by Stan Mason
He stared at me closely before replying. ‘There’s a man... Der Bankvorsteher... who’s in New York but he will visit us in a few days’ time. He controls many billions of dollars in money markets, currencies and investments and we need someone to assist him. You’re of German descent, with an obvious pride in his ancestry, your grandfather was in the SS, and I believe that you are the man we need. You’re unmarried which is a bonus as the job requires a great deal of travelling. What do you say?’
I held my breath for a moment at the breakthrough. If I could meet Der Bankvorsteher and learned more about the Nazi funds, I could possibly set the organisation back a lifetime. Without sufficient funds, the ITT would be brought to its knees.
‘Your offer sounds most attractive,’ I responded. ‘Would it not be possible for me to retain my present employment and help out Der Banvorsteher in between?’
‘He laughed easily and shook his head. ‘There’s no time for complacency, Herr Erbeer,’ he countered, moving on to the attack. ‘Not for a man like you with national pride. You wouldn’t be able to cope with both appointments at the same time. Would you care to sleep on it and give me an answer as soon as possible. As I said, he will be here in two days. It would give you a new meaning in life.’
I allowed some moments to pass, pretending that I was toying with the idea in my mind. ‘You have a point there, Herr Kirk,’ I told him. ‘It would give my life meaning.’ I could have cursed Jack Berg for telling me, if you can’t beat them, join them. It had got me into a real mess. I wanted to meet Der Bankvorsteher urgently and the opportunity would arise in two day’s time but what could I tell Kirk in the meantime for he was going to press me for an answer?
‘Perhaps it’s best if we take it a little slowly until we really get under way. You can meet Der Bankvorsteher when he arrives. Come again here for luncheon and meet him.’
‘It’ll be my pleasure,’ I returned, nodding as a gesture of his good hospitality and clicking the backs of my heels.
‘Good!’ he uttered, rising from his seat and picking up the baton. ‘Come, I want you to meet the man who is helping us to build our army, I’m sure he’ll impress you!’
We left the room together and I began to experience an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of my stomach. I knew in advance what was about to happen. Outside the building, the warriors were still in action as Kirk led me to the man I least wanted to meet. I had come so far in such a short time, now all my efforts were going to be dashed. I would do well to consider any avenue of escape. I felt like a listing ship drifting helplessly on to jagged rocks with my life in serious jeopardy. I thought about Barnaby laying in a hospital bed with a broken leg and curse him for his good luck in staying out of this dilemma. If my life was to end here, I swore that I would haunt him for ever!
‘I’d like you to meet our mentor and strategist,’ announced Kirk proudly as the man I had met in the House of Commons walked slowly towards me. He stopped a few feet away and my heart sank into my boots as he stared directly into my eyes with a grim expression on his face. Kirk looked at us both for a moment before he made the introduction. ‘Herr Obersturmfuehrer Mueller meet Herr Erbeer.’
Topham stuck out his hand quickly and I grasped it trying not to show my surprise. ‘Haven’t we met somewhere before?’ he asked sternly, diverting my thoughts by directing the conversation into a routine channel.
‘I don’t think so, Herr Obersturmfuehrer,’ I replied, sighing inwardly with relief, keeping my voice on an even keel. ‘Not unless you need finance from a private bank.’
‘Well,’ continued Kirk, ‘you’ll have a lot of time to talk over the meal. In the meantime, please excuse me. I have much work to complete.’ He turned to me courteously with an awkward smile. ‘If you wish to visit any of the lecture rooms, feel free to do so. But don’t forget what I told you. The legal lecture is boring.’
He left the two of us together and marched back into the house. Topham turned to me with a brief smile touching his lips. ‘You must tell me all about your work in banking, Herr Erdbeer,’ he suggested, showing no emotion whatsoever. ‘It’s a field in which I’m particularly weak. We military men have to concentrate our minds on other matters.’
I assumed that he was keeping up the charade in case the place was bugged and someone could overhear us talking. We strolled to the point where he had been watching the men in combat and stopped to view them for a while. I found myself still shaking at the interface with him in this place but he appeared to be as cool as a cucumber. My mind then started to ask questions about him. What was he doing training the army of ITT? Who was he actually working for or was he a double agent? However there was one question of paramount importance. Why hadn’t he exposed my identity to Kirk? I was unable to supply reasonable answers to those questions. But one fact was obvious to me... I had aged ten years in the past few minutes!
The affairs of the morning acted as a two-edged sword. On the one hand, I would have the opportunity of meeting Der Bankvorsteher which afforded me the opportunity to develop the assignment positively. I was still in danger that Topham or Herr Obersturmfuehrer Mueller would reveal my true identity. The thought passed through my mind that I ought to ask Ted Flanders for a desk job doing obituaries or the like, or maybe even retire to write a book and slowly starve to death in a wealth of rejection notes. Either one was better than suffering a heart attack as a front-line reporter.
After an excellent lunch, mingling with members and tutors, I decided to go home. I was about to climb into my car when I looked towards the house with an uncomfortable feeling that someone was watching me. Beside the front door stood a man dressed in black uniform, leaning against the door frame with his arms folded. It was the same one I had disgraced at Hayle’s party and his expression hadn’t changed. He still sought vengeance for the way I had treated him and he was prepared to wait patiently until his moment arrived. I drove off quickly with my heart pounding fiercely in my chest. There had never been any doubt in my mind that the visit would be charged with tension but I had moved at least another rung up the ladder in my researches. I wondered if Linda Grayson knew that Topham was working on the side of the bad guys. The man was obviously a double agent. He had no intention of revealing my identity for fear of ruining his own cover.
I felt a little better an hour later after pouring myself a large glass of brandy. Tania wasn’t there but I intended to tell her all about the visit when she returned. My main task was to pack a holdall for the trip to Germany and confirm the arrangements with Jack Berg. The pace of life was beginning to accelerate and I thought more about my future with the newspaper... as a sports writer or a society columnist... anything but a dangerous assignment like this one! It would not upset me to leave all the exciting stuff to other reporters... not in the least!
Chapter Thirteen
After touching down at Munich, Berg and I passed through immigration and hired a taxi to take us to our destination. Berg was anything but a bright spark, with a face as long as a fiddle throughout the whole journey, leaving me with the impression he wasn’t too enchanted with the flight I asked him on a number of occasions to explain the Reason for the trip but he avoided the issue, def-ending his silence bravely, persistently requesting me to be patient. Each time I became even more angry at his reticence, however I had little alternative but to wait until the moment suited him. Eventually I came to the conclusion that he was unable to tell me anything because he was unaware of the facts himself. If that was the case, there was no harm in tagging along with him for a couple of days hoping something useful might turn up. I also made a mental note to look up Kasper Levenson at the Vier Jahreszeiten Hotel in Maximilianstrasse as Tania had mentioned, if indeed he was still there!
The taxi ride allowed me to take me first view of Germany. Munich was the capital of Bavaria. In 1923, national socialism was founded here but Adolf Hitler failed in his attempted Munich “beer-hall p
utsch”... a coup aimed at the Bavarian government. During World War Two, three-quarters of the old city was destroyed; one-third of the inhabitants lost their homes. Munich had the distinction of being the beer capital of the world, sporting also the Oktoberfest... a country fair in the city... and Fasching, the carnival leading to the Mardi Gras. The city exhibited numerous museums and art galleries, beer halls, castles and other attractions.
‘Where are we going?’ asked the taxi-driver, speaking in gutteral English. ‘Luisenstrasse,’ Berg told him. Ein hundert und zwansig Luisenstrasse.’
‘One hundred and twenty,’ translated the cabbie. ‘I learn good English, eh? We have many tourists to Munich. Your first time here?’ He turned the vehicle sharply to move in the right direction. ‘Well you’ve come to the right place for fun. Lots of beer. Lots of sights to see. So many in fact you shouldn’t search too hard for them or you’ll get a headache. And lots of other sights too. I can take you to the Bavarian Alps. They’re not that far away.’
‘What’s the river below this bridge we’re coming to?’ I asked, looking through the windscreen at the way ahead.
‘The green Isar,’ he replied. ‘It flows under many bridges connecting the centre of Munich with its eastern districts. There’s an island in the middle called Museum Island because it houses the Deutsches Museum. This is Maximilianstrasse. A little further down is Maximilianeum, built for King Maximilian the Second. It’s now the Bavarian Parliament building. The advantage of living in Luisenstrasse is that you’re not far away from the train terminus. It’s at the end of the street. Here we are... a hundred and twenty Luisenstrasse!’
He stopped outside a block of apartments and I paid him off. We went up to the second floor where Berg produced a key and entered, leaving me to bring in the luggage. The accommodation was complete with a tiny kitchen, bathroom, a small living-room and a bedroom. The architect had been quite ingenious, using every millimetre of available space. The walls were coloured chalky while and carried the odour of new plaster, while the furniture was extremely scant. It needed to be if one intended to move within the apartment. The place was cheap and uncheerful, reminding me of the niggardly-minded administrator of expenses at the newspaper. I realised instantly there were others exactly like him in the world.
Berg opened the shuttered windows to let some air into the room which flooded immediately with sunlight. He stared at the traffic outside, concerned it would keep him awake all night. ‘I managed to get the accommodation from a friend of mine for nothing, but it’s just our luck to be on the road leading to the railway terminus,’ he complained, throwing his suitcase on to the bed. ‘Still, I suppose it could be worse.’
‘When are you going to fill me in with the details?’ I asked again.
‘All will be revealed soon,’ he replied evasively. ‘I have to get in touch with my contact first.’ He lay on the bed next to his case and yawned loudly. ‘Close the shutters, will you? The noise of the traffic might keep me awake but at least the sunshine can be controlled.’ He closed his eyes and yawned again.
I did as he asked, plunging the room into darkness once more before moving to the door. I opened it to let in the bright sunlight again. ‘I’m going for a walk,’ I told him. ‘It helps me to unwind after a flight.’ Although the journey caused me to feel tired, it was the first time in a week I hadn’t been under pressure. Leaving London for a while was good for my health and I was determine to make the most of it.
Munich was a fascinating city in the southernmost part of Germany, and the apartment was right in the heart of the action. Although it was an industrial city, everyone seemed to be employed in making beer, but it had many other roles as well... in printing and publishing, in the fashion industry, in manufacturing optical and precision instruments, and even in the motion-picture industry.
Wandering along the streets in the centre of the city, I discovered many museums, theatres and night-clubs. After strolling for an hour, I retraced my steps to return to the flat. Berg was awake, sitting up on the bed as he perused a sheaf of notes.
‘Couldn’t sleep, eh?’ I commented. ‘You’re probably suffering from jet-lag.’
‘I had my sleep,’ he returned calmly. ‘Thirty minutes is sufficient for me to catch up during the daytime. By the way, I got in touch with our contact. He’s a man called Kaspar Levenson staying at the Vier Jahreszeiten Hotel in Maximilianstrasse, just a short distance from here. We’re to join him for tea, which doesn’t leave us much time.’
I stared at him in disbelief. It was the same person... the same hotel... as mentioned to me by Tania. It was too much of a coincidence to ring true. Yet it was the same man!
The Vier Jahreszeiten Hotel was known as a super-de-luxe hotel. It was exquisite in every sense of the world. Not surprisingly, the prices for meals and drinks were set to balance the quality of the hotel and the service. For most people, spending a day at the hotel with their family would cost almost as much as a month at home in Britain, but no one ever complained it wasn’t worth the expense. There were head-waiters and flunkeys willing to do one’s bidding at a moment’s notice, a menu that could hardly be challenged, luxury beyond the belief of most travellers in the food, furniture and furnishings, and a priceless atmosphere which only money could buy. In addition, one could use the heated indoor swimming-pool, the jacuzzi, and the well-stocked gymnasium. A flunkey took us to the restaurant where Kaspar Levenson sat at a table. He was leaning back with his eyes half-closed. There was no reaction as we stood before him.
‘I’m Jack Berg,’ introduced my colleague meekly. ‘Carrie told me I should come to you if I ever needed help.’ There was still no movement from the man. ‘Do you know she’s dead?’ he went on.
The words appeared to be the key which opened the lock. Levenson allowed the shields to fall from his eyes to scan us both in one long glance. ‘Welcome to my table,’ he greeted with a total lack of sincerity. ‘Sit down!’
We settled into the comfortable chairs and I became sensitive about the state of my crumpled clothes which had creased badly during the flight. Levenson, on the other hand, was immaculate, wearing a tweed jacket, a spotlessly-white shirt, and a neat red bow-tie. I presumed he was about forty-five years’ old but it was difficult to tell because he was very fat. His shiny bald head reflected the light and his eyes seemed to be too close together. In a way, he reminded me of Calvin, my informant at the Dog and Duck, but there the image ended. He snapped his fingers to order tea and it was laid on the table shortly afterwards.
‘Let me make two things clear,’ he began dispassionately. ‘One. There’s no way I would even talk to you if it hadn’t been for Carrie. She was a distant relative on my sister’s side. I don’t deal with small-fry! If I did, I wouldn’t be able to afford to stay at this hotel. I’d be sweating it out in a small apartment in Luisenstrasse.’
The poor humour of the philosophy, or the irony of the truth, failed to inspire me. It did tell me, however, that Kaspar Levenson was well-informed. Apart from other things, he knew exactly where the small-fry was staying!
‘What’s the second thing?’ asked Berg, looking wimpy as he usually did.
‘Very simply this,’ continued our host, driving home his message. ‘I deal in arms. All kinds of weapons. What I know about Nazi war criminals and their activities can be put in a thimble and lost.’
‘Are you saying you can’t help us?’ I asked, beginning to feel anger rising within me. I didn’t relish the idea of coming all the way to Munich on a wild-goose chase. Nor did it thrill me to think how I would have to justify the cost of two flight tickets to the administrator of expenses at the newspaper when the trip had been a complete waste of time.
Levenson held up his hand with a world of experience within him. ‘Patience! Just have a little patience! Let’s have some tea before you get indigestion! The world will wait until we’ve finished.’
‘But
will you help us?’ I demanded.
Our host stared at me with his narrow eyes which seemed to burn with anger. ‘Don’t think I’m not sympathetic to you. I’m a Jew. Most of my family had numbers branded on their arms at concentration camps. Dachau isn’t very far from here, in case you don’t know your geography. But beware of your enemies. They’re all around you. The followers of national socialism... the Nazis... may have been defeated in war, but they exist in their hundreds of thousands in peacetime. I know what I’m talking about.’ He drank deeply from his cup before continuing. ‘I don’t think it wise for people to be let loose in the world seeking out information. It’s dangerous! I hope you’ve brought sufficient money for what you want.’
‘How much are you asking?’ I advanced, knowing we had little money on us.
Levenson shook his head from side to side. ‘Not for me! I don’t want your money!’ He paused to look at us again. ‘Well, you’re both old enough to know what you’re getting yourselves into, I suppose.’ He fished a piece of paper from his shirt pocket. ‘The name is Gunter Hausmann. He lives close to Berchtesgaden. Does that ring any bells with you? Hm... it doesn’t seem to. Well... if you’re as resourceful as you make out you won’t have any trouble finding him at this address.’
Berg took the piece of paper and stuffed it into his top jacket pocket. ‘Thanks!’ he said appreciatively. ‘We owe you.’
The fat man burst into laughter. ‘I like it. He owes me! What is that supposed to mean?’
‘Well that’s it,’ continued The Rooter getting to his feet quickly. ‘We got what we came for. We may as well go.’
‘You mean you’re giving up drinking tea at the Vier Jahreszeiten hotel when it’s offered to you for nothing.’
