Brandenburg (59 page)

Lubsch swallowed the liquid in one gulp. “Kesser’s girlfriend
wasn’t privileged enough to know everything. But she knew enough. To start with, they’re going to kill Dollman and his cabinet.” Lubsch saw the look on Volkmann’s face.

“How?”

“There’s a house in Berlin’s Wannsee where Dollman keeps his mistress. Her name’s Lisl Henning. She’s one of their people. Dollman’s due there sometime after midnight. There’s a Turk named Kefir Ozalid waiting to put a bullet in his head.”

“And the cabinet . . . ?”

“She didn’t know. Only that it happens after Dollman gets hit. They’ll all be killed.”

Sweat beaded Volkmann’s face, the voices on the tape suddenly clear. “Why Ozalid? Why not one of their own people?”

“Because they’ve been very clever. As soon as Ozalid pulls the trigger and the cabinet gets hit, the streets are going to be full of righteous Germans baying for immigrant blood. Kesser’s friends have set it up perfectly. They’ll blame the deaths on immigrant extremists. They pit German against immigrant and in the chaos, make their coup a walkover.” Lubsch put down his glass. “They’ve everything worked out down to the last detail. The monastery you saw. You know what it’s for? It’s to be a detention center . . . for undesirables. Immigrants and others. Another Dachau, no doubt. Kesser had a long list of such places to fill once they take over.”

Volkmann stared back at Lubsch. “Tell me what you intend doing.”

“The only thing we can do. The Kaalberg is half an hour from here. My men and I are going to try to take out the missile. Neutralize it. And find this Schmeltz.”

“You’re making a mistake, Lubsch. You’ll never succeed on your own. Let me call Berlin . . .”

Lubsch shook his head. “How long’s it going to take you to convince them, Volkmann? And by then, it may be too late.”

“What makes you think your men can do the job?”

“Volkmann, in this weather, we’ll be lucky even to make it up the
mountain. But if we do, we stand some chance. By simply informing Berlin, we have none. If Dollman’s killed, this country can still stop what’s happening. But without a government, there isn’t a chance. Kesser’s girlfriend didn’t know how the cabinet will be hit, but someone up there will know. According to her, there’s never more than a half-dozen armed guards on the property. There are four of us, including me. You make five. All we need is the element of surprise.”

“You’ll need more than that. What about weapons?”

“We have them. Machine pistols, grenades. Well, what do you say, Volkmann?”

Volkmann looked past the window, at the city lights beyond the mist of slanting white. He turned back, searched the terrorist’s face. “You know, I had you down as a nutcase, Lubsch. Which only goes to prove that I’d have made a lousy psychiatrist.”

Lubsch laughed. “I’ve been called worse. That’s probably a compliment.”

“Why are you doing this? Why are you helping me?”

“For the reason I told you. I don’t want another Nazi Reich or anything like it. I don’t want the mistakes of the past repeated. Because if that happens, there would never be another Germany. Not ever.” Lubsch smiled grimly. “Absurd, I know, you and I joining forces, but there you have it. So, are you with us?”

Volkmann hesitated. “There are two things I want to make clear.”

“What?”

“I make my call to Berlin.”

Lubsch considered. “And the second?”

“If we make it up the mountain, Schmeltz is mine.”

Lubsch said, “It’s not only because of Erica Kranz, is it, Volkmann?”

“There’s something Kesser’s girlfriend didn’t tell you about Schmeltz.”

The terrorist grimaced, his voice suddenly strained. “She told us, Volkmann. I didn’t mention it, because I thought you’d think I’d lost my reason.” Lubsch shook his head as if in disbelief. “Part of me wants
to believe what she said, and yet another part of me is questioning my sanity. Still, I know she didn’t lie. They say that history repeats itself. Only, in this case, who would have believed it?” He paused. “What do you want, Volkmann? A chance to speak for the dead?”

55

BERLIN. SATURDAY, DECEMBER 24, 12:16 A.M.

The Mercedes braked to a halt on the gravel driveway.

The porch light was on outside the house, and as Ritter opened the car door for Dollman, the chancellor slid out of the warm limo.

Lisl was waiting in the hallway, and while Ritter disappeared as usual into the study she led Dollman inside.

On the dining room table supper was laid. A bottle of Dom Perignon stood in a silver bucket of crushed ice. Next to it were fresh flowers and two lit candles. Lisl had drawn the curtains to stop the prying eyes of the bodyguards, and as Dollman crumpled into a leather armchair by the fire, she said, “You had a difficult day?”

“Exhausting.”

She went to stand behind him, massaging his shoulders.

Dollman groaned with pleasure. Moments later she felt his hand grasp her arm, and he pulled her around. She saw the look of impatience on his face and said, “Let’s eat first.”

Dollman’s hand started to slide along her thigh, but she smiled, and led him to the table.

Dollman wolfed down his food and drank three glasses of champagne. When it came to dessert, Lisl served him chocolate mousse. He looked longingly at her and let his hand slide down the curve of her hip.

She smiled down at him. “What about dessert?”

“I’d much rather have you, my sweet.”

The chancellor managed a weak grin, but tiredness and alcohol crumpled his face. She smiled back, took Dollman by the hand, and led him upstairs to the bedroom.

•   •   •

Five minutes later, Dollman watched as Lisl slid a disc into the sound system. Then the strains of Mozart filled the room.

She came to lie beside him on the silk sheets. Dollman’s energy was spent, it was obvious, and when he made a weak attempt to touch her she gently pushed his hand away. “It’s better you sleep for now, liebchen. Time to recharge your batteries. I’ll be waiting for you when you wake.”

Dollman murmured gratefully and turned over, exhausted.

She waited for several minutes before she slid off the bed, crossed to the window, and peered out through a parting in the curtain. Three cars were parked below: one in the street, the others in the driveway, though there was no movement. But Ritter’s men were out there. And Ritter himself was downstairs in the study, as usual.

As the curtain fell back into place, she heard Dollman begin to snore, his big body rumbling under the covers. She checked her watch before she crossed to the sound system again. She lowered the volume to near silence, waiting for the second hand to sweep past for one minute exactly, aware of her heart beating furiously; then she raised the volume again gradually until the music resumed its former pitch. She went to sit at the dressing table, her hands trembling as she stared down at her watch again.

1:10 a.m.

In another ten minutes, it would all be over.

•   •   •

In the basement, Ozalid tensed as he heard the sounds of Mozart die and flicked on the pencil light. He watched the second hand sweep around: one minute, then the music volume rose again.

He had heard the cars pulling into the driveway, heard the sounds
of footsteps in the hall, then moving up the stairs to the bedroom. But nothing this last half hour. Until now.

He tensed again. His watch read 1:10. He flicked off the light and stood in the darkness, a knot of expectancy in his stomach, but every sense alert.

He would wait five minutes, just to be certain.

Then he would move.

12:46 A.M.

Christian Bauer was director of the Berlin Landesamt, a tall, lean man in his mid-fifties with gray sleeked hair and a handsome face. He wore a dressing gown over blue crumpled cotton pajamas, but even so, he had the well-groomed look of the diplomat about him.

He had made coffee, but Werner Bargel ignored the steaming black liquid. Bargel had telephoned him to say he was coming over. That it was urgent.

It was strictly business and Bauer saw that his assistant’s face was ashen, but Bauer spoke calmly, as if he were used to emergency calls to his home in the early hours. “Tell me what’s so urgent, Werner.”

“I got two telephone calls just before I called you, sir. Both from Munich. The first was from a man I know named Volkmann. He’s with DSE.”

“Go on.”

“According to Volkmann, a man named Kefir Ozalid is going to assassinate Chancellor Dollman.” Bargel paused briefly, saw the look of alarm on the director’s face. “He also said the entire cabinet is going to be killed.”

Bauer’s mouth was open. “When?”

“Tonight. Now. He didn’t know how, only that it’s going to happen after the attempt on Dollman’s life.” Bargel swallowed. “All the cabinet are staying in Berlin, sir, for Weber’s security meeting in the Reichstag this morning.”

Bauer put down his cup, his face draining of color.

His assistant director flicked a glance at his watch, as if for emphasis. “Before I came here, I had Ozalid’s name put through our computers. We’re also trying to locate the chancellor.”

“What did the computers say?”

“There’s a Kefir Ozalid listed under security-risk category two. He’s Turkish. Immigrated to Germany in his teens. Thirty years old.”

Bauer stood up anxiously. “Okay, so we’ve got a file on him, but why would he want to assassinate Dollman?”

“Two years ago Ozalid spent three months in prison for seriously assaulting an Interior Ministry official in Bonn. The sentence would have been longer, only the court took into account extenuating circumstances.”

Bauer’s eyebrows rose. “What extenuating circumstances?”

“According to his file, he and his wife were the victims of a group of right-wing thugs who firebombed an immigrant hostel. His wife died from her injuries. She was also pregnant. The thugs involved were never apprehended.” Bargel paused. “Dollman was interior minister at the time, responsible for federal security. Apparently, Ozalid wrote to him, blaming Dollman for not having the thugs brought to justice. The official Ozalid attacked was one of Dollman’s staff.”

“Good grief . . . ,” Bauer said. “Did the computer say anything about Ozalid’s whereabouts?”

“He left Germany a year ago, last known address in Stockholm. But he could have slipped back into Germany on a false passport . . .”

Bauer thought for a moment. “Do you trust Volkmann?”

“Yes.”

“Can we speak with him?”

Bargel shook his head. “He just made the call to my home number, pressed on me the absolute urgency of the situation, and then he hung up.” Bargel paused. “But there’s something else, sir, tied in with Volkmann’s information. Something very disturbing.”

“What?”

Bargel took a deep breath. “According to Volkmann, the threats
to Dollman and the cabinet are only part of it. There’s going to be an attempted coup.”

Christian Bauer looked at Bargel disbelievingly. “By whom?”

When Bargel told him, Bauer shook his head slowly and said, “You . . . you can’t be serious?”

Bargel didn’t stop; he explained all he knew about the missile and its location. Then he caught his breath nervously, drew in a deep lungful of air, saw Bauer’s shocked reaction.

The director asked quickly, “Where’s Dollman now?”

“With Lisl Henning.” Bargel swallowed. “Volkmann said she was involved.”

“He mentioned her by name?”

“Yes, sir. I ordered security to contact Dollman’s bodyguard Ritter and tell him what’s happening. However, because of the complexity of the situation and the protocol involved, the other orders I gave await your confirmation.”

“What orders are those?”

“I gave the duty officer a list of senior military officers and security personnel to contact. On your command, they’re to come here immediately. There’s a team already on its way to Lisl Henning’s house in Wannsee—I took the liberty of issuing the order as soon as I heard from Volkmann.” Bargel quickly checked his watch. “They should be arriving within the next few minutes. Another team is making ready in Munich to move to the Kaalberg.” Bargel paused. “You may, of course, countermand my orders.”

“What about the cabinet?”

“I’ve already ordered that their personal security be increased and put on alert.”

Bargel looked at his superior expectantly. Bauer’s face was tense. He nodded quickly.

“Okay. Confirm your orders, with my approval.”

“What about the interior minister, sir? He’ll have to be informed.”

Bauer was under pressure, and he spewed out his words. “I’ll contact Weber myself. But for heaven’s sake, get onto Ritter.”

At that moment the portable buzzed in Bargel’s hand. He listened, and then spoke sharply into the receiver. “Keep trying! Do you hear me? Keep trying!” Bargel covered the mouthpiece and looked up.

Bauer said urgently, “What is it?”

“It’s about Ritter, sir. We’re getting no reply from his phone.”

•   •   •

Karl Schmeltz stepped out onto the snow-swept balcony and buttoned up the green loden coat to the collar. He crossed to the end of the low wall and stared out at the snowy darkness.