by Stan Mason
We relaxed in comfortable chairs as Hausmann studied us closely in the dim light. Despite the fact the house was lodged in the mountains, the temperature in the room was quite high. Under the light above him, his face appeared slightly longer because of the absence of hair at the front of his head, while his salt-and-pepper goatee beard looked much darker. Hausmann had two obvious nervous habits. The first was to keep pulling at his beard with the thumb and index finger of his right hand as if it needed tidying every so often. The second involved blinking his eyes in a kind of nervous twitch which caused one to believe he was agreeing with them whenever it happened. Yet, despite these nervous traits, he carried an air of authority which commanded respect and his manner, although curt, was pleasant. Similarly to those people who enjoy taking their time to undertake business, it was apparent that Hausmann was in no hurry to launch the meeting, and he scanned our faces in his own time. Up in the mountains, everything took on a relaxed tone. There was no urgency, no hurry, to do anything in particular. After a short while, he stood up and went to a coffee-machine in the corner of the room and poured out cups of the hot liquid which he offered to us.
‘I hope you like coffee,’ he ventured. ‘It’s all I drink except at meals. Have you tried Enzian. It’s a Bavarian spirit drink... like schnapps flavoured with the root of the yellow gentian. It goes well after having a large meal.’ We took the cups of coffee and smiled weakly at him. ‘You know, many people think we Germans are arrogant and warlike for the whole of our lives, but that’s not the case at all. You will learn to love us... if you live that long!’
‘What do you mean by that?’ asked Berg with alarm.
Hausmann stroked his beard in his usual manner as he sat down. ‘Information of the sensitive kind brings its own danger. The more sensitive it is, the more dangerous it becomes. We live in troubled times where the emphasis on intelligence is paramount. More wars in progress in the offices of secret service agencies in the world than were ever fought on any battlefield. You two are amateurs with no protection or support. I can only presume you like to live dangerously.’
‘You don’t believe in pulling punches, do you?’ muttered Berg, swallowing hard as he showed some degree of concern about his future.
‘It depends on how much you value your life,’ continued our host. There’s an old Chinese saying: “Man with head in clouds get feet wet in puddle.” I wouldn’t like to hazard a guess as to how many eyes are focussed on the pair of you at this precise moment.’
I coughed slightly and glanced over my shoulder casually, pretending the words made no impact on me. Nonetheless, I began to feel distinctly uncomfortable. We were located in some misbegotten part of a strange town high up in the mountains in South Germany. Anything could happened to us here and no one would be the wiser. Who was this Gunter Hausmann anyway?
‘I’ve been in this business a long time, gentlemen,’ he went on. ‘I know what it takes. The difficulty I face at the moment concerns the on-going use of the information if I let you have it. Naturally, it’s available to anyone who wishes to pay the price, with certain exceptions. The exceptions make me reluctant to deal with you. For example, you may pass it on to undesirable parties.’
‘What undesirable parties?’ asked Berg naively.
‘I know only too well about Strogoff and the deal he offered you,’ he returned coolly.
Berg and I glanced at each other with the same thought passing through our minds. It was patently clear someone was either watching every movement we made, or more likely, they had planted some sort of bugging device somewhere in the apartment. How else could he know? It was astonishing that such information had travelled so far, so fast, to a person high up in the Bavarian Alps. ‘If you know that, why don’t you deal with him yourself?’ I demanded boldly.
‘Because he’s the last person I would ever want to deal with. I know what he would do with the information. He’d blackmail every person on the list... bleed them to death.’
‘You’d rather protect the war criminals of your country from him, would you?’ Berg’s question was very incisive.
‘If you believe that you’re crazy! Strogoff is a threat to everyone. You have no idea what he’s up to!’
‘Surprise me,’ I challenged waspishly. ‘What is he up to?’
‘We’re not dealing with a normal situation here... not where that man’s concerned. Strogoff is devious. In the first place, he’s trying to lay his hands on the money raised from Nazi war treasures.’
I shrugged my shoulder disconsolately. ‘I doubt whether he would make many inroads on that ambition. But if he does succeed, what then?’
Hausmann blinked and twitched nervously before raising his coffee cup to his lips to sip the liquid noisily. ‘In the second place, Strogoff’s blackmailing many war criminals. He now has his own army in a fortress not far away from here... in the Zugspitze. It’s Germany’s highest peak, rising to nearly ten thousand feet. Most people think it’s impossible to get about up there, but the Bavarian Alps are highly accessible. He has a fortress with helicopters and armoured cars, as well as about a hundred men and women in uniform.’
‘Aren’t the authorities aware of this?’ I asked.
‘Of course they are. There are spies everywhere. But the military have no wish to get involved in a costly private war on Germany’s highest peak. And, anyway, he’s causing no problems at the moment. Now, gentlemen, let’s get down to business. Tell me exactly what you wish to know!’
‘We want the lists of Nazi war criminals for each of the thirteen countries of the United Nations War Crimes Commission,’ blurted Berg hopefully.
Hausmann shrugged, stroking his beard again thoughtfully. ‘You realise, naturally, what you ask is impossible. However, I may be able to help you with regard to three countries. How much are you prepared to pay for the information?’
I emptied my coffee cup trying not to show my distaste for the ugly liquid and put it down beside me. ‘How do we know the information is authentic?’
He bridled at the remark. ‘The ability of my sources in the countries concerned is unquestioned. They are trusted people. The data I’ve provided over the past twenty years has always been authentic and accurate. Let’s be clear about his! Anyone who provides false information is either out of business or dead within a very short time. There’s no margin for error!’ He moved towards the coffee-machine again as the door opened and a beautiful young woman entered the room. ‘Ah, gentlemen! This is my daughter Helga!’
I stood up and bowed, leaving Berg firmly entrenched in his seat. Helga smiled at us and began to clear away the cups. She was a slender, beautiful young woman with short blonde hair, sparkling blue eyes, a retrousse nose, and high cheekbones. I was stunned by her natural beauty, forgetting in that instant my feelings for Tania. Even when she had left the room, the outline of her delicate face and lithe body lingered in my mind like a haunting refrain.
‘Well, gentlemen,’ continued our host. ‘Let’s negotiate for the three files you desire. If we reach an agreement, and I’m certain we will, there’s something further we need to discuss... about availability.’
He reached into the pocket of his suit and produced a piece of paper on which he had written some figures. Berg leaned across and glanced at it before passing the slip to me. I stared at the figures with a dull expression on my face, ostensibly to show complete disinterest. Ted Flanders would fire me on the spot if I committed the newspaper to a sum of that magnitude.
‘Out of the question!’ I told him bluntly. ‘Completely out of the question! You’ll have to do better than that!’
He smiled casually and looked at the ceiling for a while as though the answer lay there or the effluxion of time would resolve the problem. Shortly afterwards, he returned his gaze to us again. ‘Write your own figure then?’ he muttered. ‘It’ll save time. What do you think such information is wor
th?’
I opened the small briefcase I had brought with me and shuffled some papers around. It was simply a ploy to play for time. After a while, I produced a pen and halved the figure he had entered before handing the slip of paper back to him.
He stared at the figure benignly and his hand plundered a small dish of peanuts which he crunched noisily. ‘With customers like you,’ he said at length, ‘I would be starving within a year. Don’t you know the value of this information? Strogoff would pay me handsomely for it!’
‘Oh, come on, Gunter!’ responded Berg. ‘You don’t want to sell it to him. That’s the matter you want to discuss with us... not to sell it to him! If the Russian authorities found out you’d given him the means to develop an army, which might be used against them, they would cut you to pieces. It’s common knowledge he blackmails war criminals and he’s after the Nazi funds. You’ve got to keep well out of it where he’s concerned or the KGB will destroy you and your family for a serious error of judgement. That’s more like the truth, isn’t it!’
Hausmann’s face fell at the tirade which obviously struck home and he started blinking and twitching. From that moment onwards, he decided to ignore Berg and looked at me, as though I was a more reasonable man than my colleague. ‘What do you say if we split the difference?’ he suggested.
‘If you accept half your original figure as I’ve suggested, I reckon we have a deal,’ I replied excitedly, disregarding the ultimate confrontation with Ted Flanders and the way he would react when he discovered what I had done. ‘But how do you know we won’t sell the information to Strogoff at a higher price? He might use force against us, in which case we couldn’t do anything about it.’
‘I’ve thought about that one very carefully,’ he countered quickly. ‘The information is stored on microfilm. I’ll give it to you when you bring the money. In the meantime, I’ve taken pains to arrange for another microfilm to be prepared which contains false information. You can take that one with you now. That’s the one you give to Strogoff when he comes after you. And he will do so!’
‘Thank you very much!’ remonstrated Berg, with an anguished expression on his face. ‘And what happens when Strogoff finds out it’s false? He’ll be after our hides like a shot! You’re putting a pistol to our heads!’
‘Why do you think you’re getting this information so cheaply?’ growled our host. ‘Some agents would give their lives for it! How you deal with our mutual Russian enemy is your concern. I deal purely and solely in information!’
The atmosphere inside the room was becoming increasingly hostile and I wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible. ‘All right, Gunter,’ I said hastily. ‘Let’s have the false microfilm and we’ll start the ball rolling. There’s a lot to be done if I’m going to get the money to you from London.’
‘You’ll arrange for it to be paid in United States dollars,’ he urged. He removed a buff envelope from the inside pocket of his jacket and laid it on the table. ‘I hope you can resolve your problems,’ he said finally, stroking his beard firmly. I rose and picked up the envelope. Hausmann followed my example and led us to the front door before shepherding us out into the street where we adjusted our eyes to the bright sunlight.
Berg was furious at the new development. ‘You’re crazy even to consider we can outwit Strogoff!’ he fumed, fearing his life had been placed in great danger. ‘What’s going to happen when he finds out?’
‘One step at a time,’ I told him calmly. ‘One step at a time. We have to play the game by Hausmann’s rules, otherwise we’ll never get what we came for. Think about that for a while.’
We walked on a little until I heard the sound of someone calling to us. It was Helga urging us to stop, waving my briefcase aloft in her hand. Breathlessly, she reached us to give it to me and I grasped her hand instinctively.
‘When can I see you again?’ I asked quietly, staring directly into her eyes. ‘I must see you... soon!’
‘You can do that when you come to our house again,’ she conveyed, her bosom heaving from the physical effort required to reach us.
‘No, I mean tonight. I want to see you tonight!’
‘You don’t understand...’
‘Tonight!’ I pressed insistently. ‘Please say you’ll meet me!’
She paused to reflect for a moment, scanning my face closely. ‘All right,’ she agreed, with a tinge of hesitancy in her voice as though committing a transgression. ‘I’ll meet you at seven o’clock at Gastof Neuhaus in Marktplatz. It’s a restaurant.’
‘I released her hand and smiled. ‘Seven o’clock at Gastof Neuhaus!’ She ran off like the wind and I turned to Berg who stared at me and shook his head slowly. ‘She’s the most beautiful and exciting woman I have ever seen,’ I told him. ‘Did you notice the highcheekbones and those sparkling blue eyes?’
He showed his displeasure unremittingly. ‘I never mix business with pleasure... especially with Germans! You should concentrate on what we’ve come to do... not chasing women! Steer clear of her. No good will come of it, I assure you!’
I considered him to be a very wet blanket and we drove back to Munich with very little to say to each other. When we returned to the apartment I opened the buff envelope and took out the strips of microfim, holding them up to the light to examine the details with a pocket magnifying glass. ‘Hey!’ I exclaimed angrily. We’ve been short-changed! The names of extend from A to M. He only gave us half the alphabet of war criminals. I wonder why?’
Berg appeared less than interested. He didn’t even see me hide the information in a drawer in the wardrobe. I decided to keep well away from him until leaving for Berchtesgaden again later in the day. I drove directly to Gastof Neuhaus in Marktplatz and sat patiently at a table to wait for her. Casting an eye over the passing crowd, I tried to spot her before she found me but the light was already gone which made the task impossible. Seven o’clock came and went but there was no sign of her. I made up excuses for her to dampen my disappointment, however there was little comfort in such deception. It seemed I had wasted my time. At eight-thirty I settled the bill and began to walk away. I had hardly taken a dozen steps when someone moved from the shadows and pulled at my arm. ‘Helga!’ I exclaimed, staring at her beautiful face in the moonlight. ‘Where have you been?’
‘It wasn’t possible to get away earlier,’ she explained.
‘Do you want something to eat or drink?’
She shook her head. ‘Let’s walk and talk.’
I took her hand and we strolled for a while without speaking as the cool night breeze cut in from the east. Eventually, I stopped and faced her squarely, rubbing one of my hands gently across her cheek affectionately. She leaned her face into it, clearly indicating her feelings.
‘You’re so beautiful...... . .’ I began passionately.
She placed the tips of her fingers to my lips to silence me. ‘Don’t say anything. Please! Tonight is merely a fleeting moment of time... a single second spent in the years of eternity.’
I stared at her in puzzlement, unable to follow her train of thought. ‘What are you trying to say?’ I asked apprehensively.
There was no immediate reply and we turned to walk a little further. ‘I’m married,’ she replied. ‘I have a husband. But he’s so very boring. It’s funny, I married him because I was bored, now it’s even worse. I want to feel like a real woman but it never happens with him.’
I was stunned at her revelation. ‘What do you intend to do?’ I asked.
‘What do you intend to do?’ she responded. She laughed at my expression. ‘I hope you’re not a fuddy-duddy as well!’
‘On the contrary. I’m no fuddy-duddy!’
‘Good! I’ve booked a room for us at the Stiftshotel in Bahnhofstrasse. I know I won’t be disappointed.’ She flung her arms around my neck and we entered into a long passionate kiss. ‘Hm,’ she co
oed finally. ‘I know I won’t be disappointed!’
Some time later, just before we left the hotel, she handed me a buff envelope. ‘What’s this?’ I asked.
‘A parting gift from me. It’s the other half of the false microfilm... from N to Z. Goodbye, Jimmy! At last I feel like a real woman. I’ll never forget you!’
I drove back to the apartment in Munich and decided to cheer myself up by drinking the best part of a bottle of whisky which I purchased on the way. Berg was nowhere to be seen. I was rather pleased not to have to gaze at his miserable face. I took the buff envelope which Helga had given me and put it in the tea-caddy in the kitchen for safety. It was just as well, for a little while later the door opened without warning and I found myself staring at Karl who burst into the room. He brandished a pistol to ensure the place was empty in case his master was in any danger. Then Strogoff entered, closed the door behind him, and limped into the living-room. He rested a black executive case on the table and sat down in a chair. ‘So!’ he began, opening the case to show me it was full of United States dollars packed in neat little bundles. ‘Here’s the money! Now... I think you have something to give me.’
‘Go to hell!’ I shouted, as the whisky filled me with Dutch courage. ‘Don’t play games!’ he warned menacingly. ‘Give me the microfilm!’
The spirit caused me to giggle and he quickly tired of my attitude, making a sideways movement with his head to the bodyguard. Karl took hold of my shoulders, heaved me off the chair, and dragged me roughly into the kitchen. He forced my head under the tap in the sink and turned on the cold water, holding me in a fixed position so that I couldn’t move. I felt I was drowning and yelled when I was unable to stand the torture any longer. He released me, throwing a tea-towel over my head, not as a measure of good faith but to prepare me for the next onslaught. My head felt as large as a giant football but before I could feel sorry for myself I was propelled back into the living-room and pushed roughly into a chair.
