The Arms Maker Of Berlin Part 10

This kind of talk scared him even more, but he tried not to show it. So they went on in this fas.h.i.+on several minutes longer, fighting their way to a stalemate, until gradually their remarks began to lose some of their heat. But just as Kurt started to think they had weathered the storm, he made what would turn out to be a fatal error. Concerned that her parents might overhear them, he glanced nervously toward the windows of the Folkertses' house, and Liesl saw the worry in his eyes.

"Look at you!" she said, her fury renewed. "Scared that my parents might have their ears to the keyhole. Even now you can't stop worrying that someone will disapprove instead of trying to get to the heart of this trouble between us, this terrible split."

He was alarmed by her words, and the worst was yet to come. When he reached out a chilled hand to take hers, she slapped it away. Then her eyes flared, as brightly as if she had struck a match in the darkness.

"This can never work!" she said. "Never! I kept waiting, kept thinking you would come around, and that your better instincts would prevail. But you are becoming exactly what your father wants-just another person to say yes to whoever he needs to please."

"That's not true. I-"

"I can't see you anymore, Kurt. I don't want want to see you anymore. Not with all of the growing up you still have to do. Because some people never grow up, or not in a way that allows them to develop the courage of their convictions. And I am afraid that you are one of those people. I am sorry, Kurt. Good-bye." to see you anymore. Not with all of the growing up you still have to do. Because some people never grow up, or not in a way that allows them to develop the courage of their convictions. And I am afraid that you are one of those people. I am sorry, Kurt. Good-bye."

He felt like she had kicked him in the stomach, and he was momentarily incapable of answering as she turned to go. Instead of protesting, or pleading, or running after her, he just stood there in the snow, rooted to the spot, mutely confirming every terrible thing she had just said.

He would think of plenty of suitable answers later, of course, such as, "I'm only sixteen. Give me time to grow into this." Or, "Please, don't mistake foolhardiness for courage. If we don't fight battles only of our own choosing, then they will pick us off, one by one, on the grounds of their choosing."

But by then he was alone on the U-Bahn, staring gloomily at his skis and his dripping bicycle. When she slammed the door to the house he was still stranded on the sidewalk, a strangled cry of protest dead on his lips, with no company to console him except the moon, the forest, and the chill darkness of a winter night in Berlin.

NINE.

DELIVERING THE NEWS of Gordon's death to Viv turned out to be worse than an ordeal. It was a fiasco. The first bad sign was Willis Turner's police cruiser parked in the Wolfes' driveway. Turner emerged from the driver's side as Nat and Holland hopped out of the FBI Suburban. The fat policeman waved a sheet of paper at them while nodding toward the end of the dirt lane, where two New York State Police cruisers were just arriving, blue lights ablaze. of Gordon's death to Viv turned out to be worse than an ordeal. It was a fiasco. The first bad sign was Willis Turner's police cruiser parked in the Wolfes' driveway. Turner emerged from the driver's side as Nat and Holland hopped out of the FBI Suburban. The fat policeman waved a sheet of paper at them while nodding toward the end of the dirt lane, where two New York State Police cruisers were just arriving, blue lights ablaze.

"Is this your idea of breaking it to her gently?" Nat asked Holland.

"I've got no idea what these clowns are up to. You better get in there."

Nat hustled up the steps to where Viv was already throwing open the door. A breakfast cigarette burned between her lips. She looked primed for an outburst of foul temper as she surveyed the onslaught.

"What the h.e.l.l do they want now? And why are you leading the charge?"

"I didn't bring them." He steered her back inside and shut the door behind them.

"But I've got bad news, Viv. About Gordon."

Nat felt her sag as anger gave way to fear. He settled her into a chair at the kitchen table, then sat down beside her and took her hand.

"How bad?"

"It's his heart."

The cigarette fell from her lips.

"Where'd they take him?"

"I'm afraid he didn't make it, Viv. They found him this morning, pa.s.sed out on the floor. He regained consciousness for a few seconds, then they lost him."

She sighed loudly and shuddered into a sob. He squeezed her hand. An odd little sound escaped her lips, like the moan of a leaking balloon. Then her face twisted, and she sobbed a second time before somehow regaining control. At exactly that moment Willis Turner and Clark Holland burst through the door, arguing at full volume.

"This is a court order!" Turner shouted, still waving the sheet of paper. "These archives are material evidence in the investigation of a suspicious death!"

"The court run by your grease monkey crony? That's f.u.c.king worthless!"

"Not when it's backed by the enforcement power of the New York State Police."

Two troopers in sungla.s.ses loomed into view, followed by a third, who toted a rifle.

Nat and Viv were still holding hands. Neither could believe what was taking place.

"The death is suspicious?" she asked, whispering as if they were watching a movie.

"I suspect it's just a pretext. He wants the boxes."

"Why?"

"Who knows? The way this town works, maybe he's selling them on eBay."

They giggled in spite of the moment, or perhaps because of it, and the release of tension restored enough of Viv's composure for her to take command.

"Gentlemen!" she shouted, rising to her feet. "Don't you think your behavior is a little inappropriate? Haven't you done enough for one day? Out of my house, immediately!"

By then the first two troopers had collected the boxes from the sun-room and were lugging them out the door, one under each arm, like burglars with small televisions.

Holland seemed to realize that for the moment he was defeated, and either good sense or good breeding prompted him to nod respectfully and lower his voice.

"Sorry for the scene, Mrs. Wolfe. I was just delivering Mr. Turnbull to break the bad news. I'll see that the others depart immediately."

Turner was happy to oblige now that the goods were being loaded into the trunk of his cruiser. But he couldn't quite hide a smirk of triumph even as he offered condolences.

"My respects, ma'am." He dared to tip his hat. Then he nodded at Nat. "Mr. Turnbull? A word outside, if you don't mind."

Holland shot Nat a warning glance, and Viv again squeezed his hand. Even now, Nat was drawn irresistibly toward the departing archives, but there was no way he was going to leave Viv in the lurch like this. Then she dropped his hand.

"You'd better go see what he wants," she said. "Heaven knows, that's what Gordon would have wanted. But come back later, Nat. I'll be needing you."

Then she nodded her a.s.sent, which was benediction enough for Nat. Holland frowned as Nat scooted out the door to find Turner waiting by the cruiser, arms crossed.

"Holland will head straight to federal court, you know," Nat said. "Albany, I'm guessing. They'll be back before the close of business with a search and seizure order."

"Maybe," replied Turner. "But among the many conveniences this town has footed the bill for in recent years is a mighty fine copy machine. I figure I can get the better part of it duplicated in the next six, seven hours, especially if you're there to help show me the good stuff."

Nat had expected something like this. The state cops were ready to roll, engines idling for an armed escort into town, and now Turner was proposing to hire away the FBI's handpicked expert. The feds sure had underestimated this dumb-looking p.r.i.c.k.

"What's your interest in this?" Nat asked.

"Like I said. Evidence."

"Is there really anything suspicious about Gordon's death?"

"How am I supposed to know until I've examined the evidence?"

"Who's paying you, some collector?"

"Just doing my job as the town's peace officer, Mr. Turnbull. The only person being asked to moonlight is you. You on board or not?"

"One condition. No, two."

"Name 'em."

"I get copies of your copies. In fact, I've got a digital camera back at my room that will go twice as fast as your machine. Then I can burn everything onto a CD for you."

Turner mulled that over for a second, as if deciding whether he was being conned.

"Fair enough. What else?"

"I need an a.s.sistant. With two cameras we can move twice as fast."

"That German gal?"

"You know her?"

"This is a small place, Mr. Turnbull. If I didn't know just about everybody, I wouldn't be doing my job."

"One other thing. After the arrest the FBI said something about you being tipped off."

"That's right."

"What kind of tip?"

"I'm not at liberty to say."

"You're as bad as them."

"I've met your conditions. Take it or leave it."

He took it. Not that he wasn't still wary of his new business partner. What was Turner's real agenda, and who was he working for? But the man did have the boxes, and for the moment that was enough. Nat nodded and opened the door to the cruiser just as Holland emerged from the house.

"That material is still cla.s.sified," the agent warned. "You could go to jail for this."

"While working under a court order at the behest of an officer of the law? I don't think so. And I can finish the evaluation you wanted while you're waiting to regain custody. Besides, you guys won't decide what parts remain cla.s.sified. That's the CIA's job."

"I don't get involved in those squabbles."

"So it's already a squabble? Interesting."

Holland frowned and said nothing more.

BERTA DIDN'T NEED to be asked twice, or even nicely, to join the unlikely new team. When Turner and Nat pulled up at the courthouse she was already waiting outside with her backpack and camera. Nat had retrieved his own. He had also done the necessary math. to be asked twice, or even nicely, to join the unlikely new team. When Turner and Nat pulled up at the courthouse she was already waiting outside with her backpack and camera. Nat had retrieved his own. He had also done the necessary math.

The four narrow boxes held about two linear feet of material, which meant about four thousand pages. Both of them moving at top speed might need eight hours to photograph everything, and the feds might return with a court order in as little as four. Something had to give. Nat had already been through half the material, and he could sort out the stuff that wasn't worth copying. The rest they could cull on the fly. It would be close.

Berta said little as they set up tripods on a long table beneath a fluorescent light. They opened the boxes and got to work, quickly easing into a rhythm and stopping only to change batteries. Turner made a run for coffee and kept an eye out for the feds.

Nat cringed at the way they were manhandling the pages. A professional archivist would have read them the riot act. But at the rate the CIA was decla.s.sifying material these days, some of this stuff might not again see the light for years. Even at that, he swore loudly when Turner placed a sweating Big Gulp cola only inches from a memo personally signed by Allen Dulles.

When Berta left for a bathroom break, Turner leaned across her tripod for a closer look and said, "Pardon me, Professor, 'cause you're the expert. But from what I've seen so far, this stuff looks pretty routine. Mind telling me what all the fuss is about?"

"That's what I'd like to know. Maybe your patron could offer some hints."

Turner grinned slyly.

"Like I said. I'm just gathering evidence in an investigation."

"Whatever you say."

"But these boxes aren't the first bit of funny business we've had up at the Wolfes' place this spring."

"No?"

"There was a break-in, 'bout a week ago. A few doodads missing, but not much else. Just enough to let 'em know someone had been poking around. When I was filling out the paperwork, the missus said their place in Wightman had also been burgled."

"When?"

"Gordon hushed her up before she could say. But apparently we're not the only ones around here who think this is hot stuff. Our friend Mr. Holland asked me last night if I'd noted the presence of any foreign nationals."

"You mean like her?" Nat nodded toward the ladies' room.

"Males."

"Nationality?"

" 'Middle Eastern origin' was all I could get out of 'em."

"Middle Eastern? In a hunt for American files from Switzerland about a bunch of old n.a.z.is?"

"That was pretty much my reaction."

On second thought, Nat could certainly think of a few Israelis who might have a keen interest in acquiring some of this information. n.a.z.i hunters, mostly, although that job description was dying out along with the n.a.z.is themselves.

Also, Bern had been a popular wartime crossing point for all kinds of contacts-Italians, Yugoslavs, French, Bulgarians, Rumanians, and even a few shady travelers from Arab lands. He supposed anything was possible.

"So what did you tell him?" Nat asked.

"No trace. But I've put in calls to every inn and B&B within a twenty-mile radius, so we'll see what turns up."