Wading Into War: A Benjamin Wade Mystery (6 page)

In
a move that, later, we would declare under
oath was neither planned nor choreographed, Gardner tossed the briefcase in
Dietrich’s direction. At almost the same time, I brought my right hand up and
across my body, clicking the button of the collapsible steel baton as I did so.
It was the one weapon I carried at all times even when I didn’t carry my gun.
Bad guys don’t usually expect something so blunt to be used as a weapon of
first resort.

The baton snicked out to nearly its full length as I brought it down on
Dietrich’s extended gun hand. The gun went off. Gardner yelled and spun
backwards. Dietrich grunted, a mixture of surprise and pain. He dropped the gun
to the pavement. I lunged for it, but a vicious kick by the Nazi swept my legs
out from under me. I crumpled to the ground, afraid Dietrich would get my gun,
shooting both Gardner and me. Instead, Dietrich lurched forward and grabbed the
briefcase with his uninjured hand and started running.

I quickly got to my feet and grabbed the gun. For a second, I considered
taking aim and firing, but his figure was already at the edge of the light. I
wasn’t going to take the chance of hitting something or someone.

I took off after him, the hard leather of my shoes crunching the cement.
Dietrich was fast. All he had to do was get to his car parked in the alley. He
had at least fifty feet on me, so I dug in and found some additional speed.

At that moment, a car turned into the side street next to the lot.
Dietrich abruptly changed his direction and headed for the car. It was closer
than his own, and he would reach it before I could catch up to him.

The window of the passenger side rolled down and a man stuck out his
head. Even though I had only seen them once, I knew it was one of the goons. He
reached around and opened the rear door, giving Dietrich a clear shot at
escape.

Having no other choice, I changed my trajectory. Clearly I couldn’t catch
Dietrich before he got into the car, but I could overtake the car while it was
trying to get away. I wasn’t a good enough shot to take out a fleeing man, but
I was pretty sure I could hit the broad side of a moving car.

Dietrich dove into the back seat and the goon behind the wheel threw the
car into gear. With screeching tires, the sedan peeled out. I was close enough
to fire so I raised my gun and pulled the trigger. Despite my running, I hit
the front side, the bullet pinging off the sturdy frame. I fired two more
times, missing once, but shattering the glass of the still-open rear door.

That must have been enough of a surprise for the driver because the car
caromed, crashing into some trash cans, scattering the contents across the
street. I fired again and heard the bullet thunk somewhere inside the car.

The goon in the passenger seat decided to get into the game. As he
extended his hand, I saw the handgun in his grip. Without thinking, I dove to
the ground, rolling behind a parked car. Two bullets pinged off the street
where I had been.

My heart pounded at the realization I had just escaped death. I paused a
second to catch my breath.

It was then that I became aware of other things. Sirens filled the air
and the red-and-blue lights bounced off the sides of the buildings. From all
sides, police cars converged, some marked, others not. All avenues of escape
were blocked. That didn’t deter the driver. He plowed into one of the unmarked
cars, trying in vain to get back to the street. The steel of the cars and the
bricks of the buildings wedged him tight. He was going nowhere.

I got on my feet and moved forward. A commanding voice told me to freeze.
That was when I realized I still held my gun. I raised my hands and dropped the
gun to the ground. Three policemen charged forward and cuffed my hands behind
me. Not surprisingly, they didn’t listen to my protests of innocence.

Across the parking lot, a ring of police officers surrounded Dietrich’s
car. Every officer had their gun in hand, arms extended, ready for anything.
The two goons threw out their pistols and were clambering out of the car, their
hands raised in surrender. Dietrich hadn’t emerged yet. The officers who had
nabbed me roughly shoved and pushed me toward the action. I had a front row
seat.

Another small group of policemen made their way around the back of the
car. They crouched and moved forward. As the far rear door opened, I saw a pair
of hands go up. One of those hands held Gardner’s briefcase.

Suddenly I remembered my friend. I searched for him where he had fallen.
He wasn’t there. Instead, Gardner, flanked by two officers, walked to my
location. He held a bloody towel on one arm.

From across the parking lot, three other men strode forward. They held no
weapons, but I recognized them. It was Donnelly, Gregson the driver, and the third
man who had ridden shotgun earlier this evening. Not for the first time today,
I marveled at my innately poor ability to lose any pursuer. If I was going to
give this P.I. thing the old college try, I was simply going to have to get
better.

Gardner shuffled up beside me. I said, “You okay?”

“Yeah,” he said, his teeth gritted together. “I’ll live. I’m more steamed
at not having those documents.” He looked down at my hands. “Why the cuffs?”

I gave him my lopsided grin. “Despite my honest entreaties, these
gentlemen think I’m a criminal.”

“Well, you’re certainly guilty of bad timing. Couldn’t you have slugged
that guy before he pulled the trigger? I mean, really, what were you waiting
for?”

I shrugged my shoulders. “The perfect time.”

More and more police cars and bystanders gathered around the area. The
night staff from the
Post-Dispatch
building had also gathered on the
stairs, watching the news come to them rather than the other way around. The
two henchmen were being shuffled to waiting police cars. I could hear them
shouting and, in a surprising twist, they spoke English. And not just accented
English but honest-to-goodness East Texas English. I heard only a snippet of
something the driver said. “We were just hired. It was only for the money, I
didn’t know he was a ...”

“A Nazi,” Gardner grunted. “The son of a bitch is a Nazi.”

“Yup,” I said in agreement.

Donnelly emerged from behind the car. He carried the briefcase. Behind
him, two of his soldiers flanked a handcuffed Dietrich. Captain Burman walked with
them. Donnelly indicated me. “Uncuff him.”

The two policemen next to me didn’t take orders from a man who wasn’t
their commanding officer. They looked to Burman who, with gritted teeth and
flexing jaw muscles, nodded once. The guy on my left unlocked the cuffs but not
before making them just a little bit tighter. I winced, further shattering my
cool P.I. demeanor. I turned and glanced at his name: Potter. That’s a name I
wouldn’t soon forget. Potter just smirked at me as he walked away.

Donnelly said, “So, Wade, you found the documents. Good for you. Did
better than any of us. What tipped you off to the location?”

I nodded to my friend. “I remembered when Mr. Gardner here, reporter
extraordinaire, was working on a story exposing the malfeasance of one of the
big fisheries down in Galveston. He had some toughs after him, so he mailed
books stolen from their offices to his desk at the newsroom. That made sure the
evidence was taken care of, and, if the bad guys stole anything, they would be
committing a felony.”

Donnelly raised an eyebrow. “Nice.” He chin-nodded at Gardner. “How’s the
arm?”

“It’ll heal,” Gardner said. “What about the evidence in my briefcase?”

Donnelly held the bag aloft. “This yours? Nice case.” He patted it with a
hand. “You can have the case back, but we’re confiscating the evidence.”

“What? You can’t do that. Do you know what’s in there?”

“Yes I do, and yes we can,” Donnelly said. “National security.”

At that reference, Burman glanced at the Army major. “Really?”

Donnelly inclined his head. “Yes, sir. And the U.S. government is very
appreciative of all the help you offered on this case.” He turned and faced the
police captain. “But we’re also going to ask you to forget what you’ve seen
here tonight.”

“I’m not sure what I’ve seen tonight,” Burman said. “All I know is I have
two dead bodies and no suspect.” He shot an accusing finger at me. “I had one,
but because of your testimony, I no longer have him.”

I frowned. “Testimony?”

Donnelly said, “Yes. It seems someone else fired the gun that killed
those two people.” He indicated Dietrich. “This man right here.”

Again, my cool demeanor faded as I gaped at Donnelly. “What?”

Gardner figured it out faster than I did.”Close your mouth, Wade. You’ll
catch flies.” He turned his attention to Donnelly. “It’s all part of the plan.
The Army is covering up what’s in those files. I read most of it. I saw the
photos. I
know
what’s in there. I can still publish something. I read
enough to make a damn fine story, get the facts out there.”

Dietrich merely fumed.

Donnelly considered Gardner’s words for a moment. Then, he whispered
something in the ear of one of his men, who quickly sliced through the crowd
and went inside the news building.

Remembering I had a case to clear, I said, “Can I at least ask you something,
Gordon? Or you, Donnelly?”

I took their silence as consent. “In your reading of that material, is
there any mention of Miss Saxton’s brother? She hired me to find out
information about his whereabouts. That’s what got me into this mess.”

Donnelly merely pursed his lips, raising his eyebrows at Gardner. “Well?”

Gardner looked to Donnelly, then to me, and then back to Donnelly. “Is
his name ‘Samuel Saxton’?”

“Yeah.”

Gardner shook his head. “The notes in the files indicate he was arrested
earlier this year. There are subsequent notes that say he was killed trying to
escape from one of those camps.” He looked at me. “Samuel Saxton is dead.”

I
nodded. “Thanks.” I started thinking about
where Lillian might be, so I could give her the news. I wondered how she’d take
the news or, perhaps, if she already knew.

Donnelly’s man returned along with an older gentleman. The way he was
dressed just screamed newspaperman.

Gardner knew him instantly. “Mr. Levitz, sir. What are you doing here?”

Levitz scowled at the ordered chaos around the news building. “Trying to
figure out how long I have to hold the presses so I can get this damn story.
Who wanted to see me?”

“That would be me, Mr. Levitz,” Donnelly said. “You’re one of the
editors?”

“I am.”

“Good. I have something to say to you.” The two of them moved off by
themselves. They talked.

Dietrich scuffed pebbles my way. “You have guts, Mr. Wade. I’ll give you
that. It seems Miss Saxton chose well when she selected you as her fall guy.”

I walked up and slugged him in the jaw. He staggered backward but didn’t
fall. Numerous hands grabbed my arms and pulled me back. Even Donnelly looked
over at me.

“That’s for threatening me and my friend,” I yelled. I shrugged off the
restraints. I adjusted my suit and straightened my tie. I sniffed at him. “At
least we got you off the streets. Might have to tell some of the guests at the
county jail that they got a Nazi in their midst, see what goes down.” I sneered
at him. “And we put a stop to all your spying in our town.”

Dietrich spit blood at my shoe and laughed. All of us just gaped at him,
wondering where the humor was coming from. Seeing my befuddlement, Dietrich
said, “Mr. Wade, you may have arrested me, but I assure you: there are many,
many more who share my passions. You can’t stop us because you don’t even know
who we are.”

Donnelly and Levitz returned to the group. Donnelly jerked a thumb at
Dietrich. “Get him out of here.” The Army men led Dietrich away, the Nazi still
chuckling at his own humor.

“Gordon,” Levitz said, “walk with me.” He put an arm around the young
reporter and led him out of earshot.

“You think what he said is true?” I asked Donnelly.

He sighed. “Not sure, but there’s at least a grain of truth in it. There
are parties in this country that cannot wait until we get into the war. There
are other groups who hope and pray we never do because they know what it’ll
bring. Then there are the other groups, the ones Dietrich belongs to. They’re
the scary ones. They want to cause havoc just to see both sides fight each
other.”

I pointed at Gardner. “What’s he being told?”

“Never to utter a word of what he read to anyone at any time. To do so
would be”—he paused for effect—“unfortunate.”

“And me?”

“You read anything?”

“No.”

“He tell you anything?”

“Nope.”

He smiled broadly. “Then you’ve got nothing to worry about. Just keep
your friend in line. Oh, and I wouldn’t be sharing this story of Nazis in
Houston with anyone. Don’t get drunk and start babbling on and on about how you
saved the city.” He wagged a finger. “That wouldn’t be kosher.”

Gardner and Levitz returned, the reporter looking not unlike a chastened
schoolboy. Our eyes met and I knew. He shrugged. “At least I get to write the
story about tonight. But I have to make it up. Who knew my first fiction sale
would be to a newspaper?”

My
body was sore from the day’s exertions. I
just wanted to climb into bed and sleep for a week. But I had news to deliver.
With one knuckle, I knocked on Lillian’s hotel room door. At this late hour,
not even the carpet seemed to dampen its loudness.

I waited, pondering which words to use when I told her Samuel Saxton was
dead. In all of my cases, this was the first one that involved a death and,
more to the point, the first one in which I’d had to tell a person that their
loved one was gone. The taste in my mouth was sour.

No sound emerged from behind the door. I knocked again, a bit louder this
time. Surely she wasn’t sleeping. Even if she was, I felt it my duty to let her
know the case was completed. And, as crass as it was, I needed to present her
with my bill.

A few feet away, another door opened and an older man stuck his head out.
He held a book, his index finger keeping his place. “Is your name Wade?”

I cocked my head. “Yes.”

“I have something for you.” The man retreated into his room, then
reemerged holding an envelope. He handed it to me. “The young lady, Miss
Saxton, told me to give this to you when you came here. Sure enough, she was
right.”

“Right?”

“Right that you’d come here tonight. I told her I could give it to you.
I’m a night owl, you see. It’s the only time I have to catch up on my reading.”
He waved the book.

I turned the envelope over in my hands. My name was scrawled on the front
with a distinctive feminine handwriting. “When did she leave?”

The man checked his watch. “Oh, a little under three hours ago.”

I did the mental math. Three hours ago, I was—at Bubba’s BBQ. The last I
saw of Lillian was after she excused herself, left Burman, and went to the
ladies’ room. Then I had been kidnapped. If what the old man said was true,
that must have meant she left Bubba’s and came straight here, packed her bags,
and left.

She didn’t even wait for me to give her the report about her brother.
That made no sense. Then a thought struck me. It didn’t make sense unless she
already knew the truth about her brother. No, that wasn’t right. How in the
world could she have known if the only answers were in Rosenblatt’s files? At
the time, those documents were with Gardner.

I tore open the envelope. Inside was a folded piece of paper and three
crisp hundred dollar bills. The old man’s eyes widened at the sight of the
cash. I turned away and started walking. I took out the letter and read it.

“I’ve been ordered to a new assignment. I hope the cash is enough to
cover your fees. I thank you for your help. And please, don’t feel like you owe
me for saving your life. If you find out what happened to Samuel, please send
word to this address. Don’t use his name. Just write it as if you were telling
me of an old friend.”

Just below her signed name was a P.O. box number in Washington, D.C. I
shook my head in amazement and walked down the stairs. I left the Rice Hotel
and walked around the block to my car. I slammed my palm on the hood, then
clambered inside. I was bone-tired, but sleep had just taken a back seat to my
desire to see Lillian again. I wanted to let her know about her brother, but I
didn’t want to do it the way she asked.

Starting the car, I drove the streets and watched as my hometown passed
in front of my eyes. Dietrich’s words stuck in my craw. How many more Nazis
were in Houston? In Texas? In the United States? If Dietrich thought nothing of
killing Rosenblatt to keep the
Führer’s
secrets from seeing the light of
day, what else might his associates be capable of? It was as if a veil had been
removed from my eyes, like the curtain in the
Wizard of Oz
. I wasn’t
sure I wanted to know what was behind that curtain.

But now I knew. I cursed Lillian Saxton for coming into my office. I
liked my job when it was just the sordid details of normal life: the lying, the
cheating, the adultery, the burglary, the missing persons. I could deal with
those.

But this? National security? War? Espionage? That was way out of my
league.