The Eagle's Covenant (24 page)

Hoffman conceded that. “So he should be; he’s been trained by the best in the world.”

Lechter signalled his disbelief with a quick shake of the head. “He has no alibis, not one person to vouch for him, yet he oozes confidence. He has nothing to fear.”

“I don’t think ‘fear’ is the right word for his kind,” Hoffman observed. “It’s milked out of them before they are released on to an unsuspecting world.”

“He doesn’t appear to have done anything wrong,” Jansch put in. “But we know he has.”

“Do we?” asked Hoffman. He looked at Lechter. “Your men couldn’t find any counterfeit money at either of his places, could they?”

“We know he had some, but, it’s like he said; he could have got that from anywhere.” Lechter looked bitter. “It’s all circumstantial. We could never take him to court on what little evidence we have.”

Hoffman flipped open a file that lay on the desk in front of him. It was a report from the forensic laboratory on Conor’s clothing. “No powder burns. So we cannot link the deaths of Krabbe or Schwarz to him. We are confident he entered the apartments, but not that he was involved in the rape and murder of Breggie de Kok, nor that of Kleiber.” Kleiber was the gorilla who had killed Breggie. “It looks like a straightforward case of rape, self-defence and both dying as a result.” He closed the file. “Which we know is bullshit!”

“You think Lenihan killed them, sir?”

Hoffman tapped the desk hard with his fingers. “I don’t know. How could he?” The question was largely rhetorical. “But I just have a feeling he was involved.”

“It’s the same with the kidnapping, isn’t it?” Jansch said. “We are pretty confident he was involved, but cannot prove it. All the terrorists are dead.”

“Except Lenihan,” Hoffman reminded him.

“But we don’t know, do we?” Jansch countered. “We’ve got no proof. The only witnesses we have to the kidnap are the Schillers, and they can’t tell us anything except Breggie de Kok was the leader. She’s dead. They’re all dead. End of story.”

Hoffman sighed heavily. “I know what you’re saying, Uwe. We’ll just have to hope something turns up.”

“Mister Micawber.” Lechter observed.

Hoffman looked puzzled. “What?”

“Charles Dickens? Micawber?”

“Oh yes, the eternal optimist; would have made a good policeman, but a poor detective.”

They all laughed. If nothing else, it had done something to lighten the mood. And at that point, the meeting broke up for a late lunch.

*

Joanna was standing by the large window overlooking Schiller’s magnificent view of the southern
Eifels
Mountains. Their verdant slopes dipping down to the Mosel, gently meandering through vineyards, their vines casting lengthening shadows in the evening sun. It was always a beautiful and peaceful place to be.

Joanna was happy and content now. Her darling Manny was back with them, safe in the nursery. He had been declared fit and unharmed by the kidnap. She had a crooked doctor to thank for that. And although she didn’t know how, she was sure Conor had found some way to let the police know where her baby was being held. She hadn’t seen him since he left her place under the cover of darkness, and wondered if she was likely to. At other times, and in different circumstances, she knew she would have liked to have known him better. She felt ashamed of that because he was a killer, but he had a certain atavism that attracted her feminine instincts.

She felt a movement at her side. It was Manfred Schiller. He had a glass of Krug Champagne in his hand. “Penny for your thoughts,
meine liebchen
.”

“Oh,” she started wistfully. “I was thinking of the reason for Manny’s kidnap.”

“The Covenant?”

“Yes, the Covenant,” she replied. “I was thinking of how many people have died because of it.”

“Not because of the Covenant, dear Joanna,” – he raised his glass as he made his point – “But the people who chose to commit those barbaric acts.”

“But the Covenant is the catalyst. And it will go on being the catalyst.”

He smiled. It was patronising. “Don’t worry your pretty head about the Covenant. It will give control to those who want peace. To those who deserve peace.”

She regarded him with a sense of pity. “And feed the hatred of those who will destroy that peace and the peace of others.”

He wrinkled his brow. “Who, the Arabs?” He laughed, teasingly. “Dear Joanna, what nonsense. The Israelis are almost Arabs themselves. The Covenant will serve them all.”

Joanna thought of Manny and others like him; newly born into a world torn apart by hatred, religious dogma, ethnic cleansing and xenophobia. Into that the Covenant would put the tools of Satan and the insidious weapons of modern man.

“You still intend to transfer your power, despite my arguments,” she asked him, “and despite all my pleas?”

He placed his hand on her shoulder. “Joanna, I love you and our little Manny more than I love life itself. I would do nothing I thought would harm either of you.” He let his hand fall to his side. “But I must tell you that your arguments and your pleas have fallen on deaf ears. I will sign the Covenant and transfer control of my satellites three days from now. And there is nothing anyone can do to stop me.”

*

Jansch was reading through the statement provided by the security guard who had been at the front desk when Breggie de Kok met her untimely death. He claimed that two men, one of whom had been found dead in Breggie’s apartment, had walked into the building and shown him a Polaroid photograph of his wife. She was sitting on a sofa. Beside her was a masked man holding a gun to her head. She was holding a copy of the daily paper. There was no mistaking the implied threat, so when they demanded to know which apartment Breggie de Kok was in and that he hand over a master key, he didn’t argue. One man, the one who died, went up to the apartment, the other remained at the desk to ensure the security guard did nothing ‘foolish’.

 When the guard had been shown a photograph of Conor Lenihan, he told the police he had never seen the man. Asked what had happened to the second man, the guard told them he had vanished during the commotion caused by the fire alarms. A check with the man’s wife confirmed his story which the police had expected it to, but the couple remained on the suspect list.

When Jansch had finished reading the statement, he took a video from same file box and inserted it into the machine. It was a fire department video recording of the incident at the apartment building. There was something puzzling Jansch, something niggling away at him that he had seen somewhere. He watched the recording which lasted about thirty minutes.

He had watched the video the first time earlier that day because he had hoped to see something which might help to incriminate the Irishman, Lenihan. But he had been disappointed. The second run was no better than the first. He gave up and moved on to the surveillance photographs which clearly identified Conor at the scene. Because he had never denied being by the apartments, there was little point in trying to prove Conor was lying about his movements.

The photographs also contained stills from the Fire Department video. He shovelled them about on his desk, scanning each one, looking for something, when Hoffman walked in. Jansch looked up and glanced at the clock on the wall. It was almost midnight.

“Hallo sir. Can’t you sleep either?”

Hoffman helped himself to a cup of coffee from the vending machine. “What are you doing, Uwe? Looking for inspiration?”

Jansch leaned back in his chair. “Something like that.”

Hoffman walked over to the desk. He looked at the photographs, sipping his coffee.

“Nice motor.” He pointed in the general direction of the desktop.

Jansch leaned forward and picked up one of the stills. Caught neatly in the middle of a shot was a BMW. It was a Seven series. It had darkened windows. Jansch picked up a magnifying glass and scanned the shot. What caught his eye was the figure of a man on the far side of the road whose body position suggested he was about to cross over towards the car.

He glanced quickly at Hoffman, an unspoken question forming on his lips. Then he reached across to the video player and rewound the tape. Hoffman watched with growing curiosity as Jansch punched the play button.

The film fluttered into life and, once again, Jansch sat back to watch for something significant. The video began indistinctly because the camera was being held by one of the fire crew inside the cab of the fire truck. The figure of the man standing on the far side of the road came into view almost within seconds of the fire tender passing the parked BMW. He was obviously waiting for the fire truck to pass him before crossing the road. As the crew member holding the camera stepped out of the fire truck, the camera swung back towards the rear of the tender and caught the figure climbing into the open door of a BMW motor car.

“Look!” he exclaimed suddenly and touched the screen, pointing at the image. The car rolled smoothly away from the kerb as soon as he was in and disappeared off the screen. The reason Jansch had not seen it earlier was because he had been concentrating on the building.

He rewound the tape and froze it at the point where the man was about to cross the road. He then pulled the photograph of the BMW in front of him. He pointed at both the screen and the photograph.

“We need to identify that guy and that car.”

Hoffman picked the photograph up. The number plate was clear enough to be read through a magnifying glass. He tapped Jansch on the shoulder.

“Better put a trace on it.” He dropped the photograph back on the desk. “Perhaps we are in for a little luck.”

Jansch turned to the computer desk beside his and keyed in his personal password authorising access to police files and traffic records. He tapped in the number plate of the BMW when asked what his query was and requested details of its registered owner. The answer was flashed on to the screen inside a minute and made both of them whoop for joy.

The car was registered in the name of Jan Kloojens, otherwise known as the Dutchman.

*

Levi Eshkol arrived in Germany the following morning and was met by one of Schiller’s limousines. The Covenant had been brought over in the diplomatic pouch and Eshkol had been given diplomatic privileges accordingly. In the limousine with Eshkol when it left the airport were two, armed bodyguards. Following the car was a nondescript Opel estate, occupied by armed, Mossad agents.

Eshkol felt relaxed and at ease, no longer fearful of any attempt by Molke’s thugs to secure the Covenant from him. The journey to Schiller’s residence was uneventful and he was greeted most cordially by the great man himself.

Eshkol steepled his fingers and tipped his head forward slightly. “
Shalom
,” he said warmly. “
Shalom
,” Schiller replied. Then they shook hands and hugged each other.

“It has been a long and torturous road, my dear friend,” Schiller said to him as he showed him into the house. “Please understand how deeply I was affected by Alf Weitzman’s death; such barbarism.”

“Another Nazi atrocity,” Eshkol answered with venom, “one more reason why we should strive to curb their growing power. The Covenant will do all of that.”

Schiller took him through to the room overlooking the terrace. “Goldman and Binbaum will arrive tomorrow,” he said. “But Hess has decided to distance himself from the transfer. He feels that in his position it would not be politic to be involved in such a coveted circle of influence.” Schiller smiled. “Something like that anyway.”

Eshkol laughed. “Coming from the next President of the Bundesbank, I would think he is an expert on such matters.” The laughter subsided. “I think he’s right,” Eshkol conceded. “But he will always be a useful ally. If not, we can always use some friendly pressure.” They both laughed again.

And what neither of them realised was the subtle shift in Eshkol’s position with that last, remarkable statement.

*

Jansch came into the operations room in something of a hurry. In his hand he was carrying the statement made by the desk clerk at the apartment building. There were not so many officers in the room now that Hoffman had wound the case down to a lower priority, and none of them bothered to give him more than a glance as he went directly to Hoffman’s office.

The chief looked up at Jansch’s knock on the door frame. Hoffman’s door was rarely closed.

“Yes Uwe, what is it?”

Jansch laid the statement on the desk. “The desk clerk has identified the second man as the one in the photograph. It links Kloojens with the kidnap by direct association. We can lay this at the Dutchman’s feet, no trouble.”

Hoffman had been reading. He removed his glasses and laid them on the table. “It’s all coming together too neatly, isn’t it?”

“Sir?”

Hoffman tapped the report in front of him. “This is the report from ballistics.” He stopped and pointed to the vacant chair opposite. “Sit down Uwe, sit down.” Jansch did as he was asked and waited for his boss to continue. “The bullet that killed the de Kok woman was fired by Kleiber after he raped her. Somehow she managed to kill him. Interestingly, the gun that she used was also the same gun that killed Jurgen Krabbe and Oscar Schwarz. We are fairly confident that she killed Joseph Schneider before she fled the house in Düsseldorf.” He leaned back and stretched his arms upwards. “So,” he said, expelling his breath explosively, “add that to the evidence, circumstantial or otherwise, and we can lay the blame for the deaths of all the terrorists at the hands of Breggie de Kok, which means you don’t need the brains of a rocket scientist to work out that Fraulein de Kok intended doing a runner with the Schiller infant and claim the ransom for herself, much to the chagrin of the Dutchman.”