The Apocalypse Watch

  “Monluc,” said Drew. “My God, he’s still alive!”

  “Whoever he is, he is the treasure they keep alive.”

  “Is he a treasure?” asked Witkowski. “Or in reality a figurehead to be manipulated for their own purposes?”

  “I can’t presume to give you an answer,” said the educated, high-priced call girl, “but I doubt he’s manipulated by anyone. Just as the help are frightened of his aides, those same aides appear to be terrified of him. He constantly berates them, and when he threatens them with dismissal, they virtually cower before him.”

  “Could they be playing their roles?” Latham studied the courtesan’s face in the dull blue light.

  “If they are, we’d know it, for we must constantly play our own parts. Impostors can rarely fool other impostors.”

  “You’re impostors?”

  “In many more ways than you can imagine, monsieur.”

  “Still, there has to be talk. That kind of behavior doesn’t go unnoticed.”

  “Gossip, yes. The most persistent rumor is that the old man controls enormous wealth, extraordinary funds that only he can disperse. It’s further said that he wears electronic devices under his robes that monitor him constantly, sending signals to medical equipment on the fourth floor, which in turn are relayed to unknown locations in Europe.”

  “At his age, I can understand it. He’s got to be over ninety.”

  “They say he’s over a hundred.”

  “And still with all his faculties?”

  “If he plays chess, monsieur, I would not wager heavily against him.”

  “The relay machines, chłopak,” interrupted the colonel. “If they’re programmed to retransmit, they can be torn apart and those unknown locations traced.”

  “If nothing else, they’d lead us to the money sources, the transfer points. That’s why he’s monitored wherever he goes. If he drops deep dead, the vaults slam shut until other orders come.”

  “And if we can trace the locations, we’ll know where those orders come from,” added Witkowski. “We’ve got to get up there!”

  Drew turned to the cool but still frightened Elyse. “If you’re lying, you’ll spend the rest of your life in a cell.”

  “Why would I lie at a time like this, monsieur? You’ve made it clear that I will be pleading for my freedom in any event.”

  “I don’t know. You’re bright, maybe you figure we’ll be killed trying to get up there, your fall-back position being well-paid whores who don’t know a damn thing. That could play.”

  “Then she will be dead, mon supérieur,” said Etranger Two. “I will strap her to the gate in the wall with plastique between her legs, exploded by my electronic contrôle.”

  “Christ, I didn’t know you had that sort of thing!”

  “I added a couple of things, chłopak.”

  “I offer you a better solution,” said the courtesan, reaching out and holding the young girl’s shoulder. “I offer you both of us.”

  “Et moi?” squeaked the miniskirt. “What are you saying, Elyse?”

  “Be quiet, ma petite.… You wish to get into the Eagle’s Nest, n’est-ce pas? I suggest it would be easier with us than without us.”

  “How so?” asked Latham.

  “We are familiar—accept that as you care to—with many of the help and most of the guards. We can get you through the kitchen and into le grand foyer, where the main staircase is. The backstairs, as you can see by the plans, are through lesser parlors on the right. We can do this much and something more, something most vital. You will need one of the old man’s aides to get into the top floor—if you even reach it. There are five, all armed, and their quarters are also on the fourth floor, but one or another is always on duty. He stays in the library, in the front of the château, where he can be reached instantly by the patron, or anyone on the staff. I’ll point out the door to you.”

  “What about us?” said Etranger One. “How do you explain us?”

  “I’ve been considering that. The security here is immense and varied. Technicians and others arrive and depart to check the equipment. I will say you are exterior patrols who have been sent to cover the grounds outside the wall. Your clothing will support the lie.”

  “Sehr gut,” said Dietz.

  “You speak German?”

  “Einigermassen.”

  “Then you tell whoever may ask, it will be more authoritative.”

  “I’m not dressed like them.”

  “You obviously are under those clothes you removed from the guards.”

  “Jean-Pierre Villier …!” said Drew, as if the name had suddenly struck him out of thin air. “ ‘Clothes are the chameleon,’ or something like that.”

  “What are you talking about, chłopak?”

  “We’re going about this the wrong way.… Strip, Captain, down to your shorts!”

  Four minutes later, Latham and Dietz, minus their fatigues, were in the far-better-fitting paramilitary uniforms of the neo-Nazi guards. The black cloth covered the bloodstains and the single rip in the commando’s back, while the webbed belts accommodated both their knives, garrotes, and small automatic Berettas.

  “Tuck in your shirts, especially the rear,” ordered the colonel. “Looks more tailored that way.”

  “Heil Hitler,” said Dietz, glancing approvingly at what he could see of himself in the dim blue light of the cabana.

  “You mean Heil Jäger,” Drew corrected him, equally pleased with his appearance.

  “The only thing you say is ‘Halsweh,’ Cons-Op.”

  “Remember, Frenchmen, I’m your commanding officer,” said Witkowski. “If any questions are asked, I answer them.”

  “Très bien, mon Colonel,” agreed Etranger Two.

  “Ready, guys?” said Dietz, picking up the two semiautomatics and handing one to Latham.

  “As ready as we’ll ever be.” Drew turned to the women, who rose together from the canvas chairs, the young Adrienne frightened, trembling, the older Elyse pale and resigned. “I don’t make judgments, only practical observations as I see them,” continued Latham. “You’re afraid, and so am I, because what these two younger fellows do, I usually don’t—I’ve been forced to. Believe me, somebody has to, that’s all I can tell you. Remember, if we get out of this, we’ll be on your side with the authorities.… Let’s go.”

  44

  The first of the kitchen help to see the uniformed Latham and Dietz come through the door were two men at a long butcher-block table, one chopping vegetables, the other straining liquid through a sieve. Startled, they looked at each other, then back at Drew and the captain, who instantly separated in military fashion, permitting the camouflaged Witkowski to walk and stop between them. Grim-faced, they bent their elbows quickly in the informal Nazi salute, as if the colonel were a man of considerable stature, an impression the G-2 veteran reenforced. “Sprechen Sie Deutsch? Falls nicht, parlez-vous français?” he barked.

  “Deutsch, mein Herr!” said the astonished vegetable chef, continuing in German. “This is a place for food, sir, and only we can be trusted.… If I may, sir, who—who are you, sir?”

  “This is Oberst Wachner of the Fourth Reich!” announced Dietz in clipped German, his eyes looking straight ahead. “He and his security colleagues were ordered by Berlin to inspect the outer grounds without notification. Kommen Sie her!”

  On command, the Etranger agents, gripping the arms of the two courtesans of the Eagle’s Nest, marched through the open door.

  “Can you identify these women?” fairly snarled Witkowski. “We found them walking freely around the pool and the tennis court. It is very lax here!”

  “We are permitted to do so, you fool!” cried the white-gowned Elyse. “I don’t care who you are, tell your apes to take their hands off us, or start paying money!”

  “Well?” shouted ‘Oberst Wachner,’ staring at the kitchen help.

  “Oh, yes, sir,” said one chef, “they are guests here.”

  “And our c
ontract does not include servicing strangers, only other guests to whom we have been properly introduced!” Elyse glared at Witkowski. The colonel nodded; the agent du combat removed his hand, as did One from the miniskirted Adrienne. “I believe you owe us an apology,” said the older, far more intelligent call girl.

  “Madame.” The colonel elaborately clicked his heels and bowed his head barely an inch or two, immediately turning back to the cooks. “As you may gather, our assignment here is to analyze the security measures without interference from those who would cover up the flaws if they knew we were here. If you like, call Berlin to verify our presence.”

  “Ach, nein, mein Herr! This happened before, several years ago, and we certainly understand. We are merely kitchen chefs, and would never interfere.”

  “Sehr gut! Are you the only ones on duty?”

  “At the moment, yes, sir. Our associate, Stoltz, left for his room an hour ago. He must be up at six o’clock to prepare the breakfast buffet—what we have not prepared for him.”

  “Very well, we shall continue our inspection beyond here. Should anyone inquire about us, you don’t know what they’re talking about. Remember that, or Berlin will remember you.”

  “Wir haben verstanden,” said the vegetable man fearfully, nodding repeatedly. “But, if I may, mein Herr, for I wish to cooperate fully with Berlin, the guards inside are trained to fire on unannounced intruders. I would not care to have your lives on my conscience—or on my record. Verstanden?”

  “Don’t be concerned,” replied Stanley Witkowski, whipping his American identification out of his pocket and proclaiming with the panache of a long-ago Polish royal, “If nothing else, this will put away their weapons.” He swiftly repocketed his U.S.A. embassy credentials. “Also, we’ll take the ladies with us. The big bitch has a sharp, loud mouth. We’ll be fine!”

  Latham and Dietz leading the procession, the French-American invaders walked through the double doors into the great hall of the château. A circular staircase, dimly lit by wall sconces, rose from the center of the huge, polished wood foyer. There was an archway straight ahead leading to other darkened, high-ceilinged rooms, and on the right, to the left of the large double doors of the entrance, a smaller door, light shining through the space between the lintel and the bottom panel.

  “That is the library, monsieur,” whispered Elyse to Drew. “Whatever aide is on duty will be in there, but you must be quick and cautious. There are alarms everywhere. I know, for I have frequently thought of using several of them myself.”

  “Halt!” cried the voice of a silhouetted figure emerging on the first landing.

  “We are a special force from Berlin!” exclaimed Dietz, sotto voce in German as he raced up the staircase.

  “Was ist los?” The guard raised his weapon as the commando fired two silenced rounds in rapid succession, and without breaking his stride reached the fallen patrol, dragging him to the steps and rolling him down the staircase.

  The library door opened, revealing a tall man in a dark suit, a long cigarette holder in his left hand. “What is the racket?” he asked in German. Latham yanked the garrote from his belt, instantly arcing it over the head of Monluc’s aide, twisting it and pivoting the man’s body so that he was behind the Nazi. He loosened the leather strap and spoke.

  “You do exactly what I tell you to do or I roll the straps and you’re dead!”

  “Amerikaner!” choked the neo, dropping his holder. “You are the one who is dead!”

  “Oberst Klaus Wachner,” said Witkowski, approaching the aide and staring at his contorted face. “The stories of your obscene security appear to be true,” he continued in harsh German. “Berlin—even Bonn—knows about them! We penetrated your measures, and if we could, our enemies can do so also!”

  “You’re insane, a traitor. The man choking me is an American!”

  “A prized soldier of the Fourth Reich, mein Herr. A Sonnenkind!”

  “Ach! Nein!”

  “Doch. You will follow his orders or I will let him have his way with you. He loathes incompetence.” Witkowski nodded for Latham to further unloosen the straps of the garrote.

  “Danke,” coughed Monluc’s aide, grabbing his throat.

  “Two,” said Drew, nodding at the second Etranger agent. “Take over this clown! Go up the backstairs; they’re through those other rooms—”

  “I know where they are, monsieur,” the Frenchman broke in. “I simply do not know who is there.”

  “I’ll go with him,” said Dietz. “I speak the language and my semi’s in front of us both.”

  “Put it on rapid-fire,” ordered Latham.

  “It’s on it, Cons-Op.”

  “According to the plans,” continued Drew, “there’s a walled corridor around the entire floor. Once you’re up there, bring him around to the center.”

  “Unless we’re all in trouble,” countered the commando.

  “What do you mean, Captain?”

  “You don’t know what’s up those staircases any more than I do. Say you catch total fire, one of us has to blow the place apart. I shove this bastard’s hand into a door slot, open it, and throw in grenades.”

  “You can’t do that, and that’s an order!”

  “It’s standard, Cons-Op. We don’t risk our lives to come up with zero!”

  “We’ve got to get whatever’s up there, goddammit, we can’t blow it apart! Before I do that, I’ll radio the assault unit down the road.”

  “There won’t be time, for Christ’s sake! The neos will do it themselves!”

  “Stop, both of you!” cried Elyse. “I offered you the two of us and that offer remains. Adrienne will precede your captain and the Nazi on the backstairs, and I shall climb in front of you, monsieur. The patrols will hesitate to shoot either of us, for there are constant assignations between men and women here.”

  “Berchtesgaden,” said Witkowski quietly. “An alpine whorehouse run by a Führer who claimed to be purer than a newborn lamb.… She’s right, chłopak. The sight of the girls gives us the split-second advantage, front and back. Take it.”

  “Okay!… Let’s go, and I hope to hell I’m giving the right order.”

  “You don’t have a choice, young man,” said the colonel softly. “You’re the leader, and like all leaders, you listen to your staff, evaluate, and make your own decision. It’s not easy.”

  “Cut the military bullshit, Stanley, I’d rather play hockey.”

  Elyse, in her diaphanous white gown, started regally up the circular staircase; Drew, the colonel, and Etranger One followed ten steps behind her in the shadows.

  “Liebling!” whispered a guard in the hallway beyond the landing, his voice exuberant. “You got rid of that drunk from Paris, no?”

  “Ja, Liebste, I came only for you. I am so bored.”

  “All is quiet, come with me—ach, who are they? Behind you!”

  Etranger One fired a single silenced shot. The guard collapsed on the railing, fell over it, and plummeted down to the marble floor below.

  The backstairs were dark; the only light, far above, created shadows within darker shadows. The terrified Adrienne climbed step by quiet step up the steep staircase, her body trembling, her wide eyes filled with fear. They reached the second floor.

  “Was ist?” came the strident voice from above as the sudden glare of a powerful flashlight filled the entire staircase. “Liebchen? … Nein!”

  Etranger Two fired; the Nazi guard fell over, his head caught in the banister. “Go on!” ordered Captain Dietz. “Two more floors to go.”

  They crawled ahead, the child-whore named Adrienne crying copiously, blowing her nose on the cloth of her blouse.

  “It is not that far, ma chérie,” whispered Etranger Two gently to the young girl. “You are very brave and we will tell everyone that.”

  “Please tell my father!” whimpered the young girl. “He hates me so!”

  “I shall do so myself. For you are a true hero of France.”

  “
Am I?”

  “Keep going, child.”

  Latham, Etranger One, and the colonel stopped abruptly on the staircase at the sight of Elyse’s hand waving behind her; it was a warning. They stepped back on the descending steps against the dark shadowed wall and waited. A blond guard walked rapidly out on the third floor landing; he was agitated, angry. “Fräulein, have you seen Adrienne?” he asked in German. “She’s not in the room with that pig, Heinemann. He’s not there either, and the door is open.”

  “They probably went for a walk, Erich.”

  “That Heinemann is an ugly fellow, Elyse!”

  “Surely you’re not jealous, my dear. You know what we are, what we do. Only our bodies are involved, not our hearts, our feelings.”

  “My God, she’s too young!”

  “Even I’ve told her that.”

  “You know Heinemann is a pervert, don’t you? He demands terrible things.”

  “Don’t think about them.”

  “I hate this place!”

  “Why do you stay?”

  “I have no choice. My father enrolled me when I was in middle school and I was very impressed. The uniforms, the camaraderie, the fact that we were outcasts together. They said I was special and selected me to carry the banners at the meetings. They took photographs of me.”

  “You can still leave, my friend.”

  “No, I cannot. They paid for my years at university and I know too much. They would hunt me down and kill me.”

  “Erich!” shouted a male voice from a hallway beyond the landing. “Kommen Sie her!”

  “Ach, that one, he’s always yelling. Do this, do that! He doesn’t like me because I went to university and I really don’t think he can read.”