The Devouring

by James R Benn

  Something moved behind me. A quiet rustle of clothing, and then cold steel was pressed into my neck. The barrel of a pistol.

  “Not move,” came in a guttural whisper, thick with a Germanic accent. “Pistole.” His hand reached around me, relieving me of my pistol as he jabbed his harder under my ear.

  “Hannes?” I said, as loudly as I dared, knowing it was him. He must have recognized me and led me into this trap.

  “Shhh!” he hissed. “Papiere. Dokumente, ja? You have?”

  “Yeah, sure, back at the hotel,” I said, turning to face him. That got me a smack on the head with the butt of his revolver, hard enough to send a message while keeping me upright.

  “Nein. You give, to me. Now. Jetzt!”

  “I don’t have it, pal. Take it easy, okay?” I raised my hands to show how cooperative I was, and to get ready to elbow him in the face, which was a great plan except for his finger on the trigger a few inches from my carotid artery. His free hand started patting me down, and I steeled myself to swing around with a fast hit to the jaw and a quick prayer to the Archangel Michael, him being the patron saint for cops and no slouch at fighting the forces of Satan.

  Hannes muttered something in German as steps sounded coming up the stairs from the river. He turned, the muzzle now burying itself in my ear, and his hand gripping my shoulder. If it was Kaz or Victor, I needed to alert them, but right now that would result in a warning shot that might be muffled by what brains I had. How did I let him grab me? A rookie would have known better than to stop in dark alley. Hannes pulled me back against the wall, both of us in shadows as he waited for the steps to come our way.

  I caught movement out of the corner of my eye, coming from the opposite direction. No sound, just a hurtling shadow that flew into us, sending Hannes and me head over heels and tumbling to the paving stones in a jumble of limbs. I heard Hannes grunt as he hit, then came the gunshot.

  Very loud, very close to my ear. I heard the zing of the bullet as it ricocheted off the wall, or maybe that was the ringing inside my head. I tried to pin Hannes down by his gun hand but he squirmed free, his face contorted with rage, one hand grasping his knee as he tried to stand.

  “Stop! Halt!” It was Kaz, coming from the stairs. I tried to get up and fell over Victor, who half rose, watching Hannes, his gaze fixed on the pistol.

  Hannes grimaced, his gun hand wavering as he held it on us, and then aimed toward Kaz, less than twenty yards away. Kaz stopped, turned sideways to present the smallest target, and held his Webley trained on Hannes. The sound of a police siren drifted across the river. Hannes spat out a curse and took off down the street, running with an uneven gait.

  “Halt!” Kaz shouted again, running with his arm extended, revolver tracking Hannes as he weaved and limped down the darkened street.

  “Don’t shoot, we need him!” Victor said, getting up and sprinting after Hannes. In stocking feet, I noticed, which was why we didn’t hear him as he ran toward us. Kaz flew by, getting ahead of Victor and shielding him. I grabbed my pistol, dropped by Hannes when Victor did his freight train impression, and tried to catch up.

  Victor and Kaz were in a small plaza overlooking the river, dominated by a church, its thin spire barely visible in the misty gloom.

  “He went in there,” Kaz said, huddled against a chestnut tree. “We heard the door slam shut.”

  “He might get away out the back,” Victor said, lacing up his shoes, which he must have retrieved along the way.

  “Thanks, Victor, I owe you,” I said.

  “I’d say we’re even, given that you tried to find me, and figured out the clues I left,” he said. “Now let’s go.”

  “Slow down,” I said. “Kaz, you circle around back. I’ll go in the main door. Victor, you move down that way, where you should have an angle on the back as well. If you see him come out of either, yell out. And duck.”

  “Okay,” Victor said, jogging off to a low wall that gave him a side view of the church. Kaz and I ran low, splitting up as I mounted the front steps, watching for a pistol to appear in any of the narrow windows on the steeple. I didn’t see anything. The police siren faded away. It wasn’t for us; some other poor bastard was in trouble.

  The door was massive oak, with an iron latch and hinges that clanked and creaked as I opened it. I ducked, hoping to avoid a bullet if Hannes was waiting close by. Nothing. I squeezed in, trying to minimize the noise, but the centuries-old oak door had other ideas and slammed shut, sending a shudder through me and into the empty church. I darted to a corner, which gave me a view of the interior and a door that must’ve led to the steeple. I listened. No clamber of feet. No shouts from Victor. Now all I had to do was find where Hannes was hiding and not shoot Kaz in the process.

  I waited, hoping for my quarry to make the first move.

  I thought about what Victor had said. That we needed Hannes. Which was what we’d come up with as well not long ago. But how much did Victor know, and what did he have in mind? It also occurred to me that Hannes could have shot the two of us with a good chance of getting away. But he didn’t, which meant we were worth something alive. He wouldn’t want to shoot me, or Kaz, since the document had been mailed to us.

  One of us, I corrected myself. If Hannes knew which one, he might not have any qualms about plugging the other. And since he’d already held off putting a bullet in me, chances were my name was on that envelope. I hoped.

  I strolled down the aisle, about ten paces, enough for Hannes to spot me if he was there. Nothing. A door latch clicked from behind the altar, and seconds later Kaz emerged, looking anything but priestly with his Webley revolver ready for action. I motioned for him to stay put, and that I was going up into the belfry. Not having bats in his, he quickly agreed with a nod and hunkered down behind an ornate pulpit, the perfect spot to observe the entire church.

  I pressed the latch on the door to the church tower and pushed the door open, standing back. It creaked in the silence, revealing a spiral metal staircase and a lot of damp, cold stone. I didn’t like the idea of stepping into the chamber, since the only reason I could think of for Hannes to have climbed the steps was to shoot whoever came up after him. Maybe he didn’t want to kill me, or maybe that was wishful thinking.

  Time to find out.

  “Hannes!” I yelled, taking a small step. “You want the document? Let’s talk. Sprechen, ja?”

  Silence.

  I stepped closer to the staircase and looked up, pistol at the ready. For the second time tonight, I felt cold steel at my neck.

  “Ja, das Dokument,” Hannes whispered. I glanced to my side and saw where he’d hidden, in the shadows beneath the spiraling staircase.

  “Hotel,” I said, keeping my words simple. “Mail. The post.”

  “Komm mit mir,” he said, grabbing me by the arm. This was beginning to get tiresome.

  “No,” came a voice from the foyer. Victor. “Nicht mehr.” Yeah, I’d had enough myself. Hannes swiveled around, keeping me between him and Victor, who was quickly joined by Kaz.

  “This would be a good time for a convincing talk in his own language,” I said, grunting as the barrel of his pistol ground into my neck. “Tell him he has nowhere to go. Tell him about the Gestapo warrant.”

  “He knows,” Victor said. “Ask him.” Kaz unleashed a torrent of Teutonic at Hannes, who let out a sigh of warm breath on my neck as he took my revolver. Again.

  “Let us speak in English, Baron Kazimierz,” Hannes said, his diction as clipped and perfect as any English boarding school boy. “There is no longer a need to disguise my familiarity with the English language. It is a useful tool, at times, to pretend to not understand what people are saying, be it in French or English.”

  “Sorry, but I can’t concentrate on how well you speak English with that Walther pressed against my neck,” I said. “Ease up, okay?”

  “I will ea
se up once I have the document in my hands,” Hannes said. “Victor tells me it was mailed to you, Mr. Boyle, at your hotel. I want you to fetch it for me and return here promptly. Otherwise, I will shoot these two men, starting with your friend.”

  “At which point you will shoot all of us anyway,” Kaz said, his Webley still aimed at Hannes. Who was standing behind Mrs. Boyle’s oldest son.

  “Do not be melodramatic, Baron,” Hannes said. “Put your pistol down and slide it to me with your foot. Carefully.”

  “No,” Kaz said. I could feel my eyebrows pop up in surprise. “There is no reason. Let Billy go fetch the document. I will be your hostage, and Victor will hold my pistol. That will help insure our survival after Billy returns.”

  “Very well,” Hannes said. “Give Victor your pistol, then come here.” Hannes grabbed Kaz and shoved me aside, taking a seat on the stairs with Kaz standing in front of him. Victor lounged against the wall, forming a bizarre triangle of mistrust and death.

  “Tell me this,” I said, as I straightened out my rumpled coat. “Did you know about this document all along? What’s in it?”

  “I have no idea, except that it is very valuable to Herr Huber,” Hannes said. “Now go.”

  “You have been diverting withdrawals for your own purposes,” Kaz said, looking up at Hannes. “Which is why your former employers are after you. You must be a disappointment to Siegfried Krauch.”

  “I am simply an old vice detective with a penchant for languages, which is what led me to this assignment. I don’t care a fig about the Nazis, and I certainly don’t plan to stay until the bitter end. A Gestapo man’s life won’t be worth a Reichsmark once the Russians march under the Brandenburg gate.”

  “So you killed Lowenberg, and probably others, to cover up your embezzlement,” I said.

  “They would have died sooner or later, in one of the camps, and they’d never see their money anyway. With me, they got a nice trip and a last meal, almost a kindness. Now, I like to talk about myself as much as the next man, but my leg hurts and I am growing impatient. Go now, come back with the document, and we go our separate ways. Believe me, I have no desire to leave three bodies behind. It would raise too many questions.”

  I looked at the Walther, now shoved against Kaz’s neck. I looked at Hannes, his eyes narrowed and his brow creased. He was a man with his back against the wall, gambling on a big payoff to fund his getaway. He had nothing to lose, everything to gain.

  We had everything to lose.

  “I’ll hurry back, Kaz,” I said.

  “Hurry there too, Billy,” he said, trying for a wry grin. Tough with the business end of a pistol at your throat.

  I trotted out to the plaza and cut across until I came to Junkergasse, the main drag where our hotel was. It was near midnight, but there were still people out, navigating the darkened streets, heading home or out for one last drink. Maybe the jazz band was playing tonight at the Golden Eagle. As the hotel came into sight, I slowed to a fast walk. My mind was racing with worry. I was exhausted, hungry, and right now all I cared about was getting Kaz and Victor out of the jam they were in. I looked for Lasho, hoping he’d returned to the hotel, but he was nowhere to be seen. Probably out looking for us who knows where.

  I took the steps into the hotel two at a time. The jazz band was in full swing, brassy notes flowing from the bar at the far end of the room. The lobby full of revelers, a waiter circulating and delivering drinks. I weaved through the crowd to the reception desk and decided to register, figuring it would be easier for a current guest to get his mail.

  It was simple. I signed the register, showed my identity papers, and in a few minutes I had my key along with a small package wrapped in plain brown paper handed to me with a smile.

  “May I have an envelope and paper, please?” I asked. I took everything and sat in the lobby, checking the package. No return address. Henri would have been too careful for that. Secured with tightly knotted string. Canceled stamps, of course. I thought about opening it and replacing the contents, but there wasn’t time. I wrote my name and the hotel address on the envelope, stuffed the paper in, and added a folded piece of newspaper from the side table to give it some heft. I hoped Hannes would rip it open to check the contents, which would give us a split second to pounce on him.

  It wasn’t much of a plan. Hardly even qualified as a plan, really. But it was all I had, all that was standing between Victor and Kaz taking a slug to the head if I didn’t hurry.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  I left the hotel walking at a fast clip, too fast to notice a couple of mugs on my tail. By the time the big black Mercedes slammed on its brakes alongside me, they had me by the arms, pushing me toward the rear door. They shoved me in, one of them taking up position outside the rolled-down window, his Walther automatic discreetly aimed at my head.

  I should have been upset about being grabbed again, but I got the crazy notion that since I hadn’t been shot yet tonight by Hannes, odds were I wouldn’t be by this guy either. Then the church bells struck midnight. It was a new day, and the odds were starting all over again.

  “We have been wondering where you were, Herr Boyle,” Siegfried Krauch said, from his seat next to me. The Mercedes was plenty big, the rear seat roomy enough for him to cross his legs and sit up straight, even at six foot plus. His black hair glistened with whatever the Krauts used for Brylcreem, and his five o’clock shadow was working overtime. Of course, he had the usual Walther. Not many people in Bern hadn’t pointed one at me tonight.

  “I’ve been looking for Georg Hannes, one of your boys,” I said, trying to postpone the inevitable. “Know where I can find him?”

  “He is a traitor to the Reich,” Krauch said. “Turn him over to me and I will make certain of a reward. More than your life, perhaps.”

  “You can have him, with my compliments. Now turn me loose and I’ll give you a reward. I’ll put in a good word at your trial after the war. Maybe they won’t hang you.”

  “In the Greater Reich, that would be defeatist talk, assuming an Allied victory. You are lucky to be in Switzerland, although we could be across the border in time for breakfast. A trip that we may undertake if you do not hand over that envelope. The one you picked up at the hotel ten minutes ago.”

  I was unarmed, sitting between two pistols, one aimed at my gut, the other at my head. I handed over the package, the real one. Krauch had plenty of time to check, so there was no reason to foist off the phony envelope on him. He studied the brown paper parcel, holstering his pistol and cutting the string with a pocketknife. He unwrapped the paper and removed Henri’s silver cigarette case.

  “Very nice,” he said, admiring the case. He opened it and unfolded two pieces of paper. Invoices, Henri had said. They looked unremarkable, nothing more than standard business paperwork, although Krauch held them close, not letting me get more than a glance. “Do you know what this is?”

  “Something everyone wants. I have no idea why, or what it’s all about,” I said.

  “Good. But even if you did know, it would do you no good. Gossip, nothing more. Now, you may go,” Krauch said, motioning for his man outside to step back.

  “Just like that?” I said.

  “Our business is concluded,” Krauch said. “After all, this is Switzerland. A friendly nation, and we don’t want to litter the street with corpses. I have what I want and see no need to complicate matters.”

  “Maybe I’ll take you up on that offer of a reward for Hannes,” I said. “Where can I get in touch with you?”

  “Very amusing, Herr Boyle. If you do locate Hannes, the reward is ten percent of the money he has stolen. And I will find you, never worry. Simply mention my name at the Golden Eagle,” Krauch said, enjoying himself. “The staff all know me well.”

  I got out, half expecting a bullet in the back. Then the Mercedes roared off, swallowed up in the darkness. The two gunsels sa
untered back to the hotel. I was not enough of a threat to warrant a bullet, or even a good shove. I was almost disappointed.

  I started running, worried that being shanghaied by Krauch had eaten into whatever time was left before Hannes got nervous. Interesting about the reward, I thought, as I turned off the main drag and headed to the church. Ten percent of how much, I wondered?

  Plenty, if the Gestapo was willing to share. If they could be believed. But my problem right now was getting Hannes to believe in the ersatz envelope in my pocket. Victor had known about it; would he recognize this as a substitute? If so, he might react in time. If not, the gunshots would be echoing inside the granite stone tower pretty damn soon.

  I opened the massive oak door to the church and called out. Kaz answered, and I walked into the base of the tower. They were all still there, in place as I’d left them.

  “Do you have it?” Hannes demanded.

  “Sure, what do you think I’ve been doing all this time?” I said, drawing the envelope from my pocket. I wanted Victor to get a good look at it before I made my move. “Listen, Hannes, I’ve been thinking. We deserve something extra for this. Some of that money you’ve got stashed away.”

  “Be satisfied with your life,” he said. “Now hand it over.” He stood up from the staircase, pushing Kaz ahead of him. His right hand held the Walther at Kaz’s neck. He extended his left arm, waiting for me to give him the envelope.

  “We need a plan,” I said, stopping a foot short. “To disengage. How are we going to do it?”

  “First I confirm you have what I want,” he said, his palm out. “Then we plan how to part company.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Just take it easy, we’re almost through this.” Victor stepped forward, staying to my side to keep Hannes covered. “It would be a shame for anyone to get hurt at this point.”

  Hannes shifted a bit, which presented me with a good angle on his left leg, the one he’d hurt when Victor had piled onto us. At least I hoped it was his left leg. I placed the envelope in his hand and shot a glance toward Victor, who gave the slightest nod of recognition.