Chapter 12
Matt didn't have time to worry about disposing of Fritz. He had barely submitted the problem to contemplation when the radio signal came.
He nervously affixed the head set and answered the call, using the signals he had learned from the replayed tapes. Then the cryptic message followed: "All is secure here in the fog, and we invite you to join us soon for the biggest play of the decade. If you can come, meet Hagstrom at eight. Pass the message along to the other friends. Please reply negative or affirmative." That was the extent of the communication.
Matt breathed a sigh of relief as he gave the affirmative reply. He was thankful so little was demanded of him. Afterward he attempted to decipher the meaning of the communique. It proved to be a surprisingly easy chore.
The name Hagstrom was obviously Scandinavian, and Fritz's book showed different street addresses. He chose the one numbered eight since the street number was accented in the radio message, and since the street had a Scandinavian sounding name. He called the London Times to ask the librarian if Oslo had such a street. It did. So Matt would report there at once and take his chances.
The other problem was more complicated. He was asked to pass along the message. But to whom, and how? It was important too, because they would soon discover the broken communication chain. It would be much simpler if he knew Guthrie's radio had intercepted, but he didn't. That was one of many things Guthrie had chosen to keep from Matt.
After an hour of searching Fritz's belongings, Matt proceeded by his wits. It was obvious this radio wouldn't be used to call South America, so he would be expected to relay the message to a nearer point. Cairo was a good bet. In a dog-eared list that turned up between the pages of a radio manual, Matt found circled numbers with radio call signals beside them. If number eight stood for Oslo, then what number represented Cairo? This was simple once his mind would accept it. He had simply to call federal communications to determine the call signals of various cities of the world. He would use the process of elimination.
He asked for the cities of five call signals and marked them down. The sixth one was Cairo. Now the remainder of his plan was set as well. He could raise Cairo, feign radio difficulty after passing the message, and ask Cairo to carry the message to successive stations.
Only moments were needed to bring in the German voice from the Egyptian station, and Matt relayed the Fog Island report verbatim. Afterward he included the mention of his mechanical problem, and asked that Cairo carry the message forward. All of it was done conversationally, and he was sure his voice and accent had fooled them.
With this accomplished, Matt called for a reservation on the next plane to Oslo, and attended to a few last minute details before departing. First, he packed Fritz's suitcase with his belongings, then placed all records and files in a large brown envelope. He found sufficient postage stamps in the apartment and addressed everything to his lawyer's office. In an accompanying note he told his legal representative to open the envelope in the event of the CIA. Matt could trust his lawyer, and within two weeks of the affixed date. Inside the brown envelope were instructions to forward most of the material to the London office of the CIA. Matt could trust his lawyer, and didn't give a damn how this would set with Guthrie, especially if Matt were killed. Matt mailed everything on his way to the airport.
Matt was amazed at his own foresight, but before he left the Guthrie flat, he had put his still valid passport into his coat pocket. This, as it turned out, was a wise bit of doing. He was working alone from here on, and preferred to avoid contact with Guthrie. He wouldn't screw Guthrie out of his cut if the plot was successful, but he would still work alone.
By the time Matt found himself debarking from the airport limousine in the center of Oslo, there remained two or three hours of darkness. Matt's hand was quivering as he leafed through the telephone directory of the pay phone. He didn't expect to find his party listed there, but it was. The name, Gustov Hagstrom. The address matched the one in Fritz's book. Matt would call first, and play it safe.
A deep voice answered almost at once. "This is Heintz," he said, "from England."
"Who?" Hagstrom demanded in broken German. "I know of nobody by that name."
Matt's mind rushed, and he recalled a number that was missing in the list. It was the number three. "Perhaps," Matt said with a quiver in his voice, "you know me as number three."
"Ah," said the voice immediately. "Where are you now?"
Matt told him, and Hagstrom said he would pick him up within five minutes. Matt hung up and slammed his fist against his palm. He knew little more than before, and he was getting too damned old for this sort of nonsense. He was shaking like a leaf. He had lost his nerve.
For a moment, Matt considered fleeing. What he was doing was fantastically risky. Only a miracle could pull it off. Was he suicidal or something? The question calmed him. Perhaps this was true in a way. He doubted it at the moment, but what else would motivate such stupid behavior? He wasn't all that determined to settle a score with Martin Bormann. The flag-waving stuff was left far behind. He was bored, he was fed up with his wasted life, and he just didn't give a damn. That was the only answer he could find.
But this wasn't true. Now, in this moment of decision, he knew he did want to live, and by God, he would. But he had to see this crazy thing through. Hell-he might even get lucky.
Before the five minutes had passed, he saw a black Saab sedan slow on the deserted street, and swerve to a stop. Matt saw a hand flagging him forward. Hagstrom, a burly man in his fifties, sped away, sending intermittent glances in Matt's direction.
"Funny," said Hagstrom, "one gets pictures in the mind when only a voice is heard. I had pictured you as much older."
This was good news because Matt was certain he was half a dozen years older than Fritz. In reply he only smiled and nodded.
"Do you know the great one?" Hagstrom ventured. "I was told you had been in South America."
"I-uh-met him only once," said Matt. He hoped that was a good answer.
"Wish I could go with you for the rendezvous."
"You-aren't going?"
"No-but you know who is reporting-being field grade, you must know."
But he didn't know. Matt had no idea what the man was talking about, "My-uh-mind is muddled. Perhaps I'm nervous now that the long-awaited day is here."
"Ja," said Hagstrom in a friendly voice. "We all are."
Hagstrom explained they were heading for a remote airport where Matt, along with seven other top Nazis, would be picked up by a private aircraft. The plane would transport them to the island off the upper tip of Scotland. Matt listened and his palms were again damp with sweat. Seven Nazis-this could be it. It could mark the end before the beginning.
"I wasn't included in all the details," Matt ventured. "Will I know my flying companions?"
"Ja. Some of them have been in South America. Others in Cairo. You probably know a few of them, if not all. I only know the pilot myself. But then I am a minor member of the conspiracy."
Matt was sunk and he knew it. But then with the danger more tangible he began to relax instead of panic. It was always the unknown that posed the greatest mental anguish.
One break was clearly in Matt's favor. The field of Hagstrom's destination was cloaked in darkness. Only in the beam form the headlights could figures be detected. Then as Matt got out with his luggage, a plane was already circling overhead.
"Ah-Heintz?" said a man, running to meet them.
"Ja," said Matt. He shook the hand that felt for his own.
"You are just in time. That is our plane. Come-it is already landing." A row of flashlights suddenly marked the runway.
Within a few minutes all the men were aboard the plane, and in another minute they were airborne. That was when the interior lights came on. Matt blinked and exchanged glances with the strange faces. But soon he became aware that only a few of the passengers were acquainted. Nobody seemed worried about him, because each of them probably assumed he was known by another. Besides, the airplane was noisy. He began to wonder what would happen when Heintz's presence was missed, but he wasn't looking for conflict. Strangely, it didn't come. The plane was a vintage German bomber and the seats were along the fuselage facing each other. Nobody studied him for more than a passing moment. In the meanwhile he attempted to recognize a face or two from the group. But none belonged to Nazis he had known from photographs. One thing was certain, Martin Bormann was not aboard.
In bits of shouted conversation, Matt was greatly relieved to discover that just about everyone was as disoriented as he was. Obviously there was no general communication explaining more than individual orders. So in the confusion he seemed safe.
It was daylight by the time the trip ended, but the landing strip was socked in by fog. A waiting six-by-six truck transported the passengers to the castle. The ride took about three minutes. Matt and his chums trudged to the front doors of the massive Gothic castle, where they were greeted by a Nazi in full regalia, standing at stiff attention. He opened the door and they entered.
In the grand foyer they were greeted by a short, cruel-looking officer named Rosch. Next to him was a magnificent blonde, who was identified only as "our leader." Matt was mystified, but tried not to show it. This was made more difficult because the shapely amazon seemed to be zeroing in on him.
There was much hand shaking and hugging by the reunited officers, and the reunion grew in size as several other officers entered the foyer from the adjacent ballroom. Matt chatted cheerfully with anyone who turned his way, and was glad to find things so informal. He had Heintz's ID, but what good would that be if he encountered suspicion?
Music started to play in the ballroom, and Matt followed the sound inside. Awaiting their presence were twenty or thirty young men and women. They all looked scrubbed and healthy and seemed to be waiting for their part of the ceremonies. The small orchestra played at the end of the long room. Ada promised the gentlemen they could have their choice of partners later, but since they were tired and hungry, they could eat and bathe and sleep if they wanted. The official party would begin in the evening when everyone had "arrived. She said Doctor Rosch would assign their rooms as they registered.
Matt followed to the end of the buffet table and fell into line. After they each signed the book, Rosch gave them tags with room keys attached to them. Matt drew G17. He studied it quietly.
"Ah," said Ada, touching his hand, and looking deeply into his eyes. "The G stands for garden. That means you will occupy one of the outside cottages. It's just to the rear of the house."
"Danke," said Matt. He was hoping he wouldn't have to share it, but this seemed unlikely somehow. It seemed-there was an abundance of room in this mausoleum. But, of course, he had no idea how many were expected to arrive.
Matt filled a platter with ham and eggs and let a sweet young girl carry his plate to a long table. "Happy to serve you, sir," she said gaily. "If there is anything you wish, please ask."
"Fine," said Matt, looking her over. She wore a simple skirt cut just above the knees, and he wondered the obvious. Would she really be available for every purpose? He supposed so when he caught the twinkle in her eye, but this time he would pass. He sat down and tried to show some enthusiasm for the food.
The table was soon filled with animated breakfasters, and Matt became aware of a presence at his left. He glanced that way to see Ada staring at him with interest. "You are Herr Heintz?" she said.
Matt gulped at his fried ham, almost choking. "Ja, my leader."
"We have pictures of everyone in the gallery upstairs. I recognized you from the photographs."
"You-did?"
She nodded. "Most of the others are so old they creak. You are young and showed promise. Now I'm even more impressed. You are much handsomer than your picture."
"Uh-danke, danke," he said, still having trouble masticating the mouthful of ham. "You -ah-are far more beautiful than I expected. If you will forgive my boldness, you are a breath of pure springtime."
She nodded approvingly, and seemed deep in thought. "My rooms are in the far wing of the house, on the second floor. After you are finished, please come to me there-the last doors in the corridor. Will you come?"
"But of course, my leader," he said with a gulp.
She smiled, and her teeth were as magnificent as the rest of her. "We could talk in the downstairs office, but it is so austere. Our conversation should be far more intimate-I believe. Is that agreeable?"
"Oh yes, my leader. Your wish is my command." Then she was gone, and Matt felt faint.
The caper was taking turns that baffled him.
Who the hell was this doll they all called the leader? Matt had to find some answers. He commented on the breakfast to the middle-aged neighbor, and in the spirit of camaraderie, later mentioned the remarkable beauty of their leader.
The fat old Nazi nodded, but his derision showed by the curl of his lip. "That she is, but I still consider Herr Bormann as my leader. She is only a figurehead.
It is good psychology to have the party led by Der Fuehrer's daughter, especially at such a momentous time. It will give greater meaning to our world movement."
"Ja," Matt agreed vaguely. He pretended to go back to his eggs.
WHO is WHAT? What did this gink say? Unless Matt was totally mad, he could have sworn he had said she was Der Fuehrer's daughter-Hitler's daughter? Suddenly Matt wished he were back in his grimy studio with Carey trying to unzip his fly as he was trying to soup negatives. Or-in the path of a speeding truck in Picadilly Circus. This was much too complicated-too damned bizarre to believe.
Matt couldn't refuse the order from the blonde beauty, and he supposed he would be safer up there than in the ballroom anyway. Sooner or later someone would ask for the real Fritz Heintz to please stand up. With this in mind, he took to the corridors. After a climb and a hike he finally found the doors. He knocked.
A smiling nymphet opened the door and immediately ushered Matt into an inner sanctum. There were two separate doors leading from the inner hall. One to the left, one to the right. He was taken left and found himself in a very plush sitting room. Soft music of the Montovani variety was playing on the stereo. Matt was asked to be seated.
"May I mix you a drink?" asked the sweet fraulein in the trim white uniform.
"Nein, danke," said Matt. She left then with her smile still fixed.
Moments later Matt's leader made her entrance, and he was flabbergasted, totally disarmed.
Earlier, her hair had been drawn back in twin buns, but now it hung loose in soft, blonde splendor. Her suggestive military uniform was gone now. It had been replaced by a garb Matt could hardly believe. This tall, voluptuous queen of the Nazis was wearing an extra layer of pure white skin. It was leather, Matt supposed, but it was thin and absolutely form fitting. The giant breasts were bulging upward, with their bold nipples showing clearly. Her navel etched a bump in the skin, and her gathering of flesh at the crotch of her long, sinuous legs was outlined in perfect folds. Fantastic! If she came like this with strangers, what would she be like with a friend ? Matt was on his feet, standing at attention.
"Relax, please," she said with a flick of her wrist. He sat on the couch and she sat beside him. "I hope you don't object to my informality."
"Of course not, my leader. You are woman enough to make good use of such a costume. I am quite overwhelmed."
Matt didn't know how Nazis were supposed to behave under such circumstances, but he would have to play it by instinct. She wouldn't have dressed this way if she didn't want his admiration. He figured he had made the right move.
"When I met you downstairs, I was impressed," she said pleasantly. "You may be the answer to a very sticky problem. When I sensed your essence of masculinity, the plan started to form in my mind, but I must be sure. That is why I am behaving so boldly. I hope I can rely on your total cooperation and confidence."
"But of course, of course," he said as if she needn't have asked.
"Do you like what you see, Herr Heintz?"
"Very much. As I said-I'm overwhelmed, mesmerized."
"Could such a brief acquaintance instill enough interest for you to experiment in certain sex games with me?"
Matt had little doubt, and told her so, but then he recalled the long, long night that had preceded this early morning demand. There had been Penny, a murder, a trip to Oslo, and then another trip to Scotland. There had been about twelve hours of it in all, but what a twelve hours! He was no kid anymore, but he hoped he could behave like one for her. It might be the final screw of his tired old life, and it might well determine how long he would live.
This was the content of his thought, as his leader led him into the plush adjoining bedroom. She artfully undressed him where he stood, and when she got to the bare facts, Matt was relived. Old faithful was stiffened to obedient attention at the first touch of her hand. Into the silken sack they went.