The Good German (64 page)

“You can’t do that to him,” Jake said quietly. “He was a good man.”

“He’s dead,” Shaeffer said. “It fits.”

“Not for me. And it won’t fit for the Russians.”

“Yes, it will. A Russian saved Zhukov. He’ll get the thanks of a grateful nation. And you get ours. Allied cooperation.”

“And how do you explain Emil?”

“We don’t. Emil wasn’t there. He’s been in Kransberg. We can’t say we lost him. The Russians can’t say they ever had him. There was no incident. That’s the way this one works.” Shaeffer stopped, meeting Jake’s eyes. “Nobody wants an incident.”

“I won’t let you do this. Not to Gunther.”

“What are you beefing about? You’re sitting pretty. You’ll get a fat contract, we get Brandt back, and the Russians can’t do a damn thing. That’s what I call a happy ending. See? I always said we’d make a good team.”

“It’s not true,” Jake said stubbornly.

“It is, though,” Ron said. “I mean, you’ve got a whole press corps that’s just filed the story, so it must be.”

“Not after I file mine.”

“I hate to say it, but people are going to be awfully annoyed if you do that. They make you a hero and you throw egg on their faces? No, you don’t want to do that. In fact, you can’t.”

“Because you’d spike it? Is that the way we do our reporting now? Like Dr. Goebbels.”

“Don’t get carried away. We make certain accommodations, that’s all,” Ron said, indicating Shaeffer. “For the good of the MG. So will you.

“Real sweethearts, aren’t you?” Jake said, his voice low, scraping bottom.

“You want to cry over some dead kraut, do it on your own time,” Shaeffer said, impatient now. “We’ve had enough trouble as it is getting our man back. We understand each other?”

Jake looked out the window again. After all, did it matter? Gunther was gone and so was the lead to the other man, the case as hopeless now as the scraggly garden below.

“Go away,” he said.

“Which means yes, I suppose. Well, fine.” Shaeffer picked up his hat. “I gather the lady’s staying with you?”

“Yes,” Lena said.

“Then I guess you got what you wanted too. That the reason for the little water fight?”

So he still didn’t know. But did that matter either? Emil would search again and find the overlooked file, solve that problem too. His happy ending. Innocent, the way Shaeffer would want it anyway.

“Why don’t you ask him?” Jake said.

“Never mind,” Shaeffer said, glancing at Lena. “Can’t say I blame him.” An easy compliment. He turned to go. “Oh, one more thing. Brandt says you have some papers that belong to him.”

Lena looked up. “Did he say what they were?”

“Notes of his. Something he needs for von Braun. Seems to think they’re pretty important. Kind of tore the place apart, didn’t he?” he said to Lena. “I’m sorry about that.”

“More lies,” she said, shaking her head.

“Ma’am?”

“And you’re taking him to America.”

“We’re going to try.”

“Do you know what kind of a man he is?” she said, looking directly at him, so that he shifted on his feet, uncomfortable.

“All I know is Uncle Sam wants him to build some rockets. That’s all I care about.”

“He lies to you. And you lie for him.You told me he saved Jake’s life. My god, and I believed you. And now you believe him. Notes. What a pair you are.”

“I’m only doing my job.”

Lena nodded her head, smiling faintly. “Yes, that’s what Emil said too. What a pair you are.”

Shaeffer held up his hand, flustered. “Now, don’t get me involved in domestic arguments. What happens between a man and his wife—” He dropped it and turned to Jake. “Anyway, whatever they are, do you have them?”

“No, he doesn’t,” Lena said.

Shaeffer peered at her, unsure where to take this, then back at Jake.
Do
you?

But Jake was looking at Lena, everything clear now, not even a wisp of haze. “I don’t know what Emil’s talking about.”

Shaeffer stood for a second, fingering his hat, then let it go. “Well, no matter. They’re bound to turn up somewhere. Hell, I thought he could do everything in his head.”

Afterward, the room was quiet enough to hear his footsteps on the stairs.

“Did you destroy them?” Jake said finally.

“No, I have them.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I don’t know. I thought I would. And then they came to the flat. He was like a crazy man. Where are they? Where are they? You’re on
his
side. The way he looked at me then. And I thought, yes, his side.” She stopped, looking at him.

“Where were they?”

“In my bag.” She walked over to the bed and pulled the papers out of her bag. “Of course, he never thought to look there. My things. Everywhere else. I stood there watching him—like a crazy man—and I knew. He never came to Berlin for me, did he?”

“Maybe both.”

“No, only these. Here.” She carried them over to his chair. “You know and you don’t know—that’s how everything was. Just now, when you told me what happened, there was a click in my head. Do you know why? I wasn’t surprised. It was like before—you know and you don’t know. I don’t want to live like that anymore. Here.”

But Jake didn’t move, just looked at the buff sheets held out between them.

“What do you want me to do with them?”

“Give them to the Americans. Not that one,” she said, gesturing toward the door. “He’s the same. Another Emil. Any lie.” Then she pulled the papers back to her so that for a second Jake thought she couldn’t go through with it after all. “No. I’ll take them. Tell me where. There’s a name?”

“Bernie Teitel. I can’t ask you to do that.”

“Oh, it’s not for you,” she said. “For me. Maybe for Germany, does that sound crazy? To start somewhere. So there’s still something left. Not just Emils. Anyway, look at you. Where can you go like that?”

“As it happens, he lives downstairs.”

“Yes? So it’s not so far.”

“For you it is.” He reached up for the papers. “He’s still something to you.”

She shook her head. “No,” she said slowly. “Just a boy in a picture.

They looked at each other for a minute, then Jake leaned forward, ignoring the papers and covering her hand instead.

She smiled and turned his hand over, tracing the palm with her finger. “Such a line. In a man.”

“You make a nice couple.” Shaeffer, standing in the doorway with Erich. “I brought the kid back.” He crossed over to them, Erich in tow. “Aren’t you the sly one?” he said to Lena, holding out his hand. “I’ll take them.”

“They don’t belong to you. Or Emil,” Lena said.

“No, the United States government.” He wiggled the fingers of his open hand in a give-me gesture. “Thanks for saving me another look-see. I figured.” He took the end of the papers. “That’s an order.” He stared at her until she released them.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Jake said.

“What do you think
you’re
doing? This is government property. You’re going to get yourself in trouble if you’re not careful.”

“They go to Teitel.”

“I’ll save you the trip.” He started riffling through, glancing at the pages. “Not rocket notes, I take it. Want to tell me?”

“Reports from Nordhausen,” Jake said. “Facts and figures from the camps. Slave labor details. What the scientists knew. Lots of interesting stuff. Keep looking—you’ll find a lot of your friends there.”

“Is that a fact. And you think this might make things a little embarrassing for them.”

“It might make them war criminals.”

Shaeffer looked up from the files. “You know, your trouble is you’re in the wrong war. You’re still fighting the last one.”

“They were involved,” Jake said, insistent.

“Geismar, how many times do I have to tell you? I don’t care.”

“You should care,” Lena said. “They killed people.”

“That’s good, coming from a German. Who do you think killed them? Or do you just want your husband to take the rap? Convenient.”

“You can’t talk to her that way,” Jake said, starting to get up, wincing as Shaeffer pushed him back.

“Watch your shoulder. Well, now we’ve got a situation. What a pain in the ass you are.”

“I’ll be a bigger pain in the ass if Teitel doesn’t get those files. Not even Ron’s going to spike this story.”

“Which one is that?”

“Try a congressman bringing Nazis into the States.”

“He wouldn’t like that.”

“Or a tech team playing hide-and-seek with the Russians. Lots of ways to go, if I want to. Or we could do it the right way. You helping the Military Government do what it says it’s trying to do, bring these fucks to trial. A trial story. This time, you’re the hero.”

“Let me explain something to you,” Shaeffer said. “Plain and simple. Look at this country. These scientists are the only reparations we’re likely to get. And we’re going to get them. We need them.”

“To fight the Russians.”

“Yes, to fight the Russians. You ought to figure out whose side you’re on.”

“And it doesn’t matter about the camps.”

“I don’t care if they banged Mrs. Roosevelt. We need them. Got it?”

“If Teitel doesn’t get those files, I’ll do the story. Don’t think I won t.

“I think you won’t.”

Shaeffer turned the papers sideways, and before Jake could move, tore them across.

“Don’t,” Jake said, starting to rise, the sound of tearing jolting across him like the pain shooting through his shoulder. Another tear, Jake only half out of his seat, then falling back, watching helplessly as the paper became pieces. “You bastard.” A final rip.

Shaeffer took a step toward the window and flung them out, large bits of paper, suspended, then caught by the wind, flying over the garden—not small; about the same size, Jake saw, staring hypnotically, as the bills that had danced and blown over the Cecilienhof lawn.

“Like I said,” Shaeffer said, turning back, “you’re in the wrong war. That one’s over.”

Jake watched him go, brushing past Lena and wide-eyed Erich, who had already known everything was
kaput
.

“I feel I’ve let you down too,” Jake said to Bernie. “You more than anybody, I guess.”

They had come to Gunther’s to pick up the
persilscheins
and found the room ransacked, stacks pulled apart, torn boxes littering the floor.

“Join the crowd. Everybody lets me down,” Bernie said, a light growl, not really angry. “Christ, look at this. Word gets around fast. Ever notice how the liquor’s the first thing to go? Then the coffee.” He picked up the folders from the floor and stacked them. “Don’t beat yourself up too much, okay? At least I know what to look for. That’s more than I had before. There’s lots of evidence floating around Germany—some of it could still land on my desk.”

“You’ll never get them,” Jake said, gloomy.

“Then we’ll get someone else,” Bernie said, going through a bureau drawer. “Not exactly a shortage.”

“But doesn’t it bother you?”

“Bother me?” He turned to Jake, shoulders sagging. “Let me tell you something. I came over here, I thought I was really going to do something. Justice. And where did I end up? At the back of the line. Everybody’s got a hand out. ‘We can’t do it all.’ Feed the people— they’re starving. Get Krupp up and running again, get the mines open. The Jews? Well, that was terrible, sure, but what are we supposed to do this winter if we don’t get some coal out of the Russians? Freeze? Everybody’s got a priority. Except the Jews aren’t on anybody’s list. We’ll deal with that later. If anybody has the time. So I lose a few scientists? I’m still trying to get the camp guards.”

“Small fry.”

“Not to the people they killed.” He paused. “Look, I don’t like it either. But that’s the way it is. You think you’re going to set the world on fire and you come here—all you do is pick through the damage. Without a priority. So you do what you can.”

“Yeah, I know, one at a time. An eye for an eye.”

Bernie looked up. “That’s a little Old Testament for me. There isn’t any punishment, you know. How do you punish this?”

“Then why bother?”

“So we know. Every trial. This is what happened. Now we know. Then another trial. I’m a DA, that’s all. I bring things to trial.”

Jake looked down, fingering the
persilscheins
on the table. “I still wish I had the files. They weren’t guards—they should have known setter.”

“Geismar,” Bernie said softly, “everybody should have known better.”

“Would it help if I wrote something? Got you some press?”

Bernie smiled and went back to the drawer. “Save your ink. Go home. Look at you, all banged up. Haven’t you had enough?”

“I’d like to know.”

“What?”

“Who the other man is.”

“That? You’re still on that? What’s the point?”

“Well, for one thing, he could still be working for the Russians.” Jake dropped the folder on the table. “Anyway, I’d like to know for Gunther, finish the case for him.”

“I doubt he cares anymore. Or do you have ways of getting messages up there?”

Jake walked over to the map, left in place by the scavengers. The Brandenburg. The wide chausee, where the reviewing stand had been.

“Why would someone working for the Russians tip off the Americans where Emil was going to be? Why would he do that?”

“You got me.”

“Now, see, Gunther would have figured it out. That’s the kind of thing he was good at—things that didn’t add up.”

“Not anymore,” Bernie said. “Hey, look at this.”

He had pulled an old square box from the back of the drawer, velvet or felt, like a jewel case, opened now to a medal. Jake thought of the hundreds lying on the Chancellery floor, not put away like this, treasured.

“Iron Cross, first class,” Bernie said. “Nineteen seventeen. A veteran. He never said.”

Jake looked at the medal, then handed it back. “He was a good German.”

“I wish I knew what that meant.” “It used to mean this,” Jake said. “Almost done?” “Yeah, grab the files. You think there’s anything in the bedroom? Not many effects, are there?”

“Just the books.” He took a Karl May from the shelf, a souvenir, then moved to the table and picked up one of the folders and flipped it open. A Herr Krieger, said to have been in a concentration camp, now Category IV, no evidence of Nazi activity, release advised. He glanced idly down the page, then stopped, staring at it.