Christopher Reich - The Runner

Judge powered the Jeep toward the fairy-tale castle, hurtling down the bumpy lane at seventy miles per hour, faster even than he’d dared on the autobahn. Nearing the entry to Sonnenbrucke, he spotted the twin Jeeps advancing on him from far down the limestone drive. He slammed on the brakes and spun the wheel so that the Jeep diagonally blocked the road. He wondered what ruse they’d used to lure Ingrid Bach from her home, or if they’d said “to hell with it” and killed her right there. His hand dropped to his side in a vain quest for his pistol. It had gone up with the rest of the armory. All the while he searched for a flash of platinum hair.

Climbing onto his seat, he waves his arms, gesturing for the Jeeps to stop. When the lead Jeep had closed to within thirty yards, he saw that Ingrid was not in either vehicle. Puzzled, he stopped his frantic signaling and jumped to the ground.

“You okay?” yelled the driver of the lead Jeep, slowing to a halt. His rank and insignia gave him as a master sergeant assigned to the 101st Airborne, part of Carswell’s Seventh Army. “The little green beast give out on you?”

Judge ignored the question, rushing to his side. “Where is Miss Bach?”

“I’m sure she’s inside, sir,” answered the sergeant, crew cut, fat and fifty.

“What business did you have with her?”

The sergeant looked dumbfounded. “Why, none. My men and I form part of the detachment guarding Alfred Bach. What his daughter does or doesn’t do is her own affair.”

“Or the general’s,” cracked a wiseacre from the bleachers.

So the word had spread, thought Judge. There was no more efficient conduit for passing along rumors than the United States fighting man. “Who were the soldiers that just arrived?”

“Them?” The sergeant peered over his shoulder. “Changing of the guard. Ten minutes late, I might add. Don’t tell me they were racing again?”

“No,” said Judge, dragging his foot in the dirt. “Just a misunderstanding on my part. Sorry to bother you.”

“No problem at all, Major.” Judge offered a sheepish wave as the Jeeps set off down the drive. He wasn’t angry at making a fool of himself so much as drawing attention to his presence. Yon Luck’s murder had left him edgy, feeling as if his stomach were lined with broken glass. It came to him that his worries for Ingrid Bach might have as much to do with his interest in her than any immediate danger she was in. In his agitated mood, he dismissed the notion as an insult to his professionalism. He was simply doing his duty.

A few hundred yards further on he came to the group who’d flown by him in Inzell. The sentry asked his name, unit, and the purpose of his visit, before waving him on. Judge craned his neck to get a view of the guard’s clipboard. There it was: his name scribbled in black ink, the time of arrival given as 12:22 hours and under the column headed “purpose”, the words “personal business”. A record of his visit for anyone who cared to check.

Ingrid Bach answered the door herself. She wore a simple calico dress, a stained apron tied around it. Her hair was bundled into a scarf, albeit a silk one. Her face was pale, absent all trace of makeup.Sit her on a street corner, give her a brick to clean, and she’d still look like queen of the ball, thought Judge, as he entered Sonnenbrucke’s foyer.

“They’re still shooting my precious chamois, Major, if you’ve come to see about that.” She said it reticently, leaving it open for him to take up where they’d left off Friday night.

“Police business, I’m afraid.”

“Oh?” Her body stiffened in learned reflex to his tone of voice.

Moving further into the great hall, Judge removed his cap and tucked it under an arm. “I need you to accompany me on an errand. You’ll need a change of clothes, a toothbrush, whatever items you usually require for an overnight visit.”

“I beg your pardon?” she said.

“I’ll have you back by tomorrow afternoon at this time.” He checked his watch. “Maybe earlier.”

She placed a hand on her hip and he could see she was readying one of her patented barrages. This was her territory, she was going to say, and she wasn’t going to be pushed around. “You don’t really expect me to—”

“Now!” Judge said louder than he’d intended. “This is not a request. Go upstairs and get your things together. Hurry it up.”

Ingrid Bach took a tentative step closer, her hand raised in mute protest.

“Please,” said Judge, softly this time. “We need to leave quickly. We have a long drive in front of us.”

Herbert, the butler, approached from the recesses of the hallway, Ingrid’s blond son at his side. The old man asked if everything was all right. She nodded curtly and smiled, asking him to take Pauli upstairs. She’d come in a minute.

“We will be back tomorrow?” Ingrid eyed him doubtfully.

“By noon. I promise.” Judge watched the boy disappear upstairs. “Can Herbert manage with your son?”

“He’s practically his father. My sister, Hilda, is with us now, too. She arrived yesterday to help care for Papa.”

Hilda — the daughter being held in a pen outside Essen pending review of her role in the daily affairs of Bach Industries. They’re war criminals, all of them, Judge warned himself. Off Limits.

Ingrid paused before retreating up the stairs. “May I at least ask what this is about?”

Judge met her inquisitive gaze. “It’s about him,” he answered. “It’s about Erich Seyss.”

Neither of them spoke until the Jeep was down the mountain and traveling at a comfortable speed along the autobahn. Ingrid kept her face turned away from Judge, playing the part of unwilling prisoner with the same aplomb she brought to her roles as hausfrau , estate owner and belle of the ball. Judge was amazed at her ability to corral her curiosity. Feeling intimidated by her self control and maybe angered by it, too, he guarded his silence. It was difficult. Part of him wanted to explain why he’d kidnapped her so brusquely and what would be required of her once they reached Heidelberg. Another to grill her mercilessly about Egon’s ties to Erich Seyss. Instead, he used the quiet to consider what exactly he could tell her about Seyss and how much he could reveal about Bauer’s plans. He did not want to burden her with information which would only serve to endanger her life.

Finally, he could stand it no longer. “Aren’t you interested where I’m taking you?”

She granted him a victorious glance. “I imagine I’ll find out soon enough.”

“Heidelberg,” he said. “To the military hospital.”

Her head snapped toward him. “Is he hurt?”

“Not exactly.” Ingrid looked away, her eyes trained on the horizon. She understood that tone, too.

“We’d like you to identify his body,” he said. “He was gravely wounded. It won’t be pleasant.” It was imperative that she believe Seyss was dead. Only that way could he gauge the veracity of her reaction if, as he hoped, she claimed the corpse wasn’t him.

“I’m the only one you have?”

Judge nodded, wanting to add, “You’re the only one I can trust.” He watched as she took a cigarette from her purse, cupped it between her hands and lit it with a Zippo similar to his own. Given the open cockpit and the roaring wind, it was no small feat. After taking a long drag, she lifted a knee onto her seat and shot him a scornful look. “So you found him, then you killed him.”

Judge scoffed. “He got himself killed. He was an escaped war criminal wanted for murder of an American officer. We caught him operating on the black market.”

“Funny to think of a man surviving the war only to be killed during the peace.”

“He was hardly an angel. He had it coming.”