Rising Sun (28 page)

Dane was surprised—no, stunned. This was all new to him. What the hell was going on in the world, he asked himself. He had been concentrating on Japan and not enough on the Nazis.

Harris put down his notebook. “You’ve made a good case for letting you stay, but there’s no way I can prove anything you’ve said and it still sounds like you’re just trying to save your own skin.”

Klaas was unperturbed. “I understand your position fully, and yes, I am trying to save myself. So let me offer you a quid pro quo. If I tell you something important, will you be willing to let me live in the United States at least until the war ends and I can get to my daughter in Brazil?”

Dane could see that Harris’s eyes were lighting up. “It sure as hell would help.”

Klaas sat back in his government-issue folding chair. “I can give you the man who is wrecking your trains.”

* * *

Harris and Dane moved Klaas to a more comfortable conference room. It was furnished with a polished wooden table and very comfortable chairs. Coffee and rolls were provided. Klaas seemed quite relieved and more comfortable with his improved status.

He set down his coffee. “A short while before Mexico declared war on Germany, I was informed by one of the resident SS officers, who was an extremely fanatic Nazi, that English-speaking Germans on the staff were going to support Japan by entering the U.S. and engaging in acts of sabotage. That these acts would also support Germany was obvious.”

“Who was the SS man?” Harris asked.

“His name is Wilhelm Braun. He’s very murderous and I’ve heard that he killed Mexicans for amusement while with the embassy. That, of course, cannot be proven. Braun required money to set up a station in Mexico City and another in Monterrey. He took just about all the cash we had on hand and drained some other bank accounts. The ambassador went along with this. He had no choice. Along with Braun, a total of six men were involved and I have no idea which of them is at what city and what their addresses are. I also have no idea who crossed into the United States, although Braun most certainly did, and I rather doubt that he’s alone.”

Harris refilled Braun’s coffee. “How is he communicating?”

“At first by mail and telephone. When that became dangerous, he began using a shortwave radio. He broadcasts pretty much in the clear since he does not have one of our encoding machines.”

Encoding machines? Dane and Harris looked at each other and wondered the same thing. Who knows about them, and could they get their hands on one?

Klaas laughed. “I can read your minds. The machine at the embassy was destroyed and they are so complex that no one will be able to replicate one or break the code. If we Germans do anything correctly, it’s devising codes.”

We’ll see, thought Dane. “So this Braun character sends messages in the clear?”

“Pretty much,” Harris said. “Although he will generally say vague things like ‘our objective is near,’ or ‘Plan A is being implemented.’ He must know that any radio message might be overheard so he might be saying things that are truly innocuous on the surface. I can give you his radio frequencies and broadcast timing schedules, and you can decide that for yourself.”

“Outstanding,” said Harris, rubbing his hands. “Now, any idea what is objective is, other than derailing trains?”

“Yes. Some of my colleagues are quite chatty when talking among themselves; ourselves, since they considered me one of them. Tokyo has pressured Berlin, who is urging Braun to find the location of the
Saratoga
and her task force. Germany’s little yellow allies seem to think her destruction would make the Americans think more favorably on a peace treaty.”

“What do you think?” Dane asked.

Klaas sniffed. “I think the idiots in Tokyo are as insane as Hitler and his friends.”

“Can you describe Braun for us?” Harris inquired.

Klaas reached down and put the worn briefcase on the table. “It was a gift from my daughter,” he explained wistfully as he opened it. He pulled out a file folder and a number of photographs spilled out. He picked one from the pile. “Here is Wilhelm Braun.”

The man in the picture was clean-shaven and looked perfectly ordinary. He had no distinguishing characteristics. Harris took the photo and said it would be copied and circulated. He added that Braun could easily disguise himself by changing his hair, growing a beard, or stuffing his cheeks with cotton when he went out. Klaas gave him other pictures which he said were the rest of Braun’s crew. He followed that with Braun’s radio frequencies and schedules.

“How did you get all this?” Harris asked, suspicion evident in his voice.

Klaas smiled. “When we were interned in a Mexico City hotel awaiting transportation to Germany, a number of the staffers had nothing else to do except gossip and brag. I copied down what they said, and stole the pictures from the trash. They were to be shredded and thrown out, of course.”

“Can you give us any possible aliases he might use?” Dane asked.

“No. I don’t think anyone on the staff gave him phony papers. I believe that would have been someone hired from the outside. Perhaps the Mexican police could help you.”

Harris snorted. He had a very low opinion of Mexico’s police forces. Far too many of them thought that accepting bribes was part of their job description.

Harris appeared to think about Klaas’s future, but Dane thought he’d reached a decision a long time ago. “We will grant you asylum, Herr Klaas, but with conditions.”

“Of course.”

“You will remain in San Diego with us to help in the search for this Braun person, and you will help monitor transmissions between him and his associates in Mexico. You will also assist in translating since few of my staff speak anything other than minimal German.”

“Again, of course. And when my job is done, then what?”

Harris answered. “You’ll get a new name and a place to live, unless you truly want to go to Brazil.”

Klaas’s eyes misted over. He was clearly thinking of his daughter. “Brazil. Please.”

* * *

Although Amanda loved spending as much of her spare time as she could with Tim, she and the other two nurses had bonded thanks to shared experiences and looked forward to seeing each other socially. Even though they worked and bunked together, it was pleasant to just get away and talk.

Also, there was the intriguing matter of Mack’s will. In response to a message from their local attorney, Morton Zuckerman, they met at Zuckerman’s office. It turned out that Zuckerman, a heavy-set jovial man in his late forties, was related to Richard Goldman by marriage and had insisted on telling them all about it in previous meetings.

Zuckerman’s secretary, a very pleasant and attractive lady named Judith, also in her forties, told them he had a client, a tenant, and the meeting was running late. No problem, they said, and chatted in the reception area. After the meeting they would go out to dinner. Amanda would see Tim later that evening. Finally, the door opened and a solid-looking middle-aged man came out. He glared angrily around the room. He looked over the three women with ill-concealed hostility and familiarity before he stomped out, limping slightly.

Zuckerman’s secretary laughed. “Pay no attention to him. Mr. Zuckerman has to deal with all kinds of jerks. He’s a foreigner who runs a business and isn’t making much money at it. I think he thought that everyone would get rich off of government contracts, but it hasn’t happened in his case. He wants his rent reduced and Mort already did that once. I think that man just simply doesn’t like dealing with Jews.” She shrugged eloquently. “It comes with the route.”

“I thought he was undressing me,” Grace said, and the others nodded. Amanda wondered if he could mentally undress three women at the same time.

“He even does that to me,” Judith said and smiled. “Maybe he should get a girlfriend, or at least get laid.”

“Y’know,” Grace said. “Both Amanda and I have boyfriends. So why don’t we fix Sandy up with Prince Charming?”

Sandy scowled with mock anger. “Just now I am not that hard up. However, see me in a week.”

“Never would be better,” Amanda said. She was going to arrange a meeting between Sandy and Tim’s nephew. Sandy had been a little plump before crossing the Pacific and was rapidly gaining back the weight. Perhaps a boyfriend would help her keep it off.

Amanda continued. “Did you see the look in his eyes? Along with undressing us, he looked absolutely murderous.”

“I doubt that very much,” said Zuckerman, who’d heard most of the conversation. “He’s an immigrant having a tough time because of the war, which would make anyone angry.”

They entered his office and sat around his desk. Zuckerman and Grace lit up cigarettes. “As you probably guessed, I do have information regarding Mack’s will. First, advertising for heirs in the appropriate places has resulted in no one who claims any relationship to Mr. Garver, AKA Mack. Therefore, that is no longer a legal issue. He did have an ex-wife but the terms of the divorce are clear. She is owed nothing. The state of California, those greedy banditos residing in Sacramento, is another matter. Mr. Goldman has negotiated with them and they are willing to be reasonable. In return for thirty percent of anything over one hundred thousand dollars in cash, stocks, or anything else of value in the box, you three will keep the first hundred thousand, and seventy percent of anything thereafter.”

Amanda nodded. “That almost sounds fair.”

Zuckerman agreed. “Someone in Sacramento must be having a bad day. But yes, it does look like the best we can do. Nor are the police in any way interested in something that happened in the middle of the ocean. Mack’s death will be listed as accidental. More important, the next time you are in San Francisco could result in your seeing the contents of the box rather than having to wait years until a court sorts this out. Someone from the state will be watching over your shoulder, of course, but that’s life.”

They agreed that the decision was a good one. Like little kids, they wondered what was in the box. Realistically, they knew that it would be at least several weeks before they could manage to take the time off and arrange travel. While there hadn’t been any major battles recently, there were still a large number of casualties from previous engagements who needed their attention. The safe deposit box and its unknown contents would have to wait.

* * *

Krause was pleasantly surprised when Braun showed up with a Mexican woman who looked like she was in her late twenties. A little plump, but not all that bad looking, he decided. In fact, she looked better the more he stared at her. It had been a reluctantly celibate existence for both of them since moving to San Diego.

Braun grinned. “Her name is Juanita Morales and she’s going to entertain us tonight.”

Juanita looked around their apartment and decided she’d seen worse. After all, these were two men living together, so what did she expect? She’d come from Escondido in northern Mexico as a small child and recalled dirt floors and sharing them with a goat, so what did she care if the place was littered? The men did not appear queer and only wanted sex. As long as they paid, that was fine by her. They talked like they were foreign, but she’d been told by “Bill” that they were Swedes, whatever that meant.

“Okay,” she said. “Here’s what I’ll do. Normally I charge by the trick, but since there’s two of you and I’ll bet you want me to stay all night and play with you until you get tired, it’ll be thirty dollars and I’ll do anything you want, but I don’t get hurt. Oh yeah, you got to use rubbers unless I’m sucking your cock. It’s going to be more if you want all of us doing it at the same time.”

They negotiated down to twenty dollars and they each gave her ten. They also assured her that there would be no threesomes.

“Let’s get started,” she said and stepped out of her dress and underclothing. She was voluptuous and Krause stared, getting aroused. She had large, full breasts with dark nipples and he couldn’t take his eyes off them. Juanita laughed at him.

Braun had rank, so he went first while Krause went to the garage downstairs. Krause was second and was pleased that Juanita was somewhat exuberant when his turn came. He had the feeling that paying her ten dollars each for the night was an overcharge. Braun had found her at a bar frequented by sailors, and the idea of going with someone who wasn’t in the military and had his own place appealed to her. He also said there was no pimp in the picture to complicate matters.

Juanita didn’t get tired of their alternating until it was almost dawn. This was just as well since the two Germans were exhausted. She finally serviced them orally and asked to be driven home, and Braun said he would do it. She asked if she could come back some time and they both agreed.

Krause went to bed and slept in until midafternoon. Braun had gone directly to bed after returning. It had been a good night and they agreed that they needed a day off. Krause realized he’d left his cigarettes in the Ford and went down to the garage. He’d just put the pack in his shirt pocket when something on the back seat caught his eye. It was a woman’s purse. Damn it to hell, he thought as he realized the implications. He raced upstairs.

“Was it necessary to kill her?”

Braun shrugged. “I thought it best. She was a lot of fun, but she’d seen us, our place, and God only knows what else she might have noticed.”

“How did you do it?”

“Easy. I told her I’d give her five more dollars if she’d let me take pictures of her naked on the beach. When she thought she was posing, I shot her in the back of the head and left her there. Don’t worry, there was nobody around.”

Krause grudgingly accepted the need to maintain secrecy, but some aspects worried him. For instance, would anyone miss her? Or would someone recall her going off with a middle-aged white man in a Ford, which might be something unusual for a hooker who specialized in sailors?

Braun caught the worried look on Krause’s face and misunderstood. “Don’t worry, Gunther, we’ll get us another playmate sometime soon in the future. Maybe the next one I won’t bring back here. By the way, here’s your ten dollars back.”