As I crept along on my knees, I spotted a pinhole of light and moved toward it. The caulk fitting around a steam vent, where it entered the bath area, had come loose in one place, letting in a dot of light-and muffled sound.
After a minute or so my ears became sufficiently accustomed to the poor sound quality, and I could recognize phrases, then whole sentences. The conversation between the two men was of course in German, but I was able to understand much of what I heard. Crouched in the darkness, my hands braced against the slimy concrete walls, I listened with horrified fascination, overcome with fear.
FIFTY-TWO
At first there were just isolated phrases: Bundesnachrichtendienst, the German Federal Intelligence Service. The Swiss Intelligence Service. The Direction de la Surveillance du Territoire, the French counterespionage organization, the DST. Something was said about Stuttgart, and an airport.
Then the conversation grew more fluid, more expansive. A scornful voice-Stoessel’s? the other man’s?: “And for all their assets, their sources, their databases, they have not a clue as to who this secret witness is?”
I could not hear a reply.
And a wafted phrase: “To ensure victory…”
And: “The confederacy.”
And: “If a united Europe is to be ours.” Then: “Such an opportunity comes along once or twice in a century.”
“Full coordination with the Wise Men…”
The other man, who I now decided was Stoesseclass="underline" “-at history. It is sixty-one years since Adolf Hitler became chancellor and the Weimar Republic was no longer. One forgets that at the beginning no one thought he would last the year!”
The other replied angrily, “Hitler was a madman! We are sane.”
“We are not burdened with ideology,” came Stoessel’s voice, “which is always the downfall…”
Something I could not hear, and then Stoessel replied: “So we must be patient, Wilhelm. In a few weeks you will be the leader of Germany, and we will rule. But to consolidate our power will take time. Our American partners assure us of their restraint.”
You will be leader of Germany… The other man was, had to be, Wilhelm Vogel, the chancellor-elect!
My stomach turned over.
Vogel, I was sure it was Wilhelm Vogel, made a noise, some sort of muffled objection, to which Stoessel responded, loudly and quite clearly: “… that they will watch and do nothing. Since Maastricht, the conquest of Europe has been made enormously easier. The governments will fall one by one. The politicians are not leaders anyway. They will look to the corporate leaders, because industry and commerce are the only forces capable of governing a unified Europe. They have no vision! We are visionaries! We can see much farther, beyond tomorrow and the day after. Beyond the immediate concerns of the day.”
Another demurral from the chancellor-elect. Stoessel said: “A global conquest that is quite simple, because it is based on the profit motive, pure and simple.”
“The defense minister,” Vogel said.
“Will be easily done,” Stoessel replied. “He wants the same thing. Once the German army is restored to its proper glory…”
Another muffled remark, and then Stoessel went on. “Easily! Easily! Russia is no longer a threat! Russia is nothing. France… you are old enough to remember the Second World War, Willi. The French will curse and complain, bluster about a Maginot line, but they will capitulate without a struggle.”
Vogel seemed to object again, for Stoessel replied querulously, “Because it is in their best economic interests, why else? The rest of Europe will roll over, and Russia will have no choice but to roll over as well.”
Vogel said something about Washington and a “secret witness.”
“He will be found,” Stoessel said. “The leak will be found and plugged. He assures us it will be contained.”
Vogel said something about “before then,” and Stoessel said, “Yes, precisely. In three days it will happen… Yes. No, the man will be assassinated. It will not fail. It is orchestrated. He will die. It is not to worry.”
There was a noise, a thump, which I realized was the door to the steam bath being opened.
Then, very distinctly, Stoessel said: “Ah, you are here.”
“Welcome,” Vogel said. “I trust your flight into Stuttgart was uneventful.”
Another thump; the door was closed.
“… wanted to tell you,” Stoessel’s voice came again, “how grateful we are. All of us.”
“Thank you,” said Vogel.
“Our heartfelt congratulations to you,” Stoessel said.
The newcomer spoke to them in fluent German, but with a foreign accent, probably American. The voice was a resonant baritone, and somehow familiar. The voice of someone I’d heard on television? On the radio?
“The witness is scheduled to appear before the Senate committee on intelligence,” the newcomer said.
“Who is it?” Stoessel demanded.
“We do not yet have a name. Be patient. We have obtained access to the committee’s computer banks. This is how we can be sure that this secret witness will be testifying on the subject of the Wise Men.”
“And on us?” Vogel said. “Does he know about Germany?”
“Impossible to know,” the American said. “Whether he-or she-does, or doesn’t, our link to you is a simple one to make.”
“Then he must be eliminated,” Stoessel said.
“But without knowing the witness’s identity,” the American said, “it is impossible to know who to eliminate. Only when the individual appears-”
“Only at that moment-?” Vogel interrupted.
“At that moment,” the American said, “it will be done. This I can assure you.”
“But they will take measures to protect the witness,” Stoessel said.
“There are no protective measures adequate,” the American went on. “Do not be concerned. I am not. But the pressing concern now is one of coordination. If the hemispheres are apportioned-if we have the Americas, and you have Europe-”
“Yes,” Stoessel interrupted impatiently, “you are speaking of the coordination between the two world governing centers, but that is easily accomplished.”
It was time to move.
As quietly as possible I turned around, awkward in this cramped space, and crept back to the door. I listened for any footsteps, and when I was sure no one was passing by, I quickly opened it and returned to the hallway, which now seemed grotesquely bright. There were dark mud stains on the knees of my white cotton pants.
I ran around to the entrance to the steam room, found the tray of bottled water, and yanked open the door. A large cloud of opaque steam swirled before me as I stepped into the chamber. Stoessel seemed to have shifted somewhat; he had moved to the right. The man I now identified as Vogel had not moved from the spot on the bench he was on earlier. The last arrival sat farther down the bench from Vogel, to the chancellor-elect’s right, out of my range of sight.
“Hey,” the American said, still in German. “No one comes in here, you understand me?” The voice was increasingly, maddeningly familiar.
Stoessel excoriated me in German: “Enough with the refreshments! Leave us alone! I gave instructions to be left alone!”
I stood there, not moving, letting my eyes adjust to the opaque steam. The American seemed to be a middle-aged man, I couldn’t tell for sure, and he was in better physical condition than the two Germans. Then a gust of air from somewhere nearby wafted the sulfurous clouds, an eddy parting a clear patch in the steam. The face of the American, swirling before me, was instantly recognizable, and for a moment I could not move.
The new Director of CIA. My friend, Alex Truslow.
PART VI: LAC TREMBLANT
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