Chapter 13
Matt learned the facts of life at an early age. He had a nympho aunt who played erotic games with him when he was only eleven. Even as a kid he was never one to question a good thing. He liked sex and developed a keen appetite for it. He made his first personal conquests at fourteen when he showed his maleness to the school nurse during a routine examination. That was the real beginning, and if he were to start counting, he would never believe his own capabilities. For that reason he seldom looked back. Now, entering middle age, Matt still had a remarkable hunger to satisfy, and this rendezvous proved it.
Twice Ada used her mouth to taunt him to fulfillment. Once he reciprocated to her. But later came the real test. He introduced his eternal instrument to the moist warmth within the leather entranceway and brought Ada to a rousing, crying climax. Not once, not twice, but three full times. When they lay together in their exhaustion, he heard her repeated groans of gratitude and praise.
She said something about her plan being unimportant now, that she wanted him all to herself. But when Matt insisted, she finally withdrew from her reveries to explain. She said that Christine Lavie was in the dungeon and refused to disclose her secret. The scientist said it was memorized and nothing could pry it loose. Ada explained that Christine had already lost her fingernails, and every bone of her left hand had been crushed beyond repair. Still, the woman refused to yield.
"Christine has led a lonely life and has never been truly loved by a virile man," said Ada. "I think a real lover would win her over. Now I am certain you can do it."
"I don't follow you," Matt said. "Would she feel romantic after a night of torture?"
"I will allow her to rest for a few hours, and let her know she has only a short time to live. Then you will be thrown into her cell, as a prisoner. You can pretend that you are an intelligence agent who has been exposed. If she believes you, she may want to make the most of her final hours. I think it will work. I happen to know she would give anything for a single moment of happiness with a male lover."
"How does that get you the formula?"
"Talk to her. Reason with her. Tell her to mix the formula for the stalling of time. Say you have friends ready to move in at a certain hour."
Matt nodded. The more he heard of this the better it sounded. "Good idea," he said. "If she goes for it."
"For now, rest," said Ada. "I will call you at the proper time."
"Fine," said Matt, looking forward to the sleep.
"After the work is done, you and I will have much to do with each other, my handsome lover. I will not let you go unrewarded."
Ada kissed his lips and tucked him under the soft covers. Matt would have preferred his nap to take place in a distant room somewhere, but perhaps this was better. At least he would be safe from the detection of those downstairs. He cleared his mind and drifted off. It was early evening when the smiling servant girl awakened him.
She told him to go to Ada's living room when he was showered and dressed. The girl left and Matt's heart began to pound. His moment of truth was approaching.
He took a fast shower in the bathroom and used a convenient razor to shave. He dressed quickly into the clothing he had borrowed from Fritz, and entered the living room. He expected Ada to greet him, but found himself confronted by the sinister looking doctor he had met upon his arrival.
The doctor apologized for Ada's absence. He said she was occupied with the arrival of the Bormann entourage. "I must go down and pay my respects," Matt said quickly, said she was occupied with the arrival of the speak to you confidentially."
Matt waited. The doctor lit a cigarette and Matt sat on the Victorian sofa. The uniformed Nazi paced before him as he spoke. "Ada's idea is perhaps valid, or it may be just a bit fanciful. But there is something she doesn't know. I am a dedicated Nazi. I am zealous in my every act. I found it necessary to use every device available with our French scientist."
Matt didn't know what Rosch was leading up to, but it was obvious he was on the defensive. This, Matt liked. Rosch had goofed some- "Not yet," said Rosch. "Look, Heintz- I must Matt for cover. Matt soon learned the gory details.
Rosch explained that even pentothal had failed to open Christine's mind, so in desperation, he had heightened his torture techniques. He had given her the hot iron where it would hurt most. Consequently, Christine was in no condition for sex of any kind.
As he spoke, Rosch stretched his neck from his tight collar and fidgeted. He tried vainly to rationalize his behavior. "As you can see, the romantic approach is worthless." He was seated now, facing Matt. "I suggest you still play the role of spy, however. And since she is-well, dying, she may confide in you."
Matt nodded and tried to appear unaffected by the confession. His inclination was to choke the Nazi swine there and then, but no Nazi soldier would do that. Nor could he show concern for an enemy.
Before they made their way into the underground catacombs, Rosch tore and disheveled Matt's clothing. Then he was escorted to the cell by a pair of guards, and was pushed inside. As the plot unrolled, Matt began to wonder if this game was for keeps. But he had to risk it. Maybe they knew something for real.
The cell was dark and damp. Matt sat on the stone floor, waiting for his eyes to adjust. When they did, he saw two figures in the large tomb. One was a horrible caricature of a man. He was nude, and his eyelids had obviously been surgically removed. His eyeballs stared ahead in Orphan Annie grotesquerie. Matt had to turn away. When he did, he saw the limp, naked form of Christine Lavie lying in the far corner of the dungeon. He crawled to her side and touched her cheek. Her eyes opened slowly at his touch.
In his role, Matt didn't have to worry about bugs. What he would say was what the Nazis wanted to hear. He explained he was CIA and that he had been found out. At these words she livened and managed to sit up.
Despite the urgency, Matt had to ask who the other prisoner was. Christine had learned that he was Baron Von Kemp, the husband of Ada. But he had somehow fallen in disfavor. Each day, she told him, he had been tortured a step further. She said he had spoken to her when she was first held prisoner, but after that he had been removed for an operation that made him unable to speak. The eyelids had been removed before her arrival.
Matt was aware of the gravity of his situation from the start, but this brought things into better focus. The dim light didn't disguise Christine's damage either. One breast was raw and ugly from cigar burns. Her right hand was mangled and caked with dry blood. The left had each nail removed, and the fingers were swollen to three times the normal size. Her eyes were only slits, having been blackened by cruel blows. Her nose was broken and swollen; both lips were cut.
If she had ever been beautiful, no one could tell it now. Her internal injuries couldn't be seen, of course, but Matt knew this was the worst wound of all-it was the fatal one. She seemed to know, too. "We have little time," she whispered into his ear. "I will die. But-if by some miracle, you should escape, there is a chance you can incapacitate the others. Find my belongings. In my purse is a small cologne bottle. It is filled with my formula. One gram will . .
Matt waited patiently, but could hear only a sharp intake of breath. In a moment the slim figure slumped against him. She was unconscious-no-she was dead. He tried again and again to find a pulse, but none was there.
The paradox of his role came to him with her demise. Suppose he had really been a Nazi. They would now have the formula, which could easily be analyzed. But they didn't, and she chose to trust somebody in her final moments. So now what was he to do? After a few minutes he called to the guards, and they removed him. He was escorted up the back stairs to Rosch's private rooms.
"I think I convinced her," said Matt nervously. "She tried to tell me something . . ."
"What did she say, man?" Rosch insisted, grabbing Matt's lapels. "Speak up."
"Nothing," Matt said with a shrug. "She's dead."
Rosch slumped into a leather chair, his arms dangling over the sides, "You're sure?"
"Positive."
"Then please," said Rosch with sudden urgency, "you must help me. The death of the woman must not be known-not yet. We need time."
"Have you gone through her things?" Matt asked.
"Over there," said Rosch, nodding to a desk in front of the bay window. "I found nothing."
Matt casually stepped in that direction as Rosch rose to pace the room. "It was our leader's fault," Rosch said derisively. "She said she had the formula. But I will have to make the explanations. She did this, Heintz, and now I must pay."
Matt was trying to be nonchalant as he dumped the contents of Christine's purse on the desk blotter. He poked through the items and singled out the small bottle of cologne. "We could pretend we do have the formula," Matt volunteered. As he said it, Matt palmed the small bottle and faced Rosch. "You could mix something up that would have a narcotic effect of some kind and pretend it is more potent than it is. It would provide time. How could they know?"
Rosch was smiling. He actually grinned as he came to Matt. By this time Matt had the bottle in his pocket and was returning the other strewn items back into the purse.
"Brilliant!" Rosch exclaimed, his hands on Matt's shoulders. "Then you will cooperate?"
"I have little money, Herr Doctor," said Matt. "You understand."
It was that simple for Matt to become Rosch's closest confidant. With this development, Matt was greatly encouraged. It might just work after all. Rosch told Matt to advise Ada that the formula was theirs and that a batch was being prepared now by Rosch. When Rosch ran off to his lab, Matt lost no time. It was the dinner hour and he must get to work.
The first stop was the kitchen. Matt was able to capitalize on the confusion to sprinkle drops of the chemical into the giant coffee urn. When he found a tray of silver water pitchers, he added drops to each of them.
All of this required nearly an hour, because conversation with the servants was required to pull it off. He said he was ordered to await his leader in the kitchen. Then Matt came upon a stroke of luck. In a small pantry a hefty assistant chef was in the process of putting together a huge bowl of champagne and brandy punch. The moment the chef left the room, Matt was able to dump several drops of his chemical into the crystal bowl. This punch would pack a wallop the Nazis would never forget.
He had everything covered, and now was a good time to pass a message to Ada. He scribbled her a note and asked a waiter to deliver it. In a few moments Ada joined him in the pantry. She was lovely in her silver gown. Her hair was drawn high on her head and was topped by a diamond tiara.
"Where have you been?" she said.
"Rosch has the formula," Matt said. "He is mixing it now."
"Excellent!" she said, kissing Matt's lips. "You are a genius. I must return to the others. Meet me in my rooms later."
Before she left, she asked Matt if he noticed who was seated at her right at the dinner table. He said he hadn't yet, but he would. Later, from the garden beyond the French doors, he saw the man. There was no mistaken the face, although age had taken its toll. The artificial right hand eliminated all doubt. Bormann had lost his hand to a Russian shell when he was fleeing Berlin.
Matt was winning, and only had to wait. With such powerful doses, the drug would surely take effect overnight. He left the castle to search for his room. He might still have need for the luger he had stuffed in the suitcase after the flight from Oslo. When he entered the cottage, an uninvited visitor was seated there awaiting him. Matt's own luger was being trained on him. It was in the hands of Roland Guthrie.
Matt was usually adept at covering his emotions, but this was too much of a shock. His mouth fell open as he halted. "How in God's name did you get here?" Matt demanded.
Guthrie laughed. " It wasn't easy, old boy. Not easy at all."
"Who else infiltrated?" Matt asked more calmly. He sat in the chair across from Guthrie.
"I admit we have a man on the inside," Guthrie said. "He was a fellow passenger on your trip from Oslo. In fact, he sat next to you this morning at breakfast. He sent me an innocent sounding message later-that told me you were here. He even radioed your cottage number." Guthrie sobered. "All right, Matthew, where is it?"
"Where is what-old bean? Bormann? He's inside."
"He's not my prime interest, and you know it. The stakes I'm playing for are much higher."
"I don't follow you, Guthrie."
"I want that formula, Matt. If I know you, you're sure to have it by now."
Matt rose and went to the tray of liquor on the table near the door. "They didn't get it, sport. Too bad for you, eh?"
"I'm not fooling, Pyne," said Guthrie, more menacingly. "I'll kill you for it, you know."
Matt poured a long drink of Scotch and turned to Guthrie, sipping it. "So shoot away. It won't do you any good."
"You fool," said Guthrie, rising. "Give it to me, and it will mean at least a million pounds for us to share."
"You really had me snowed, Rollo. All that stuff about snatching Bormann. Well, he's here right now. At least that much was true."
Guthrie managed a smile. "I knew that obsession would still hold you. I had you pegged fairly well. You're a vindictive monster, Pyne. You really are."
"Maybe. But I'm no goddamned traitor. Who are you working for, Rollo? The Russians?"
Then it came to Matt. Guthrie didn't deny it, but Matt realized how stupid he had been. "Oh-I meant to tell you," Matt went on in afterthought. "Your daughter-she's a pretty fancy lay, you know that?"
Matt was ready. As he spoke he threw his drink and then dived. Guthrie fired, but the slug zinged over Matt's head. Matt tackled Guthrie at the knees, and with his fall the gun went flying. Matt pinned the small Englishman to the floor.
"You swine-you wretch!" Guthrie said almost in tears. "You did rape her, didn't you? Just to get even."
"You're wrong, sweetheart," Matt said. "I didn't even know who she was, and it wasn't exactly rape. But you didn't hesitate to move in on Carey. That was deliberate."
"But Pammy's only a child. How could you do it?"
Matt recalled that Pamela had called herself Penny, but he still should have known. "I have a hunch your kid doesn't think too much of her old man," Matt said. "She was probably trying to pay you back for past favors. Was she onto your plot with the Russians?"
Guthrie was fresh out of fight. He sighed in defeat. "It was my son. The meddler picked something up. Not enough to prove anything. You see, I was using a former intelligence operative to monitor Heintz's radio. I thought I could trust him, but he hinted things to my son. That was how Pammy got involved. Brother enlisted sister to reason with Daddy before it was too late. You know-that sort of thing."
"So she was tailing you instead of me?"
"I refused to speak with her. I told her to wash her hands of me, and that she would understand when the money was sent to her mother. What's the use, Matt? People simply don't understand."
"How long have you been answering to the Kremlin, Rollo?"
"Long enough to do as I'm told. But . . ."
Matt hadn't thought this far ahead, but he should have. If Rollo had a confederate inside, why wouldn't he be checking here from time to time? Now was the time. The fake Nazi from the breakfast table had entered the room and was now ordering Matt to release Guthrie.
Matt did it, but not in the accepted form. He leaped aside and grabbed the lonely luger. A slug spun Matt around, but not before his luger took its toll. The fat intruder fell forward with a thump.
When Matt faced Guthrie, another gun was aimed for firing. Matt fired again, and the bullet caught Guthrie between his eyes.
Without delay Matt rushed from the cottage and kept running until he was deep in the rocky vegetation beyond the castle grounds.
He had no idea if anyone was close enough to hear the shots, but he couldn't afford to hang around to find out. As he sat on the ground gasping for breath, he examined the torn flesh of his left upper arm. The forty-five caliber automatic aimed by Guthrie's chum had bitten out a chunk of flesh the size of an orange. Matt styled a tourniquet with his belt, and hoped it would keep some blood inside his body. Then he prepared to wait.
When Matt returned to life he felt horrible. He was nauseous and so weak he could hardly lift his head. Everything was antiseptically white, and the smell of disinfectant was overpowering. When his eyes cleared, a face came into focus. The face was young and pretty. It was Guthrie's daughter. But how could it be? "Uh-where am I?" he murmured.
"Safe and sound," said the smiling face, her dimple in full display. "You're in a London hospital, Mr. Pyne."
"Carey?" he moaned. "Is she-I mean-never mind. . . ."
"She's great," Pamela said. "We've become well acquainted over the past two days."
None of it made sense, but Matt began to listen when Carey's friendly face came into the perimeter of view. She explained that he had nearly bled to death, but was discovered just in time. He drew her face against his chest. "Baby," he whispered, "can we try again?"
"I dreamed you would ask me," she wept.
It was settled that they would make it legal this time, but there was more for Matt to consider. He was told' that Christine's formula worked effectively. By the time Pam Guthrie directed the authorities to the island castle, practically every inhabitant was laid out in a deep trance. Others managed to escape. One of the escapees was the one Matt had wanted the most-Martin Bormann.
"Don't worry," said the intelligence officer. He's practically ours. We have him under surveillance in Norway. And Mr. Pyne, I think you could be of great assistance to us in rounding up what's left of these fanatics. If you're interested, we'd like to put you on the payroll as an advisor."
"We'll talk about it," Matt said with a weak smile. "But others-Rosch, Ada? How many did you get?"
"Rosch beat us to it, I'm afraid. He swallowed a cyanide pill. We have the Hitler offspring safely salted. She wants to cooperate, she says. She will do whatever we say if we will keep her true identity secret."
Will you go for the deal?" Matt asked.
The middle-aged official pursed his lips in contemplation. "Perhaps. Let's put it this way-if you read a splash of headline heralding the discovery of Hitler's daughter who has been living on a fog-bound island of the northern coast of Scotland-you will know we declined."
Matt and Carey were married in two weeks after his hospital discharge, and Matt accepted the intelligence job. But this time he would confine his duties to planning instead of acting.
There was a man named Bormann still at large, and Matt was designated as the man to plan his capture. He didn't mind doing the shot calling, because he was very much interested in living these days. He was even interested in starting to think about potential fatherhood.
As for Ada Hitler-the projected headlines never made the papers. Her prison sentence is being served under the name of Von Kemp.