The Mediterranean Caper (25 page)

“I agree,” he said casually. “It just goes to prove, you can't win them all, can you,
Admiral Heibert
?”

At first von Till didn't respond. He stood there, his face without expression. Then the sheer incredibility of Pitt's words began to register. He took a step toward Pitt, his mouth barely moving.

“What—what did you call me?” he asked in a tight whisper.

“Admiral Heibert,” Pitt repeated. “Admiral Erich Heibert: Commander of Nazi Germany's transportation fleet; fanatical follower of Adolph Hitler; and brother of Kurt Heibert, the World War I ace.”

What little color was left drained from his face. “You—you have lost your senses.”

“The U-19, that was your final mistake.”

“Nonsense, utter nonsense.” The tight lips spoke low and unbelieving.

“The model in your study. It struck me as strange at the time; why would an ex-combat pilot display a replica of a submarine instead of the aircraft he flew during wartime? Pilots are as sentimental about those things as sailors. It didn't figure. The ultimate irony is that Darius, not knowing your true identity, used Inspector Zacynthus' radio to contact the German naval archives in Berlin at my request.”

“So that was what you were after,” Darius said, his eyes still watchful.

“It was handled as a routine inquiry. I asked for a crew list of the U-19. I also contacted an old friend in Munich—a World War I aviation buff—and asked him if he knew of any flyer by the name of Bruno von Till. The replies were most interesting. A von Till actually flew for the German Imperial Air Service all right. But you claimed to have flown with Kurt Heibert in Jasta 73 out of the Xanthi aerodrome in Macedonia. The real von Till flew with Jasta 9 in France from the summer of 1917 until the Armistice in November of 1918; he never left the Western Front. The next intriguing tidbit was the first name on the U-19's crew roster—a Commander Erich Heibert. Being an inquisitive cuss, I didn't stop there. I radioed Berlin again, this time from the ship, and asked them to send all available information on Erich Heibert. That did it—I couldn't have created a bigger stir with the German authorities if I'd resurrected Hitler, Goering and Himmler all in one swoop.”

“Sheer babble—he's delirious.” The shrewd, calculating Fu Manchu look had returned to the old German's face. “No one in their right mind would believe such a ridiculous fairy tale. A model submarine—hardly a valid connection between me and Heibert.”

“I don't have to prove anything. The facts speak for themselves. When Hitler took power you became his devoted follower. In return for your loyalty, and in recognition of your previous valuable combat experience, he promoted you to Officer Commanding Transportation Fleet; a title you held throughout the war until just before Germany's surrender when you seem to have vanished.”

“That has nothing to do with me,” von Till said angrily.

“You're wrong,” Pitt returned. “The real Bruno von Till married the daughter of a wealthy Bavarian businessman who, among other interests, owned a small fleet of merchant ships—ships that sailed under the flag of Greece. Von Till knew a good thing when he saw it. He took out Greek citizenship papers and became Managing Director of Minerva Lines. Financially the company was a loser, but he built it into a first-class carrier fleet by smuggling arms and essential war materials into Germany in direct violation of the Versailles Treaty. That's how you knew him, you helped engineer the operation. You both had a good thing going, but von Till was no mental retard. He figured the Axis powers would lose in the end. So he threw his lot with the Allies early in the war.”

“You fail to make a connection,” Darius said. Pitt had his interest, but it could just as easily fade at any moment.

“Now comes the good part. Your boss, Darius, isn't a man to leave anything to chance. A less clever man would have simply tried to vanish. Not Admiral Erich Heibert. He was much too cunning. Somehow he made his way through the Allied lines to England, where the bona fide von Till was living, murdered him and took his place.”

“How was it possible,” Darius demanded.

“It wasn't only possible,” Pitt said to Darius, “it was accomplished to the letter. They were both roughly the same size and build. A few alterations here and there by a skilled surgeon, a few gestures and speech mannerisms practiced until perfect and the man who stands before you became a dead ringer for the original Bruno von Till. Why not? There were no close friends, von Till was sort of a loner, no one knew him well. His wife had died childless. There was, however, a nephew who had been born and raised in Greece. Even he didn't catch on to the switch till years later. Then it cost him his life. Mere child's play for a professional killer like Heibert. The nephew and his wife were murdered in a faked boating accident. Teri, their young daughter, was spared. No benevolence on Heibert's part I assure you. The public image of a considerate and protective grand uncle was too good to pass by.”

Pitt stole another encompassing look at the guards, the tunnel and the Japanese I-Boat. Then he turned back to von Till.

“After the switch, smuggling was merely a sideline for you, Heibert. The inventive creation of a submarine attached to the keel of a ship came natural for an old U-Boat commander. To the outside world, Heibert, alias von Till, had it made. Minerva Lines was thriving, the money was rolling in. But you were worried, things ware going
too
well. The more prominent you became, the better your chances of being exposed. So you moved to Thasos, rebuilt the villa and played the role of an eccentric millionaire recluse. Business as usual was no problem. A high-power shortwave radio was installed so you could operate Minerva Lines without ever setting foot on the mainland of Europe. But your perverted past was too strong. You let the company fleet run down to a fourth-rate freight hauler, and turned your talents almost entirely to smuggling—”

“Where is all this talk leading?” Darius interrupted.

“The
fait accompli
—the payoff,” Pitt explained. “It seems that Admiral Heibert here was conspicuous by his absence at the Nuremberg War Trials. His name is right up there next to Martin Bormann on the wanted war criminals list. A real sweetheart this one. While Eichmann was burning the Jews, Heibert was emptying the POW camps by driving Allied prisoners into the holds of old merchant vessels and setting them adrift in the North Sea, trusting to British and American bombers to do the Nazis' own dirty work. In spite of the fact that he had disappeared at the end of the war, he knew what was in store if he stayed in Germany. He was convicted
in absentia
by the International Military Tribunal at Nuremberg and sentenced to death. It's a pity he wasn't hung before now, still it's better late than never.”

Pitt had played his last card. There was nothing left for him but to hope, he could stall no more.

“Well there you have it. A few facts, a few educated guesses. The story's a bit sketchy I admit. The Germans could only radio a brief outline of the information they had in their files. The exact details may never become known. No matter, you're a dead man Heibert.”

Von Till looked at Pitt in cold speculation. “Pay no attention to the major, Darius. His whole make-believe tale is nothing but the clever stall of a desperate man—”

Von Till paused, listening. At first the sound was faint—it seemed like an eerie thumping. Then Pitt recognized it as the heavy tread of hobnail boots moving closer along the wooden deck. The mist was back, and its moist atmosphere cloaked any shape or form, while at the same time it amplified the approaching footsteps into a kettledrum beat. It sounded as though the unseen noisemaker was lifting his feet and dropping them with much more force than necessary. Then a ghostly and faceless figure, dressed in the uniform of von Till's bodyguards, grew out of the mist. Barely discernible, the figure stopped several feet back and clicked his heels.

“The
Queen Jocasta
has dropped anchor, sir.” The voice spoke in a low guttural tone.

“You idiot!” von Till snapped, angry at the interruption. “Return to your post.”

“No more delays,” Darius snarled. “Just one bullet in the major's groin so he can linger in agony.” The Luger's muzzle fell to Pitt's lower torso.

“Whatever's fair,” Pitt said quietly. He had a strange expressionless stare that was more disturbing to von Till than any show of fear ever could have been.

Von Till arched forward in a curt, precise bow. “I'm sorry, Major,” the old German said slowly and very deliberately. “Our interesting little chat has come to an end. Please forgive me if I fail to provide the traditional blindfold and last cigarette.” He said nothing more, the evil, venomous smirk on his face spoke for him, and Pitt braced himself for the almost certain blast from Darius' gun.

A gun roared:
not the sharp bark of a Luger, but the heavy, ear-stunning roar of a big bore, .45 Colt automatic. Darius shouted in pain as the Luger flew from his hand into the water. Giordino, in a uniform at least two sizes too large nimbly leaped off the dock onto the sub deck and shoved the Colt into von Till's left ear. Then he turned to admire his marksmanship.

“Well, what do you know, I even remembered to remove the
safety
.”

“Nice going,” Pitt said. “Errol Flynn couldn't have made a more dramatic entrance.”

Their faces confused and uncomprehending, von Till and Darius stood frozen in mute shock. The hot floodlights glared through the mist, burning it away completely, and the guards on the ledge could see that something totally unexpected had occurred on the sub's deck. As if drawn by one string all five men raised their machine pistols and aimed them directly at Pitt.

“Keep your fingers off the triggers.” Giordino's voice boomed against the rock walls “Shoot Major Pitt and I splatter your boss's brains halfway to Athens. Shoot and you all die. There are guns trained on your hearts—I'm not bluffing. Look at the tunnel.”

If there was one thing in the cavern whose supply outdistanced its necessity, it was the machine pistol. There were ten more of them in the hands of the toughest bunch of men Pitt had ever seen. They were grouped in loose formation around the tunnel entrance, four in the prone position, three kneeling, and three standing. Pitt almost had to look twice to make them out clearly; their black and brown camouflaged field dress blended perfectly into the craggy shadows. Only their maroon berets, the hallmark of an elite outfit, betrayed their presence to the casual eye.

Giordino continued: “Now please turn your attention to the submarine at my rear.”

It wasn't exactly the straw that broke the camel's back, but it was the ugly, air-cooled machine gun, gripped by a fiendishly grinning Colonel Zeno on the I-Boat's conning tower, that broke the bodyguards' will to fight. Slowly they lowered their guns and raised their hands in the air; all except one, he hesitated and paid the price.

Zeno fanned the trigger of his weapon. Two bullets, no more, spat from the air-cooled barrel in one brief blast. The unthinking, unfortunate guard slumped soundlessly to the ground and rolled limply into the water, staining the brilliant cobalt blue with a growing cloud of red.

“Now walk, don't run to the nearest exit,” Giordino said casually, “your hands clasped on your heads.”

Pitt, the tired expression on his face reflecting the gnawing pain in his leg, said to Giordino: “You sliced your timing pretty thin.”

“The capital of Italy wasn't constructed in twenty-four hours,” Giordino paraphrased pontifically. “After all, swimming ashore, finding Zacynthus, Zeno and their roving band of commandos and then leading them through that godawful labyrinth on the run wasn't the most leisurely of chores.”

“Did you have any trouble with my directions?”

“No problem. The elevator shaft was right where you said it'd be.”

Von Till moved close to Pitt, his eyes cold as ice. “Who told you about the elevator?”

“No one,” Pitt replied tersely. “Wandering through the labyrinth, I accidentally took a side corridor that ended at a ventilator shaft. I heard the sound of generators somewhere beyond the opening. Their purpose came to me when I was sure of the sea cavern. Your villa sits on a near vertical line above the shoreline cliffs. An underground elevator had to be the only means of moving from the villa to the cavern without detection. The shaft, the cavern and passageways were a made to order arrangement for smuggling, courtesy of the Phoenicians over two thousand years ago.”

“Wait a minute,” Giordino cut in. “Are you suggesting that somebody was smuggling out of here before Christ?”

“You didn't do your homework.” Pitt grinned. “If you'd read the brochure that Zeno handed out before we started on the tour of the ruins, you'd know that Thasos was originally settled by the Phoenicians to exploit its gold and silver deposits. The tunnels and shaft are part of an ancient mine. Eventually it was worked out and abandoned. The Greeks discovered it a few hundred years later and thought it was some kind of mysterious labyrinth built by the Gods.”

A movement on the dock attracted Pitt's attention and he looked up.

Zacynthus appeared seemingly out of nowhere and stood, staring down at Pitt for several long moments. Finally he asked:

“How's the leg?”

Pitt shrugged. “It'll probably smart a bit when the barometer drops, but it shouldn't slow up my sex life.”

“Colonel Zeno sent two of his men after a stretcher. They should be here in a few minutes.”

“Were you able to overhear any of our enlightening conversation?”

Zacynthus nodded. “Every word. The acoustics in here would do credit to Carnegie Hall.”

“You'll never prove any of it,” von Till said in contempt. His lips curled in a sneer, but there was a trace of desperation in his eyes.

“As I've said,” Pitt murmured tiredly, “I don't have to prove anything. At this minute, four war criminal investigators are flying here from Germany, courtesy of the United States Air Force, who were only too happy to lend a helping hand after your little shooting party at Brady Field. Each one of those four men is a specialist. They know every hidden identity trick in the book. Plastic surgery, a different voice, your advanced age, nothing will fool them. I'm afraid it's the end of the voyage for you, Admiral.”

“I am a Greek citizen,” von Till said arrogantly. “They have no legal right to abduct me to Germany.”

“Cut the masquerade,” Pitt lashed back. “Von Till was the Greek citizen,
not you
. Colonel Zeno, will you please explain the facts of life for the Admiral.”

“With pleasure, Major.” Zeno had left the conning tower of the Japanese I-boat and was now standing next to Zacynthus. He grinned broadly under the big, flowing moustache and eyed von Till with piercing scrutiny. “We take a dim view of anyone who enters our country illegally and we greatly dislike playing host to a wanted war criminal. If you are indeed Admiral Erich Heibert, as Major Pitt claims, I shall personally see to it that you are turned over to the war criminal investigators and placed on the first plane back to Germany and the gallows.”

“A most appropriate and convenient ending,” Zacynthus said slowly. “It saves the taxpayers the expense of a long, drawn-out trial for narcotics smuggling. On the other hand, we lose the opportunity to bag half the illegal drug buyers in North America.”

“Aren't you forgetting that opportunity makes the thief?” Pitt grinned.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Simple arithmetic, Zac. Now you know how the heroin drop is made and where. It would be an easy matter to take over the
Queen Jocasta,
keep the crew incommunicado and deliver the goods in person. I'm certain the proper authorities could hush up Heibert's capture until you can spring your trap at the cannery in Galveston.”

“Yes,” Zacynthus said consideringly, “yes by God, it just might work. Providing I can find a crew to operate the ship and submarine on short notice.”

“The Mediterranean Tenth Fleet,” Pitt offered. “Use your influence and make an urgent request to our navy for an emergency crew. They can be airlifted into Brady Field. Timewise, it shouldn't set the
Queen Jocasta
off schedule for more than five or six hours. If you push the old tub you can make that up in a day and a half.”

Zacynthus surveyed Pitt with mixed curiosity and admiration. “You certainly don't miss much, do you?”

Pitt shrugged, retaining his grin. “I try.”

“There is one thing I wish you'd explain.”

“Name it.”

“How did you know Darius was an informer?”

“I smelled a rat when I searched the
Queen Artemisia
. The transmitter in the radio cabin was set on the same frequency as the set in your office. I must confess, at the time I thought it might be any one of you. The field narrowed down to Darius after I swam ashore and met Giordino. He said that Darius had been stationed on your radio during the entire time between the arrival and departure of the
Queen Artemisia
. It was a cozy arrangement. While you and Zeno were on a wild-goose chase, keeping an eye on the villa and battling mosquitos, Darius was comfortably sipping his Metaxa and notifying Heibert of your every move. That's why I had the ship all to myself. The crew members were all busy down in the bilges, releasing the sub. The captain hadn't bothered posting a lookout because Darius had assured him all was clear. What Darius didn't know, and even you didn't know, Zac, was that I intended to swim out and scout the ship from the water. You suspected nothing when Giordino and I volunteered to watch the ship from the beach. It was only at the last minute, when I saw no sign of the
Queen Artemisia
's crew, that I decided to sneak on board for a closer look. My apologies for not clearing my actions with you, but I was certain that you'd have raised hell and tried to stop me.”

“I'm the one who should offer apologies,” Zacynthus said. “I deserve the dunce award of the year. God, how could I have been so blind? I should have guessed something was wrong when Darius was never able to intercept any messages between the passing Minerva ships and the villa.”

“I could have relayed my suspicious to you on the road this morning,” Pitt said. “But it hardly seemed the right time or place, particularly in front of Darius. Secondly, without one hundred percent proof I doubt seriously whether you or Zeno would have believed my accusation.”

“You were quite right,” Zacynthus admitted. “Tell me this. Where did you find out about the
Queen Jocasta
?”

“The Air Force has a funny habit about loaning out their vehicles; sooner or later they want them back. After Giordino and I left you, we stopped off at Brady Field and returned the truck to the motorpool. Colonel Lewis was waiting for us. It was he who alerted me to the
Queen Jocasta
. One of his morning patrols sighted her cruising north toward Thasos. The next step was to check the ship's cargo and destination with the Minerva Lines' agent in Athens. His reply added to an interesting coincidence. Not only were two Minerva ships passing by the villa within twelve hours of each other, but both were headed for ports in the United States. I began to get the picture—von Till, or rather Heibert, intended to switch the sub and the heroin from the
Queen Artemisia
to the
Queen Jocasta
.”

“You might have let me in on your secret,” Zacynthus said with a noticeable trace of bitterness. “I came within a hair of locking Giordino up when he bounded into my headquarters, demanding that I, together with Colonel Zeno's men, follow him into the labyrinth.”

Pitt studied him. The inspector's face was grim. “I considered it,” Pitt said honestly. “But I figured the less everyone concerned knew, the less chance there was for Darius to get suspicious. I also purposely kept the girl in the dark because it was essential that her message, warning your headquarters of my plans to search for the cavern, reek with serious intentions when Darius intercepted it. My actions were devious, I admit, but my reasons were valid.”

“To think that the Bureau's finest investigator was shown up by a rank amateur.” Then Zacynthus grinned and there was a warm hint in the smile that removed the acid from his words. “But it was worth it, well worth it.”

Pitt was greatly relieved. He didn't wish to make an enemy of Zacynthus. He turned and looked at von Till. The old German stared back at Pitt with a contempt in his eyes that went far beyond mere hate. The only feeling that suddenly welled within Pitt was one of disgust. He spoke quietly, but his cold voice carried to every inch of the cavern.

“You would have to die a hundred thousand deaths, and then some, to repay all the lives you stole, old man. Most men are born and go to the grave without killing anyone, but your list stretches endlessly from the helpless prisoners you condemned to the cold waters of the North Sea to the schoolgirls you sold into slavery in the scum-infested back alleys of Casablanca. How ironic that a man who caused so many other people to die in agony should die horribly also. My only regret is that I won't be there to see your neck stretched, Heibert; see your withered old body jerk and bounce when it hits the end of the rope. They say the shock forces the bladder and the bowels to move. That's a fitting end for you, old man. Thrown in an unmarked pauper's grave to rot through eternity in your own filth.”

Muttering incoherent words, his face distorted in blind anger, and entirely oblivious to the surrounding guns of the gendarmerie, von Till hurled himself at Pitt. It was the mad gesture of a hysterical man. Giordino's forty-five clubbed him on the back of the neck before he took the second step. He fell awkwardly to the deck in a crumpled heap and lay as if dead. Giordino didn't even look down as he holstered the gun.