The Traitor Blitz

by Johannes Mario Simmel

  "But I do," said Oswald Seerose with dignity and amiability,

  as usual. "It is a complete set of plans of the Warsaw Pact Nations, in case war should break out in Europe."

  I gasped. "The Warsaw Pact Nations?" Suddenly it was terribly hot in the booth. I broke out in a sweat.

  "Yes," said Seerose. "And what's more, he has already sold them I"

  11

  Five minutes later I was back in my suite. Bertie was there, and Jules Cassin, Chef d'fitage. He was setting the table elaborately, for coffee this time, and a real table. "So, what happened?"

  'Til tell you in a minute," I said. "Where's Irina?"

  "In the bedroom. Celebrating Christmas."

  And it really looked like that. I peeked into the bedroom and there was Irina, standing in front of the bed on which Bertie had spread the things I had bought for her. They were all still in their wrappings, and Irina was staring at them. "So go ahead!" I said. "Get going! Open them!"

  "You're crazy!" she said. "You must be crazy, Herr Roland."

  "Of course I'm crazy! Take your time. Look at everything. Try it on. Everything can be exchanged. And then join us in the salon. But I want to see you with makeup on and in a new dress, understand?"

  She was smiling as she nodded, and I thought how simple it was to make people happy. And then I thought that, being a woman, it would take Irina a little while to absorb what I'd bought, and that suited me, because I needed a little time, too.

  I went back into the salon and said to Bertie, "I talked to Seerose on the phone. He is in direct contact with the Americans and knows a lot more than we do. He knows what we're racking our brains over—what Bilka has sold."

  "What?"

  "The complete plans of the Warsaw Pact Nations in case of a European war," I said. "To the Amis."

  Jules's face was expressionless, Bertie was speechless. Finally he managed to say, "The Warsaw Pact Nations' plans? Fantastic! Fantastic!" *

  "I didn't know," said Jules. "But it was certainly good that you went over to Club 88."

  "Damn* good!" I said. "But why, Jules? Why did you have to send me over there? Why couldn't I have taken the call here?"

  The French waiter shrugged. "You know Herr Hanslik, the bell captain, don't you?" he said. "Well, he's a good friend of mine. Today was my day off, but Herr Hanslik called me and said I should come to the hotel at once. You were here, and some men had been there and fooled around with the switchboard, and he was sure they had installed a wiretap for this suite. He called the main office, of course. They said the work the men had done was all right; something had been out of order. But Herr Hanslik didn't believe them. He thinks they tapped you."

  "Wouldn't be all that illogical," said Bertie. I could see him taking Jules's picture as I walked over and picked up my recorder. Jules noticed nothing. I was still so excited, it didn't occur to me that our conversation at police headquarters had not filled the whole tape—all that registered was that the tape had run out. Mechanically, I took the cassette out of the recorder, put in a new one, and turned the recorder on again. It was that simple. Unfortunately. "So? What next?" I asked Jules.

  "I came here immediately and called Herr Seerose from a booth on the street, and he told me to take care of it. And was very grateful. And I am very grateful to him. That is why I am doing all this. That is why I changed places with Oscar. To be here today. All conversation must go through me. Isn't that what Herr Seerose said?"

  "Yes. That's what he said."

  "If anything happens, I'll telephone from the bar over there. I can always get away for a few minutes. And I owe this to Herr Seerose, that I help him now. Him and you."

  "How do you happen to know Herr Seerose?" asked Bertie.

  "Just a minute," I said. "Can we be heard in the bedroom?"

  "Impossible, monsieur. The walls are thick, the doors are padded. They were separate rooms once. You speak as loud as you like—you can even scream—nobody can hear anything in the next room."

  "Just the same," I said, and went over to the bedroom door and opened it. Irina, dressed only in one of the new bras and bikini panties, screamed. She was just going to try on the green wool dress with the patent leather belt.

  "I'm sorry," I said. "I only wanted to see if the things fit."

  'They fit perfecdy!" she cried. Her eyes were sparkling. "I

  just need a little more time, then 111 come in and model them for you."

  "Fine," I said, and closed the door again. I looked at Jules, who had finished setting the table with our coffee and cognac. "Herr Seerose saved your life, am I right?"

  "Yes, monsieur. And that is why I would do anything for him.

  "When did he save your life?" And the tape was recording j everything—this I knew. And the microphone in the radio was picking up everything, but this I didn't know.

  Jules Cassin said, "Monsieur Seerose was an officer in France I was with the Maquis. Blowing up bridges with my comrades. The Germans caught me and all the men whose names I wrot< down on that note I gave you. Monsieur Seerose was tin commanding officer. He let us escape, risked his life to sav< ours."

  "A true friend of mankind," said Bertie.

  "Please don't joke about it, monsieur. Monsieur Seerose is ; wonderful man. In 1945 I reported to the French military government and told them what he had done for our group That's why he was given one of the first newspaper licenses Then he got together with Herr Herford and found money and voila — Blitz was born!"

  "So that's how it was! Seerose got the license, not Herford

  "That is right, monsieur. We were friends, Monsieur Seerose and I, good friends."

  "Were?"

  "Still are. In France I lost everything, so monsieur Seerose said, 4 Jules... would you like to be my butler?' He already had a big house. I worked for him for eight years. Before that I was a waiter. It's always been my profession. In Paris, at the Ritz, before the war—"

  "And why did you leave Herr Seerose?" asked Bertie.

  "Oh ... I wanted my own business. A bar. But ... no good

  "Why not?"

  Jules gestured with his hands. "Not interesting. I do very well here. I am satisfied. And I still owe Monsieur Seerose so much.

  "Did you know he was in touch with the Americans?"

  "Yes. Many Americans come to his house."

  "What sort of Americans?"

  "Oh... specialists. Long talks in the library, political talk." He stopped because the bedroom door had opened. Irina walked in, wearing her new green dress, her new shoes, makeup on—very alluring. "Beautiful!" I said.

  "Lovely," said Jules, "if I may say so."

  Irina was radiant. She turned slowly. "You like it?" To Bertie.

  "And how!"

  "And the perfume, Walter! I love it! It's marvelous."

  "I'm glad. And now try on the suit."

  "Right away. What's going on here? What are you talking about?"

  "Herr Jules knows somebody from our firm," I said. "That's what we were talking about."

  "Oh, I see. Then I don't want to disturb. I'll try on the suit. But our coffee..."

  "On the hot plate, madame. It won't get cold/'

  "Thank you, Jules," she said, and smiled at him.

  She went back into the bedroom. I had a thought, went over to the phone, and asked central to connect me with the bar. Charlie was on duty, and I asked him to give us some music and told him what records I wanted. Then I pressed the bar button on the radio and sat down.

  "So what did Seerose say?" asked Bertie.

  "According to Seerose," I said, "it's like this: Jan Bilka managed to get photocopies, microfilm of the plans of the Warsaw Pact Nations in the event of war. He got out of the country and went straight to his friend Michelsen, whom he has known for years as an American agent. There he felt he would be secure. A big mistake. Because his good friend Michelsen isn't an American agent at all but is working for the Russians. Has been for years."

  "So Bilka fled to a Russian agent?
" said Bertie.

  "But that is a disaster!" said Jules.

  "Wait," I said.

  Just then the music began to come in from the bar. "October in Connecticut." The James Marck orchestra.

  "Michelsen is working for the East," I went on. "And Bilka is greedy—that's been established. And unscrupulous. As you can

  see in his behavior toward Irina. He fled with this other girl to Michelsen, offered him his plans, and left it up to him to deal with the Americans. Which is just what Michelsen wanted. He proceeded to behave like a double agent, and actually offered the plans to the Americans. Besides an enormous sum of money, he made other demands, which the Americans couldn't possibly meet: the freeing of two convicted agents in the United States, the extradition of a top Soviet agent from Saigon and a Soviet advisor to the Egyptians taken prisoner by the Israelis, a reduction of NATO rocket bases in Europe. Because, as Michelsen told it, Bilka is an idealist. And he's a moralist as well, because the final demand is the public exposure of a sex scandal in American government circles. All this without any knowledge on Bilka's part. Michelsen's purpose is to prevent the Americans from buying. He needs time for his Russian employers to find out where Bilka has put the plans."

  "What do you mean," said Bertie, "where Bilka has put the plans?"

  "Well, he doesn't exactly carry them around with him," I said. "He's not an idiot. All one would have to do, if he did, is knock him off and steal the plans."

  "Of course," said Jules. "So where are the plans?"

  "Seerose says the Americans told him that Bilka had sent some of the films to a friend in Helsinki, the rest to a friend in New York. Nobody knows who these friends are. Bilka demands that he and his girl friend be flown to Helsinki first—under heavy guard, naturally—then to New York. His final goal is the U.S.A. In Helsinki he'll hand over the first batch of film and receive his first installment; in New York he'll hand over the second batch and get his second payment."

  "Nice thinking," said Bertie.

  "The Gardens were on fire with Autumn Leaves—" somebody sang. Not Sinatra.

  "Not so good thinking," I said. "According to Seerose, Michelsen deliberately let the negotiations drag on and on. And Bilka and his girl friend were not allowed to leave the apartment. They were completely dependent on Michelsen, who told them he was still negotiating with the Americans and dragged things out so that the East would have time to make their preparations for the return of Bilka and the films to his native land. Because, of course, Michelsen told his employers first about the location of the films. And the Russians could have pretended to be

  Americans, and flown Bilka to Helsinki and New York, and gotten the films that way, if—"

  "If Irina hadn't turned up and created a highly unwelcome disturbance," said Bertie.

  "Exactly." The Rhapsody in Blue next— "Irina endangered everything. They couldn't let her get in touch with Bilka. So Michelsen or someone on his side of the fence sent Concon to kidnap her."

  "For what purpose?"

  "For no good purpose," I said. "That's for sure. She had to be eliminated. Concon was murdered because he made a mess of the assignment and we found out about it."

  "Who murdered him?"

  "His own people, naturally. And now listen: When Michelsen found out that the kidnapping had failed, he really distinguished himself! He switched sides again! He called the Americans and had himself, Bilka, and the girl picked up and taken to safety. So now he's a good American agent in the process of delivering the goods. All this according to Seerose. That's what the Americans told him. They also told him that the Russians made one final attempt to get Irina after we got to Hamburg."

  'The Norwegian sailor!"

  "Yes. But the Americans wanted Irina out of the way, too, because they didn't know what our intentions were. So there you have our pharmacist and his friend. But now the Americans have calmed down because we've got Irina in safekeeping."

  "And the men from Security have calmed down, too. Nice going," said Bertie. "Where is Bilka now? And his girl friend, and Michelsen?"

  "Safe with the Amis."

  "And where is that?"

  "I don't know. Seerose didn't say. I figure the Amis didn't tell him. They don't want any more complications."

  "But we have to know."

  "Of course," I said. "Funny..."

  "What's funny?"

  "That they didn't tell Seerose where they've hidden Bilka and the others. Because they did tell him something much more important."

  "What?"

  "When they're flying to Helsinki. But that may not be true. That may just be a little distraction."

  "Or they want to be absolutely sure that nothing interferes with their plans from here on and still want maximum publicity. Don't forget what we've found out to date, and the photos Blitz has."

  "I know the Americans," said Jules, "and I think Herr Engelhardt is right. Publicity before anything else. World sensations. The defense plans of the East now useless against the indomitable Americans. That's it."

  "I wonder," I said. "I don't know—"

  "And that's why we must find out where they're holding Bilka," said Bertie. "Once we know that, I'll keep an eye on him. So when are they taking off for Helsinki?"

  I took the note on which Jules had jotted down the names of his Maquis comrades out of my pocjcet; I had scribbled my notes on the back. "Tonight," I said, with no idea that a microphone had been planted in the radio, poor fooll "Under guard, of course. Seerose says they're flying Pan Am, leaving Fuhlsbiittel at 7:40 p.m., arriving in Helsinki at 10:30. The plane to New York leaves at midnight, so they have enough time. I'm to stay with Irina tonight, Seerose insisted, to be sure nothing happens to her. If I have any news or need information, Jules is to go to the bar across the street and phone for me. Seerose doesn't trust anyone as he trusts you, Jules. I was to tell you that."

  "Merci, monsieur. Very kind of Monsieur Seerose. I will not disappoint him."

  "And one of us must fly to Helsinki. Am I right?" said Bertie, and got up. "And since only one of us three isn't occupied, we'll buy a plane ticket for good old Bertie, fast. To Helsinki-New York. A good thing I have a warm coat with me."

  "You're to remain in the background, naturally, but you're to follow the party and take as many pictures as possible."

  "Nothing could be simpler," said Bertie. "We'll do just fine, as usual, once I know where Bilka and company are hiding out."

  "The plans of the Warsaw Pact nations, mon Dieu! " said Jules.

  "Yes," said Bertie, "which leaves us with a nice bit of history to report, doesn't it?" He turned to me. "And when you consider that the Russians aren't just sitting back through all this and twiddling their thumbs, I wouldn't mind at all if I had a gun."

  I walked over to the hall closet, took the Colt out of my coat, and gave it to Bertie, who put it in the pocket of his jacket, where it was a plainly visible bulge. "You'll have to find a better place for it," I said, "or they'll never let you on the plane."

  "My thick coat," said Bertie.

  We heard a noise and turned around. Irina was standing in the doorway to the bedroom. She was wearing the yellow jersey suit and the patent leather pumps, and she walked toward us like a model, one hand on her hips. She was smiling. "Rhapsody in Blue" was coming to an end. Irina stopped and asked Jules, "You're still talking? Doesn't anyone else ever ring for you?"

  "I have two colleagues working with me, madame," said Jules, with a bow. "Bewitching, madame! Vraiment bewitching! And now, if you will excuse me—" I unlocked the door to the suite, let him out, and locked it again. I did this for everyone who came and went. I was very cautious—oh, yes... very.

  "You really look ravishing, Irina," I said.

  Bertie whistled. "The woman of my dreams!"

  "Of my dreams! Irina, may I give you just one little kiss?" But that's as far as I got, because she froze suddenly, and paled. Her smile was gone. She burst into tears and ran back into the bedroom. "What on earth—?" Ber
tie sounded flabbergasted.

  "The music," I said, turning the radio off. "It's the goddamn' music! Why did it have to happen right now? It's her song, hers and Bilka's." Violins had started playing "Remembering," sweetly, sadly, yearningly—

  "For God's sake!" said Bertie. "What do you want me to do?" he asked.

  "Nothing. Just stay here and wait. I'll try—"

  I went into the bedroom and closed the door. Irina was lying on the bed, face down, and she was crying all over the gold bedspread. Open boxes and torn wrappings were scattered on the spread and carpet. I sat down on the edge of the bed and stroked her shoulder. "Don't cry," I said. "Please, don't cry. It's nobody's fault that they played just that song. I ordered the music for you... to cheer you up—"

  "Our—our song," she cried, her body racked by sobs.

  "Yes. I know. But you know that your fiance deceived you with another woman and that—"

  "And what?" She sat up suddenly. Her face was close to mine, her eyes were glittering with anger. "And what? He deceived me. Do I hate him? No! I'll love him till I die, do you hear? Until I die I shall love this man who deceived me."

  "All right," I said, and felt ill suddenly, ill and cold. The happy excitement of the last few hours was gone. "Go right ahead."

  She tore at the jacket of her suit, unbuttoned it, took it off, and

  sat in front of me with nothing on above the waist but her brassiere. She threw the jacket on the floor. "You can have it back! Everything you bought for me! I don't want any part of it!" The last words were a scream.

  I remembered that Jules had said you could scream as loud as you liked in this room and nobody would hear you. But I also thought that I couldn't leave Irina in this condition. So I said, "I had a telephone conversation with someone. Your fianc6 has done something dreadful."

  "What?"

  It was all the same to me now. I had to calm her down. "He is a traitor, Irina. He betrayed your country, yours and his. Don't try to contradict me. I know that's just as true as that you are the most beautiful woman I have ever known. We have to find him, Irina. It's our job. He is not the Jan of your dreams. He is an avaricious, thoroughly low character, an unscrupulous bastard—"

  She struck me in the face so hard my head was jerked to one side. Then she paled. "Forgive me."