The Apocalypse Watch (64 page)

“So our people did their work. She’s gone.”

“Then why are they keeping it quiet?
Why?
”

“That godforsaken
Latham
, that’s why!” cried Jäger, the hatred returning to his ice-cold eyes. “He’s trying to fool us, to pull us into a trap.”

“You
know
him?”

“Of course not. I know men
like
him. All corrupted by whores.”

“Do you know
her
?”

“Good God, no. But since the legions of the pharaohs, the whores have always corrupted armies. They follow in their covered caravans, sapping the soldiers of their strength for a few minutes of unholy pleasure!
Whores!
”

“As accurate as that judgment may be, Günter, and I do not dispute it, it’s not particularly relevant to what I’m saying.”

“Then what
are
you saying, Hans? You tell me that things are not as they’ve been reported and I reply that you may be correct, that our enemies are attempting to entrap us as we lay traps for them. There’s nothing new in this—except that we’re winning. Assess the circumstances, my friend. The Americans, the French, and the British are finding us everywhere and nowhere. In Washington, senators and congressmen are suspect; in Paris we have twenty-seven members of the Chamber of Deputies shaping laws to our benefit, and the head of the Deuxième in our pocket. London is ludicrous; they find an ineffectual adviser in the Foreign Office and overlook the first associate to the foreign secretary, who’s so furious over the black immigration that he could have written
Mein Kampf
!” Jäger stopped briefly as he rose from his chair and stood on the flagstone patio, looking over a flowered hedgerow at the calming waters of the Rhine. “Yet for all of that, our work in the lesser areas is even more impressive. An American politician once said ‘All politics is local,’ and he was right. Adolf Hitler understood that; it’s what gave him the Reichstag. You pit one race against another, one ethnic group against another, one economic class against another seemingly
drained
by it, you provoke chaos, wherein lies a vacuum. He did it from one city to
another—Munich, Stuttgart, Nuremberg, Mannheim; troopers everywhere spreading rumors, sowing discontent. Finally, he rushed into and took the
political
Berlin; he could not have done that without the erratic but consuming support of the outlying areas.”

“
Bravo
, Günter,” cried Traupman, applauding. “You see the landscape so clearly, so perceptively.”

“Then what bothers you so?”

“Things you may not know—”

“Such
as
?”

“Two Blitzkrieger were taken alive in Paris and flown to Washington.”

“I was not
told
of this,” said Jäger, his words frozen in ice.

“It’s true, but it’s of no significance now. They were shot in a safe house in Virginia by our Penetrator Three at the Central Intelligence Agency.”

“He’s a
moron
, a clerk! We give him twenty thousand American dollars a year to tell us what the
other
departments are researching.”

“He now wants two hundred thousand for carrying out an order he believes would have been issued to him if he were higher on the ladder.”

“Kill him!”

“That’s not a good idea, Günter. Not until we learn whom he may have spoken to about us. As you pointed out, he’s a moron; he’s also a braggart.”

“That
swine
!” roared Jäger, turning from the glare of the lantern, his face in shadows.

“A swine who did us a considerable service,” added the doctor. “We’ll live with him for a while, even elevate him. The time will come when we can deal him other cards and he’ll become a grateful slave.”

“
Ach
, my dear Hans, you are so good for me. Your mind is like your steady surgical hand. If my predecessor had had more men like you around him, he would still be giving orders to the British Parliament.”

“In that spirit, I hope you will listen to me now, Günter.” Traupman took several steps across the patio; the two men were face-to-face in the flickering shadows.

“When haven’t I listened to you, my old friend and mentor? You are my Albert Speer, the precise analytical mind of an architect replaced by the precise analytical mind of a surgeon. Hitler made the mistake of ultimately disregarding Speer for the likes of Goering and Bormann. I shall never make such a mistake. What is it, Hans?”

“You were correct when you said we were winning the battle of nerves with our enemies. You were also accurate when you stated that in certain localities, especially in the United States, our Sonnenkinder have performed admirably, creating schisms and discontent.”

“I’m impressed with my own assessments,” interrupted Jäger, smiling.

“That’s the point, Günter, they are merely assessments based on current information.… However, the situation could change, and change rapidly. Right now could be the pinnacle of our strategic success.”

“Why the pinnacle?”

“Because too many traps are being set for us that we can’t know about. We may never be in such an advantageous position again.”

“Then what you’re really saying is ‘Invade England now,
mein Führer
, do not wait,’ ” interrupted Jäger once more.

“Water Lightning, of course,” said Traupman. “It must be moved up. Six Messerschmitt ME 323
Gigant
gliders have been retrieved and are being reconditioned. We have to strike as soon as possible, and set the panic in motion. The water reservoirs of Washington, London, and Paris must be poisoned the moment our flying personnel have been trained. Once the governments are in a state of paralysis, our people everywhere are prepared to move into positions of influence, even power.”

The woman on the stretcher was carried out of the American Embassy in full view of the strollers on the avenue Gabriel. A sheet and a light cotton blanket covered her body; her long dark hair was swept back over the small white pillow, and her face was concealed beneath an oxygen mask below gray silk blinders that protected her eyes
from the Paris sun. The rumors spread quickly, aided by several embassy attachés who circulated through the gathering crowd, answering questions softly.

“It’s the ambassador’s wife,” said a woman in French. “I just heard it from an American. Poor dear, she was hurt last evening during that terrible shooting.”

“Crime here has become intolerable,” said a bespectacled slender man. “We should bring back the guillotine!”

“Where are they taking her?” asked another woman, wincing in pity.

“The Hertford Hospital in the Levallois-Perret.”

“Really? It’s called an English hospital, isn’t it?”

“They say their equipment is the most advanced for her wounds.”

“Who said so?” broke in an indignant Frenchman.

“That strapping young man over there—where is he? Well, he was there and that’s what he said.”

“How badly is she hurt?” asked a teenage girl, her right hand gripping the arm of a young male student, his canvas shoulder bag filled with books.

“I heard one of the Americans say it was extremely painful but not life-threatening,” answered yet another Frenchwoman, a secretary or a minor executive who carried a large, thick brown envelope under her arm. “A punctured lung that makes it difficult for her to breathe. She was wearing an oxygen mask. Such a shame!”

“It’s such a shame that the Americans are so meddle-some,” said the student. “She has trouble breathing and one of us who may be seriously ill is shoved aside to make her life more pleasant.”

“Antoine, how can you
say
that?”

“Very easily. I’m a history major.”

“You’re a thankless dog!” cried an elderly man with a small Croix de Guerre emblem in his lapel. “I fought with the Americans and marched into Paris with them. They saved our city!”

“All by themselves, old soldier? I don’t think so.… Come, Mignon, let’s get out of here.”

“Antoine, really! Your radicalism isn’t only passé, it’s boring.”

“Little fuck-up,” said the aging soldier to anyone who would listen. “ ‘Fuck-up,’ it’s a term I learned from the Americans.”

Upstairs in the embassy, in Stanley Witkowski’s office, Claude Moreau was slumped disconsolately in a chair in front of the colonel’s desk. “Fortunately,” he said in a weary voice, “I do not need money, but I shall never be able to spend what I have in Paris, or even France.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Stanley, lighting a Cuban cigar, his expression one of self-satisfaction.

“If you don’t know, Colonel, you should be granted what the American military calls a Section Eight.”

“Why? I’ve got all my marbles and I’m doing what I’m pretty damned good at.”

“For God’s sake, Stanley, I’ve lied to my own Bureau, to the hastily summoned committee of the Chamber of Deputies, to the
press
, to the
President
himself! I’ve literally sworn that Madame Courtland survived, that she didn’t die, that she received excellent treatment from your clinic!”

“Well, you weren’t under oath, Claude.”

“
Merde!
You are crazy!”

“The hell I am. I got her covered body inside and downstairs before anybody could tell the bitch was dead.”

“But will it
work
, Stanley?”

“It has so far.… Look, Claude, I’m only trying to produce confusion. The Latham the neos are after is the one they killed, but they don’t know that. So they’re coming after the other, and we’re waiting for them. The ambassador’s bitch is no less important to them, maybe even more important because they figured out we know who and what she is. After all, the Count of Strasbourg wasn’t about to give her a tetanus shot. With luck, along with your minor fibs, our little charade outside will pay off—”

“Minor
fibs
?” choked Moreau, interrupting. “Have you any idea what I’ve
done
? I lied to the President of France! I’ll never be trusted again!”

“Hell, extend your rationale a touch. You did it for his own good. You had reason to believe his office was bugged.”

“
Preposterous
. It’s the Deuxième’s responsibility to see that it’s not!”

“Guess you can’t use that one,” allowed Witkowski. “How about your running clearance checks on his top aides?”

“We did that most thoroughly months ago. However, your equivocation about extending my rationale may have merit.”

“For your President’s own good,” the colonel broke in, drawing heavily and happily on his cigar.

“Yes, exactly. What he doesn’t know he can’t be held responsible for, and we
are
dealing with psychopaths, with fanatical assassins.”

“I don’t get the connection, Claude, but it’s a start. Incidentally, thanks for the additional personnel at the hospital. Except for two sergeants and a captain, my marines aren’t exactly fluent in French.”

“Your captain was an exchange student, and one of the sergeants has French parents; he knew our language before English. Your other sergeant’s use of French mainly consists of obscenities and how to procure specific services.”

“Good! The neos are obscene, so he’s perfect.”

“How is our stenographer, the reincarnated Madame Courtland, holding up?”

“She’s a loaded gun,” said the colonel.

“I hope not.”

“What I mean is she’s a Jewish lady from New York and hates the Nazis. Her grandparents were gassed at Bergen-Belsen.”

“Strange, isn’t it? Drew Latham used the phrase ‘What goes around, comes around.’ Apparently it’s quite true in human terms.”

“What’s really true is that when some neo son of a bitch comes after the new Mrs. Courtland, and one of them will, we’ll nail him and break him!”

“I told you before, Stanley, I have my doubts that anyone will come. The neos are not fools. They’ll sense a trap.”

“I’ve considered that, but my money’s on human nature.
When the stakes get this high—and a live Sonnenkind puts ’em up there—all bets are covered. The bastards can’t afford not to.”

“I hope you’re right, Stanley.… How is our argumentative colleague, Drew Latham, accepting the scenario?”

“Pretty well. We’ve selectively leaked his cover as Colonel Webster around the embassy, even to the Antinayous, who apparently knew it anyway. Now you do the same. Also, we’re moving the De Vries woman here to the embassy with complete marine security at her quarters.”

“I’m surprised she agreed so readily,” said Moreau. “She’s capable of many artifices, but I truly believe she cares for the man, and given her background would not voluntarily leave him under the circumstances.”

“She doesn’t know about it yet,” said Witkowski. “We’re moving her tonight.”

It was early evening, the Parisian days growing shorter, and Karin de Vries sat in an armchair by the window, the dull, soft light of a floor lamp careening off her long dark hair, creating soft shadows across her attractive face. “Have you any idea what you’re doing?” she asked, glaring at Latham, who once again was half dressed in the army uniform, the tunic draped over the desk chair.

“Sure,” he replied. “I’m bait.”

“You’re
dead
, for God’s sake!”

“The hell I am. At least the odds are on my side. I wouldn’t take them otherwise.”

“
Why?
Because the colonel said so?… Don’t you understand, Drew, that when it comes down to ‘
mission completed
,’ you are merely factor X or Y, expendable for the competition? Witkowski may be your friend, but don’t fool yourself, he’s a professional. The operation comes first! Why do you think he insists that you wear that damned
uniform
?”

“Hey, I know that, or at least I figured it was part of the equation. But they’re sending over a chest protector and a larger jacket, or whatever you call it; it’s not like I’m being sent out naked. Also, don’t tell Stanley how often I
don’t
wear his lousy outfit, he’ll sulk.… I wonder what kind of chest protector he’ll send?”

“Assassins don’t aim for the body, my dear, they aim for the head with telescopic sights.”

“I keep forgetting, you know all about that stuff.”

“Fortunately, I do, which is why I want you to tell our mutual friend, Stanley, to go to the devil!”