City of Spies (25 page)

She ran to the arch and paused, looking toward the rumbling sounds down a long, narrow brick tunnel, dark but for bobbing lights far in the distance.

Praying there were no open pits or random boulders between her and them, Pagan set off down the tunnel at a quick walking pace. She needed to get closer, but it was stupid to run when you couldn't see what was under your feet.

But her pace must have been faster than theirs, slowed by their cargo. She neared the lights and heard one of them calling something that sounded like, “How's the loading going?” in German.

She slowed. Faint light etched seven large male silhouettes ahead of her pushing large rectangular things—carts, probably—loaded with boxes. The wheels made grating noises on the uneven ground.

“Nearly done,” someone else said, and an eighth male shape walked up to Dieter's crew. He was also carrying a flashlight, and his beam just brushed her shoe before continuing its arc over the tunnel as he turned to walk with the others.

“The object is aboard the ship,” he continued. “We should be ready to weigh anchor as soon as you lot are done with this and the area is secured.”

Ship? That's where the lead box had gone. That had to be the “object” this guy was talking about.

Cart wheels squeaked.

“The traitors in Berlin will get a nice surprise in a couple of weeks.” A familiar voice, low and full of contempt. Dieter.

Wait, wait—Berlin?
That's where they were taking their nuclear present?

Of course! The date of January 30 was weeks away, but it would take a ship at least a week to get anywhere near Germany, and more time to transport something overland from there to Berlin. That's why everything was being moved now—to make the January 30 deadline in Europe.

“Using the Americans' own plutonium to poison them and the rest who occupy Berlin,” the first boy said. “Your father's a genius.”

Using
American
plutonium
? Had she heard that right? Somewhere she'd heard that plutonium was even nastier than uranium. Maybe Von Albrecht had a way to get it into the water supply in Berlin or something, to poison people. That was no better than a bomb. But how could it be American?

“I know he doesn't want me to go with him, but I'm hoping to persuade him otherwise,” Dieter was saying.

“Americans are idiots,” the first boy said. “They recruited him to come work for them in the first place!”

“Arrogant, more like,” said Dieter. “They thought he'd be grateful they didn't hang him at Nuremburg.”

“Arrogant idiots,” the boy said with a laugh. “On that perhaps we can agree. Nearly ten years since he stole their plutonium and still they couldn't find him.”

“They underestimate him,” Dieter said. “After the anniversary, they won't do that again.”

Pagan couldn't quite believe what she was hearing. From what these boys were saying, the Americans had recruited Von Albrecht after the war and he'd stolen their plutonium and gotten away with it. No wonder the CIA had been so eager to get her here to identify him. They needed to find him to cover up their own mistake.

But if they were so anxious, why hadn't they moved instantly to recapture or kill him once she'd told Devin he was their man?

Then she remembered the lead box. Maybe after her report indicating the nuclear material still being in his possession, they'd decided to approach with caution.

And her snooping had given them the January 30 date. They'd all thought they had more time. Maybe the CIA was hoping to lure Von Albrecht from his home, away from his plutonium, to nab him.

Instead, he was setting sail for Berlin with that plutonium, tonight.

It was easy to follow Dieter and the boys now that they were talking. They weren't even trying to be stealthy, and the rattle and squeak of their carts covered any possible sound from her footsteps. Apparently the Americans weren't the only arrogant idiots on the planet.

* * *

The brick tunnels transitioned to cement for a few hundred yards, then to rock. Moss and stranger growths sponged over the walls. The farther they went, the wetter everything got. She couldn't be far from the river now.

The reality of what she had overheard was still filtering through her thoughts. How could the US let a man guilty of atrocious crimes like Von Albrecht off the hook? Could any contribution he made to the US nuclear program possibly justify that? Maybe they hadn't known the extent of his crimes when they first recruited him. That seemed unlikely. At best.

It got worse.

Mama hadn't only helped a Nazi escape the US. She'd helped a Nazi carrying stolen American plutonium.

A wave of dizziness overtook Pagan. She stopped dead and had to lean against a wet wall.

Had Mama known about the plutonium? Had she known about Von Albrecht's experiments? Or was she simply being a good German?

Pagan didn't want those facts to matter. Mama was dead. Her crimes were done and paid for, one way or another, with her suicide. But knowing what had been in her mother's mind mattered to Pagan. It mattered more than anything.

Well, it didn't matter more than stopping Von Albrecht's shipment from going out. Later on she could suss out the dark meanings behind this all. She had to keep track of them until Devin or someone with authority could arrive.

Pagan pushed herself away from the wall and doggedly kept walking after Dieter's crew. Her mother had helped make Von Albrecht's schemes possible. It was fitting that her daughter was trying to stop him.

A gray spot appeared in the blackness ahead, and the tunnel around her gradually lightened. When the floor became cement and she spotted a lightbulb glinting in the ceiling ahead, Pagan hugged the wall even closer and slowed her pace. If Dieter or his boys looked back, she might be visible now.

Finally the tunnel sloped up, the floor slippery with mud and mildew. Pagan stopped and watched the boys try to shove their carts up the ramp, only to slide back down. Dieter and the eighth boy disappeared, then ran back down with buckets and sprinkled sand on the floor.

Once they had completely disappeared, she ventured forward and looked up.

She made her way carefully up the ramp into what appeared to be a warehouse, as Dieter's carts clattered farther away. The walls here were corrugated metal and wood. Metal shelves, most of them empty, towered toward the ceiling. Voices floated down to her, and an engine rumbled distantly.

“Better hurry,” she heard the eighth boy's voice echo. “We're about to lift anchor.”

Pagan startled forward and nearly tripped. About to lift anchor? Once they were at sea, the ship and its deadly cargo would be tough to trace. She had planned to hang back, to play it safe. But if they were about to lift anchor...?

Don't be stupid.
If Mercedes had alerted Devin, he must be either following her through the tunnels by now or he'd sent his helpers through the city looking for her and for Von Albrecht. She was going to play this one smart. One girl against all these armed boys—even Pagan knew better than to tempt fate that way.

Her skin crawled with anxiety as she paused on the ramp and poked her head up. Her eyes were at ground level of a warehouse floor, mostly empty again. Dieter and his friends were walking away from her toward a large open door.

Sounds filtered through the door: the low snarl of a large engine, and voices. A cool breeze that smelled like oily water stirred her hair.

Keeping low and in the shadow of the doorway, Pagan followed the boys wheeling their carts outside.

The deep call of a foghorn blasted the air with a chest-shaking grumble. She peered around the edge of the doorway to see a ship, its masts looming not fifty yards to her left. She was at the docks, with the water chilly and black stretching out before her. Cranes like giant insect legs groaned and swung crates onto the ship, which was big, but not some enormous cargo-carrying thing owned by a shipping line, small enough to be privately owned. Either Von Albrecht had leased it, or he had some big pockets behind him, helping to get the plutonium to Europe.

The wind lifted her skirt and scattered goose bumps over her arms. Men dotted the dock leading up to the gangway, and Dieter and his thugs were now approaching the crane with their carts. She needed to alert the authorities, have them stop the ship. But how?

The area was lit only in spots—the warehouse door, the crane, the gangway and the section of the ship's deck where the cargo was being loaded. No sign of a pay phone to call Devin or the cops.

She ducked back into the warehouse and did a quick survey. No phones in there, either. No office where a manager might have a phone. Nothing but shelving and crates, and a tunnel that led to the Von Albrecht house.

She could go back. Now that she knew where the cargo was going, she could tear all the way back to that terrible basement and call Mercedes or the cops from there.

But that was a mile or more away and would take her at least another half an hour. The eighth boy had told Dieter they were nearly ready to lift anchor. By the time Devin or anyone else reached the dock, the ship would be long gone.

If only she could sink or scuttle the damned boat. Where was a torpedo when you needed one?

No, no. Play it smart. It's a huge ship swarming with evil men. Leave it alone.

The warehouse doors swung open, and she ducked back behind a shelf.

“Just a few more crates to go,” a man said. “Then I must say farewell to you, my son.”

That voice.

The high, nasal tones could belong to no one else.

“Don't make me stay here while you go to glory, Father,” Dieter said. “Let me come with you. I could be useful in Berlin.”

They walked up to a set of crates and a cage very much like the one that had held the dog, one shelf over from Pagan. She peered through the shelving at Von Albrecht's stoop-shouldered form, clad in a khaki trench coat and gray fedora as he walked by his son's side. Behind them came three of Dieter's boys, pushing a cart.

“You have already proven yourself to me,” Von Albrecht said. “You and your friends have been instrumental in guarding the house and obtaining and moving materials. Before that you kept any spying eyes from the house and monitored the behavior of the Jews and others who might have been searching for me. You've done more than enough.”

Dieter was smiling that open, delighted smile again. It was chilling how it only appeared when his father gave him validation. How different might Dieter have been if he'd been born to another father? One that gave him warmth and love without condition. One that respected other people.

Pagan realized she was clutching the cloth of her dress over her heart, trying to ease the pain there. She missed Daddy. He had given her the things Dieter's never had. And Daddy was still there, inside that ache behind her heart.

“I want to do more than enough, Papa,” Dieter said. “I want to be there when the Führer is avenged.”

Von Albrecht gave his son a slit-eyed smile and shook his head. “Too dangerous. It may require that I sacrifice myself in the blast. I could not sacrifice you, as well. You must carry the work further if I do not survive. When Berlin is a wasteland, and the Allies begin to bomb one another into the Stone Age, you must be here to lead. You must be one of those who lifts humanity from the ashes to begin the Reich anew.” His pale blue eyes glittered as he scanned his son's tall, broad-shouldered form. “You are the embodiment of all I have worked for. You serve me and the Führer best when you live on and lead your race to rule.”

Pagan was shaking so hard she had to pull away from the shelf so it didn't rattle along with her bones. So Von Albrecht wasn't poisoning people with the plutonium. He really was sending a nuclear bomb to Berlin.

And if a bomb went off in that divided city, the Soviets would think the US had done it, and the US would blame the Soviets. If either one launched a retaliatory strike...

She couldn't think about that. She couldn't worry about something a couple of weeks away when she was here, trapped in a warehouse with the man who'd built the bomb and his bruiser of a son.

Devin had told her he'd come for her if she wasn't back at the hotel by ten, and it had to be past that now. Mercedes was trying to reach him, too. He knew about the basement. He'd find the entrance to the tunnels. She had to believe that he was on his way.

But what if he didn't make it in time?

Von Albrecht and Dieter were turning back toward the door to the warehouse.

“Why did you bother loading those animals onto the ship? Why not just put a bullet in them?” Dieter asked.

Pagan perked up. The animals were on the ship? And they weren't all dead?

“Waste of good bullets,” Von Albrecht said. “Tell your boys to dump their cages into the water before we weigh anchor.”

A nuclear bomb on a ship full of fascists, minutes from setting sail for the open ocean. Trapped, abused animals about to be thrown in the ocean.

Pagan looked down at her once-white Keds, her bare, mud-splashed calves and the damp hem of her polka-dot dress. This was no place for a teen girl movie star. But here she was. There was no one else.

She wasn't going to play it smart, after all.

Dieter's friends were piling crates and boxes onto a pallet on the cart. That pallet would be lifted by the crane onto the ship. That was how she could do it without being seen. If she was lucky.

It was idiotically dangerous, but few people had ever accused Pagan Jones of being smart. She'd walked into danger before. She'd pranced right up to East German soldiers with orders to shoot, to help Thomas and his family escape East Berlin. She could do this. If she couldn't scuttle the engine, maybe she'd distract the pilot...or whatever people who drove ships were called. She had to try.

The long side of the last pallet being loaded was pressed up against the shelves, including a narrow open space between shelves. The boys were still stacking crates on the far side. Dieter and Von Albrecht had turned to let them finish, heading outside. Only a few more boxes to go, and the pallet would be wheeled out to the crane.