Christopher Reich - The Runner

“Well?” she asked, her cocksure grin answering her own question.

Judge wasn’t sure whether to be elated or aghast. All he knew was that by noon tomorrow every Tom, Dick and Harry at Flint Kaserne would be gossiping that come February, Georgie Patton was going to have himself an eight pound, diaper-wetting, bundle of joy. “My compliments. You were meant for the stage.”

“That’s me, the next Zarah Leander.”

“Who?”

Ingrid rolled her eyes. “Irene Dunne.”

“Naw,” said Judge, “You’ve got her beat by a mile.” And Hayworth and Grable, too , he added silently. He clicked the receiver and dialed the number Harkins had given. To be safe, he returned the phone to Ingrid and had her ask the hotel operator for Patton’s room. The phone picked up before a single ring had been completed.

“General Patton’s suite.” The voice was smooth and cultured.

Judge put his hand to Ingrid’s ear and whispered, “That’s Meeks, Patton’s valet.”

“Good evening, Meeks,” said Ingrid, not missing a beat. “It’s me, Jean. Dare I ask if my favorite general is about?”

“One moment, Miss Gordon.”

Patton came on the line a second later. “Jean, darling. You don’t know how nice it is to hear your voice.”

Judge accepted the phone from Ingrid. “Excuse me, sir, but this is Devlin Judge, not Miss Gordon.”

“What the hell? ” barked Patton. There was a pause and he yelled something at Meeks, then came back on the line. “Listen here, you son of a syphilitic whore, you think you can—”

Judge interrupted the invective midstream. “General, it is imperative we speak. Erich Seyss is still alive.”

“I don’t give a good goddamn if Hitler himself is still alive,” yelled Patton, “ and selling pencils in Times Square. I will not tolerate a pipsqueak intruding on my private affairs. It’s nearly midnight, you arrogant—”

“General, again I apologize, but Seyss is alive and he’s heading to Potsdam.”

Patton calmed long enough for Judge to imagine him clad in his black and gold Army bathrobe, a cigar tucked in the corner of his mouth, then said, “Good Christ, man, what are you going on about? Everett informed me yesterday morning that Seyss was dead. I told Ike myself.”

“He’s mistaken, sir. Seyss’s former fiancée herself confirmed that his body was not among the corpses.” Judge continued speaking, eagerly recounting what he’d learned from Heinz Bauer.

“Potsdam,” spat Patton. “What the hell’s he want in Potsdam?”

Judge hesitated a moment, fearing to give voice to his suspicions. “The Big Three are there,” he said, finally.

“And?”

“Sir, I believe Seyss has gone there as an assassin.”

“An assassin? Explain yourself.”

Judge didn’t answer for a few seconds. His first thought had been that Seyss was going after Stalin. After all, he’d been shot by Russians at the end of the war and the Soviets had occupied a great chunk of German territory. Why else the uniforms, the sniper’s rifle, and the Russian six by six, if not to get close to “Uncle Joe”? But somehow Judge didn’t figure revenge as Seyss’s modus operandi. What good would it do his country to kill Stalin? Would it get the Red Army out of Berlin, or out of what had once been the Greater German Reich for that matter? Just the opposite. Kill Stalin and the Red Army would exact a terrible price. Hundreds of thousands of Germans were being held prisoner in Russian camps. Kill Stalin and Seyss would be signing his comrades’ death warrant.

But if it made little sense to kill Stalin, what could be said for killing Truman or Churchill? Their deaths would only make the terms of the occupation more onerous. Yon Luck’s words still haunted him:he’s a Brandenburger. He’s trained to become one of the enemy. Which one, dammit? Judge asked himself.The British or the Americans? And so he answered both.

“Sir, I believe he intends to kill Prime Minister Churchill and President Truman.”

“Truman, you say?” asked Patton. “Tonight at dinner, Mr President graciously informed me that my uniform had more stars than the Missouri night. I won the war for him and all he cares about is how I dress.”

Judge was astonished by Patton’s flippant reply. “General, it’s not just Seyss I’m talking about. Members of the American military are involved as well. They killed von Luck this morning before I could question him. And they had a go at me earlier this evening. Four nurses in a Jeep behind me were killed.”

“Slow down, Judge. I’m not up to date on the details. That’s what I have Everett and Mullins for. Four nurses, you say, dead? Sounds to me like you’ve got yourself in a regular shitstorm.”

Finally, Patton seemed to be taking his words to heart. “Yes sir. I certainly seem to.” And uttering the words, Judge stood a little straighter, a little prouder. It was the military working its way into his system, his brush with danger a laurel to be worn and applauded. The insight turned his pride to nausea.

“Call Everett and have him get you up here,” ordered Patton. “I’m not prepared to accept your line of reasoning until I hear it face to face.”

Everett, again. Suddenly, he was popping up everywhere. “That’s out of the question, sir. I have reason to believe he may be involved.”

“Jesus Christ, Judge. You’re not making this easy. Just tell me where the hell you are. I’ll send my driver, Mims, to pick you up. I’ve trusted him with my life every goddamn day for the last three years. If what you say is true, I’ll need you in Berlin pronto. You can brief Ike yourself.”

Judge hesitated, but realized he had no choice. Sooner or later he was going to have to trust someone. He gave Patton his location and listened as the general read it back to him.

“Who the hell was that cooing to Meeks? That Bach woman you carted off this afternoon?”

“Yes sir,” said Judge.

Patton laughed. “Christ, you’ve had quite some day picking up a looker in Bavaria and getting some nurses killed in Heidelberg. I’ll grant you one thing, Major, you’ve got initiative. I like that in a man. Stay put and Mims will be with you by dawn. Everything goes as planned, you’ll be up here tomorrow at noon.”

“Yes sir,” Judge repeated. But even as he hung up the phone, he felt a knot twist in his gut. He’d never mentioned Ingrid by name, nor had he said anything about Heidelberg.

If Patton didn’t keep abreast of the details, how did he know that he’d picked up Ingrid Bach or where the nurses had been murdered? Staring at the receiver, Judge felt paralyzed by the weight of his suspicions. It was a big leap to tie Patton to von Luck’s death, to the murder of four young nurses, and ultimately to Erich Seyss, himself. There might be a dozen reasons why Patton wouldn’t care to admit to being acquainted with the details of the search for Seyss. Judge just couldn’t think of any.

“And so? Will he help?” Ingrid stood with her hands cupped at her throat, rocking on her toes.

Judge stared into her pleading eyes, wishing he could give her the answer she deserved. “I’m not sure,” he said. “We’ll have to wait and see.”

They stood on a grassy escarpment at the outskirts of Griesheim, their arms brushing lightly against one another, a strong breeze ruffling their backs. The Jeep was parked twenty yards behind them, nose pointed north on a rutted farm road. Their point of vantage offered an unimpeded view of the village and, with help from the half moon’s shallow light, they were able to make out the Rathaus , the Reform church next door, and most importantly, either end of the two lane road that provided the village’s sole entry and exit. Abruptly, the wind dropped, leaving silence and apprehension in its wake.