The Children's War (39 page)

“All! Of course it’s all!” Adam sputtered. “What the hell did you expect?” he asked his father-in-law.

“Calmly now. Calm down, boy,” Alex soothed irritatingly. “I was just hoping to have a good amount to analyze here as well as an untouched sample to send off to the NAU.”

“We have your handkerchief,” Tadek reminded Adam.

Adam pulled out the small plastic bag that held his damp handkerchief. “This was all you were going to get before we had a stroke of luck,” he chided Alex.

Alex looked at the bag and sighed. “Well, I suppose it will help,” he said, accepting it reluctantly. “Did you get any information about what they’re up to?”

“Chemical weapons, like we thought,” Tadek answered.

“I meant,” Alex said patiently, “any new information?”

Adam rolled his eyes and muttered something.

“Neither of us are experts in that field,” Tadek reminded Alex. “All I can say is that this seemed to be the only important ingredient. I don’t know if it becomes deadly in combination with something simple, but it certainly isn’t deadly in this form. At least not immediately so.”

“How do you know?” Alex asked.

“I touched it,” Adam volunteered, “and the manager warned me it might burn, nothing worse than that.”

“Besides, some of the workers were covered in it. I’m sure it affected their health in the long term, but obviously they were able to continue functioning in the short run.”

Alex looked pensive. “Maybe it needs to be exploded.”

“Ah, that reminds me,” Adam said, reaching into his pocket. “Here are some electronic thingies they seemed to think were truly important to the process. I think I got one of each, but I’m not sure.”

“Great!” Alex responded. “Maybe with these and the vial, we can work out what the hell they’re making. With luck, it will be a nerve gas or something good for terrorist attacks.”

“Why would that be lucky?” Tadek asked.

“Oh, it’s the Americans. They keep losing interest in us. If they find out that the Reich is producing nerve gas for terrorist export—say to poison the Manhattan subway or something—then that will perk their ideas up a bit.”

“But if it’s just to kill people over here, they won’t care,” Adam guessed.

“Afraid not. It’s hard to keep their interest in people they can’t see. They need a good scare now and then, and maybe with this”—Alex held the vial up to the light again—“we can give them one.”

42

“H
ERR
TRAUGUTT,
how good of you to visit us here in Berlin. And how are things going in . . . uh, which city was it again?” Karl asked with sly disinterest. As he spoke, he had a difficult time pulling his attention away from the American magazine that lay open on his desk.

“Göringstadt,” Richard answered dryly. “We in the provinces are aware that here in Berlin you are extremely busy and don’t have much time for tedious reports, but I have been instructed to inform you of my results since, as I understand it, you are involved in counterterrorism efforts?”

“Yes, but I’m afraid I don’t understand what your prisoner statistics have to do with terrorism.” Karl’s eyes never left the magazine, and Richard was drawn to half stand to get a glimpse of what Karl was reading.

Karl noticed Richard’s action and quickly said, “It’s smut—obviously. I’m researching the decadence of the American culture and how this affects them. I feel that in these photographs of”—Karl shuddered his distaste—“women conducting themselves so immorally, we have proof of the entire corruption of that society. Exactly the sort of corruption that would lead to their state-sponsored terrorism within our lands!”

“I agree completely,” Richard said smoothly. “They are a filthy people, and it behooves us to be informed of exactly how decadent that culture is. In fact, I’ve made a study of this, and if you’re interested, I could probably supply you with further information—magazines and the like—along these lines.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yes. I have amassed quite a collection, even videotapes, and I would be honored to share it with you. You wouldn’t believe what they depict. Lesbian sex, interracial couplings, oral sex, ach! It is absolutely disgusting.”

“Disgusting?” Karl repeated.

“But enlightening,” Richard assured him. “It would not do for us to be uninformed, now would it?”

“No, no, not at all,” Karl agreed, suddenly happy in his discovery of a new friend and useful colleague. “You know what, Richard—I may call you that?”

“Of course.”

“I think we’ll need to discuss this in greater depth. Maybe I’ll even manage a trip out to Göringstadt.”

“We’d be honored. Perhaps we could . . .” Richard stopped speaking as a man walked unannounced into Karl’s office. Karl stood immediately to greet his visitor, and Richard followed his lead.

“Herr Schindler! How good of you to visit!” Karl enthused, clicking his heels and bowing slightly.

Richard read the signals and delved into the names and life summaries that Kasia had compiled for him and that he had so arduously memorized. Schindler, Schindler—ah, yes! Silently thanking Kasia for her tireless work, he was prepared with a gracious smile when Schindler turned to him in confusion.

“Who’s this?” Schindler asked Karl.

“This is Richard Traugutt. He’s here from Göringstadt to make a report.”

“Treugott, Treugott . . . ,” Schindler repeated distractedly.

“And this—” Karl attempted to conclude the introduction.

“Oh, Herr Schindler needs no introduction to me!” Richard grinned. At Schindler’s confused look, he explained, “Your methods on the London riots are quite famous! We studied your techniques and have applied them successfully in many situations. In fact, I was just telling Herr Vogel how it was your inspiration which caused me to initiate the changes I’m reporting on here in Berlin.”

“Treugott, Treugott . . . ,” Schindler repeated. “Yes, of course, your report. Ah, yes, I’ve heard. Um, so what have you been up to?”

Richard managed to talk to Schindler for nearly twenty minutes, praising his famous work and his marvelous career. Schindler invited him to dinner for the next day, and Richard happily accepted. By the time Schindler remembered what he had come to Karl’s office for, he and Richard were like old friends.

“Ah, yes, to get back to business,” Schindler said, turning to Karl and waving a report that he had clutched the entire time. “Your report miscalculated the numbers! Here’s the proposal and it’s way over budget! That isn’t what you told me! How are we supposed to pay for these things?”

Karl timidly took the report from Schindler’s hands and paged through until he found the numbers. He stared at them disconsolately, shaking his head in disbelief. “This isn’t what they told me,” he muttered. “The bastards are trying to screw us.”

Richard waited patiently for a few minutes, listening to Schindler and Vogel worry about the prices set forth in the proposal, then, when the moment seemed right, he asked, “May I have a look? Perhaps an unfamiliar eye will spot the problem.”

Both Schindler and Karl looked at him in surprise.

“You gentlemen are both experts here,” Richard explained, “but your very expertise may make it difficult for you to notice an irrational mistake in the presentation.”

“What’s your clearance?” Schindler asked.

“Top secret,
mein Herr.”

“Well, that will certainly suffice.” Schindler handed the report to Richard. “If you can work out what’s wrong here . . .”

Richard scanned the report. “So the arms are manufactured in the North American Union and are given to the Mexican government to aid in their fight against drug smuggling?”

“That’s right. We get them from there via Spain,” Karl added.

“And it’s these prices which are the problem?” Richard asked, indicating an accounts page. He noticed that the page seemed to be computer-generated. That, in and of itself, was interesting.

“Yes, they’re outrageous!”

“Of course, since the point of origin for the arms is Mexico City, the prices are in pesos,” Richard commented to himself.

There was silence from his two companions.

“It’s always difficult for me to remember things like that,” Richard continued, mostly to himself. “You know, the symbol for the peso is the same as that for the dollar. Confusing for someone like me, but I’m sure you gentlemen are used to such subtleties.”

Both Karl and Schindler nodded.

“And, let me see, I’m not an expert, so I have trouble converting, but I think the mark is running at three and a half to the dollar on export trades, and the peso is, oh, something like seven to the dollar, so that would make each of these prices—oh, that is quite simple! Divide by two and the prices are in the equivalent marks. But you knew that, of course.”

Karl peered at the page. “Yes, of course, if you divide by two, the prices . . .”

Schindler looked at the page. “Yes, divide by two . . . Oh, look at the time.” He snatched the report from Richard’s hands. “We’ll handle this later. I think I have a meeting.”

He was gone before either Richard or Karl could say a word.

Karl looked in the direction Schindler had gone and laughed silently. Richard laughed as well, just happy in the camaraderie of a close-knit, well-organized, competent ministry. Karl rubbed his face and then asked, “What are you doing this evening? Do you have plans? My wife and I would enjoy having you and your wife to dinner.”

“Dinner? That sounds wonderful,” Richard said agreeably. “Unfortunately, I am here alone. My wife remained in Göringstadt with the children.”

“Ah, pity. Perhaps I could invite a suitable companion for you. Just for the evening?”

Richard nodded. “What about the archivist. Is she married?”

“The archivist? Hmm. Don’t know. I’ll have my secretary find out and issue her an invitation if it’s appropriate.”

“Oh, thanks, but no. She might view it as a summons. I’ll go down there and ask her myself. I’d like to meet a few people in this building anyway. After all, I might be working here one day.”

In your dreams, Karl thought.

Richard and the archivist, a young woman named Beate, arrived a few minutes late. A servant took their raincoats and umbrellas, showed them into the sitting room, and offered them cigarettes, sherry, and appetizers.

Richard relaxed in his seat and discreetly scanned the room. The house was smaller than his own back in Göringstadt, but he had learned that was typical for Berlin housing. The prices in the city were higher and the competition for good housing was more intense.

They chatted for only a brief while and then were relocated to the dining room—there seemed to be a slight rush to have dinner. It was just as well. Richard was quite hungry, and he wondered if it was his hunger that made the food taste so good or if it was genuinely delicious. He complimented Frau Vogel on her cooking, then seeing the slightly guilty look on her face added, “Or should I compliment you on your choice of cooks?”

Frau Vogel glanced at the servant as she answered, “Oh, it’s all my own doing.” She paused, then added, “It was just a bit of a rush this afternoon, my husband didn’t give me much notice. I hope that everything is up to standard?”

“It is absolutely delicious!” Richard enthused. Beate nodded her head in agreement.

The dinner plates were removed, and a few minutes later desserts were set in front of them. The servant’s arm brushed against Beate’s shoulder, and he apologized for disturbing her.

Frau Vogel scowled at him, but Beate graciously replied, “Oh, that’s quite all right!”

It was the first time Richard had truly noticed the servant, and he found himself-oddly perplexed by the blond man who served the dinner so mechanically. His ashen complexion was eerily emphasized by the candlelight, and beneath his vacantly staring eyes were the blue shadows of exhaustion.

As Richard watched him, he noticed how the man’s whole body shook periodically with some great effort at restraint. Richard realized the man was suppressing a violent cough, and this was what had made him bump into Beate. Something about the man looked vaguely familiar. Richard tilted his head so he could get a glance at the insignia on the uniform. An English criminal. Well, that would narrow it down to only several hundred men, none of whom would have been important enough to remember. Probably someone he had seen in that notorious prison in Exeter. Still, it would be amusing to see what the man had to say for himself.

“Do you speak English?” he said in English to the servant.

The man looked up at him, perplexed.

“Yes, I’m talking to you. Do you speak English?” Richard pressed. Again he used English. The others at the table looked at him with curiosity.

Finally, the servant managed to nod.

“Were you born there?” Richard asked, still in English.

Again the servant nodded.

“Where?”

“London,
mein Herr.”
The servant winced as he said the words as though he had said something wrong.

“Ah, London, that’s where I was born,” Richard explained in English. He still could not work out why the man seemed familiar. London certainly didn’t narrow down the possibilities.

His thoughts were interrupted by the archivist asking, “What are you saying to him?”

“Oh, I asked if he spoke English and if he was born there.”

Karl laughed. “He was found in a trash bin near Halifax and raised in an orphanage. Even his mother knew he was worthless!”

Beate gasped.

“Yes, the English are abominable, even toward their own. But don’t fret for him,
Fräulein.
His bad blood showed up early enough when he turned criminal. He’s lucky we’ve given him a home and a purpose. Isn’t that right?” Karl finished by addressing the servant.