“Why? He knows less about the Party of Humankind than my ten-year-old daughter.”
The older man pursed his lips and frowned. He dug out a ballpoint pen and a pad of paper. “He was right in there with Mulder, Borchardt, the Caw woman, Meisingcr, the lot.”
“You want my tapes? My notes? He’s been cooperative.”
“They all are until you get down under the surface.”
“I know my job “
“Of course.” Shapiro tapped stained dentures with the pen. “What did he tell you about Jennifer Caw, for instance? That she’s left-handed? That she inherited the fortunes of two South American Nazi families and is rich as sin? That she lures seventeen-year-old Party recruits into her boudoir and makes ’em lick the honcypot?”
Sonny bridled. “Lessing’s given us whatever we asked, as much as he knows.”
“And Anneliese Mcisinger? An ex-whore — used to be Emma Delacroix’s lesbian lover, once they cured her of herpes, the clap, and syphilis. Lucky for the old lady she didn’t have AIDS! Did this Lessing talk about her? Come on, Colonel Elazar, what didn’t this bastard tell you?” It was the first time Lessing had heard Sonny’s last name.
“I think he gave us what’s important: Meisinger’s a speech writer, a Party hack, one of the authors of their fake book, The Sun of Humankind. We knew all about her private life….”
“He tell you he was screwing her… in New Orleans?”
“Bullshit!” Lessing commented succinctly. “You want pom, go buy yourself a magazine!”
Shapiro eyed him. “You Nazis are smart sons of bitches.”
“I’m no Nazi “
“Sure.”
“I don’t think he is,” Sonny — Elazar — said slowly. “He’s just a hired mere. Old Mulder liked him and kept him around.”
“Have you asked him about the Holocaust?” Shapiro shot back. “How does he stand on that? He was exposed to every conceivable anti-Semitic, racist, fascist, revisionist line… to the neo-Nazis, the hard-liners. They had no effect on him? Otherwise, Colonel, otherwise!”
“So I haven’t had time to take him down to Yad Vashem.”
“I doubt that would do any good. I hear Yad Vashem’s got lifesize, colored holograms now. You can walk around in a full-scale blow-up of the photographs, watch the Nazis gassing people, look at it just like you were there. It’s enough to make a stone statue weep. But I don’t think this man would be affected by it, nor by diaries, photographs, displays of hair, shoes, and gold teeth. Your Mr. Lessing wouldn’t give a shit. He’s a mere, a sociopath, a cold fish to begin with, and now that his revisionist pals have given him books to read he’s gone over all the way… maybe not as an ideologue but as a soldier for the faith.” Shapiro tapped his pen against his teeth and waited. Lessing said nothing.
“Thought so. Well, Colonel, how about it? Section Six for this prisoner?” Shapiro dug into the breast pocket of his immaculate suit coat. “You need authorization? I’ve got it, both from our people in the States and from your bureau chief here.”
“Why? Why this man?” Sonny squinted at the proffered paper, then tossed it dowa “What can he possibly know?”
Shapiro retrieved his document before it became a permanent part of the clutter on Sonny’s desk. “I think we’ll find something interesting. You remember Richmond, the agent who died on Ponape? Just between us, Mordechai Richmond was a sharp operator, but he didn’t share everything… not with his handlers in our Vigilantes for Zion, not with the American government, and not with you people. He had irons in fires nobody even knows are lit We’re not sure who put him on Lessing’s case in the first place… so many died in Washington and New York when Starak hit.”
“Richmond was after Lessing? Specifically? Personally?”
“We think so. But why? Nazi business? Maybe, maybe not. Richmond never told anybody. Now he’s flower food.”
“Others must know. Someone…?”
“Nobody we can find. And we can’t get into the big computer, Eighty-Five, any more, now that Outram’s racists control what’s left of the American government.” Shapiro paused to run manicured fingernails through his snow-white mane. Lessing wondered if it was a wig. “All we’ve got is this bastard. Let’s get serious with him. Why don’t we ask him what he knows about Richmond’s mission on Ponape?”
“I did.” Sonny repeated Lessing’s answer.
Shapiro emitted a derisive hiccough. “It doesn’t stand up! Richmond was chasing Lessing long before Ponape… since India, in fact Lessing didn’t have any SS records or any cash back then. But let’s just pretend that this was Richmond’s motive; where are the records and the money now? Lessing killed Levi and a couple of your commandos. Then, according to his story, he ran out after Richmond, found his wife and the German woman dead, and chased Richmond down to the shore. Where’s the boodle, Colonel?”
Lessing got up. He hated sitting while people talked over his head. He said, “I dumped it. I grabbed it to keep it out of your people’s hands. I was headed out into the bushes with it when I saw Richmond had slipped out… when I heard the… the… shots.”
“Won’t do.” Shapiro shook his head like a disapproving school-marm.
“I had instructions from Mr. Mulder to destroy the stuff rather than let you opfoes have it, but I didn’t have time. I hid it in the ravine and piled leaves over it. It’s probably still there.” Lessing hoped he sounded sincere. Sonny was frowning.
Shapiro snorted. “Really? Let’s reconstruct. Richmond’s only a few steps ahead of you. He’s on his way to bring help. You have to stop him. Maybe you do grab the contents of your metal box… papers, packets of money, whatever… but then you hear shots, screams. Do you finish gathering it up? Even you aren’t that cool a customer. Don’t you drop a paper or a bill or two?” The pen returned to teeth-tapping. “Remember, the commandos went through your house later looking for information. They found nothing. Zilch. Your box was empty.”
“I told you what happened. I did get the stuff out and hide it. How can you say different? You don’t know how many minutes passed after I shot Levi… before I went chasing out after Richmond. You weren’t there. The Israeli strike force was only on Ponape for an hour or two. Did they search every bush?”
Shapiro sighed. “If you believe that, Colonel Elazar, then I have a bridge in Brooklyn I’ll sell you.” Sonny looked blank, and the other got up to smooth out the wrinkles in his trousers. Palestine could be hot, even in February. “Let’s ask Herr Obergruppenführer Lessing, here, some questions.”
“Authorization, Colonel. Right there. The head office of the Vigilantes for Zion… and your own superiors as well.” Shapiro tapped his document reverently, as though it were the Ten Commandments. He went to the door and summoned the two guards himself. “I don’t have time for this.”
Sonny peered again at Shapiro’s paper, then surrendered. He signed to the guards. The taller of the two pulled out a pair of cuffs and struck a professional pose. The smaller one drew his rubber truncheon from its belt-sheath. He looked as though he had performed this duty often and enjoyed it more each time.
Lessing held out his wrists. Why give them an excuse to beat on him? He still had hopes that Sonny would believe his story — or some amended version of it.
The guards whirled him around, secured his hands behind his back, and propelled him through Sonny’s inner office to a door at the rear. Sonny unlocked this to reveal a short stairway. The guard with the club shoved Lessing in and simultaneously tripped him so that he plunged down a dozen steps to smash his cheek and shoulder against the rough concrete at the bottom. He staggered up to see the trunchcon-wielder descending after him. Sonny snarled something in Hebrew, and the man desisted.