Jack Higgins - The Bormann Testament (The Testament of Caspar Schultz)

As she opened her mouth to speak, her husband said desperately, “For God’s sake, keep your mouth shut. Remember what he threatened to do if we talked.”

“I know what I’m doing, Willi,” she said, and turned back to Chavasse. “About twenty minutes ago, a car drew up outside. There were two men in it, only one got out.”

“How do you know about this?” Chavasse asked.

“I saw them from the window. The one who came in knocked on the door and my husband answered. He wanted to know the number of Fraulein Hartmann’s apartment. A few minutes afterward, we heard a scream and when we went out into the hall, he was dragging her down the stairs.”

Chavasse closed his eyes for a moment and drew a long breath. “Why didn’t you call the police?”

“He threatened us, mein Herr, ” she said simply. “He said that at the very least, he would see that my husband lost his job.”

“And you believed him?” Chavasse said in disgust.

She nodded. “These people have the power to do anything, mein Herr. They are all around us. What chance have poor people like ourselves to oppose them? They got us into the last war – they will have us fighting again before they are done.”

Tomorrow the world, he thought. Tomorrow the world. He turned away from her, a sudden hatred for everything German rising inside him. She followed him to the door and held out a key.

“This is a master key, mein Herr. Perhaps you would like to examine the apartment?”

He took it from her without a word and went slowly up the stairs. There was no life left in him at all, and he unlocked the door and went inside and switched on the light.

She’d put up a struggle, that much was obvious. The carpet was rucked up and the table in the center of the room was overturned, the telephone lying on the floor. The table and chair by the window were in their usual positions, the Hebrew textbook and notebook lying open, almost as if she had been working a moment before and had simply left the room for a little while.

He looked into the bedroom. She had obviously changed on coming in and undergarments were strewn carelessly across the bed. He picked up a nylon stocking that had fallen to the floor and stood with it in his hands, staring blindly into space. After a while, he dropped it onto the bed and returned to the living room, and discovered Colonel von Kraul in the act of righting the upturned table.

“You were so long, I began to worry,” von Kraul said as he picked up the telephone and placed it on the table. “Your friend has gone out?”

Chavasse nodded slowly. “Yes, and I’m very much afraid she won’t be coming back.”

“There would appear to have been a struggle,” the German said. “Don’t you think you should tell me about it, my friend? Presumably, it has some connection with the business we have in hand.”

Chavasse sat down. After a moment or two, he looked up and said, “There doesn’t seem much point in keeping it to myself now, does there?”

“Not really,” von Kraul said. “In any case, I may be able to help.”

Chavasse shook his head. “Somehow, I don’t think so.” He stood up and walked across to the window and looked out into the darkening street. “I came to Germany to find Martin Bormann. We’d heard that he was alive and that he’d written his memoirs.”

Von Kraul’s eyes had narrowed slightly, but his face remained calm. Only the whiteness of his knuckles as his hands tightened over the handle of his walking stick betrayed the fact that he was considerably moved by what Chavasse had just told him. “And were these facts true?”

Chavasse nodded. “In the main – Bormann died some months ago in a village in the Harz. Apparently, he’d spent most of the postwar years in Portugal. His valet, a man called Muller, got hold of the manuscript of the memoirs and tried to make himself a little money. He approached a firm of German publishers and got the Nazi underground on his track. He then tried a British firm – that’s how we got onto him.”

“Did you ever meet this man Muller?” von Kraul asked.

Chavasse nodded. “I was present when he was beaten to death by Steiner and another man in Nagel’s castle at Berndorf.”

“This is all beginning to sound very involved,” von Kraul said. “And how does the young woman you were hoping to meet here fit into things?”

“She was working for an unofficial Israeli underground organization,” Chavasse told him. “The same people who tracked down Eichmann.”

“I see,” von Kraul said dryly. “She and her friends were also after Bormann. It would appear that everyone was in on the affair – except for German intelligence.”

“She telephoned me at the Atlantic an hour or so ago,” Chavasse continued. “Without going into details of how and why, she found Bormann’s manuscript waiting for her when she returned to the apartment this evening. It had been delivered by mail.”

“Presumably, that’s what the opposition were after when they came here,” von Kraul said.

Chavasse shook his head. “I think they were looking for Anna. It was just luck that she happened to have the manuscript.”

“It must make interesting reading.”

Chavasse nodded. “I understand Bormann washed a lot of dirty linen in public and gave names. People who’ve always insisted they never really supported Hitler – important people.”

“Presumably, Nagel must be included,” von Kraul said.

“He probably has a chapter to himself,” Chavasse told him, and at that moment the phone rang.

He lifted the receiver and said, “Yes, who is it?” knowing full well who it was.

Steiner’s voice floated over the wire. “Now, that’s a superfluous question. Surely you expected me to call?”

“How did you know I was here?”

“Because I’ve had the place under observation since we left.” Steiner sounded full of confidence.

“Let’s cut the talk and get down to business,” Chavasse told him. “What have you done with the girl?”

Steiner laughed harshly. “You know, you’re not as bright as I was led to believe, Chavasse. You allowed us to follow you all the way from Berndorf to the girl’s apartment.”

“You’ve got the manuscript,” Chavasse said. “What more do you want?”

“Ah, yes, the manuscript. Providential that she had it with her when we called. I’m sure you’ll be interested to know that I’ve reduced it to ashes in the furnace of the establishment from which I am now speaking. It made a fine blaze.”

Chavasse sat down. There were beads of sweat on his forehead and the room seemed unbearably warm. He cleared his throat. “You’ve got what you wanted. Why don’t you let the girl go? She can’t harm you now.”

“But that’s exactly what I intend to do,” Steiner said, “with your cooperation, of course.”

Von Kraul was crouched beside Chavasse, his ear as close to the receiver as possible, and he looked up, eyes expressionless.

Chavasse moistened his lips. “What do you want me to do?”

“I’m so glad you’re being sensible,” Steiner said. “To be perfectly honest, we’ve found you a nuisance, Chavasse. We’d rather you were out of Germany. Now that the Bormann affair is finished, there’s really nothing to keep you here. A London plane leaves the airport at ten o’clock. If you’ll give me your word not to trouble us any more, you and the girl can leave together on that plane.”

“How do I know I can trust you?” Chavasse asked.

“You don’t,” Steiner replied, “but if you feel like taking a chance, be outside Altona station at nine o’clock. A car will pick you up there and take you to the girl.”