“I see,” Reiss said.
“Now, we may pick up this fellow,” Kreuz vom Meere continued. “If we do, we’ll naturally send him back to the Reich aboard the next Lufthansa plane. However, the Japs or Sacramento may protest and try to block it. They’ll protest to you, if they do. In fact, they may bring enormous pressure to bear. And they’ll run a truckload of those Tokkoka toughs to the airport.”
“You can’t keep them from finding out?”
“Too late. He’s on his way to this appointment. We may have to pick him up right there on the spot. Run in, grab him, run out.”
“I don’t like that,” Reiss said. “Suppose his appointment is with some extremely high-place Jap officials? There may be an Emperor’s personal representative in San Francisco, right now. I heard a rumor the other day—”
Kreuz vom Meere interrupted. “It doesn’t matter. He’s a German national. Subject to Reichs law.”
And we know what Reichs law is, Reiss thought.
“I have a Kommando squad ready,” Kreuz vom Meere went on. “Five good men.” He chuckled. “They look like violinists. Nice ascetic faces. Soulful. Maybe like divinity students. They’ll get in. The Japs’ll think they’re a string quartet—”
“Quintet,” Reiss said.
“Yes. They’ll walk right up to the door—they’re dressed just right.” He surveyed the consul. “Pretty much as you are.”
Thank you, Reiss thought.
“Right in plain sight. Broad daylight. Up to this Wegener. Gather around him. Appear to be conferring. Message of importance.” Kreuz vom Meere droned on, while the consul began opening his mail. “No violence. Just, ‘Herr Wegener. Come with us, please. You understand.’ And between the vertebrae of his spine a little shaft. Pump. Upper ganglia paralyzed.”
Reiss nodded.
“Are you listening?”
“Ganz bestimmt.”
“Then out again. To the car. Back to my office. Japs make a lot of racket. But polite to the last.” Kreuz vom Meere lumbered from the desk to pantomime a Japanese bowing.
“ ‘Most vulgar to deceive us, Herr Kruez vom Meere. However, good-bye, Herr Wegener—’ “
“Baynes,” Reiss said. “Isn’t he using his cover name?”
“Baynes. ‘So sorry to see you go. Plenty more talk maybe next time.’ “ The phone on Reiss’ desk rang, and Kreuz vom Meere ceased his prank. “That may be for me.” He started to answer it; but Reiss stepped to it and took it himself.
“Reiss, here.”
An unfamiliar voice said, “Consul, this is the Ausland Fernsprechamt at Nova Scotia. Transatlantic telephone call for you from Berlin, urgent.”
“All right,” Reiss said.
“Just a moment, Consul.” Faint static, crackles. Then another voice, a woman operator. “Kanzlei.”
“Yes, this is Ausland Fernsprechamt at Nova Scotia. Call for the Reichs Consul H. Reiss, San Francisco; I have the consul on the line.”
“Hold on.” A long pause, during which Reiss continued, with one hand, to inspect his mail. Kreuz vom Meere watched slackly. “Herr Konsul, sorry to take your time.” A man’s voice. The blood in Reiss’ veins instantly stopped its motion. Baritone, cultivated, rolling-out-smooth voice familiar to Reiss. “This is Doktor Goebbels.”
“Yes, Kanzler.” Across from Reiss, Kreuz vom Meere slowly showed a smile. The slack jaw ceased to hang.
“General Heydrich has just asked me to call you. There is an agent of the Abwehr there in San Francisco. His name is Rudolf Wegener. You are to cooperate fully with the police regarding him. There isn’t time to give you details. Simply put your office at their disposal. Ich danke Ihnen sehr dabei.”