Ross Thomas - The Eighth Dwarf

Eva Scheel rose, picked up a plate, and offered it to Jackson. “Have some Milky Ways, Mr. Jackson; they really go quite nicely with tea.”

The candy bars had been sliced into quarter-inch-thick pieces and arranged with a great deal of care on the plate. Although Jackson wasn’t overly fond of candy, he took one, smiled his thanks, and popped it into his mouth. She’s giving her friend time to think, he thought as he watched Eva Scheel put the plate back on the table, resume her seat, and start stroking the collar of her fur coat as though she found it comforting.

“The Russians,” Leah said in almost a whisper. “I did not know about the Russians.” She looked at Jackson and then at Eva Scheel. “Why would the Russians...?” She didn’t finish her question.

Eva Scheel shrugged and looked at Jackson. “Perhaps Mr. Jackson would know.”

“I can only guess,” he said.

Leah nodded. “Please.”

“Oil.”

“Oil?”

“And politics. In the Middle East or Near East or whatever you want to call it, they’re all mixed up. The United States doesn’t have any Middle East policy — at least, none that’s discernible. The Russian policy is quite obvious. They want to move the British out so they can move in. Right now they’re tilting toward the Arabs, because they’re smart enough to realize that you can’t be at odds with the Arabs in Palestine without its reverberating throughout the rest of the Moslem world — and that means Saudi Arabia and Bengal and Malaya and North Africa and the Dardanelles; not to mention those sections of Russia which are also Islamic. Your brother, ill or not, is a very good killer. The Russians could drop him in almost any place where things are in a state of flux — Iran, for example, or Iraq — and if your brother took out just the right person or persons, then the resulting mess could be all the excuse that the Russians would need to move in.”

“What an interesting theory,” Eva Scheel said with a smile that was almost polite. “A bit farfetched, but interesting.”

“Then there’s Palestine,” Jackson said.

“What about Palestine?” Eva Scheel said.

Jackson looked at Leah Oppenheimer. “Your brother’s politics are a bit strange. Do you think he’s still a Communist?”

She shook her head. “I have no way of knowing.”

“Let’s say that he is. Let’s even say, for the sake of argument, that he’s the fervent kind. Now suppose the Russians were able to hand the Palestinians a top-notch killer who was also a renegade Jew who could pass as an American or an Englishman — or a German refugee. Don’t you think the Palestinians might make good use of him — perhaps even infiltrate him into the Irgun or the Stern Group?”

Leah Oppenheimer shook her head vigorously. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it?”

“My brother could never be anyone’s paid assassin.”

“Nobody really knows what your brother is — or what he could be, given sufficient incentive. Right now he’s killing bad Germans, or thinks he is. I don’t really think that bothers the Americans or the British or the Russians too much, not as long as he just keeps on killing those who’re really rotten. But there’s no percentage in it — at least, not for the Russians or the Americans or the British. Right now his talents, such as they are, are being wasted. Any one of the three could use him somewhere else — and right now the Middle East seems the most likely spot.”

“I’m surprised that you included the Americans, Mr. Jackson,” Eva Scheel said.

“Why?”

“I thought they would be too... well, pure.”

“We lost our purity during the war. Like virginity, once you lose it, you never get it back.”

“Do many people find your flippancy as offensive as I do?”

Jackson stared at Eva Scheel for several moments. Finally he said, “I wasn’t trying to be flippant; I was just trying to state the problem, and believe me, there are problems. For example, you. You might be just one hell of a problem.”

“I beg your pardon.”

“You’re a friend of Lieutenant Meyer’s. Lieutenant Meyer is looking for Kurt Oppenheimer. He wants to find him and lock him up someplace. Kurt Oppenheimer’s sister and I are engaged in a conspiracy to prevent this. So the problem is to prevent what we conspire about here today from getting back to Lieutenant Meyer. I don’t think I can make it any clearer than that.”

“I have known Leah and Kurt Oppenheimer for longer than I have known Lieutenant Meyer, Mr. Jackson.”

“Sure.”

“You sound unconvinced.”

“I’m sorry.”

She gazed at him steadily for a long time without blinking. “I assure you,” she said in a low, almost passionate voice, “I would never betray two of my oldest friends to someone like Lieutenant Meyer.”

Jackson wanted to ask what was so wrong with Lieutenant Meyer, but before he could, Leah Oppenheimer said, “We can trust Eva, Mr. Jackson. We must.”

Jackson shrugged. “It’s up to you, of course. I’m sorry, but whenever anyone says, ‘Trust me,’ I tend to run very fast in the opposite direction.”

“You are very cynical for an American, Mr. Jackson,” Eva Scheel said.

“I’m very cynical for anyone, Fraülein Scheel. It keeps me from being disappointed.”

“How terribly amusing,” Eva Scheel said with a little smile. “It makes you sound so very, very young.”

“Please,” Leah said before Jackson could fire back. “Somehow I don’t think this is a time for bickering.” She looked at Jackson solemnly. “Can I take it from what you’ve said thus far that you are still going to help us, Mr. Jackson — you and Mr. Ploscaru?”

“We’ve still got a deal.”

“I understand that these new complications — my brother’s being so terribly ill — might make it more difficult for you than we had thought. My father and I discussed such a contingency before I left, and he had authorized me to increase your fee from fifteen to twenty-five thousand dollars. Is that satisfactory?”

Jackson nodded. “How is your father? I apologize for not asking sooner.”

Leah gave her head a small shake. “The operation was not a success. I’m afraid that he is permanently blind.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Thank you. It would appear that things are not going too well for the Oppenheimer family just now.” She paused and then said, “We must find my brother, Mr. Jackson. I can’t bring myself to agree with your terrible theories about the Americans and the British and the Russians. Frankly, I don’t think that any of them are interested in taking Kurt alive. They would be just as happy if he were dead. I don’t know if you remember, but when we first met I spoke of getting help for my brother. There is such a place in Switzerland, a sanitarium, a very fine one. Of course, it will be expensive. Extremely expensive.”

“I imagine.”

“Then when he is better, perhaps he could...” She stopped. “I don’t know. I don’t want to think about that just yet.”

“Don’t, dear,” Eva Scheel said, leaning over and placing a hand on Leah’s arm. “There’s no need to think about it now.”

“Okay,” Jackson said, and rose. “When we find him we’ll get him to Switzerland. That’s not as easy as it sounds, of course.”

“Of course not,” Leah said.

“I’ll talk to Ploscaru. He’ll probably have some ideas. He usually does.”

“How is Mr. Ploscaru?” Leah said. “I’m so sorry that we still haven’t been able to meet”

“Ploscaru,” Eva Scheel said. “Is that a Balkan name?”

“Romanian,” Leah said. “We have talked on the phone and corresponded, but we still have not met. I do look forward to it”