The Bormann Testament Page 7

  Chavasse shook his head. “Not really. The only thing I didn’t already know was that Muller was once Bormann’s orderly. That at least explains their connection. The sister’s still alive. Until yesterday we knew where she was living and working, but for the moment we’ve lost track of her.”

  “Then obviously you must find her again,” Sir George said. “She may be the key to the whole thing.”

  Chavasse shook his head. “Muller is the key to the whole thing. He’s the one we’ve got to find.” He glanced at his watch. “I’d better be making a move.”

  Sir George nodded. “It might be wiser. I’ll walk down to the gates with you.”

  They left the bar and moved through the crowd, following the broad curve of the track. As they walked, Chavasse said, “By the way, did you tell the Chief anything about this mess when he spoke to you on the telephone?”

  Sir George shook his head emphatically. “No, I thought perhaps you’d want to handle that yourself.”

  They had passed where the cars were parked and were moving toward the gate through the stream of people who were still coming in. Chavasse started to thank him, but Sir George suddenly caught hold of his arm and jerked him violently around.

  As they started to move back the way they had come, Chavasse said, “What’s wrong?”

  “Steiner’s standing at the gates with half-a-dozen policemen,” Sir George said.

  Chavasse glanced back over his shoulder quickly. Steiner and his men had obviously only just arrived, and they stood around him in a group as he gave them their instructions. As Chavasse watched, they moved away, taking up prearranged positions so that all the exits were covered.

  “For God’s sake, come on, man,” Sir George said, and pulled him into the car park.

  As they moved between the crowded vehicles, Chavasse said, “There’s bound to be another way out of this damn place.”

  “No need to worry about that,” Sir George said, and halted beside a Mercedes. “I’m going to take you out and by the front gate.”

  “Not on your life,” Chavasse told him. “I’m not getting you involved in this.”

  He started to turn away, and Sir George grabbed hold of his arm and held him with a grip of surprising strength. His face flushed, and when he spoke, his voice shook with anger. “What sort of a man do you think I am?” he demanded. “I’m not going to stand by and see a pack of damned Nazis have their way. You’re going to get on the floor in the back of the car with a rug over you and we’re going out that main gate. Do you understand?”

  The years seemed to have fallen away from him, and for the moment, he was once more the young colonel who had led his men over the top at the Somme armed with a swagger stick, his belt and buttons gleaming.

  He opened the rear door of the Mercedes. “Get in!” he said.

  Chavasse hesitated, and then he shrugged and did as he was ordered. He lay on the floor and Sir George covered him with a rug and closed the door. A moment later and they moved slowly away.

  They came to a halt and steps approached. As the man started to speak, Chavasse held his breath, and then he heard Steiner’s voice break in angrily. “Leave this to me. Go back to your post.” He leaned down to the window and said in his careful, clipped English, “Sorry you’ve been troubled, Sir George.”

  “Ah, Inspector Steiner,” Sir George said. “Who are you looking for this time?”

  Chavasse could almost see Steiner’s characteristic shrug. “No one in particular, Sir George. It’s an old police custom to spread a net when there is a large crowd. It is surprising how often it pays with a good haul. I regret you have been inconvenienced.”

  The car moved on and picked up speed. Chavasse remained on the floor for another five minutes, and then he pushed back the rug and sat in the rear seat. “That was close.”

  Sir George shook his head. “I wasn’t worried for a minute.” He laughed excitedly. “You know, I’m beginning to enjoy this, Chavasse. I’ve been living my safe, ordered, and rather stuffy existence for so long now, I’d almost forgotten what it could be like to take a chance.”

  “You’ve taken enough for one day,” Chavasse said. “You can stop any time you like and let me out. I’ll catch the U-Bahn back into town.”

  Sir George shook his head. “Nothing doing, my boy. I’ll take you to where you want to go.”

  “And what about your friends?” Chavasse reminded him. “They’ll be wondering what’s happened to you.”

  Sir George swore mildly. “You’re right, I suppose. Where can I drop you then?”

  “We’re coming into Hellbrook,” Chavasse said. “You can stop outside the underground station. I can manage fine from there.”

  A few moments later, the car drew in to the side of the road and Chavasse got out. He leaned in at the window. “Thanks for everything. You deserve a medal.”

  Sir George snorted. “Just remember to call on me if you need any more help.” He chuckled. “You know, you’ve given me a new lease on life. I don’t think I’ve enjoyed myself so much for years.”

  The big car turned and roared back along the road to Farmsen. Chavasse stood there, watching it go and thinking about Sir George Harvey. He was quite a man, there was no doubt about that. As the car disappeared from sight round a bend in the road, he turned and went quickly into Wandsbek station.

  IT was nearly four-thirty when he mounted the stairs to Anna Hartman’s apartment and knocked on the door. It was opened almost at once, and she pulled him inside, her face white and strained. “Where have you been?” she demanded. “I was almost out of my mind with worry.”

  “Any particular reason?” he said as he took off his coat.

  She shook her head. “There hasn’t been a mention of the train affair on the radio. I’ve listened to every bulletin. I can’t understand it.”

  “You worry too much,” Chevasse said. “Steiner’s probably persuaded his superiors to allow him to handle the case in his own way. After all, he can’t let someone else get their hands on me—I might talk too much. He’s got to reach me first, if only to save his own skin.”

  He pulled her down beside him on the couch. “Did you manage to find out anything about Katie Holdt?”

  She shook her head. “Not a thing. Her landlady didn’t even see her go. Apparently she left the rent she owed in an envelope, with a brief note saying she’d been called away urgently. There was definitely no forwarding address.”

  “That’s a pity,” Chavasse said. “She might have proved useful. At least we now know how Muller came to be connected with Bormann in the first place.” She looked surprised and he quickly explained about his trip to Farmsen.

  “How on earth can you take such risks?” she said when he had finished. “Couldn’t Sir George have given you the message over the phone?”

  Chavasse jumped to his feet and walked across to the window. “I suppose he could, but I get restless. I have to be in at the heart of things.” He turned with a smile. “Never mind about me—has Hardt been in touch yet?”

  She nodded. “We’re to meet him at Blankenese tonight in a café by the Elbe. I know the place. Apparently, he’s found out everything we need to know about Kruger and his clinic.”

  “That sounds fair enough,” Chavasse said. “What time are we meeting him?”

  “Nine o’clock,” she said. “It will be dark by then.”

  He moved across to the couch and pulled her to her feet. “That gives us almost five hours to kill.” He held her hand securely. “What on earth can we find to do?”

  She drew away from him. “There’s a newspaper there,” she told him. “You can read that while I prepare a meal for you.”

  She went into the kitchen and he followed her and stood leaning in the doorway, a slight smile on his face. “I much prefer to watch you.”

  She turned to look at him, and suddenly she moved forward and into his arms. “Oh, Paul, I was so frightened for you,” she said. “You’ll never know how frightened I was.”


  He held her tightly in his arms and stroked her hair and whispered comfortingly, and all the time he was staring out of the opposite window as he admitted the one, hard fact that he had not wanted to acknowledge. That from the moment he had first seen her at the Taj Mahal, standing just inside the door in her ridiculous harlot’s dress, he had been caught in a tide of emotion so strong it could not possibly be denied.

  As he lifted her face, he wondered ironically what the Chief would say, and then he kissed her and forgot about everything. About Muller, Steiner, the Bormann manuscript—everything except this girl.

  CHAPTER 7

  They arrived at Blankenese at half past eight and parked the car in the Hauptstrasse. Anna led the way and Chavasse followed her along a narrow, steeply sloping alley that finally brought them out onto the shore of the Elbe.

  There were plenty of people about, and the gaily painted, brightly lit cafés that lined the shore seemed to be doing good business. Anna led the way into one of them, and they sat down at a corner table on a terrace that jutted out over the water. Chavasse ordered two beers and gave her a cigarette while they waited.

  The terrace was lit by a string of Chinese lanterns and they had it completely to themselves. As they sat there in silence, he felt curiously at peace with himself; a small wind lifted across the water, carrying with it the dank, moist smell of autumn.

  “I like this place,” he said. “Have you been here often?”

  She nodded. “Blankenese is one of my favorite spots. It’s very popular with young couples, you know.”

  He leaned across and placed a hand on one of hers. “Do you think we could qualify for the club?”

  A sudden, delightful smile appeared on her face and she took hold of his hand and gripped it firmly. “Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we could, Paul? If only we were like all the other couples strolling along the Strandweg—just two people in love and enjoying each other’s company with nothing else to worry about.”

  For a moment, he wanted to tell her that there was always something to worry about—money, disease, poverty, old age—but he didn’t have the heart. He smiled and said lightly, “Mark isn’t due until nine. That gives us at least half an hour to pretend.”

  She smiled again and said softly, “Then let’s pretend.”

  The waiter brought their beer and Chavasse drank his slowly, reveling in the cold dryness of it, and watched a passenger ship steam slowly past on its way out to sea, a blaze of lights from stem to stern. Faintly across the water, he could hear voices and careless laughter above the throb of the engines.

  “I wonder where it’s going,” he said.

  “Would it matter?”

  She smiled sadly, and he took her hands and said gently, “You’ve stopped pretending already.”

  She looked down into her glass for a moment, a slight frown on her face, and then she disengaged her hands and lit another cigarette. After a while, she looked across at him, a slight, wry smile on her face. “It’s rather ironic, really. Until yesterday, I was perfectly sure of myself, happy in the knowledge that I was doing something important, something worthwhile. Nothing else seemed to matter.”

  “And now?”

  She sighed. “Now I am in love.” She laughed briefly. “For me it’s a new experience. I haven’t had time before. But you jumped into my life feet-first. You appeared in my line of vision and I couldn’t possibly avoid you.”

  “Are you sorry I did?”

  For a moment, she hesitated, and then she flicked her cigarette down into the water and shook her head. “No, if I regretted having known you, I’d be regretting life itself.” For a moment longer, she stared out over the water at the ship disappearing into the night, and then she turned and said in a low, intense voice, “Is there anything for us, Paul? Can we ever get away from this sort of life?”

  He stared out into the darkness and thought about it. How many times during the last five years had he been at this stage in a job? One jump ahead of trouble with the prospect of more to come, treading the razor edge of danger. Half his life seemed to be spent under cover of darkness, meeting strange people in even stranger places. And when all was said and done, when everything was finally under wraps, to what ultimate purpose?

  Was any of it worth what he held now in the hollow of his hand? He looked across at her, at the despondent droop of her shoulders, and as he watched, she took a deep breath and straightened.

  She smiled bravely. “I wonder if Mark will be on time.”

  He reached across. “To hell with Mark. To hell with the whole bloody show. For two pins, I’d walk out now. We could take the Volkswagen and drive to Holland, cross the border on foot before daylight. I’ve got friends in Rotterdam—good friends.”

  She shook her head slowly. “But you won’t, will you, Paul? The job comes before everything—remember telling me that? And it’s a fine principle and an honest one.”

  If anything, he loved her even more for saying it. He leaned across until their faces were almost touching, and said urgently, “But afterwards, Anna? With any luck, we’ll have this whole thing wrapped up within two or three days. I could pack the game in then.”

  She seemed to be infected by his own enthusiasm, and a faint flush of excitement tinged her cheeks. “Do you really mean it, Paul? But where would we go?”

  He smiled. “Hell, what does it matter? Israel, if you like. Perhaps I could get a job lecturing at this Hebrew University of yours.”

  She sighed and shook her head. “I’m afraid we suffer from a surplus of intellectuals.”

  He shrugged. “All right, then. We’ll go back to the land. My grandfather was a Breton farmer—I’d probably manage to hold my own on that kibbutz you told me about.”

  “Near Migdal where I was raised?” she said. “That would be wonderful, Paul. Of all things, I think that would be the most wonderful.”

  “We could climb that hill of yours,” he said. “I can see us now. A fine warm afternoon with no one else for miles.”

  “And what would you do when we reached the top?”

  He grinned. “Oh, I don’t know. I’d find something.”

  She reached across and touched his face gently and shook her head in mock disapproval.

  From another café a little way along the strand someone played an accordion, and the music drifted sweetly across the water, a little sad, transitory, like the autumn leaves that the small wind scattered from the trees at the water’s edge, and Chavasse pulled her to her feet and into his arms and they danced alone there on the terrace, her head against his shoulder.

  For a little while, it was as she had wanted it to be and nothing else seemed to matter, just the two of them there on the terrace alone, and then there was a slight, polite cough and they drew apart hastily to find Mark Hardt standing looking at them, a strange expression on his face.

  “So you got here,” Chavasse said, rather pointlessly, and they all sat down at the table.

  “You two seem to have been enjoying yourselves,” Hardt said. He looked across at Anna and she gazed back at him calmly. He shrugged and turned to Chavasse.

  “Where did you get to this afternoon? A little unwise venturing out during daylight hours, surely?”

  Chavasse shrugged. “Not really. There was a message for me from London. I went to the races at Farmsen to meet Sir George Harvey.”

  Hardt raised his eyebrows. “Anything interesting?”

  “They’d just discovered who Muller was and thought it might be useful. Apparently, he was Bormann’s orderly for a time.”

  “That was something I didn’t know,” Hardt said. “However, we’ve got more important things to think about at the moment.” He unfolded a sheet of paper and placed it on the table where they could all see it.

  It was a carefully drawn sketch-plan of the clinic and Chavasse examined it with interest. “This is good,” he said at length. “Where did you get it?”

  “A local real-estate agent,” Hardt said. “There’s an empty house next d
oor and I told him I was interested in buying. The plan he showed me included Kruger’s clinic as well. Apparently, the property was only converted last year.”

  “Did you find out anything else about the place?” Chavasse said.

  Hardt nodded. “Yes, security is pretty strict. High walls, broken glass set in concrete. There’s a bar opposite the main gate and I had a word with the proprietor. According to him, Kruger handles a lot of mental cases. Rich neurotics, women with twisted sex lives. All that sort of thing.”

  Chavasse studied the plan again. “How are we going in?”

  “It should be pretty simple.” Hardt leaned over the plan. “The dividing wall between the clinic and the empty house is about ten feet high. Once over that, we enter the building by way of the boiler-house door. There are several cellars beyond that and from one of them, a small service elevator serves all floors. It’s used for laundry.”

  “What about the patients?” Chavasse said.

  “Every Sunday night they have a film show in the lounge on the ground floor. It doesn’t finish until ten. From what I can find out, everybody goes.”

  Chavasse nodded. “That should give us a clear field. If Muller is in there, it stands to reason he must be on either the first or second floor and it shouldn’t take long to locate him. There are only fifteen rooms.”

  Hardt glanced at his watch. “We’d better make a move. It’s nine-fifteen already and we haven’t got a lot of time to spare. Where have you parked the car?” When Anna told him, he nodded. “It’s only five minutes from there.”

  Chavasse paid the waiter and they left quickly, and climbed back up the steeply sloping alley until they reached the Hauptstrasse. He and Anna got into the rear seat and Hardt drove.

  The clinic was on the corner of a narrow side street lined with chestnut tress, and a sound of music came from the small bar opposite the great iron gates. As Hardt drove past, Chavasse saw that they were securely locked and beyond them the clinic loomed out of the night, half-hidden by trees.