful! And who does the car belong to?" He listened, still smiling, but now he was rubbing his chin nervously. "Hm," he said finally. "You're sure? You mean the car is licensed to—?" I went over and stood beside him. "Well, all right, then. If that's what it says, it must be right. Thanks a lot, Steffens. What?...No, I don't know yet how long I'll be staying in Hamburg. If
I have a minute, I'll come by— Oh, I see... you have two days off. Well, then we may be able to fit in a game— Don't be silly. You didn't rob me! You just play poker better than I do. And many thanks again." He hung up and went on scratching his chin and smiling.

  "Well," I said. "Maybe you'd like to tell me—"

  "That's really funny...,"

  "What is?"

  "Damn funny!" said Bertie. "The van that took Michelsen and Bilka and his fiancee—fianc6e number two— is licensed to the Municipal Cemetery. It wasn't stolen. The Municipal Cemetery?"

  Dr. Wolfgang Erkner, psychiatrist, walked over to the door of the compartment to let down the blinds. A trap, thought Fraulein Louise! I've fallen into a trap. If this doctor ever gets hold of me, he'll never let me go. And I've got to go! IVe got to!

  Just as Dr. Erkner was pulling down the second blind, Fraulein Louise let out a piercing scream, as if she were in great pain. Dr. Erkner turned, startled. Fraulein Louise had put everything back in her bag, now she charged forward and collided head-on with Dr. Erkner, knocking him down onto one of the seats. Then she slid open the door, rushed out into the corridor, and ran as fast as she could to a compartment at the end. Softly, cautiously, she opened the door, slipped in, and closed it again. The compartment was dark. In the ghostly light from the one dim lamp she could see three people, all asleep. One was snoring softly. Now she could hear steps in the corridor, coming closer, closer... and going past. The doctor, she thought. He's looking for me. What shall I do now. Oh, dear God, dear God—At that moment she heard the voice of the dead student. "Don't be afraid, Louise. You just met your fate. It has all been ordained."

  Fraulein Louise's heart was beating fast. The voice of the dead American spoke next. "We sent you the person who is going to heal you." And the voice of the Pole. "You will see this man again under dreadful earthly circumstances. But all things will turn out well and you will be heard."

  My friends, thought Fraulein Louise, deeply moved. They are looking after me. They are not going to let me down. And they say Du to me suddenly, for the first time!

  The voice of the dead Russian speaking. "Don't be afraid, Louise. There's no reason for it. Get off the train now!"