Perfect Payback, page 9
I turned and saw Hoermann walking toward us.
Schiffter’s forehead grew slick with sweat. I couldn’t tell if his reaction was one of intense fear or odd respect. But one thing was certain, Hoermann’s presence changed the dynamic of the room.
He stopped at the edge of Schiffter’s desk. “What’s going on?” Although his voice came across soft, his tone was packed with authority.
Schiffter swiveled his chair to face Hoermann, rocking back and forth, the chair squeaking with each movement. “I’m arresting Hans Pepperman for the murder of Heinrich Adler.” His voice lost its edge.
Hoermann picked up a brass paperweight, then set it back down. “What evidence do you have to substantiate your claim?”
Schiffter picked up the Olympic pin. “This is all the evidence I need.”
Hoermann gave a lazy nod, as though he was thinking about his next words. “Did Pepperman say that was his pin?”
“Nein, but—”
Hoermann slapped the desk with an open hand. His face twisted with anger. “Did anyone see Pepperman the night of the murder where Adler was found?”
The room became graveyard silent as though the building were empty.
Schiffter offered Hoermann a blank-eyed stare.
“So,” Hoermann continued, “you have no witness. But you do have an Olympic boxing pin that could belong to someone else. You mindless twit.” He leaned in. “Pepperman is working for the Abwehr Military Intelligence Service under my direct command. You want to talk to him again, use protocol and ask me first. Is that clear?”
“And if I don’t?” Schiffter stood, and there was a slight tremble in his hand.
“Then Wilhelm Canaris, the head of military intelligence, will haul your nutsack to Berlin.” Hoermann removed papers from his jacket pocket and dropped them on Schiffter’s desk.
He picked up the orders and started to read.
Hoermann snapped the papers back before Mr. Gestapo got through the first page. “Any questions?”
Schiffter’s hardened, glassy-eyed stare said it all.
Hoermann stood, angrily pulling his pants up over his large stomach and left.
I quickly pushed back my chair and got up. A slingshot couldn’t get me out of that office fast enough. I caught up with Hoermann in the elevator and pressed the lobby button.
As soon as the door closed, he grabbed my arm. “How in the hell did your boxing pin get there?”
I grabbed his hand, rolling his tight-gripped fingers off my bicep. “I was about to ask you that same question.”
The elevator door opened, and Hoermann stepped out. “Let’s carry this conversation to the car.”
We left the Bauer, rounded the side of the building to his Mercedes, and got in.
“Hoermann, what the heck…?”
He stopped me and shook his fist at my nose. “Did you kill Heinrich Adler?”
Come on. Not him too. “Of course not. We had a barroom brawl that didn’t end well for him. What’s my motive for killing a guy I barely knew?”
“Then how did your Olympic pin end up in the hands of the Gestapo?”
“You tell me. I’ve been set up. At first I thought it was you but that—”
“Doesn’t make sense.” He grunted. “I just got you out of there.”
“I know that now.” But what I didn’t know was how that smell, the same smell coming off Hoermann in this car, got in my hotel room.
Why would someone want me to take the fall for Adler’s death?
Chapter 21
der 26. Fubruar 1937
Augsburg, Germany
I may have overreacted thinking Hoermann expected too much from me. I have talked with him weekly with no information to offer about suspicious activities. He reminds me to stay vigilant with my efforts but does not push me to dig deeper. I am actually beginning to like this guy…
Halfway through my pork sandwich, I noticed Ernst Fischer enter the lunchroom and waved him over to my table. Praying he didn’t bring that rotten-smelling Limburger cheese that could make a corpse sit up, I offered him a seat. “I haven’t seen much of you lately.”
He pulled out a chair and sat down hard, both arms dropping limp at his sides. “Messerschmitt’s been working me overtime.”
I couldn’t help but grin at the balding red-haired engineer. All five hairs on the top of his head stood straight up, reminding me of a North American porcupine. “What’s the problem, my friend?”
He lifted the grease-stained paper bag holding his lunch and plopped it onto the table. “It’s the fuselage on the medium range bomber. We can’t seem to get all the requirements the Luftwaffe is looking for. Luftwaffe command wants a bomb load that’s too heavy for the two-engine plane, and they don’t want a long range four-engine aircraft. Which reminds me, can you educate me on the BF-109 power plant? We know the British bombers have Rolls Royce fighter plane engines. Maybe that’s what Germany should use—prototype fighter plane engines on the medium range bomber.” Ernst emptied his paper sack.
“What’s in your lunch bowl?” Please say something that won’t make me gag.
He opened the container, unleashing the most horrendous smell. The meat looked like raw chicken with strips of rubbery pineapple. Wilted lettuce made a fruit salad combination that resembled the remains of a bad hangover.
I could almost see the fumes wafting from the bowl. I subtly pinched my nostrils to block the pungent odor. “We’ll talk about the 109 engine later.”
“Sure, we’ll talk later. What are your plans for the weekend?” He jabbed the meat and fruit combination with his fork and put it into his mouth. A piece of fruit fell on the table.
I swear it looked ready to crawl away to freedom.
I let go of my nose and leaned back in my chair to give my olfactory glands a break. “I’m seeing Anna tomorrow night.” The weekend couldn’t get here fast enough.
As he chewed, a piece of brownish-red lettuce slipped from his mouth. “Heidi and I are taking her parents out to dinner tonight.”
If his table manners didn’t improve, I shuddered to think of the impression he might make. “Ah, gut for you. This thing with Heidi, is it getting serious?”
He swallowed, then belched. Another food particle clung to the corner of his lip. “Nein.”
“Are you sure?”
“I do enjoy her company.”
I liked Ernst, but I couldn’t see them as a couple. “She is quite beautiful.”
He repacked his mouth, chewed, then swallowed. “Agreed, but…” There was a long hesitation. “She wants to tell me every detail about her job, every interpretation about what the English and the Americans write in their newspapers. She’s too informative.” He made a crossing motion with his hands. “I don’t like that in a person.”
He didn’t like a detailed person. Interesting. “But Ernst, your job demands detail.”
He dropped his fork inside the bowl with a dumbfounded expression, head slightly tilted. “But my job’s important.”
Oh, he’d better be careful. “You best not tell Heidi that.”
He cracked a smile. “I’m working on a PhD in aeronautical engineering. Do you think I’m that stupid?”
“I hope not. I surely hope not.” I laughed so loud it drew the attention of the others in the lunchroom. An odd character Ernst. But the more I was around him, the more he became a good friend. People talked about him in a good way. He was smart and a more than capable engineer. The man’s future was bright. Now if I could just get him to change his eating habits.
Friday night turned out to be atypical. I’d stayed at my office to go over data of grades of oil used in the journal bearing in the BF-109 engine. I glanced at my watch at 11:02 p.m. Exhausted, I laid my head down on my desk and dozed off.
Click. Click. Click.
I sat up quickly and looked around. What was that noise? Had someone turned the handle on my door?
Click. Click. Click. The sound came again.
A sting zipped through my chest. “Who’s there?” My skin prickled. My arm hair spiked. “Who’s there?”
No answer.
I picked up a letter opener—the only thing I had in my office even close to a weapon. I flipped the lock and slowly opened the door.
A spooky creak echoed down the long hallway.
I stuck my head around the door frame.
It was dark except for the sliver of light reflecting off the walls through the windows from the lights outside.
I looked both ways. My throat closed up. I swallowed hard and moved cautiously toward the exit door. The klomp, klomp, klomp of my leather-soled shoes on the concrete added to my edginess, but I was ready to defend myself.
Whack.
Something hit my head. Suddenly the floor was spinning.
“Hans, can you hear me? Are you okay?” A blurred Ernst knelt over me, his voice sounding as though it was underwater.
My head throbbed like a second heartbeat, and I gingerly touched where it hurt the most. Ow. I jerked my hand away. Blood covered my fingers.
Ernst handed me a white handkerchief.
I pressed it carefully to the wound and tried to stand.
Ernst pushed me back down. “Maybe you should sit awhile. Did you see who did this?”
“Nein. Someone must have come up behind me.” The cobwebs were shaking loose, and my eyes began to focus. That’s when I noticed Ernst had a knot over his left eye and his forehead was bleeding. “What happened to you?”
“I had my keys out when someone crashed through the door, knocking me to the ground. I couldn’t see who it was. Then I saw you on the floor.”
“Why are you even here?” I removed the handkerchief. The bleeding seemed to have slowed.
“Heidi’s dad became ill at the restaurant, and she took him back to their hotel. I needed the blueprint of the medium range bomber to take back to my apartment.”
I stared at Ernst with a stern look. “You know we’re not to take work home.”
“I do it all the time. What management does not know will not hurt them. Besides, some of my best work has been after a pitcher of bier. Do I need to get you to a doctor?”
“Head wounds like this aren’t as bad as they look. What about you? Do you want to see someone about your face?” I got to my feet.
“I’m fine.”
I grabbed his shoulder. “Wait. Did you come through the gate? And did the guard see you?”
“Of course.”
“If you came through the gate, how did the person who attacked me get inside the facility?”
Ernst slowly patted the egg-sized knot over his eye. “Security keeps a log of who comes in and the time they enter.”
“Exactly,” I said. “There’s no record of who leaves, but we all have to go past the security guard to get out. Right?”
Ernst nodded. “We should tell the guard what happened.”
“Nein. Nein.” Ernst couldn’t find out I was working with Hoermann and the military intelligence. “Don’t say anything. Not until we know the guard isn’t part of a security breach. I’ll tell Messerschmitt Monday.” I was up to my neck in this now. Verdammt.
Chapter 22
der 27. Fubruar 1937
Augsburg, Germany
My head is sore from the attack last night, but I did not get stitches. The wound should heal quickly on its own. I will call Hoermann Monday morning about the incident. Right now, I am looking forward to my date with Anna…
Another snowstorm had moved into the area. From my hotel room, I could barely see the buildings across the street. I closed the curtains and eased onto the bed.
The Augsburg bell tower clock struck ten. My head still ached from the assault. Just as I’d thought the spy operation was no big deal, last night happened. Now I had reservations again. But it was too late to back out.
Should I carry a weapon? A lot of good that would do when I couldn’t hit an advertising poster ten feet in front of me. I suppose with practice I could learn to shoot. Did I want to? I was an engineer, not a marksman.
I gently touched my head wound. I had to tell Anna. She’d see it anyway. Maybe I should call her. She might want to cancel because of the storm. I pushed off the bed, dressed, and went downstairs to use the phone.
The lobby was fairly empty. So was the bar. I blamed the storm for the lack of people as I walked across the marble floor. The empty silence made the usually crowded space feel cavernous. I waved to Elsa, the registration clerk. “How’s Dieter?”
Making two fists in front of her chest, she jabbed twice.
I gave her a thumbs up. A few weeks ago I’d taught her four-year-old son to take a fighter’s stance. Cute kid.
Someone was in the phone booth, so I had to wait.
Outside the front windows, huge flakes drifted aimlessly to the ground and disappeared among the other ice crystals. The falling snow was so peaceful it seemed to cleanse the world of all its dirtiness. An illusion, I was sure. War clouds appeared to be gathering over Europe once again. I prayed that catastrophe wouldn’t happen.
The person in the phone booth finally left.
Taking his place, I pulled some coins out of my pocket, closed the door, and dialed Anna.
“Anna Beck, guten morgen.” Her tone came across as chilly as the morning.
“Guten morgen. This is Hans.”
“I was thinking about you.” Her voice softened with joy. “This snow. Ah, it’s so much. Why don’t we… ?”
“I understand. It’s too much to put up with. We can have dinner another night.”
She laughed. “Hans, I was about to say why don’t we stay in. I’ve already picked up veal and a bottle of Schnapps. How does that sound to you?”
While she couldn’t see my happy grin reflecting off the phone booth glass, I could, and it made me smile bigger. “That sounds perfect. What time?”
“Hmm… six. Are you catching the train?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t worry about the last train back. You won’t need it.” Her sultry voice excited me.
Heat sizzled down my body making me completely forget my headache. I still picked up ice from the bar. Back in my room, I put it on the wound. The incident last night made me realize espionage life wasn’t for the faint of heart. I had two choices—stay true to my values and defend my country or take the coward’s way out and quit. I was no coward. Besides, I was pissed someone knocked me out, and I relished the thought of getting even.
The snow continued all day, reaching a depth of ten to twelve inches. The train, if weather hadn’t made it late, would leave the boarding area at 5:30.
I put on my overcoat, wrapped a scarf around my neck, and headed to the door. Before I turned the knob, I ran back to the bathroom to get my toothbrush.
The train was on time. The short ride to Fuggerei housing project gave little opportunity to think what I would tell Anna about the cut on my head. I didn’t want to tell her what had happened at my office because it would draw suspicion from the Gestapo.
The train stopped, and I tucked the scarf tighter around my neck, shoving the ends deep into my coat. Snow blew in my face, and I lowered my head, barely able to read the numbers on her apartment door.
Knock. Knock. The cold door stung my bare knuckles.
Anna opened the door. Her tight red sweater left little mystery about what was underneath. Her sculptured cheekbones framed moist ruby lips. But her eyes, her eyes got me every time. They were easily the most seductive part of her beauty.
“Come in.” Her soft tone almost buckled my knees.
I scraped my feet on the door mat and stepped inside.
She softly touched my cheek, then kissed the corner of my lips. “You look very handsome tonight.”
Warmth flooded my chest. “Danke.”
“I’ll take your coat and scarf.” She hung them on the rack behind the door.
The room, lit with candles, smelled of vanilla. Soft music played on the phonograph.
The violins. Good grief. They were too squeaky. “This music, Anna. Who’s the composer?”
“Arnold Schoenberg. His string quartet arrangement is so beautiful. Do you like it?”
I’d never heard of the guy. Or a string quartet. “I love string quartets.”
She gave me a knowing smile that said you’re lying. “Would you like a drink? Is Schnapps okay?”
“Schnapps is fine. Do you like that particular liqueur?”
She dropped her chin. “It puts me in a certain mood.”
And that was a mood I loved. “Pour yourself a double.” I grinned.
A red cloth covered the dining table. On top of it a candle floated in a bowl of water.
“I hope you like veal za’atar flatbread. It won’t take long to warm in the oven.”
I nodded. “Let’s have a drink before we eat.” One drink usually jumpstarted my appetite.
“One drink coming up.” Anna turned her back to me and headed to the kitchen. She looked just as good from behind as she did from the front. Her strong shoulders, small waist, and deliciously curved hips projected the image of an athlete.
I sat in the middle of the sofa, my arms resting on top of the back cushion.
She returned to the living room with a drink in each hand and stopped in front of me. Straddling both of my legs, she sat inches from my face, her eyes focused on mine.
The stare sent a clear message. The night was going to be exciting. “Maybe we should skip dinner?”
Chuckling, she handed me a glass of Schnapps and rolled off my legs to sit next to me. “You’re a very interesting man, Hans.”
Interesting good or interesting bad? Maybe I shouldn’t have suggested we put off dinner. I squared my body, facing her. “What makes you say that?” I took a sip of my drink and swallowed hard as it burned down my throat. She hadn’t been light on the liquor.
