Jeffery Deaver: Garden Of Beasts

That brought him up short.

“Our sources’ve been giving us information from Germany since Hitler came to power in thirty-three. Last year, our man in Berlin got his hands on a draft of this letter. It was written by one of their senior men, General Beck.”

The commander handed him a typed sheet. It was in German. Paul read it. The author of the letter called for a slow but steady rearmament of the German armed forces to protect and expand what Paul translated as “living area.” The nation had to be ready for war in a few years.

Frowning, he put the sheet down. “And they’re going ahead with this?”

“Last year,” Gordon said, “Hitler started a draft and since then he’s building up the troops to even higher levels than that letter recommends. Then four months ago German troops took over the Rhineland – the demilitarized zone bordering France.”

“I read about that.”

“They’re building submarines at Helgoland and’re taking back control of the Wilhelm Canal to move warships from the North Sea to the Baltic. The man running the finances over there has a new title. He’s head of the ‘war economy.’ And Spain, their civil war? Hitler’s sending troops and equipment supposedly to help Franco. Actually he’s using the war to train his soldiers.”

“You want me… you want a button man to kill Hitler?”

“Lord, no,” the Senator said. “Hitler’s just a crank. Funny in the head. He wants the country to rearm but he doesn’t have a clue how to do it.”

“And this man you’re talking about does?”

“Oh, you bet he does,” the Senator offered. “His name’s Reinhard Ernst. He was a colonel during the War but he’s civilian now. Title’s a mouthful: plenipotentiary for domestic stability. But that’s hooey. He’s the brains behind rearmament. He’s got his finger in everything: financing with Schacht, army with Blomberg, navy with Raeder, air force with Göring, munitions with Krupp.”

“What about the treaty? Versailles? They can’t have an army, I thought.”

“Not a big one. Same with the navy… and no air force at all,” the Senator said. “But our man tells us that soldiers and sailors’re popping up all over Germany like wine at Cana ’s wedding.”

“So can’t the Allies just stop them? I mean, we won the War.”

“Nobody in Europe ’s doing a thing. The French could’ve stopped Hitler cold last March, at the Rhineland. But they didn’t. The Brits? All they did was scold a dog that’d pissed on the carpet.”

After a moment Paul asked, “And what’ve we done to stop them?”

Gordon’s subtle glance was one of deference. The Senator shrugged. “In America all we want is peace. The isolationists’re running the show. They don’t want to be involved in European politics. Men want jobs, and mothers don’t want to lose their sons in Flanders Fields again.”

“And the president wants to get elected again this November,” Paul said, feeling FDR’s eyes peering down on him from above the ornate mantelpiece.

Awkward silence for a moment. Gordon laughed. The Senator did not.

Paul stubbed out his cigarette. “Okay. Sure. It’s making sense now. If I get caught there’s nothing to lead them back to you. Or to him. ” A nod toward Roosevelt ’s picture. “Hell, I’m just a crazy civilian, not a soldier like these kids here.” A glance at the two junior officers. Avery smiled; Manielli did too but his was a very different smile.

The Senator said, “That’s right, Paul. That’s exactly right.”

“And I speak German.”

“We heard you’re fluent.”

Paul’s grandfather was proud of his country of ancestry, as was Paul’s father, who insisted the children study German and speak their native language in the house. He recalled absurd moments when his mother would shout in Gaelic and his father in German when they fought. Paul had also worked in his grandfather’s plant, setting type and proofreading German-language printing jobs during the summers when he was in high school.

“How would it work? I’m not saying yes. I’m just curious. How would it work?”

“There’s a ship taking the Olympic team, families and press over to Germany. It leaves day after tomorrow. You’d be on it.”

“The Olympic team?”

“We’ve decided it’s the best way. There’ll be thousands of foreigners in town. Berlin ’ll be packed. Their army and police’ll have their hands full.”

Avery said, “You won’t have anything to do with the Olympics officially – the games don’t start till August first. The Olympic Committee only knows you’re a writer.”

“A sports journalist,” Gordon added. “That’s your cover. But basically you just play dumb and make yourself invisible. Go to the Olympic Village with everybody else and spend a day or two there then slip into the city. A hotel’s no good; the Nazis monitor all the guests and record passports. Our man’s getting a room in a private boardinghouse for you.”

Like any craftsman, certain questions about the job slipped into his mind. “Would I use my name?”

“Yes, you’ll be yourself. But we’ll also get you an escape passport – with your picture but a different name. Issued by some other country.”

The Senator said, “You look Russian. You’re big and solid.” He nodded. “Sure, you’ll be the ‘man from Russia.’”

“I don’t speak Russian.”

“Nobody there does either. Besides, you’ll probably never need the passport. It’s just to get you out of the country in an emergency.”

“And,” Paul added quickly, “to make sure nobody traces me to you if I don’t make it out, right?”

The Senator’s hesitation, followed by a glance at Gordon, said he was on the money.

Paul continued. “Who’m I supposed to be working for? All the papers’ll have stringers there. They’d know I wasn’t a reporter.”

“We thought of that. You’ll be writing freelance stories and trying to sell ’em to some of the sports rags when you get back.”

Paul asked, “Who’s your man over there?”

Gordon said, “No names just now.”

“I don’t need a name. Do you trust him? And why?”

The Senator said, “He’s been living there for a couple of years and getting us quality information. He served under me in the War. I know him personally.”

“What’s his cover there?”

“Businessman, facilitator, that sort of thing. Works for himself.”

Gordon continued. “He’ll get you a weapon and whatever you need to know about your target.”

“I don’t have a real passport. In my name, I mean.”

“We know, Paul. We’ll get you one.”

“Can I have my guns back?”

“No,” Gordon said and that was the end of the matter. “So that’s our general plan, my friend. And, I should tell you, if you’re thinking of hopping a freight and laying low in some Hooverville out west?…”

Paul sure as hell had been. But he frowned and shook his head.

“Well, these fine young men’ll be sticking to you like limpets until the ship docks in Hamburg. And if you should get the same hankering to slip out of Berlin, our contact’s going to be keeping an eye on you. If you disappear, he calls us and we call the Nazis to tell them an escaped American killer’s at large in Berlin. And we’ll give them your name and picture.” Gordon held his eye. “If you think we were good at tracking you down, Paul, you ain’t seen nothing like the Nazis. And from what we hear they don’t bother with trials and writs of execution. Now, we clear on that?”

“As a bell.”

“Good.” The commander glanced at Avery. “Now, tell him what happens after he finishes the job.”