Blind Mission: A Thrilling Espionage Novel

by Schmidt, Avichai

  “Cold, no?” the young woman tried to begin a conversation.

  Greenberg nodded in agreement. There was something in the way she had looked him over that he didn’t like. He felt as if she had not stopped trying to figure him out. The looks she was giving him seemed different from the quick once-over a woman of her profession was probably used to giving a potential customer. There was no doubt: she was examining him for too long, as if she were trying to verify a first impression.

  “Shall we go to my place?” the blonde cut off his thoughts.

  “Why not?” he replied casually.

  The car surged into the ring highway encompassing the city in a multi-laned belt. Greenberg’s eyes never left the speedometer. When their speed reached 100 kilometers an hour, he stretched out his left leg and placed his foot on that of the woman, pushing the accelerator to the floor. The powerful car leaped forward in an ever increasing rush of speed. The woman turned to her passenger in a panic. Greenberg took hold of her jaw and turned her head back toward the road.

  “Be quiet, and look only at the road!” he ordered, increasing his pressure on the accelerator. He quickly took her shoulder bag from its perch on the dashboard and dumped it out on the floor. The car continued to soar down the highway in the far left lane. The other drivers blew their horns and cursed, but were forced to make way.

  The driver’s license in the bag identified the woman as Heidi Braun. He read her name aloud, intentionally emphasizing her address. A look of terror came over her pale face with its high cheekbones.

  “I, I…I don’t have any money. You can see for yourself: I’ve only got 100 euro –“

  “Quiet!” he roared at her, surprising himself with his rage, as he tightened the pressure on her foot. The young woman’s blue gray eyes were wide open in fear. The speedometer needle nudged past 140. The Mercedes, despite its heavy weight and great stability, began to shudder slightly.

  “You…you’re going to kill us!” the whore’s voice rose in hysteria.

  Without saying a word Greenberg slid towards the girl and reached across her seat. He searched with his fingertips in the recess between the driver’s seat and the door, where the woman had nervously glanced before. As his fingers probed, he kept his eyes on the woman’s face, which was paralyzed with terror. In a second his fingers touched a thick piece of flexible, smooth paper. He pulled the postcard-sized sheet towards him and turned it over – and froze. His foot came off the accelerator and the car immediately slowed. His eyes stared wide in astonishment and his heart pounded. Once again he looked at the woman; she would not meet his gaze. His eyes returned to the paper in his hand. From the glossy photograph his own eyes stared back at him.

  It was the same picture used to make the Identikit image shown on Israeli television several days before. But what was this picture doing here, in the hands of a German whore? The terrible feeling of being a hunted animal seized hold of him again. He felt trapped, surrounded.

  “Who gave you this?” he asked hoarsely, and without waiting for an answer continued, “What for? When did they give it to you?”

  “I don’t know what for. They…they asked us to find you, but didn’t say why. I don’t know anything.”

  “Who gave you this? When did they it to you?” he heard himself yell for the second time.

  The woman hesitated and Greenberg again jammed his foot down on the accelerator.

  “Adolf,” she finally said reverently, as if pronouncing the name of a saint.

  “Who’s Adolf?”

  “Adolf is the guard at the house I work in.”

  “Who else received this picture?”

  “Everyone, all the girls.”

  “All the girls where? In the house where you work?”

  “No, I think…I think all the girls in the Saint Pauli quarter got them. And maybe…maybe all the girls in the city. I don’t know; I’m not sure.”

  “How much did they pay you?”

  “They didn’t pay.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re just riding around looking at the sidewalks for fun.”

  “No; I have no choice. They forced us to search for you, and also – well they promised a lot of money to whoever finds you.”

  “How much is ‘a lot of money’?” Greenberg wanted to know how important it was for them to find him.

  “Fifty-thousand…”

  “Fifty-thousand euro?!” Greenberg asked incredulously.

  “Yes.”

  Greenberg was silent. It took a minute or two for him to recover from his fear enough to speak. In an uncharacteristically somber voice, he directed her to the abandoned hotel where he was staying; knowing that there were likely to be people waiting at her apartment. Moreover, this Adolf was liable to ask himself why Heidi was not checking in – and send people to look for her. In that case, no one would find her in his grimy back room. The elderly house matron would probably not say anything either if he came back to his room with a beautiful young lady on his arm.

  The sky soon became even gloomier and darkness began to descend on the city. Drops of rain quickened and periodic flashes of lightening illuminated the horizon, accompanied seconds later by rolling peals of thunder. Greenberg made the woman park the Mercedes about a 10-minute walk from his pension and they continued on foot. As they walked side by side, he held forcefully to her elbow; both to prevent her from trying to escape and also to help support her. Her high-heeled boots were undoubtedly uncomfortable and clearly unsuitable for a long walk, particularly not over the cracked and broken pavement of this area of the city.

  * * *

  The old woman looked up at them from her wobbly table and reached out a tremulous hand toward an old radio that blared in front of her at full volume. Obviously it was not the sound of the door opening that had caught her attention, but the sudden blast of cold air that had penetrated the closed room. Before the woman could lower the sound enough to exchange words with her tenant, Greenberg preempted her with a heart “Hello!” and continued past her, pushing the young woman as she jiggled on her high-heeled boots.

  The whore felt his grip on her elbow gradually loosen, but when she tried to move her arm slightly his fingers clasped her again instantly. Only when they were inside the moldy room and he had kicked the door shut behind him did Greenberg release her. She sank down dazed and exhausted on the edge of the bed and slowly looked around her, her mouth forming an obvious expression of disgust at what she saw. At times she darted fearful glances at the man pacing back and forth in front of her.

  “What…what now?” she asked finally, her face showing as much hostility as fear.

  Greenberg looked at her without answering. What now, really? He had not the faintest idea what to do with her. As he thought about it, he realized that all he wanted was to prevent her from telling his pursuers that she had found him. How could he do this? How could he keep her isolated until he was safely away from Hamburg?

  Suddenly he realized that the room was an ideal hiding place. He had parked the Mercedes far enough away so as not to draw attention to the inconspicuous building. This would make it difficult for those hunting him, even if they managed by chance to find the car. Greenberg glanced at his watch. It was almost 4:30 p.m. Heidi would not be missed – he hoped – until very late in the evening; when it would be too late for them to begin looking for her. They would have to wait until morning. If he could keep her out of circulation for five or six more hours, he could manage to evade them. In addition, his plans were affected by the knowledge that, for the time being, he could not go out into the streets. These were probably filled with men and women searching for him. If he left his hotel, it would not take long for someone else to spot him. He moved closer to the woman and looked her over carefully.

  “Lie down!” he commanded her.

  For a moment it appeared that she wavered between revulsion at the sight of the filthy sheets and the fear she felt towards him; but then the fear won out and she lay back obediently, her body trembli
ng.

  * * *

  Greenberg’s sleep was troubled, when he finally managed to fall asleep – and then he quickly awoke in alarm. A driving rain was gusting against the window, rattling it fiercely in its warped wooden frame. As if this weren’t enough to drive a reasonable man insane, a stream of water trickled through the rotten wood, filling the room with a damp and musty smell.

  Heidi, lying on the bed with her hands tied to the iron frame, was also awake. She followed him with anxious eyes as he slipped off the bed and turned on the room’s single dim light. He instinctively glanced at the ancient wall clock hanging above the door. Its hands pointed to 6:17, a claim that was supported by the morning light that had begun to filter though the curtains.

  Suddenly Greenberg was gripped by hunger, surprised that he was only feeling it now. He had not eaten anything since the previous afternoon. The woman was surely hungry, he thought; but she would have to wait a bit longer – it wouldn’t harm her figure. He sat down on the bed and considered his next moves. He would have to wait until he heard the landlady begin to move about in the front room. Then he would act.

  He knew that, for as long as he remained in the room with the woman, she wouldn’t dare to make a sound. For that reason, he had not gagged her during the night – after making it abundantly clear that if she made a single pee, he would strangle her. The fact that the man she was with was wanted by the underworld and had a 50,000 euro price on his head gave Heidi Braun no cause to doubt his seriousness.

  At about 6:45 the distorted sound of the landlady’s old radio came from the end of the hallway; she was awake. Greenberg, who had slept in his trousers, put on his shoes, shirt, and sweater. As he dressed, Heidi’s eyes followed him curiously from her captive perch on the bed.

  At 6:50 Greenberg leaned over the gril and put his face close to hers.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, “but I have to gag you. You have nothing to fear: I’ll make sure they find you here this afternoon. If you try to get loose before then or to get help, don’t forget I know exactly where to find you, Fraulein Heidi Braun.”

  He had spoken matter-of-factly, without any tone of menace, and it was precisely his detachment that made the woman shiver. The tremor passed along the length of her spine and only worsened when he added, “And I’m not accustomed to leaving accounts unsettled.”

  At exactly seven, Greenberg knocked on the door on whose faded sign he could barely make out the word “Private”. Wearing a frayed housecoat, her thin hair hanging loose and disheveled, the old woman cracked open the door and peered out.

  “Good morning,” said Greenberg politely. “I’m leaving now. I would just like to ask – my friend isn’t feeling well. She would like to sleep in until the afternoon. I would be very grateful if you didn’t disturb her,” he said, slipping her a 5-euro note through the opening.

  “Yes, yes, of course!” the woman replied, her tone indicating that she had long ago learned to mind her own business, and was content to do so.

  “If you would just wake her at about two…”

  “Of course, of course.”

  Greenberg thanked her and went out into the street. The rain had stopped, but the sky was still a gloomy gray and the air was still very humid. He began to walk down the sidewalk. The street was empty at this hour of the morning, the silence disturbed only by the occasional passage of a car. For a moment he was tempted to walk to where he had parked the Mercedes the day before; but this was too dangerous – dangerous and pointless. He had also rejected the idea of using public transportation from that area, in case his pursuers had indeed managed to locate the car and were now intensively searching for him on the local subway and bus lines. He was left with only one alternative: to keep walking until he felt safe enough, relatively speaking, to take the subway.

  * * *

  In the room at the dilapidated pension, the pretty young woman lay on the filthy mattress, bound tightly by her hands and feet to the bedstead, her mouth gagged. In the distance she could hear the sound of the radio blaring. For a moment she considered trying to alert the old woman or trying to free herself; but immediately recalled the determined look of the man’s face. No! She couldn’t do anything but hope that he had indeed arranged that this afternoon – an eternity away – someone would find her here.

  She sighed and tried to relax her muscles.

  Chapter 14

  “But why Hamburg?!” asked Ya’acov Nissan for the second time in as many minutes, pouring over the message he had received that morning from Avramico.

  “Why not?” replied the head of the Mossad, leaning back in his armchair. “Look, the man felt us closing in – probably when we monitored his call to Tova Rom. He understood that we were bugging him and so he let us think he was going to Munich to meet her again. We swallowed the bait, while he went somewhere else.”

  “If I understand correctly,” Nissan continued his train of thought, “He met the actress beforehand, in Frankfurt. But all this still doesn’t explain why he chose to go to Hamburg in particular. Why, for example, hasn’t he tried to leave Germany?”

  “As we know, the man is fluent in German; it’s practically his mother tongue. So he can blend in without drawing attention to himself. Don’t forget, too, that Hamburg is a port city; a city that suits his purposes like a glove. With a little initiative – and a suitable amount of money, of course – he could get on a ship as an unregistered passenger and go almost anywhere in the world. And besides, he didn’t have many options at the time. He wanted us to believe that he had boarded the train to Munich, and so he had to take the first train that came along – and it was going to Hamburg…”

  “So what now?” asked Nissan with interest.

  “For the meantime, we’re waiting patiently until we find him,” replied Porat.

  “I believe we’ll locate him in another few hours.”

  “First of all, I’m not so sure of that,” Porat said, trying to deflate some of his subordinate’s enthusiasm. “Secondly, even if we do find him – we’re not going to touch him. Actually, we’re not going to do anything; just continue as before. We’ll follow him closely – this time without arousing his suspicion – with our entire objective being not to lose him.”

  Ya’acov Nissan nodded his head.

  “By the way, set up a meeting for me with Yitzhak Margalit.”

  Nissan furrowed his brow. He didn’t like the man known as the Mossad’s “public relations expert.”

  “I want to plant a story in the papers,” Porat explained.

  “Where do you want to lead Greenberg?” Nissan asked his boss.

  “The United States.”

  “When do you want to see Margalit?”

  “Today.”

  The chief of operations nodded. He understood that the meeting was over and got up to leave.

  He gathered up his lists, and went out into the corridor

  * * *

  The next morning at nine, the phone on the desk of the head of the Hamburg police’s stolen car unit rang stubbornly. The fat, balding man lifted the receiver and held it up to his florid jowls.

  “Heinrich!”

  Heinrich Kurtz identified the caller immediately. The man at the other end of the line regularly supplied the senior police officer with young girls for his entertainment – and on the house. In exchange, Kurtz was expected to perform a minor service: once a month he provided his friends with that month’s schedule of daily police patrols. Thus, when large numbers of police units converged on the main drag of Saint Pauli, for example, for what the authorities termed a law-enforcement operation (and the press termed a publicity stunt), about 30 luxury cars – mainly BMW’s and Mercedes – would disappear from the more prestigious areas of the city. So far no one had connected the two things; not even Heinrich Kurtz, who had supplied the information.

  These cars were quickly loaded on special carriers and within four hours were being taken care of in a special, well-equipped garage in neighboring Holland. By t
he next morning the work of the expert mechanics would be completed. The engine numbers would be altered, identifying accessories exchanged, license plates replaced – and the cars provided with the necessary registration and insurance documents. By dawn the recycled cars would be moving south – to Belgium, France, Switzerland, and Austria. There – at the central train stations, youth hostels, and student dormitories – young and innocent drivers would be recruited who were looking for a cheap way to get to the Middle East or Far East. In exchange for food, modest lodging, a token payment, and the main thing, a free journey east (with a return train ticket) – the cars would be legally registered in their names, their passports would be deposited as security with the leader of the group, and the convoy would make its way east. At the end of the road the “wealthy” European students would “sell” the luxury cars in used car lots in Beirut, Teheran, Karachi, or Saudi Arabia, and the lot owners would quickly deliver the vehicles – by previous order – to their customers at bargain prices.

  “Heinrich”, the voice said again, somewhat impatiently, “this time I have a request that is a bit unusual.”

  While it indeed differed from previous requests, it did not even conflict with Heinrich Kurtz’s official police function. All he was being asked to do was to find a certain car, a blue-gray Mercedes, registered to one Heidi Braun. Inspector Kurtz promised to return the call as soon as he had the information.

  At 3:15 that afternoon, the phone rang at Emil Lang’s desk in his office above the largest pizzeria on the Zeilerstrasse, In Hamburg’s Saint Pauli quarter. The blond fortyish man straightened his expensive tie before picking up the receiver.

  “This is Heinrich Kurtz,” the policeman identified himself.

  Emil Lang smiled to himself. The system had proven itself time and time again. Five senior Hamburg police officers had been in his pocket for nearly 10 years – and he controlled them with stimuli that hadn’t changed since man was created: greed and lust.