The Lucy Ghosts

'He's frightened. For himself.'

'The Lucy Ghosts. That was the dream. The way back.'

'Frick isn't interested. If we come back, we do it on our own.'

'Bastards.'

'It's a new order, Heinrich. Maybe we waited too long and now we're paying the price. We should've gone home before, in the early days when Germany was recovering from the war.'

'They wouldn't have let us.'

'We should have tried.'

'I don't care. I still want to go home.'

'So do I, Heinrich. So do I.'

'Then let's do it.'

'If they use our past against us, which they well might, then the Israelis and others could come and hunt us down. Do you want to stand in a glass box like Eichmann?'

'He was a murderer. We're scientists.'

'To them, there's no difference.'

Trimmler thought for a while before answering. 'If we're on our own, then we need to go home and see for ourselves. Talk to Grob, talk to Frick. Face to face. Damn it, Albert, I want to be home. Did you ever go back to Peenemünde, or to Nordhausen?'

'Once. To Peenemünde. It's all still there. The buildings, even the rocket ramps. Rotten and rusty but still there.'

'I would love to see it. Look, when this conference is over, let's meet there. I have some time off. I will go to Germany. To Nordhausen first.'

'I don't have your western freedom yet.'

'Don't tell me you can't go back to Russia through Germany. In these days?'

'And if I could?'

'Meet me there. In Nordhausen. Near the Metelwerk. At the Kurhotel.'

'It's not that easy.'

'In…' Trimmler thought for a while. '…seven days' time. The conference is over in three days, then we'll have enough time to settle our affairs and meet there.'

'I don't know. What about Grob?'

'What about him. We'll ring and tell him to meet us there. If he wants to. Damn it, he's already in Germany. We're the ones who are on the outside. Albert! Let's stop talking and wishing about what we're going to do. Let's do it. Damn it, if we don't do it now…'

'All right. Let's see. We'll decide tomorrow.'

'In seven days. That's where I'll wait for you.'

'We'll see.'

The two men drowned their sorrows together, the schnapps bottle rapidly emptying.

'Frick and the others,' said Trimmler. 'We made it possible and he wants to discard us.'

'That's the way of the world, my friend.'

'No. It's wrong. It was never planned this way. It was for our return. The money, everything. It's wrong and it must be righted.'

* * *

Trimmler left Room 1589 half an hour later. He was unsteady on his feet and this time he took the lift to the eighteenth floor.

He never saw Adam come out of room 1591, slip silently from the empty bedroom which he had broken into so that he could overhear the conversation between the two men.

Fifteen minutes later Tucker had contacted the DDA at his Georgetown home and relayed a full report to his superior.

Twenty minutes after that, Nowak's bleeper went off with a message to ring the DDA.

'Where the hell are you at this time of the morning?' asked the DDA. 'I tried your house and the office.'

'In a poker game. With some friends. I was just about to leave.' replied Nowak.

'Okay. Don't respond. But I want you to get out of there when I've finished and pass this on to our friends. Understood?'

'Understood.' Nowak knew he meant the Russians. He listened attentively while the DDA went through Tucker's report of the two scientists' conversation. When he had finished Nowak said, 'I'll pass that on right away.'

After he hung up, he leant back on the hotel sofa and ran his hand over his penis, stretching it as he did so. He was almost naked, apart from his socks, one shoe and his shirt.

'Two jacks,' said Sorge, holding up his cards. He,too, was in a state of undress.

Mary Monicker giggled and threw her cards on the table. 'A pair of deuces,' she said as she stood up and started to take her bra off.

'Hey, you ain't see my hand,' yelled Nowak.

'The only place I want to see your hand is up my fanny.'

The men laughed.

'That was the Company. They want me to contact you.' Nowak told Sorge. 'Things have moved on.'

'Can it wait?' asked Sorge.

'Of course. When this game's over.'

'Good. What was your hand, anyway?'

Nowak stopped stroking himself and picked up the cards beside him. He turned them over and threw them, face up, on the table.

'Three kings. You win,' said Sorge.

'No. In this game, everyone wins.'

Ch. 41

Frankfurter Daily News offices

Frankfurt

Germany.

The news editor was winding up his morning conference when the call came in.

'Mickler's on the line,' said his secretary, buzzing through on the intercom. 'Another terrorist attack. Bomb's gone off at the Gravenbruch Kempinski in Neu Isenburg.'

'Shit!' swore the news editor, picking up the receiver. 'Put him through.' He cupped the phone in his hand and spoke to the others in the room. 'Put everything on hold. And be ready to change all the pages.' He uncupped the receiver and barked into it. 'What's going on there?'

'There's been a big explosion in Neu Isenburg. Extra fire engines are being called out from the city centre, so it must be big. My contact there rang me and told me that he believed it was a bomb. Also something about Stars of David and other slogans being painted on the walls.'

'Where are you now?'

'In the car. On my way.'

'Photographer?'

'With me.'

'How long before you get there?'

'Twenty minutes. I was lucky. We were on our way to a police briefing when I got…'

'Call back as soon as you're there. And then keep me updated as you go along.'

'Okay.'

But the news editor had already slammed the phone down and was on his way out of the office to see the editor.

'Could be a bomb,' he said to his subordinates as he left the room. 'Put a back up team on with Mickler. And leave one communications line open exclusively for him. Otherwise just chase everything else we discussed this morning.'

The editor was in a meeting with a local politician when his secretary rang through and said the news editor needed to see him urgently. He put down the phone, excused himself and came into the ante-room. He was a big man, more fat than muscle, a roly-poly shaped man with large waddling hips on short legs. He hadn't been a great journalist, an even worse editor, but he did as his proprietor told him. He was, as most people said, a tenacious arse crawler who used his editorship shamelessly to his own ends.

'Sorry to pull you out,' said the news editor.

'I'm glad you did. He's driving me crazy. Politicians, all they ever do is moan.' He enjoyed that, flexing his power in front of his subordinates.

'We think a bomb's gone off in Neu Isenburg. Swastikas painted on walls.'

'Hamburg all over again.'

'Possibly. We're getting feedback on some East Germans who want to see a communist state again. Apparently they've picked up a lot of support from others, including the Red Brigade.'

'Any neo Nazi activity?'

'No. Apart from the usual nuts.'

It’s probably the communists?'

'Could be. I’ve got Mickler on his way. We’ll get a clearer picture by the time he gets there.'

'Okay. Try and get something from the New Forum and the other radical groups. Run with them trying to divide a unified Germany. Put that in the leader. I'll do it myself.' The Editor paused. 'Damn. I've got this politician here.'

'I'll arrange it, sir.' The news editor was used to the buck being passed. 'I'll get Korda on to it.' He mentioned the senior leader writer. Korda was a safe bet; he always followed the proprietor's line. 'We've plenty on these terrorist groups. What about the Nazi factions?'