–
“Surely you’re not leaving us, Max?”
Merten looked momentarily apologetic. “Yes, I’m sorry about that. But I was afraid you’d think me very foolish and cowardly if I told you exactly why I was running out on you like this.”
“Try me.”
“It’s what Goethe says, that’s all: Precaution is better than cure. When you mentioned Jaco Kapantzi’s murder in the car back there I realized that under Greek law I might easily be charged as an accessory before and after the fact. Because I was there, on the train, as you now know. And I did nothing to prevent Alo Brunner from shooting that poor devil. Not that there was anything I could have done, of course. He’d have killed me, too, if I’d interfered. When Alo’s blood is up, he’s a fucking Fury. By the time I knew he was going to do it, he’d done it, if you see what I mean. Yes, he always was a bit crazy that way. Quick with a gun, or to hand out a beating. So I’ve decided to take my chances and go it alone. Don’t think I’m not grateful to you for coming to fetch me off that island, Bernie. I am. There’s no telling what might happen if Alo ever does find me. The first time he showed up on the boat in Piraeus I thought he was going to shoot me then, only his appetite for a share of the gold held him back. But I don’t much like the idea of walking into a Greek police station with my pants down. Think about it. Just for a minute, if you will. If the Greek state prosecutor is prepared to charge a damned interpreter with war crimes, then what chance is there for a German army captain to whom that interpreter sometimes reported? What’s to stop Meissner from saying he was only obeying my orders? You see, Bernie, I remember Arthur Meissner very well. It was me who got him his houses in Athens and in Salonika. He’s guilty only of being a bit greedy. A bit of larceny. That’s not exactly a crime against humanity. Find me a Greek who hasn’t got his fucking hand in the till, then and now. But somehow I can’t see my evidence playing well in court. I can easily imagine myself in the dock instead of Meissner and I’m already thinking your cop’s idea of protection might amount to the same kind as once practiced by the Gestapo. A night in the cells that turns into something altogether more permanent. By the way, have you seen Greek prisons? They’re almost as bad as the fucking hotels. The Grande Bretagne excepted, but then that’s virtually the Adlon. No, it was a nice idea, Bernie, but I’m afraid it simply wouldn’t work. They’d make jam out of me.”
“All right, Max. It’s your funeral.”
“Don’t worry about me, I can look after myself. I speak pretty good Greek. And I’ve more than enough money to get home to Ithaca. We’ll see each other back in Munich, perhaps. I’ll buy you a dinner at the Hofbräuhaus and we’ll have a good laugh about this one day.”
“Maybe.”
“Sure we will. If you’re good I’ll even let you stroke the golden fleece.”
“Just out of interest, why did you call Elli a bitch?”
“For the simple reason that she is a bitch. At least as far as I’m concerned. You’re too blind with love to see it. Haven’t you noticed the way she looks at me? It’s very different from the way she looks at you, my friend. Very different. She despises me.”
“What did you expect? It’s not like you planned to build a Greek orphanage with that gold. You and Brunner stole it for yourselves. And bitch or not, you should be glad she came, Max. Without her I’m not sure my arm would have permitted me to drive down here to save your neck.”
“What a romantic fool you are, Bernie. They may have different faces, but all women are the same. I thought you’d understand that by now. For your sake, I hope she’s worth it.”
Ignoring him, I took the ticket for the Orient Express out of my pocket, still hoping that I could get him back in the car with friendly persuasion—that my giving him his ticket might convince him that I was on the level.
“I suppose you’ll be wanting this back.”
“Keep it. You use it. Now that I’ve thought about it some more, Istanbul might not be such a good idea for me. Italy probably suits me better. I can get a ferry to Brindisi from Corinth and then a train to Bari, where I know another good scuba diver. Fellow from the Decima Flottiglia MAS, who trained Siegfried Witzel as a matter of fact. Of course, he’s Italian, not German. But nobody’s perfect.”
I believed very little of this; it was clear that Merten didn’t trust me. I could see that in his eyes. And now that I looked at them more closely I could see that they resembled two old snails on the glass of a very green aquarium. Slow and slimy and inhuman. Not that I blamed him for not trusting me; anyone who’d double-crossed as many friends as Max Merten must have had a good nose for when he was about to be double-crossed himself. And if he was telling me he was bound for Brindisi and Bari then it was probably more likely he was going to try for the Orient Express after all. For a moment we stood there watching as Elli drove the car slowly toward us, smiling sheepishly at each other like two old friends now struck dumb by the uncomfortable realization that they weren’t friends at all, not anymore and probably never had been.
Which meant there was no longer any reason not to pull the gun out of my sling and shove the business end up against the fat covering his ribs. Merten regarded the gun as if it had been ink on his shirt.
“Is that my gun? It certainly looks like it.”
“Get in the car,” I said. Ignoring the pain in my arm, I opened the rear door of the Rover, shoved Merten onto the backseat, threw his valise after him, and jumped in alongside them both. As soon as the car door was closed, Elli hit the accelerator. The Rover twisted a little on the gravel before gaining grip and then speed. Merten sat up, sighed loudly, and stared at the gun and then at me with something like pity, as if I was a tiresome schoolboy.
“I was wondering when you’d reveal your true hand, Bernie,” he said. “And there it is. Holding a Bismarck on me. It’s very disappointing.”
“That’s good, coming from you,” I said. “I wonder if your left hand even knows what the right is doing sometimes.”
“Well, then, we have something in common, you and I. Double-crossers both. What’s the plan? Deliver me up to the Greek police and get your passport back?”
“Something like that.”
“Jesus Christ, you’re selling yourself a bit short, aren’t you? Just listen to yourself. A passport. If you’d thrown in with me you’d have been as rich as Croesus. Still could be, if you’d only listen to sense.”
“Your wealth comes at the kind of price I can’t afford to pay.”
“‘Thus conscience does make cowards of us all.’”
“You excepted, it would seem, Max.”
Merten snorted with contempt. “When did you start working for the war crimes office? Anyone would think you were a Jew yourself the way you keep mentioning them. Don’t be so gloomy, Bernie. For a German you’re very mixed up about all this. What do you care about the Greeks, or the Jews? Let them look after themselves. Me, I’m looking out for number one. Which reminds me, would you mind not pointing that thing at me? Greek roads aren’t the best. If your lady friend hits a pothole, you might shoot me, accidentally.”
“And if I did, you’d probably deserve it.”
“What would happen to your passport then?”
Merten took out his foul Egyptian cigarettes and lit one, before adopting a very serious expression.
“Listen to me carefully, Bernie,” he said gravely. “This foolishness can only end badly for us both. I can assure you that whatever moral high ground you think you’re standing on here is nothing but quicksand. I’m warning you, as an old friend. The way you once warned me, back in ’39. Let me go right now or you’ll regret it. And very much sooner than you think.”
“You seem to forget that I’m holding the gun, Max.”
“And you’re forgetting where you are. In the electric chair. With my hand on the switch. I can burn you to a stinking crisp in less than a minute, my friend.”
“I don’t know what you think you’ve got on me, Max, but you’re bluffing. Those Jews from Salonika deserve some justice and I’m going to make sure that they get it.”
“Justice? Don’t make me laugh. Do you honestly think that the lives of sixty thousand Jews can be paid for so easily? Really, Bernie, you amaze me. Not just a romantic but an idealist, too. You’re full of surprises today. There’s no human justice that could ever be enough for what happened to those poor devils. And certainly none that could be got from my own humble person. So what you’re proposing is absurd. Besides, I had absolutely nothing to do with their deaths. I was just a paper pusher. A bureaucrat.”
“But you were prepared to profit from it.”
“I certainly didn’t hear the dead objecting to what I did. And they’ve certainly not troubled my conscience since. I told you. I can’t afford to have one. No, it’s Eichmann and Brunner who deserve to be on trial. Not me. I was just a humble army captain. Not even a footnote in history.”
“Perhaps. But you’ll have to do for now.”
“What a prig you are. What a prig and what a fool.” Merten puffed his cigarette coolly, as if he didn’t have a care in the world. “Be sensible. Last chance. Let me go, Bernie. You’ll regret it if you don’t.”
“Just shut up and smoke your cigarette.”
“I tell you what I’m going to do,” he said calmly. “I’m going to smoke this cigarette to the end. And then, when it’s finished, if you haven’t stopped this car and let me go on my own merry way, you’ll be finished, too. You have my word on that.”