'What's going on?' asked Billie, leaning next to him.
Adam put his finger up to his lip, signifying her to keep quiet. She shut up, her curiosity blunted, her frustration sharpened.
Behind them, the group of tourists chatted amongst themselves, obviously excited to be there.
They were foreign, their language Russian.
After a minute, Adam led Billie away towards the stairs down which Trimmler had disappeared. To his left, away from his group, the grey haired man stared out on the Mississippi.
'Are you going to tell me what's going on?' Billie asked again.
'When I know, I'll tell you.'
'They're Russians.'
'So are the scientists at this space convention. The one Trimmler's here for.'
‘So?'
He started to descend the stairs.
‘If they're Russians, and…' she rushed after him. '…what if they are Russians and scientists?'
'Interesting. Don't you think?'
'So it's a coincidence.'
'So it is. Just like Trimmler, not exactly your every day tourist, is also a scientist and comes out onto this boat for a joy ride. Just coincidence.'
She caught him up at the bottom of the stairs and was about to answer when another group of laughing tourists made their way towards them, Americans this time from Tennessee.
'You'all having a good time?' shouted one of them at the couple.
'Great,' replied Adam. 'Real fun place.'
'Sure is. Sure is,' replied the Tennessean. Above them the whistle blew and the Creole Queen slipped its mooring for its daily run down the Mississippi.
The loudspeaker voice blared out, 'Brunch is now being served on the lower deck. Creole brunch and original cajun cooking. Right now on the lower deck.'
'Where's Trimmler?' Billie asked.
'He came down here.'
They found the Trimmlers in the restaurant at the front of the queue, their bowls already full of seafood gumbo. A small jazz band played in the corner, the sound an explosion in the confined and crowded restaurant. Conversation was only possible by shouting above the din.
They joined the queue, watched the Trimmlers sit at a window table and settled themselves on the opposite side of the restaurant. The Russian party came in five minutes later, without the grey haired man, and the Trimmlers rejoined the queue for their Jambalaya and red beans.
'I can do without all those red beans and sausages,' said Billie, the gumbo already taking its toll on her Californian stomach. Adam nodded agreement and lit up a cigarette. She shook her head, her views on his nasty habit were already known. 'That's a disgusting habit. Smoking's for jerks.'
'Let's not get into that. Politics, smoking and religion. That’s taboo.'
She shrugged and turned away to watch Trimmler.
'If they split, I want you to stay with her.'
'What makes you think they'll split?'
'He's restless. She's eating, he's playing with his food.'
She watched Trimmler. 'Maybe he doesn't like jambalaya.'
'We'll see.' As he spoke, Trimmler suddenly spoke to Trudi, then rose from the table and left the restaurant. He checked out Adam and Billie, but didn't acknowledge them.
'Here we go,' said Adam, turning away from Trimmler and pretending to eat his gumbo. When the scientist had left the room, Adam got up from the table and went to join the food queue. 'Stay there,' he said to Billie. 'Stay with her.'
Trudi looked towards them and then went back to her meal. Adam got lost in the queue and then, when he was shielded from Trudi, broke across the room and went out through what was the kitchen area.
'Hey, what're you doing here?' shouted one of the chefs.
'Sick,' returned Adam, holding his throat in a mock grip as if he was about to throw up. 'I need fresh air. I need…quick, I'm gonna…'
'Out'a that door,' yelled the chef, not at all bothered about his professional ability being under question. 'Get out'a here quick. Up the fucking stairs.'
Adam rushed out of the kitchen, stifling his grin as he went, and up the stairs onto the middle deck. It was empty. He moved up to the next level, the top deck, and looked round. There were a few people still looking over at the Mississippi, but no sign of Trimmler or the grey haired man. He descended to the middle deck and crossed slowly to the rear of the boat.
He saw the grey haired man cautiously limping his way towards the conference rooms. Adam slipped under the stairs and watched the Russian enter one of the rooms, waited until he heard the door close. Then he moved forward and looked in through the porthole.
The two men, Trimmler and the grey haired man gazed at each other, examining each other as friends would who had not seen each other for a long time.
'Heinrich,' he heard the grey haired man say.
'Albert. Albert. After all these…' Trimmler was overcome, tears filled his eyes.
Trimmler had instinctively spoken in German.
He saw the two men step forward and embrace. They held each other, thumped each other on the back, both started to laugh and enjoy this most joyous moment. After a while they stepped back and looked at each other again.
'I could say you hadn't changed,' said Trimmler. 'But I would be lying.'
'At least success hasn't gone to my stomach,' replied the other in German, prodding Trimmler's pot belly, making him squirm away. 'Apart from that, you look well. Western living, eh?'
'I can't believe…after all these years… Oh, Albert. After all these years.'
'Who would have thought? All that time ago…that we would meet here, on a boat in America. Now I know the war is really over.'
'Just as Grob Mitzer said it would be. Just as he always said.'
Adam re-joined Billie at the table.
'Well?' she asked.
'He met an old friend.'
'Who?'
'One of the Russians.'
'Really?'
'Really.'
'Why would he do that?'
Adam shrugged. 'That's up to Tucker to find out. We're here to guard and report back.'
'And you just do your job?'
'That's me.' Adam took out another cigarette and lit it. She shook her head in disgust. 'By the way, they spoke in German.'
'A Russian speaking German?'
'A German from Russia speaking German. Name's Albert. That's all I picked up.'
'Are you sure he's with the Russians?'
'He sure as hell isn't from Tennessee.'
One hour later, when the boat docked, Albert was the first off. He never looked back.
The Trimlers followed not far behind.
There was no indication that the two had ever met.
Ch. 33
It was to be an historic day.
The first new synagogue in modern times in the city of Hamburg was due to be opened at noon that day.
Rabbi Levi Shamiev and his wife, Juliet, went into the synagogue before dawn to continue their preparations and ensure that all would be ready for the opening ceremony.
Rabbi Shamiev, British by birth of German origin, was in his early thirties and had been rabbi in a Birmingham community when he was asked to head up the new Hamburg synagogue. There had been many synagogues in pre-War Germany, the largest in Berlin, the massive city synagogue on the Oranienburger Strasse, which was in the process of being restored. There had been some trouble during the restoration work, the usual daubing of swastikas and communist emblems. But the work had gone well and the Berlin synagogue was a faithful reconstruction of what had been.
The first thing Shamiev found was that there are few Jews in Germany; not many had returned to the country of their origin after the war. But with the coming of a single Europe some of the younger Jewish community had decided to try their fortunes in Germany, despite the natural fear that a reunified nation would release all the prejudices brought about by the holocaust.