Max Breslow did not answer. He followed Kleiber through the first room and downstairs. A man was sitting on a hard chair in the hallway. Kleiber motioned to him and he unlocked a wine-cellar door to show them inside. Kleiber waved his arm. ‘Look!’
Inside there was an array of guns. Fitted into wall racks were a couple of dozen HK 54 machine pistols, of the sort issued to the German border police. There were also some Swedish Carl Gustaf 9-mm machine-guns, and two sniper’s rifles with infra-red sights and lights. Glass-fronted cases contained hand guns and there was a wooden box of concussion grenades.
‘MACE,’ said Kleiber tapping another box. ‘Still the best disabling weapon I know. And it contains no toxin apart from the tear gas.’ His low voice was resonant in the tiny windowless strong room.
‘You are crazy, Willi.’
‘Where have you been living for the last few years? Venus? Saturn? Mars?’ said Kleiber. ‘I’m the virtual owner of the best damned security company in West Germany, even if we are not yet the biggest. All of this material is legitimately owned and operated by our Swiss associate, of which I am a vice-president. The company is licensed to have the weapons you are looking at, Max. Our only undertaking to the government is to have them under proper safekeeping, so that they are not stolen by terrorists.’
‘It’s all legal for you to have this stuff?’
‘The police turn a blind eye to me. My company undertakes some dangerous work, Max. I have contracts to provide protection to many members of the government, as well as to very wealthy businessmen. I’ve helped to plan the security of some international conferences. We’re hoping to get the job of protecting the next OPEC meeting in Europe.’
Willi Kleiber stepped back into the corridor again, and Max Breslow was relieved to follow him. As they left, Kleiber watched the guard double-lock the armoury, and then took down a clipboard and signed the day sheet with a flourish.
‘We’ve got to hit them suddenly and hard,’ said Kleiber. ‘That’s one thing I learned in the war, Max. We’ve got to get into the Pitman house and let them see a lot of men and a lot of firepower. That’s the way to save lives, and save ourselves a lot of trouble.’
‘I suppose so,’ said Max.
‘I wish you would shake off this negative attitude, Max. I wish you’d tell me that you are committed.’
‘I read in the Los Angeles papers about more Germans being deported,’ said Breslow.
‘I read it too,’ said Kleiber. It was not something he wished to discuss.
‘Did you know that the Americans deport men back to the place where the supposed war crime was committed?’
‘Are you worrying about that old woman in Boston again?’ said Kleiber.
‘I was at Lyubomi, Willi. I wasn’t there when the massacre took place but I did go there. I wonder if that is where she saw me; I’ve stayed awake night after night thinking about it.’
‘ Poland?’
‘That town is now inside the USSR borders, Willi, I’d be deported to Russia. You know what they do with anyone who was in the SS.’
Kleiber drew a map using his stubby finger on the plastic table top.
‘Would you go in the gate with the road party, Max?’
‘Yes,’ said Max almost as if he had been waiting for the question.
Kleiber was caught off balance for a moment; he had been preparing all kinds of arrangements to persuade Breslow. ‘That’s excellent. I need someone who knows the true situation on that side. I will be with the boats, of course. If something went badly wrong I want someone who can talk himself out of trouble and extricate the truck and the road party. For us in the boats it will be easier to disappear.’
‘Are you arming the road party?’
‘I can’t decide. There’s every reason to hope we’ll go right into the house and need nothing more lethal than a finger in a coat pocket. But we have to remember that the Amis are ex-soldiers, just as we are. They might be the sort of men who conduct their affairs in a proper military style. They might have sentries posted. They might be armed to the teeth, Max.’
‘I doubt it,’ said Max Breslow. He couldn’t think of anyone less military than Charles Stein.
‘And so do I. I doubt it very much. Let’s go upstairs. I want to take a shower and change my clothes.’
‘When we get the documents, what then, Willi? Do we take them to Dr Böttger?’
‘I will handle it,’ said Kleiber. ‘It is all arranged.’
‘Suppose you are hurt, Willi, or even killed?’
Kleiber stopped suddenly and turned to face his friend. Like all brave soldiers, he had never truly faced that prospect. What a catastrophe it would be if Max gave the Minutes to Böttger. Kleiber had no doubt that in such a case Moscow would keep to the threat of sending all Kleiber’s war crimes evidence to the West. That would kill his mother with shame, and certainly mean the end of his father.
‘No, Max,’ said Kleiber. ‘If anything happens to me, you must telephone Chicago, a man named Edward Parker.’ Kleiber scribbled the phone number on a page of his notebook and passed it to Max Breslow.
‘Does he know about Charles Stein?’
‘He knows about everything, Max. He knows about everything.’
‘I feel sorry for Stein,’ Max confided. ‘He’s not so bad as I once thought him.’
‘You’ve changed your attitude,’ Kleiber chuckled. ‘I remember you telling me you couldn’t abide him.’ They went upstairs, Kleiber leading and taking the steps two at a time to demonstrate how fit he was. ‘What sort of man is he, this Stein?’ Kleiber was not even short of breath. ‘We’ve more or less finished his bank. They’ll lose a hundred million dollars… Böttger’s plan was faultless.’
‘Or they will run,’ said Breslow.
‘But why didn’t he offer you the papers for whatever he could get for them? Do you think he understood the offer?’
‘He understood all right,’ said Breslow. ‘I told him I’d arrange to sell the documents to a big corporation which would give him cash up front and a percentage too.’
‘So why does he turn down the chance to salvage his business affairs? Doesn’t he realize his life is in danger?’
‘The other way round,’ said Breslow. ‘I told you not to underestimate him. He knows that nothing will happen to him until we get our hands on the Hitler Minutes. After that, as you’ve already told me, his life will be forfeit. He’s no fool, Willi. He’s frightened, but he’s not so frightened that he will hand over those damned papers.’
‘Well, now we do know where the papers are,’ said Kleiber. ‘He’s missed his chance.’
‘Poor Stein,’ said Max Breslow, but if Kleiber heard him, he gave no sign of it.
37
On that same Saturday of August the director general arrived in his office at 9.25 a.m. He sent for Stuart. He had done that for the previous three mornings, so Stuart was ready for the call. The DG was seated at his desk reading the Daily Telegraph’s account of the PM’s speech to the conference in Lusaka. He put down the newspaper when Stuart entered and got to his feet.
‘Nothing fresh, Stuart?’ The DG was not wearing his usual black jacket and pinstripe trousers but a hound’s-tooth check suit. It was a startling transformation which made the director look like a prosperous bookie, Stuart thought.
‘ Geneva just made contact,’ said Stuart.
‘Is he a good man?’
‘Yes, sir. Excellent.’
‘Koch, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, sir.’ The old man never lost the capacity to supervise.