'How are we dealing with that?'
'Charlie Winger ordered me to give them Dale's people.'
Malloy fought to keep his face a blank. 'Have you done it?'
'It turns out we lost them.'
'You didn't put anyone on them?' Malloy's tone evinced surprise - with just a touch of disappointment in the new breed.
Compton's face went sour. 'We tracked the GPS tag I put on the Brit girl to the Frankfurt Bahnhof before we realised a German businessman was carrying it.'
'Well, you screwed up,' Malloy told him with studied indifference. 'I told you they were good. I figured you would know to put a physical tail on them.'
'We didn't have time to get someone!'
'Everyone's got an excuse after the horse is out of the barn.'
'We were ready to put a net on them in Frankfurt - in case we needed to pick them up. You don't have any idea where they were headed, do you?'
'If I did I'd tell you.'
Compton didn't look like he believed this. 'If one of them calls you, T. K. . .'
'You'll be the first to know.'
Dresden, Germany
Malloy found some fresh clothes, courtesy of the Embassy, donned a new vest, and fitted an Uzi machine pistol deep inside a long winter coat. Into a new suitcase he slipped five hundred rounds of 9mm ammo, along with a toothbrush, razor, a change of clothes, a laptop, and an unopened bottle of Scotch that he had pilfered from someone's unattended desk.
An Embassy security officer drove him to Dresden.
Helena Chernoff learned Malloy and Brand had escaped capture late Sunday morning when she got a call from her source inside the Hamburg police. She immediately began tracking Malloy's cell phone number, which she had picked up from Dale Perry's phone. She located him on the move a couple of hours southeast of Hamburg.
With David Carlisle bound for New York and Ohlendorf eliminated, Chernoff was momentarily on her own, but she also understood that Malloy at some point soon would prudently discard his phone and pick up another. The opportunity to track him would not last. She had resources inside Berlin but the protocols that had protected her for nearly two decades prevented her from putting a team together quickly, so she drifted behind Malloy's signal until it ended at the American Embassy in Berlin.
She expected to lose him at this point, but several hours later Chernoff noticed his signal moving again. In Dresden Malloy's car entered the underground parking lot at the Bahnhof. A few minutes later the two men settled down in a restaurant inside the Bahnhof. Chernoff decided Malloy was probably going to take a train somewhere that evening. Of course he might have left Berlin by train, she thought, but Dresden was infinitely better for a man who felt his life might still be in danger. On a late Sunday evening there were not many people around the station, and the broad plazas to every side of the main building made any approach and exit by foot precarious. In Berlin an assassin could have used the crowds to get in close. Here her options were limited and dangerous.
She finally saw Malloy when he left the restaurant and walked across an open area with his bodyguard next to him. He stopped to pull a single piece of luggage from a locker and then ascended the stairs to an elevated platform. The man with him looked like government-issue, with a long wool coat, like the one Malloy wore. Both men, she decided, were concealing automatic weapons and were probably wearing body armour. Chernoff got a good look at the bodyguard's face, so there would be no surprises later, but as it turned out that wasn't necessary. After escorting Malloy to the upper platform, the bodyguard returned to the main floor and made his way out of the building. A few minutes later Chernoff saw Malloy briefly as he stepped into a first class sleeping wagon on the City Night Line.
Back inside her car, Chernoff pulled up the City Night Line schedule on her computer. There were two lines, one from Berlin, the other from Dresden. The trains joined at some point in the night and continued on to Zürich, arriving early the following morning.
'You said they couldn't get out,' Carlisle complained. He was talking about the ambush in Hamburg.
'David, you are missing the point,' Chernoff answered. She was in her car, heading west.
'No, I'm well aware of the
point.
You have a chance at
Malloy and you want to know how much more you can get from me before you decide if you want to do it.'
'I am not interested in more money.'
There was silence at the other end. 'What do you want?'
'Ohlendorf's network.'
Hugo Ohlendorf had managed a tremendously profitable and diverse organisation stretching from Oslo to Budapest with interests in drugs, prostitution, stolen goods, and any number of knock-off and pirated goods. In contrast, David Carlisle's and Luca Bartoli's organisations were something more like gangs - though they included decidedly more skilled personnel and demanded staggering sums for their services. With Ohlendorf gone, Carlisle had no doubt spent the last twenty-four hours considering how to take over the lion's share of the earnings without seeming to do so. Certainly it was not in his interest to upset either her or Luca Bartoli - the only two players still actively involved at this point. And now she had cornered him. If he wanted Malloy quickly, which she knew he did, he was going to have to pay for it.
Balanced against Carlisle's greed for Ohlendorf's profits was the certain realisation that his own network could end up being destroyed if Malloy survived another night. After a time of reflection, he said, as she expected, 'Helena, that isn't something for me to decide. We're going to need to vote on how we split up Ohlendorf's resources.'
'You control the vote, David. You always have.'
'Luca will want something if he agrees to give you Ohlendorf's responsibilities.'
'Then give him something. You have my price. Either pay it or find Malloy on your own - if it isn't too late.'
'The point was to kill Malloy whilst he was chasing Farrell!'
'His train has already left the station, David. Do you want me to let him go?'
Carlisle was quiet again, calculating the cost of pacifying Luca Bartoli. At last he said, 'Fine. The network is yours if you can eliminate Malloy tonight.'
Summer 1935.
Otto Rahn had worked hard at meaningless jobs for over a decade so that he might afford a month or two abroad to do his research. Over the years he had literally stolen the hours he needed in order to write. Suddenly, miraculously, he would live well. He would have the funds he needed for research, funds to buy any book he cared to own, access to every library in Europe. He would have an office and a secretary - even researchers if he needed them to bring him a book or a summary or fetch him a cup of coffee! And best of all he would take orders from no one. Himmler had promised him complete autonomy. What writer, Rahn wondered, could resist such an offer?
Within weeks of his meeting with Himmler, Rahn had settled in Berlin. He went to his office each day for several hours, leaving early if he felt like it, coming in late when he wanted. He took time to meet others who were connected to the civil branch of the SS and found himself amazed when various individuals spoke to him about his book. They had all read it, as it turned out. Asking about this, he learned that Himmler had made a gift of his book to everyone on his staff.
One morning, as Rahn was busy outlining the necessary research for a new project he was developing on the leading aristocratic families of Europe, he heard a familiar voice in his outer office. 'I wonder if it is possible to see Dr Rahn for a few moments.'
Rahn's secretary said she was not sure. Dr Rahn did not usually like to be disturbed. Rahn smiled at this. His secretary was only twenty, but she had courage and took care to protect him from the usual disturbances in a government office building. Walking to the outer office, Rahn saw Dieter Bachman. Bachman was wearing the military uniform of an SS major. He was heavier by a few pounds, still hunched a bit at the shoulders and still looking overly pale.
'Dieter?' he said. Rahn made no effort to disguise his astonishment and did not bother with the hypocrisy of a smile.
'Otto, my friend!' Bachman cried happily as his eyes lit up with affection. He acted as if nothing had happened between them. 'I hope you don't mind my dropping by like this. I simply could not wait until our paths crossed! I wanted to tell you how pleased I am you have joined the Reichsführer's staff!'
'I appreciate that,' Rahn answered. He was still uncertain. He hardly dared trust the friendly face Bachman offered him.
Bachman came forward and shook hands. 'It has been such a long time! It's good to see you, my friend. Did I catch you at a bad time? I thought we might talk for a moment.'
'Certainly,' he told Bachman. 'Come in.'
Behind closed doors, Bachman continued with the same enthusiasm, leaving Rahn off balance and curious. 'I told Elise you are here! She is as delighted as I am for your good fortune, Otto.'
'And how is Elise? I trust she is in good health?'
'Motherhood has made a new woman of her!'
'Do you mean to tell me you have a child?' A moment of dread and finality hit Rahn. Had he imagined some other fate for her? It had been three years! Of course she had moved on with her life!
'Only the most beautiful little girl in the world!'
'That is wonderful, Dieter!' Rahn struggled to smile, but it was a pale and feeble effort. He thought in fact he might be sick. 'I am really happy for you both!'
'Motherhood changes a woman, Otto. For Elise it has meant . . .well, it has meant everything! I dare say she is really, genuinely happy for the first time in our marriage.'
This cut Rahn with its unexpected bluntness, but it also had the effect of a
coup de grace
. Elise belonged fully to Bachman now. Rahn had nothing with which to hold her, no chance of changing her mind. This was why Bachman was here. This was why he was smiling! He wanted Rahn to know he had won! 'From the look of it,' Rahn told his old friend with a smile he could barely hold, 'fatherhood has changed you as well.'
'Well, one finds new priorities. What am I saying? Sarah is my buried treasure, my Holy Grail, the very light of my life!'
'Tell me something,' Rahn said with a tremor of discomfort. He needed to change the subject before he simply collapsed. 'Are you. . . that is, were you the one who recommended my book to Himmler?'
'I have it on good authority Himmler enjoyed your book enormously, Otto.'
'He has told me as much himself, but that is not what I asked you.'
Bachman's face seemed to tighten, though the smile never wavered. 'There are a great many people who give the Reichsführer books they think he might enjoy. You have won your appointment through talent, my friend, not because of anything I have done. Beyond giving him a copy of your book, I take no responsibility for your success.'
'What did you tell him about me, Dieter?'
Bachman seemed uncomfortable suddenly, but he answered promptly. 'After the Reichsführer had read your book he asked me about your background and character - if you might be the sort to stand with us.'
'And what did you tell him?'
'I said you are a True Cathar, Otto, the sort of man to walk into the flames of the Inquisition rather than renounce what he knows to be true!'
Rahn felt himself becoming emotional. If this was how Dieter Bachman repaid Rahn's betrayal, he was that rare soul in one's life - a true friend. 'I am in your debt,' Rahn answered.
'Nonsense!'
'I mean it! Ask anything of me, and I will do it.'
'In that case,' Bachman said with a sudden smile, 'I can insist you have dinner with Elise and me Saturday evening! How is that for repaying a debt of honour?'
'Dinner?' Rahn felt an odd surge of unreasonable panic.
Despite Bachman's assurances to the contrary he was quite certain Elise had no desire to see him. The thought of her face registering any sort of resentment at his intrusion was more than he could endure, and yet he had just promised
anything.
If Bachman noticed his reaction, he did not show it. 'We are both eager to set things right between us again, Otto. Neither of us has any interest in stirring up unpleasantness. And of course we are both anxious for you to see what a beautiful child my wife has given me.'
Having no excuses ready and no reason not to go, Rahn accepted the invitation with as much enthusiasm as he could muster. Only later did he begin to worry. Bachman might say it, but did that really mean Elise would be happy to see him? Miserable was more likely. She would probably ignore him the whole evening or worse, treat him to cool, empty smiles. . .
Would she pretend, as Bachman had tried to do, that nothing had happened between them? Maybe tell him at some opportune moment how much she regretted their love affair? And how should he behave when she did? Agree that it had been a terrible mistake? What could he say, really, without sounding injured or foolish?