The offices of Greenberg Travis Morgan were a short walk from their hotel, on the forty-fifth floor of the Chrysler Building on 42nd Street. Martin Kopelsky met them in reception; it was ultra-modern, with acres of smoked glass and chrome and highly stylised furniture in primary colours reflecting the dawn of the space age. He took them to a meeting room, the windows on two sides affording a view of Lower Manhattan to the south and Long Island to the east.
“Great news, Harry,” said Kopelsky, opening a manila folder. Harry was struck by the familiarity of the American – on first name terms immediately. “Our guys down in D.C. thought this was going to be a tough one, but they stuck at it.”
“Washington?” asked Harry.
“National Archives. They have records of everyone who ever was in the US. Who’s born, who dies, who came, who went. We have a team based down there. Turns out your family came in fifty-one, not fifty.”
“Lucia’s family,” he said, squeezing her hand.
“Excuse me. Manuela Rossetti arrived at Ellis Island on the Conte Biancamano on April 15,1951. She was the only Rossetti amongst the fifteen hundred or so passengers but when we searched on first names we found also Eugenio, Viviana and Giuliana Monti.”
“Eugenio?”
“Gino is short for Eugenio,” said Lucia.
“Do you know where the Montis went after that, where they are now?”
“No, but we soon will. All immigrants have what’s called an A-File. It starts with an alien registration form everyone needs to complete if they want naturalisation in the US and contains other relevant documentation such as driver’s license, misdemeanours, etcetera. One of the conditions is they report any change of address to the Immigration Service.”
“So how do we see the A-File?”
“We simply request it from the Immigration Service. Takes four or five days to come through.”
“Okay, thanks. We’re staying at the Hilton on 5th Avenue.”
“Yeah, I briefed Arthur this morning and he told me. I’ll get a message to you as soon as we get a response.”
***
They had time to kill, so they became tourists again although, unlike Rome, they were less worried about their appearance. They were thousands of miles away in a city with a population of almost eight million – needles in the proverbial haystack. Even so, Harry was impatient to hear news. He had come a long way, both mentally and physically and the end was within sight, but despite the frenetic atmosphere of a world-famous city and all its attractions, neither of them could settle. A cloud still hung over them, the spectre of evil threatening to reappear at any time.
And at the heart of it all, betrayal. There was no other word for it and in the absence of a rational explanation, irrational ones took root and grew. They were having dinner when her interrogation started again and in the considered opinion of Harry the professional, she was good at it.
“What about the people at your office? Did you tell them what you were doing?”
“No. I resigned and was immediately marched off the premises. I stayed in a government apartment for a couple of weeks but it was only meant to be temporary and I had to leave at the end of the month. They had no idea I was planning to leave the country.”
“Maybe they just followed you?”
“Well, they did in Berlin, but only while I was still on notice. They were easy to spot and made no attempt to stay out of sight. I even bought one of them a drink! I guess they were still suspicious I had something to do with Bergmann’s death.”
“That you were the mouse?”
He laughed. “Mole.”
“Ah yes. La talpa not il topo.”
“My knowledge of Italian is improving by the day.”
“And so is my knowledge of spies and assassins, but that is not such a good thing.”
He laughed again, charmed by her innocence, overwhelmed by her beauty and looking forward to getting her undressed. But something had just occurred to him.
“But Kessler said he found my new apartment, even though it took some time.” He sat up, his interest suddenly piqued. “I was never a target in the operation to kill Bergmann any more than the two service personnel. We weren’t on the bad guys’ hit list. We were just in the way. But as soon as he recognised me, I was on Kessler’s personal hit list, precisely because of Solano.”
“I don’t understand,” she said, shaking her head.
“Bergmann was not only a big noise in the East German government, he also had explosive evidence of a Nazi war crime. Kessler had inside knowledge of where to find him, and that knowledge could only have come from a source high up in the intelligence service. But that same source didn’t send him to kill me. Not even his own masters, whoever they were, sent him to kill me; that was his idea. And he didn’t even know my name.”
“So?”
“So he had to find me himself and although we both know how clever and determined Kessler is, he’s not that clever.”
“So the information came from your own office? Your own friends? What about Johnny Bristow?”
Harry shook his head in frustration. He was tantalisingly close but the answer remained elusive. He ran over it again. It was much easier to articulate thoughts when he had a sounding board.
“The department obviously knew me and knew where I lived and they sent a low-level flunkey to follow me because they were still looking for the mole. Maybe because I’d resigned they still thought I had some involvement, but it’s likely they were just going through the motions. They didn’t question me again and put no restrictions on my movements.”
“They knew you were innocent.”
“Exactly. Which is why they didn’t follow me to Italy.”
“That still does not explain how Kessler found you.”
It was the key question, he had to agree. Kessler didn’t just know which country he’d gone to; he knew exactly where to look. That was not guesswork. He went over it again in his mind and he saw her watching him, still anxious. She said what he was already thinking.
“If he could find us there, he can find us here. He’ll either still try to kill you, or if he doesn’t, we will lead him to Catalina. We can’t let that happen.”
He had already thought of that. It was why he needed to solve the riddle. It wasn’t enough to protect Lucia or indeed himself; he couldn’t expose Catalina to the nightmare.
“Someone knew, Harry. Someone you trusted.”
The cogs turned and the wheels aligned and the pointer pointed, illuminated by the light of logic.
“Arthur Rowland,” he heard himself say and she frowned at him, uncomprehending.
“Your lawyer?”
“Arthur was the only one who knew. He needed to be able to contact me about my father’s estate and I needed him to send me money. I told him my new apartment address and I told him I was leaving Berlin and then I called him from Montellano. I also mentioned Casavento.” It all fitted. It was blindingly obvious, yet at the same time utterly inconceivable.
“Are you saying your lawyer has been telling Kessler where you are?”
“It’s not possible. I won’t believe it. He was my father’s lawyer for at least thirty years. As young men they fought together. They were at Ypres together and they met up again between the wars. There is no one I trust more. But the fact is, he was the only one.”
“I have heard it said, the people you trust the most are the ones most likely to let you down.”
Harry’s head was beginning to throb. He still refused to accept it but the fact remained, only Arthur had known where he was at any point in time and only Arthur now knew he and his “old friend” were in New York and why. It was becoming horribly clear. He was now certain Kessler was still on their trail and at any time, he would show up.
***
Harry hadn’t slept much. He’d been awake most of the night thinking about Arthur Rowland, trying to rationalise how he could possibly be connected to Kessler and coming to the same conclusion each time. It was not conceivable an elderly partner from a sleepy provincial legal practice could be involved in cold war espionage. He knew that many Nazis had gone to ground after the war, fleeing to the far-flung corners of the world either to escape justice or perhaps, hoping to continue the fight another day – Rio or Buenos Aires perhaps, but Coventry?
Rowland was the quintessential English gent; he’d fought in the first war and had been a friend of his family for as long as Harry could remember. But Rowland’s character and history aside, Harry’s connection to Kessler was a private matter known only to them and had nothing to do with his old career in the intelligence service, so it could be of no interest to anyone other than Kessler. That meant Rowland and Kessler had to be linked somehow and his mind went round the same interminable loop until daylight began to seep through the curtains. He threw the covers back and went to the window, looking out over Manhattan and the New Jersey skyline.
He heard the rustle of bedclothes and he felt Lucia come up behind him, wrapping her arms around his middle. It reminded him of where it had all started: the Berlin apartment, Bergmann’s escape, Petra’s horror at the drama and the violence. But it hadn’t really started there. That was just a chapter in a story that had started eighteen years ago in Solano with this angel next to him and having deluded himself into thinking the story would soon end happily, now he was not so sure. His career had taught him to trust no one and for a while since he’d left, he’d felt liberated from the dark forces that inhabited his old world, reinvigorated and fascinated by the opportunities of the new. Now, the doubts had returned, his new world undermined and tarnished by the evils of the old. He turned in her arms, pulling her warm body against his.
“Good morning,” he said, kissing her gently
“Buongiorno.”
“How did you sleep?”
“Better than you.”
He knew that whatever challenges lay in wait, he would overcome them as long as he had his angel; he just wished he knew what those challenges were.
“I used to do this for a living,” he said, musing over his erstwhile career. Harry Male the psychoanalyst, the expert solver of riddles, the master spotter of bullshit and the genius who disentangled fact from fiction.
“Hold naked young women in a bear-hug?”
He laughed and she laughed with him.
“We have to move on from here and not tell anyone where we’re going.”
“We can’t hide forever, Harry.”
“No. But we trust no one.”
“No one but us.”
***
Kopelsky slid a single sheet across the desk. “This is Manuela Rossetti.” And then a second. “And this is Gino Monti.”
Harry scanned the sheets. In both cases their first address was in New Jersey, but in June 1959, the entire family moved to Belleview, near St Louis, Missouri. He showed them to Lucia but she didn’t react; she just looked strangely apprehensive. Harry decided to follow Kopelsky’s lead and use his first name.
“Martin. I’d be grateful if you didn’t share this with anyone. I mean not even Arthur Rowland.”
Kopelsky’s satisfied grin quickly vanished and he shifted in his seat, looking uncomfortable.
“Arthur’s your attorney, isn’t he?”
“Yes, but… He doesn’t need to know this yet.”
“Er, Harry. I’m afraid he already does. I called him this morning with the news before they closed up for the day.” Harry’s face said it all as Kopelsky went on. “I’m sorry if this inconveniences you, but you gotta understand; Rowland, Jarvis & Stroud is my client. They signed the engagement letter and gave us the brief. They’re the ones paying the tab. Arthur just asked me to meet you and present in person because it’ll take a few days for the paperwork to reach him.”
“I’m actually paying the ‘tab’,” said Harry, trying not to appear truculent.
“I don’t know about your arrangement with Arthur Rowland; that’s client confidential,” said Kopelsky stiffly.
Harry glanced at Lucia but her head was down, clearly thinking as he was. It wasn’t Kopelsky’s fault. He had played it by the book and even if he had reason to suspect there was some lack of trust between a lawyer and his client, it was none of his business and he would never allow it to compromise his conduct or professionalism. The irony was that, until last night, Arthur Rowland’s honesty and integrity had been unassailable. He’d been vital in helping Harry in his quest and he owed him a lot. Yet based on fear, supposition and a potentially flawed hypothesis, he’d become an imaginary enemy. Kopelsky broke the awkward silence.
“Harry, these are public records and this is public knowledge. It’s not confidential to anyone who takes the time to look.” He was right of course, but it didn’t help. Arthur Rowland knew where the Montis lived and now, so did Ernst Kessler.
***
They switched hotels. They checked out of the Hilton and into the Marriott on Lexington Avenue. Harry had no idea where Kessler might be, but he couldn’t take the chance. He had to work on the assumption that whatever Arthur knew, Kessler knew too, but if he was already in the US, then he would have only two objectives: track down Harry Male and kill him, or else go straight to St Louis in search of someone he believed was his daughter. If he’d been alone, he’d have taken his chances on the former, but he had Lucia to worry about. There was no reason for Kessler to harm her but if he was anything, he was unpredictable and if he came after Harry, Lucia, like many of his other victims, might simply get in the way.
But there was now a new dimension. The Montis had never heard of Ernst Kessler and until now, he’d never heard of them. That one night they might get a knock on the door from an ex-Nazi psycho like Kessler was simply unthinkable. Whatever personal motivations Harry still had, he had a moral responsibility to protect them, and especially Catalina. Unwittingly, he had placed them all in danger. He’d placed everyone in danger. The doubts and fears and nightmares returned and he woke in a fever, thrashing around on the bed.
“Harry!” cried Lucia, trying to restrain his arms while dodging his flailing fists. “Harry!” She slapped his face and he went still, staring up at her in fear. She rolled on top of him and kissed him and he wrapped his arms around her.
“Angel to the rescue,” he whispered in her ear once his breathing had subsided.
“You were having a nightmare again? The same one?”
“No. This is new.” He held her face in his hands. “I’ve made a terrible mistake.” He saw her sudden look of alarm and he kissed her. “Not you, Lucia. Not you.” She sighed and rested her head on his chest. “I’ve put Catalina and Viviana and Gino in danger and they don’t know it. My damned stupidity and self-indulgence…”
“Ssh. Be quiet. You were not to know.”
“And I’ve put you at risk too. At risk from that madman.”
“Everyone is at risk from a madman. That’s why they are called mad.”
He couldn’t fault her logic but nor could he escape the burden of guilt. Think, Harry, and stop feeling sorry for yourself! What are you going to do about it? You don’t have the luxury of retreat.
***
They sat in the hotel restaurant having breakfast. Harry kept glancing nervously around the room, expecting at any moment Kessler would burst in, screaming and foaming at the mouth, spraying everyone and everything with machine-gun bullets and proclaiming the invincibility of the Third Reich.
“We’ve got to go to St Louis immediately. Before he gets there,” he said between mouthfuls of fried egg and hash browns.
“Kessler is wanted in Italy and West Germany for murder of police and civilians and your British friends have a film of him committing a war crime,” she said to him, calmly. “He is public enemy number one and he needs a passport and a visa to get into America. That is not an easy thing even for someone like Kessler.”
“He must have people helping him.”
“You might think so, but he is a lost soul. He will kill anything and anyone he chooses. A man like that does not have friends. He does not have an organisation around him. Anyway, this is personal. Whoever employed him before, when he killed that man Bergmann, they are not interested in his personal hang-ups. You said so. They would not approve or pay for him to chase you around the world just so he can take revenge. And they would not help him find a long-lost daughter either. So he has to do this alone and that will be very hard.”
He’d picked a smart one for sure and it filled his heart. “He has Arthur Rowland.”
She took a bite of blueberry muffin and shook her head. “No. You are wrong about that,” she said, waving the bun at him provocatively. “You think Arthur Rowland has been a Nazi in the closet or else maybe a communist spy for the last thirty years and no one ever found out? You think he has spent his life just waiting for the chance to punish you for something and now he has been sending messages to his Nazi psycho friend so he can finally do it? You are not stupid, Harrimale. You would know before now.”
“All the evidence suggests that whenever I tell Arthur where I am, Kessler turns up. There is no one else.”
“What possible connection can there be between Kessler and your lawyer? None!”
“But Arthur is the only one who knows.”
She popped the last morsel of muffin into her mouth and licked her finger. “Someone else knows.”
***
Colonel Lance Travers was pleased with himself and pleased with young Roger. The young man was lying on his back on the bed with his knees hooked over Travers’ shoulders, one arm stretched across a face that contorted rhythmically and synchronously with each thrust. Travers’ concentration was focused on drawing out the experience for as long as possible without causing the lad too much discomfort, which in itself would heighten his pleasure, but his loins told him they were getting close to the point of no return and so he welcomed any mental distraction, however distasteful.
Roger had again retrieved not only the transcripts, but also the file containing the edited version: the extracts relating to the target, Harry Male. He’d read them but he hadn’t wasted any time trying to understand what any of it meant or why it was any business of Kessler’s, but it didn’t matter. The maniac had said all he wanted was a Swedish passport and to know where Male was. It had taken a day to get the passport and two to get the most up-to-date transcripts, but he had parcelled them up in a brown envelope and made sure they were deposited at Rudi’s kiosk yesterday as instructed.
He was relieved the job was done and, providing Kessler was true to his word, he’d never see him again. He had already alerted his handlers, told them Kessler was out of control and had to be eliminated before his reckless behaviour compromised the network.
“Hurry up, Lance,” Roger gasped between short breaths, “my… arse… is… burning.”
“Just… another… minute,” puffed Travers, his concentration returning to the task at hand. But the message from down below was clear: the car had hauled its way steadily up the slope, was approaching the summit of the rollercoaster and would, at any second, plunge him headlong into the gorge of pleasure. At this seminal moment, the weird sensation of cold steel against the back of his neck was incongruous and heart-stopping.
“Yes, hurry up, Colonel. I need to talk to you.”
“Jesus! What the bloody…?”
“Oh my God, Lance,” shrieked Roger in panic. “He’s got a gun!”
“I know he’s got a bloody gun, you stupid tart.”
“Have you finished?” said Kessler; his boredom threshold was low and had already been reached. “Or do you need another big push?”
Travers disentangled Roger’s legs and extracted himself roughly.
“Ow!” screamed the young man, rolling onto his side, clutching his buttocks in pain.
Travers shifted his kneeling position so he could see Kessler and instinctively covered his rapidly receding member with both hands. Kessler’s head was still smooth and clean-shaven but the long beard had gone.
“What do you want, Kessler?”
“Kessler?” Roger was suddenly alert. “He’s the guy…”
“Shut up!” shouted Travers. “I’ll deal with this.” Travers knew that naked with both hands over his private parts, kneeling on a bed in front of a madman with a silenced weapon, left him little room to deal with anything, but he pressed on regardless. “What is it now? I gave you what you wanted.”
Kessler pointed the Makarov at Travers’ forehead and waved a sheaf of papers in his face.
“What is this?”
“It’s what you asked for!”
“It’s bullshit!” shouted Kessler, flinging the papers at Travers, who flinched as they fluttered onto the bed cover. “Male is in Italy with his girlfriend!”
Travers jerked his head towards the young man, who was sitting up, quivering, knees pulled up to his chest. “Roger?”
“No. He’s in the US. He’s gone to the US.”
“Where do you get this Scheiße?”
“His lawyer.”
Kessler swung the gun towards Roger, who whimpered in terror and put a hand over his eyes. “Explain!”
Roger peeked through his fingers and wasted no time. “Major Male resigned from the service, after the incident with Bergmann. They knew you, er, I mean, the assassin must have had inside knowledge and they thought Major Male might be in on it. We picked up a letter in his apartment. It was from his lawyer telling him his father had died and because Major Male had left the country and we wanted to know where he went, we got onto MI5 and they put a tap on his phone. The lawyer’s, that is. We knew he’d gone to Italy, but we didn’t know why. Then he flew back to London and on to New York. It’s all in there!” He waved at the scattered pages on the bed.
“How do I know you have not made this up?” hissed Kessler, but Travers could see his uncertainty and hesitation and took it as a good sign. It revealed how reliant he was on them. He and Roger were his only source of intel and that meant Kessler had to engage. Calm things down.
“Make it up? What for?”
“So you can send me off to the other side of the world, Colonel.”
Travers felt his heartbeat slow, but just a little. The psycho knew nothing and therefore still needed them. He decided a touch of familiarity might help.
“Look, Ernst. The intel we gave you about Male’s new apartment and going to Italy came from the same source. It’s rock solid. Anyway, I know you. You’d be bloody upset if I misled you and you’ve made abundantly clear what you would do. I’m not stupid.” Kessler had no answer to that. They both knew it was true. Retribution would be absolute. “I don’t even know what you’re up to or why you’re so obsessed with Male? Why didn’t you shoot him when you had the chance? I wouldn’t care if you didn’t keep losing him.” Roger looked at Travers and if he’d had eyes in the back of his head, Travers would have seen from the young man’s expression that an awful truth was beginning to dawn on him. “There’s no possible merit in our making this up. The DIPD is on a wild goose chase with Male. He’s a loser. He’s off chasing ghosts.”
“Lance?” said Roger nervously. “How do you two know each other?”
“Shut up, Roger,” said Travers without turning around.
“You said Male was a threat to national security but you’re dealing with this guy?”
Travers turned and put on his darkest expression. “I said shut up. It’s way over your head.” Roger glared at him and his lip quivered. “Kessler, look at the notes, man!” He gestured to the paper, keeping one hand over his genitals, aware that, in the interests of self-preservation they’d unilaterally shrunk to a fraction of their normal size. “He’s got American lawyers looking for Italian immigrants. That’s where he is. Now I have no idea why or what that’s got to do with you and frankly, I don’t care. But you asked me for information and I’ve provided it, now go away!” Travers had to use all his nerve to stay calm, to make his point forcefully without unduly aggravating a volatile serial killer, but Kessler didn’t respond and the gun was still on Roger.
Eventually, he spoke. “I don’t know these names. Find out who they are and where they are.”
“Now wait a minute, old chap!” The gun swung back to Travers and he had to use all his willpower to keep calm and carry on. “You said all you wanted was a passport and to know where Male was and then you’d leave me alone. I’ve done my bit!”
“You have not finished. I will say when you have finished. Your boyfriend here will find out the information and you will get Sven Johanssen a plane ticket to New York and a visa for America. The three of us will meet here in twenty-four hours.”