The Hunt aka 27 (31 page)

It scares me to death,
but
I admire him for it. The least I can do is explain why I am going away.”

He wagged his hand as a sign of submission and nodded.

“Excuse me a minute,” he said. He hefted himself from his chair and left the room. She sat quietly, listening to his muffled voice in another room. Fear started gnawing at her insides, a small thing to start with but a spark that could grow into an inferno. She tried to suppress it, but her mouth started to get dry and she could feel perspiration breaking out on the back of her neck. It was not herself she feared f
o
r, it was Avrum.

Old Eli came back in the room carrying a slip of paper.

“You will fly into Leipzig,” he said, reading from his notes. “Then you will be taken into Berlin by motorcar. It is only a two-hour drive, one hundred kilometers or so. You have a place to stay?”

“I moved into a new apartment before I left. The phone is not in my name. I think it will be safe there.”

Old Eli pulled a chair over in front of her and sat down. He leaned forward as he spoke.

“But not for long,” he warned. “If they learn you are in Berlin and they are indeed looking for you, then you must get out as fast as possible. When you are ready to leave you will come back the same way. Remember, from now on trust no one.”

“Not even Avrum?”

“Of course Avrum. But avoid anybody not involved directly with the Lily. And do not look for Avru
m
, he will find you.”

“I understand.”

“There is only one flight a day from here to Leipzig. It leaves in two hours. You must use your real name because of the passport. We do not have time to get you a counterfeit. Anyway, they will only be checking the Berlin flights for fugitives.”

“I don’t think they would connect Avrum and me—different last names
.

“Dear Jenny, if they learn his identity, they will know you are his half-sister very soon after.”

“Hopefully they do not know who he is. He has evaded them for almost a year.”

“Good luck does not last forever,” Old Eli said.

She smiled and patted his knee. “Do not be so pessimistic,” she said.

“Ha! We Jews are all pessimists, my dear,” he said with a smile. “It is part of the diet. To be anything less would not be kosher.”

A persistent ringing at the door of his suite awoke Keegan. Half asleep, he instinctively reached over to touch Jenny but she was not there. As he reached for his robe he noticed the time: 9:45
A.M.
He jumped up. They were going to miss the plane.

“Jen?” he called out.

Then he saw the note propped up on the dresser. He snatched it up and read it as he walked through the living room to the door of the suite.

Darling Kee,

You were sleeping like a child and I hate good-byes. Am taking a taxi to the airport. I will call you tonight.

Five days, my darling, and then we will be together always.

I love you in my heart.

Thank you for changing my life.

Jenny

He opened the door and Bert Rudman, as usual, burst into the room without being invited. He was waving the morning paper over his head and babbling. Keegan had never seen him quite as agitated.

“Where have you been? Why was the phone turned off? I’ve been trying to call you all night!” Rudman jabbered, running all the sentences together.

Keegan stared at him sleepily, then looked back at the note.

“Where’s
Jenny?” Rudman asked, looking around the suite.

“She left already,” Keegan said, handing the slip of paper to the journalist.

“Left? For where?” Rudman asked as he read the note.

“Back to Berlin.”

“And you let her go?!”

“Let her go? I don’t own her. Besides, I’m picking her up Thursday and then we’re off for London. What’s the big deal?”

“You don’t know what’s going on?”

“Where?”

“In Germany! Where do you think, on Mars? Goddamn, Kee, the Nazis have gone berserk!”

He handed Keegan a copy of the morning edition of the
Paris Gazette,
reprinted from his
Times
story.

“Christ!” Keegan said when he’d finished reading Rudman’s story. He looked up at his friend and his eyes revealed admiration. Admiration mixed with fear.

“I’m going back to Berlin on the afternoon plane for a follow-up.”

“You’re going to Berlin after writing this? They’ll kill you, you silly bastard.”

“I keep telling you
. .

“I know, I know, they won’t mess with the American press. Let me tell you something, if they’ll knock off three thousand people in one night, your press pass ain’t gonna mean
bopkes.
You’re worried about
Jenny and you’re probably number one on their hit parade.”

“That’s very flattering.”

“No, what it is is very true. Look, Dick Daring, I don’t like funerals, okay? Particularly when my best friend is the guest of honor.”

“I can take care of me. But you’ve got to get Jenny the hell out of there.”

Room service arrived. Keegan signed the check and doctored his coffee. Rudman sat down heavily on the sofa, took a long pull at his drink and sighed.

“You taking the four o’clock plane?” Keegan asked.

“Yeah, four-ten.”

Keegan sipped his coffee thoughtfully. A sudden jolt of fear stabbed his chest.
Was she really in danger?
he wondered.
She wasn‘
t
political. But the whole country seemed to be going crazy. Maybe Bert was right. Maybe he better get Jenny out of there.
Abruptly he snatched up the phone.

“I’ll try to locate my plane,” he said to Rudman. “We can fly over together.”

A few minutes before noon the phone rang.

“Francis?” the familiar voice said. “It is Conrad.”

“Conrad! Are you here in Paris?”

“No, I am in Berlin.”

“Is it crazy over there?”

“Only if you read the papers. Francis, I am calling you because Jennifer is in serious jeopardy.”

“What do you mean?”

“I have heard through sources that the Gestapo plans to arrest her if she returns to Berlin.”

“Where’d you hear that?”

“I can’t tell you but believe me, it is most reliable. I am taking a great risk to even call you but I feel I contributed a little to your romance. You must be very careful.”

“But why Jenny? She isn’t.

He stopped, remembering her explicit instructions.
Don‘t give my address or phone number to anyone.
And she had moved just before coming to Paris. Maybe she
was
mixed up in something.

“She’s over there now, Conrad,” Keegan said and checked the time. “She should be arriving home about now.”

“Where does she live? I’ll warn her.”

Could he
tell
Conrad?
He had taken a great risk just ca
l
ling Keegan. Certainly he was safe. And yet she had said not to give the information to
anyone.

“It’s all right, Conrad, I’ll call her. I’m sure she can find sanctuary somewhere until I can get over there and bring her out.”

“Please, forget I made this call, understand?”

“What call? Listen, Conrad, thanks. I owe you a big one.”

“You owe me nothing. It’s the least I can do.”

In Berlin, Conrad Weil cradled his phone and dropped heavily into a chair. His tall, elegant body seemed to collapse, like a punctured balloon. Across the room from him, Vierhaus sat with his chin resting on the handle of his cane. He smiled.

“There, see how easy that was, Conrad?” said Vierhaus.

“What did you do? Nothing. Warned a friend. Did him a favor. And because of that generous gesture, the Führer will permit your club to continue performing its
. . .
degenerate show every night—without
harassment
.”

In the years to come, Keegan would sometimes reflect on the little things that alter our lives forever. Snap decisions. Hasty moves. Something as simple as a phone call. On this day, Keegan immediately flashed the operator and gave her
Jenny’s Ber
li
n number. It
rang a
dozen times while Keegan silently urged her to pick up. But there was no answer.

The fear began to mount.

Perhaps he should call Conrad back and ask his help, he thought as he hung up. He looked at his watch again. In two hours the plane would be there. By four o’clock he would be at her door. By five they could be on the way back to Paris. He would wait.

In the switchboard office, the operator who had placed the call for Keegan took off her headset. She handed the phone number to the tall businessman with the German accent.

Von Meister smiled his thanks and handed her two hundred-franc notes. Two hundred francs. Less than fifty dollars. Even in Paris life was cheap.

At Tempelhof Airport, Keegan was waved through customs. He had no luggage and several of the customs agents recognized him from his frequent trips in and out of Berlin. Rudman was not so lucky. They searched through his two suitcases item by item while a Gestapo agent stood nearby watching every move. Then Rudman was ushered into an office for further conversation.

It was five
P.M.
and Keegan was anxious to get to Jenny’s apartment. He waited nervously in the large waiting room, watching through the glass-partitioned of
f
ice as Rudman argued with the customs agents while the Gestapo agent leaned against the door, his hands buried in his pants
pockets
and his felt hat pulled low on his forehead. They were obvious, but that was the game. The mere presence of the secret police was a subtle threat. It was clear they knew who Rudman was and were purposely harassing him.

Keegan tried to call Jenny’s apartment from a phone booth but there was still no answer.

Where
was
she?

Tremors rumbled through Keegan’s stomach. He sent a note to Rudman telling him he would either call or meet him at Rudman’s hotel before he returned to Paris.

The taxi was hardly out of the airport parking lot before Keegan realized he was being followed. A light blue Opel pulled away from the curb two cars behind the cab. He watched the car as they drove down the highway into the city. As they reached the center of the city Keegan ordered his driver to take several sudden turns, weaving aimlessly through the city. The Opel got caught by a light and fell three blocks behind.

“Turn here,” Keegan ordered, and as the taxi made the turn, he handed the driver a handful of marks and jumped out. He hid in a doorway and watched the Opel wheel around the corner and swerve through the traffic after the cab.

He rode in two more taxis before he took to foot, walking down alleys and through stores until he was positive he had shaken his followers. Then he walked three blocks to the three
story apartment building where jenny lived. He stood across the street for ten minutes more until he was positive he had shaken his tail.

It was an old stone Gothic apartment house but it did have an Old World charm. Gargoyles lurked ominously at the roof corners and there were stained glass windows on each floor over the entrance. Inside, the building was damp and gloomy. A wide staircase wound up through the core of the building. Tall ceilings added to the gloomy interior. The steps groaned with age as he climbed to the third floor. Door locks clicked and hinges creaked in his wake as he went up the steps to the third floor. He sensed eyes peering at him through the gloom as he reached each landing. As he reached the top floor, he turned quickly and looked back down the steps. He heard two or three doors click gently shut in the penumbral halls but he saw nothing.

Apartment 32A was the first door at the top of the stairs. He heard a creak down the hail and he turned sharply to see a woman peering through a door that was open a mere sliver. She closed it immediately.

Fear tapped Keegan on the shoulder.

The first thing he noticed was that the hall light was burned out. The long hallway was cloaked in dark shadows except for a narrow shaft of rainbow-colored sunlight that filtered through swirling dust from the single stained glass window at the far end.

The lock to Jenny’s apartment was shattered, the jamb splintered, the door ajar an inch. His mouth went dry, a sudden jolt charged through his chest.

He swung the door open with the back of his hand. “Jenny?” he said softly.

No answer.

He entered the apartment cautiously.

“Jenny?”

Nothing.

He went down a short entrance hallway and then stopped.

The living room was a shambles. Cushions from sofas and chairs had been ripped open. Little balls of stuffing drifted and swirled idly in the wind from an open window. Drawers hung open with the contents spilled out on the floor.

‘
J
enny!”

He raced through the one-bedroom apartment, checking the kitchen, the small dining room and the bedroom. The destruction was thorough. In the bedroom, the mattress was thrown half off the bed and split open. Clothes dangled from half-open drawers and littered the floor of the closet.

The apartment was empty.

‘jenny!”
he yelled, knowing there would be no answer.

Who had ransacked the apartment?
And where was Jenny? If she was in hiding, how would she contact him? She didn’t even know he was in Berlin.

He went back into the living room. He heard a sound behind him in the darkness of the apartment. Keegan walked slowly across the room, knelt down next to the desk and started to pick up some mail that was scattered on the floor. The floor creaked. He could feel the presence of someone else in the room. He turned slightly and as he did strong arms suddenly grabbed him around the throat in a choke hold.

Keegan slashed back and up with his elbow, buried its sharp point in the groin of his assailant. The man grunted with pain as Keegan stood and spun at the same time, throwing a hard, straight jab into the face of the man. As he did a second man jumped him, wrapping his arms around Keegan’s waist, pinning his arms to his sides. A third man moved swiftly toward Keegan, who raised both legs and kicked him in the stomach, then slammed his head back into the face of the man who was holding him. The man screamed as his nose shattered. Keegan twisted out of his grip and threw a hard uppercut to his jaw. The assailant spun away and fell over a coffee table.

Again Keegan was attacked from the back, powerful arms holding Keegan’s arms in check. A thick cloth was thrust over his face. He choked as chloroform stung his eyes and nose. He tried to hold his breath but he was hit in the stomach and his wind rushed out. The cloth was jammed tighter as he gasped for breath. The room began to spin around. His arms lost their strength and his legs went numb. He was aware he was still
struggling but the room seemed to shrink around him and grow darker. He fell backward into a void.

He awoke slowly, as if coming out of a long coma. The smell of chloroform was still on his skin. He was blindfolded and tied to a hard chair. He felt nauseous and he swallowed hard, took several deep breaths. The feeling of malaise slowly dissipated.

“Herr Keegan, I am going to untie your hands and remove the blindfold,” a voice said. “There is a man across the room from me with a gun. If you try to leave the chair, he will kill you.”

The blindfold was pulled off and his hands were untied.
He
squinted into a blazing spotlight.

‘Jesus,” Keegan groaned as he rubbed the feeling back into his wrists and hands and then shielded his eyes with one hand.

A large man stood silhouetted in front of him, smoking a cigarette. Behind him, another outline, this one smaller and aiming a Luger at him.

“What do you want?” Keegan asked.

“What were you doing in
Fräulein
Gould’s apartment?”

“Are you the police?”

There was a pause, then: “We are the state police. You are guilty of breaking into the apartment.”

He studied the two shapes more closely. Both wore beards and had long, shaggy hair. They were dressed in work shirts and corduroy pants.

“Well, somebody obviously beat me to it,” Keegan answered and an edge began to creep into his voice. “And while we’re at it, where is Miss Gould?”

“I will ask the questions.”

“Maybe you should check with her before you push this any farther.”

“Perhaps you can tell us where she is?”

A tremor of dread rippled through Keegan.
Was this some kind of ruse? If they were the Gestapo, where was Jenny and what were they doing in her apartment? And where was he and why were they grilling him?

Something didn’t play right.

“You came into Tempelhof tonight on your private plane, Mr. Keegan. You walked right through customs.”

“So?”

“No customs inspection?”

“I didn’t have any luggage. Besides, I go in and out of Berlin all the time. They all know me.”

“So they let you through and followed you to her flat.”

“No way. Somebody started to follow me but I dumped them.” He stopped and looked at his two abductors for a moment and smiled. “Of course. It was you guys. You’re the ones I dumped. And since I dodged you and you showed up at her place anyway, you
knew
where she lived. Hell, you were after
me.
Why?”

“I will ask the questions, you just talk.”

“Okay. Want me to tell you what I
don’t
think?” Keegan said.

“So? What don’t you think, Herr Keegan?”

Keegan again held a hand up so it blocked the harsh light and looked back and forth between his captors.

“I don’t think you’re Gestapo. You don’t look like Gestapo, you don’t act like Gestapo, you sure as hell don’t dress like them. Your hair’s too long and you wear beards. And if you were Gestapo, you wouldn’t be asking me about customs. Besides, if you were Gestapo we’d be down in one of those dingy state buildings and I’d probably have electrodes attached to my testicles. Isn’t that the way they do it?”

“You are very perceptive, Herr Keegan. But we knew that. What else
don’t
you think?”

“Well, if you aren’t Gestapo then my guess is you’re probably just the opposite. What are you, some kind of vigilantes? Guerrillas? And what am I doing here? And what were you doing ransacking Jenny Gould’s apartment?”

“We were not responsible for that.”

“Then who was? The Gestapo?”

“You’re very clever, Mr. Keegan, the question now is, where do you stand?”

“About what?”

“About Vierhaus. How close is your relationship with Vierhaus?”

“Vierhaus! I don’t have a relationship with Vierhaus. I’ve seen him at a couple of parties and I got stuck in a steam bath with him once. And what the hell business is that of yours anyway? Who the hell are you?”

“Vierhaus is the head of an organization called
Die Sechs Füchse,”
the bearded man said. “You didn’t know that?”

“The Six Foxes?” he said.

“It is a special intelligence group, completely separate from the SS. He is head of this group and he reports only to Hitler.”

“You telling me that Vierhaus is some kind of superspy?”

The big, bearded man nodded slowly. “He is perhaps more dangerous than Himmler or even Heydrich. Everyone knows what they are up to but
Herr Doktor
is a question mark. We know he advises Hitler so we know he has influence. We also know he has a soul as black as my beard.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because it is my business to know it, Herr Keegan.”

“Well, just what the hell
is
your business, anyhow? And what’s all this got to do with me? I’m not a German.”

“You claim to be in love with a German.”

Keegan’s temper exploded.
Where was Jenny and who were these jokers and what
was
all this wind about Vierhaus and superspies and the Gestapo?
He jumped up suddenly, sending the chair spinning off behind him. It clattered against the wall. The man with the gun got edgy and held it at arm’s length pointed straight at Keegan’s head.

“That’s none of your goddamn business!” Keegan snarled, walking up to him until the muzzle was an inch from his forehead. “And I’m tired of you waving that thing in my face. Either put it away or use it,” he said flatly.

“Don’t be foolish, American.”

“I think you’re all bluff. You didn’t bring me here to waltz, you brought me here because you want something. Now why don’t you just get to it and stop waving that piece around.”

“Don’t make light of the
.

“Hey, why the hell am I here?” Keegan demanded. He moved forward until the muzzle of the pistol was touching his forehead. “There, you can’t miss. Now, either you pull that trigger or tell me what the hell you want. I told you I don’t know anything about Vierhaus. And how do you know about my relationship with Jenny.
. .
and what the hell business is it of yours anyway?”

The bearded man stared at him for several seconds. He reached out and lowered the arm of the man with the gun.

“My name is Avrum Wolffson,” he said finally. “Jenny is my half-sister.”

“Your
sister!”
Keegan said with shock. He stared at Wolffson for several seconds, then said, “Well, she ought to get after you for playing with guns.”

“Do you make a joke of everything?”

“Why not? Life’s a joke. And the older you get the funnier it gets. Look, I came over here to get my fiancée and take her back to Paris. I get here, her apartment is a mess. She’s gone. I get a face full of chloroform, I wake up i
n
a warehouse someplace with hot lights and guns in my face and you guys giving me the third degree, now you tell me you’re her
brother?
What the
hell
is going on?”

“I had to make sure you were not connected with Vierhaus.”

“Why? Because of
Jenny? Is this some kind of bizarre family tradition, to try and scare the hell out of her suitors? I’m in love with your sister. I’ve asked her to marry me. I mean, why would I do such a thing?”

“I don’t know, but you and I were the only ones who knew where she lived. Somebody got to her place and she’s gone. And I didn’t tell anybody, so that leaves you.”

Keegan was getting angrier but he controlled himself.

“I didn’t tell a soul,” he said.

The big question now was, why was
a
nybody after Jenny?
Why?

“Why do they want her?” Keegan asked.

“You really do not know, eh?”

“If I knew would I ask you?”

“Perhaps. If you were trying to convince us you are not involved.”

“You’re very paranoid.”

“Yes, it keeps us alive.”

Wolffson lit another cigarette. He held the tip of it up and blew a stream of smoke across the end of the cigarette, watching it glow, giving himself more time to make his decision.

“Come on, Wolffson, why would the Gestapo be dogging me?”

“The light is on her. She is the target.”

“What do you mean, the target?”

“I mean the Gestapo is onto her. She has been betrayed and we think your friend Vierhaus is the one who is after her.”

“Betrayed? By who? And for what?”

“Some miserable
Judenopferer
turned her up.”

“A what?”

“A
Judenopferer
is a
Jew
who hunts other Jews. The word literally means ‘Jew sacrificer.’ They spend hours going over court records, looking for the most remote Jewish connection, they listen to rumors, infiltrate families

“You still haven’t told me why.”

“To get to me.”

Keegan sighed. “Okay, I’ll play. Why do they want you?”

“Have you ever heard of an organization called the Black Lily?”

“No
. . .
Wait a minute. I did hear that expression once. At the American embassy.”

“The night you refused to help Reinhardt?”

Keegan did not answer for a long ti
m
e. He felt his pockets for his cigarettes and matches and lit a cigarette and then slowly started to nod.

“That’s right,” he said. “The night I turned my back on Reinhardt.” He rubbed his eyes. “Look, Wolffson, I know a lot of things now I didn’t know then. But I don’t know what the Black Lily is. And can we do without the hot lights? I’m getting a headache.”

Wolffson turned around and made a motion with his hand. The heavy light went out and a small table lamp was turned on in its place. A third man was sitting at a table nearby. The room appeared to be a one-room flat. It was small and contained a bed and dresser, a table and two chairs, a stuffed easy chair and a floor lamp. Black cloth was taped over the windows. In a corner there was a small table that held a hot plate with a coffee pot simmering on it.

The man at the table was unarmed and his nose was flattened and bruised. He was clean shaven, had a conventional haircut and wore wire-rimmed glasses. The shorter man with the gun had a bandage taped to his jaw, which was badly bruised and swollen. He was burly, his muscular arms straining rolled-up sleeves, and had fierce, angry eyes, the demeanor of a man holding himself in check but about to explode. A thick black beard added to his ominous presence. The tall man’s left eye had begun to swell. He, too, was in excellent physical condition but his look was intense rather than mad and his beard was more scholarly than menacing. He was calm and totally in command.

None of them could have been more than twenty-five or twenty-six years old.

Well,
thought Keegan, looking at the
bandages
and bruises,
I got in a few licks anyway.

“One gun?” he said. “You have one
lou
sy gun?”

“We are on the run, have been for m
o
nths. But it is now more intense. You know what it means in German,
Freihei
t
?”

Keegan thought for a moment. He wasn’t familiar with it. He shook his head.

“It would be in English something like
...
freedom. We don’t blow things up. We don’t kill people. We distribute pamphlets and try to help people who are in tro
u
ble with the government.
Jews, Germans, gypsies, no matter. If they become targets and we know about it, we try to get them
o
ut of the country.”

“In America, back in the slave days, we called it the Underground Railroad.”

“Ja,
to help Negroes escape to Philad
e
lphia.”

Keegan chuckled. “Right,” he said. “So what got them so hot on you all of a sudden?”

“We also keep the German people informed of what is really going on here, so they can never say they did not know what was happening. They can never lie ab
o
ut it, they will have to say, ‘Yes, we knew and we turned away our eyes.’ That is what
The Berlin Conscience
is for. Anyway, a man died a few days ago. A
Jew
named Herman Adler. He was
a
Jude
n
opferer.
He was also Joachim Weber’s uncle.” He nodded toward the young man at the table.