Hunter's Rain (25 page)

“Vogel said ‘the colonel’,” Müller said, remembering, “and was surprised to see a woman. They’re going after
Colonel Bill?
But why? What’s the connection?”

“I’m looking at one.”

“Come on, Miss Bloomfield,” Müller said. “That’s reaching, as you would say.”

“I never say that, but I admit some people do. They tried to get me yesterday. Why not Colonel Bill?”

“For a start, I do not work with him. And…” Müller stopped.

“’And’, Müller?” she urged.

“He can hardly be considered as being close to me.”

“But what if something happened to him that required police involvement? Something big enough to get
you
involved.”

“A trap?”

“There are many ways to bait one.”

“That, I certainly do know.” A sign for the next service station hove into view. “I’d better hear what Pappi does have to say. We’ll stop at this
tankstelle.
”

“Can I drive from there?”

“No.”

“Spoilsport.”

“Don’t sulk. You’re a colonel. A
lieutenant
-colonel. That allows me some sulking.”

“If you say so.”

The service station came into view soon after. Müller pulled off the autobahn, and up to the pumps. After topping up the tank, he found a parking bay well away from other vehicles in the uncrowded car park.

He returned Pappenheim’s call, remaining in the car. He listened silently, as Pappenheim gave him the details of what the Goth had found.

“So do you think he is
the
colonel in question?” Pappenheim finished.

“It’s a strong indication. He has a son who would be about that age. About twelve, the report said?”

“Yes.

“I was twelve when my...parents…” Müller stopped. “No. It could not be something so…”

“Why not? It would fit into their madness. Very symbolic. As we know, they go in for symbolism.”

“Miss Bloomfield believes it’s a ploy to get me involved.”

“She could be right.”

“Perhaps they want to show me how far they are prepared to go. Perhaps they are saying, no one is safe, if they put their minds to it.”

“And make you responsible.”

“There are other things playing in there as well, Pappi. He has not been in touch with the police, you say.”

“According to the report. Nothing official whatsoever.”

“Was the Volvo also carrying American plates?”

“That’s that thing. It is locally registered, but there was no owner listed in the report.”

“Then it’s his wife’s car. I am certain of it. She is German, and perhaps being back in the old country, she wanted her car to have a German plate. An easily understood emotional thing. She if one of your many people can trace the ownership, without making even the tiniest of waves.”

“Funny you should say that.”

Müller smiled. “I should have known.”

“As soon as I get it, you’ll get it. As you’re heading into the area, will you pay him a visit?”

“No. Not unless I am really dragged into it. Whatever it is, I’m certain the Americans will sort it out themselves. I continuing with my original plan.”

“You’re the boss. I’ll let you know.”

“Alright, Pappi.”

“And let her drive,” Pappenheim said.

“Don’t you start.”

“Spoilsport.”

“Are you two telepathic?”

“I know there’s a clever comment in there somewhere,” Pappenheim said, “but I’ll let it pass.”

The call ended. Müller put the phone into the small, lidded compartment on the central console. “Did you get most of that?” he said to Carey Bloomfield.

“I got most of that.”

“Do you need the lavatory?”

“That’s a non-sequitor, if ever…”

“Not really. I won’t be stopping again until we get to Baden-Baden. That means another 300 kilometres, at the very least. I want to make the best time possible, before we go on to France. It is now…” He glanced at the clock on the main console. “…09.30 precisely. I intend to be in Baden-Baden before midday.”

“I need to go to the toilet.” She got out, and headed for the autobahn service restaurant.

He watched her go, enjoying the slight toe-in of her walk. “You’ve got a great walk, Carey Bloomfield,” he said softly.

He selected Clapton’s
Wonderful Tonight
on the CD changer, and continued watching as the wailing guitar opened up, until she had gone out of sight. Then he relaxed in his seat, and let the music take him.

Now dressed in lightweight suits, the two men who had rigged the explosion were in their hotel, which was not far from the one in which Carey Bloomfield had stayed. Close scrutiny of one of them, would show he bore a remarkable resemblance to the “policeman” who had tried to kill her the day before.

They were in one of the two rooms they had booked under assumed identities, and sat drinking vodka from the minibar. They were not Russian, neither were they German.

The one who had laughed silently after seeing the Wannsee boathouse explode and whose room it was, put down his glass, and went over to look for something in one of the draws of the bedside cabinet. His taller companion had been the “policeman”.

“What are you looking for?” the companion asked.

“Can’t understand what’s happened to the damned thing. My dagger.”

“You’ve
lost
it? Are you mad?”

“I didn’t ‘lose’ it. It must be somewhere.”

“Just don’t leave it here for the hotel staff to find. You wouldn’t be very popular with certain people.”

“I’ll make quite sure it isn’t here. Perhaps it’s fallen between the seats in the car.”

“I hope for your sake, it has.”

On the outskirts of Berlin, two other men were sitting in the opulent splendour of a large mansion, looking out on an immaculately-tended garden. They were having coffee.

“Odd,” one of them said “no public mention at all of the explosion, or the death of Vogel.” The two men in the hotel had acted on his orders, as had the men who had kidnapped Elisabeth Jackson.

“What of the colonel’s wife?”

“There too, nothing is in the public domain as yet.”

“Müller’s work?”

“I am certain he has put the embargo on the events in Wannsee. But not with the matter of the colonel’s wife. By now, there should have been an alarm raised…at the very least. Perhaps the good colonel is playing his own game. His career records show that he is not unlike Müller in some ways. Likes to follow the unorthodox path.”

“The lone wolf?”

“In some ways, yes. This can sometimes make him the bane of his superiors. Again, as with Müller. It is not natural that a man who
knows
his wife has been kidnapped, would remain silent for so long. It is even more unnatural, when that man is Colonel Jackson. The colonel may be planning something; but we’ll be ready.”

“I sincerely hope you are right.”

“It still continues to puzzle me how Müller got to Vogel.”

“No links to anyone?”

“None at all, so far. Damn that man, and his father! All these years after von Röhnen’s death, the damage he did continues to hurt us. Now his son forces us to take the kind of action I would rather employ more…judiciously.”

“Are you saying he is manipulating our responses?”

“In part, yes. But he is also blundering into areas he should not. He has already received sharp warnings.”

“Which he ignores.”

“Just like his wretched traitor of a father!” There was an abiding anger in the voice.

“We got the father. We’ll get the son. In the meantime, perhaps you should send some visitors to Grüber…in case Müller knows about him too. Send those two from Wannsee. They can use one of the helicopters…”

The other shook his head. “Helicopters mean flight plans. Flight plans mean traceable. We cannot afford to be too visible. Time is needed to make flight plans ‘invisible’.”

“Are you prepared to risk that Müller might know of Grüber?”

“No. But they’ll have to go by car. ” The man in command of the killers took a sip of coffee. “Looking forward to tonight?”

“Most certainly. It will be good to see so many of us among the crowd.”

The man laughed. “And the crowd won’t even know we’re there.”

They smiled at each other.

One of the men having coffee was a retired general and the other, a man of the church.

In the hotel, the man who had lost his dagger answered his mobile phone.

“You will go to Grüber, and remind him of the virtues of continuing silence, as opposed to a permanent one,” the hard voice said in his ear.

“Do we fly?”

“You drive.” The connection ended. He turned to his companion. “We’re going for a walk in the Black Forest. Grüber needs a visit.”

“When?” There was eager anticipation in the question.

“Now. We’re driving.”

“Then we’d better check out. It’s a long drive, even the way I drive.”

“Fast? Or faster?”

They laughed; the shorter one, silently.

Pappenheim picked up a phone and dialled a number. The person he hoped to speak to was someone he hadn’t seen for years. He blew three interlocked smoke rings, and waited.

“Dietrich.”

“Ah! Detlef!” Pappenheim said, full of bonhomie.

“Yes? Who…wait a minute. I
know
that voice. My God.
Pappenheim?
How long has it been?”

“How many kids do you have?” Pappenheim countered.

“Four. The first is nearly ten.”

“There’s your answer. You weren’t even married then…not that marriage is necessary…”

“I was married…”

“I’m sorry to hear. How…?”

“Oh it’s not what you think. She’s very much alive. Got another man.”

“I’m still sorry to hear.”

“Don’t be. I’ve got another woman.”

Pappenheim paused to take this in. “I see. One of those rare amicable divorces we keep hearing about that never are in reality? You seem to have made it.”

“Not a chance,” Dietrich said. “It was a war zone. But life is peaceful. She never gets in touch with me; I never get in touch with her. I pay for the kids electronically. Nice and clean. The fourth one is with my new wife.”

“What a boon, this electronic world.”

“And you?”

“Alas. Not so lucky. She’s gone. The worst of ways, for me. Cancer.”

“I’m the who’s sorry to hear.”

“Thank you, Detlef. But it was some time ago,” Pappenheim said, hiding the pain he still felt, even after all the years that had passed.

“Life goes on.”

“That it does.”

“So…who says it first?”

“I will. You have a report about a Volvo on the B19…”

“My God! How do you… What
is
it that you do up there in Berlin?”

“Can’t tell you. If I did…”

“You’d have to kill me.”

“No. Boil you in oil.”

“You sound like a strange lot to me.”

“You have no idea how strange,” Pappenheim said, thinking of Kaltendorf. “About the Volvo. No traffic about it.”

“Don’t investigate?”

“For now.”

“I’m a lowly kommissar. My bosses might want to know why…”

“Refer them to me. I’m certain they will be able to make contact, one way, or the other.”

“So what are you these days? When we last saw each other, I had just got my three green,
hauptmeister
stars, and you, your first silver.
Kommissar
Pappenheim! Mark you, we never thought you’d make it, seeing you gave the bosses so much grief. What have you got now? Three silver? Your first gold?”

“Alas, just two silvers.”

“Still aggravating the bosses, eh?”

“Someone has to. But I’ve got a boss who seems to like me. So life’s bearable.”

“You haven’t changed, Pappi. I know when you’re pulling my leg.”

“It’s true. We work well together.”

“So who’s this paragon?”

“You’ll not have heard of him. Name of Müller. Now
he’s
the one heading for his first gold star.”

“Müller? I
have
heard of him. Rumour at the time said that he barged into an American base, not far from here.”

“He never barges. Charges, though…sometimes.”

“Is this Volvo thing…”

“You’re too quick for me, Detlef.”

“Why do I get the feeling you’re not telling me everything?”

“Oh I’m always telling something to someone, somewhere, sometime,” Pappenheim said.

“And now that you’ve laid your smoke grenade…okay, Pappi. I’ll make sure the Volvo stays quiet. But if my bosses…”

“Blame me.”

“I will.”

“There you go,” Pappenheim said. “Thanks, Detlef.”

Pappenheim put his phone down.

“Who’d have thought it?” he said. “Detlef Dietrich, playboy of the
länder
, has become a serial monogamist, and doting father. People
can
change.”

The phone rang. He picked it up.

“
Pappenheim!”
Kaltendorf’s voice roared.

“Sir?”

“Have you heard from Müller?”

“Not yet, sir,” Pappenheim lied.

The line clicked.

Pappenheim again replaced the phone.

“But not this one,” he remarked with a sigh.

In the house where she was being held, Elisabeth Jackson was again bound hand and foot, and lying on the bed.

She lay on her left side, trying to be as comfortable as was possible under the circumstances. Ever since the time when the man with the kinder voice had come to take the cup away, no one else had entered. She could only guess at how long that had been.

Then she heard the key in the lock. Her body tensed, despite her efforts to remain relaxed.

It was the man with the knife.

“Did you miss me?” he asked in a sly voice. “It seems you are not missed,” he went on. “Nothing at all from your husband.”

“I thought you said
you’d
be getting in contact. You wanted him to sweat.”

“That’s certainly true. But we expected at least an alarm. You know, police rushing around pointlessly.”

“You claim to know about my husband. You don’t. You shouldn’t be fooled by his silence. It would be a smart thing, to let me go before this gets worse…”