Perfect Payback, page 16
I couldn’t imagine what Hans had to deal with. Two close friends who weren’t friends at all. They’d used him for their own selfish reasons.
“The war started that same month. I worked overtime at the Bavarian Airworks, and it was good to come home to Heidi at the end of the day. There is an old saying, ‘All things work out for the better.’ In my case, it could not be truer.”
I stretched and extended my legs under the table. “With Anna and Fischer dead, I suppose that was the end of the Russian spying incidents.”
Hans gripped his glass so hard his hand shook. “If only what you said were true.”
It wasn’t his words that chilled my body, it was the way he’d said them.
Chapter 36
July 1999
Munich, Germany
Sitting across from Hans, I imagined what his life must have been like. Anna—a spy for the Russian government. I let that sink in. Not only had she betrayed Germany, she’d betrayed Hans by pretending to care for him. She’d used his feelings for her, cutting out his heart in the process, apparently with no remorse. After getting so completely sucked into Hans’s story in the journal, I felt like she’d gutted me. And her gruesome death only added to the insanity.
“There is more.” Hans crossed his arms, angling his body in the chair almost as if he were protecting his heart even now. “The story did not end with Anna.”
His contemptuous scowl piqued my interest. I straightened in my chair. “What do you mean?”
He rubbed a hand over his face. “Because she did clerical work for the Gestapo, she was in a perfect position to set me up. She came on to me to get military information, but she also wanted to use me to cover her mistakes.”
“Mistakes?” I asked.
“Anna killed Heinrich Adler. He had come by her apartment and tried to rape her. When his body was found near a brothel in Augsburg, I became a suspect. We fought in public the night before. Over Anna. And then the Gestapo found my Olympic lapel pin on the riverbank near his body.” He folded a napkin once, then again, before stuffing it into his empty glass. “She stole the pin out of my hotel room and planted it to incriminate me.”
I reached across the table. “How did you know Anna killed Adler?”
“I will get to that later.” Hans flexed his fingers, tightening them into fists, his disdain for Anna obvious, as if she’d left a stain on his soul he couldn’t scrub off.
Laura picked up on it, her shoulders tightening. “You said Adler came by her apartment. If she killed him there, how did she get the body to the brothel?”
“She had help.” Hans’s tone turned as sharp as cracked Waterford crystal.
Something clicked in my head. I knew who’d helped her. I slammed my open hand on the tabletop. “Fischer.”
Hans raised his index finger and ticked it back and forth with the precision of a pendulum on a metronome. “Nein war es nicht Fischer.” He shook his head. “It was not Fischer.”
I looked at Laura, then back at Hans. “Who was it?”
“Hoermann,” Hans said. “Hoermann and Anna were partners.”
I slapped my hands together, the veins in my neck pounding. That sorry SOB.
Laura’s mouth flew open. “Then who killed Anna?”
Hans’s face seemed to harden. “After I recognized Anna on the film, Hoermann knew he had to kill her.”
“Because once the Gestapo arrested her, she would expose him.” Laura said what I had been thinking.
“What about Fischer?” I asked.
Hans’s nostrils flared. “Fischer was innocent. Hoermann framed him to make it look like he was working with Anna. He planned to use the film of Anna and Fischer as part of his evidence. He never expected me to recognize her. But Anna’s unusual hat, that gave her away.”
I rubbed my temple as the twists and turns muddied the water and made Hans’s story difficult to follow. “Could you go back to the beginning and help me make sense of what happened?”
“When I first met Hoermann in Stuttgart?” Hans asked.
“Yes, start there, please.” My mind needed refreshing.
Shifting in his chair, Hans stared off into space, as if he were trying to keep the past in the past. “Messerschmitt had arranged for me to stay and work in Augsburg. I returned to Stuttgart to get my possessions, and Baron asked that I come see him.” He slowly tempered his voice until it showed less and less emotion, as though he were building a wall to contain his rage. “Hoermann was in Baron’s office smoking a pipe. That was the day he told Baron that Uncle Wilhelm was an American spy and that the Military Intelligence Service would monitor me because of the family ties.”
“I remember reading that.” Could my grandfather really have been a spy?
“Hoermann was not friendly. I think he had planned to make me a scapegoat as he did Fischer.”
“How did you figure all this out?” Laura questioned.
Hans rubbed his hand over the table as if to remove a layer of dust. “I did not figure it out.”
Laura leaned in close to Hans’s chair, growing as tense as the strings on a tennis racket. “Then who did?”
“Keitel,” Hans whispered.
“And how did he know about Hoermann?” Laura gripped the arms of her chair.
The wall Hans was building crumbled a little as a beaten-down look broke through across his face.
It must have been horrible knowing Anna and Hoermann had betrayed him. Not to mention that his true friend, Fischer, had been executed for something he’d had no part in. “I’m sorry, Hans.”
The only acknowledgment I got was a stiff nod. “Do you remember when Hoermann, Keitel, and I were in the safe house?”
“Yes,” I said.
“And remember when I saw the spy camera in Fischer’s chest of drawers and thought it was a pen? Hoermann put it there to incriminate Fischer. He showed me a similar pen in his briefcase and asked me if that was what I had found. That was the first time Keitel suspected him. He wondered why Hoermann would be carrying a spy camera in his briefcase. It did not fit into his job description.”
Laura finally gave Hans some breathing room and leaned back in her chair.
“Keitel was a good detective. He went back to the log from the day I was blindsided at the aircraft factory. Hoermann had signed in at 5:25 in the afternoon. That was not unusual. He would often meet with Messerschmitt at that time of day. When quitting time came, I stayed. The noise I heard that night was Hoermann taking pictures with that pen after he left Messerschmitt’s office. I guess he was afraid I would see him, so he knocked me out. For the same reason, he also ran over Fischer when he was unlocking the door to the building about 11:00 p.m.”
“I got the impression you weren’t too fond of Keitel,” I said.
“I was not. But even though he was a Nazi, he was loyal to Germany. He saved me, and I will be forever grateful.”
“He saved you?” I asked.
“If it had not been for Keitel, Hoermann’s plan to frame me for Anna’s murder would have worked.”
“I still have questions.” Laura had an “oh my” look on her face as she reached over and touched his hand. “The restaurant in Augsburg where you and Anna went, you always sat at the same table. That seemed a little unusual to me.”
“Very perceptive of you.” Hans gave Laura a humorless, tight-lipped grin. “Hoermann and Anna had that table bugged. Luckily, all the times we had dinner there, I never gave away any secrets about my work. Even though Anna and I were close, I was careful not to talk about the 109 engine, and she rarely asked questions. Heidi, however, asked so many questions you would have thought she was the spy.” He smiled for the first time since this conversation started.
“How did you know the table was bugged?” I asked.
“Everything came out in Hoermann’s trial. When the Gestapo accused him of treason, he became very cooperative.”
“I have a few more questions about your journal,” Laura said. “Do you mind?”
“It is good for me to talk.” Hans looked at both of us. “I am so glad you came. Now, what do you want to ask me?”
“The shortwave radio. Who put it in your hotel room?”
“You are such a delightful person, Laura, and you remember details. A logical thinker. I like that. Hoermann planted that. At the time, he still wanted to frame me as the spy.”
“He changed his mind?” Totally into this conversation, Laura couldn’t hide her curiosity.
“I have to say… reading the journal I felt like you and Hoermann had become friends. Am I right?”
“Yes, we did become friends.” Hans hesitated, as if he were measuring his thoughts. “And I think he did change his mind.”
Hans—and his life—fascinated me. What an amazing person. “When did that happen?”
“About the time Hoermann and I went to the Boar’s Head Club in Augsburg. He liked the vaudevillian acts and that it was a brothel. The building was old, musty, and smelled of stale beer. Not a place where most people Hoermann worked with would go. He had this phobia about us not being seen together. That was when I told him about being knocked out at the aircraft factory.”
Laura shook her head. “But he was the one who knocked you out.”
“He played his part. I think he wanted to know how much I remembered about the night, and if I remembered him being there, which I did not.” Hans rubbed his chin. “I asked Hoermann about the unusual smell of the tobacco in his pipe. I was beginning to like him then. He was… interesting. Different. I think he was lonely. People were probably put off by his body odor.” He paused. “He told me he had picked up the Yello Bole pipe in New York City. The cherry tobacco was his own creation. He had to mix two tobaccos to make the blend.”
Several loud police sirens came from the street below. They gave me an eerie feeling, like the police were coming for Hans after all the years. Silly, I know.
Hans sighed. “I may have been his only friend. I could be wrong, but I think that night at the club he decided to frame Fischer instead of me.”
Hans pushed back from the table and walked to the window. Hands on his hips, he gazed over the city.
Would he share more about his story? I wished I could read his mind. And I had another important question to ask about Grandfather Wilhelm. Hoermann had accused him of being a spy. The British Spitfire fighter plane had a remarkable engine that was very similar to the 109.
Could Hans have given my grandfather the secret to the engine’s performance?
Chapter 37
July 1999
Munich, Germany
Unsure if Hans knew I’d moved next to him at the window, I briefly set my hand on his shoulder. I couldn’t help but wonder if he’d shared his expertise of Germany’s prized airplane engine with Grandfather, and if the Americans had passed on that intelligence to the British. “The Spitfire was the British equivalent to the BF 109. Would you agree?”
Behind me, Laura shifted restlessly in her chair.
But clearly lost in thought, Hans continued to look straight ahead. “A remarkable aircraft. The plane’s Merlin engine was superb.”
“Hans.” I cleared my throat. “Was Grandfather Wilhelm an American spy?”
His silence was more deafening than a shotgun blast. Finally, he turned toward me, his face like chiseled stone. “What is your point?”
“If he approached you, would you have shared military secrets about the BF109?”
“Do you think I would betray my country?” His tone hit the edge of hostile. “If I did, I would be no different from Hoermann or Anna.”
Had I stepped over the line? How could I have been so stupid? After everything we’d talked about, I’d insulted him. “I didn’t mean it that way.”
The look he shot me could’ve stopped a runaway train.
I decided to prod him one more time anyway. But I was careful to keep any accusation from my tone. “I know you love Germany. But I also know you hated the Nazis. To save your country, maybe you helped the Allies?”
All Hans offered was more silence.
I tried a different tactic. “What was it that caused you to hate the Nazi political party?”
His jaw tightened. “You are wrong to assume the Nazi Party was political. It was a dragon that devoured the souls of the German people. A religion with Hitler as the Messiah. A cult. All those who joined were brainwashed into the Nazi ideology—racism, hate, and nationalism that far exceeded the normal pride for one’s country.” It was impossible not to feel his passion, his disgust for what the Nazis had done to his country. “Any other questions?”
“What happened to you after Anna’s death?” Laura asked quietly.
Thank you, Laura, for breaking the tension.
Adjusting his watch, he rubbed his wrist as if the band was too tight and returned to the table.
I followed, reclaiming my seat across from him.
“Schiffter, the Gestapo bureau chief in Augsburg, still blamed me for Adler’s death. He also hated me because Hoermann took me out of his custody. And with Anna working for the Gestapo, Schiffter had reason to pursue me again. Knowing I had nothing to do with Adler or Anna’s death, Hoermann and Keitel hid me here in Munich.”
“Hans.” I cocked my head and grinned. “Your life has had more intrigue than a James Patterson novel.”
He chuckled, and his shoulders shifted.
“One thing still confuses me. Both the Gestapo and the Military Intelligence Service Hoermann and Keitel worked for were government agencies. I don’t get the lack of cooperation between the two.”
“Government agencies often do not cooperate.” He shrugged. “Character flaws of ego and pride. Both agencies wanted credit. Like apes pounding their chests, shouting, ‘Look at me. See what I did.’” Hans closed his eyes and grasped the bridge of his nose.
He looked tired. Bringing up so much tragedy might have been too much. “We’re pulling you in every direction.”
“We can stop asking questions,” Laura offered, unable to hide the disappointment in her voice.
“No.” Sighing, he opened his eyes. “But sometimes thinking about the past is hard.”
“I’m sorry.” I shook my head. “We have no right—”
“But you do. This is part of your family history as much as it is mine. Your generation needs to know about my generation. Please, go ahead and ask.”
“How did the Gestapo find out Hoermann killed Anna?” Laura asked.
Hans scratched behind his ear and smiled. “Actually, Keitel tied everything together. The Gestapo found a tobacco pouch with a pipe in it close to Anna’s body.”
“Hoermann’s?” I asked.
Hans nodded. “Keitel saw Schiffter in the lounge at the hotel where I had stayed. When Keitel asked about the investigation of Anna’s murder, Schiffter mentioned the pipe but said he was unable to tie it to anyone. Keitel filled Schiffter in about Hoermann’s smoking habits. When Hoermann and Keitel came to see me in Munich, Keitel slipped the pouch with the pipe on a side table. Hoermann saw the pouch and said, ‘Ah, so this is where I left it.’ At this point, Keitel arrested him. The shocked look on Hoermann’s face left no doubt he had been caught. He did not even put up a fight.”
“The SOB got his.” I made a fist and pounded my palm. Pow! Pow! “The perfect payback.”
“I had not thought about it, but it was the perfect payback.” Hans grinned. “That is an excellent observation. Bravo. Good point.”
“So, Keitel turned Hoermann over to the Gestapo, and he was tried for treason and murder?” Laura cupped her hands over her mouth. I couldn’t see her smile, but her eyes gave it away.
“The same judge who had presided over Fischer’s trial also presided over Hoermann’s. Quite a twist of fate, would you not say?” Hans’s deep baritone laugh told me he did get retribution. He glanced at his watch. “I told Heidi I would call her, and it is almost 4:00. Do you mind?”
“No, of course not,” I said.
“We need to get back to the hotel.” Laura pushed out of her chair. “We promised our boys we’d call them.”
Hans and I stood and shook hands.
He gave Laura a one-arm squeeze around the shoulder. “I want to hear about your boys tomorrow.”
“Yes, we’ll take you to lunch.” I wished we could spend the rest of the summer in Munich. There was so much more I wanted to know about Hans. “We have one more day here, and we’d love to spend it with you.”
“Wunderbar. Wunderbar.” His voice boomed with excitement.
Laura and I spent the rest of the afternoon enjoying the sites of the old German city and rehashing our conversation with Hans. I couldn’t wait to tell him about our boys.
The next day we had an early breakfast and walked around the Marienplatz until time to go back to Hans’s apartment. At 11:45, I knocked on his door.
No answer.
I knocked again.
The lady directly across the hall opened her door. Frail with rounded shoulders and spindly legs, she was barely able to walk. “Are you Hans’s die familie?” she asked.
“Yes, my cousin.” I looked at the lady, at Laura, then back at the lady. I didn’t have a good feeling about what she was going to say.
“Hans was called away to Dresden.” She hesitated. “His wife Heidi had emergency surgery. But he told me she would be fine and not to worry. He asked me to give you this.” As she extended her hand, her gnarled fingers shook.
I took the cream-colored envelope from her and half bowed to show respect. “Danke schoen.”
