The Devouring

by James R Benn

  “In other words, he’s willing to cooperate,” I said. A guy with his hand in the till is the perfect accomplice when it comes to cash in a briefcase.

  “Quite willing, once I outlined our plan,” Victor said. “Hannes made contact with the Swiss National Bank, and they communicated with Huber.”

  “Rich men do not do such work,” Lasho said. “This is where your friend comes in?”

  “Exactly. Huber turned the job over to his finance department. Fournier was among the select few who knew about the slave labor already, so it’s no big risk for Huber to use him,” Victor said. “You were right, Billy. Hannes is cashing in cheap. Thirty thousand Swiss francs.”

  “About six thousand dollars,” Moe said. “Pretty good for traveling money.”

  “I’m pretty sure he does plan on traveling,” Victor said. “The meet is set up for eight o’clock tonight. At the University of Bern’s Botanical Gardens. But Vadim said one of Huber’s bodyguards is going with him.”

  “Smart. Huber can’t afford for Fournier to get mugged on the way to the payoff. And the botanical garden is a good place for a swap, from Hannes’s perspective,” I said. “Lots of open space for an approach and getaway, plus big plants to hide behind.”

  “And it’s right across the river from the train station,” Victor said. “I’d bet Hannes is carrying a key to a luggage locker, like you thought.”

  “I will help you,” Lasho said, his face impassive.

  “I can’t endanger my mission,” Moe said. “And I’ll need Lasho to get me there. But if we can help with a good chance of not getting knocked out of commission, then tell us what to do.”

  “Moe is right,” Lasho said. “We must stop the man who will destroy the sky. But tonight, we help you.”

  “Okay. Are we all in?” I looked to Kaz and Victor.

  “All in,” Victor said. “For Henri, and all the others.” Kaz put his hand on Victor’s shoulder and nodded his assent.

  “Good. Here’s the plan.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  The Altes Keller was on the Postgasse, one of the narrow streets in the old quarter, not far from where Krauch had intercepted me and grabbed the invoice. Before Lasho took it from him and Hannes snatched it back when the cops hauled us off to the clink. The damn thing had a complicated itinerary, which put me and Krauch on the same side in this scavenger hunt. Or at least not on opposite sides, for the moment.

  Altes Keller meant “old cellar,” according to Kaz, who’d gone off to scout the botanical garden along with the quickest route to the train station. I had another reason for going in alone. I didn’t want to tempt Kaz to unload his Webley at this gathering of Nazi goons. A guy who’d lost his entire family to the killing squads of the SS couldn’t be expected to keep his finger off the trigger when presented with targets in close proximity.

  I had enough of a problem myself.

  I spotted the sign for the Altes Keller ahead, under the covered archway above the sidewalk. It was a small sign, over a flight of stone steps leading down to a brightly painted red door. As I went in, it took a second for my eyes to adjust to the darkened, musty gloom. Old cellar was a pretty good description. A bar ran along a brick wall, with barely enough room to pass by a few gray-hairs nursing steins of beer.

  Past the bar, a room opened up in the back. Rough-hewn wooden tables and chairs made it look almost homey, but the black, red, and white Nazi banner hanging from the ceiling spoiled the effect. For me, but not for the nine men gathered at the tables, eating and drinking their lunch.

  Raucous laughter faded into silence as I entered. Daylight filtered in from casement windows, as hanging lights wreathed in cigarette smoke cast the drinkers in a feeble yellow glow. Most of the men leaned back, brushing jackets aside, ready to grab iron. I tried not to startle anyone.

  “Herr Boyle, what an unexpected pleasure,” a familiar voice spoke from a far corner. Krauch. He snapped out an order and I was frisked. Pretty professional, no unnecessary cheap shots, which I appreciated. One goon took my revolver while another patted down my pockets, shaking his head as he came up empty. He shoved me toward Krauch, who lit a cigarette and smoothed back his pomaded hair. He nodded to the guy at his table, who moved off, leaning against the wall, his gaze fixed on me.

  “So you do not have the document with you,” Krauch said, spitting out a bit of stray tobacco. “Pity. I presume you wish to sell it?”

  “I don’t have it,” I said, taking the vacated seat, a plate smeared with congealed grease before me. “But I know who does. And where he will be tonight.”

  “Why are you telling me this? And why here, where we could carry you out the rear door, never to be seen again?”

  “Because I know the invoice is far more valuable than my life. Or yours,” I said, staring hard into his dark eyes.

  “You are correct,” he said. “But you did not answer my first question. Why come to me?”

  “I want Hannes,” I said.

  “As do I. He is a traitor and must be made an example of.”

  “He won’t be a happy man if I get hold of him, I guarantee you that,” I said.

  “So you are proposing we work together?” Krauch ground out his cigarette in the remains of his food. “I help you capture Hannes in return for the invoice?”

  “Yeah,” I said, nodding. I watched Krauch carefully, studying his face, waiting for the next question.

  “Why do you want him so badly? For that Jew he killed?”

  “No,” I said, shaking my head as if a mere Jew would be no concern of mine. “For killing Henri Moret.”

  His head moved back, slightly. A faint but sharp intake of breath, like a guy drawing to an inside straight. Krauch wouldn’t last long in a poker game. He had a double tell, and what it told me was that he’d bought my line.

  “The banker, yes,” he said, a false frown of sadness passing over his face. “I thought that might have been Hannes. He often carries things to an extreme. But Moret was a homosexual, you know? Perhaps he made an improper advance.” The frown turned to a smirk.

  As much as he liked placing the blame for Henri’s death conveniently on Georg Hannes, he couldn’t resist the comment. After all, Jews and homosexuals, among others, were not supermen like Krauch and his crew. You could hardly blame Hannes for losing his temper.

  “I know,” I said. “It’s no matter.”

  “Oh, are you . . . one of those?” Krauch sneered as made a comment in German. His men laughed, like any bunch of sycophants listening to the boss tell a lousy joke.

  “Don’t worry, Siegfried, you’re not that good looking,” I said. It occurred to me I was glad Victor wasn’t here with his pistol either. Then I realized I was glad they’d taken mine. I never gave much thought to guys who liked guys—other than the occasional wisecrack, to tell the truth—but sitting with this Nazi clown as he made jokes about Henri didn’t sit well. Not well at all.

  “You are an amusing fellow, Boyle,” Krauch said. “But tell me, what is your plan?”

  “Do you agree? I get Hannes, you get the invoice. No double-cross,” I said.

  “You will do well to remember that requirement yourself. Yes, I agree. When we each have what we want, we part company. No trickery, Boyle.”

  “Agreed,” I said, resisting the normal impulse to shake on it. But then I decided it had to be done, for authenticity’s sake. I stuck out my hand and grasped his clammy paw. He thought he’d made the deal of a lifetime. If he had any worries about the local cops tumbling to him as Henri’s killer, they were now put to rest. Dollars to doughnuts he’d tell Inspector Escher himself that I’d gone after Hannes to avenge Henri’s murder. All the time murmuring his regret that one of the Gestapo’s finest had gone bad. Then he’d get a medal for being a good boy and pulling Huber’s fat from the fire. It was even better than bringing in Hannes himself; he could count on me to
eliminate the chief suspect in Henri’s death, leaving him free of suspicion.

  Right where I wanted him.

  “Where and when?” Krauch said, all business.

  “Nine o’clock tonight, the botanical gardens at the university. The entrance is right off the Lorrainebrücke, on the north side of the river,” I said.

  “I know it,” Krauch said. “And now I know why you need our help. There are many exits and entrances to cover. Does Herr Dulles not have other men to call on?”

  “They’re all busy winning the war. We’re only the second string,” I said. I could see he didn’t understand that, but I didn’t bother explaining. “There’s only three of us. Let’s meet at the main entrance an hour before, at eight o’clock. Then we’ll get in position.”

  “Three of you? But who is Hannes there to meet?”

  “He thinks he’s selling the invoice to Huber. One of Huber’s men from Alusuisse is meeting him there with thirty thousand Swiss francs. We intercepted the message this morning.”

  “Who?” Krauch asked. It stood to reason he might know any number of Huber’s business cronies.

  “No, no,” I said, wagging my finger. “We’ll get Hannes long before the money man shows. Standard procedure to show up early and watch the meeting place, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, of course. We will be ready at eight o’clock. A nice, quiet affair is what we need. No gunfire, no local police. You didn’t think I would go after the money, did you?”

  “Steal money?” I said. “In Switzerland? The thought never crossed my mind.”

  Krauch translated, and we all enjoyed a good laugh over that one.

  I left the Altes Keller with my revolver restored, along with my faith in the gullibility of the criminal class. Which is right where I placed Krauch and his cutthroat Gestapo crew. I’d given him what he wanted, three times over. Hannes, the invoice, and an iron-clad alibi for Henri’s murder. He was probably having a good laugh right now, making his plans to grab Hannes and then go running to Huber with the invoice. Or to plug Hannes and lay the blame at my feet. Both of which would be toes up in the botanical garden if he had his way.

  I believed him about the money, only because there’d be too many of his men involved to make a split worthwhile. Better to take an under-the-table finder’s fee from Huber for saving him the payoff.

  As I took a pedestrian bridge across the Aare River, it began to rain. Lightly at first, then turning to a constant patter, the dark gray sky a match for the tumbling water below. I hoofed it along the Uferweg, a gravel path at the river’s edge, until I caught sight of the Lorrainebrücke ahead, its solid concrete arches a ghostly white as it spanned the river. Beyond it, I could see another bridge, steel girders nearly invisible in the slanting rain.

  I left the Uferweg just before one of the entrances to the botanical garden and found the Café Fleuri where Kaz and I had planned to meet. Inside, I shook the rain off my trench coat and hung it up, joining Kaz in a booth near the fireplace. It was June, but the cold rain made me wish for a crackling fire.

  “Did it go well?” Kaz asked.

  “Perfectly,” I said. “How about you?”

  “There are three entrances to the gardens,” Kaz said, leaning in across the table. “One you saw on the path by the river. Another is off this road, leading to the university buildings at the edge of the gardens. The other is the main entrance, which descends into the gardens from the road, right after the bridge.”

  “Is there much cover?”

  “Not at the main entrance, no. The approach from either direction is on a sidewalk next to the open road. If he comes across the bridge, he’d be easy to spot. The same for the Uferweg, since it runs along the river. But as you’ll see, the entrance off this road is lined with trees, and there are several buildings that give good cover. It is how I would make an approach,” Kaz said.

  “He’s bound to be cautious, if only out of habit and training,” I said. “So you’re probably right. If he has a car, or takes a taxi, the main entrance would work as well. He could be down those stairs and out of sight in no time.”

  “Then one of us should be between those two spots,” Kaz said. “Victor could watch the main entrance from the bottom of the steps. There’s plenty of shrubbery to hide in. I will wait inside the path that leads to the university buildings, with you in between the two of us. The flower gardens in the center are fairly open, and you should be able to spot Hannes from any direction.”

  “Okay, it’s the best we can do. Are Moe and Lasho all set?”

  “Yes. They are at Victor’s place, resting. He took them through the gardens earlier,” Kaz said.

  “Well, I guess everything’s in place. The only wild card is the bodyguard who’s escorting Victor’s pal.”

  “Moe plans to impersonate Hannes,” Kaz said. “It is doubtful anyone at Alusuisse knows what he looks like. He’ll get close enough to deal with the bodyguard. Lasho will be close by, in any case.”

  “Good. I told Krauch the handoff was at nine. We planned to meet at the main entrance at eight o’clock,” I said.

  “Which is the actual time of the meeting with Hannes,” Kaz said. “You know Krauch will arrive even earlier.”

  “Yep. As will Hannes, an hour ahead of him. They’re both trained in surveillance by the Gestapo, so I imagine their patterns will be the same. The extra hour will let us deal with Hannes,” I said. Keeping them an hour apart was the key to dealing with them separately. Divide and conquer.

  “And if not?”

  “Then plan B, with Moe and Lasho playing the part of bagman and escort. If for some reason Hannes shows up at the appointed hour, we’ll still have help in nabbing him.”

  “I shall hope for plan A,” Kaz said. “Since that will leave both Krauch and Hannes dead.”

  “And the invoice in our hands,” I said. I had no idea what we’d do with it, though. Dulles would bury it. Maybe take it out with us and give it to Uncle Ike. Or any one of several newspaper reporters who hung around SHAEF. Plenty of time for that later. Right now we had to get through this night.

  The waitress came. Kaz ordered pastries and coffee.

  “Was Ernst there?” Kaz asked, staring out the rain-splattered window as the waitress departed.

  “No, I’m glad to say. I’d hate to have to shoot him.”

  “I imagine there are any number of honest policemen in Germany who found themselves reorganized into the Gestapo,” Kaz said. “If Ernst is a decent man, as he seemed to be, then his country will need him after the war. But if he is in my way tonight, God help him. I will not.”

  There are many horrible things about this war; one of them being the necessity to kill a man who might otherwise have been a colleague or friend. I prayed it wouldn’t come to that. I already had a heavy enough weight on my soul knowing I fervently hoped to put two men in the ground tonight.

  Chapter Thirty

  Six o’clock and the weather was terrible. It had rained even harder during the late afternoon, and now a thick, misty fog was rising up from the river. Tiny droplets danced in the air, lifted and swirled by cooling gusts of air. The good news was that no one in their right mind would go out for a stroll in the gardens tonight. The bad news was that I couldn’t see a damn thing.

  I was screened by shrubs at the edge of the flower beds. A greenhouse was at my back, and I could see the steps leading down from the main entrance to my right, the hedge behind which Victor hid, and not much more. To the left, where Kaz stood watch, the path that continued up to the university building was shrouded in shadows and low-hanging branches, their greenery heavy with moisture.

  Everything hinged on Hannes arriving early to scout the gardens and lay in wait for a possible double-cross. We’d been here since five o’clock, and I doubted even the most paranoid Gestapo agent would stake out a meet three hours early in the pouring rain. Especially si
nce he had no way of knowing anyone but Huber and his closest associates had any idea this was happening tonight. And Hannes had been smart, asking for only thirty thousand. It was cheap. Cheap enough for Huber to be happy to pay and be done with it.

  Unless he knew about Fournier’s gambling debts, he’d have no reason to suspect a trap.

  Which is the best kind of trap.

  Six thirty. Nothing. I had to stand, rising from my kneeling position and massaging my aching legs. Then back down on the soggy ground, listening and watching.

  Six forty. Where was Krauch? I knew he’d be here before our agreed-upon eight o’clock hour, but how early, I had no idea.

  Seven. Damn.

  Seven fifteen. I’d been certain Krauch and crew would be here by now, getting the lay of the land, but it was quiet enough to hear the rain-swollen river flowing swiftly beneath the bridge.

  Seven thirty. I stepped out from my cover, half expecting a shot to ring out, half disappointed when it didn’t. Nobody was here. I trotted over to Kaz, giving a low whistle as I got close to his hiding place.

  “Here,” he whispered, stepping out onto the path. “Anything?”

  “No, all quiet. I hope Krauch hasn’t found Hannes on his own.”

  “Perhaps the Gestapo does not like being out in the rain and fog. I know I do not,” Kaz said.

  “Maybe they’re more sensible than I gave them credit for. I’ll check with Victor, then get back into position.”

  I made my way quietly to Victor, listening for footsteps or any sign of life. The fog was even thicker now, the evening air dripping with moisture, beads of water dropping from the brim of my hat.

  “What’s happening, Billy?” he whispered. “No sign of Hannes?”

  “Nothing. And we don’t have much more time.”

  A car door slammed. Then another, drawing my ear to the sound of the automobile pulling away. “Damn it! That must be Krauch.” I glanced at my watch.