"Well, shit, I guess your rank still has its privileges," Adler responded. "I'll take the northern route." Grant nodded his acknowledgment.
Adler took off first, crouching low as he ran toward the north side of the main house. When he reached the building he pressed his back against the wooden planks, holding the Uzi close, its muzzle pointed upward. He watched Grant running across the field and waited till he’d disappeared on the opposite side of the house.
Grant backed up as close as he could to the pile of firewood, inching closer to a single, shuttered window. He shot a quick glance around the property before peering into the window. Except for basic furnishings, the house appeared to be unoccupied. Still wary, he crept toward the front, seeing Adler poke his head cautiously around the corner.
Both men edged their way slowly toward the front door. Adler reached for the door handle. As he started to depress the latch with his thumb, he glanced at Grant, who nodded, giving him the go ahead. The latch offered no resistance; the door was unlocked. Adler entered first, stepping in at a forty-five degree angle, scanning the room, sweeping his Uzi side to side. Grant came in directly behind him, moving off to the left. After a brief search, they were satisfied the place was empty.
"Check the bedrooms," Grant motioned with his firearm. "See if you can find anything with a name on it. Lampson said the uncle's was 'Karl Verner.'" Adler nodded, checking the one bedroom on the first floor, then he cautiously climbed up the narrow wooden stairwell leading to the loft.
Grant lifted the oven door latch and opened the square iron door. Piles of cold ashes lay on the bottom. He reached for a poker, then sifted through the ashes but found nothing. He turned his attention to the cupboards and began opening and closing doors. In the last cupboard he spotted what looked like the corner of an envelope that had been pushed to the back of a shelf at eye level. He slid it toward him. "Joe!"
Adler came down the stairs, taking them two at a time. "Find something?"
“Bingo!” He handed the letter to Adler.
Adler read the name and address. “So, who do you think this 'Eberhard Weimar’ is? Wait a minute. Son of a bitch!" Adler blurted out. "If this guy owned the property, what the hell do you think they did with him?"
Grant shrugged his shoulders. "Anything's possible."
"Maybe Manfred was able to find out something more in town."
"Maybe. Look, you go scope out the cottage and look for any indication there might be a grave. I'll keep looking in here."
Fifteen minutes later, Adler came back. "Any luck?" Grant asked as he walked toward the door.
"Only these." Alder opened his hand, revealing a pair of white baby socks. "Found them under a dresser."
"That just proves they were here, but we don't know much more than when we walked through the door. Any sign of a grave?"
“Ground looks like it hasn’t been disturbed for a long time.”
Grant brushed past Adler. "Come on. Let's get the hell outta here and meet Manfred."
An old flatbed truck sped along the roadway, heading west. Stacks of wooden racks were piled as high as the truck's cab. Fragile blocks of pressed coal (briquettes) were packed tightly inside each two by three foot rack to prevent them from disintegrating if the truck encountered rough terrain. Stretched out like fallen statues in a concealed compartment beneath the bed of the truck, the two Americans felt as if they were in a coffin. Already prepared for any heavy gas fumes that would be invading the confined space, they had their oxygen masks in place.
The truck began to slow, the sound of the engine winding down as Manfred shifted gears. A sudden backfire jolted the two passengers. They automatically gripped the handles of their .45s on their chests. The vehicle came to a complete stop at the checkpoint. Voices could barely be distinguished above the din of the engine. One of the East German soldiers, part of the German Democratic Republic Border Command, checked Manfred's papers, while the other walked slowly around the truck. The stop and inspection was cursory on their part, since the old German had become a familiar subject to them. Balancing his AK47 against the truck, Private Stoltz hopped up onto the rear of the bed. He bent down and lifted one of the coal racks then yelled to Corporal Voigt, "Here! Take this!" The corporal slung his rifle over his shoulder, and reached up to take the rack, holding it high as another was placed on top.
Grant and Adler kept their breathing slow and steady, ready to react, until they felt the truck lurch forward and heard the gears grind.
As Manfred passed through the checkpoint, he broke out in a wide smile, stretching from ear to ear. Maybe tonight he had lost another two racks of coal, but they were certainly the most satisfying loss he'd experienced to date. He whistled a tune from his boyhood years, remembering days of freedom.
The truck made numerous sharp right- and left-hand turns, traveling at no more than 25 kph, eventually coming to a stop. Manfred parked the truck at the back of the factory where vehicles were being loaded. He opened the door, then slid off the seat, wincing when his feet landed on the hard pavement, the jolt sending a shooting pain up his leg. Taking a final look around, he tapped twice on the truck bed. A side door on the hidden compartment opened then hung from its hinges. Grant and Adler rolled out, and quickly made a dash into the shadows. Manfred, meanwhile, unloaded two coal racks, taking them one at a time into the factory office.
Once they were clear of the factory, Grant said, "See you at the flat." Adler gave a thumb's up then headed toward the eastern part of the city. Grant tugged on the baseball cap, then slung a burlap sack over his shoulder, his facemask and snorkel hidden inside. He opted not to take his large swim fins. It would be easier and faster without them when it came time to exit the water. His powerful legs would be more than adequate.
There was still a lot of traffic. Pedestrians crowded the sidewalks. Grant maneuvered through the crowds, finding his way through the city as if he were reading a map in his mind. He paused momentarily at a bridge overpass, glancing casually up and down the river, trying to visualize the blueprint. Then he proceeded to follow the river in a southeasterly direction. After nearly twenty more minutes of walking, traffic had thinned to practically nil. He hadn't passed another pedestrian for over a half mile. Along the route he noticed that most of the small shops were boarded up. Obviously, this wasn’t a popular place. Not far ahead of him, just beyond the shops, were two apartment buildings. Two to one that was the place. All he had to do was find that pipe and see if it led to the lab. Simple. Right!
For several blocks the entire area was void of lighting. He scoped out the riverfront, eyeing several tree limbs overhanging close to the water. He circled around and came in from the opposite side of the trees, staying in their shadows. With a final look around, he stripped off his outer clothes, removed the facemask and snorkel from the bag, then shoved his clothes into it. His black wetsuit allowed him to blend into the darkness even more. He looked overhead, then crammed the bag into a crook of the tree, ensuring it was wedged in tightly. It was time to hit the water. He got down on his belly and crawled toward the water, disappearing beneath the surface in an instant.
Staying close to the shoreline, he went down as deep in the river as he could, anticipating the pipe to be within fifty yards. Squinting through his mask, he pulled up suddenly, seeing the object of his search directly in his path. Still having plenty of air in his lungs, but not knowing how long his swim through the pipe would take, he slowly ascended, until his eyes cleared the surface. Seeing no one, he exhaled sharply, expelling a fine spray of water from the snorkel. Sucking in a fresh lungful of air, he disappeared beneath the surface again.