The Further Adventures of The Joker (35 page)

“Yes, of course I would make a deal. You could have it all, all, and more, if I could just get this opportunity to prove what my air fleet can do. But it’s impossible.”

“Listen,” Petra said. “Listen to him. He knows what he is talking about.”

“Do you think so?” Goering asked.

“The man is a genius,” Petra said. “He is probably the outstanding criminal genius of our age. He has influence over the Führer. He can do this for you, Hermann. And then yours will be the undying glory.”

Goering’s little pig eyes lit up. His mind was filled with the wonderful picture of his Stuka dive bombers crashing down their bombs upon the helpless British standing around on the beaches.

He said, “If you can do this, you have my promise. I will give you back your treasure, and I will even put an aircraft at your disposal so that you can transport it anywhere in the world.”

“Will you sign a paper saying that?”

Goering looked at Petra. She said, “Do it, Hermann! You have nothing to lose!”

“Very well, then. I do it. Bring me pen and paper. Quick!”

Hastily he scribbled a note, then looked up. “But you understand, this paper is no good until you get me the command to do the sole attack on the British at Dunkirk.”

“I know,” the Joker said. “Just give it to me and don’t worry about a thing. Stand by for farther messages.”

When the Joker went to see Hitler the next day, he found the Führer in a state of high excitement. He was in his private offices, making marks on his big wall map and moving little markers on the position plot on his desk to show the advance of German forces and the increasing compression of the Allied forces.

“Ah, Herr Joker!” he said. “I’m glad to see you. Your advice, as it turned out, was good. Not that I needed it, of course. I was coming to that conclusion anyway. But it was good that you were here at the time I made it.”

Hitler took the Joker by the arm and led him up to the position map. “Look, see for yourself. Is it not good?”

“Oh yeah, it’s great,” the Joker said. “I’m really very happy for you. But I’ve got another hot flash for you now.”

“Ah?” said Hitler. “And what is that?”

“Dunkirk!” the Joker said.

“Dunkirk? Yes, I have them all trapped there! What about Dunkirk?”

“Let Hermann do it,” the Joker said.

Hitler stared at him. His face worked. His moustache twitched. He said, “Are you sure?”

“Trust me,” the Joker said. “Have I ever led you wrong?”

On May 24, Hitler ordered German troops to cease their advance toward Dunkirk and await further orders. The Luftwaffe was sent in. The great attack by Goering, designed to wipe out the British armies and secure Europe for the Nazis for the next thousand years at least, maybe longer, had begun.

When Herr Obermeier heard what the Joker had done, he was horrified. He said, “But it’s not possible! All of my astrological readings show that Goering, in spite of being in command of the air force, has an unlucky air sign. Alone he will not succeed.”

The Joker said, “I sort of figured that.”

“Then why did you do it?”

“Well, he wanted it so badly. And he’s got something of mine. Something that I need back. Obermeier, thank you for all of your help. I think I will be leaving Germany shortly.”

“It has been a very great pleasure,” Obermeier said. “I have enjoyed dealing with you.”

As the Joker reached the door he turned and said, “Tell me, what do your stars show for Hitler’s outlook in this war?”

“He will be fine,” Obermeier said. “As long as two conditions are met. The first is, America must not enter the war. The second is, Germany must not attack Russia.”

That evening the Joker went to his room. Using his special equipment he did a job of forgery on the paper the Reichs Marschall had given him. All he needed to change was the date, making the order effective immediately for release of the treasure and for an airplane. Then he packed. He was preparing to leave that evening, when there was a knock at the door.

It was Petra, “Joker,” she said. “I’m sorry. I know you were hurt when you came into my suite and saw me with Hermann.”

“Oh, think nothing of it,” the Joker said bitterly. “There was only one woman in this world who was ever really for me. That was Jeanne, my wife, and she’s dead.”

“But I am for you, too,” Petra said. “It is not my fault what came before you. The Reichs Marschall saw me several years ago and insisted that I become his mistress. I had no choice in the matter.”

“Well, it’s not a bad choice you made,” the Joker said. “Hermann’s doing well. Even if he falls on his face over this Dunkirk thing, he’ll probably still be fine, and you’ll be fine with him.”

“But I do not want him!” she said. “Do you still remember our dream of going to Rio?”

“Sure, I remember it,” the Joker said. “It was a pipe dream.”

“Not so! It can come true! Listen, I will meet you there. Instead of returning to America, why don’t you fly to Rio?”

The Joker lowered his long hideous face. She looked back at him without flinching. “Joker, I love you.”

It was well before dawn when the Joker set out on what he expected would be the final part of his European treasure hunt. Hans, his chauffeur, showed up about 4:30
A.M.
, when the sky was still dark and one could still see the thin yellow searchlight beams probing the sky far to the north in Hamburg. He had brought six men with him in the stretch limo. Each man carried a duffle bag. They filed into the chalet at the Joker’s invitation. The Joker told the men to wait in the living room. He took Hans outside so they could have a brief private conference.

“These men you brought me, Hans, are they good?”

“Oh, yes, sir, they are very good indeed. They are first-rate criminals from the slums of Hamburg, Berlin, Stuttgart, and other places. I recruited them with great care.”

“And they have no love for the Third Reich or Hitler?”

Hans laughed—a short, ugly sound. “None whatsoever, Joker! These men are criminals. If the Third Reich could find them, they would execute them. They are desperate men and very willing to do anything to get out of Germany, out of Europe.”

“And they all have their costumes?” the Joker asked.

“Yes, sir. I know a certain tailor who was able to run them up for me. The cloth is genuine field gray. At a pawnshop I was able to buy them a suitable bunch of decorations. I did not know if I should get a uniform for you, sir.”

“No need. I brought mine along,” the Joker said. “Made in the good old U.S.A., but with German cloth and labels. Wait until you see it. You’ll be falling all over yourself saluting me.”

The Joker and Hans went back into the chalet. The Joker swiftly changed into an officer’s uniform. He said to Hans, “Are you sure you don’t want to come along? It’s going to be a whole new life for us in Brazil.”

“No, Herr Joker,” Hans said. “There’s good work for me here, and you have rewarded me so well I will be able to buy a piece of land where Greta and I and the children will be able to farm. Perhaps in Sweden with our false papers. Then it’s an end of the life of crime for me.”

“Well, you’ve probably chosen well,” the Joker said. “Now, let’s inspect these men. Once we pick up the treasure and reach the airfield, your duties are over, and I will have a little extra reward for you at that time.”

The Joker inspected his men. It was amazing what a few uniforms could do. These men no longer looked like riffraff from the lowest slums. Instead they looked just like any Nazi officers. As for the Joker, he had come prepared to disguise his face also. A tight-fitting rubber-and-plastic mask went over his face. It gave him the look of a hardened combat veteran. With it he had a wig of close-cropped blond hair. Hans looked him over critically and declared that he was perfect.

They piled into the limo. Hans attached the flag to the front fender showing that he had a general officer aboard. They set out for the Luftwaffe camp at Bad Fleishstein.

The roads were almost deserted at that early hour. They did come upon one army convoy. Flashing their lights, they went past it.

Half an hour’s rapid driving brought them to the air force depot at Bad Fleishstein. They pulled up to the sentry gate. The guard stiffened to attention when he saw it was an official German air-force staff car. When he peered inside and saw the tall austere shape of the general wrapped in his gray coat, Hans handed over the papers. The sentry glanced at them and snapped to a salute. The Joker touched a negligent forefinger to his cap as the car sped into the camp. So far, so good.

They drove past row upon row of barracks. Hans drove with calm sureness, for he had memorized this route a long time ago. The depot, where the treasure was stored, was at the far end of the field not far from the perimeter fence. Hans pulled up in front of it. The two guards, who came out to check their papers, were of a sterner make than those at the front gate. They read the papers carefully, conferred with each other in low tones, and said, “This is most unusual, General. We usually receive advance warning when objects of value are to be transported out of here.”

“In wartime,” the Joker said, in a harsh, grating voice, “only the unusual is usual. The Reichs Marschall did not want to alert anyone to the transfer of this treasure. Its destination is a top secret.”

The guards were still unsure. One said to the other, “Perhaps we should call up the captain of the guard.”

“Do so, by all means,” the Joker said. “And give me your names and serial numbers also, so I can remember the men who delayed an order from the second in command of the Third Reich.”

Another conference. Then both guards saluted. The senior of them, a corporal, said, “Please proceed, Herr General. We do not wish to delay you. But it is not good for us to be remiss in our duties, either.”

“Good,” the Joker said, “You have done well.”

Hans stayed in the car as they had arranged. The Joker, at the head of his seven men, marched into the depot. It was an enormous wooden structure. As far as the Joker could see, it was heaped to the ceiling with loot captured from all over Europe. There was furniture from Denmark and Sweden—chairs, lounges, all sorts of things, enameled sideboards, an endless array of paintings. The German army was making a good profit out of the loot of Europe. In the distance before they entered, the Joker had seen other large buildings under construction. These would be to hold the art treasures of other countries as they fell.

“Well,” the Joker demanded of one of the guards, “where is the Italian art treasure?”

“Which Italian art treasure, General?” one of the guards asked.

“The one that that crazy fellow brought in for that Joker.”

“Ahjawohl, mein generell,
it is right over here.” The guard led him to a pallet on one side. There, still wrapped in the original canvas that the Joker had put around it, was the entire mound of the Vatican art treasure. The Joker turned back a fold and looked inside to make sure: there was no sense getting the wrong stuff now. But sure enough, it was exactly what he wanted. He saw the stacked Raphaels, the Leonardos, the Titians, and the Reubenses, plus the statuary and all the rest of the good stuff.

“Jah, jah,”
the Joker said,
“Dis is dass.
Bring me a cart here, quick. We have no time to waste.”

The guards hurried away and came back with a motorized hand truck. The Joker sent them back for a second one: There was so much good stuff lying around he saw no sense in leaving it. In fact, he thought, if he’d been aware of this, he could have saved himself all the trouble of raiding the Vatican and come straight here. But of course he had always wanted to raid the Vatican. It was one of the accomplishments he was most proud of. Outside, he had his men load the bags onto the roof rack of the limo. Everyone saluted everyone else and the Joker and his men got back into the vehicle. They sped off. But as they approached the gate they saw a sudden flurry of activity.

“Oh-oh,” Hans said. “I don’t know what this is.”

“Just stay cool,” the Joker said. “Don’t shoot until you see me do it first.”

They stopped. One of the guards came running up. He was waving a piece of paper. “General!” he said. “One final thing. You forgot to sign for this!”

“Ach,”
the Joker said, “how silly of me.” He hastily scrawled a signature and thrust it back to the guard. The guard saluted. The gates opened and they sped out.

“OK,” the Joker said, “so far, so good. Now. Hans, to the airfield, and don’t spare the horses.”

Dawn was fully up by the time they reached the airfield. They piled out of the car. There was a captain on duty and he was suitably overawed by the Joker’s rank and medals, and general air of hauteur. The Joker was at his swaggering best, commandeering a good-sized military transport, an old but very sound Dornier with camouflage paint. At the Joker’s orders, extra tanks of gas were fitted to the wingtips. The gasoline was topped off. The propellers were spun and clearance was given. The Joker’s hired men scrambled aboard. Hans and the Joker shook hands.

“Good luck, Herr Joker,” Hans said. “It has been a pleasure working with you.”

“Thank you, Hans,” the Joker said. “The pleasure has been all mine. And here is a little parting gift for you.” He handed Hans a small chamois bag. Opening it, Hans found five perfect pearls.

“Ah Joker, you are more than generous. It is too much! It is far greater than the price we agreed upon.”

“That’s all right,” the Joker said. “It didn’t cost me anything. Good luck, Hans.”

Hans got back into the command car and sped off. Aboard the plane, the soldiers had strapped themselves into the seats, all except one, Dietrich, who was an accomplished pilot. He was up in the nose of the plane, in the copilot’s seat. The Joker sat down in the pilot’s seat, tested the controls, revved up the engines. The four big props spun, coughed, spit blue exhaust, and then spun firmly. The Joker ran the engines up and signaled the tower for final clearance.

“Yes, General, you are clear. But you have neglected to file a flight plan.”

“Do that for me, old boy, all right?” the Joker said.