The lake shimmered in the morning sun like a cloak made of rose gold thread. Somewhere in the distance, a truck rattled by, and the sound of children’s laughter broke the tranquil peace of the lapping water. Bill peered through the binoculars at the house. The lake-side property sat nestled in the raised, grassy bank. It was surrounded by birch trees that dotted in and around a large lawned area that led down to the water’s edge. From there, long, spindly wooden jetties jutted out into the rippling surface of lake Wannsee, where small sailing boats bobbed gently in the slight swell.
“Is this the right place then?” Ronnie said, still on his back, his hat perched over his face.
“Well, it matches the description and location. It looks to me like Albie was spot on. It’s a serious house.”
“Mr Klein Senior obviously did well out of books.”
“Among a lot of other things.”
Bill continued to peer through the binoculars, pausing briefly to watch two young girls holding hands and paddling at the edge of the lake just to the side of them. The youngest of the two, who was perhaps twenty, smiled at Bill when she noticed him, and he smiled and nodded back, then resumed the stakeout.
Bill sighed and placed the binoculars gently onto the grass and pulled out his pipe. The weather had quite suddenly turned unseasonably mild. The light drizzle of the previous day had been some kind of signal to Mother Nature to turn up the thermostat. It was still chilly in the shade, but the clear sky and the warmth of the sun were a welcome relief from the cold front that had been hammering in from the east.
As he sipped on his pipe and cupped the warm briar bowl, a small sailing dingy came skipping along close to the coastline, sending out a little triangular wake behind as it went. The two girls giggled as the spotty youth waved at them from his little vessel. They then embraced each other in a kiss as if to taunt him. The young man almost capsized the boat in excitement, leaning back and fighting the tiller as the boom swung by his head.
Bill chuckled to himself and then picked up the binoculars to check again on the house.
“Anything happening?” asked Ronnie, now sounding half-asleep.
“Plenty, but nothing at the house.”
The small mansion had an orange roof, with a large gable-ended dormer protruding from the centre. The central glass back door again had two smaller counterparts leading onto an outside patio area. The whole place looked like someone had placed a mirror down the centre. The obsession for accuracy and precision was so typically German. Bill hated it.
“Where’s Jack today?”
“He has a prior engagement.”
Jack was spending as much time as possible with Apolonia. His friendship with Fabian was also concerning to Bill. It seemed beyond usual networking. Perhaps it was their shared language. There wasn’t much Polish spoken in Berlin, so maybe it was simple as that? Bill had kept back the description of the car he’d seen on the night of Irene’s murder, though. Who had been the passenger that night? Anna had placed Jack with Fabian on the night in question. Jack was even seen leaving a short time before … before. Bill couldn’t make himself consider it. He shook the thought, and the image. The image that seemed seared onto his retinas.
Returning his gaze to the real world, the two girls slowly sauntered off along the coastline in the direction of the beach and lido to the north. Both had their arm around the other, hands resting on hips. Both girls were carrying their shoes and chatting. Young love. A small glimpse of carefree happiness, Bill thought. He smiled as he imagined how much the Nazis would hate to know that this soon after the war, the city was moving on, eager to forget their tyranny. Leaving the dark shadow of both oppression and war behind them. The next generations, he hoped, might just be a little more accepting than the last.
He took another peek at the mansion. “They’re leaving,” he said, nudging Ronnie, as he stood up and placed his hat back on his head.
The Officers Boat Club on Koenigstrasse was beginning to get busy. Numerous large German and American motorcars decorated the parking area at perfect angles like the lions in Trafalgar square. Ronnie stopped and admired a particular Ford with high-shined navy-blue paint and a ridiculous chrome bumper.
“I heard about these, but it’s the first one I’ve seen.”
“What? A blue Ford? They are all over the city. You want to keep your eyes open more.”
“Not like this,” he said, heading around the back for a 360-degree view. “It’s one of those new Super Deluxes. Only came out last year.”
“Looks exactly the same to me,” Bill replied, gesturing at a nearby matt army-green Ford, complete with white star ID marking, “except it’s got a stupid-looking giant chrome grille on it.”
“You are such a philistine. For a man so in love with American hardware, I can’t believe you don’t recognise beauty when you see it.”
“Does nothing for me.” Bill shrugged. “Let’s get on.”
Ronnie nodded a final act of appreciation, then circled back around the car and rejoined Bill, who had walked away without him.
“Anything?” Bill asked him, as he drew level.
“No one. The man with the limp has disappeared again. I don’t think he was following us after all. Just a coincidence.”
“Do you believe in coincidences?”
Ronnie didn’t bother to reply as they arrived at the main door. There was no security there at all, as promised. They could see through the doors and out the other side, where all the various attendees were busying themselves with ropes and various other boating equipment. Bill had no idea what any of it was called, how it was used or, indeed, where it went.
“How are your sea legs?” came a voice behind them.
Ronnie spun on his heels and blurted, “Where the hell did you appear from?”
“I’m a master in the art of surprise. It must be the Cheyenne in me.”
“Ronnie, this is Deschamps. Deschamps, this is our friend, Ronnie.” The two men shook hands.
Ronnie peered at Deschamps carefully. “When you said he looked like Orsen Welles, I thought you were pulling my leg.”
“So, are you ready for this little expedition?” Bill asked.
Deschamps grinned at Ronnie’s wonder and then turned to Bill and replied, “All set, they’ve gone. I’ve been watching the house already.”
“You’re sure there’s no chance of American or police patrols?”
“They are all too busy preparing for the big handover. US Command is finally releasing its grip on Germany to the new European command structure. The Berlin office is coming under a lot of scrutiny. It’s carnage over there with all the paperwork they have lost since the war.”
“I thought you said we only have three hours.”
“We do, let’s save the pleasantries for afterwards,” Bill replied.
Deschamps glanced nervously around, then said, “I’ll head back and make my way around to watch the house from the front. If there is any danger, I’ll blow the horn and then try to distract, to give you enough time to get out. Head north up the lake’s edge and I’ll collect you later.”
“Why don’t we just threaten to shoot the old bastards and make them open it?” said Ronnie, bluntly.
“Always the subtle approach with you, isn’t it?” Bill shook his head as they headed into the open rear door.
The large room was lavishly decorated with all manner of dead things. Taxidermy animal head trophies adorned every wall and stared at them in a kind of lifeless panic. Bill wondered if they were more worried about the intrusion into the property or just the mere fact they were dead.
The largest wall was covered in photographs of Mr Klein Senior posing with various people at glamorous events. Bill had a quick look but didn’t recognise anyone. A few of the photographs were just landscape images taken around locations of the lake outside. One was even of the house from approximately where they had been observing a short while earlier.
The house was tidy, and the floors were immaculately swept. The wooden parquet flooring led them through to an immense entranceway. The hall was decorated with drinking horns, a couple of mounted shotguns and a large, ten-foot long, flintlock punt gun.
The grand sturdy oak door contained stained-glass panels, through which Deschamp’s black car was just visible. The mottled panels either side of the door were made up by an ornated patchwork of lead. The obscured privacy glass flooded the hallway with light, helped by the triangular glass panels in the vaulted elevation. The whole room had the feel of a miniature cathedral.
They knew where they were heading as they climbed the stairs, entered the master bedroom and approached the giant wardrobe.
“We aren’t going to get disturbed by the charlady or anything, are we?” asked Ronnie, having opened the doors of the wardrobe.
The giant green box within had a large golden brass cast crest featuring a British coat of arms, with the lettering proudly declaring it to be a Milners 212 thief-resisting safe.
“No, the Kleins insist on having all the help accompany them to church every Sunday. They won’t be home until thirteen hundred hours.”
Bill leaned in for a closer look, as Ronnie clanked down his canvas bag and started to rummage through it, extracting various tools.
“Did I get any change?” he asked.
“This stuff is expensive and hard to get in Berlin in only a few days.”
“I guess that’s a no then. How long will it take you to open it?”
“There are probably only a handful of people in this city that could open that safe. Most safe breakers would have that open in around three hours.”
“That’s going to cut it too tight.”
“But I’m not most safe breakers,” Ronnie proudly proclaimed. “I should have it open in two.”
“You are wasted as a doorman at the Castle Club, Ronnie,” said Bill, peering out onto the empty street below through the large window.