The Schliemann Legacy (10 page)

Early in his career with the Mossad, David had discovered the perfect operatives. The idea arose from a conversation with Assi Levy about his crippled foot. The prominent limp and ugly deformity of the poorly healed bones led some people to shun the Mossad director or make him the target of ridicule and prejudice. They seemed to look upon him as less than a man - as though the foot governed his masculinity and virility.

Assi had seen even the most liberal of thinkers incapable of separating the physical deformity from his mental ability. Assi proved his superior intelligence repeatedly, moving higher in the bureaucracy of the Mossad, but the misguided thinking persisted.

As David traveled the world, he saw the consistency of this prejudicial attitude and decided to test a theory. He created a physical "handicap" and gauged the response of those he encountered. People spoke more slowly when he had an exaggerated limp. People spoke louder when he posed as a blind man. Most important for his purposes, when he posed with some impairment, people ignored him if possible. He existed on the edge of society.

David decided he could employ these nonexistent people.

Like most organizations of its kind, the Mossad's intelligence network operated mainly on the upper level of society, its agents working out of embassies, military establishments, and government offices. But that was the world of James Bond and not where Israel's real enemies lived. David operated among the undesirable segment of the population. Deals for munitions and terrorist strikes took place in the quiet, rubbish strewn back streets and alleys, not in five star hotels. The deeper David penetrated the terrorist organizations, the greater the need for a local network familiar with the streets. Not trusting the criminal element, he turned to the ignored legions of the street.

In every city David visited, he recruited his own underground network. He made contact with the street people - those whose physical problems gave them nowhere else to turn. David treated them with the respect they deserved and soon gathered a loyal group. As he listened with genuine interest to their often-exciting reminiscences, he realized how much these people had to offer not just him, but society as well. David supplied them with the money they needed to survive and used them to gather information.

Dieter Treliert had been an engineer on the railroad until an accident with two coupling boxcars severed his legs below the hip. When David finally found him again on the streets of Munich, Dieter was using his gloved hands to push a small, four wheeled dolly along the sidewalk. Though they had not seen one another for years, Dieter waved with instant recognition. He waited until David was standing over him before he spoke their ritual greeting.

"Jew. Why do you bother me? Tonight, I was to taste the delights of many women."

"Forgive me, old friend," David replied. "I could see you later if it would better suit your busy schedule."

"No. Now is always best. There is a ceaseless stream of women who hunger to experience the man whose middle leg is longer than the other two!"

Dieter burst into hearty laughter and grasped David's hand firmly. David winced; he had forgotten the old man's strength. "Can we go somewhere?" he asked, flexing his fingers.

"We
are
somewhere." Dieter slapped the pavement with his hand. "This is as good as anywhere." He lowered his voice as he pushed the dolly into a doorway. "Why are you here?" he asked. "I thought you'd retired. Surely the Mossad is not so desperate that they would send an old bastard like you out to do battle with the world?"

"I'm looking for Henri Mardinaud, the information broker."

Dieter laughed. "Excuse me, David. It strikes me as humorous. You wish information about a man who sells information. He's a little out of my usual sphere of influence, but I think I can help you. He has not exactly been hiding. Luckily, the man has certain perversions. So do some of his staff."

"Such as?"

"With Mardinaud, it's food. I heard about him when I was working the rear doors of some of the better restaurants. A few of my friends heard the same stories. The man just eats and eats. Doesn't even leave us any scraps. He'd chew the bones if he could but he satisfies himself by sucking the marrow out. An absolute pig. All the best restaurants are catering to the fat slob and competing for his patronage."

"That's Mardinaud," David said with a smile. "What about his staff?"

"Do you remember Susie?"

"Used to work the hotel about a block from here?"

"That's the one. Well, she has a son who has followed in his mother's footsteps. Might even be servicing his mother's clients, if you catch my meaning. For the past month, he's had a standing appointment with Mardinaud's second in command. A little shit named Erhart."

"Martin Erhart?"

"That's the fag. Anyhow, your best bet is Susie." He gave David's leg a gentle pat. "Be kind. She doesn't know what her son is doing."

"Thanks, Dieter." David gave the man several bills. "Why haven't you got yourself a wheelchair yet?"

Treliert rubbed the bills before stuffing them in his pocket. "A wheelchair? Won't work. Looks like I'm doing too well. Really cuts down on the sympathy."

David shook hands with Dieter. "Thank you, old friend."

"I am here whenever you need me, David." David started to release his hand, but the beggar held fast for a moment longer. "Be careful, Jew."

David nodded and turned away. Behind him, he could hear Dieter's trolley rolling down the sidewalk.

He walked over to Susie's small apartment. The retired prostitute did not recognize him as quickly as Dieter had. David's shoulders slumped when he saw how time and multiple beatings had ravaged the woman. Earlier in her career, her beauty had commanded a high price. This was no fairy tale of the prostitute retiring to a privileged life. Now she looked wasted and used, with a haunted look about her eyes. From the way she patted her skirt and posed herself, David realized she was still living in the past. Her rose perfume was suffocating and clung to everything in the room. But in her mind, she was still the young girl working the up-scale bars, admired and desired by all men.

After several minutes of conversation, David decided that Dieter was right; Susie had no idea about her son's profession. When he asked about Stephen's acquaintances, she told him the boy was meeting his "friend" tonight at the
Yellow Submarine
in the Hotel Holiday Inn.

David knew the bar and headed across town. He hoped Martin Erhart still stayed close to his boss.

* * * * *

The disco was as crowded as in its earlier days although the name had changed. The
Yellow Submarine
was now the
Aquarius
. Loud music bounced off the glass walls and bodies careened off each other on the dance floor. The imaginative decor brought many tourists to the disco. Built in a huge steel tank, the name suited the bar - either name. The thick glass windows gave the patrons an unobstructed view of an aquarium full of fish.

The previous owners of the
Yellow Submarine
had stocked the aquarium with forty sharks imported from Florida. At the posted feeding times, the crowds cheered as the sharks attacked and devoured entire sides of beef. Now, tropical fish had replaced the sharks. David missed the frightening predators and a familiar depression crept over him as he moved through the bar. Time continued to pass.

Henri Mardinaud was sitting on one of the risers near the largest window. In keeping with the Frenchman's warped sense of humor, he had a dinner of fish in front of him.

The change in Mardinaud shocked David. In just three years, the man appeared to have almost doubled in size. David thought Mardinaud must weigh close to 500 pounds.

When David sat down opposite the grotesque man, Henri almost choked. "Watch the bones," David warned. "You get one caught in your throat and it's all over. The Heimlich Maneuver is out. Unless we could find a gorilla, nobody could get their arms around you."

Henri downed the last of his beer and used a linen napkin to delicately wipe his lips and chins. "My contact at the hotel said Assi Levy had sent you, but I wouldn't believe them," he said, after clearing his throat. "What are you doing here? You didn't follow my instructions."

"Have forgotten how much I hate your childish games? I have no time to play so I cheated."

David's unexpected arrival upset Henri so much, he ignored his meal for a moment. The Frenchman thanked the fates that Morritt had not found him at the beer garden with Duman. That would surely have caused a premature end to the game for one of the two players and possibly the game master himself. "My information has you retired," he said. "I didn't expect Levy to send you. I hate surprises."

"I have personal reasons for wanting this particular mission." David dangled the morsel of information and the Frenchman snapped at the hook like a huge grouper.

"Interesting," Henri commented. "Would you care to elaborate?"

"Find out yourself. You're the expert." David smiled carefully as frustration clouded the fat man's face. Only one other person knew of Majdanek. Mardinaud's obsession for knowledge of other people's affairs was nearly as strong as his preoccupation with food. Any lack of information caused Mardinaud an almost physical pain. No matter how inconsequential, the knowledge increased in importance simply because it was unknown. "For now, I just want the information you have for me," David said.

Mardinaud handed him a folder, squeezed a lemon slice into a fresh mug of
weissbier
, and spoke through a mouthful of fish. "You're lucky I had the file with me. You are two hours early. I only arrived here myself." He smiled as David looked at the empty plates on the table. "I keep the empty plates to remind me of my diet," he said. "Aren't you going to read the file?"

David rested his hand on the folder, deliberately ignoring it. "Heiden has the artifacts from Troy?" he asked.

"An added bonus. I hesitated to mention it since I knew the treasure would not sway Levy one way or the other."

Mardinaud finished his food and stared as David drummed his fingers on the file. "It truly amazes me that you would come out again, Morritt," he said. "You do realize you're a hunted man? There is still a price on your head, several in fact. All tolled, they present a substantial sum. Your whereabouts would definitely interest certain parties."

David leaned across the table, picked up a napkin, and gently wiped a speck of food off Mardinaud's cheek. His eyes narrowed and took on a glassy chill. "Like you, I hate surprises," he said in a low voice. "Fortunately, I can count on your discretion in the matter. You know how easily I can locate you. I am old, it's true. But not so old that I can be taken
that
easily. If you are sure someone can take me, send them. Be sure they get me the first time, though. If they miss, I'll take the opportunity to look you up. Then, we can have a proper visit. You look like you might enjoy a couple weeks in the desert at one of the Mossad's special spas. I imagine the weight would just drop off you."

Mardinaud blinked rapidly. Sweat appeared on his forehead. He prided himself on his ability to control his players, but like Duman, David Morritt frightened him. The Mossad agent was too good to disregard. Morritt had survived countless attempts on his life in the past. Even one by Duman, if memory served. Henri knew he would not - could not - take the risk of exposing the Jew. "I would never consider telling anyone. However, now that you are out of Israel, anyone could see you. You might have been observed leaving Israel, for God's sake. If something happened..."

"Then make sure nothing happens. Use your network. I could be anywhere you want me to be."

Mardinaud nodded and smiled at him. "You have not been away so long, have you? It will be done. Possibly somewhere in Saudi Arabia or maybe Lebanon?"

David smiled at the thought of them tearing Lebanon apart looking for him. He tapped the file in front of him. "Who else knows about this?"

"Part of the fun is discovering the other players. I would hate to spoil the game for you."

"Spoil it."

Not for the first time, Mardinaud noticed David's gray eyes. Cold and hard as slate. In this world, there were no
good guys
. Morritt killed when necessary, with chilling efficiency. Mardinaud could see the years had not softened the Jew. "I informed the Greeks and someone representing the Turks," he told him. "Their interest, obviously, is with the treasure."

"Who are the representatives?"

"The Greeks have sent an enchanting woman, Katrina Kontoravdis. She may be of interest - unless you still mourn your wife."

At the mention of Shana, David glared at the Frenchman. "And the Turk?"

Mardinaud realized he had gone too far with the mention of Shana. "Duman," he answered immediately.

David stared at Mardinaud for a moment longer, then gathered up the file folder and left. Henri recognized the look on the other's face; he had seen it in the mirror on many occasions.

A plan was forming in the Jew's mind.

Chapter 11 - ROOM SERVICE

Katrina stepped back and let the pock faced bellhop enter. "About time," she said, looking at her watch. She barely had time to eat breakfast before catching her flight to Bogotá. "Sorry, I guess it isn't your fault," she admitted with a sheepish grin. She turned and grabbed some money off the bedside table. The bellhop's left cheek twitched as he slid his hand under a napkin on the tray.

"Here," Katrina said, half turned toward him. She froze as the double edged knife blurred across her vision.

Katrina stepped back into the wooden wardrobe. The tip of the knife caught her blouse and sliced through it, revealing her lace bra. A small trickle of blood seeped from the thin cut above her left breast.

Overbalanced, the Mouse took a step, then stopped himself and reversed the direction of his swing. He jammed his elbow into Katrina's ribs and she stumbled backwards over the corner of the bed. She landed sitting down with her legs spread in front of her. The Mouse's greedy eyes looked down at her, focusing on her torn blouse.