Irving Wallace - The Prize

‘How could you take such a risk with an irresponsible Hungarian buffoon?’ asked Eckart bitingly.

‘Because he depends on me, Hans,’ said Krantz. ‘He is stateless, and I, and several like me, have intervened on his behalf with lesser government officials, to keep him here. Also, he needs the few kronor we dole out to him now and then. I used him to discover that the Spanish candidate was a Falangist. When it came to the Australians, I used him once more.’

Krantz’s lips curled in self-satisfaction as he negotiated the Mercedes around a curve. When the car was straight again, he continued to speak.

‘The two Australians were homosexuals. We gathered the proof, and when the final voting conference was held last month, I deferred to one of my conservative colleagues-I had shown him the facts and said I thought he might be interested, although I thought it was no issue-and at the critical moment, he burst forth and made it an issue. Professor Max Stratman was elected our Nobel laureate in forty-five minutes.’

Eckart shook his head. ‘Carl, Carl, what is there for me to say? You are a master. I would hate to be a candidate before you.’

‘You would have no problem, Hans. I would favour you.’

‘So that is how it was done?’ mused Eckart.

‘In this case, yes. I would not guarantee it again. The circumstances were exceptional. At any rate, you see the work that went into it.’

‘You will make a scintillating addition to our staff at Humboldt, Carl.’

Krantz took his eyes from the road and looked at his guest. ‘When?’ he asked.

‘Soon, soon,’ said Eckart. ‘Have no doubts. I will see Stratman. You will finish with your Nobel circus. I will return to East Berlin, consult with the board, and you will be confirmed.’

‘Must it wait that long?’

‘How long? It is nothing. Two weeks or three. The formalities and no more. I will phone you, and you will be on your way. Incidentally, you have seen Stratman?’

‘Certainly. I am on the official reception committee. I welcomed him at the train. I attended his press conference. I spent a considerable time with him at the Royal Banquet.’

‘How does he look?’

‘What do you mean? When did you last see him?’

‘The week our Führer died.’

‘He is not a young man any longer-that you know, Hans. Sometimes he appears quite sprightly, other times feeble.’

Eckart fiddled with his monocle. ‘Has he spoken of the past, of Germany?’

Krantz squirmed in his place behind the wheel. ‘Several times. The Americans have brainwashed him with their propaganda and money.’

‘They have? How so?’

‘At the press conference, he defended the secrecy of his discovery as necessary. He said that he was forced to work at the Kaiser Wilhelm to keep his relatives alive. He denied that the Americans kidnapped him. He said that he left Germany voluntarily, because he had worked for one totalitarian state, and he did not wish to remain and work for another.’

‘He said that?’

‘It was in many newspapers the following day.’

‘And in your other conversations, anything else?’

‘At the Royal Banquet, before dinner, there was a trifling exchange. There was conversation about money-what to do with the Nobel money-and Stratman made it clear that he was keeping his prize.’

‘Because he needed the money?’

‘That is my guess. Later, I had a disagreement with Count Jacobsson-you have met him-’

‘Yes.’

‘An officious ass,’ said Krantz. ‘We were arguing Sweden ’s neutrality. Jacobsson, as usual, said we were pro-Allies, and I had no stomach for that lie. I told the truth about public sentiment.’

‘How did Stratman react?’

‘He made no comment on that, but when I praised German genius, he disparaged it. Then, right after, the two medical laureates told what they did in the war, and one of them asked Stratman what had happened to him, and he said that he had been held a hostage-that was his word, hostage. Then, there was an incident. Stratman had said he was a hostage, he and his brother-’

‘Yes, Walther Stratman.’

‘-to keep his brother’s wife and daughter alive in a camp. Well, the brother’s daughter, Stratman’s niece, was right there in the room with him, and when someone asked what had happened to her mother, she broke up and ran off. It was needless and embarrassing. Stratman, I must say, remained unruffled.’

Eckart folded his hands in his lap and stared out the windshield. ‘Stockholm,’ he said.

‘We will be in the city in a few minutes.’

Eckart was silent a moment. ‘Then Stratman is here with his niece?’

‘They are always together.’

‘What is she like?’

‘A cold fish. But one never knows. If I were twenty years younger, I would be sorely tempted, even if she is a Jew.’

Eckart smiled. The picture of the crusty gnome beside him being tempted by fleshly desire was too improbable to formulate. ‘Keep your mind on your work, Carl.’

‘My work is done,’ said Krantz.

‘One never knows. I want you to keep in close touch with me.’

‘I expect to, Hans. I must remind you, I made your reservation at the Grand for only two days. It was not easy. The city is crowded. Do you intend to remain longer?’

‘I cannot say for certain, Carl. I might stay until the tenth.’

‘Well, tell me the second you know. If you stay on, I will have to tackle the manager of the Grand again. Oh, he will extend your accommodation, but I must know so that I can arrange it.’

‘I will let you know tomorrow, Carl.’

‘When are you seeing Stratman?’

‘In the next hour. As soon as I have checked in, I will call his room. I cabled. He is expecting me.’

‘And you know he will see you?’

Eckart rubbed his scar meditatively. ‘Why should he not see me, Carl? You forget. Max Stratman and his brother and I worked side by side at the Kaiser Wilhelm all through the war. We are friends, old friends. Today, we will have lunch. We will speak of many things. Gemütlichkeit will be the note. You make a reservation for us, the moment I register. The Riche, I think. That would be the best restaurant… Yes, Carl, have no fear, Max Stratman will be waiting for this reunion.’

Andrew Craig and Leah Decker occupied the desirable corner suite 225 in the Grand Hotel. Directly above it, having the same dimensions and identical in furnishings, was suite 325, which, for the duration of Nobel week, was tenanted by Emily Stratman and Professor Max Stratman.

At 1.20 in the afternoon, Craig arrived at suite 325 and rapped on the door.

After a moment, the door opened, and although Emily was not visible, he heard her voice. ‘You can roll it right in the living-’ And then her head appeared around the door, and she saw Craig. ‘Oh, it’s you-forgive me-I’d ordered lunch from room service and-please come in.’

He followed her through the entry into the sitting-room. His eyes were on her semi-shingled dark hair, and when she turned to take his overcoat, he enjoyed again the black curls that curved forward on her cheeks, framing her face in piquant loveliness. She wore a loose forest-green tunic of jersey, that draped outward and straight down from her breasts, and the tight cotton-knit green slacks beneath, smooth and chic, adhered to her hips and thighs. He had never seen her dressed this informally, and there was an ease about her that pleased him.

‘Are you hungry?’ she asked.

‘Famished.’

‘I can still catch them downstairs. Will you join me?’

‘Why do you think I’m here?’

She picked up the white room service telephone, and was instantly connected. ‘This is Miss Stratman in 325. If you’ve still got my order, I’d like to add another to it.’ She listened, said, ‘Please hold on,’ cupped the mouthpiece and told Craig, ‘In the nick of time. They’ll keep mine warm while they get yours ready. What are you having?’