STAG WALKED THE few blocks to where he’d parked his rental car, making sure he was not followed in the darkness of pre-dawn.
Then he climbed into the buttery leather seat of the Porsche. It was a five-hour drive to Königssee through the beautiful Alps, and he saw no reason not to enjoy every bit of it.
The sun just lightened the mountains as he drove east into the Alps. The ice and snow had been scrupulously removed from the roadways—nothing like that German engineering, he thought to himself ironically, putting the roadster on cruise control.
The lowering sun cast deep teal shadows across the waters of the Königssee. Above, the mountains were tipped in red-gold. Buds had begun to explode on the beech trees. Evergreens deepened the blue shadows into black. A boating party was out on the lake. The electric motor was drowned by the tinkle of music. It went past, finally hushed by the creeping darkness.
One thing struck Stag as he stood on the shore. Sometimes a writer has to put all his research aside and just experience what he’s writing about. Just go there. Smell the smells, see the sights. This was the perfect example. The Königssee, indescribably beautiful, was also the clearest body of water he’d ever seen. It wasn’t just clear, it was fucking crystal clear all the way down to its cold, clear, magnified bottom.
There was no way a truck had fallen into this lake that everybody didn’t already know about. And if they knew about it, it had certainly been explored thoroughly. There was no secret Nazi treasure in the bottom of the Königssee. It was a dead end. There was nothing else to do but get ready to fly to Singapore.
Troost got on the phone to Interpol’s Operations and Command Center in Washington, DC.
“I’ll need the Wisconsin authorities to issue a warrant for Hyortur Maguire.” He paused and listened. “The reason?” Troost looked at the poster of the beach mocking him. He sighed. It certainly wasn’t getting any closer. “Fugitive wanted for questioning in the death of Harold Gerde.” He looked down at his notes.
He ended the call with a nod. Looking up, he saw Special Agent Jones.
“We’ve lost him again.”
Troost couldn’t hide his annoyance. “The man has so many people following him, we’re bumping up against the crowd at his elbow. How the hell can we lose him?”
“He has another set of IDs. Has to have.”
“Obviously,” Troost said, his voice enough to freeze-dry. “Why don’t we know who they are?”
“We’re on it. But without being able to question Aradi—”
“Fuck Aradi and her little spook operation. I want you to do your job, not depend on others.”
Jones nodded. “Of course. But you can imagine it’s hard to toss his room without a warrant.”
“We are Interpol. We do not search rooms without a warrant. That would be illegal.”
“I understand.”
Troost stared. “I wonder if you do.”
I went for a walk today. The Nazi banners flying along the Ku’damm snapped, their color in sharp contrast to the pale blue sky overhead. I could do nothing but marvel at them. The Nazi red is a most beautiful red. It is not at all the blood red one would think, but an optimistic carmine with the slightest hint of orange. One can’t help but be impressed to walk down a street alive with these glowing red banners. And you cannot flee the swastika. A little boy ran in front of me on the sidewalk, bouncing his rubber ball; again, the hakenkreuz printed on it. The clerk at the KaDeWe jangled as she wrapped my package. I admired her charm bracelet, full of little Nazi flags from all her Strength Through Joy travels. She proudly showed me all the lovely swastikas on her bracelet from Frankfurt A.M. to Dortmund. How mighty the Thousand-Year-Reich will seem to be from all the swastika-laden debris that will be left behind.
And left behind it shall be, for I went to the art store today with my little slip of silk. I told my contacts how they are baling the hair shorn from the victims in the east. You, of course, laughed when you told me about these bales. You then bragged about your German efficiency. The hair will provide superior soundproofing for our submarines, you told me—your U-boat. The hair would be appropriately used to bring about the end to the enemies of the Reich.
I reply like the smart Aryan I am.
At last, the Jews shall merit some worth! I say, laughing.