"I am sorry, Keegan," Wolffson said. "But we also love her. She's my sister, not just my half sister, my sister in my heart, you understand? Werner has loved her since they were born, they grew up together, same street. Joachim went to school with them, all the way through college. We share your agony. We understand what is happening inside you. But there is nothing . . . we . . . can . . . do. "
Keegan did understand the awesome frustration of the tragedy. Jenny was just one of hundreds, thousands, who had been lost in these camps. And these people were becoming immune to the pain because of the enormity and futility of the problem.
"I can't relate to all that," said Keegan fiercely, pacing the room. "I can't relate to thousands of people, I can only relate to her, that's all the tragedy I can handle right now. Right now I hate the world. I hate you for telling me it's hopeless."
"I think the time has come to get rid of all Judenopferers, teach them they must stop betraying their own," Weber said.
Wolffson flicked an ash off his cigarette and shrugged. "And become just like them?"
"Why not?" said Keegan. "For the first time I understand the meaning . . . the true meaning . . . of an eye for an eye."
"Listen to me," Wolffson said. "Please, it is important. What we are doing, it is very delicate, a very fragile thing. A very dangerous thing. But it is important. Even to save one life is important, more important than killing."
"But not hers, right?"
Gebhart stood very close to him, his eyes also misty, his fists also clenched. "Don't you get it, Ire, vunce the Gestapo has dem it iss over. No matter who it iss, even your own mother or father, it iss over. Ve are not an army, ve are students and teachers and old men mit no training. Ve cannot take on the SS and the Gestapo. Ve must help those who haff not been caught."
"We understand how you feel," said Wolffson. "Please understand our frustration is just as agonizing."
And suddenly Keegan realized how sorry he was feeling for himself. These three men were family, lifelong friends, silent lovers. His anguish was no deeper than theirs.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I was being bloody selfish."
"It is all right," Wolffson said. "We know all the feelings." He stopped for a moment, then said, "Keegan, you must leave Berlin and the sooner the better."
"I won't leave, not without her," Keegan answered.
"Don't you understand, man, if you go on the list, they will torture you too. You know too much about us."
"I don't know anything they don't know already."
"You know about our Paris connection," Weber snapped, moving very close to him. "How we got Jenny over here, how big the network is. As long as you are in Germany, you are a danger to us."
"Or . . ." Wolffson said thoughtfully.
"Or what?" Keegan asked.
"Or you could go to Vierhaus. Pretend you know nothing. Tell him Jenny is missing and ask for his help."
"Ask for his help! I want to kill the little freak."
"Exactly what he would expect, so if you can keep calm you will convince him you know nothing," Wolffson said. "He may give up some information we can use."
"You want me to spy for you?"
"For me, for Jenny, for you."
Keegan settled down again. Maybe the kid was right, maybe he could beat Vierhaus at his own game. It was certainly worth a try.
"All right," he said, "what can I do?"
"Go back to your hotel . . ."
"I don't have a hotel, I was planning to take Jenny out of here tonight."
"You usually stay at the Ritz, correct? Go there and check in. Call Vierhaus. Tell him you came back to get Jenny and she is missing. Her apartment is torn up. That's all you know. It will throw him off, convince him you know nothing."
"That's a long shot. That's about a two-hundred-to-one job."
"I'm afraid I don't understand."
"It doesn't matter," Keegan said. "What else?"
"If we should learn they are after you for any reason, we will call," Wolffson said. "The message will be, ‘This is the tailor, your suit is ready.' If you get that message leave immediately. Avoid being followed, of course. Go to the city zoo, the Tiergarten . There is a phone booth near the carousel. Wait there and we will call you. So you will know it is us, when you answer we will ask if you picked up your suit yet. Your answer will be, ‘No, they did not fix the torn pocket.' Then we will give you instructions."
"Come on, all this is conjecture and . . ."
"Keegan, we've been at this for a long time. Believe me, it is not conjecture. If it happens, do not even think, move. Get out of the hotel and to the zoo."
A silence fell over the room. Cigarettes were lit. Wolffson got a cup of coffee. Gebhart sat in a chair and cracked his knuckles, slowly, one at a time.
"Okay," Keegan said finally. "I'll give it a shot. What do you really think they're doing to her?"
"They will torture her. Even if they know she knows nothing, Hitler wants revenge against the Black Lily. They know she is a Kettenglied. They'll do anything to find out what she knows. Thankfully it is not much."
"What's the best we can hope for?"
"That she can convince the Gestapo she knows nothing," Wolffson answered. "And that they let her die quickly."
"If she survives?" Keegan kept his voice steady.
"If she stays alive? Dachau," said Wolffson.
"What's Dachau?"
"A little town about thirty kilometers from Munich," said Wolffson. "They have built a camp there, an enormous prison stockade for political enemies. It is like a Russian slave camp."
"How long will she be in for? How much time will she get?"
"It doesn't work that way," Weber said.
"There is no sentence," Gebhart said in a low voice. "She will be there forever. Dachau is a forever place."
THIRTY
He lay in bed all night watching the phone, waiting for Vierhaus to answer his calls. He had called three times, talking to the same icy male SS operator on the other end of the line. On the last call the operator became abusive.
"Don't you understant," the Schutzstaffel man snapped in his thick German accent. "He iss not here! He vill call you ven he iss ready to call you. Auf wiedersehen. "
Sleepless, Keegan lay clothed on the bed thinking about Jenny. Wondering where she was at that moment. Wondering what horrors the Gestapo was wreaking on her. Imagining himself attacking the prison, killing all the guards, and whisking her to freedom in some mad, outrageous rescue scheme that could only happen in the movies. And, too, he wanted to get even. Vierhaus, Conrad Weil, von Meister, each had contributed in a different way to the tragedy, each for a different reason, and each was equally responsible.
The minutes crawled by. Dawn sneaked through the drapes, spreading a crimson stain across the carpet. He watched the spear of light lengthen and widen and slowly illuminate the room.
The phone was a silent threat. He stared at it, reached out, then drew his hand back. He wouldn't call the miserable bastard again. Pain laced his stomach and he reached out again, asked for room service and ordered coffee and rolls. When he heard the knock on the door he opened it, expecting the bellman. Bert Rudman was standing there.
"Can I come in?" he said softly.
Fear cut into Keegan again, a pain now so common he recognized its roots immediately. Bert Rudman had never asked to come in before. Barging in with arms waving, that was his style.
"I didn't know the Gestapo had picked up Jenny."
"Yes. I've known since late last night. I called the bureau and left a message for you."
"God, I am sorry, Kee."
"I don't know what to do. I've never felt this . . . this helpless before."
"You look like hell. Have you been to bed?"
Keegan shook his head. "I couldn't sleep," he said. "What do you know? For sure, I mean?"
"She was arrested at two o'clock yesterday afternoon . . ."
Keegan slammed a fist into the palm of his hand. "Damn it, why
did I make that call," he anguished.
"What call?"
Keegan paced the room, burning off nervous energy, rambling in a low voice as if he were talking to himself, as if Rudman wasn't there and he was addressing an imaginary friend, recounting the steps that had led to Jenny's imprisonment.
Rudman walked over to Keegan and stared at him quizzically.
"How do you know all that?" he asked when Keegan finally was quiet.
"Some of it's conjecture, most of it's fact. I know it, take my word for it."
"What else do you know?"
"That they probably tortured her. She may be dead by now. I understand that's the custom."
Rudman took Keegan firmly by the arm. "She's not dead, Francis."
"Are you sure? How do you know?" Keegan said in a rush.
"I got a tip. She was moved about five this morning."
"Moved where? Where did they take her?"
"They're taking her to Dachau, Kee."
Keegan was too stunned to speak for a moment. He was not surprised. The news itself was not unexpected. It was the reality of the news, knowing his worst fears had materialized, that got to him.
Dachau!
"No!" his voice croaked.
"They got four of them. They were arrested for . . ."
"No!" Keegan suddenly screamed, his fists clenched.
"Listen . . . listen to me, Francis, there's nothing—nothing—you can do right now. At least we know she's alive. She's a political prisoner. If she were tried, she'd be tried for high treason. But there isn't going to be a trial. She's gone for now, Kee. Maybe when . . ."
"Damn, is that the only tune anybody knows? That's all I hear. Nothing. I'm tired of hearing that word."
"Kee . . ."
"I'll go to the embassy. Damn it, I'll call the president . . ."
"Kee . . ."
"Goddamn it, we're going to be married! She'll be an American citizen. Hell, she hasn't done anything. Her brother's . . ."
"Kee!"
Keegan stopped. He was soaked with sweat and his hands were shaking.
"Aw, listen to me, man," Bert said. "If I could storm the place by myself and bring her back to you, I'd do it. And if you weren't my best friend I couldn't say this to you . . ."
"Then don't," Keegan cut him off. "You listen to me. I don't buy nothing. I . . . can't . . . give . . . this . . . up!"
"You have to!" Bert answered, his voice rising too. "You don't have any choice!"
"You're telling me that and you claim to be my best friend . . ."
"Christ, I'm trying to be honest with you . . ."
"Bullshit. Bullshit!"
Rudman felt his own anger building but he held it in.
"Listen, you're the one used to say it wasn't any of your business, remember?" he snapped back. "This isn't your country. It will all blow over. Used to tell me I was hysterical. Hysterical? Look at you."
"What the hell do you expect me to do? Jitterbug around the room?"
The room service bellman arrived and they both cooled down while Keegan signed the check. Rudman poured two cups of coffee. He sat down on the sofa.
"Every day hundreds—maybe thousands—of people are dragged off the streets like this," Rudman said shaking his head. "Out of their homes, offices, shops, out of schools, for God's sake, and their families never see them again . . ."
"I'm not one of them. I'm an American citizen . . ."
"Immaterial, pal," Rudman interrupted this time. "You've got to get that fixed in your head. All your money, your influence, it doesn't mean anything here. You are one of them, Kee. The same pain, same anger, same . . . everything. This thing, you're just one of the crowd. All those other voices drown you out."
"Then we'll tell them. Write a story about Dachau, about what's happening . . ."
"Damn it, don't you understand, nobody wants to hear it. I did a story on Dachau for the Tribune three months ago. It was buried on page thirty in the New York edition."
"So I roll over and play dead, that it?"
"Kee, you can't get her out," Rudman said slowly. "The whole world feels the way you did, that it's a German problem."
"You won't do anything because it'll jeopardize your precious bloody bureau, is that it?"
"Aw, for Christ sake, Kee . . ."
Keegan whirled suddenly and threw his coffee cup at the wall. It shattered, spraying bits of china around the room, the coffee etching a brown stain down the wallpaper. His shoulders sagged.
"Go on, get out of here." Keegan waved his hand dejectedly. "Leave me alone."
"To do what?" Rudman said. "Wallow in self-pity?"
Keegan dropped into a chair and did not answer. He seemed to shrink from the weight of the tragedy. Rudman sighed and walked to the door. "You're just another member of a very sad club, Kee, and the membership's growing larger by the day."
He left. As the door clicked shut, Keegan jumped up.
"Ah shit," he said, striding across the room after him. The phone rang.
Vierhaus? he thought. Finally.
He rushed across the room and snatched it up.
"Yes?" he said, far too eagerly.
"Mr. Keegan?"
"Yes."
"This is your tailor. Your suit is ready."
Keegan, disoriented, angry, completely overwrought, wasn't thinking clearly.
"What? What suit?" he snapped.
"Your suit is ready and we're closing early today, Mr. Keegan. "
Click.
Keegan suddenly snapped back to reality. Was that Wolffson? he wondered. He didn't recognize the voice, not enough time. My God, he thought abruptly, that was the warning. Was the Gestapo after him now?
He stopped in the middle of the room, took deep breaths to calm himself down. What was it Wolffson had told him? If they called about the suit go immediately to the city zoo and find the phone booth near the carousel.
Immediately!
He checked the front window of the suite, then the back. Nothing out of the ordinary. He went to the closet and got his briefcase, the only luggage he had. He snapped it open, took out an envelope, checked the contents, and stuck it in his inside pocket. There was nothing else of real value in the case. He left it on the table and checked the windows again. As he was watching, a black Mercedes sedan pulled up and parked on the opposite side of the street. Four men wearing leather raincoats and black hats got out. Two of them entered the front of the hotel, the other two walked around to the rear.
Keegan left the suite, took the elevator to the second floor. He walked quickly to the fire stairs and started down. As he reached the first floor, the door opened. Two black hats barged into the stairwell. They stood two feet away from Keegan.
Leather coats, black fedoras, expressionless faces, blank eyes, lean as jackals. The only difference between the two was their height. One was two inches taller than the other.
The taller one stared at Keegan with surprise for a second, then blurted, "Herr Keegan?"
Keegan reacted immediately. He kicked the tall one in the kneecap as hard as he could. The man howled with pain and fell to the floor. As he did, Keegan slashed his knee into the shorter one's groin, grabbed his collar and slammed his head into the wall. His forehead split open. Keegan slammed him into the wall one more time and as he fell, reached inside the man's coat and grabbed the grip of his gun.
Whirling on the taller one, Keegan stuck the Luger under his nose.
"You make a sound and I'll blow your brains all over that wall. You understand me? Verstehen?"
"Ja. " The German nodded, his face still distorted with pain.
"Auto keys, Schlüssel? Where are they? Beeilen sie sich mal, beeilen!"
"I don't . . ."
Keegan jabbed the muzzle of the gun under the agent's chin, shoved his head back.
"You drove the car, you lying son of a bitch. Give me the keys or I'll kill you just for the hell of it."
The agent fumbled in a vest pocket and handed him the ring of keys
.
"Take off the coat and hat. Beeilung!"
The agent struggled to one knee and took off the coat. Keegan snatched his hat off and put it on. He took the coat, leaned forward and slashed the pistol down on the back of the agent's head. The man sighed and fell unconscious.
Keegan put on the coat and stuck the gun in his pocket. He pulled the hat down low over his forehead, entered the lobby and, without looking to the right or left, walked straight to the entrance and out the door. He crossed the street, got in the Mercedes, cranked it up and drove off. He turned right at the first street, stepped on the gas and wove his way through traffic. In two blocks he turned right, drove another block, turned left and parked. He got out and threw the keys down a sewer trap. He walked to the corner and found a taxi.
"Tiergarten," he said as he got in.
The rain had settled into a fine mist. When Keegan got out of the taxi, he went into a store across the street from the zoo entrance. He waited until the taxi pulled away and rounded the corner, then he walked briskly across the street and entered the zoo. The carousel was in the middle of the park near the lake. The phone booth was beside the monkey cage across the walk from the merry-go-round.
Keegan stood with his hands in his pocket and waited for the phone to ring.
"Do not turn around, Ire, " a voice said behind him. "Listen quick. Ve haf learn Vierhaus is going to arrest you as a Spion. "
"I know. They came to the hotel after me."
"You are in serious trouble. Go to the rear of the carousel now. Iss a toolshed there. Go inside."
"Have you heard any more about Jen . . ."
"Beeilen!"
A young couple came by and stopped beside Keegan. They stood with their arms around each other, ignoring the rain, and threw peanuts to the monkeys. Not a care in the world, Keegan thought. Two days ago that could have been us. He waited until they moved on. When he turned around, there was nobody there.
He walked around the carousel, found the toolshed and went inside. It was a small utility room. A large worktable and chair took up most of the space. A bare bulb hung from a cord over the table. Cobwebs, like gossamer nets, dominated the corners.