Pray for a Brave Heart (2 page)

Max Meyer looked at him blankly.

“You didn’t come here tonight to talk me again into another hitch in the army, did you? It’s too late, anyway. I’m going back to pick up my own work where it was all broken off.”

“Take it easy, Bill, take it easy.” Meyer poured himself some more beer. “I think you’re right, perfectly right in what you’re doing. I only hope you don’t regret listening to my advice in 1949 when I persuaded you back into Germany.”

“No. That was the right idea then. It worked out.”

“I’ve often wondered.” And worried, too, Meyer thought.

“It worked out.” Denning looked again at Peggy’s photograph. Then he searched in his pocket for his cigarettes. “You don’t, do you?” He offered the crumpled pack politely.

“Still don’t use them, You’ve a good memory, Bill.”

“That has its drawbacks.” Denning’s face was a quiet mask.

“Look,” Meyer said suddenly, “when do you leave for Switzerland? Tomorrow, isn’t it?”

“Tomorrow.” Denning’s smile came back. “And you probably know the train I’m taking too.”

“You’ll enter Switzerland by Basel.”

“That’s the general idea.”

“Couldn’t I interest you in Bern instead? It’s less than two hours farther south. Surely, there’s
some
Renaissance art in Bern too. Wasn’t there a fellow called Nicholas Manuel who did a good altarpiece there?”

Denning’s smile broadened. “1515 is the date. I see you’ve been doing your homework. But I hate to spoil it—Manuel’s best paintings are in Basel.”

Meyer ignored that, and pointed to the bag of golf clubs leaning against the table. “And if you want to balance museums with the great outdoors, there’s a golf course near Bern. Now, Basel has only—”

“Come on, Max. You’ve baited the hook. What are you fishing for? You want me in Bern. Why?”

“For the last six weeks, you’ve been tidying up your office, clearing the in trays, briefing your replacement, answering friendly questions about your future plans. All routine. All perfectly normal. Everyone expects you to be doing just what you’re doing. Right?”

“Right.” So that’s my cover, Denning thought.

“You and I have worked together, before, tracking down Nazi loot. How many of our original team do you think are still around?”

“You and I, and a couple of others.” So that’s my necessary experience, Denning thought now.

“That’s just about it. Eight years ago, there were hundreds of us. Today? They’re back home, being lawyers or teachers or art critics or insurance brokers.”

“Smart fellows.”

“Even you and I haven’t been working together for some years, now,” Meyer went on smoothly.

“That’s right,” Denning said with mock cheerfulness. “That makes me contact-pure.”

Meyer studied his face. “What I like most about you, Bill, is that I just tell you—I don’t have to explain.”

“Well, before you tell me any more, I think you should get one thing straight. I’m a civilian now. Practically.”

Meyer could have said, “You’re still under orders until you’re finally separated from the army.” But he didn’t. He studied the back of his hands. “Don’t worry, Bill. I didn’t go to your command and plead special emergency and get your leave postponed. I’ve come to you, yourself, as the almost-civilian. The choice is yours. You’re free to refuse. Besides, I wouldn’t want your help unless you were really interested.”

“Interested in what?”

“Think back to 1946…just before you left the army—”

“Twice in the army and twice out. Don’t I get a medal or something?”

“Think back,” Meyer said, refusing to be humorous about it, “think back to the Nazi loot we were tracking down.”

“I’m thinking.” But Denning’s actual thoughts were more sober than his words. Nazi loot. Mass plunder. Everything from museum pieces to gold teeth. Church bells, acres of church bells stolen from Belgium and Poland. Medical instruments from Dutch hospitals. Silk-mill machinery from Lyons. Prize cows. Libraries. Furs. Everything, anything, that could be sneaked or ripped out. Even that truckload of baby clothes which the British discovered, emptied out of Amsterdam stores and shipped eastward with the retreating Nazis. “It all seems incredible now,” Denning said grimly. “But it’s still more incredible that we did find so much to hand back to the right owners.” He was thinking of the hiding places: deserted quarries, salt mines, warehouses, factory yards, railway sidings, pleasant gardens, quiet fields, peaceful cottages. His lip curled with distaste as he remembered the protests and outraged indignation when the stolen property had been recovered: the honest-faced farmer who swore the collection of rare sixteenth-century books belonged in his barn, no matter what the bookplates said about a Danish doctor; the factory girl, denying anything unusual in possessing three silver-fox capes from Norway, a gold Cellini snuffbox from Czechoslovakia, and twenty-four dozen pairs of silk stockings from France; the placid housewife, aroused to fury over the lies that the Luxembourgers were telling—why, those paintings had been in her grandmother’s parlour.

Meyer nodded. “But we didn’t find everything. Such as nice portable pieces of property, easily hidden, intensely valuable. Do you remember the Herz diamonds, the Delval emeralds, the Dyckman jade collection? Considerable fortunes, all of them.”

“Three for the file marked
Failures.”
Something stirred in Denning’s memory. “Gentleman Goering lifted them, didn’t he?”

“Yes. But once the war was over, we couldn’t find them. They vanished, into air, into thin air.”

“Or into neat leather bags buried under some potato patch.”

“The British searched their Zone. We searched. The French searched—but madly.”

“Oh yes, I remember now… The Herz collection belongs to France.”

“The owner having died at Dachau, his daughter in Ravensbrück, and every known relative in Auschwitz. The Nazis were thorough.”

“I suppose the Russians searched, too?”

“They assured us there was no sign of Goering’s precious stones. They assured us three times, and then even I ran out of ideas how to ask them again, politely.”

“You didn’t risk sending any of your own men into East Germany?”

“We’ve had all kinds of fun and games,” Max said soberly. “Some of them weren’t very amusing, either. Then,” he studied his over-decorated socks with distaste, “I was taken off the job in 1948. Someone higher up was persuaded it was all a waste of time.”

“Was persuaded?” Denning echoed. “You mean that literally?”

Meyer shrugged his shoulders.

Denning said, “And who put you back on the job?”

Meyer stared. Then he smiled. “I like you, Bill. I like you very much.”

“But you’ve moved out of Restitution of Property. I don’t see why—” He hesitated.

“Why I’ve started being interested again?”

Denning said, “I don’t suppose you ever stopped being interested. But”—he hesitated again—“why not let it all rest, Max? Especially,” he added, “especially when diamonds and emeralds are just a lot of decorative glitter.” He rose, stretching his back muscles stiffly, and started hunting for more cigarettes.

Meyer watched him as he searched under the ties on the bureau. He said quietly, “I don’t suppose anyone who has been working with displaced persons, as you’ve been doing recently, feels much interest in glitter. Not even in three million dollars’ worth of Herz diamonds.”

“You’re damn well right,” Denning said. He found the cigarettes and tore open the pack roughly.

“But what will the glitter buy? That’s something else again.”

Denning lit a cigarette and walked over to the window.

“There are people, you know, who will pay a fortune willingly for the Herz collection.” Meyer’s low voice came softly across the room. “No questions asked about how the money will be used. But that’s what interests us, Bill: just how will the money be used?”

“How?” Denning pulled back the folds of the heavy curtains, and looked down into the prim street with its row of placid grey buildings, now retreating into black shadows, remote and cold under the sparse street lights. People still walked down there, fewer in number, more slowly, but with the same preoccupation in their own lives.

“If someone wanted to finance a secret project, then the possession of the Herz collection would be doubly valuable. No one suspects its existence: everyone agrees it was a casualty of the war, buried too well, forgotten, probably to be discovered by some astounded farmer a hundred years from now. So the secret sale of the Herz diamonds could start a huge hidden fund. The Dyckman jade would add to it. So would the Delval emeralds. Yes: it would grow into a sizeable fund.” Denning let the curtain fall back into place before he answered. “For what?”

“For the buying of men’s minds. It costs money to finance treachery.”

For a moment Denning said nothing. “Then I’d double my advice about giving up your search. Leave the glitter buried safely under the potato patch.”

“I wish we could.”

Denning came back into the centre of the room, and stood there, watching Meyer.

“The Herz diamonds are moving out of Europe,” Meyer said.

“What?”

“Moving, secretly. Much too secretly.”

“But where?”

“Destination ultimately America, we are told. They will be smuggled skilfully. Sold discreetly. And the secret fund will be established. Or reinforced. To be used—” Meyer shrugged his shoulders.

“Against us?”

“It certainly won’t be used to aid and comfort us.”

Denning reached for a chair, emptied its contents on to the floor, and then bestrode it. He said thoughtfully, “And who’s behind all this?”

“Whoever was in a position to find the diamonds.”

“Is that all you can tell me?”

“For the moment, yes. Except that it’s a major operation, obviously.”

“How did you find out about the Herz collection?”

“That’s one of the ironies of our jobs, Bill. For years I’ve worked on this problem. Results: zero. Then, three days ago, suddenly, a man came to see me in Frankfurt. Quietly. A
frightened little man.”

“An informer?” Denning spoke the word without enthusiasm.

“If it weren’t for informers, the jails would be half-empty, and murderers would walk free,” Meyer replied calmly. “Ask any policeman, Bill.”

“I know, I know.” Denning was impatient. “But can you trust this man?”

“I wouldn’t exactly throw my arms around him and kiss him on the brow, but I’d listen to what he had to tell. An informer and his information are two quite separate things. You don’t have to stroke the bee to get the honey.”

“He isn’t just one of those types who want a little publicity?”

Meyer was suddenly amused. “Hardly. He’s a jewel thief, Bill.”

Denning looked startled.

“He’s one of a syndicate, a very minor member,” Meyer continued, enjoying the moment thoroughly. “Actually, it was his boss who sent him to tell me what
their
intelligence service had discovered. Amusing, isn’t it?”

“In a sour kind of way.” Then, thoughtfully, Denning said, “How do you rate their intelligence?”

“Judge for yourself. Here’s their information. First, the diamonds have moved out of East Germany. Second, they have already reached as far south as Switzerland. Third, they are to be smuggled out of Europe, probably by way of Genoa. Fourth, the flat price is three million American dollars, cash on the barrelhead.”

Denning considered all that. “If this syndicate is any good at its own speciality, why don’t they steal the diamonds before they leave Europe?”

“Because they’ve discovered that the organisation which is moving the diamonds is more powerful than they are. Much more powerful.”

“And I suppose we are to take action—”

“We haven’t much choice, have we? Genoa worries us. Naturally. Next step, New York.”

“—and once we’ve controlled the situation, they will take the diamonds before the French can get them. Is that the idea?”

“I shouldn’t be surprised. We’re the simple-minded Americans. Once we stop the diamonds from reaching New York, we lose interest. That’s what the jewel thieves expect, anyhow. Naive characters, in their own way.”

“So that’s, why they came to you, and not to the French?”

“They refused to give any information to the French.”

“Somehow, I don’t feel this is very complimentary to us. Who is head of the syndicate?”

“Nikolaides, a Bulgarian possibly, of probably Greek descent, now a French citizen.” Meyer gave a wave of his hand, dispensing with Nikolaides. “He isn’t important to us, except that he sent Charles-Auguste with that startling information.”

“Charles-Auguste who?”

“Maartens. Charles-Auguste Maartens. Let’s call him Charlie for short. I’m meeting him in Bern. Thursday night. Eleven o’clock.”

“And he’s scared?” A frightened little man, Denning remembered.

“He’s scared stiff.”

“I don’t like it, Max,” Denning said slowly. “I don’t like it one bit. You’re meeting this man, yourself?”

“That’s the arrangement he made. I wasn’t in any position to
argue with him.” Meyer grinned suddenly. “That’s my general excuse. Between us, I just want to close the file on the Herz collection—personally.”

“What do you expect to find out from him?”

“The sailing date from Genoa. That, at the very least.” Meyer didn’t elaborate. He went on, “We’re meeting at the Café Henzi.”

Denning frowned, trying to place the café. “Where is it?” he had to ask.

“It’s just off the Kramgasse, north of the cheese market. It’s popular with tourists. Strange how they always like to eat and drink near an open market place: makes them feel the food must be good, I suppose.”

“I could reach Bern by Thursday morning,” Denning said. That would give him the day to wander around the Lower Town, time to make sure of the Café Henzi.

Meyer’s face relaxed. He said quietly, “That would be fine, Bill.” Then, watching Denning’s thoughtful eyes, he added, “Don’t start worrying about the details. You won’t be in the Café Henzi, anyway.”

Denning looked up swiftly. “You’re meeting Charlie by yourself? Alone?” He shook his head. “That’s really tricky, Max. Very tricky.”

“It will be easy,” Meyer assured him, “compared with these last three days. God!” He sighed wearily. “I’ve been checking on Charlie-for-Short”—he pointed to his clothes—“I’ve started some of our people doing research on Boss Nikolaides and his syndicate. I got one of our men, Taylor, to make a journey to Munich and contact Le Brun of the French Intelligence. I got another to meet Johann Keppler who’s in Swiss Security. And neither Boss Nikolaides, nor the group that is moving the diamonds, had to have the least suspicion that we were doing any of that.”