The Berlin Connection (16 page)

"Yes, Gregory. And thanks."

"Call Joan today. Time is of the essence. Here is Shirley now. Bye, Peter. Take care."

"Thanks again."

"Peter?" When I heard Shirley's weak voice I realized the enormity of the crime I had committed.

"My sweet . . . trust me ... I love you ... I love you. I'll call Joan today. . . . You'll come over here ... as quickly as possible ..." I could only talk haltingly.

"Yes, Peter."

"We'll make it..."

"Yes, Peter."

"Everything will turn out well..."

"Yes, Peter." Her voice was low. "But it will have to be soon. I can't stand it much longer."

"You'll be here with me in a few days."

"Yes, Peter. Yes."

Then I sat staring at the telephone. I could not think. And now this. It was too much. Any moment the police might talk to Joan. Perhaps they had already. Perhaps she already knew. ^

". . . matter, Mr. Jordan?" I only heard the last few words of the sentence. Schauberg looked at me. "Trouble?"

"Yes. No. Yes."

"Listen, you'll have to pull yourself together! In half an hour you'll see the doctor."

"Yes, Yes, of course . . ."

"Damn it all! Did you have to telephone this morning of all mornings?"

As if I had suddenly lost my reason, I yelled, "Yes I did, if you don't mind!"

"Dear Mr. Jordan, let's not have a scene," he said with contempt. He extracted a metal case from his jacket and took out a syringe and ampoule. "Take off your jacket and push up your sleeve." He gave me an injection and massaged my arm. "I've done all I could to help you. Now it's up to you. I'll wait here for your call. You'U come to the camp in the afternoon."

"Why not sooner?"

"I'll have to buy myself some clothes." Schauberg handed me two test tubes filled with blood and one with urine. "You know what to do?"

"Yes."

He looked at his watch. "Youll have to leave. I'll take care of the bill here and you'll square it later." He slapped my back. "Good luck."

Carefully I stowed away the tubes. I went to the Reeper-bahn where my car was parked. Sanitation trucks were cleaning the streets.

I had promised him and myself not to drink before the examination. As soon as I sat behind the wheel of my car I knew I could not keep that promise. The talk with Gregory and Shirley had drained me. I was convinced I could not even drive unless I had a drink. Just a little drink. Everything would look better then. I opened the black bag.

10

With a furious cry the huge movie producer seized the heavy bronze lamp. In vain, I tried to evade him, to protect my head with my hands. The base of the bronze lamp came whistling through the air onto the back of my head. Without a sound, I collapsed on the gray carpeting. A

dark red stain quickly spread underneath my head. I did not move any more. This was November second, 1959.

"Cut! Thank you," said the director. "Excellent. Just to be quite sure we'll do it once more."

"Lights!"

"Make-up!"

Thirty people began to talk and move around the entrance haU of a house which had been built in studio two of the Alhambra Studios outside Hamburg. I got up. Henry Wallace, who played the American producer, carefully placed the lamp with the bronze base of foam rubber on a table. The stained gray carpet was replaced. A large funnel was refilled with "panchromatic blood," a mixture of mineral oils and vegetable coloring. A thin rubber hose connected to the funnel led underneath the carpet to where my head was supposed to fall.

The first day of shooting. We had shot the scene three times and only the third time had Thornton Seaton been satisfied. To be able to choose the best take he wanted me to be murdered for a fourth time.

I have just passed over four days in my report, Professor Pontevivo. In those four days, most important events had taken place. I had passed my physical. Our movie was insured. I had telephoned my wife. She and Shirley were to arrive on November third.

The insurance fraud had been easy. Dr. Erasmus Dutz's office was in an old house on Hallerstrasse. From there one could see the dead grass of the ballfields of the Hamburg Sports Club. Street musicians, surrounded by a crowd of watching people, were at the entrance gates. Girls, holding boxes with white envelopes, were walking about. The martial music could be heard in the doctor's office.

At this early hour I was the first patient. A pale, cross-eyed nurse was assisting Dr. Dutz. She was very blonde and friendly, and it occurred to me that, most probably, she had chosen this profession devoted to

Christian charity because of her eyes. One could be cross-eyed or look like Marilyn Monroe—it would not matter if one were helping sick people.

Dr. Dutz said my pulse and my blood pressure were normal; mv heart seemed to be all risht.

"Your heart is not the way it ought to be," said Dr. Dutz. "We'll take a look at a cardiogram." The nurse took the cardiogram. "Now we'll do ten little knee bends, Mr. Jordan."

So I did ten little knee bends and became quite dizzy. After all my blood pressure had been reduced artificially.

"Now we'll lie down again, Mr. Jordan."

Dr. Dutz studied the cardiogram and I calmed down slowly.

"It's not good, but not nearly as bad as I thought," said the slim Dr. Dutz. "You have some heart there, Mr. Jordan." And some injection too, I thought. "But what are you doing?"

"What do you mean. Doctor?"

"You're so wound up."

Schauberg had warned me of this and had also supplied me with an answer. "It's been rather hectic since I arrived in Hamburg."

"Women?"

The nurse blushed.

"Women. Whisky. Not much sleep. Two weeks of parties."

"If I were you I would stop that. It's the best way to get a heart attack. Does that hurt?" He had applied pressure to my liver, and, although I had been prepared, the pain caused me to dig my nails into my palms.

"No."

"Your liver is very swollen, Mr. Jordan."

"I just told you I've been living rather . . ."

"Yes. Surely." His reply was automatic. "We'll have to make some blood tests."

Just as Schauberg had, they filled test tubes with blood.

The nurse left the laboratory door opened. I watched what she was doing with the test tubes.

"We're doing the blood tests here. Professor Ihrt will take care of all the other tests." An insurance company is very cautious.

"But you just said my heart was not too bad . . ."

"I'm not worried about your heart. I'm worried about your liver."

"Now look. Doctor. I'm perfectly fine! I've never been sick a day in my life!" Schauberg had told me to become annoyed after the blood test. "That is simply ridiculous! You are going to insure me, aren't you?"

"If your hver is all right, naturally."

"Every time I drink too much my liver swells!" Another part of Schauberg's counsel. "A little congestion, that's aU!"

"Very probably it is, Mr. Jordan. A congestion, hm, hm. Just to make certain we'd better take a look at your urine." Jovially he patted my shoulder. "It is probably all right. When did you see a doctor last?"

"It's been so long I can't even remember."

The test tubes of blood, now labeled, had been placed in a holder.

The telephone rang.

"Excuse me. Good luck with your movie. I'm happy to have met you." Smiling he shook my hand. "Nurse, will you show Mr. Jordan to the bathroom?"

Then I stood in the laboratory and, through the closed door, heard the doctor talk on the telephone. The nurse gave me a vial and showed me to the bathroom. I locked myself in and filled the vial with the urine Schaubere had given me. I stepped on the toilet seat and unhooked the float in the water compartment. Schauberg's instructions again. Once disconnected, there was no control of the water. It ran over the edge of the bowl.

I hurried to the adjoining laboratory.

"I'm afraid something's happened .,."

The nurse ran into the bathroom and threw up her hands. "Oh dear, something sot loose. Put the vial on the table here. I'll take care of this."

"If I can help—"

"No, no! I'll have it done in a moment."

She balanced on the toilet seat as the water began to run into the waiting room. I went quickly to the lab, placed the vial on a table, poured the contents of the test tubes down the sink drain, refilled them with the blood Schauberg had given me.

The nurse was mumbling in the bathroom. The doctor was still on the telephone. Schauberg had not only told me about the toilet float, but had made other suggestions which would distract attention from me.

The flushing stopped. The nurse returned for a pail and mop.

"I'm so sorry . . ."

"But it wasn't your fault! No, no, that's quite unnecessary!" But she took the ten marks and we parted amiably.

My car was parked at the Harvestehuder Weg. Just after leaving the doctor's office I turned down another street. Schauberg stepped from a doorway. In the harsh light of the morning his shabby clothes looked even more disreputable. Yet his bearing was almost regal.

"I thought we were not supposed to be seen together."

"An artist's interest in his work," Schauberg said. He fell into step with me. "It was stronger than I. Everything okay?" I nodded. "How nice. Then I get two thousand marks from you."

We were walking toward the Hamburg Sports Club and heard the music and saw the pretty girls carrying the boxes with white envelopes. A black-haired girl in a duf-flecoat said to us, "We're playing music for you too, gentlemen, and we ask for your contribution. Won't you buy a lottery ticket?"

"We don't pay for martial music," said Schauberg

gruffly. Behind the musicians was a large board with the name of the charitable organization.

"Our organization is well-known for the good it does," said the girl shaking the envelopes in her box. "Today we are collecting for the poor in Africa."

Schauberg sneered, "You don't say? Interesting. For a hundred years, in the name of Christian love, our moral Occident world exploited Africans, enslaved them, deported them, let them die by the millions in the colonies and now, just because the nasty Russians are at our door, our unhappy brothers suddenly have need to get steak, steel from Krupp, and foreign aid!"

I could not comprehend the meaning of his words. I had been perfectly calm when I exchanged the blood, but now came the reaction. My legs were shaking, I felt dizzy, and with great longing I thought of the black bag in my car.

"There are many winners." The girl insisted. "You receive your money right away. Perhaps you pull a winning ticket." They were playing the Hohenfriedberger March. The screaming of the three jets over the Aussenalster drowned out the music.

There was a menace in this suddenly aggressive Schauberg. The cynic, always seemingly controlled, should have remembered how inadvisable it was to attract attention to himself, was in a rage. His jaundiced face had become purplish. He yelled, "Is it starting again, this swindling of the people?"

I took hold of his arm. "Stop it!"

He pulled away and threw one hand up to the sky lit by a pale sun. "There! There they fly, the poor of Africa!"

"Don't talk such nonsense," I said. If only he would come along! Bystanders began to notice us. Schauberg did not care; he cried, "You people were not here! But we were! We've been through all this once before! Lottery tickets and collection boxes, stamps and badges! At first,

only once a month! Then, every damn weekend. Win-terhilfswerk. For the poor. The same deceit!"

"Give the communist one on his kisser!" called a man.

"No, he is right!" cried a woman.

"I sure am right! I was in Russia!" yelled Schauberg and his hand went to his beret. This stupid fool was capable of showing his scar. I turned with the intention of leaving him. Schauberg's hand dropped but he continued, "And what did your money buy? Goering got his Luftwaffe, Hitler his German Wehrmacht—and German women got widow's weeds!"

The girl became indignant. "We are a nonpoUtical, independent organization!"

"We are a nation of idiots!" yelled Schauberg. Now a crowd had ringed around him. A few were of his opinion, the majority protested. The girl said to me, "I swear it is for the poor in Africa. This man only knows hate. But God wants us to love one another. Grant His wish. Maybe then one of your wishes will come true."

It was a point, I thought.

"How much is a ticket?"

"Fifty pfennigs."

"rU take ten."

"Bravo!" called Schauberg and applauded. "A piece of a rocket is already yours."

"Ah, just be quiet," I said and, pulling the girl with me, left him.

"Maybe one of your wishes will come true ..."

One of my wishes.

I had an important one.

11

Our insurance contract was dated October thirty-first and cost over four million marks. It was an impressive

document with five pages of "General Conditions" in small print. They enumerated everything I had to abide by and everything I was prohibited from doing. For instance, I was not allowed to take planes, boats, climb mountains, join expeditions or safaris, compete in races, parachute jumps and many other things, or become pregnant!

The premium was paid on October thirty-first by Jorkos Productions. Our film was safe, a financial difficulty averted even if I were invalided or died.

To reduce this unpleasant possibility to a minimum it was necessary for me to pay fifty thousand marks to Schauberg of which he had already received five thousand in payment for the insurance fraud.

In fact, to be precise, it was fifty thousand and five marks I had to invest in my comeback. The ten tickets of the charitable organization had cost five marks.

To be even more precise, the total was less. For one of my tickets had been a winning one. I had promptly received six hundred and fifty marks which must be deducted from the fifty thousand and five marks!

Schauberg had compared the lottery to the collection tricks of the Third Reich. I could rest easy; I had not helped to finance a German jet bomber. And if the young girl had spoken the truth not one hungry child had received a piece of bread by my five marks donation.