“A bad one, I hope,” the colonel said.
“Very.”
Their coffee was brought. The colonel examined some of the Führer’s photos and then they sat on the sofa and sipped at small gold-and-white cups of steaming blackness. “They’ve all settled themselves in apartments,” the colonel said, “except Hessen, who’s bought a camping truck. I told him to call in once a week, since we won’t be able to reach him if we want to. He’s only going to use it till the bad weather sets in.”
Mengele said, “I need to have the dates the men were killed. For my records.”
“Of course.” The colonel put his cup and saucer on the coffee table. “I’ve had it all typed up.” He reached inside his jacket.
Mengele put his cup and saucer down and took the folded sheet of flimsy the colonel offered. He opened it, held it away, squinted at typing. Smiling, he shook his head. “Four out of seven on the exact dates!” he marveled. “Isn’t that something?”
“They’re good men,” the colonel said. “Schwimmer and Mundt have their next ones set up already. Farnbach needed some talking to; he’s a bit of a questioner.”
“I know,” Mengele said. “He gave me trouble when I briefed them.”
“I don’t think he’ll give any more of it,” the colonel said. “I chewed him out good and proper.”
“Good for you.” Mengele refolded the pleasingly crackly paper and put it on the coffee table’s corner, set it flush with the edges. He looked at the chart and imagined the seven red checks he would paint when the colonel left. He lifted his cup, hoping to set an example.
“Colonel Rudel called me yesterday morning,” the colonel said. “He’s on the Costa Brava.”
“Oh?” Mengele saw at once that the pleasure of flying wasn’t the reason the colonel had come. What was? “How is he?” he asked, and sipped his coffee.
“Fine,” the colonel said. “But a little concerned. He had a letter from Günter Wenzler, warning him that Yakov Liebermann may be on to an operation of ours. Liebermann spoke at Heidelberg two weeks ago. He asked the audience a rather unusual ‘hypothetical question.’ A friend of Wenzler’s, whose daughter was there, told him to pass the word, just in case.”
“What exactly did Liebermann ask?”
The colonel looked at Mengele for a moment, and said, “Why we—you and us—would want to kill ninety-four sixty-five-year-old civil servants. A ‘hypothetical question.’”
Mengele shrugged. “So obviously he doesn’t know,” he said. “I’m sure no one came up with the right answer.”
“Rudel is sure too,” the colonel said, “but he’d like to know how Liebermann came up with the right question. It doesn’t seem to surprise you very much.”
Mengele sipped his coffee and spoke casually. “The American wasn’t listening to the tape when we found him. He was talking to Liebermann.” He put his cup down and smiled at the colonel. “As I’m sure you found out from the telephone company yesterday afternoon.”
The colonel sighed and leaned toward Mengele. “Why didn’t you tell us?” he asked.
“Frankly,” Mengele said, “I was afraid you would want to postpone, in case Liebermann got an investigation going.”
“You were right, that’s exactly what we would have wanted,” the colonel said. “Three or four months—would it have been so terrible?”
“It might have changed the results completely. Believe me, that’s true, Colonel. Ask any psychologist.”
“Then we could have skipped those men and picked up on schedule with the others.”
“Reducing the outcome by twenty percent? There are eighteen men in the first four months.”
“And don’t you think you’ve reduced the outcome more this way?” the colonel demanded. “Is Liebermann only talking to students? The men, our men, could be arrested tomorrow! And the outcome reduced by ninety-five percent!”
“Colonel, please,” Mengele placated.
“Assuming, of course, that there is an outcome. So far we have only your word for that, you know!”
Mengele sat silently, inhaled deeply. The colonel lifted his cup, glared at it, set it down again.
Mengele let his breath out. “There will be exactly the outcome I promised,” he said. “Colonel, stop and think a moment. Would Liebermann bother with questions to students if anyone else was listening to him? The men are out, aren’t they? Doing their jobs? Of course Liebermann talked to others—maybe to every prosecutor and policeman in Europe!—but obviously they ignored him. What else would they do?—an old Naziphobe like him coming to them with a story that must sound insane when he can’t give the reason behind it. That’s what I counted on when I made the decision.”
“It wasn’t your decision to make,” the colonel said. “You put six of our men into much more danger than we bargained for.”
“And by doing so preserved your very large investment, not to mention the destiny of the race.” Mengele got up and went to the desk, took a cigarette from a brass cup of them. “Anyway, it’s water over the dam,” he said.
The colonel sipped coffee, looking at Mengele’s back. He lowered his cup and said, “Rudel wanted me to call the men in today.”
Mengele turned, took the lighted cigarette from his lips. “I don’t believe that,” he said.
The colonel nodded. “He takes his responsibilities as an officer very seriously.”
“He has responsibilities as an Aryan!”
“True, but he’s never been as sure as the rest of us that the project will work; you know that, Josef. Good Lord, the selling job we had to do!”
Mengele stood silently—hostile, waiting.
“I told him pretty much what you just told me,” the colonel said. “If the men check in and everything’s all right, then Liebermann hasn’t been able to stir anything up, so why not leave them out? He finally agreed. But Liebermann’s going to be watched from now on—Mundt’s taking care of it—and if there’s any sign that he is stirring anything up, then a decision will have to be made: either to kill him, which might only stir things up further, or to bring the men in.”
Mengele said, “Do that and you throw everything down the drain. Everything I achieved. All the money you spent on staff and equipment and arranging the placements. How can he even think of it? I’d send out six more men if these were caught. And six more. And six more!”
“I agree, Josef, I agree,” the colonel soothed. “And I’d like very much for you to have a voice in the decision if it ever actually has to be made. A strong voice. But if Rudel learns now that you let the men leave knowing Liebermann was alerted—he’ll cut you out of the operation completely. You won’t even get the monthly reports. So I’d rather not tell him. But before I can do that I have to have an assurance from you that you won’t…make any more solo decisions.”
“About what? There are no more decisions to be made, except to keep the men out and working.”
The colonel smiled. “I wouldn’t put it past you to hop on a plane and go after Liebermann yourself.”
Mengele drew at his cigarette. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said. “You know I wouldn’t dare go to Europe.” He turned to the desk and tapped ash into a tray.
“Do I have your assurance,” the colonel asked, “that you won’t do anything affecting the operation without checking with the Organization?”
“Of course you do,” Mengele said. “Absolutely.”
“Then I’ll tell Rudel it’s a mystery how Liebermann got wind of things.”