“That is all right,” he said in Portuguese. “Put the tray on the bed, please.”
“I forgot the glass.”
“That is all right. I need no glass. Give me the check and the pencil, please.”
He signed the check against the wall, holding it there with his phone-hand; added a tip beyond the service charge.
The waiter went out without thanking him and belched as he closed the door.
He never should have left the Del Rey.
He sat back down on the bed, the phone whistling hollowly in his ear. He turned to steady the tray, and looked with misgiving at the yellow napkin with Miramar stamped big and black and burglar-proof in a corner of it. He took hold of it, and what the hell, whipped it away: the sandwich was thick and beautiful, all chicken, no lettuce or crap whatsoever. Forgiving the waiter, he gathered up a half of it, bent his head to meet it, and took a big delicious middle bite. God, he was starving!
“Ich möchte Wien,” an operator said. “Wien!”
He thought of the tape and what he would say to Yakov Liebermann, and his mouth was full of cardboard; he chewed and chewed and somehow got it down. He put the sandwich down and picked up the beer. It was one of the really great beers and it tasted lousy.
“Not much longer,” Cute Sexy Operator said.
“I hope. Thank you.”
“Here you are, senhor.”
A phone rang.
He grabbed another swallow and put the bottle down, wiped his hand on a jeaned knee, turned more toward the phone.
The other phone rang, and rang, and was picked up: “Ja?”—as clear as around the corner.
“Mr. Liebermann?”
“Ja. Wer’st da?”
“It’s Barry Koehler. Remember, Mr. Liebermann? I came to see you early in August, wanted to work for you? Barry Koehler from Evanston, Illinois?”
Silence.
“Mr. Liebermann?”
“Barry Koehler, I don’t know what time it is in Illinoise, but in Vienna it’s so dark I can’t see the clock.”
“I’m not in Illinois, I’m in São Paulo, Brazil.”
“That doesn’t make it lighter in Vienna.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Liebermann, but I’ve got a good reason for calling. Wait till you hear.”
“Don’t tell me, I’ll guess: you saw Martin Bormann. In a bus station.”
“No, not Bormann. Mengele. And I didn’t see him, but I’ve got a tape of him talking. In a restaurant.”
Silence.
“Dr. Mengele?” he prompted. “The man who ran Auschwitz? The Angel of Death?”
“Thank you. I thought you meant a whole other Mengele. The Angel of Life.”
Barry said, “I’m sorry. You were so—”
“I drove him into the jungle; I know Josef Mengele.”
“You were so quiet, I had to say something. He’s out: of the jungle, Mr. Liebermann. He was in a Japanese restaurant tonight. Doesn’t he use the name ‘Aspiazu’?”
“He uses lots of names: Gregory, Fischer, Breitenbach, Rindon—”
“And Aspiazu, right?”
Silence. “Ja. But I think maybe it’s also used by people it belongs to.”
“It’s him,” Barry insisted. “He had half the SS there. And he’s sending them out to kill ninety-four men. Hessen was there, and Kleist. Traunsteiner. Mundt.”
“Listen, I’m not sure I’m awake. Are you? Do you know what you’re talking about?”
“Yes! I’ll play you the tape! It’s sitting right here!”
“Just a minute. Begin at the beginning.”
“All right.” He picked up the bottle and drank some beer; let him listen to silence for a change.
“Barry?”
Ho-ho! “I’m here. I was just drinking some beer.”
“Oh.”
“A sip, Mr. Liebermann; I’m dying of thirst. I haven’t had dinner yet and I’m so sick from this tape, I can’t eat. I’ve got a gorgeous chicken sandwich here and I can’t even swallow it.”
“What are you doing in São Paulo?”
“You wouldn’t take me on, so I figured I’d come down here on my own. I’m more highly motivated than you think I am.”
“It’s a question of my finances, not your motivation.”
“I said I’d work for free; who’s paying me now? Look, let’s skip that. I came down, and nosed around, and finally I figured that the best thing to do was hang out around the Volkswagen plant, the one Stangl worked at. So I did. And a couple of days ago I spotted Horst Hessen; at least I thought I did, I wasn’t sure. His hair is sort of silvery now, and he must have had some plastic surgery. But anyway, I thought it was him and began tailing him. He went home early today—he lives in the cutest little house you ever saw, with a knockout wife and two daughters—and at seven-thirty he comes out again and takes a bus downtown. I follow him into this fancy Japanese restaurant and he goes upstairs to a private party. There’s a Nazi guarding the stairs, and the party is being given by ‘Senhor Aspiazu.’ Of the Auschwitz Aspiazus.”
Silence. “Go ahead.”
“So I went around back and got to one of the waitresses. Two hundred cruzeiros later she gave me a whole cassette of Mengele Dispatching the Troops. Mengele is crystal-clear; the troops range from fairly clear to mumble-mumble. Mr. Liebermann, they’re going out tomorrow—to Germany, England, the States, Scandinavia, all over the place! It’s a Kameradenwerk operation, and it’s big and it’s crazy and I’m really sorry I got into this whole thing, it’s supposed to—”
“Barry.”
“—fulfill the destiny of the Aryan race, for God’s sake!;”
“Barry!”
“What?”
“Calm yourself.”
“I am calm. No I’m not. All right. Now I’m calm. Really. I’m going to rewind the tape and play it for you. Press the button. See?”
“Who’s going out, Barry? How many?”
“Six. Hessen, Traunsteiner, Kleist, Mundt—and two others, uh, Schwimmer and Farnbach. You heard of them?”
“Not Schwimmer and Farnbach and Mundt.”
“Mundt? You haven’t heard of Mundt? He’s in your book, Mr. Liebermann! That’s where I heard about him.”
“A Mundt, in my book? No.”
“Yes! In the chapter on Treblinka. I’ve got it in my suitcase; you want me to give you the page number?”
“I never heard of a Mundt, Barry; this is a mistake on your part.”
“Oh Jesus. All right, forget it. Anyway, there are six of them, and they’re going out for two and a half years, and they’ve got certain dates when they’re supposed to kill certain men, and here comes the crazy part. Are you ready, Mr. Liebermann? These men they’re going to kill, there are ninety-four of them, and they’re all sixty-five-year-old civil servants. How do you like them apples?”
Silence. “Apples?”
He sighed. “It’s an expression.”
“Barry, let me ask you something. This tape is in German, yes? Are you—”
“I understand it perfectly! I don’t spreche too well but I understand it perfectly. My grandmother speaks nothing but, and my parents use it for secrets. It didn’t even work when I was a kid.”
“The Kameradenwerk and Josef Mengele are sending men out—”
“To kill sixty-five-year-old civil servants. A few of them are sixty-four and sixty-six. The tape’s rewound now and I’m going to play it, and then you’re going to tell me who I should take it to, someone high-up and reliable. And you’ll call him and tell him I’m coming, so he’ll see me, and see me quickly. They’ve got to be stopped before they leave. The first killing is slated for October sixteenth. Wait now, I’ve got to find the right place; there’s a lot of sitting down and admiring something first.”