Crate of Lies, page 5
Abdul nodded.
"Good. After you have finished, walk down to the river and find a taxi. You have a room at the Alexander Plaza." Liebermann turned his head and looked at Abdul. "No matter how you meet him, stun him first before you break his neck." He lowered his voice and raised a finger. "On no account do you use a gun or knife." He nodded at Abdul's door. "I'll see you later."
CHAPTER NINE
The sun was rising in a clear blue sky and Raithe was wearing a pair of Ray Ban's by 7.30. At 7.45 he drove his red Porsche through Wernigerode and stopped at a small building on the outskirts. A large green four-wheel drive stood outside, a forestry badge on its door. A small dumpy middle aged man stood leaning against the cab, arms folded, a cigarette in his mouth. He was dressed in a khaki uniform and a bush hat.
"You're an early riser, Mr. Ravelle. I did not expect you for another fifteen minutes at least." The man advanced and held his hand out as Raithe climbed out of the Porsche. "Hans Starkhof, how do you do. Isn't it always the way when you want a quiet moment?"
Raithe shook hands. "Don't let me stop you, Hans, I could do with having a moment to stretch my legs anyway."
Starkhof smiled and continued to smoke as Raithe put the hood up on the Porsche and removed his briefcase. "You have a list of locations you wish to visit, I understand?"
"Yes." Raithe took a sheet of headed paper from the case and handed it to him. "I'm particularly interested in the location at the foot of Brocken Mountain. I've been told it's a very beautiful spot there."
Starkhof looked down the list. "Exactly what kind of film is it that your production company is making, Mr. Ravelle?"
"We want a one hour documentary on the wildlife and natural beauty of the Sachsen-Anhalt district. I've been commissioned by the BBC and I'm hoping I can sell the production to the German Tourist Board."
"I see." Starkhof dropped his cigarette onto the road and ground it with the toe of his boot. "The location you have picked at the foot of the mountain is interesting. The person who told you about it…how long ago was it that they visited the area?"
"Oh, I think they were here a couple of years ago on a hiking holiday. Why?"
"Your friend was right. It is a beautiful area but one which is often missed. It is also an area where something terrible happened just a few years after the war. A Russian patrol found the bodies of American soldiers in a pit. In those days, Wernigerode was no more than a small village and the soldiers were everywhere. My father told me that the Americans were involved in black market smuggling and were probably caught and shot…but that was just a story that went around. No-one knows for sure what happened. Even the local police were kept out of it although I think they were involved in identifying the bodies."
"Sounds interesting," said Raithe casually. "Maybe there's material here I could use for an investigative documentary, who knows? Your input would be invaluable, of course."
"You mean I would be interviewed, on film?" Starkhof suddenly became alert.
"Without a doubt. We might film you showing the site. Of course, I'd need lots of background material, you know, from the local police chief."
Starkhof pursed his lips and stared down at the ground. "Well, I could introduce you."
Raithe seized the opportunity. "That would be great. Of course, the fee for your department's participation would be generous. And I'm sure I could arrange for your personal expenses. Shall we say a thousand euros for the introduction to start with?"
Starkhof beamed. "You are very generous, Mr. Ravelle. When would you like to meet Ernst Lincke, the Chief of Police?"
"If you can arrange it for this afternoon before I leave, I'd be very grateful, Hans." Raithe took a wad of euros from his pocket and began peeling several off.
"I'll go and ring him now. We're not friends but I have cause to work with his department on official business from time to time. If he's not too busy and I tell him a TV producer wants to see him, I'm sure he'll accommodate."
"Would it be wise to..?" Raithe held up the wad.
"Oh, no, not Herr Lincke." Starkhof shook his head.
"Fine, okay then, I'll leave things to you."
Starkhof took the money and walked back into his office. Several minutes later, he appeared with a slip of paper in hand. "I have arranged for you to meet the Chief at four this afternoon…so here is the telephone number just in case." He clapped his hands and waved toward the four-wheel drive. "Shall we get started?"
There were five sites on the list and Raithe spent the best part of an hour at each, with lunch in between. Starkhof proved to be a talkative guide. By the time they came to the last site, Raithe had made a note of useful information. They drew up in a small clearing.
"We'll have to walk from here, it's about a mile," said Starkhof, slamming his door. "There used to be a wide vehicle track to the area but the Russians planted trees and pushed piles of earth to stop access shortly after the soldiers were found there."
Raithe pulled the zip up on his windbreaker. Beneath the dense cover of the trees it had become chilly. "Why do you think they did that?"
"I have no idea but this whole area was made out of bounds. The other side of the mountain was the border with the West. Then the government opened it up in 1978 and ever since then it has been a hiking trail. In the winter, the mountain attracts skiers from all over the world."
Raithe followed him through the pines and up a twisting track that inclined sharply as it zigzagged across the foot of the mountain. Within half an hour, they were both breathing heavily and Starkhof had slowed considerably as they came to a small overgrown hillock surrounded by evergreens.
Starkhof pointed to the mound. "This mound is where the bodies lay. There was a pit here. Whether the Russians killed them or if they fought amongst themselves, no one knows. One rumour was that some American and Russian soldiers had joined forces and were involved in selling contraband to both sides. If both sides fell out over money then that would explain things."
"Or it could be that the rumour was started by the Russians who wanted to hide the truth about something they had been involved in." Raithe smiled.
"Who knows? I'll let you wander around, Mr. Ravelle, while I have a rest." He sat down on the large trunk of a fallen tree.
On closer inspection, Raithe found the mound to measure approximately twenty-five by fourteen feet. It was one thing to know why the bodies were there but not so easy to figure out why they were all American. If Rienecke ordered the room dug up after his release, why would he have asked American servicemen to do it? The more Raithe thought about it, the more the mystery deepened.
"I think I've seen enough," he called, looking at his watch. "Maybe we should be making our way back to Wernigerode?"
"As you wish, Mr. Ravelle. We'll be back in time for your appointment."
Starkhof drove them back along the bumpy track. Thirty minutes later, Raithe stepped down onto the road outside the Forestry Office.
"If you drive back into the centre, the police station is by the side of the Rathauser, that's the town hall. Ask for the Chief at reception."
"I will, thank you, Hans. I'll be in touch." Raithe gave him a nod of the head and climbed into the Porsche.
The drive back was uneventful. A lone patrol car stood outside the small police station and Raithe parked behind it. He was surprised to find a young Police Chief. Around mid-thirties, he was a thin man with receding, blonde hair and watery, blue eyes.
"Mr. Ravelle, I'm Ernst Lincke, Chief of Police in Wernigerode. Hans called me to say you wanted to make enquiries about our recent past with regards making a documentary. Is that so?"
They shook hands and Raithe was ushered behind the partition and into an adjoining office.
"That's right, although I haven't decided anything yet, you understand. I'm commissioned to do some work for the BBC in this area but Hans told me about the mystery surrounding a location I just happened to have on my list of possible sites."
"You mean the site by the mountain, by the old cart track?"
"Yes."
"Please." He offered Raithe a chair and sat down himself. "There are lots of rumours about the place and I'm afraid Hans is one of those who like to keep them alive. It doesn't do our tourist business any harm. He means well."
Raithe held his hand up as Lincke offered him a cigarette. "No thanks, I don't. Tell me, were there bodies found there then?"
"Oh yes, six American soldiers in all…late September of 1952."
"They were found by a Russian patrol?"
"Yes…but it was not that simple. We have no idea if they were still alive or already dead. It could be the Russians took them into custody, interrogated them, then shot them and put them back in the pit. Remember we are talking about American soldiers. The whole thing was and still is a mystery. The Russians never revealed anything about the case and ordered the police to have the bodies prepared for burial. They delivered the bodies to the undertaker and then collected them after a couple of days. There are no coroners' reports or records of where the bodies were taken."
"And you have no other records here at all?"
Lincke sat back in his chair and looked at Raithe with a wary eye. "The Russians or the Americans, Mr. Ravelle, might not welcome an investigative documentary. The wall dividing East and West may have been knocked down but the invisible wall of suspicion and post war atrocities are still fresh in the old generation's minds, some of whom still hold positions of authority. Supposing the men were smuggling and the Russians shot them, as is widely thought. As much as the Russians might find your revelations a little embarrassing, they would probably hold their hands up and say…well, it was fifty years ago."
After drawing on his cigarette, Lincke let smoke drift from his nostrils before blowing the rest up into the air.
"The American President, on the other hand, would be more embarrassed to admit to the dead men's relations that they did not die as originally reported; that they died in an army vehicle accident in Berlin. Instead, they died miles inside Russian territory while they were illegally smuggling and selling PX rations on the black market. How they got there is a mystery. Their barracks were in Berlin, many kilometres to the east. Regardless of what happened, neither side would have wanted to look bad in the eyes of the rest of the world. I'm sure they came to an amicable arrangement."
"I think the relatives of those men should be told the truth, especially if they were shot down in cold blood. Even if they were up to no good, they didn't deserve to die."
"Commendable sentiments, Mr. Ravelle, but sometimes certain things should remain as they are, especially after all this time. However, I'll leave that up to you." He rose from the chair. "I do have something for you that might be useful. When the bodies arrived at the undertakers, they were still in uniform apart from their boots. A tag pinned to each man's chest had a name on it and that was all. The bodies were in canvas body bags. As staff opened the bags several small items came to light and ended up in lost property. There's not much but you're welcome to inspect them."
Raithe waited while Lincke left the office. It looked more and more likely that the Police Chief was right. Except that it wasn't PX stores that the soldiers were after. Somehow they had found the Amber Room and been caught red handed by the Russians as they dug it up. That would also explain why the crates travelled through East Germany to their final destination without any problem. There was no other explanation but how did the American soldiers know where to look in 1952? He had found the original note two years earlier with the co-ordinates on it, written near the end of the war and hidden in a small crate.
"Here you are, Mr. Ravelle." Lincke came back into the office carrying a large plastic bag.
Raithe looked at the contents. There was a sweet wrapper, a small piece of string, the bottom half of a photo showing what was obviously a female pair of legs and a page torn out of a small note book with a few words written on it, some unreadable. "Meeting at the Berl… 9… Joe P. and A…" followed by "B201114W2211." There was also a small buff label with the number 249 printed on it and folded in half showing a logo on the other side. On closer inspection, Raithe made out a drawing of the top half of a knight holding a sword.
"As you say," he said, "nothing really important. Do you think you could photocopy both sides of the label and the note? I'd love to dig around a little. You never know."
"Yes, I think that would be all right." Lincke took the items out of the bag. "There was something else that I'm sure was connected in some way."
Lincke tossed the bag into a letter tray on the desk and walked over to the copier. "There were two other bodies found on the same day, some two hundred kilometres away just outside Keitz, which is on the Polish border. They turned up in the River Odra, under a railway bridge. I found a letter in the files here not so long ago, from the Police Chief there to our Chief here at that time. The bodies were taken away by the Russians." He held his hands up in the air. "No more investigation. One was American and the other Russian, Anatoly Medetsky" He looked at the bag in the tray. "What caught my eye was the American's name, Joseph Prewit…Joe P?"
CHAPTER TEN
Liebermann stood waiting at the pedestrian crossing in Joachimstaler Strasse as a packed pale blue bus drove past slowly, blocking his view of the square beyond. A crowd quickly gathered around him and after the bus passed by, they all surged forward. The Café Kranzler stood on the opposite corner, the edges of its bright red and white canopies fluttering in the light breeze. Customers occupied most of the cream wicker and chromium tube chairs on the pavement. Liebermann looked across to the far side and saw an empty table by some small trees growing from shrubbery boxes on the pavement edge.
He sat next to the trees, thankful for the shade and a cool breeze. Putting his jacket across the other seat, he waved a waitress over and ordered a coffee. He looked at his watch and drummed his fingers on the table top impatiently. The Bosnian was late and he began to worry. Peering through the trees, he watched as Abdul stood on the opposite side of the road under an ornate street lamp reading a copy of Le Figaro. He relaxed, knowing that Abdul wouldn't lose the contact once the meeting was over.
"Danke sehr." He smiled tight-lipped and stared into the waitress's eyes as she placed a cup of coffee in front of him.
Embarrassed, she blushed and moved away from him quickly as his hand moved across the table towards hers. It was a favourite trick of his. Eyes and hands could divert concentration without making any physical contact. They could also deceive or make the subject uncomfortable.
Liebermann's eyes narrowed and focused on the waitress as she dropped her pad by the next table. Women, he had learned, had a sixth sense that alerted them intuitively to an unwanted or dangerous presence. He continued stirring his coffee, looking at the back of the waitress as she stood. The waitress turned her head and glanced back at him before walking away, yet in that fraction of a second that their eyes met, he saw the fear and his pulse quickened. He sat back, his frustration gone, and sipped the coffee.
Moments later, a dark swarthy looking man in a grey suit attracted his attention. He was standing on the pavement, looking at the people sitting at the tables. Raising his hand, Liebermann caught the man's eye and waved. The man nodded and walked to the table.
"Guten Tag". Liebermann shook hands.
The man looked confused.
"Sprechen Sie English?"
"Ah, yes, English." The man pulled a chair out and sat down.
Liebermann shook hands. "I'm afraid my colleague, Alen Bolonic, couldn't be here as arranged. You are Risto Prazina and you have a tape for President Mikulic?"
Prazina's face showed concern. "What happened to Bolonic? You're German. What have you got to do with this?"
Liebermann sipped his coffee. "My credentials are impeccable." He took a wallet from his jacket and opened it to reveal a forged Bosnian Security Service card. "Now, Risto, we can waste time while you check me out or you can trust me. Either way, I wouldn't waste too much time handing the tape over. The President is very anxious; as I'm sure you are aware."
Prazina sat, hesitant. "I don't have the tape with me and I would like to make a call. You do understand?"
"Of course. Look, I have an idea. I'm staying at the Alexander Plaza in Rosenstraase, near the National Gallery. Ask for me at reception. Shall we say in one hour?"
Prazina nodded, got up and left. Liebermann looked through the trees at Abdul and watched as he folded his newspaper and then walked toward a man taking a picture as a bus approached. A sudden loud squealing of brakes attracted the attention of pedestrians and diners alike. A German woman sitting on the next table to Liebermann screamed and rose from her chair, hand over her mouth. Liebermann followed her gaze and saw the man who had taken photos lying in the road.
Concerned, Liebermann looked around for Abdul. He caught a glimpse of the man's back as he strode off down the road in the direction that Prazina had taken. Calmly, Liebermann disregarded the scene around him, waved the waitress over and ordered a Kranzlerschnitte - a house specialty.
***
Robert Lightfoot stood a little way back from the window, looking down at the tourists sitting outside the Kranzler just as he had for the last two weeks. Montgomery's failure to show again was making it look as though someone in Langley had got it wrong.
Nearly two years' hard work had culminated in the present operation. The last link in a drug smuggling chain was a go-between American, Richard Montgomery. With his arrest the whole network would be finished. Montgomery was not under observation though.
