Kino (26 page)

“You're talking about that PSYOP stuff.”

Marty cleared his throat and lowered his voice, as if these things could not be spoken of at normal volume, not even in your own home in the dead of night. “There is a lot of renewed interest in mind control and psychological warfare. What they call coercive interrogation techniques. Homeland Security is reopening old files. These are people who are intimately familiar with MK/PSYNEMA and the experiments at
Schwarze Sonne
, and they would like nothing better than to pick up that research. These people don't want Kino's work to get out. They want to use it for their own horrible ends, in their own secret prisons.”

Mina rubbed her eyes again. The lack of sleep was catching up with her. “But it's all moot because it's lost, right?”

The men exchanged glances again. Marty made a display of checking his watch. “Oh, will you look at that.” He stubbed out the end of his cigar. “Would you like some breakfast?”

They moved to the kitchen and turned off the lights–early dawn was falling in through the wall-length windows. Working in tandem, Schnark and Marty set up an impressive German breakfast at the table in Marty's study while Mina watched, not even offering to help: cold cuts, rolls, brown bread, homemade jellies, cheeses hard and soft, soft-boiled eggs, fresh coffee. It was much more elaborate than what she'd had at Dr. Hanno's place, when was it, two days ago? The day before? Mina couldn't tell anymore. Yesterday, it must have been yesterday. Mina was certain of one thing: she was hungry. She reached for a bite of brie.”Where do you fit in?” Mina asked Schnark.

“Don't talk with your mouth full.”

Mina shook her head. Something about the way he'd said that reminded Mina of her father–who would be arriving soon, she remembered with a sinking feeling. Who was on a plane right now, furious with her.

“Just answer my question,” Mina said, her mouth still full of food. She felt that Schnark was holding something back. Something crucial.

“Well,” Schnark said very slowly. “There's a remote chance that–well,
Twenty-Twelve
may have survived. You see, my agency is always scanning the Internet against a series of names and keywords related to our mission. Two weeks ago, we came across an alert about a lot of 'movie memorabilia.‘ Sketches, storyboards, and a 'canister containing celluloid of uncertain provenance‘ that went up for auction on eBay. There were photos, including of what were clearly two cans marked MULBERRY ISL. - KINO, with a red border. Marty confirmed that at Paramount, a red border indicated an answer print. Chances are good that this is the director's cut of your grandfather's last movie.”

He paused for dramatic effect. “Apparently, John Botha, an assistant editor on the film, was a bit of a pack rat and smuggled this stuff out of the studio. Usually, outtakes, dailies, and answer prints are destroyed, but Botha kept this box and stashed it in his attic. He recently died, and now his daughter is hocking everything.”

“What are we doing here, then?” Mina sat up. “You've got to stop them.”

Schnark ignored Mina's urgency. “We called Miss Botha and asked her to return the materials to the German people. She suggested that if the German people were interested in the film, they might want to put up a bid.”

“And did you?”

“In fact, I spoke to your father.”

“You did?” Mina said. How many lies had this man told her? “Why didn't you tell me until now? What did he say?”

Schnark held out his hand as if to shush Mina.

“He shut us down, your father. He doesn't care about Kino's legacy, cinema, or German cultural heritage. He wanted to know if this had anything to do with that movie you'd been sent, and that's how I found out you were in Berlin.”

Mina was processing this. “So who sent me
Tulpendiebe,
then?”

Marty and Schnark looked at each other and shrugged.

“You don't have any idea?” Mina said. “Not a guess? I don't get it. Even now, you don't trust me.”

“I trusted you with the journal to help you understand what's at stake,” Schnark said. He pointed at her with a piece of
Fleischwurst
. “What matters now is
Twenty-Twelve.
The auction was cancelled two days ago. Irene Botha is not returning my calls, and now, your father is on his way to California.”

Mina shook her head. She had lost
Tulpendiebe.
It had been stolen from her hotel room while she was sleeping, but neither of these men seemed to care. They were all about
Twenty-Twelve
, a movie that for practical purposes did not exist–except it did, and it was for sale on eBay.

“You understand that we have to retrieve the print before they do,” Marty said.

“I think I get it,” Mina said. “It's the little guys against corporate power and government control, right?” She saluted with her fist. “Down with the man!”

But they weren't in the mood for jokes. Mina felt sheepish, always joking around, going too far. Dr. Hanno had not appreciated Mina's sense of humor, either.

“Show Wilhemina the cans,” Marty said.

“It's just Mina,” Mina said. Her heart was beating fast. What cans?

Schnark left the room and returned with two film canisters that looked exactly like the ones Schnark had described: military green with a red label that said “MULBERRY ISL. - KINO.” Schnark sat the canister on the table, and Mina remembered Dr. Hanno's excitement when he first laid eyes on
Tulpendiebe
in her hotel room.

“Go ahead,” Schnark said. “Open them.”

Mina popped the latches and pulled the loose end of the film strip from the reel. It was wider than
Tulpendiebe
and in color. She held the film up into the light. “That's a pirate all right.”

“Yes,” Schnark said. “With Marty's expertise, we created reasonably realistic-looking facsimiles of the cans Botha is selling, and we put a
Pirates
release print in there. I don't think anybody could tell the difference at first glance.”

“You want to switch this for the real thing. Is that what you want to do?”

Schnark put his hand on her arm. “There is a good chance that your father is coming here for the film. The auction has been taken down, and Mrs. Botha is not answering my phone calls. We may not have much time. Should the opportunity arise, you call me, and we will arrange an exchange.”

“You want me to help you steal
Twenty-Twelve
?”

“Find out what your father knows. Can you do that?”

“Of course,” Mina said. “But I don't think he cares about the movies.” These men acted as if Kino meant nothing to her, as if this wasn't her legacy, too. Seeing the facsimile cans here in front of her, holding the celluloid in her hands, all Mina could think about was how badly she wanted to see her grandfather's tripped-out rough cut. How much she hoped it still existed.

The sun had begun to creep up over the ridge of the hills outside of Marty's window, and it was time for Mina to pick up her father.

Chapter 15

“A convertible?” Detlef asked, instead of a greeting. Mina's father was wearing his customary suit and carrying no luggage except for his leather carry-on bag. He looked overtired, and he was rubbing his face irritably. “And what is that you're wearing? Mina, I am going to have a heart attack by the time this is over.”

“Dad,” Mina said. “Hi.”

She had given Schnark a ride to the airport so he could rent another car, but they hadn't talked much and Mina welcomed the chance to sort through the layers of stories she'd been told. She still didn't know what to make of any of it, but she felt worse than ever for losing
Tulpendiebe,
Kino's first movie. If there was a chance to save his last, the original cut of
Twenty-Twelve
, then she would do whatever was necessary. Marty Wagner's slacks and shirt were just one more reminder of how far she'd already come, to Berlin, into its saunas and over its rooftops, out on the Venice Beach pier and into the depths of her grandmother's murky pool, when all along, she should have stayed in Sam's hospital room. Schnark had taken the fake cans with him and reminded Mina to call as soon as she found out anything about the
Twenty-Twelve
answer print. Then she'd whipped back to arrivals to pick up her father, who was waiting by the curb.

“You'd think your husband doesn't work for a living,” Detlef said. “A convertible. The way you spend his money. Your mother and I discussed how much you've wasted on airfare alone. You look ridiculous.”

“You're repeating yourself, Dad,” Mina said. “Get in already, I can't stay parked here.”

Mina was nervous. Nervous and angry. She hadn't seen her father since her catastrophic wedding reception, and she dimly recognized that her anger with him was actually with herself. Seeing her father was an unwelcome reminder that New York was still there, waiting. She'd have to go back and face the consequences of what she had done. She hadn't tried to reach Sam since their last call. Mina had told herself it would be easier to talk to him in person once all of this was behind her. On the other hand, of course, Sam could call
her
. He was not too sick to operate a telephone. If he felt like talking to her, he had her number. Why hadn't he tried to reach her?

Mina popped the trunk for her father. “It's tiny,” he pointed out, appalled. “This car won't even fit my bag!”

A uniformed man signaled Mina to move the car.

“Just put it in the back seat, Dad.”

“My God, Mina,” Detlef said. “What kind of mess have you gotten yourself into this time?”

“We have to go, Dad.”

Detlef did as Mina said, a small victory, and got into the car. He waved his hand, imperious. “Take me to the hospital first.”

Good
, Mina thought. The longer they could stay away from Oma's house, the better. She pulled into traffic. She wanted to ask if he'd talked to Sam, but it would provide her father with one more opportunity to criticize her.

At the hospital, Detlef insisted that Mina wait in the hallway while he talked to the doctors about Penny's condition. Ignoring her father, who was interrogating a nurse down the corridor, she slipped into Penny's room. Chester was asleep by the window, in the same kind of uncomfortable plastic chair that Mina had sat in at NYU hospital, in Sam's room. Mina was surprised at the fondness she felt for this bald black man who fed her grandmother illegal drugs. He had stayed all night with Penny, who lay unconscious, surrounded by a web of wires, controls, displays, drips, and catheters. She looked so fragile Mina barely dared to breathe.

She stood by the bed and watched Penny in silence until her father barged into the room, in the middle of a business call. “Tell Miriam to fax it by noon,” he said and snapped his cell shut. Chester grunted in his sleep but didn't wake up.

“Why didn't you ever tell me she was an actress?” Mina asked her father.

Detlef didn't miss a beat.”What good would that have done?”

“You haven't told me anything. I didn't know I shared the name of a man who burned his son's books and manufactured mustard gas! I didn't know my other great-grandfather was killed by the Nazis. It's my history, too.”

Her father was not a man who laughed a lot, a man who rarely even smiled. Now he sneered, the ugliest face in his repertoire.

“Oh, you believe the stories? You don't think those might be convenient fabrications? Koblitz & Söhne was just a paint factory, and Wilhelm Koblitz was a good man. Father had him burn different books every time he told the story about the bonfire. And don't get me started on the Nazis. I have heard enough lies about those years to last me a lifetime.”

Chester stirred in his seat, waking slowly to Detlef's tirade.

“Don't you get it, Mina? Your grandfather was a liar and a coward. He didn't leave the country when Hitler took over. What does that say about him? He was a drunk, in and out of mental hospitals for as long as I can remember.”

“I didn't say he was a good father,” Mina said. “It's just–”