1945 (23 page)

Weiss shrugged again. "That was his last meal, and it's not the usual thing you're going to find being served up and down the waterfront of this town. Call me a racist, but this guy has 'Teutonic Superman Thug' written all over him. No offense, but guys like this," he nodded down at the body, "give me the creeps."

"Why?"

"Because I'm a Jew. I got out in '28, when the signs were getting obvious but getting out was still possible."

"Your English is perfect."

"Assimilate, don't stand out," the doctor replied coolly.

"You probably think I'm a little too Teutonic-looking, for that matter."

Weiss nodded. "I try not to equate body type and personality, but you would fit in real well over there, in what used to be my country. Sorry if I've let my feelings show." "Where were you raised?'

"Berlin. It used to be home, but now it's my family's graveyard."

"Berlin," Martel said quietly, and the realization came at last.

April 15

Asheville, North Carolina

Half dozing, Otto Skorzeny was startled by a quick shove to his ribs. The driver nodded toward his side-view mirror. "Police car behind us."

"Where are we?"

"Just west of Asheville."

"How long has he been following us?"

"He passed us going the other way a couple of miles back and now he's on our tail."

Skorzeny leaned forward to get a glimpse out of the mirror on his side of the van that was transporting them to Knoxville. All he could see were the headlights.

"How do you know it's the police?" Skorzeny started to ask and even as he did so he heard the thin wail of the siren.

"Pull over," Skorzeny said as he reached forward to press the alarm button, signaling the men hidden in the back of the truck to remain silent.

The driver edged the vehicle over to the side of the road, pulling up hard on the parking brake.

Lighting a cigarette, the driver looked over at Skorzeny, who nodded.

Skorzeny heard the crunching of boots on pavement and felt the shifting of the vehicle s weight as the policeman stepped up onto the drivers-side running board.

"Open up and come on down."

The driver gently swung the door open and stepped down onto the pavement.

Skorzeny looked back in his mirror and saw a second officer silhouetted by the patrol car's headlights.

"Anything wrong, officer?" the driver asked.

"You've got a taillight out for one thing."

"Damn, I thought the boys back at the shop took care of that. Thanks, officer."

"Let me see your license and registration."

"Sure, officer, just a second," and the driver climbed back into the cab.

"It's all right," the driver whispered, looking over at Skorzeny.

"You say something?"

"Just talking to my buddy up here. He was asleep when you pulled us over and wanted to know what was going on."

"Tell him to come down, too."

Skorzeny sighed. Good help was
so
hard to find ... he slid across the seat and alighted next to the driver. The cop, who was nearly a foot shorter than Skorzeny, backed up slightly and looked up at him. From the look on his face, this short little police officer disliked tall men.

"Okay, buddy, let's see your license, too," the cop snapped, shining his light straight into Skorzeny's eyes.

The heavy Carolina accent threw Skorzeny for a second and he hesitated.

"Your license, buddy. Get it out now!"

"Stanz," the driver said slowly; "your driving license."

Playing dumb, Skorzeny grinned stupidly. "The license, yes," he said slowly, "I have it here."

Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled his wallet out and deliberately fumbled for a second as if nervous in the presence of authority. He then handed the card over.

"Baltimore, Maryland? What the hell are you doing driving a truck with South Carolina tags?"

"He wasn't driving. He's my brother-in-law," the driver said for him. "He married my sister and just moved down here. Stanz here's a
Polack.
Used to work on the docks up in Baltimore. I got him a job with the company." "He should have a South Carolina license then."

"He's got thirty days and besides he's along just to help me unload, not to drive."

"How do I know that?" the cop snapped.

"Sir, even if he did drive, it's legal," the driver replied slowly and Skorzeny silently cursed the man. Never attempt to argue the law with the authorities.

"I'm sorry, sir, I didn't mean trouble," Skorzeny said with his head lowered. "My brother here asked me to help."

"Listen, buddy," the cop snapped, "you stay out of this."

Skorzeny fell silent and lowered his head.

The bantam-sized police officer continued to shine his light on Skorzeny s face and stood silendy.

"Where'd you get them scars on your face?"

Again, the accent threw him and he looked over at his companion.

"Your face, Stanz."

"Oh. Cut in fight. Against Germans when they invade."

The reaction wasn't what he expected. Rather than manifest a sudden show of sympathy for a "gallant Pole," the cop laughed contemptuously.

"Ran away, did you? I was in the army, and I saw a lot of big dumb oxes like you. Most of them were cowards."

"Hey, Charlie, any trouble up there?"

Skorzeny looked to his left and saw the second officer appear.

"I dunno. Something's not right with these boys."

The cop stood silendy for several seconds and then smiled. "I think we should see what you boys got in your truck."

"It's just furniture sir," the driver said.

"Fine, then let's get a look at it. We've had some boys like you trying to run a little shine through here, and untaxed cigarettes. So let's take a look."

The driver shrugged as if only mildly pained by the needless work. He reached up into the cab, pulled the keys out of the ignition, and went around to the back of the truck. He looked over at the first cop, who stood with feet apart, his right hand resting lightly on his revolver butt.

"Go on, boy, open it up."

The driver unlocked the door and swung it open.

"Like I said, furniture," and he pointed up at the sofa, mattress, and bed springs piled up high.

"Come on, Charlie, they're okay," the second cop said mildly.

Charlie looked back over at his companion and shook his head.

"Hal, you know they could simply have something hidden further inside. I think Stanz here should start unloading."

"Sir," the driver pleaded, "if we don't keep our schedule there'll be hell to pay with my boss."

"There'll be hell to pay with me if you don't get your Polack friend into that truck right now."

Skorzeny looked over at the driver inquiringly.

"Unload it, Stanz."

Skorzeny stepped up into the truck and, untying the ropes that bound the sofa in place, he grabbed it and lowered it down. He looked over at the cop.

"Keep going, boy."

"Hey, Charlie, c'mon. We have our own schedule, you know," the second cop said.

That dumb Polack can't even speak English and yet he runs over here and gets a job when there's more'n one ex-GI looking for work. I'm sick of these damned refugees."

Faced with such irrefutable logic, the other policeman resigned himself to the process that was unfolding.

Skorzeny moved the mattress and bed springs down. Behind those there was a stack of boxes ... and behind the boxes was the compartment containing his team and their equipment.

He looked back down at the cop.

"Keep going, boy, and let's see what's in those boxes."

Skorzeny looked over at his driver. The man casually reached into his pocket and pulled out a fifty-dollar bill, folding it over. He walked up to the short cop and, leaning over, whispered something while extending his hand.

The cop looked over at him, smiled and took the bribe.

"Boy, I think you just put yourself into a whole lot of trouble," the short cop said with a cold grin. "Now you get up there too and help your friend unload."

The driver looked back at Skorzeny, waiting for orders.

"Hal, this boy here just tried to bribe me and it wasn't enough by a long shot," the short cop said, backing up slightly and unclipping the safety strap on his revolver.

"Now both of you start unloading and let's see what you got in there."

The second cop, now interested, moved up beside Charlie. The silence was broken by a lone car passing them. The road behind was black, empty.

Skorzeny picked up a box and, turning, stepped down from the truck and started to put it down, looking up the road in the opposite direction. The car that had just passed them disappeared around the bend.

Instead of releasing the box, he swung around with it like a discus thrower, flinging it into the second officer's face, knocking him to the ground. In the follow-up to that swing his foot flashed into his tormentor's groin, who doubled over, clenched on himself. When he'd turned back to him, the other cop was halfway up, fumbling his revolver out of its holster. Skzorzeny broke the man's neck with a single blow just below his left ear. Swinging around again, he relaxed slighdy as he saw that his driver had already kicked the gun out of Charlie's hand. The police officer, gasping in pain, began to rise.

Skorzeny came up behind Charlie, slammed him back down.

"I'm not a big dumb Polack," Skorzeny chuckled into his ear. "I'm a big smart
German."
With a quick pull, he snapped the man's neck.

Standing up, breathing hard, he looked back up and down the road. There were still no lights, but from a distance he could hear the whisper of an approaching car.

"Throw them in the car. Move it!" Seconds later Skorzeny had helped the driver throw Charlie and his partner into the back seat and slammed the door shut.

"How long to Knoxville?"

"Another three hours."

"We can't leave them here. The alert will be out within the hour and the driver of the last car might remember something. You drive the police car and I'll follow until you find a place that's safe to ditch them. I'll pick you up then."

"Suppose I get stopped?"

Skorzeny shrugged. Then keep your mouth shut or you're dead."

"Why not put them in the truck?"

"Because we might get stopped again. Once you pull out of here, there's no longer a link between the dead policeman and us."

"You don't know the way to our drop-off."

"I know the address and I'll find it if need be. We don't have time to argue. Give me the keys to the truck!"

The driver reached into his pocket and handed them over. Pushing aside the sofa lying on the ground, he reached up and swung the doors shut, locking them. The car they had heard finally came around the bend and roared past. Skorzeny climbed into the cab and slammed the truck into gear as the police car pulled out in front of him.

April 16

Washington, D.C.

Major Wayne Mason, cursing roundly, finally opened the door.

"Jesus Christ, Jim, you know what time it is?"

"Somewhere around oh-three-hundred. Now be a pal and get me a cup of coffee." Jim stepped into Waynes apartment. Down the hallway to the back bedroom he saw a wisp of curly blond hair framing a remarkably attractive face that was peeking out from behind a half-closed door. Jim smiled and waved. The door slammed shut.

"Jim," Wayne said sadly, "couldn't this have waited until morning?"

"No."

Various items of clothing formed a trail from the living room to the recently slammed door. That evidence, when combined with an empty champagne botde and a couple of long-stemmed glasses lying on the floor, didn't leave much room for further speculation.

"We've been friends a long time, but this is pushing it, pal," Wayne said bitterly. "Six months,
six months
we've been thinking about it—well, I've been thinking about it— and you come gallumphing in just when—"

"That can wait. This can't."

"Bullshit. This has got to be some kind of spooky government bullshit, and there is nothing of that kind that can't wait for oh-seven-hundred. Now, if you will
excuse
me... ?" Wayne made as if to rise and see Jim to the door.

Jim just sat there. I'm not going anywhere, not for a few minutes, anyway." He was a little startled at Wayne's attitude—his friend wasn't the sort to make such a big deal of love's labor's lost... so maybe it
was
love ... not that right at the moment he cared very much.

Even Wayne's sunny disposition was starting to fray under the humorless assault. "Jim—out. Talk to me in the morning. You've had your dramatic little surprise. Now, out." Wayne pause for a moment, clearly torn between friendship and love. "Please," he added.