Spoils of Victory (31 page)

Kessel sat in silence with his head hung low. Mason waited, letting him reflect on everything that had happened, and what would haunt him.

Finally Kessel said, “Volker and Schaeffer, along with three of their Polish staff from the Casa Carioca, murdered Giessen, Bachmann, and Plöbsch.”

“And how do you know this?”

Kessel raised his head to look at Mason. “Because I was there.”

“At the time of the murders? You helped kill them?”

Kessel nodded. “Schaeffer had wanted to hit Giessen's gang for weeks, but Giessen had gone underground when the turf battles erupted. The meeting at the Steinadler was their first since Schaeffer had decided to eliminate them.”

“How did Schaeffer know where to do the hit? Was it Sergeant Olsen?”

Kessel shook his head. “Olsen had no idea about any of it.”

“But I thought he worked for Schaeffer.”

“He worked for Giessen. Only later, after the killings, did Olsen come to work for us. Volker also worked for Giessen, until he betrayed him to join up with Schaeffer. Being the inside man, Volker was to give up the meeting place, but even he didn't know where it would take place, only when. Like most of Giessen's gang, Volker had to be led to the meeting. Schaeffer had them tailed, then it was a matter of getting us all to the Steinadler and waiting out back for Volker to lead Giessen, Bachmann, and Plöbsch to us.”

“And the German police? They were part of the plan?”

“Yes. Schaeffer had a select group of German police on his payroll who were to stage the mock raid. Once they got word of the location, they were to give us time to get in place before busting in, subduing Giessen's bodyguards, and forcing Giessen and his partners to flee out back.”

“But then my partner arrived early and screwed up that part of the plan.”

Kessel nodded. “The two of you showing up was the one wrinkle in Schaeffer's plan. When your partner ran to the German police precinct for help, he insisted that the crooked captain bring the entire precinct force. Because of that, the captain could no longer control the outcome, and in the confusion two of the bodyguards got out
with Giessen and the rest. In your case, when Schaeffer found out you had survived and started nosing around, he felt he had to move up his plans and eliminate anyone who might talk.”

Mason shook his head in amazement at Schaeffer's ruthlessness. “That brings us to Agent Winstone and Hilda Schmidt.”

Kessel closed his eyes. “Yes. I was there as well.” He paused and looked pained to recall the event. “Schaeffer told me he only wanted to steal some of Agent Winstone's documents. I knew Adelle had a key to the villa, so I had a copy made. There were three of us: Schaeffer, Bolus, and me. Schaeffer and Bolus held them at gunpoint, and I was sent to search for the documents. Then, when I was searching in the library, I heard more men come into the house. I don't know how many, but I recognized Volker's voice, and heard one other man speaking English. Someone referred to him as Abbott.” Kessel exhaled with a shudder. “I felt ashamed even then. I knew Volker was a sadist, and if he was there, Schaeffer intended to do more than steal Winstone's documents. And despite knowing that, I continued to search. I did nothing to interfere.” He closed his eyes again. “When I was upstairs in the master bedroom, I heard the horrible screams. I froze as I listened. I'm not sure how long I stayed there, but I couldn't face going back downstairs. Finally there was a gunshot and everything went silent. I heard some of the men leave, then Schaeffer came up to find me.” He opened his eyes and looked at Mason. “I only saw the aftermath, but Schaeffer's gloves were soaked in blood, and Volker still stood over Hilda's body admiring his handiwork.”

Mason felt his anger rise, but he put it in check. He wanted Kessel to keep talking. “You never found the documents? Winstone never talked?”

“I heard him screaming about them being at his office. They could find them there. He gave them his office key and the combination to the safe.”

“So they did get the documents.”

“I believe so, yes.”

“But according to Willy Laufs, there was still a reward out for their recovery.”

“I heard that, too, but I don't know why. Maybe they didn't get what they wanted. Maybe Schaeffer suspected Winstone was holding back, but he said that sometime during Hilda's torture Winstone's mind snapped. They couldn't get any more out of him.” He stopped and stared at some point in space. “That's why Adelle ran into your arms. She was frightened and ashamed. And I swore never to participate in any other killings.”

“You're a real saint.”

Kessel looked at Mason. “Giessen and the others were cutthroats. I felt no guilt about what happened to them. But I had no part in the other killings.”

“You just kept quiet about it.”

Kessel had no answer for that.

“I need a description of Abbott,” Mason said.

“They're very careful about concealing his identity. I've never seen him, and I didn't see him that night. He only came in after I'd gone looking for the documents. By the time I returned, he was gone.”

“Then how do you know it was Abbott?”

“I don't know for sure. I only know that I heard his name that night. Abbott is the real leader, and Schaeffer took orders from him the night we were at Winstone's.”

Mason rubbed his face, trying to erase the horrible images from his mind. “Are you willing to testify? Tell them everything?”

Kessel nodded.

“I need you to write it down.”

Kessel rose from the bunk with great effort, as if the weight of guilt pressed down on his shoulders. He sat at the desk and began to write.

“Put in there that you were present at those murders because you feared for your life if you didn't cooperate.”

“You're asking me to lie on top of everything I've done?”

“Forget your damned honor for a moment and think about saving yourself from the same fate as that poor bastard today on the gallows. I'll put in my report that you were essential to helping solve this investigation and feel remorse for your actions.”

“I am a condemned man. Nothing you will say can alter that.”

“You're going to do some time in prison, but at least you won't have to keep looking over your shoulder for one of Schaeffer's men while you're there and, more importantly, after you get out. Schaeffer will hang for what he's done.”

Kessel bent to the desk and resumed writing. “Don't make promises you can't keep, Mr. Collins.” He stopped and looked up at Mason. “A dead man cannot make such assurances.”

T
he U.S. Army had renamed a hotel on the south end of Garmisch the General Patton Hotel; an appropriate name considering General Patton's Third Army had ripped through the heart of Bavaria.

Mason knocked on the hotel room door again. This time with more force. A middle-aged man poked his head out of an adjacent room, pulled his beltless bathrobe tight around his round belly, and gave Mason a sneer.

Mason shrugged, then pounded on the door again. A moment later, Hollister opened it. He, too, had on his bathrobe, but was obviously still up, as his red hair was perfectly combed over his bald spot, and his blue eyes were still sharp enough to cut through steel.

“I wait until now to have a bowel movement,” Hollister said through his permanent frown. “It's the one time of day I'm not disturbed. What is it that can't wait until morning?”

“Can I come in?”

“No.”

“I'll just be a minute. It's important.”

“So's my bowel movement.”

Mason slipped in anyway and waited until Hollister closed the door.

“It's one o'clock in the morning,” Hollister said.

“Justice never rests.”

“What is it?”

“I have an ex-associate of Major Schaeffer who's agreed to testify that he personally partook in several murders with Major Schaeffer. He also will swear that he witnessed Schaeffer, along with another man, carry out the murders of Agent Winstone and Hilda Schmidt.”

“How reliable is he?”

“Very.”

“Not a hophead or crackpot?”

“He was a captain in the German army and cleared by the CIC. He has a clean army record and was a medal winner.” Mason decided for now to leave out that Kessel was ex-SS.

Hollister fell silent for several moments, obviously considering the new development, though from outward appearances he seemed to have frozen in place. He finally nodded. “I'll pass it on to the new prosecutor in Frankfurt.”

“What do you mean new prosecutor? I thought you were the prosecutor on this case.”

“Not anymore. Orders came in this evening. Schaeffer's being transferred to Frankfurt tomorrow morning for a review of the charges and whether a court-martial is warranted.”

Mason was speechless for a moment. “Warranted?” He stopped and turned away before he yelled something he'd regret later. “Who ordered the transfer?”

“The judge advocate general himself.”

“Why? According to you, this was going to be a penny-ante court-martial.”

“I'm afraid I forgot to grill the general about his motives.”

Mason tried to think what this meant. “If a high-ranking officer or MG official requested the transfer, would the judge advocate general change the venue and take it out of your hands?”

“You're serious, right? This is the army. They can do anything
they want. My guess is the army brass view this case as a possible embarrassment.”

“Someone wants to bury it.”

“Probably. Now that the shooting's stopped, the army's fighting an image war for the politicians and people back home. Plus, there's an ideological war going on between democracy and communism. The Russians are portraying themselves as the ideal system for Germany, and the Germans haven't decided. They haven't had a real choice in a political system for fifteen years. The army doesn't want a scandal like this seeing the light of day. It would make us look incompetent, corrupt, and God knows what else.”

“This move isn't political. This is about covering their asses and lining their pockets. Schaeffer's just the tip of the spear.”

“And you want me to do what, exactly?”

“Show some backbone and fight to keep it here. If Schaeffer is facing murder charges, he might give up the ones protecting and profiting from him. If Schaeffer gets swept under the carpet, those same officers will just replace him with another, and the crimes and corruption will go on and on. Then imagine what will happen when the press learns the army tried to cover it up.”

“If you're looking for a fellow crusader, you've knocked on the wrong door. I like the army. I like Garmisch-Partenkirchen. I like being senior trial counsel. Find someone else. Write a book. Whatever you decide, please do it elsewhere. Right now, I would like to get back to my bowel movement, and then bed.” He opened the door. “Good night, Mr. Collins. And have a safe journey wherever the army sends you.”

“I'll have my report about the witness on your desk by oh-eight-hundred tomorrow.” Mason stopped at the door. “Do the right thing, and don't burn it or throw it in the trash. Send it with your file to Frankfurt.”

Mason walked away without waiting for a response, and for the sake of the hotel's guests, he waited until he was outside to curse at the stars.

*   *   *

Y
ou awake in there?” Mason stood outside Schaeffer's cell, in front of a steel door with a small barred window.

From the dark cell came Schaeffer's voice. “Fuck off.”

Mason turned to one of the two MPs standing guard on either side of the door. Even Gamin was taking no chances that anyone could gain access to Schaeffer. He said to one of the MPs, “Is there any way he and I can talk in private?”

“Sorry, sir. Orders are to stay right here. We're not even supposed to let you near here, but this asshole shot a buddy of mine in that train bust.”

Mason said into the cell, “You hear that, Schaeffer? You don't have too many friends right now.”

Mason's eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, and he could see Schaeffer lying on his bunk with his arms behind his head, staring at the ceiling.

“I've got nothing to say to you,” Schaeffer said.

“I didn't come here to chat. Just wanted to let you know that we now have a very reliable witness. This person will testify to being present when you killed Agent Winstone and Hilda Schmidt. You're going to hang.”

“Whoever's claiming that is lying. Tell them they're dead.”

“You go ahead and believe that. And now that we have your entire crew, one of them is bound to talk. I can guarantee that. The prosecutor will have enough evidence. If they don't hang you, you'll be put away for life.”

A moment of silence followed, then Schaeffer said, “You've said your piece. Now get out of here.”

“As much as I enjoy seeing you behind bars, I'm not here to gloat. Against my own interests, I'm here to offer you a deal.”

Schaeffer swung his feet over the bunk and onto the floor. He
suddenly lunged for the door, slamming into it with both fists. “Guards, get this man out of here!”

“Calm down, sir,” the MP said. “We've already warned you earlier about making a racket.”

“Give me the names, Schaeffer,” Mason said. “Who's the real power behind your operation? Is it another OSS man? A commander, maybe?”

“I said fuck off.”

“What about Lester Abbott? Where is he? Give me that at least.”

“You don't know what you're talking about. Abbott was killed in the war.”

“Not from what I've—”

Schaeffer banged the door and shoved his face against the window bars. “Volker told me how you squealed when he interrogated you during the war. You gave up troop positions. You named fellow intelligence agents. You admitted to spying.” He yelled at the guards, “Do you hear that, boys? The coward standing next to you gave up information that got soldiers killed.”

“I've got Volker,” Mason said. “It took him about ten minutes to tell me all about your plan to rob the train. He even admitted to lying about me supposedly talking under torture. I went through a thousand times as much as he did, and I never said a word.” He turned to the guard. “This is the guy who murdered that woman and child.”

“The Kantos house?” the MP asked. “I was there. That was disgusting.”

Schaeffer growled and turned away.

“Names, Schaeffer. And you can cut a deal. You might just get twenty years. That may seem like a long time, but it's a lot better than the hangman's noose.”

With his back to the door, Schaeffer rolled his shoulders as if regaining self-control. He walked back to the bunk and lay down, resuming his previous position.

“It doesn't make sense you taking all the punishment, when the
guys pulling your strings will go home with a pile of money and medals on their chests. They used you, abused you, and now they're going to let you hang or rot in prison. No, sir, doesn't make sense.”

“They'll get their just deserts. I'll see to that.”

“From the end of a rope? I don't think so.” Mason paused to see if Schaeffer would continue, but Schaeffer said nothing. “See you 'round.”

Mason turned away and took two steps before hearing Schaeffer's voice echo off the cement walls, saying, “Mark my words, Collins: There'll be no rest for the wicked.”

Mason stopped. That phrase . . . He rushed up to the cell door and put his hands on the bars. “What did you say?”

Silence.

Mason thought a moment. He then launched himself off the door and marched down the hall with urgency and purpose.