Len Deighton - XPD

The second man wore a striped shirt and grey shorts. It was hot and he was sweating. From time to time he ran his hand through his closely cropped hair. On the table in front of him there was a tape recorder. From it came a thin black lead which ended at his shirt collar where a tiny microphone was clipped close to his mouth. ‘The first boatload of men must stay at the lake shore until all the boats are secured,’ Willi Kleiber said into the microphone. ‘The Pitman house is one hundred and fifty metres from the landing stage. Any boats found at the landing stage must be totally disabled by the landing party from boat one. No one will move from their position until all boats are secured and contact has been made with the party arriving by road. The two advance men of the road party will use red flashlights to identify themselves. The two advance men of boat one will use only green flashlights.’ He switched the tape recorder off and took one last look at the big lakeside house of Colonel John Elroy Pitman the Third, before Die Zitrone steered away northwards to cross the lake.

It was a hot, cloudless day. The mountains were crisply drawn against the blue sky and very close, or so it seemed. The two men put down their binoculars and put on their sunglasses. They sat for a moment, still dazzled by the harsh reflection of the sun off the flat water.

‘It will be easy,’ said Willi Kleiber.

‘I don’t like it,’ said Max Breslow. ‘We still don’t know what the documents are like. If they are all contained in those metal filing cases, it will take all night to get them out of the house and loaded on to the trucks.’

‘Of course it will,’ said Kleiber. ‘At least it would… if that’s what I intended to do.’

‘When then?’

‘We’ll take possessions of the house, I’ve told you so. Do you think I’ve changed my mind?’ said Kleiber. ‘We’ll hold it for two or three days… ’ Kleiber saw that Max was about to argue, ‘a week, if it takes a week. We’ll stay there as long as we have to.’

‘My God, Willi. You don’t know what you are saying.’

‘I’m a gambler, Max. I always have been.’

‘Stay there? Holding those Americans captive?’

‘You saw what it’s like, Max. There will be no difficulty in embarking our people from the lakeside. It will be quiet and discreet. They have only to come from Coppet on the far side of the lake. One carload of our best people will arrive at the Pitman house by road. No one in the village will hear shooting, there will be no lights.’

‘I’ve heard of such plans before,’ said Max Breslow dryly. ‘Have you told the Americans that there will be no shooting, no shouting and… what was the other thing you’ve forbidden?’

‘You should know me better than that, my friend,’ said Kleiber. ‘In the boats we are wearing party clothes. If the Americans get rough and the neighbours get nosy, we’ll be there in fancy dress to explain the commotion and apologize for the disturbance.’

‘How many?’

‘Fifteen men should be sufficient,’ said Kleiber. They are all well-trained people from my own security company. These are fellows I use only on the most dangerous assignments: kidnap threats, murder threats and so on. They know what to do.’

‘Can they keep their mouths shut?’

Willi rubbed a finger on the side of his nose. ‘These are all men who depend upon me to keep my mouth shut,’ he said, and smiled. ‘These are good men, Max. These are all men like us.’

When Die Zitrone reached Coppet on the Swiss side, it followed the coast until it reached a curious-looking mansion with a well-kept lawn which came down to an ornate wooden boat house.

The main building was fifty yards away. Finished in a hideous shade of yellow, its stucco was stained and peeling, and the wooden balconies were warped and weatherbeaten. But the inside of the house had been cleaned up and redecorated in plain colours. Most of the lights were unshaded bulbs and the seats were new and of a folding type more commonly found in schools and lecture halls. Max Breslow shuddered. There could be no doubt that this was all done to Willi Kleiber’s taste. Kleiber took a great personal pride in choosing things that he described as practical and without frills.

‘There is everything we are ever likely to need in here,’ said Kleiber, his voice echoing slightly against the bare walls. ‘Guns, machine-guns even, handcuffs, other types of restraints, cutting tools and a thermic lance that will carve through solid steel.’ He looked at Breslow and smiled. ‘You mentioned such devices. Downstairs we have extra inflatable boats and enough food to feed a company of soldiers for a month.’

Max Breslow did not answer. He followed Kleiber through the first room and downstairs. A man was sitting on a hard chair in the hallway. Kleiber motioned to him and he unlocked a wine-cellar door to show them inside. Kleiber waved his arm. ‘Look!’

Inside there was an array of guns. Fitted into wall racks were a couple of dozen HK 54 machine pistols, of the sort issued to the German border police. There were also some Swedish Carl Gustaf 9-mm machine-guns, and two sniper’s rifles with infra-red sights and lights. Glass-fronted cases contained hand guns and there was a wooden box of concussion grenades.

‘MACE,’ said Kleiber tapping another box. ‘Still the best disabling weapon I know. And it contains no toxin apart from the tear gas.’ His low voice was resonant in the tiny windowless strong room.

‘You are crazy, Willi.’

‘Where have you been living for the last few years? Venus? Saturn? Mars?’ said Kleiber. ‘I’m the virtual owner of the best damned security company in West Germany, even if we are not yet the biggest. All of this material is legitimately owned and operated by our Swiss associate, of which I am a vice-president. The company is licensed to have the weapons you are looking at, Max. Our only undertaking to the government is to have them under proper safekeeping, so that they are not stolen by terrorists.’

‘It’s all legal for you to have this stuff?’

‘The police turn a blind eye to me. My company undertakes some dangerous work, Max. I have contracts to provide protection to many members of the government, as well as to very wealthy businessmen. I’ve helped to plan the security of some international conferences. We’re hoping to get the job of protecting the next OPEC meeting in Europe.’

Willi Kleiber stepped back into the corridor again, and Max Breslow was relieved to follow him. As they left, Kleiber watched the guard double-lock the armoury, and then took down a clipboard and signed the day sheet with a flourish.

‘We’ve got to hit them suddenly and hard,’ said Kleiber. ‘That’s one thing I learned in the war, Max. We’ve got to get into the Pitman house and let them see a lot of men and a lot of firepower. That’s the way to save lives, and save ourselves a lot of trouble.’

‘I suppose so,’ said Max.

‘I wish you would shake off this negative attitude, Max. I wish you’d tell me that you are committed.’

‘I read in the Los Angeles papers about more Germans being deported,’ said Breslow.

‘I read it too,’ said Kleiber. It was not something he wished to discuss.

‘Did you know that the Americans deport men back to the place where the supposed war crime was committed?’

‘Are you worrying about that old woman in Boston again?’ said Kleiber.

‘I was at Lyubomi, Willi. I wasn’t there when the massacre took place but I did go there. I wonder if that is where she saw me; I’ve stayed awake night after night thinking about it.’

‘ Poland?’

‘That town is now inside the USSR borders, Willi, I’d be deported to Russia. You know what they do with anyone who was in the SS.’