Dan Fesperman - The Arms Maker of Berlin

Next he read Göllner’s interrogation transcript. It was every bit as juicy as promised-more sticks of dynamite to obliterate the Bauer legacy. The rest of the items were mostly supporting documents for the main event. A flurry of memos between Dulles in Bern and Loofbourow in Zurich told him that Gordon had endured two surgeries on his leg after his return from Munich. There was also a Loofbourow memo on Sabine, saying that her father had been sent a lump-sum payment in Swiss francs to cover the expenses of hiding her after the Fleece fiasco, not only to keep her out of the hands of Swiss authorities and local German operatives but also to make her unavailable to Gordon.

Nat then turned to the two sealed envelopes. Being a historian, he opened the oldest first-Gordon’s unmailed letter to Viv. It was dated May 15, 1945, a week after the Germans surrendered. He must have still been recuperating at the Zurich safe house and hadn’t yet discovered that Sabine was “missing.”

Dear Viv,

I am writing to tell you that I was wounded in my right leg during an operation, but that I am healing nicely and soon expect to be up and about. The doctors promise that I will be almost as good as new. I have been invited to accompany a postwar reconstruction team into Germany, and will be doing so this summer.

It has been a strange experience to lay in bed all these months here in Zurich. Hours pass when all that I do is listen to the whine of the tram cars on the tracks, or the passing conversations of people in the streets. They sound much happier than they did a year ago. Laughter seems to be returning to the city now that the war has ended. You can sense a collective lifting of spirits.

This gladdens me, because in some small way my work may have played a role in helping to end the war, or, at least, more of a role than I would have played as a gunner on a Flying Fortress. Unfortunately, much of what I did will by necessity have to remain a secret.

Yet, in other ways my spirits are sinking. I suppose that my wounds are partly to blame, and also the knowledge that I might never be able to walk again without some degree of pain. But I must confess that my greater pains are emotional, due to a matter that is all too close and personal to us both. I regret to tell you that this matter is almost certain to cause you pain as well.

I have met a woman, Viv. And I do not say that lightly, or in the sense of some mere passing affair. It has developed into something quite serious and complex, and the experiences she and I have shared during these past months have at last convinced me that it will be impossible for me to leave her behind.

None of this has anything to do with any lacking in my feelings for you. I know that will not be any solace to you, but events here have stirred up feelings more powerful than any I have ever experienced before. My greatest regret is the pain you will feel as a result.

Because of this, I expect to be staying in Europe permanently in one capacity or another, even after my duties with the occupation forces have ended. I therefore bid you a regretful but hear felt farewell, in the fervent hope that someday you will find a way to forgive me.

If it is any consolation, I am no longer the high-spirited young man you knew before the war, cocksure and happy-go-lucky. I don’t believe that my experiences have made me a worse person, but I am indelibly changed, and perhaps you would not have recognized me or wanted me in any event.

With love and affection,

Gordon

Oh, my. What was Nat supposed to do with this? He was certainly never going to show it to Viv. He opened the next envelope.

Dear Nat,

So what do you think? Is this proper recompense for all that I’ve done to you in the past? I like to think so, but I need one last favor. Please share the findings with Sabine, especially the letter to Viv, which, as you can see, was never mailed. The rest is at your discretion. I’m trusting you’ll handle everything in the best interests of all concerned.

Fondly ,

Gordon

A weighty statement, that last one. It made Nat responsible for the legacies of several people-Viv, Sabine and Bernhard, Bauer, perhaps even Holland and all the feds. Granting him that sort of power was the old man’s greatest possible gift, yet also his most burdensome. Nat had better get it right, beginning now.

The first order of business was some careful logistics. Fortunately, he had already given the matter a great deal of thought. He placed the two envelopes back in the steel drawer and locked it shut. The four folders went inside the bag for his laptop. Then he removed his right shoe and sock. He stuffed one of the flash drives, with all its important images, into the sock and put it back on along with the shoe. He stood, opened the door, and called for Herr Schmidt, who arrived promptly.

“I’m taking some of the items with me. The rest of them I’m leaving behind.”

“Very good, sir.” As if Nat had just chosen the perfect wine.

Nat handed over the key and walked out of the bank into the warm sunlight of late afternoon. It felt good to breathe fresh air again after being entombed with all those memories. Glancing in both directions, and detecting no sign of danger, he set out for the Bahnhof.

Two blocks later, Clark Holland stepped from a storefront and blocked his way.

“Greetings from sunny Florida, Nat. Sorry you couldn’t stick around.”

Before Nat could move a muscle, Neil Ford arrived at his right shoulder and a third agent sidled up on the left. Nat lunged at the gap between Holland and Neil, but six hands immediately clamped down.

They had him.

And what that really meant, of course, was that they had everything else, too.

Holland was unable to resist the temptation of a victorious sneer. “Your laptop bag looks a little heavy,” he said. “Neil, why don’t you take it off his hands.”

Neil rummaged through it, showed the four folders to Holland, and then took it to a black Mercedes that had just rolled to the curb. A rear door opened. Neil put the bag on the backseat and shut the door. The automatic locks slammed home.

“And now your camera, please,” Holland said.

Nat glumly handed it over.

Holland clicked through enough frames to satisfy himself that this time the flash drive actually had something on it.

“Very good,” he said, ejecting the wafer into his hand. “Next for the hard part. Neil, please take Mr. Turnbull into the men’s room of this fine establishment here and search him head to toe for anything he might still have on his person. Thoroughly, please, like they taught you at Quantico.”

“Aw, c’mon,” Nat said. “You’ve got your chip.”

“I’ve got a chip. Neil?”

The young agent nodded. Nat followed him inside the restaurant, and they trooped toward the restrooms in the rear.

“Your boss isn’t very trusting.”

“Sorry, sir. But it’s-”

“Stop. Don’t say it.”

“Yes, sir.”

The bathroom smelled like those soap cakes that go in urinals. Neil locked the door behind them and frisked Nat efficiently-head to toe, just like Holland wanted. If the Swiss police had burst in, both men would have been arrested on morals charges, assuming that the Swiss still bothered with such things.

“You’re going to have to remove your trousers and shirt,” Neil said. “Also your socks and shoes.”

Nat undressed, but left his socks on. Neil rummaged through everything else.

“Socks, too.”

Nat sighed and did as he was told. As he peeled off the right sock he took care to keep the wafer from falling out.

“Hand them here, please.”

Neil held each sock by the toe and shook hard. When he shook the right one, the flash drive wafer clattered to the tile floor.