At noon the following day the Bonanza tied up at the Kuiseb wharf in Walvis Bay. The east wind was blowing hot and strong, sand flying off the dunes in furls and curls blowing down the streets and banking up in the gutters, sand peppering the trawlers.
It was a very subdued skeleton crew who disembarked. Nathan was ‘pissed-off about my twenty grand’, Tucker was worried sick about the company’s overdraft, about Nathan’s twenty grand and about what Rosie was going to say about his pay-cheque, and McQuade was tensed up about what he was committing himself to now. Even Elsie, the only one who knew the identity of the man McQuade was going to search for, thought it would be a further waste of time and money. McQuade still had the taste and stink of death in his mouth. And what was he going to do about Sarah? Everything was fucked up. He’d thought he’d return as a conquering hero, loaded with loot, with nothing but fun, fun, ahead with Sarah – at the very least he had promised to take her to Ai-Ais and Lüderitz – and now he had to tell her it was all off.
The only good news was that the Kid was fit to return to work. McQuade got rid of Nathan by telling Tucker to take him to the airport, sent Potgieter off to round up the Coloured crew, and drove Elsie to the municipal market to re-victual the ship. He wrote out the company cheque, looked at the balance and thought, God, this better pay off. He drove on to his house. It was stuffy and hot, but he could not open any windows because of the east wind. He checked the answering-machine. There was a message from Sarah, yesterday:
‘Hi, I’m calling from Windhoek, I’ll be back in Swakopmund tomorrow evening, staying at the Europahof Hotel, eagerly hoping for your timeous return. Bye-ee.’
He gave a sigh. What the hell was he going to tell her? He went out to Jakob’s quarters. The servants’ room door was ajar, letting sand blow in. Jakob lay on the bed, snoring loudly; McQuade did not wake him. He returned to the house, got a beer, went into his study, and pulled his notes out of his holdall.
He re-read them, then took out a clean sheet of paper and began the sobering business of figuring out how to trace a Nazi war-criminal who landed here forty years ago.
Where did he start? Looking amongst the German community here? Finding out who were Nazis in 1945? Who were still Nazis today? He felt daunted. Was there even any loot on that submarine?
No, he was sure that submarine had been carrying more than the world’s most-wanted war-criminal. The man had been on his way to the friendly shores of South West Africa, and the loot on that submarine was not just one small package but the Nazi Party’s hoard to recreate the Third Reich.
McQuade stared into the middle distance and re-examined the new facts.
That submarine had gone aground because it was hanging around waiting to rendezvous with a local boat that was going to take SS General Heinrich Muller on board. That meant that there had been an organized conspiracy, set up from Berlin, to arrange the boat, the time and place of the rendezvous, and it was not just to save Heinrich Muller’s skin. Because the conspiracy was to murder everybody on the submarine so that nobody would be alive to talk and blow the plan for the Fourth Reich! Finding those terrible skeletons yesterday, made that irresistibly clear. Why else would the Germans on the rendezvous boat be prepared to see Muller murder the whole German crew of the submarine?
McQuade dragged his hands down his face at the memory of those ghastly skeletons. But he was glad he had seen them because they proved he had come upon a massive and terrible conspiracy. It all fitted: the Strasbourg Conference where the Nazi industrialists had laid economic plans for the Fourth Reich, the Great Nazi Art Robbery, even Hitler’s last testament … Here we have Nazi Germany’s top policeman sailing to South West Africa, and when he’s shipwrecked, he murders everybody according to plan – because no unauthorized person must know about a plan so important.
Okay, of that McQuade was certain, and it was a fact so massive, so awesome in its significance, that alone it was worth all the expense and risk so far. Against that fact the loot faded to secondary importance.
He dragged his mind back to practicalities. So? So the submarine gets wrecked and Muller tries to murder everybody and makes his escape. He eventually arrives in Swakopmund. He had English money, and probably diamonds or gold. He would probably have sold some to get quick cash. Maybe he opened a bank account?
If so, he would surely have done so in the name of Strauss, the name he had given the dentist, the identity that had been prepared for him in Berlin, and maybe he had stuck to that bank ever since.
Bought a car in that name, for example.
Or bought a railway ticket.
Bought or rented a house in that name.
So, Step One would be to find out which banks were operating in Swakopmund in 1945, then find a way to look at their records.
McQuade didn’t want to incur more legal fees, but he had better consult Roger Wentland. He reached for the telephone.
‘Sorry to trouble you, Roger, but is there any legal way I could get at bank records for the year 1945 and find out if a certain person opened an account?’
There was a surprised pause. Then Roger said, ‘Bank records are confidential. The only legal way would be through the police in their investigation of a crime, or if you were suing somebody and you needed the evidence contained in their bank records. What’s this all about?’
‘Is there any illegal way?’
‘Illegal? Plenty. Ask any good burglar.’
‘I mean, do you know anybody in the banking system who could help me?’
‘No bank employee would do that unless he was a crook.’ He added facetiously, ‘You could seduce one of their aged spinsters.’
‘Tell me, would the railways still have records of who travelled in 1945?’
‘Funny questions. I doubt it. Ask the Station Master.’
‘Okay. Now, when you buy a vehicle, it’s registered in your name in some government office, right? Where was that office in 1945?’
‘The Vehicle Registration Office. It was probably attached to the Magistrate’s Court in those days. Along with the registration of births, deaths, marriages, and so on.’
‘And would the Magistrate’s office here still have the records for 1945?’
‘They’re probably in the archives in Windhoek.’
‘Okay. Now, what’s the situation with the Passport Office? Can an ordinary person like me go in and find out if a certain person has ever been issued with a passport?’
‘No, those are confidential government records, like income tax. It could only be done for some official purpose. Who is this person you’re so interested in?’
McQuade sighed. ‘We’d better meet. How about a beer at the Europahof when you finish work? I’m meeting somebody else there later.’ He added: ‘What do you think of this 435 business, by the way? Just a diplomatic tactic?’
‘Personally,’ Roger said, ‘I think the South African government means business this time.’
McQuade’s heart sank. ‘But the Cubans won’t withdraw!’ he protested. ‘That’s South Africa’s big condition!’
‘Sure,’ Roger said, ‘but it’s a whole new ball-game now – now they’ve got to talk and argue again and that re-opens possibilities for a peace deal.’
‘But Cuba wants to stay on to fight UNITA!’
‘I know, I know,’ Roger said, ‘so 435 is a good way off, don’t panic about your fishing licence yet.’
He left a message at the reception desk for Sarah. He sat with Roger in the lounge, where he could see the lobby. He had brought his file of notes with him, in case he needed to refer to them.
‘I’ve found that submarine. And I’ve found evidence of mass murder.’
Roger’s eyes widened. McQuade told the lawyer everything he had learned since last he saw him, except Heinrich Muller’s name and the name which he had got from the dental records. Roger listened with rapt attention. McQuade ended:
‘So how do I go about finding this bastard?’
Roger said slowly, ‘And why do you want to find him so badly?’
‘Because he’s a mass murderer! And a Nazi war-criminal.’
Roger looked at him. With a small twinkle in his eye. ‘Then why don’t you go to the police? This is an extraordinary case.’ He answered himself, ‘Because of the loot and legal hassles over that German frigate found off the coast of Denmark a few years ago?’
‘I assure you I feel very strongly about Nazi war-criminals.’
Roger said: ‘Boy, what a case it would be. And what you’ve been through in that submarine! I take my hat off to you. But you always were a tough guy.’
‘Not so tough, I assure you. Look, first of all, I’ve got to find out if the man is alive. Where are deaths registered? And then, assuming he’s not dead, how do I find out whether he got married, to whom, his address at that time, et cetera?’
‘Deaths are recorded in the Registrar of Births and Deaths office, which is usually attached to the local magistrate’s court. If he got married in Namibia in those far-off days, the registration will be in the archives in Windhoek. If he got married more recently, you could also find it in the Magistrate’s Office of the district in which he got married. In any event, because Namibia is still legally administered by South Africa, all these details will be in Pretoria. In the Population Registration computer.’
McQuade’s hopes rose. ‘Of course.’
Roger elaborated: ‘All South Africans, which includes South Westers up 1984 when they got limited local self government, have to carry the so-called Book-of-Life. An identification document. It contains all the bearer’s details, his date and place of birth, his address, his marriage, everything of an official nature that he’s done in his life. Haven’t you got one?’
McQuade shook his head. ‘No, I’m officially Australian now, I left before these things came out. I only had a citizen’s card. But, of course …’ If Muller was on that computer he would find out all about him in one fell swoop! ‘And is there a way to get access to that computer?’
Roger said drily, ‘Sure. Bill Sikes the burglar again.’ He shook his head. ‘Legally, no. It’s all confidential government information, like the income tax department. You’d have to get a Supreme Court order. Which means you’d have to satisfy the court that you need the evidence contained in the computer for some legal reason.’ He added significantly, ‘The police can do it, of course.’
McQuade sat back. No way could he go to the Supreme Court and tell the judge he wanted to find out which Mr H. Strauss was Heinrich Muller. ‘Don’t you know anybody in Pretoria who could help me?’
‘No.’
McQuade thought out loud: ‘So I’d have to find an accomplice? Who works with this computer in the Population Registration Office?’
Roger said nothing. McQuade continued, ‘How do I even find out who works in that office?’
Roger pursed his lips, then sighed. ‘You’re determined to find this guy, aren’t you?’
‘Yes.’
Roger nodded soberly. ‘And I’ve done my duty, as a lawyer? I’ve advised you to report the matter to the police? And I’ve done my duty as your lawyer, I’ve told you it’s impossible to get the information you want unless you go through the courts?’
McQuade nodded earnestly. Waiting for wisdom. ‘You have.’
‘Let me make another point clear. As your lawyer.’ Roger paused emphatically. ‘It’s a serious criminal offence to try to get this information illegally. Particularly to bribe an official. Or to blackmail them.’
McQuade nodded earnestly.
‘That was your lawyer speaking. Never forget what I said.’ Roger took a breath. ‘But I’ll add something else, as a lawyer. It is commendable that criminals be brought to justice. Particularly Nazi war-criminals. And now, having said that, I’ll speak as your friend.’ He added. ‘And I’ll deny I ever said it.’
McQuade nodded. Roger looked at him.
‘In Pretoria you’ll find the offices of the Public Servants’ Association. All civil servants are registered there. You can try to get a copy of their membership list. It should tell you who works in which department. Then look up an old friend of mine called Johan Lombard. He’s a freelance journalist and he knows everything that’s going on in town – in South Africa, in fact. Ask him about a scandal that broke in the Population Registration Office a few years ago – resulting in a big prosecution.’ He paused. ‘Then go to another friend of mine called Peter Duncan. He runs a health studio, called Duncan’s. Look it up in the telephone directory. Ask him about the same scandal and show him the Public Servants’ Association list.’
McQuade was frowning. ‘What’ll Peter Duncan tell me?’
Appearing not to hear, Roger finished his drink and stood up. ‘And now I really must get home. See you around.’
He walked out of the lounge, leaving McQuade staring after him.
Then Sarah came into the hotel lobby. ‘Hullo! …’
She looked hot and wind-blown, but she was smiling all over her beautiful face. McQuade’s heart missed a beat. ‘Hullo! You look beautiful.’
‘In this wind? Boy, is it blowing out in the desert. How was the fishing?’
‘Good. What’ll you have to drink?’
‘Here?’ she said with a twinkle in her eye. ‘I’ve got a better venue in mind. It’s just upstairs.’
She checked in at the reception desk while he bought a bottle of wine. They hurried up to her room and when he took her in his arms, she looked at him with a happy grin and her fingers went mischievously to her blouse. ‘I’ve been thinking about this for four terrible days.’
‘So have I.’ He slid his hands inside her blouse, and oh the beautiful smooth soft feel of her, and she was grinning as she crushed her mouth against his and pulled his shirt off his shoulders and pressed her glorious breasts against his chest. Her hands went behind her back and she unclipped her skirt and it dropped to her feet, and she turned and collapsed onto the bed.
Afterwards they lay together, happily exhausted, sipping wine. ‘Now what do we do?’ she smiled.
‘That was a pretty tough act to follow. Go downstairs for dinner? Tell me what you’ve been doing.’
‘I’ve been to Windhoek, Gross Barmen, the Daan Viljoen Park and I came back via the Hochland Pass across the Naukluft desert today. Took lots of pictures; now all I’ve got to do is write the story. When do we leave for Ai-Ais and Lüderitz?’ She continued, ‘The boss thinks a story about my fishing-trip with you is a great idea! I phoned him.’
McQuade felt very badly about letting her down. ‘That sea trip will have to wait, I’m afraid. I have to go to Pretoria on business tomorrow.’
‘Oh.’ She was clearly disappointed.
He went on hastily, ‘But I’m driving, and Ai-Ais is on the way. So that is still on. I’ll drive you back to South Africa and we’ll do the sea trip another time.’
She perked up. ‘How long are you going to be in Pretoria?’
He didn’t have a clue how long it would take to crack the Population Bureau. ‘A week. Maybe two.’
She said with a smile, ‘Not a girlfriend?’
‘No. Business.’ He added: ‘Urgent financial arrangements.’
‘And when you’re finished in Pretoria?’
This was tricky. He desperately wanted her to stay around, but he had things to do which she must not know about. And he didn’t want to break promises. ‘Depends on how things turn out. The Bonanza is going to sea tomorrow for about a month.’ He changed the tack. ‘What have you got to do?’
She waved a hand that took in the whole of southern Africa. ‘I’m on holiday. In Johannesburg alone I want to spend a couple of weeks, what with the mines and Soweto and so forth. And go to the Kruger National Park. Swaziland. Sun City.’ She grinned. ‘What I’m getting at, in case you haven’t noticed, is that I’m hoping – since I’ve decided I’ve fallen madly in lust with you whilst you were off on the high seas harassing poor pilchards – we might get together occasionally whilst you’re in Pretoria and I’m languishing in nearby Johannesburg.’
‘Absolutely.’
‘In fact, at the risk of sounding positively obscene, I have a suggestion to make. Where are you staying in Pretoria? In some hotel?’
‘Right.’ He intended staying with Nathan.
‘Well, I telephoned Matt while you were away and he’s offered me an apartment in Johannesburg. Belonging to a friend who’s away for a while. Save some hotel bills. Anyway, it occurs to me that just maybe, when you’re working in Pretoria, you’d like to save some hotel bills too? With me.’ She flapped her eyes tizzily.
McQuade felt on top of the world. ‘Thank you. As long as you don’t mind if I have to work at night.’
She held up a hand. ‘See how you feel when you get there. Maybe we’ll be fighting like cat and dog by the time we reach Johannesburg.’ Then she pointed a finger at his nose. ‘As long as it’s not another woman you’re seeing at night, McQuade …’
‘No.’ He grinned down at her happy face. And everything was going right again! Roger had given him a strong lead in Pretoria, the honeymoon was not over and he was wildly in love. He took her lovely nipple in his mouth, rolled on top of her and she slid her lovely thighs apart.
Just then there was a loud knock at the door. Sarah jerked, then called, ‘Who is it? I’m in the bath.’
An Afrikaans voice said, ‘The police, madam.’
She turned to McQuade, astonished. ‘Police?’ she whispered. McQuade was equally astonished. He swung off the bed, grabbed his clothes, and went into the bathroom.
Sarah got up and pulled on a dressing gown. ‘One moment.’
She waited until McQuade was dressed, then went to the door and unlocked it.
Two men in civilian clothes stood there. One flipped open an identification wallet. ‘Detective Sergeant Bekker, madam. I believe Mr McQuade is with you?’
Sarah demanded, ‘May I ask what all this is about?’
McQuade was amazed. ‘Yes?’ he said. He emerged from the bathroom. He knew Bekker by sight. ‘How did you know I was here?’
‘It’s a small town, sir,’ Bekker replied. ‘And your Landrover is parked outside. Sorry to trouble you, but would you mind coming to the police station in Walvis Bay?’
‘Why?’ Sarah demanded incredulously.
‘Because,’ Bekker said to McQuade, ‘your house has been broken into and your boy, Jakob, has been severely assaulted. In fact, tortured.’
McQuade was thunderstruck.