‘Well, he isn’t,’ said Breslow. He lifted the paper cup and drained the last dregs. The coffee was thin and tepid but the taste of the good German brandy was welcome. ‘He’s being very evasive.’
‘It was a good plan,’ said Kleiber. ‘We calculated that the failure of the bank would make them part with the documents within a few days You’d think they’d want to get some money as soon as they could. You’d think their bank would be the first priority… ’ Kleiber rubbed his face wearily. ‘Do you think Stein believed that story about the British trying to kill you on the freeway?’
‘I improvised it at short notice, Willi, and I was rather shaken by the accident… But, yes. I believe he did. My Mercedes was very badly damaged. It was only too easy to persuade him that it was deliberately done.’
‘It was lucky. It put Stein off the scent, and probably made him think the British were trying to kill you.’
‘Yes, I told him so.’
‘You did well Max. When did you last see him?’
‘Charles Stein? The day before yesterday. Why?’
‘The truth is… ’ began Kleiber. He yawned. It was a sign of anxiety as much as of loss of sleep. ‘The truth is that we’ve gone a little wrong in London. We’ve lost contact with the younger Stein.’
‘I’m certain he hasn’t returned here to Los Angeles.’
‘How can you be certain?’
‘Because he would be with my daughter Mary.’
‘Your daughter… Mary and the Stein boy?’
‘Better him,’ said Breslow, ‘than the Mexican gas station attendant who chased her everywhere last year. Finally I sent her to Europe for a month.’
‘The Stein boy has vanished,’ said Kleiber. ‘I had one of my very best men in charge of the London end. I can’t understand it; Stein left the hotel, paid his bill and took his baggage. And my people saw nothing of it.’
‘You think the British intelligence service is holding him?’
‘Yes. I do. I think they waited for Stein to go to the house, arrested him and are now interrogating him.’
‘What a mess,’ said Max Breslow. If anything happened to Billy Stein, his father might hold him responsible. Max Breslow was not of a nervous disposition, as his war record proved, but he knew that the wrath of Charles Stein would be terrible to behold. What if Stein took revenge upon Breslow’s daughter? He suppressed this terrifying idea. ‘What now?’
Kleiber stretched his arms and looked very smug. ‘We have had an amazing stroke of luck, Max.’ This, Breslow suspected, was the moment that Kleiber had been looking forward to. He was right. Kleiber said, ‘As I have just told you, we have a contact with the very top level of the British intelligence service-MI6 they call it-a good friend of mine is the liaison between London and our own BND in Bonn. They lunch together and talk of horticulture… ’ Kleiber smiled at Max Breslow’s puzzled expression. ‘It is their mutual passion: cactus plants. This passion has proved a most wonderful advantage for us, Max.’
‘And yet you don’t know if the British are holding Stein?’
Kleiber, did not miss the note of sarcasm in his friend’s question. He smiled. ‘I think we can safely assume that they have Billy Stein in custody, and that they have interrogated him very successfully.’ There was something in Kleiber’s face that told Breslow that this was his most important item of news, ‘What is our greatest problem, Max? Surely it is finding the whereabouts of the Hitler Minutes. Well, now we do know where they are. The British have discovered that the Hitler Minutes and all the rest of the documents are in the house of Colonel Pitman in Switzerland. We even know what sort of strong room protects them.’
‘It all fits together neatly,’ said Breslow. ‘They must have got this information from young Billy.’
‘The Englishman was carrying catalogues from Schiff, the well-known Swiss locksmiths, and he actually asked my old friend for some assistance in translating the German language. We know the make, the model and the year.’
‘You are not thinking of raiding the house?’ Breslow asked.
‘A burglar will not have enough time, or the sort of equipment, to open the door of a strong room such as this,’ replied Kleiber.
‘I beg you to reconsider, Willi,’ said Breslow. ‘A burglary is one thing, an armed raid is going too far. You can cut anything open with an oxyacetylene flame, or one of the new thermic lances. Get a really good safe-cracker and let him do the job in the way that professional thieves do it.’
‘Is this what you have learned from your movie scriptwriters?’ Willi Kleiber made a noise of disparagement. ‘You are years out of date, my friend. The oxyacetylene flames and the thermic lances generate too much heat. Thieves find cinders and ashes inside a safe they’ve cut open by those methods. I fit such safes for my clients, Max. I know what can be done to make a door impregnable. There is an inner cube of glass; heat it and a complex of bolts are sprung, and the door locks so solid that even the makers take two or three days to cut it open.’ Willi Kleiber chuckled and rubbed his hands. ‘I don’t even know where I could find a thermic lance expert these days-in retirement in the Italian sunshine perhaps. Safe-crackers are extinct, Max. They’ve been replaced by men who carry shotguns and automatic weapons and take a bank by assault.’
‘How terrible,’ said Max Breslow.
‘Terrible?’ said Kleiber. ‘Wonderful, you mean. How do you think I could have got my security company to its present turnover without the dedicated gunmen? The improvement in safes, which gave the armed bandits their chance, gave me my chance too, Max.’ He laughed.
‘Aren’t you worried in case Colonel Pitman’s safe is wired to alarm the local police station?’
‘Yes, I am, Max. That’s why I must not plan this project in the style of a thief. We have to get into the house and talk to Pitman. We have to convince him that it’s in his interest to open the safe.’
Max Breslow picked up his empty coffee cup in an automatic gesture of alarm and dismay. He knew exactly what methods Willi Kleiber would use to ‘convince’ Colonel Pitman to open the safe. He shuddered.
‘What’s the matter with you, Max?’
‘It was filthy coffee,’ said Breslow.
‘Come along, Max. It will be wonderful. It will be just like old times.’
‘You’re mad, Willi,’ said Breslow, but his voice lacked conviction. ‘You’ll get yourself killed.’
No comment could have been more encouraging to Kleiber. He swelled with pride. ‘I’m not afraid to die,’ he said. ‘We lost some good comrades in the war. It would not be so terrible to join them once again.’
Max Breslow was saddened by the answer but he smiled. It was as much a nervous reaction as anything.
‘Why are you smiling, Max? Have I said something funny?’
‘No, my friend. I am smiling because only last week I heard Stein express the same idea, in virtually the same words.’
‘You’ll have to be in Switzerland too, Max.’
‘There is so much to do here.’
‘This is more important than your film,’ said Kleiber. ‘I want you with me.’ From his pocket he got a recent newspaper cutting. It was a Washington newspaper; the headline said, ‘ US government allocates $2.3 million for Nazi-hunters.’ The piece continued, ‘After six years of lobbying, Congresswoman Elizabeth Holtzman of New York saw US Justice Department set up an Office of Special Investigation on Nazi war crimes.’ Breslow read it through and returned it folded to Kleiber.
‘You should have changed your name, Max,’ said Kleiber.
Max Breslow shook his head. ‘I didn’t want to meet old friends in Germany and have to explain why my US passport bore a different name.’ He sighed. ‘Surely someone else could go?’
‘Be ready to go early next week, Max. That’s an order from the Trust.’