Perfect Payback, page 4
“I said… I’ve solved the problem with the fuel injection system.” Truth be known, I didn’t know for sure. I would either be a hero or a goat. If my hypothesis didn’t work, I would be back in Stuttgart before dark. But if my hypothesis was right, that self-assertive SOB would be humbled, my gamble well worth the risk.
He sat at his desk, pulled out a cigarette, and lit the tobacco.
Hard to decide what was worse—the stink of Messerschmitt’s cigarette or Hartmann’s tuna breath.
“Let me see the schematics.” He tapped his index finger on the desk. Hard. “Point out the problem, and how you fixed it.”
I set the blueprints in front of him but instead of pointing down, I turned and pointed to the door. “I’ve already worked on Hartmann’s plane. He’s ready to take it up now.”
Messerschmitt placed his hands on the desk and pushed out of the chair, cigarette dangling from the corner of his frowning mouth. “So, you’re not going to tell me the problem.” He took a deep drag and angrily exhaled a mist of spit. “I like your confidence.” He smashed the cigarette into the empty tray. “You’d better be right.”
Knees weak, I swallowed hard as we walked toward the hangar. I’d banked everything on a hunch. That was so unlike me. But I’d be damned if I let Messerschmitt know just how much he intimidated me.
Leaning against his plane, Hartmann crossed his arms and legs, the cocky pose typical. He looked much better than he had an hour ago with his hair combed and his flight suit unwrinkled and clean.
“Take her up to six thousand feet,” Messerschmitt said. “Do tight turns. Don’t hold back.”
“Jawohl.” His “yes, sir” rang out crisp and strong.
A crowd of people filed out from the hangar and office building—men dressed in coats and ties, women in skirts and sweaters, other men in jumpsuits.
How had the word gotten out?
Every eye appeared to bore down on me. Like I needed more pressure. Scheisse!
Hartman climbed into the cockpit, pulled on his aviator cap, fastened his seat belt harness, and turned over the powerful 601 engine.
The prop wash kicked bits of dirt and a few dried leaves off the concrete.
He taxied down the runway and turned into the wind, revving the engine to takeoff speed. The predator plane lumbered slowly at first, but quickly picked up the pace, faster and faster, until the plane was airborne.
The airship remained visible for only a few minutes before it disappeared.
The crowd grew quiet. Ghostly quiet. The only sound was the caw of ravens in the distance.
Could the bird chatter be a bad omen? Thump. Thump. Thump. I heard my pounding heart. I looked at Messerschmitt.
His motionless body went rigid, and he pushed his hands deep into his black overcoat. His wind-swept hair exposed a receding hairline, and the breeze popped the German flag on the pole next to the office building.
The silence was numbing. Were the workers expecting failure? Would I be ridiculed if my assumptions were wrong?
I looked at my watch. 8:45. How long would it take Hartmann to reach six thousand feet and make his high-speed turns?
I looked at my watch again. 9:00.
The onlookers mumbled.
Where was Hartmann? He’d been gone too long. Had he crashed?
A nervous twitch spasmed my left eye.
A screaming whistle blasted from the 109 that flew not more than two hundred feet above our heads. Hartmann rocked the wings back and forth, telling me no mechanical problems.
The crowd erupted with shouts of joy.
A rush of adrenaline spread through my anxious body. I looked at Messerschmitt.
His body language changed in a heartbeat. His slight grin turned to a full-blown gleam of white teeth, and he slapped my back twice. “Well done, young man. Well done. Let’s go back to my office. Tell me what you discovered.” He walked back toward the hangar as though a boxcar of iron had been lifted off his tired body.
I took a deep breath and eased air out of my nose. I couldn’t wait for Hartmann to tell us how the plane performed. This was a good day. No. A herrlich day. On the way to Messerschmitt’s office, I stopped by the washroom and splashed cold water on my face. My reflection in the mirror over the sink exposed my condition. Red eyes, drawn cheeks, and black stubble gave me away as exhausted and emotionally spent.
Many more sorties would have to be flown to prove my hypothesis, but the first test had been a positive one indeed.
Knocking on Messerschmitt’s door and walking in was much easier this time.
He hung up the phone.
“Come in, Pepperman. Take a chair. Do you want something to drink?”
“No, sir. I’m fine.” This couldn’t be the same man who had greeted me yesterday.
“Get to the point. Tell me about the problem with the fuel injector and spare me the engineering details.”
I adjusted my chair to be directly in front of his. “The problem’s not the fuel injector.”
He leaned forward, overlapping his hands. “It’s not the fuel injector?”
“No. The problem is related to the oil pump not having enough oil. At high altitudes, the oil foams. I topped off the coolant system with a quarter liter of oil. But that’s only a stopgap measure to prove my point.”
“So, what’s the final solution?”
“It could be replacing the roller bearings in the pump. We also have to increase the oil pressure and use a better grade of oil. I have some ideas. If those don’t work, a new oil pump will have to be designed. I’ll go back to Stuttgart. If Daimler will allow me, I’ll start to work immediately.”
“No, you won’t.” Messerschmitt shook his head, resting his elbows on the desk and steepling his fingers.
“Sir?”
“I just got off the phone with Baron. You’re staying in Augsburg. I want you here. If your hypothesis is right about the oil and the roll bearings in the fuel injectors, Russia and other adversaries will give anything for this information. It must be kept secret. Let’s go forward and prove your theory. I have seven other 109s. What would you say if we topped off the oil pumps on three more planes, left the other four with no added oil, and see what happens?”
“That’s a good idea.” I nodded. But was it a good idea? What if Hartmann’s plane had been a fluke? What if all the planes sputtered out?
The exciting adrenaline rush turned into a metallic taste in the back of my mouth, choking me.
Chapter 10
der 6. Januar 1937
Augsburg, Germany
Yesterday’s test flight encouraged me. I feel like I am on the right track with the 109. Regardless of the success or failure of the test flights today, I want to look into using a better grade of oil and replacing the roller bearings in the oil pump. Did not sleep much last night…
I paced in front of the hotel elevator, anxious to get to the Airworks factory for the morning trials.
The carrier stopped on the third floor, the doors opened, and there in front of me stood the beautiful lady I’d knocked over two nights ago.
Our eyes locked, and she smiled. And not just an ordinary smile. No, a smile that turned me into jellyfish glob. She angled her head ever so slightly. “Are you going to knock me down again?” Her silky voice matched her beautiful dark eyes.
I couldn’t stop staring. Her mellow voice mesmerized me. “Yes, ma’am.”
Her chin dipped. “You’re going to run over me again?”
Realizing my stupid mistake, I shook my head. “Nein… Nein. I’m so sorry about the other night.”
“Well, that’s a relief.” She smiled again.
The elevator door started to close.
I slapped my hand against the metal frame.
She stepped out and walked down the hall.
“Wait. Wait a minute.” I walked after her. “What’s your name?”
She stopped and pivoted toward me. “Anna Beck.” She extended a right hand with neatly filed red nails.
“Hans Pepperman.” I cupped her soft, warm palm in mine, surprised at the almost-electrical surge that raced through my body.
“Nice to meet you, Herr Pepperman.” Her words were dry. She obviously wasn’t feeling the same surge, but I couldn’t stop looking at her. To say her beauty didn’t captivate me would be disingenuous, but it wasn’t just her beauty. It was her total presence. Her confident manner. And a face that made me want to lose myself in her.
“Herr Pepperman.” She glanced toward our interlocking hands.
I’d made a fool of myself again. Nothing to lose now. I let go of her hand and cleared my throat. “Would you like to have a drink after work?”
Her long stare held no emotion, then her mouth parted in a slight grin. “I would like that.”
“Five-thirty in the hotel bar?”
Without saying a word, she nodded, turned, and walked down the hall, her perfectly shaped legs carrying her effortlessly, almost catlike, to her room. As she unlocked the door, she gave me one last look. A look with no feeling.
Verdammt! My chest tightened. What she did to me.
My day at the Bavarian Aircraft plant turned out wunderbar. The three 109s with topped-off oil performed magnificently at six thousand feet. There’d been no problems with high-speed turns, and the engines hadn’t cut out. It felt almost as good as being named to the German National boxing team. And the pivotal point of the day—Messerschmitt’s attitude toward me changed.
I wanted to be of value to the genius aircraft designer. If Daimler would allow me to stay in Augsburg, that would be fine. The job was important. But now I had another reason to stay. Anna Beck most definitely piqued my interest.
I boarded the train next to the aircraft factory that would take me within three blocks of the Bauer Hotel.
The shrill sound of hissing steam followed by a high-pitched whistle warned everyone the train was departing.
When I stepped off at the Rathausplatz Station, the sharp sting of a winter blast assaulted my face and penetrated the collar of my shirt. I grasped the nape of my overcoat, pulling it tight against my neck.
The polished-brick pavement was slick from the bitter cold, but cautious steps pulled me faster and faster toward the Bauer Hotel, Anna’s face going through my mind.
A sudden chill rolled down my back that had nothing to do with the wind. I stopped dead in my tracks as though a wall had been dropped in front of me. Twice I’d seen Anna on the third floor—my floor—of the hotel. Was she a guest? Or was she there for other reasons? Gestapo reasons?
As I rounded the corner toward the Bauer, my pace slowed.
A sizable crowd gathered in front of the hotel. Porters dressed in red jackets with black stripes around the cuffs, round furry hats, black pants, and spit-shined black shoes opened the doors for people stepping out of cars with their luggage.
I unbuttoned my overcoat in the lobby and made a quick swipe over my ruffled hair as I looked for Anna at the tables up front in the bar.
She wasn’t there.
I was disappointed. Had she forgotten?
A small group of people moved, and I spotted her at the rear of the lounge with her back to the wall.
She lifted her hand and beckoned me.
As I walked closer, she stood, adjusting her tight skirt over her hips.
Wow.
She eased back into her chair. “I’ve ordered two Weiss biers. Hope that’s suitable for you.”
Anna was presumptuous in ordering for me. I liked that about her. “Of course.” Wondering how to open the conversation, feeling like I’d never been on a date, I removed my overcoat and sat across from her.
“So, what brings you to Augsburg?” She took the initiative.
“I work for Daimler-Benz in Stuttgart. The company sent me here to work on a project at Bavarian Aircraft.”
“Are you a pilot? You look too big to fit into those little airplanes.”
“Nein. A mechanical engineer.”
Anna straightened in her chair. “I’m impressed. Can you tell me about the project?”
“It’s classified.”
“I understand. So what university did you attend?”
“Braunschweig Institute of Technology. My life’s pretty boring. Not many people want to know about technical things. What brought you to Augsburg?” I had to ask. She’d given me a perfect segue.
“I work for the government. If you think your life is boring…”
The wall dropped back in front of me. “What branch?”
“Gestapo.”
And there it was. I sat back in my chair, folding both arms across my chest. I shifted, unable to get comfortable. “Are you an agent?”
Anna tilted her head back and laughed. “Nein. Clerical work.”
“So, the Gestapo headquarters is in this hotel?” I knew the answer. I just wanted confirmation.
“Yes, the second floor, but my office is on the third. We ran out of space.”
“That explains why I keep running into you at the elevator. No pun intended.”
Anna nodded and smiled.
The waiter brought us the biers, and we toasted. The longer we sat and talked, the more I liked this woman. There was nothing pretentious about her, and I felt at ease in her presence.
She took a sip of bier, then slowly set her glass to the table, her warm, cheerful demeanor turning ice cold.
“What’s wrong?” Had I done something? Said something?
“There’s a man coming,” she said under her breath. “A Gestapo agent out of my office. I can’t make him understand there’s nothing between us.”
I gripped my drink.
The man bumped into my shoulder, and bier sloshed over my glass. “Oh, I’m so sorry, sir. Let me buy you another.” He took the empty chair next to Anna and snapped his fingers. “Barmann, two more biers.” His ape-like eyebrows and crooked, pitted nose reminded me of a man in a circus sideshow. “And what might your name be?” He leaned over the table.
His arrogant tone and posture spiked my blood pressure. He was trying to intimidate me, and that didn’t sit well. Neither did Anna’s reaction to him.
Her spine was stiff as rebar. She looked straight ahead, not moving a muscle.
“Hans Pepperman.” I answered the question, my voice cold.
He sniffed and scrunched his flat, scarred nose. “Heinrich Adler.” He extended a meaty right hand with fingernails chewed to the quick.
I took a sip of bier. “Your first name again? I wasn’t paying attention.”
He sniffed once more and looked at me with dead-fish eyes. “Hein-rich.” He emphasized each syllable, setting a hand on Anna’s and stroking it.
She made a fist and jerked her hand away.
“Ah, Heinrich. Such a forgettable name.” My tone went from chilly to heated. “Here’s what you’re going to do. Get your arsch out of that chair and leave. Do you understand?”
He leaned back, stunned. His pause lingered. His breathing peaked. His nostrils flared.
I lifted my thumb and motioned toward the door.
He moved his chair away from the table, stood, adjusting his coat. “I’ll be seeing you around. You can count on it.”
Anna tapped an index finger on her glass and took a sip. “I’ve never heard anyone talk to Heinrich the way you did. Most people are afraid of him. That man has a psychotic nature.”
I took my last sip and set the glass down. “I’ve been around people like him before. And his type doesn’t concern me.”
The barmann approached our table with two more biers. I needed to break the tension. “I should have let that brute Heinrich pay for our drinks before running him off.”
Anna grinned, exposing shiny, white teeth. “Poor timing on your part.”
“Where’s your hometown, Anna.”
“Garmisch.”
“I bet you love to ski.”
“Of course, don’t you?”
“Nein. I’m from Hamburg. Not many mountains close by. If my father took us on a vacation, we’d go to a beach on the Baltic Sea. He liked to fish, and I enjoyed swimming in the cold waters.”
“What does your father do for a living?” Anna tilted her glass.
“He’s an auto mechanic. Worked on engines with him ever since I can remember.”
“You inherited your technical thinking from your father.”
I nodded. “I suppose.”
We talked for two hours, but it seemed only minutes. “Anna, would you like to have dinner some evening?”
“I’d love to.” She opened her purse, pulled out a notepad, and wrote her address and phone number. When she handed it to me, she held onto the slip of paper for a moment before letting go.
What did that mean?
“I’m available most Friday nights. Please call.”
She didn’t have to remind me. I watched her every step as she left the room.
Leaving the lounge, I spotted the Gestapo goon at the end of the bar.
Heinrich’s laughter stopped when he noticed me. He raised a stein in a challenge I’d eventually be forced to deal with.
A gut feeling told me he was trouble. I wasn’t looking for a fight. But I wasn’t running from one either.
Chapter 11
der 12. Januar 1937
Augsburg, Germany
I have been too busy to write the last few days. I tested the new oil for the oil pump, and it works fine, but I still feel the pump needs to be replaced to increase the oil pressure. Hopefully, the journal bearings, the simplest bearing with no roller element, will solve the pressure problem in the fuel injection…
In one corner of the breakroom, a group sang an off-key Happy Birthday to a coworker. Afterward, the mumbled chatter returned to normal.
