Tempting Fate (70 page)

In the years I worked in his household, I saw no evidence that Ragoczy was part of any group of persons plotting to overthrow the state. He did not attempt to hide any of his activities from me, not even his occasional visits to the resorts at Bad Wiessee, where he met women. None of the women were ever brought to Schloss Saint-Germain and there was never any indication that he had more than a man’s passing need for female flesh. I was not aware of any prolonged intimate contact with a woman. He did occasionally receive letters from women, but I doubt there was a clandestine significance to them. He most emphatically did not behave as a rake does, but neither did he exhibit the usual behavior of a lover.

Let me reiterate my conviction that this man poses no threat to us, either here or abroad. He is something of an eccentric, but that is the way of foreigners. I have said that he is not active in political causes—let us not give him any reason to change his mind. A man of his wealth and business connections might bring unwelcome and undue attention to our party in a Way that would lose us much of what we have gained. Placed as you are, you must certainly appreciate this danger more than I do.

It has been my great pleasure and honor to answer your questions, Herr Göring, and believe that this letter brings you my unending commitment to the ideals that you exemplify so admirably.

With profound respect,

David Bündnis

Secretary to

Max Erwin von Scheubner-Richter

9

Brienner Strasse and Schleissheim Strasse were filled with traffic, and the circle where they came together with three other streets was a malestrom of automobiles, buses, trucks, and horse-drawn vehicles. The only compensation for this irritating and so far mysterious delay was the magnificent spring weather. Overhead the sky was stunningly blue, as if painted by an optimistic artist. A solitary aeroplane was the one flaw in that splendid vault, but it was not at all intrusive, for it was to the east of the city, perhaps destined for Wien or Linz or Salzburg. A great many Müncheners surged along the sidewalks, most of them moving at a brisker pace than the vehicles in the street.

“I don’t want to come up to see Professor Riemen,” Laisha said to Ragoczy as Nikolai cursed a battered Delahaye, its wooden body gouged and weathered, as it nosed in ahead of the Isotta-Fraschini.

Ragoczy sat beside her in the backseat. “You don’t have to, of course.”

“I don’t like the way he looks at me. He’s always trying to touch me.” She gave an uncomfortable hitch to her shoulders.

“What would you rather do?” Ragoczy knew the various rumors that had been circulated over the years about Professor Riemen’s liking for young females; he did not want to alarm Laisha, but he was also relieved that she was willing to occupy herself in other ways while Ragoczy concluded his business with the old chemist.

“There are bookstalls, and a few shops. How long will you be?” She reached for her purse, which lay beside her on the seat. “I have a little money, so if I find something I want to buy…”

She was giving herself an excuse to dawdle and thus be assured that she would not have to see Professor Riemen at all; Ragoczy sensed it, and accepted it. “Would you like a little extra, in case you want to get something special?” He was already reaching for his billfold, pulling out two ten Reichsmarks.

“Thank you,” Laisha said shyly as she took the bills. Of late she had recognized that her father’s generosity was not what most young women experienced. It was not simply a question of money, but of time. She knew now that very few fathers set aside two hours every day to spend with their children. Ragoczy always spent time with her playing duets, reading, or simply talking.

“Spend it frivolously, if you like, but not foolishly.” He patted her shoulder and leaned forward to talk to Nikolai in Russian. “Go by professor Riemen’s office first, and leave me there. Laisha is going to do a little shopping, and may need you.”

Nikolai nodded, not taking his eyes from the traffic. “It will be, faster once we pass the obstruction up ahead, whatever it is.”

“Do as you think best, Nikolai. I have every faith in your good sense.” He sat back again and looked rather abstractedly at the crowding. “You know, in Imperial Rome, only single-passenger chariots and sedan chairs were allowed in the city between dawn and sunset. Early in the morning, the farmers would arrive with produce and livestock, unload in the Swine Market, then drive their carts back outside the gates and hurry back to deal with sales. Then in the evening they would go back but of the city to get their carts and bring them in to load up again. The only exceptions were carts and wagons bringing animals to the Games. Cities may have to resort to such laws again, if this sort of thing continues.”

They had come in sight of the reason for the traffic backup now. An old truck, painted brown and lavished with swastikas, had been turned on its side. A number of angry men in brown shirts stood around it, shouting at another group of men who wore no uniform other than matching smug smiles. Two policemen on BMW motorcycles kept off to one side, elaborately refusing to restore order between the two groups of men.

“A shameful business,” Nikolai muttered, then repeated this loudly enough so that Ragoczy could hear.

“Yes, it is,” Ragoczy agreed.

“Those Nazis, they’re getting too high-handed.” Nikolai honked once at a Citroën that was pressing too close to him.

“Those what?” Ragoczy had not heard this derogatory nickname but once before.

“You know, the NSDAP.” He was almost past the overturned truck, and he made a quick, obscene gesture at one of the men in a brown shirt as he maneuvered the narrowest part of the bottleneck created by the truck.

“I didn’t know they were called Nazis,” Ragoczy said, a bit startled, for he generally made a point of learning such things.

“Well, they don’t call themselves that, and those who do aren’t the sort of company you keep, Count,” Nikolai told him as he changed gears and picked up speed.

“I see,” Ragoczy murmured, then fell silent while the last few blocks were covered.

As Nikolai drew the Isotta-Fraschini up to the curb, Ragoczy reached down for his large briefcase of fine-grained black leather. He reached the door handle and turned to Laisha. “I should not be much more than an hour. These are the last results on our tests, and I want to be sure Riemen understands them. Once we’re in London, it will be more difficult for him to ask questions about the procedures done.”

Laisha shrugged. “I’ll keep busy. I haven’t been book-buying in more than a month.” She went on confidentially, “It’s not that there aren’t enough books at the Schloss already, but those are your books, not mine.”

“I understand that,” Ragoczy assured her as he started to step out of the automobile. On impulse he leaned across the seat and kissed her cheek. “Enjoy yourself, Laisha.”

She grinned covertly and waved to him as he slammed the door. She very much liked these moments when she was on her own: she felt quite adult now, as she was driven through the streets in this elegant automobile with a chauffeur. If only Nikolai had a proper uniform instead of the woolen hunting jacket he wore in good weather. She decided not to let that minor consideration mar the day for her. “Nikolai, I want to browse through bookstalls. The old-fashioned kind, with horses drawing them.”

“Very good, Miss Ragoczy.” Nikolai had very recently taken to addressing her in this formal way and she had not yet made up her mind about it. On the one hand it was marvelous to be treated as a grown person by someone who knew her as a child, but on the other, she missed that camaraderie that had marked her relationship with Nikolai for so many years. And being called Miss Ragoczy, though she supposed that was the proper name now, was disconcerting. Her father never called her that—he would simply introduce her as “my daughter, Laisha Vlassevna,” and give no explanations. Yet she supposed that she would grow accustomed to it in England, where everything would be different anyway.

They were forced to pass the truck again, and this time there were more brown-shirted men striving to right the cumbersome vehicle. There was a short, portly man supervising the work with military precision. The smiling men were no longer in sight.

Less than ten minutes later Nikolai pulled into a parking place across the street from eight horse-drawn bookstalls. “There you are, Miss Ragoczy,” he said as he turned off the motor. “I’ll be waiting for you unless you need me to come and carry bags for you.”

Laisha tossed her head. “I won’t buy that much. But if I should need your help, I will call you.” She did not wait for him to open the door for her, but got out of the automobile on her own and made her way carefully across the street. Her purse was tightly clasped in her right hand and her curve-heeled shoes with double straps made a sharp rap on the cobbles as she went. She felt so marvelously mature. If only she had worn a hat and gloves, no one, she told herself, would think her anything but a well-established young lady. Reaching the bookstalls, she regarded them with a practiced eye, noticing which had the widest selection of books to offer. The sixth and seventh stalls seemed the most promising, and she made her way toward them, going through the crowded street with less practiced skill than she would have liked. At the sixth stall, she found four men blocking her way, each with his nose in a book, so she went on to the seventh stall. Here she fared better, finding a variety of biographies, one or two of them quite extensive. She selected one on the life of Paracelsus because her father had mentioned him occasionally. That book was under her arm as an intended purchase and she was immersed in von Jofmannsthal’s
Der Schwierige
when she heard the sounds in the street grow louder. Puzzled and irritated at the interruption, she looked up briefly and noticed that there were a great many people gathering at the far end of the block.

“Fräulein,” the owner of the bookstall said to her a few minutes later, “it might be wise if you left now. I am going…”

Laisha reached for her purse. “I will buy these, then. Danke.”

The owner made hasty change and offered it to her without courtesy. He said as he climbed onto the driving board of the wagon, “You’d best get off the street, young lady. It looks damned unpleasant down there.”

“I’ll be careful,” she said, smiling her appreciation. She turned toward the end of the street where Nikolai was waiting and was astonished to see that the crowd had grown to alarming size. There were many men in brown shirts pushing their way along the sidewalks on both sides of the street. She looked for Nikolai and could not find him. For the first time that day she was frightened. Slowly at first, then with gathering speed, she began to move away from that brown-shirted wall, away from the place where Nikolai had parked the Isotta-Fraschini, back toward that part of the city where Ragoczy had been left.

Professor Riemen read through the last of the sheets Ragoczy had given him and shook his head. “You’re quite right, the project is not feasible at this time, not with prices what they are. It is a relief to know that it is possible to manufacture fuel if it ever becomes necessary. The equipment for making this synthetic petroleum is another matter. That steel-reinforced ceramic shell is quite innovative…”

“Do you think so?” Ragoczy said with half a smile. It was his most recent modification on the athanor, the alchemical oven that had been in use in one form or another for over three thousand years. The huge egg-shaped ceramic form supported by a net of steel stood in the laboratory at Schloss Saint-Germain, reminding him every time he looked at it that one of the great achievements of alchemy was the Egg.

“I have never seen anything like it,” Riemen declared emphatically. “It is this originality of thought that makes your contribution so very valuable.” He looked down at the neat series of structural drawings that accompanied the report. “With these, I suppose it will be possible to construct the equipment. It would suit me better if you were here, but, well … It is enough, I suppose, that we have the plans.”

“They are complete, Professor. You have my word on that” Ragoczy’s tone was sharp.

“My dear man, I never thought anything else,” Professor Riemen said at once with an unconvincing chuckle. “It’s been the Great War, that’s the problem. Everyone is suspicious. I have thought that most of the scientists in this poor beleaguered country of ours would abandon us for less demanding lands. It has not happened yet, though I understand that a few of the Jewish professors have discussed leaving. It would be a great pity, but one can understand why they wish to do it. Puft! A few radicals paint slogans on one or two buildings, and the academicians tremble. This nonsense will pass, Herr Graf. It must.”

“I had neighbors who had more than a few radical slogans painted on their walls. A woman and her infant were killed, Isidore, and almost nothing has been done about it because they are Jews. I do not blame my neighbors for going to America.” He got up from his chair and took a turn about the elegantly-worn room. There were three floor-to-ceiling bookcases separated by tall, narrow windows. The carpet was large and old, from Turkestan. Professor Riemen’s desk was made of deep-grained mahogany and gave off a faintly pinkish shine where the sun struck it. What did Isidore Riemen have to fear in such a place as this, where he was protected and catered to?

“I have heard from Berlin that there will be interest in this process from Farben, as they have indicated all along. They will not find the cost encouraging, but their men may know a way to reduce the outlay.” There was a congratulatory ring in his voice, and it was apparent now that he was relieved that Ragoczy would not be here to share his honor.

“You will do well with it, I know,” Ragoczy said automatically, thinking that it was now time to conclude their discussion.

“I confess that I hope so,” the Professor admitted. “We have come through difficult times, and I am not anxious to experience another such problem again.”