The Bormann Testament (6 page)

“He couldn’t have known much about it,” Chavasse said. “He must have been killed instantly.”

“At least we now know who we’re working against,” she said.

He nodded. “According to Schmidt, Steiner was a group leader in the SS. Kruger was probably a camp doctor or something of the sort.”

“Do you think they’ll be mentioned in Bormann’s memoirs?”

He shook his head. “I shouldn’t think so. My hunch is that they’re both simply active members of the Nazi underground. The people they take their orders from probably figure in Bormann’s book.”

“And you think they’ll have Muller at this clinic in Blankenese?”

“Let’s hope so.” He put down his coffee cup and got to his feet. “And now, if I can have the use of your couch?”

She went into the bedroom and came back carrying several blankets and a pillow. As he watched, she quickly made a bed for him. She turned with a smile. “I think you’ll find it’s pretty comfortable and I can promise you won’t be disturbed. I could sleep for a week myself.”

Suddenly, she seemed very close and he felt tired—really tired. “You’re very sweet, Anna,” he said.

She raised a hand and touched his cheek, and he bent his head quickly and kissed her on the mouth. For a moment, she responded, but as soon as she felt his hands on her waist, she pulled away and rushed across to her bedroom.

The door closed behind her. For a moment, Chavasse looked at it, and then he sighed and started to peel off his clothes. By the time he had finished, fatigue had seeped into his brain. He had barely enough strength left to crawl between the blankets and switch off the table lamp before he dived into darkness.

H
e awakened slowly from a deep, dreamless sleep to an atmosphere of brooding quiet. Pale autumn sunlight reached in through the window, and faintly in the distance he could hear church bells and remembered it was Sunday.

He checked his watch and found, with something of a shock, that it was half past one. He threw aside the blankets and started to get dressed, and then he saw the letter propped against the flower vase on the small table.

It was from Anna. She had decided to pay Katie Holdt’s landlady a visit in the hope of getting a lead on the girl’s whereabouts. She expected to be back by three o’clock at the latest.

He lit a cigarette and went into the kitchen. He didn’t feel hungry, and ate only one buttered roll as he waited for his coffee to brew, and then returned to the living room.

He sat on the edge of the couch with the cup in both hands and wondered how Hardt was getting on. He felt restless and ill at ease, and he got to his feet and paced up and down the apartment. It was the inaction he hated. He preferred being in at the center of things, checking the other man’s move or making one himself.

On impulse he picked up the phone, rang the Atlantic Hotel, and asked for Sir George Harvey. There was a slight click as the receiver was picked up at the other end and Sir George spoke. “Yes, who is it?”

“Your traveling companion,” Chavasse said.

Sir George’s voice didn’t change. “I was hoping you’d ring,” he said. “I’ve had your boss on the phone from London. He asked me to pass on some information to you.”

“Is it important?”

“Nothing startling, but it might prove useful.”

“Good, we’d better get together then.”

“I’m afraid that’s going to be rather awkward,” Sir George told him. “I’ve hired a car and I’m driving out to the race track at Farmsen with some of the other conference delegates. We’re leaving in a few minutes. The first race starts at two-thirty.”

Chavasse considered the situation. He had been to Farmsen before to see the trotting races. They were usually well attended on a Sunday afternoon. He came to a decision quickly.

“I’ll meet you in the bar under the grandstand in the second-class enclosure at three o’clock,” he said. “Will that be all right?”

“I don’t see why not,” Sir George replied. “I can easily leave my friends in the first-class enclosure for a few minutes. As long as you think it’s safe to show your face.”

“Don’t worry about me,” Chavasse said. “I’ll only be a dot among several thousand people.” He replaced the receiver and hurriedly finished dressing.

He left a brief note for Anna, left the apartment, and walked through the quiet streets to the nearest station, where he caught a crowded underground train.

When they reached Farmsen, he mingled with the large crowd that streamed toward the entrance of the race track. As he passed through the turnstiles, he saw a couple of bored-looking policemen leaning against the barrier and chatting. He ignored them and moved on quickly, passing round the great curve of the track, and entered the second-class enclosure.

The first race was just finishing and he stood at the rail and watched the light, two-wheeled sulkies bounce on the corners, the drivers hanging grimly onto the reins as the horses trotted toward the finishing line at an incredible speed. There was a roar from the crowd, and a moment later, the result was announced over the loudspeaker.

He looked across into the first-class enclosure and checked his watch. There were still ten minutes to go. He sauntered across to the grandstand and went into the bar. For the moment, trade seemed to be slack and he ordered a beer and lit a cigarette. As he carried his drink across to a corner table, Sir George Harvey appeared in the entrance.

He came straight over and sat down. “Don’t you think you’re asking for trouble showing your face in a public place like this?”

Chavasse shook his head. “There’s safety in numbers.”

“I still think it’s damned risky,” Sir George said. “But now you
are
here, you can tell me what happened on that blasted train. Why did you have to kill Muller?”

“But I didn’t,” Chavasse said. “As far as I know, he’s still alive and kicking.” He went on to describe what had really taken place.

When he had finished, Sir George leaned back in his chair, a slight frown on his face. “It’s the most extraordinary thing I’ve ever heard of. So Steiner and this Kruger fellow are presumably working for the Nazi underground?”

“It certainly looks that way.”

“And this other chap,” Sir George said. “The one who saved your bacon. I suppose he’s working for the people who spirited Eichmann away to Israel?”

Chavasse nodded. “That’s about the size of it.”

Sir George shook his head in bewilderment. “You know, even during the war, when this sort of thing came under my department, I never heard anything quite like it. Dammit all, man, we went through six years of hell to give these Nazis what was coming to them, and here they are sticking their heads up again and apparently able to get away with it.”

“But not for long,” Chavasse said. “The very fact that they have to work underground is an encouraging sign.” He lit another cigarette. “You had a message for me.”

“So I did,” Sir George said. “I’m sorry, I was forgetting. Your Chief wanted you to know they’ve got a line on Muller. He was Bormann’s orderly. Apparently, in civilian life he’d been a valet. His family lived in Hamburg and he had one sister. They were all killed in the bombing in 1943. Does that help at all?”

Chavasse shook his head. “Not really. The only thing I didn’t already know was that Muller was once Bormann’s orderly. That at least explains their connection. The sister’s still alive. Until yesterday we knew where she was living and working, but for the moment we’ve lost track of her.”

“Then obviously you must find her again,” Sir George said. “She may be the key to the whole thing.”

Chavasse shook his head. “Muller is the key to the whole thing. He’s the one we’ve got to find.” He glanced at his watch. “I’d better be making a move.”

Sir George nodded. “It might be wiser. I’ll walk down to the gates with you.”

They left the bar and moved through the crowd, following the broad curve of the track. As they walked, Chavasse said, “By the way, did you tell the Chief anything about this mess when he spoke to you on the telephone?”

Sir George shook his head emphatically. “No, I thought perhaps you’d want to handle that yourself.”

They had passed where the cars were parked and were moving toward the gate through the stream of people who were still coming in. Chavasse started to thank him, but Sir George suddenly caught hold of his arm and jerked him violently around.

As they started to move back the way they had come, Chavasse said, “What’s wrong?”

“Steiner’s standing at the gates with half-a-dozen policemen,” Sir George said.

Chavasse glanced back over his shoulder quickly. Steiner and his men had obviously only just arrived, and they stood around him in a group as he gave them their instructions. As Chavasse watched, they moved away, taking up prearranged positions so that all the exits were covered.

“For God’s sake, come on, man,” Sir George said, and pulled him into the car park.

As they moved between the crowded vehicles, Chavasse said, “There’s bound to be another way out of this damn place.”

“No need to worry about that,” Sir George said, and halted beside a Mercedes. “
I’m
going to take you out and by the front gate.”

“Not on your life,” Chavasse told him. “I’m not getting you involved in this.”

He started to turn away, and Sir George grabbed hold of his arm and held him with a grip of surprising strength. His face flushed, and when he spoke, his voice shook with anger. “What sort of a man do you think I am?” he demanded. “I’m not going to stand by and see a pack of damned Nazis have their way. You’re going to get on the floor in the back of the car with a rug over you and we’re going out that main gate. Do you understand?”

The years seemed to have fallen away from him, and for the moment, he was once more the young colonel who had led his men over the top at the Somme armed with a swagger stick, his belt and buttons gleaming.

He opened the rear door of the Mercedes. “Get in!” he said.

Chavasse hesitated, and then he shrugged and did as he was ordered. He lay on the floor and Sir George covered him with a rug and closed the door. A moment later and they moved slowly away.

They came to a halt and steps approached. As the man started to speak, Chavasse held his breath, and then he heard Steiner’s voice break in angrily. “Leave this to me. Go back to your post.” He leaned down to the window and said in his careful, clipped English, “Sorry you’ve been troubled, Sir George.”

“Ah, Inspector Steiner,” Sir George said. “Who are you looking for this time?”

Chavasse could almost see Steiner’s characteristic shrug. “No one in particular, Sir George. It’s an old police custom to spread a net when there is a large crowd. It is surprising how often it pays with a good haul. I regret you have been inconvenienced.”

The car moved on and picked up speed. Chavasse remained on the floor for another five minutes, and then he pushed back the rug and sat in the rear seat. “That was close.”

Sir George shook his head. “I wasn’t worried for a minute.” He laughed excitedly. “You know, I’m beginning to enjoy this, Chavasse. I’ve been living my safe, ordered, and rather stuffy existence for so long now, I’d almost forgotten what it could be like to take a chance.”

“You’ve taken enough for one day,” Chavasse said. “You can stop any time you like and let me out. I’ll catch the U-Bahn back into town.”

Sir George shook his head. “Nothing doing, my boy. I’ll take you to where you want to go.”

“And what about your friends?” Chavasse reminded him. “They’ll be wondering what’s happened to you.”

Sir George swore mildly. “You’re right, I suppose. Where can I drop you then?”

“We’re coming into Hellbrook,” Chavasse said. “You can stop outside the underground station. I can manage fine from there.”

A few moments later, the car drew in to the side of the road and Chavasse got out. He leaned in at the window. “Thanks for everything. You deserve a medal.”

Sir George snorted. “Just remember to call on me if you need any more help.” He chuckled. “You know, you’ve given me a new lease on life. I don’t think I’ve enjoyed myself so much for years.”

The big car turned and roared back along the road to Farmsen. Chavasse stood there, watching it go and thinking about Sir George Harvey. He was quite a man, there was no doubt about that. As the car disappeared from sight round a bend in the road, he turned and went quickly into Wandsbek station.

IT
was nearly four-thirty when he mounted the stairs to Anna Hartman’s apartment and knocked on the door. It was opened almost at once, and she pulled him inside, her face white and strained. “Where have you been?” she demanded. “I was almost out of my mind with worry.”

“Any particular reason?” he said as he took off his coat.

She shook her head. “There hasn’t been a mention of the train affair on the radio. I’ve listened to every bulletin. I can’t understand it.”

“You worry too much,” Chevasse said. “Steiner’s probably persuaded his superiors to allow him to handle the case in his own way. After all, he can’t let someone else get their hands on me—I might talk too much. He’s got to reach me first, if only to save his own skin.”

He pulled her down beside him on the couch. “Did you manage to find out anything about Katie Holdt?”

She shook her head. “Not a thing. Her landlady didn’t even see her go. Apparently she left the rent she owed in an envelope, with a brief note saying she’d been called away urgently. There was definitely no forwarding address.”

“That’s a pity,” Chavasse said. “She might have proved useful. At least we now know how Muller came to be connected with Bormann in the first place.” She looked surprised and he quickly explained about his trip to Farmsen.

“How on earth can you take such risks?” she said when he had finished. “Couldn’t Sir George have given you the message over the phone?”

Chavasse jumped to his feet and walked across to the window. “I suppose he could, but I get restless. I have to be in at the heart of things.” He turned with a smile. “Never mind about me—has Hardt been in touch yet?”

She nodded. “We’re to meet him at Blankenese tonight in a café by the Elbe. I know the place. Apparently, he’s found out everything we need to know about Kruger and his clinic.”

“That sounds fair enough,” Chavasse said. “What time are we meeting him?”

“Nine o’clock,” she said. “It will be dark by then.”

He moved across to the couch and pulled her to her feet. “That gives us almost five hours to kill.” He held her hand securely. “What on earth can we find to do?”

She drew away from him. “There’s a newspaper there,” she told him. “You can read that while I prepare a meal for you.”

She went into the kitchen and he followed her and stood leaning in the doorway, a slight smile on his face. “I much prefer to watch you.”

She turned to look at him, and suddenly she moved forward and into his arms. “Oh, Paul, I was so frightened for you,” she said. “You’ll never know how frightened I was.”

He held her tightly in his arms and stroked her hair and whispered comfortingly, and all the time he was staring out of the opposite window as he admitted the one, hard fact that he had not wanted to acknowledge. That from the moment he had first seen her at the Taj Mahal, standing just inside the door in her ridiculous harlot’s dress, he had been caught in a tide of emotion so strong it could not possibly be denied.

As he lifted her face, he wondered ironically what the Chief would say, and then he kissed her and forgot about everything. About Muller, Steiner, the Bormann manuscript—everything except this girl.