“Of course,” Ryan said. “I wouldn’t want to cost Mr. Haughey any more money than absolutely necessary.”
He turned to go, but the receptionist called, “Sir, one more thing.”
Ryan stopped.
“You have a caller,” the receptionist said. “A Mr. Skorzeny. He’s waiting in the lounge.”
CHAPTER SEVENTY FIVE
Skorzeny waited in the same chair Goren Weiss had sat in just a few days before, close to the window overlooking Molesworth Street. The leather satchel rested on the table in front of him. Only two other patrons sat in the lounge, an elderly couple on the far side of the room.
From the chair next to Skorzeny, Celia watched Ryan approach, her lower lip reddened and swollen. She wrapped her arms around her body. “Bertie, I’m sorry. I thought it was the maid when he came to the room.”
“It’s not your fault,” Ryan said. He quelled the anger that burned in his heart. “What did he do to you?”
She brought her fingertips to her lip. “I’m all right.”
“Miss Hume did not wish to cooperate,” Skorzeny said. “I was forced to use more physical persuasion.”
Ryan asked, “What do you want?”
Skorzeny laughed. “What do you think? You betrayed me, Lieutenant Ryan. Célestin told me everything. That you knew who was trying to blackmail me, and you kept the information to yourself. Then I learned that you aligned yourself with a Zionist against me, and that same Zionist came ashore with the cargo you were to deliver.”
“Goren Weiss is dead.”
“As he should be,” Skorzeny said. “You would have stolen from me too if Célestin had not repented, if Monsieur Borringer had not followed my instructions, if Mr. Haughey had not mobilised the police against you and your friends.”
“So you want me dead,” Ryan said.
“Of course. But not now, not here. Besides, there is more I need to know. Please sit.”
Ryan took the chair across the table from Skorzeny and Celia. She reached for his hand, let her fingertips graze his.
A waiter walked towards them, but Skorzeny waved him away.
“Go on,” Ryan said. “Ask your questions.”
“The Zionist, Weiss. He worked for the Mossad. The Mossad are many things, but they are not thieves. Why was he on that boat? What was their involvement?”
“Weiss had his own agenda. He found out what Carter was up to, and he wanted a taste for himself.”
“Greed,” Skorzeny said, his eyes glittering as he smiled. “I told Mr. Haughey greed would destroy them. But tell me, Lieutenant Ryan, how did this Weiss come to know of Carter’s plan to blackmail me?”
“He was leading a Mossad team in an operation against you. His investigation led him to Carter.”
Skorzeny’s smile faded. He leaned forward. “A Mossad operation against me? What was this operation? Did they plan to assassinate me?”
“No,” Ryan said. “Weiss didn’t want to kill you. He said you were no good to him dead.”
“Then what?”
Now Ryan smiled. He held Skorzeny’s brilliant gaze, spared him none of the savage pleasure in his heart.
Skorzeny leaned closer, casually pulled his jacket aside to reveal the butt of a pistol. “Tell me.”
“The operation was successful,” Ryan said.
Skorzeny sat back, took Celia’s hand in his. The fingers dwarfed hers. Celia winced as he squeezed. “Tell me.”
“They know about the money,” Ryan said.
A furrow appeared on Skorzeny’s smooth brow. “Money?”
“The money you’ve been channelling away from the escape fund. Millions upon millions. I’ve seen the accounts myself. You’ve been robbing your Kameraden blind for years. Skimming off the top, Weiss called it. He had the proof.”
Skorzeny sat in silence for a moment, his mind working behind his eyes. “So he had proof. What does this matter to me?”
“It matters to your friends in South America. The rest of the Nazi scum you handle the funds for. If they find out you’ve been stealing from them, there won’t be a safe place on God’s green earth for you. Not even Franco could protect you.”
“So he would have my Kameraden kill me rather than do it himself? Was he such a coward?”
Ryan shook his head. “I told you, he didn’t want you dead. He wanted something far more valuable than your life.”
“What?”
“The ratlines. He wanted to know about every piece of filth you helped get out of Europe, all of them, going right back. Either you turned on your friends, or he’d make sure they turned on you.”
Skorzeny gave a laugh, the sound of it leaping high and shrill from his barrel chest. “Now Weiss is dead. His proof cannot help him.”
“Oh, but it can,” Ryan said. He spoke slowly and clearly, relishing every tic on Skorzeny’s face. “You see, he told me where to find the information he had on you. This morning, I took it to his contact at a legal firm in Dublin. They’re a front for the Israelis. The mission still stands, only with one change.”
Skorzeny released Celia’s hand. “Go on.”
“That if anything happens to me, or anyone close to me, the information will be passed to your friends. If you kill me, they will kill you.”
“Do you think this makes you safe?” Skorzeny smiled. “Why do you believe I would rather live as a slave to Jews than die by the hands of my Kameraden?”
“Because of your pride.”
Skorzeny’s head tilted. “Pride?”
“I think you would rather live under the Mossad’s thumb than let your friends know you stole from them. You won’t have that stain on your memory.”
“You seem very sure of this, Lieutenant Ryan. Are you willing to wager your life on it?”
Ryan asked, “Are you?”
They held each other’s gaze, Skorzeny seeming to stare into Ryan’s soul.
“When they write the books about you,” Ryan said, “What should the final chapter be? That in the end, you were nothing but a thief?”
Skorzeny sat frozen, his breathing the only sound in the room.
Evetnually, he stood.
“You will never be at peace, Lieutenant Ryan. You might be safe for now, perhaps for a year or two, maybe more, but you must know this: one day, I will make you suffer.”
Skorzeny reached for the bag.
“Weiss told me something else,” Ryan said.
Skorzeny paused, his fingers on the handle of the satchel.
“He told me about the raid on Gran Sasso you’re so famous for, Mussolini’s rescue. He told me it wasn’t true, any of it. He told me it was all propaganda, that you’ve been living a lie.”
Skorzeny went to lift the bag.
“Leave it there,” Ryan said.
Skorzeny paused.
“I said, leave it.”
Skorzeny straightened. “Now you are the thief,” he said, his voice wavering.
“I can live with that.” Ryan got to his feet. “You can go now.”
Skorzeny held his ground for a moment, then he smiled at Celia.
“Good day, Miss Hume.”
He left them there.
Celia crumbled, the tears soaking Ryan’s shoulder as he embraced her.
EPILOGUE
Herberts Cukurs could ill afford the cost of a long distance call from the hotel, but he had to be sure. He had to hear it one more time.
He listened to the dial tone, the distorted whirr that travelled all the way from a small townland outside Dublin.
“Yes?” the voice said, deep as ever, but perhaps not as strident as it had once been.