Brandenburg (29 page)

His voice was hoarse with pain. “When this is through, you’re dead, Volkmann. Dead.”

Volkmann jerked the Beretta. “Get up, Lubsch. Walk down to the pier.”

Lubsch struggled to stand, and when they came down to the water, Volkmann said, “Now tie your shoelaces together.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Tie them.”

Lubsch did as he was ordered. When he finished, Volkmann flashed the light and checked them. He told Lubsch to take off his belt and then lie down on his stomach. When Lubsch hesitated, Volkmann forced him down. Once the terrorist had removed his belt, Volkmann used it to tie the man’s hands behind his back, then he pulled Lubsch up into a sitting position. A bitter cold wind coming in off the black water clawed at their faces.

“We can do this the easy way or the hard way, Lubsch. The easy way is for you to tell me what I need to know. The hard way is for me to deliver you and your buddy to the nearest police station.”

Anger blazed in Lubsch’s face. “You think you’ll get away with it, Volkmann? My men would hunt you down and find you. Who are you? Police?”

Volkmann ignored the question. “Think about it. A high-security prison for maybe twenty years. That’s if the judge is in a good mood. Guards watching your every movement. No visits except from your lawyer, if you were lucky enough to find one who’d take your case.” Volkmann slipped the Beretta into his pocket, removed the nylon rope, and held it in front of Lubsch’s face. “So what’s it to be? I wrap you and your friend up like a Christmas present for the cops, or you talk?”

Volkmann shone the flashlight in Lubsch’s face; the terrorist blinked and looked away. The icy-cold wind was lapping the dark water with ragged gusts.

Lubsch shivered, his skin raw from the cold. “And if I talk, what’s in it for me?”

“I let you and your friend go.”

Lubsch spat his reply. “What do you want to know?”

“What I wanted to know the last time we met. About Dieter Winter and his friends.”

“How do I know you’ll keep your word, Volkmann?”

“You’ll have to trust me. But if I find out you lied to me or didn’t tell me everything, I can promise you that your friend Karen will get a visit from the police.”

Lubsch’s face strained with rage. “You really are crazy, aren’t you? Just like Karen said you were—”

Before the terrorist could finish his sentence, Volkmann reached over and gripped Lubsch’s collar and dragged him over to the edge of the jetty. He grabbed a handful of Lubsch’s hair and pushed his face into the freezing-cold water. Lubsch bucked and squirmed, his legs kicking wildly in the air.

Volkmann saw the air bubbles rise before he pulled Lubsch’s head back up. The terrorist gulped in deep breaths as his lungs fought for air.

“. . . Okay, okay. I’ll tell you.”

Volkmann dragged him back into the middle of the pier and Lubsch caught his breath. His hair was plastered over his forehead, water dripped from his face, and he shivered violently.

Volkmann said, “I want to hear it from the beginning. From how you first met Winter. Leave nothing out. Got that?”

Lubsch coughed and spat. “I first met Winter at Heidelberg. He was in the history faculty.”

“You were friends?”

“No, just acquaintances. We used to meet sometimes to drink and talk.”

“Tell me everything.”

Lubsch sniffed, then spat into the water. “Winter and I had different political views. He was a right-wing fanatic; I leaned the other way. But he was always a convincing speaker. For a time, he even managed to convince me that we had something in common.”

“Like what?”

Lubsch looked up at Volkmann, then turned his head away again. “The future of Germany.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It was a pet topic with Winter. He and his friends had this idea that they could change the country.”

“And who were his friends?”

“Fellow students. Others who shared his views.” Lubsch hesitated, then said, “What’s this got to do with me, Volkmann? The murders you spoke about, or something else?”

“Just carry on talking until I tell you to stop. What about Winter’s friends?”

“Six months into our second year at the university, I’d gotten to know Winter pretty well. He was a drinker and a talker, and sometimes we’d have a beer together and argue about politics. We held
opposing views, but our discussions were always good fun. Then one day Winter asked me to join him and a group of his friends for a weekend on Lüneburg Heath. There were to be seven of us. Some were students, but others came from different parts of Germany and from different backgrounds, most of them working-class. Toughs, a couple of them, and out of their depth intellectually. We stayed in a rented house in the forest and drank in the local inns. We walked and talked day and night. About politics. Philosophy. History.”

“The others, they all knew Winter?”

Lubsch looked up. “Sure. It was like a fraternity. They all knew each other pretty well.”

“Who were these people?”

“I told you, Winter asked them along. I’d never met them before.”

“I want names, Lubsch.”

“I remember only one. A science student. His name was Lothar Kesser. He was about my age, and he came from Bavaria.”

“Where in Bavaria?”

Lubsch shook his head. “Some hick town, I don’t remember where.”

“You said the group was like a fraternity. What did you mean?”

Lubsch shrugged. “It was like they had some bond between them. It was kind of weird. Like a secret society. Don’t ask me to explain it, Volkmann, because I can’t. But it was like I was outside the circle, not one of them. I was there only because Winter asked me. I guess they liked me because I was an intellectual who wasn’t afraid of action. And because I liked to spend time talking with Winter, maybe they thought they could convert me.”

“Go on.”

“One night after everyone’s gone to bed, this guy Kesser suggests we go for a walk in the forest. Just him and me. It’s dark and gloomy outside, and we’ve had a few drinks. Kesser said he wanted to talk with me in private.

“So we walked together and Kesser talked about Germany’s past. Not the bad things. The good things. How Germany had always
come through in times of great suffering and upheaval. Overcome all obstacles. Created order out of chaos. That sort of bull. Like Kesser was giving me some sort of political speech. He said that Germany would go through a phase of disorder again. There were definitely going to be problems in the future. Not only in Germany, but in all of Europe, in the world. Politically. Economically. Socially. But there were also going to be opportunities. And that we were all Germans together and that when that time came, we should strive together to seize the opportunity to create a better Fatherland. I was pretty drunk, but I thought Kesser was talking garbage, and told him so.”

“How did he respond?”

“He got annoyed and said that when the right time came, he and the others who supported his beliefs would have financial support for their cause. He said he knew I was involved with the Red Army Faction. That he didn’t see me and my friends as terrorists, merely as disenchanted Germans who sought a different Germany. He said we could join him if we wished.”

“And what did you say?”

“I said it was kind of him, but he was wrong. I wasn’t involved with any group. I was drunk, Volkmann, but I was careful. I didn’t know if Kesser was playing some kind of trick. Maybe he and Winter were police plants. They do that, you know. Send their brightest cadets into German universities to spy on extremist undergraduates. Lead them along, and then trap them.”

“How did he react?”

Lubsch shrugged. “He said I was making a grave mistake, and that was the end of our conversation.”

The wind gusted across the lake and Lubsch shivered.

Volkmann asked, “When did you see either of them again?”

Lubsch said, “That’s when it got weird. Winter phoned me a week later. He said he wanted me to listen to an important proposition, but not over the phone. I was curious, so I agreed to meet near the Black Forest. I took along a couple of men to check out the location
first. Winter and Kesser were there alone. We drove up into the mountains. Kesser did all the talking. He said he had a proposition for me and my group.”

“What sort of proposition?”

“He said he could offer us weapons and explosives. Whatever we needed.”

Volkmann paused. “Did Kesser say where he got the weapons?”

“No, only that the offer was genuine.”

“And what did you think?”

Lubsch smiled grimly. “I thought it was crazy. A right-wing radical supplying a left-wing terror group with weapons. Where’s the sense in that?”

“You didn’t accept?”

“Of course I did. I might have thought Kesser was crazy, but I wasn’t. We always needed weapons. The Russians stopped supplying groups like ours after the Wall came down.”

“What kind of weapons did Kesser’s people deliver?” When Lubsch hesitated, Volkmann prodded him with his shoe. “I asked what kind, Lubsch?”

“Small arms and explosives mostly. Machine pistols, assault rifles, handguns. Grenades and Semtex. And once a rocket launcher we needed to take out a politician’s car.”

Volkmann looked down at the terrorist. “You’ve been a bad boy. Didn’t your people question Winter’s motives?”

Lubsch shook his head and laughed quietly. “Volkmann, we would have taken weapons from the devil himself, as long as they were reliable and shot straight. But there was a condition. Every time we’d get a supply, we’d get a request. A favor to do in return. They’d suggest we hit certain targets.”

“What sort of targets?”

“Those American and Allied bases still on German soil. Banks. State property and institutions. Some of the hits fit in with our scheme of things, and we were happy to oblige. But then about six months ago, Kesser’s requests became more outrageous. He wanted
us to start bombing immigrant hostels. And he wanted us to hit some people. He gave me three names he wanted killed. He didn’t say why, just that they were part of the deal.”

“Who were the people?”

“One of the names on the list was a liberal politician I knew in Berlin, and I wouldn’t go along with it. I told Kesser it wasn’t our style. We’d only hit targets we thought deserved to be hit. Big businessmen who corrupt this country. Politicians who support them. But we wouldn’t do the names on the list.”

“What did Kesser say?”

“He just smiled and said he’d handle it himself. But after that, things were strained between us, and then the weapons stopped.”

“Who did Kesser want dead?”

Lubsch paused. “A guy in East Berlin. His name was Rauscher, Herbert Rauscher. Another was a woman in Friedrichshafen, near the Swiss border.”

“Her name?”

“I can’t remember.”

“Think, Lubsch.”

“Hedda something. Pohl or Puhl. I’m not sure.”

“Who was she?”

“A nobody. The widow of a businessman.”

“And the man in East Berlin, Rauscher?”

“A small-time businessman. Another nobody.”

“Your people checked their backgrounds?”

“Of course. We weren’t going to kill just for the sake of it, Volkmann.”

“Who was the politician in Berlin?”

“His name’s Walter Massow.” Lubsch looked out at the cold lake and his teeth chattered. “He’s not a political animal, just a good and honest man trying to do his best for the downtrodden in this country. That’s why I told Kesser, ‘No way. If Massow was hit, I’d take it personally.’ ” The terrorist looked back. “And after that, I told you, the supplies halted.”

“Did you ask why they wanted you to carry out the attacks on the immigrant hostels?”

“Kesser was a right-wing fanatic. It was the sort of thing you’d expect from someone of his background.”

“What do you mean?”

“That time on Lüneburg Heath, I overheard him talk about his father. He was some big-shot SS man during the war. I heard him say the old man had helped draft the Brandenburg Testament for Adolf Hitler, whatever that was. But Kesser said it like a boast, as if it were proof enough of his pedigree.”

Volkmann remembered the words on the tape. And there was that other word as well,
pedigree
.

“The Brandenburg Testament. What is it?”

“I just told you. I have no idea.”

“The politician, Massow, what happened to him?”

Lubsch shook his head. “Nothing. He was left alone.”

“And the others?”

“I’ve no idea.” Lubsch shivered as a gust of icy wind blew in off the lake.

Volkmann said, “Why do you think Massow wasn’t killed?”

Lubsch shrugged. “Maybe Winter thought it more tactful to let Massow live after he heard my views. I don’t know, Volkmann. Either way, I was out of the game.”

Volkmann stepped down to the edge of the jetty, felt the icy wind slash at his face.

“What you’ve told me, none of it makes any sense, Lubsch. What was in it for Winter and his buddies? Why did they want you to play hit man? They could have done it themselves. They had the weapons.”

Lubsch smiled bitterly. “I have a theory. Maybe it makes sense.”

“Tell me.”

“Maybe the plan was to spread anarchy. Blame the left wing for hits like that, and the right-wing groups gain more support. But whoever was behind Winter, they sure had money and good organization to buy and ship arms and supplies in such quantities.”

“Did your people kill Winter?”

“No.”

“Who did?”

“I don’t know. Winter had a big mouth, especially when he was drunk.” Lubsch shrugged. “Maybe he talked too much and somebody didn’t like it.”

“How do I find Kesser?”

The terrorist looked up, his face blue and cold. “I’ve no idea but I’ll give you some advice, Volkmann. The advice I gave you before. Keep away from him and his friends. Unless you and Erica want to end up dead.”

“Do the names Karl Schmeltz or Nicolas Tsarkin mean anything to you? Were they ever mentioned?”

“No.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’ve never heard those names.” Lubsch’s teeth chattered again. “I’ve told you everything. Are you going to untie me now, Volkmann? Or am I going to sit here all night and freeze to death?”