Blind Mission: A Thrilling Espionage Novel (16 page)

Schwartz breathed calmly. This last easy mission was not so easy at all. The train’s passengers had been checked at ever intermediary stop – and no one had been able to find a trace of the fugitive.

“A runaway drug courier, eh?” Kurt suddenly injected into the conversation, returning to the pretext Schwartz had given him when asking for his help. Schwartz himself doubted the man believed the story fully; perhaps he was trying to find out if Schwartz had told the others the same thing.

“A runaway courier,” Schwartz affirmed. “He disappeared with a package and we fear the boy has taken off.”

“White Kurt”, so named for his exclusive trade in heroin, smiled and said no more. It was clear he could not allow such a thing to occur – not just in his own organization, but even a competitor. Rumors of such disloyalty could spread like wildfire; if strong countermeasures were not taken immediately, rifts could develop in Germany’s underworld.

“All right,” began Schwartz, “so far there have no –“

The ring of the telephone silenced the room. Schwartz reached to the table behind him and picked up the receiver. After listening a moment, he held it out.

“For you, Kurt.”

Kurt straightened the sunglasses that hid his eyes every hour of the day and walked over to the phone. The room waited silently.

Finally Kurt said, “Thanks. See you.”

With exaggerated care he replaced the receiver, then turned to his colleagues and asked in his gravelly voice, “The cab driver didn’t see your man get on the train to Munich, right?” Without waiting for a response, he continued. “We can’t be sure, then, that the man really was on the train. However, we know from the cab driver – who went back into the station to change a large bill at the ticket office – that he didn’t see his passenger again. We checked and found out that another train left at the very same time for the north, for Hamburg. My people are looking for the conductor who was on that train. Maybe he’ll be able to tell us something important.”

“We’ll wait,” said Schwartz. He pressed a button and in less than a minute one of his hostesses came and took their orders.

At 9:30 that morning the phone rang again. Someone calling himself “Karl from Hamburg” asked to speak with Kurt.

Afterwards Dan Greenberg could not recall how long the late model, metallic blue-gray Mercedes had been gliding along beside him. It was likely he had not paid attention to the traffic for some time, because of the rain beating down on his umbrella that obliterated all other sound. Perhaps there was a simpler explanation – that he was just preoccupied with his thoughts; perhaps he had simply noticed the car just as it had appeared. In any event, when he turned his head towards the street to his left, the electric window on the passenger’s side slid open and he found himself looking down at a smiling, pleasant faced young blonde with a beautifully sculpted body, sitting on red velvet upholstery, whose miniskirt (and on such a rainy day!) displayed a long pair of legs clad in an obviously expensive pair of thigh-high gray leather boots.

At first he thought she wanted to ask him directions, but a second later he realized she was a whore. He was about to turn away when he noticed something puzzling about her behavior. His simple attire—comfortable, faded jeans, plaid flannel shirt, thick Norwegian sweater, short black leather jacket, and scuffed boots – was not something to attract the interest of someone driving such a car; which he estimated must have cost several score thousand euro. No! This was a high-class whore, and the cause of her interest in him had to be something quite different. The young woman aroused his curiosity by the glances she kept stealing at the inside of her door and he came to a decision. He smiled.

“Hello,” the blond smiled back.

“Hello,” he replied, coming to a halt.

When he got into the car, the woman reached out with a manicured finger and pressed the button to close his window. The pleasant warmth of the car’s heater immediately improved his mood.

“Cold, no?” the young woman tried to begin a conversation.

Greenberg nodded in agreement. There was something in the way she had looked him over that he didn’t like. He felt as if she had not stopped trying to figure him out. The looks she was giving him seemed different from the quick once-over a woman of her profession was probably used to giving a potential customer. There was no doubt: she was examining him for too long, as if she were trying to verify a first impression.

“Shall we go to my place?” the blonde cut off his thoughts.

“Why not?” he replied casually.

The car surged into the ring highway encompassing the city in a multi-laned belt. Greenberg’s eyes never left the speedometer. When their speed reached 100 kilometers an hour, he stretched out his left leg and placed his foot on that of the woman, pushing the accelerator to the floor. The powerful car leaped forward in an ever increasing rush of speed. The woman turned to her passenger in a panic. Greenberg took hold of her jaw and turned her head back toward the road.

“Be quiet, and look only at the road!” he ordered, increasing his pressure on the accelerator. He quickly took her shoulder bag from its perch on the dashboard and dumped it out on the floor. The car continued to soar down the highway in the far left lane. The other drivers blew their horns and cursed, but were forced to make way.

The driver’s license in the bag identified the woman as Heidi Braun. He read her name aloud, intentionally emphasizing her address. A look of terror came over her pale face with its high cheekbones.

“I, I…I don’t have any money. You can see for yourself: I’ve only got 100 euro –“

“Quiet!” he roared at her, surprising himself with his rage, as he tightened the pressure on her foot. The young woman’s blue gray eyes were wide open in fear. The speedometer needle nudged past 140. The Mercedes, despite its heavy weight and great stability, began to shudder slightly.

“You…you’re going to kill us!” the whore’s voice rose in hysteria.

Without saying a word Greenberg slid towards the girl and reached across her seat. He searched with his fingertips in the recess between the driver’s seat and the door, where the woman had nervously glanced before. As his fingers probed, he kept his eyes on the woman’s face, which was paralyzed with terror. In a second his fingers touched a thick piece of flexible, smooth paper. He pulled the postcard-sized sheet towards him and turned it over – and froze. His foot came off the accelerator and the car immediately slowed. His eyes stared wide in astonishment and his heart pounded. Once again he looked at the woman; she would not meet his gaze. His eyes returned to the paper in his hand. From the glossy photograph his own eyes stared back at him.

It was the same picture used to make the Identikit image shown on Israeli television several days before. But what was this picture doing here, in the hands of a German whore? The terrible feeling of being a hunted animal seized hold of him again. He felt trapped, surrounded.

“Who gave you this?” he asked hoarsely, and without waiting for an answer continued, “What for? When did they give it to you?”

“I don’t know what for. They…they asked us to find you, but didn’t say why. I don’t know anything.”

“Who gave you this? When did they it to you?” he heard himself yell for the second time.

The woman hesitated and Greenberg again jammed his foot down on the accelerator.

“Adolf,” she finally said reverently, as if pronouncing the name of a saint.

“Who’s Adolf?”

“Adolf is the guard at the house I work in.”

“Who else received this picture?”

“Everyone, all the girls.”

“All the girls where? In the house where you work?”

“No, I think…I think all the girls in the Saint Pauli quarter got them. And maybe…maybe all the girls in the city. I don’t know; I’m not sure.”

“How much did they pay you?”

“They didn’t pay.”

“Don’t tell me you’re just riding around looking at the sidewalks for fun.”

“No; I have no choice. They forced us to search for you, and also – well they promised a lot of money to whoever finds you.”

“How much is ‘a lot of money’?” Greenberg wanted to know how important it was for them to find him.

“Fifty-thousand…”

“Fifty-thousand euro?!” Greenberg asked incredulously.

“Yes.”

Greenberg was silent. It took a minute or two for him to recover from his fear enough to speak. In an uncharacteristically somber voice, he directed her to the abandoned hotel where he was staying; knowing that there were likely to be people waiting at her apartment. Moreover, this Adolf was liable to ask himself why Heidi was not checking in – and send people to look for her. In that case, no one would find her in his grimy back room. The elderly house matron would probably not say anything either if he came back to his room with a beautiful young lady on his arm.

The sky soon became even gloomier and darkness began to descend on the city. Drops of rain quickened and periodic flashes of lightening illuminated the horizon, accompanied seconds later by rolling peals of thunder. Greenberg made the woman park the Mercedes about a 10-minute walk from his pension and they continued on foot. As they walked side by side, he held forcefully to her elbow; both to prevent her from trying to escape and also to help support her. Her high-heeled boots were undoubtedly uncomfortable and clearly unsuitable for a long walk, particularly not over the cracked and broken pavement of this area of the city.

*     *      *

The old woman looked up at them from her wobbly table and reached out a tremulous hand toward an old radio that blared in front of her at full volume. Obviously it was not the sound of the door opening that had caught her attention, but the sudden blast of cold air that had penetrated the closed room. Before the woman could lower the sound enough to exchange words with her tenant, Greenberg preempted her with a heart “Hello!” and continued past her, pushing the young woman as she jiggled on her high-heeled boots.

The whore felt his grip on her elbow gradually loosen, but when she tried to move her arm slightly his fingers clasped her again instantly. Only when they were inside the moldy room and he had kicked the door shut behind him did Greenberg release her.  She sank down dazed and exhausted on the edge of the bed and slowly looked around her, her mouth forming an obvious expression of disgust at what she saw. At times she darted fearful glances at the man pacing back and forth in front of her.

“What…what now?” she asked finally, her face showing as much hostility as fear.

Greenberg looked at her without answering. What now, really? He had not the faintest idea what to do with her. As he thought about it, he realized that all he wanted was to prevent her from telling his pursuers that she had found him. How could he do this? How could he keep her isolated until he was safely away from Hamburg?

Suddenly he realized that the room was an ideal hiding place. He had parked the Mercedes far enough away so as not to draw attention to the inconspicuous building. This would make it difficult for those hunting him, even if they managed by chance to find the car. Greenberg glanced at his watch. It was almost 4:30 p.m. Heidi would not be missed – he hoped – until very late in the evening; when it would be too late for them to begin looking for her. They would have to wait until morning. If he could keep her out of circulation for five or six more hours, he could manage to evade them. In addition, his plans were affected by the knowledge that, for the time being, he could not go out into the streets. These were probably filled with men and women searching for him. If he left his hotel, it would not take long for someone else to spot him. He moved closer to the woman and looked her over carefully.

“Lie down!” he commanded her.

For a moment it appeared that she wavered between revulsion at the sight of the filthy sheets and the fear she felt towards him; but then the fear won out and she lay back obediently, her body trembling.

*     *      *

Greenberg’s sleep was troubled, when he finally managed to fall asleep – and then he quickly awoke in alarm. A driving rain was gusting against the window, rattling it fiercely in its warped wooden frame. As if this weren’t enough to drive a reasonable man insane, a stream of water trickled through the rotten wood, filling the room with a damp and musty smell.

Heidi, lying on the bed with her hands tied to the iron frame, was also awake. She followed him with anxious eyes as he slipped off the bed and turned on the room’s single dim light. He instinctively glanced at the ancient wall clock hanging above the door. Its hands pointed to 6:17, a claim that was supported by the morning light that had begun to filter though the curtains.

Suddenly Greenberg was gripped by hunger, surprised that he was only feeling it now. He had not eaten anything since the previous afternoon. The woman was surely hungry, he thought; but she would have to wait a bit longer – it wouldn’t harm her figure. He sat down on the bed and considered his next moves. He would have to wait until he heard the landlady begin to move about in the front room. Then he would act.

He knew that, for as long as he remained in the room with the woman, she wouldn’t dare to make a sound. For that reason, he had not gagged her during the night – after making it abundantly clear that if she made a single pee, he would strangle her. The fact that the man she was with was wanted by the underworld and had a 50,000 euro price on his head gave Heidi Braun no cause to doubt his seriousness.

At about 6:45 the distorted sound of the landlady’s old radio came from the end of the hallway; she was awake. Greenberg, who had slept in his trousers, put on his shoes, shirt, and sweater. As he dressed, Heidi’s eyes followed him curiously from her captive perch on the bed.

At 6:50 Greenberg leaned over the gril and put his face close to hers.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “but I have to gag you. You have nothing to fear: I’ll make sure they find you here this afternoon. If you try to get loose before then or to get help, don’t forget I know exactly where to find you, Fraulein Heidi Braun.”

He had spoken matter-of-factly, without any tone of menace, and it was precisely his detachment that made the woman shiver. The tremor passed along the length of her spine and only worsened when he added, “And I’m not accustomed to leaving accounts unsettled.”

At exactly seven, Greenberg knocked on the door on whose faded sign he could barely make out the word “Private”. Wearing a frayed housecoat, her thin hair hanging loose and disheveled, the old woman cracked open the door and peered out.

“Good morning,” said Greenberg politely. “I’m leaving now. I would just like to ask – my friend isn’t feeling well. She would like to sleep in until the afternoon. I would be very grateful if you didn’t disturb her,” he said, slipping her a 5-euro note through the opening.

“Yes, yes, of course!” the woman replied, her tone indicating that she had long ago learned to mind her own business, and was content to do so.

“If you would just wake her at about two…”

“Of course, of course.”

Greenberg thanked her and went out into the street. The rain had stopped, but the sky was still a gloomy gray and the air was still very humid. He began to walk down the sidewalk. The street was empty at this hour of the morning, the silence disturbed only by the occasional passage of a car. For a moment he was tempted to walk to where he had parked the Mercedes the day before; but this was too dangerous – dangerous and pointless. He had also rejected the idea of using public transportation from that area, in case his pursuers had indeed managed to locate the car and were now intensively searching for him on the local subway and bus lines. He was left with only one alternative: to keep walking until he felt safe enough, relatively speaking, to take the subway.