Ultimate Issue (29 page)

But Steinmetz ignored his question.

“I suggest you take the assignment, Joe,” he urged. “Don’t sacrifice all you’ve worked for. We’ve got a good life on Stripes. Security, pension, travel, we see the world,

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we bring a touch of home to our boys. It’s worth something.”

Pryor’s rebellion, which had begun so recently, started to fizzle out, and he knew he would hate himself later. There was just one final glimmer.

“I still want to know why,” he asked. “You don’t reassign guys like this. At twentyfour hours’ notice. Jesus, I’ve got a lease in London “

“We’ll take care of that,” said the colonel.

” and I want to know why I’m going to get buried. London’s a choice assignment. Haven’t I done good work?”

“You have, Joe,” colonel said sincerely. “But you need a change.”

“Why?” repeated Pryor.

Then he noticed Unterberg looking at him, and he knew everything.

That drink with Dawkins in the Fleet Street pub had been a very expensive one.

London

“I don’t think, I honestly don’t think I can be much more use to you anyway. The defending officer is well able to take care of things. You’ve met him already, haven’t you? Captain Verago?”

“Yes,” Serena said dully.

Daventry had asked her to his chambers to break the news. He had rehearsed what he was going to say like an actor making sure of his lines.

She was being quite stoic about it. She didn’t even seem surprised.

“And I don’t believe it would help to have an English barrister at an American courtmartial. They might not take kindly to it, and that wouldn’t help you either.”

“Please,” she said, “you don’t need to explain. I’m very grateful for all the trouble you’ve already taken.”

She gave him an empty smile and started to gather up her handbag.

Daventry hoped his nagging feeling of guilt didn’t show. He had considered telling her his reasons. About the pressures, the hints, the warnings. That he couldn’t be a martyr for a cause that wasn’t even his. That he had too much to lose, that he was on the threshold of becoming part of the legal establishment and that he couldn’t afford, by this one ridiculous involvement, to throw it all away.

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But, on reflection, he had said none of it.

“If you like, I can still give you the name of a couple of solicitors … to hold your hand,” Daventry went on. “If you pick one, I can have a word with him. It’ll be no problem.”

“No, thank you,” said Serena. “Well, I don’t suppose there’s anything else we need discuss?” she added coolly.

Daventry got up and escorted her to the door. “You will go next week?”

“You mean, will I be a good girl and report as ordered to the courtmartial?”

“You mustn’t ignore the subpoena,” said Daventry, a little awkwardly. “Don’t put yourself in contempt.”

“I’ll see,” she said, her hand on the door handle. “But in any case,” she continued, a thin smile on her lips, “I won’t be causing you any more problems, Mr. Daventry.”

Then she walked out of his office, closing the door behind her.

Daventry felt as if she had slapped his face.

Friday, July 21, 1961

Karlsrahe

HERR STAMM was looking for something, there was no doubt about that, decided Fraulein Scholtz. The question was what he was after, and why he wouldn’t tell her.

The new boss played his cards close to his chest, as she’d found out soon after he’d taken over. She often found him in his office before she arrived, at eight in the morning, and he was frequently still working when she left in the evening.

And he asked for all sorts of files and dossiers, and sometimes even went into the archives and the general registry office to look for them himself.

Fraulein Scholtz had the clearance to take them back after he had finished with them, but Herr Stamm always returned them personally. It was almost as if he didn’t want her to know what he had been looking at.

At first she had been highly offended. She wondered if he didn’t trust her. After Herr Unrnh’s unfortunate demise, a cloud had hung over Bl, and everyone in the department felt slightly uneasy. But after she got to know

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Herr Stamm a little better, she sensed he wasn’t really suspicious about her; it was more that he liked to keep his thoughts and his activities as secret as possible even from his own confidential secretary.

Then a curious thing happened. Herr Stamm came into her room.

‘Yell me,” he said, “do we have anything else about Martin Schneider?”

“Martin Schneider?” she repeated, puzzled. She prided herself on having an index-file mind, with instant recall, but momentarily she drew a blank.

‘The who was shot. He had come across from East Berlin. The double agent. Herr Pech was the field officer.”.”

“Ah,” said Fraulein Scholtz, remembering now. “We have the case file downstairs.”

“I have seen it.” Herr Stamm didn’t seem impressed. “That is why I asked, do you know if there is anything else?”

“Whatever we have will be correctly filed and in his dossier,” Fraulein Scholtz pointed out primly.

“I see.”

“Would you like me to ask Herr Pech if “

“No, thank you,” replied Herr Stamm, somewhat hastily, she thought. ‘That won’t be necessary.”

“Is there anything specific you are looking for?” she asked.

“No, it’s all right. By the way, when Dr. Berger arrives, please show him straight in.”

And he returned to his office.

In all the years Fraulein Scholtz had worked in Bl, faithfully serving the various department heads, she had never been kept in the dark like this. Dr. Berger, for instance. Who was he?

Herr Stamm had made the appointment privately. Then he had simply entered it in the diary without explanation. It was very galling, not to be taken into his confidence.

Actually, there was nothing mysterious about Dr. Berger. He was a scientist from the Bundeskriminalamt in Wiesbaden, where he was the head of the federal crime lab. Herr Stamm didn’t particularly want to advertise that he had asked for his services.

“Well?” asked Herr Stamm when his visitor had settled in the chair under the Adenauer portrait.

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Dr. Berger brought a thin file out~of his case. “It’s all in here,” he said.

“Perhaps you could explain it to me in layman’s language,” said Herr Stamm. “I am not very scientifically minded, I regret to say.”

“It is quite simple,” began Dr. Berger. “The man Martin Schneider was killed by a~bullet from a PI ninemillimeter pistol. Fired at reasonably close range.”

“And …”

“Your predecessor, Herr Unrnh, was also killed by a PI ninemillimeter. Fired from close range.”

“Ah.”

“I gather that an attempt was made to convey the impression that Herr Unrnh had shot himself, but subsequent investigation showed he had actually been murdered.”

“Something like that,” murmured Herr Stamm.

“We tested the gun that was found in his hand. It was a useful exercise.”

“That’s why I brought you into it, Dr. Berger,” said Herr Stamm. “I thought it might prove interesting.”

“Here,” said Dr. Berger, putting a photograph in front of him. “Bullet A killed Martin Schneider. Bullet B killed Herr Unrnh. Both are ninemillimeter caliber.”

“And both were fired from the same gun?”

“Exactly,” said Dr. Berger, and for the first time he smiled. “A completely positive test.”

“So if, for argument’s sake, it was Herr Unrnh’s gun, it would suggest that he killed Schneider and that he then shot himself with it later? But if in fact he was murdered, it merely suggests that the murderer killed first Schneider and then Herr Unrnh with the same weapon?”

“It would seem so, would it not?”

“Hmm,” mused Herr Stamm.

“I have one question,” said Dr. Berger. “As we have the pistol in our possession, you can surely trace if it was Herr Unruh’s own gun?”

“My dear doctor,” said Herr Stamm, a little patronizingly, “people in our department don’t necessarily register their guns. Sometimes it is best not to be too official about such things. Let us simply say, B-One has weapons available.”

“Well, that’s as far as I can help you,” announced Dr. Berger. “I’d like to get back as soon as it’s convenient.”

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“Of course.” He buzzed Fraulein Scholtz. “Get Dr. Berger transportation, please. To Wiesbaden.”

“Yes, sir,” said Fraulein Scholtz, and slammed down the receiver. -.

In Stamm’s office, Dr. Berger snapped shut his briefcase.

“It’s none of my business,” he said chattily, “but it sounds intriguing. This … Martin Schneider and Herr Unruh. Didn’t I hear somewhere that Schneider was a double agent, an Ulbricht man? Working with an American contact in Berlin?”

Herr Stamm was most courteous.

“You’re absolutely right, Doctor,” he said politely. “It actually isn’t any of your business.”

London

Verago cashed a check at the Columbia Club, and as he passed the reception desk, he saw his name chalked on the message board.

“I’m Captain Verago,” he told the girl.

She gave him a sealed envelope. Inside was a short note:

Let’s meet for a drink. Grosvenor House, today, 6 P.M.

It was signed “Dean Apollo.”

He had wondered when he would meet the prosecutor, but this was not the way he had imagined it. He read the note again. Lieutenant Colonel Apollo certainly seemed to know his movements. He was evidently aware Verago was in London, that he might stop by the Columbia Club, that he would be free at 6-P.M.

Verago went back to the desk.

“Do you have a Lieutenant Colonel Apollo staying here?” he asked.

The girl checked her list, then shook her head. “Is he due?” she inquired.

“I don’t know,” said Verago, and left her puzzled.

It was now five thirty. The note had been finely timed. If he hadn’t shown up, he wouldn’t have gotten it in time. The man took a lot for granted.

When he entered the lobby of the Grosvenor House,

Verago looked around the lounge. He could see no air force ollicer. He checked his watch: two minutes past six.

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A man in an armchair by the window got up. He wore a blue blazer and a sports shirt. He came toward Verago, holding out his hand. He was smiling, not only with his mouth, but his eyes too.

“Tony Verago, glad to meet you,” he announced without hesitation.

Verago shook his hand. The man’s grip was firm.

“Colonel Apollo?” he said, intrigued that this man knew him on sight, despite Verago not wearing uniform and them never having met before.

“Cut the colonel crap, Tony,” said Apollo.

“Sir?”

“I said forget the rank bullshit. We’re not in court. We’re just two lawyers who want to get to know each other. So come and sit down and have a drink with me.”

He guided Verago to the armchair next to his. “What’s it going to be?”

“Scotch and soda,” said Verago.

Apollo gave the order while Verago sat back, studying him. He was youngish for a nonrated light colonel, prematurely gray. He was suntanned, and Verago wondered how he managed that in England. His eyes were intense, penetrating.

“I hear you’ve been making yourself very unpopular,” remarked Apollo.

“I have?”

“You know it.” He gave Verago a hard look. “Don’t you care about your career? Your commission?”

So that’s it, thought Verago. The fatherly talk would be upcoming. Shades of Colonel Ochs and the rest of the bunch.

“What career?” asked Verago, offering Apollo a cigarette.

Apollo shook his head. “Let’s see. You’ve had thirtyeight general courts and about one hundred specials during your tour in Germany, mostly defending. You lost the majority of them.”

“But I won a few,” Verago reminded him, snapping shut his lighter.

“Sure. You haven’t done badly,” agreed Apollo. “Considering that ninety percent of all military trials result in guilty findings, you scored a few points.”

The drinks arrived.

“Put them on my room,” Apollo told the waiter. “I’m staying here,” he explained to Verago. “Places like the

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Columbia Club suffocate me. You can’t spit without hitting brass. I can take so much, but I like my own fresh air, even if it costs me.”

“It’s okay if you can afford it,” remarked Verago.

“Let’s talk about Tuesday. Do you think you’re going to score any points?”

“I don’t think we should “

“Why are you doing it?” Apollo interrupted. “Why are you sticking your neck out?”

“I look on it as doing my job.”

“Don’t we all.” Apollo sighed. He looked Verago straight in the eye. “I have a feeling, Tony, that you’re a man after my own heart.”

Here comes another ploy, thought Verago. The “we’re all boys together” routine.

“Colonel,” began Verago, “please save your time. I know the song sheet by heart.”

For a moment Apollo regarded him stonily. Then he grinned, and the grin turned into laughter.

“I didn’t know guys like you still existed.” He chuckled. “You restore my faith, Tony. After all the time servers and all the survivors who keep this military justice machine creaking, you’re like a shot in the arm. There’s hope for us yet.”

Then the bonhomie faded. “Pity we’re on opposite sides on this one. I wish you had something to get your teeth into….”

“Maybe I have.”

“No,” said Apollo. “I know what you’re thinking, and I’m telling you it’s got nothing to do with it. The only question is whether the man is guilty of the charge and specification. Anything else is irrelevant, immaterial, and inadmissible. And you know it.”

“We’ll see,” said Verago.

“By the way …”

“Yes?”

“Have you ever considered you may be on the wrong side?”

“How’s that?” Verago asked warily.

“That the baddies might be the goodies?”

“You know,” Verago said thoughtfully, “somebody else said that to me.”

“Maybe he was right too.” Apollo shrugged. “Maybe there are a few, a very, very few occasions when the end does justify the means. Just thought I’d mention it.”

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“You’re quoting Karl Marx.”

“I’d quote the devil if the point he made was applicable,” snapped Apollo. Then he smiled at Verago.