Eric Norden - The Ultimate Solution

He started to answer, then collapsed into a fit of wracking coughs. Kohler held up the bottle again and he got the last of it between his lips.

“Tell me who he is, Connor, tell me if it’s so important.”

“This is what I feel, not what I know. I think the Jew is a messenger, an observer.” His voice was raspy, barely audible. “Sometimes history goes wrong, it takes a wrong turning point at some crucial crossroads’ and careens off the rails. The pendulum swings unnaturally far between the polar forces of the universe, between good and evil, yin and yang, negative and positive. The cosmic balance is disrupted, there is a breach in the fabric of time and space and for a second the curtain is parted and the Others peer in, the Others who write our destinies like words in a book.” His voice grew stronger as he spoke, fueled by some inner passion. “This is beyond my own faith, beyond all man’s knowledge perhaps, but I saw it through his eyes, fragments of it, something vast and beautiful and terrifying. Norse mythology glimpsed it vaguely, the Runes, the spinners of Man’s fate, the weavers of the cosmic tapestry. And when there’s a fault, a tear in the tapestry, it’s corrected, just as the last act of a play is rewritten or a painting changed. Somewhere, sometimes, somewhen, the Others will doubt a future of their making and test it and perhaps destroy it, snuffing out a sun, scratching a universe, and starting all over again. And they see us through the eyes of their craftsmanship, sometimes through the eyes of an old Jew from another time and another place’ and another world. And they find us wanting. Wanting.”

He broke into a fit of coughing again, bubbles of blood-flecked foam frothing over his lips, and Ed and I looked at each other in despair.

“He’s clear round the bend now,” I said. “Should we finish it?”

Kohler looked down at the old man.

“Something might come out, even in delirium. We have no choice.”

The coughing had stopped and Connor looked up at us, almost expectantly. Kohler held up a long thin flexible wire.

“If I remember my mythology, priests weren’t overly concerned with their sexual prowess. But you’re still a man. Don’t make me do this.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he whispered. “Get it over with.”

“All you have to do is tell us where the Jew is.”

He said nothing.

“All right, Bill, hold him down.”

Kohler crouched over Connor’s groin.

“Shit, it’s like threading a needle… ah .”

The old man’s body thrashed and heaved and the scream rang in my ears, almost deafening me. Kohler withdrew the wire and bent over, placing his ear close to the old man’s mouth, which was emitting little burbling noises.

“Tell me where the Jew is, Connor, and it’ll all be over. The Jew.”

The words were barely distinguishable, and I leaned close.

“Ed, he’s trying to say something…”

Kohler waved me to silence, listened closely for a moment, then grimaced in disgust.

“Shit, it’s Latin. The old fool’s giving himself the Last Rites. C’mon, hold him down again.”

The wire Reamed briefly in Ed’s hands and then Connor spasmed in my arms. But there was no scream and within seconds the body was limp and still. Kohler checked the pulse, then stood up abruptly and walked over to the card table.

“He’s gone.” He started packing away the instruments. “And we didn’t get a fucking thing except some mystical gibberish. He was telling the truth all right.”

“Let’s get out of here.” The old man had voided his bowels and the place stank like a privy. For some reason I thought of the Blackfight at the Garden, the big buck sizzling on the grid. At the end, all you leave behind is shit.

The fresh air outside tasted good, hot as it was, and we sat in the car for a minute debating what to do next. Unless the Jew walked into our stakeout at the Crib we still were no closer to him than ever.

“I think we’d better brief von Leeb,” Kohler said. “We haven’t got much, but we’ve got something.” He slapped his pants pocket. “Maybe the old boy will spot some significance in this medallion thing. Who knows, maybe it’s in some kind of Jew code.”

The manager at the Adlon spotted us before we were out of the swinging doors and scurried over, an anguished expression on his face.

“A terrible thing, we’ve been in touch with the Mission…”

Kohler and I looked at each other simultaneously.

“We have all his effects here, of course, we’ll hold them for…”

Kohler’s voice was hoarse.

“When did it happen?”

The manager plucked anxiously at the braid on his right sleeve.

“The Professor left standing instructions to bring afternoon tea at four o’clock. The waiter found him, and we dispatched our doctor immediately. It happened sometime during the morning, a peaceful passing, the heart of course. I suppose at his age one could not expect…”

We left him prattling on and walked back to the street.

“Do you know that old rhyme, ‘Ten Little Niggers’?” Kohler asked quietly as the doorman brought our car around.

I nodded absently.

“Well, now there are two.”

Beck was waiting for us back at Gestapo headquarters, looking disgustingly crisp and rested. We trouped into the empty canteen and sat at a corner table over black coffee while Kohler told him the latest developments, Von Leeb’s death overshadowing our leads from Connor, such as they were. It was obvious there was no great love lost between the two of them, but as long as Beck was the only other agent involved he had a right to know. He was a target too. But when Kohler finished, Beck looked unruffled as ever.

“I think you’re worrying needlessly. With von Leeb out of the way our troubles are over.”

Kohler and I just stared at him.

“My God, man,” I sputtered, “with von Leeb gone we’ve no protection, no authorization, and we’ve already set ourselves up as clay pigeons for the Japs.”

“Hold on, Haider, don’t panic.” Beck smiled coldly, condescendingly, and I could understand why Kohler didn’t like the bastard. “Even assuming the Japs are still after us, von Leeb’s death closes the case, at least for the time being. We’ve all been working directly under his instructions, and until fresh orders arrive from Berlin I think we should just sit and wait.”

“For what, a bullet?” Kohler slammed his coffee cup down on the table. “Haven’t you understood one goddamned word of what I’ve been saying?”

Beck’s even, empty smile didn’t flicker.

“I understand that you’ve both been going at this for forty-eight hours straight and may be losing your perspective.” He held up one hand to stave off Kohler’s angry retort. “Listen, von Leeb’s death gives us all an escape hatch. We just sit tight and let the Japs have the Jew if they can find him. As long as we’re not in their way, we’re no longer a threat. We’re safe, Kohler, all of us.”

I knew in my guts that it couldn’t be that easy anymore but I couldn’t find a ready answer. I turned to Kohler for help, but he was regarding Beck appraisingly now, his anger gone.

“I think he may just have a point, Bill.” He leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers thoughtfully. “Possibly a very good point.” He turned to Beck. “Go down and check the computer findings again, I want to talk to Haider.”

Beck nodded affably and ambled off.

Kohler leaned over and spoke softly, intensely. “Look, what did we agree last night? That our only concern now was staying alive, right, not this Jew or von Leeb or Heydrich or all the political in-fighting in Berlin. Well, Beck isn’t so thick. He’s given us a way out.”