I nodded. Across the table, Cosmo was wincing.
"Marshal has embarked on other endeavors," Schuster stated. I couldn't tell whether there was an element of pride or dismay in the old man's voice. At the moment, though, it didn't matter. The blonde had stripped down to a very revealing mini-bikini with a reptile design, and my imagination was churning out fantasies faster than I could catalog them. It was a struggle to yank my conscious thoughts back to the conversation at hand.
"So why the interest in the Doobacque Cluster?" I tried.
"Schuster Laboratories once had a research facility there," he said matter-of-factly.
"Which island?"
"Big Doobacque, the one at the center of the Cluster."
It was a test. I glanced across the table at Cosmo and caught his almost imperceptible nod. He was in the process of setting down his coffee, acting as though he was preoccupied with the water.
"Big Doobacque isn't at the center of the Cluster. It's the out island, the one that takes the brunt of the storms. Even the Caribs avoid it."
Bearing Schuster's wrinkled face tried to unfold. At the center of the effort was a wan attempt at a smile. "Very good, Mr. Wages. It's an old habit of mine that has served me well over the years. Never trust someone else's assessment of a man's knowledge; put it to the test yourself. Cosmo claims you know the region well, and I trust Cosmo. Your mentor is an old and valued friend. Still, I must admit, I feel more secure. Now our discussion can begin in earnest."
The sour-faced young man plodded through a second round. Cosmo went through the ritual of stoking up his pipe, and Bearing finally got started. "Are you familiar with the work of one Rudolph Bachmann?" he asked.
I shook my head.
"Bachmann was a sorry little excuse for a man — a research scientist who operated on the lunatic fringe of German society in the early nineteen-twenties. He was thrown out of Heidelberg in his final year of studies for what was termed 'detrimental behavior.' Nevertheless, he managed to begin anew and do research with several small German pharmaceutical houses. During these years he conducted his own series of experiments, and when the war broke out, his work came to the attention of Adolph Hitler."
Bearing stopped, wheezed, bolted down the second glass of whatever it was he was drinking and continued.
"We Americans call Bachmann's field of endeavor 'cryonics.' Are you familiar with this fascinating subject, Mr. Wages?"
The cat was out of the bag. I didn't know any more about cryogenics than I did French cooking, and I knew a helluva lot less about cryonics. Cosmo, meanwhile, had discovered why I was so fascinated with the blonde and promptly lost all interest in the conversation. "To some extent," I admitted reluctantly. "It has something to do with freezing the body in the hope a cure will be discovered for what ails them."
"Quaintly put, Mr. Wages. However, there's a great deal more to it than that." At the moment, the old boy looked somewhat dismayed. "Despite the fact that Bachmann's experiments were both crude and poorly documented, Hitler was fascinated with the idea and put more and more pressure on him. In the final days of the war, Bachmann finally informed Hitler that his process was perfected. A courier was dispatched back to Berlin with a complete set of instructions on the cryonic procedure. It was, I might add, a somewhat imperfect procedure — untested, unproven and, as it turned out, a completely questionable method of preserving inanimate tissue.''
The old boy had my attention. "Obviously, there's more to the story."
"Very perceptive," Bearing complimented. "We have it from reasonably reliable sources that at the last minute Martin Bormann decided to take a calculated risk. Bodies were substituted for both the Fuhrer and his mistress and Bachmann's unproven procedure was tried on Hitler and Eva."
"You're kidding!" The words had no more than gotten out when I realized my exclamation sounded both childish and inane. Cosmo was listening again and glowered at me.
"Let me assure you, Mr. Wages, I am not the kind of man who 'kids.' I didn't have Cosmo fly you all the way down here to amuse you. There is a point to all of this."
"And that point is?"
"I have every reason to believe that the remains of Adolph Hitler will soon be located, and that an attempt will be made to recover and resuscitate him."
I suddenly realized that I wanted to be a long way from Bearing Schuster's tightly guarded compound. With that in mind, I stared back at the man, speechless, because I wasn't convinced I could maintain control if I tried to respond.
Cosmo came to my rescue. "You haven't told Elliott how you think he can help."
Apparently I was doing a reasonable job of concealing my honest reaction to Bearing's story. The old boy lowered his voice as if he needed to stress the confidentiality of what he was about to say. "We have every reason to believe that Hitler's remains will be found in the same vicinity as the recent Doobacque Cluster incident."
"In Jamaica?" I know my voice sounded incredulous.
Cosmo stared me down.
"There are maritime records, authenticated and verified by several responsible agencies, that indicate a German freighter flying an Argentinian flag set sail from Rostock on the night of May 3, 1945. The cargo manifest indicates that it was carrying sealed metal cylinders eight foot long, thirty-six inches wide and two feet deep. The cylinders were consigned to an Argentinian import firm by the name of Kronkite."
"That still doesn't explain Jamaica," I insisted.
"The name of that freighter was the Garl. The Garl sank some fifty-seven nautical miles southwest of Jamaica on May 27th. Records indicate it went aground on the Tiger Reef after an explosion, floundered for three days, then sank during a storm. Three crewmen were known to have gotten off that ship; one is reported to be still living. His name is Heinrich Froelling. Herr Froelling is in an institution in or near Kingston. Unfortunately, he can verify none of this. We are informed he is quite mad."
I let my breath out slowly. Bearing Schuster wasn't an addled old man after all.
"Okay," I said, "Suppose everything you say is true. How do you know Bormann actually carried out the plan? How do you know the two bodies actually made it to Rostock? How do you know the cylinders were still on board when the Garl went down? And last but not least, why now? How long have you known all this?"
Bearing Schuster actually seemed pleased with the barrage of questions. "Excellent," he admitted, looking at Cosmo. "Mr. Wages may turn out to be our man after all."
Cosmo smiled benignly.
"Up until a few months ago, the entire story of the Garl and its mission had been little more than an amusing if somewhat intriguing anecdote about the end of the war. Oh, there was a ship all right, but the thought that Hitler was actually, shall I say, 'frozen', and shipped out of Germany just hours before the Russians moved in was nothing more than idle and somewhat fanciful conversation. But this has changed all of that," he said reaching under the folds of his shawl and producing a small leather-bound diary, torn and dirty. He handed it to me. The name "Manfred Kohler" was scrawled on an inside page.
"Unless you are a serious student of the daily rigors of the Third Reich, Mr. Wages, you will find the diary of Manfred Kohler to be a somewhat tedious account of his love for his wife. The last five pages, hastily written and obviously while he was under great stress, however, are quite significant and a departure from the rest."
I glanced at the date of the last entry: May 1, 1945. "How can you be sure this is the real thing?" I asked.
Bearing nodded grimly. "It was discovered during the dispersal of the estate of Anna Meier Kohler some three years ago. One of my agents heard about the diary and purchased it from a collection of Third Reich artifacts housed in Berlin. I came into possession of this chronicle only two months ago."