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

“Come back, when you will. I enjoy doing business with you.”

Outside, he stepped toward the Range Rover, but a little voice in the back of his head told him to not be so hasty. So he rounded the vehicle and approached one of the street-side windows for the The Boer’s House. Carefully, staying to one side, he peered inside.

Just as he suspected.

The proprietor was busy dialing a telephone.

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

WORMS, GERMANY

6:00 P.M.

Marie unfolded the note her aide handed her. The feminine handwriting informed her that a gentleman wanted to see her. He’d driven seventy-five kilometers from Frankfurt and had patiently waited at her hotel all day. She immediately recognized the name and decided time would have to be allocated, since this man never appeared unless there was something important to discuss. She turned back to the aide and gave her a whispered instruction, then focused again on the people around her.

She’d just spent two hours at the country’s oldest synagogue with about twelve hundred people who’d attended an open forum. The synagogue was originally founded in the 11th century as the home to a sizable Jewish population, but the Nazis razed the building in 1938. Nearly a quarter century later the walls rose again, and the resulting structure, completed in the 1970s, was certainly impressive. Directly adjacent to the synagogue was the Jewish Museum, which detailed the history of the local Jewish community, a mixture of pain, sorrow, hope, and joy. She’d been asked to appear weeks ago and, after the display at Dachau, her advisers felt the event would be consistent with her message of truth and hope. Though Jews made up only a minuscule portion of the German populace, in a close election no one could be ignored. And her pollsters were still warning that the whole contest was simply far too close to call.

She needed to focus.

But all day she’d been bothered by Kurt’s earlier display. He’d stormed from her bedroom and promptly left the schlöss.

Had she pushed too hard?

Maybe he was right.

They were both aging. Their time in this world about over. She’d loved him once. Maybe even still. Perhaps she could continue to do so in the future. Then, perhaps not. Their differences were great, and politics seemed to constantly dictate their relationship. But no matter. He was gone for now. And if history was any indication he would stay away a few days, then reappear, never mentioning the tiff that had caused his absence. She’d often wondered what he did during those times.

Were there other women?

Probably.

Once she’d almost hired someone to find out, then decided it was better not to know. She wasn’t much of a wife and he wasn’t much of a husband, no sense trying to place the blame on someone else. If Kurt possessed a mistress, perhaps that was best, provided he was discreet. One thing for him to indulge his needs, quite another for her to know, and intolerable if the public became aware.

She lingered another twenty minutes, then excused herself and left the museum, pausing for a moment at the street. The limousine that she’d instructed her aide to arrange rounded the corner and motored to a stop.

The rear door opened and she climbed inside.

Her security detail followed in a separate car.

Erwin Brümmer sat comfortably in the rear seat.

“You are a patient man,” she said as she settled into the black leather beside him.

“It was I who desired your time. You are a busy woman.”

The once basso profundo tone, Brümmer’s legendary trademark, was now tempered by the effects that eighty years of life left on vocal cords. Like the voice, Brümmer’s body seemed to be succumbing to age, too, though the derisive gaze, disheveled hair, and dark, unblinking eyes remained. Perhaps it was the cigarettes he refused to surrender, or the diabetes she knew was ravaging his kidneys. Still, the ancient Herr Doktor clung to life, his mind sharp as ever. Her father chose him as the family’s lawyer long ago, and he’d always been a fixture in her life, offering the kind of sound advice and guidance she’d come to rely upon.

She wanted to know why he’d come, but knew he would tell her when ready. He could not be rushed. Not ever.

The car pulled from the curb and the driver raised the Plexiglas partition that separated the rear compartment from the front seat.

“I’ve received some disturbing information. I thought it best to speak with you before approaching Kurt.”

The declaration grabbed her attention.

Brümmer had long ago expressed his apprehension regarding Kurt. Both Eisenhuth-Industrie and Herzog Concern were exclusively managed by her husband. With regard to Herzog, that had been mandated by her father’s will, though Brümmer had been appointed the executor of the estate. The consolidation of the two corporations’ management was done at her insistence, yet Brümmer had always kept a steady eye on every major decision, particularly as it related to the Herzog side. For all his political faults, Kurt had run the companies reasonably well. What troubled her at the moment was that rarely had Erwin Brümmer come directly to her. He was from the old school, the one that demanded a chain of command be rigidly respected.

And Kurt was in that chain.

She waited for him to explain.

“The BND has made inquiries at our banks. The requests for information came as the result of an official inquiry from the Chilean police and a man named Juan Vergara. Certain aspects of our financial records have been subpoenaed. Those official inquiries are supposed to be private, but the banks thought it best I know. We do a lot of business with them.”

“What kind of financial records?”

“Overseas transfers of cash into our corporate accounts. Specifically, from a Chilean bank account that was opened by Martin Bormann in the 1950s.”

“Erwin, you must explain yourself.”

She could not hide the astonishment in her voice.

“Millions of euros have passed from the Banco del Estado in Santiago, through Luxembourg, Liechtenstein, the Netherlands, and Switzerland, to banks here in Germany, into accounts our companies control. There is absolutely nothing suspect about the transfers themselves. Similar transactions occur on a daily basis from banks around the world. What makes these unique is that they are now directly linked to Martin Bormann and Hitler’s Bounty. I don’t have to tell you the implications of that.”

No, he did not.

What was happening?

Cassiopeia Vitt and Cotton Malone were supposed to be finding a connection between Theodor Pohl and Martin Bormann. She’d heard nothing from them, or Danny Daniels, all day. Now there was a trail that led to her? One that could sink her candidacy on the mere allegation.

“Where did the money go?” She wanted to know.

“Impossible to ascertain. The funds were commingled with other corporate assets. No one in the accounting departments thought much of the transfers. As I said, many are made between our affiliates worldwide every day.”

“How are you sure that the money is tainted?”

“My sources in the BND confirm that there is a current investigation of both Eisenhuth-Industrie and Herzog Concern. The Chileans provided them information that establishes the link beyond any doubt and requested action be taken. There are former Nazi documents that authenticate the money’s source. It is a priority investigation, one that few are privy to. That could help keep this out of the media for the immediate future.” The old man hesitated, and she caught the look in his eye. “I’m told that there is an ex-American intelligence operative and another woman, in the field, working together on an assignment that you requested. Do you want to tell me what’s going on?”