The Devouring

by James R Benn

  “Listen, you two did a great job finding Victor and tracking down Hannes,” she said, leaning forward as she crossed her legs, which I guess was meant to take our minds off the bad news she was about to deliver. “But remember, the purpose of Safehaven is to prevent the transfer of Nazi wealth outside of our control, and to ensure those funds are available to help rebuild Europe.”

  “Sure, but that doesn’t mean we have to cover up Huber contracting with the SS for slave labor,” I said. As soon as I did, I realized what the hardball answer to that would be. Yes we do. But Maureen was going to deliver it sugar-coated.

  “We’ve been able to secure a certain amount of cooperation from the Swiss banking community,” she said. “The fact that the war is going our way doesn’t hurt, but some of these bankers are truly concerned about aiding the Nazis and think their banks may have gone too far. And truth be told, Henri’s death has garnered some sympathy, since it’s been attributed to the SVV.”

  “Hannes was sure it was Krauch,” Kaz put in.

  “Perhaps,” Maureen said, raising a finger as if to emphasize the point. “That’s one reason the Gestapo uses their SVV cronies: to take the blame when necessary, to avoid a diplomatic incident. But the important thing to understand is that we depend a great deal upon the Red Cross. Allied POWs are under their protection, and we can’t risk a scandal threatening our only link to all those prisoners. This revelation regarding Max Huber, a revered statesman and humanitarian, would send everyone running for cover. The very people we depend on for the success of Safehaven would have nothing to do with us.”

  “Which means less money for refugees and rebuilding after the war,” Dulles said, pipe firmly in place between clenched teeth. “And more money for the top Nazis who manage to escape justice. That’s not what you want, is it?”

  “Put like that, what can I say?” I glanced at Kaz. He managed to look nonchalant. There wasn’t much else to do when a heavy hitter like Dulles came after you, allied with Maureen and her soft, persuasive murmurs. The fix was in, and like always, the rich and the powerful came up roses. “So what’s next?”

  “We’re putting a plan in place to get you two out of Switzerland,” Dulles said. “I’m not saying it’s your fault, but things got out of control very quickly as soon as you both came on the scene, and we need to contain the situation. Come back tomorrow morning and we’ll brief you. Meanwhile, get some rest and stay out of trouble.”

  Dulles picked up a file and started leafing through it, a signal that he was done with us. The feeling was mutual.

  “I almost forgot,” Dulles said, looking up suddenly from his papers and glancing at his wristwatch. “I’ve got something for Lasho. He should be here shortly, so wait a few minutes if you have time.” As if we had other pressing business to attend to now that he’d given us our walking papers.

  “Let’s have a farewell dinner tonight, boys,” Maureen said as we waited, standing around awkwardly as Dulles perused his paperwork. “I’ll meet you at your hotel.”

  “Sure, let’s include Victor,” I said. “Since you and he are such an item.”

  “I don’t have items, Billy,” she said. “I have fun. It’s a dangerous world, so why not? But do bring Victor along; he’s fun as well.”

  “I’ll tell him. We’re meeting him at a café for lunch.” A knock sounded at the door, and Lasho entered with another tall, swarthy guy in tow. He looked vaguely familiar. He had dark hair, a prominent nose, bushy eyebrows, and a serious expression as he glanced around the room.

  “Have a seat with me, Moe,” Maureen cooed, leading him to the couch. Moe. I thought I knew the guy, but I couldn’t place him.

  “Lasho, I have something for you,” Dulles announced, handing over a passport marked Repubblica Sociale Italiana and bearing the insignia of Mussolini’s fascist party. “It’s in your name and perfectly legal.”

  “Thank you,” Lasho said, flipping through the pages and checking the photograph that Maureen had taken of him a few days ago. “Is this good in Switzerland?”

  “Absolutely,” Maureen said. “It’s a valid identification and would also be good in northern Italy, where Mussolini still holds power, as long as the Germans allow, anyway. Not that I’d recommend a visit to Milan or Venice these days.”

  “It will allow you to stay on and work with us,” Dulles said. “If you wish.”

  “I will stay. It is a fascist passport, but it is better than nothing,” Lasho said. “I am in your debt. All of you.”

  “This was issued by the Italian consulate in Berlin,” Kaz said, looking at the document. “These stamps appear quite real.”

  “They are,” Maureen said. “I told you, we’re a spy outfit. That’s what spies do, isn’t it, Allen?”

  “Only the great ones,” he said, gracing us with a rare smile. Gisevius. German Vice Counsel Hans Bernd Gisevius had probably delivered the passport minutes before. Nice to know Dulles had an inside man. Nice for Lasho, that is. I kept that notion to myself, not wanting to speak up with a stranger in the room.

  But was he a stranger? He looked so damn familiar. Moe, Maureen had called him. She was whispering to him, nodding in our direction, probably explaining we were a couple of bums getting the heave-ho, and to pay us no mind. I stared at Moe, hoping to catch a glimpse of recognition, but no dice.

  Catch.

  I knew exactly who he was.

  “You’re Moe Berg,” I said. “I saw you play at Fenway. Back in ’39, I think.”

  “You’re among the few who did,” he said, looking up from his murmured conversation with Maureen. “I played fewer than thirty games that season.”

  “What is Fenway?” Kaz asked. “And what game did you play there?”

  I introduced Kaz and myself and started to launch into a description of Boston baseball when Dulles harrumphed and nodded to the exit. We took the hint, telling Moe we’d wait for him in the vineyard.

  “A baseball player?” Kaz asked as we sat on a bench under the spreading vines. “Visiting an OSS spymaster’s office in neutral Switzerland? How strange.”

  “Maybe not,” I said. “The press called him the brainiest man in baseball. Also the strangest, now that I think about it. He speaks eight or nine languages, went to Princeton, and then earned a law degree. Kind of a Renaissance man.”

  “Is he as good at baseball as he is at languages?” Kaz asked.

  “No, unfortunately. He’s a good catcher, not so great at hitting. But don’t let on I said that.”

  “Don’t worry, Billy. I am not even sure who hits what in baseball. And please, don’t try explaining it to me again. Now, shouldn’t we get to the café to meet Victor? I could tell by your instant acquiescence that you have a plan in mind. If so, it has to happen soon.”

  “You’re right. But we’ll need Lasho, and it seems Dulles has teamed him up with Moe.”

  “We may need to convince Lasho,” Kaz said. “He may feel loyalty to Dulles now that he’s given him that passport. It is life itself within these borders.”

  “Maybe,” I said. “I’ll try not to put him in a difficult spot.”

  “What about Moe?” Kaz asked.

  “Good question. If Lasho will help out, all we need is for Moe to keep quiet.”

  “Are you sure you want to go through with this?” Kaz asked, looking out over the river flowing past the sloped vineyard. “We are about to take our leave of this place, and I shall not miss much about Switzerland.”

  “I’m sure,” I said. “I don’t like what these bankers have gotten away with, and I can’t stand people like Huber making believe they’re something they’re not. I sure as hell don’t like the Gestapo stealing whatever money their victims managed to put away for their families.”

  “The victims number in the thousands and thousands,” Kaz said. “The crime of theft surely pales against what is being done in the exterminatio
n camps. Are you sure it is worth it?”

  “I can’t imagine how many people are dying in those camps. But I have seen Lowenberg’s body, dumped like trash into the river. I’ve listened to Hannes justify his actions, as if sausage and potatoes were payment enough for all he’s taken from the Lowenbergs of the world.”

  “Do you think Dulles is right? That we may upset some delicate balance and ruin the chances for Safehaven’s success?” Kaz asked.

  “I don’t think that’s what this is all about. I say Dulles can’t bear the thought of Huber’s dirty laundry being aired. After all, they travel in the same circles. They’re all part of the rich elite who run things. Sure, if Dulles thought there was anything useful in it, he wouldn’t hesitate. But since the truth holds no value for him unless it serves his own purposes, he can’t be bothered. The old-boy network rules kick in, and Huber is safe to pocket his profits from slave labor. It’s not an applecart they care to upset.”

  “Billy, I didn’t know you were such a firebrand. Count me in,” Kaz said, his grin a half grimace where it met his terrible scar. “What do we do?”

  “Wait for Lasho and Moe Berg,” I said. I needed Lasho’s help, and I hoped either he wouldn’t be escorting Moe full time, or that the strangest man in baseball would be willing to go along with a strange adventure. Strange and dangerous.

  A half hour later they exited from the rear door. Lasho looked serious. Moe, I couldn’t read.

  “Want to grab a cup of coffee?” I asked as they approached.

  “Only if they put brandy in it,” Lasho said. Moe smiled, but it was a wistful smile, as if he were remembering another place and time.

  “Sure,” Moe said. “As long as we can stop for some newspapers.”

  “I haven’t seen any English-language papers,” I said as we rose to walk the path up to the main road.

  “Not a problem,” Moe said. “I could read one in Sanskrit if I had to.”

  “Wie war diene Riese?” Kaz asked. Whatever the question, Moe answered and they were off to the races in several languages by the time we came to a newsstand. Moe grabbed four papers, two in German, one each in French and Italian.

  “Impressive,” Kaz said as we approached the café. “Where did you study?”

  “Princeton and Columbia,” Moe said. “Languages come pretty easily to me, I have to admit.”

  “Like baseball?” Kaz asked. I was pretty sure Kaz didn’t even know what a baseball looked like, but he was sounding out the guy. We took an outdoor table, at a corner farthest from the other customers.

  “Sanskrit is easy, baseball is hard,” Moe said. “But my playing days are over. It’s a young man’s game, after all. I coached for the Red Sox for a couple of years, then the war came along, which offered a more interesting diversion.” He went silent as a waiter came to the table. We ordered coffee, and I kept an eye out for Victor.

  “And the war brought you here?” I asked, leaving the question as to what he was doing here hanging in the air like a pop-up fly ball. “Meaning the OSS, right?”

  “I have a job to do,” was all Moe said, leaning back and opening his jacket slightly. He wore a shoulder holster. Kaz and I did the same, which got a laugh out of him.

  “Why bring you in when they have us?” I asked, not mentioning that we were being thrown out by our ears.

  “How much do you know about the uncertainty principle in quantum mechanics?” Moe asked, his voice a whisper. I could feel a blank look spread across my face.

  “You mean Werner Heisenberg’s uncertainty principle?” Kaz asked. Of course Kaz would know. I could see that Moe hadn’t expected that.

  “Sorry,” Moe said, waving one hand as if to erase his question. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  “You can trust these men,” Lasho said. “I do.”

  “Dulles wasn’t so complimentary,” Moe said. “But then again, I can’t say I warmed to the man.”

  “Will one of you explain this uncertainty thing?” I asked. We all were quiet as the waiter delivered the coffee.

  “It has to do with the limits to which certain physical properties of an object can be understood. Basically, the more precisely the position of a particle is known, the less precisely its momentum can be determined, and vice versa, of course,” Moe said. Of course.

  “What Heisenberg stated, back in the twenties, I think,” Kaz said, “was that the mere observation of a system in quantum mechanics disturbs the system itself, enough to make it impossible to know everything about the system.” As Kaz finished delivering this statement, to which I was nodding as if I’d understood any of it, I saw him set down his coffee cup and stare at Moe. He’d figured something out. I was observing him, but I was pretty uncertain about what was going on.

  “Werner Heisenberg,” Kaz said, his voice also settling into a whisper. “Head of the Prussian Academy of Sciences. In charge of the German atomic weapons program.”

  “They can be trusted, you’re certain?” Moe said to Lasho.

  “I have already said I trust them. With my life, which they saved, and perhaps my soul,” he said.

  “Do not repeat that name,” Moe said, referring to Heisenberg. “The individual in question is traveling to Zurich to lecture at the university there. Dulles has arranged an invitation. It has to be someone who knows enough about quantum theory to pass muster as a scientist or student. That’s me.”

  “The smartest man in baseball,” I said.

  “I can’t stand that moniker,” Moe said. “But I fit the bill.”

  “Are you going to kidnap him?” I asked over the rim of my cup as I sipped the hot joe.

  “No. I’ll listen to him. If he says anything that leads me to believe they’re close to an atom bomb, I shoot him dead,” Moe said. “If not, Lasho here drives me back to Bern and I make my report to Dulles, and Heisenberg goes back home.”

  “What is an atom bomb?” Lasho asked, his forehead furrowed. I was glad there was one other person who knew less about this than I did.

  “A single bomb that can destroy an entire city, if it works. No one knows. One scientist worries that a chain reaction will ignite the atmosphere. Everywhere,” Moe said. He poured more coffee and added a cube of sugar, as calm as if discussing the chance of rain.

  “Then you must shoot him,” Lasho said. “Many times.”

  “If necessary, I will,” Moe said. “It’s my own uncertainty principle.”

  “Position and momentum, those are the two factors at work?” Kaz asked.

  “Right. The theory states that if you measure one of those values accurately, the less accurately you can know the other. But we’re talking about atoms and electrons, not everyday objects.”

  “It seems to apply to the case we are involved with as well,” Kaz said. “We were followed recently by a Gestapo agent. He took a shot at us, right outside the Red Cross office.” He raised an eyebrow in my direction, daring me to follow his logic.

  “We were busy with momentum, trying to get away from him,” I said. “So we didn’t pay attention to position. It was the Red Cross office. That’s why he shot at us.”

  “We simply wanted to escape through the back door,” Kaz explained. “But the agent must have thought we were after evidence of Huber and his transactions with the SS. He was likely under orders to stop any investigation at all costs.”

  “Maybe they caught wind of Henri’s plan, or at least someone’s interest in the invoices,” I said.

  “Which is why the bank arranged for Henri to deliver the papers to Huber at the reception,” Kaz said, warming to the idea. “It would have been more secret, except for the fact that it was Henri himself who was after that information.”

  “Whoa, fellas,” Moe said. “I know seven languages, but I’m not following you at all.”

  So I gave him the nutshell version. Our route into Switzerland, court
esy of Lasho. Kaz’s connections with the banks and our original mission. Lowenberg in the river. The attempt on our lives, followed by the reception, Henri lifting the invoice, the late-night tail, Henri’s death and the missing evidence. Hannes and his hidden loot, along with Krauch, who was after him for betraying the thieves of the Third Reich. Our search for Victor, leaving out the prison camp at Wauwilermoos and Victor’s private life—for the sake of brevity and tact—finishing up with our version of musical chairs with the Alusuisse invoice for slave labor.

  “You’re a trio of troublemakers, I can see that,” Moe said, his dark eyes studying us. “Why is Dulles sending you back?”

  “He wants to make nice with the Swiss banks and figures a scandal involving Huber would get in the way. So he gets a free pass,” I said.

  “I have not known you long, Billy,” Lasho said, draining his coffee. “But I do know you cannot give up so easily. And you, Baron, I know you don’t want to leave any Gestapo alive. Excepting our friend Ernst, of course.” That took a little more explanation.

  “Do you have a plan?” Moe asked.

  “I hope so,” I said. “And here comes our best hope.” Victor hurried over to the table, waving away the hovering waiter. I introduced Moe and vouched for him.

  “Not the Moe Berg who played for the Washington Senators?” Victor asked. “My dad took me to see you back in—”

  “Don’t make me feel old, kid,” Moe said, holding up a hand to interrupt Victor. “And lay off the soft soap. Tell these boys what you’ve got. They have their hopes pinned on you.”

  “Okay,” he said, taking a deep breath. “It’s on, eight o’clock tonight.”

  “Hannes?” Kaz asked, glancing around to see if anyone was close.

  “Yes. I talked to my pal Vadim this morning. He’s on the finance side at Alusuisse. He’s in worse shape than I thought. His gambling debts are heavy, and from what he alluded to, he may have borrowed money from work.”