The Mediterranean Caper (27 page)

“Before I answer you, take a look at these.” Zacynthus pulled a pair of photographs from a briefcase and laid them in front of Pitt side by side on the desk.

Pitt leaned over and studied them carefully. The first was a snapshot of a light-haired man who wore the uniform of a German naval officer. He was caught in a relaxed pose, standing on the bridge of a ship and peering out to sea, his hands resting carelessly on a pair of binoculars that hung around his neck. The face in the second photograph stared back at Pitt with the familiar leer of a shaven-skulled Erich von Stroheim. A huge white dog stood at the lower half of the picture, crouched as if ready to spring. An involuntary chill crept through Pitt's body as he remembered—remembered all too vividly.

“There doesn't seem to be much of a resemblance.”

Zacynthus nodded. “Admiral Heibert did a remarkable job—scars, birthmarks, even his dental fillings matched von Till's.”

“What about fingerprints?”

“Impossible to prove anything. There were no known records of von Till's prints, and Heibert had his altered by surgery.”

Pitt sat back puzzled. “Then how can we be sure—”

“The uninvited detail,” Zacynthus said slowly. “No matter how exhaustingly they try or how diligently they plan, all criminals get their tails pinned to the wall by the uninvited detail. In Heibert's case it was von Till's scalp.”

Pitt shook his head. “I don't follow you.”

“When von Till was a young man, he contracted a skin disease called
Alpecia areata
which caused complete baldness. Heibert didn't know this. He thought von Till had shaved his head in the Prussian tradition, so quite naturally he took to the razor. It didn't take the War Criminals Investigators long to spot the growth. There was, of course, later evidence that confirmed Admiral Heibert's identity, but the hair was the first nail in the coffin.”

Pitt suddenly felt a vague mixture of relief and satisfaction. “Has he swung yet?”

“Four days ago,” Zacynthus said matter-of-factly. “You saw nothing in the newspapers because there was nothing. The Germans kept his capture and death quiet. They're sick and tired of having the mud of their Nazi past rubbed in their faces every time an old war criminal is ferreted out. Besides, Heibert didn't have the same notoriety as Bormann and a few others of Hitler's personal clique.”

“Makes you wonder how many more are scattered around the world,” Pitt murmured.

The telephone on the desk buzzed, and the Director picked it up. “Yes…yes, I'll pass along the good news, thank you.” He replaced the telephone in its cradle, his pitted face split in a wide grin, and he turned to Sandecker. “That was your office, Admiral. Allow me to be the first to offer my congratulations.”

Sandecker rolled the cigar to one side of his mouth. “What in hell for?”

The Director, still grinning, stood up and laid his hand on the admiral's shoulder. “It seems that your marine oddity turned out to be a viviparous female. Consequently, you, sir, are now the proud papa of a bouncing baby
Teaser
.”

The steaming heat was beginning to fade, and the lengthening shadows were stretching far behind the late afternoon sun when Pitt limped out onto the sidewalk. He paused a moment and looked at the city. The streets were busy with homeward-bound traffic, and soon all the surrounding buildings would be mute and deserted. He looked toward the Capitol building in the distance, its white dome transformed into a blazing gold tint from the falling sun, and he remembered another scene on a faraway beach and a white ship and a vibrant blue sea. It seemed so long ago, nearly an eternity.

Giordino and Zacynthus came down the steps and joined him.

Zacynthus spoke jovially. “Gentlemen, I suggest that since we are all single, debonair men-about-town we combine forces and engage in a bit of fun and frolic.”

“I'll buy that,” Giordino volunteered.

Pitt shrugged in mock sadness. “It wounds me deeply, but I must decline your intriguing invitation. I already have a previous engagement.”

“I think this is where I came in,” Giordino moaned.

Zacynthus laughed. “You're making a big mistake. I happen to possess a little black book which contains the phone numbers of some of Washington's fairest—”

Zacynthus suddenly stopped in midsentence and stared at the street, his eyes wide in blank astonishment.

A gargantuan black-and-silver car rolled silently up to the curb and stopped. Elegant in design, majestic in appearance, the regal coachwork seemed out of place beside the more modern mechanized traffic, like a queen of the realm amid a bustling crowd of foul-smelling rabble. And as a fitting touch, the
pièce de résistance,
a lovely dark-haired girl graced the steering wheel.

“Good Lord,” Zacynthus gasped. “Von Till's Maybach.” He turned to Pitt. “How did you get it?”

“To the victor belong the spoils.” Pitt grinned slyly.

Giordino raised an eyebrow. “Now I see what you meant by a bulky souvenir. I might add that your other souvenir isn't half bad either.”

Pitt opened the front door of the car. “I think you both know my ravishing chauffeur.”

“She reminds me of a girl I once met in the Aegean,” Giordino said, smiling. “But this one is much better looking.”

The girl laughed. “Just to show that flattery has its reward, I forgive you for that rough ride through the labyrinth. Only next time give me warning so I can put on some decent clothes.”

Giordino looked genuinely sheepish. “I promise.”

Pitt turned to Zacynthus. There was a faint smile in Pitt's eyes. “Do me a favor, will you, Zac?”

“If I can.”

“I'd like to borrow the services of one of your agents for a couple of weeks. Do you think you can arrange it?”

Zacynthus looked down at the girl and nodded. “I think so. The Bureau owes you that much.”

Pitt climbed into the front seat and closed the door. Then he handed his cane out to Giordino. “Here, I don't think I'll be needing this anymore.”

Before Giordino could make an appropriate reply, the girl engaged the clutch, and the big town car slipped into the moving line of traffic.

Giordino watched the high-roofed car until it rounded a distant corner and was lost from sight. Then he turned and looked at Zacynthus.

“How are you at whipping up scallops with mushrooms in white wine sauce?”

Zacynthus shook his head. “I'm afraid I've never graduated beyond frozen TV dinners.”

“In that case, you can buy me a drink.”

“You forget, I'm only a poor civil servant.”

“Then look upon me as an item on your expense account.”

Zacynthus tried to look serious but failed. Then he shrugged. “Shall we?”

“Let's.”

So arm in arm, much to the amusement of passersby, the tall Zacynthus and the short Giordino, looking all the world like Mutt and Jeff, began walking down the sidewalk in the direction of the nearest bar.