The Grave of Truth (20 page)

‘Tell it then,' Andrews said.

Mühlhauser shook his head. ‘No. I've got one card and it's an ace, Herr Andrews. I'll put it on the table for you, when Hilde and Beatrix and I are safe in the American Consulate.'

Andrews didn't hesitate. ‘Good enough,' he said. ‘Call your wife and daughter. I have a car outside.'

Chapter 6

It was easy to waylay Father Grunwald on his way to the convent. He kept an ancient car at the rear of the hostel in the Burgstrasse and, as he walked towards it, Maurice came up behind him, and rabbit-punched him in the back of the neck. He toppled and fell without a sound. ‘Take the wallet,' Kesler said. Franconi turned the priest over, and robbed him in seconds of his money and pocket watch. They left him there and hurried to their own car which was parked some fifty yards away, near the main road. Franconi took out a few marks from the wallet and put them in his pocket; the watch was stainless steel and worth nothing to anyone. They drove to the nearest street litter-bin, and dropped the empty wallet and the watch inside.

‘Good,' Kesler said. ‘We'll go to the convent now.'

Franconi parked at the side of the building; it was an ugly red brick, with a short flight of steps leading up to the entrance porch. ‘Be careful,' he said to Kesler.

‘Don't worry, I will.' He got out and walked to the convent. He wore his dark grey suit and a black homburg; a black silk scarf concealed his ordinary collar and tie. He carried a small black leather attaché case.

He rang the bell and waited. He felt very calm and alert; he always reacted to a difficult job with extra coolness. Danger steadied his nerves. The door was opened by a woman in a grey skirt and blouse; she wore a grey nun's headdress.

He knew he was going to succeed when she said immediately, ‘Good morning, Father. Come in, please.'

He glanced quickly round the large bare entrance hall, taking stock of the doors and the staircase to the upper floors. The smell of wax was overpowering. He wondered for a second why the holy orders had such an obsession with polished floors. His leather-soled shoes skidded on the glassy linoleum.

He spoke to the nun. ‘I've come in place of Father Grunwald,' he said. ‘I'm afraid he had a nasty accident this morning. He was robbed in the street.'

‘Oh,' she said. ‘How dreadful. Is he hurt? The Community will be so upset.'

‘I'm Father Rittermann,' Kesler said. ‘I was asked to come and say Mass for you. He's all right, just shaken. There's nothing to worry about. You'll have to show me where the chapel is, and the vestry.'

‘Yes, of course, Father,' the nun said.

‘But first,' Kesler said,' I'd like to go into the parlour, Sister. I've got a message for one of your lay helpers.'

‘Certainly.' The nun walked across to a door on the right, and held it open. ‘This is the parlour. Whom do you want to see, Father?'

He gave a gentle smile, and removed his hat, placing it on the table. ‘Frau Fegelein,' he said. ‘It concerns one of her family. If she could come quickly, so that we don't start the Mass late.…?'

The nun nodded, and went out, closing the door. Kesler took the pen out of his pocket and checked its mechanism. He had a sheet of paper prepared; it was a printed will form, and it looked official enough to deceive anyone for the necessary minute or two while he produced the lethal pen. He had his story well rehearsed. A man named Philip Fegelein, the brother of one of his former parishioners, had left a will and he was helping to trace the beneficiaries. If Frau Fegelein would be good enough to read through it and see whether she was in fact one of the persons named … and then to sign.…

The door opened and he turned round. A tall woman came into the room. He saw with surprise that she was dressed like the nun who had let him in. Franconi was right; their victim had taken the veil.

‘Frau Fegelein?' he asked, and he stepped forward to shake hands.

‘I am Reverend Mother Katherine,' she said. ‘Sister Aloysius told me the horrible thing which had happened to poor Father Grunwald. I gather he isn't hurt?'

‘No,' Kesler's smile had faded, ‘just very shaken. He'll be quite himself in a day or two.'

‘And you are Father Rittermann,' the tall nun said. ‘You're going to say Mass for us. We shall all offer it up for Father Grunwald.'

‘Yes, indeed,' Kesler nodded. It was not going right and he knew it. Adrenalin was flowing through him, sharpening his responses, making him bold.

‘I asked to see a Frau Fegelein,' he said. ‘I have a family matter to discuss with her. Is it possible for her to come, Reverend Mother? This is very important.' He drew himself upright, exerting the authority he remembered of the priests in his youth.

The nun had dark eyes; they were very penetrating, and they considered Kesler without any trace of the deference nuns normally showed towards a priest.

‘I'm afraid it is quite impossible, Father,' she said, ‘because there is no such person here. We have half a dozen lay helpers, and they've all been with us a long time. There is no Frau Fegelein. I'm sorry, but you've been misinformed.'

Kesler knew that she was lying. He knew that the nun who had let him in had gone straight to the Reverend Mother with his request, when she would herself have known if there was no woman called Fegelein among the six lay helpers. He had no alternative but to bluff it through, and get out of the convent as quickly as possible.

He shook his head. ‘Well, that's very odd. I had this letter from one of my old parishioners, his name was Fegelein, and he told me he had this cousin who was living in your convent.' He shrugged. ‘What a mystery—I suppose I did read the address right.' He frowned. ‘Anyway, Reverend Mother, there must be other houses in Munich.'

‘Not of our order,' the nun said. ‘If you'll come with me, Father, I'll show you the vestry and the chapel.' He thanked her, and they went out into the hall.

There he stopped, clapped his hand to his head and said, ‘Oh dear, how forgetful of me—I've left the keys in my car. Excuse me, Reverend Mother, but in these days when everything gets stolen—I shan't be a moment!'

‘What can we do now?' Franconi asked. They were driving back to their hotel. Kesler had taken off the black scarf; he had left the homburg behind in the convent but that couldn't be helped. There was nothing to identify him with it.

‘I don't know,' he answered Maurice. ‘I'm sure the woman's being hidden there, but there's no way we can get to her. Not unless we go in and stage a massacre and we're certainly not doing that!'

‘What about the money?' Franconi said. ‘They can make this an excuse not to pay—'

‘I'll put a call through to that wretched Paul,' Kesler said. ‘I'll tell him she's not in the convent, and that's that. If they cut the fee, I don't mind. I have a very nasty feeling over this one; I think it's much more complicated than they let us know. Besides, I've been seen in the convent and by the priest. They're going to connect my appearance with his being robbed, and link it up with this woman Fegelein. Whoever or whatever she is, those nuns are standing guard, and they'll know that an attempt has been made to get to her.'

‘You're not going to tell Paul this,' Franconi interrupted. ‘Let him find out for himself.…'

‘Leave Paul to me,' Kesler said. ‘I know how to manage him. We'll ring through at once. I'm going to suggest we go ahead and finish the contract with the man in Bonn.'

‘I never liked this business,' Franconi said. ‘Nuns are unlucky to me. You go and book the call through, and I'll park the car. I can start packing.'

‘Yes,' Kesler said. ‘I want to get away from here as soon as possible. I'll ask about the trains to Frankfurt. We can go on to Bonn from there.'

Heinrich Holler looked at Curt Andrews. He made no attempt to conceal his anger.

‘You've overstepped the bounds this time,' he said. ‘I'm going to demand that Mühlhauser and his family are handed over to us. You had absolutely no right to take charge of German nationals.'

‘It happened so fast I had no alternative,' Andrews explained. He had scored heavily in the game Intelligence services play with each other, ostensibly on the same side, and he could afford to be conciliatory. He had come back to meet Holler after two hours spent taping Mühlhauser's account of the interrogation by the Russians, and he had already sent a telex prefixed
most urgent
to his Director in Washington. But he didn't want an official row with Holler's West German Intelligence Service, and he had prepared himself for accusations and demands to give Mühlhauser back.

‘I was bored, and I thought I'd see Mühlhauser while you were busy with Frau Walther. Okay, I should have waited and gone with you, but I didn't, and it was just as well. He was scared out of his mind, and getting ready to run. He
asked
for American protection because he was convinced he was going to be murdered. And he convinced me. So I drove the family to our Consulate. He's quite ready to see you, and answer any questions, but he won't come out. He wants to get to the States where he feels he'll be safe.'

‘You realize that we could have caught the men who abducted him, if you'd called in our police? By now, they've disappeared.' Holler glared at him. ‘Neo-Nazi thugs prepared to kidnap a child, and threaten her life! But you don't care about that, do you.' He made such a gesture of disgust that Andrews reddened. He called the German a string of obscene names in his mind, but beyond the slight colour his face showed nothing. ‘We'll go to the Consulate,' Holler snapped. ‘Immediately. I hope we'll get some line on these people, but thanks to you, I doubt it!'

They drove to the Consulate in silence; the atmosphere was hostile, and when Andrews offered him a cigarette, Holler just said, ‘No,' and looked out of the window. Andrews's presence, however, secured Holler an interview with Mühlhauser.

‘Now,' Heinrich Holler said, ‘you've given me all the details of the men who held you this afternoon? There's nothing else about them you can remember? No detail you've overlooked—I want you to think very carefully.'

Günther Mühlhauser shook his head. ‘I've told you all I can,' he said. Andrews was not in the room; only Holler and a police stenographer taking notes. Holler didn't use tape-machines; they could be falsified, but the notes were transcribed and signed and on the record.

‘The house was probably broken into,' Holler said. ‘Finding it won't lead anywhere unless they left fingerprints we can match up.' He seemed to be musing, rather than talking to Günther Mühlhauser. To the stenographer he said, ‘I think that's all then. Transcribe that stuff and bring it back for Herr Mühlhauser to read and sign, will you?'

He took out a cigarette packet, offered it to Mühlhauser, who refused, and then lit one for himself. He seemed quiet, reflective; Günther watched him anxiously. He knew all about Holler, who had been one of the Abwehr's brightest young men, before the service got involved in the plot to kill Hitler.… He wasn't lulled by the other man's calm. Holler puffed smoke into the air; it formed a neat circle and then gradually enlarged until it lost its shape and disappeared.

‘I want the truth, Günther,' he said. ‘Otherwise I'll apply for you officially on a criminal charge, and they'll have to hand you back.'

‘What criminal charge?' Mühlhauser started up. ‘I've done nothing—'

‘I'll think of something,' Holler murmered. ‘Don't worry about that. Are you going to answer my questions? Truthfully, just as I'm sure you answered everything the American asked you.… You'll never get to the United States unless I let you go. Andrews knows that perfectly well. And when I get you out, I'll release you, so your Nazi friends will have plenty of opportunity to find you.'

‘I thought you were a man of honour,' Mühlhauser said. He had sunk back into his chair. He looked old and very tired.

‘I am,' Holler answered. ‘Where ordinary people are concerned. But not people like you, Günther. You're a special breed of men, remember? The Black Knights of the Third Reich. “Blood and honour.” The concentration camps, the extermination squads, the guardians of the gas chambers and the execution yards. I spent some time with your people; they broke my right leg in three places, and then made me try and walk on it.… It would be ironical, wouldn't it, if they were to kill you? One of their own kind who betrayed them? What did you betray, Günther? Why did they come after you when you've been home for so many years?'

‘Can I change my mind,' Mühlhauser said, ‘and have a cigarette?'

‘No,' Holler said. ‘You can't. You can just answer my question.'

‘If I tell you everything,' Mühlhauser said, ‘will you promise to let us go to America? Andrews gave his assurance we'd be protected there.'

‘Yes,' Holler nodded. He stubbed out his own cigarette. ‘Yes, the CIA can have you. I wouldn't want anything to happen to your little girl. Or your wife; I saw her outside. She's a pretty girl. Begin from the beginning, Günther. Take your time.'

He sat and listened.

‘I was caught by the Friedrichstrasse bridge over the river Spree,' Mühlhauser said. ‘A few of us had changed out of our SS uniforms, and we were dressed as civilians and hoping to escape through the Russian line to the north. We didn't have a chance. The Russians took the bridge and there was no way through. I was picked up, and taken to an interrogation centre they'd set up near the Wilhelmstrasse. I couldn't produce papers or a story to cover myself. There was a Soviet colonel in charge. He accused me of being an SS officer and said I was going to be shot. So I played for time. I told him who I was and that I'd been in the Bunker. They sent me to the rear, to a special camp, and the proper interrogation began. The same man was in charge. I told them everything I knew about the suicide of the Führer and Eva Braun, I gave them names of people who were with us in the Bunker, I told them Himmler was trying to negotiate a separate peace with the Western Allies, but it wasn't enough and I knew they were going to hang me.'