by Stan Mason
‘Yes. We haven’t really time for all this. But I do owe you for this information.’
‘Return the favour when you get to heaven. I may need it there.’ Our host was still laughing as we left the hotel.
I didn’t like Levenson very much but I sympathised with him for Berg’s strange attitude. ‘When do you suggest we should contact Hausmann?’ I asked as we walked away from the hotel.
‘It’s probably wiser to leave it until tomorrow,’ he replied tiredly. ‘I think we’ve done enough for one day... what with all the travelling.’
‘Then how about going to a night-club to unwind,’
I suggested.
He failed to reply and I assumed that wimps didn’t frequent such places. They stayed at home and contented themselves with one boring hobby or another. As soon as we entered from the bright sunlight into the relative darkness of the apartment, I found myself staring into the face of an enormous man with a completely square head. Even his very short haircut had been shorn to look square. ‘What in heaven’s name...... ?’ I began, staring in horror at the giant, trying to focus my eyes after the sudden change of light to shade. He pulled us both by the front of our shirts into the living-room and squared himself in the doorway to prevent any sudden departure. In the gloom, I could see another man laying full-length on the bed in the other room, with his hands behind his head in a relaxed pose.
‘Strogoff!’ I exclaimed in astonishment.
‘How touching!’ he replied. ‘You actually remember my name!’ His face broke into an ugly smile, continuing to resume its harsh skeletal structure.
‘What the hell are you doing here?’ I remonstrated.
‘My dear old chap,’ he laughed, clearly amused by my reaction. ‘I came here to visit you. What kind of a host are you with such a bloody awful greeting? Life is so full of coincidences, don’t you think? I mean, you attended my meeting in London at the People’s Palace with that bitch of an Israeli agent. Now we meet again in this foreign country. Don’t you consider that odd? By the way, my apologies for the rough way you were handled at the time, but you did become a nuisance. Oh, forgive me, I haven’t introduced you to my friend, Karl. He’s rather taken a liking to me.’
‘How did you know we were here?’ asked Berg, finding his tongue.
Strogoff stared at him closely. ‘This is a face I have seen often. Tell me, why do I regard you as the enemy?’
‘Never mind about me!’ snapped Berg, without rising to the bait. ‘What do you want?’
‘I see, you’re a man who likes to get to the heart of the matter quickly. That’s a pity! I enjoy the play on words, the art of toying with a situation, the fun of innuendo. Still, if it pleases you, we’ll get down to business. I understand you’re here for information concerning secret lists of Nazi war criminals retained exclusively by various national countries. It was in my mind we might be of mutual assistance to each other.’
I stared at him with a puzzled expression on my face and then turned to Berg. ‘What the hell’s going on here?’
‘Come now, gentlemen,’ continued the Russian, with a grotesque grin on his face. ‘Let’s not be melodramatic! Just a little imagination and perhaps a token of friendship towards each other. I’d like that. I really would. If not, it all gets very dull. Very dull indeed!’ He joined his hands across his chest, locking his fingers together tightly. Then he released them and rose from the bed. He muttered something in German to the other man who still blocked the front door. ‘Now, I suggest we join forces in a little venture. In fact, I’m going to take you into my confidence by revealing a place some distance from here in the mountains. My fortress... my headquarters!’
‘What for?’ I asked, angry at being held captive. ‘Why do you need us?’
‘Sadly, I’m too well known. I have a reputation. Time has failed to release me from the bonds of the past. But, united, we can be a force to be reckoned with.’
‘You’re out of your mind,’ I told him foolishly. ‘Your plans are of no interest to us!’
‘You were interested enough to come to my meeting in London!’
‘Only for my own specific reasons!’
Strogoff laughed loudly, ending in a long-winded gasp. ‘Do you hear that, Karl? Such innocence!’ he mocked, gesticulating with his hands towards heaven. His face suddenly hardened in a horrifying way and he leaned forward to stare closely at both of us. ‘I’m surprised the two of you have teamed up together. Jack Berg, a man dedicated to rooting out Nazi war criminals, and Herr Erdbeer, the grandson of an SS Colonel. All right, this is the point where we stop playing games!’ he hissed. ‘We have work to do! I want two things from you. I need the information you seek from Gunter Hausmann. Money is no object and I can pay my way. After that, I want to meet Der Bankvorsteher.’
Berg laughed in his face. ‘How the hell do we meet Der Bankvorsteher? I was right the first time. You’re out of your mind!’
‘Oh really!’ replied Strogoff in a sinister manner. ‘Well perhaps you ought to collaborate on a more equitable basis with your friend because he’ll be meeting him in a few days’ time.’ He stared directly into my eyes. ‘Isn’t that so, Herr Erdbeer?’
‘Where do you get your information, Strogoff?’ I demanded, knowing it was a rhetorical question. He seemed to know everything as it happened, as though watching the developments of a play as they unfolded on the stage.
‘I like the way you operate,’ he countered. ‘The grandson of an SS Colonel who’s the senior executive of a private bank. You adopt the cover of a newspaper reporter who rarely writes a story very well. Quite brilliant really! But I’m wondering whether my information is slightly incorrect. You see, I take the view you might be Der Bankvorsteher in person yourself!’
‘If that were the case,’ I rattled, trying not to laugh at his ridiculous assumption, ‘why am I here in Germany looking for Gunter Hausmann?’
‘I don’t know,’ he replied calmly. ‘But I’m working on it. I’ll find out eventually. You can bet your life on it!’ He paused for a moment. ‘Why else would you be chased by Israeli agents through the London docks after you disposed of the body of an Israeli agent?’
‘Carrie?’
‘I believe that was her name. Carrie Fisher!’ I stared at Berg, recalling how I’d been terrorised in the hunt through St. Katherine’s Dock. ‘Why else would Jack Berg try to kill you with a rifle at her funeral in Cheshunt, after he planted a bomb in her brother’s car to blow him to smithereens?’
Berg looked very disconcerted as Strogoff reeled off the facts, and I considered the information slowly, trying to deduce why he should want to kill me. ‘Is that the truth?’ I asked Berg, as a tinge of anger welled-up inside me.
‘He would love to deny it,’ pressed the Russian, ‘but he can’t. Not while I’m here... because it is the truth!’
‘I’ll ask you once more,’ I said calmly to Berg, beginning to seethe inside.
‘It’s true,’ he replied lamely, ‘but it’s not the way he makes it sound. There were good reasons for my actions which I can explain.’
‘I’m dying to hear the explanation,’ muttered Strogoff in a low voice.
‘What I have to say is to be said in private,’ snapped Berg.
‘Very well,’ shrugged Strogoff casually. ‘Your personal problems have nothing to do with me. I’m not really that interested!’ He turned to me slowly. ‘You should be more careful whom you choose as your friends, Herr Erdbeer!’
‘What do you want me to do?’ I asked the Russian, pretending to be so angry I was willing to switch allegiance to his side.
‘I’m asking you to share the information you receive from Gunter Hausmann, that’s all. I want a photocopy of the names and the details he sells you.’
‘Very well,’ I agreed. ‘But I may call on you to help with the funding. Hausmann won�
�t sell the information cheaply.’
‘You can’t agree to that!’ intervened Berg in despair.
‘Shut up!’ I snapped. ‘You’re excluded from this deal until you offer me a satisfactory explanation why you tried to kill me!’
‘Furthermore,’ Strogoff continued, ignoring Berg’s outburst, ‘if you’re not Der Bankvorsteher, I want to know his real identity and where he’s located. That too is important!’
‘I understand. But this is a quid pro quo situation. There’s something I want in exchange. Firstly, a share of the treasure when we get hold of it. Secondly, sanctuary from my enemies in Israel and the Nazi party.’
‘No problem, Herr Erdbeer. The treasure will be enough for all of us. As for sanctuary, you can stay at my fortress for as long as you wish.’
‘As a prisoner... no thanks!’ I retorted.
‘Not as a prisoner. I’m forming a team to help me with my plans. You could have rank and power if you wanted them.’
‘What do you have in mind?’ intervened Berg wildly. ‘King Strogoff or President Strogoff?’
The Russian muttered a few words to Karl. The giant moved forward to grasp Berg’s arm, twisting it behind his back.
‘Take it easy!’ I called out, as Berg’s face showed his agony. ‘There’s no need to get physical about this.’
The criminal nodded to his bodyguard who released him, and Berg rubbed his arm vigorously to ease the pain. ‘You think you can conquer everyone by force!’ he shouted, almost beside himself with anger.
‘It seems to work,’ returned Strogoff, with an evil smile on his face as he stood up.
‘How do I get in touch with you?’ I asked naively.
‘At this stage of the game, I’m the one who gets in touch with you, Herr Erdbeer,’ he told me coldly. ‘Don’t ring us, we’ll ring you!’ He laughed at his own joke, ending with the same gasping sound.
After he left the apartment with Karl, I poured myself a drink in the kitchen and stared at Berg. ‘You’ve a lot of explaining to do, my friend!’ I challenged fiercely. ‘You’d better start talking fast!’
‘If you knew anything about the situation, you’d realise I can’t tell you anything at present,’ he bleated, as though his personal problems excused him. ‘Please don’t ask me to explain.’
‘I’m not asking you, you little weasel!’ I snarled. ‘I’m going to kill you if you don’t tell me!’
He remained silent and I started to lose my temper. I warned him once again of the consequences if he refused to comply which still brought no response. Against my better judgement, I adopted a martial arts pose intimidatingly. He showed no emotion except to repress a smile at my ridiculous stance, believing I was bluffing. I was never going to be able to frighten him into submission. It left me with no alternative but to attack. He soon realised his mistake when I took hold of his arm and shoulder to bounce him off the chalky-white wall in the very small room. As he groaned and tried to get to his feet, I assailed him again. His threshold of pain was fused at a very low level and, if the truth were known, he was probably an even greater coward than myself. Ultimately, he screamed out to yield and I glowered at him fiercely.
‘All right, all right! I’ll tell you,’ he conceded reluctantly, rubbing his shoulder tenderly as I relaxed and sat on a chair. ‘But what I have to tell you is between the two of us. It has to remain a secret at all cost. If not, then years of painstaking work will go down the drain. Do I have your solemn promise?’
‘Stop stalling and get on with it!’ I commanded, determined to get to the bottom of it. ‘If you think you can try to kill me and get away with it...... . ’
‘Of course I didn’t try to kill you!’ he interrupted, pausing to nurse his bruises. ‘If I wanted to kill you nothing would have stopped me! I had to kill Carrie though. That was the sad part of it. She was an Israeli agent but she had to go. It was most regrettable because she was honest, loyal and industrious, and she worked well for her country. That was the problem... she was too good! A woman who was totally dedicated in her pursuit of Nazi war criminals, and she knew what was going on in International Three Thousand. Her life was at risk from both sides. Who could foretell her own countrymen would issue a death warrant? But that’s the way it goes in espionage. You see, she concentrated all her efforts on Conrad Hayle, the Minister of Justice.’
‘What was so wrong in that?’
‘There’s a secret file on him. His real identity is Isaac Czernovsky. He’s an Israeli agent who infiltrated the higher ranks of the Nazis behind International Three Thousand. He was planted there. In that position, he’s invaluable to us. I was the only person in Britain who knew anything about him. Carrie pressed too hard. She discovered a file on him which indicated he was the relative of a Nazi war criminal, which was the cover he’d been given, and she intended to expose him. She would have ruined two years’ work. We had to stop her so I ransacked your apartment and carried out my orders to eliminate her.’
‘What a lousy thing to do!’ I gasped, filled with a mixture of anger and sorrow. ‘And she was the woman you were going to marry at one time. What kind of scum are you, Berg?’
‘Some of us place country first and personal life second. But perhaps you wouldn’t understand that. When we tried to dispose of her body that night, we were followed by our own agents who tried to frighten you off the scent. In effect, they were trying to scare you enough so you’d give up. After all, you were implicated by being an accessory after the fact. It was a great disappointment to us when you turned up at her funeral. Carrie’s brother, Hymie, was the next person on the hit-list. We didn’t know how much she might have told him about Hayle. No one knew whether she confided in him. We couldn’t take the chance. After the bomb went off, I fired at you a number of times with a rifle. I’m an excellent shot and made sure I missed you narrowly on each occasion. There was no intention to wound you... let alone kill you. We didn’t want the police to start an investigation on the shooting of a newspaper reporter and open up another can of worms. There was only one problem which concerned me. I got Hayle to sign the recommendation for you to join International Three Thousand. On the night, he was forced to examine it in front of all the new recruits. You must have thought it strange he never questioned it.’
‘It did pass through my mind a few times,’ I replied attentively.
‘Well, what could he say? He had to bluff his way out of it and hoped you’d go along with the idea too.’
I locked the door of the apartment and began to undress. ‘I’ll take the bed... you take the couch!’ I muttered, scowling at him to show my disinterest in his welfare. ‘We’ll talk about this again tomorrow.’
‘What about Strogoff?’ he asked dolefully.
‘We’ll talk about him tomorrow as well! I’ve had enough for one day. I need to sleep!’ I climbed into the bed and slid between the cool sheets thinking about the events of the day. The appearance of Strogoff was too much to cast to the back of my mind, while the revelations of Jack Berg needed a great deal of thought. The two men were making my life sheer hell and I had to do something about it! I lay churning it over in my head for what seemed like hours. It was some time well into the night when I finally gave up the struggle and fell asleep!
Chapter Fourteen
At first light, I made Berg hire a car and we drove to Berchtesgaden. We continued from Munich on the Alpine road which was the biggest tourist attraction of the eastern Bavarian Alps. The Berchtesgaden region was absolutely magnificent with its rugged giant mountains and its Alpine lakes of exquisite beauty. It took us thirty-five minutes to reach Ramsau, a superb mountain climbing base for the peak of Hochkalter which towered above it. Close by was the Hintersee, a small lake locked in steep slopes. We passed the tumultuous torrent raining down through the Wimbach Gorge which originated in the snowfields separating Hochkalter from the higher and wilder Waltzmann
. Berchtesgaden was the centre of this area, known as an old market town. It was so densely wooded that only one sixth of it could be cleared for the erection of buildings. The main feature in the town was the castle-palace, an Augustinian abbey which belonged to the Wittelsbach family, the rulers of Bavaria. In modern times, it had been turned into a local museum. The views here were outstanding. We drove from the town up the Rossfeld mountain road running in a loop around the 4,900 foot Rossfeld which offered breathtaking vistas of the Berchtesgaden region and the Austrian mountains across the border. I had made a note to visit Kehlsteinhaus, the former Eagle’s Nest of Adolf Hitler, normally reached from Obersalzberg by bus and elevator.
We soon found Gunter Hausmann’s house. It was a built in typical Bavarian style and sported flowers which hung in buckets from the roof and in barrels in the front garden. The temperature was lower out here... much cooler than in Munich... but it was a delightful place to live. For some strange reason my mind floated back to the other informant I knew so well. Calvin would sit on his stool at the Dog and Duck, swinging his right arm mechanically to his mouth saying: “Comes to mind... comes to mind!” But he was dead now, and I would dearly love to see his murderer brought to justice.
Berg and I glanced at each other for a few moments and then I hammered on the door with my fist in the absence of any other means to attract attention. Shortly, Hausmann opened it and stared at us seriously. He bade us enter with a sweep of his hand and we shuffled into the dark hallway, unable to see anything once the front door had been closed; our eyes were still accustomed to the brilliant sunshine outside. He led us into the lounge and smiled.
‘Good morning, gentlemen!’ he welcomed in excellent English, although his accent was slightly clipped. ‘I’m Gunter Hausmann. I welcome you to my home.’ He was over six feet tall and very skinny. About fifty years of age, he was greying slightly at the temples, balding a little, and sported a goatee beard. He dressed very smartly in a light brown suit and a pure white shirt. There was a tie-pin attached to his contrasting tie and I took the view it might be a miniature camera. ‘Let’s have some refreshment and discuss matters relevant to all of us.’
