'So that's why you had the Drexlers killed.'
'Exactly. That was after Linden turned up here in Vienna, looking for more money. Money to keep his mouth shut. It was Mnller who met him and who killed him. We knew that Linden had already made contact with Becker, for the very simple reason that Linden told us. So we decided to kill two flies with one swat. First we left several cases of cigarettes around the warehouse where Linden was killed in order to incriminate Becker. Then K/nig went to see Becker and told him that Linden was missing. The idea was that Becker would start going round asking questions about Linden, looking for him at his hotel and generally getting himself noticed. At the same time K/nig switched Mnller's gun for Becker's. Then we informed the police that Becker had shot and killed Linden. It was an unlooked-for bonus that Becker already knew where Linden's body was, and that he should return to the scene of the crime with the aim of taking away the cigarettes. Of course the Amis were waiting for him and caught him red-handed.
The case was watertight. All the same, if the Amis had been even half efficient they would have discovered the link between Becker and Linden in Berlin. But I don't think they even bothered to take the investigation outside of Vienna.
They're happy with what they've got. Or at least we thought they were until now.'
'With what Linden knew, why didn't he take the precaution of leaving a letter with someone? Informing the police of what had happened in the event of his death.'
'Oh, but he did,' said Nebe. 'Only the particular lawyer he chose in Berlin was also a member of the Org. On Linden's death he read the letter and passed it across to the head of the Berlin section.' Nebe stared levelly at me, and nodded seriously. 'That's it, Bernie. That's what Mnller wants to find out if you know or not. Well, now that you do know, you can tell him, and save yourself from being tortured. Naturally, I would prefer it if this conversation remained a secret.'
'As long as I live, Arthur, you can depend on it. And thanks.' I felt my voice crack a little. 'I appreciate it.'
Nebe nodded in acknowledgement and stared around him uncomfortably. Then his gaze fell upon the uneaten slice of strudel.
'You weren't hungry?'
'I've not got much of an appetite,' I said. 'One or two things on my mind, I guess. Give it to Rainis.' I lit a third cigarette.
Was I wrong, or had he really licked his lips? That would have been too much to hope for. But it was surely worth a try.
'Or help yourself if you're feeling hungry.'
Nebe really did lick his lips now.
'May I?' he asked politely.
I nodded negligently.
'Well, if you're sure,' he said, picking the plate up off the tray on the floor.
'My housekeeper made it. She used to work for Demel. The best strudel you ever tasted in your life. It would be a pity to waste it, eh?' He took a big bite.
'I never had much of a sweet tooth myself,' I lied.
'That's nothing short of tragic in Vienna, Bernie. You are in the greatest city in the world for cake. You should have come here before the war: Gerstner's, Lehmann's, Heiner's, Aida, Haag, Sluka's, Bredendick's pastrycooks like you never tasted before.' He took another large mouthful. 'To come to Vienna without a sweet tooth? Why, that's like a blind man taking a trip on the Big Wheel in the Prater. You don't know what you're missing. Why don't you try a little?'
I shook my head firmly. My heart was beating so quickly that I thought he must hear it. Suppose he didn't finish it?
'I really couldn't eat anything.'
Nebe shook his head pityingly, and bit once more. The teeth could not be real, I thought, surveying their white evenness. Nebe's own teeth had been much more stained.
'Anyway,' I said, nonchalantly, 'I'm supposed to be watching my weight. I've put on several kilos since coming to Vienna.'
'Me too,' he said. 'You know, you should really '
He never finished the sentence. He coughed and choked all in one jerk of his head. Stiffening suddenly, he made a dreadful blowing noise through his lips as if he had been trying to play a tuba, and fragments of half-chewed cake rolled out of his mouth. The plate of strudel clattered on to the floor, followed by Nebe himself. Scrabbling on top of him, I tried to wrestle the automatic from his grasp before he could fire it and bring Mnller and his thugs down on my head. To my horror I saw that the gun was cocked, and in the same half second Nebe's dying finger pulled the trigger.
But the hammer clicked harmlessly. The safety was still on.
Nebe's legs jerked feebly. One eyelid flickered shut while the other stayed perversely open. His last breath was a long mucoid gurgle smelling strongly of almonds. Finally he lay still, his face already turning a blueish colour.
Disgusted, I spat the lethal pill out of my own mouth. I had little sympathy for him. In a few hours he might have watched the same thing happening to me.
I prised the gun free from Nebe's dead hand, which was now grey-skinned with cyanosis, and having unsuccessfully searched his pockets for the key to my handcuffs, I stood up. My head, shoulder, rib, even my penis it seemed were hurting terribly, but I felt a lot better for the grip of the Walther P38 in my hand. The kind of gun that had killed Linden. I thumb-cocked the hammer for semi-automatic operation, as Nebe himself had done before coming into my cell, slipped off the safety, as he had forgotten to do, and stepped carefully out of the cell.
I walked to the end of the damp passageway and climbed the stairs to the pressing and fermentation room where Veronika had died. There was only one light near the front door and I went towards it, hardly daring to glance at the wine press. If I had seen him I would have ordered Mnller into the machine and squeezed him out of his Bavarian skin. In another body I might have risked the guards and gone up to the house, where possibly I could have tried to arrest him: probably I would just have shot him. It had been that kind of day. Now it would be as much as I could do to escape with my life.
Switching out the light I opened the front door. Without a jacket, I shivered.
The night was a cold one. I crept along to the line of trees where the Latvian had tried to execute me and hid in some bushes.
The vineyard was bright with the lights of the rapid burners. Several men were busy pushing the tall trolleys which carried the burners up and down the furrows to positions which they apparently judged important. From where I sat, their long flames looked like giant fireflies moving slowly through the air. It seemed as if I would have to choose another route to escape from Nebe's estate.
I returned to the house and moved stealthily along the wall, past the kitchen towards the front garden. None of the ground-floor lights were on, but one at an upper-floor window lay reflected on the lawn like a big square swimming-pool. I halted by the corner and sniffed the air. Someone was standing in the porch, smoking a cigarette.
After what seemed like forever, I heard the man's footsteps on the gravel, and glancing quickly round the corner I saw the unmistakable figure of Rainis lumbering down the path towards the open gates where a large grey BMW was parked facing the road.
I walked on to the front lawn staying out of the light from the house, and followed him until he got to the car. He opened the car boot and started to rummage around as if looking for something. By the time he closed it again, I had put less than five metres between us. He turned and froze as he saw the Walther levelled at his misshapen head.
'Put those car keys in the ignition,' I said softly.
The Latvian's face turned even uglier at the prospect of my escaping. 'How did you get out?' he sneered.
'There was a key hidden in the strudel,' I said, and jerked the gun at the car keys in his hand. 'The car keys,' I repeated. 'Do it. Slowly.'
He stepped back and opened the driver's door. Then he bent inside and I heard the rattle of keys as he slipped them into the ignition. Straightening again, he rested his foot almost carelessly on the running-board, and leaning on the roof of the car, smiled a grin that was the shape and colour of a rusting tap.