"Yes."
"He's got nothing against it. We've found that out in the meantime, too, ha-ha-ha!"
"Have you spoken to him?"
"Wait a minute! I'd rather Oswald explained that to you. Oswald, come here."
Our general manager came and the next thing I heard was his impressive, resonant voice. "Hello, Herr Roland."
"Hello, Herr Seerose."
"It's just as Herr Herford said, my friend. We're going to press. No protest from the nice old gentleman in Cologne, not from the Americans. On the contrary."
"What do you mean, on the contrary?"
"The Americans want the story to appear. They've already briefed the gentleman in Cologne to this effect. He just told me. I've been on the phone with them both several times."
"The Americans want—but Herr Seerose, they don't come off very well in it."
"That's just why. Besides, it's only halftime."
"I don't understand." I lit a Gauloise because I couldn't stand the stench and couldn't open the door.
"Well, the other half of the film is still in New York, isn't it?"
"If the Russians work on Bilka hard enough, it won't be there long."
"Nobody knows what's going to happen next," said Seerose. "The Americans will continue to keep us informed; they've promised that. They're not blind optimists, but they're diplomatic. But look here—let's say the East gets the other half of the film, too... anything's possible. But in that case we've got to run our series."
"I don't get it. A series that describes a defeat of the Amis?"
"Yes. But with a little retouching."
"And what'U that be?"
"Namely that Bilka gave the Americans copies of the microfilms when he was in Niendorferstrasse, and that they arranged the flight to Helsinki and everything else to mislead the East," said Oswald Seerose.
"But that isn't true!" I said. "Or is it?"
"What do you think?"
"Well, that isn't true... of course—"
"Hm. That's what you think. But when you write—and we print it after it could have happened, so that it hits like a bomb—and imply (very delicately, of course) that that is why we are printing the story, then millions are going to believe it, right? And the Russians will have the same doubts you're having right now. They'll ask Bilka, if he's still alive. And what can he say?"
"That he didn't hand over any copies."
"Exactly. And the Russians won't believe him. That's why it's so lucky that we come out with our version later. Altogether, we're lucky."
"In what way?"
"Well"—Seerose sounded downright cheerful—"brother Bilka is dead, you say. So you don't have to have any more qualms about writing and making him unhappy. Vaslav Bilka—may he rest in peace."
"Listen," I said, "and I'm serious about this. You're not just stringing me along, are you?"
"My dear young friend, why are you so suspicious?"
"I saw you in Hamburg, going into Niendorferstrasse 333," I said. Now I had to have absolute assurance. And Herford had turned on the loudspeaker so everybody could hear me.
"Yes, certainly," Seerose said cheerfully. No shaking him. "The Americans asked me to come as quickly as possible."
"Why?"
"To discuss just what has become so acute now," he answered, sounding a little arrogant. "Now listen to me, Roland, the Americans need your story. Would you like to call them at Niendorferstrasse? I'll give you the number. It's unlisted, of course."
"Yes."
He actually gave me the number. I wrote it down.
"One of the lead men will answer, but he won't talk until you give him the code word for this operation."
"And what's that?"
"Satisfaction. When you've said that, hell say Red Mountain. There's a phone beside his bed. His name is Ronald Patterson. Ask him if he gave us the green light to go ahead and print."
"I'll do that," I said, "and call right back."
I hung up, dialed the number he'd given me, and when I could hear the receiver being lifted at the other end, I said, "Satisfaction."
"Red Mountain," said a man's voice, and the conversation was conducted in English, American English.
"Mr. Patterson?"
"Who is it?"
"The Blitz reporter. What's my name?"
"Walter Roland. I was expecting your call."
I asked him if he had three or four dogs and if they were terriers. He said he had two German shepherds. And then I asked him what Bilka looked like, and his girl, and where they'd been taken in Helsinki, and a few more things like that. I had to be quite sure that Seerose hadn't given me a bum steer. In the end I was satisfied.
"And you are agreed that we publish the story?"
"Under the conditions Mr. Seerose mentioned to you."
"And is it true?"
"That is an idiotic question, Mr. Roland. Do you expect me to say we lied?"
And so on. Everything really seemed to be in order. I was pretty sure that the Americans didn't have copies of the films, but it was a clever idea to make the Russians feel insecure.
"And the old gendeman in Cologne?"
"Has been informed. Won't undertake a thing against it. That is to say, he will if the story doesn't appear."
I thought the thing over but couldn't think of a single reason to doubt it. I said good night to Mr. Patterson, called Frankfurt again, asked for Seerose, and told him I felt everything was all right.
"Well, we're pleased about that," said Seerose, and I could hear Herford laughing.
"And if we hadn't succeeded in calming you down, Hen-Roland, what would you have done?"
"What would you have done in my place?"
"I would have accepted Victor Largent's offer and let us sue," he said happily. "Everybody has to look after himself. I have great understanding for that. Take Herr Notung—"
"Notung?"
"Olaf Notung. Michelsen's servant."
"Oh, yes." For a moment I hadn't known who Notung was. "What about him?"
"He looked after himself."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, he would have become a target for attacks from the East as soon as it got out that Michelsen had changed sides, wouldn't he?"
"Yes. So?"
"So that's why he left the apartment on Eppendorfer Baum that afternoon and drove to Niendorferstrasse and asked the Americans to protect him. He's there now, with the Americans. Safe. When are you coming back?"
"Tomorrow. Just as soon as Bertie gets back and I've settled everything with the police, and seen Conny Manners's girl friend."
"Very good, Herr Roland." And an aside: "What did you say?.. .Oh, yes. Herr Kramer sends greetings."
"Give him my best," I said. "Good night all."
"Good night, dear friend," said Seerose. "Oh, just a minute. Hen Herford wants to speak to you."
"I only have two marks left."
"It won't take a minute." And Herford was on the wire.
"A word from the Book of Books, Roland," he said. "Herford is speaking from memory. One of his favorite verses, from the 56th Psalm. In God will I praise his word, in God I have put my trust; I will not fear what flesh can do unto me/ Wonderful, isn't it, Roland?"
"Yes, Herr Herford."
"Praise God's word, Roland I"
"I shall praise God's word, Herr Herford."
"And remember, Rotaug will put you behind bars if you try to sell the story anywhere else."
"I get it, Herr Herford." The light signal on the phone lit up. I had no more coins, so I hung up and walked out of the booth.
"Good evening, Herr Roland," said an elderly man who had evidently been waiting for me outside the booth. He was tall, was wearing a trench coat, and tipped the brim of his hat which he had shoved back on his head.
10
"Chief Sievers," said the elderly man. "Homicide."
"What can I do for you?"
He hesitated, his expression solemn.
"Well?"
"Well, I really o
nly wanted to see you for a moment and ask a few questions." He showed me his ID card.
"What did you want to ask me? How did you know I was here, anyway?"
"I got to the Metropole just as you drove off. One of the boys heard you tell the driver to go to the train station. He's waiting outside. He said you had gone into the station for a moment and wanted to drive back to the hotel with him. So, I came in here. My car's packed outside, too." He took my arm lightly and we
strolled through the station like old friends.
"You see," he said, "I'm working on the Concon case. You know that he was stabbed?"
"Yes. Any clues yet?"
"Not a trace." He shook his head, let go of my arm, took a cigar out of his vest pocket, and smelled it as we walked along slowly.
"Did you hear my conversation?"
"Yes," he said. "But don't worry. I won't mention it to anybody. I thought you'd be leaving Hamburg soon—that's why I came here now. To catch you before you left. And to ask you something."
He lit the cigar and leaned against the window of one of the many closed stores.
"What do you want to ask me, Chief Sievers?"
"Well, you see," he said, "I've been listening to everything that's come up about the case at headquarters. I know everything that happened at Camp Neurode. I know that this little boy, Karel, was killed, and that the taxi driver, Vladimir Ivanov, was shot in front of the University Hospital. I have been informed of Vaslav Bilka's death and everything that took place in your suite at the Metropole—at any rate, as much as they'd reveal to me."
"Why did you do that?"
"Because I am convinced that all these things hang together. All I have to do is find Concon's murderer. I think Concon was only a link in a series of events. One has to see all these things as connected, beginning with little Karel."
Suddenly I had to think of Fraulein Louise. Where was she now, I wondered?
"You don't happen to know where Fraulein Gottschalk is, do you?" he asked promptly, which I found rather weird.
"No idea. Why?"
"I think she could have helped me," said Sievers. "I questioned her at the Davidswache. But at the time I didn't know—" He stopped.
'What didn't you know?"
"That she was insane."
"And since you know that, you think she could help you?"
"Definitely." i »
"A madwoman? How?"
"She knew Karel. She loved the boy. She told me so.
Everything starts with Karel. She could have told me a lot about him."
"She'll turn up again," I said. "Then you can ask her."
"I hope so," said Sievers.
"What do you mean?"
"I meant that I hope I'll still be able to question her when she turns up again."
"I began to feel uncomfortable. He noticed it. "Don't worry, he said, smiling. "Vm not insane. But I could have done with the Fraulein's help right now. She is mentally disturbed, but she knows a lot of mysteries. Well... Til get to the bottom of it without her. After speaking to her I am absolutely sure that I shall find Concon's murderer." He moved his face close to mine and lowered his voice. "And I am absolutely sure that Concon's murderer and the murderer of little Karel are one and the same person."
"How did you come to that conclusion?" I asked, baffled.
"I've given this case a great deal of thought," he said, "and I know what I have to do to find this person."
"What?"
"That's my secret. May I always count on your help, Herr Roland?"
Something I couldn't explain touched me about this elderly, soaking-wet police chief with the sallow complexion. "Always," I said.
"That's wonderful," he said. "Thank you," and he touched the brim of his hat again and walked away fast. I looked after him, more perplexed than ever. Even the way he left was mysterious. For a second I could see him at the exit, then he was gone, vanished.
I walked slowly to the exit and my taxi. At the time I didn't know that we had stood and talked in front of the delicatessen where Fraulein Louise had met the former SS man, Wilhelm Reimers. I thought, confused suddenly, that here a circle had closed. And now, as I write these lines, I remember something Fraulein Louise said to me later, on one of my visits. "And if there is really no end and no beginning, or if both are the same thing—then our end is always our beginning, and that's true also when we die, isn't it? The end is the beginning..." And Fraulein Louise traced a big circle in the air with her finger.
Bertie came back from Helsinki on a plane that arrived in Fuhlsbiittel at 8:35 a.m. When he got to the Metropole at 9:30, Irina and I had already had breakfast. (I had slept on the couch again!) We went to Bertie's room with him and had more coffee to keep him company. He was very hungry. Before the flight he had slept a little in the taxi of his Norwegian driver friend, and then on the flight, from start to finish. Bertie could sleep anywhere.
I told him everything that had happened. He grinned and said, "I noticed that I wasn't being given the red-carpet treatment when I came in. The hell with it! Wait till you see the pictures I've brought with me. Man, oh, man!" Then he went over to the phone, his cup in his hand, egg yolk in the corner of his mouth, and called his mother in Frankfurt and said good morning and told her he loved her. During the night I had been very restless, but now that Bertie was back, I was perfectly calm again.
"You know what?" he said, after the call. "Considering everything that's happened, I think the time has come for us to say Du to each other, what do you say?" And he looked at Irina with the most disarming smile. His smile was contagious—Irina had to smile, too.
She nodded and got up, and Bertie embraced her and got a kiss on the cheek. Then I got a kiss on the cheek, and Irina said, "All right, Du. It really is high time—you're quite right, Bertie."
"I'm always right," said Bertie. Good old Bertie— "Here's your minicannon," he said, handing me the Colt. "God, but the damn' thing's heavy! No complaints, though. I was glad to have it."
The sight of the weapon gave me an idea. "Largent!" I said.
"What about him?"
"He was coming with the contract and the check." Irina looked at me, startled. "Don't worry," I said. "I'm not going to accept. I'd just like to find out how he's feeling this morning."
I asked for a connection to the Hotel Atlantic. The telephone
460
operator there said, "Just a minute, please," then the voice of the man at reception: "You wanted to speak to Mr. Largent?"
"Yes."
"I'm sorry, but Mr. Largent isn't with us anymore."
"Is that so? I had an appointment with him. When did he leave?"
"Very early. He had to get to the airport to catch the first plane to New York."
"My name is Roland," I said. "Walter Roland. Did Mr. Largent leave any message for me?"
"No, Herr Roland. Mr. Largent didn't leave a message for anybody."
"Thank you," I said, and hung up. "Well, there you are," I said, "—fair-weather friends. So that's that."
"I get the feeling they'd like us out of here as soon as possible," said Bertie. "Even the guy in the garage was nasty."
"Yes," I said. "Let's pack. Irina and I have to go to police headquarters once more to sign the statement we made last night, and then I want to see Conny and Edith."
"I don't have to pack," said Bertie, "because I didn't unpack anything. So get going, you two. I'll have the car filled up."
So Irina and I went down to our suite with all the telephones ripped out, and got ready to leave. Then they came for our things and I paid at reception, where everyone was icily polite. I looked around once more. Sad, to be thrown out like this. I had always been especially fond of the Metropole.
The manager, who had put in an appearance during the night, walked past me without a glance in my direction, whereupon I said in a loud voice, "I shall recommend this hotel in which the waiters and guests are foreign agents 1" A sorry revenge. The manager pretended not to hear me.
/>
Irina and I took the elevator down to the garage, where Bertie was standing beside the Lamborghini, supervising the stowing away of our luggage. I paid for the rental of the Rekord and the gas and oil for the Lamborghini, and the Dutch fellow didn't look at me once. He didn't get a tip. I'd had it. At last.
We drove to police headquarters, Irina between us, and Bertie waited outside for us. It took quite a while. Then we drove to the hospital to see Conny and Edith. Two MIB men were standing at the door of his room, but Edith came out of her room, next to his, and was so pleased to see us. "He's better! Much better!" she cried.
"That's fine, Edith," I said. "We'll keep in touch. Through Blitz. Don't worry. Nothing's going to happen to you anymore."
"We're looking after her," said one of the MIB men.
Then, at last, we drove out of the city. When we got to the autobahn at Veddel, I turned on the heat because there was an icy wind. I stepped on the gas and had been driving for about ten minutes when I heard Irina say sofdy, "Oh... you two..."
"What about us?"
She said, "I—I'm so glad you're both with me." Bertie didn't hear her. He'd fallen asleep again.
Tchaikovsky's Path6tique was still on the record player when we got to my penthouse apartment at Lerchesberg, after leaving Blitz. I showed Irina all the rooms, including the guest room, which she was to use. Now that I was going to begin to write, I needed her near me. The cleaning woman had been there, the apartment sparkled, nothing was left to remind me of the two whores who had still been there on Monday morning.
We had interrupted the conference with Herford so that I could take Irina home. She was exhausted. On the way from Hamburg she had accepted the idea that she stay in my apartment. I had told Hem of her decision when I had phoned him during our short stop for a rest, and in Herford's preposterous office on the eleventh floor, the latter had said, "Take the young lady home, Roland. Get something to eat, both of you. We'll stop now, too, for a meal. Mama will go home. Then we'll meet again, here. We've got to settle on exactly what's to be done with Total Man,' too. Today. You don't have to worry, Fraulein Indigo. You'll be well guarded at Roland's apartment."
"Guarded?"
'Two police officers will be parked at the entrance around the clock. Oswald arranged it."
"The Americans want it," said Oswald Seerose. "And it's really for the best. All of us will feel better about it, Fraulein."
The Traitor Blitz Page 50
