The Hunt aka 27 (33 page)

He lay in bed all night watching the phone, waiting for Vierhaus to answer his calls. He had called three times, talking to the same icy male SS operator on the other end of the line. On the last call the operator became abusive.

“Don’t you understant,” the
Schutzstaffel
man snapped in his thick German accent. “He iss not here! He vi
ll
call you yen he iss ready to call you.
Auf wiedersehen.”

Sleepless, Keegan lay clothed on the bed thinking about Jenny. Wondering where she was at that moment. Wondering what horrors the Gestapo was wreaking on her. Imagining himself attacking the prison, killing all the guards, and whisking her to freedom in some mad, outrageous rescue scheme that could only happen in the movies. And, too, he wanted to get even. Vierhaus, Conrad Weil, von Meister, each had contributed in a different way to the tragedy, each for a different reason, and each was equally responsible.

The minutes crawled by. Dawn sneaked through the drapes, spreading a crimson stain across the carpet. He watched the spear of light lengthen and widen and slowly illuminate the room.

The phone was a silent threat. He stared at it, reached out, then drew his hand back. He wouldn’t call the miserable bastard again. Pain laced his stomach and he reached out again, asked for room service and ordered coffee and rolls. When he heard the knock on the door he opened it, expecting the bellman. Bert Rudman was standing there.

“Can I come in?” he said softly.

Fear cut into Keegan again, a pain now so common he recognized its roots immediately. Bert Rudman had never asked
to come in before. Barging in with arms waving, that was his style.

“I didn’t know the Gestapo had picked up Jenny.”

“Yes. I’ve known since late last night. I called the bureau and left a message for you.”

“God, I am sorry, Kee.”

“I don’t know what to do. I’ve never felt this
. . .
this helpless before.”

“You look like hell. Have you been to bed?”

Keegan shook his head. “I couldn’t sleep,” he said. “What do you know? For sure, I mean?”

“She was arrested at two o’clock yesterday afternoon
. .

Keegan slammed a fist into the palm of his hand. “Damn it, why did I make that call,” he anguished.

“What call?”

Keegan paced the room, burning off nervous energy, rambling in a low voice as if he were talking to himself, as if Rudman wasn’t there and he was addressing an imaginary friend, recounting the steps that had led to Jenny’s imprisonment.

Rudman walked over to Keegan and stared at him quizzically.

“How do you know all that?” he asked when Keegan finally was quiet.

“Some of
it
i
s
conjecture, most of
it
i
s
fact. I know it, take my word for it.”

“What else do you know?”

“That they probably tortured her. She may be dead by now. I understand that’s the custom.”

Rudman took Keegan firmly by the arm. “She’s not dead, Francis.”

“Are you sure? How do you know?” Keegan said in a rush.

“I got a tip. She was moved about five this morning.”

“Moved where? Where did they take her?”

“They’re taking her to Dachau, Kee.”

Keegan was too stunned to speak for a moment. He was not surprised. The news itself was not unexpected. It was the reality of the news, knowing his worst fears had materialized, that got to him.

Dachau!

“No!” his voice croaked.

“They got four of them. They were arrested for
. .
“No!”
Keegan suddenly screamed, his fists clenched. “Listen..
.
listen to me, Francis, there’s
nothing—nothing—
you can do right now. At least we know she’s alive. She’s a political prisoner. If she were tried, she’d be tried for high treason. But there isn’t going to be a trial. She’s gone for now, Kee. Maybe when
. .

“Damn, is that the only tune anybody knows? That’s all I hear.
Nothing.
I’m tired of hearing that word.”

“Kee..

“I’ll go to the embassy. Damn it, I’ll call the president..

“Kee..

“Goddamn it, we’re going to be married! She’ll be an American citizen. Hell, she hasn’t
done
anything. Her brother’s
….

Keegan stopped. He was soaked with sweat and his hands were shaking.

“Aw, listen to me, man,” Bert said. “If I could storm the place by myself and bring her back to you, I’d do it. And if you weren’t my best friend I couldn’t say this to you
.

“Then don’t,” Keegan cut him off. “You listen to me. I don’t buy nothing.
I.
. .
can’t.
. .
give.
. .
this.
. .
up!”

“You have to!” Bert answered, his voice rising too. “You don’t have any choice!”

“You’re telling me that and you claim to be my best friend
.

“Christ, I’m trying to be honest with you
. .

“Bullshit. Bull
shit!”

Rudman felt his own anger building but he held it in.

“Listen, you’re the one used to say it wasn’t any of your business, remember?” he snapped back. “This isn’t your country. It will all blow over. Used to tell me I was hysterical. Hysterical? Look at you.”

“What the hell do you expect me to do? Jitterbug around the room?”

The room service bellman arrived and they both cooled down while Keegan signed the check. Rudman poured two cups of coffee. He sat down on the sofa.

“Every day hundreds—maybe thousands—of people are dragged off the streets like this,” Rudman said shaking his head. “Out of their homes, offices, shops, out of
schools,
for God’s sake, and their families never see them again

“I’m not one of them. I’m an American citizen.

“Immaterial, pal,” Rudman interrupted this time. “You’ve got to get that fixed in your head. All your money, your influence, it doesn’t mean anything here. You
are
one of them, Kee. The same pain, same anger, same
. . .
everything. This thing, you’re just one of the crowd. All those other voices drown you out.,,

“Then we’ll tell them. Write a story about Dachau, about what’s happening.

“Damn it, don’t you understand, nobody
wants
to hear it. I did a story on Dachau for the
Tribune
three months ago. It was buried on page thirty in the New York edition.”

“So I roll over and play dead, that it?”

“Kee, you can’t get her out,” Rudman said slowly. “The whole world feels the way you did, that it’s a German problem.”

“You won’t do anything because it’ll jeopardize your precious bloody bureau, is that it?”

“Aw, for Christ sake, Kee.

Keegan whirled suddenly and threw his coffee cup at the wall. It shattered, spraying bits of china around the room, the coffee etching a brown stain down the wallpaper. His shoulders sagged.

“Go on, get out of here.” Keegan waved his hand dejectedly. “Leave me alone.”

“To do
what?”
Rudman said. “Wallow in self-pity?”

Keegan dropped into a chair and did not answer. He seemed to shrink from the weight of the tragedy. Rudman sighed and walked to the door. “You’re just another member of a very sad club, Kee, and the membership’s growing larger by the day.”

He left. As the door clicked shut, Keegan jumped up.

“Ah shut,” he said, striding across the room after him. The phone rang.

Vierhaus?
he thought.
Finally.

He rushed across the room and snatched it up.

“Yes?” he said, far too eagerly.

“Mr. Keegan?”

“Yes.”

“This is your tailor. Your suit is ready.”

Keegan, disoriented, angry, completely overwrought, wasn’t thinking clearly.

“What? What suit?” he snapped.

“Your suit is ready and we’re closing early today, Mr. Keegan.”

Click.

Keegan suddenly snapped back to reality. Was that Wolffson? he wondered. He didn’t recognize the voice, not enough time. My God, he thought abruptly, that was the warning. Was the Gestapo after
him
now?

He stopped in the middle of the room, took deep breaths to calm himself down. What was it Wol
f
fson had told him? If they called about the suit go immediately to the city zoo and find the phone booth near the carousel.

Immediately!

He checked the front window of the suite, then the back. Nothing out of the ordinary. He went to the closet and got his briefcase, the only luggage he had. He snapped it open, took out an envelope, checked the contents, and stuck it in his inside pocket. There was nothing else of real value in the case. He left it on the table and checked the windows again. As he was watching, a black Mercedes sedan pulled up and parked on the opposite side of the street. Four men wearing leather raincoats and black hats got out. Two of them entered the front of the hotel, the other two walked around to the rear.

Keegan left the suite, took the elevator to the second floor. He walked quickly to the fire stairs and started down. As he reached the first floor, the door opened. Two black hats barged into the stairwell. They stood two feet away from Keegan.

Leather coats, black fedoras, expressionless faces, blank eyes, lean as jackals. The only difference between the two was their height. One was two inches taller than the other.

The taller one stared at Keegan with surprise for a second, then blurted, “Herr Keegan?”

Keegan reacted immediately. He kicked the tall one in the kneecap as hard as he could. The man howled with pain and fell to the floor. As he did, Keegan slashed his knee into the shorter one’s groin, grabbed his collar and slammed his head into the wall. His forehead split open. Keegan slammed him into the wall one more time and as he fell, reached inside the man’s coat and grabbed the grip of his gun.

Whirling on the taller one, Keegan stuck the Luger under his nose.

“You make a sound and I’ll blow your brains all over that wall. You understand me?
Verstehen?”

‘
J
a.” The German nodded, his face still distorted with pain.

“Auto keys,
Schlussel?
Where are they?
Beeilen sie sich mal, bee
il
en!”

“I don’t..

Keegan jabbed the muzzle of the gun under the agent’s chin, shoved his head back.

“You drove the car, you lying son of a bitch. Give me the keys or I’ll kill you just for the hell of it.”

The agent fumbled in a vest pocket and handed him the ring of keys.

“Take off the coat and hat.
Beeilung!”

The agent struggled to one knee and took off the coat. Keegan snatched his hat off and put it on. He took the coat, leaned forward and slashed the pistol down on the back of the agent’s head. The man sighed and fell unconscious.

Keegan put on the coat and stuck the gun in his pocket. He pulled the hat down low over his forehead, entered the lobby and, without looking to the right or left, walked straight to the entrance and out the door. He crossed the street, got in the Mercedes, cranked it up and drove off. He turned right at the first street, stepped on the gas and wove his way through traffic. In two blocks he turned right, drove another block, turned left and parked. He got out and threw the keys down a sewer trap. He walked to the corner and found a taxi.

“Tiergarten,” he said as he got in.

The rain had settled into a fine mist. When Keegan got out of the taxi, he went into a store across the street from the zoo entrance. He waited until the taxi pulled away and rounded the corner, then he walked briskly across the street and entered the zoo. The carousel was in the middle of the park near the lake.

The phone booth was beside the monkey cage across the walk from the merry-go-round.

Keegan stood with his hands in his pocket and waited for the phone to ring.

“Do not turn around,
Ire,
“
a voice said behind him. “Listen quick. Ve haf learn Vierhaus is going to arrest you as a
Spion.”

“I know. They came to the hotel after me.”

“You are in serious trouble. Go to the rear of the carousel now. Iss a
tool shed
there. Go inside.”

“Have you heard any more about Jen.

“Beeilen!”

A young couple came by and stopped beside Keegan. They stood with their arms around each other, ignoring the rain, and threw peanuts to the monkeys.
N
ot a care in the world,
Keegan thought.
Two days ago that could h
a
ve been us.
He waited until they moved on. When he turned around, there was nobody there.

He walked around the carousel, found the
tool shed
and went inside. It was a small utility room. A. large worktable and chair took up most of the space. A bare bulb hung from a cord over the table. Cobwebs, like gossamer nets, dominated the corners.

Werner Gebhart was waiting. His cold eyes appraised Keegan as he entered the shack. Gebhart took a pair of cord knickers, a tweed cap, a sports shirt, a sleeveless sweater and heavy boots from a rucksack and put them on the worktable. He also produced a blond wig and a pair of glasses.

“Put on
die
Ver
k
leidung
,
“
Gebhart said in a rough mixture of English and German.
“Beeilung.”

“You’re really prepared for emergencies aren’t you?” Keegan said, quickly peeling off the coat and hat.

“Ve expected dis,” Gebhart said coldly. “Whatever dey found out from
Jenny, dey tink you can... how do you say.
. -.

“Corroborate?”

‘
J
a. You should haf left last night.”

“They’re taking Jenny to Dachau,” Keegan said.

“Heute Morgen
ye heard.
D
a
s Ungluck.”

“Bad luck? That’s all you have to say?”

“You
change, Keegan,” Gebhart said firmly. “Ve talk about dis later.
Und
ja,
it is all I say.”

“You don’t like me, do you, Werner?” Keegan said, continuing to change as quickly as he could.

“Nein.”

“Why not?” Keegan pressed him.

“Because you are playing the hero. You are reckless and arrogant,
Ire.”

“Okay,” said Keegan. “If I get ca
u
ght, you go down, too, so why don’t you just tell me where to go and I’ll get there on my own.”

“Horen sie mal!”
he said in a low, angry voice. “I am not doing this to help you, I am doing it to help us because you are poison to us all. Do not fool yourself, you vould not last ten minutes mittout us. You are
. . .
uh,
gefahrlich
...
dangerous
,
you play
der
hero
und
vi
ll
die and many of us vill die
mit
you.”

“Nobody’s gonna die.”

“You see? Arrogant. People die every day.”

“I tried to call Vierhaus all night,” Keegan said, changing the subject. “He never returned the calls, sent the Gestapo instead.”

“He is very, what you call
schnell.”

“Fast? Quick?”

‘
J
a. Und
he has been at
das Spiel
three, four years,” Gebhart said. “You are no match for him,
Ire,
no matter vat you tink. Dat vass a bad idea.” He gathered up the c
l
othes as Keegan took them off. “Vere did you get
Mantel und Hut?”

Keegan took the Luger out of the coat pocket and handed it to Gebhart.

“Gestapo. Here, you might be able to use this.”

“Vot happened?”

“I had to get by a couple of agents,” Keegan said, pulling on the pants. “I didn’t kill them, just gave them bad headaches. I also stole their car and left it on a side street.”

“So
. . .
now the whole city iss out for you,” Gebhart said. He pulled the wig down on Keegan’s head, shoving his dark hair under the edges and smoothing it down around Keegan’s ears and the nape of his neck. He gave Keegan an ID card listing his occupation as a postal worker. Smart. The Nazis avoided offending bureaucrats.

“If ye are stop, I vill talk. Ve are going on holiday to the Alps for mountain climbing.”

“Okay.”

“Now
der Hut und,
how you call then,
die
Brille?”

“Spectacles.”

“Ja. The glass iss clear.”

Keegan looked across the dimly lit room at Gebhart. “Well, how do I look?”

“Just remember, ye know vat
v
e are d
o
ing. Do as I tell you
und
do not argue. Do it quickly.
Verstehen Sie?”

“Yes,” Keegan nodded, “it’s quite clear.”

They walked out of the shed and around the lake to a parking lot, got in the blue Opel and drove through the middle of the city and across the main bridge into a
H
a
userblock,
a residential section. The shops and commercial buildings surrendered to duplexes, six or seven to the block; heavy Gothic buildings with large arched windows, thick, oak-Framed doorways and gray stucco walls, six or seven houses all attached in a single long, gray block. Gebhart pulled behind
o
ne of the rows. An alley behind the granite square was lined with brightly painted garage doors. He pulled down to one of them and blew the horn. A minute went by, then the door r
o
lled open. Gebhart pulled into the garage. The door closed behind. He waited for a minute or so in the dark, then turned o the car lights.

The garage was small and empty except for the car. Gebhart nodded toward a door that led into the h
o
use.

“Go through there,” he said.
“Viel
G
luck.
I will not see you again.”

He held out his hand and they shook..

“Thanks, Werner.
Viel
G
luck
to you t
o
o.”

He entered the house and went up a short flight of stairs and through the sparsely furnished kitchen to the living room. Wolffson was alone there sitting on a large packing crate. There was no furniture except for a single floor lamp with a fringed shade. An ashtray filled with butts sat beside him.

“Welcome, Herr Keegan. Pick a box and sit down.”

“Moving in or out?”

“In, actually. We travel light,
Ire.
Sometimes we have to leave everything behind. So, we have to kill some time. We will be here awhile.”

“Mind telling me what’s going on?”

“We have an excellent contact at SS headquarters. Early
this morning, Vierhaus ordered your arrest. Specifically you are charged with espionage.”

“
L
udicrous.”

“But true. And if they catch you, you are a dead man either way.”

“The whole thing is
insane. It
doesn’t
even make good sense.”

“That is right, it is insane. But it makes sense to them.”

“So what’s the plan?”

“We will leave at dark, drive to Munich. We know back roads where there is little traffic. It takes longer but we will be there before dawn. There will be three of us. You, me, and Joachim.”

“Do I have any say
in
the matter?”

“What is your choice,
ire?
Go to the American
embassy? No way to get our once you are in, you could spend eternity there. If you remain in Berlin they will most certainly catch you and after your skirmish with the Gestapo they will most certainly kill you. Or go with us. We will have you out of Germany in forty- eight hours.”

“Why Munich?”

“We have a strong organization in Munich and we need to spend the day there. Much safer to travel at night and it will take us two nights to get to the Swiss border.”