Стив Берри - The Kaiser's Web--A Novel

“Lucky for you I have friends who alerted me.”

Yeah. Lucky for us.

They descended off the berm.

“What now?” he asked.

“We walk,” Ada said.

They followed the dirt road to a hardpan trail that snaked beneath the trees, Ada and her two acolytes leading the way. After a few hundred yards they came to another path that diverged. Clear and defined. Which they took, passing through a moonscape of bracken and heather. A thick carpet of leaves provided a springy softness to the earth and soundproofed their footsteps, allowing songbirds to be heard. The trail narrowed, then dead-ended at a patch of low ground. A rose-colored ibis sprang forward, its ostentatious wings flapping as they grabbed air. Wild violets colored the clearing’s perimeter. Cotton noticed a scattering of slate and granite rubble across the rough grass.

“Those are graves,” Cassiopeia said.

He stepped into the cemetery and immediately saw that all of the markers had been hammered to gravel. He bent down and examined the remnants. “I imagine a few war crimes files could be closed by identifying the dead here.”

“You would be correct,” Ada said.

He tossed one of the shards of rock aside, then glanced around at the tall beech and thick araucaria trees. Bars of sunlight cut across the treetops in golden shafts.

“Who the hell are you?” he asked Ada.

“Someone who just saved your life.”

Engle watched as Vergara spoke on his cell phone. The last report from the fighter pilot indicated that house had been obliterated.

Vergara ended his call. “The seaplane was likewise destroyed, as you requested. The pilot says there is nothing left of it or the house. He also strafed the ruins with high-caliber rounds.”

There’d been no choice. The schlöss had to be eliminated with zero traces of anything remaining. A shame, too. He’d visited several times and it was quite magnificent. Pohl would not be pleased, but there was no other option. Malone and Vitt also had to die and the trail from here turned ice cold, just as he’d done before when others ventured too close.

“Local carabineros were alerted to the explosion by boaters. They are headed there now across the lake, but it will take them an hour or more to get there. We can explain the house’s destruction as an errant shot.” The minister smiled. “These things happen. Senor Engle, your problem appears to be solved.”

“And I am most appreciative. This was above and beyond what we expected from your services.”

“ Gracias. It is a pleasure to serve Herr Pohl. He is a generous benefactor.”

The two carabineros sat on the other side of the table. They’d listened to everything with interest. He knew these were not mere policemen, but instead were part of Vergara’s personal staff, both also on Pohl’s private payroll. Their task over the past few days had been to monitor Malone and Vitt and report everything. But they’d gone too far reading Ada’s letters. Now they were loose ends. As was Vergara. Thankfully, everything that had happened here traced back to these three.

Nothing led to either him or Pohl.

He reached beneath his jacket and gripped the pistol, its safety already released. He removed the weapon and fired two shots, one each into the carabineros’ foreheads. Vergara seemed at first stunned, then reached for his own sidearm. But Engle placed two bullets into the minister’s chest. He finished the job with a third above the nose that sent the deputy minister of investigations to the floor.

He checked all three for a pulse.

None.

Vergara and his nosy minions were no longer available for questioning. Cotton Malone and Cassiopeia Vitt were dead, the house by the lake gone. All of the financial records from the file cabinet Vitt had seized yesterday were back in Santiago in Vergara’s office.

Which was perfect.

They wanted those found and exposed.

Perhaps Vergara’s death would be linked to them. The few records that Vergara had emailed to Germany would serve their intended purpose and spur the German authorities along. Ada was definitely a problem, and the letters she’d provided were still a concern, but she’d most likely gone to ground. Finding her now would be both risky and difficult.

He’d deal with her after the election.

At the moment there was another pressing matter.

One he was going to investigate on his way back to Germany.

So he calmly tossed the letters into the plastic container, snapped it shut, and left the chalet, deciding to burn them along the way, then enjoy a quick meal in town before flying on to Africa.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Cotton walked along the path.

Ada led the way, still gripping her rustic walking stick, the ground becoming riddled with holes from its sharp point as it helped her make her way. Cassiopeia kept pace behind him, still shouldering the backpack. He heard the sound of rushing water, and the trail began to run along the edge of a swollen stream, through dense entangled thickets. They were headed away from the schlöss, black smoke still pouring up into gray sky. Finally they emerged from the woods onto a wide dirt road that led back toward the lake.

“We had not the time for a proper introduction,” Ada said. “You must be Fräulein Vitt. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

“I have to say, it’s an even greater pleasure that I meet you. Thank you for what you just did.”

“I wrote that note and encouraged you both to come here, unsure as to exactly what Minister Vergara might do. But then I received a call about what Vergara wanted done, so we came immediately.”

“You are incredibly well informed,” Cotton said. “Especially for a person who merely works at a convalescence center.”

“Lucky for you that I have such varied interests.”

He smiled.

“Thankfully, we had sufficient time to act. I was told they would wait a few minutes after you entered before sending the missile. They wanted both you and the house gone.”

“Since you were never supposed to mention that place, right?” he asked.

“That’s correct. Once I did, I knew Vergara would act. How? I was unsure. But they also would not want you going to Africa.”

“Who is they ?” he asked.

“Theodor Pohl and his associates.”

“He wants us to tell Marie Eisenhuth that her father and husband are connected to lost Nazi wealth,” Cassiopeia said. “He also wants the German people to see those documents and hear that truth. Vergara couldn’t wait to get out of that bank and make an official report.”

“The question seems to be, are you going to allow that to happen?”

“What are our choices?” he asked.

“Go to Africa.”

“Why?”

“The truth awaits you there.”

“We read the letters you left,” he said. “Your brother, Gerhard Schüb, lived a long time there. But the last letter we have is over fifty years old. What happened since? How do you know anything about Africa?”

“Is it not enough that I do?”

His patience was wearing thin. “We’re standing here in the woods, near what was once some sort of Nazi shrine. One you knew all about. Then there are these young men with rifles, who clearly take orders from you. By your own admission, your father worked for Bormann. Then you took over—”

“Herr Malone, this area of Chile, and over the border into Argentina, was once filled with Germans from the war. Many fled here legally to escape the destruction there. They were not Nazis. Many more came illegally to hide, trying to be inconspicuous. They required assistance.”

“Some of those were war criminals,” he said.

“And most of them were eventually caught. Bormann implemented Aktion Aderflung and Aktion Feuerland as his plans to get key people and assets out of Germany. And yes, my father headed up those efforts here in Chile. My brother, though, had a much tougher assignment. Yes. We were Nazi caretakers. But my brother and I performed our duties in honor of our father, whom we both loved dearly.”